Harter, Nathan W.

English

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36 MANUSCRIPTSCavalryChargeNathan W. HarterIt is midday, and Marshal Ney has ordered our cavalry across thetrampled valley into the fiery north slopes of the steadfast. allies.Against lesser foes, our artillery fire would have already boundedthrough the files of waiting infantry, dismembering along the way. ButWellington has couched his men on the far side of the ridge, thushidden from view and protected from our barrages.Each unit of cavalry steels itself for the several-hundred-yard racethat must end in either victory for our Emperor or glory in death. Theentire valley is washed in a dusty-blue haze, the smoke from thecannon and muskets. This constant smoke-screen obscures the distantridge, and we.peer with anxious eyes into the mist. Across these barrenfields, our horses must sweep like the irresistible main. British in-fantrymen pebble the human shoreline. Marshal Ney would never orderthis assault without ample. ground forces and abundant faith that theenemy lines will break. The order is given to charge.Heavy rains from the night before have softened the ground tomud that the noontime sun has not yet turned to steady earth. Themassive animals beneath us drive .down the southern slope in nervoUSfrenzy, churning the grain and- pulp beneath their pounding hooves.Our cannon stop. Their cannon stop briefly to realign and reload ..Fora magic, consuming moment.: the field of battle is hushed and gracedwith the awful sight of a thousand horsemen; hundreds abreast,descending the southern slope at breakneck speed. The martial bluesMANUSCRIPTS 37/Illustration by Robert Roach (F·reshman)38 MANUSCRIPTSand blood reds of our uniforms and standards flow into the gap, ontothe open plain between the Empire and Brussels, our destination. .My hand on my saber, raised in exultant gesture, I am carriedalong in the current of fury, looking neither left nor right. Surely theground rumbles under such weight, madly plodding the treacherousway. My comrades shout, venting passions too intense and too complex.to describe. One can only shout. Marshal Ney has called us to break theretreating army, break it and.burstthrough to Brussels. Our Emperoris returned to us; Providence and he .are with us. We are a force toocolossalto withstand.As we turn up the northern slope, encouraging the brave beastsbeneath us, Wellington fires. his grapeshot on us. These are the nastypackets of nails, broken glass, and metal scraps -his artillery sprays atshort range, Grape shot does notboundandexplode: it scatters. andmows down whole rows of men. My comrade to the right fallsquickly,One ·second we are 'bursting forward; the next, I am without him.Perhaps a fragment from the blast has torn into his shoulder or face.No, the horse would not stop for that. My comrade could not stop forthat. Thehorse itself must have stumbled or been shattered beneathhim.My steed feels the clinging mud and labors to continue despite thedifficult sprint just to get here. Though many have fallen, the tidecontinues to rise and engulf the forward guns. This is the moment ofclashing. We bear down on the silent foe and end all intellection. Elanshallwin.the cause.In the face of our monumental assault, Wellington has. calmlyformed his army .into squares, a .proven defense against cavalry, but amiserable formation to meetthetrailing infantry. A square consists of. human blocks, bordered by kneeling soldiers propping their bayonetswith point up at the threatening animals. This row of spikes detersalmost every beast, for it is said that insofar as we are master of him, hedetermines our limitations. Our men sweep over the crest, unable toretreat because the rushing ranks plow .on behind, admitting nodeceleration. The sea of blue crashes about these steadfast rocks andfilters into the crevices between. We have met the stony shore.My saber is worthless and my pistol gone. We must bolt about thesquares, feinting and 'blustering, as the marksmen in the enemy.squares load, aim, and fire into our mass. Many fine cavalrymen fall,but many more replace them. The noisy , smoky chaos .lingerson thecrest. l.can see the flies buzzing about a British general's horse. I notice-MANUSCRIPTS 39the lame, abandoned in the rear; crying out in defiance and despair. Ihear the trembling Dutchmen cursing either us or Duty. I can reachone soldier with my blade; and so I slash his face. Weturn back downthe slope, anxious to meet the grim soldiers of substance, our.infantry,and we find there is not one! This is no grand assault, but apsychological thrust, a gamble,. meant to demoralize the foe. We are todie. This knowledge braces our resolution. We willdie.At the bottom of the slope, our commander calls us around, upinto the prickly fray. Soberly, I turn my frightened horse back into thegrape shot the British have resumed in our short retreat.' Sweat stingsmy eyes, and the. smoke of allied cannon restricts my visibility to a fewhundred feet. Into the clouds offire.and steel we march. We reach thecrest; the squares remain intact; pandemonium returns. One brownstallion leaps over the silver hedge and lands, sprawling onto a dozenwriggling musketeers. I gallop around one of the squares, swearing atand baiting the wild-eyed British. Musket accuracy being what it is, noone is likely to hit whom he intends. Thus, I may taunt and frownwithin twenty feet of fifty guns.Again; we slip back down the hill. Again, we align ourselves andcharge into the thickening haze. This. is suicide, I mutter, wonderinghow long their lines would hold. What time is it? No one can tell by thesun, eclipsed by bluish gasses. Into the renewed spray of hot andripping metal, we clamber without zeal. Again and again, our torturedanimals strain to take that hill. Many must have'fallen in exhaustion.With mingling soot and sweat encrusting me, with a small sliver ofglass buried somewhere in my thigh,and with thirst clutching at my dryand dirty throat, I fly into the increasingly black vapor,--silent, crazed,and feverish. Madness.//* * *I do no know what tore my torso from me as I sped across the plainto the south. The charge was rescinded, and I was heading home. NowI can taste the soil in my mouth and hear-distant drums of otherskirmishes. My head buried halfway in the ground, embedded in thefield J traversed scarcely an hour before, I am overwhelmed by thirst. Ido not know 'if Marshal Ney is yet alive. I do not know if the Emperor ispleased. I do not know anything but the aching loss. of body and the.piercing lack of water. I pray somebody finds me. God, help me. ViveL 'Empereurt

The Cavalry Charge

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The Cavalry Charge

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