hundred yards, to look upon the advance from the first as a charge.

Followed by his men, he moved forward at a trot in a direction straight down the North Valley for the battery, which lay a mile and a quarter away.

VI.

But before he had ridden a hundred yards he was destined to be shocked amazed.

Before him he saw Captain Nolan, riding frantically across his front from left to right, waving his sword violently, and shouting as if he would that the whole brigade should hear him.

Lord Cardigan imagined that this audacious junior was cheering his men on. Alas! we know the young aide-de-camp's motive was altogether different. He rode right across the brigade. He saw that it had not changed its front —was not riding towards the Causeway Heights-was going down to irredeemable disaster. Already in imagination he saw, not only the utter failure of the Commander-in-Chief's plan, but the destruction of that noble body of men whom the enthusiastic hopes of his life were fixed. We can too grimly interpret his shouts now. They conveyed this dread warning-You are wrong; you are madly, hopelessly wrong! The direction in which I am riding is the right Here lie your enemies, your guns; down there is useless death!"

one.

But to Lord Cardigan all this was unintelligible. It was vile want of discipline; it was the extremity of impudence. He was just going to raise his voice in hot rebuke

The first Russian shell came and burst in front of him. As it exploded a fragment flew straight at Nolan, shattering his chest, burying itself in his heart. Down from his hand dropped the sword, but the arm remained erect, uplifted; the rider's knees still grasped the saddle; the charger, missing his master's hand, scared by the dropping reins, wheeled round and began to gallop towards the charging squadrons.

Then-from the dead man with the uplifted arm-there broke one agonising unearthly shriek-a sound that will never be forgotten by its hearers, unique and most awful amongst all the horrors of that awful ride. The corpse rode on and passed through the 13th Light Dragoons in the first line, then dropped from its saddle upon the turf.

This was the first Russian shell that met our squadrons; for, in truth, the behaviour of the Light Brigade was filling its very enemies with wild astonishment. Even the Russian private on the heights saw the stark madness of it-saw it, indeed, so clearly that it was only with difficulty he awoke to the golden opportunity thrust into his hands. Every moment those on the heights expected to be attacked, to be driven out of the redoubts they had captured. Instead of this they were in a position to fire, with an aim near and sure, straight into the masses they had feared. In fact, they were already

falling back before the anticipated charge; far better than Lord Lucan they foresaw the step which the English should take—when, incredulously, slowly -for the blunder was too monstrous to be understood-they took to their guns again.

The distance between our Light Brigade and the Heavies was momentarily increasing. Lord Lucan, indeed, whatever he had done with Lord Cardigan's squadrons, evidently intended to use his own judgment with the Heavy Brigade, which he himself accompanied "to keep his squadrons," in fact (to use his own words), "in perfect control, and halt them as soon as he found that there was no useful object to be gained."

As soon as the Light Squadrons had advanced far enough to reveal their wild purpose, there opened on them from the Causeway Heights and the Fedioukine Hills a deadly, double-flanking fire, with an efficiency that increased from moment to moment, of round-shot, grape, and rifle-bullets.

VII.

Meanwhile, straight for the battery ahead, for the cloud of smoke riven every now and again with tongues of flame, rode Lord Cardigan's brigade.

It was a ride condemned by one of the first principles of cavalry practice. To charge a battery in front, even without any added disadvantage, is a thing which all military writers have acknowledged to be beyond the fit employment of cavalry. Yet so determined was Lord Cardigan to fill up the full measure of his heroic sacrifice, that he chose out the very centre of the battery ahead and rode straight for it.

For a time the pace was steady. As a rider fell, or a horse dropped, the lines behind would open for a moment as they passed on either side and then close up again. And now so often did this happen that, to the spectators on the Chersonese upland, the alternate expansion and contraction of the lines seemed to work as regularly as if by machinery. Still the order was well maintained, though now two or three fell at each fresh moment. Faster than the seconds came the singing bullets past them to right and left, the hurling fragments of exploding shells, the twanging noise of the round-shot, and the hideous and indescribable sound with which it beds itself in the trunk of trooper or horse. And as yet they rode steadily, almost without gathering speed.

For before them was a soldier schooled to rate order above all things, and as long as by example he could, he kept the pace down. In such a strait it is natural in the bravest of the brave to wish to be through with it, to come swiftly to the grapple where at length he may let his lust of battle loose and strike. Yet when Captain White, of the 17th Lancers, anxious to get out of the murderous fire and into the guns, as being the better of the two evils, forced the pace until he came almost level with his leader, Lord Cardigan

extended his sword across the captain's breast, as a reminder that discipline must be kept in whatever circumstances.

Otherwise this grim leader on the chestnut horse made no sign. Stiff, straight, erect, he rode for the guns; and behind him the brigade never faltered, but followed blindly, doggedly, through the storm of murderous missiles. Nevertheless, the pace behind was increasing; and insensibly (for he never turned his head) the General's pace increased also. The regiments were becoming men-fierce, impatient individual riders. Now and then the troopers would dash past their officers. Nor, although it broke the order somewhat, was it under these conditions unpardonable. It was instinct; for now of the 13th Light Dragoons, Captain Oldham and Goad were dead, and Cornet Montgomery; in the 17th Lancers, Captain Winter and Lieutenant Thomson. Sir William Gordon was down, and White and Webb. But sixty at most remained of the third line.

