he attitude of the Russians was so
menacing that it seemed unlikely we could stay their onward progress.

For the moment no troops could be interposed but the British
cavalry--the two brigades, Light and Heavy--which had their encampment
in the plain, and had been under arms, commanded by Lord Lucan, since
daybreak.

"We must have up the First and Fourth Divisions," Lord Raglan had
said, when he arrived on the battle-field soon after eight in the
morning; at first he had treated the news of the Russian advance
lightly. Many such moves had been reported on previous days, and all
had ended in nothing. "Let the Duke of Cambridge and Sir George
Cathcart have their orders at once. We must trust to the cavalry till
the infantry come up. Tell Scarlett to support the Turks."

But the Turks had given way before General Scarlett could stiffen
their courage, and as his brigade, that of heavy cavalry, trotted
towards the redoubts, other and more stirring work offered itself. The
head of a great column of Russian horse, three thousand sabres, came
over the crest of the hill and invited attack.

Scarlett saw his opportunity, and, with true soldierly promptitude,
seized it. He wheeled his squadrons into line and charged. Three went
against the front, five against the right flank, one against the left.

The intrepid "Heavies," outnumbered fivefold, dashed forward at a hand
gallop, and were soon swallowed up in the solid mass. But it could not
digest the terrible dose. Just eight minutes more and the Russian
column wavered, broke, and turned.

It was a fine feat of arms, richly meriting its meed of praise.

"Well done! well done!" was the message that came direct from Lord
Raglan, on the hills above.

"Greys! Gallant Greys!" cried Sir Colin Campbell, galloping up to one
of the regiments that had made this charge. "I am sixty-one years old,
but if I were young I should be proud to be in your ranks!"

"What luck those Heavies have!" shouted another and a bitterly
discontented spectator of their prowess.

It was Lord Cardigan who, at the head of the Light Brigade, sat still
in his saddle, looking on.

Yet it was no one's fault but his own that he had not been also
engaged. His men were within striking distance; they were bound,
moreover, by the clearest canons of the military art to throw their
weight upon the exposed flank of the discomfited foe.

But Lord Cardigan had strangely--obstinately, indeed--misunderstood
his order