Before he could ride to rally them, the Rangars were in them, at them, through them, over them.

The whole was disintegrating in retreat, endeavoring to rally and reform in different places, each subdivision shouting orders to its nearest neighbor and losing heart as its appeals for help were disregarded.
Back came Cunningham's close-formed squadrons, straight through the writhing mass again; and now the whole of Jaimihr's army took to its heels, just as part of the five-feet-thick stone palace-wall succumbed to the attacks of crowbars and crashed down in the roadway, disclosing a dark vault on the other side.
Jaimihr made a rush for the six-horse carriage, and tried vainly to get it started.

Cunningham shouted to him to surrender, but he took no notice of the challenge; he escaped being made prisoner by the narrowest of margins, as the position next him was cut down.

The other postilions were un-horsed, and six Rangars changed mounts and seized the reins.

The Prince ran one man through the middle, and then spurred off to try and overtake his routed army, some of which showed a disposition to form up again.
"Sit quiet!" called Cunningham through the latticed carriage window.
"You're safe!" The heavy, swaying carriage rumbled round, and the horses plunged in answer to the Rangars' heels.