The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1855-05-02

Der quite insufficient to sustain Them. Yet,
as the cannons thundered and the muskets
hailed death around, the brave fellows felt
Il like a shame to sit there idle while their
comrades were winning glory, and every
moment they grew more eager, even with
out the support Of infantry, for an occasion
to act. '
Hark! the tramp of cavalry. Every rein
tightened, and every horseman's breath is
quelled with expectation. Up they come
at fierce gallup, as though they meant to
sweep the hight at single pass. Il is the
Buscovites! Their heavy, rushing pillows
of horse dash fell upon the Highlanders, and
are shocked back by the shore OF bayonets.
They rally, and advance again, more slow
iy and determinedly.
Then the bugles of the Fifth, sound; and
The fiery horses are wheeled into order for
the onset
Look at Cecil Gray! he has Foigotten its
original; he has forgotten the little cot
tage by the Thames, where she is signing
prayers to heaven for him now; he thinks
only of glory. His breast heaves and pants,
and his hand clutches his hilt, waiting for
the next signal.twang. .... ...
Another blast of the bugles and the
whole Fifth instantly bristling all over with
swords, like single being, spring into the
pas des charge. A laundering hurricane of
battle, they swoop right down on the ad-
vancing foe with the speed of the Wind
God of heaven! what a spectacle! With
what sublimely terrific shock the two hos
tile masses Of men and horses crash togeth-
er! Sword clangs on sword; horse and Ei-
der sink; the sea of combat surges over
them. A
The Fifth cut the foe through and through;
and when their bugles sound the rally, they
disregarded the signal, determined to fight
till they clear the field or die. Horse aga:n :nst
horse, with onset and repulse, Saxon and
Cossack, they cleave one another down,
swaying to and fro like stormy sea.
Where is Cecil Gray! Yonder is his
plume, Watch it. 1t tosses above the
thick Of the fight, as il it were alive with
glory. There it loses itself in the smoke
Of pistols. 1t emerges. We lose sight of
| it again, Yonder once more it flies along
the field, like some splendid bird of prey,
that kills its quarry, but stops not to de-
YOUR. Swords leap up above and around it;
other plumes nod and sink around it; rider
less horses whirl away from it, and roll
down and surge, and struggle, and die in
the overwhelming billows of battle. But
the plume and the sword that goes with it
cease, not for an instant in their sublime
career.
The wounded French Chasseuf who re-
clnes on his elbow here nigh us, watching
that plume, forgcts his pain, and CALCULATES,
9 c. est srperJ!' And it is superb: it is glo-
| rious.
But now that plume is the dreadful GEN.
ire Of vortex of foes, which dashed upon
it, as upon lone sail, the foam capped
whirlpool in the sea. Other plumes fly to
the rescue. Sabres fash thick and fast, and
chop down into fiery brains, and cross and
! thrust, and stab and mix in horrible tur-
moi of heroic desperation
We close our eyes tightly with shldder.
| ing sickness and faintness, and when we
open them OH the scene again, the Russians
are in total rout and the gallant Fifth are
in rally, with shout and hurrah! But the
plume of Cecil Gray! 1t is gone! The
prayers which have kept going up to heaven
from the cottage OH the Thames have not
been answered. That plume bowed to death
and went down while we were shutting our
eyes.
How gloriously he died! On the field
they found him on the, evening of that day,
with monument of slaughtered heroes pill
ed up to his glory. And as his surviving
comrades spaded him grave and wrapped
| his cloak around him, and laid him to his
rest, they talk animatingly OF his beroism,
and then they spoke falteringly of one who
| mo more of that, my comradr said he
who had been his bosom friend, in choking
voice. There! he had taken the locket
from the neck of the dead, clipped with his
sword lock from the hero's hair and shut
it over the miniature, 'that shall be her tid-
ings!-aLd may-God-pity and comfort
her!
The big binding tears streamed down
those stern mems cheeks; they filled the
grave, breathing hard with rush of homes
dear elnot ms, but speaking not another
word. 9H aa -.a& ai anu a5oaE
aa ss &--5 "a +"
A cottage by the Thames. r. r.