All day long the duke was cool as if he had been riding among his men
in Hyde Park. Wherever he went a murmur of "Silence! stand to your
front!" was heard, and at his presence men grew steady as on parade.
Again and again commanders told him of the fearful havoc made in the
ranks of their brigades, and asked either for support or to be allowed
to withdraw their men. They generally received this answer, "It is
impossible; you must hold the ground to the last man".
When asked by some of his staff what they should do if he fell, he
gave the same answer, "My plan is simply to stand my ground here to
the last man".
The duke seemed to bear a charmed life. Every member of his staff but
one was during the day either killed or wounded, whilst he escaped
unhurt. Wherever the danger seemed greatest there was the duke to be
found inspiriting his men, restraining them, or putting fresh heart
into them.
"Hard pounding this, gentlemen!" he remarked to a battalion on which
the French shells were falling with destructive fury; "but we will try
who can pound the longest." "Wait a little longer, my lads," was the
duke's reply to the murmur which reached him from some of his troops
who had suffered heavily from the French fire and were anxious to
charge, "and you shall have your wish.
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