I was one of the advanced guard formed of men selected from the 8th Hussars, 4th Light Dragoons, 17th Lancers, 13th Light Dragoons, and 11th Hussars, and we were, of course, the first to come within sight of the enemy, who, in place of advancing to meet us, set fire to houses, corn-stacks, and every vestige of harvest produce on the land for miles around. We could see numerous Cossacks driving away the stunted cattle and sheep to their lines, ostensibly to prevent them falling into our hands, but in reality to rob the farmers of their property, which would have been unmolested by us, though, probably, the French would have appropriated it. After marching about two hours we drew nearer to the outlying pickets of the Russian army, who had fallen back upon each other, and so near to their reserves, that the latter could be plainly seen, as stated by Lord Cardigan, who, with a field-glass, rode at the head of our column, and ordered out a skirmishing party. These skirmishers spreading out on each flank of the advancing army like a fan, rode forth to meet the Cossacks, who capered and wheeled about, flourished their lances, and performed many grotesque movements quite new to us. But they finally settled down, and forming up in a very business-like manner, advanced as if determined to meet our skirmishers. Ere we had gone far, however, the "halt" was sounded, it was said by order of the Earl of Lucan, who with several more staff officers had ridden to the front. Emboldened by our halt, the Cossacks commenced to yell, flourish their lances, and some few shots were tired at us, which, however, fell out of range, and it was with a feeling of disappointment that we were forced to obey the trumpeter's call of "skirmishers in," retiring upon the main body which had been pushed forward in anticipation of a general action. During these few minutes, the enemy had brought up a few field-guns, and our men were exasperated beyond measure at the apathy of Lord Lucan, for allowing us to be fired into with artillery, and followed by a horde of yelling Cossacks into the shelter of our lines, like a pack of whipped hounds to their kennels.