sharp report of a rifle rang out in the distance.

Hamlin saw the General spring upright, his lips uttering the sharp
command, "_Sound the charge!_" Even while the piercing blare of the
bugle cut the frosty air, there was a jingle of steel as the troopers
behind spurred forward. Almost at the instant the three dismounted men
were in saddle. Custer waved his hand at the band, shouted "Play!" and
to the rollicking air of "Garry Owen," the eager column of horsemen
broke into a mad gallop, and with ringing cheers and mighty rush, swept
over the ridge straight down into the startled village. To Hamlin, at
Custer's side, reins in his teeth, a revolver in either hand, what
followed was scarcely a memory. It remained afterward as a blurred,
indistinct picture of action, changing so rapidly as to leave no
definite outlines. He heard the answering call of three bugles; the
deafening thud of horses' hoofs; the converging cheers of excited
troopers; the mingling ring of revolver shots; a sharp order cleaving
the turmoil; the wild neigh of a stricken horse; the guttural yells of
Indians leaping from their tepees into the open. Then he was in the
heart of the village, firing with both hands; before him, about him,
half-naked savages fighting desperately, striking at him with knives,
firing from the shelter of tepees, springing at him with naked hands in
a fierce effort to drag him from the saddle. It was all confusion,
chaos, a babble of noise, his eyes blinded by glint of steel and glare
of fire. The impetus of their rush carried them irresistibly forward;
over and through tents they rode, across the bodies of living and dead;
men reeled and fell from saddle; riderless horses swept on unguided;
revolvers emptied were flung aside, and hands closed hard on sabre
hilts. Foot by foot, yard by yard, they drove the wedge of their
charge, until they swept through the fringe of tepees, out into the
stampeded pony herd.