All of this had led William Gale to question the wisdom of the politicians at home and of the generals here on the campaign. It was much discussed that Lord Cardigan had departed with indecent haste from the ruinous Balaklava affair during which such numbers of the Light Brigade had fallen. It was said that he had made for his yacht, with a French chef, safely anchored in the bay. His supporters insisted that he had stayed by the camp fire consoling those who remained of his men, for all of that sad night. No one knew what to believe. Gale fancied that their Commander, poor old Lord Raglan, recognized the fruitlessness of the affair and that this accounted for his protracted absences from the encampments of men. When he did ride out, there were some officers who were said to run away to avoid having to salute him. It was whispered that he had been heard to refer to their allies the French as the enemy, a remnant of his Waterloo days. Nevertheless, word of his acts of kindness spread through the camps and he was generally much liked. It was known he had sent blankets and even lent his own rubber sleeping bag to a corporal’s wife, who was giving birth in the snow. He wrote warm letters to the friends of men whose lives had been taken. The story of how he had lost his arm at Waterloo and never once cried out as the surgeon removed it was oftentimes retold. He had endured in silence, only broken in order to ask that a ring his wife had given him be retrieved from the lifeless hand. Such courage was admirable, albeit now at some remove in time from the present. William was in any case grateful to Lord Raglan, for it had reached his ears that the old man had made special mention of his actions at Alma. This would likely bring him a decoration.

Yet for all his private reservations as to the wisdom of the campaign, he would not concede to Alice.