The Gold Seekers (43 page)

Finally, with Lord Lucan returned and at their head, the Heavy Cavalry Brigade rode out of camp, advancing along the valley to positions below and to the right of Canrobert’s Hill. Lord George Paget led the Light Brigade after them, bringing them to a halt below Redoubts Three and Four on the causeway, which were still occupied by the Turks and putting up at least a show of resistance.

The two troops of horse artillery were giving them what support they could, William saw, but were themselves coming under withering fire, their six-and

nine-pounder guns no match for the enemy twelve-pounder fieldpieces with which they found themselves engaged. After a while they received the signal to withdraw to extreme range, but as they

limbered up, a Russian shell exploded in their midst, killing or wounding a number of men and horses. In spite of this, they completed their withdrawal, covered by two squadrons of the North British Dragoons—the Greys—and having sent their wounded to the rear, they once again resumed firing.

Still the Russian infantry came on, slowly and inexorably, flanked by two large bodies of cavalry. They were not deceived by Lord Lucan’s feint. The order came for both British cavalry brigades to fall back, and as this was obeyed, the Turks in all save one of the redoubts, believing themselves abandoned and about to be sacrificed, beat a hasty and disorganized retreat. Those in Number Four, however, still held out, delivering a rapid and accurate fire into Number Three as the Russians entered it, then bravely disputing possession of their own redoubt until a bayonet charge, in overwhelming numbers, sent them rushing for safety, pursued, as before, by Cossack lancers. But they were made of sterner stuff than their comrades, and William joined the cheers as a handful of them fought off their pursuers and found sanctuary across the narrow valley, in the ranks of Sir Colin Campbell’s Highlanders.

At this juncture, Lord Cardigan made his belated appearance. William had held no brief for him when he had commanded the 11th Hussars, but as he rode up on his big chestnut charger to take his place at the head of the Light Brigade, the men raised a cheer, in which, for all his personal reservations, William found himself also joining.

Certainly James Thomas Brudenell, seventh Earl of Cardigan, made an impressive figure. Long legs encased in the cherry-colored overalls he had chosen for the regiment when he had been their colonel, he sat bolt upright in his saddle, his blue, fur-trimmed pelisse swinging from his shoulders, and his head, in its crimson and white plumed busby, held arrogantly high as he fired rapid questions at Lord George Paget concerning the position and the orders he had been given. It was evident from his scowl and the tone of his voice that he did not like the replies he received from his second-in-command, and he gestured angrily toward the redoubts that the Turks had abandoned; but when an aide-de-camp galloped up to deliver a second order from Lord Lucan to fall back, he obeyed it. Both cavalry brigades were now within musket range of the Russians occupying the redoubts, so that a withdrawal was necessary if casualties were to be avoided.

For all that, William could hear the men about him expressing their dissatisfaction at the move, and when their withdrawal brought them into their own 93rd’s line of fire, even the officers began to voice their anger. Yet Lord Lucan, after a hasty consultation with Sir Colin Campbell, led them still farther back, until they were finally halted in front of their campsite in the South Valley.

“In God’s name!” a youthful cornet exclaimed, his voice shaking. “Are we to abandon the Ninety-third as we abandoned the wretched Turks? If the enemy cavalry attack them, what chance will they have?” Other voices echoed his dismay.

“Lord Look-on is playing his usual role, isn’t he? Avoiding battle, the devil take him!”

“The infernal Russians were a stone’s throw away, and we had to retreat from them!”

“I suppose he’s waiting for infantry support from the damned upland, so that the foot sloggers can fight our battles for us. Well, it will be hours before they get here, and by that time God knows what will have happened!”

