The sound of hoofbeats clouded the ears of the V Corps. The snow was almost a foot high. I first saw the Captain February 6th; he was young compared to the others that shared his rank. He was fearless, he showed his worth in Vienna a few years back, he was willing to stand up to even Marshal Murat.

We first got the news of the battle at 11:34 AM. We, the 124th Dragoon troop, were about 2 miles away from Eylau so we had to rush the horses. When we finally arrived at 1:23 PM we could hardly tell what was happening, the fog and smoke was thick and almost impossible to ride in. A cannon shot nearly hit us but fell short, the Captain drew his sabre and pulled his steads reigns to his chest and exclaimed "C’est donc ça la fameuse artillerie russe? Ha!" and galloped towards the action giving no order to his men, who followed anyway. Musket shots flew over the heads of the Dragoons, and some were beginning to be afraid. Just as they were about turn around a large explosion covered everyone in mud and ice. The Captain let out a loud shout and began to charge; the men, confused, charged along with their commander.

The Captain showed no sign of fear or dread; until just a few moments later a look of regret and sadness covered his face, everything seemed to slow down in his eyes, he looked to his right and his left, he thought of the rest of the troops families that missed them, he thought of his mother back in Paris, his hands shook and he almost lost his grip on the sabre, but he heard the sound of bombs and cannon fire and regained his presence in the moment.

His gaze pierced into the Russian troops souls as they charged and shouted; the other Dragoons drew their sabres just seconds before meeting the enemy. Grapeshot exploded from the guns behind the Russians and tore through the Dragoons, the Captain felt like he was on fire and then he felt as if he was at the bottom of the Baltic, he looked at his arm to see his left side saturated with blood and mud; the Dragoons did not hesitate though, they sped up straight into the Russian ranks as they trembled and fled before them.

The troop got separated from the rest of the army when twilight came, and they continued to skirmish and shoot at each other through the night until morning came on the 8th of February- when the real fight began. The brunt of the destruction was west of the 124th, but the Captain said we should flank the enemy to win a decisive battle, so we galloped close to begin the charge. 6:43 AM, we charged up to meet the Russians, they were ready, as soon as we reached 10 feet in front of them, they let loose volley after volley in quick succession. Every one of us was shot down or stabbed; when the night fell, we tried to stay warm by grouping together but most of us froze or bled out anyway. When the day came we saw no sign of the enemy, but we saw a couple of men run to us bearing the standard of France. The Captain gathered up his last it of strength, stood up and grabbed the arm of the Corporal, and shouted "C'est fini! C'est fini! Viva la France!"

The 124th was disbanded and the former Dragoons retired back to Paris. I never saw the Captain again, but I heard from a fellow veteran that he moved to America.