Preface.
Foreword.
Contents.
List of Illustrations.
Footnotes.
Books by G. Manville Fenn.

Jack jerked out a note or two as they literally raced along

Blair of Balaclava

A HERO OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

BY

ESCOTT LYNN
Author of ‘When Lion Heart was King,’ ‘Under the Red Rose,’
‘With Robin Hood in Sherwood,’ &c.

WITH SIX COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS

by
W. H. C. Groome

LONDON: 38 Soho Square, W.
W & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED
EDINBURGH: 339 Hight Street

Edinburgh:
Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.

TO MY BROTHER FRED

AND THE OFFICERS

NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS AND MEN

OF THE ‘DEATH OR GLORY’ BOYS

PREFACE.

Inkermann has been called ‘The Soldiers’ Battle.’ With equal truth the whole Crimean campaign might be called ‘The Soldiers’ War.’ It was the vindication of the regimental officer and the rank and file; it showed to the world the ineptitude of the general staff as it existed at that day. Those entrusted with the conduct of the campaign were mostly old men long past the age when brilliant service in the field could be expected of them. Some had seen war-service in the Peninsula forty years before, the interim being spent doing office-work at the Horse Guards; many had never heard a shot fired in anger in their lives, their services being confined to Hyde Park or the Curragh Camp. Family or political influence procured them their appointments, while younger men who had already rendered splendid war-service in the East were either passed over, snubbed, or relegated to subordinate positions.

The miseries of Varna, the unparalleled sufferings of the troops before Sebastopol, and the awful blunder of Balaclava give testimony to the unwisdom of the selections.

During the long peace since Waterloo the army had grown unpopular. It had been neglected. Even the Duke of Wellington was averse to making any military display for fear that what army there was should be further reduced.

The force which left England for the East was one of the worst equipped and most badly organised that ever left our shores. On the contrary, the men of which it was composed were the finest. They were all long-service men, of grand physique and of an unrivalled spirit.

Before the Crimean war a red coat was looked on with disdain; after the war the wearer was hailed as a friend. He had proved that he was a worthy descendant of the heroes of the Peninsula, that he could perform as gallant deeds on the blood-stained slopes of the Alma or in the valley of Balaclava as had his forebears at Waterloo, that he could die of disease and starvation as uncomplainingly before Sebastopol as did his predecessors in Spain or Portugal.

In the following pages the author has endeavoured to pay a small tribute to the heroism of the rank and file, and to show how they won for themselves in the hearts of the British public the warm place they have ever since occupied.

The survivors of the Crimean war are, alas! growing yearly fewer; but the author desires to acknowledge with thankfulness much information he has gained from the veterans he has had the opportunity of knowing, amongst whom he wishes specially to mention Sergeant James Mustard, of the 17th Lancers, a survivor of the immortal charge, and happily still alive.

He also wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to the fascinating pages of Kinglake’s Invasion of the Crimea and Russell’s British Expedition to the Crimea. Stirling’s Highland Brigade in the Crimea, and Steven’s Connaught Rangers have also been advantageously consulted.

ESCOTT LYNN.

London, 1911.

FOREWORD.

BY A SURVIVOR OF THE CHARGE OF
THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

It is many a long year now since the misty October morning when with my regiment, the 17th Lancers, I rode up that fatal valley where so many of my gallant comrades fell. Yet, as I read Mr Lynn’s description of the charge, I seemed to see and hear it all again: my comrades’ faces grim and set, the fine figure of Lord Cardigan leading us, poor Captain Nolan wildly trying to direct us out of the course we were following, the rattle of rifle-fire, the crash of the shells, the blazing of the guns all round us, the constant gaps in the ranks as man and horse went down, the ever-increasing speed till we were in amongst the Russian gunners and avenging those who had fallen.

I shivered again when I read of the awful storm of November and of the miseries of the road to Balaclava. My heart beat with pride at the tale of Inkermann, so well is the story told.

Many of the characters in the story I recognise—Jack Blair, Sergeant Barrymore, Sergeant Linham, Captain Norreys, Pearson, Brandon, and so on. I knew them under different names in the old regiment, but they were the same men.

If any boy is interested in what we did, what we suffered, and what part in the Crimean war my regiment played, let him read Blair of Balaclava. As a survivor of the Light Brigade I can truly say that had Mr Lynn soldiered with me and ridden by my side in the charge he could not have given a truer account of our doings in the Crimea in 1854 and 1855.

(Signed) James Mustard,
late 17th Lancers.

Sergeant James Mustard, the writer of the fore-going letter, was born in St James’s, Piccadilly, on January 13th, 1829.

Coming of a family of soldiers, a love for the profession of arms was born in him, and he joined the 3rd Light Dragoons, in London, on May 1st, 1850. Two years later he transferred, at Canterbury, to the 17th Lancers.

He went out to the East with his regiment in April 1854, was present at the affair of the Bulganak and the battle of the Alma. He rode in the front rank of the ‘Immortal Six Hundred,’ going down the valley immediately behind Lord Cardigan and his orderly trumpeter, Brittain of the 17th Lancers, who died of his wounds received in the charge. He reached the guns in safety, and, after using his lance with good effect against the Russian gunners and the cavalry formed behind them, started, with a little group of his own regiment and the 8th Hussars, on the return ride. He had a personal encounter with a Polish Lancer, whom he worsted; then continuing on his way, went to the assistance of Trumpeter Landfried of the 17th, who came safely out of the fray.

Sergeant Mustard had received a severe wound; but owing to the intense excitement became aware of the fact only by accident. To describe this event the writer quotes the sergeant’s own words: ‘We were coming back along the valley when a chum of the 13th Light Dragoons, named Hetridge, rode up to me. “Jim,” he said, “lend me your sword, for I’ve lost mine in the fight.” I still held my lance, though the shaft had been chipped by a bullet. I turned to draw my sword to hand it to Hetridge, when, to my amazement, I found I had neither sword, scabbard, nor belt. A canister-shot had caught me on the left hip, and cut away sword, belt, overalls, and pants, and laid bare a great red patch of bleeding flesh. Another inch would have smashed my hip and killed me.’

After lying all night on the ground, and helping to shift camp twice, Sergeant Mustard was next day sent to Scutari hospital, where he spent the next four months.

He served till the end of the war; and, returning with his regiment, was stationed in Ireland till the outbreak of the Indian Mutiny. Going to India, he served in Sir William Gordon’s squadron in the pursuit and capture of Tantia Topee. He was again wounded, and had his horse shot under him. Among his officers at that date were Lieut.-General Sir D. C. Drury Lowe, G.C.B., and Field-Marshal Sir Evelyn Wood, V.C., G.C.B., both then regimental officers in the 17th Lancers.

Sergeant Mustard, after being master-tailor of his regiment, retired from the service in 1865, being the possessor of the Crimean medal with three clasps, the Turkish medal, and the Indian Mutiny medal with one clasp.

The old veteran is still hale and hearty, though the only survivor of the rank and file of his regiment who rode in the charge. The kindly face and upright, soldierly figure, with the glittering medals on his breast, are well known in the suburb where he has lived, greatly respected, ever since he left the service.

His grandfather and two uncles fought at Waterloo in the 71st Light Infantry, and two of his brothers served for many years in the 22nd Regiment.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER |  | PAGE
I. | A SCRIMMAGE IN THE OFFICE | 1
II. | ROBBERS ON THE HIGHWAY | 11
III. | THE ‘DEATH OR GLORY BOYS’ | 18
IV. | JACK BECOMES A LANCER | 23
V. | A BARRACK-ROOM SQUABBLE | 30
VI. | JACK MAKES A RESOLVE | 38
VII. | SERGEANT LINHAM INSTRUCTS | 43
VIII. | BANDSMAN NAPPER IS TAUGHT A LESSON | 55
IX. | JACK MAKES GOOD PROGRESS | 60
X. | THE REVIEW | 71
XI. | JACK RECEIVES VISITORS | 76
XII. | THE ROUTE ARRIVES | 81
XIII. | EASTWARD HO! | 85
XIV. | AN ADVENTURE AT VARNA AND ITS SEQUEL | 92
XV. | JACK MEETS AN OLD FRIEND | 99
XVI. | AN ADVENTURE IN BULGARIA | 106
XVII. | NAPPER PLAYS HIS LAST CARD | 111
XVIII. | A WELCOME MOVE | 116
XIX. | THE FIRST BRUSH WITH THE ENEMY | 120
XX. | CAUGHT IN A TRAP | 127
XXI. | SERGEANT LINHAM TAKES COMMAND | 137
XXII. | A BRILLIANT LITTLE AFFAIR | 144
XXIII. | JACK SHOWS HIS METTLE | 151
XXIV. | THE PASSAGE OF THE ALMA | 164
XXV. | THE WINNING OF THE HEIGHTS | 175
XXVI. | JACK RECEIVES HIS FIRST STEP | 186
XXVII. | LARRY AND JACK MAKE A DISCOVERY | 191
XXVIII. | LARRY WINS DISTINCTION | 198
XXIX. | THE BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE | 204
XXX. | A NIGHT ON VEDETTE DUTY | 212
XXXI. | ‘THE THIN RED LINE’ | 216
XXXII. | WELL DONE, HEAVIES! | 224
XXXIII. | ‘INTO THE JAWS OF HELL’ | 233
XXXIV. | A NIGHT ON THE BATTLEFIELD | 253
XXXV. | THE CAVES OF INKERMANN | 267
XXXVI. | ‘THE SOLDIERS’ BATTLE’ | 277
XXXVII. | MISERIES ACCUMULATE | 294
XXXVIII. | WAR IN GRIM EARNEST | 302
XXXIX. | IN THE HANDS OF THE COSSACKS | 308
XL. | A FRIEND IN NEED | 314
XLI. | THE CHÂTEAU PAULOFF | 322
XLII. | TREACHERY AT WORK | 333
XLIII. | A DREARY MARCH | 339
XLIV. | THE RESCUE | 346
XLV. | THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA | 361
XLVI. | THE STORMING OF THE REDAN | 367
XLVII. | HOMEWARD BOUND | 374
XLVIII. | ‘FOR VALOUR!’ | 387

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

| PAGE
Jack jerked out a note or two as they literally raced along | Frontispiece
Dragged the little boy right from under the iron-shod hoofs | 74
Pearson caught the cowardly Russian just between the shoulder-blades | 162
‘Howly Moses, look there to yer left!’ cried Larry | 194
Jack having as much as he could do to keep up with his brutal captors | 313
The two heroes were seized, seated shoulder high | 360

BOOKS BY G. MANVILLE FENN.

TRAPPED BY MALAYS: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris. With Eight Illustrations by Steven Spurrier | 5/-
’TENTION! A Story of Boy-life during the Peninsular War. With Eight Illustrations by C. M. Seeldon | 5/-
SHOULDER ARMS! With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
GLYN SEVERN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. With Eight Illustrations by Chas. Pears | 5/-
WALSH, THE WONDER-WORKER. With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
STAN LYNN: A Boys Adventure in China. With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
THE KOPJE GARRISON. With Eight Illustrations by W. Boucher | 5/-
CHARGE: A Story of Briton and Boer. With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
FIX BAY’NETS! or, The Regiment in the Hills. With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
DRAW SWORDS! In the Horse Artillery. With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
VINCE THE REBEL; or, The Sanctuary in the Bog. With Eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 5/-
THE BLACK TOR: A Tale of the Reign of James I. With Eight Illustrations by W. S. Stacey | 5/-
ROY ROYLAND; or, The Young Castellan. With Eight Illustrations by W. Boucher | 5/-
DIAMOND DYKE; or, The Lone Farm on the Veldt. With Eight Illustrations by W. Boucher | 5/-
REAL GOLD: A Story of Adventure. With Eight Illustrations by W. S. Stacey | 5/-
NIC REVEL: A White Slave’s Adventures in Alligator Land. With Six Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome | 3/6
THE RAJAH OF DAH. With Six Illustrations by W. S. Stacey | 3/6
THE DINGO BOYS; or, The Squatters of Wallaby Range. With Six Illustrations by W. S. Stacey | 3/6
BEGUMBAGH: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny; and other Stories. Illust. | 1/6
W. & R. Chambers, Limited, London and Edinburgh.

BLAIR OF BALACLAVA.

CHAPTER I.

A SCRIMMAGE IN THE OFFICE.

‘YOU young brute, why don’t you mind what you’re doing, blundering about?’

‘I couldn’t help it, Jenkins; it was quite an accident. Your foot was stuck out, and I stumbled over it.’

‘It was nothing of the sort, you clumsy wretch; and take that to remind you that I’m Mr Jenkins.’

As he spoke, the lanky, pale-faced youth rose from the table, where he had been sitting nibbling the end of a quill, and soundly boxed the ears of a small, delicate-looking boy who, while carrying an inkpot across the office, had stumbled and upset some of the black fluid upon the lavender-coloured continuations of Mr Silvester Jenkins.

Not content with boxing the boy’s ears, Mr Jenkins seized him by the arm, which he twisted savagely.

‘Oh, oh—Jenkins! don’t—please don’t! You do hurt!’

‘And I will too, you young pig!’

The scene was taking place in the close and dismal office of Messrs Phogg & Cheetham, Solicitors, House Agents, &c. The tiny windows, partly covered with a wire blind and partly with big bills, allowed but little daylight to penetrate into the office, Messrs Phogg & Cheetham seeming to prefer, in more senses than one, working in the dark.

While the boy’s cries still rang out, a third person, who had been seated in the darkest corner of the office, perched up on a high stool, making entries in a book of vast dimensions, quietly descended from his seat, and in two strides stood before Mr Jenkins.

This third person was a well-set-up, handsome young fellow of about sixteen, with a firm chin, clear-cut features, and honest hazel eyes.

‘Leave Mallinson alone,’ he said quietly to Mr Jenkins; ‘you’re hurting him.’

‘And a good job too. He’s spoilt my trousers!’

‘It was an accident, and he’s sorry. Now let him go.’

‘I sha’n’t, and you mind your own business, John Blair, or you’ll get kicked out into the gutter.’

A slight flush crept into Blair’s cheeks, and Jenkins gave Mallinson’s arm another twist that made the poor boy almost shriek with pain. This was more than the quick temper of Jack Blair could stand.

The pent-up animosity of months broke out; and, never pausing to consider the probable consequences of his act, or to remember that the dandified being before him was his master’s nephew, he caught Mr Jenkins by the collar, shook him as a terrier would a rat, then hurled him across the office, where he fell with a crash in the fireplace.

Picking himself up, with a snarl of rage Jenkins seized a heavy ebony ruler, which he aimed with all his might at Blair. It struck that youth a sharp blow on the head, making him see stars for a moment, then glanced off and smashed one of the small, dirty panes of glass in the window.

Mr Jenkins’ triumph was, however, but short-lived. Roused to fury by the sting of the blow, Blair stepped up to the angry bully, his right and left shot out with lightning-like rapidity; and, receiving one on his mouth and one on his ample nose, Mr Jenkins measured his length upon the floor again, where he lay like a whipped cur, shouting ‘Murder!’ and ‘Police!’

In the midst of the hubbub, a door which led to the private office of Mr Phogg opened, and a tall, thin, black-bearded man appeared in the doorway. He gave a rapid look round the office, readjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles, took another look, then asked in cutting tones, ‘What is the meaning of this low, disgraceful conduct?’

Mr Jenkins picked himself up from the floor, holding his coloured silk handkerchief to his nose; little Mallinson shrank back into a corner; while Blair put his hands in his trouser-pockets with a resigned air, knowing there was trouble ahead for him, but determined to meet it boldly.

‘Now then,’ rapped out Mr Phogg, ‘must I ask again what is the meaning of this outrage perpetrated upon the premises of one of the oldest and most respectable businesses in Wycombe?’

‘It’s that low fellow Blair,’ said Mr Jenkins; ‘he made a savage attack upon me. He’s a bully and a coward. He tried to murder me.’

‘Now, John Blair,’ said Mr Phogg coldly, ‘what explanation have you got? Be careful what you say, for you may yet find yourself in the police-court, and any admission now, although spoken in hot blood, may be used against you.’

Jack Blair looked the contempt he could not express, for he cordially detested Mr Phogg.

‘I have no explanation,’ he said shortly; ‘ask your nephew for his version. I dare say it will be more to your taste than mine would be.’

Mr Phogg gave a sort of gasp—that is, he opened his mouth like a fish suddenly taken from the water, but he made no sound. Astonishment kept him silent. Had he heard aright? Had John Blair, the junior clerk, the youth who was dependent on his bounty, the ungrateful being whom he fed and lodged and paid—had he dared to be impudent to him, Anthony Phogg, senior partner of the firm of Phogg and Cheetham?

He paused for a moment; then a kind of painful smile crossed his features. ‘Very well, Silvester,’ he said, ‘very well; proceed with your narrative. Relate the facts;’ and he sat on the edge of the high stool Blair had just vacated, folding his arms and stretching out his long legs before him.

‘That young brute of a Mallinson’—— began Jenkins.

‘Nothing libellous, please,’ said Mr Phogg, holding up one lean, yellow hand; ‘plain facts only. I will draw my own conclusions.’

‘Well, sir, Mallinson then, crossing the office just now, deliberately upset an inkpot on my trousers, completely spoiling them.’

‘We can recover the value if we find motive,’ said Mr Phogg, making a pencil note on a scrap of paper lying on Blair’s desk. ‘Proceed.’

‘I was just showing Mallinson what he had done, and was telling him to be more careful another time, when he began cheeking me’——

‘Being insolent, say,’ corrected Mr Phogg.

‘He has been most insolent ever since he got that new job and gave us notice. I was checking him for being chee—insolent, when that bully Blair seized his ruler, rushed at me, and attacked me like a mad-man. I struggled to get the ruler from him, when he threw it at me and smashed the window, afterwards punching me about the face like a prize-fighter. Just look at me.’ And indeed Mr Jenkins did look in a pretty plight, with one eye nearly closed, his nose swollen, his mouth cut, and his hands smeared with blacklead and soot off the grate.

‘Ha,’ said Mr Phogg, ‘just what I expected! You are a low, common bully, Blair; a worthless, lazy brat, whom I kept only out of charity,’ he continued, his thin lips curling back from his teeth as he spoke. ‘Now you shall go—do you hear?—you shall go, be bundled, without a reference, neck and crop out into the gutter, where you can starve, or sell matches, or thieve. I dare say you’re a thief as well as’——

‘Stop!’ cried Blair, his eyes flashing fire. ‘Discharge me you can; but insult me you shall not. I am ready to go, for I’m sick to death of this place and its shady business, of you and your ape of a nephew. Give me my money and I’ll go at once.’

‘Oh Mr Phogg, please, please!’ cried poor little Mallinson, coming forward and holding out his hands appealingly; ‘it wasn’t Blair’s fault, on my honour it wasn’t. Jenkins—Mr Jenkins, I mean—boxed my ears and pinched me, and twisted my arm till I had to scream, I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t upset the ink on him on purpose. Blair only interfered because Mr Jenkins was hurting me, and he’s always at it, and Blair told him last time he wouldn’t have any more of it. Oh, please, Mr Phogg, don’t sack Blair.’

‘Silence, you little sneak!’ roared Mr Phogg; ‘leave the house, and depend upon it I’ll mention this occurrence in the character I shall give you.—Silvester, come into my room.’

Mr Phogg and his worthy nephew disappeared into the inner sanctum together; then Blair and Mallinson looked at one another, the latter almost on the verge of tears.

‘Oh Blair, what shall I do? It’s all my fault, and now you’ll have to go. I shall never, never forgive myself. What shall I do?’

Jack Blair placed an arm caressingly round the neck of the delicate-looking boy.

‘Don’t you worry, Cecil,’ he said; ‘it isn’t your fault. Ever since you got that nomination for Lidsdale’s Bank and gave Phogg notice to leave they’ve been down on you and me. There was bound to be a row, and I’m glad it’s over. I could not have stopped here much longer. I feel as though the very air of this office, with its pettifogging business, and dark, underhand methods, would choke me. I’m glad the burst-up has come. Now, cut away home, and I’ll give you a look up in the morning on the way to church.’

‘But—but—aren’t you afraid to be left here with those?’ and he pointed to the door of the private room.

Blair laughed grimly just as the door was opened and Mr Phogg shot out.

‘What! not gone, Mallinson?’ he cried. ‘Put on your hat at once. Here’s your money. Now go, and never darken my doors again!’ and, giving the boy a small envelope, he bundled him out of the door, which he banged behind him.

‘You’d better tidy up the place,’ he said to Blair; then again retired to his own room.

Blair did as he was bidden; then climbed up on to his high stool, and sat looking at the brilliant sunlight outside. His mind wandered back twelve months—to his old school and the pleasant cricket-meadow where probably the fellows were then playing, or perhaps his own old particular chums were having a pull up the river. The recollection made him sigh, for the last twelve months had held nothing but trouble and hard work for him. He looked round the dismal office, seeming ten times more dismal, he thought, now young Mallinson had gone, and his head fell forward on his hands, for the future looked dark indeed before him.

Less than fifteen months ago he had lost his father. At the end of the summer term he had gone home to find his mother and sisters removed from the great, rambling old house in Hampshire, where he had been born, to a humble lodging in London. There nothing but bad news met him. Mr Bailey, the old lawyer who had managed his father’s business for years, had stated that Mr Blair’s affairs were in a far from flourishing state. Unfortunate speculations had dissipated his fortune; his property was mortgaged, and most of his securities had to be disposed of to meet his liabilities. The house and best part of the furniture were sold, and the proceeds, being invested, were just sufficient to bring in a bare pittance, enough to keep a roof over the widow’s head. Jack Blair had to turn out into the world to earn his own living.

His first place had been in a wholesale drapery establishment, where he worked twelve hours a day. The hard work and the confinement, together with the bad and insufficient food, had in a few months made him but a ghost of his former self, and his mother had insisted upon his leaving. His second situation had been with a firm of merchants who in less than two months went bankrupt, and Jack Blair was once more thrown on his mother’s hands. Then the family lawyer had procured him his present situation with Messrs Phogg & Cheetham, a place where he worked from eight in the morning till eight or often nine at night, Saturdays included. He lived on the premises, and, besides his board, received the magnificent sum of four shillings a week for his services.

The old lawyer had told him that at any cost he must keep that situation, as he must not be a burden to his mother, who had as much as she could do to keep herself.

Jack had determined to succeed, and in spite of drudgery and continual snubs and insults, had been there six months; and now—well, after that afternoon’s work—he knew that his days there were numbered, and, worst of all, Mr Phogg had said he would not give him a reference. Jack knew his employer’s vindictive nature too well to doubt that he would carry out his threat. He felt he could not write and tell his mother, and what to do he knew not.

At eight o’clock that night he was turned out into the street, all his worldly possessions packed in a small portmanteau, a week’s wages (less one shilling and fourpence stopped for the broken window) added to his small stock of money, seven shillings and eightpence in all, forming the whole of his wealth, for Jack had sent his mother half his slender earnings ever since he had been in his situation. He went straight to the Mallinsons’ and arranged for a night’s lodging with them, he having been on very friendly terms with the family since he had been in Wycombe.

Early on the Sunday morning, Jack, portmanteau in hand, started on his long tramp from Wycombe to London, for he decided he dared not spend the two and tenpence for the railway fare. Cecil accompanied Jack some distance on the way, and when they parted he said, as he wrung Jack’s hand, ‘I can’t help feeling it’s all my fault your going.’

‘Don’t say a word about it, Cecil. I should do the same again to-morrow.’

‘Jenkins did look a guy,’ said Cecil, his eyes kindling at the recollection of his tormentor’s humiliation.

‘He looked just what he is, a sneaking bully,’ said Jack as he shook Cecil’s hand; ‘and now, good-bye and prosperity to you in your new situation.’

‘Good-bye, Jack. May you have all the luck you deserve,’ said Cecil.

There were tears in the latter’s eyes when he turned away, for he felt he had lost a good friend.

At a steady four miles an hour Jack kept on, mile after mile, the exercise taking more effect on him than it otherwise would have done, as since he had been at Wycombe he had enjoyed few opportunities of taking long walks. A brief halt for some bread and cheese in the middle of the day, then on again, every mile seeming to get longer and longer while yet a good part of the journey was before him.

Jack took off his coat, which he carried over his shoulder, changing his portmanteau from hand to hand. The day was baking hot. The white road, an inch thick in dust, reflected back the glowing sun till it made his eyes ache.

Jack hobbled painfully, his heels being rubbed and blistered, while his portmanteau seemed to grow heavier with every yard he walked. He had arrived at a spot where the hedge turned off at right angles, leading up to a five-barred gate opening on to some pasture-land. One side of this opening was in the shade, and, after looking at it for a moment, Jack turned up with a half-sigh of contentment and seated himself on the sloping, shady bank. He guessed he was somewhere near Hounslow, and he began to despair of reaching London that night. ‘Perhaps I could get a train from Hounslow,’ he thought; ‘but can I afford it?’

He took from his pocket the little purse his eldest sister had given him, and counted all his store—a half-crown, a florin, two shillings, a sixpence, and fivepence halfpenny in coppers—seven shillings and fivepence halfpenny in all. Jack sighed as he looked at the money in his hand and thought how short a way it would go when he was out of a situation. He was replacing the coins in his purse when a rush of feet sounded near him. Three men burst through the hedge, and while one seized him by the collar, another ragged, unshaven rascal, holding a short, heavy bludgeon in his hand, cried with a grin, ‘Evenin’, young gen’l’man, you’re the wery covey we’ve been a-waitin’ for. I’ll trouble yer to ‘and over them dibs, or’—and he flourished his stick—‘circumstances may be onpleasant.’

CHAPTER II.

ROBBERS ON THE HIGHWAY.

AT the first sound of the sudden rush of the three tramps, for such they appeared to be, Jack had closed his hand on the money he held; then, while the man with the bludgeon was talking, he sprang to his feet, wrenched himself free from the man who held his collar, pocketed his money, and faced the three ruffians. He squared up his fists, determined not to part with his possessions without a struggle.

The man who had first seized him by the collar, a villainous, squint-eyed, red-headed fellow, perceiving Jack’s determined manner, cried, ‘Now, none o’ that ‘ere; tip over the brass an’ that ticker ye’ve got at the end o’ that chain, or I’ll knock yer brains out.’

‘At ‘im, Toby,’ said he with the bludgeon in gruff tones. ‘We don’t want ter stand ‘ere jawin’ till some one comes along.’ Uttering these words, he ran in with upraised stick.

Jack seized his small portmanteau and hurled it at the ruffian’s legs, causing him not only to yell with pain at the sharp rap he got on his shins, but also to fall forward heavily on hands and knees. He uttered an oath, and cried out to his two companions to ‘finish the young whelp.’

Red-Head rushed in to do so; but Jack, who was a first-class boxer, having won the gloves on two occasions at his old school, gave the ruffian an upper cut on the point of the chin which dashed his teeth together with a snap that sounded like the meeting of the jaws of a rat-trap. The tramp badly bit his tongue, and he fell back, spitting out blood.

Jack then started to run down towards the highroad, shouting, ‘Help! help! Thieves!’ at the top of his voice.

He might have got safely away after all had it not been for tramp number three. This scoundrel had hovered in the rear of his companions till he saw Jack start off for the road, when, with a big stone which he had picked up, he set off in pursuit. He was lean and long-legged, and he gained at every stride on poor, tired Jack.

They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when he hurled the stone, a jagged flint, which he held in his hand. This caught Jack on the knee, and caused him to cry out in agony and come to a sudden stop, when the three men threw themselves upon their victim, pommelling and dragging at him as though they would tear every shred of clothes off his body.

However, Jack was not yet conquered, and he fought and tore, kicking, scratching, and biting like a mad thing, yelling loudly for help, and defying the efforts of the men to snatch from him his watch—his father’s last present to him—or to tear from his pocket his little stock of money.

Such a struggle, however, could not last long, and presently the man with the bludgeon wrenched away Jack’s watch and chain. He then stood by, waiting for an opportunity to give the lad a blow that should keep him quiet while the others rifled his pockets, when all of a sudden he cried out, ‘Ware, boys! there’s somebody comin’!’

The others paused in their work, and Jack gave another yell at the top of his lungs, when the trampling of a horse sounded in his ears and an angry voice cried out, ‘Now, you scum, what’s this?’ Then Red-Head, who had Jack by the throat, was lifted bodily up by his scruff and his ragged trousers, and hurled violently into the ditch beside the road.

Half-dazed, Jack glanced up to see in front of him a soldier facing the remaining roughs. These seemed half-inclined to show fight; but the soldier struck out with one gauntleted fist, and he who had thrown the stone at Jack joined his companion in the ditch. For a moment they lay there, then crawled out; upon which the soldier, running up to them, applied the toe of his boot to their coat-tails in a most determined manner, crying out at the same time, ‘Cut it, you rogues—cut it, or it will be the worse for you.’

And cut it they did, breaking through the bushes and disappearing quite as quickly as they had appeared.

Jack was so busy watching the punishment the two rogues were receiving that he did not notice him with the bludgeon sneaking away. When he turned, the fellow was just making off across the field behind them towards some old barns standing amongst the trees. Jack remembered his watch.

‘Oh sir, please!’ he cried to the soldier, ‘that fellow is going off with my watch, the last gift of my dead father!’

‘Follow me,’ said the soldier curtly, and he swung himself on to his horse, which during the struggle had stood quietly by on the very spot where his master had dismounted.

The soldier put his horse at the hedge, which he took at a leap, and Jack forced his way through the same gap that the tramp had. This fellow could be seen scurrying away across the field; but the soldier, touching his horse with his spurs, soon passed him. Then wheeling round his horse so as to get the man between himself and Jack, he cried out, ‘Stop, you rogue, and give up that watch, or I’ll leather your hide for you.’

The fellow turned round with a snarl; then raising his bludgeon he hurled it with all his might at the soldier’s horse, evidently in the hope of making it rear and throw its rider.

The stick caught the horse on the side of its head and did make it rear in a way that would have unseated a less skilful rider than the soldier; but he kept his seat with ease. Then, whipping his glittering sword from its scabbard, in three bounds he placed his horse beside the tramp.

‘You scum! you jail-bird!’ he cried in angry tones, ‘I’ve a good mind to cut you down or trample you under my horse’s hoofs.’

‘Please, sir—please, Mr Soldier, pity!’ cried the now thoroughly frightened wretch.

‘Give up the watch,’ said the soldier, still threatening the tramp with the point of his sword.

‘Yes, sir—yes, sir; there it is,’ and the man produced it from a capacious pocket, Jack running forward and taking it from him.

‘Now, cut it!’ cried the soldier; and as the man turned to obey he gave him half-a-dozen across the head and shoulders with the flat of his sword, laying on so lustily that the rogue howled again with pain.

‘Now, lad, let’s get back,’ said the soldier kindly to Jack; and they returned to the place where the scuffle had taken place and where Jack’s portmanteau still lay.

The other two men had completely disappeared, which the soldier said was a good thing, for it was a tedious job giving people into custody, and, besides, he had no time to go dancing attendance at police-courts.

‘A good horse-whipping in many cases would do more good than three months’ hard,’ he said, ‘and it’s less trouble.’

He then dismounted to examine his horse’s head and see whether it had been hurt at all by the tramp’s bludgeon, and as he did so Jack took the opportunity of closely examining him.

The soldier was a tall, fine, handsome-looking man, clad in white-striped blue overalls, and a dark-blue jacket with white cuffs and facings, on the arms of which several gold stripes betokened the wearer to be a non-commissioned officer. Worn on the stripes was a silver badge which attracted Jack’s attention. It was a grinning death’s-head standing above two crossed shin-bones.

The soldier wore a head-dress with a white square top, from the left side of which drooped a black plume, while on the plate in front the same grisly death’s-head and cross-bones seemed to grin at the beholder. Jingling spurs, a long sword trailing on the ground, and white leather gauntlets completed the soldier’s attire.

Satisfying himself that his horse, a fine-looking black, was not hurt, the soldier turned to Jack, and with a cheery smile said, ‘Well, my lad, it seems to me I arrived on the scene just in the nick of time.’

‘You did indeed, sir, and I take this opportunity of rendering you my heartfelt thanks.’

‘Not a word; ’twas nothing.’

‘Indeed it was everything. Had you not arrived I should have lost my all; perhaps my life too, though, God knows, that would not have troubled me much were it not for my poor mother.’

The soldier gave the boy a keen, penetrating glance. ‘You speak despondingly for one so young,’ he said. ‘You seem down on your luck; but cheer up, the longest lane must have a turning. How was it those rogues came to attack you?’

In rather broken sentences Jack began to tell his tale. But the late excitement he had passed through, coming on the top of great bodily fatigue, proved too much for him, and in a minute he found himself rambling in his speech; then the soldier seemed to be far, far away, and Jack fell back in a dead faint.

When he again opened his eyes he was lying on the grass under the shadow of some big trees. His head and neck felt deliciously cool, and putting up his hand he found they were running with water. The soldier, having divested himself of his gauntlets and gay plumed head-dress, was chafing Jack’s hands, while a pleasing feeling of drowsiness pervaded him.

‘Come, young fellow,’ said the soldier, it seemed to Jack rather anxiously, ‘you’ve had a long turn. I began to think you were a case for the doctor’s hands.’

‘Oh I’m all right,’ said Jack doggedly, and tried to struggle to his feet; but the soldier gently restrained him.

‘Wait a bit, sonny,’ he said; ‘just rest and pull yourself together. You’ve had a nasty shock. But if you’ll remain quietly here for ten minutes or so, there’s an inn near by where I can get you a mouthful of brandy.’

