When Charles the First was King by J.S. Fletcher

I do not suppose it possible for any man who has not actually seen bloodshed and war to form a proper understanding of what happens when two armies meet to give each other battle. Never, indeed, could I have believed that war was one half so awful as I found it when, the signal having been given, the royal army and its enemy closed and men strove like furies to kill and slay on every side. The roar of the ordnance, the shouting of the commanders, the continual babel of shrieks, shouts, exclamations, and oaths which filled the air, mingled with the groans and sobs of the wounded and dying, made an impression upon me which nothing has ever effaced. Add to this the sights which presently met one's eyes at every turn: blood flowing like water; here a man writhing in agony on the ground, there another just falling from his horse as the sword-thrust of his antagonist transfixed him; yonder, horses and men rolling in awful confusion together; in front, a comrade struck down in the very act of shouting defiance to the foe; behind, another falling as he encouraged his fellows to come on -- such were the horrors that I saw around me ere the fight had raged half an hour.

Our company was in the first division of Prince Rupert's Horse, and made a fine show, every man being well equipped and mounted, and apparently eager and anxious to fight. I sat between Jack Drumbleforth and Philip Lisle, being largely dependent upon them for guidance in nice matters of wheeling and turning. My horse, Captain, comprehended, I think, the nature of our business, for he neighed and snuffed the wind, and pawed impatiently at the ground. As the shouting of the main body of the Roundheads, led by Lord Manchester, came along to us on the wind, he tugged impatiently at his bridle.