Colonel, with a terrific oath.
"Charge, corbleu!"

At this moment, and with the most dreadful howl that ever was heard,
the National Guard was seen to rush forwards wildly, and with immense
velocity, towards the foe. The fact is, that the line regiment behind
them, each selecting his man, gave a poke with his bayonet between the
coat-tails of the Nationals, and those troops bounded forward with an
irresistible swiftness.

Nothing could withstand the tremendous impetus of that manoeuvre. The
Irish Brigade was scattered before it, as chaff before the wind. The
Prince of Ballybunion had barely time to run Odillon Barrot through
the body, when he too was borne away in the swift rout. They scattered
tumultuously, and fled for twenty miles without stopping. The Princes of
Donegal and Connemara were taken prisoners; but though they offered to
give bills at three months, and for a hundred thousand pounds, for their
ransom, the offer was refused, and they were sent to the rear; when the
Duke of Nemours, hearing they were Irish Generals, and that they had
been robbed of their ready money by his troops, who had taken them
prisoners, caused a comfortable breakfast to be supplied to them, and
lent them each a sum of money. How generous are men in success!--the
Prince of Orleans was charmed with the conduct of his National Guards,
and thought his victory secure. He despatched a courier to Paris with
the brief words, "We met the enemy before Tours. The National Guard has
done its duty. The troops of the pretender are routed. Vive le Roi!"
The note, you may be sure, appeared in the Journal des Debats, and the
editor, who only that morning had called Henri V. "a great prince,
an august exile," denominated him instantly a murderer, slave, thief,
cut-throat, pickpocket, and burglar.

CHAPTER VI.

THE ENGLISH UNDER JENKINS.

But the Prince had not calculated that there was a line of British
infantry behind the routed Irish Brigade. Borne on with the hurry of
the melee, flushed with triumph, puffing and blowing with running, and
forgetting, in the intoxication of victory, the trifling bayonet-pricks
which had impelled them to the charge, the conquering National Guardsmen
found themselves suddenly in presence of Jenkins's Foot.

They halted all in a huddle, like a flock of sheep.

"UP, FOOT, AND AT THEM!" were the memorable words of the Duke Jenkins,
as, waving his baton, he pointed towards the enemy, and with a
tremendous shou