‘Don’t you trouble; I’m all right,’ said Jack; and again he struggled to his feet. But his knee pained him so badly, his feet were so sore, and he felt so weak, that with a moan he sank back again upon the grass.

The kindly soldier adjusted the little portmanteau under his head and again sprinkled his head and neck with cold water from the brook. Then saying, ‘Now, lie quietly here till I come back,’ strode off; Jack, in a semi-conscious state, watching the tall, soldierly figure disappear in the distance.

CHAPTER III.

THE ‘DEATH OR GLORY BOYS.’

IN a few minutes Jack was sipping some weak brandy-and-water and munching a sandwich, after which he felt another man.

‘And now, young fellow, where do you propose to steer for?’ asked the soldier.

‘I wanted to get to London,’ replied Jack. ‘But I am afraid that after my late shake up I sha’n’t be able to get as far to-night.’

‘I don’t think you will,’ replied the soldier, ‘unless,’ he added, ‘you are particularly anxious.’

‘The fact is, I’m down on my luck. I’m out of a situation, with very little chance of getting another.’ And then Jack told his story, down to the time when the tramps attacked him.

The soldier listened attentively. ‘That’s just a very lonely bit of road there,’ he said, ‘especially about this time on a Sunday. It was by the merest chance that I happened to pass and hear your cries. I was just returning from the house of one of my officers, to whom I had taken a letter.’

‘Are you an officer?’ asked Jack, looking at the gold lace on the soldier’s cuffs and collar.

The Lancer laughed. ‘Not I, lad,’ he said; ‘I’m simply Sergeant Bob Barrymore.’

‘May I ask what regiment yours is?’

The soldier smiled. ‘I thought our uniform and badge were pretty well known,’ he said. ‘My regiment is the 17th Lancers, the “Death or Glory Boys.” But I must be getting on, though I don’t like to leave you here. I’ll see you as far as Hounslow if you like, and I should advise you to put up there for the night and make an early start for London in the morning.’

This seemed to Jack good advice, though he thought with a sinking heart of his small stock of money, which would be thus further reduced. He got on to his feet, and was then astonished to find how weak and giddy he felt.

‘Just what I thought,’ the sergeant said, as he donned his headdress and gauntlets.

He placed his left arm round Jack’s waist, half-supporting him; took the portmanteau in his other hand, and, whistling to his horse, which at once followed him, he led the way out of the pleasant meadow on to the highroad. He then gave Jack a ‘leg up’ into the saddle, and instructed him to hold his slender portmanteau in front of him; then, with his right hand on the horse’s bridle, and carrying his sabre in his left, away they went.

Before they reached the barracks the sergeant dismounted Jack and they both passed in on foot. Jack gave an admiring glance at the smart young soldier, in all his gay trappings, a ten-foot lance surmounted by red and white bannerols in his hand, his spurred heels jingling on the stones as he strode up and down in front of the guard-room, outside which several soldiers, all also in full-dress, were standing or sitting.

Sergeant Barrymore’s quarters were reached. The sergeant’s wife, who was quite a superior woman, was soon in possession of the facts of the case. With a woman’s quick instinct she saw that the youth before her was tired and faint and hungry.

He was at once taken in; water, with soap and towels, placed for him; and then, when a welcome wash had refreshed him, a pot of coffee with some grilled ham-and-eggs and sweet white bread were waiting for him. Jack ate heartily and soon felt much better.

By that time the sergeant had divested himself of his gay trappings, and was in a loose undress jacket, slippers on his feet, and a well-used briar-pipe in his mouth. Jack turned to his host and hostess with the suspicion of a tear in his eye.

‘How can I thank you both for your more than kindness?’ he said. ‘You are indeed good Samaritans, and I can never hope to repay you for what you have done.’

‘Not a word,’ said the sergeant; ‘it’s every man’s duty to help a comrade in distress.’

‘But I’m not a comrade,’ said Jack with a smile. ‘I’m just a waster, a failure,’ he added with some bitterness.

‘Tut, tut, all men are comrades; but no more talking. A night’s sleep is what you want. Come with me. We can give you a shakedown, nothing more; but I dare say you’ll sleep well enough, and to-morrow you can get on your way again.’

The sergeant got a basin of hot water, in which Jack bathed his poor, galled feet. Some ointment was applied to them, a rag soaked in liniment tied round his injured knee, and Jack was ready for bed. A couple of regimental blankets on the sofa in Sergeant Barrymore’s sitting-room made a comfortable bed, and thus Jack passed his first night with those who, though he did not know it, for years to come, on land and sea, in comfortable home-quarters or on the blood-stained battlefields of the Crimea, were to be his loyal and gallant comrades.

His long and dreamless slumbers were at last broken by a ringing peal of martial music, and he awoke with a start to wonder where he was and what were the sounds he heard. The music, which he knew to be a trumpet-call, ceased; then he heard a variety of sounds, sharp commands given in that tone of voice peculiar to the cavalry service, the trampling of horses’ hoofs on the ground, and the jingling of bits and steel scabbards against stirrups.

Jack jumped up, hurried on his clothes, and went to the window. The sight that met his gaze drew an involuntary exclamation of delight from him. There, on the parade-ground just below him, he saw, drawn up in column of troops, the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’

It was a magnificent morning, the bright sun shining on the burnished sword-scabbards and lance-points, making them flash and glisten like myriads of diamonds, while the light breeze was just enough to flutter the drooping black plumes and the gay red and white lance-pennons. The facings of the dark-blue uniforms looked snowy white, the shape of the men’s legs being shown to perfection by the white-striped overalls. The horses tossed their heads proudly and pawed the ground restively as though impatient to be off outside the gates, where they seemed to know a crowd had gathered to see the gallant regiment march off.

As Jack looked, the trumpeters sounded the ‘General Parade,’ and the officers took up their position with the regiment, the gold lace glittering on their uniforms and horse-furniture, conspicuous on which was the grinning skull and cross-bones, their great plumes of black swans’ feathers rustling in the breeze.

Then a handsome, distinguished-looking man, on whose breast glittered several medals and orders, rode up. A few curt commands followed, the lances came up to the ‘carry,’ and the officers drew their swords.

The band, which had been sitting mounted just on the right of the regiment, struck up a lively march and moved off; the regiment, in sections, followed, and the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ passed in review before Jack.

‘What a glorious sight! how noble they look!’ cried Jack aloud. ‘How I should love to ride in their ranks!’

‘Would you, indeed, sonny?’ said a voice behind him, and, turning, Jack beheld Sergeant Barrymore, a kindly smile on his sunburnt features, regarding him with a quizzical smile.

CHAPTER IV.

JACK BECOMES A LANCER.

‘AND so you’d like to be a soldier, would you?’ said the sergeant jokingly.

‘I think I should,’ replied Jack with a blush; ‘the men did look so grand. I’ve never seen a Lancer regiment before.’

‘It’s not all beer and skittles in the army,’ said the sergeant; ‘but a lad of mettle might do worse. You know what the song says,’ and the sergeant sang in a bass voice:

‘A soldier’s life’s a life of glory,
Told in song and gallant story,

and so on; but you need not believe all that. However, now let us get some breakfast;’ and after a wash, feeling quite himself again save for his sore feet and stiff knee, Jack was soon seated at table with the sergeant and his wife.

The regiment, Jack heard, was going to London to form a guard of honour and escort to the Queen on some state function.

‘And tired enough the chaps’ll be when they get in to-night,’ said the sergeant.

After breakfast he and Jack had a long talk, and it was quite clear that the sergeant was heart and soul in his profession, and thought there was no other to equal it.

Jack had a great dread of being a drag and an expense to his mother. He felt certain that Mr Phogg would give him a reference that would spoil his chance of getting employment—at least anything better than an errand boy’s or a porter’s place. A hundred times rather than that he would be a soldier; that was, at any rate, an honourable profession.

During the day he wandered about the barracks and had a good look at the guard, particularly admiring the trumpeter, a boy of about his own age, who from time to time, arrayed in his gay Lancer uniform, came forth and sounded different calls.

When the regiment returned at night he heard the men laughing and joking and relating much that had passed on the march up to London and during their progress through the crowded Metropolis; of the princes, lords, and other celebrated people they had seen; and, lastly, how well her Majesty and the Prince Consort looked.

As he again turned in on the sergeant’s sofa his mind was made up. He would be a soldier, and his regiment should be the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’

In the morning he announced his intention to the sergeant while he was enjoying his morning smoke.

‘Well, Jack,’ he said, ‘you might do worse. If you’ve quite made up your mind, come with me.’

Together they crossed the barrack square, passing on their way the young trumpeter whom Jack had so much admired.

‘Where’s the major, Will?’ asked Barrymore.

‘In his quarters, I think, sergeant.’

‘Right.’

They went on to a room near the band-quarters, where they found a rather stout, shortish man, busy at a table copying out music.

‘Hallo, Bob, what’s the trouble?’ he asked, looking up.

‘A recruit, Ted.’

‘Ah, that’s good; I want a real smart lad in the trumpets, one who will take an interest in his work and take up second cornet in the band.’

‘I’ve got the very article, Ted; look at him,’ and the sergeant gave Jack a smack on the back.

Jack, thus brought into prominence, coloured up as he stood in the presence of the two non-commissioned officers, for Ted Joyce was the trumpet-major.

Trumpet-major Joyce looked keenly at Jack. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘Sixteen and a half, sir.’

‘Sir no one here but the officers,’ said the trumpet-major, who was a pleasant, rather fussy little man. ‘Know anything about music?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir—I mean’—— and Jack paused.

‘Call me major,’ said the trumpet-major.

‘Yes, major; I can play the piano pretty well.’

‘No pianos in the band,’ said the trumpet-major with a smile; ‘but if you can read well that’s something. You can’t beat time or rhythm into some of my trumpeters. Your lips look all right too; if you can use your tongue well I can make a good trumpeter of you.’

Jack had not the faintest notion of what the trumpet-major meant. The latter picked up a trumpet lying on a chair, and handing it to Jack said, ‘Now, put your lips together and try and sound that.’

Jack took the trumpet, drew a long breath, and blew with all his might, making no sound at all.

‘Squeeze your lips and make an action with your tongue as though you were trying to spit a bit of cotton-wool off it into the mouthpiece,’ said the trumpet-major.

Jack, with a smile, did as he was bidden, and at the third or fourth attempt succeeded in making a most unearthly sound.

‘Capital, capital!’ said the trumpet-major, rubbing his hands; ‘in three months we shall have you sounding on the square.’

‘I think he’ll do,’ said Barrymore gleefully.

‘First-class,’ agreed the trumpet-major.—‘What’s your full name?’

‘John Harrington Blair.’

‘Are you perfectly willing to serve the Queen for twelve years?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever been injured in such a way as to unfit you for service?’

‘No.’

‘Of course you’ve never served in the Royal Artillery, Engineers, Cavalry, or Infantry?’

‘No.’

‘And you do not belong to the Militia?’

‘No.’

‘Come along over to the Orderly Room,’ said the trumpet-major; ‘we shall find the regimental there.’

The three departed, and in the Orderly Room, beside the clerks, Jack saw the regimental sergeant-major, the man who, though not a commissioned officer, after the colonel and adjutant is the most important personage in a cavalry regiment. The regimental was one of the few men in the regiment who wore a decoration, besides which he was a fine, soldierly-looking fellow, with a pair of whiskers that were the envy of all the subalterns in the corps.

The trumpet-major promptly stated his business, and the regimental produced an attestation paper which one of the clerks filled up as Jack answered the questions. Then he was put under the standard.

‘Five feet six full; put him down five six and a quarter,’ called out the regimental, as he adjusted the standard above Jack’s head; ‘chest thirty-five,’ he went on, ‘complexion fair, hair brown, eyes hazel.’ Then to Jack, ‘Open your mouth,’ and concluded, ‘Teeth sound.’

‘You can get him before the doctor this morning, Joyce,’ said the regimental, ‘and then we’ll swear him in. You’ve got a fine lad there.’

‘Now, Jack,’ said Barrymore as they crossed the square, ‘you’ll soon be as much a soldier as I am. The trumpet-major will take charge of you for the present, and when you’ve been before the doctor come over to my quarters.’

Jack accompanied the trumpet-major to his room, and later on was taken before the doctor, where he was thoroughly examined and pronounced fit to serve her Majesty.

‘You’re now due to a day’s pay,’ said the trumpet-major. ‘By the way, how are you off for money—do you want any?’

‘No, I’ve got several shillings, thanks.’

‘Then stick to them. And just take a word of advice on the first day of your service. Be smart, scrupulously clean, and remember ours is a handsome uniform and wants keeping clean; be obedient—obedience is the first duty of a soldier; and don’t try and ape the manners of the men. Don’t forget you are still a boy; keep away from smoking; above all, keep away from drink, and don’t let the example of any of your comrades, especially of those who ought to know better, lead you into ways that are bound, sooner or later, to end badly for you.’

These words of the trumpet-major occurred to Jack’s mind on many a future day, and it was by acting up to them to the best of his ability that he owed much of his later success. He passed another night on the kindly sergeant’s sofa, then next morning was taken before the local magistrate to be sworn in. On his return to barracks Jack was handed over to the trumpet-major, who was just returning from practice.

‘Now, Blair,’ he said, ‘you’re a soldier. From this very minute your training begins. We’ll go over to the Orderly Room, see the regimental, and then you’d better make the acquaintance of your future comrades.’

In the Orderly Room a regimental number was given Jack, details of his pay, &c., explained, and then he was marched over to the regimental tailor’s, where he was measured for his uniform. These items being settled, he returned to the trumpet-major’s quarters, where he found the youth whom Sergeant Barrymore had called Will, now clad in the neat blue and white undress of the regiment, talking to the trumpet-major.

‘Ha, here you are,’ said Joyce. ‘Good.—Now, Hodson, I shall give him into your charge. There’s a spare bed in your room, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, major.’

‘Right; then Blair can have it. I’ll see Sergeant Linham later and get him entered in mess. Now take him over and make him known to the boys.’

Trumpeter Hodson, who had a merry, mischievous eye, looked at Jack as they went off; then said abruptly, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Blair.’

‘Dick?’

‘No, Jack.’

‘What made you join?’

Jack looked at his companion and laughed. ‘I might as well ask you that, might I not?’ he said.

‘You may, and the answer’s simple. My dad shoved me in. I had nothing to say in the matter.’

‘Do you like being a trumpeter?’

Will Hodson shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’d rather be a swell on five thousand pounds a year,’ he said; ‘but every one must do something. We’re soldiers. The governor put in twenty-five years, grandfather was killed at Waterloo, and I dare say some of my forebears were banging a drum or handling a pike at’—— and he paused for a word.

‘Blenheim or Ramillies?’ suggested Jack.

‘Ah, that’s it,’ said Will Hodson quite calmly; ‘the name slipped my memory for a moment. But, I say, you’re a cut above the usual ruck, you know; you won’t find it all honey here, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, I can rough it well enough,’ said Jack stoutly.

‘I hope you can. Well, here we are,’ and Hodson opened a door which stood at the head of a flight of stone steps they had just ascended.

‘Chums,’ he cried, ‘an illustrious arrival has come amongst us. Allow me to introduce to you John Blair, askewer, taterpeeler to his Highness the King of the Cannibal Islands.’

Jack paused on the threshold of the door and gazed with interest for the first time at a barrack-room.

CHAPTER V.

A BARRACK-ROOM SQUABBLE.

RANGED on one side of the room were eight iron bedsteads, the bedding being rolled up and strapped round to keep it neat during the daytime. Down the centre of the room, resting on iron trestles, were several long deal boards, scrubbed very white, forming a table; on each side of the table were forms.

The occupants of the room were variously engaged. Two young fellows at one end of the room were engaged in a bout with the boxing-gloves; another was sitting at the table writing a letter; a fourth was engaged burnishing a sword-scabbard, other parts of his kit lying round him; a fifth lad was pipeclaying a pair of gauntlets; while seated at a window, dressed in shirt and overalls only, was the eldest of the party, a short, stout young man, smoking a clay-pipe and talking to a comrade.

Over the beds hung each man’s sword and belts, and on a shelf above these were the lance-caps in their oilskin cases, and the clothes neatly folded, surmounting the sheepskin and the blue shabracks which covered the saddles when the regiment was in review order.

Jack was not long taking in these details; but before he had done so the various occupants of the room had desisted from their occupations and fixed their eyes upon him.

‘Why, it’s Sergeant Barrymore’s pup!’ said the young fellow with the pipe. ‘Come here, kid, and let’s have a look at you.’

This was said in a sneering manner, and Jack took an instinctive dislike to the speaker.

‘Run away from school, or has yer mammy been spanking you?’ he added.

‘Neither,’ said Jack simply. ‘I have become a soldier of my own free will.’

‘Ho my!’ exclaimed he with the pipe. ‘Well, just behave yourself, or you’ll feel the weight of my boot.’

‘That’s Napper,’ said Hodson to Jack. ‘Don’t take any notice of him.’

He took Jack to a bed which he said would be his, and proceeded to show him how to put down and make it with the straw-filled tick and the coarse sheets and blankets. Jack helped to roll and strap it up again just as a trumpet sounded outside.

‘There goes mess,’ cried Bandsman Napper. ‘Now, Brown, shin off and get the grub;’ and a young trumpeter, picking up a big tin, left the room.

The table required little laying, the boys producing from the shelves over their beds chunks of bread, in which knives and forks were stuck, plates and basins like pudding-basins were laid on the table, and the bandsman who had been talking to Napper, with a jaunty ‘Ta-ta, boys!’ went off to his own room.

The trumpeter who had departed for the dinners presently returned, and in the mess-tin was a great piece of meat and a number of baked potatoes swimming in the fat beneath; and a second youngster followed with a great tin of cabbage. All these were placed on the table.

The plates were passed up, and Napper, who was in charge of the room, commenced to carve the meat. Carving, with him, simply consisted of first trimming off the brown, well-done portions and some crisp fat for himself, then cutting the remainder into seven ugly chunks, one of which he dumped on each plate. Hodson added some potatoes, and each helped himself to cabbage; then without any more ado all fell to.

Hodson, looking up, saw Jack had nothing on the plate in front of him. ‘I say, Napper,’ he said, ‘Blair’s got no grub.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’ answered Napper with his mouth full.

‘He’s in the mess, you know.’

‘He ain’t had any rations drawn for him, anyhow. If he wants any grub let him get it in the sergeants’ mess with his pals,’ he concluded spitefully, evidently alluding to Jack’s friendliness with Barrymore.

‘Here, I say, that’s all rot,’ said Hodson. ‘He’s hungry.’

‘Then let him gnaw that,’ grinned Napper, pointing to the bone which remained in the tin.

‘Never mind, chummy; share with me,’ said Hodson, proceeding to put some of his dinner on Jack’s plate.

‘Certainly not,’ replied Jack. ‘I’m not very hungry, and in any case Mr Napper says I can have the bone. I’ll take him at his word, for I’m particularly fond of picking a bone.’

The ‘Mr’ tickled the fancy of the youngsters, one or two of whom grinned gleefully, perceiving which, Napper scowled round upon them.

‘Look here, you young tramp,’ he said savagely to Jack, ‘don’t you give me any of your cheek or I’ll cuff your head for you. And you can take off those elegant manners too. If your “superior education” fits you for the orficers’ mess you’d better get there; they want waiters anyway. But while you’re here you’ll knock under, d’ye hear?’

‘Perfectly, you speak loudly enough.’

Another titter ran round, which made Napper redder than ever.

Hodson had put the bone on Jack’s plate, and was adding some potatoes when Napper cried out, ‘Drop those; we don’t mind giving dogs bones, but we don’t give ’em spuds.’

At this the laugh turned against Jack; but at boarding-school he had been too used to that to take any notice. So with some cabbage, which Hodson, in defiance of his superior, gave him, and with a lump of bread which another trumpeter offered him, he made a very good dinner, for there was plenty of meat on the bone.

Napper was in a bad humour, and after he had finished his dinner, lighting up his pipe, he said to Jack, ‘You’ll just understand that I’m in charge here and you’ll do as you’re told.’

‘Certainly.’

‘Don’t answer me.’

Jack made no reply, for he saw at once that Napper was a bully, misusing the little authority he had, and that the majority of the trumpeters found it paid them to toady a little to one much older and stronger than themselves. On his part Jack determined to feel his feet before he tackled Bandsman Napper, for he felt assured before long they would come to grips.

Seeing Jack stood without speaking, Napper said, ‘You’ll help Brown to wash up and tidy the room. You’ve got to work here, and the sooner you begin the better.’

Jack helped to wash up the plates, knives, and forks, the hot water being got from the cook-house. Then the table was washed down and the floor swept.

By that time all the trumpeters, except one who was cleaning up his kit for guard the next day, had gone off to practice. Jack looked across at him, and saw he was busy burnishing a pair of spurs. This trumpeter, whose name was Parkes, was a stolid-looking lad, who took no notice of Jack till the latter went up to him and in a cheery voice said, ‘I say, can I help you?’

Parkes looked up from his work. ‘No good trying to borrow off me, chummy. I’m broke,’ he said.

‘I don’t want to borrow anything. Sooner or later I’ve got to learn to do what you’re doing. I hate doing nothing. Show me how, and I’ll help you.’

‘Now you’re talking!’ said Parkes. ‘You’re the man I want to meet every time I’m for guard. Can you black boots?’

‘Yes.’

‘Clean them, then,’ and he pointed to his Wellingtons. ‘You’ll find the blacking and brushes in my valise.’

Jack set to work, whistling gaily, and soon produced a polish that made Parkes smile.

‘Old Jimmy’ll reckon I’ve turned over a new leaf,’ he said.

He showed Jack how to polish the plate on the front of his lance-cap, and the chin-chain, and when he had done this Jack could not resist the temptation of putting the cap on and surveying himself in the bit of looking-glass, four inches square, fastened on the wall at the head of Parkes’ bed.

‘Feel big, eh?’ queried the trumpeter.

‘Not very,’ said Jack; ‘but it’s a handsome headdress.’

‘Wait till you’ve worn one six hours at a stretch on a broiling-hot day, then tell me how you like it,’ grinned Parkes.

The whole of his accoutrements being cleaned, that youth jerked out a brief ‘Thanks!’ then put down his bed, and throwing himself on it composed himself for a nap. Before he sank quite into the land of dreams he suddenly started up and said, ‘Didn’t I hear your name was Blair?’

‘You did,’ replied Jack.

‘Right. You ain’t a bad sort; I’ll give you a tip. Don’t you make an enemy of Snapper.’

‘Napper, do you mean?’

‘Same man. Name’s Sam Napper; S. Napper—see? We call him Snapper; you can guess why. Give him a wide berth, and don’t try hitting back at him unless you’re sure of getting your blow in, else, as sure as I’m Billy Parkes, you’ll curse the day you ever made the Queen’s bad bargain.’

Almost before this speech, a very long one for Parkes, was finished, that gentleman was asleep; and making a shrewd guess that by ‘the Queen’s bad bargain’ Parkes meant enlisting, Jack sat quietly down and thought over the situation.

That Napper was a bully he had already seen; that he was of a low disposition he guessed, and that he set the young trumpeters a bad example he feared. It was clear there would be trouble between them; he was not going to sit down under tyranny. He would do his duty cheerfully and manfully, and try to please Napper; if things went wrong—well, they would see.

This being settled, Jack thought it a good opportunity to write to his mother an account of all that had happened, and explain to her how it was he had become a trumpeter in the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’ He procured some note-paper from the canteen, and then set to work to write a long letter. He was just finishing, when, with a clatter and a jingle, laughing and talking, the rest of the trumpeters, headed by Napper, came trooping into the room. Hodson went up to Jack.

‘Well, chummy, what are you doing?’ he asked.

Napper interrupted. ‘Can’t you see he’s writing to his mammy.—Requesting the old girl to send you a bob’s worth of stamps, eh?’ he asked of Jack.

The latter took no notice, but folding his letter, put it in the envelope.

‘Ho, ho, the dook’s on his high horse,’ said Napper; ‘been telling “my mamma” I’ve joined the cavalry, don’t-cher-know, and shall soon be in the orficers’ mess.’

Some of the trumpeters sniggered.

‘Let’s see what the young beggar has said,’ cried Napper, stepping up to Jack and trying to snatch his letter.

Jack’s eyes flashed ominously and he jumped to his feet.

‘Don’t you interfere with me or try to touch my letter,’ he cried, his voice vibrating with passion.

Napper tried to seize the hand in which Jack held his letter; but the latter placed his left hand on Napper’s chest and pushed him so violently that he almost fell backwards.

Napper turned livid with rage. ‘You scum, you,’ he cried, ‘I’ll show you. I’ve had to take cocky youngsters down before. Here, one of you, give me my whip!’

No one moved, though several of the youngsters looked nervously at one another. Napper sprang to his bed, snatched down his riding-whip, and advancing towards Jack, cried, ‘Give me that letter or I’ll tan you till you can’t stand.’

‘Touch me with that whip if you dare,’ answered Jack, with flashing eyes.

Napper raised the whip, and Jack put up his arm to ward off the blow; but at that moment the door was opened, a jingle of spurs sounded, and a hoarse voice cried, ‘Ha, hum! now, you toads, what is all this? Not a move, any one, or I’ll put the lot under arrest. What d’ye mean by it I want to know? D’ye hear, I want to know?’

CHAPTER VI.

JACK MAKES A RESOLVE.

EVERY eye was at once riveted on the new-comer. Jack in particular stared at him, and in aftertimes he remembered his first impression of one by whose side he was fated to see many a wild scene, and more than once to stand face to face with death.

This man was dressed in the neat undress of the regiment, and the stripes on his arms and the gold trumpets proclaimed him to be a sergeant-trumpeter. He was thin, and a little knock-kneed, like one who has lived much in the saddle, which indeed he had. On his breast were two ribbons, showing he was one of the few proud possessors of war honours in the regiment. His face was like leather, both in colour and substance; he had a heavy black moustache, great, black bushy eyebrows, which stuck out from under his forage-cap, an enormous beak-like nose, and two little, beady black eyes, which gave him an eagle-like appearance. His uniform was spotless, stripes, facings, and gloves being snowy white, while his buttons quite glistened.

On entering the room he clicked his spurred heels together—one knee as he stood thus slightly overlapping the other—drew himself up to his full height, threw back his head, and glared angrily around.

Getting no answer to his question, Sergeant Linham inquired again in portentous tones, ‘Ha, hum! answer me at once; I want to know.’

‘It’s all right, sergeant,’ said Napper suavely, deftly throwing his whip behind him on to one of the beds, ‘I was just giving this new youngster a word of advice; he’s inclined to be cheeky.’

‘Bandsman Napper,’ said the sergeant, relaxing the tension of his muscles a little, ‘you’re not to give advice with your whip, ha, hum!’ and he cleared his throat, which he did regularly every few seconds while talking. ‘The Queen’s Regulations expressly forbid it; and remember that, all you toads.’

This was a favourite word with Sergeant Linham, every one who offended him in the least being a toad.

The ‘toads’ looked very demure, and began to busy themselves about the room.

Then the sergeant roared, ‘Shun!’

Every one was perfectly quiet, and Linham continued, ‘Bandsman Napper, John Blair, recruit, is placed in your mess. Trumpeter Hodson will take him in hand for a few weeks, and you’ll give him any information in your power. He will go to the trumpet-major’s quarters at six o’clock this evening and get his trumpet, bugle, and cords. He will attend trumpet-practice in the morning, ha, hum!’ And wheeling round, Sergeant Linham disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.

‘Yah, old Hooky-beak,’ cried one of the trumpeters, ‘go and get a shave.’

‘Silly fool,’ said Napper; ‘he’s like an old woman. Now then,’ as a trumpet rang out, ‘there’s mess; away for the tea.’

All scuttered for their basins, which with a clatter they laid on the table.

Brown, the trumpeter who had fetched up the dinner, cried out, ‘Anything from the canteen?’

Several voices answered, ‘Yes, I want some butter;’ ‘Bring us a ha’p’orth of jam,’ and such like, and such like.

‘Any one lend me a brown and I’ll treat myself to a bloater,’ said Hodson; but no answer being forthcoming, with a cheery whistle he turned, noticed Parkes on his bed, who continued to snore loudly, gave him a sounding smack on the tightest part of his overalls, and cried out, ‘Wake up, you lazy pig, and shut that row.’

Parkes jumped to his feet and asked who had struck him.

‘Dawes,’ whispered Hodson, pointing to the red-headed, blubber-lipped trumpeter, who was standing with his back to Parkes.

The latter youth, with an angry cry, charged the supposed culprit, and in a second they were trying to tear one another’s head off, while Hodson was looking out of the window.

Jack went off with Brown to the cook-house to get the tea, and on their way they called in at the canteen, where Jack got a stamp, and took the opportunity of posting his letter. He then helped Brown to get the things wanted, and bought a bloater, already cooked of course, which he took back for Hodson.

‘You’ve made a mistake, chummy; I didn’t order it. I’m broke,’ said Hodson, when Jack returned.

‘If you would not mind accepting it from me’—— began Jack bashfully.

‘Mind? Why, I’d accept anything from anybody. Blair, you’re a trump; you’ve got sense. You and me are going to be friends,’ he concluded with a total disregard of grammar, most of the trumpeters knowing far more about the Queen’s Regulations than about the Queen’s English.

Tea passed off quietly, after which Napper went out, never giving Jack a look.

At the time fixed he went to the trumpet-major’s quarters, received his trumpet and bugle, together with a few instructions about the morrow, and then returned to his room.

With the exception of Napper, the trumpeters had to be in barracks early, all of them parading at nine o’clock to sound ‘First post,’ and again at nine-thirty ‘Last post,’ after which they went to their quarters, lights being out at ten-fifteen.

With Hodson’s help, Jack put down his bed, and, not caring to join in the skylarking which was going on, about nine o’clock got quietly into bed.

Some time before ten, Napper, looking very red in the face and walking a trifle unsteadily, came in. He looked round crossly. ‘All in?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Napper.’

‘Then chuck this fooling and turn in, or—hic—you’ll get something.’ He sat on his bed and took off his cap. ‘Callon, Callon, where are you?’ he cried.

‘Here,’ replied that youth.

‘Come here. How many more times shall I tell you you’re to be here when I come in? Get off my boots.’

Trumpeter Gallon came and knelt down by Napper, tugging at the studs which fastened the straps of his overalls down under his boots.

‘Now, then, you young bungler, look sharp; we’ll have lights out in a minute.’

Callon made an effort, undid the stud, and managed to tug off the Wellington boot. He was engaged on the other, Napper holding out his leg, when the boy caught hold of the toe of the boot to pull it off.

‘You clumsy beast!’ cried Napper savagely, ‘I tell you every night to mind my corn.’

With these words he kicked out his foot savagely, the spur catching Callon on the chin, which it badly pricked, and the heel striking him on the mouth and cutting his lips.

Callon uttered a cry and reeled backwards, on which one or two of the trumpeters who had seen what had happened cried ‘Shame!’ and ‘Coward!’

‘Here, draw it mild, Napper,’ said one of the older trumpeters, named Brittain; ‘you don’t want to kick a fellow’s teeth down his throat.’

‘The little ass should mind what he’s doing then,’ muttered Napper rather shamefacedly, and he proceeded to pull off the boot himself and then to get into bed.

There were some angry mutterings from the boys till Napper cried out sharply, ‘Shut up!’

Callon, who slept in the next bed to Jack, undressed and got in, and Jack fancied, after lights were out, he once or twice heard a sound like a stifled sob come from the bed.

He ground his teeth with rage at the sound, and he made a stern resolve. Napper should be stopped, either one way or another, and Jack crept quietly out of bed, and on bended knees prayed for strength and guidance when the decisive moment should arrive.

CHAPTER VII.

SERGEANT LINHAM INSTRUCTS.

THE next morning Jack was aroused early by the trumpeters turning out to sound reveille. He immediately got up, folded his sheets and blankets, and rolled and strapped up his bed as shown by Hodson. He then assisted Brown in sweeping and cleaning up generally, getting the plates and basins ready for breakfast, and when the trumpet sounded mess in going and drawing the rations.

At breakfast-time Napper said nothing, but he looked exceedingly disagreeable, as though his previous evening’s amusement had not agreed with him.

Jack noticed that Callon’s mouth was swollen and discoloured, while there was a long, jagged scratch on his chin.

The meal over, Sergeant Linham suddenly appeared, well shaven and faultlessly dressed, as he always was.

‘Ha, hum!’ he snorted—he had a way of blowing down his nose—‘Trumpeter Blair will parade at eight-thirty A.M. for recruits’ extension drill.’ And he proceeded to detail other orders for the trumpeters.

Hodson took Jack in hand, who polished up his old, well-worn boots, brushed his clothes and cap, and then proceeded to the parade-ground, where he fell in on the extreme left of some four or five recruits who had just joined. Under the instruction of a corporal he was soon busily engaged in extension motions, and after an hour of that there was not one muscle in his body which did not ache. Still, his blood seemed to circulate more briskly, and he felt an unwonted lightness and elasticity.

The extension-drill over, Jack was just in time to get his instruments and go off with the other trumpeters to the band-room for practice. The trumpeters fell in in line, Sergeant Linham taking the practice.

‘Ha, hum!’ he cried; ‘now a little more smart, please. Right dress. Eyes front. ‘Shun!’

The trumpeters were all rigid.

‘We’ll have a little practice in field-calls after trumpet practice,’ he said. ‘Captain Norreys complained to the trumpet-major that at the field-day last Friday, when the colonel’s trumpeter sounded “Skirmishers out,” the trumpeter of the leading squadron sounded “Threes about.” Ha, hum! a disgraceful thing. If the officer I mentioned, one of the finest in the service, had not at once noticed it, such a thing might have led to the regiment getting mixed up and so have disgraced itself in the eyes of the headquarter staff.’

