It was bitter, stifling, cruel work; with their mouths choked with dust, with their throats caked with thirst, with their eyes blind with smoke; while the steel was thrust through nerve and sinew, or the shot plowed through bone and flesh.

The answering fire of the infantry kept the Germans farther at bay, and mowed them down faster—­but in the Lancers’ quarter of the field—­parted from the rest of their comrades, as they had been by the rush of that broken charge with which they had sought to save the town and arrest the foe—­the worst pressure of the attack was felt, and the fiercest of the slaughter fell.

The general in command of the cavalry had been shot dead as they had first swept out to encounter the advance of the German horsemen; one by one the officers had been cut down, singled out by the keen eyes of their enemy, and throwing themselves into the deadliest of the carnage with impetuous self-devotion characteristic of their service.

At the last there remained but a bare handful of the brilliant squadrons of 600 men that had galloped down in the gray of dawn to meet the whirlwind of German fury.  At their head was Captain Derevaux, and beside him rode Hal.

It was not the gallant captain’s fault that Hal was thus in the thick of the battle.  This had been an accident, and had come about in this manner: 

Late the night before Hal and Chester had been called to the quarters of the commanding general and dispatched on separate missions.  Their ways led past the outposts—­even beyond the farthest—­where the six squadrons of French Lancers and a small body of infantry had been thrown out, under orders, to make a reconnaissance in force in the morning.  Advancing beyond this line, Hal had turned east and Chester west.

His mission accomplished, Hal had just reached the Allies’ line upon his return, when the Germans bore down on them.  Hal saw that his one chance for safety lay in throwing in his fortunes with the troops.

Accordingly he turned his horse, just as the Lancers swept past on their first charge, and reined in beside Captain Derevaux.  The latter had recognized the danger and realized that the boy’s keen wit had detected his one hope of life.  He had greeted him with a smile; nor had he blamed him for his choice.

And so Hal had swept forward in the charge.  Seizing a sword from a falling trooper, Hal, riding at the captain’s side, was soon in the thick of the terrible carnage, and, in spite of the terrible fighting, had escaped injury.

Two horses had been killed under Captain Derevaux.  Twice he had thrown himself across fresh, unwounded chargers, whose riders had fallen in the fray, and at whose bridles he caught as he shook himself free of the dead animal’s stirrups.  His head was uncovered; his uniform, hurriedly thrown on, had been torn aside, and his chest was bare; he was drenched with blood, not his own, that had rained on him as he fought, and his face and hands were black with smoke and with powder.