They were travelling into the very jaws of death, as it seemed.
Progress was slow, and hindered by many vexatious obstacles--low walls
and brushwood, ruined cottages, and many dangerous pitfalls on the
vine-clad slopes--obstacles that forbade all speed, yet gave no cover
from the pitiless fire that searched every corner, and mowed men down
like grass.
Casualties were terribly numerous; yet still the line, undaunted but
with sadly decreasing numbers, kept on its perilous way. Presently,
having won through the broken ground, a new barrier interposed. They
came upon the rapid river, rushing between steep banks, and deep
enough to drown all who risked the fords. But there was no pause or
hesitation; the men plunged bravely into the water, and, battling
with the torrent, crossed, not without difficulty and serious loss.
Colonel Blythe, with the Royal Picts, was one of the first men over.
He rode a snow-white charger, which he put bravely at the steep bank,
and clambered up with the coolness of one who rode well to hounds. He
gained the top, and served as a rallying-point for the shattered
remnant of his regiment, which there quickly re-formed with as much
coolness and fastidious nicety as on a barrack-square at home.
They were under shelter here, and, pausing to recover breath, could
look round and watch how the fight fared towards the left.
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