Who the guilty party was Jack did not know; but he heard a voice, a rather shamefaced one, say, ‘It was done in the excitement of the moment, sergeant, and I noticed it directly I’d sounded. The calls are so much alike.’

Sergeant Linham blew down his nose furiously. ‘Not a word—not a word. How dare any trumpeter get excited, especially on such a paltry excuse as a field-day. By the Lord Harry, if the old 17th ever has to face an enemy in the field again, if it ever again hears the hum of bullets and sees the colour of a foeman’s eyes, what will happen to it? Now, I want to know!’

No one answered.

‘Speak, you toads! What will happen? Am I to ask a dozen times? I repeat, I want to know!’

On again getting no answer—for Sergeant Linham was a terrible martinet on parade, and no one dared be familiar—the irascible sergeant, drawing himself up and placing his stick beneath his arm, cried, ‘You can’t tell me. I knew you couldn’t. You’re too ignorant, so I’ll tell you. At the battle of Chillianwallah, where I was attached to the 9th Lancers, a certain English cavalry regiment—I won’t say which, for they afterwards wiped out their disgrace—this regiment was advancing to charge the enemy when some one sounded “Threes about,” whether by mistake or wilfully don’t matter. The regiment turned and galloped back, riding over infantry, breaking into guns, and Heaven knows what. My squadron of the 9th cut in and saved the situation, or it might have led to the defeat of the army. When the engagement was over the colonel of that regiment blew his brains out and the corps will be known as the “Threes about,” as long as the service lasts. That’s the result of getting excited and sounding wrong calls. Now, you toads, ‘shun!’

Not a man or boy had moved while the sergeant had been speaking; but he glared round as though every one had been on the shuffle.

‘Sound the scale up and down!’ he cried; and this was done.

‘You, Blair, fall back two paces,’ said the sergeant, ‘and keep your ears open. Try and get the calls fixed in your memory.’

The trumpeters then went through the different camp-calls on the trumpet, and very pretty they sounded. Many of the short calls Jack, who had a very quick, musical ear, was able to remember; but the long ones, like ‘Reveille,’ were too complicated.

‘Stables,’ a very pretty call, Dawes (who had only joined a few months) had great difficulty in sounding. He kept getting horribly flat on one note, and ‘Hooky-beak,’ as the boys called Linham, grew crimson with rage.

‘You’ve no more ear for music than a pariah dog, Dawes!’ he cried. ‘Now, sound it again.’

Trumpeter Dawes did so, but again was flat on the high note.

‘Squeeze it—squeeze it, you one-lunged bandicoot,’ cried the sergeant; and Dawes endeavoured to do so, but made a worse hash of it than before.

‘Brittain, get out the cards,’ cried Linham; and from a cupboard Brittain got out some great cards about two feet wide and of different lengths, on which the various calls were printed in huge notes.

‘Hang up the “Stable” call,’ cried Linham.

Brittain did so, and Linham pointed to it with his stick.

‘Now, sound it, you blubber-lipped walrus, and if you don’t get the B flat this time I’ll put you back with the raw recruits!’

Jack looked at the card hanging up and saw that the note the unfortunate trumpeter could not sound was not B flat, but D, a very awkward note to produce on the trumpet, and one which is used only in the ‘Stable’ call.

The sergeant waved his stick, a curious-looking souvenir of his Indian service. It was made of ebony or some other black wood, the end being carved into the shape of an elephant’s head, having two long, white ivory tusks stuck in, which gave it a very realistic appearance.

Jack had noticed that the sergeant, while the trumpeters had been sounding, had waved his ebony stick about in a most wonderful way, as though beating time, but with motions that would have driven a bandmaster crazy and that would have puzzled any body of musicians.

Before Dawes began to sound, the sergeant cried, ‘Now, keep in time. I’ll count;’ and he gave his stick a preliminary flourish like a trooper making ‘cut two’ with his sword, and causing Dawes to jump back, the ferule of the stick having whizzed within a few inches of his nose.

‘Stand still! How dare you move!’ yelled Linham. ‘Now, “Stables”—prepare to sound;’ and Dawes stood straight as a poker and brought the mouthpiece of his trumpet to his mouth. ‘Sound!’

Dawes made a fair start on the low C, the sergeant standing in front of him, waving his stick frantically and counting aloud. His method of counting was peculiar. He began, ‘One, two, three, four, five,’ and so on, and proceeded up to about thirty-five, getting in anything from three to five beats in a bar. As the call was in three-four time, Jack had the greatest difficulty to keep from laughing; and when on the fatal D Dawes broke down, and Linham yelled, ‘Wrong, wrong, wrong! you’re sounding B flat again!’ he had to snigger.

At this moment the trumpet-major entered the band-room; and, after talking with the sergeant for a few moments, Linham was instructed to take Jack, Dawes, and Brown to a small room off the band-room, and there to give them an hour’s scale practice, while the trumpet-major instructed the rest in some new harmonies which he had written for the longer and more musical calls.

Marching his three trumpeters away to the small room, Sergeant Linham gave them a long address, enlarging upon the stupidness of boys in general and trumpeters in particular, giving some most fantastic information about the notation of the calls, which convinced Jack that no matter how good a trumpeter the sergeant might happen to be, he knew nothing whatever about music, sounding by ear; a fact which puzzled him much at the time, but which he afterwards found to be quite correct.

The three boys had to sound the scale up and down on the trumpet, and Jack, who had a good lip and was naturally quick at music, was able to perform fairly creditably, a fact which pleased Linham immensely.

‘You show promise, decided promise,’ he said. ‘Listen carefully to what I tell you and I’ll make a trumpeter of you—ay, and a musician too, ha, hum!’

Jack had his own opinion about that, and sounded the scale over and over. Every time he sounded a note untruly, let it be C, G, D, or anything else, the sergeant pulled him up with a ‘Ha, hum! flat, flat. Squeeze the lips; spit the tongue; you’re sounding B flat!’

Before the practice was over Jack had mastered the ‘Band’ call and ‘Markers’ sufficiently to be able to sound them, after a fashion. In this he was of course much helped by hearing Dawes and Brown sound the calls before him. Brown was rather stupid, and Dawes (who had thick lips) was ‘throaty’ and would certainly never make a first-class trumpeter.

These two gentlemen very strongly resented being put back with Jack, and when the parade was dismissed they gave vent to their feelings in unmistakable terms.

Jack found Hodson.

‘Well, how did you get on with old Jimmy?’ asked the latter.

Jack told him one or two things that had happened in the small room.

‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ said Will Hodson. ‘Jimmy’s a real treat; you’ll see some fun with him before you’ve been with us long.’

Jack was very well pleased with his morning’s work, and felt he should soon master the trumpet and bugle, looking forward to the time when he should be entitled to wear the cross-trumpets and be posted to a troop. There was more practice that afternoon, followed by a visit to the regimental barber, who sheared off all Jack’s locks.

The next day part of Jack’s uniform was finished, and for afternoon drill, for the first time, with Will Hodson’s help, he donned the white striped overalls, neat blue undress jacket, and the jaunty forage-cap. Wellington boots and spurs, which to Jack’s ears jingled most martially, completed his attire; and as he took up his trumpet and bugle to fall in for parade, Will Hodson declared that Jack looked a fair treat, and that there wasn’t a smarter-looking trumpeter in the 17th.

Bandsman Napper during this time let no opportunity slip of perpetrating little tyrannies on Jack, and showing him that he had not forgotten the episode of the letter.

Exactly a week had passed since Jack had entered Hounslow Barracks with Sergeant Barrymore, and on the Saturday afternoon he was crossing the square on his way from trumpet-practice when a trooper who had just come in cried out to him, ‘Isn’t your name Blair, sonny?’

‘It is,’ replied Jack.

‘There’s a lady at the gate asking for you, then.’

Jack’s heart gave a great thump. A lady to see him! Who could it be? Was it——

He hastened to the gate, and there, talking to the stalwart sentry, a handkerchief and purse in one hand, a parasol in the other, stood his mother. Jack went up to her and held out his hand. ‘Mother!’ he cried.

The old lady, in her black silk gown and widow’s neat bonnet, which did not conceal her silvery hair parted in the centre and smoothed down on each side of her head, gave one look at the young soldier, on whose well-knit, upright figure drill had already set its mark; then, recognising Jack, she opened her arms, gave a sort of gasping cry, and folded her son to her breast, saying, ‘John, John, my dearest son, to think that I should ever see you thus in the garb of a common soldier!’

Just at this moment Napper, on his way out to spend the evening, passed Jack and his mother, and overhearing Mrs Blair’s remark, he made a grimace at the sentry, saying in audible tones, ‘Poor mammy’s darling, I wonder whether she’s brought him a bit of sugar?’

Jack flushed as he heard the remark, and drew his mother away from the gate. Where to take her he knew not, for, alas! there is no privacy in the barrack-room. Across the square they went, many an eye being turned on the lady, who was pouring forth lamentations the while she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

At that moment Sergeant Barrymore espied the pair, and, understanding what had happened, crossed over to them. ‘Madam,’ he said politely, ‘I can see from the likeness between you and Jack that you are his mother. If you will step across to my quarters my wife will be happy to offer you a cup of tea.’

Jack looked the thanks he could not express, and Mrs Blair said, ‘Thank you, I will go to my son’s room.’

Jack had to explain that he shared his room in common with many others, and begged that she would accompany him to the sergeant’s quarters.

After Mrs Barrymore had assisted the old lady to take off her bonnet and gloves, she came and sat on the sofa beside her son, and taking his hand said, ‘Oh John, why on earth have you done this foolish thing?’

Jack explained the circumstances under which he had left Phogg & Cheetham’s; how Barrymore had rescued him from the tramps; and how, despairing of ever getting another situation, he had enlisted. ‘Mr Bailey told me that whatever happened I must not be a burden to you,’ he said, ‘and this seemed to open a career to me. I like the life and think I shall be happy; there are plenty of chances of promotion for a well-behaved, educated lad.’

‘That interfering Bailey! he had no business to say anything of the kind,’ said Mrs Blair. ‘You should have come home at once, John. Your sisters and I would have welcomed you with open arms, and we would have shared our last crust with you. Did we ever give you a wry word that you should have thought yourself compelled to take such a terrible step as this?’

‘It was because I knew you would do all this that I determined not to be a burden to you,’ said Jack. ‘I have got to make my own way in the world, and the sooner I begin the better. I would a thousand times rather be a soldier than a quill-driver.’

‘As an officer I should not have minded so much, but as a private soldier—no, it must not be. You know that although I have been on distant terms with my family ever since I married your late dear father, they are in good circumstances. My brother is a colonel and holds an appointment at the Horse Guards. I shall write to him and beg of him to procure your discharge.’

‘Mother,’ said Jack firmly, ‘this you must not do. Ask no favours for me. It would cost a lot of money to buy me out, and I will not be beholden to those people who cast you off. Besides, I should be still in the same position; I should have no career before me. So, as I have chosen this life, I will stick to it.’

At tea-time Sergeant Barrymore assured Mrs Blair that her son had done nothing derogatory. ‘One of the best officers in our regiment,’ he said, ‘is a man who won his commission from the ranks. Your son has chosen an honourable career and joined one of the finest regiments in the service. Let him remain, madam, and you will have no cause to regret it. I have great hopes of Master Jack.’

The superior manner of the sergeant and the air of comfort about his quarters rather impressed Mrs Blair and she began to think that a soldier’s life was not altogether the common, low drudgery, with men little better than convicts for companions, which she had thought it; and when later on Jack took her down to the station and saw her off by train she was to a certain extent reconciled to the idea. Dearly as he loved his mother, Jack heaved a half-sigh of relief as her train steamed out, and he thanked his lucky stars that she had not seen the ordinary barrack-room or realised the actual conditions of the life to which he had pledged himself for twelve long years.

He reached barracks only just before ‘First post’ was sounded, and went straight to his room. When he got there he found the occupants thereof rather noisy.

Napper was sitting on the table, with a pipe in his mouth, relating something to the others which was making them laugh loudly. As Jack came in he looked up and cried out, ‘Talk of the er—commander-in-chief and you’ll hear his wings or his spurs. Why, here is our mammy’s darling. “Oh John, John, to think that I should ever see you in the garb of a common soldier”—boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo;’ and the bully pretended to cry loudly.

Jack, his heart heavy with having just parted from his mother, felt his blood boil at these words; but he said nothing, only crossed to his bed, which he proceeded to take down.

‘Did mammy bring you that bit of sugar?’ continued Napper.

‘No, she gave him twopence for lollipops,’ said another.

‘Not she,’ cried Napper; ‘the old washerwoman hadn’t got the twopence to spare. She’d want that for a drop of gin on the way home. Her nose showed where all her twopences went.’

At this gross insult Jack fairly shook with rage; but he determined to govern his temper as long as he could.

‘How did the old girl get a holiday to come and see you?’ asked Napper again. ‘Or does her laundry shut early on Saturdays?’

Jack had removed his cap and jacket, and busied himself with his bed, when Napper, picking up a wet cloth which lay on the table, threw it at Jack, saying, ‘Send that up to the old puddin’-boiler and ask her to wash it for us when she is sober.’

Jack waited for no more. He picked up the cloth and dashed it in his tormentor’s face. ‘There’s your washing back again,’ he said, ‘and here’s my intimation to you that if you ever open your foul mouth in my presence to say anything disrespectful of my mother again I’ll wring your nose.’ Then seizing Napper by the collar of his jacket, he shook him till that gentleman’s head seemed for a moment to be in danger of coming off.

‘You scum, you washerwoman’s brat!’ yelled Napper, jumping to his feet. ‘What do you mean by that?’ and he made a furious rush at Jack.

He was met by a well-planted blow between the eyes which laid him flat on his back, and Jack said, ‘It means, Bully Napper, that you and I must settle once and for all who is going to be master here.’

CHAPTER VIII.

BANDSMAN NAPPER IS TAUGHT A LESSON.

AS Napper measured his length on the floor a chorus of cries arose.

‘Hallo, Napper’s got it!’ ‘A mill, a mill!’ ‘Now you’re in for it, Blair!’ ‘Make a ring.’ ‘Give him a chance,’ and so on.

In the midst of these outcries Napper rose to his feet. ‘Run and fetch Charlie Lumsden,’ he cried; and a youngster going, returned in a few moments with Bandsman Lumsden, who was Napper’s particular chum, being the same man Jack, on his first appearance in the room, had seen talking to Napper.

‘Hallo!’ cried Lumsden. ‘What’s the row?’

‘I’m going to lick the life out of this cheeky young beast,’ said Napper angrily; ‘and I want you to see me through, Charlie, and bear evidence that it was a fair fight and no murder.’

‘What’s the good of milling?’ said Lumsden. ‘Give the beggar a couple of dozen with a strap and have done with it.’

While this talk was going on, willing hands had removed the planks and trestles which formed the table, the forms were pushed back, and a space in the centre of the room cleared.

Directly Jack had dashed the cloth in Napper’s face, Will Hodson, seeing that trouble was bound to follow, had announced his intention of seeing Jack through; but Tom Gallon, who bore the marks of Napper’s brutality upon his chin and mouth, with hatred shining in his eyes, cried, ‘Let me stand by Blair, Will; I can do more for the man who’s got pluck enough to face that cowardly hound than anybody else will.’

‘All right, Tommy; we’ll both back him, for he’s got all his work cut out against Napper.’

Lumsden continued to persuade his chum that a good strapping was what Jack wanted, and pointed out that a full bandsman was lowering himself to fight with a raw recruit.

It flashed across Jack’s mind that if Lumsden and Napper combined, the one holding him while the other strapped him, he would stand a poor chance, and his opportunity of obtaining a victory over Napper would be lost. He therefore stepped up to the pair, and, looking at Lumsden, cried, ‘Now, is your man going to stand up or is he going to apologise for his language?’

Lumsden looked at Jack and broke into a loud laugh. ‘Upon my soul, Sammy,’ he said, ‘he’s the cockiest kid I’ve seen yet. I do believe you’ll have to lick him after all.’

Napper required no second bidding. He sprang into the ring formed by the spectators and made a furious rush at Jack. This the latter, who was as active as a panther, avoided, getting in a sly tap on Napper’s ribs as he rushed past him.

Then they faced again, Jack falling back before Napper all the time, keeping away from his sweeping, sledge-hammer blows and his hug, for he saw at once that at close-quarters he would stand a poor chance against his older and heavier opponent.

The way in which Jack eluded his savage rushes and sweeping blows maddened and annoyed Napper, who began to get pumped with his exertions; but he presently got in a blow which caught Jack on the left cheek and made his teeth rattle again.

‘Time!’ cried Hodson, and he and Callon ran in to their man.

In a few moments Jack was ready again.

‘Try and keep away from his slogging blows,’ whispered Hodson; ‘you stand a good chance if you hang on a bit.’

‘All right,’ said Jack cheerily; ‘I’m a long way from being finished yet.’

In the second round Napper came on triumphantly, apparently only waiting an opportunity to rush in and smash his opponent up once and for all. But that he found was more difficult to perform than he imagined. It was science versus strength, and provided only that science could hold on long enough it stood a very good chance of winning.

Seeing an opening after Napper had made one of his futile rushes, Jack got in one too, a regular postman’s knock on his chest, and when time was called Napper did not feel nearly so confident. A couple of similar rounds now followed, and it was curious to note the effect on the bystanders of Jack’s improving chances. At first, when he made a good hit they looked at one another as though to say, ‘Well done!’ but had expressed no opinion aloud. But when it was seen he was holding his own well there were frequent outbursts of ‘Well hit, Blair!’ ‘Well done, ‘Cruity!’ and so on.

Jack was not escaping scot-free, and when he came up for the fifth round one eye was almost closed. Napper, however, was getting very puffed; he was not nearly in such good condition as Jack, and he could not now follow him up so quickly. His breathing was laboured and heavy, and his sledge-hammer blows not so frequent.

Jack then altered his tactics. In an instant he changed from a defensive to an offensive policy; flew at Napper, used his fists with amazing rapidity, and before his astonished enemy realised what was happening half-a-dozen straight, heavy blows had fallen on his head and body.

At the beginning of the next round Napper was beginning to show signs of heavy punishment. In avoiding a rush, Jack bent over till his right forearm rested on his right thigh, and swinging round his left with a circular motion he got in right between Napper’s eyes. He followed up his advantage, and, after several stunning blows on the head, with a left-hander just over Napper’s heart he laid him flat down at Lumsden’s feet.

Jack waited for Napper to rise; but there was no more fight left in that gentleman. ‘Has your man had enough?’ asked Jack of Lumsden.

‘You can see for yourself,’ replied Lumsden sullenly.

Then a strange thing happened. The trumpeters in room B2 realised that the reign of Bully Napper was over.

‘Hurrah! hurrah! three cheers for Blair!’ they yelled.

‘Shut up, you young asses!’ cried Lumsden angrily. ‘Do you want to bring the guard down on you?’

The boys were silenced, and while Lumsden bathed Napper’s head and face in cold water the room was quickly got into order again.

All sorts of congratulations were offered to Jack; but he took no notice of them and was soon in bed, the last thing he heard before he fell asleep being a groan from Napper as he turned over upon some particularly tender spot.

CHAPTER IX.

JACK MAKES GOOD PROGRESS.

NEXT morning Napper presented a woeful appearance, his face being sadly bruised, while one eye was beautifully encircled with green-and-black rings. His lips were so swollen that it was clear it would be some days before he would be able to place his trombone to his mouth.

He said nothing during breakfast; but once or twice Jack caught him looking in a fashion that boded him little good if Napper ever had a chance of doing him an ill-turn. As soon as breakfast was over Napper went to hospital and reported himself sick, and there he stayed for a day or two, nominally suffering from a ‘swollen face.’

No official notice was taken of the matter, though Jack had been rather afraid at first that he might get into trouble for ‘fighting in barracks.’ Indeed, it came to his ears later that both the trumpet-major and Sergeant Linham had expressed themselves pleased that Napper had been given a sharp lesson, for his bullying propensities were well known.

On the Sunday morning there was church parade, and a pretty sight, indeed, the regiment presented as in full-dress, dismounted and carrying swords only, headed by their splendid band, they marched off. Jack’s heart glowed with pride to think that these gaily apparelled Lancers were his comrades, and that he, too, was now one of the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’

On Monday Jack was informed that next day he was to join the recruit squad in the riding-school. This news gave him genuine delight, for he was exceedingly fond of horses and longed to have one of his own. Accordingly, next morning, in undress uniform and without spurs, Jack paraded with the squad of recruits with whom he had been doing extension drill.

They went off to the stables, where they took possession of their horses. Jack was given a pretty animal that he quite fell in love with at the first glance. She had belonged to a bandsman who had just left the regiment, and was a very pretty bay, as were most of the band-horses. She was rather small, but her broad chest and tapering legs denoted both strength and swiftness. She had an arching neck, and soft, limpid eyes that looked as intelligent as a human being’s.

The horse had its bridle already on, but no saddle, as the first lessons are taken bareback.

‘Don’t jar her mouth, youngster,’ said the old soldier who had groomed her, as he handed the bridle to Jack. ‘Use her gently and she’ll carry you as comfortably as though you were in an arm-chair.’

They then went off to the riding-school, and as they entered the rough-riding sergeant seemed to Jack to eye his ‘victims’ with a sinister glance.

The men were placed in position, the sergeant standing in the middle, armed with a long whip like a circus-master’s. His assistant rough-riders stood near him, all looking, it seemed to Jack, grimly earnest. The men, being in position, were called sharply up to ‘Attention!’

‘Spring smartly up,’ cried the sergeant, ‘the left hand holding the snaffle-rein near the ring, the right arm down, little finger behind the stripe of the overalls.’

The assistants saw that the men were in position; then they were instructed how to stand on the command, ‘Prepare to mount!’

‘On the command “Mount!”’ continued the sergeant, ‘place the right hand on the horse’s withers, then spring lightly up, remaining perfectly still when seated.’

‘Mount!’

Of the eleven men in the squad, only four managed to get on their horses’ backs; some of the others were sprawling wildly on their stomachs on the horses’ backs, endeavouring madly to throw the right leg over; while one heavy fellow named Wilson had bumped against his horse with so much force that the animal reared away, and Wilson, hanging wildly to the bridle with both hands, was dragged along, shouting, ‘Whoa there! whoa, back!’

‘What are you doing, you confounded tailor; you’re not driving a cab.’

‘I ain’t a tailor,’ said the man; ‘I’m a plasterer.’

‘And I’ll plaster you if you don’t watch it. Mount, man, mount!’

‘I can’t.’

‘Don’t answer me; do as I tell you.’

The assistants got to work; Wilson was hoisted up, and presently the whole squad was mounted.

Jack had got on very well, and sat quite still on Dainty, for such was his horse’s name.

‘Walk march,’ said the sergeant; and the well-trained animals, without any intimation from their riders, began to step round the school.

The sergeant kept throwing sentences at them as they went round.

‘Legs well down, heels in line with the shoulders, toes raised, back well hollowed in! Now, you Wilson fellow, sit up; man, you’re like a sack of bran tied up ugly! Sit up, the horse’s back won’t break.’

Wilson tried his best, but he made a sorry show.

‘Now we’ll try a trot. Keep your heads well up, press your knees in, let the horses throw you up and down, and ride by the balance of your bodies! But, mind, don’t lose your position or jerk the horses’ mouths!’

‘Trot!’

What a sight was there. As the horses trotted round the men wobbled about, and several looked absolutely scared.

‘Knees in, heads up!’ shouted the instructor. ‘You, Wilson, hold on!’

Wilson obeyed by completely losing his balance, then clinging wildly round the horse’s neck, one leg across the animal’s back, the other toe just hopping along on the ground.

‘Oh you dashed tailor! oh you cobbler!’ roared the sergeant. ‘Why didn’t you join the Militia. Who sent you here for a Lancer?’

Poor Wilson rolled over on the tan, the horses stepping gingerly over him.

‘How dare you dismount?’ asked the sergeant.

‘I couldn’t keep on, sergeant.’

‘Hold on by your teeth; your mouth’s big enough. Now, the squad, halt!’

The horses stopped so suddenly that two more luckless wights pitched over their horses’ heads and lay wallowing on the tan. More cutting remarks from the sergeant, then the squad again ‘stood to their horses,’ and were once more instructed in the method of mounting. This time poor Wilson made such a leap that he shot right over his horse’s back and fell off on the other side, roaring lustily.

‘You’re not in the gymnasium on the vaulting-horse,’ roared the sergeant. ‘Look up, man, or you’ll put in the whole of your twelve in the riding-school.’

Presently the men again got mounted and the ride went on. Jack, being light and agile, and his horse docile, managed very well, and soon began to feel confidence, remembering the old soldier’s words, not to ‘jar her mouth.’

In about an hour’s time the riding-master and a rather short but very broad officer, whom Jack afterwards learnt was Captain Norreys, entered the school, and the recruits were handled a little more gently.

Presently Captain Norreys and the riding-master, who had noticed how well Jack was getting on, came up to him, and the captain said kindly, ‘What is your name, my lad?’

‘John Blair, sir.’

‘Have you ridden before?’

‘On a pony once or twice, sir.’

‘You’re doing very well, Blair; very well. We shall soon make a cavalryman of you. Go on as you have begun.’ And Jack’s heart warmed within him at the kindly words.

Presently the ride was dismissed and the horses taken back to the stables. Despite his stiffness and soreness, Jack thoroughly enjoyed his ride, and was quite eager to begin again, the kindly notice taken of him by the riding-master and Captain Norreys filling him with pleasure.

On the Thursday, Napper resumed his duties. He took up his old position without a word, retaining his loud and domineering manner, and smoking and frequenting the canteen as much as before; but Tommy Callon was no longer a sort of valet to him, nor did any one do his pipeclaying and burnishing. Also, he studiously let Jack alone; so peace reigned. This was the more so as the band was then playing a good deal at London, Richmond, Kew, and other places; so that Napper was much away.

Jack got on splendidly with his trumpet and bugle work, and Linham declared that Blair was a credit to him, ending up with a tremendous ‘Ha, hum!’ that clinched the matter.

He soon got very attached to his horse Dainty, which was indeed a beautiful and docile creature, whinnying when Jack went into the stable, rubbing her velvet muzzle against his face when he spoke to her, and reaching out towards his hand in expectation of the usual lump of sugar he brought her.

Jack, being a big boy for his age, was drilled with his squad both in the lance and sword exercise, for the colonel of the Lancers was a man who insisted upon his trumpeters being soldiers as well. With Sergeant Linham he seemed to be quite a favourite. The sergeant was a first-class soldier, one of those in whom discipline is second nature, and whose whole knowledge of life is limited to the service. Jack was once speaking of him to Sergeant Barrymore.

‘He is a queer fish, is Jimmy,’ said Barrymore; ‘but a truer comrade never lived, and he’s a great friend of the colonel’s too!’

‘Is he really?’ said Jack, opening his eyes.

‘He is, indeed. I’ll guarantee there’s not a man in the regiment, including the officers, that the colonel thinks as much of, or is really so fond of, as he is of Jimmy Linham.’

Jack looked as though he thought Barrymore was chaffing him.

‘It’s a fact, I can assure you,’ said Barrymore. ‘How otherwise do you think Jimmy got his stripes? Not for his trumpeting qualities, for, as you know, he’s a poor hand at that. No, my boy, Jimmy Linham wears those stripes because he’s a friend of the colonel’s. They were together in the 16th, our colonel as a young cornet and Linham as trumpeter. They had some terrible experiences in Afghanistan together, and both suffered losses. They went together through the Sikh war of ‘40, and took part in some of the fiercest fights. I never heard the exact rights of it, but I know Jimmy and the colonel have some sort of a common bond of sympathy that binds them together. The colonel brought Linham with him when he came to ours, and he made him sergeant, and sergeant he’ll remain as long as the colonel is with us.’

Time went on, and Jack, being really fond of his work, and having a natural aptitude for soldiering, made splendid progress. At the end of about three months the trumpet-major came down one morning to the practice, and calling Jack out in front of his squad, made him sound thirty or forty calls, both on trumpet and bugle. Jack did his best and felt he had fairly well acquitted himself. He had worked hard during his spare time, for he was anxious to take up his regular duties.

In the evening, while he was engaged on what is termed ‘soldiering’—that is, cleaning his kit and accoutrements—Sergeant Linham, looking preternaturally solemn, entered the room with the suddenness that characterised his movements.

‘Ha, hum!’ he snorted, ‘Acting-trumpeter Blair.’

‘Here, sergeant.’

‘The trumpet-major wants to see you at once, and, ha, hum! see that you go smart and clean.’

‘Right, sergeant,’ and Jack slipped into his jacket and adjusted his forage-cap to the required angle, while Hodson ran a cloth-brush over him.

‘What do you think’s up, Will?’ he asked a little nervously.

‘I don’t want to frighten you, Jack,’ said that Job’s comforter; ‘but at this moment I’d sooner be in my boots than in yours. I should say some one has spotted an unpipeclayed belt of yours, you’ve got an unfavourable report from riding-school or drill, or you’ve failed to salute some officer, or’——

‘Oh shut up, Will; you’ll hang me before I’m tried;’ and Jack started off for the trumpet-major’s quarters, being rendered none the easier in his mind by noticing as he left the room the evil grin on Napper’s face.

It was with some trepidation that Jack entered the trumpet-major’s quarters in response to the shouted ‘Come in,’ after he had knocked; but the friendly look with which he was greeted did much towards putting him at his ease.

‘Oh Blair,’ said the trumpet-major, ‘I wanted to see you. I’m very pleased at the progress you’ve made—very. So far as your ability to sound is concerned you’re quite fit to take duty with the others, and the riding-master tells me he shall soon dismiss you from the rides. You’ve done very well.’

Jack coloured with pleasure, for he felt that he had made his first step on the road to success.

‘You’ve done so well that I’m going to get you posted to a troop’ said the trumpet-major. ‘Brittain, of D Troop, is going into the band, and I shall send you in his place. You can don the cross-trumpets as soon as you like.’

This news was more than ever agreeable to Jack. D Troop was Captain Norrey’s and Sergeant Barrymore’s, so that Jack felt that he would be amongst those whom he liked best.

‘As you won’t join your troop till next week,’ said the trumpet-major kindly, ‘how would you like a day or two of leave? You’ve got people somewhere near, haven’t you?’

Jack’s heart gave a prodigious leap. ‘I have,’ he replied, ‘and I should like above all things to see them.’

‘Very well, then. To-day’s Tuesday; I will arrange for you to have from Friday night till next Tuesday. How’ll that do?’

‘Splendidly.’

‘That’s all right then. Now, run away.’

Full of delight, Jack went, and on his return every one in his room was glad to hear his news except Napper, who scowled evilly at him.

On the following evening Jack, as was the custom amongst the trumpeters when posted to a troop, stood treat to his chums, and there was a great consumption of sausages, jam-rolls, apples, and cocoa. Sergeant Linham, looking in by chance during the evening, drank Jack’s health. Napper came in late and looked daggers at everybody; but no one took any notice of him.

On the Friday, arrayed in full dress, wearing his trumpeter’s badge, Jack started for home, feeling as happy as a sand-boy. In due course he reached the little crescent in Camden Town in which his family lived. There were a number of not overclean children playing in the street, and not overtidy women standing here and there at their doors. Used as he was to the roominess and order of barracks, this struck Jack painfully. Clarence Crescent seemed to him dingier even than when he had left it to take up his duties at Messrs Phogg & Cheetham’s, and when he thought of the large house and beautiful garden which had been theirs in the old days he could hardly repress a sigh. He, however, paid little heed to women and children, his eyes were fixed on the upper windows of a house about half-way down the street. There he saw several faces, the owners of which had no sooner observed the young soldier than they disappeared. Before Jack could reach the doorstep, his mother and three young girls had the door opened, waiting for him, and in another moment he was simply surrounded by clinging arms.

‘Dear old Jack, welcome home!’ cried Molly, a fair-haired, handsome girl, the very counterpart of Jack.

‘Why, he’s taller than you are, mamma,’ cried Ada, the second girl.

‘Where’s your horse?’ asked Connie, the youngest.

‘Let’s get inside,’ said Jack, who did not appreciate the audience gathering round the door. This was closed, and the whole family went upstairs to their little sitting-room.

‘Dear mother,’ cried Jack, taking his mother in his arms and kissing her fondly, ‘how are you?’

‘Very well, my dear boy,’ she replied, kissing her son; ‘but how you have grown! What a great fellow you’re getting!’

Jack laughed happily. How good it was to be at home! Soon tea was on the table. The family drew up, and Jack had to tell them all about his new life—that is, all the pleasant parts; the darker side he hid from them.

The few days that Jack spent among his family he always looked back upon as amongst the happiest of his life; and when the time came for him to say ‘Good-bye,’ and mother and sisters were in tears, it was as much as Jack could do to restrain his own. He, however, remembered he was a soldier, and went off bravely. He reached barracks all right, and at once reported himself to the trumpet-major.

‘You’re in ample time, Blair; a good rule,’ said the trumpet-major. ‘Always aim at being a day too soon rather than a moment too late.’

Jack’s comrades welcomed him warmly when he entered the room, and asked him all sorts of questions as to what he had been doing; but Jack gave them little information, for to his comrades of the barrack-room his home-life and his family were as a sealed book.

The familiar sounds of reveille woke him in the morning, and in half-an-hour he had taken his place again in the new life, and began to feel at home again in barracks. He took up his new duties, Sergeant Barrymore expressing his pleasure at Jack having been posted to his troop.

Jack grew in popularity with his superiors and with his comrades, while Napper sank in their estimation. He tried in every way to annoy Jack, but the latter always defeated his attempts.

