To Jack’s surprise he was told to lead the way, the Russians following him. When they came to the place where poor Larry lay, the trumpeters were alarmed to see the Dragoon still kneeling, as though in prayer, beside the body of his cousin.
Jack expected every instant he too would be made a prisoner; but on a sharp word from General Liprandi, the officers removed their headdresses and stood still till the poor pious Irishman, looking up, saw to his intense astonishment the group of Russians, with Jack and Will prisoners among them. He jumped to his feet, when the English-speaking officer said, ‘Do not be afraid; we shall not hurt you. And you two,’ turning to Jack and Will, ‘are free. The General says you may return to your camp and do not trouble any more about your wounded. It is for this very reason these men you see about are on the field. He bids me tell you that the Russians are Christians as well as the English, and that what the English doctors did for the Russian wounded after the battle of the Alma our doctors will do for your wounded after our victory of Balaclava.’ The words ‘victory of Balaclava’ rankled in Jack’s mind. True, the Russians had possession of the field, and had even captured a few English guns; but not once had they stood before the English, who had proved their superiority in the field and driven the Russians before them.
However, that was no moment for arguing, and, thankful to regain his liberty, he asked permission to take the dead body of Larry with them. This being granted, they departed towards their own lines.
Confident that any of their wounded comrades would be well treated did they fall into the hands of General Liprandi, Denis O’Callaghan returned with Jack and Will, and they reached their lines just as word had been given to move the camp half a mile farther back.
They then wrapped poor Larry in the cloak of a dead Lancer, and Denis sat beside the body till daylight, while Jack, at last worn out with the exertions of the past day and night, lay down and slept almost as soundly as his dead friend.
Williams, who had been wounded in the charge, had managed to crawl back to the English lines during the night, and was then in hospital. The next day the remnants of the light cavalry brigade were moved still farther up the valley.
During the day, the Russians, elated with a rose-coloured account of the battle of Balaclava, made a determined attack upon the Second Division; but the English outlying pickets met them bravely and held them in check till reinforcements came up, when the able commander of the division so handled his men that he drew the enemy on till he had got him within his grasp, and then completely crushed him with his artillery, killing and wounding about five hundred.
Poor Larry was laid to rest with military honours. Jack cut the gold chevrons from his jacket to keep in remembrance of him, and Denis O’Callaghan, with the permission of Larry’s colonel, had his bugle, which he intended to send to Larry’s father. The trumpeters of his own and Jack’s regiment, only five in all, attended and sounded the ‘last post’ over the grave in which he was laid, his only covering being the old Lancer cloak in which Jack had wrapped him. During the ceremony, Jerry, the regimental dog of the 8th Hussars, sat looking as if he understood it all, giving an occasional whine, and following the men of the 8th when they turned away from the grave.
Two days later the camp was again shifted to a pretty spot up among the hills on the road from Balaclava, close to the rear of the French centre on the Sapoune Ridge.
The depression in the Light Brigade caused by their terrible losses began to wear off, and the men were pretty busy doing orderly and escort duty.