Chapter Eight.

Chapter Eight.Lost in the Crimea.“Bustle up, you boys! Put your kit together, Tony, as quickly as you can, for we are off at last!” cried Phil excitedly, on his return one morning from the tent which had been set apart for the orderly-room clerks. “I have great news for you.”“What is it? Out with it, Phil!” came in a chorus from the nine men who shared the tent with him. “A move at last! Hurrah! We’re all precious tired of this place. Is it Russia we’re off to?”“No, not that, but Varna,” answered Phil. “We sail to-morrow, I have been told, and with the French march against the Russians. It will be the opening scene of a grand campaign, for I hear they are besieging Silistria, in the province of the Danube.”“Then all them yarns about the Crimea, or whatever they calls it, and taking Sebastopol, is all wrong ’uns,” exclaimed Tony, with disgust. “Never mind, boys. I expects Silistria’s better than that. It’ll be warm at any rate; at least that’s what people say; and I shall be precious glad, for if there’s anything that upsets me, it’s freezing cold weather, and that’s what we’ll have in the Crimea.”“Anything’s better, I reckon, than sticking in this here place,” chimed in another. “What have we been doing? Simply drilling day and night, it seems, and eating our rations. Wasting time, I calls it. Then every chap has been sick. See how many of our poor fellows has died. Let’s get out of this, I says. Anything’s better than sitting still.”There was a grunt of assent from all, for disease had already picked out many victims from amongst the men of the combined armies, and inaction amongst a number of troops living in more or less confined quarters had already had disastrous results. Accordingly the move to Varna was hailed with delight, and the men of the Guards embarked with feelings of unmixed pleasure.Arrived at Varna, a picturesque spot on the sea-coast, they found the French already there, and other troops arriving daily. Not long afterwards a French force set out to march towards Silistria, but with terrible results. Cholera had dogged their footsteps from Marseilles, and seven days after leaving the coast this dread disease attacked the two divisions under General Canrobert with malignant fury, bringing no less than 7000 of the unfortunate men to an untimely end. It was an awful example of sudden death, for in three days the divisions crawled back into Varna more disorganised and downhearted than if they had sustained a terrible defeat.“It is terrible!” exclaimed Phil when the news reached him; “and worse still to think that the epidemic may come into our camps. If it does, God help us! for thousands will die. Remember our rule, Tony, no fruit. It is the most dangerous article of food at present, and has already killed many by causing dysentery. So beware of it, as you value your life.”Indeed, so certain was this, that the men were warned against over-indulgence in fruit and vegetables, and the regimental doctor earnestly advised all to boil any water before drinking it. In spite of the warning, however, many were too thoughtless or too careless to heed it, and scarcely had the shattered ranks of the French crawled into Varna when cholera broke out amongst the British. Of these there were some 22,000, whilst the bulk of the garrison was composed of 50,000 French and 8000 Turks. As if by the hand of the Destroying Angel the dread scourge spread through the camp, striking down men on every side, irrespective of race, creed, or age. Hundreds died, and the hospitals were filled to overflowing. As for the still hale and hearty, they went about silently, and as if fearing to laugh or sing, for on all sides their comrades were dying. Instead they stared moodily at one another with wide-open eyes which seemed to ask: “How much longer will this misery last? When will our turn come to fall victims to this dreadful scourge—this terrifying sickness which strikes silently and unawares, and yet so surely and so fatally that he upon whom its grip is fastened can scarcely hope to see the light of another day?” Phil often asked himself these questions.“The doctor has called for volunteers to nurse the sick,” he said one morning as he sat in the tent and looked at his comrades, whose numbers were already sadly diminished.“What? Volunteers to nurse them with cholera!” exclaimed one in awe-struck tones.“Yes, to nurse the cholera patients.”“He’ll never get any—never!” said the man moodily. “It’s bad enough to know it’s here amongst us. But who’s going to run against it if he’s able to keep away? It’s like shooting yourself.”“There’s risk certainly,” remarked Phil calmly, “but the doctors take it, and so do their orderlies; and after all, one must die some day. Won’t any of you fellows volunteer?”No answer was returned, though Tony looked up at his friend with a frightened, half-guilty face, and then, like his comrades, stared moodily at the ground.“Well, good-bye, in case!” said Phil shortly, and stepped out of the tent.“Here, what’s this you’re doing, Phil?” gasped Tony hurriedly, following him, and looking searchingly at him as if to read his inmost thoughts.“I’m going to help, Tony. The men are dying like flies, poor fellows! and the hospital staff is simply overwhelmed. Volunteers are asked for, and I’m one. At any other time I wouldn’t dream of it, but now it’s different. Besides, this inaction is too trying, and I feel that I must have something to occupy my thoughts.”“Don’t say no more, mate, I’m with yer,” Tony blurted out, flushing red with shame and grasping his friend’s hand. “It’s just what a chap like you would do, and I’m blowed if I don’t come along too.”It was a desperate undertaking for Tony, for, like all uneducated people, he had a far greater dread of cholera than others better informed. But his friend’s decision was enough for him, and, swallowing his fears with a gulp, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and followed Phil to the hospital.“There, it’s not half so bad as you imagined, and, for the matter of that, not nearly so serious an undertaking as I thought,” said Phil, some two weeks later, as he and Tony sat on the door-step of the hospital, taking a little fresh air after their unpleasant work.“No, ’tain’t as bad, but it’s trying,” remarked Tony thoughtfully.And he was right. It had been trying work. Gifted with considerable common sense and a fair education, Phil had rapidly picked up the duties of a nurse sufficiently well to be able to render real help to his comrades who were suffering from cholera, and was now in charge of a large ward, with Tony to help him. And together they had worked day and night, relieving one another, and earning the praise of doctors and patients alike.“You shall never regret this sacrifice,” said the doctor gratefully. “I have already mentioned you to the colonel; and be sure, when honours are given at the end of the campaign, you will not be overlooked. I know what it means to you, and that you would far rather face the guns of the Russians than this disease.”“It’s not so bad, now we’re used to it, sir,” said Phil; “but I own I’d far rather be in the fighting-line; not so much because I fear the disease, as because it is so distressing to see all these poor fellows die in agony.”“Right, lad, right! I know what it means,” the doctor answered, with a sigh. “But, thank Heavens! the epidemic is abating.”By the middle of August there was a considerable decrease, though the fleet was suffering severely in spite of having severed its connection with the shore. A week later the number of cases was infinitesimal compared with what it had been, and in consequence arrangements were pushed forward for another move.“We shall go to the Crimea this time,” said the doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Phil, and often indulged in a chat with him. “Austria has moved 50,000 or more of her troops down Silistria way, and the Russians have raised the siege and retired. Now we are going to show them that war cannot be commenced with impunity on such trivial grounds. It is supposed to be a secret, but Sebastopol will undoubtedly be our object, and we shall endeavour to destroy it.”It was evident to all, in fact, that something was in the wind. A huge fleet of East Indiamen and other craft assembled off Varna to act as transports, and immense barges were prepared for the reception of artillery. Stores, too, stood in enormous stacks down by the shore, and everything pointed to a change of quarters.The news of a possible move spread like fire through the camp, and at once the spirits of the soldiers rose. Despair gave way to cheerfulness, and whistling and singing were again to be heard. At last came the orders to embark, and on September 4th the British fleet, which stretched away to the horizon, set sail for an unknown port, and with an agreement to meet the French and Turkish vesselsen route. It is unnecessary to detail the vexatious dallying and delay that occurred. Had fixed plans been drawn out before the departure from Varna, the allied armies could have reached the Crimea and landed upon its shores in three days, but nothing had been arranged. The fleets sailed hither and thither aimlessly, it seemed, and finally anchored, while a party was sent forward to reconnoitre. The natural result was that the Russians suspected that a descent was contemplated upon Sebastopol and at once prepared for emergencies, entrenching the landward face of the town and fortress, which till then was almost devoid of batteries and fortifications.But at last something was decided, and at daybreak on September 14th the huge fleet of transports, now joined by French and Turks, dropped anchor off Lake Saki, near Eupatoria, some 34 miles from Sebastopol.The boom of a gun at once echoed along the shore, followed by a puff of smoke from a port-hole of the French flagship. At once a boat shot away from her stern and made for the beach.“Ah! the beggars!” exclaimed Phil. “They will be the first ashore. Why does not our general send a boat to race them?”“Plenty of time, mate,” growled Tony, no more pleased than his friend to see their dapper allies to the front. “We’ll show ’em yet; see if we don’t.”All eyes were fixed on the boat. It ran gently on to the beach, its crew sprang out, and within a few minutes a flagstaff was erected, and the tricolour run up to the accompaniment of a shrill “Vive l’Empereur!” faintly heard across the water.“Yes, shout if yer like,” cried Tony in disgust. “See how we’ll show yer. It don’t take much to put up a flag there on the shore, but wait till it comes to planting it in a fort; we’ll be there with yer, and p’r’aps show yer the way.”“Come, come,” laughed Phil. “It’s all your jealousy. The French are a brave nation and can fight; though I’m glad to think that we have always beaten them. Ah! there goes another gun, and see, they are disembarking.”“Yes, so they are; but look away over there,” exclaimed Tony, pointing to the shore, where on an upland plateau, above the lake, some two hundred yards from the sea, stood five shaggy-looking ponies with figures seated on their backs holding long lances in their hands.“Cossacks!” remarked Phil. “They are watching us. It seems strange that the Russians have made no preparations to oppose our landing, but I suppose they were quite uncertain as to the exact spot we should hit upon.”Transferring their attention from the figures on the shore to the French fleet, they watched, not without some amount of envy, the rapid disembarkation of the soldiers. But very soon another gun boomed out, and boats dashed from the British men-of-war towards the transports.“Now our turn has come,” remarked Phil. “Come along, Tony. We’ll get our kit strapped on, and then we shall be ready at any moment.”“Pass the word along there for Corporal Western,” sounded across the deck at this moment; and, hastily making his canteen fast, Phil shouldered his Minié rifle and stepped up to the adjutant.“Take two men,” the latter ordered, “and mount guard over the boxes of ammunition. You will land with them and see them safely stacked out of reach of the water, and remain in charge of them till you are relieved.”“I understand, sir,” said Phil, saluting smartly by bringing his disengaged hand across to his rifle and striding away.“Tony, I want you,” he said, “and we’ll take Sam Wilson as well. We’re to mount guard over the ammunition.”It was the first really responsible charge that Phil had had entrusted to him, and he felt proud of it. Taking Tony and Sam with him, they stacked the boxes which had just been hoisted from the hold, and while one strode up and down in front, the other two sat down and waited for the order to disembark. Soon it came, and the men, who had fallen in, two deep, slowly filed to the gangways.It was a difficult undertaking to disembark so many, but with the help of the sailors the greater part of the work was completed by nightfall.“By Jove, it’s really grand to see how those Jack Tars work,” remarked Phil. “They have made no end of trips to the shore already, and here they are preparing to tow us.”Honest Jack indeed worked like a slave. As if to show his comrade-in-arms what he could do, and that he was master on the sea, he handed each soldier down into the boats as tenderly as if he were a child, remarking: “Now sit down there, matey. It’ll soon be over, and this here swell’s simply nothing;” or, “Hang on to that there ladder with yer eyebrows. Yer ain’t used to these monkey tricks, and I’ve seen a better man than you let go and get a sousing.”Thomas Atkins listened to it all good-humouredly, and took his place obediently, while the sailors pulled the heavy boats and flats ashore.Phil and his charge were taken in a special boat, and on landing the boxes were carried up and stacked in the centre of the camp selected for the Grenadier Guards. By this time the wind had risen, and rain had commenced to fall.“It looks like raining all night, Phil,” said Tony ruefully, staring up at the heavy clouds. “It’s a fine look-out for us, for there ain’t a single tent amongst us.”“Then we’re no worse off than our officers, Tony. I see, though, that those Frenchies are housed under tiny tents they call ‘tentes d’abri’. Why shouldn’t we make a kind of hutch with these boxes. One of us must do sentry-go outside, of course, but the other two may as well keep dry, and for the matter of that there are sufficient boxes to make a regular hut big enough to lie down in, and high enough to cover the sentry.”“Lummy, that’s a cute dodge!” cried Tony. “We’ll fix it up at once. Come along, Sam; lend a hand before this rain goes through us.”The boxes were heavy, but within a quarter of an hour quite a respectable house had been formed, with a blanket for a roof, and the opening turned away from the wind. Into this two of them crept, while the third stood on guard under the covering. By this means, while everyone else in the British lines spent a miserable night, and was drenched to the skin, Phil and his comrades escaped the rain, and awoke in the morning refreshed by a good sleep.Phil was not relieved from his charge, but, with the two men helping him, remained on guard all the following day, when a native cart, called an “araba”, was provided for the carriage of the ammunition, and he was informed that he would be in charge of it, and must see to having it loaded before the troops marched.“A precious nice game,” snorted Tony, when he heard the order. “Here we are, stuck right in rear of the troops, in charge of a few boxes of ammunition. Why couldn’t someone else have been chosen?”“Don’t you grumble,” replied Phil severely. “We have a responsible charge, and for all we know we may have even more fun and adventure than the others. Now it’s your turn for sentry-go, so out you get. You can grumble there to your heart’s content.”Tony departed abashed, and Phil and Sam looked on at the debarkation, which still continued. By the 17th all were ashore, save the sick, of whom there were still a large number. Even to a veteran soldier it was indeed a most interesting sight to see the huge allied army assembled on the upland slopes above the lake. In the distance the Turks, sitting contentedly and composedly in their tents; the French, like so many ants, bustling hither and thither and busily superintending the mid-day meal; and the lines of the British, now provided with tents for the few days before they marched from the shore.It was a large force, and as many regiments were to make themselves for ever famous in the course of the campaign, it will perhaps be advisable to explain how our army was divided.In chief command was Lord Raglan, an officer who for many years had lived a peaceful life, and had therefore little, if any, experience of warfare. His army consisted of six divisions, each made up of several regiments and commanded by a brigadier, or in some cases divided into two portions under different leaders.The Light Division consisted of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, 7th Fusiliers, 19th Regiment and 23rd Fusiliers, under Major-general Codrington, and the 33rd, 77th, and 88th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Buller.The First Division, under the Duke of Cambridge, included the Grenadier Guards, the Coldstream and Scots Fusilier Guards, now the Scots Guards, with Major-general Bentinck in command, and the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders, fine brawny sons of the heather, under Brigadier Sir C. Campbell.The Second Division comprised the 30th, 55th, and 95th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Pennefather, and the 41st, 47th, and 49th, under Brigadier-general Adams.The Third Division, under Sir R. England, was composed of the 1st Royals, 28th, 38th, 44th, 50th, and 68th Regiments, commanded by Brigadiers Sir John Campbell and Eyre.The Fourth Division, under Sir George Cathcart, consisted of the 20th, 21st, and 63rd Regiments and of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. The 46th and 57th Regiments, which were to form part of it, had not yet arrived, but wereen routefrom England.The Cavalry Division, under Lord Lucan, was divided into a light brigade, under Lord Cardigan, which was made up of the 4th light Dragoons, the 8th and 11th Hussars, the 13th Dragoons, and the 17th Lancers; and the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, in command of Brigadier-general Scarlett, which comprised the Scots Greys, 14th Dragoon Guards, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 6th Dragoons, the first regiment not having yet put in an appearance.It was indeed an immense force, and of course needed a huge commissariat train to feed it.On the 18th the allied armies moved out of camp towards the Alma, the French being on the right, next the coast-line, and supported there by the guns of the fleets, while the brigade of Guards marched in rear. Phil took his place behind his regiment, and, slinging his rifle, acted as driver of the araba, while Tony and Sam trudged along on either side.“It won’t be long now before we hear guns,” he remarked cheerfully from his elevated perch on top of the ammunition-boxes. “The Cossack fires were only a couple of miles in front of us last night, and it is scarcely likely that we shall be allowed to advance far without opposition. So look out for squalls, you fellows.”“It’s what we’ve come for, mate,” Tony replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “but it strikes me as we’ll have to be looking out for trouble with this here old cart afore long. This wheel won’t stand much of this kind of jolting.”The roads were indeed in places extremely rough, and a foot or more deep in mud after the recent rains and the trample of the troops in advance.“Didn’t I tell yer so,” cried Tony a moment later, as the araba sank almost axle-deep and stopped abruptly. “Whip up them horses, Phil, or we’ll get left behind.”Phil promptly applied the whip, but to no effect, and before the cart was again set in motion by the united efforts of his comrades and the horses, they had lost a considerable amount of ground. Then, to their intense vexation, one of the animals stumbled, and, falling upon the shaft, snapped it in two.“What a misfortune!” exclaimed Phil, surveying the wreck. “But we are in charge of this ammunition, you fellows, and must bring it through. It is getting dark already, so I expect the troops will soon be halting. Lend a hand, both of you, and we’ll splice this break, and catch the regiment up later on.”“You’ll have to unload first, mate,” Tony answered. “This weight is too much for one horse to keep up while we’re mending, and besides, we’ll get the job done in half the time if we take ’em both out and empty the cart.”Accordingly all three set to work and lifted the heavy boxes out. Then the horses were unharnessed, and with a length of rope and a batten of wood a shift was made to mend the break.“That will do, I think,” said Phil at last, surveying the work with satisfaction. “Now in with the animals, and let us get along as quickly as possible. We must be a couple of miles behind the troops, but fortunately the road is clear, and though it is a dark night we ought to reach them without trouble.”Once more they set out on the road, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that they were close to the camp, when Tony called a halt.“What are them coves over there?” he asked, pointing ahead to a collection of camp-fires, in front of which mounted figures were flitting. “If them ain’t Russians, I’m a Frenchie.”“They look remarkably like Cossacks, I must say, Tony,” replied Phil anxiously. “Stop here a few moments while I go forward and make certain.”In another minute he had disappeared in the darkness. Walking boldly forward for three hundred yards he then judged it wise to observe some caution, and, stooping low, crept forward on the turf at the roadside, which completely muffled his footsteps. Suddenly a figure loomed up in front of him, followed by another, and, flinging himself on the ground, Phil crawled behind a growth of low bush and hastily hid himself from view.“There, Petroff,” he heard a harsh voice say in Russian, “that is your post. Remain there till you are relieved. If these pigs of Englishmen advance this way gallop back and warn us. See that you do not sleep, my man, or as the Czar, our master, lives, I will hang you to the nearest tree.”“Excellency, your orders shall be obeyed,” the Cossack trooper answered humbly, and then, as his officer rode off, swore in a low but audible voice.“Hang me to the nearest tree!” he muttered angrily. “Ah! Will he! Wait, your most noble excellency. Who knows how soon a bullet shall put an end to your threats, and should it come from behind instead of from these foreign pigs, then—ah, well! the fortune of war.”The man gave a stamp, as if to show his hatred, and, turning his horse, led it back a few paces. Phil at once rose to his feet and took to his heels in the direction of the cart.“We have lost our way,” he said, on rejoining his friends. “I cannot imagine how it has happened, but perhaps the British camp lies in a hollow, and we have mistaken the Russian fires for theirs. We evidently went off to the left, and now we must keep to the right.”Whipping up the horses, they pushed on once more, but two hours passed and still there was no sign of the camp.“We’re lost, that’s what it comes to,” said Tony calmly. “What shall we do, Phil? Seems to me ’tain’t no use going ahead like this, for we shall be into the middle of the Russian army before long.”“That’s what I’m afraid of, Tony. I think we had better stop here for to-night, and start again at daylight. We’ll take the horses out and tie them on behind. No smoking, you fellows, and keep as quiet as you can. A match might lead to our capture, and we don’t want to see the inside of a Russian prison so early in the campaign.”“Then, if we’re stopping here, I vote we prepare for the worst,” said Tony. “Supposing daylight shows us Cossacks all round, we sha’n’t stand a chance. It won’t take no more than an hour to build a wall with these boxes, and it may come in useful, for it’s better to lie behind cover and fire than stand out in the open.”“That’s a good idea, Tony, and we’ll see to it,” agreed Phil readily. “Now all together and get these horses out. Tie them with a long rope. In that way they will get a feed of grass, and as for water, there is plenty of dew falling to quench their thirst.”An hour later a wall some six feet long had been built close alongside the cart, leaving room for Phil and his friends to lie between it and the wheel. Then, having done all that was possible, they ate a portion of the three days’ rations which each carried in his haversack, and, wrapping themselves in their blankets, lay down to sleep, one of their number, however, being left seated upon the boxes to keep guard.Three hours later, when Phil’s turn came for duty, the sky was already brightening in the east, and he waited anxiously for daylight. Gradually the dawn lit up the sky, chasing the dark clouds away, and finally banishing the grey mist which hung like a pall over the ground. Phil looked round in search of the British, but there was not a sign of them. A moment later a shout from behind attracted his attention, and turning, his heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of five wild-looking Cossack horsemen spurring their wiry ponies towards the cart, with their long lances already lowered and ready for the charge.

