ear, and several squadrons of gray-coated dragoons moved up
quickly to support them as they reached the summit. The instant they
came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warning blast
which told us all that in another moment we should see the shock of
battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and escort and
groups of officers, the Zouaves, French generals and officers, and
bodies of French infantry on the height were spectators of the scene as
though they were looking on the stage from the boxes of a theatre.
Nearly every one dismounted and sat down, and not a word was said.

The Russians advanced down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed
to a trot, and at last nearly halted. Their first line was at least
double the length of ours--it was three times as deep. Behind them was a
similar line equally strong and compact. They evidently despised their
insignificant-looking enemy: but their time was come. The trumpets rang
out again through the valley, and the Greys and the Enniskilleners went
right at the centre of the Russian cavalry. The space between them was
only a few hundred yards; it was scarcely enough to let the horses
"gather way," nor had the men quite space sufficient for the full play
of their sword-arms.

The Russian line brings forward each wing as our cavalry advance, and
threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. Turning a little to their
left so as to meet the Russian right the Greys rush on with a cheer that
thrills to every heart--the wild shout of the Enniskilleners rises
through the air at the same instant. As lightning flashes through a
cloud the Greys and Enniskilleners pierced through the dark masses of
Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There was a clash of steel and
a light play of sword-blades in the air, and then the Greys and the
Red-coats disappear in the midst of the shaken and quivering columns. In
another moment we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished
numbers and in broken order against the second line, which is advancing
against them as fast as it can to retrieve the fortune of the charge. It
was a terrible moment. "God help them! they are lost!" was the
exclamation of more than one man and the thought of many.

With unabated fire, the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. It was a
fight of heroes. The first line of Russians--which had been smashed
utterly by our charge and had fled off at one flank and towards the
centre--was comi