Soon I met wounded men dropping to the rear, and from one of them gathered that the Austrian centre was getting a terrific pounding.
"They'll have to go, captain," said the man. "Flesh and blood can't stand it much longer."
After giving him a drink from my flask, I rode on, finding myself at length amongst Klapka's staff.
I delivered my message to the general, who said smilingly, "I don't think you will have long to wait;" and turning to one of his officers, he sent him off somewhere with an order.
Everything around me was bustle and excitement. Men came and went in endless succession, and almost without a pause.
One young fellow, whose horse's nostrils were laced with foam, dashed up at a gallop, and saluted with his left arm, his right being shattered by a musket-ball.
The general said something to him, but he shook his head, smiled gaily, and was off again in spite of his broken limb.
Meanwhile the fight in the centre was fast approaching a crisis.
That the Austrians would break I felt sure, my only wonder being how they had managed to hold out so long.
Shot and shell made gaps in their ranks, a fearful musketry fire swept them away in scores, while hussars and dragoons thundered down upon them almost without intermission.