“Bustle up, you boys! Put your kit together, Tony, as quickly as you can, for we are off at last!” cried Phil excitedly, on his return one morning from the tent which had been set apart for the orderly-room clerks. “I have great news for you.”

“What is it? Out with it, Phil!” came in a chorus from the nine men who shared the tent with him. “A move at last! Hurrah! We’re all precious tired of this place. Is it Russia we’re off to?”

“No, not that, but Varna,” answered Phil. “We sail to-morrow, I have been told, and with the French march against the Russians. It will be the opening scene of a grand campaign, for I hear they are besieging Silistria, in the province of the Danube.”

“Then all them yarns about the Crimea, or whatever they calls it, and taking Sebastopol, is all wrong ’uns,” exclaimed Tony, with disgust. “Never mind, boys. I expects Silistria’s better than that. It’ll be warm at any rate; at least that’s what people say; and I shall be precious glad, for if there’s anything that upsets me, it’s freezing cold weather, and that’s what we’ll have in the Crimea.”

“Anything’s better, I reckon, than sticking in this here place,” chimed in another. “What have we been doing? Simply drilling day and night, it seems, and eating our rations. Wasting time, I calls it. Then every chap has been sick. See how many of our poor fellows has died. Let’s get out of this, I says. Anything’s better than sitting still.”

There was a grunt of assent from all, for disease had already picked out many victims from amongst the men of the combined armies, and inaction amongst a number of troops living in more or less confined quarters had already had disastrous results. Accordingly the move to Varna was hailed with delight, and the men of the Guards embarked with feelings of unmixed pleasure.

Arrived at Varna, a picturesque spot on the sea-coast, they found the French already there, and other troops arriving daily. Not long afterwards a French force set out to march towards Silistria, but with terrible results. Cholera had dogged their footsteps from Marseilles, and seven days after leaving the coast this dread disease attacked the two divisions under General Canrobert with malignant fury, bringing no less than 7000 of the unfortunate men to an untimely end. It was an awful example of sudden death, for in three days the divisions crawled back into Varna more disorganised and downhearted than if they had sustained a terrible defeat.

“It is terrible!” exclaimed Phil when the news reached him; “and worse still to think that the epidemic may come into our camps. If it does, God help us! for thousands will die. Remember our rule, Tony, no fruit. It is the most dangerous article of food at present, and has already killed many by causing dysentery. So beware of it, as you value your life.”

Indeed, so certain was this, that the men were warned against over-indulgence in fruit and vegetables, and the regimental doctor earnestly advised all to boil any water before drinking it. In spite of the warning, however, many were too thoughtless or too careless to heed it, and scarcely had the shattered ranks of the French crawled into Varna when cholera broke out amongst the British. Of these there were some 22,000, whilst the bulk of the garrison was composed of 50,000 French and 8000 Turks. As if by the hand of the Destroying Angel the dread scourge spread through the camp, striking down men on every side, irrespective of race, creed, or age. Hundreds died, and the hospitals were filled to overflowing. As for the still hale and hearty, they went about silently, and as if fearing to laugh or sing, for on all sides their comrades were dying. Instead they stared moodily at one another with wide-open eyes which seemed to ask: “How much longer will this misery last? When will our turn come to fall victims to this dreadful scourge—this terrifying sickness which strikes silently and unawares, and yet so surely and so fatally that he upon whom its grip is fastened can scarcely hope to see the light of another day?” Phil often asked himself these questions.

“The doctor has called for volunteers to nurse the sick,” he said one morning as he sat in the tent and looked at his comrades, whose numbers were already sadly diminished.

“What? Volunteers to nurse them with cholera!” exclaimed one in awe-struck tones.

“Yes, to nurse the cholera patients.”

“He’ll never get any—never!” said the man moodily. “It’s bad enough to know it’s here amongst us. But who’s going to run against it if he’s able to keep away? It’s like shooting yourself.”

“There’s risk certainly,” remarked Phil calmly, “but the doctors take it, and so do their orderlies; and after all, one must die some day. Won’t any of you fellows volunteer?”

No answer was returned, though Tony looked up at his friend with a frightened, half-guilty face, and then, like his comrades, stared moodily at the ground.

“Well, good-bye, in case!” said Phil shortly, and stepped out of the tent.

“Here, what’s this you’re doing, Phil?” gasped Tony hurriedly, following him, and looking searchingly at him as if to read his inmost thoughts.

“I’m going to help, Tony. The men are dying like flies, poor fellows! and the hospital staff is simply overwhelmed. Volunteers are asked for, and I’m one. At any other time I wouldn’t dream of it, but now it’s different. Besides, this inaction is too trying, and I feel that I must have something to occupy my thoughts.”

“Don’t say no more, mate, I’m with yer,” Tony blurted out, flushing red with shame and grasping his friend’s hand. “It’s just what a chap like you would do, and I’m blowed if I don’t come along too.”

It was a desperate undertaking for Tony, for, like all uneducated people, he had a far greater dread of cholera than others better informed. But his friend’s decision was enough for him, and, swallowing his fears with a gulp, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and followed Phil to the hospital.

“There, it’s not half so bad as you imagined, and, for the matter of that, not nearly so serious an undertaking as I thought,” said Phil, some two weeks later, as he and Tony sat on the door-step of the hospital, taking a little fresh air after their unpleasant work.

“No, ’tain’t as bad, but it’s trying,” remarked Tony thoughtfully.

And he was right. It had been trying work. Gifted with considerable common sense and a fair education, Phil had rapidly picked up the duties of a nurse sufficiently well to be able to render real help to his comrades who were suffering from cholera, and was now in charge of a large ward, with Tony to help him. And together they had worked day and night, relieving one another, and earning the praise of doctors and patients alike.

“You shall never regret this sacrifice,” said the doctor gratefully. “I have already mentioned you to the colonel; and be sure, when honours are given at the end of the campaign, you will not be overlooked. I know what it means to you, and that you would far rather face the guns of the Russians than this disease.”

“It’s not so bad, now we’re used to it, sir,” said Phil; “but I own I’d far rather be in the fighting-line; not so much because I fear the disease, as because it is so distressing to see all these poor fellows die in agony.”

“Right, lad, right! I know what it means,” the doctor answered, with a sigh. “But, thank Heavens! the epidemic is abating.”

By the middle of August there was a considerable decrease, though the fleet was suffering severely in spite of having severed its connection with the shore. A week later the number of cases was infinitesimal compared with what it had been, and in consequence arrangements were pushed forward for another move.

“We shall go to the Crimea this time,” said the doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Phil, and often indulged in a chat with him. “Austria has moved 50,000 or more of her troops down Silistria way, and the Russians have raised the siege and retired. Now we are going to show them that war cannot be commenced with impunity on such trivial grounds. It is supposed to be a secret, but Sebastopol will undoubtedly be our object, and we shall endeavour to destroy it.”

It was evident to all, in fact, that something was in the wind. A huge fleet of East Indiamen and other craft assembled off Varna to act as transports, and immense barges were prepared for the reception of artillery. Stores, too, stood in enormous stacks down by the shore, and everything pointed to a change of quarters.

The news of a possible move spread like fire through the camp, and at once the spirits of the soldiers rose. Despair gave way to cheerfulness, and whistling and singing were again to be heard. At last came the orders to embark, and on September 4th the British fleet, which stretched away to the horizon, set sail for an unknown port, and with an agreement to meet the French and Turkish vesselsen route. It is unnecessary to detail the vexatious dallying and delay that occurred. Had fixed plans been drawn out before the departure from Varna, the allied armies could have reached the Crimea and landed upon its shores in three days, but nothing had been arranged. The fleets sailed hither and thither aimlessly, it seemed, and finally anchored, while a party was sent forward to reconnoitre. The natural result was that the Russians suspected that a descent was contemplated upon Sebastopol and at once prepared for emergencies, entrenching the landward face of the town and fortress, which till then was almost devoid of batteries and fortifications.

