To my
left I saw the flashing broadswords of the clansmen, ahead of all
the rest. Those sickles of death clove through and broke the
battalions of La Sarre, and Lascelles scattered the good soldiers
of Languedoc into flying columns. We on the right, led by Wolfe,
charged the desperate and valiant men of Roussillon and Guienne
and the impetuous sharpshooters of the militia. As we came on, I
observed the general sway and push forward again, and then I lost
sight of him, for I saw what gave the battle a new interest to me:
Doltaire, cool and deliberate, animating and encouraging the
French troops.
I moved in a shaking hedge of bayonets, keeping my eye on him;
and presently there was a hand-to-hand melee, out of which I fought
to reach him. I was making for him, where he now sought to rally
the retreating columns, when I noticed, not far away, Gabord,
mounted, and attacked by three grenadiers. Looking back now, I see
him, with his sabre cutting right and left, as he drove his horse
at one grenadier, who slipped and fell on the slippery ground,
while the horse rode on him, battering him. Obliquely down swept
the sabre, and drove through the cheek and chin of one foe;
another sweep, and the bayonet of the other was struck aside;
and another, which was turned aside as Gabord's horse came down,
bayoneted by the fallen grenadier. But Gabord was on his feet
again, roaring like a bull, with a wild grin on his face, as
he partly struck aside the bayonet of the last grenadier.
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