CHAPTER X.

THE REVIEW.

SOON after Jack returned to duty the regiment was ordered to prepare to march to Chobham, there to go under canvas.

On the following Thursday morning they started, and a very pleasant march they had. In the afternoon they reached the camp, pitched tents, and settled down in glorious weather. All arms were represented, and the men enjoyed the affair immensely. On the Saturday there was a big field-day, Jack’s regiment representing the attacking cavalry.

About midday the ‘Cease fire,’ was sounded, and Jack’s troop was halted at an old-fashioned inn standing on the heath. As they dismounted, Jack noticed that the band of the regiment were standing and sitting about as though they had been halted there while the rest of the regiment had been engaged in the field. He loosened his saddle-girths and fastened Dainty’s bridle to the pillar of a little rustic arbour beside the inn, while he went inside to get a crust of bread and cheese. In a few minutes an orderly galloped up, bringing word from the colonel that the troop was to rejoin the regiment at once to form up for the march past.

As Jack went towards the little arbour, to his surprise he saw Napper glide out, hurry away towards the band, most of whom were already mounted, and swing himself into the saddle. Hastily tightening up his girths, Jack mounted just as the band trotted off.

Dainty was strangely restive, pawing the ground, tossing her head, and fidgeting about. Jack tried to calm her as he fell in with his troop; but Dainty, instead of keeping her position just behind the captain’s horse, was prancing and curveting all over the road. Jack patted her and uttered soothing words; then tried touching the curb and letting her feel the spur. But it was all to no purpose. There was no opportunity of dismounting to see what ailed her, for immediately on coming up with the regiment, while the band trotted off to take its place at the saluting base with the other bands, Jack’s troop wheeled with C Troop into column of squadrons, and advanced at a walk to take up ground for the march past. Dainty got quieter, and Jack spoke endearing words to her, for she was a beautiful creature and Jack had a true cavalryman’s love for his horse.

Presently, the regiment being in line, the march past commenced, and by a great effort Jack managed to keep his horse under control and in its place, which was well for him, for the eyes of his captain were on him, and woe to the man who broke the line. When the regiment broke into a trot Dainty got almost unmanageable, and the perspiration broke out all over Jack through the struggle between him and his horse.

Then came the final charge. The Horse Artillery thundered by at a gallop, its guns jolting and bumping; then the Lancers and Hussars in a long double line, with lances in rest and waving sabres, galloped madly forward, right on to the front of the thousands of spectators. As the regiment galloped on Dainty got more and more unmanageable, and the thunder of fifteen hundred hoofs, the clank and jangle of accoutrements, the loud shouts of the troopers, all tended to render the bay still more wild. She raced along, kicking and plunging, her ears down, shaking her head angrily, and Jack had all he could do to hold her in and prevent her passing the squadron leaders.

The line of spectators watching the advancing horsemen got closer and closer till the colonel held his sword aloft, his trumpeter rang out the halt, and men and officers pulled up dead and began dressing their lines.

Jack drew hard on his bridle, but Dainty never paused for a second. Like a flash she shot past the squadron leaders, and with an angry snort went straight at the spectators in front. Jack realised the awful danger of a catastrophe, and dropping his bugle he seized the bridle with both hands and tugged with all his might at his horse’s head. Futile effort; Dainty had got the bit between her teeth and was racing forward. Jack knew the horse had run away with him, and shouted at the top of his voice to the people in front to get out of his way. This several did, with loud cries of fear; but a nurse-girl, who had charge of a chubby little boy of some three or four, seemed paralysed by fear and stood rooted to the spot. Her charge, the sun gleaming on his golden curly hair, ran out right in front of the maddened horse, and a great cry of horror went up from those around.

Nerved to an almost superhuman effort by the thought of the danger of the laughing child almost under his charger’s hoofs, Jack threw forward his feet, getting a good grip on his stirrups, then with all his strength he wrenched Dainty’s mouth till she threw up her head. Lying back, he dragged at her till her head was pulled back right against his chest. The animal reared almost straight up on her hind-legs and remained some seconds, while the child’s nurse, recovering from her stupor, rushed forward, dragged the little boy right from under the iron-shod hoofs pawing the air above him, and in an instant had the child in safety, when she fell in a swoon.

Jack, just as he heard the thudding of hoofs behind him, slipped off over the hind-quarters of Dainty; and then, still gripping the bridle, he pulled her sharply backward, when she overbalanced and came right over on her back, dashing Jack to the ground with her. Before she could scramble to her feet and start off again, Jack saw a number of mounted figures close round him and his horse. Dainty was captured, and some one dismounting ran towards Jack just as he lost consciousness. He soon, however, came to himself to find the regimental doctor feeling for broken limbs, and a newly joined officer, Cornet Leland of his troop, supporting his head.

Jack, fearing that he had made but a sorry exhibition of horsemanship, and thinking he might get into trouble for thus bringing his regiment into unpleasant prominence, struggled to his feet, asserting that he was all right. He saw that a Hussar trumpeter had unsaddled Dainty, who now stood quiet enough while the regimental sergeant-major was examining her.

‘Are you able to walk, do you think?’ asked Cornet Leland kindly.

‘I think so, sir,’ replied Jack; and he tried, but his left leg pained him so much that he almost cried out with the pain. He had been thrown on to the hilt of his sword, which had badly bruised his left hip.

Sergeant Barrymore came trotting back from the

Dragged the little boy right from under the iron-shod hoofs.

Page 74

colonel to see the extent of the damage. The crowd was getting pressing in its attentions; and, with the true military dislike of civilian interference, Jack saying he felt all right, he was assisted again on to Dainty, she having been resaddled. Sergeant Barrymore took the bridle of the now docile animal, and the others mounting and trotting off to their places, Jack and Barrymore made for the camp, the crowd giving the former a spontaneous cheer as they did so. In this fashion they reached the camp, where Jack was at once put to bed and his bruises and contusions medically treated.

For many painful hours he lay awake, Will Hodson, Sergeants Linham and Barrymore, and many others dropping in to chat for a few minutes with him.

‘The reason why your horse was so unmanageable was that she had something pricking and scratching her all the while,’ said Sergeant Barrymore; ‘one side is all torn and lacerated just under the saddle-girth. You could not have spurred her there if you had tried. It’s very strange.’

It was very strange, and, as well as his aching head would let him, Jack tried to think the matter out; but at last he fell into a troubled sleep without arriving at any solution of the mystery.

CHAPTER XI.

JACK RECEIVES VISITORS.

NEXT morning Jack felt much better. He got up, and, being excused from duty, sat outside his tent in the warm autumn sunshine, much interested in the crowd of sight-seers who thronged amongst the tents, talking and laughing and apparently enjoying themselves.

During the afternoon he saw a figure in Hussar uniform threading his way among the tents. He stopped and spoke to a Lancer, who pointed over in Jack’s direction, when the Hussar came straight towards him.

Jack saw the stranger was a trumpeter apparently about his own age. He looked at Jack, then with a genial smile came up and held out his hand.

‘It’s glad I am to see ye sitting there, honey,’ he said with an Irish brogue. ‘Shure, I made certain ye’d be in the sawdust.’

‘Thanks,’ said Jack; ‘I hope to be fit for duty to-morrow.’

‘I hope ye will; but bedad, whin I see ye go over yesterday I sez, shure we’ll be having a grand military funeral directly. I was close to ye, and could see yer horse had bolted; I went after ye wid one or two of yours.’

‘Yes, I made a fine exhibition of myself,’ said Jack grimly.

‘Faix, ye did a gallant thing, comrade. Ye managed that horse of yers in a way that would have done credit to a rough-rider. It’s here I am to tell ye so.’

Jack looked questioningly at the Irish trumpeter, who had a merry face and roguish eye.

‘Ye’re perhaps wondering who the dickens I am, and what for should I be blathering to ye. Well, I’m Larry O’Callaghan, full thrumpeter, A Troop, 8th Royal Irish Hussars, son of the late thrumpet-major of the rigiment, and, plase the saints, I intind to be thrumpet-major meself some day.’

‘I’m glad to know you, Larry,’ said Jack. ‘My name’s Blair—Jack Blair.’

‘I’m glad to know ye, comrade. I took a fancy to ye when I see ye fighting wid that mare of yers. And now, I want to know who was the mane thafe of the wurrld who played ye such a dhirty trick yesterday. I’m open to punch his head for him, whoever he is.’

Jack looked at Larry inquiringly.

‘Av coorse I haven’t tould ye yet. ‘Twas I, ye know, who caught the mare and held her when she was trying to kick her head off. The saddle had shifted, and after some of yers had come up and held the mare, one of yer sargints told me to fix the saddle again. When I undid the girths to twist the saddle round I found these;’ and the young Hussar produced from inside his jacket two large chestnut burrs, hard and prickly. ‘These had bin shoved in under the girths,’ he said, ‘and was prickin’ and tearin’ her till she was almost mad.’

Jack took the burrs in his hand. They were covered with bay hairs and stained with blood. An angry frown settled on his face.

‘This is too bad,’ he muttered.

‘Much too bad, comrade,’ said Larry earnestly. ‘The man who played ye that trick wanted ye to break yer neck.’

In a flash Jack recalled the fact of having seen Napper sneaking from the little arbour of the inn on the day before. Had he done this? It was just after that time that Dainty had grown so restless. Jack, however, determined to say nothing till he had proof.

Larry and Jack sat talking for some time, enjoying the sight of the hundreds of visitors to the camp, and laughing at many of the remarks they made about things military.

Suddenly Sergeant Linham appeared before them. ‘Ha, hum!’ he snorted. ‘Here, you 8th Hussar man, what are you doing here? The men are to keep in their own lines to-day; general order.’ And he blew violently down his nose.

‘All right, sargint darlint,’ said Larry, ‘though ye needn’t blow yer nose off. I came over from our colonel to ask how was the thrumpeter who was hurt yesterday.’

‘Oh indeed, ha, yes! thoughtful and kind, very. But you’d better go. Right-about turn! Quick march!’ Then to Jack he said hurriedly, ‘Mr Leland and some friends are on their way to see you. Pull down your jacket, and your cap’s not right—so; that’s better. You ought to be in full-dress, you know. ‘Pon my word, the service is going to the dogs, absolutely to the dogs. I want to know what the—— ‘Shun!’

Jack and Larry at once stood up and saluted as Cornet Leland, in uniform, with a tall, white-headed old gentleman and a young and very handsome lady, leading a dear little curly-haired boy by the hand, suddenly appeared.

‘Good-afternoon, Blair. How are you feeling?’ asked the cornet, who was not much older than Jack himself.

‘Much better, thank you, sir. I was only shaken yesterday. I shall be able to march to-morrow with the regiment.’

‘That’s right.—This is the trumpeter whose horse bolted yesterday.—Blair, this is my uncle, Colonel George Leland. The little boy who almost got under your horse’s hoofs yesterday is his grandson.’

Jack turned very red, saluted, and began to apologise. But the old colonel cut him short, said some most complimentary things to him, in which the lady joined, and chatted for some time. He saw at once that Jack was many cuts above the ordinary ‘boy-trumpeter,’ and did not attempt to offer him money. He said, however, that he knew Jack’s colonel well, and that he would see that his action should not go unnoticed.

Looking at Larry, the colonel recognised him as the Hussar who had helped to stop Jack’s horse, and after complimenting him on his plucky deed dropped a couple of sovereigns into Larry’s palm.

‘May the ten blessings fall upon ye and yers, colonel,’ cried the delighted Larry, saluting him. Then wishing Jack good-bye, he said he would run over in the morning and see him before his regiment marched off.

On his way back to the lines of the Hussars, Larry had to pass the large canteen, and Sergeant Linham went with him to see he didn’t ‘lose his way.’

Soon after the Lelands had gone, a basket of fruit arrived for ‘Trumpeter Blair,’ and Will Hodson came up just at the same time. Will had to chaff Jack about this; but Jack told him not to be a donkey, and related the history of the chestnut burrs which Larry O’Callaghan had left with him. Will’s face grew scarlet with rage. ‘This is too much,’ he said. ‘It’s murder, no less. It must be reported to the colonel. Napper must go; we won’t mix with him.’

‘Steady, Will; remember we’ve no proof. I certainly saw Napper in the arbour of the inn; but that is all. No one saw him tampering with Dainty. Oblige me, Will, by saying nothing yet.’

Next morning Jack reported himself fit for duty. He saw nothing of Napper, nor did he want to. Before the Hussars marched off Larry came across and wished Jack good-bye, saying he hoped they would soon meet again.

Jack was preparing to parade with the rest of his regiment when Sergeant Barrymore came up to him. ‘Jack, my boy,’ he said, ‘I’ve good news for you. We’re going on detachment duty to Hampton Court to relieve F Troop, which is to return to the regiment “to be smartened up,” as the adjutant says.’

Jack was as pleased as anybody at the change, and so it happened that when the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ marched off, Jack’s troop was left behind to make their way to Hampton Court.

CHAPTER XII.

THE ROUTE ARRIVES.

JACK found life ‘on detachment’ very pleasant, and time soon passed. Sergeant Barrymore was most kind to him, and took great pains to make him an efficient soldier.

One great piece of good news Jack heard, and that was that his mother’s affairs had unexpectedly improved, and that his family were coming down to rent a pretty little cottage at Kingston; and when they arrived Jack was able to run over and see them three or four times a week. Molly got several music-pupils, who paid very well, and things were more comfortable with the Blairs than they had been since the father’s death. At Christmas Jack got leave, and a very jolly day they had at Rose Cottage.

The New Year came in and weeks rolled by. Will Hodson occasionally rode over from the regiment and brought news. Napper was sent to Coventry by the rest of the trumpeters. Sergeant Linham kept an eye on him, and had it not been that he was an excellent performer and in the good books of the bandmaster things might have gone awkwardly with him.

But there were other topics than Napper to think of just then. During those early weeks of the year there were persistent rumours of war. War was in the air—war with Russia or Turkey; the soldiers were not sure which, nor did they care. Then, early in February, the Guards left England for Malta. They had a rousing reception as they marched through London. The wiseacres said there would be no war after all. In spite of their prophecy other regiments went, and excitement rose to fever-heat. Cavalry were to follow, and every trooper longed for his chance; but no regiments were named.

It was on a fine April morning that Jack and his troop were returning from exercising the horses when they saw coming along the road towards them a Lancer in full-dress, his plume and lance-flags fluttering in the wind. On reaching Cornet Leland, the trooper reined in, brought his lance to the ‘carry,’ and handed the officer a long blue official envelope.

Cornet Leland read quickly; then turning to his men cried, ‘Hurrah, boys, we’re under orders for the East; we’ve got the route. We join headquarters at once.’

For a moment the troopers gazed at one another; then a cheer burst from them that made the occupants of the houses around come running to their windows to see what was the matter.

The orderly returned to Hounslow the richer by half-a-crown, and Cornet Leland, giving his troop the word, started at a trot for their quarters.

From the moment the news was received there was but one topic of conversation—war was declared and the 17th were going. Jack went over to Rose Cottage that evening and found a sorrowful family. They had already seen in the papers that Jack’s regiment was under orders for the East, and the news filled them with consternation.

Jack had to reason with his relatives. ‘It’s a soldier’s duty to fight,’ he said; ‘that is what we are paid and trained for.’

But his arguments did little to console his relatives. It was all right for others to go; but for their own Jack—that was different. Still, the parting had to come, and it was so painful that Jack felt he could not endure another such ordeal before he embarked. It unnerved him, and for worlds he would not appear downcast before his comrades.

Jack’s troop rejoined headquarters and found everything in a state of great excitement. Will was delighted to have Jack with him again, and told him all the news. The next morning headquarters, with which was Napper, started for Portsmouth, whence they were to embark; the scenes of parting before the men mounted—wives, fathers, children, snatching a last embrace, a final kiss, as the trumpet sounded the parade—being very painful.

When next morning Jack’s troop paraded, the scenes of the day before were repeated. As they passed through the gates with the band of a Dragoon regiment playing ‘Annie Laurie,’ pale-faced women clung to the stirrup-leathers of many of the men and went with them among the cheering thousands outside. About a mile from the barracks the trumpet sounded the ‘trot,’ and these poor wretches were left behind.

After a time the ‘walk march’ was again resumed, and the men broke out into a song at that time very popular, the words of which the troops slightly altered to suit the war-fever:

Cheer, boys, cheer! for country, mother country;
Cheer, boys, cheer! united heart and hand;
Cheer, boys, cheer! we’re going to beat the Russians;
Cheer, boys, cheer, for our dear native land!

‘They’d better wait till they’ve done a bit of fighting,’ growled Linham; ‘then perhaps they won’t have so much breath for cheering.’

On the third day Jack’s troop reached Cosham, and there they were billeted until the ship that was to convey them to the East was ready. This was in two days’ time, and then, in spick and span order, the troop marched into Portsmouth. The band of the gallant Cameronians came out to play them into the town, and through cheering thousands they marched.

They went straight to the docks, and there Jack found Will, and was delighted to learn they were both going in the same ship, the Eveline. It took some time to get all aboard, both men and horses; but at last, everything being finished, Jack and Will found themselves on deck taking their last look for many and many a month at an English crowd of civilians. After the usual delays and bustle and scurry, the anchor was weighed, and amidst the ringing cheers of thousands of spectators the Eveline stood gently out across the Solent.

‘Jack,’ said Will rather sadly, ‘I wonder what we shall be doing this day six months?’

Well for them that neither of them could foresee, for the date was April 25th, and that day six months was the day of the death-ride of the immortal ‘Six Hundred.’

CHAPTER XIII.

EASTWARD HO!

LIFE at sea on board a troopship is to the soldier a dull time. To Jack the first few days were especially so, as he was prostrated by sea-sickness, being tormented from time to time by the assiduous attentions of those of his comrades who were not so bad, and who seemed never tired of asking him to ‘try a bit of fat pork.’ When he got about again they were three days out, and standing well down for the Bay of Biscay.

The colonel kept his men pretty busy, and Jack soon had enough to do. The second deck had been fitted up as a mess-deck for the men, and below that was the horse-deck. This was separated longitudinally into three divisions, the horses standing on each side with their heads facing inwards, the centre walk being for the men. Each horse was separated from its companion by a barrier, and had a sling beneath it to prevent slipping.

Necessarily a good part of the day was spent at ‘stables,’ as tending the horses was still called; then there was drill when the weather permitted, and various parades.

There was a good deal of skylarking going on, and much ingenuity was often displayed in devising practical jokes. In the evening the men would gather on the forecastle and smoke and tell yarns, those who had already seen service being eagerly listened to as they told tales of hairbreadth escapes or thrilling deeds.

Jack and his comrades were thus sitting one fine night, when Sergeant Linham, taking his pipe from his mouth, blew violently down his nose, and prefacing his remarks with his usual exclamation, said, ‘Now I want to know what in all goodness have the Turks to do with this affair? What are we going to fight the Russians for, and where are we going to begin, for no one at present seems to know?’

‘You want to know a good deal, sergeant,’ said a trooper named Pearson. ‘As far as I can make out, the Czar’s trying to collar Turkey, and we’re going to stop him. Anyway, we’re going to have a dust-up; that’s all I care about.’

‘Just like all the other fools,’ said Linham scornfully; ‘no matter what the reason so long as we fight; but I want to understand.’

‘A very laudable wish, sergeant,’ said a friendly voice from behind, and turning they saw Cornet Leland, cigar in hand, among them. The men would have jumped up, but the cornet bade them keep seated.

‘Would you mind telling us, sir, what we are going to fight about?’ said Linham. ‘I suppose there is a cause.’

‘I suppose there is,’ laughed Leland; ‘but it’s a very involved one. My uncle has deeply studied the question, and he tells me we have been partly led into this affair by the French Emperor, who is compelled to make war on somebody to prevent his country from dwelling on awkward questions at home.’

‘Just what I should have expected,’ growled Linham; ‘we’re the cat’s-paw to get the chestnuts out of the fire as usual.’

‘There may be some truth in that,’ said the young officer; ‘but, of course, there are other causes. The Czar of Russia is practically a fanatic, with a raging hatred of Moslems; this he makes a pretext for wishing to take Constantinople under his protection. The other nations cannot agree to this, especially we who govern millions of Moslems in India. The Czar has poured an army into Turkey, and we are going either to drive it out or defend the country against fresh inroads, and the French are going to help us.’

‘Then we’re not bound for Russia at all?’ said Sergeant Linham in some disgust.

‘As far as I know, we are not,’ replied Cornet Leland.

‘H’m!’ said Sergeant Linham; ‘seems rather a muddled-up affair to start with; who knows what it’ll be in six months’ time?’

The sergeant’s words were prophetic.

The voyage was fairly uneventful. Jack was greatly struck with the appearance of Gibraltar, and he caught a glimpse of Malta. In the Mediterranean bad weather was experienced, and after passing the Dardanelles on the 19th of May the Eveline arrived off Constantinople. The men cheered loudly as they caught their first glimpse of the enchanting-looking city of mosques and minarets. They proceeded to Kulali, and there they disembarked and went under canvas. The troops arrived, and the regiment was all together again, having lost only twenty-six horses during the passage. On the last day of May they were marched off to Scutari and inspected by his Imperial Majesty the Sultan of Turkey, accompanied by a large and glittering staff.

Tired with a long day in the saddle, under a broiling sun, Jack was preparing to turn in when he saw Will looking for him.

‘Hurrah, Jack! Heard the news?’ cried his chum.

‘No. What is it?’

‘We’re to embark at once for Varna and join the troops there. We shall be in the thick of it soon, or my name’s not Hodson.’

‘And the sooner the better,’ said Jack; ‘there doesn’t seem to be much doing here, and it’s hardly worth while coming a thousand or so miles to be reviewed by an old effigy who hardly seems able to sit a horse.’

Sergeant Linham had much to say about this second embarkation. ‘Seems to me we’re like a lot of blessed pilgrims wandering about to try and find a resting-place,’ he said when they were again aboard. ‘Why the dickens don’t we go somewhere and do something?’

‘Not being a Field-Marshal or a Cabinet Minister, sergeant, I can’t tell you,’ replied Jack as he gazed over the ship’s side.

The sergeant snorted and walked off, and Jack gazed with admiration at the magnificent scenery. The sea was a deep-blue, the coast-line much indented, showing light-green herbage, luxuriance of trees and flowers, and rounded hills in the background. As they steamed along the blue channel of ever-varying width, they passed beautiful groupings of wood and dale, ravine and hillside, among which kiosks, bastions, tall mosques, noble mansions, and picturesque villages nestled.

The waters abounded in fish, porpoises and dolphins plashing and playing round the vessel as she cleaved her way against the rapid flood. Sword-fish occasionally made lightning-like raids at their prey, and hawks, kites, and sea-eagles flew skimming the surface of the water.

Night set in before they reached the entrance of the Black Sea. As they passed the forts the sentries yelled out strange challenges and burned blue lights, which were answered from the vessel. Then they ran into a drifting, clammy fog, which settled round them like a shroud and rendered everything as black as pitch, when, shivering after the heat of the day, Jack sought his berth.

In the morning the same haze hung over everything; but as the sun increased in power it lifted and soon a line of land, marked by a band of white clouds, came in sight. As the atmosphere got clearer, undulating folds of greensward, rising one above the other, and behind them hilly peaks, all covered with fine verdure, came in sight. The transport rounded a promontory on the left, passed an earthen fort, and entered a semicircular bay about a mile and a half in length and a couple of miles across, and there on its northern side lay Varna. It was a fine-looking place, showing up well against the hills behind it, a black-and-white coloured tower and the great lighthouse being the most conspicuous buildings.

In the bay lay British and Turkish men-of-war and Bulgarian and Armenian vessels. Small boats by the hundred, mostly containing either jolly Jack-tars or red-coated soldiers, darted here and there, and many and cheery were the salutations exchanged.

The transport went on and dropped anchor at the pier, when Jack saw that the town was surrounded by a stone wall ten feet high, painted white and loopholed, and that there were some detached batteries mounting heavy guns.

‘Rum sort of show,’ said Will to Jack. ‘Seems pretty strong.’

‘May be,’ replied Jack; ‘but what’s this coming?’

What had attracted his attention was a regular fleet of large, flat-bottomed boats, which were then approaching the transport. They were manned by British tars and marines, and it soon became evident that the boats were intended to disembark the cavalry. A rare job it was; but, however, it was at last accomplished successfully, and the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ assembled together on Bulgarian soil.

They were at once marched off to the British camp, which had been pitched on a scrub-covered plain about a mile from the town and half a mile from a large fresh-water lake. As they proceeded they met detachments of Riflemen, Highlanders, light infantry, Guards, and Marines; red-coats swarmed everywhere. Presently they passed a number of French soldiers, Zouaves, fine fellows in baggy red breeches, white gaiters, and tight-fitting blue jackets, swinging along with their peculiar gait.

Jack’s was the first cavalry regiment to arrive, and as the Frenchmen critically surveyed the smart blue and white uniforms, the fluttering lance-pennons, and other gay trappings, they burst out into a kind of yell, which the light cavalrymen, taking to be a compliment, answered with a cheer.

‘If that noise is the best thing the “mounseers” can do in the shape of a cheer,’ growled Sergeant Linham, glaring at the voluble Frenchmen from under the peak of his lance-cap, ‘I don’t think much of it.’

English staff-officers were seen in their plain uniforms galloping here and there, besides dozens of French officers in brass helmets or showy busbies, glittering with a profusion of gold and silver lace, and putting the British quite in the shade.

They also saw groups of lazy, indolent Turks, bands of villainous, cunning-looking Greeks, strings of Armenians, and an occasional Bulgarian driving an araba, handsome fellows, in black sheepskin caps, baggy breeches, and loose brown jackets, exposing their sunburned chests. In the sash encircling the waist a yataghan or a pistol was often stuck; but for all that they had a dull, dejected look, born of long and cruel oppression by the Turk.

At last the camp, pitched on a dry, sandy table-land was reached. The artillery were on the right; the commissariat, surrounded by carts, flocks of sheep, and cattle, on the left; and the Rifles and infantry in the centre.

Jack’s regiment, after being marched and counter-marched for a considerable time, was located near the commissariat.

‘Seems as if they didn’t quite know what to do with us now we are here,’ said Jack.

‘Anyway, we’re close to the grub,’ cried Pearson, as he dismounted, ‘and that’s a thing I highly approve of.’

CHAPTER XIV.

AN ADVENTURE AT VARNA AND ITS SEQUEL.

JACK had not been in Varna camp twenty-four hours before he began ardently to pray that their stay there might not be long. The chief characteristics of the town were its vermin, filth, and abominable stench, its ill-paved, rugged streets, tortuous lanes, and ramshackle buildings.

The Greeks, Armenians, and others surrounding the camps were some of the greatest rogues in the world; many, in fact, were no better than brigands, who thought as little of taking a human life as they did of killing a fowl, and who were already credited with the murder of several English and French soldiers.

This fact was brought home to Jack on the very first night of his arrival. Everything had been hurry, bustle, scurry, and confusion. No preparations had been made for the cavalry, and the men were busy till dark fixing the horse-lines, pitching tents, and so on. Thoroughly tired with a hard day, they turned in; but, not, alas! to sleep. The heat, the insects, the flies (terrible buzzing, stinging pests), kept all awake for some time. At last the different noises about the camp died down, and all that could be heard was the stamping of the horses as they tugged at their head-ropes, or the occasional challenge of a sentry.

Jack and Pearson, with several others, occupied a tent next to one in which was Will and some of his troop. Jack had at last sunk into a fitful sleep, when he was suddenly awakened by hearing several shots fired. Immediately he sat up just as another report rang out, and something whizzing past his head buried itself with a thud in the tent-pole. The sound sent a cold shiver through him, and he jumped to his feet. The others in the tent also woke up.

‘It can’t be an enemy taking us by surprise?’ said Pearson. ‘Anyway, boys, on with your things.’

Williams, Brandon, and the others hastily slipped on overalls and boots, and left the tent.

As Jack went out into the fitful moonlight, for it was cloudy, he ran up against Will.

‘What’s up?’ asked the latter.

‘Don’t know. I heard firing, so turned out. What ought we to do—sound the alarm?’

‘Not without orders.’

At that instant a sound of rushing footsteps was heard, and several figures darted by.

Pearson, being a very tall man, took a couple of strides after one of the suspicious figures, trying to seize it, while he cried out, ‘You seem in a hurry, friend.’

Hardly had the words escaped his lips when there was a flash, a loud report, and another ball came whizzing past the heads of the Lancers.

The momentary flash showed up a startling picture. Three brawny, picturesque-looking ruffians in baggy breeches and turbans, simply bristling with weapons, were seen rushing away.

A voice shouted, ‘After the rogues, boys;’ and Sergeant Linham appeared on the scene.

The Lancers started in pursuit, shouting, tripping over tent-ropes, and colliding with men who, aroused by the hubbub, came tumbling out of their tents. Jack, Sergeant Linham, Will, and Pearson kept together and headed the chase among the white tents.

The lines of the Lancers were right on the edge of the camp, and it was feared that the three desperadoes would escape once they could get outside the lines of tents, for they would have little difficulty in passing the sentries. Presently the pursuers lost sight of the men altogether, and running to the outside line of tents they all halted, vexed with themselves for having lost their prey.

They had become separated, Jack standing in the shadow of a tent just by the horse-lines. Suddenly a man came gliding round the other side of the tent, and, crouching low, was making off in the darkness. Jack, though, saw the glitter of steel, and in an instant he sprang forward and literally leapt on to the man’s back.

A sort of hissing snarl escaped the fellow, and jerking himself upright he tried to free himself from Jack’s grasp. The latter, however, was not to be cast off so easily. Being behind his man, he twined his left arm round his neck, almost throttling him, while with his right hand he prevented the fellow from drawing one of the many weapons he carried. At the same time he shouted loudly for help. The man fought and tore, rending Jack’s hands with his long, horny nails. At last, to prevent himself from being stabbed, Jack had to release his hold with his left arm and seize the man’s right wrist. Then they rocked to and fro for a few moments, when both fell, Jack being underneath. His head struck the ground sharply, and he relaxed his hold. His assailant whipped out a murderous-looking knife, which he raised on high with the intention of plunging it into the trumpeter’s heart. He felt with his left hand as though seeking for the place to inflict the mortal wound when, just as it seemed that Jack’s last moment had come, a heavy footstep sounded, a big figure dashed into sight, the ruffian received a crashing blow on the temple from a British fist, and Pearson’s voice cried out, ‘We’ve got one, boys; I’ll hang on to him, while you see what damage he’s done.’

This question was answered by Jack himself jumping to his feet and declaring he was unhurt.

‘Ha, hum! that’s just as well for this gentleman, then,’ said Linham, who at that moment joined them and saw the man whom Pearson held.

‘How did you come across the reptile, Jack?’ asked Pearson.

Jack related what had happened, being listened to by an ever-increasing crowd, for the noise had roused a good many men from their slumbers.

Lights were procured, and the man, who proved to be a truculent-looking Greek, was handed over to the provost-marshal.

Jack and his friends then made their way back to their tents.

In the morning those who had been in the scuffle gave evidence before the provost-marshal, and the prisoner was identified by some of the camp-followers as a notorious brigand who for days had been hanging round the camp.

It transpired that a private of the Connaught Rangers named Conolly had on the day before been drinking in Varna with several Greeks. He was known to have had considerable arrears of pay upon him. That night Conolly’s comrades were aroused by hearing heavy groans. They found he had been stabbed to death, and a man was seen escaping from the tent. Several of the Rangers gave chase, but lost their man near the camp of the Lancers. It was supposed that having escaped the most pressing danger, to show their utter contempt for the watchfulness of the English, out of mere bravado the Greeks had started firing their pistols among the tents. Nothing was decided, however, and the prisoner was put back for further inquiries.

‘H’m!’ snorted Sergeant Linham, ‘I suppose the toad is going to be let have another chance of slitting our throats. If it had been an officer who had been killed, I want to know’——

A trumpet was heard ringing out shrilly.

‘Hallo!’ said Jack; ‘listen; it’s the regimental call: “Death or Glory, Death or Glory, Death or Glory Boys!” Trot march, chaps! we’re wanted.’

They raced to the lines, saddled-up, and mounted, all being a few minutes late on parade.

As Jack was taking his place in the troop, Napper passed him.

‘Blair,’ he cried angrily, ‘you’re late on parade; I shall report you.’

This was the first time he had spoken to Jack since they had landed. Jack wondered what on earth it had to do with him if he were late; but he had no time to think it out, for the regiment was formed for inspection by the colonel. This lasted some time, and when they had returned to camp Will Hodson sought Jack, and his face looked grave.

‘I say, old man, have you heard the news?’ he asked.

‘I have heard several things to-day,’ replied Jack; ‘to what do you refer?’

‘Napper.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s in orders this morning as corporal.’

Jack whistled. ‘By George!’ he said, ‘that’s unfortunate for me,’ and he recollected Napper’s words.

He was unsaddling his horse when Sergeant Barrymore came up to him.

‘Blair,’ he said, ‘the colonel wants to see you at once.’

With a sinking heart Jack followed the sergeant into the presence of his stern old colonel. Napper and the regimental sergeant-major were standing by him.

‘What’s this I hear about you,’ he began angrily; ‘absent from the lines and late on parade this morning—our first day ashore? What is the meaning of it?’

Jack was utterly surprised at the colonel’s tone, thinking he must have known where he had been. He did not learn till later that the colonel, feeling ill, had been up at the hospital all night, and only rejoined his regiment in the morning, not knowing that Jack had been mixed up in the scrimmage with the Greek. Jack explained where he had been, and the colonel was looking incredulously at him when Sergeant Linham came hurrying up and corroborated what Jack had said.

