"A Jenkins! a Jenkins!" roared the Duke, planting a blow which broke the
aquiline nose of Major Arago, the celebrated astronomer. "St. George for
Mayfair!" shouted his followers, strewing the plain with carcasses. Not
a man of the Guard escaped; they fell like grass before the mower.
"They are gallant troops, those yellow-plushed Anglais," said the Duke
of Nemours, surveying them with his opera-glass. "'Tis a pity they will
all be cut up in half an hour. Concombre! take your dragoons, and do
it!" "Remember Waterloo, boys!" said Colonel Concombre, twirling his
moustache, and a thousand sabres flashed in the sun, and the gallant
hussars prepared to attack the Englishmen.
Jenkins, his gigantic form leaning on his staff, and surveying the havoc
of the field, was instantly aware of the enemy's manoeuvre. His people
were employed rifling the pockets of the National Guard, and had made a
tolerable booty, when the great Duke, taking a bell out of his pocket,
(it was used for signals in his battalion in place of fife or bugle,)
speedily called his scattered warriors together. "Take the muskets of
the Nationals," said he. They did so. "Form in square, and prepare to
receive cavalry!" By the time Concombre's regiment arrived, he found a
square of bristling bayonets with Britons behind them!
The Colonel did not care to attempt to break that tremendous body.
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