Jack threw off the heaviest part of his accoutrements and seated himself with his comrades. A group of officers sat just by them, and Jack could not help being struck by the change the campaign had already made in their appearance. The gay uniforms, sodden with rain, stained with mud, and often torn, were tarnished and frayed. Their scabbards and spurs were rusty, and their faces disfigured by beards of many days’ growth. Worse than all, however, was the fact that not one of them had enjoyed a change of linen for a week, for every man had landed in what he stood up in and no more, even the pelisses of the 8th Hussars being left behind on shipboard; nor did the regiment ever see them again, for they went down in Balaclava harbour during the great storm of 14th November.
As Jack was looking he observed a staff-officer gallop up to the little group. He spoke hurriedly for a few moments; then Major Willett, commanding the 17th, jumping to his feet, looked over towards the trumpeters, and beckoned to Jack. Seizing his bugle, Jack ran over, buttoning up his jacket on the way.
‘Sound the alarm at once!’ the major cried.
Jack rang out the call.
‘What’s up?’ asked Will.
‘Goodness knows!’ replied Jack as he buckled on his sword and ran towards Dainty; ‘but from the haste with which those Hussar officers are making for their own men it’s something pretty urgent, I should think.’
At that moment the trumpets of the 8th rang out, and in less than three minutes the two regiments were mounted. The Lancers leading, at a trot they made for the bridge, across which they clattered just as the bugles of the infantry Light Division behind them were heard sounding the fall-in.
The ground on the other side of the river rose in a succession of ridges right up to the heights looking down on the Bulganak. The Lancers rapidly mounted the first ridge, and as they did so Russian vedettes were seen upon the heights in front. On mounting the second ridge a curious sight met their gaze. On the level ground before them were the 11th Hussars and 13th Light Dragoons drawn up in beautiful lines, their officers in front, all sitting as perfectly still as though on parade at home. Facing them, on the hill above, was a vast body of Russian horse, Hussars, Dragoons, and Cossacks, some thousands strong. They were throwing out skirmishers, who, as the Lancers came up, opened fire with their carbines but apparently did no damage. The British cavalry took no more notice of being fired at than though the Russians had been blowing peas at them.
On the northern side of the hollow sat Lord Raglan and his staff. The 8th Hussars and 17th Lancers were ordered to form up in rear of the two regiments already in position, and this they did as quietly and orderly as though at Hounslow or Canterbury.
The officers dressed the ranks. ‘Eyes left!’ ‘Up a little, Private Jones!’ ‘Back, Thompson—rein back a little. That’s better. Halt! Eyes front! Slope lances!’ And all this under a smart fire!