The firing suddenly ceased, and through the smoke we saw the German
infantry creeping along the fire-scorched grass. They were heading
for a stream on which our right rested, and were coming on with an
easy, confident swing, when we got the order to mount our horses,
which had been lying ready by our sides all through the shelling. We
chased the Germans for about a mile, and cut them to ribbons, and then
we ran full-tilt into their cavalry supports, who were drawn up by
the wayside in wait for us. The impetus of our charge carried us past
them, and they closed up along the road in our rear to bar our way
back, evidently thinking they had only to say the word and we would
set out for Berlin like so many Sunday-school children out for their
treat. This was the first time we had any experience of German cavalry,
getting in our way of their own accord, but wonders never cease in war,
and we just took it as it came. We charged into them in our best Heavy
Brigade Balaclava style, and gave them a fine cutting up. They didn’t
want very much of it, and soon cleared off into the fields: _A Trooper
of the Royal Irish Dragoons_.