The colonel then turned angrily to Napper. ‘What do you mean by telling such a trumped-up story?’ he cried angrily. ‘If this is the way in which you are going to exercise your authority you won’t wear your stripes many days. Go away.—And you, Blair, are dismissed. I have been misinformed.’

Napper gave Jack a malignant glance as they both saluted and retired.

‘I’ll have you yet,’ hissed Napper quietly.

But Jack made no reply. He was thinking that the feud between him and Napper was as keen as ever, and that now Napper had every opportunity of making his life miserable.

CHAPTER XV.

JACK MEETS AN OLD FRIEND.

JACK had the true cavalryman’s love for his horse. He had so trained Dainty that she would lie down when told, follow when called or whistled for, and do several tricks which soldiers delight to teach their horses.

On the third morning after their arrival at Varna, while Jack was busy grooming Dainty, Napper, the new gold chevrons on his arms, came up to Jack, and with an ill-concealed grin of satisfaction said, ‘Trumpeter Blair, the horse you are grooming, D 27, is to be taken over to the lines of A Troop. My nag having died, I’m taking yours.’

Jack’s face flamed scarlet, and an angry answer rose to his lips. But he knew that Napper was only waiting for him to be imprudent or to forget himself in some other way to at once have him put under arrest for insubordination, and so strict was the discipline of the day that severe punishment would surely follow. Therefore Jack curbed his temper and said, ‘By whose authority do you demand my horse?’

‘By my own, you saucy cub, and don’t forget I’m your superior officer.’

Again the hot blood surged into Jack’s face; but he went on with the grooming of the horse, while Napper stood by making remarks.

‘It’s about time the nag was given to some one who’ll look after her,’ he said; ‘her back’s sore already. Sheer neglect.’

Jack took no notice, and Napper began again, ‘Brush her fetlocks, man; brush her fetlocks.’

Jack turned angrily and said, ‘I don’t require any instructions from you on how to groom a horse.’

‘Don’t you? Well, you’ll get some, and you’ll get yourself into trouble if you give me any more back answers.’

Jack bit his lip, and just then Sergeant Barrymore came by. Jack immediately hailed him and told him what Napper had said.

Sergeant Barrymore frowned. ‘But it’s quite out of order to take a horse from one troop to another,’ he said to Napper.

‘I can’t help that,’ replied Napper impudently. ‘I must have a horse that’s used to trumpet and bugle, and a good nag too, as I’m the colonel’s orderly. I’ve got permission from the riding-master. Of course, if you can override his decision I’ve nothing more to say.’

‘You’ve said quite enough as it is,’ growled Barrymore. ‘I’ll see Captain Norreys about it.’

He went off, and Jack saw him talking to the captain of his troop, the two going off to find the riding-master. Presently Barrymore, his face wearing a look of annoyance, came striding back.

‘I’m sorry, Blair,’ he said; ‘but it seems Corporal Napper has represented that yours is the only horse in the regiment up to the work he wants it for. He’s made a special point of obtaining it, and the riding-master has consented. Captain Norreys went to see him; but having given his word the riding-master won’t alter it.’

Napper grinned. ‘Just take her over to our troop-lines,’ he said to Jack.

‘You take her yourself,’ said Sergeant Barrymore; ‘Blair’s got something to do for me.’

Jack could have cried with grief and vexation when he saw Napper take hold of Dainty’s headstall and lead her away. The horse, too, seemed to resent it, for she suddenly bared her teeth and made a grab at Napper’s arm. He, however, dodged back and gave the mare a sharp blow across her velvet muzzle with the back of his hand.

‘I’ll cure you of biting, you brute,’ he said as he tugged savagely at her headstall, and Jack walked away, for he feared if he saw any more he should throw caution to the winds and give Napper the thrashing he deserved.

That night more transports arrived, having another cavalry regiment aboard, and the first thing in the morning their disembarkation was commenced.

As the first troop, having got all their horses and baggage ashore, marched up towards the camp, Jack saw the regiment was one of Hussars, and as they were passing him he heard his name shouted out, ‘Blair, Blair, shure it’s the bhoy himself;’ and, looking up at the trumpeter who rode behind the officer leading the troop, Jack saw the roguish eye and laughing features of Larry O’Callaghan.

‘Hallo!’ cried Jack, ‘I didn’t know this was your regiment.’

‘You can always reckon that the ould 8th are where there’s work to be done,’ said Larry. ‘Come and hunt me up when ye’ve a minute, and tell us all about this land of haythens.’

Directly Jack was free he went over to the Hussars’ lines. ‘And how are you, Larry?’ he said, shaking the Irish trumpeter’s hand.

‘Never so happy in all me loife,’ replied Larry. ‘And how ‘a that little mare that jolly nearly cooked your pigs for you at Chobham?’

Jack’s face fell when he spoke of Dainty, and he told Larry what had happened.

The Hussar gave an angry exclamation. ‘Bad cess to that Napper; he ‘s a baste,’ he cried. ‘But there, on active service ye need never be bothered for long with a man who bullies ye.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Jack.

Larry looked round him cautiously. ‘I mane,’ he said, ‘that ye should have heard some of the tales me ould grandfather used to tell of his fighting days in the Peninsula and then ye’d understand what I mane.’

The men of the 8th fraternised jovially with the 17th, the most friendly relations having always existed between them. The two regiments lay close beside one another, and Larry came over in the evening to see Jack. They were talking with Will Pearson and one or two others when Sergeant Linham was seen approaching.

‘Hallo!’ cried Larry, ‘here’s old Leather Face. Shure he’s got the dryest throat of any man I ever met in me life, and we’ve got one or two long-necked ones in the 8th.—Good-evening, sargint.’

Linham gave Larry a stony look; then, without answering him, said to those of his own regiment, ‘Ha, hum! orders have just been issued that we parade at seven in the morning to march inland to a fresh camp. If you’ll take the tip of an old campaigner you’ll turn in and get a good night. It may be a long time before you’ll have another chance.’

At that moment the trumpets of the 8th were heard ringing out for sergeant-majors to attend for orders.

‘By the piper, I must be off,’ said Larry, starting towards his own lines. ‘If there’s going to be a move I hope the ould 8th will be in it.’

At three o’clock next morning the tents of the Light Division were struck, and after breakfast they started in marching order. The infantry consisted of the 97th, 88th, and other line regiments—the 7th and 23rd Fusiliers, and a battalion of Rifles. A battery of artillery accompanied them.

Jack was mounted on the horse of a private of his troop who had been left behind in hospital. Napper, on Dainty, passed and repassed him, spurring the mare and riding her with a heavy hand on the curb. Jack bit his lips hard and pretended to take no notice; but the trial was a bitter one.

The march was through a splendidly wooded country, abounding in clear, sparkling streams, the verdure being of the richest and greenest. After a march of about nine and a half miles they reached Aladyn, where the infantry were left behind. The cavalry and artillery went on another nine miles, at first through a fertile but deserted country, eventually pitching tents at Devna. After the fine country they had passed through it was a bare spot, situated on the banks of a muddy river, very little grass for the horses, and no trees within a mile or two.

‘Just like our blessed arrangements,’ said Will to Jack; ‘march half a day through a fine country to find a dust-hole like this.’

The heat was almost unbearable. The flies were an absolute pest, as they almost worried the horses to death, and in the day-time men had to be employed to do nothing else but keep frightening off the swarms which settled on every part of the poor beasts.

The commissariat arrangements were fearful; there was absolutely no system, and many a day all Jack could get to eat was one biscuit and four ounces of half-raw pork, washed down with muddy water from the river, and that when thousands of tons of provisions were lying at Varna, eighteen miles away. There was plenty of fruit to be obtained cheap from the villagers, who after a time began to swarm in the camp; and the wine of the country, a poisonous and highly intoxicating compound, was plentiful and cheap. Every one was warned against the fruit and wine, as sickness and dysentery began to get prevalent; but many men ignored these orders, with evil results, as will presently be seen.

Napper did everything in his power to make Jack’s life miserable, and he pretty nearly succeeded. He also took to drinking heavily of the native wine, and was often half-tipsy, though never sufficiently so to prevent him carrying out his duty.

One of the amusements of those in camp was bathing, and such was the terrific heat and the longing to get into the cool water that many who could not swim ventured into the lake. Life was very monotonous. There was little to do; men pined at the inactivity. Illness began to appear; at first sickness, then that dread scourge cholera, and death commenced its havoc, a havoc that was to exact a toll nearly ten times as heavy as the enemy’s lead and steel.

One evening Larry O’Callaghan, who spent much of his spare time with Jack and Will, came bursting into the former’s tent, where Will was writing a letter.

‘I say, bhoys,’ he cried, ‘I’ve got a grand idea. I’ve applied for a day’s leave, and I’m going up into the country to have a look round. What do ye say to joining me; we’ll all go together, and if we don’t raise a shpree that’ll bate a first-class wake my name’s not Larry.’

Both Jack and Will entered into the idea, and applied for and obtained leave for the day after next.

At seven o’clock in the morning they all met and started, little dreaming of the adventure which lay before them.

CHAPTER XVI.

AN ADVENTURE IN BULGARIA.

EVER since the affair of the Greek firing into the camp at Varna no soldiers had been allowed to leave the camp without arms, and the cavalry always carried their swords. The three trumpeters, then, when they left the camp for their day’s ramble in the country, were thus armed.

They skirted the hills, and then went for some distance through a plain covered with corn. Reaching a wood, they entered, then crossed a small stream by a rough bridge, arriving at a village, situated on the side of a hill. The cottages were all miserable-looking hovels made of mud and thatched with rushes, and the inhabitants were a spiritless-looking lot.

Breakfast of goat’s flesh and milk was obtained, and then the three went on again through beautiful wooded valleys and past some fine river-scenery. The natives seemed to look upon the three young soldiers with a certain amount of suspicion; but they continued their journey, and midday found them in a village of some importance, in which half a company of Turkish soldiers were quartered. All feeling hungry, Jack suggested dinner, and they entered the house of one of the principal villagers in the hope of getting something to eat. In this they were not disappointed; but Jack noticed that their host, a fine-looking, oldish man, who carried a knife stuck in his girdle, seemed half-afraid of his guests, and appeared in great trouble into the bargain.

The boys remarked about the Bulgarian’s sad demeanour; and Jack, who spoke French fluently and had a smattering of German, said he would try his host in both languages to see if he could discover the reason of his trouble.

To Jack’s questions in French the man answered, but with a large admixture of Bulgarian words. By constant questioning and repetition, however, Jack learnt the trouble of their host. It appeared that early in the morning a band of Bashi-Bazouks, unscrupulous ruffians of all nationalities who had been enlisted by the Turks, had ridden up to the village, seized all they wanted, beaten the headman, insulted several of the villagers, and then seized their host’s two sons and the daughter of another villager, demanding a large ransom for their release. The villagers being unable to pay, the Bashi-Bazouks had carried off their prisoners, and were then supposed to be in a wood some mile or two away. The poor Bulgarian said that such outrages were often committed, and that the Turkish soldiers, far from trying to prevent these deeds, winked at them, if they did not indeed lend active assistance. Unless the ransoms were paid the rule was for the captors to send in to the parents the hands, ears, or perhaps toes of their prisoners; and this failing, their heads would be thrown into their houses at night, and the marauders would move on to commit further depredations somewhere else.

‘And these are the hounds we’re going to fight for!’ said Will. ‘Why, it makes one’s blood boil to hear of such things!’

‘Begorra, bhoys, we ought to have a worrd or two to say in this matter,’ cried Larry, jumping up. ‘Who’ll follow me to find out these skulking cowards?’ and drawing his sword, he flourished it round his head.

‘Steady, Larry, or you’ll frighten our host; he’ll think we’re thirsting for his blood,’ said Jack.

‘But we must do something!’ cried the excitable Larry, slamming his sabre back into its scabbard.

‘Yes, but what?’ said Jack. ‘Let’s consult.’

They were starting to do so when a loud English voice outside was heard exclaiming, ‘Hi, Tom! let’s pull up here and see if we can get a drink; I’m parched.’

‘Hurroo!’ cried Larry; ‘friends.’

They all ran to the door and saw a party of men of the 23rd Regiment and some artillerymen who, also enjoying a day’s leave, had wandered as far as the village.

Jack soon explained to the sergeant of the 23rd what had happened, and the little Welshman’s face grew red.

‘Py St David!’ he said, ‘Englishmans, are we going to stand this? The Royal Welsh Fusiliers will soon put this to rights, I shall tell you;’ and he said a few rapid words in Welsh to his men, when those of the 23rd who were his countrymen gave a loud yell.

‘Ye needna mak’ sic a screech,’ said a brawny Scotch artilleryman; ‘but if ye’ll gi’e me a drink and show me whaur these reevin’ deevils ha’ hidden theirsels, Andrew M’Farlane’ll see whether their heids are harder than his fists;’ and he clenched a hand that would have felled an ox.

‘England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales,’ cried Jack delightedly; ‘horse, foot, and artillery. It’s a regular union army, and if we can’t bring a troop of marauding cut-throats to book we’ve no right to call ourselves British soldiers.’

Jack told the old Bulgarian what they intended doing, and he fell on his knees in gratitude. The new-comers were given drink and food, and then, under the leadership of the little Welsh sergeant, and guided by the Bulgarian, began their march.

The wood in which the marauders had taken refuge was of great extent and very dense, and the little party extended themselves and proceeded to beat for their game. They soon found traces, and these they followed; but it was getting dusk before they came in sight of some score of ruffians lying sprawling about, mostly asleep, while two men stood as sentries over the three prisoners.

The Welsh sergeant no sooner saw his enemy than he gave a wild yell and dashed upon them, sword-bayonet in hand. A couple of shots whistled above the heads of the little party who went in after the sergeant. The Bashi-Bazouks sprang to their feet, and seizing every description of arms—rifles, pistols, swords, lances, yataghans, and knives—prepared to offer a stout resistance.

The British soldiers closed with them, and soon a very babel of sounds arose—yells, shrieks, the snap of pistols and clash of steel, together with the fighting cries of half-a-dozen nationalities. The British, after their long inactivity, seemed positively to revel in the fight, and M’Farlane, Larry, and the Welsh sergeant laid about them in high glee.

While the British soldiers were fighting, the Bulgarians crept round to a spot where they had seen the prisoners tied to trees, and liberated them. The Bashi-Bazouks, seeing this, and knowing they had nothing to gain by further fighting, soon made a rush for their horses, mounted, and rode off, firing their pistols as they went. A few flesh-wounds was all the damage done to the British, and in high jubilation they returned to the village.

It was far too late to think of returning to camp that night, and so they slept at the grateful Bulgarian’s house. Next morning, after a good meal had been given the soldiers, the elders of the village and the rescued prisoners thanked them very heartily for their services, and then, laden with presents, they started for their camp. This they duly reached without further adventure, and immediately went to their respective regiments to report themselves and account for their absence.

Jack and Will met Sergeant Linham as they were crossing their own lines, and that worthy looked sternly at them.

‘Ha, hum, you toads!’ he said, ‘where have you been? Corporal Napper gave information that you had deserted, and an order for your arrest is out.’

‘And if it isn’t desertion it’s absence without leave,’ said a disagreeable voice; and, turning, the trumpeters saw Corporal Napper regarding them evilly. ‘They’re to be put under arrest, sergeant,’ he said; and in two minutes Jack and Will found themselves prisoners, charged with a grave crime.

CHAPTER XVII.

NAPPER PLAYS HIS LAST CARD.

THE colonel of Jack’s regiment was a very strict disciplinarian, and absence without leave while on active service was an offence that, if proved, would bring very heavy punishment. This fact Jack and Will were quite aware of, and their feelings were very far from cheerful as they discussed the aspect of affairs.

‘It’s all that beast of a Napper’s doings,’ said Jack angrily. ‘I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I shall have to go for him, even at the expense of getting a court-martial. His tyranny is more than I am going to put up with.’

It was, indeed, Napper’s doings, and he had spread a report that both Jack and Will had been heard to say they were sick of soldiering and were going to take the first opportunity to bolt.

It might have gone hard with both of them had it not been for Larry O’Callaghan, whose explanation of his absence had been at once accepted by his trumpet-major. In the afternoon he came over to the lines of the Lancers to see his friends, when to his surprise he heard from Sergeant Linham that they were under arrest.

‘By the howly piper!’ he cried, ‘’tis too bad. But I can upset that baste of a Napper. Shure the man that gave him the shtripes should have put ’em on his back, not on his arm. Now, sargint darlin’, we’ll confound ’em. We’ll find the other bhoys as was with us, and that’ll be enough evidence to upset even the great Dook himself if he was alive.’

He and Sergeant Linham set out for the camp of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. There they soon found the little sergeant, who greeted Larry warmly.

‘You are a goot lad,’ he cried, ‘and, for a horse-soldier, fought quite pravely. You would almost do for a Fusilier.’

‘Shure now, you’re jokin’,’ said Larry, tipping a wink at Sergeant Linham; ‘I’d never be able to grow feet big enough.’

The sergeant might have made some fiery answer; but his major, who came up at the moment, stopped all further exchange of pleasantries by saying that he would himself bring over the sergeant and the other men of his regiment in the morning.

Sergeant Linham and Larry, after dropping in at the canteens of various regiments, found Andrew M’Farlane and the other artillerymen, and all was ready for the morning.

When Jack and Will came up in due course before the colonel, the major of the Fusiliers, who had arrived with his men and the artillerymen, begged to be allowed to say a few words, and the tale he told was such that it at once altered the aspect of affairs.

The two trumpeters were liberated, the colonel saying they had behaved as he hoped men of his regiment always would, by taking the part of the weaker against the stronger.

Corporal Napper was then arrested, tried by summary court-martial, and reduced to the ranks.

This Jack could not pretend to be sorry for, though, as he said to Will, ‘I would rather he had kept his stripes and been made to give up Dainty; the poor mare is only a shadow of what she used to be.’

Next morning Will was put in orders as corporal and orderly to the colonel, vice Samuel Napper reduced, and Jack hastened off to congratulate his friend.

‘It’s the first step up the ladder,’ he said, ‘and no one deserves it better than you; before we get home you’ll be sergeant.’

‘If ever we do get home,’ said Will. ‘Last night there was a case of cholera in ours; Jenkins of C Troop died.’

‘Our first loss,’ said Jack sadly. ‘I wonder who’ll be next.’

During the days that followed, the dread scourge, cholera, raged in the camp; day after day the burying-parties were busy, and dozens died off. The heat was intolerable, the camp a regular hotbed of pestilence. The water was full of animalcules, and it was learnt that seven thousand Russians who had perished of cholera in the campaign of 1828 were buried in the vicinity of the British camp, the spot having been christened by the Muscovites ‘The Valley of the Plague.’

Many of the men took to drinking heavily, thinking thus to keep off cholera; alas! they only lessened their chances of avoiding it.

Napper continued to drink as before, and since his reduction he seemed to hate Jack more and more. One morning, at watering-parade, he and Jack being together and some distance from the others, the former, who was of course mounted on Dainty, could not get her down to the water. He dismounted and dragged angrily at her headstall; but the mare still refused to drink. Napper then kicked her twice, savagely, which so enraged Jack that he cried out, ‘Let her alone, you brute, or I’ll report you.’

‘I’ll treat you the same if you interfere with me,’ said Napper furiously, and he struck the mare on the muzzle, and was again about to kick her when Jack slipped from his own horse, and catching Napper by the collar of his jacket, hurled him on his back.

Napper arose, literally livid with rage. For a moment he could not speak; then with eyes blazing with rage he hissed, ‘John Blair, I hate you; you’ve been my curse ever since you joined. The same regiment isn’t big enough for us. You got me broke. I’ll have your life.’

‘You brought your bad luck on yourself,’ answered Jack.

‘You lie; it’s you; it’s always you. I’ll fight you; we’ll settle up once and for all.’

‘I’m ready.’

‘To-night, then, with pistols. Over against the cemetery. Bring two charges, and we’ll fight till one of us falls. We’ll end this.’

‘A duel?’ cried Jack aghast.

‘Yes, a duel.’

‘Rubbish! You’re mad.’

‘I’m not mad, and you shall fight or I’ll brand you as a coward all over the camp. The French duel, and so can we. You shall meet me, or in the first engagement we’re in I’ll put a bullet in your back!’

With these words Napper leapt on Dainty, and, digging in his heels, trotted away.

Jack was left standing, lost in amazement. A duel! The thing was unheard of! Yet to be branded as a coward, and to know that Napper was always on the lookout to take his life should they ever be engaged with the enemy! Truly he was in an awkward dilemma.

That day his troop went out on a reconnaissance, but Napper was never absent from Jack’s thoughts for an instant. He thought and thought, and at last determined on a course. He would meet Napper, whose mind he fully believed was unhinged; but he would not fire. If he should fall his death would be at Napper’s door, and he left a higher Power to avenge him.

Full of this thought, he was riding back in the evening, tired out with a long day in the saddle. As they neared the camp a burying-party of his regiment was coming out. The sight was now, alas! too common to excite more than a passing interest. Cornet Leland halted the troop, and they ‘carried lances’ as the party went by.

‘Wonder who it is this time?’ said Pearson to Jack; but the latter did not answer, he was busily thinking of his mad meeting with Napper.

He was coming from the horse-lines to his tent when he met Will, whom he determined to tell what he was going to do.

‘Good heavens, man!’ said Will when he heard; ‘what a strange thing. The hand of God is indeed evident.’

‘What do you mean, Will?’

‘That Napper was taken with cholera at ten o’clock this morning, and died at three. You must have passed his funeral as you marched in.’

Jack raised his cap. ‘God rest his soul!’ he said fervently; ‘truly His ways are inscrutable.’

CHAPTER XVIII.

A WELCOME MOVE.

WEEKS of discontent, sickness, and inactivity followed. Daily, dozens of stalwart men, who not many weeks before had left England in all the pride of glorious manhood, were stricken by the foul plague of cholera, died in a few hours, and, wrapped only in the blankets they had died in, were consigned to the earth.

Discipline became slack, the men grew beards and moustaches, dress regulations were relaxed, and wonder of wonders, the men were actually allowed to leave off their stocks!

The 11th Hussars, fresh from England, arrived to take up their quarters at Devna, and a very handsome show they made in their crimson overalls and richly laced pelisses; for those were the days before false economy had been introduced into the army and the soldier’s dress shorn of its chief attractions.

In the camp the distant boom of big guns besieging Silistria could be heard, and for three days a more heavy cannonade than usual was maintained. On the fourth day it absolutely ceased, and it was feared the gallant garrison who had made such a heroic defence had been overcome; but later the news was spread that the siege had been raised, and that the Russians were in full retreat, although the gallant young English officer who had been the heart and soul of the defence had met a soldier’s death in the trenches.

After their defeat the Russians had retreated so precipitately that their route could not be ascertained, and orders were received from Lord Raglan that Lord Cardigan should at once pursue them. The news reached Devna at two in the morning, and reveille was at once sounded.

‘Now, boys,’ said Sergeant Linham to Jack and Will, as he passed them, ‘we’ve got work before us, so sharpen your swords and be ready to parade at four A.M.’

‘Come on,’ said Jack to Will, ‘get your carving-knife, and I’ll turn the handle while you sharpen.’

Full of glee at the prospect of a change from dismal Devna, and at a chance of at last coming face to face with a real enemy, the trumpeters went off.

Jack’s regiment, with the 8th and 11th Hussars, started that morning at four; they carried no tents and bivouacked on the bare ground. For seventeen days and nights they scoured the banks of the Danube toward Rustchuk and Silistria; but beyond putting to flight several bands of Bashi-Bazouks, who had been at their old game of pillaging and ravaging, no sign of an enemy did they see, and they returned to Devna quite disabled for service owing to the number of sore backs among the horses.

After the death of Napper, Jack had succeeded in getting back Dainty, and owing to his excessive care she was in tolerably good condition on his return.

The ravages of cholera continued, and soon after the return of the reconnoitring party the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ could barely muster on parade two hundred lances out of the three hundred and sixty one who had left England three months before.

All sorts of rumours were current. Sometimes it was said that the war had been abandoned, and that the troops were to return to England without having struck a blow; sometimes it was said they were at once to proceed to Sebastopol. But still they stayed on at Devna, apparently forgotten, till one August day an aide-de-camp arrived from Lord Raglan, bearing orders for the cavalry and Light Division of infantry to return to Varna and embark, for whence no one seemed to know. No one, however, cared so long as they were going from Devna, and not one who gazed for the last time on the rich meadows and wooded heights, the verdant hillsides and the dancing waters of lake and stream, but hoped in his heart he should never see them again.

Varna was found much altered; the place was still packed with troops, both French and British, though thousands had died. They had been buried everywhere. Limbs could be seen sticking up out of the sand, dead bodies rose from the bottom of the harbour and bobbed about in a hideous fashion, while the places which had been set apart as cemeteries were full to overflowing.

Many of the regiments were merely skeletons; the 5th Dragoon Guards had lost so many officers and men that for a time it was disregimented and joined with the 4th Dragoons. Still, a move was at hand, and all were hoping to see the last of Varna.

Soon after Jack with his regiment returned to Varna a great fire broke out and raged for ten hours. A French spirit-shop had been set fire to by a Greek, and though the man had been cut down to the chin by a French officer the mischief had been done, and in spite of great efforts half Varna was laid in ruins, immense quantities of stores being lost.

The preparations for the embarkation were pushed forward; hundreds of transports filled the bay of Varna, and the fleet assembled there. The narrow lanes of the town were constantly blocked with mules and carts on their way to the beach with luggage, while the whole day long detachments of men were being marched down and embarked.

At last all were on shipboard and ready; but then another delay occurred while waiting for the French. After two days, during which time many more men died of cholera, the signal was given, and the huge armada stood out to sea. It was then known that their destination was Sebastopol, and Jack’s heart beat high with hopes that they would at least have one brush with the Russians.

Very bad weather was experienced; but, after a rough voyage of nine days, on a beautiful evening land was made and the anchors dropped. All craned their necks to get their first sight of that Crimea on which was to be fought some of the mightiest fights of modern days. Low lying, sun-scorched plains were seen, among which farmhouses and what was taken to be cattle could be distinguished. Those regiments which had bands made the bay echo with their music, and the trumpets of the cavalry added to the martial sounds.

Orders were given for the troops to disembark next morning, and Jack turned into his bunk feeling thankful that at last active work was before them.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE FIRST BRUSH WITH THE ENEMY.

THE morning broke bright and beautiful. At six o’clock the vast array of ships was under way again and approaching closer to the coast, towards which every eye was eagerly turned.

Cornet Leland was gazing through his glass at the plains and marshes when he suddenly exclaimed, ‘By Jove! those are Cossacks, or I’m a Dutchman.’

‘Where, sir—where?’ asked Jack, who stood beside him.

The cornet handed Jack his glasses.

‘I see them—a patrol; little chaps armed with long lances and mounted on shaggy ponies. Hurrah!’

The news that Cossacks were in sight ran through the vessel, and a hearty cheer broke out.

Later in the day anchor was dropped in Kalamita Bay, christened afterwards by the men ‘Calamity Bay.’ The place of landing was a long stretch of shingly beach, a lake about a mile long lying some two hundred yards inland. The English called the place ‘Old Fort.’

Next morning at daybreak disembarkation commenced. The infantry of the Light Division had the honour of landing first; and, as it was quite possible their landing might be opposed, they were prepared. Each man had his blanket and greatcoat strapped to his back, a spare pair of boots and socks, three days’ rations, and fifty rounds of ammunition.

As the soldiers came creeping down the ladders to the boats, the jolly tars in the most solicitous fashion looked after and assisted them, taking their rifles, helping them to remove their knapsacks, which were stowed away under the seats, and patting them on the back and telling them not to be ‘afeerd of the waves!’ At last, on a signal from the flagship, the boats dashed for the shore. In an instant the sea was alive with launches, gigs, and cutters all racing as if for life. Thundering cheers burst from those still left on board, who watched the scene with keen interest.

The French had started at the same instant as the English, and it seemed to be a race between them. The French boats were, however, lighter and carried fewer men, and it was seen that one shot ahead of the rest. She had only about a dozen men aboard, and, manned by a powerful crew, she flew through the water and reached the shore first.

A great cry of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ burst from the French, and Sergeant Barrymore ground his teeth in rage.

‘Confound those froggies!’ he cried savagely; ‘they want to be first in everything where they can make a bit of show; we shall see whether they’re as anxious to be first at the cannon’s mouth.’

Long before the French had hoisted their tricolour an English boatload of Fusiliers had landed, and the officer sprang ashore, waving his sword. The rest of his regiment followed and were at once formed up, when they advanced in skirmishing order.

Seeing this, Jack said, ‘We’re the first to commence business anyway.’

From then the men poured on the beach, which literally swarmed with red-coats, and presently the turn of the cavalry and artillery came to land. The sailors were here of the utmost service with the guns and the restive horses, and many accidents must have occurred had it not been for their herculean efforts and extraordinary care.

Jack’s troop was the first to get to land, and the men were immediately formed up and sent on as a support to Sir George Brown, who had pushed forward with a few Fusiliers and Riflemen to take possession of a ridge ahead and to reconnoitre the country. Sir George, being mounted, got ahead of the infantry, and with the exception of a sergeant and two men, who had kept up with him, was quite alone.

Cornet Leland hurried up his Lancers, and was about a hundred yards from the General when suddenly a Russian officer and a patrol of Cossacks were seen on the ridge ahead. They were only visible for a moment; then they disappeared again behind the ridge.

Cornet Leland had, however, seen them, and cried out, ‘The General will be killed or captured! First two sections unsling lances and follow me!’

The horses, cramped with the voyage, could not move very fast, and ere they could reach the General, who was very short-sighted, the Cossacks were seen swooping down on his flank to cut off his retreat.

‘17th, follow me! Charge!’ cried Leland; and, wheeling his horse, he made straight for the Cossacks.

The sight of the English Lancers took the Russians by surprise, and, as though by common consent, they reined in their shaggy ponies. The waving pennons and flashing lance-points were too much for them, and they suddenly wheeled and galloped madly away towards Sebastopol, receiving a few shots from the French skirmishers on their right as they passed them.

Sir George Brown looked at the Lancer officer as he saluted with his sword.

‘Bless my soul!’ he said in perfectly unconcerned tones; ‘lucky you were here; my bad eyesight will get me into trouble some day. I really must wear glasses!’

The rest of Jack’s troop came up, and then Sir George led them some distance inland, Cornet Leland keeping his eyes well about him. On rounding a sort of promontory they came in sight of a road leading inland, and there, before their very eyes, was a long line of wagons, driven by native drivers and escorted by a number of Cossacks.

‘A convoy, Sir George—a convoy!’ cried Leland excitedly.

‘Wagons,’ murmured the General; ‘the very thing we want.’

‘Give me permission to charge with my troop and the wagons are yours, General,’ said Leland.

The General looked wistfully at the wagons; then said, ‘You haven’t got forty men with you.’

‘We’re a match for double that number,’ replied Leland; ‘let us go in, Sir George.’

‘It’s the true spirit of the old Peninsula days,’ said Sir George; ‘go in, my boy, and win. Attack them from each side.’

Cornet Leland turned to his troop, his face beaming with pleasure.

‘Form ranks from the right!’ he cried. ‘Sergeant Barrymore, take the right column; the left follow me! Trot march!’

In a very few seconds the two lines of Lancers were bearing down on the astonished Russians, who never dreamed that such a handful of men would have the impudence to attack them. Before they had recovered from their surprise the Lancers were close to them.

Then those Cossacks who marched in rear of the wagons faced about, formed in double column, and prepared to receive their enemy. They fired a sputtering volley; but the bullets flew wide, and only one man and two horses were hit.

‘Gallop!’ shouted Cornet Leland, waving his sword; and Jack, who was just behind him, wheeled his horse to the right so as to come abreast of his officer.

Williams, who was riding behind Sergeant Barrymore, did the same, and so the front rank of four, two armed with swords, for Jack had drawn his, and two with lances, thundered down upon the Cossacks. Having fired their volley, these remained halted in a sort of confusion as though not knowing what to do. Many of them did not even take their lances from the rests, but sat staring at the advancing English. They had little time to consider the situation further; the Lancers came crashing in amongst them, unhorsing several and scattering the others. For a few moments there was a mêlée of stabbing lances, whirling swords and plunging horses.

Cornet Leland had ridden straight at a red-faced, snub-nosed officer, the red cord on whose coarse green uniform was edged with gold lace; but the fellow reined aside from the officer and faced the trumpeter. He made a point at Jack with his crooked sabre, but Jack parried the blade with ease. In return he delivered cut two with all his might; but to his astonishment his blade, falling on the shoulder of the Russian, was turned aside by the coarse red cloth. The snub-nosed Cossack, with a sort of hissing grunt, then drew a pistol from his holster, and, levelling it at Jack’s head, fired, missing him only by a hand’s-breadth. Next moment a Lancer behind Jack drove his lance through the Russian’s arm, and the fight was ended.

The two lines of Lancers galloped on along the sides of the wagons, slashing and thrusting at the Cossacks. These seemed paralysed by the very audacity of the attack, and galloped off, pursued by the victorious Lancers till Cornet Leland ordered Jack to sound the recall. Then the men, puffed with their exertions, came trotting back.

The wretched araba[1] drivers were on their knees begging for mercy, expecting every moment to be pierced by the long lances. When they found that they were kindly treated they grovelled on the ground, which spoke volumes for the fashion in which the Russians had treated them.

The total capture was forty-two wagons loaded with provisions; some drawn by two horses, some by three or four. Sir George was delighted with the capture, and the handful of Lancers returned in great spirits, being greeted with cheers from the troops who had already assembled on the beach.

