eavy guns of the
French opened a volume of fire and flame to cover the attacking column. For
a moment all was hid from our eyes; the moment after the grape-shot swept
along the narrow causeway; and the bridge, which but a second before was
crowded with the life and courage of a noble column, was now one heap of
dead and dying. The gallant fellow who led them on fell among the first
rank, and the little child, as if kneeling, was struck dead beside the
parapet; his fair hair floated across his cold features, and seemed in its
motion to lend a look of life where the heart's throb had ceased forever.
The artillery again re-opened upon us; and when the smoke had cleared away,
we discovered that the French had advanced to the middle of the bridge and
carried off the body of their general. Twice they essayed to cross, and
twice the death-dealing fire of our guns covered the narrow bridge with
slain, while by the wild pibroch of the 42d, swelling madly into notes of
exultation and triumph, the Highlanders could scarcely be prevented from
advancing hand to hand with the foe. Gradually the French slackened their
fire, their great guns were one by one withdrawn from the heights, and a
dropping, irregular musketry at intervals sustained the fight, which, ere
sunset, ceased altogether; and thus ended "The Battle of the Coa!"

CHAPTER VI.

THE NIGHT MARCH.

Scarcely had the night fallen when our retreat commenced. Tired and weary
as our brave fellows felt, but little repose was allowed them; their
bivouac fires were blazing brightly, and they had just thrown themselves
in groups around them, when the word to fall in was passed from troop to
troop, and from battalion to battalion,--no trumpet, no bugle called them
to their ranks. It was necessary that all should be done noiselessly and
speedily; while, therefore, the wounded were marched to the front, and
the heavy artillery with them, a brigade of light four pounders and two
squadrons of cavalry held the heights above the bridge, and the infantry,
forming into three columns, began their march.

My wound, forgotten in the heat and excitement of the conflict, was now
becoming excessively painful, and I gladly availed myself of a place in a
wagon, where, stretched upon some fresh straw, with no other covering save
the starry sky, I soon fell sound asleep, and neither the heavy jolting of
the rough conveyance, nor the deep and rutty road, were able to disturb my
slumbers. Sti