But at last something was decided, and at daybreak on September 14th the huge fleet of transports, now joined by French and Turks, dropped anchor off Lake Saki, near Eupatoria, some 34 miles from Sebastopol.

The boom of a gun at once echoed along the shore, followed by a puff of smoke from a port-hole of the French flagship. At once a boat shot away from her stern and made for the beach.

“Ah! the beggars!” exclaimed Phil. “They will be the first ashore. Why does not our general send a boat to race them?”

“Plenty of time, mate,” growled Tony, no more pleased than his friend to see their dapper allies to the front. “We’ll show ’em yet; see if we don’t.”

All eyes were fixed on the boat. It ran gently on to the beach, its crew sprang out, and within a few minutes a flagstaff was erected, and the tricolour run up to the accompaniment of a shrill “Vive l’Empereur!” faintly heard across the water.

“Yes, shout if yer like,” cried Tony in disgust. “See how we’ll show yer. It don’t take much to put up a flag there on the shore, but wait till it comes to planting it in a fort; we’ll be there with yer, and p’r’aps show yer the way.”

“Come, come,” laughed Phil. “It’s all your jealousy. The French are a brave nation and can fight; though I’m glad to think that we have always beaten them. Ah! there goes another gun, and see, they are disembarking.”

“Yes, so they are; but look away over there,” exclaimed Tony, pointing to the shore, where on an upland plateau, above the lake, some two hundred yards from the sea, stood five shaggy-looking ponies with figures seated on their backs holding long lances in their hands.

“Cossacks!” remarked Phil. “They are watching us. It seems strange that the Russians have made no preparations to oppose our landing, but I suppose they were quite uncertain as to the exact spot we should hit upon.”

Transferring their attention from the figures on the shore to the French fleet, they watched, not without some amount of envy, the rapid disembarkation of the soldiers. But very soon another gun boomed out, and boats dashed from the British men-of-war towards the transports.

“Now our turn has come,” remarked Phil. “Come along, Tony. We’ll get our kit strapped on, and then we shall be ready at any moment.”

“Pass the word along there for Corporal Western,” sounded across the deck at this moment; and, hastily making his canteen fast, Phil shouldered his Minié rifle and stepped up to the adjutant.

“Take two men,” the latter ordered, “and mount guard over the boxes of ammunition. You will land with them and see them safely stacked out of reach of the water, and remain in charge of them till you are relieved.”

“I understand, sir,” said Phil, saluting smartly by bringing his disengaged hand across to his rifle and striding away.

“Tony, I want you,” he said, “and we’ll take Sam Wilson as well. We’re to mount guard over the ammunition.”

It was the first really responsible charge that Phil had had entrusted to him, and he felt proud of it. Taking Tony and Sam with him, they stacked the boxes which had just been hoisted from the hold, and while one strode up and down in front, the other two sat down and waited for the order to disembark. Soon it came, and the men, who had fallen in, two deep, slowly filed to the gangways.

It was a difficult undertaking to disembark so many, but with the help of the sailors the greater part of the work was completed by nightfall.

“By Jove, it’s really grand to see how those Jack Tars work,” remarked Phil. “They have made no end of trips to the shore already, and here they are preparing to tow us.”

Honest Jack indeed worked like a slave. As if to show his comrade-in-arms what he could do, and that he was master on the sea, he handed each soldier down into the boats as tenderly as if he were a child, remarking: “Now sit down there, matey. It’ll soon be over, and this here swell’s simply nothing;” or, “Hang on to that there ladder with yer eyebrows. Yer ain’t used to these monkey tricks, and I’ve seen a better man than you let go and get a sousing.”

Thomas Atkins listened to it all good-humouredly, and took his place obediently, while the sailors pulled the heavy boats and flats ashore.

Phil and his charge were taken in a special boat, and on landing the boxes were carried up and stacked in the centre of the camp selected for the Grenadier Guards. By this time the wind had risen, and rain had commenced to fall.

“It looks like raining all night, Phil,” said Tony ruefully, staring up at the heavy clouds. “It’s a fine look-out for us, for there ain’t a single tent amongst us.”

“Then we’re no worse off than our officers, Tony. I see, though, that those Frenchies are housed under tiny tents they call ‘tentes d’abri’. Why shouldn’t we make a kind of hutch with these boxes. One of us must do sentry-go outside, of course, but the other two may as well keep dry, and for the matter of that there are sufficient boxes to make a regular hut big enough to lie down in, and high enough to cover the sentry.”

“Lummy, that’s a cute dodge!” cried Tony. “We’ll fix it up at once. Come along, Sam; lend a hand before this rain goes through us.”

The boxes were heavy, but within a quarter of an hour quite a respectable house had been formed, with a blanket for a roof, and the opening turned away from the wind. Into this two of them crept, while the third stood on guard under the covering. By this means, while everyone else in the British lines spent a miserable night, and was drenched to the skin, Phil and his comrades escaped the rain, and awoke in the morning refreshed by a good sleep.

Phil was not relieved from his charge, but, with the two men helping him, remained on guard all the following day, when a native cart, called an “araba”, was provided for the carriage of the ammunition, and he was informed that he would be in charge of it, and must see to having it loaded before the troops marched.

“A precious nice game,” snorted Tony, when he heard the order. “Here we are, stuck right in rear of the troops, in charge of a few boxes of ammunition. Why couldn’t someone else have been chosen?”

“Don’t you grumble,” replied Phil severely. “We have a responsible charge, and for all we know we may have even more fun and adventure than the others. Now it’s your turn for sentry-go, so out you get. You can grumble there to your heart’s content.”

Tony departed abashed, and Phil and Sam looked on at the debarkation, which still continued. By the 17th all were ashore, save the sick, of whom there were still a large number. Even to a veteran soldier it was indeed a most interesting sight to see the huge allied army assembled on the upland slopes above the lake. In the distance the Turks, sitting contentedly and composedly in their tents; the French, like so many ants, bustling hither and thither and busily superintending the mid-day meal; and the lines of the British, now provided with tents for the few days before they marched from the shore.

It was a large force, and as many regiments were to make themselves for ever famous in the course of the campaign, it will perhaps be advisable to explain how our army was divided.

In chief command was Lord Raglan, an officer who for many years had lived a peaceful life, and had therefore little, if any, experience of warfare. His army consisted of six divisions, each made up of several regiments and commanded by a brigadier, or in some cases divided into two portions under different leaders.

The Light Division consisted of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, 7th Fusiliers, 19th Regiment and 23rd Fusiliers, under Major-general Codrington, and the 33rd, 77th, and 88th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Buller.

The First Division, under the Duke of Cambridge, included the Grenadier Guards, the Coldstream and Scots Fusilier Guards, now the Scots Guards, with Major-general Bentinck in command, and the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders, fine brawny sons of the heather, under Brigadier Sir C. Campbell.

The Second Division comprised the 30th, 55th, and 95th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Pennefather, and the 41st, 47th, and 49th, under Brigadier-general Adams.

The Third Division, under Sir R. England, was composed of the 1st Royals, 28th, 38th, 44th, 50th, and 68th Regiments, commanded by Brigadiers Sir John Campbell and Eyre.

The Fourth Division, under Sir George Cathcart, consisted of the 20th, 21st, and 63rd Regiments and of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. The 46th and 57th Regiments, which were to form part of it, had not yet arrived, but wereen routefrom England.

The Cavalry Division, under Lord Lucan, was divided into a light brigade, under Lord Cardigan, which was made up of the 4th light Dragoons, the 8th and 11th Hussars, the 13th Dragoons, and the 17th Lancers; and the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, in command of Brigadier-general Scarlett, which comprised the Scots Greys, 14th Dragoon Guards, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 6th Dragoons, the first regiment not having yet put in an appearance.

It was indeed an immense force, and of course needed a huge commissariat train to feed it.

On the 18th the allied armies moved out of camp towards the Alma, the French being on the right, next the coast-line, and supported there by the guns of the fleets, while the brigade of Guards marched in rear. Phil took his place behind his regiment, and, slinging his rifle, acted as driver of the araba, while Tony and Sam trudged along on either side.

“It won’t be long now before we hear guns,” he remarked cheerfully from his elevated perch on top of the ammunition-boxes. “The Cossack fires were only a couple of miles in front of us last night, and it is scarcely likely that we shall be allowed to advance far without opposition. So look out for squalls, you fellows.”

“It’s what we’ve come for, mate,” Tony replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “but it strikes me as we’ll have to be looking out for trouble with this here old cart afore long. This wheel won’t stand much of this kind of jolting.”

The roads were indeed in places extremely rough, and a foot or more deep in mud after the recent rains and the trample of the troops in advance.

“Didn’t I tell yer so,” cried Tony a moment later, as the araba sank almost axle-deep and stopped abruptly. “Whip up them horses, Phil, or we’ll get left behind.”

Phil promptly applied the whip, but to no effect, and before the cart was again set in motion by the united efforts of his comrades and the horses, they had lost a considerable amount of ground. Then, to their intense vexation, one of the animals stumbled, and, falling upon the shaft, snapped it in two.

“What a misfortune!” exclaimed Phil, surveying the wreck. “But we are in charge of this ammunition, you fellows, and must bring it through. It is getting dark already, so I expect the troops will soon be halting. Lend a hand, both of you, and we’ll splice this break, and catch the regiment up later on.”

“You’ll have to unload first, mate,” Tony answered. “This weight is too much for one horse to keep up while we’re mending, and besides, we’ll get the job done in half the time if we take ’em both out and empty the cart.”

Accordingly all three set to work and lifted the heavy boxes out. Then the horses were unharnessed, and with a length of rope and a batten of wood a shift was made to mend the break.

“That will do, I think,” said Phil at last, surveying the work with satisfaction. “Now in with the animals, and let us get along as quickly as possible. We must be a couple of miles behind the troops, but fortunately the road is clear, and though it is a dark night we ought to reach them without trouble.”

Once more they set out on the road, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that they were close to the camp, when Tony called a halt.

“What are them coves over there?” he asked, pointing ahead to a collection of camp-fires, in front of which mounted figures were flitting. “If them ain’t Russians, I’m a Frenchie.”

“They look remarkably like Cossacks, I must say, Tony,” replied Phil anxiously. “Stop here a few moments while I go forward and make certain.”

In another minute he had disappeared in the darkness. Walking boldly forward for three hundred yards he then judged it wise to observe some caution, and, stooping low, crept forward on the turf at the roadside, which completely muffled his footsteps. Suddenly a figure loomed up in front of him, followed by another, and, flinging himself on the ground, Phil crawled behind a growth of low bush and hastily hid himself from view.

“There, Petroff,” he heard a harsh voice say in Russian, “that is your post. Remain there till you are relieved. If these pigs of Englishmen advance this way gallop back and warn us. See that you do not sleep, my man, or as the Czar, our master, lives, I will hang you to the nearest tree.”

“Excellency, your orders shall be obeyed,” the Cossack trooper answered humbly, and then, as his officer rode off, swore in a low but audible voice.

“Hang me to the nearest tree!” he muttered angrily. “Ah! Will he! Wait, your most noble excellency. Who knows how soon a bullet shall put an end to your threats, and should it come from behind instead of from these foreign pigs, then—ah, well! the fortune of war.”

The man gave a stamp, as if to show his hatred, and, turning his horse, led it back a few paces. Phil at once rose to his feet and took to his heels in the direction of the cart.

“We have lost our way,” he said, on rejoining his friends. “I cannot imagine how it has happened, but perhaps the British camp lies in a hollow, and we have mistaken the Russian fires for theirs. We evidently went off to the left, and now we must keep to the right.”

Whipping up the horses, they pushed on once more, but two hours passed and still there was no sign of the camp.

“We’re lost, that’s what it comes to,” said Tony calmly. “What shall we do, Phil? Seems to me ’tain’t no use going ahead like this, for we shall be into the middle of the Russian army before long.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Tony. I think we had better stop here for to-night, and start again at daylight. We’ll take the horses out and tie them on behind. No smoking, you fellows, and keep as quiet as you can. A match might lead to our capture, and we don’t want to see the inside of a Russian prison so early in the campaign.”

“Then, if we’re stopping here, I vote we prepare for the worst,” said Tony. “Supposing daylight shows us Cossacks all round, we sha’n’t stand a chance. It won’t take no more than an hour to build a wall with these boxes, and it may come in useful, for it’s better to lie behind cover and fire than stand out in the open.”

“That’s a good idea, Tony, and we’ll see to it,” agreed Phil readily. “Now all together and get these horses out. Tie them with a long rope. In that way they will get a feed of grass, and as for water, there is plenty of dew falling to quench their thirst.”

An hour later a wall some six feet long had been built close alongside the cart, leaving room for Phil and his friends to lie between it and the wheel. Then, having done all that was possible, they ate a portion of the three days’ rations which each carried in his haversack, and, wrapping themselves in their blankets, lay down to sleep, one of their number, however, being left seated upon the boxes to keep guard.

Three hours later, when Phil’s turn came for duty, the sky was already brightening in the east, and he waited anxiously for daylight. Gradually the dawn lit up the sky, chasing the dark clouds away, and finally banishing the grey mist which hung like a pall over the ground. Phil looked round in search of the British, but there was not a sign of them. A moment later a shout from behind attracted his attention, and turning, his heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of five wild-looking Cossack horsemen spurring their wiry ponies towards the cart, with their long lances already lowered and ready for the charge.

