ch
column upon which it was flung, though coming on at the double, in all
the _elan_ of victory, was instantly shattered.

Meanwhile the 92nd was launched again at Abbe's column. Cameron, its
colonel, was a soldier of a very gallant type, and, himself a
Highlander, he understood the Highland temperament perfectly. He
dressed his regiment as if on parade, the colours were uncased, the
pipes shrilled fiercely, and in all the pomp of military array, with
green tartans and black plumes all wind-blown, and with the wild
strains of their native hills and lochs thrilling in their ears, the
Highlanders bore down on the French, their officers fiercely leading.
On all sides at that moment the British skirmishers were falling back.
The 50th was clinging desperately to a small wood that crowned the
ridge, but everywhere the French were forcing their way onward.
Ashworth's Portuguese were practically destroyed; Barnes, who commanded
the centre, was shot through the body. But the fierce charge of the
92nd along the high-road, and of the 71st on the left centre, sent an
electric thrill along the whole British front. The skirmishers,
instead of falling back, ran forward; the Portuguese rallied. The 92nd
found in its immediate front two strong French regiments, and their
leading files brought their bayonets to the charge, and seemed eager to
meet the 92nd with the actual push of steel. It was the crisis of the
fight.

At that moment the French commander's nerve failed him. That
steel-edged line of kilted, plume-crested Highlanders, charging with a
step so fierce, was too much for him. He suddenly turned his horse,
waved his sword; his men promptly faced about, and marched back to
their original position. The French on both the right and the left
drew back, and the battle for the moment seemed to die down. Hill's
right was safe, and he drew the 57th from it to strengthen his sorely
battered centre; and just at that moment the sixth division, which had
been marching since daybreak, crossed the bridge over the Nive, which
the British engineers with rare energy had restored, and appeared on
the ridge overlooking the field of battle. Wellington, too, appeared
on the scene, with the third and fourth divisions. At two o'clock the
allies commenced a forward movement, and Soult fell back; his second
counter-stroke had failed.

St. Pierre was, perhaps, the most desperately contested fight in the
Peninsular war, a field almost as b