Cornet Leland and his men then departed to find their regiment. As they got near the great redoubt they saw the remnants of the gallant 7th Fusiliers still maintaining a great struggle with overwhelming masses of gray-coated infantrymen in glittering spiked helmets.
The great mass came slowly, very slowly, forward with levelled bayonets as though to charge; but the Fusiliers, in groups and clusters, with no sort of formation, kept firing into them, losing heavily themselves, but doing much more execution. The sight was so fascinating that the Lancers stayed to watch it—stayed till the heroic resolution of the Fusiliers infused such terror into the hearts of the stricken Russians that with a kind of wailing cry they broke and retired, but only to form again.
Farther on the Scots Fusilier Guards had advanced and been repulsed; the Grenadiers and Coldstreams, with a proud mien, were advancing, though they were being mowed down in long swathes. They literally staggered before the storm of shot, and an officer approaching Sir Colin Campbell said, ‘The brigade of Guards will be destroyed; ought it not to fall back?’
To which the stern old General replied, ‘It’s better, sir, that every man of her Majesty’s Guards should lie dead upon the field than that they should now turn their backs upon the enemy!’
There was no need for fear, however. The blood of the English was up; all they kept clamouring for was to be led forward.
The Grenadiers and Coldstreams engaged six battalions of the celebrated Vladimir and Kazan regiments, and after firing for some time advanced and with the bayonet-point put them to flight. The time for the Highlanders had arrived. Sir Colin said a few words. ‘Be steady!’ he cried; ‘fire low! Now, men, the army will watch us; make me proud of my Highland Brigade.’
Sir Colin rode in front of the 42nd. Before him was the redoubt from which the Light Division, spite of heroic resistance, had been driven. Heavy columns, till now hardly engaged, faced him. With three battalions Sir Colin was about to engage twelve.
Swiftly, almost silently, the Highlanders seemed to glide up the hill. Sir Colin’s charger was killed; he mounted another horse, and continued to lead his men. The advance was quickened, the men firing as they went; the columns swept on, the formation being echelon of regiments, the 42nd leading, the 93rd next, the 79th last.
Tremendous and ear-splitting volleys burst from the Highlanders and the Guards, very different from the sputtering fire maintained by the Light Division earlier in the day. The Russians seemed enveloped in fire, and ever the men in the bearskins and those in the tossing Highland bonnets advanced.
Presently they met, and Guards and Highlanders got to work with the bayonet. The Russians stood a minute; then, with another sorrowful wail like the cry of a strong man defeated, they broke and retired. A tremendous cheer burst from the hitherto silent Guards and Highlanders, the advantage was pressed hard, the retreat was turned into a rout, and the Russians ran, while a fury of lead poured into them and smote them down.