Two led horses, which in the field always closely followed his person, were struck dead by cannon shots.

One musket ball passed through the curls of his wig, another through his coat; a third bruised his side and tore his blue riband to tatters.

Many years later greyhaired old pensioners who crept about the arcades and alleys of Chelsea Hospital used to relate how he charged at the head of Galway's horse, how he dismounted four times to put heart into the infantry, how he rallied one corps which seemed to be shrinking; "That is not the way to fight, gentlemen.

You must stand close up to them.

Thus, gentlemen, thus." "You might have seen him," an eyewitness wrote, only four days after the battle, "with his sword in his hand, throwing himself upon the enemy.