Barely half an hour had sufficed for the annihilation of nearly six
hundred soldiers, the flower of the British Light Horse. The northern
valley was like a shambles, strewn with the dead and dying, while all
about galloped riderless horses, and dismounted troopers seeking to
regain their lines on foot. Quite half of the whole force had been
struck down, among the rest Hugo Wilders, whose forehead a grape-shot
had pierced.
The muster of regiments after such a fight was but a mournful
ceremony. When at length the now decimated line was re-formed, the
horror of the action was plainly seen.
"It was a mad-brained trick," said Lord Cardigan, who had marvellously
escaped--"a monstrous blunder, but it was no fault of mine."
"Never mind, my lord!" cried many gallant spirits. "We are ready to
charge again!"
"No, no, men," replied Lord Cardigan, hastily; "you have done enough."
It was at this moment that Lord Raglan rode up, and angrily called
Lord Cardigan to account.
"What did you mean, sir, by attacking guns in front with cavalry,
contrary to the usages of war?"
"You must not blame me, my lord," replied Lord Cardigan. "I only
obeyed the orders of my superior officer," and he pointed to Lord
Lucan, whom Lord Raglan then addressed with the severe reproof--
"You have sacrificed the Light Brigade, Lord Lucan.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146