Chapter Nine.An Exciting Adventure.“Cossacks, by George! Wake up, you fellows!” shouted Phil, frantically kicking his comrades and caring little for the pain he caused, while at the same moment he saw to the loading of his Minié rifle.“What’s up? Why are you kicking us like that?” grunted Tony, lazily sitting up on his elbow. Then, as he saw Phil’s anxious face and his preparations for defence, he sprang to his feet, and, grasping his rifle, cried, “Cossacks, is it? All round us, too, Phil. I guess we’re trapped. But we’ll make a fight of it.”“Fight! Of course we will. Do you think them fluffy-looking beggars is going to collar us without a little shooting?” growled Sam, grimly ramming down a charge, while he gazed over the top of the ammunition-boxes at the advancing enemy.“Are you all loaded?” asked Phil shortly. “Then creep under the cart, Sam, and fire between the spokes of the wheel. Whatever you do, though, wait till I give the word. Our rifles carry a good long way, and we’ll be able to get in a couple of volleys before they reach us.”In a twinkling Sam had dived beneath the cart, and a “Ready, boys!” shouted in a cheery voice, which scarcely showed a trace of the excitement he felt, told Phil and Tony he was prepared for any emergency.Seeing three heads appear above the boxes, the Cossacks at once spread out, and completely surrounded the cart. Then, without pausing in their headlong gallop, they came full tilt at it, lance heads well in advance, each with his face close to his pony’s neck, and his spurs buried in its flanks.Phil and his friends singled out their men, and waited a few moments to get them well in range; then at the command “Fire!” from the former, three jets of smoke and flame spurted out from their rifles. Almost instantly the man at whom Phil had aimed tossed his arms into the air, and, falling heavily from his saddle, with one foot jammed in the stirrup, was dragged across the grass right up to the wall of ammunition-boxes, where the frightened animal came to a sudden halt, and having sniffed at it suspiciously, and snorted as if in disdain, lowered its head and commenced to crop the grass as if nothing out of the usual had occurred.Sandy’s bullet also found a mark, for another of the shaggy ponies fell as if struck by a pole-axe, and the rider shot out over its head and remained stunned and senseless upon the ground.A grunt of disgust from Tony showed that his shot had missed.“Well, I’m bothered! Missed!” he cried. “But here goes for another.”Reloading as rapidly as possible, they fired again, with the result that one of the horsemen was hit in the chest, and, doubling up, with arms hanging limply on either side of his pony’s neck, was carried past the little fort like a whirlwind.“Load up, boys!” cried Phil excitedly. “They’ll be here in a minute; we must stop them, or those lances will be into us.”But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft, armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one’s chest. It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy’s breast. All honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left. Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and, unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with an ugly wound gaping in his neck.The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance, he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder.“Bayonets! Come along, Tony!” shouted Phil, and without waiting to see if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent’s body, and dragged him from his pony.“Give a hand here, corporal,” sang out Sam at this moment. “This beast of a spear holds me so tight I can’t move. I feel just like a butterfly pinned to a board.”“Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on,” cried Tony, grasping the spear. Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground.“My eye, don’t it hurt!” groaned poor Sam, suddenly becoming pale. “Go easy with it, mate. Let the corporal have a turn.”Phil crept under the wagon, and finding the spear protruding almost a foot on the other side of the shoulder, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opening a small saw, which was a special feature of it, proceeded to cut the point off. That done, he grasped the shaft and gently pulled it from the wound.“Come and help here, Tony,” he cried. “But—wait a minute. Have a good look round first of all, and tell me if you can see any more of those fellows.”Tony climbed on top of the cart, and gazed all round.“Not a single one of ’em in sight,” he cried; “but they’ll be here soon, you may be sure.”“Then come and give a hand here with Sam,” answered Phil, pulling out his handkerchief. “I want a pad of linen or something.”“Here’s the very thing, Phil;” and, pulling his bearskin off, Tony produced a large woollen muffler.Ripping the seams of the coat with his knife, Phil quickly exposed the wound, and at once bound the muffler round it. Then with Tony’s help he propped Sam with his back against the wheel, and placed the arm in a sling.“Stay there, old boy,” he said gently, “and as soon as the pain goes off, crawl in behind the boxes. The Russians will not be able to reach you there.”“Here yer are, mate,” said Tony, handing Phil his bearskin. “It’s about as near a go as you’ll ever want. See, there’s a hole bang through it, and the fur’s all singed off the front.”Phil inspected it with an outward show of coolness, but as he jammed it on his head he muttered beneath his breath a fervent thanksgiving to the Almighty for his preservation, for had he not ducked at the critical moment, that hole would not have been blown through the helmet, but through his head.“Get up on top, and keep a look-out, Tony,” he exclaimed. “We’re in a tight hole, and it will only be by keeping our eyes well open that we shall get safely out of it. First of all, though, break open one of those boxes, and load the rifles. We shall want plenty of ammunition, and had best have it ready and close at hand, in case of a sudden attack. I will have a look at these poor fellows.”Crawling from beneath the cart, he knelt beside the Cossack into whose body he had thrust the bayonet. The poor fellow was evidently at his last gasp, but hearing Phil’s voice he opened his eyes, and gazed wonderingly at him. Then, as he recognised him, he feebly raised his hand.A feeling of terrible grief and dismay surged through Phil’s heart, for he was a lad who would sooner have lost his own life than taken that of another in cold blood. And yet, though this had been done in war-time, and whilst battling for life and liberty, a pang of regret oppressed him, and he felt only as a young man can feel who, for the first time in his existence, has been the cause of suffering and death to another.He took the hand of the dying man, and gently pressed it.“Are you in great pain, my poor fellow?” he whispered.The wounded Russian shook his head, and answered something. Phil placed his ear close to his mouth and listened.“We were enemies,” the Cossack gasped, “bitter enemies, for you have invaded our country. But now we are friends, friends until death. Hold my hand, brother, and the Virgin will bless you. Feel round my neck when I am gone, and you will find a cross. Take—take it for yourself, and when you glance at it think sometimes of him who died for his beloved Czar and country.”“I will, I will!” whispered Phil, with a groan of anguish.“I see my old peasant home,” went on the dying Cossack in a voice that was scarcely audible. “Ah, I see it better than ever—ever before. My poor mother!—thank God she has long gone to her rest!—and my brother. The stream in front, and the trees all round. Hold me, Englishman! Everything is dancing and blurred before my eyes. I—I am dying. Good-bye! Think some—sometimes of the man who died for his country.”The poor fellow, who had struggled into a sitting position, fell back, and Phil thought that he was dead. But he opened his eyes again, smiled, and with a sigh his spirit fled.Deeply impressed, Phil knelt by his side and offered up a short prayer. Then he rose to his feet, and, climbing on to the cart, looked round.Phit! A bullet struck the corner of one of the ammunition-boxes, and, glancing off, buried itself in the heel of his boot.“That’s a close one again, Phil, old boy,” laughed Tony, who seemed to enjoy the risk of being shot. “It’s that fellow over there. He’s just below the hill, and you can only see him by standing up on top here.”This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends.“This won’t do,” muttered Phil. “If he were in sight we could make it warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag him by the merest chance. There, didn’t I say so?” he exclaimed, as a second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. “Look here, Tony,” he continued, “climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can at the beggar. That will distract his attention.”“Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?” asked Tony wonderingly.“I’m going to creep round and drive him off,” Phil answered with decision.“Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he’ll change his position, but if you’re riding you’ll be able to stop his game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me,” he added, as if the thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had suddenly occurred to him. “You ain’t the only chap as can ride, and as you’re boss here, should stay in command of our fort.”Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off.Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of gaining another post from which to fire.“By George, I’ll bag that chap!” muttered Phil. “It would be great to rejoin the regiment with a captive.”Kicking his pony with his heels he was soon flying across the turf, the nimble and sure-footed little animal leaping the few holes that came in his path with an ease that showed how accustomed he was to it. Soon the flying Cossack had disappeared over another ridge, and Phil was not surprised to hear the report of a rifle a moment later and an angry hiss above his head.“He’ll certainly knock me over with one of his shots if I ride on like this,” he thought. “I’ll dismount and stalk him.”Acting on the thought he pulled up sharply and leapt from the saddle, the pony immediately dropping his head to graze. Then, flinging himself on to hands and knees, he scrambled forward until he reached a patch of long grass, where he lay full length, and, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the Cossack and waited breathlessly.An instant later the Russian appeared in sight, and Phil pressed the trigger; then, jumping to his feet, he rushed forward to secure his prisoner, for the Cossack had dropped like a stone. He topped the ridge, and was on the point of running down, when a bullet struck the butt of his rifle and shattered it, while the Russian, who had been merely acting, rose on one knee not fifty yards away, and commenced to rapidly reload. What was Phil to do? He hesitated, but the sight of some eight or nine more Cossacks galloping up to help their comrade decided him.“I’m off,” he muttered hurriedly, and, dropping his useless rifle, he took to his heels. It seemed as though he would never reach the pony, but at last he did and, flinging himself astride it, galloped madly back to the fort, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the Cossacks. They had closed together, and, topping the rise at this moment, came thundering down, shouting encouragement to one another.Phil reached the cart, and was off the pony’s back and in the fort in a trice.“Shake hands, old man!” exclaimed Tony grimly. “This here will be our last. There’s a hundred or more of these fellows charging.”“Nonsense! Pick up the rifles,” gasped Phil. “Now get ready to give them a volley. Sam, where are you?”“Here, and ready to lend a hand, mate,” the wounded man answered, crawling from beneath the cart at that moment. “I’ve got hold of these barkers,” he said, with a grin, producing two pistols which he had taken from the Cossacks lying dead close at hand, “and I bet yer if those Russian coves gets close enough, I’ll give ’em some of their own lead to swallow.”But though the three put the best face on the matter, there was no doubt that they were in desperate straits. The first volley failed miserably, and already the fiery horsemen were within a hundred yards of the cart, when there was a shout from behind, and to the joy of Phil and his comrades a patrol of dragoons came cantering across the grass.“Pals, hooray!” shouted Tony. “Phil, we’ll join ’em. Get hold of your nag and I’ll take this other here. Now, up we get; and when the boys come along, we goes at them beggars with them.”Caught by the excitement of the moment Phil vaulted over the wall, and just as the dragoons came spurring by with drawn swords poised ready for the encounter, he and Tony dashed out and joined them.“What ho, mates!” sang out the troopers. “Coming for a picnic with us, are yer? Good, boys!”There was no time for more. Setting spurs to their horses, the troop, which was only ten strong counting Phil and Tony, went headlong at the Cossacks. The latter pulled up immediately, hesitated for a moment, and were on the point of flying, when the impossibility of getting away from dragoons mounted on fresh English horses occurred to them. They threw down their arms and sullenly waited to be made prisoners.“Each of you catch hold of one of their reins and come along, quick,” sang out the non-commissioned officer who was in charge of the dragoons. “That’s it. Now off we go, back to the cart.”“How far is the camp away?” asked Phil.“Five miles, I should think, corporal. We’ll have to look precious smart. As soon as we get the horses in, and the boxes loaded up, we’ll scatter. I’ve enough men to spare—two in front, and two well out on the flanks. Then if we’re attacked we’ll make a running fight of it.”“We’ve a wounded friend under the cart,” replied Phil, “but I expect if we perch him up on top of the ammunition-boxes he’ll be able to drive. Then Tony and I will give a hand by looking after the prisoners. It’ll be grand getting back to camp safely with our charge, and with a few of the Cossacks in addition, though, mind you, we would have been prisoners if you fellows hadn’t ridden up in the nick of time.”“You’re right there, corporal. You chaps made a fine stand of it, we can all see, and we’ll not forget to say something about it when we get into camp. But you were fair goners if we hadn’t been out and heard the firing. Now let’s get smartly ahead. Some more Cossacks will be riding down before long, and though we’re all game for a brush with them, we don’t want to lose this chance of bringing in prisoners.”By this time the cart had been reached, and while half the patrol guarded the prisoners, the remainder set to work and rapidly loaded it with the ammunition. Then the horses were yoked, Sam was placed upon a folded-up blanket on top of the boxes, and the cavalcade started, Tony and Phil forming the flank guard, and proudly riding their newly-acquired steeds.“I should have liked to give those poor fellows a decent burial,” said Phil with a sigh of regret as they rode away, “but it is impossible. We haven’t any spades or picks, and, above all, it would not do to wait.”“Don’t worry about that, mate,” one of the troopers answered. “Their chums is certain to come over and see to that, for these Russians ain’t bad chaps when you take ’em all round, and I hear they’re as kind as possible to one another.”An hour later the party rode into camp and caused quite a sensation.“Why, Corporal Western, we gave you up for lost!” said the adjutant of the Grenadiers, coming out to meet them. “We made sure you had been killed or captured, and now you turn up with prisoners. How has it happened?”“Quite simply, sir,” Phil answered, with a smile. “We were left behind when the shaft of our cart broke, and then we took the wrong road. This morning we were attacked, and beat off five Cossacks. Then others appeared, and just as we were thinking of giving in, a patrol of dragoons rode up.”“Giving in!” exclaimed Sam in high disdain from his elevated seat. “Tell you what it is, sir. That Corporal Western don’t know when the time to hoist the white flag arrives. He meant sticking to it, so we just backed him up.”“Whoever was the cause of your holding on, my lads, it’s much the same in the end,” exclaimed the officer heartily. “You have done well, and your names shall be mentioned to the colonel. Now you had better see what the cooks have left, while the doctors take your wounded comrade in charge.”Handing the cart over to the quarter-master, Tony followed Phil to the cook’s fire, and both were soon devouring a meal of bully beef and bread, for they were almost famished, having been too much engaged and too highly excited to eat while threatened by the Cossacks.They found the Allies encamped a few miles from the River Alma, and almost in sight of the Russian position.“It’ll be hot work to-morrow,” said one of the sergeants that evening, as they sat wrapped in their blankets round the fire. “The enemy has chosen a splendid position along the heights the other side of the river, and I expect our job will be to turn him out. It will be a big fight, or I’m mistaken, and as we shall all have plenty to do I’m for turning-in at once and getting as long a sleep as I can. Good-night, you chaps! Corporal Western, you’ll have them three stripes this time to-morrow if you do only half as well as you and your two mates did to-day.”The stalwart sergeant laid his blanket on the ground, rolled himself in it, and, placing his head on his haversack, was very soon in a deep sleep, untroubled by the fact that to-morrow might be his last day on earth.As for Phil and Tony, they sat up an hour or more longer, chatting over past events and the probabilities of the next day’s fight, never dreaming that it was destined to be on historical one, and one in which the mettle of British troops was to be tested and found of the staunchest, by as fierce a storm of shot and shell as ever assailed an army.

“Cossacks, by George! Wake up, you fellows!” shouted Phil, frantically kicking his comrades and caring little for the pain he caused, while at the same moment he saw to the loading of his Minié rifle.

“What’s up? Why are you kicking us like that?” grunted Tony, lazily sitting up on his elbow. Then, as he saw Phil’s anxious face and his preparations for defence, he sprang to his feet, and, grasping his rifle, cried, “Cossacks, is it? All round us, too, Phil. I guess we’re trapped. But we’ll make a fight of it.”

“Fight! Of course we will. Do you think them fluffy-looking beggars is going to collar us without a little shooting?” growled Sam, grimly ramming down a charge, while he gazed over the top of the ammunition-boxes at the advancing enemy.

