Coming on with wild halloos, and not a few of them chanting the "Carmagnole," the French drove in the line of skirmishers, when Moore, followed now only by Quentin Kennedy, all the rest of his staff being elsewhere, came galloping along and called upon the left to "advance."
They were now fairly under fire and fast closing up. How different from such work in the present day! Now we may open a destructive fusillade at a thousand yards rifle-range, and so fire on for hours; then, after coming within range with Brown Bess, scarcely three rounds would be fired, before British and foreign pluck were tested by the bayonet.
Perceiving that the skirmishers of the Borderers were also falling back before a peppery cloud of little voltigeurs in light green.
"Mr. Kennedy," said Moore, "ride to the Honourable Colonel Crawford—tell him to advance at once in line; I will lead on the regiments here."
Quentin, who was tolerably well mounted, dashed up to where Cosmo, cold and stern as ever, sat on his horse at the head of the regiment.
"Colonel Crawford," said he, with a profound salute, "it is Sir John Moore's order that you advance with the bayonet—the whole left wing is to be thrown forward."
Cosmo's eyes flashed and dilated with anger at having to take an order from Quentin; he frowned and lingered.
"Did you hear me, Colonel Crawford—that your battalion is to charge?"
"Orders, and from you?" said Cosmo, grinding his teeth.
"From Sir John Moore," urged Quentin, breathlessly.