But for all his own disappointment because the chance of action had again been denied, William, looking about him with experienced eyes, recognized that strategically the move was a wise one. Posted as they were, facing the slopes of the Causeway Heights, the cavalry division was in a position from which—should Sir Colin Campbell’s force fail to hold the expected Russian attack—they could launch a counterattack on the enemy’s flank. He tried to say this but was met with scorn. Lieutenant Alexander Dunn, with whom he had been on terms of close friendship since joining the 11th, observed cynically, “Such tactics may have succeeded against the Sikhs, Will—I don’t doubt they did—but the Russians are a different breed, you know. They attack en masse and don’t give a damn how many men they lose—you saw them at the

Alma. And quite apart from anything else, my dear fellow, I’ve always believed that attack is the best form of defense.” William shrugged and did not argue. Their withdrawal down the full length of the South Valley had been well handled, their retreat by alternate regiments in accordance with accepted cavalry tactics, but it had been a retreat, and the vital Woronzoff Road along the causeway was now in the hands of the enemy, with only Sir Colin Campbell’s Highlanders and the marine gunners to dispute possession of the port of Balaclava. If the Russians passed Kadikoi, then … “I wonder …” It was the young cornet who had spoken so emotionally a few moments ago. “I wonder what Captain Nolan is making of our craven maneuvers. He’ll be up there on the Sapoune Ridge with Lord Raglan and his staff, and they’ll see everything from there, right over our heads!”

The 11ths commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Douglas, silenced the angry boy with a frigid glance. But the cornet was right, William thought wryly. From the lofty vantage point of his command post on the Sapoune Ridge of the upland, Lord Raglan was able to overlook both the North and South valleys, spread out like a relief map six hundred feet below him—he had seen that for himself when he had ridden up there and made his sketch. And Nolan would be there, with the rest of the British staff, doing duty as aide to General Airey, the quartermaster general and chief of staff. Edward Nolan, who had stoutly maintained that British light cavalry was invincible when properly commanded… . William’s mouth tightened. What, he wondered despairingly, was Lucan intending to do?

Colonel Douglas rode forward to speak to Lord Cardigan and, on his return, announced flatly, “Gentlemen, the order to position the cavalry division here came from the commander in chief, but his orders, unfortunately, owing to the distance they must come, are taking upward of half an hour to reach us. I understand that we are instructed to cover Sir Colin Campbell’s left flank and await the support of infantry, which has been ordered to advance on two fronts.”

His announcement was greeted with groans and glum faces, but no one spoke until Lieutenant Palmer exclaimed suddenly, “My God, look! Enemy cavalry—advancing in strength on the Ninety-third’s position!”

His hand was shaking as he pointed, and with a sinking heart William saw that a body of Russian cavalry, some six hundred or seven hundred strong, was starting to move down the causeway slope in the direction of the hillock behind which the two thin lines of Highlanders crouched waiting, as yet unseen. So they had lain all night, he knew, wrapped in their plaids and greatcoats, their muskets beside them… . He drew in his breath as an aide on a lathered horse galloped up to where Lord Lucan was positioned.

That he had brought another order from Lord Raglan became apparent when Lord Lucan, his face like thunder, signaled the division to commence a further withdrawal. This was accomplished, officers and men protesting loudly now, until, reaching the foot of the Sapoune Ridge, the two brigades turned in line to find themselves facing east, looking out along the South Valley.

“Well, this passes my comprehension,” Alexander Dunn confessed bitterly. “If Sir Colin’s fellows cannot hold, then Balaclava is lost. The poor devils of Highlanders will be overwhelmed, and we are precluded from going to their aid.”

But to the heartfelt relief of the watching British cavalry division, the 93rd held. The approaching enemy horsemen advanced at a brisk trot, without scouts or skirmishers, clearly supposing that they were faced with no opposition and that, save for the marine guns at the head of the gorge, the way to Balaclava was clear. Then, as the jingling line of lancers came within musket range, the Highlanders rose as one man to their feet, to stand with bayonets fixed to oppose them. To the Russians, William thought, his spyglass to his eye, the redcoated soldiers, with their towering feather bonnets and the menacing steel-tipped muskets, must have appeared to have materialized out of the ground. The first volley of musketry abruptly halted the Russian advance, and they seemed for a moment to be about to retreat; but then they rallied, and half-hidden from his gaze by eddying gun smoke, the whole force gathered speed and thundered once more into the attack, only to be met by a second volley. By

the time the gun smoke cleared, the Russians were seen to be withdrawing, the Highlanders and the marine gunners firing into their retreating backs.

As word of their defeat was passed from man to man, the British cavalry broke into cheers, their own frustration temporarily forgotten.

“They’ve done it—God be thanked, the brave fellows have done it!” Palmer cried, a catch in his voice. “They’ve saved Balaclava!”

