But now the sagacious forethought of Lord Raglan was to bear astonishing fruit. It has been told in the previous chapter how he was bent upon bringing up some of the siege-train guns, and how he had despatched a messenger for them. His aide-de-camp had found the colonel of the siege-park artillery anticipating the order. Two 18-pounders, which since Balaclava had been kept ready for instant service, were waiting to be moved. There were no teams of horses at hand to drag them up to the front, but the man-harness was brought out, and the willing gunners cheerily entered the shafts, and threw themselves with fierce energy into the collars. Officers willingly lent a hand, and thus the much-needed ordnance was got up a long and toilsome incline.
It was a slow job, however, and two full hours elapsed before they were placed in position on the right flank of the Home Ridge.
"At last!" was Lord Raglan's greeting; "now, my lads, load and fire as fast as you can."
The artillery officers themselves laid their guns, which were served and fired with promptitude and precision.
Now followed a short but sanguinary duel. The Russian guns answered shot for shot, and at first worked terrible havoc in our ranks.
Colonel Gambier of the artillery was struck down: other officers were wounded, and many of the men.
Still Lord Raglan stood his ground, watching the action with keen interest and the most admirable self-possession. He was perfectly unmoved by the heavy fire and the carnage it occasioned.
One or two of his staff besought him to move a little further to the rear, but he met the suggestion with good-natured contempt.
"My lord rather likes being under fire than otherwise," whispered one aide-de-camp to another.
He certainly took it uncommonly cool, and in the thick of it could unbend with kindly condescension when a sergeant who was passing had his forage-cap knocked off by the wind of a passing shot.