‘Lieutenant! Rally these men. You must fight back. Here!’ He thrust the musket into the man’s hand and pulled him into the middle of the trench, blocking the way of those still scrambling back from the breach.

‘Stop there, lads!’ Arthur held up his hand. ‘Stop, I say!’

At the sight of their general the men drew up, unwilling to disobey him, yet afraid to turn and fight. Arthur pointed his gloved hand back up the slope. ‘The enemy have the breach! If we let them hold their ground then we will have to take it again! I will not waste lives unnecessarily. You must turn round and take it back! Come, lads, ’tis the only way!’

The lieutenant nodded, and then pushed through the throng of men, holding his borrowed musket at the slope. ‘After me, men!’ he shouted, a slight edge of hysteria to his cry. ‘Forward! For the King! For England!’

‘For England!’ echoed the sergeant who had urged Arthur to keep his head down. ‘Let’s gut those bloody Frogs, lads! Forward!’

The men let out a cheer and surged back up the trench. Arthur watched them go for a moment and then hurried back down the approach trench, slithering here and there in the mud. When he reached the flat stretch he splashed along until he came to the first of the assembly areas, where he saw Somers-Cocks and his volunteers.

‘What’s happening, my lord?’ asked the major.

Arthur did not answer, but thrust his arm towards the breach. ‘Take your men up there at the double. Clear the breach and hold your ground. Go!’

‘Follow me!’ Somers-Cocks bellowed, drawing his sword. He plunged into the opening of the trench, and his men ran after him, splashing through the muddy water that filled the bottom. Arthur turned and hurried on, making for the command post. There he found Somerset and gave orders for a brigade to be sent to support Somers-Cocks. Then, snatching up a telescope, he leaned against the sandbag parapet of the command post and braced his elbows to squint through the eyepiece. The French were hurriedly smashing down the makeshift walls on either side of the breach. Others were busy finishing off the allied wounded with their bayonets. An officer in a gold-braided uniform was directing some of his men to gather up the engineers’ tools and carry them back into the fortress. Arthur’s heart sank at the sight. The French defenders were as intelligent as they were brave, he thought bitterly. The capture of the tools would set Arthur back far more than the deaths of his men.