"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted
artillerymen, infantry, and dragoons at the top of their voices.
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" came back from the distance, and a regiment of
infantry, headed by a colonel and a general, advanced at a rapid march
in broad, deep columns from the poplar-bordered road across the
pathless meadow. The group of officers exchanged greetings with the
new arrivals, the general received reports, quickly made himself
acquainted with the situation of affairs, and issued orders, signals
echoed, in an instant the masses of infantry separated, lines of
riflemen darted forward and hurried to the edge of the ravine, down
whose slope they were seen running a few minutes later. A second and
third rank followed at a short distance, and, almost ere one was aware
of it, the whole regiment had poured down into the hollow.
This was the Third Westphalian regiment. It had passed so near the
group of dragoon officers that Prince Louis could have distinguished
every figure, every face. The poor fellows had been on their feet
fourteen hours, marching steadily under the scorching August sun.
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