"I am sixty-one years old,
but if I were young I should be proud to be in your ranks!"
"What luck those Heavies have!" shouted another and a bitterly
discontented spectator of their prowess.
It was Lord Cardigan who, at the head of the Light Brigade, sat still
in his saddle, looking on.
Yet it was no one's fault but his own that he had not been also
engaged. His men were within striking distance; they were bound,
moreover, by the clearest canons of the military art to throw their
weight upon the exposed flank of the discomfited foe.
But Lord Cardigan had strangely--obstinately, indeed--misunderstood
his orders, and, although chafing angrily at inaction, conceived that
it was his bounden but distasteful duty to halt where he was.
"Why don't he let us loose at them? Was there ever such a chance?"
muttered Hugo Wilders, audibly, and within earshot of his chief. He
was again riding as extra aide to Lord Cardigan, who turned fiercely
on the speaker.
"How dare you, sir, question my conduct? You shall answer for your
insubordination--"
"Let me implore you, my lord, to advance," said another voice,
entreating earnestly, that of Captain Morris, a cavalry officer who
knew war well, and who was, for the moment, in command of a
magnificent regiment of Lancers.
"It is not your business to give me advice," replied the general,
haughtily.
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