About thirty horses lay about, three of them together within ten yards of me, the middle one right on its back with its four legs in the air, and it was one of these that I had seen flapping through the smoke.

Then there were eight or ten dead men and about as many wounded, sitting dazed on the grass for the most part, though one was shouting "_Vive l'Empereur!_" at the top of his voice.

Another fellow who had been shot in the thigh--a great black-moustached chap he was too--leaned his back against his dead horse and, picking up his carbine, fired as coolly as if he had been shooting for a prize, and hit Angus Myres, who was only two from me, right through the forehead.

Then he out with his hand to get another carbine that lay near, but before he could reach it big Hodgson, who was the pivot man of the Grenadier company, ran out and passed his bayonet through his throat, which was a pity, for he seemed to be a very fine man.
At first I thought that the cuirassiers had run away in the smoke; but they were not men who did that very easily.

Their horses had swerved at our volley, and they had raced past our square and taken the fire of the two other ones beyond.