caps without peaks. We recognised them easily.

It was one of their cyclist detachments that had slipped into the wood
and had been quietly waiting for us with rifles levelled. As usual,
their cavalry had retired under cover of their line.

What did it matter to us? The wood was not thick enough to prevent
our horses from getting through, and the temptation to let the fellows
have a taste of our steel was too strong. I rejoiced at the thought of
seeing their heavy boots scuttle away through the trees. I resolved to
have a thrust at the skirts of their tunics, to help them on a bit.

The Captain understood the general feeling. "Form up!" he cried.

In a twinkling a moving wall had been formed, to the music of merrily
clinking stirrups and scabbards and jangling metal; and the gallop
towards the wood began.

Just at that moment its skirts were outlined by a circle of fire, and
a violent fusillade rang out. Bullets whistled in all directions, and
behind me I heard the heavy sound of men and horses falling on the
hard ground. In my troop a horse without a rider broke away and came
galloping towards me. What did it matter? Forward! Forward!

We were about 200 yards off. We spurred our horses and got into our
stride.

Suddenly a horrible fear took the place of the martial joy that had
urged us to the fight. We were all struck by the same discouragement,
the same feeling of impotence, the same conviction of the uselessness