No other cavalry had been landed; and, as Jack’s troop off-saddled, Barrymore said, ‘What did you think of your first skirmish, Jack?’

‘I thought it was fine fun,’ replied Jack, ‘and I hope I shall see more such.’

‘I don’t think it would have been quite such fun for you, Jack,’ said Pearson, who had overheard the remark, ‘if I hadn’t been just behind you and skewered that snub-nosed Cossack officer with my lance. I fancy if he had got another cut in at you you would have lost the number of your mess to-night.’

‘Then my grateful thanks are due to you,’ said Jack; and they fell to eating their evening meal.

The sky had got very black and the wind moaned in fitful gusts. The men had been landed without tents or baggage of any kind, and they had to bivouac on the bare ground. The rain fell in torrents, and in their thin uniforms the men were soon drenched to the skin. Besides which, the night was wretchedly cold, with a wind that seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of their bones. Grumbling was heard on all sides, mingled, alas! with the groans of poor fellows who, thoroughly ill and weakened from their long stay at the camps of Aladyn and Devna, grew rapidly worse during the exposure of that terrible night, and who ere long had met that most inglorious of soldiers’ fates, death by disease.

Jack tried several times to sleep; but each time he awoke, wet and shivering, to find himself lying in a pool of water. At last he got up and walked about, passing the remainder of the night nestling close to Dainty, who was fully as uncomfortable as was her master.

CHAPTER XX.

CAUGHT IN A TRAP.

THE reflections of the men who had been landed were bitter indeed as they began their first day in the Crimea. The morning was rough and boisterous. The sea was breaking on the shore with a thundering roar, and the wind was blowing half a hurricane.

A mournful procession of bearers carrying litters were making their way down to the beach. On the litters, their faces covered with their blankets, were the poor fellows who had died of cholera, aggravated by exposure, during the night. They were to be taken out to sea for burial.

In spite of the rough sea the disembarkation was proceeded with; but it was not until the afternoon, when the violence of the storm had somewhat abated, that the rest of the cavalry and the artillery could be landed.

The next day the whole of the cavalry went out on small reconnaissances; but no signs of any enemy could be seen. The weather improved, and that night, over their camp-fires, the men felt much more cheerful.

Jack and Will were both engaged making coffee at a big fire, round which some score of sun-tanned troopers were sitting or lying, when the regimental sergeant-major came up to them; and, seeing Sergeant Barrymore, said the adjutant wanted him at once. He was not away long.

‘Boys,’ he said on his return, ‘our troop and A, with two troops of the 8th and 11th, parade at three in the morning to feel our way towards the enemy and to bring in forage. See to your arms and saddlery, for we shall very likely find some work to do.’

‘Hurrah!’ cried Will, ‘I shall get my chance of being under fire, Jack. I envy you the distinction of being first.’

‘Hum!’ snorted Sergeant Linham, taking his well-used pipe from his mouth, ‘those who are most eager to get under fire are often most eager to get under cover. Don’t run after danger, youngster; before you see England again you’ll have had a bellyful, I dare say.’

‘Well, I may funk it,’ said Will; ‘but if you see me trying to bolt, Jack, put a bullet in my brain. Don’t let me disgrace the regiment.’

‘I dare say I shall be too busy trying to find a hole for myself to crawl into,’ said Jack.

Sergeant Barrymore interrupted them by saying, ‘What’s all this talk of being afraid? If you’re anything like Blair, Hodson, we shall have something to do to keep you back. He’s a regular firebrand is Jack.’

At this there was a laugh, and Brandon, a well-educated young fellow, who had been an actor before he enlisted, and who always had an apt quotation ready, said, ‘England, I love thee well!

Where’s the coward would not dare
To fight for such a land?

Fear nothing, comrades; for as Will Shakespeare truly says:

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard
It seems to me most strange that men should fear,
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come, when it will come.’

‘Which is sound logic,’ said Sergeant Linham. ‘Now, however, let’s eat.’

The men, after having finished their supper, lit their pipes, wrapped themselves in their blankets, and slept soundly till the trumpets of the cavalry division, all too early, were heard ringing out the reveille. By three o’clock the troops taking part in the reconnaissance were mounted and ready, and, the 8th Hussars leading, moved out of the camp. Both the colonel and major of Jack’s regiment were ill, and the two troops were commanded by Captain Norreys, a man who had seen much service.

The advance was pretty slow till it began to get light, and then Captain Norreys eagerly scanned the country with his glasses. No sign of an enemy was to be seen, and the little column, less than a hundred and fifty in all, proceeded for some miles through a country almost destitute of tree or shrub, till they reached some hillocks, which they crossed and then entered a more fertile country. A halt was made for breakfast; then the Hussars and Lancers divided up, and each under its own commander was instructed to gather what forage it could.

Jack’s regiment went away to the extreme right and was successful in finding plenty of forage, which was loaded on the horses. So plentiful was the supply that first a large quantity of it was collected; then the different troops were assembled, and one-half the Hussars and Lancers loaded up and went back to camp, after a corporal and two men had been previously despatched at a trot to ask for another two troops to come out and collect what remained. Captain Norreys, leaving a score of men to guard the forage left behind and to wait till their companions should return from the camp, then led the rest of his mixed force on an extended reconnaissance, being very anxious to see more of the country, and if possible to discover traces of the enemy.

Once or twice a fur-capped Cossack, sitting hunched up on his shaggy pony, the head of his lance glittering in the sun, was observed upon the heights in front; but at first sight of the gaily accoutred English light-horsemen he vanished as if by magic.

‘Why don’t the beggars stop and show a bold face?’ said Will to Jack, both the trumpeters and Sergeant Linham being with Captain Norreys.

‘I should like to get close enough to some of them to ask them,’ replied Jack.

‘Mind you don’t get too close to ’em,’ growled Sergeant Linham with a near approach to a smile.

They reached a good-sized village, around which were a number of cattle, and Captain Norreys halted his force and sought out the headman to open negotiations for the purchase of the cattle, for fresh beef was much in demand. The headman was one who never did things in a hurry, and who, moreover, had heard that the Allies were actually paying, and paying well too, for all they took. So he determined to make the most of his opportunity.

Captain Norreys and the commander of the Hussars were invited into the headman’s house to take tea while terms were discussed, and the men were told they could dismount and procure what food the villagers liked to give them, but that they were to use no violence. Several men were ordered to remain mounted and to keep a sharp lookout around to see they were not surprised.

Larry O’Callaghan, who was with the small party of the 8th Hussars, was left with the mounted sentries to sound the alarm in case of necessity.

Jack and Will, with Sergeant Linham and Private Pearson, dismounted, and, tying their horses to the trees in a small orchard, made for a fair-sized house in the hope of getting something to eat. The master, a short, stout, disagreeable-looking Tartar, met them on the doorstep, and in very voluble language, of which of course not one of the four could understand a word, opposed their entrance.

On this Sergeant Linham drew himself up to his full height, and twirling his heavy moustache said, ‘Ha, hum! you ugly, snub-nosed, cross-eyed son of a gun, we’re British soldiers representing Queen Victoria. Stand aside and allow us to enter, or we shall exercise the right of soldiers in an enemy’s country and help ourselves.’

The grandiloquent fashion in which these words were uttered seemed to have some effect upon the Tartar; possibly the sergeant’s piercing eyes and beak-like nose, together with the medals on his breast and the gold chevrons on his arms, had more, for the Tartar’s next words sounded less harsh. He did not, however, move from the door.

The worthy sergeant, tapping the hilt of his sabre, continued, ‘You thieving old rogue, do you dare to stand there still, barring our progress? Don’t you understand that by doing so you’re defying me, and through me the whole army, and through the army Britain itself? You putty-faced rat, you’re dealing with a man who’s fought in two campaigns and knows the usages of war—ha, hum!’ and the sergeant gave a terrific snort.

The snort completely overcame the Tartar, who, bowing low, stood aside, and Sergeant Linham, carrying himself with the air of a general at least, entered the house, while the other three followed behind, almost bursting themselves in their efforts to restrain their laughter.

They went into a large, stone-flagged room, and Sergeant Linham, pointing to the table, then made signs that he and his companions were hungry and that they wanted food. The man shook his head violently; but Sergeant Linham was not to be denied.

‘Look round the place, boys,’ he said, ‘and see if you can find any prog. We are willing to pay for it; but something to eat we must have. We’re soldiers in the enemy’s country, and we’ve a right to what we can find; at least we had in India, and what was good enough there is good enough here—ha, hum!’

In a hen-roost behind the farm the two trumpeters found a lot of eggs, and these they promptly annexed. Pearson, who had joined them, noticed a large barn, and he suggested they should put their horses in there, which they proceeded to do. Then they went into the house with their eggs, which Sergeant Linham made signs to the man that he should have fried. Some bacon was produced, and a sullen-looking Tartar maid set about cooking the same. Coffee was made, and the meal was being rapidly prepared when a tremendous uproar was heard outside, and a little, thin, horribly ugly woman, who was clearly the mistress of the house, bounced in. Her husband had seemed voluble, but he was as nothing compared with his gentle spouse. She stormed, roared, jumped, shook her skinny fists in the faces of the Lancers, and finally attempted to snatch the pan from the fire; but this Sergeant Linham positively refused to let her do.

He caught hold of her to prevent her, when she turned on him like a fury and scored his face with her nails.

‘For Heaven’s sake, boys, take this she-demon away,’ he yelled; but the woman held on, scratching and clawing and calling out apparently to her husband to assist her. He, however, kept in the background, until the woman, from sheer exhaustion, left off fighting and talking, and bounced out of the room.

The sergeant’s dislike of women was well known, and the trumpeters could not conceal their amusement at the scene, though they were sorry for poor Linham.

‘The old toad, the old vixen,’ he grunted; ‘faugh, she was like a mad monkey!’ He then advanced towards the master of the house, and said solemnly, pointing towards the door, ‘Go, you candle-faced barbarian, and keep that iron-clawed virago away till we’ve fed, or by all the saints in the Russian calendar I’ll cut off your ears,’ and he whipped out his sword as he spoke.

The man fled, and, the food being then placed upon the table, the four sat down and ate a hearty meal. While they were eating, Jack noticed a cunning-eyed lad, in a sheep’s-wool hat and wearing an orange-coloured sash, who came in and peeped at them and then slunk away. This boy went off to the stable, mounted a little pony, and trotted off towards the hills in the rear of the house. Meanwhile the Lancers, enjoying the good cheer, laughed and joked gaily.

Sergeant Linham and Pearson then lit up their pipes and passed a comfortable half-hour, while Jack and Will explored the house, seeing no one about. The upper rooms were either bed or store rooms, and passing one Jack heard voices talking in low tones.

‘I wonder what they’re hatching in there?’ he said. ‘They seem to be talking in dead earnest.’

‘Pity we don’t understand the language,’ said Will.

The trumpeters’ voices had probably been heard inside, for all was silent till a footstep was heard crossing the room.

‘Hist!’ said Jack, holding up one finger; ‘I’m a Dutchman if there wasn’t a spur attached to the heel of that boot. I distinctly heard a jingle.’

The door was slightly open, and Will, peeping through the crack between the hinges, said, ‘There is a man in uniform in there; I can see him.’

‘Slip off down and bring up the sergeant,’ said Jack, drawing his sword. ‘I’ll see the beggar doesn’t escape.’

In a few seconds Sergeant Linham, with Pearson, appeared, and without any hesitation they all entered the room.

It seemed at first as if it were empty; at least, no one was to be seen. Then Jack perceived that a man was lying in bed, and a uniform and sword were on a chair beside it. He gazed at the red hair, snub-nose, and pale face of the man in bed, and in a way it seemed familiar. Will’s voice was then heard from the window.

‘Here’s the fellow I saw, he’s dropped out of the window;’ and, running over, they saw a man in a green uniform, embroidered with coarse orange-coloured cord, running across the yard in front of the house as fast as his legs would carry him.

‘Shall I fire at him?’ said Pearson, who had brought up his pistol.

‘No,’ said the sergeant; ‘let the miserable toad go, he’ll probably be captured by some of our fellows.’

They all turned to the bed, and saw the occupant thereof had reached his sword and drawn it, as if he feared some violence from the British soldiers.

‘You poor, deluded Russian monkey,’ said Linham in grandiloquent tones, ‘don’t you understand the laws of civilised warfare better than to think we should hurt a wounded man, for I judge by your face you are wounded? You must be an ignorant beast not to know us English better—ha, hum!’

The Russian seemed to construe these words into a sort of threat, for he made a point with his sword, of which the sergeant, disapproving of such conduct, promptly deprived him. In so doing he saw the man’s shoulder and chest were bound in a bandage, confirming his suspicion that he was wounded.

Jack, who had been looking at the uniform on the chair, suddenly exclaimed, ‘It’s the very dress worn by those fellows who were escorting the convoy we took just after we landed.’

‘That’s it,’ cried Pearson; ‘I thought I knew that squab face. Why, this is the chap who tried to blow your brains out, and whom I ran through.’

The Lancers and the Russian stared at one another, and it was clear the recognition was mutual. The wounded Cossack captain, for that was his rank, scowled most evilly at the four soldiers, and there was fear, too, in his eyes, for he clearly expected to be either dragged off a prisoner or killed on the spot.

At that moment the lady of the house bounced into the room, and in very high, piercing tones, gesticulating madly all the while, attacked the Lancers.

‘For Heaven’s sake let us clear out of this,’ said Linham; ‘that old beldam would drive a stone image mad.’

They all made for the kitchen just as the cunning-eyed lad, whom Jack had noticed before, re-entered.

‘That’s a treacherous-looking young gentleman,’ said Pearson. ’ I’——

‘Hark! what’s that?’ cried Jack, placing his hand to his ear. ‘It’s a trumpet-call.’

Tan-ta-rara, tan-tarum! tan-ta-rara, tan-tarum! tan-ta-rara, tan tarum! rang out the notes.

‘The alarm!’ cried all four at once. ‘Mount!’

They ran to the barn, and were all busy tightening girths when the door was banged-to behind them and the key turned in the lock. In the semi-darkness they threw themselves against the door. No good, it held fast.

‘Trapped!’ cried Jack angrily; ‘and our comrades, what of them?’

CHAPTER XXI.

SERGEANT LINHAM TAKES COMMAND.

THERE was for the moment no means of telling what was befalling their comrades; and the imprisoned Lancers pounded and thundered at the door and sides of their prison, but without avail.

In a few minutes they desisted, when they heard a sputtering volley, replied to by a sharper one. A ringing cheer, undeniably British, followed; then a clatter of hoofs, a chorus of cries, and all was quiet again. Some little time passed in anxious uncertainty.

‘I wish I had my hands on the rogue who locked us in,’ cried Will savagely, battering upon the door.

‘Don’t do that!’ said the sergeant sharply. ‘We’re in rather a tight fix, and we shall have to be very careful how we act. I take command, and no man moves except by my orders.’

The ring of authority in the sergeant’s voice was unmistakable. Though the trumpeters made fun of him, he was yet known as a brave soldier and one who had seen much war-service; therefore, apart from the right which his rank conveyed, all were ready to yield him unquestioning obedience.

The interior of the place was examined; it was well and solidly built, partly of bricks, partly of timber. The door fitted well and was securely fastened. There was a small window perched high up, and several places that would serve well either as peep or loopholes. In the door, just above the lock, was a round hole, cut so that any one on the outside could put his hand through and raise the latch on the inside.

Sergeant Linham took up his position at the little window, the others at various peep-holes, all on the alert. They had not long to wait. The sly-looking boy with the orange-coloured sash came cautiously creeping into the yard, followed by about twenty dismounted Cossacks and some Hussars wearing the same green-and-orange uniform as the man who had escaped from the wounded Cossack captain’s room. The Russians all carried carbines, and appeared to be waiting a signal to open fire.

‘Boys,’ said Sergeant Linham, ‘have your pistols ready. Remember the motto of the regiment, “Death or Glory!” These fellows may have our dead bodies; they mustn’t have our live ones. Ha, hum!’

The Russians with their carbines fired a few volleys at the door, the bullets coming through it. Then one fellow advanced with the key of the barn in his hand, his comrades, having drawn their swords, coming close behind him as though they intended rushing in as soon as the door was opened and slaying all within.

‘When I give the word fire,’ said Sergeant Linham, ‘let each cover a man.’

The trumpeters placed the muzzles of their pistols through chinks in the walls. Pearson aimed through the hole in the door. Sergeant Linham allowed the Russians to get quite close; then he said calmly, ‘Fire!’

Four reports rang out, and when the smoke had cleared off the Lancers saw the Russians dragging away three wounded comrades. In another minute they made a second attempt. Four more reports, and then a second retreat took place.

‘They will unlock the door in a few minutes,’ said the sergeant. ‘I observed that there were two staples and a cross-bar inside. Let us put that up; it will keep them out a bit longer.’

This was done, and then returning to their positions the four saw that the men outside had been reinforced till they numbered quite fifty. These, pushed on from behind by an officer, rushed up to the door, which they unlocked and tried to throw open. The beam prevented them, when with their sword-hilts and carbines they hammered on the wood.

‘Fire as quickly as you can!’ cried Linham; and the pistols rang out.

Then Pearson, seized with an idea, took up his lance, and, rolling the flag round the shaft, placed the point through the hole in the door and lunged out twice with terrible effect. The screams of the two men he wounded, in ordinary times, would have made the blood of the defenders run cold; but their fighting spirit was now aroused, and they gave a wild hurrah.

‘Well done, boys,’ cried the sergeant; ‘they’ve got a bit more than they can stomach I think. I never heard of a foreigner yet who liked British steel.’

The Russians, in fact, fell back, having so far got much the worst of the encounter. The four in the barn were wondering what would be the next move, when the Russians again opened a sharp carbine-fire on the barn. Many of the bullets penetrated and pinged uncomfortably close to the Lancers.

‘Throw yourselves on the ground,’ said Sergeant Linham; and there they remained until the firing was over. They then returned to their posts, as another attack on the door was made; but their four shots proving they had not been killed or disabled, the Russians drew off out of sight. It grew dark, and for a long time the Lancers were silent. Then Sergeant Linham burst into a grim chuckle.

‘What are you laughing at, sergeant?’ asked Pearson.

‘The toads! we’ve got them in a corner,’ he said; ‘they have no field-piece, or they could blow the place to bits in ten minutes. Then they might burn us out; but the wind is blowing towards the house, which would most likely catch fire and burn their precious wounded captain. They’re in a fix.’

‘Sooner or later, though, they must have us if we remain here!’ cried Jack. ‘If we could undo the door we might mount, charge out, and cut our way free.’

Jack went to the door, and without any particular idea pushed his hand through the round hole. He gave an involuntary exclamation of joy. The key was in the lock where the Russians had left it, though they had turned it before retreating. In an instant he had communicated the fact to his friends and their plans were laid. The horses were still saddled, so girths were tightened and bits adjusted. Jack put through his hand and gently turned the key in the lock; the bar was then removed, and all four mounted when the door was noiselessly opened, and they prepared to gallop out. Sergeant Linham and Pearson were to go first, Jack and Will last.

At a word from the sergeant they trotted out and had got to the gate of the yard ere the noise of their escape was heard. Half-a-dozen dismounted Cossacks ran towards them. There was a shout, a sputtering of shots, then the Lancers were galloping for life down the village street. A clump of mounted Hussars barred their way.

‘Knee to knee, boys!’ cried Sergeant Linham. ‘Death or glory!’ and with a crash the Lancers met the Russians.

The charge was so sudden and unexpected that they went through like a knife through butter.

‘Hurrah for Old England!’ shouted Pearson, waving his lance, and they galloped on, several shots being fired at them.

Sergeant Linham got a ball through his lance-cap, another struck the shaft of Pearson’s lance; but on they went till they were clear of the village. When some distance from it Will’s horse suddenly sank to the ground.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jack as they all drew rein.

A hasty examination showed the poor beast had received a bullet in its chest.

‘Gallant friend,’ said Will,’ you’ve borne me well and done your best. Had you fallen in the village I should have been killed or captured.’

There was nothing to be done, so Jack drew his pistol and put Will’s horse out of its misery, after which Will mounted behind Jack, and, unpursued, they went on, guided by Sergeant Linham, who, old campaigner as he was, could tell his way by the stars.

Presently, away on their left, the glimmer of a line of camp-fires took their attention.

‘Our chaps,’ said Pearson. ‘I wonder at their bivouacking so far from the camp.’

‘It can’t be our outlying pickets at this distance,’ said the sergeant. ‘Yet, I don’t know. Perhaps we’ve come farther than we think.’

‘At any rate, we’d best advance cautiously,’ said Jack; ‘when we’re nearer we’ll go and reconnoitre.’

They advanced as close as they thought wise; then they halted. They were on rising ground, and on the road below them, which led through a valley, men, and what looked like a long line of wagons, could be dimly seen; but in the darkness nothing could be distinguished for certain.

‘Let Will and I creep forward and see who and what they are,’ said Jack; ‘we’re lighter and smaller than you or Pearson, and can move more easily.’

The sergeant demurred at first, but Jack pressed his point. He and Will divested themselves of swords, spurs, caps, trumpets, and bugles; then, having nothing on them that would glitter or jingle, and armed only with their pistols, they started off.

Quite noiselessly they moved forward until, as they got closer to the camp-fires, they could distinctly make out figures in uniforms, clearly Russians by their caps, moving about between the fires. They advanced still closer, and then they could see long lines of wagons—scores, nay, hundreds it seemed—drawn up beside the road. The native drivers were seated together in groups, eating their supper. It was clearly a convoy, and a large one too.

The trumpeters rejoined their companions and reported.

‘If we could only capture the lot,’ said Jack, ‘it would be glorious.’

‘We can do nothing against hundreds,’ muttered Linham.

‘But if we could find the rest of our troop and bring them along?’ suggested Jack.

‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Linham. ‘On with your things, boys; we’ll have a try.’

In a couple of minutes they were on their way again, and Sergeant Linham guided them so truly that they went straight on until suddenly, from the shadow of some trees in front, two mounted figures appeared. Instantly the cold moonbeams fell on the barrel of a carbine, and a stern voice cried, ‘Who goes there? Halt, or I fire.’

‘Friends!’ cried Sergeant Linham joyfully.

‘Stand, friends, and give the countersign,’ came the sharp response, as the carbines of the two Hussar vedettes were pointed straight at them.

‘We don’t know the word. We’re four of the 17th Lancers left behind in the village we halted at this afternoon.’

‘Stay where you are,’ came the reply; ‘the sergeant of the picket will examine you.’

‘Bedad, we don’t want no sargint,’ cried a rich voice; and Larry O’Callaghan came running forward. ‘It’s old Hooky-beak and my two chums of the 17th. I can see ’em.—The saints be praised, ye’ve cheated thim divils of Russians, bhoys,’ he cried, ‘for I’ve been breaking me heart to think as ye was done for. Hurroo! come on!’ and in a few minutes the four Lancers found themselves standing before a fire in one of the cottages of the deserted village in which the detachment had halted for the night.

CHAPTER XXII.

A BRILLIANT LITTLE AFFAIR.

PRESENTLY Linham went off to find Sergeant Barrymore, and Larry related what had happened in the village.

‘We were sitting on our horses, kaping our eyes and ears open,’ he said, ‘when I happened to notice a pasty-faced young gossoon on a pony sneaking off towards the hills.’

‘Had he a black sheep’s-wool cap on, and an orange-coloured sash round his waist?’ asked Jack.

‘He had that same, and may the divil fly away wid him, for in about half-an-hour we suddintly saw him coming back wid a troop of Hussars and Cossacks at his heels. Somehow they seemed to have got all round us. I sounded the alarm, and our fellows came tumbling out. In a jiffy they were mounted and formed up. We answered the Rooshians blitherin’ fire wid a volley, and then charged ’em, going through ’em like a knife and bowling over a good number of the ugly bastes, wid a loss of only two of our men.’

Jack then related their adventure, which made Larry’s eyes sparkle.

‘By the piper, I’d loike to have been wid you!’ he said.

Linham and Barrymore presently came into the cottage, and after the latter had congratulated Jack on his escape, he said, ‘This news about the convoy is most important. Captain Norreys learnt something of it from a prisoner we took, and that is why we remained here. Our captain wanted to go in search of it, but the captain of the 11th, who was senior officer, would not agree. He, poor chap, has just died of the cholera, so Captain Norreys is now in command. Jimmy and I are going to wake him up and tell him what you’ve seen.’

Captain Norreys was delighted with the news. ‘We ‘ll have that convoy,’ he said; and summoned all the officers at once to consult with him.

Half-an-hour later, the little body of cavalry, picking up their vedettes as they went along, were on the move. Captain Norreys, having Linham with him as guide, led the way with his own troop; the Hussars followed. Silence was imposed on all; there was to be no talking or smoking in the ranks, and on no account were any bugle-calls to be sounded.

Progress, of course, was slow, and it was fully a couple of hours before word was passed along for the party to halt. Then part of the Lancers were ordered to dismount. Leaving their lances behind, and taking only their pistols and swords, they then began to advance stealthily on foot, Captain Norreys leading them. The other troops were for the present to remain halted.

Jack and his companions were with the captain, and they went on and on; but no sign of the convoy did they see.

‘I hope we haven’t lost our way,’ whispered Cornet Leland to Jack. ‘It would be a feather in our cap to take in a string of wagons. The cavalry don’t get much chance, and the infantry are always sneering at us as “do-nothing popinjays.”’

‘We’ll prove to them if ever we get the chance that a man in a laced jacket can do as much as one in a red coat, sir,’ replied Jack; and the day was not far distant when the prophecy was to be fulfilled by the immortal ‘Six Hundred.’

Presently they reached the road and marched silently along beside it till there came a stern whisper for caution; then the thirty odd Lancers heard faintly on the still night air a rumble getting rapidly louder.

Captain Norreys halted his party and said, ‘Take Sergeant Barrymore and half the men, Mr Leland, cross the road, advance about a hundred yards, and line the roadway. When the convoy comes in sight, wait till I have delivered a volley, then let fly at them. Directly you’ve fired, run in and prevent the drivers getting off with the wagons; but do not hurt any of them if you can possibly avoid it. Disable only the escort.’

Cornet Leland told off fourteen men, and marched away in the darkness.

‘Trumpeter,’ said the captain to Jack, ‘get off as fast as your legs will carry you towards our main body. Directly you hear firing, sound the regimental call and the rally. When the men arrive tell the officer in command of the Hussars to charge down on the convoy.’

‘Right, sir,’ said Jack, saluting, bitterly disappointed that he was not to be allowed to ‘see the fun.’

The sounds of wheels and trampling hoofs could now be distinguished, and Jack went off. He judged he had gone some five hundred yards when, loath to go farther for fear he might not be able to take part in the capture, he halted on the summit of a small eminence.

The minutes went by slowly, and it seemed hours to Jack, who was listening intently to the increasing noise of wheels, before—Crash! rattle! bang! bang! bang! B-r-r-r-r—crash!—two volleys rang out.

Then ensued a terrible babel of shouts and cries.

Tan-ta-rara! tan-ta-rara! tan-ta-rara-ra! rang out Jack’s trumpet in the regimental call of the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’ Tum-ta-rara! tum-te-rara, tum-te! followed the rally.

The sounds of conflict grew louder; over and over again Jack rang out his calls. A thunder of horses’ hoofs sounded behind him.

‘Hallo,’ thought Jack, ‘that can’t be our fellows yet.’ He turned just in time to see two mounted men galloping up the rise towards him. He paused for a moment, uncertain who the new-comers were. Then he saw the stumpy figures and levelled lance-points. Heavens, they were Cossacks!

Jack let his bugle fall to his side; next moment he had his pistol in his left hand and his sword in his right. Aiming blindly, he fired at the two Russians. The foremost came to the ground, man and horse, with a crash. For a moment the other drew rein; then, with a sort of grunt, he charged.

Jack dashed across his front, making the pony swerve, and, getting on the Cossack’s left side, with a mighty sweep of his sword he cut him right out of his saddle.

The first man, whose horse had been badly wounded, got to his feet and ran off as fast as his legs would carry him.

Jack sounded again, and in a few seconds the thud of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements fell on his ear as the rest of the little cavalry force came up at a sharp pace.

‘This way! this way!’ yelled Jack.

The square-topped caps of his own corps and the flying pelisses of the Hussars came in sight. Sir William Lennox pulled in his panting charger close to Jack.

‘Where are they?’ he cried.

‘Straight in front, sir. You and the Hussars are to charge down at once.’

‘What are these?’ asked the officer, pointing with his sword to the bodies of the man and horse on the ground.

‘Two Cossacks attacked me, sir,’ replied Jack.

‘Gallant lad; I will see the fact is known.—By your right, trot march!’ and the troop swung by.

On foot Jack raced after them; but did not arrive till all opposition was over and the convoy was captured.

The drivers of the wagons seemed quite contented to be captured, and before the flying Russians were out of sight had signified to the English their willingness to drive the convoy to the English camp.

The wagons were counted, two hundred of them, laden with provisions for Sebastopol. Besides which nearly three hundred head of cattle were in the rear. A number of men were told off as escort, and the wagons headed for the English camp.

‘A glorious capture!’ cried Captain Norreys, wild with delight. ‘Lord Raglan will be pleased with this night’s work.’

It took some time, though, to get all under way again, and dawn was breaking as they moved off.

Captain Norreys remained behind as rear-guard with about sixty men, amongst whom were Jack, Will, and Larry.

‘Bedad, this bates Donnybrook into a cocked hat,’ said Larry to Jack as he rode by. ‘If the Rooshians would only stand their ground the Crimea would be the finest place in the wurrld.’

They had travelled some distance when, just as the sun was rising, Jack noticed, topping a ridge on their left front, a whole forest of lance-heads.

‘Look there, sir,’ he cried to the captain.

‘Form column of troops!’ cried that officer, and Lancers and Hussars swung forward to get between the Russians and the convoy.

Carbines were loaded and swords loosened in their scabbards as fully five hundred Cossacks and Hussars came sweeping over the crest.

‘One volley, then charge,’ said Captain Norreys coolly.

The enemy came on at a slow trot till they were about a hundred yards distant, when the British delivered their fire.

A score of Russian saddles were emptied; then Captain Norreys, well to the front, drew his sword. ‘Forward men!’ he cried; ‘take your pace from me, and charge home!’

At a gallop they rushed forward. Jack drew his sword and was in amongst the foe only a horse’s length behind his captain. Lance and sabre went to work, and in thirty seconds the Russians were flying.

Instantly Captain Norreys held up his sword and Jack sounded the halt.

‘Let us go on, sir; we can cut ’em to pieces,’ growled Sergeant Barrymore.

‘No, no, sergeant; it may be a trap,’ said Captain Norreys. ‘Pick up those three wounded men of ours and get them to the wagons.’

This was done, and then the English formed up again in rear of the convoy, which had not stopped.

The Russians reformed and hung upon the rear of the column; but they seemed to have no stomach for further fighting.

Followed by the enemy, the column held on its way till a cheer burst out in front.

‘Hurrah!’ shouted Pearson. ‘It’s all over; here are the Cherrypickers!’[2]

The remaining troops of the 11th Hussars, which had been sent out from the English camp as reinforcements, came sweeping by, their sword-blades flashing in the sunlight. With a cheer they advanced towards the still visible Russians, who turned and literally galloped away.

That was the last seen of the enemy. The captured convoy got safely into camp, the cavalrymen receiving a great ovation when they arrived. Captain Norreys was duly thanked in orders; and in his report to Lord Raglan he made mention of Sergeant Linham’s defence of the barn, and Jack’s part in bringing up the reserves and the gallant way in which he had fought and defeated two Cossacks. But long before the report was written Jack was sound asleep, dreaming he was once more at home, taking tea with his mother and sisters in the little garden at Kew.

CHAPTER XXIII.

JACK SHOWS HIS METTLE.

ON the day following the capture of the convoy the campaign was begun in earnest. On that day, September 19th, the Allies began their memorable march from Old Fort, their landing-place, to Sebastopol.

The whole army marched, baggage, ammunition, commissariat, and invalids. There was no base to fall back on. If attacked, the column must fight and conquer; death or total surrender were the only alternatives. Lord Raglan was taking a grave and terrible risk; but he had no option.

Jack’s colonel had to be left behind. He had struggled long against the ravages made upon his constitution during their stay at Varna and Devna; but he had at last to succumb, and the day after the army began its march he had to be sent on board and invalided to England.

The loss of the colonel was a great blow to Linham, who in his grumbling way said more than once, ‘No good will come of a campaign begun so badly.’

The morning of the advance was a beautiful one. The sun shone hotly, but was tempered by a cool sea-breeze. The ground over which the troops moved was undulating and covered with a sweet-smelling herb which gave off a pleasing aroma as it was crushed under the feet and hoofs of the marching thousands.

The British army moved in such a formation that it could array itself for battle in a very few minutes, and it presented a magnificent sight to the beholder.

Jack and his regiment marched in rear of the left flank, and on crossing a slight ridge a splendid view of the whole army was obtained.

On the extreme right was the sea, sparkling and dancing in the sunlight. Riding on its waters and advancing majestically, keeping just abreast of the allied army, were the French and English fleets.

Beside the shore marched the French divisions in column, their weapons sparkling and colours waving. Behind them came the Turks. On their left, in the post of danger, their front and flank open to attack, came the British army in battle array. The advance-guard was formed of the 11th Hussars and 13th Light Dragoons, with an infantry battalion. A long line of nimble, green-clad Riflemen in skirmishing order followed. Four grand divisions of scarlet-coated infantry, massed in close columns, with their accompanying batteries of artillery, formed the main body, the baggage and cattle being in rear.