“With no help from us,” Dunn reminded him as the cheering faded. “But look—” His tone was suddenly harsh. “Some of the Heavies are being sent into action—see them, Will? Now, what in the world can that portend? And for the Lord’s sake, isn’t that General Scarlett going with them?” It was, William registered. Led by their brigadier, several squadrons were detached from the Heavy Brigade, and with the gray horses of the North British Dragoons in the van, they set off in the direction of Kadikoi. “Belated aid for the Ninety-third?” he suggested. “Perhaps.” Dunn was frowning. “I wonder where in hell the rest of the Russian cavalry has got to? There were several thousand of them when we first caught sight of them earlier, covering the infantry’s attack on the redoubts. But only about seven hundred tested the Highlanders. Hard to tell at this distance, I know, but they looked to me like a single regiment of lancers—and now they’ve vanished. What are they up to, do you suppose?”

William considered the question. “I’m damned if I know,” he admitted. “But—” His gaze went to the wide, undulating ridge of the Causeway Heights. “Since we lost the redoubts, they would meet with no opposition if they crossed the Woronzoff Road and entered the North Valley. That’s what I would do if I were commanding them. They would have a clear field, and—” Struck by a sudden, alarming realization, he put his glass to his eye. “Lord Raglan could have sent Scarlett’s squadrons into trouble, if that’s where they are, Alex. The order came from him, did it not?”

“Y-yes. But our view is obscured by the causeway—Lord Raglan’s is not. If the Russian cavalry have entered the North Valley, he’ll have seen them. Besides—” Alexander Dunn broke off, his frown returning. “Heavens, though, I was forgetting—his orders are taking more than half an hour to reach us! So that—”

“Quite,” William put in grimly. “But General Scarlett is no fool—he’s seen the possibility. Look, those are the two Indian aides attached to him: Colonel Beatson and what’s his name—Elliott. He’s sent them up to the causeway to reconnoiter.”

He had his glass on the two horsemen, watched them breast the southern slope of the causeway, and then saw them pause and, wheeling their mounts almost in unison, gallop back to where Scarlett waited. A massive column of Russian horsemen appeared over the crest barely a minute later, and beside him Dunn breathed a startled oath.

“God in heaven, you were right, Will! There they are!”

A second column followed the first, and both started to descend the slope. The sight was at once imposing and alarming, although it was evident, from the way they rode and the fact that they had no scouts on either flank, that the Russian commander did not suspect the proximity of the British cavalry, any more than Scarlett, until that moment, had suspected theirs.

They trotted downhill in two lines, the light blue uniforms and splendid horses identifying the two leading regiments as hussars—the cream of the Russian cavalry. William watched them, his stomach churning. The last vestige of mist had dispersed, and the sun drew glittering reflections from weapons and accoutrements as the great mass came steadily on. There were, as nearly as he could judge, between three and four thousand of them; below, even now passing through the tents and horse lines of their own camp, were a scant five hundred British dragoons, quite unprepared to receive an attack from so overwhelming a force.

From the distance that separated them, William could not see the expression on General Scarlett’s face, even with the aid of his glass, but he saw Lucan’s, as the divisional commander shouted an order to Lord Cardigan.

“The Light Brigade is to be held in reserve! I shall order General Scarlett to charge them with the Heavy Brigade. Do you understand, Cardigan?”

Cardigan lifted his hand in acknowledgment, and Lucan galloped over to where Scarlett, anticipating his order, had wheeled his squadrons into line facing the causeway, halfway down which the Russians had halted. The Heavy Brigade’s other squadrons were hurrying to join their comrades, and as Lord Cardigan led the Light Brigade to take up position on the flank, William saw that Scarlett’s officers, their backs turned to the enemy, were sitting their horses as if preparing for a peacetime review, meticulously completing the dressing of their ranks.

The Russians also started to change their formation, seeming in no haste to descend from the commanding position they occupied on the slope. The Heavies, William thought apprehensively, outnumbered as they were, would suffer the added disadvantage of having to charge uphill. After what appeared to be a heated altercation between Lord Lucan and General Scarlett, a trumpeter sounded the charge, in obedience to an order from Lucan.