1897 ]
The Tight Cavalry Brigade is on the left, in two lines also. The
silence is oppressive. Between the cannon bursts one can hear
the champing of bits and the clink of sabers in the valley below.
The Russians on their left drew breath for a moment, and then in
one grand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies be
neath the horses’ feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dash
onward toward that thin red,line topped with a streak of steel.
The Turks fire a volley at eight hundred yards and run. As
the Russians come within six hundred yards, down goes that line
of steel in front and out rings a rolling volley of Minie musketry.
The distance is too great; the Russians are not checked, but still
sweep onward through the smoke with the whole force of horse
and man, here and there, knocked over by the shot of our batteries
above. With breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting
of the wave upon the line of Gaelic rock; but ere they come
within one hundred and fifty yards another deadly volley flashes
from the levelled muskets and carries death and terror to the Rus
sians. They wheel about, open files left and right, and fly back
faster than they came. “Bravo, Highlanders! Well done!”
shout the excited spectators; but events thicken.
The Highlanders and their splendid front are soon forgotten;
men scarcely have a moment to think that the Ninety-third
never altered their formation to receive that tide of horsemen.
“ No!” said Sir Colin Campbell, “ I didn’t think it worth while
to form them four deep. ’ ’
Our eyes were, however, turned in a moment on our own cav
alry. We saw Brigadier-General Scarlett ride along in front of
his massive squadrons. The Russians—evidently corps de dlite —
their light blue jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advanc
ing on our left, at an easy gallop, toward the brow of the hill. A
forest of lances glistened in their rear, and several squadrons of
grey-coated dragoons moved up quickly to support them as they
reached the summit.
The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry gave
out the warning blast which told us that we should see the shock
of battle beneath our very eyes. Tord Raglan, all his staff and
escort and a group of officers, French generals, Zouaves and a
body of French infantry on the height were spectators of the scene.
Nearly every one dismounted and sat down, and not a word was
said. The Russians advanced down the hill at slow canter, which
they changed to a trot, and at last nearly halted. Their first line
Balaklava,