"_En avant_!" came the rallying cry.
The young French captain glanced back on this little troop, guarding
his head the while from the blows that were rained on him, and his
voice rang out:
"Charge!"
Like arrows launched from a hundred bows they charged, Hal and the young
captain still slightly in advance, Hal striking aside the steel aimed at
him, as they pushed on, and with the other hand holding high the Eagle
of France.
The effort was superb.
Dense bodies of Germans parted them in the front from the part of the
field where the infantry still was engaged, harassed them in the rear
with flying shots and forced down on them on either side, like the
closing jaws of a trap.
Their fierce charge was, for a moment, irresistible; it bore headlong all
before it. For a moment the Germans gave way, shaken and confused. For a
moment they recoiled under the shock of that desperate charge.
As Captain Derevaux spurred his horse against the enemy, twenty blades
glittered against him. The first would have pierced his chest had not Hal
struck up the blade with a quick move.
To pause was impossible. Though the French horses were forced through a
bristling forest of steel, the charge availed little.
Hal waved the Eagle aloft, as the captain looked around at the few who
were left and shouted:
"You are the sons of the Old Guard! Die like them!"
"Surrender!" came a cry from in front.
Hal looked back once more on the fragment of the troop, and raised the
flag higher aloft, as he muttered to himself:
"This will be the end.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106