village surrounded by a grove of trees, to clear which the cavalry on the flanks had to diverge somewhat to the right and left. Braddon, with a squadron, was on the right front; Egan with another on the left front; Kirke led the way along the road with the advance-guard of the third squadron, Yorke riding beside him. The enemy's cavalry had been showing in the front all day, but always retiring at a respectful distance without opposition, while the squadrons thrown out in advance on the flanks kept the front of the main column clear. Here, however, owing to groves and gardens coming in the way of the flankers, and obliging them to make a long detour, the column on the road got to be somewhat in advance, and, as the leading horsemen turned round a bend in the road through the village, a body of rebel cavalry could be seen drawn up not fifty yards in front, which, instead of retreating, moved down on them at a trot. The leading detachment, of six men only, were cut down, and the enemy came bearing down, somewhat thrown out of order in overcoming this first obstacle, but still a compact body filling up the road and open space up to the line of village huts on each side, with a front of some sixteen files. They had evidently got it in them to strike a blow.
With Kirke and Yorke were the support, of ten men riding two deep, and at some little distance behind came the rest of the squadron.
Kirke had but a moment for decision. To have fallen back on the main body was to cause panic and rout. His resolution was taken in an instant. There was not even time to form the party into single file, so, drawing his sword he waved it on high, and, shouting "Charge!" dashed forward at a gallop, and the little party of twelve were upon the enemy almost in an instant. The latter slackened speed instinctively, but the opposing sides came together so quickly that the two officers had passed the enemy's leading files before they were pulled up, in the midst of a mass of horsemen jammed close together. A strange position truly, after following your enemy for days at the distance of a mile or so, to find yourself in his midst, knee pressing against knee, and to feel his hot breath against your cheek: seconds at such times seem like hours, and yet the whole scene passes like a sudden dream. Yorke had no time to think of method, or to recall the lessons he had taught himself to practise in his mind for use in such emergencies. Instinct, for the moment, took the place of method. There is no time to speak; the only sounds are the scuffling of men and tramping of horses, as the riders try to get their sword-arms free, and cuts and parries are exchanged with desperate speed. Yet, amid the hurry, Yorke has time to feel with a sense of satisfaction that he is not flurried, and that his head is cool, as, seizing the man on his left by the collar, he pulls him from his saddle with a sudden jerk, and the man falling down amongst the horses, gives a cry of anguish as he is trampled upon below. Kirke, for his part, was too close to the men right and left of him to hit them effectually, but swinging round he cut down the man whom he passed on the right, after which he had enough to do for an instant to parry his two nearest assailants, whose short curved scimitars were more handy at these close quarters than his long sword. But Kirke at last ran one of them through, and Yorke stunned the rider on his right by a blow delivered close to the hilt of his sword. So close was the crowd, that as these men sank down there was no room for them to fall between the horses to the ground; the head of one rested on Yorke's knee, and, for the instant, the riderless horses interposed between the combatants. But the leading files of the enemy, on the right and left of the road, who had no one opposed to them, were now closing round, and the little party must soon be overwhelmed if help comes not. But help was nigh. The native officer with the third squadron, on seeing what had happened in front, delayed only long enough to extend his front to the width of the ground, and galloped up in support. Then the roadway was filled with a seething mass of horsemen, whereof only those leading on each side could engage, and they were jammed up by those pressing on from behind. A few more seconds pass — slowly, as it seems, so many blows are crowded into them — and then there is a yielding of the rebel cavalry; the whole mass seems moving slowly in one way. For, by this time, the outer squadrons under Braddon and Egan, working round the village, descry the enemy massed on the road between them, and press forward to attack them, separated, however, by the mud wall of a garden which borders the road for some quarter of a mile along either side. But the enemy, thus caught between the two lines, are bewildered, and the rearmost men begin to tail off, and ride out of the way along the road; the impulse is communi-
