Now that he could see right across the square Arthur realised that his men were hopelessly outnumbered. With surprise and shock on their side they would hold their own for a short time yet. But beyond the nearest mob of Danish soldiers stood over a thousand more men, formed up and ready to fight. In their midst Arthur could make out Schmeiler and his staff officers. He watched for a few more minutes as his men pressed the enemy back, and then the impetus of their wild charge died and the melee formed a static line across the edge of the square. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the British soldiers began to give way, forced back by weight of numbers, and they began to be cut down by the vengeful Danes. Arthur looked in the direction from which Stewart would come and prayed that the ensign he had sent had managed to get through. If the other two battalions did not appear now, the Thirtieth’s attack would fail and they would be hunted down and killed in the streets.

Seeing that his men were now winning the fight, General Schmeiler rode through the ranks and drew his sword, bellowing encouragement to his soldiers. He looked over the heads of the combatants and for a brief instant he met Arthur’s gaze and his lips curled into a smile of triumph.

Just then a volley crashed out to Arthur’s right, then another, as musket balls swept into the square from the side streets. The range was close and scores of Danes went down. A moment later the first of Stewart’s men surged into the square, charging home with wild abandon.

‘We’re saved, boys!’ a grenadier sergeant close by Arthur cried out, then his head snapped back in a welter of blood and brains as an enemy officer fired a pistol into his face at close range. But it was too late for the Danes. Those who had been facing Arthur’s men stopped moving forward and glanced over their shoulders in panic at the sound of a new threat.

‘Thirtieth!’ Arthur cried. ‘One more effort and the day is yours!’