Berkeley, who was nervously busy with his powerful racing-glass, muttered—
"I see an officer on a white horse. By Jove! a doocid swell—aw, aw—all over decorations."
After using my own telescope, I exclaimed—
"He is the same fellow we released in the evening after the Alma, when Bolton came up with orders for the cavalry to fall back and abandon prisoners. I know him by his grim visage and enormous white moustache."
"Aw—aw—a general officer, I take him to be."
"Now, lads," said I, "be steady. I think I saw the glitter of a bayonet among that brushwood in front. There may be an ambush prepared thereabout, and into that we must not fall."
I could not help thinking how useful a few hand-grenades would have been on this occasion, as they would soon have solved our doubts.
To have fallen back would have served only to draw their fire upon us instantly, if any men were concealed there.
"Follow me, lads!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Berkeley, keep the rear rank men in their places."
"Captain Norcliff, asthore!" cried Lanty O'Regan, shaking his lance, "lead the way, and, be me troth, we'll ride through the whole rookawn o' them Roosians!"