ours in the belief that the Prussians, or Grouchy, must come;
and now, at the last agony, came the assurance that final triumph was
at hand. The troops of D'Erlon and Reille once more clutched at
victory on the crest behind La Haye Sainte or beneath the walls of
Hougoumont, while the squares of the Guard struck obliquely across the
vale in the track of the great cavalry charges. On the rise south-west
of La Haye Sainte, Napoleon halted one battalion and handed over to
Ney the command of the remaining eight, that hailed him as they passed
with enthusiastic shouts. Two aides-de-camp just then galloped up from
the right to tell him of the Prussian advance, but he refused to
listen to them and bent his eyes on the Guards.[521]

Under cover of a whirlwind of shot the veterans pressed on. Having
suffered very little at Ligny, they numbered fully 4,000, and formed
at first one column, some seventy men in width. The front battalions
headed for a point a little to the west of the present Belgian
monument, while for some unexplained reason the rear portion diverged
to the left, and breasted the slope later than the others and nearer
Hougoumont. Flanked by light guns that opened a brisk fire, and most
gallantly supported by Donzelot's division close on their right, the
leading column struggled on, despite the grape and canister which
poured from the batteries of Bolton and Bean, making it wave "like
corn blown by the wind." Friant, the Commander of the Old Guard, was
severely wounded; Ney's horse fell under him, but the gallant fighter
rose undaunted, and waved on his men anew. And now they streamed over
the ridge and through the British guns in full assurance of triumph.
Few troops seemed to be before them; for Maitland's men (2nd and 3rd
battalions of the 1st Foot Guards) had lain down behind the bank of
the cross-road to get some shelter from the awful cannonade. "Stand
up, Guards, and make ready," exclaimed the Duke when the French were
but sixty paces away. The volley that flashed from their lengthy front
staggered the column, and seemed to force it bodily back. In vain did
the French officers wave their swords and attempt to deploy into line.
Mangled in front by Maitland's brigade, on its flank by our 33rd and
69th Regiments drawn up in square, and by the deadly salvos of
Chasse's Dutch-Belgians,[522] that stately array shrank and shrivelled
up. "Now's the time, my boys," shouted Lord Saltoun; and the thin red
line, closing