with the tossing of white draperies and the shine of
countless sabers, now growing clearer and clearer out of the darkness,
till, with a whir like the noise of an eagle's wings, and a swoop like
an eagle's seizure, the Arabs whirled down upon them, met a few yards in
advance by the answering charge of the Light Cavalry.

There was a crash as if rock were hurled upon rock, as the Chasseurs,
scarce seated in saddle, rushed forward to save the pickets; to
encounter the first blind force of attack, and, to give the infantry,
further in, more time for harness and defense. Out of the caverns of the
night an armed multitude seemed to have suddenly poured. A moment ago
they had slept in security; now thousands on thousands, whom they could
not number; whom they could but dimly even perceive, were thrown on them
in immeasurable hosts, which the encircling cloud of dust served but to
render vaster, ghastlier, and more majestic. The Arab line stretched out
with wings that seemed to extend on and on without end; the line of the
Chasseurs was not one-half its length; they were but a single squadron
flung in their stirrups, scarcely clothed, knowing only that the foe
was upon them, caring only that their sword-hands were hard on their
weapons. With all the elan of France they launched themselves forward
to break the rush of the desert horses; they met with a terrible sound,
like falling trees, like clashing metal.

The hoofs of the rearing chargers struck each other's breasts, and these
bit and tore at each other's manes, while their riders reeled down
dead. Frank and Arab were blent in one inextricable mass as the charging
squadrons encountered. The outer wings of the tribes were spared the
shock, and swept on to meet the bayonets of Zouaves and Turcos as, at
their swift foot-gallop, the Enfants Perdus of France threw themselves
forward from the darkness. The cavalry was enveloped in the overwhelming
numbers of the center, and the flanks seemed to cover the Zouaves and
Tirailleurs as some great settling mist may cover the cattle who move
beneath it.

It was not a battle; it was a frightful tangling of men and brutes. No
contest of modern warfare, such as commences and conquers by a duel
of artillery, and, sometimes, gives the victory to whosoever has the
superiority of ordnance, but a conflict, hand to hand, breast to breast,
life for life; a Homeric combat of spear and of sword even while the
first volleys of the answering muske