The colonel pointed to the battery that was dealing out death to our comrades.
"My lads," he said simply, "it is for us to take those guns."
The men shook their swords, answering by a savage cheer.
The battle had got on their nerves. They were desperate, and cared nothing at all for the fact that three-fourths of us were going to meet death.
It was the culminating point of the fight. All around rose the roar of the guns, the cheers and groans of the combatants, the tramp of rushing feet, the rattle of artillery.
A blaze of light on the left marked where a powder tumbrel had exploded. Yells of victory and defiance came from the same spot, but we rode on steadily with the fixed idea of capturing the guns in front of us.
A decimated infantry regiment, going goodness knows where, paused to cheer us; but we sped onward, gathering speed at every stride--gathering such momentum that I doubt if we could have stopped.
The colonel was a horse's length in front, going straight for the battery, when the first crash came.
The shot tore holes through our ranks, and men shrieked with pain; but the survivors never drew rein, and in an instant our dead were left behind.
At the second discharge the gallant colonel reeled to and fro in his saddle; but he kept his seat, though I knew he must be mortally wounded.