“Are you all loaded?” asked Phil shortly. “Then creep under the cart, Sam, and fire between the spokes of the wheel. Whatever you do, though, wait till I give the word. Our rifles carry a good long way, and we’ll be able to get in a couple of volleys before they reach us.”

In a twinkling Sam had dived beneath the cart, and a “Ready, boys!” shouted in a cheery voice, which scarcely showed a trace of the excitement he felt, told Phil and Tony he was prepared for any emergency.

Seeing three heads appear above the boxes, the Cossacks at once spread out, and completely surrounded the cart. Then, without pausing in their headlong gallop, they came full tilt at it, lance heads well in advance, each with his face close to his pony’s neck, and his spurs buried in its flanks.

Phil and his friends singled out their men, and waited a few moments to get them well in range; then at the command “Fire!” from the former, three jets of smoke and flame spurted out from their rifles. Almost instantly the man at whom Phil had aimed tossed his arms into the air, and, falling heavily from his saddle, with one foot jammed in the stirrup, was dragged across the grass right up to the wall of ammunition-boxes, where the frightened animal came to a sudden halt, and having sniffed at it suspiciously, and snorted as if in disdain, lowered its head and commenced to crop the grass as if nothing out of the usual had occurred.

Sandy’s bullet also found a mark, for another of the shaggy ponies fell as if struck by a pole-axe, and the rider shot out over its head and remained stunned and senseless upon the ground.

A grunt of disgust from Tony showed that his shot had missed.

“Well, I’m bothered! Missed!” he cried. “But here goes for another.”

Reloading as rapidly as possible, they fired again, with the result that one of the horsemen was hit in the chest, and, doubling up, with arms hanging limply on either side of his pony’s neck, was carried past the little fort like a whirlwind.

“Load up, boys!” cried Phil excitedly. “They’ll be here in a minute; we must stop them, or those lances will be into us.”

But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft, armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one’s chest. It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy’s breast. All honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left. Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and, unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with an ugly wound gaping in his neck.

The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance, he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder.

“Bayonets! Come along, Tony!” shouted Phil, and without waiting to see if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent’s body, and dragged him from his pony.

“Give a hand here, corporal,” sang out Sam at this moment. “This beast of a spear holds me so tight I can’t move. I feel just like a butterfly pinned to a board.”

“Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on,” cried Tony, grasping the spear. Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground.

“My eye, don’t it hurt!” groaned poor Sam, suddenly becoming pale. “Go easy with it, mate. Let the corporal have a turn.”

Phil crept under the wagon, and finding the spear protruding almost a foot on the other side of the shoulder, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opening a small saw, which was a special feature of it, proceeded to cut the point off. That done, he grasped the shaft and gently pulled it from the wound.

“Come and help here, Tony,” he cried. “But—wait a minute. Have a good look round first of all, and tell me if you can see any more of those fellows.”

Tony climbed on top of the cart, and gazed all round.

“Not a single one of ’em in sight,” he cried; “but they’ll be here soon, you may be sure.”

“Then come and give a hand here with Sam,” answered Phil, pulling out his handkerchief. “I want a pad of linen or something.”

“Here’s the very thing, Phil;” and, pulling his bearskin off, Tony produced a large woollen muffler.

Ripping the seams of the coat with his knife, Phil quickly exposed the wound, and at once bound the muffler round it. Then with Tony’s help he propped Sam with his back against the wheel, and placed the arm in a sling.

“Stay there, old boy,” he said gently, “and as soon as the pain goes off, crawl in behind the boxes. The Russians will not be able to reach you there.”

“Here yer are, mate,” said Tony, handing Phil his bearskin. “It’s about as near a go as you’ll ever want. See, there’s a hole bang through it, and the fur’s all singed off the front.”

Phil inspected it with an outward show of coolness, but as he jammed it on his head he muttered beneath his breath a fervent thanksgiving to the Almighty for his preservation, for had he not ducked at the critical moment, that hole would not have been blown through the helmet, but through his head.

“Get up on top, and keep a look-out, Tony,” he exclaimed. “We’re in a tight hole, and it will only be by keeping our eyes well open that we shall get safely out of it. First of all, though, break open one of those boxes, and load the rifles. We shall want plenty of ammunition, and had best have it ready and close at hand, in case of a sudden attack. I will have a look at these poor fellows.”

Crawling from beneath the cart, he knelt beside the Cossack into whose body he had thrust the bayonet. The poor fellow was evidently at his last gasp, but hearing Phil’s voice he opened his eyes, and gazed wonderingly at him. Then, as he recognised him, he feebly raised his hand.

A feeling of terrible grief and dismay surged through Phil’s heart, for he was a lad who would sooner have lost his own life than taken that of another in cold blood. And yet, though this had been done in war-time, and whilst battling for life and liberty, a pang of regret oppressed him, and he felt only as a young man can feel who, for the first time in his existence, has been the cause of suffering and death to another.

He took the hand of the dying man, and gently pressed it.

“Are you in great pain, my poor fellow?” he whispered.

The wounded Russian shook his head, and answered something. Phil placed his ear close to his mouth and listened.

“We were enemies,” the Cossack gasped, “bitter enemies, for you have invaded our country. But now we are friends, friends until death. Hold my hand, brother, and the Virgin will bless you. Feel round my neck when I am gone, and you will find a cross. Take—take it for yourself, and when you glance at it think sometimes of him who died for his beloved Czar and country.”

“I will, I will!” whispered Phil, with a groan of anguish.

“I see my old peasant home,” went on the dying Cossack in a voice that was scarcely audible. “Ah, I see it better than ever—ever before. My poor mother!—thank God she has long gone to her rest!—and my brother. The stream in front, and the trees all round. Hold me, Englishman! Everything is dancing and blurred before my eyes. I—I am dying. Good-bye! Think some—sometimes of the man who died for his country.”

The poor fellow, who had struggled into a sitting position, fell back, and Phil thought that he was dead. But he opened his eyes again, smiled, and with a sigh his spirit fled.

Deeply impressed, Phil knelt by his side and offered up a short prayer. Then he rose to his feet, and, climbing on to the cart, looked round.

Phit! A bullet struck the corner of one of the ammunition-boxes, and, glancing off, buried itself in the heel of his boot.

“That’s a close one again, Phil, old boy,” laughed Tony, who seemed to enjoy the risk of being shot. “It’s that fellow over there. He’s just below the hill, and you can only see him by standing up on top here.”

This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends.

“This won’t do,” muttered Phil. “If he were in sight we could make it warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag him by the merest chance. There, didn’t I say so?” he exclaimed, as a second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. “Look here, Tony,” he continued, “climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can at the beggar. That will distract his attention.”

“Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?” asked Tony wonderingly.

“I’m going to creep round and drive him off,” Phil answered with decision.

“Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he’ll change his position, but if you’re riding you’ll be able to stop his game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me,” he added, as if the thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had suddenly occurred to him. “You ain’t the only chap as can ride, and as you’re boss here, should stay in command of our fort.”

Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off.

Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of gaining another post from which to fire.

“By George, I’ll bag that chap!” muttered Phil. “It would be great to rejoin the regiment with a captive.”

Kicking his pony with his heels he was soon flying across the turf, the nimble and sure-footed little animal leaping the few holes that came in his path with an ease that showed how accustomed he was to it. Soon the flying Cossack had disappeared over another ridge, and Phil was not surprised to hear the report of a rifle a moment later and an angry hiss above his head.

“He’ll certainly knock me over with one of his shots if I ride on like this,” he thought. “I’ll dismount and stalk him.”

Acting on the thought he pulled up sharply and leapt from the saddle, the pony immediately dropping his head to graze. Then, flinging himself on to hands and knees, he scrambled forward until he reached a patch of long grass, where he lay full length, and, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the Cossack and waited breathlessly.

An instant later the Russian appeared in sight, and Phil pressed the trigger; then, jumping to his feet, he rushed forward to secure his prisoner, for the Cossack had dropped like a stone. He topped the ridge, and was on the point of running down, when a bullet struck the butt of his rifle and shattered it, while the Russian, who had been merely acting, rose on one knee not fifty yards away, and commenced to rapidly reload. What was Phil to do? He hesitated, but the sight of some eight or nine more Cossacks galloping up to help their comrade decided him.

“I’m off,” he muttered hurriedly, and, dropping his useless rifle, he took to his heels. It seemed as though he would never reach the pony, but at last he did and, flinging himself astride it, galloped madly back to the fort, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the Cossacks. They had closed together, and, topping the rise at this moment, came thundering down, shouting encouragement to one another.

Phil reached the cart, and was off the pony’s back and in the fort in a trice.

“Shake hands, old man!” exclaimed Tony grimly. “This here will be our last. There’s a hundred or more of these fellows charging.”

“Nonsense! Pick up the rifles,” gasped Phil. “Now get ready to give them a volley. Sam, where are you?”

“Here, and ready to lend a hand, mate,” the wounded man answered, crawling from beneath the cart at that moment. “I’ve got hold of these barkers,” he said, with a grin, producing two pistols which he had taken from the Cossacks lying dead close at hand, “and I bet yer if those Russian coves gets close enough, I’ll give ’em some of their own lead to swallow.”

But though the three put the best face on the matter, there was no doubt that they were in desperate straits. The first volley failed miserably, and already the fiery horsemen were within a hundred yards of the cart, when there was a shout from behind, and to the joy of Phil and his comrades a patrol of dragoons came cantering across the grass.

“Pals, hooray!” shouted Tony. “Phil, we’ll join ’em. Get hold of your nag and I’ll take this other here. Now, up we get; and when the boys come along, we goes at them beggars with them.”

Caught by the excitement of the moment Phil vaulted over the wall, and just as the dragoons came spurring by with drawn swords poised ready for the encounter, he and Tony dashed out and joined them.

“What ho, mates!” sang out the troopers. “Coming for a picnic with us, are yer? Good, boys!”

There was no time for more. Setting spurs to their horses, the troop, which was only ten strong counting Phil and Tony, went headlong at the Cossacks. The latter pulled up immediately, hesitated for a moment, and were on the point of flying, when the impossibility of getting away from dragoons mounted on fresh English horses occurred to them. They threw down their arms and sullenly waited to be made prisoners.

“Each of you catch hold of one of their reins and come along, quick,” sang out the non-commissioned officer who was in charge of the dragoons. “That’s it. Now off we go, back to the cart.”

“How far is the camp away?” asked Phil.

“Five miles, I should think, corporal. We’ll have to look precious smart. As soon as we get the horses in, and the boxes loaded up, we’ll scatter. I’ve enough men to spare—two in front, and two well out on the flanks. Then if we’re attacked we’ll make a running fight of it.”

“We’ve a wounded friend under the cart,” replied Phil, “but I expect if we perch him up on top of the ammunition-boxes he’ll be able to drive. Then Tony and I will give a hand by looking after the prisoners. It’ll be grand getting back to camp safely with our charge, and with a few of the Cossacks in addition, though, mind you, we would have been prisoners if you fellows hadn’t ridden up in the nick of time.”

“You’re right there, corporal. You chaps made a fine stand of it, we can all see, and we’ll not forget to say something about it when we get into camp. But you were fair goners if we hadn’t been out and heard the firing. Now let’s get smartly ahead. Some more Cossacks will be riding down before long, and though we’re all game for a brush with them, we don’t want to lose this chance of bringing in prisoners.”

By this time the cart had been reached, and while half the patrol guarded the prisoners, the remainder set to work and rapidly loaded it with the ammunition. Then the horses were yoked, Sam was placed upon a folded-up blanket on top of the boxes, and the cavalcade started, Tony and Phil forming the flank guard, and proudly riding their newly-acquired steeds.

“I should have liked to give those poor fellows a decent burial,” said Phil with a sigh of regret as they rode away, “but it is impossible. We haven’t any spades or picks, and, above all, it would not do to wait.”

“Don’t worry about that, mate,” one of the troopers answered. “Their chums is certain to come over and see to that, for these Russians ain’t bad chaps when you take ’em all round, and I hear they’re as kind as possible to one another.”

An hour later the party rode into camp and caused quite a sensation.

“Why, Corporal Western, we gave you up for lost!” said the adjutant of the Grenadiers, coming out to meet them. “We made sure you had been killed or captured, and now you turn up with prisoners. How has it happened?”

“Quite simply, sir,” Phil answered, with a smile. “We were left behind when the shaft of our cart broke, and then we took the wrong road. This morning we were attacked, and beat off five Cossacks. Then others appeared, and just as we were thinking of giving in, a patrol of dragoons rode up.”

“Giving in!” exclaimed Sam in high disdain from his elevated seat. “Tell you what it is, sir. That Corporal Western don’t know when the time to hoist the white flag arrives. He meant sticking to it, so we just backed him up.”

“Whoever was the cause of your holding on, my lads, it’s much the same in the end,” exclaimed the officer heartily. “You have done well, and your names shall be mentioned to the colonel. Now you had better see what the cooks have left, while the doctors take your wounded comrade in charge.”

Handing the cart over to the quarter-master, Tony followed Phil to the cook’s fire, and both were soon devouring a meal of bully beef and bread, for they were almost famished, having been too much engaged and too highly excited to eat while threatened by the Cossacks.

They found the Allies encamped a few miles from the River Alma, and almost in sight of the Russian position.

“It’ll be hot work to-morrow,” said one of the sergeants that evening, as they sat wrapped in their blankets round the fire. “The enemy has chosen a splendid position along the heights the other side of the river, and I expect our job will be to turn him out. It will be a big fight, or I’m mistaken, and as we shall all have plenty to do I’m for turning-in at once and getting as long a sleep as I can. Good-night, you chaps! Corporal Western, you’ll have them three stripes this time to-morrow if you do only half as well as you and your two mates did to-day.”

The stalwart sergeant laid his blanket on the ground, rolled himself in it, and, placing his head on his haversack, was very soon in a deep sleep, untroubled by the fact that to-morrow might be his last day on earth.

As for Phil and Tony, they sat up an hour or more longer, chatting over past events and the probabilities of the next day’s fight, never dreaming that it was destined to be on historical one, and one in which the mettle of British troops was to be tested and found of the staunchest, by as fierce a storm of shot and shell as ever assailed an army.

