ile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justified by honour;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.

Burns

BALAKLAVA

The cavalry who have been pursuing the Turks on the right are coming up
to the ridge beneath us, which conceals our cavalry from view. The heavy
brigade in advance is drawn up in two lines. The light cavalry brigade
is on their left, in two lines also. The silence is oppressive: between
the cannon bursts one can hear the champing of bits and the clink of
sabres in the valley below.

The Russians on their left drew breath for a moment and then in one
grand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their
horses' feet. Gathering speed at every stride they dash on towards that
thin red streak topped with a line of steel. The Turks fire a volley at
eight hundred yards and run. As the Russians come within six hundred
yards, down goes that line of steel in front, and out rings a rolling
volley of Minie musketry. The distance is too great: the Russians are
not checked, but still sweep onward through the smoke with the whole
force of horse and man, here and there knocked over by the shot of our
batteries above. With breathless suspense everyone awaits the bursting
of the wave upon the line of Gaelic rock, but ere they come within a
hundred and fifty yards another deadly volley flashes from the levelled
rifles and carries death and terror into the Russians. They wheel about,
open files right and left, and fly back faster than they came. "Bravo,
Highlanders! well done!" shout the excited spectators.

But events thicken. The Highlanders and their splendid front are soon
forgotten; men scarcely have a moment to think of this fact, that they
never altered their formation to receive that tide of horsemen. "No,"
said Sir Colin Campbell, "I did not think it worth while to form them
even four deep!" The ordinary British line, two deep, was quite
sufficient to repel the attack of these Muscovite cavaliers.

Our eyes were, however, turned in a moment on our own cavalry. We saw
Brigadier-General Scarlett ride along in front of his massive squadrons.
The Russians, evidently _corps d'elite_, their light blue jackets
embroidered with silver lace, were advancing on their left at an easy
gallop towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in
their r