Jack now saw that the man he had come to rescue was Sergeant Barrymore. He stood over Captain Norreys, who was lying with his leg under a dead horse.
‘I found the captain lying pinned to the ground by his charger,’ said Barrymore, ‘and stayed to help him.’
‘Go on, friend,’ said poor Captain Norreys in a weak voice; ‘I feel I’m done for.’
In truth, Captain Norreys was a terrible sight, his face being simply covered with blood, while his right arm was shattered, smashed by a bullet.
‘Never fear, sir; we’ll get you out of this or die with you,’ said Jack.
Remembering the brandy he had in his water-bottle, Jack gave the captain a good drink; then he and Barrymore took a sip. They then managed to get the dead horse off their officer, when Barrymore took him gently under the arms, Jack supporting his legs, and they began to carry him along between them.
By that time they were almost the last of the Light Brigade in the valley. The Russians directed a heavy fire at them; but although balls hummed and sang round them they won on fifty yards or so unhurt, till several more Cossacks, as though grudging that one should escape, came spurring down towards them.
The gallant pair had to lay down the wounded captain, and Jack picked up the carbine and pouch-belt of a Dragoon who lay dead at his feet.
‘Leave me, boys; leave me,’ moaned the wounded officer. ‘I must die.’
‘Then we’ll all die together,’ said Barrymore grimly; and Jack, raising his carbine, brought down a Cossack. He loaded quickly and fired again with equal success; then he and Barrymore stood, sword in hand, and for a few moments defended Captain Norreys from the Cossacks who circled round, making savage thrusts with their lances.