The three regiments behind followed, but at slightly different paces. The second line, as we know, was formed of the 11th Hussars. Behind them came the third, which was originally formed of the 4th Light Dragoons and the 8th Hussars together. But in announcing the intended charge to Lord George Paget, who commanded the former regiment, Lord Cardigan had said, “I expect your best support; mind, Lord George, your best support." With this sentence in his ears, Lord George rode through the North Valley; and as he rode, Lord Cardigan's words and tone repeated themselves in his brain with gathering emphasis. Consequently, the dominant desire that went with him was rather to keep close up to the first line than to maintain his alignment with the 8th Hussars. On the other hand, Colonel Shewell, who commanded this lastmentioned regiment, resolutely kept down the pace of his men.

As a result, the three supporting regiments were soon in echelon, thus—

11th Hussars.

4th Light Dragoons.

8th Hussars.

And although, of course, they suffered far less from the battery in front, yet the flanking fire treated them even worse than it did the first line, for the men on the heights were now more fully prepared for them. And they could see, what the first line could not, the full horror of the carnage-the saddles emptied; the plunging, falling horses; and (worse yet) were compelled to witness those of the officers and men that had been wounded, yet not too effectively to be still able to crawl or drag themselves along; or the chargers rolling in their last agony, or convulsively staggering up on their fore-legs and trying to drag along their hinder quarters that, shattered and paralysed, trailed powerlessly behind.

Those of the riderless horses that were unhurt also gave trouble; for a horse in battle, though brave enough as long as a guiding hand is on its reins,

becomes a pitiable sight as soon as it misses the commanding presence of man. Suddenly all the appalling terrors of the battle-field seem to break on it; it winces, cowers, runs wildly with staring eyeballs. In such a case it seeks protection, not by wild retreat, but by ranging up in line and following the troopers. Often, too, it will piteously seek out its proper place in the ranks, and insist on pressing in. Lord George Paget, who rode a little in advance of his regiment, at one time had three or four of these riderless chargers galloping beside him and pressing in until his overalls were smeared with the blood on their flanks - blood from the

deed, all other accounts-must be indebted; for to no other historian of this century has been given at once such charm of style, combined with scrupulous care for exactness:—

"One of the most gifted." says Kinglake, "of the officers now acting with the supports was able, whilst descending into the valley, to construct and adopt such a theory of Divine governance as he judged to be the best fitted for the battle-field. Without having been hitherto accustomed to let his thoughts dwell very gravely on any such subjects of speculation, he now all at once, while he rode, encased himself, body and soul, in the iron creed of the fatalist; and connecting destiny in his mind with the inferred will of

God, defied any missile to touch him, unless it should come with the warrant of a providential and foregone decree. As soon as he had put on this armour of faith, a shot struck one of his holsters without harming him or his horse; and he was so constituted as to be able to see in this incident a confirmation of his new fatalist doctrine. Then, with something of the confidence often shown by other sectarians not engaged in a cavalry onset, he went on to determine that his, and his only, was the creed which could keep a man firm in battle. There, plainly, he erred; and, indeed, there is reason for saying that it would be ill for our cavalry regiments if their prowess were really dependent upon the adoption of any high spiritual or philosophic theory. I imagine that the great body of our cavalry people, whether officers or men, were borne forward and sustained in their path of duty by moral forces of another kindby sense of military obligation, by innate love of fighting and of danger-by the shame of disclosing weakness-by pride of nation and of race-by pride of regiment, of squadron, of troop-by personal pride; not least, by the power of that wheel-going mechanism which assigns to each man his task, and inclines him to give but short audience to distracting irrelevant thoughts."

This, at any rate, we know-for he has disclosed it himself of the leader in this race through the grim valley. Every moment he looked for death, and yet the feeling that was uppermost with him throughout was the feeling with which he began-one of consuming anger against the young aidede-camp that had dared to ride across and shout to his brigade. He had heard who could help it?-Nolan's shriek, yet somehow failed to connect it with the bursting shell. Down into the battery-smoke he carried his wrath, and on coming out from the charge his first words were of anger against this breach of discipline. General Scarlett stopped him, saying, "You nearly rode over Nolan's body."

IX.

But let us return to the brigade that is now within a few hundred yards of the battery-within the grey cloud that partially hid them from the object of their attack, the goal towards which, for more than a mile, they have been riding.

At length the leaders saw behind this veil the red brass muzzles of the guns, and the Russian artillerymen behind. By this time the regiments had been accumulating speed, and were now going at a rate that has been set down at seventeen miles an hour. The Russian gunners, on the other hand, stood firm. Aware of the immense mass of cavalry behind them, they had no intention of abandoning their post.

The moment arrived. Lord Cardigan, we have seen, had ridden all the while for the very centre of the battery, which consisted of twelve pieces of cannon. Not for one moment did he dream of halting his men as soon as he found there was no useful object to be gained." It was not his "to