Keene had been under fire oftener than most there, and his practiced eye took in and appreciated every item of the peril; nevertheless, his brow cleared, and all his face lighted up strangely.
“What did I tell you, young one?” he said to the man who had addressed him just before; “it will be warmer work than the old Phœnix field-days; but one comfort is, it won’t last so long.”
Before the words were fairly uttered the trumpets rang out; and with a gayer laugh on his lip than it had worn for many a day, the Cool Captain led his squadron gallantly into Aceldama.
We will not describe the charge. Enthusiasts are not wanting who would rather have ridden in it than have won the highest distinction to which civilians can aspire. Who dares to object that it was not ultimately successful? Such a taunt has never been weighed in the balance against the glories of Thermopylæ. I frequently meet in society one of the Paladins of that fatal Roncesvalles. In private life he has few peculiarities, except a tendency to engage in each and every game of chance, and a perfect monomania for waltzing. Yet I regard him with an immense respect and reverence, that the object of the feeling would be the last to understand. I think of the awful peril out of which the delicate, feminine face has come without a scar; and I protest I would no more dream of speaking to him angrily or slightingly, than I would venture to discourse about the Derby to the Bishop of O——, or to offer to that dignified prelate the current odds against the favorite. Rely upon it, in many homes of England (if the 64 Manchestrians leave them standing) there will be one family portrait that our children will most delight to honor. Pointing out to strangers the crowning glory of their house, they will pass by grave effigies of lawyers, ecclesiastics, and statesmen, and pause opposite to a martial figure, dressed in the uniform of a light dragoon. All his ancestors shall give precedence to the simple soldier, who rode that day in the van of the Six Hundred.
Yes, we will leave that charge alone. The most hackneyed of professional littérateurs might shrink from sitting down to his writing-desk, to make merchandise of such a “deed of derring-do.” Nevertheless, Royston Keene bore his part in it manfully; and the troopers talk yet of the feats of skill and strength wrought by his sabre.
The immunity from dangers of shot and steel for which he had been always remarkable, did not seem to have deserted him; for he had come out of the batteries without a scratch, and had fought his way through more than one knot and peloton of the enemy, with no scathe beyond a slight flesh-wound. In one of these encounters he had got separated from such remnants of his squadron as still held together (you know even regiments lost their unity in that terrible mêlée), the only man who still kept near him was his covering-sergeant. All this while the fire from the Russian guns on the hill-side grew heavier and heavier, while the cruel grape-shot ripped through the mingled masses of friends and foes: making sudden, unsightly gaps here and there, just as may be seen in a field of ripe corn “laid” by the lashing hail. The good horse on which Keene was mounted had not been out from England long enough to suffer materially in wind or limb; he was in very fair condition, and had carried his master splendidly so far, with equal luck in escaping any serious injury. Five hundred yards more would have placed them in safety, within the position where the Heavy Brigade was already moving up to cover the retreat of their comrades, when the Templar, going at top-speed, pitched suddenly forward, as a ship does when she founders; and, after rolling once half over his rider, lay still, with limbs just faintly quivering. Two grape-shot, making one wound, had crashed right into his chest and through the heart.
His covering-sergeant was within three lengths of Royston when the latter went down: he pulled up and sprang down instantly, and was by his officer’s side in a second, trying to extricate him.
“Hold up, Major,” he said cheerily; “that’s nothing. Take my horse. He’ll carry you in; and I can manage well enough.”
The strong soldier reeled, from sheer weakness, as he was speaking; for the blood was spouting in dark-red jets from a ghastly cut in his bridle arm: yet he seemed to see nothing in his offer but a simple act of duty; though men have won a place in history for meaner self-sacrifice. One of the most remarkable peculiarities about the Cool Captain was the hold he maintained over the affections and impulses of those with whom he was brought in contact, without any visible reason for such influence. He was the strictest possible disciplinarian; and his demeanor toward his subordinates was consistently dictatorial; yet the present case was only one instance of the enthusiasm with which they regarded him.
Keene looked up at the speaker wistfully, from where he lay; and his face softened in its set sternness.