It was Mike himself.
"I'll be hanged, if he's not playing with them!" said Baker.

"Look at the villain! He's holding in; that's more than the Frenchmen are doing.

Look! look at the fellow on the gray horse! He has flung his trumpet to his back, and drawn his sabre." A loud cheer burst from the French lines; the trumpeter was gaining at every stride.

Mike had got into deep ground, and the horses would not keep together.

"Let the brown horse go! Let him go, man!" shouted the dragoons, while I re-echoed the cry with my utmost might.