he Emperor sees
the danger, and despatches one of his staff to prepare them to receive
cavalry. Too late! too late!--the snowdrift has concealed the advance,
and the wild horsemen of the desert ride down on the brave ranks.
Disorder and confusion ensue; the column breaks and scatters. The
lancers pursue the fugitives through the plain; and before the very eyes
of the Emperor, the Guard--his Guard--are sabred and routed.

"What is to become of our cavalry?" is now the cry, for they have
advanced unsupported against the village. Dreadful moment of suspense!
None can see them; the guns lie deserted, alike by friend and foe.
Who dares approach them now? "They are cheering yonder," exclaimed an
officer: "I hear them again."

"Hussars, to the front!" calls out Damremont,--"to your comrades'
rescue! Men, yonder!" and he points in the direction of the village.

Like an eagle on the swoop, the swift squadrons skim the plain, and
mount the slope beyond it. The drift clears, and what a spectacle is
before us! The cavalry are dismounted; their horses, dead or dying,
cumber the ground; the men, sabre in hand, have attacked the village by
assault. Two of the enemy's guns are taken and turned against them,
and the walls are won in many places. An opening in the enclosure of a
farmyard admits our leading squadron, and in an instant we have taken
them in flank and rear.

The Russians will neither retreat nor surrender, and the carnage is
awful; for though overpowered by numbers, they still continue the
slaughter, and deal death while dying. The chief farmhouse of the
village has been carried by our troops, but the enemy still holds the
garden: the low hedge offers a slight obstacle, and over it we dash, and
down upon them ride the gallant Tenth with cheers of victory.

At this instant the crashing sound of cannon-shot among masonry is
heard. It is the Allied artillery, which, regardless of their own
troops, has opened on the village. Every discharge tells; the range is
at quarter distance, and whole files fall at every fire. The trumpet
sounds a retreat; and I am endeavoring to collect my scattered
followers, when my eye falls on the aigulet of a general officer among
the heap of dead; and at the same time I perceive that some old and
gallant officer has fallen sword in hand, for his long white hair is
strewn loosely across his face.

I spring down from my horse and push back the snowy locks, and with
a shriek of horror I recogni