Chapter Ten.The Glorious Alma.The misty grey of early dawn lay over the smooth grassy slopes of the Crimea when Phil and Tony turned over on the following morning and looked about them. Here and there men were moving about like big ghostly shadows as they trudged down to the banks of the River Bulganak to fill their water-bottles and mess-tins in preparation for the morning meal. Some were crouching over smoking fires, encouraging them to burn up brightly and give out sufficient heat to cook the food. Close at hand others were grooming officers’ chargers, and on every side there was the clatter of an awaking camp, the stamp of restive hoofs, cheery calls from man to man, and the startling notes of reveillé ringing out clearly in the morning air, and warning all that another day had arrived, and that it was time to throw off sleep and be ready to try conclusions with the enemy.“Lummy, ain’t I sleepy just!” yawned Tony, throwing off his blanket and sitting up to rub his eyes with his knuckles.“I too could have done with a couple of hours more,” answered Phil peevishly. Then, springing to his feet, he shook the heavy dew from his blanket and looked towards the river, the smooth and sluggish surface of which had just caught the first rays of the rising sun.“Who’s for a dip?” he cried briskly. “Come along, Tony, boy; we shall never wake up till we have douched ourselves with water.”“’Tain’t a bad idea, Phil, and I’m with yer,” exclaimed his friend, shaking himself like a dog. “There ain’t no towels, as I can see, so I suppose it’s a case of dry as best you can.”“Yes, of course. The sun will be up in another ten minutes, and will serve our purpose well. Come along; we’ve a clear half-hour before breakfast.”Another five minutes and Phil, accompanied by many comrades, was hastily pulling off his boots and clothing close to the bank of the stream. Then someone waded in and tried the depth, and having found a deep pool the others dived in, splashing the water in every direction. The pastime caught on like fire, and very soon a hundred or more were enjoying a bathe. Officers, too, came down to the river, some to look on, and others to join the men in the water.By eight o’clock the whole of the Allies were under arms and waiting anxiously for orders, the French on the right, while the British took care of the left flank, where danger was to be expected. In rear of all were the arabas and cavalry, besides herds of cattle and sheep. Phil and Tony had been relieved of their charge, and were in the ranks with their comrades.“I ain’t sorry to say good-bye to that old cart, araba, or whatever they call it,” exclaimed Tony. “Yer see, we shall get a chance of seeing most of the fun if there’s a fight, whilst if we was in charge of the ammunition where should we be? Right away behind, there ain’t a doubt, kicking our heels and waiting till some chance cannon-shot come bowling along our way and chopped our heads off. Halloo! who’s that?”This exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance of a smartly-dressed officer, with glittering epaulettes and waving plume, cantering down before the British lines.“It’s Marshal St Arnaud, him as commands the Froggies,” shouted someone. The news spread through the ranks, and at once, lifting their rifles, the troops greeted the Marshal with three hearty British cheers, a compliment which evidently caused him much gratification.“We shall move now, Tony,” remarked Phil gravely, “so we’ll just shake hands, old man. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps it will be unnecessary, but we’ve a big fight before us, and who can say that we shall both come safely through it?”“No one, Phil. No one but Him as sits above,” Tony answered earnestly; “but I tell yer we’re coming through it, you and me, and you’re going to do something for them stripes. I feel it somehow. But here’s my hand, old pal. You’ve been a good ’un to me, and if I go this day, I’ll have a better chance than a year or more ago. I shall, and yer know it.”Tony grasped Phil’s hand and wrung it, while tears stood in his eyes. Phil returned the pressure earnestly, and then they leant on their rifles and waited for the word to advance.Between nine and ten it came, and the Allies trudged forward over a wide sweeping plain leading to a ridge, beyond which lay the valley of the Alma, the valley—fair though it looked on that grand morning—of the shadow of death. And now guns in front boomed out, answering the shots of the Russian batteries, and each man grasped his rifle more firmly at the sound, while a keen, strained look came over his face, as though he had braced himself for the trial which was coming.Trudge, trudge, trudge! On moved the mass of men, looking grand in their varied uniforms, and all seeming anxious to get more quickly to that ridge in front and look upon the enemy.“Ah! there they are,” exclaimed Phil with a sigh of relief as his company topped the rise and came in full view of the Russian position. “See, they are right in front of us if we only march in the direction we are taking now, so there will be plenty of work for us, you fellows! Hurrah for the fight!” and in the excitement of the moment, he snatched his bearskin from his head, and, tossing it into the air, caught it on his bayonet with the skill of a juggler. Instantly a wave of cheering spread along the British lines, and a forest of bearskins and head-gear of every description was thrust aloft on the gleaming bayonets, soon—very soon—to be used in deadly and desperate earnest for another purpose. A minute later the answering cheers of the French came echoing along the lines, their “Vive l’Empereur!” piercing the morning air with a shrill note, showing that they too were roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm.“Look, Tony!” exclaimed Phil a few minutes later, having calmed down sufficiently to be able to make a good examination of the Russian position, “those beggars have chosen a splendid spot on which to manoeuvre. You can see them massed on the slope of the hill close upon the other side of the river, and to reach them we must cross the open and plunge through the water. That makes it pretty well impossible for our cavalry to help us by a flank attack. But we’ll go for them tooth and nail, in the regular old bull-dog way, and if we don’t rout them out of their position, well, I’ll—I’ll never speak to you again.”“Yer won’t, won’t yer?” answered Tony, with a curious grin, staring at his friend with no small amount of astonishment. “Young ’un, I never see yer so wound up afore. I never thought yer was that bloodthirsty. Me and all yer mates took yer for one of them quiet kind of coves what takes a lot of rousing. But now—blow me—I can see yer monkey’s up, and I’ll have to keep an eye on yer, else yer’ll be trying to fight the whole of them Russian coves alone.” Then, having smiled once more at Phil, the honest fellow’s face suddenly assumed a sterner look, his eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed, while he hurriedly fumbled at the fastening of his ammunition-pouch. “Beat ’em, Phil, old boy! in course we will. If the Grenadier Guards don’t find their way to the top of that there hill, and take every one of them big guns yer see, it’ll be because there ain’t none of ’em left to do it. We’ll manage it or die on the way.”And indeed, to look at the disposition of the Russian troops and guns made by General Menschikoff, there was every possibility that before they were forced to retire many a gallant British and French soldier would be laid low upon the grass. In front of the Allies stretched the river Alma, forming a sharp bend, the apex of which was opposite the division between French and English troops, and pointed towards the Russians. In the bend was the village of Bourliouk, soon to be the scene of sharp skirmishing, and on the right a road crossed the river and ascended the opposite bank, which at that point sloped easily towards a conical hill known as Telegraph Hill. To the right of this road, and exactly facing the French and Turkish troops, there was a steep cliff on the other side of the river. Up this, however, two roads ran, one of which was available for guns.In front of the British, grassy slopes descended to gardens and vineyards which stretched to the river-bank, and through them passed a broad post-road from Sebastopol to Eupatoria, crossing the Alma by a bridge, and ascending between Telegraph Hill and another height known as Kourgani Hill. On either side of this road the banks of the river ascended in easy slopes, and here it was that Menschikoff had disposed his forces, planting a formidable battery of fourteen guns, of large calibre, behind an earthwork thrown up on a terrace one hundred yards from the water, while farther to the left was another battery, the two supported by nine field-batteries of eight guns each—a truly formidable armament.“Heavens! what guns!” Phil heard one of the officers mutter. Then, gripping the colours he bore, the young fellow tossed his head proudly and added: “By Jove, we’ll have the lot before the day is out!”—a resolution which every soldier had also made.What it was to cost them only the future could disclose, but those who had seen war before, who had trained themselves to conduct the movements of armies, could not but expect a heavy list of casualties; for even an amateur might have seen that the Russian position was one of extraordinary strength, while the expert able to grasp its salient points could tell at a glance that it presented an extremely difficult and anxious problem to the attacker. Even Phil, boy though he was and inexperienced in warfare, could not but be struck by the formidable works towards which the Allies were advancing.“They seem impregnable,” he muttered. “Look at the batteries. They must have 100 guns at least, and all trained for the slope upon which we are advancing. Then there is the river to cross. It may or may not be fordable, but in any case it means a disadvantage to us and an advantage to the Russians. When that is crossed there is the rush uphill in the teeth of those guns, and opposed by the enemy’s bayonets. It will be hot work, Tony, very hot work, for I suppose we shall be compelled to make a frontal attack.”“If that means marching straight to our front, without turning so much as an inch, then I says yes, I hope we shall,” Tony answered with a growl, assumed only to cover his excitement. “How else should Englishmen attack? Go straight for them is our way of doing business, and I reckon it’s the best.”And this in fact seemed the only way of attacking the Russians successfully. Perhaps a flanking movement to the left might have proved successful, but even then the river must first be forded, no doubt in the teeth of a murderous fire. But this had not struck the British leader as possible, and the whole force marched on steadily, shoulder to shoulder, and with a martial tramp which seemed to shake the ground.And upon them as they advanced was fixed the anxious gaze of some 50,000 Russians, horse, foot, and gunners, who marvelled at their boldness and seeming unconcern, and waited only for the long red lines of the British and the brisk-moving masses of French blue to come a little nearer, when they promised themselves that they would sweep them out of existence with a tempest of shot and shell the like of which had never been experienced. Yes, all was ready. Their guns were trained for the ground over which British and French must pass; but not for an instant did it occur to them that French and Turks might think of attacking the cliffs on their left. The narrow road, its steepness, and the proximity of their guns seemed to make such an attempt impossible, and, safe in the thought, they brought every piece they possessed to bear upon those slopes and vineyards across which the British were soon to march.“Halt!” The command came hoarsely through the air and was emphasised by the shrill notes of a bugle.“Now, what is going to happen?” asked Phil. “Ah! I see; we are to get into our proper formation, ready to march down to the river. Then I suppose we shall deploy till we have ample elbow-room, and afterwards make a dash for the Russian position.”Ten minutes later the British divisions were swinging along over the green turf, their centre marching almost directly on the village of Bourliouk, and the whole face to face with Menschikoff’s huge army, and destined to bear the brunt of the fighting.The French and Turkish troops took but a small part in the battle. Seeing the difficulty of the two cliff roads ascending the river-bank to the left of his force, Menschikoff had failed to occupy them, as has been mentioned, and had placed but few troops in the neighbourhood, for the guns of the allied fleets commanded the cliffs. Taking advantage of this, the lithe and active little Frenchmen were soon crowding the narrow road in their front, and in an incredibly short space of time their guns had been hauled to the top of the cliff, and from there boomed out at the Russian batteries and long lines of massed infantry, doing much execution and threatening them from their flank. Farther to the right the Turks swarmed up the other road, and having gained the cliffs, took up their position there.Meanwhile the red lines of the British, who, it had been arranged, should not be launched at the main army till the French had commenced their flank attack, moved down the grassy slope, solemn and grand, and as steadily as a mass of moving rock, the front line composed of the Second and Light Divisions, the next of the Third and First Divisions, in column formation, while behind them the Fourth Division marched in echelon, with five regiments in rear as reserves.Stretching for nearly two miles, with its right close to the village of Bourliouk and its left near that of Tarkhaular, the mass of men advanced slowly and evenly, with a cloud of skirmishers from the rifle battalions thrown out in front. Soon these became engaged with the Russian skirmishers posted in the vineyards and in Bourliouk, and the sharp rat-a-tat of musketry and an occasional hiss above the heads of the gallant men in red showed that the battle of the Alma had commenced. A grunt, almost a shout, of satisfaction and pent-up excitement, instantly went down the lines, and the regiments at a sharp order commenced to open out and deploy, the foremost line, composed of the Second and Light Divisions, stepping forward at a smart pace, which soon became almost a double, as the men eagerly advanced against the Russians.Boom! The big battery had opened fire, and, as if this had been a signal, every gun on the Russian side blazed out and covered the slopes with smoke, while their shot searched the whole British front, tearing remorselessly through the ranks and crashing into the village houses.“This is hot!” shouted Phil in Tony’s ear, as they squatted with their comrades upon the grass, awaiting the order to advance. “I’d rather march straight against that battery than sit here and be pounded into a jelly before having a chance of a smack at those beggars.”“’Tain’t nothing,” grunted Tony reassuringly, tilting his bearskin back to dash the perspiration from his forehead. “Ah, that was a bad ’un!” he muttered hoarsely as, with an awful screech, a cannon-shot plunged into the men close at hand, laying five of the poor fellows dead and maiming two others in its flight.But now the first line had reached the river, and, holding their pouches and rifles above their heads, they plunged in boldly, and were soon massed on the other side, where they waited, standing waist-deep in the water, and sheltered by the steep bank from the fire of the batteries above. But it was only a momentary halt. Dashing through the river, Sir George Brown put his horse at the bank, and, surmounting it, turned in his saddle and called upon the brave fellows to follow him, waving his sword in a manner that showed all who were out of hearing what his wishes were. And he had not to call a second time, for, hastily gulping down a mouthful of water, the thin red line climbed the bank with a shout, and, falling into their places with as much coolness as though on a parade-ground, advanced shoulder to shoulder up the slopes.A glance at them, however, displayed the curious fact that the advancing troops were in no regular formation. Compelled to deploy and often make wide détours in passing through the vineyards on the other bank and in marching round the village, regiments had been split up into smaller portions, and in many cases men had lost sight of their comrades altogether. But still discipline and coolness were second nature to them. Without orders but of their own initiative they fell in, and forming a double line—the favoured formation for British attack,—they pressed up the hill; dark-coated riflemen and red linesmen intermingled, and were swallowed up in the clouds of eddying smoke.Up, up they climbed, steadily and with heroic bravery, and, passing through a storm of hurtling iron and lead, at length flung themselves upon the deep columns of the Russians.One moment visible, they were seen surging from side to side, desperately using their bayonets; and next moment, with an appalling roar, the batteries would open once more, and clouds of white smoke would swallow them up, only their excited cries, and the hoarse, encouraging voices of the officers nobly leading them, showing that they still survived.“It’s grand to see them,” cried Phil, carried away by the excitement of the moment. “When will our turn come? They will be swept away by those crowds of Russian soldiers. Look at them, Tony! Now they are at close quarters, and the enemy is giving back. Hurrah, now we have them!” and, springing to his feet, he would have broken from the ranks and rushed to join the fighting-line had not Tony clutched him by the arm and dragged him to the ground, while a hoarse and well-timed “Steady, youngster, you’re tiring yourself; keep all your gristle till we come up against them,” from a veteran sergeant who sat close at hand, smoking calmly, served to quieten him again. But Phil was not the only man there who longed to be up and doing. Not one but was restless and chafing at the delay, especially at Phil’s last shout, for a turn had taken place in the tide of the battle which indeed gave the British a far better chance of victory. Awed by the mass of advancing men, the big Russian battery, which had done such damage in our ranks, suddenly limbered up and retired over the hill—a disgraceful retreat which proved disastrous to the enemy.But though the attacking force had thus gained an important advantage, the masses of the Russians now poured down the slope and threw themselves upon the gallant British line. Bravely did the latter resist, and with desperate courage strive to continue their advance; but the enemy opposing them were equally brave and equally stubborn, and moreover had the advantage of position and numbers. For a few moments there was a seething mixture of red and grey coats, glittering bayonets, and darts of flame; and then, broken by sheer weight, the British retired upon the ranks of the now advancing second line.Side by side Phil and Tony stepped forward with their comrades, and almost in a dream plunged through the river and climbed the opposite bank. But now the voices of their officers recalled their wandering senses, and, falling into their places, the brigade of Guards pushed on in perfect formation, with the Highlanders abreast of them.What a scene it was! What excitement and what movement! A double line of stalwart Guardsmen as well-ordered and as rigidly erect as if drilling in the green parks at home; and in line with them brawny Highlanders, all dripping with water, deafened by the crashing artillery, and yet determined to a man to get to close quarters with the enemy. And retiring upon them, war-worn, bedraggled, and bareheaded, with faces and hands black with the smoke of powder, some limping heavily, and others even crawling, came the gallant first line, loth to turn their backs upon the foe, and yet compelled to do so by overwhelming numbers. Had the second line advanced earlier it would have supported them at the critical moment, but owing to the fact that Lord Raglan and his staff had already crossed the river and ridden close to Telegraph Hill, it received no direct order from him; and when it did advance, it was on the responsibility of the division commander. But now, opening its ranks for the moment to pass through the broken first line, it marched at a rapid pace, and immediately plunged into the tempest of bullets. Men fell to right and left, biting the dust and struggling in their agony, while others lay motionless, sometimes with contorted limbs and faces, and sometimes in peaceful repose as if asleep, stirring not from the position in which death had found them. Ah! it was war, red, cruel war, and well might that second line have wavered and turned back. But theirs was not that sort of courage. Determined to be beaten by nothing, they kept steadily marching up the hill, and soon disappeared, for volumes of smoke were pouring from the village of Bourliouk, which was now in flames, and, mingling with that from the guns, enveloped the combatants in a dense cloud.And as the line advanced into the thick of the fight, and while rifle fire brought havoc to the ranks, the Russian skirmishers, still clinging to their positions amongst the trees of the river-bank, picked off all the stragglers, and even turned their volleys and the fire of a few light field-guns upon the main body.“Keep together, mate. We’ll fight ’em side by side,” shouted Tony, closing up to Phil. “Got yer rifle loaded? Then keep yer charge till we gets to close quarters. It’ll come in handy then.”“Right! I thought of that,” Phil shouted back. Then, closing up to their comrades, they advanced at a rapid pace and flung themselves upon the lines of grey-coated Russians.To this day Phil cannot quite recall what happened. If you press him he will perhaps tell you that he recollects a young officer falling at his feet, while a huge Russian prepared to bayonet him. Next moment the man was down and Phil was standing over him, while Tony’s rifle laid low another who was in the act of dashing his friend’s head to pieces with the butt of his weapon.On pressed the red line resistlessly and with never a pause, leaving behind them friend and foe strewn upon the grass, and on, ever in front, went the officers and the colours into the heart of the struggling mass of grey. There was no need to call to their men and beg them to follow. The British lion was aroused in desperate earnestness, and with grim and awe-inspiring silence the men rushed on headlong and regardless of bullet or bayonet. There was a crash, the bang, bang of an occasional shot, and the clash of steel upon steel, and then the trample of thousands of feet as the enemy gave way and fled.Side by side Phil and Tony had fought their way into the middle of the famous Vladimir regiment, and as the Russians turned, found themselves mixed up with brawny Highlanders, who, with the light of battle in their eyes, were pressing resistlessly forward. Suddenly Phil caught sight of a figure in advance bearing a British colour. It swayed this way and that, now endeavouring to get closer to the Highlanders, and next moment swept forward as the retreating Russians slowly gave way and drove the bearer before them.“The colour! the colour!” he shouted frantically, dashing forward with Tony at his heels. Scattering those who barred their path, they made their way to the flag, and falling-in on either side, fought grimly to help its bearer back to the ranks of the Highlanders.“Thanks, my men!” shouted the young officer who supported the flag. “Now, help me, and we’ll get out of this hole. All together! Rush!”With their weapons held well in advance, the three dashed at the enemy, while the Highlanders, seeing the predicament into which the colour had fallen, with a shout of wrath flung themselves in their direction. But though beaten, the Russians had in no way lost courage, and, turning fiercely, they bore the gallant Scotsmen back, while others opposed Phil and his comrades.“Rally, rally! The colour!” shouted Phil, thrusting right and left with his bayonet, and turning just in time to discharge his rifle at a man who was attacking them in rear.So fiercely did the little band of three fight that the Russians in their immediate neighbourhood gave way, and, standing in a circle round them, glared at the gallant red-coats who had thus far been too much for them.A glorious picture they presented. At bay, with a host of the enemy surrounding them and glowering at them with fierce hatred, the officer and his two supporters indeed were men of whom Britain might well feel proud. With flushed faces and flashing eyes, which looked into those of the enemy with no signs of fear, but with keen glances of stem determination, they stood there a mere drop in an ocean of struggling men. Smoke-begrimed, dishevelled, and with bearskins tumbled in the mud, Phil and Tony clutched their rifles and looked ready and willing to fall upon the hundreds around them. Thoughts of home, danger of capture, or death by bayonet or bullet were lost in the delirious excitement of the moment. They thought only of the flag for which they fought, and, hemmed in and panting with exhaustion, they listened to the deafening din of the battle still raging a few feet from them, and nobly determined to die sooner than permit the Russians to capture it.“We’re done, lads,” groaned the officer, sinking on his knee. “Corporal, take the colour. I’m hit, and can’t hold it any longer. Fight on for it!”Phil grasped the staff, and, hoisting the flag still higher, looked round with proud defiance, while Tony, with a grim smile of exultation on his face, stepped nearer to him.“Ay, well fight on for it, sir, never fear,” he muttered. “We’ll fight till we’re dead.”Phil nodded.“I’ll borrow your sword, sir,” he said, grasping the weapon as he spoke. “A rifle and bayonet are too heavy to use one-handed.”“Look out, lads! Here come the cavalry!” the officer exclaimed at this moment; and almost instantly Cossack horses dashed through the Russian infantry, scattering them and surrounding the colour. There was one last desperate fight. Phil’s sword smashed in two at the first vicious cut, and for a minute he continued the defence by belabouring the horsemen with the colour-staff. Then that was dashed to the ground, and before he was aware of it a lasso-noose had been slipped over his shoulders, securing his arms to his side, and he was being dragged away.The last backward glance as he was hurried away showed him a grand rush by the Highlanders. The grey-coats retreated precipitately, and amid hoarse shouts of exultation the rescued colour was borne back to the British lines.

