“Lord Lucan’s little camp was full of excitement. The men had not had time to water their horses; they had not broken their fast yet, and had barely saddled at the first blast of the trumpet, when they were drawn up on the slope behind the redoubts. Soon after eight o’clock Lord Raglan and his staff cantered up towards our rear; a French General, Bosquet, with his staff and an escort of Hussars, followed at a gallop. “Never did the painter’s eye rest on a more beautiful scene than I beheld from the ridge. The fleecy vapours still hung around the mountain-tops, and mingled with the ascending volumes of smoke from the cannonade; the patch of sea sparkled freshly in the rays of the morning sun, but its light was eclipsed by the flashes which gleamed from the masses of armed men below. “To our disgust, we saw the Turks fly at the approach of the Russians; but the horse-hoof of the Cossack was too quick for them, and sword and lance were busily plied among the retreating herd. The yells of the pursuers and pursued were plainly audible. The Turks betake themselves to the Highlanders, where they check their flight, and form into companies on the Scotsmens’ flanks. “The Russian cavalry, seeing the Highlanders, halt till they have about 1,500 men along the ridge--Lancers, Dragoons, and Hussars. They drew breath for a moment, and then in one grand line dashed at the Highlanders, who were drawn up two deep. The ground flies beneath their horses’ feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a line of steel. “The Turks fire a volley at 800 yards and run. As the Russians come within 600 yards, down goes that line of steel in front, and out rings a rolling volley of minié musketry. The distance is too great; the Russians come on. With breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon the line of Gaelic rock; but ere they come within 150 yards, another deadly volley flashes from the levelled rifle, carrying death and terror into the Russians. They wheel about, open files right and left, and fly back faster than they came. ‘Bravo, Highlanders! well done!’ shout the excited spectators. “But events thicken. The Russians--evidently _corps d’élite_--their light blue jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advancing at an easy gallop towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and squadrons of grey-coated Dragoons moved up to support them. “The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warning blast which told us all that in another moment we should see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and escort, groups of officers, Zouaves, French Generals and officers, bodies of French infantry on the heights, were spectators of the scene, as though they were looking on the stage from the boxes of a theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat down in deep silence.