Chapter 12 - The Cavalry
Late afternoon brought horses.
So many that the earth announced them before my eyes did.
A deep vibration traveled through the ground.
Men looked south.
Then French cavalry appeared.
Ranks upon ranks.
Cuirassiers with metal breastplates.
Horsemen with swords raised.
Officers shouting.
They came up the slope toward the Allied line.
The infantry formed squares.
I had heard of infantry squares.
Seeing them was different.
Men arranged four sides of bayonets.
Officers and colors inside.
Horses would approach but resist charging directly into the wall of steel.
From a distance, the formations looked small.
From within artillery smoke, they looked terribly exposed.
The French cavalry swept around them.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Some horses fell.
Some riders broke through gaps only to find another square beyond.
Cannons fired.
Muskets flashed.
Men shouted.
The battlefield became a moving world of smoke, horses, steel, and mud.
At one point cavalry came close enough to the rear areas that panic spread among wagons.
Drivers began turning teams.
Mercer grabbed my coat.
“Stay.”
“They’re coming.”
“Stay.”
I stayed.
My legs wanted to run.
That is another thing history rarely says.
A man can remain in position while every part of his body begs him to leave.
Is that courage?
Perhaps.
Mostly it felt like confusion.
The cavalry eventually pulled back.
Then returned.
The Allied squares held.
But every attack cost men.
Every hour cost more.
I saw William near sunset.
His uniform was torn at one shoulder.
His face was gray with powder.
“You look worse,” I said.
“You keep saying that.”
“It keeps being true.”
He drank water.
“French cavalry?”
He stared.
“Too many horses.”
May you like
That was all.
I understood.
