And up we go.
From the bridge over the Alma, for about a mile and a half, there now stretched all along that thin red line of mostly two deep that so astonished the Russians and eventually led to victory.
Where all fought so well it is almost unfair to say which was the bravest part of the line. But the Russians fought like furies, too; markedly the Vladimir and Kazan columns, with which our Guards had most to do in this second struggle for Kourgané Hill and victory. But you and I, reader, are with the Highlanders, and we want no braver companions.
See, Sir Colin rides forward quickly and alone to reconnoitre. Terrible seems the odds against him. He is upon a ridge abreast of the now empty redoubt, from which the enemy had fled. Bullets whiz and ping around him. Twice is his horse struck, but falls not. He quickly takes in the situation, and is in a position to lead his troops to the best advantage up that formidable hill.
It is to the Black Watch that Sir Colin shouts, "We'll have nane but Highland bonnets here." We of the 93rd are more impetuous. Wildly so. Hark how our slogans ring over the field! We feel nothing but a burning desire to be breast to breast with the foe.
And yet the odds is terrible.
With three battalions Sir Colin is to meet and fight no less than twelve. Our battalions, however, are in line; those of the enemy are massed together in five columns. We are Highlanders; they are Russians. No, no; we do not despise our enemies, they are men of solid, ay and stolid courage, but—
The 42nd he allowed to attack two columns by itself, unaided; in the hollow, too, betwixt him and the hill, he himself being at its head.
It is a critical moment now, for a column of Russians of great strength comes marching on, evidently with the intention to attack the 42nd's flank. Then just as he is preparing to receive it with a front of five companies, the 93rd come wildly charging to the crest. This is a regiment of regiments in the Crimea, filled with dare-devils from regiments left at home, who desire to see war and fighting at its best or worst. It is under the fire of the advancing column. Hardly is it dressed up, hardly in formation; and hence the danger. It may hurl itself on this steady, strong column, and literally be dashed to pieces like a ship that strikes a rock. Sir Colin is quick to see the peril, and gallops on towards us. His voice can check an assault as surely as it can lead one, so perfect is the trust his Highlanders put in him; and so the regiment soon recovers its disordered formation, and once more moves on.
Colin's horse is again shot now, and gently slides down beneath him—dead. Poor horse! But once more our hero is mounted.