The enemy had regained
heart; emboldened by the constant influx of reinforcements, and the
inactivity of the allies, he had grown audacious, and was ready to try
a vigorous offensive. A blow well aimed at our communications and
delivered with intention might drive us back on our ships, perhaps
into the sea.
McKay had passed the night at Balaclava. The transport with the
knapsacks was not yet in port, and he was loth to return to camp
empty-handed. But next morning, soon after daylight, news came back
to the little seaside town that another battle was imminent, on the
plains outside.
The handful of Royal Picts were promptly mustered by their young
commander, and marched in the direction of the firing, which was
already heard, hot and heavy, towards the east.
As they left Balaclava, they encountered a crowd of Turkish soldiers
in full flight, making madly for the haven, and shouting, "Ship!
ship!" as they ran. McKay, gathering from this stampede that already
some serious conflict had begun, hurried forward to where he found a
line of red-coats drawn up behind a narrow ridge which barred the
approaches to Balaclava.
This was the famous 93rd, in its now historic formation--another "Thin
Red Line," which received undaunted, and only two deep, the onslaught
of the Russian horse.
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