This was an opportunity for mounted troops such as does not often occur; it was instantly seized by Hope Grant, who rode to the Cavalry, drawn up behind some sand hills, and gave the word of command, 'Threes left, trot, march.' The words had hardly left his lips before we had started in pursuit of the enemy, by this time half a mile ahead, the 9th Lancers leading the way, followed by Younghusband's, Gough's, and Probyn's squadrons.

When within 300 yards of the fugitives, the 'charge' was sounded, and in a few seconds we were in their midst.

A regular melee ensued, a number of the rebels were killed, and seven guns captured in less than as many minutes.

The General now formed the Cavalry into a long line, and, placing himself at the head of his own regiment (the 9th Lancers), followed up the flying foe.

I rode a little to his left with Younghusband's squadron, and next to him came Tyrrell Ross, the doctor.[2] As we galloped along, Younghusband drew my attention with great pride to the admirable manner in which his men kept their dressing.
On the line thundered, overtaking groups of the enemy, who every now and then turned and fired into us before they could be cut down, or knelt to receive us on their bayonets before discharging their muskets.