Lord Cardigan looked angrily at the aide-de-camp; and Captain Norreys, who was close to him, thinking he was trying to force the pace of the brigade, shouted out, ‘No, no, Nolan, that won’t do; we’ve got a long way to go yet.’ The Hussar shouted still more frantically and waved his sword, when a shell, the first fired at the Light Brigade, burst just above him and a fragment struck him full in the chest. His features turned livid; but he still galloped on, his sword-arm held high in the air. He gave one cry, a shrill, unearthly scream, then his horse carried him on through the interval of the 13th Light Dragoons, and he fell to the ground a corpse, the first to pay the penalty of the fatal blunder for which he was partly responsible, and which was sending four hundred of England’s most gallant sons to their death. The first discharge was followed by others, and in a few seconds a hundred guns and thousands of rifles thundered and rattled. The Fedioukine Heights on their left and the Causeway Heights on their right were held by infantry and field-artillery in great numbers, and these opened a tremendous fire on the devoted horsemen charging down the valley. Facing them, but at a distance of a mile and a quarter, were twelve Cossack nine-pounders; and behind these, smarting under their late defeat and waiting for an opportunity to avenge themselves, could it be done with safety, were the dense columns of cavalry which the heavy Dragoons had rolled up the Causeway Heights little more than half-an-hour before. A regiment charging an army! Six hundred light horsemen against twenty-four thousand of all arms! As they got farther up the valley the fire under which they came was terrific. Shells, round-shot, grape, rockets, tore and ploughed through the ranks, while bullets simply rained. Down the whole length of the line men and horses began to fall, and the cry ran constantly along the ranks, ‘Close up! Close up!’ The calmness of the officers seemed terrible. Amidst all the slaughter, Captains Norreys and Wintle kept a sharp eye on their squadrons, and every now and then they cried out, ‘Mind your dressing, Private Jones! Do keep back, Wilson! Steady there!’ as a round-shot with a hideous, moist plunge struck a corporal in the chest and literally cut him in two. ‘Steady there, steady! Close up! Close up!’ as a man and horse went down on the left. Gaps were constantly occurring, and the line was diminishing as the riders closed in. The riderless horses, their eyes wild with terror, their breasts flecked with foam, galloped along with the line, trying to force their way to their places in the ranks or crowding round the officers in front.