A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean WarBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
General
A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
Crimean War, 1853-1856 -- Juvenile fiction
"The columns to right and left I must leave to themselves," he said
hurriedly. "In any case they will march on and overlap me. But the
central column is the biggest and most important, and, therefore, I will
concentrate all my fire upon it. Pass the word along there for the men
to close," he shouted. Then, turning to his sergeant, he said: "Hurry
back to the camp at once and warn them that three Russian columns are
advancing. Say I will hold them in check as long as possible."
Saluting hurriedly, the sergeant turned and ran back towards the
barrier, leaving Phil and his handful of men face to face with the
Russians.
Nothing daunted, and well knowing that much depended upon his exertions,
for a long delay would enable the Second Division to get under arms and
take up good positions, Phil concentrated his men, and with a rapid
order formed them into line, the ends of which he swung backwards till
they were in a semicircular formation.
"Now," he said, standing in front of them with rifle at the slope over
his shoulder, "about turn; retire ten yards, and when you are well in
among the bushes, lie down and wait for the order to fire."
Steadied by the example of coolness and determination shown them, the
outpost-party swung about and retired into a thick belt of scrub, which,
with the aid of the dense morning mist and numerous boulders, completely
hid them. Each man at once threw himself upon the ground and waited,
with rifle resting upon a stone.
Standing in their midst, Phil directed the greater part to pour their
volleys into the central column, while a few files on the flanks engaged
those on either side. Tingling with excitement, and filled with dogged
determination to harass the Russians to the last, the men levelled their
rifles and waited eagerly for the word.
And as they waited, the tramp of thousands of feet grew nearer and still
nearer, while the low and buzzing hiss of excitement, which Russian
soldiery indulge in when about to attack, seemed already to have passed
beyond them. Suddenly, however, a puff of wind blew the mist away in
long trailing flakes, and the central column appeared, marching at a
rapid pace, and already within thirty yards of the outpost. Almost at
the same moment the lateral columns came into sight, but separated by a
little wider interval.
"Fire!" cried Phil in a loud voice.
Instantly a rattling volley was poured into the dense masses of men, who
came to an abrupt halt, while confusion and alarm spread through their
ranks. Then officers rushed to the front, sword in hand, and called
upon them to charge.
Flash! Another volley was poured into the struggling ranks, and men
were seen to drop on either side.
Bending down so that the scrub just concealed them, Phil and his men
rapidly reloaded, and had emptied their rifles again before the mist
fell once more and hid the enemy from sight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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