"The redoubts with shell they are plying; by heaven the Turks are flying! Under Cossack lance and sabre, in scores like cowards dying; Curse the slaves and never mind them, there are English hearts behind them, With British bayonets sharp and sure, and so the foe shall find them. Two deep, the gallant 93rd are formed to bear the brunt, And the Russian horse came thundering on their unshaken front: They're at six hundred paces; wait till you see their faces: Down go the rifles with a fire that empties scores of places! But on their line still dashes, when a second volley flashes, And as lightning clears a cloud, through the Russian squadrons crashes. Down, rear and van, go horse and man, the wounded with the slain! That mounted host shall count the cost ere it charge our Scots again." My party was an unarmed party, hence my keeping them out of harm's way. One column of the enemy's cavalry advanced as far as we could see to within half-a-mile of our people, who were a handful compared with the host in front of them. It was soon evident our generals were not going to stop to count them, but go at them at once. It was a most thrilling and exciting moment. As our trumpets sounded the advance, the Greys and Inniskillings moved forward at a sharp pace, and as they began to ascend the hill they broke into a charge. The pace was terrific, and with a ringing cheer and continued shouts they dashed right into the centre of the enemy's column. It was an awful crash as the glittering helmets of the boys of the Green Isle and the bearskins of the Greys dashed into the midst of levelled lances with sabres raised. The earth seemed to shake with a sound like thunder; hundreds of the enemy went down in that terrible rush. It was heavy men mounted on heavy horses, and it told a fearful tale. A number of the spectators, as our men dashed into that column, exclaimed, "They are lost! They are lost!" It was lance against sword, and at times our men became entirely lost in the midst of a forest of lances. But they cut their way right through, as if they had been riding over a lot of donkeys. A shout of joy burst from us and the French, who were spectators, as our men came out of the column. It was an uphill fight of three hundred Britons against five thousand Muscovites. Fresh columns of squadrons closed around this noble band, with a view of crushing them; but help was now close at hand. With another terrible crash, and with a shout truly English, in went the Royal Dragoons on one flank of the column; and with thrilling shouts of "Faugh-a-Ballagh," the Royal Irish buried themselves in a forest of lances on the other. Then came thundering on the Green Horse (5th Dragoon Guards), and rode straight at the centre of the enemy's column. The Russians must have had a bad time of it. At a distance, it was