Away we went in the midst of a cloud of bullets, while our ranks were ploughed by shot and shell.
A man somewhere behind me dropped, and his frightened horse, breaking from the ranks, rushed to the front.
With a cry of pain the colonel of the regiment fell, but I afterwards heard that the gallant fellow used what strength he had left to urge on his men.
Crash! It seemed too good to be true, but we really had driven the charge home; and the riderless horse, the first to make a gap, was lashing out furiously with its heels.
Görgei was the first man inside, but Nicholas Szondi and I followed closely, while it seemed as if the whole regiment was treading on our heels.
The Muscovite soldiers fought gallantly enough, but I think they would not have lasted other ten minutes, when a terrible misfortune happened to us.
The general, as I before remarked, was fighting like a common trooper, and several Muscovites had already felt the weight of his arm, when, suddenly slipping from his saddle, he fell to the ground.
Instantly I jumped down and ran to him, while Szondi and Mecsey Sándor, who, unknown to me, had joined in the charge, kept off a crowd of foot-soldiers.
I raised Görgei in my arms. His face was covered with blood; he was quite insensible, or dead.
A trooper came to my assistance, and between us we lifted him to his saddle.