hen let it
retire," was the general's reply, "and we shall take their place."

"Pardon me, general," was the prompt suggestion of the pupil of a more
experienced school; "but, if you will permit me, I shall ride back to my
countrymen, inform them of your advance, and make them hold their
position until you come out from the forest upon the enemy's flank."

His opinion was received, and he put spurs to his horse and was gone. We
now moved with all speed to the right of our former direction; and after
half an hour's toiling through the intricacies of a wood on which no axe
seemed to have fallen since the Deluge, passed round the enemy, and came
full upon their rear. A few volleys, thrown in upon them in this state
of alarm, broke them; the Prussian fire in front, and our's in the rear,
made their disorder irreparable. In this crisis, Dampierre rushed
forward with a group of aides-de-camp to restore the engagement,
striking the fugitives with his sabre, and desperately exposing his
person to the balls which now fell thick as hail around him. For a while
he seemed to bear a charmed life; but a rifleman of the Prussian hulans
took a sure aim. He fired, and I saw the unfortunate general fall from
his horse. He had died instantly. A more gallant death, and scarcely a
more expeditious one, than awaited the unsuccessful generals of the
merciless Republic. We buried him on the spot where he fell, with the
honours due to a distinguished soldier. Before nightfall the French had
retired in all quarters; and the remnant of the troops hurried across
the Flemish frontier, utterly disheartened and ruined.

This engagement, which was known long after as the battle of the forest
of Vicogne, cleared the Netherlands, raised the fame of the British
troops to the highest pitch, and left in their hands four thousand
prisoners.

The councils of the allied camp now assumed a bolder tone. France was
before us. The popular enthusiasm had been cooled by time and calamity.
Defeat had taught the nation the folly of supposing that it could
contend single-handed with Europe; and the only obstacle to our march to
Paris was the line of fortresses erected by Louis XIV. The most powerful
of those fortresses lay in the road by which the British columns were
advancing; and it was with a singular mixture of rejoicing and anxiety,
of ardour and awe, that I saw, at the breaking of a brilliant morning,
spread beneath me the strong city of Valenciennes.