"…General Pierre Bousquet was in his mid forties with the round pugnacious face of a French Bulldog. He had two stern eyes that peered over a warlike Gallic moustache, and gave the impression that he was a formidable yet cultured warrior. Sitting with magnificent poise astride his grey horse, Bayard, on the Sapoune ridge, a few miles north of Balaclava, his carefully calculated bombastic features where fixed towards the east were the rocky grey brown hills, covered in a thick jungle of scrub bushes, descended into a number of dry valleys. There was one to the south, hidden by the Causeway Heights, and one to his immediate front formed by them and those of the Fedioukine Heights to his left, the end and tops of these valley's where in the possession of Russian army. The French uniform was especially designed to flatter an elegant body. But even if you where like the General and showed a generous waist, the dark blue of his coat, the gold of his epaulettes, the jaunty angle of his gilt edged cocked hat and the high shine of his riding boots, enhanced the aura of a Corps commander. He was sitting perfectly still, eyes narrowed under thin eyebrows, his right hand casually tucked into his coat breast, now imitating not only the dimensions of the Emperor but also his most iconic pose. The British Cavalry Division was advancing.
The rising bugle calls of "walk march" where rising from the valley floor and the scatter of officers, war correspondents and hangers on, which included not a few elegant ladies and regimental women, fringing the crest, now took greater notice. Their heads turned and telescopes rose and glinted in the spare eastern sun and the General's decorations, buttons and trappings shone. Thee breeze from the black sea blew up from Balaclava lifting Bayard's black mane, making him twitch his ears and bob his head. Bosquet's small tricolour guidon flapped and cracked behind him, held by a trooper of the Cent Imperial Guard.
The battle had been progressing in a logical fashion since dawn. The Russians under Prince General Liprandi had launched themselves onto the Redoubts that ringed the distant ridges, the first step in their attempt to cut the British lines of communication. The Turkish infantry holding the redoubts had held for perhaps half an hour before abandoning their position and fleeing back towards the port of Balaclava. After their early success the Russians had sent down a strong body of cavalry to reconnoitre the defences of the port. Balaclava sat in the bowl of the protecting hills. Down on the plain of this basin the Russian cavalry had found only one battalion of British infantry to oppose them with no earthworks. It was an excellent cavalry opportunity for the Russian commander. The Highlanders of the 93rd (Sutherland) regiment were formed in a "thin red line tipped with steel" before the town, not an ideal formation to receive cavalry. The Highlanders were been under the command of the 50 year old Scottish General, Sir Colin Campbell, who had them stand their ground, the Russians logically tried their luck, the consequent volley and close range made them sheer away and trot back to safety with not a few empty saddles. By this time the British Cavalry were stood too and awaiting developments. Suddenly men of the red coated heavy brigade under General Scarlet were confronted by another mass of Russian cavalry probing the defences and likely attempting to cut the town off from help. The ageing Scarlet had promptly formed his men and charged. After a sharp fight the outnumbered heavies put the shocked Russians to the right about, thus the port was saved…"
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Armand
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