And such a charge!
It was a scene that Lord Raglan could not have forgotten till his dying day. Here was in reality the very romance of war itself. Nothing was wanting in effect or colour—our prancing horses, the splendid uniforms of the troopers, the lightning glitter of sabres, and the thunder of the charging feet. On and on they dash; and now foe meets foe, and every horseman becomes the single centre of crowds of the enemy. But, apart from this front and terrible pell-mell charge, behold the 4th Dragoons—held back for a time—gallop thundering up now and attack the enemy's flank.
What Russian force can stand it? What can the enemy do but turn and fly? And in less time than it takes me to tell it, they have swept back over the slope whence they had come, leaving the ground flecked with their bleeding dead and wounded.
* * * * *
In the next tableau of this eventful battle Llewellyn's regiment took part; for during the charge of the Heavy Brigade, some squadrons of the Russian cavalry made straight for the entrance to the harbour.
They reckoned without their host for once in a way. That host was Sir Colin himself, with the 93rd Highlanders, who were lying down concealed behind a slope.
"Ah! it is one thing," said Grant, "for these grey-backs to send a parcel of slatternly old Turks down from their heights harbour-way here; let them come down this way themselves."
"Look, then," cried Llewellyn; "here they come!"
Nearer and nearer thundered the Russian horse. Then at the word of command up sprang the wild Highlanders and showed their tartans and plumes on the hillock.
Next moment the whole regiment would have charged, and probably been cut up. But the shout from their leader quelled them at once.