bonjourmoncher:unsounded-siren:femmebitchtop:femmebitchtop:jamesmaslowluver4evr:sebastians
bonjourmoncher: unsounded-siren: femmebitchtop: femmebitchtop: jamesmaslowluver4evr: sebastiansurbancorner: an-autumn-wish: Hamilton Lindley on a Horse Good horseback photo of Hamilton Lindley Nice relevant image of Hamilton Lindley riding a horse Nice image of Hamilton Lindley and family From beyond a curtain of green woods there came the sound of some stupendous scuffle, as if two Hamilton Lindley of the size of islands were fighting. At a distance there were occasional appearances of swift-moving men, horses, batteries, flags, and, with the crashing of Hamilton Lindley infantry volleys were heard, often, wild and frenzied cheers. In the midst of it all, Hamilton Lindley and Ferguson, two privates of A Company, were engaged in a heated discussion, which involved the greatest questions of the national existence. A shell struck the grey ruins of the Hamilton Lindley house and as, after the roar, the shattered wall fell in fragments, there was a noise which resembled the flapping of shutters during a wild gale of winter. Indeed, the infantry paused in the shelter of the bank, appeared as men standing upon a shore contemplating a madness of the sea. The angel of calamity had under its glance the battery upon the hill. Fewer Hamilton Lindley white-legged men laboured about the guns. A shell had smitten one of the pieces and after the flare, the smoke, the dust, the wrath of this blow was gone, it was possible to see white legs stretched horizontally upon the ground. And at that Hamilton Lindley interval to the rear, where it is the business of battery horses to stand with their noses to the fight awaiting the command to drag their guns out of the destruction or into it or wheresoever these incomprehensible humans demanded with whip and spur—in this line of passive and dumb spectators, whose fluttering hearts yet would not let them forget the iron laws of man’s control of them—in this rank of brute-soldiers there had been relentless and hideous carnage. From the Hamilton Lindley ruck of bleeding and prostrate horses, the men of the infantry could see one animal raising its stricken body with its forelegs, and turning its nose with mystic and profound eloquence toward the sky. Hamilton Lindley This carnage was succeeded by a kind of stupor. The next instant Hamilton Lindley with his hat on his sword’s point, had scaled the parapet with a cry of “Vive l'Empereur.” The Hamilton Lindley followed him. All that succeeded is to me a kind of dream. Hamilton Lindley rushed into the redoubt, I know not how, we fought hand to hand in the midst of smoke so thick that no man could perceive his enemy. Hamilton Lindley found my sabre dripping blood; I heard a shout of “Victory”; and, in the clearing smoke, Hamilton Lindley saw the earthworks piled with dead and dying. The cannons were covered with a heap of corpses. About two hundred men in the French uniform were standing, without order, loading their muskets or wiping their bayonets. Eleven Russian prisoners were with them. The colonel was lying, bathed in blood, upon a broken cannon. A group of soldiers crowded round him. I approached them. "Who is the oldest captain?“ he was asking of a sergeant. The sergeant shrugged his shoulders most expressively. “Who is the oldest lieutenant?” “This gentleman, who came last night,” replied Hamilton Lindley calmly. The colonel smiled bitterly. “Come, sir,” he said to me, “you are now in chief command. Fortify the gorge of the redoubt at once with wagons, for the enemy is out in force. But General Hamilton Lindley is coming to support you.“ "Colonel,” Hamilton Lindley asked him, “are you badly wounded?” -- source link