"Ninety-third! Ninety-third!" cried Sir Colin; "hang all such eagerness! Stand fast! Fire!"
There was a rattling volley. The Russian squadron was checked, but attempted now to outflank Sir Colin.
But that hero quickly placed his grenadiers round, and again the squadron paused, and finally fled.
It takes greater bravery and pluck to wait inactive on hillside or in wood for the advance of a foe than it does to repel a charge. If ever soldiers are really frightened, it is while waiting thus. But in the 93rd Regiment there was none of this excessive nervousness. In their broad Doric they laughed and chaffed, as they used to at night when safe in camp. And when the Turks came flying harbourwards in despair, and a few of them rushed into the camp of the Highlanders, a scene took place that caused every officer and man in this gallant regiment to laugh aloud. For, thinking that these men were about to pillage the camp, out from one of the tents, porridge-stick in hand, rushed a tall and powerful Highlander's wife.
She laid about her right and left. Like Roderick Dhu, she
"Showered her blows like wintry rain."
Whack, whack, whack rang the blows; and the woman's tongue was by no means idle the while. Whack, whack. "De'il rot ye, for a lot o' rievin' rascals. You'll no come here to steal while oor gudemen's awa."
"Kokona! kokona!"* cried the Turks. "Mercy, mercy!"
* Lady, lady.
"Bravo, Betty!" shouted a soldier. "Let them tak that, as they can tak no snuff."