While the roll was being called and the farriers were busy with their pistols despatching the wounded horses, Lord Cardigan rode up to the remnants of the brigade. His face wore a sorrowful expression.
‘Men,’ he said, ‘it was a mad-brained trick; but it was no fault of mine.’
The charge of the Light Brigade lasted but twenty minutes, and it was barely noon when the survivors formed up on the hill overlooking the valley.
Firing went on till four o’clock, but nothing else was attempted by the Allies. The cavalry retired some distance from the site of their old camp, and the field remained in possession of the enemy.
In the evening, as the survivors struggled to light fires to cook their rations, an ominous silence reigned.
They had just taken part in the most brilliant cavalry charge in modern warfare. Every survivor, so long as he should live, would be looked upon as a hero; but there was no elation. Every one was thinking of friends and comrades, sometimes brothers, lying cold and stiff out in that Valley of Death. It would be a terrible day for those left behind in England!
Presently the men sought their tents; but few of them could sleep. Of those who had occupied Jack’s tent he was the only one left. Linham, Brandon, Pearson, Williams—all were gone. He asked Will to share his tent with him, and they both turned in. Presently Jack, who had been trying to get to sleep, jumped up.
‘Hallo!’ said Will,’can’t you sleep? Nor can I.’
‘My mind keeps running on our comrades. I can’t get it out of my head that they may be out there on the field, perhaps dying for the want of a drink of water.’
‘I feel the same,’ said Will. ‘Are you game to come with me and see if we can find any one alive?’