“The 7th Brigade, to which the Thirteenth belonged, led the way, one of the Indian Regiments--Watson’s Horse--furnishing the advanced and flank guards. The Division had been on the march several hours when the news filtered through that a Turkish convoy, escorted by a company of Infantry, had been sighted a mile or two ahead. The job of rounding up this convoy was assigned to the Thirteenth, and the Regiment drew ahead in the formation known as echelon of squadrons. We had not gone far when the whizz of bullets greeted our ears, and the order came to dismount for action--presumably owing to the impossibility, on account of the dust, of seeing what actually did lie in front of us. A lull in the dust-storm served to assure our leader that whatever opposition there was could be ridden down, and accordingly, after advancing a short distance dismounted, and snapping away with Hotchkiss gun and rifle, we were summarily recalled, ordered to mount, draw swords, and finally charge. Shells by this time were bursting overhead, and the storm of bullets through which we rode gave the lie to the report that, with the exception of the convoy and its escort, all was clear ahead. We were quickly on top of a line of Turks who had abandoned their trench and were scurrying back to join their comrades in the rear lines. The horrible screeching told its own weird tale of the fate they met. In the onrush I got ‘winged’ and was left, as I ultimately learned to my cost, a few yards from the Turkish main-line trench. As I stood there dazed amid the dust, I saw another squadron come galloping up. It was a sight I shall not readily forget. The leader to the fore with sword aloft, the line of panting horses, the grim eager faces of the men, the flashing swords--I thought of Lady Butler’s painting ‘Floreat Etona,’ and marvelled at seeing the living parallel. Captain Eve was the leader, and as he approached ‘with a swiftness not to be conceived,’ I shook my right arm, which was hanging limply by my side, and shouted, ‘This thing’s shattered.’ ‘Hard lines, old boy. Never mind,’ he called back, and was gone. The line had passed and disappeared in the dust.