On the left flank there was another line of skirmishers of the Rifles, two hundred yards from the main body; outside them again came the 8th Hussars on the left front; the 17th, as already stated, on the left rear; while the 4th Light Dragoons formed the rear-guard.

The sun sparkled on arms and accoutrements, colours waved in the air, uniforms of every colour met the eye as far as it would reach; the whole, while the bands pealed forth their brazen music, forming such a picture of martial glory as few men are privileged to behold.

The march continued. Soon the bands ceased playing. Then stragglers began to fall out of the ranks. Poor fellows, worn with sickness and privation, they were absolutely unable to stand the strain of a march of a few miles.

Many of Jack’s comrades tried to urge the stragglers to keep up. Alas! it was but too clearly evident by the blackened, swollen faces of many of those who fell out that they were in the last throes of cholera. They had to be left where they fell, for nothing could be done for them. Others of the stragglers fell out from sheer weakness and exhaustion, and these were told that the Cossacks would overtake and spear them did they not keep up. Not a man, however, gave up until he could go no longer, and then no threats were of any avail.

The ground became littered with arms and accoutrements—bearskins, shakos, belts, knapsacks, and rifles; with that, and the figures of the men who had fallen from the ranks, the country over which the troops had passed resembled a field on which a pitched battle had been fought. The spirits of the men drooped, their faces took on a dogged look; but their enthusiasm was gone. The glory of the morning was over.

As the hours dragged on another terrible hardship afflicted the poor soldiers. A maddening, burning thirst consumed them, yet not a drop of water was to be had.

Sergeant Linham, who had suffered all the horrors of thirst in India, chewed a bullet grimly. ‘It’s the first taste of real war the youngsters have had,’ he said. ‘It isn’t the fighting—that’s nothing. It’s the starving and marching, lying on the ground all night in pouring rain or snow, the freezing and the burning—that’s war. Fighting, pah! that’s the only pleasant part of war.’

The advance became slower, the numbers falling from the ranks larger, till in the afternoon a great shout went up in front, and the column halted.

The advance-guard had reached the river Bulganak, their halting-place; and, heedless of discipline, the thirst-maddened soldiers rushed forward and buried their faces in the cool, clear waters running between fertile, grassy banks.

In due course Jack’s regiment arrived at the water, and both men and horses drank their fill.

The Hussars and Light Dragoons, who had formed the advance-guard, had, at the orders of Lord Raglan, crossed the river. Some of the enemy’s cavalry had been seen, and the commander-in-chief, determined to satisfy himself that his army could rest in comparative safety, had gone forward with the cavalry to reconnoitre the position.

Jack’s regiment, having assuaged their thirst, ate part of the ration which had been served out to them; then flung themselves on the ground, under the shadow of the trees, to enjoy a nap or a smoke.

Jack, having drunk his fill, carrying his lance-cap in his hand, joined a group of trumpeters.

‘Hallo, Jack,’ cried Tom Gallon, ‘who’s been ducking your head?’

“I ducked myself, Tom,’ answered Jack, ‘to cool my mighty brain. Phew, it’s hot!’

Bill Parkes laughed. ‘I remember the first time you ever put on a lance-cap,’ he said, ‘you thought you looked mighty fine.’

‘And I remember what you said at the time, Bill:

“Wait till you’ve worn one for six hours on a broiling hot day.”’

‘Well, you’ve had your chance to-day,’ laughed Parkes.

Jack threw off the heaviest part of his accoutrements and seated himself with his comrades. A group of officers sat just by them, and Jack could not help being struck by the change the campaign had already made in their appearance. The gay uniforms, sodden with rain, stained with mud, and often torn, were tarnished and frayed. Their scabbards and spurs were rusty, and their faces disfigured by beards of many days’ growth. Worse than all, however, was the fact that not one of them had enjoyed a change of linen for a week, for every man had landed in what he stood up in and no more, even the pelisses of the 8th Hussars being left behind on shipboard; nor did the regiment ever see them again, for they went down in Balaclava harbour during the great storm of 14th November.

As Jack was looking he observed a staff-officer gallop up to the little group. He spoke hurriedly for a few moments; then Major Willett, commanding the 17th, jumping to his feet, looked over towards the trumpeters, and beckoned to Jack. Seizing his bugle, Jack ran over, buttoning up his jacket on the way.

‘Sound the alarm at once!’ the major cried.

Jack rang out the call.

‘What’s up?’ asked Will.

‘Goodness knows!’ replied Jack as he buckled on his sword and ran towards Dainty; ‘but from the haste with which those Hussar officers are making for their own men it’s something pretty urgent, I should think.’

At that moment the trumpets of the 8th rang out, and in less than three minutes the two regiments were mounted. The Lancers leading, at a trot they made for the bridge, across which they clattered just as the bugles of the infantry Light Division behind them were heard sounding the fall-in.

The ground on the other side of the river rose in a succession of ridges right up to the heights looking down on the Bulganak. The Lancers rapidly mounted the first ridge, and as they did so Russian vedettes were seen upon the heights in front. On mounting the second ridge a curious sight met their gaze. On the level ground before them were the 11th Hussars and 13th Light Dragoons drawn up in beautiful lines, their officers in front, all sitting as perfectly still as though on parade at home. Facing them, on the hill above, was a vast body of Russian horse, Hussars, Dragoons, and Cossacks, some thousands strong. They were throwing out skirmishers, who, as the Lancers came up, opened fire with their carbines but apparently did no damage. The British cavalry took no more notice of being fired at than though the Russians had been blowing peas at them.

On the northern side of the hollow sat Lord Raglan and his staff. The 8th Hussars and 17th Lancers were ordered to form up in rear of the two regiments already in position, and this they did as quietly and orderly as though at Hounslow or Canterbury.

The officers dressed the ranks. ‘Eyes left!’ ‘Up a little, Private Jones!’ ‘Back, Thompson—rein back a little. That’s better. Halt! Eyes front! Slope lances!’ And all this under a smart fire!

The Russians began manœuvring, but seemed more inclined to draw the British cavalry from their position than to charge down upon them.

‘I wonder what we’re going to do?’ said Jack excitedly to Pearson. ‘Why don’t they let us charge? The ground’s lovely, and I’ll bet we should roll those fellows up like fun.’

‘We’d have a good try,’ said Pearson, biting his fair moustache in his excitement as he fixed the chain of his headdress tightly on the point of his chin.

After a little time the Light Division of infantry came marching into the plain, their white-slashed scarlet coats making a brilliant patch of colour. The infantry were formed into line behind the cavalry, and presently, at a smart trot, a nine-pounder battery came swinging along and took post on the right of the infantry, while a six-pounder battery took ground beside the cavalry.

All this while the Russians remained inactive, like interested spectators.

Excitement rose to a high pitch amongst the British, who expected every moment to hear the artillery open fire; but when the whole force had been posted a General came galloping up from Lord Raglan, and seemed to be holding an animated discussion with Lord Lucan, commanding the cavalry. This lasted some time, and then Lord Lucan was seen to give an order to his brigadier, Lord Cardigan.

‘The ball’s going to commence,’ said Pearson to Jack, ‘and we’ll teach these Russians a new dance if I’m not much mistaken.’

Words of command rang out in front, and the 11th Hussars were seen to be on the move, but not towards the enemy. By successive squadrons they moved, slowly and ceremoniously, and reformed behind the supporting squadrons, always leaving two squadrons facing the enemy. The Light Dragoons followed suit, and it became evident that retreat was the order of the day. An exclamation of regret burst from the Lancers, which was instantly repressed by the officers.

No sooner, however, did the Russians see that the English cavalry was not going to advance than a rapid movement began. Their squadrons opened right and left and wheeled away, when two batteries of artillery came bounding up to the top of the ridge facing the British, hurriedly unlimbered, and opened fire. At the same time clouds of Riflemen topped the hills and began a hot fusillade.

‘By George, we’re in for it, after all!’ said Jack to Pearson as a round-shot came whizzing over his head and struck the ground just behind him.

Mixed with the hum of round-shot came the vicious scream of shells, and presently one or two men and horses went down.

All this while Jack’s regiment and the 8th were kept perfectly still, while the regiments which had been in their front retired by squadrons behind them.

The 11th Hussars were just wheeling by Jack’s troop when a shell came screaming by and entered the body of a horse of the Hussars. It struck with a sickening squelch and then exploded, a horrible heap on the ground being all that remained of what a moment before had been a smart cavalryman. A second later a round-shot caught another Hussar on the foot, which it carried clean away. The gallant soldier glanced down and shifted himself in the saddle so as to retain his balance.

‘It’s only my foot,’ he said calmly; ‘the doctor’ll soon put that right;’ and he went on with his squadron.

Jack’s regiment was then in front, and round-shot and shell, to say nothing of musket-balls, began to whiz about them. The round-shot could be distinctly seen coming, and the men ducked as though to avoid them, though they often went twenty feet above their heads.

‘Don’t duck, boys—don’t duck,’ said Sergeant Linham, who sat apparently quite unconcerned, looking about him. ‘If a shot’s coming for you no amount of ducking will make it miss you, and in India it wasn’t considered the thing for men to bob about. Remember the motto of the regiment. Ha, hum!’

Not another man moved, and presently a round-shot came plump in among them.

‘Hallo!’ cried a dozen voices, ‘Benson’s down! he’s killed! No, he’s up! Hallo, Fred! are you hurt?’

‘Shook up a bit,’ said the Lancer in a dazed voice; ‘but the nag’s done for, I’m afraid;’ and that was true, for the poor animal’s head had been completely smashed by the shot.

The fire under which the cavalry still sat was getting very hot, when a trumpet rang out and the six-pounder battery with them opened fire. This seemed, however, to have little effect; then the nine-pounder battery opened, and their shells were seen to be exploding among the Russian cavalry and doing much damage. Presently a shell struck the limber of one of the Russian guns, which it exploded, just as another shell struck one of the guns, overturning it and killing several of the gunners.

By that time Jack’s regiment was the only one under fire, being left as a support to the nine-pounder battery.

Suddenly a move was made by the Russians. Several squadrons of sky-blue coated Hussars came rapidly down and made straight for the English guns.

‘By Jingo, they’re going to try and capture the battery!’ said Cornet Leland.

Hardly were the words out of his mouth than the orderly trumpeter sounded, and the regiment moved off at a trot to take ground on its right, so as to cover the threatened guns.

The Russians, contrary to their usual rule, came on boldly, and it was soon evident they meant to charge.

Instantly the officer commanding the Lancers took in the situation. The Russians must be held in check or they would in a few minutes overtake the slow-moving artillery. A few sharp orders were given; then the Lancers advanced at a trot. At a hundred yards’ distance the pace was increased, and Major Willett shouted, ‘Come on, boys! Charge!’

Then, with knees well-pressed in, bodies eagerly bent forward, and lances levelled, the English squadrons rode down upon the enemy.

With a crash they met the sky-blue Hussars, and for an instant they glared into one another’s faces. The Russians had a curiously set expression on theirs as though of pain; but it was probably only intense excitement. The Lancers had but little time to note their enemies’ faces, however. Heavier men and better mounted, the immense superiority of the lance over the sword in shock-tactics showed itself, and the Russians were hurled back. The Lancers would have pursued; but at that instant Captain Norreys saw a battalion of infantry marching down upon his flank. At the same time the recall was being constantly sounded, so Captain Norreys gave the word to his squadron.

No sooner had they turned their backs to the enemy than the guns on the ridge opened on them, and shells began to plump amongst them; several casualties occurred, and Captain Norreys ground his teeth.

‘I’d like to go in at those fellows,’ he cried, turning in his saddle and shaking his sword savagely at the guns; but the recall was still being sounded, and so he gave the word to his men to trot.

Hardly had they started when two shells burst in amongst them, and Tommy Gallon, who had been riding in the rear near his captain, was seen lying on the ground. The squadron went on; but Jack, seeing his friend down, galloped his horse towards him, and, though under a heavy fire of both artillery and musketry, dismounted and raised his friend’s head.

‘Tommy, old boy, where are you hurt?’ asked Jack.

For answer, poor Tom Gallon pointed to his left arm. It seemed to be smashed. He had been struck by a splinter of shell, which had first killed his horse, then smashed his left forearm.

‘You must get on my horse, Tom,’ said Jack desperately.

‘No, no; leave me, Jack,’ said the wounded trumpeter. ‘See, the troop is retreating, and, ah—look! the Russians are on us.’

This was the case, for the Russian Hussars had hung on to the rear of the Lancers. Seeing the two trumpeters, several of them were trotting up, brandishing their swords.

‘I’ll save you or die with you, Tom,’ said Jack grimly; and he grasped his sword firmly.

The Russians came circling round, making a curious hissing noise, some slashing at Jack, while others bent over in their saddles and tried to reach the wounded trumpeter with their points.

‘Cowards! brutes!’ cried Jack furiously, ‘to try and kill a wounded man!’

But the Russians, supremely ignorant of what he said, continued their attack, Jack keeping them off by performing the moulinet with his sabre. He felt himself slightly wounded once or twice; but he had determined to be cut to pieces rather than desert his fellow-trumpeter.

A very stout, dark-visaged Russian, getting behind Gallon, made a point with his sword and thrust it into his back; and, hearing his comrade’s moan, Jack, mad with fury, was just in time to see the coward withdraw his weapon. Jack seized the Hussar’s bridle; but the fellow cut him down over the head, then spurred his horse and dragged Jack off his feet. Another moment would have settled his fate for ever; but a thunder of hoofs sounded, and Pearson, returning to the rescue of the trumpeters, caught the cowardly Russian just between the shoulder-blades with his lance and completely transfixed him. It was of no use trying to withdraw the weapon, so the gallant trooper let go and drew his sword, with which he cut another foe from his saddle.

Williams, Brandon, and several others, seeing the danger of their comrades, came galloping back, and the Russians immediately retired. Jack and Tom

Pearson caught the cowardly Russian just between the shoulder-blades.

Page 162

Gallon were lifted up in strong arms and soon conveyed out of danger; but Jack swooned from loss of blood on the way, nor did he recover till he found himself lying on his back, his face and head wet, while somebody held & water-bottle to his lips.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE PASSAGE OF THE ALMA.

AS Jack gazed up and saw Sergeant Barrymore bending over him, his thoughts went back to that Sunday afternoon, nearly eighteen months ago, when once before he had lain beside a river, with Sergeant Barrymore tending him. Then with a rush came back the recollection of the skirmish.

‘Poor Tom!’ said Jack, ‘was he saved after all?’

‘Yes, and is still alive, thanks to you. He is being attended to by the doctors; but whether he’ll live or not I can’t say. But we’d best get you along to the doctor and have your cut properly bandaged.’

Putting up his hand, Jack found his head was tied up in a pocket-handkerchief.

‘Your cap saved you,’ said the sergeant, ‘else that slice above the ear would have been serious.’

Jack had also received a prick from a lance on his thigh, which, though bleeding profusely, was not very painful. He, however, insisted on remaining at his duty, and with Barrymore’s help went on to their camping-ground.

Will was loud in his praises of Jack’s gallantry. ‘You ought to get your commission,’ he said. ‘If some blessed officer had done what you’ve done he’d have got a step in the regiment, half-a-dozen letters after his name, and I don’t know what all.’

‘Never mind, Will, old boy; get me a drink of coffee from somewhere, and any one can have the letters and the promotion.’

Pearson and Brandon had just succeeded in roasting some green coffee-beans, and soon Jack had a pannikin of the hot beverage, to which a little drop of rum had been added. The drink did Jack much good and he soon felt better. In the evening he went up to the hospital-tent with Will and inquired about Tom Gallon.

The gray-headed, kind-eyed Scot who was regimental surgeon shook his head. ‘He may live,’ he said; ‘but his soldiering days are over. His left arm ‘s smashed and must come off above the elbow, and he’s got a nasty dig in his back. Providing we can keep off fever, he may pull round; but I’m afraid’——-

‘Poor Tommy!’ said Jack. ‘I should like to see him once, doctor, before it’s too late.’

‘Impossible; any excitement would be fatal. By the way, are you the trumpeter who saved him?’

‘I stood by him till our men returned.’

The doctor shook Jack warmly by the hand. ‘You performed a brave deed,’ he said. ‘I heard of the affair from Captain Norreys, who’s bringing it to the notice of Lord Raglan. But what’s wrong with your head?’

Jack replied that he had received a slight cut, which the doctor insisted upon dressing, besides the prod in his leg, making Jack relate how he had saved Gallon the while.

That night the army was encamped in order of battle, for it was expected the Russians would make a night-attack. They were known to be quite close and in great strength, part of which they had revealed in their attempts to draw the British cavalry into an ambush. The troops piled arms and were warned to be ready to turn out at an instant’s notice. Extra strong vedettes and outposts were posted; but Jack’s regiment was fortunate in not being called upon to supply either.

They were encamped just behind the village of Bulganak, Lord Raglan passing the night in a posthouse close to the bridge. From the English lines the camp-fires of the enemy, seeming endless in number, could be plainly seen, and all knew that even if they went through the night without an attack the next day would see them engaged in a big battle, for the Russians barred all further progress towards Sebastopol.

The night passed peacefully, however, and before dawn, without sound of trumpet or drum, the French and English got under arms. Little time was taken over breakfast, the last meal many hundreds of the gallant fellows were fated to eat; then the troops began to take up their position for the advance. But it was some time before the army got on the move. When they did, Jack, who with his regiment still marched on the left flank, saw large bodies of Cossacks and other cavalry on the hills and ridges, and the sight of burning villages and homesteads showed the Allies that the Russians were pursuing their old tactics of destroying everything as they retired before their enemy.

The advance was across gently undulating country towards a range of steep heights, ending near the sea in great cliffs, some hundreds of feet high. With one or two protracted halts in between, the Allies towards midday had approached to within about a mile and a half of these heights, and there another long halt was made while the English right got into touch with the French left.

Jack could see at the base of the cliffs the river, with the knolls, ridges, and gullies beyond it. The opening in the hills through which the road to Sebastopol ran was also visible. A commanding height, which Jack afterwards learnt was the Kourgane Hill, stood out plainly. Several small villages were visible on the Russian side of the river, between the sea and the Kourgane Hill, and cottages and farmhouses were scattered about.

The practised eye of the soldier could discern across the river large bodies of cavalry on the move, while enormous masses of gray-coated infantry were amongst the slopes and ravines, the whole position simply bristling with field-batteries and howitzers. In front of the Kourgane Hill a great redoubt, armed with fourteen guns of heavy calibre, had been erected, and this was the ‘key’ of the Russian position. Around this it was fated that the fiercest fighting of the day was to take place.

Sergeant Linham had approached Jack, and he looked grimly at the strong position. ‘Ha, hum!’ he said, ‘many a man will lose the number of his mess before those heights are carried; but we shall do it.’

Just then the dense blue-uniformed masses of French infantry were seen moving forward to attack the Russian right. They advanced with a deal of dash, artillery supporting them. Soon a tremendous cannonade was in full progress, and the English line was halted till the French had achieved their object.

Presently the English again moved forward, and the objects on the other side of the river became plain. It was then about one o’clock, the day was hot and cloudless; the sun shone down on what, had they not been advancing in the grim reality of war, would have been a glorious spectacle. Arms glittered, plumes waved, colours fluttered. Scarlet-coated light infantry, fated to bear the brunt of that day’s fighting, sombre-clad Riflemen, kilted Highlanders, bearskinned Guards, gaily braided artillerymen—all moved forward in the most beautiful order. No haste, no uncertainty; everything staid, orderly, majestic. Arrived within about a mile of the river, the British regiments began to deploy, and with the utmost coolness and precision moved forward for attack.

Presently a boom was heard from the position in front of Jack’s division, and a round-shot came ripping across the river. Another and another followed, and soon a tremendous cannonade was opened on the English. Jack felt a sort of tightening of his heartstrings as the thunder of the artillery began; but the feeling of nervous anxiety died away when he saw with what absolute indifference to danger our gallant infantrymen deployed under a heavy fire.

The Lancers were dismounted and a field-artillery battery was passing them on its way to the front when the reins suddenly dropped from a driver’s hands; he gave a sort of gasp, and then fell heavily on the ground.

‘Sunstroke,’ said Sergeant Barrymore, who was close by Jack, and running to the artilleryman he turned him on his back and dragged him away from the wheels of the guns. As he did so, the front of the man’s tunic was seen to be wet with blood. A splinter of shell had struck him in the heart! He was the first Englishman killed that day, and Sergeant Barrymore, new to war, went silently back to his horse.

Presently the Lancers were ordered to mount, and a further advance was made till they were pretty close to the river. Musket and rifle balls began to hum over their heads, and they were again dismounted. From the spot where Jack was he could obtain a very good view of the field, and, his heart throbbing wildly, he gazed upon the fascinating scene. The round-shot were now causing considerable execution, and the regiments of the Light Division were ordered to lie down. Here a terrible trial of passive endurance awaited them. Round-shot tore through them, shells exploded over them, while a shower of bullets pinged and buzzed about them. Casualties were frequent, but the gallant fellows, few of whom had ever been under fire before, bore their trial bravely. They laughed and joked, and as they watched the dread guns which were spreading death and destruction amongst them they began to distinguish their different sounds. Then men were heard remarking, ‘Look out, Bill, here’s Shrieking Eliza coming again!’ or ‘There goes Barking Tom!’

Every now and then a mighty blast of wind would sweep by a soldier, the earth would receive a shattering shock, and what one instant was a living soldier would next be a shapeless mass. His comrades would rise and gently carry his remains to the rear; then resume their places. This went on for a terrible time, till even the iron nerves of the British soldiers began to feel the strain.

‘We ain’t afraid of dying,’ said a man of the 33rd to his captain; ‘but we’d like to have a smack at they Rooshians. Lead us on, sir; lead us on.’

‘Steady, men—steady,’ was the reply; ‘we shall get our chance directly.’ And the intrepid officers would walk up and down in front of their companies to inspire confidence in the men.

The British were waiting till the French had effected the turning movement; but they were in difficulties, and time passed slowly. The Light Division began to murmur; a lull took place in the battle. Affairs seemed critical.

Lord Raglan and his staff rode up and down the line, the round-shot ploughing up the ground all round them. The commander-in-chief looked anxious. At last he made up his mind to advance.

At that time the village of Bourliouk was set in flames, which caused much confusion, as it was impossible for the English to cross the river for a space of two hundred yards on either side of the burning mass. The smoke also blotted out that part of the field from the view.

Nothing, however, could daunt the British. A staff-officer, the impetuous Nolan, in his resplendent Hussar uniform, was seen to gallop along the lines of the Light Division, saying a few words to each commander. Then the regiments sprang to their feet—the 7th, 23rd, and 77th—dressed their ranks, and with a front of two miles and a depth of only two men marched grandly down the slope.

The cavalry gave them a tremendous cheer. But the light infantry made no sound; the joyous light of battle was in their eyes, their blood was aroused. They were going to close with the enemy, they would soon be at grips with him, it was enough. As they neared the river the guns of the greater part of three field-batteries, a battery manned by sailors, the light guns of the lesser redoubt, and the fourteen guns of the great redoubt, opened with shot and shell upon them. Sixteen battalions of infantry in front and four on each flank poured in a terrific musketry-fire, and a perfect inferno of iron whizzed around them.

‘God help them!’ cried Jack, his heart wrung at the sight; ‘mortal men can never face such a fury of destruction.’

Brandon, fired by the sight, turned to Jack and quoted:

‘He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours.
. . . . . . .
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand on tiptoe when this day is named.’

The advancing regiments reached the river, into which they boldly plunged. Some were only up to their knees; some sank at once to their armpits; some had to abandon their arms and swim for their lives; while others, alas! sank, and were seen no more. The surface of the water was literally lashed into foam by the iron and leaden hail that swept into it; but with a rush the British were across and sheltered for a moment by the steep banks from the murderous fire of the Russians. Then, headed by their officers, they scrambled up the incline. All formation was lost, and the men of the different regiments got mixed together as they charged up the slope towards the batteries. As they crowned the ridge, a mob of desperate, fearless men, showers of grape and canister mowed its way through them, literally cutting lanes in the crowded masses, while the infantry on their flanks poured in volleys at point-blank range. Still they advanced, every foot of the way being marked with slain or wounded men.

The gallant Fusiliers, 7th and 23rd, smitten sorely, reeled like drunken men; but still they went on, led by the gallant Lacy Yea. The General had but one idea—to lead his division right up to the fiery jaws of the guns belching death and destruction around. He was well in front, a conspicuous figure in his cocked hat and mounted on his gray Arab, waving his sword and encouraging his men.

Ah! he’s down; his horse is killed! In a moment he is again on his feet, waving his sword and crying, ‘I’m all right, 23rd! Be sure I’ll remember this day!’

The red-coats opened a rapid fire upon the masses of gray-coated Russians, who began to waver; those behind the breastwork were soon seen in retreat. They did not like the light in the eyes of the British lads. Then the bayonets were levelled, a great cheer went up, and the gallant ‘Light Bobs’ went at the great redoubt. The Russians were stricken with terror; before the foremost red-coats got amongst them they had limbered up their guns and were seen dragging them away. The British gave a yell and raced forward, swarmed up the escarpment, leaped through the embrasures, and in a moment were in amongst the enemy, bayoneting the artillerymen.

One Russian driver was urging with whip and spur his black horses to carry off the last gun. An officer of the 23rd rushed forward, seized the bridle, and stopped the horses. The driver slipped from the saddle and bolted. Gun and horses were captured; the latter to serve in our black battery, the former to be sent to England as a trophy.[3]

The remains of the Light Division were in possession of the famous great redoubt; but the Guards and Highlanders had not advanced to support them, and they were isolated. The dense masses of Russians, seeing this, halted, then turned back.

The Light Division was in a critical position. This could be seen much more plainly from the British side of the river than from the Russian, on account of the numerous dips, ravines, and gullies among which our infantry lay.

Lord Lucan, in command of the cavalry, observed with great anxiety the critical position of the remnant of the Light Division. To add to his consternation, he saw an immense mass of cavalry, fully three thousand strong, wheeling slowly round from the south-eastern slopes of the Kourgane Hill, as though in readiness, when the Russian infantry had driven the red-coats from the redoubt, to charge down upon them and annihilate them. Under these circumstances the cavalry commander determined to take a decisive step. Without orders from Lord Raglan, he decided to cross the river, advance to the support of the Light Division, hold the hordes of Russian cavalry in check, and if necessary to charge them.

He mounted his brigade and rode up to Major Willett, commanding Jack’s regiment. ‘I am going to advance across the river,’ he said; ‘your regiment will lead. Send word to Lord Raglan of what I am doing. I shall myself lead the advance.’

Major Willett saluted with his sword. ‘Cornet Leland,’ he said, ‘gallop to Lord Raglan and tell him the cavalry brigade is crossing the river to the assistance of the light infantry division which is threatened on the flank with an overwhelming mass of cavalry.’

Captain Norreys, possessing the advantage of having seen war-service, spoke to Major Willett. ‘I should send three or four men,’ he said. ‘It is doubtful if any one man would get through such a fire-zone; but, out of several, one is almost sure to.’

‘Well thought of, Norreys,’ said the major.—‘Mr Leland, take three men, and whoever gets through will deliver the message.’

‘Barrymore,’ said the cornet, ‘follow me with Blair and Pearson.’

Jack’s heart leapt at these words, and with a touch of the spur he made Dainty bound from her place in the ranks. He settled himself in the saddle.

‘Thank goodness we’re going to do something at last!’ he said to Pearson. ‘If we once get in the thick of it we’ll have a go at some of those Russian beggars before we retire;’ and next moment he was swinging along, under a heavy fire, behind Cornet Leland and Sergeant Barrymore, on their way to find Lord Raglan.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE WINNING OF THE HEIGHTS.

THIS quest was not of the easiest, for Lord Raglan had been riding along every yard of his four miles of frontage. When last seen by the cavalry he had been almost in the centre of the line, and thither the Lancers made their way, passing the Guards and Highlanders lying down among the vineyards and gardens.

Presently they rode into a very fury of shot and shell, and their danger was as great from the British as from the Russians. They got by in safety, however, when they had to make a detour to pass the still-blazing village of Bourliouk.

The Second Division, in the midst of a terrific fire, was then gallantly attempting to ascend the heights. Cornet Leland learnt that Lord Raglan had crossed the river, and with a word to his men turned and dashed into the stream. Sergeant Barrymore put his horse at the water, but the animal shied and almost threw his rider. Pearson dashed by and followed his officer; then Barrymore and Jack splashed into the water. A regular hail of bullets flew round them, and when they were about half-way across Sergeant Barrymore’s horse was struck and immediately rolled over, carrying his rider with him. The sergeant’s foot was entangled in his stirrup and he was in danger of drowning; but Jack managed to seize his pouch-belt, and, turning his horse round, dragged him to the bank again.

At that moment a staff-officer came dashing across the river, and was passing Jack and Sergeant Barrymore when he suddenly uttered a loud cry and dropped from the saddle. Jack ran up to him as he lay on the ground and found him pale and bleeding. He was either a colonel or brigadier, and seemed a man of some importance.

‘I’m struck,’ he gasped, tearing at his tunic, from which a paper was sticking.

‘Can I help you?’ said Jack.

‘Yes, yes,’ said the poor officer—‘quick! I’m af-afraid—shall faint. Take paper—Sir Colin—Colin—Campbell, Guards and High—High’——

‘To cross at once?’ suggested Jack, guessing what the wounded staff-officer was trying to say.

The poor fellow had just strength enough to nod his head, and then Jack seized the paper, and leaping into his saddle galloped back through the storm of missiles to where the Guards and Highlanders were forming for the advance.

Jack knew the stern, rugged features of Sir Colin Campbell, and riding up to him gave both the message and the letter.

‘Ay, ay, I know as well as any one can tell me the necessity to advance,’ said the gallant Scotsman. ‘If the Light Division had kept their formation and not run away with themselves we should have been close behind them now. But how is it you bring me this message? Are the staff all down?’

Jack explained the circumstances, and Sir Colin said, ‘Remain where you are till you have seen us cross the river, then return and report to Lord Raglan.’

Sir Colin had carefully selected the spot where his regiments were to cross, and he led them himself.

First came the 42nd, the gallant Black Watch, whose last war-service had been at Waterloo, when, clinging to the stirrups of their countrymen, the Scots Greys, they had charged upon the French, shouting, ‘Scotland for ever!’ Then the 93rd Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, who had covered themselves with glory in the Peninsula; and, lastly, the 79th, the stern fighting Cameronians, whose band had played the Lancers into Portsmouth.

The Guards, those giants from the Metropolis, led by the Duke of Cambridge, marching with a contemptuous indifference to the bullets flying round them, were already in the river when the Highlanders, with their flowing tartans and nodding Highland bonnets, their faces aglow with the fierce joy of the warrior about to grapple with his foe, dashed into the river.

Moving more quickly and in perfect order, the Highlanders, with much less loss than the other regiments, gained the vineyard on the opposite bank, where, as they marched, they snatched handfuls of grapes to quench their burning thirst.

Having seen the division cross, Jack galloped off to find Lord Raglan and report. He put Dainty at the river at the spot where the staff-officer had crossed, and, penetrating into the Russian lines, he rode on, getting higher and higher, till presently, in front of him, he saw on a knoll commanding a view of the Russian army Lord Raglan and the headquarter staff. Just behind them were Cornet Leland and Pearson.

Jack galloped up and delivered his message. The one-armed veteran looked at the trumpeter. ‘I see them now advancing,’ he said, ‘and gallantly are they doing it.’ He again put his glasses to his eyes and looked over the field on which the battle raged.

Jack rejoined Cornet Leland and looked round him. He could see the massive column of Russians opposing the English advance, and behind them dense bodies of gray-coated reserves.

A French aide-de-camp came galloping up to Lord Raglan. ‘My lord, my lord!’ he cried in great agitation; ‘we are terribly outnumbered, we are surrounded, we are lost!’

Lord Raglan smiled in his courteous way. ‘I will spare you a battalion,’ he said; and gave the necessary order. He then gazed long at the Russian flank, suddenly exclaiming, ‘Now, if we had a couple of guns here!’

Cornet Leland heard the words, and, immediately saluting, he cried, ‘Will you allow me to carry the message for you, my lord?’

‘Certainly, and then rejoin your regiment with your men; the fewer mounted men here the less likely we shall be to attract attention.’

‘Follow me!’ cried Cornet Leland to Jack and Pearson, and immediately he galloped off.

On through the hail of bullets again, across the river, and away to where Turner’s battery of Horse Artillery were doing grand work. Cornet Leland explained what was wanted, and at once the battery started. At a gallop, which threatened to overturn the nine-pounders, they made for the ford across the river. On their way one of the wheelers was killed and the leading gun came to a halt. Instantly the traces were cut, and, leaving the dead horse, on they went again. It was a tremendous struggle to get the guns up the steep bank, Jack and the others dismounting and pulling round the spokes till the perspiration poured off the men. Then on again over the steep, rugged ground till they reached the knoll. Only two guns had arrived, and the gunners had been left behind. The officers dismounted, unlimbered, and laid the guns themselves.

They were pointed at the flank of the causeway batteries. The first shot failed, so did the second, but the third exploded right over the Russian battery and struck a tumbrel, which exploded with a tremendous roar. A few more shots followed, and then the Russians were seen limbering up and retiring.

‘Hurrah!’ cried several officers, ‘they are off!’

Cornet Leland and his men then departed to find their regiment. As they got near the great redoubt they saw the remnants of the gallant 7th Fusiliers still maintaining a great struggle with overwhelming masses of gray-coated infantrymen in glittering spiked helmets.

