He saw old Scarlett haranguing his men, and then with a roar--he knew just how they felt!--like starving tigers loosed at last on long-desired prey--the Greys and Enniskillens dashed at them and through them, and wheeled, and through again, first line, second line, and out at the rear. And then, as the broken first line gathered itself again to swallow the tigers, the rest of the Heavies, the Royals, and Dragoons shot out like a bolt and scattered them to the winds.
And Jim and all about him yelled and cheered in a frenzy--but down below it all was a bitter sense of regret at being out of it. Truly it seemed as though malignant fate had the Light Brigade on her black books and was bent on defrauding them of their rightful chances.
By this time the allied troops were coming up from their distant camps, and the rout of the Russian horse enabled them to take up their positions in the valley.
It looked like being a pitched battle. All hearts beat high, and none higher than those of the Hussars and Light Dragoons. Their chance might come after all. They twitched in their saddles. Give them only half a chance and they would show the world what was in them.
And it came.
Messengers sped in haste to and from the Chief, on the heights above, to the various commanders down below. And then came young Nolan of the 15th, Lord Raglan's own aide, his horse in a white sweat, himself aflame.
He spoke hurriedly to Lord Lucan, and Jim saw his lordship's eyebrows lift in astonishment. He seemed to question the order given.
Nolan waved a vehement arm towards the Russians. Lord Lucan spoke to Lord Cardigan, and his brows too went up. Every tense soul among them, whose eyes could see what was passing, watched as if his life depended on the outcome.
Then in a moment the word rang out, and they were off.
Where? He had not the remotest idea nor the slightest care. Enough for him that they were off and that they meant business.