The two squadrons charged the square at a gallop.
They were received by a frightful fire. The major fell, just in front of the foe, but Lieutenant von Stolzenberg urged on his horse, reined him in for a moment when close to the lowered bayonets of the enemy, drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, so that he reared upright, and then, with one mighty leap, bore his young master, as he raised his sword and gave a ringing cheer, right into the hostile square, where, like his rider, he fell, pierced through with bayonets.
But his fall tore a large opening in the ranks, and the squadron pressed in after them.
"Well done, old fellow!" cried Wendenstein, and at the same moment he fell beside his comrade, and the dragoons rushed over him.
The square was broken, and those who yet survived fled madly across the field.
But when the dragoon squadrons reassembled, not one officer was left, and one-third of the men were wanting.
The cuirassiers had rallied meanwhile, and hastened to the scene of this brilliant struggle.
A young soldier rode with the first squadron in an old coat that had evidently not been made for him, and in plain grey trousers stuffed into military boots. On his head he wore a military cap, and a wound on his brow was bound up with a white handkerchief.
"Where is Lieutenant von Wendenstein?" he asked of a dragoon, as the remains of the second squadron rode up.
"All our officers lie there!" replied the dragoon, pointing to a heap of men and horses which marked the spot where the square had stood.