Hal could not see a yard in front of him; he could not tell how the day went anywhere save in that corner where the Lancers were hemmed in.  As fast as they beat the enemy back, and forced themselves to some clearer space, the Germans closed in afresh.

No orders reached the little troop, and Hal could not tell whether the Belgian battalions were holding their own or had been cut utterly to pieces under the immense numerical superiority of their foes.

Glancing about the field, Captain Derevaux could see that every officer of the Lancers save himself was down, and that, unless he took the vacant place and rallied them, the few troopers still left would scatter.

With Hal at his side, he spurred the horse he had just mounted against the dense crowd opposing him—­against the hard black wall of dust and smoke and steel and savage faces, which were all that either could see.  He thrust his horse against the mob, while he waved his sword above his head: 

“En avant!” he shouted.

His voice reached the troopers, clear and ringing in its appeal.  Hal, turning in his saddle at this moment, caught from the hands of a reeling trooper the Eagle of France, and as he raised it aloft, the light, flashing upon the golden wings, brought an answering shout from those that remained of the troop.

“En avant!” came the rallying cry.

The young French captain glanced back on this little troop, guarding his head the while from the blows that were rained on him, and his voice rang out: 

“Charge!”

Like arrows launched from a hundred bows they charged, Hal and the young captain still slightly in advance, Hal striking aside the steel aimed at him, as they pushed on, and with the other hand holding high the Eagle of France.

The effort was superb.

Dense bodies of Germans parted them in the front from the part of the field where the infantry still was engaged, harassed them in the rear with flying shots and forced down on them on either side, like the closing jaws of a trap.

Their fierce charge was, for a moment, irresistible; it bore headlong all before it.  For a moment the Germans gave way, shaken and confused.  For a moment they recoiled under the shock of that desperate charge.

As Captain Derevaux spurred his horse against the enemy, twenty blades glittered against him.  The first would have pierced his chest had not Hal struck up the blade with a quick move.

To pause was impossible.  Though the French horses were forced through a bristling forest of steel, the charge availed little.

Hal waved the Eagle aloft, as the captain looked around at the few who were left and shouted: 

“You are the sons of the Old Guard!  Die like them!”

“Surrender!” came a cry from in front.

Hal looked back once more on the fragment of the troop, and raised the flag higher aloft, as he muttered to himself: