ead of a squadron. "So gallant a thing
as that never goes unrewarded."

Tascher's cheek flushed as he bowed in acknowledgment of the praise; but
I heard him mutter to himself the same instant, "Too late! too late!"
Fatal words they were,--the presage of the mishap they threatened!

A great attack on La Rothiere was now preparing. It was to be made
by Napoleon's favorite manoeuvre of cavalry, artillery, and infantry
combined, each supporting and sustaining the other. Eighteen guns,
with three thousand sabres, and two columns of infantry numbering four
thousand each, were drawn up in readiness for the moment to move. Ney
received orders to lead them, and now they issued forth into the plain.

Our own impatience at not being of the number was quickly merged in
intense anxiety for the result. It was a gorgeous thing, indeed, to see
that mighty mass unravelling itself,--the guns galloping madly to the
front, supported on either flank by cavalry; while, masked behind,
marched the black columns of infantry, their tall shakos nodding like
the tree-tops of a forest. The snow was now falling fast, and the
figures grew fainter and fainter, and all that remained within our view
was the tail of the columns, which were only disengaging themselves from
the lines.

A deafening cannonade opened from the Allied artillery on the advance,
unreplied to by our guns, which were ordered not to fire until within
half range of the enemy. Suddenly a figure is seen emerging from the
heavy snowdrift at the full speed of his horse; another, and another,
follow him in quick succession. They make for the position of the
Emperor. "What can it be?" cries each, in horrible suspense; "see, the
columns have halted!"

Dreadful tidings! The guns are embedded in the soft ground,--the horses
cannot stir them; one-half of the distance is scarcely won, and there
they are beneath the withering cannonade of the Allied guns, powerless
and immovable! Cavalry are dismounted, and the horses harnessed to the
teams: all in vain! the wheels sink deeper in the miry earth. And now
the enemy have found out the range, and their shot are sweeping through
the dense mass with frightful slaughter. Again the aides-de-camp hasten
to the rear for orders. But Ney can wait no longer; he launches his
cavalry at the foe, and orders up the infantry to follow.

Meanwhile a great cloud of cavalry issues from the Allied lines, and
directs its course towards the flank of the column: t