The order is shouted down the line, `Prepare to receive cavalry.' We form into a square quickly. The front rank kneels, rifle on the ground, bayonets pushed forward, forming a wall of bayonets. Clouds of black smoke hang over the area.
The enemy is now very close when the order is called out, 'Present fire.'
There is an ear-splitting crash as the battalion volleys into the enemy. They volley again and again. My immediate area is filled with flashes and gun smoke. The smoke partially clears. The French cavalry has been devastated. Hundreds of men and horses lie writhing and screaming. The assault on our square has failed. The remaining cavalry wheel left and right of us and many are brought down as they gallop between squares.
The men are loading and firing as quickly and efficiently as they have been drilled. The French cavalry returns again and again. The ground in front of the battalion is like some dreadful charnel house of dead and wounded, increasing in size after every charge.