I pressed
on along the rough moor road until the dawn came over the far
horizon, driving the mists away, so that I could see what was
doing there.
I saw a great sweep of moorland to my left, with a confused crowd
of horsemen scattering away towards a line of low hills some
miles beyond. They were riding from the firing, which filled all
the nearer part of the moor with smoke, among which I saw moving
figures, sudden glimpses of men in rank, sudden men on horseback,
struggling with their horses. The noise was worse than I had
expected; it came on me with repeated deafening shocks. I could
hear cries in the lulls when the firing slackened; then the
uproar grew worse again, sounds of desperate thuds, marking
cannon shot. I heard balls going over my head with a shrill
"wheep, wheep," which made me duck. A small iron cannon ball spun
into the road like a spinning top, scattering the dust. It wormed
slowly past me for a second, then rose up irregularly in a bound,
to thud into the ditch, where it lay still. I saw cannon coming
up at a gallop, with many horses, on the bare right flank of the
battle. Another ball came just over my head, with a scream which
made my heart quite sick. I sat down cowering under a ruined
thorn-tree by the road, crying like a little child. It must have
been a moment after that when I saw a man staggering down the
road towards me, holding his side with both hands. He fell into
the road, dead, not far from me. Then others came past, some so
fearfully hurt that it was a miracle that they should walk.
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