The misty grey of early dawn lay over the smooth grassy slopes of the Crimea when Phil and Tony turned over on the following morning and looked about them. Here and there men were moving about like big ghostly shadows as they trudged down to the banks of the River Bulganak to fill their water-bottles and mess-tins in preparation for the morning meal. Some were crouching over smoking fires, encouraging them to burn up brightly and give out sufficient heat to cook the food. Close at hand others were grooming officers’ chargers, and on every side there was the clatter of an awaking camp, the stamp of restive hoofs, cheery calls from man to man, and the startling notes of reveillé ringing out clearly in the morning air, and warning all that another day had arrived, and that it was time to throw off sleep and be ready to try conclusions with the enemy.

“Lummy, ain’t I sleepy just!” yawned Tony, throwing off his blanket and sitting up to rub his eyes with his knuckles.

“I too could have done with a couple of hours more,” answered Phil peevishly. Then, springing to his feet, he shook the heavy dew from his blanket and looked towards the river, the smooth and sluggish surface of which had just caught the first rays of the rising sun.

“Who’s for a dip?” he cried briskly. “Come along, Tony, boy; we shall never wake up till we have douched ourselves with water.”

“’Tain’t a bad idea, Phil, and I’m with yer,” exclaimed his friend, shaking himself like a dog. “There ain’t no towels, as I can see, so I suppose it’s a case of dry as best you can.”

“Yes, of course. The sun will be up in another ten minutes, and will serve our purpose well. Come along; we’ve a clear half-hour before breakfast.”

Another five minutes and Phil, accompanied by many comrades, was hastily pulling off his boots and clothing close to the bank of the stream. Then someone waded in and tried the depth, and having found a deep pool the others dived in, splashing the water in every direction. The pastime caught on like fire, and very soon a hundred or more were enjoying a bathe. Officers, too, came down to the river, some to look on, and others to join the men in the water.

By eight o’clock the whole of the Allies were under arms and waiting anxiously for orders, the French on the right, while the British took care of the left flank, where danger was to be expected. In rear of all were the arabas and cavalry, besides herds of cattle and sheep. Phil and Tony had been relieved of their charge, and were in the ranks with their comrades.

“I ain’t sorry to say good-bye to that old cart, araba, or whatever they call it,” exclaimed Tony. “Yer see, we shall get a chance of seeing most of the fun if there’s a fight, whilst if we was in charge of the ammunition where should we be? Right away behind, there ain’t a doubt, kicking our heels and waiting till some chance cannon-shot come bowling along our way and chopped our heads off. Halloo! who’s that?”

This exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance of a smartly-dressed officer, with glittering epaulettes and waving plume, cantering down before the British lines.

“It’s Marshal St Arnaud, him as commands the Froggies,” shouted someone. The news spread through the ranks, and at once, lifting their rifles, the troops greeted the Marshal with three hearty British cheers, a compliment which evidently caused him much gratification.

“We shall move now, Tony,” remarked Phil gravely, “so we’ll just shake hands, old man. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps it will be unnecessary, but we’ve a big fight before us, and who can say that we shall both come safely through it?”

“No one, Phil. No one but Him as sits above,” Tony answered earnestly; “but I tell yer we’re coming through it, you and me, and you’re going to do something for them stripes. I feel it somehow. But here’s my hand, old pal. You’ve been a good ’un to me, and if I go this day, I’ll have a better chance than a year or more ago. I shall, and yer know it.”

Tony grasped Phil’s hand and wrung it, while tears stood in his eyes. Phil returned the pressure earnestly, and then they leant on their rifles and waited for the word to advance.

Between nine and ten it came, and the Allies trudged forward over a wide sweeping plain leading to a ridge, beyond which lay the valley of the Alma, the valley—fair though it looked on that grand morning—of the shadow of death. And now guns in front boomed out, answering the shots of the Russian batteries, and each man grasped his rifle more firmly at the sound, while a keen, strained look came over his face, as though he had braced himself for the trial which was coming.

Trudge, trudge, trudge! On moved the mass of men, looking grand in their varied uniforms, and all seeming anxious to get more quickly to that ridge in front and look upon the enemy.

“Ah! there they are,” exclaimed Phil with a sigh of relief as his company topped the rise and came in full view of the Russian position. “See, they are right in front of us if we only march in the direction we are taking now, so there will be plenty of work for us, you fellows! Hurrah for the fight!” and in the excitement of the moment, he snatched his bearskin from his head, and, tossing it into the air, caught it on his bayonet with the skill of a juggler. Instantly a wave of cheering spread along the British lines, and a forest of bearskins and head-gear of every description was thrust aloft on the gleaming bayonets, soon—very soon—to be used in deadly and desperate earnest for another purpose. A minute later the answering cheers of the French came echoing along the lines, their “Vive l’Empereur!” piercing the morning air with a shrill note, showing that they too were roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm.

“Look, Tony!” exclaimed Phil a few minutes later, having calmed down sufficiently to be able to make a good examination of the Russian position, “those beggars have chosen a splendid spot on which to manoeuvre. You can see them massed on the slope of the hill close upon the other side of the river, and to reach them we must cross the open and plunge through the water. That makes it pretty well impossible for our cavalry to help us by a flank attack. But we’ll go for them tooth and nail, in the regular old bull-dog way, and if we don’t rout them out of their position, well, I’ll—I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Yer won’t, won’t yer?” answered Tony, with a curious grin, staring at his friend with no small amount of astonishment. “Young ’un, I never see yer so wound up afore. I never thought yer was that bloodthirsty. Me and all yer mates took yer for one of them quiet kind of coves what takes a lot of rousing. But now—blow me—I can see yer monkey’s up, and I’ll have to keep an eye on yer, else yer’ll be trying to fight the whole of them Russian coves alone.” Then, having smiled once more at Phil, the honest fellow’s face suddenly assumed a sterner look, his eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed, while he hurriedly fumbled at the fastening of his ammunition-pouch. “Beat ’em, Phil, old boy! in course we will. If the Grenadier Guards don’t find their way to the top of that there hill, and take every one of them big guns yer see, it’ll be because there ain’t none of ’em left to do it. We’ll manage it or die on the way.”

And indeed, to look at the disposition of the Russian troops and guns made by General Menschikoff, there was every possibility that before they were forced to retire many a gallant British and French soldier would be laid low upon the grass. In front of the Allies stretched the river Alma, forming a sharp bend, the apex of which was opposite the division between French and English troops, and pointed towards the Russians. In the bend was the village of Bourliouk, soon to be the scene of sharp skirmishing, and on the right a road crossed the river and ascended the opposite bank, which at that point sloped easily towards a conical hill known as Telegraph Hill. To the right of this road, and exactly facing the French and Turkish troops, there was a steep cliff on the other side of the river. Up this, however, two roads ran, one of which was available for guns.

In front of the British, grassy slopes descended to gardens and vineyards which stretched to the river-bank, and through them passed a broad post-road from Sebastopol to Eupatoria, crossing the Alma by a bridge, and ascending between Telegraph Hill and another height known as Kourgani Hill. On either side of this road the banks of the river ascended in easy slopes, and here it was that Menschikoff had disposed his forces, planting a formidable battery of fourteen guns, of large calibre, behind an earthwork thrown up on a terrace one hundred yards from the water, while farther to the left was another battery, the two supported by nine field-batteries of eight guns each—a truly formidable armament.

“Heavens! what guns!” Phil heard one of the officers mutter. Then, gripping the colours he bore, the young fellow tossed his head proudly and added: “By Jove, we’ll have the lot before the day is out!”—a resolution which every soldier had also made.

