was an exciting moment. The ground dipped between the two armies so
as to conceal the head of the advancing column of the French, and as the
Spanish skirmishers disappeared down the ridge, our beating hearts and
straining eyes followed their last horseman.

"Halt! halt!" was passed from squadron to squadron, and the same instant
the sharp ring of the pistol shots and the clash of steel from the valley,
told us the battle had begun. We could hear the Guerilla war-cry mingle
with the French shout, while the thickening crash of fire-arms implied a
sharper conflict. Our fellows were already manifesting some impatience
to press on, when a Spanish horseman appeared above the ridge, another
followed, and another, and then pell-mell, broken and disordered, they
fell back before the pursuing cavalry in flying masses; while the French,
charging them hotly home, utterly routed and repulsed them.

The leading squadrons of the French now fell back upon their support; the
column of attack thickened, and a thundering noise between their masses
announced their brigade of light guns as they galloped to the front. It was
then for the first time that I felt dispirited; far as my eye could stretch
the dense mass of sabres extended, defiling from the distant hills and
winding its slow length across the plain. I turned to look at our line,
scarce one thousand strong, and could not help feeling that our hour was
come: the feeling flashed vividly across my mind, but the next instant I
felt my cheek redden with shame as I gazed upon the sparkling eyes and bold
looks around me, the lips compressed, the hands knitted to their sabres;
all were motionless, but burning to advance.

The French had halted on the brow of the hill to form, when Merivale came
cantering up to us.

"Fourteenth, are you ready? Are you ready, lads?"

"Ready, sir! ready!" re-echoed along the line.

"Then push them home and charge! Charge!" cried he, raising his voice to a
shout at the last word.

Heavens, what a crash was there! Our horses, in top condition, no sooner
felt the spur than they bounded madly onwards. The pace--for the distance
did not exceed four hundred yards--was like racing. To resist the impetus
of our approach was impossible; and without a shot fired, scarcely a
sabre-cut exchanged, we actually rode down their advanced squadrons,
hurling them headlong upon their supporting division, and rolling men and
horses beneath us on every side. The French fell