And the next moment the Lancers were in the saddle and moving at a trot out toward the left of McDunn's battery.
They stood facing the woods, lances poised, for about ten minutes, when a general officer with dragoon escort came galloping down the road and through the meadow toward McDunn's battery.

It was Claymore, their general of brigade.
"Retire by prolonge!" he shouted to the battery commander, pulling in his sweating horse.

"We've got to get out of this!" And to Colonel Arran, who had ridden up, flushed and astonished: "We've got to leave this place," he repeated shortly.

"They're driving the Zouaves in on us." All along the edge of the woods the red breeches of the Zouaves were reappearing, slowly retreating in excellent order before something as yet unseen.

The men turned every few paces to fire by companies, only to wheel again, jog-trot toward the rear, halt, load, swing to deliver their fire, then resume their jogging retreat.
Back they fell, farther, farther, while McDunn's battery continued to fire and retire by prolonge, and the Lancers, long weapons disengaged, accompanied them, ready to support the guns in an emergency.
The emergency seemed very near.