Royals, Greys, and Inniskillings would have pursued; but the officers knew that once upon the crest of the Causeway Heights they would become exposed to a galling fire of musketry and artillery.
‘Rally, rally, rally!’ shouted officers and sergeants; ‘Rally, rally!’ went the bugles, and the scarlet coats were got in hand, while a British field-battery and a battery of position opened fire on the defeated Russians and hastened their retirement.
As the Dragoons reformed a thundering roar of cheering went up from the throats of all those comrades who had beheld their gallant deed.
An aide-de-camp came down from Lord Raglan to Scarlett, bearing the hastily scribbled words, ‘Well done!’
Sir Colin Campbell galloped up, and doffing his cocked hat, turned to the Scots Greys.
‘Greys, gallant Greys,’ he said, ‘I am sixty-one years old, and if I were young again I should be proud to serve in your ranks.’
Such praise from such a man raised the enthusiasm of his countrymen, and they gave him a cheer that brought the colour to his cheeks.
Jack was cheering as loudly as any one when he felt himself tapped on the shoulder, and, turning, saw Captain Wintle, his reeking sword in his hand, regarding him sternly.
‘What the dickens are you doing here?’ he exclaimed.
‘I followed you, sir,’ said Jack naïvely.