What it was to cost them only the future could disclose, but those who had seen war before, who had trained themselves to conduct the movements of armies, could not but expect a heavy list of casualties; for even an amateur might have seen that the Russian position was one of extraordinary strength, while the expert able to grasp its salient points could tell at a glance that it presented an extremely difficult and anxious problem to the attacker. Even Phil, boy though he was and inexperienced in warfare, could not but be struck by the formidable works towards which the Allies were advancing.

“They seem impregnable,” he muttered. “Look at the batteries. They must have 100 guns at least, and all trained for the slope upon which we are advancing. Then there is the river to cross. It may or may not be fordable, but in any case it means a disadvantage to us and an advantage to the Russians. When that is crossed there is the rush uphill in the teeth of those guns, and opposed by the enemy’s bayonets. It will be hot work, Tony, very hot work, for I suppose we shall be compelled to make a frontal attack.”

“If that means marching straight to our front, without turning so much as an inch, then I says yes, I hope we shall,” Tony answered with a growl, assumed only to cover his excitement. “How else should Englishmen attack? Go straight for them is our way of doing business, and I reckon it’s the best.”

And this in fact seemed the only way of attacking the Russians successfully. Perhaps a flanking movement to the left might have proved successful, but even then the river must first be forded, no doubt in the teeth of a murderous fire. But this had not struck the British leader as possible, and the whole force marched on steadily, shoulder to shoulder, and with a martial tramp which seemed to shake the ground.

And upon them as they advanced was fixed the anxious gaze of some 50,000 Russians, horse, foot, and gunners, who marvelled at their boldness and seeming unconcern, and waited only for the long red lines of the British and the brisk-moving masses of French blue to come a little nearer, when they promised themselves that they would sweep them out of existence with a tempest of shot and shell the like of which had never been experienced. Yes, all was ready. Their guns were trained for the ground over which British and French must pass; but not for an instant did it occur to them that French and Turks might think of attacking the cliffs on their left. The narrow road, its steepness, and the proximity of their guns seemed to make such an attempt impossible, and, safe in the thought, they brought every piece they possessed to bear upon those slopes and vineyards across which the British were soon to march.

“Halt!” The command came hoarsely through the air and was emphasised by the shrill notes of a bugle.

“Now, what is going to happen?” asked Phil. “Ah! I see; we are to get into our proper formation, ready to march down to the river. Then I suppose we shall deploy till we have ample elbow-room, and afterwards make a dash for the Russian position.”

Ten minutes later the British divisions were swinging along over the green turf, their centre marching almost directly on the village of Bourliouk, and the whole face to face with Menschikoff’s huge army, and destined to bear the brunt of the fighting.

The French and Turkish troops took but a small part in the battle. Seeing the difficulty of the two cliff roads ascending the river-bank to the left of his force, Menschikoff had failed to occupy them, as has been mentioned, and had placed but few troops in the neighbourhood, for the guns of the allied fleets commanded the cliffs. Taking advantage of this, the lithe and active little Frenchmen were soon crowding the narrow road in their front, and in an incredibly short space of time their guns had been hauled to the top of the cliff, and from there boomed out at the Russian batteries and long lines of massed infantry, doing much execution and threatening them from their flank. Farther to the right the Turks swarmed up the other road, and having gained the cliffs, took up their position there.

Meanwhile the red lines of the British, who, it had been arranged, should not be launched at the main army till the French had commenced their flank attack, moved down the grassy slope, solemn and grand, and as steadily as a mass of moving rock, the front line composed of the Second and Light Divisions, the next of the Third and First Divisions, in column formation, while behind them the Fourth Division marched in echelon, with five regiments in rear as reserves.

Stretching for nearly two miles, with its right close to the village of Bourliouk and its left near that of Tarkhaular, the mass of men advanced slowly and evenly, with a cloud of skirmishers from the rifle battalions thrown out in front. Soon these became engaged with the Russian skirmishers posted in the vineyards and in Bourliouk, and the sharp rat-a-tat of musketry and an occasional hiss above the heads of the gallant men in red showed that the battle of the Alma had commenced. A grunt, almost a shout, of satisfaction and pent-up excitement, instantly went down the lines, and the regiments at a sharp order commenced to open out and deploy, the foremost line, composed of the Second and Light Divisions, stepping forward at a smart pace, which soon became almost a double, as the men eagerly advanced against the Russians.

Boom! The big battery had opened fire, and, as if this had been a signal, every gun on the Russian side blazed out and covered the slopes with smoke, while their shot searched the whole British front, tearing remorselessly through the ranks and crashing into the village houses.

“This is hot!” shouted Phil in Tony’s ear, as they squatted with their comrades upon the grass, awaiting the order to advance. “I’d rather march straight against that battery than sit here and be pounded into a jelly before having a chance of a smack at those beggars.”

“’Tain’t nothing,” grunted Tony reassuringly, tilting his bearskin back to dash the perspiration from his forehead. “Ah, that was a bad ’un!” he muttered hoarsely as, with an awful screech, a cannon-shot plunged into the men close at hand, laying five of the poor fellows dead and maiming two others in its flight.

But now the first line had reached the river, and, holding their pouches and rifles above their heads, they plunged in boldly, and were soon massed on the other side, where they waited, standing waist-deep in the water, and sheltered by the steep bank from the fire of the batteries above. But it was only a momentary halt. Dashing through the river, Sir George Brown put his horse at the bank, and, surmounting it, turned in his saddle and called upon the brave fellows to follow him, waving his sword in a manner that showed all who were out of hearing what his wishes were. And he had not to call a second time, for, hastily gulping down a mouthful of water, the thin red line climbed the bank with a shout, and, falling into their places with as much coolness as though on a parade-ground, advanced shoulder to shoulder up the slopes.

A glance at them, however, displayed the curious fact that the advancing troops were in no regular formation. Compelled to deploy and often make wide détours in passing through the vineyards on the other bank and in marching round the village, regiments had been split up into smaller portions, and in many cases men had lost sight of their comrades altogether. But still discipline and coolness were second nature to them. Without orders but of their own initiative they fell in, and forming a double line—the favoured formation for British attack,—they pressed up the hill; dark-coated riflemen and red linesmen intermingled, and were swallowed up in the clouds of eddying smoke.

Up, up they climbed, steadily and with heroic bravery, and, passing through a storm of hurtling iron and lead, at length flung themselves upon the deep columns of the Russians.

One moment visible, they were seen surging from side to side, desperately using their bayonets; and next moment, with an appalling roar, the batteries would open once more, and clouds of white smoke would swallow them up, only their excited cries, and the hoarse, encouraging voices of the officers nobly leading them, showing that they still survived.

“It’s grand to see them,” cried Phil, carried away by the excitement of the moment. “When will our turn come? They will be swept away by those crowds of Russian soldiers. Look at them, Tony! Now they are at close quarters, and the enemy is giving back. Hurrah, now we have them!” and, springing to his feet, he would have broken from the ranks and rushed to join the fighting-line had not Tony clutched him by the arm and dragged him to the ground, while a hoarse and well-timed “Steady, youngster, you’re tiring yourself; keep all your gristle till we come up against them,” from a veteran sergeant who sat close at hand, smoking calmly, served to quieten him again. But Phil was not the only man there who longed to be up and doing. Not one but was restless and chafing at the delay, especially at Phil’s last shout, for a turn had taken place in the tide of the battle which indeed gave the British a far better chance of victory. Awed by the mass of advancing men, the big Russian battery, which had done such damage in our ranks, suddenly limbered up and retired over the hill—a disgraceful retreat which proved disastrous to the enemy.

But though the attacking force had thus gained an important advantage, the masses of the Russians now poured down the slope and threw themselves upon the gallant British line. Bravely did the latter resist, and with desperate courage strive to continue their advance; but the enemy opposing them were equally brave and equally stubborn, and moreover had the advantage of position and numbers. For a few moments there was a seething mixture of red and grey coats, glittering bayonets, and darts of flame; and then, broken by sheer weight, the British retired upon the ranks of the now advancing second line.

Side by side Phil and Tony stepped forward with their comrades, and almost in a dream plunged through the river and climbed the opposite bank. But now the voices of their officers recalled their wandering senses, and, falling into their places, the brigade of Guards pushed on in perfect formation, with the Highlanders abreast of them.

What a scene it was! What excitement and what movement! A double line of stalwart Guardsmen as well-ordered and as rigidly erect as if drilling in the green parks at home; and in line with them brawny Highlanders, all dripping with water, deafened by the crashing artillery, and yet determined to a man to get to close quarters with the enemy. And retiring upon them, war-worn, bedraggled, and bareheaded, with faces and hands black with the smoke of powder, some limping heavily, and others even crawling, came the gallant first line, loth to turn their backs upon the foe, and yet compelled to do so by overwhelming numbers. Had the second line advanced earlier it would have supported them at the critical moment, but owing to the fact that Lord Raglan and his staff had already crossed the river and ridden close to Telegraph Hill, it received no direct order from him; and when it did advance, it was on the responsibility of the division commander. But now, opening its ranks for the moment to pass through the broken first line, it marched at a rapid pace, and immediately plunged into the tempest of bullets. Men fell to right and left, biting the dust and struggling in their agony, while others lay motionless, sometimes with contorted limbs and faces, and sometimes in peaceful repose as if asleep, stirring not from the position in which death had found them. Ah! it was war, red, cruel war, and well might that second line have wavered and turned back. But theirs was not that sort of courage. Determined to be beaten by nothing, they kept steadily marching up the hill, and soon disappeared, for volumes of smoke were pouring from the village of Bourliouk, which was now in flames, and, mingling with that from the guns, enveloped the combatants in a dense cloud.

And as the line advanced into the thick of the fight, and while rifle fire brought havoc to the ranks, the Russian skirmishers, still clinging to their positions amongst the trees of the river-bank, picked off all the stragglers, and even turned their volleys and the fire of a few light field-guns upon the main body.

“Keep together, mate. We’ll fight ’em side by side,” shouted Tony, closing up to Phil. “Got yer rifle loaded? Then keep yer charge till we gets to close quarters. It’ll come in handy then.”

“Right! I thought of that,” Phil shouted back. Then, closing up to their comrades, they advanced at a rapid pace and flung themselves upon the lines of grey-coated Russians.

To this day Phil cannot quite recall what happened. If you press him he will perhaps tell you that he recollects a young officer falling at his feet, while a huge Russian prepared to bayonet him. Next moment the man was down and Phil was standing over him, while Tony’s rifle laid low another who was in the act of dashing his friend’s head to pieces with the butt of his weapon.

On pressed the red line resistlessly and with never a pause, leaving behind them friend and foe strewn upon the grass, and on, ever in front, went the officers and the colours into the heart of the struggling mass of grey. There was no need to call to their men and beg them to follow. The British lion was aroused in desperate earnestness, and with grim and awe-inspiring silence the men rushed on headlong and regardless of bullet or bayonet. There was a crash, the bang, bang of an occasional shot, and the clash of steel upon steel, and then the trample of thousands of feet as the enemy gave way and fled.

Side by side Phil and Tony had fought their way into the middle of the famous Vladimir regiment, and as the Russians turned, found themselves mixed up with brawny Highlanders, who, with the light of battle in their eyes, were pressing resistlessly forward. Suddenly Phil caught sight of a figure in advance bearing a British colour. It swayed this way and that, now endeavouring to get closer to the Highlanders, and next moment swept forward as the retreating Russians slowly gave way and drove the bearer before them.

“The colour! the colour!” he shouted frantically, dashing forward with Tony at his heels. Scattering those who barred their path, they made their way to the flag, and falling-in on either side, fought grimly to help its bearer back to the ranks of the Highlanders.

“Thanks, my men!” shouted the young officer who supported the flag. “Now, help me, and we’ll get out of this hole. All together! Rush!”

With their weapons held well in advance, the three dashed at the enemy, while the Highlanders, seeing the predicament into which the colour had fallen, with a shout of wrath flung themselves in their direction. But though beaten, the Russians had in no way lost courage, and, turning fiercely, they bore the gallant Scotsmen back, while others opposed Phil and his comrades.

“Rally, rally! The colour!” shouted Phil, thrusting right and left with his bayonet, and turning just in time to discharge his rifle at a man who was attacking them in rear.

So fiercely did the little band of three fight that the Russians in their immediate neighbourhood gave way, and, standing in a circle round them, glared at the gallant red-coats who had thus far been too much for them.

A glorious picture they presented. At bay, with a host of the enemy surrounding them and glowering at them with fierce hatred, the officer and his two supporters indeed were men of whom Britain might well feel proud. With flushed faces and flashing eyes, which looked into those of the enemy with no signs of fear, but with keen glances of stem determination, they stood there a mere drop in an ocean of struggling men. Smoke-begrimed, dishevelled, and with bearskins tumbled in the mud, Phil and Tony clutched their rifles and looked ready and willing to fall upon the hundreds around them. Thoughts of home, danger of capture, or death by bayonet or bullet were lost in the delirious excitement of the moment. They thought only of the flag for which they fought, and, hemmed in and panting with exhaustion, they listened to the deafening din of the battle still raging a few feet from them, and nobly determined to die sooner than permit the Russians to capture it.

“We’re done, lads,” groaned the officer, sinking on his knee. “Corporal, take the colour. I’m hit, and can’t hold it any longer. Fight on for it!”

Phil grasped the staff, and, hoisting the flag still higher, looked round with proud defiance, while Tony, with a grim smile of exultation on his face, stepped nearer to him.

“Ay, well fight on for it, sir, never fear,” he muttered. “We’ll fight till we’re dead.”

Phil nodded.

“I’ll borrow your sword, sir,” he said, grasping the weapon as he spoke. “A rifle and bayonet are too heavy to use one-handed.”

“Look out, lads! Here come the cavalry!” the officer exclaimed at this moment; and almost instantly Cossack horses dashed through the Russian infantry, scattering them and surrounding the colour. There was one last desperate fight. Phil’s sword smashed in two at the first vicious cut, and for a minute he continued the defence by belabouring the horsemen with the colour-staff. Then that was dashed to the ground, and before he was aware of it a lasso-noose had been slipped over his shoulders, securing his arms to his side, and he was being dragged away.

The last backward glance as he was hurried away showed him a grand rush by the Highlanders. The grey-coats retreated precipitately, and amid hoarse shouts of exultation the rescued colour was borne back to the British lines.

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