"Enemy there," he muttered, "cavalry, a good many of them too. Have to turn them out of that, Maitland. Too close—see everything."
"I'll go now, sir," said Maitland, turning.
"And look here, when you've outed them, hold on to that ridge for a bit. No heavy losses, mind; your time for that's later. Just tickle up Gabriel, matador him, make him mad to come on. Then join the reserve."
Maitland went, and soon from below the sound of movement arose from the waiting cavalry. A word of command rang out, taken up by other voices; then followed a loud clatter and jingle as over the hill, close beside Graeme and Glover, passed a cavalry division, which, on reaching the level beneath, trotted briskly forward.
"Thud, thud, thud" came in instant greeting from the enemy's horse artillery on the ridge ahead, followed later by the stuttering of a maxim and then by a crackle of musketry.
The leading squadrons opened out fanwise, their front being now well-nigh a mile in breadth; from a trot they broke into a canter, then into a gallop, as they resolutely pressed on, despite the storm beating in their faces. Small dark heaps began to strew the ground; tiny figures could be seen running and clutching at the trailing reins of the now numerous loose horses, or holding sturdily on to the stirrup-leathers of more fortunate comrades.
The rattle swelled to a roar, for magazine fire, the last hope, had opened; the clamour of the guns rose to one continuous rapid thudding, and then suddenly ceased. The thin, clear notes of bugles sounding the charge were borne back on the breeze, followed by a faint echo of cheering, and over the distant ridge surged the black tide of horsemen, their swords flashing and lance-points glittering as they rose and fell.
Graeme chuckled as he looked. "Ha, ha, Old Un," he said, turning to Godwin, who had ridden up some minutes before, "that's one up, ain't it, for the military expert? The term 'sabres' has lost its meaning, has it, cavalry in the future must rely on rifles?[#] Poor old weak-kneed Army Council! Thank the Lord, I never would have it, though they threatened to break me if I didn't. What have you got to say, eh? You were one of the Whitehall lights at the time, you know."
[#] Referring to a work by one Colonel Caldwell, at the time of its writing a garrison artillery man. This masterpiece, probably in deference to the British civilian public, who at that time developed views on military matters, was for a while adopted as the text-book for officers' promotion examinations in India till saner councils prevailed, when it, and not the sword and lance, were relegated to obscurity. During the short period of its existence, however, it was successful in doing an infinity of harm. This and a somewhat similar effort by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle exemplify the folly of writing on current events till sufficient time has elapsed to allow of the mind being cleansed of purely personal impressions.
"It was a fine performance, sir, though a bit risky, don't you think?"