The Three Commanders

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Onward it advanced, as if about to descend into the South Valley. Now was the Russian general’s opportunity. As far as he could then see, he had only a weak battery and six hundred infantry opposed to his enormous band of horsemen. By making a sudden dash across the valley he might annihilate the 93rd before the still distant infantry of the allies could come to Sir Colin’s relief.

“Matters look serious,” observed Jack. “We can scarcely dare to hope that the Highlanders will be able to withstand the charge of that prodigious body of cavalry; and if they give way, the Russians will quickly be into Balaclava. We ought to be on board to fight the ship or to get her out of the harbour, though I don’t like to leave the ground while there is the chance of a turn in the state of affairs.”

“They’ll not venture on it,” answered his friend. “See! see!”

As he spoke, the cavalry halted on the side of the hill to the east of Number 5 redoubt. The Russian commander had indeed some reason to hesitate, for, besides the English battery posted in his front on the side of Kadikoi, which would play upon him as he advanced, he might have seen the leading files of a French column appearing through the Col, and which might, before he could overthrow the little band of Highlanders, attack him on the flank.

Just then also Jack distinguished, coming round from the north end of the ridge, several squadrons of English dragoons, their burnished helmets and breastplates glittering brightly in the rays of the sun. These were the Scots Greys, the Inniskillings, and two regiments of Dragoon Guards. They moved along at some distance from each other, riding carelessly, as if not aware of the near vicinity of the enemy. The rough nature of the ground had hitherto hidden the Russians from their view, and prevented the latter from seeing them. Scarcely, however, had their leaders caught sight of the foe than their decision was made. While one party came between the two cavalry camps, the larger body formed up to the north of the light cavalry camp, directly in front of the head of the Russian squadron.

“I do believe our cavalry are going to attack the Russians!” exclaimed Jack.

“No doubt about it,” answered his friend. “That is General Scarlett at their head, with his aide-de-camp—and see, that must be Lord Lucan who has ridden up to him.”

What was to be done could only be judged by the movements of the squadrons. About three hundred British horsemen, composed of Inniskillings and Scots Greys, were forming in line with as much care as if they were on parade. Another body of cavalry, the Dragoon Guards, were moving to the right; while two others farther off, also Dragoon Guards and Royals, formed more to the north. The arrangements were speedily made. Lord Lucan came galloping back towards the Inniskillings; and General Scarlett, accompanied by three other persons on horseback, was seen to place himself at the head of the Scots Greys and a squadron of the Inniskillings. The enemy’s cavalry had now halted on the slope of the hill. General Scarlett giving the order to advance, his sword glittering in the rays of the sun, he, with his three companions, dashed forward, followed by the gallant troop of cavalry, their horses’ hoofs shaking the ground as they rushed towards the enormous body of Russians.

“They must be swallowed up and annihilated,” exclaimed one of Jack’s companions.

“They have no intention of letting the Russians do that to them,” answered Jack; “though I fear the general and his comrades will be cut to pieces before the rest of the men overtake them.”