With the group of cavalrymen of different regiments there was only one officer, and he was so grievously wounded as to be hardly able to sit his horse, much less command. Several non-commissioned officers there were, but these seemed quite willing to act under Jack’s guidance. The opportunity of Jack’s life had occurred, and he took it; he felt that he was born to command, and it came easy to him. ‘Front form!’ he cried, facing his little force. ‘17th on the right! Keep well together and save your horses till I give the word. We shall want every ounce that is in them.’ ‘Well done, Jack!’ growled Sergeant Linham. Jack placed himself well in front of his troop; Sergeant Linham directed the left, a sergeant of Dragoons the right. ‘Trot!’ cried Jack; and they moved down, a compact body, upon the Russian Lancers. From the Causeway Heights they were plied with shot as they advanced; but as the distance between them and their enemies in front was decreased the fire necessarily lessened. When fifty yards from the foe, Jack placed his bugle to his mouth and sounded the charge. As the last note rang out a round-shot caught the bugle and dashed it from Jack’s grasp, ripping it from the cord by which it was attached to his shoulder, and almost tearing him from the saddle. So dazed was he that he dropped his sword, and, allowing it to dangle from his wrist by the sword-knot, caught a rein in each hand. He, however, headed his horse directly for the officer who seemed in command of the Lancers in front of him. The Russian, seeing the trumpeter making straight for him, drew aside, and Jack, passing him, dashed in amongst the men behind him. He went in between two files, and almost before he could realise it was through. His momentary dizziness passed, and he clutched his sword just as those behind him crashed into the Lancers. The combat was short and sharp. The Russians had again received the charge at the halt, and again were scattered. Then in front of them Jack perceived more squadrons drawn up to bar their way, and these were wheeling back from their left so as to fall upon the flank of the little body as it passed. ‘Bring up your left shoulders!’ shouted Jack as they dashed on, and this they did. They were soon up with the second body of Lancers, and as Jack went by he noticed the same clenched teeth, the same uncertainty of purpose. Though they were in the correct position for their attack, the Russians did not press it home, and the handful of Englishmen went by, brushing aside the lance-points with their swords and losing only one or two men in both charges. But their horses were by then almost done up, their pace was only a shambling trot, in many cases little better than a walk. With renewed fury the guns on the Causeway Heights opened on them, though Jack noticed that the guns on the Fedioukine Hills were silent. Afterwards he learnt that this was due to the brilliant and timely charge of D’Allonville with his Chasseurs d’Afrique.