The great mass came slowly, very slowly, forward with levelled bayonets as though to charge; but the Fusiliers, in groups and clusters, with no sort of formation, kept firing into them, losing heavily themselves, but doing much more execution. The sight was so fascinating that the Lancers stayed to watch it—stayed till the heroic resolution of the Fusiliers infused such terror into the hearts of the stricken Russians that with a kind of wailing cry they broke and retired, but only to form again.

Farther on the Scots Fusilier Guards had advanced and been repulsed; the Grenadiers and Coldstreams, with a proud mien, were advancing, though they were being mowed down in long swathes. They literally staggered before the storm of shot, and an officer approaching Sir Colin Campbell said, ‘The brigade of Guards will be destroyed; ought it not to fall back?’

To which the stern old General replied, ‘It’s better, sir, that every man of her Majesty’s Guards should lie dead upon the field than that they should now turn their backs upon the enemy!’

There was no need for fear, however. The blood of the English was up; all they kept clamouring for was to be led forward.

The Grenadiers and Coldstreams engaged six battalions of the celebrated Vladimir and Kazan regiments, and after firing for some time advanced and with the bayonet-point put them to flight. The time for the Highlanders had arrived. Sir Colin said a few words. ‘Be steady!’ he cried; ‘fire low! Now, men, the army will watch us; make me proud of my Highland Brigade.’

Sir Colin rode in front of the 42nd. Before him was the redoubt from which the Light Division, spite of heroic resistance, had been driven. Heavy columns, till now hardly engaged, faced him. With three battalions Sir Colin was about to engage twelve.

Swiftly, almost silently, the Highlanders seemed to glide up the hill. Sir Colin’s charger was killed; he mounted another horse, and continued to lead his men. The advance was quickened, the men firing as they went; the columns swept on, the formation being echelon of regiments, the 42nd leading, the 93rd next, the 79th last.

Tremendous and ear-splitting volleys burst from the Highlanders and the Guards, very different from the sputtering fire maintained by the Light Division earlier in the day. The Russians seemed enveloped in fire, and ever the men in the bearskins and those in the tossing Highland bonnets advanced.

Presently they met, and Guards and Highlanders got to work with the bayonet. The Russians stood a minute; then, with another sorrowful wail like the cry of a strong man defeated, they broke and retired. A tremendous cheer burst from the hitherto silent Guards and Highlanders, the advantage was pressed hard, the retreat was turned into a rout, and the Russians ran, while a fury of lead poured into them and smote them down.

Meanwhile the two guns on the knoll with Lord Raglan had been augmented by a battery, and these opened a tremendous fire on the retreating Russians. Other batteries crossed the river, and frightful execution was done.

The heights of the Alma were won, the greatest battle since Waterloo had been fought, and the Allies were triumphant.

‘Hurrah, the day is ours!’ cried Cornet Leland; ‘let us rejoin our regiment.’ And putting spurs to their horses in ten minutes they were with the Light Cavalry Brigade.

One of the first to welcome Jack was Sergeant Barrymore, who, wet through as he was, had managed to rejoin his regiment. He was mounted on the horse of a trooper who had been wounded. A few words of congratulation passed, then the advance was sounded.

By squadrons the different regiments advanced, and increasing the pace to a trot they reached the crest of the hill in front of them. They were escorting a battery of artillery, which on mounting the crest opened fire on the retreating Russians. Numbers of stragglers, many of them officers of rank, were seen in the dip before them, and the ground being practicable for cavalry, Lord Lucan formed his squadrons into column and ordered them to pursue and capture as many as they could. The delighted troopers shot forward, and soon a good many prisoners were made.

Jack’s troop and a troop of the 11th Hussars came upon a large body of the defeated Vladimir regiment, covering the retreat of a number of officers, and, extraordinary sight, several carriages. With a shout the troopers charged forward, when the Russians delivered a volley which emptied one or two saddles; then the troopers were in amongst them; but there was no more fight left in the Russians, who immediately threw down their arms and surrendered.

Some score of Lancers and Hussars went off after the carriages, and several officers of rank were captured. Jack was passing on when he heard a piercing shriek, and, turning, beheld an extraordinary sight. A carriage drawn by four horses had been galloping off when some Hussars spurred after it, threatened the driver with their swords unless he stopped, and then dismounting had opened the carriage door.

A young, handsome girl, beautifully dressed, jumped from the carriage, when a Hussar, poking in his head, called to his comrade, and together they dragged out an officer in a gorgeous white uniform, over which he wore a silver cuirass. The officer, on being taken, had drawn a pistol and fired at the Hussar, who promptly raised his sword to run the Russian through. It was this which had caused the young lady to shriek.

Seeing what was happening, Jack made Dainty leap to the spot, and holding up his hand he cried out to the Hussar, ‘Don’t strike, man; don’t you see the Russian is wounded?’

‘He ain’t so badly wounded that he didn’t try to blow my head off!’ cried the Hussar, still angry.

The girl had seen Jack’s upraised hand, and without understanding what he said, guessed he was pleading for the Russian’s life.

‘Oh monsieur, monsieur!’ she cried in French, which language Jack spoke fluently—‘oh monsieur, save my brother!’ and she ran forward and clung to Jack’s stirrup.

‘I will try,’ said Jack, without looking at her; ‘but he must yield himself prisoner.’

Jack rode up to the officer, whom he now saw was very young, and cried, ‘Monsieur, deliver up your sword; you are my prisoner.’

‘I am wounded, as you see,’ said the officer with a slight curl of the lip, ‘or I would die rather than surrender.’

‘It is the fortune of war,’ said Jack, receiving the sword, which he handed to the Hussar, saying, ‘He is your prisoner, comrade.’

‘Keep him,’ said the Hussar; ‘I don’t want him.—Come on, Dick!’ he cried to his comrade. ‘Mount again; there’s plenty to be done yet!’ and away they went.

Jack had dismounted, and the girl threw herself at his feet, thanking him profusely.

‘Oh my brother would have been killed!’ she cried; ‘a thousand thanks, Monsieur le Soldat.’

Jack looked embarrassed. ‘Your brother is my prisoner,’ he said, ‘and I must take him to my officer; but you, mademoiselle, what are you doing here? You had better get into your carriage and depart. We do not make war on women.’

‘Oh monsieur, I came out with others from Sebastopol to see the battle. We were told the English and French would be driven into the sea. My brother was on the staff of Prince Mentschikoff, and he was shot through the leg. He is Count Pauloff, lieutenant in the Emperor’s Chevalier Guards. If he is prisoner I remain with him.’

‘That is so,’ said the officer, who was lying on the ground, raising himself on his elbow. ‘Irma will remain with me to nurse me.’

At that moment the trumpets were heard sounding the recall over and over again, and Jack, surprised, was about to obey.

‘I will help you back into your carriage,’ he said to Count Pauloff; ‘tell the driver to follow our troop.’ With the aid of the coachman the count was laid inside, when Sergeant Barrymore came riding up to Jack.

‘Mount and follow me, Blair,’ he said; ‘orders have been received that we retire at once. No prisoners are to be taken; all are to be released.’

‘But this chap is a count, and an A.D.C. to Prince Mentschikoff.’

‘Can’t help it if he’s the Emperor himself. Let him go and follow me.’

In a few words Jack explained to the astonished count that he was free, though the young officer could hardly believe it. He and his sister began to thank Jack most profusely, and would not allow him a minute in which to explain they had nothing to thank him for.

He was about to mount when the count tore a small gold cross from round his neck. ‘Keep this in remembrance of one who will be ever grateful to you,’ he said. ‘If ever it is in my power to repay you rely upon me,’ and he handed the cross to Jack.

As Jack took it the count seized his hand. ‘You are not an officer, I see,’ he said; ‘but you have the manners of a gentleman. Adieu, brave soldier! you should wear golden epaulets!’

Jack shut the door of the carriage, into which the lady had jumped, and the Russian driver, at a word from her, whipped up his horses and followed his countrymen, while Jack and Sergeant Barrymore trotted off to join their comrades.

The Russians fired one solitary gun, their cavalry made some show of covering their retreat, and the battle was ended.

Another honour had been added to Britain’s roll of glory!

CHAPTER XXVI.

JACK RECEIVES HIS FIRST STEP.

NIGHT had fallen upon the slopes of the Alma. The British army had encamped on the ground it had won, and hundreds of camp-fires flickered on the field.

Round one, Jack, Will, Sergeant Linham, Pearson, and Brandon were sitting. They were all moody and silent. A great battle had been fought, a great victory had been won; but there was no jubilation in their hearts.

Darkness fortunately hid from them the terrible sights by which they were surrounded, but it could not shut out the sounds. Groans and cries and moanings for water were heard from all sides, and the lanterns bobbing about in different parts of the field showed where the doctors and ambulance-men were busy. For hours Jack and Will had wandered over the field, taking water to the wounded and often helping to place some shattered hero in a more comfortable position till the doctors—or death—should come to him.

Later, they had eaten their ration of pork by the camp-fire, and now they sat gloomily looking into the flickering flames.

Pearson sucked moodily at his pipe. ‘Hearts will be sore in England when the news of this day’s work is known,’ he said presently.

‘Ay, and hearts will be glad,’ growled Sergeant Linham; ‘the cry of the orphans will be drowned in the shouts over the victory. And so it ought to be. We’re soldiers, aren’t we, and it’s our trade to kill or be killed? Our relations know this, and must expect some of us to go.’

‘That’s true,’ said Pearson.

‘And I want to know,’ said the sergeant, taking his pipe from his mouth—‘I want to know what difference does it make whether we go now, on the field of battle, or in a few years’ time in some hospital? Now, I want to know that.’

No one answered Linham, and, his beak-like nose looking more aggressive by the flickering light of the fire, he continued, ‘It’s better to die a soldier’s sudden death than to lie in bed for weeks like a mangy cur. A soldier’s death is a glorious one, though many a life was thrown away to-day.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Pearson.

‘Bad leading,’ said Linham solemnly; ‘we’ve been too long at peace. Our Generals are the bravest men on earth; but the way the poor Light Bobs were mishandled, charging up the hillside in a mob, and then left unsupported! Bah, we didn’t fight like that in India!’

Again there was a silence, so Sergeant Linham, knocking the ashes from his pipe, wrapped his cloak round him. ‘It would have been different if our old General that the colonel and I served under in India had been here. Now, I want to know what you think he’d ha’ done. I want—to—know’—— A faint snore finished the sentence. The sergeant had fallen asleep, an example which the others tried to follow; but they found it a difficult task.

Fresh to the horrors of warfare, they could not get the recollection of the terrible sights they had seen out of their minds, and when at last they did drop into fitful slumbers it was only to go through again in their dreams the terrors of the day. It was a positive relief to Jack when, long before dawn, reveille aroused him.

Orders were received that some squadrons of cavalry should at once try and get in touch again with the enemy and find out where he was and what he was doing. Without bite or sup the Lancers mounted and moved off in the darkness. The road was easy to follow. Arms, accoutrements, and dead or wounded men strewed the way. They had not got very far when daylight overtook them, and advancing with great caution they accelerated their pace.

Helmets, shakos, greatcoats, arms of every description littered the ground, and the practised eye of Captain Norreys told him that it had been a panic-stricken crowd which had passed along there a few hours before.

As the sun came out the men got cheerier and threw off something of the depression which seemed to have fallen upon them. They left the road and crossed the undulating grass-covered plains that led up to the heights. Several times during the early morning small parties of Cossacks had been seen; but these, on observing the British troops, turned and galloped off as if for their lives.

Presently the reconnoitring cavalry came in sight of the defeated Russian army, which had evidently encamped for the night on a river which the English afterwards found was named the Katcha. It was clear that the alarm had been given, for on the north side of the river cavalry and artillery could be seen trotting rapidly away, while strings of infantry and baggage all mixed up together streamed along after them. The troops still on the British side of the river were straining every effort to get across, for it was plain they imagined the handful of Lancers they saw was but the advanced guard of the British army.

On the little bridge a terrible jam had taken place. Men, horses, wagons were all mixed up in an inextricable mass, and it was clear to Jack that the army beneath him was only a panic-stricken mob. Men could be seen using whips, officers the flats of their swords, while a confused murmur of voices ascended to the hills. Hundreds of Russians, throwing away the heaviest part of their kit, could be seen dashing into the river and wading across, joining their countrymen on the other side in their mad rush for Sebastopol. The Alma had been a terrible lesson!

Captain Norreys with one or two other officers dismounted and surveyed the scene through their glasses.

Jack was holding their horses.

His captain looked long and earnestly at the scene below him, then said in regretful tones, ‘What a mistake we’re making, lying inactive on the Alma with a beaten foe but a few miles from us! With a dozen squadrons and a horse-battery I’d engage that not one of those Russians ever entered Sebastopol.’

The reconnoitring party ate the rations they had with them, and, having seen the last of the Russians cross the bridge, returned to their camp. They found every one available busy tending the wounded and burying the dead—English, French, and Russian—and a melancholy task it was. In the battle fell 5709 Russians, 2002 British, and 560 French. As Jack rode over the battlefield he closed his eyes to shut out the terrible sights.

The sailors from the vessels were invaluable, and handled the wounded with all the gentleness of women. Many of the poor fellows had to be carried fully four miles to the shore; but despite that more than a thousand were got aboard.

In regimental orders that day there were several surprises for Jack. He found he was promoted corporal ‘for distinguished service rendered at the skirmish on the Bulganak,’ and Sergeant Linham was to be ‘acting trumpet-major,’ while Trumpet-major Joyce was named as orderly to Lord Raglan.

This was very pleasant news to Jack, and that day he took an opportunity of sending home a few lines; telling his mother of the battle and assuring her of his safety, informing her of his promotion but making no mention of the gallant deed by which he had earned it. ‘It’s the first step on the ladder,’ said Jack to himself that night as he surveyed his corporal’s stripes. ‘If ever I live to get home I hope to add a third stripe to these two.’

CHAPTER XXVII.

LARRY AND JACK MAKE A DISCOVERY.

JACK was heartily glad when, on the third day after the battle, the dead having been buried and the wounded conveyed aboard ship, the forward march was continued.

There had been delays, caused partly by the unreadiness of the French, and partly by the vacillating policy of Marshal St Arnaud, the French commander, a conceited man of mediocre ability, who was even then, poor fellow, dying of disease.

Jack’s officer, Captain Norreys, had been appointed on Lord Lucan’s staff, much to the regret of the troop, who regarded him with the greatest confidence and respect.

‘I’m glad to leave that battlefield behind,’ said Jack to Linham as they rode along.

‘Leave that behind to find another,’ growled the sergeant, who was not in the best of humours; ‘and mayhap the next you won’t leave behind. You’ll stay on it, or under it.’

Without seeing an enemy, the cavalry descended to the valley of the Katcha, where they had seen the panic-stricken troops from the Alma, and there they halted. The village was extremely pretty; the homely, vine-clad cottages had gardens then full of bloom in front and rear; well-filled orchards adjoined the gardens, and the troopers ate their fill of grapes, pears, peaches, and apricots. On entering the cottages, signs of Russian barbarity were met on all sides—furniture smashed, pictures slashed and ripped, boxes and cupboards ransacked, and so on.

The main body of the British army bivouacked that night on the Katcha; but the cavalry pushed on five miles farther, to the Belbeck, where they passed the night more or less uncomfortably, having to stand to their horses for two hours owing to a false alarm.

In the morning it was found that several of the Hussars’ horses had broken away from their lines, and these had doubtless been the cause of the alarm. Soon after daylight an officer arrived from Lord Raglan, and he and Lord Lucan remained some time in conversation.

Then the cavalry started upon that daring ‘flank march’ which the ineptitude of the dying French commander-in-chief had almost forced Lord Raglan to adopt. The advance was led by an experienced officer said to know the country. A horse-battery and a battalion of Rifles accompanied the cavalry, who marched with flankers thrown out. On account of having to keep pace with the Rifles the advance was very slow, the road, which was bad and often exceedingly steep, leading through a dense forest. A narrow lane was supposed to lead to a spot known as Mackenzie’s Farm, and this lane was to be left for the artillery and cavalry, the infantry forcing their way in any sort of order through the forest.

The men were in high spirits and laughed and chatted gaily as they rode along, chaffing the sturdy Rifles and bidding them ‘put their best leg foremost.’ After a march of some miles a halt was made, and Jack, who with his troop was near the head of the column, saw a staff-officer and several of the 8th Hussars busy talking together. The lane branched into two parts, one going straight on, the other going to the right.

‘Ha, hum!’ snorted Sergeant Linham, ‘come to a stop I suppose. I’ll bet they don’t know which road to take.’

This seemed to be the case, for the staff-officer was seen to gallop along one branch, being absent some time. When he returned more talk ensued, and then the troops were put in motion again, going straight on. The horse artillery, however, being some distance in the rear, did not advance along the same lane as the cavalry, but followed the other, and, as it turned out, the correct one.

The road the cavalry was pursuing got narrower and more rutty as they advanced through densely wooded country, and presently a trumpet rang out the halt.

‘What’s up, I wonder?’ said Jack to Pearson. ‘We can’t have lost our way, can we?’

‘We can do anything,’ said Sergeant Linham, riding up. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if we were to come plump upon the Russian cavalry just by accident like—ha, hum! Now, I want to know what’s the use of’——

‘D Troop, prepare to dismount! Dismount!’ cried Cornet Leland; and the men gladly availed themselves of the opportunity of stretching their legs.

Larry, whose troop of the 8th was not far behind Jack’s, came up to seek his friend.

‘Bedad, we seem to be playing a game of hide-and-seek,’ he said. ‘It’s thinking I am that a bite and a sup would be welcome now.’

‘True enough, Larry; but I’ve only half a biscuit left, and my water-bottle’s empty,’ said Jack.

‘Ditto for me,’ said Larry.

The men were told they could ‘stand easy,’ and several wandered off a little way among the trees. Larry and Jack walked towards a spot where wild-flowers were growing in great luxuriance; and, plucking some of these, they wandered farther on till they had got some distance from their regiments.

Presently they came in sight of two tall pine-trees with thin trunks, and they looked at these, then at each other, then both burst out laughing.

‘Bedad, I wonder whether yer thoughts is the same as mine?’ laughed Larry.

‘I was thinking it was years since I climbed a tree,’ said Jack.

‘And never since I left the dear ould counthry have I rivalled the monkeys,’ said the impetuous Irishman. ‘Jack darlint, I’ll race yez up to the top, and the last one up shall stand the other a dhrink of porter the first toime we ever set foot in a canteen again.’

‘Done!’ said Jack, and in a few moments Lancer and Hussar had doffed headdress, sword, and instruments, and were climbing for dear life.

Larry went up as nimbly as a monkey, and out-stripped Jack.

‘Hurroo,’ he cried, ‘I’ve beaten yez!’

‘You have, Larry,’ panted Jack; ‘I give you best. But what a fine view we can get from here! Why, there’s the edge of the forest, and the road, and’——

‘Howly Moses, look there to yer left!’ cried Larry, almost dropping from his perch in his excitement.

‘Russians and baggage!’ gasped Jack, as he gazed down into the road on which Larry’s eyes were fixed.

There, sure enough, was a long line of wagons, all

‘Howly Moses, look there to yer left!’ cried Larry.

standing still, the drivers dozing on their seats, while the escort, a battalion of foot Cossacks, were sitting beside the road chatting, or strolling listlessly to and fro.

The lads descended to the ground and looked at one another with astonished faces.

‘Larry, we’ve made a discovery,’ said Jack. ‘We must get back and bring our fellows down; those wagons must be captured.’

The trumpeters turned and ran back at top speed, till they suddenly emerged from between the trees and almost ran into two mounted Hussar officers.

‘Bedad, it’s the colonel,’ said Larry.

‘You young scoundrels, what’s the meaning of this?’ cried Larry’s colonel, who was something of a martinet.

Larry gave a picturesque account of what had happened, when the Hussar colonel first ripped out a very strong expression, then, as though seized with a sudden idea, said to his fellow-officer, ‘Major, this confounded losing our way may turn out to our advantage after all. The artillery can’t be far off; if we could find them we’d ride down, attack the column, and capture the convoy. Ride like fury to Lord Lucan and tell him what’s happened.’

The major dashed off.

‘I suppose there is no mistake about this, O’Callaghan?’ said the colonel sternly.

‘On me honour, colonel, I saw ’em wid me very own eyes.’

‘If you’ve made a mistake, you scoundrel, I’ll try you by court-martial,’ said the colonel. ‘You’d better both mount and scour round to see if you can find the artillery. They must have kept to the left-hand road when we took the right, and they can’t be far off. If you find them tell the officer in command to follow us as quickly as he can. Failing that, rejoin your regiments, or any of the other parties who are searching the forest for the road we ought to have followed.’

Jack and Larry at once mounted and spurred off. Jack, who had a very good idea of localities, struck away to the left. They rode sharply for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, then they heard a rumble of wheels.

‘That sounds like guns,’ cried Larry.

‘We’ll soon see,’ said Jack, and he slid from Dainty and laid his ear against the ground.

‘You’re right, Larry,’ he said; ‘it is guns. Away we go.’

They went at a trot, the sound, however, having stopped. Presently they saw by the increasing light in front of them that they were nearing a road. They heard voices, spurred forward, and in a few seconds were in the lane.

‘It’s the guns,’ said Jack; ‘the officer in command will be near the head of the column.’

He turned into the narrow lane, when he saw a group of officers, not in the blue-and-gold of the artillery, but in scarlet and cocked hats.

‘The staff, by all that’s howly!’ murmured Larry.

‘Lord Raglan himself,’ said Jack in hardly audible tones, fixing his eyes on a white-haired, one-armed man dressed in a blue frock, who with no very pleased expression on his face rode in the centre of a group of officers.

The trumpeters sat rigidly in their saddles, and dropped their right hands behind their thighs in salute.

‘Where do you come from and where are your regiments?’ asked the commander-in-chief sternly, and by these words the youths knew that the great man was exceedingly displeased.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

LARRY WINS DISTINCTION.

LARRY O’CALLAGHAN ventured to reply, ‘Plase, yer honour—I mane me lordship—we’re lookin’ for the artillery.’

‘By whose orders?’

‘The colonel’s, yer honour.’

‘Explain this. Where is your regiment?’

‘Comin’ on, me lord. There’s a convoy of Rooshians ahead, an’ we’re goin’ to cut ’em to pieces, an’——

‘I know all about the convoy. Ride off to your regiments as hard as you can and guide them here. I will hear your explanations later.—Captain Wilson, gallop back and fetch up my escort of Hussars.’

Without waiting for another word, the trumpeters turned their horses’ heads and re-entered the forest.

‘His lordship’s in a rage,’ said Jack, as he and Larry went back as hard as they could towards the cavalry column.

‘An’ our officers’ll get a rap over the knuckles for this, I’m thinkin’,’ said Larry.

‘We’ll hurry ’em up,’ said Jack, and seizing his bugle he sounded his regimental call several times.

Larry sounded as well, and soon an answering call showed their comrades were near. Presently Lord Cardigan and a group of officers, Lancers and Hussars, came in sight.

‘This way, colonel,’ said Larry; ‘Lord Raglan’s in a tearin’ rage,’ and, turning his horse, he led the way.

They entered the lane, and in single file (for the way was not wide enough to admit of more) they galloped on.

They came up with Lord Raglan. ‘You’re late, my lord,’ he said coldly to Lord Cardigan. ‘Come on;’ and he and his staff galloped on with the group.

They soon came to the end of the lane, and then formed themselves on the highroad, down which they went. There, a little distance along, they saw the amazed Russians who were escorting the convoy.

The little party of officers and the two trumpeters, drawing their swords, galloped forward. A score of Cossack infantrymen formed together and fired a volley; but the bullets flew high, and in another moment the cavalry were among them, cutting them down. The drivers whipped up their horses and tried to escape, but Lord Raglan’s escort and straggling Lancers and Hussars came galloping down the road.

The leading guns of Captain Maude’s battery had also emerged from the lane, unlimbered, and opened fire on the head of the column, which had the effect of stopping the flight. The infantrymen flung down their arms and surrendered, the mounted men fled, and in five minutes the convoy was in the hands of the English. The battalion of Rifles came up, and a few volleys accelerated the retreat of the Russians, who seemed only too glad to get off with their lives without troubling about their property.

The spoil of the captured wagons was given over to the soldiers, and a wild scene of plunder took place. The carts were unloaded and the contents tumbled out on to the road. Boxes were broken open, cases smashed, portmanteaus slashed up, and an immense quantity of clothing belonging to the officers of the Saxe-Weimar Hussars was found. Amongst the spoil were shirts, boots, dressing-cases, valuables, an enormous number of fine blue cloth silver-laced jackets and some fur-lined coats; also many cases of preserved meats and fruits, champagne, spirits; a military chest containing some thousands of roubles; and an immense quantity of ammunition.

Lancers, Hussars, Dragoons, artillerymen, Rifles, all were busy. Some secured valuable watches, others articles of attire, some were eating and drinking, and altogether it was a wonderful sight; the men as they came out of the woods on to the road eagerly rushing up for their share of the spoil.

Jack at first stood aloof; but an artilleryman handing him a bottle of champagne, he knocked off the neck with his sword, and calling to Larry, who was enjoying himself immensely, said, ‘Here, Larry, I’ll pay you that drink I lost; we shall never get tipple like this in the canteen.’

‘Shure, Jack, you’re the bhoy for me,’ cried Larry, staggering up under a load of fine linen shirts.

Just then Sergeant Linham and Will came by, and joined Jack and Larry.

The champagne finished, the sergeant went to work, and did not desist till he had secured a good bundle of spoil, amongst which was a magnificent gold watch.

Jack gave a man of the Rifles half-a-sovereign for a splendid fur-lined coat and pair of high boots, and later on he picked up a Hussar officer’s jacket which had been thrown down in the road. The latter he gave to Larry for a couple of shirts which he sadly needed, and then he sat down to watch the fun. In an hour’s time nothing was left of the booty except broken boxes and empty hampers.

While they were still halting a staff-officer came riding along, and seeing a number of the 8th Hussars, asked a man if he knew which was the trumpeter who had ridden up to Lord Raglan in the lane. Larry was pointed out to him, when he said, ‘There was a trumpeter of the 17th with you. I want him too.’

‘Come on, Jack,’ said Larry dolefully; ‘we’re in for it. I thought this bit of luck was too good to last.’

The two trumpeters, feeling horribly nervous and guilty, marched behind the staff-officer up towards Mackenzie’s Farm, where Lord Raglan was. They found the old Peninsular veteran smiling graciously as he talked to a number of officers, among whom were Larry’s colonel and Lord Cardigan.

Jack and Larry saluted, when Lord Raglan said to the latter in his kind tones, ‘Colonel Powell tells me it was you who first discovered the Russian convoy.’

‘Shure, yer lordship, it was as much Jack Blair here, of the 17th, as me.’

‘Tell us the circumstances,’ said Lord Raglan; and Larry, in a rich brogue and in a fashion which made several officers hide their mouths behind their hands, gave an account of their proceedings.

Lord Raglan did not smile; but when Larry had finished he said, ‘How long have you been in the service, O’Callaghan?’

‘Four years, me lord, and me father was trumpet-major of the 8th before me, and his father sarved in the Peninsula under the Iron Dook.’

At mention of the great Duke Lord Raglan’s face lighted up.

‘O’Callaghan,’ he said, ‘you have rendered an important service. By chance I had myself discovered the convoy; but through the cavalry having gone astray I might not have been able to capture it had they not, thanks to you, been coming this way towards the guns. Colonel Powell gives you an excellent character, and at my suggestion he has promoted you to the rank of sergeant. You will be appointed his orderly trumpeter.’ Then, turning to Jack, he said, ‘Of you, Blair, I have heard before. You are the same who gallantly rescued a comrade in the affair on the Bulganak, are you not?’

‘I did my best for him, my lord.’

‘You succeeded, for I have heard from your regimental doctor that he is doing well. I shall not forget you. Now you may both go.’

The delighted trumpeters rejoined their comrades, and their news was received with great satisfaction, for both were deservedly popular in their regiments.

‘A sargint,’ cried Larry to Jack, ‘an’ orderly to the colonel! Faix, the ould dad’ll burst hisself wid joy.’

The march was soon continued, the men being in most excellent spirits. Later on in the day they passed Sebastopol, which they saw on their right. None who then gazed on the fortifications ever dreamed of the many, many weary months that would elapse, of the untold sufferings they would have to endure, of the titanic struggle that would take place on the very plain they were then crossing, or of the thousands of lives that would be lost ere the British flag waved over that grim fortress. The troops made a tremendous march; never halting till, after sunset, they reached the little hamlet of Tractir on the Tchernaya, where they halted for the night.

The next morning the march was resumed, and, crossing the Tchernaya, the column, led by Lord Raglan, descended into the plain. They marched on, with only one trifling hindrance from an old castle which stood on the heights, mounting a few old guns. The place was summoned, and at once surrendered, when the troops took possession of it, and then marched at once upon Balaclava.

The thunder from guns in the little harbour announced the fact that the fleet had arrived, and the water was soon covered with British boats as the town was filled with British soldiers. The cavalry were encamped outside the town, the infantry being accommodated in and around the place.

All that day and the next stragglers kept coming in, till General Cathcart arriving safely with the rear-guard completed the success of the famous ‘flank march.’

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE.

BALACLAVA itself Jack found but a small, uninteresting place; but the harbour was remarkable, insomuch that looking down upon it from the precipitous hills by which it was surrounded, it looked like a small mountain-lake, the entrance being completely masked by a projecting headland. A vessel might sail past the entrance a hundred times without suspecting the existence of a harbour. Once inside, however, the biggest vessels could ride securely at anchor within a stone’s-throw of the shore, which rose abruptly from the water’s edge, leaving only a narrow ledge on which the town was built.

The little valley leading from the plain to the head of the harbour was full of gardens, vineyards, and orchards. The streets of the town itself were narrow and crooked; the houses built of loose stones, with wooden verandas and balconies. There were, however, one or two public buildings which were soon turned to account as hospitals and so on.

The town of Sebastopol seemed to lie at the feet of the Allies, and many wondered why they did not walk in and drive out the Russian garrison; but these forgot that the town was dominated by the forts and by the ships in the harbour, and that although the Allies might get in easily enough they would be unable to remain there.

The rumours of carrying the place by assault soon died away, and it became evident that a siege was intended, though the place could not be completely invested. The task of landing siege-trains and stores was begun, and these had to be hauled up six or seven miles from Balaclava to the front. There was an almost utter absence of wagons or horses, and every old ammunition-cart and beast capable of work was pressed into the service.

From the fleet large numbers of sailors were landed, and these, with the reckless jollity and hearty go that distinguish sailors, dragged their great guns up into the batteries that were being formed. Often the ship’s fiddler would sit astride the gun as his messmates hauled on to the ropes, and to some chanty, with many strange phrases and nautical expressions, dragged their guns along at a great pace. The infantry regiments were assigned to their different positions, and early in October the first trenches were opened.

The Russians began to regain something of their confidence, and made several sorties at night, in some of which they achieved a measure of success.

Jack was kept busy with his regiment, amongst which, as amongst the rest of the army, cholera was still raging and claiming many victims.

Enormous exertions were made by the French and British, and by the middle of October they had between them a hundred and twenty-six pieces of artillery in position.

On the morning of the 17th, while Jack and his comrades were ‘standing to their horses’ as usual an hour before daybreak, with an absolutely deafening roar the French and English batteries opened fire. The first great bombardment had begun. Every now and then a sixty-eight pound shot came plump down into the ground just behind the cavalry, who were presently dismissed to their lines.

After breakfast Jack was sent with a letter to the officer commanding Lord Raglan’s escort. The commander-in-chief had left Balaclava and taken up his quarters in a snug farmhouse surrounded by vineyards and outbuildings, and situated about four miles from the town. Jack, having delivered his letter, was told to wait, which he was very willing to do, for he got a splendid view of the bombardment. He could see the Lancaster and the mortar batteries in the right and left attacks, and the French away on the left. The Russian gunners were plainly visible in their batteries, and they were maintaining a tremendous fire; while, from the harbour, shot and shell from the six hundred pieces of cannon on the French and English fleets poured in their fire upon Sebastopol.

The sight was grand—magnificent; the noise simply appalling. It seemed as if Sebastopol must crumble into dust beneath the fury of shot hurled into it; but although nine batteries were destroyed the enemy still kept up a powerful resistance.

Presently the fire, as though by mutual consent, slackened on both sides; then it broke out again with renewed fury. Suddenly a tremendous explosion took place in one of the French batteries. Guns, carriages, parts of the embrasures, and upwards of a hundred men were blown to fragments. A magazine had been exploded. The Russians yelled with joy, and could be seen jumping on to their parapets, waving rammers in the air. The fire of the English batteries, though, soon gave them something else to think about; but the fire of the French batteries slackened and soon their guns were almost silent. The French men-of-war, however, fired more furiously than ever, and so it went on till towards midday a second magazine was exploded in the French lines.

Soon afterwards a tremendous explosion took place in the centre of Sebastopol, doing immense damage, and later on the Redan was almost shattered by a similar explosion, and so the awful duel went on till night, when both sides ceased from sheer weariness.

The Allies had a loss together of about three hundred men, but they did infinitely greater damage to the Russians, amongst others killing their gallant defender, Korniloff. After that, day by day, an almost incessant duel was kept up, the big guns roaring and thundering from morning till night. Men were killed in the batteries and in the trenches daily, the latter being most difficult to dig in the hard, stony ground. The earth for gabions and sandbags had to be carried from a distance in baskets to the place required, an arduous and dangerous work.

But more deadly by far than the shot and shell of the enemy were the ravages of the cholera, and in the first three weeks before Sebastopol the army lost more men and officers than had fallen at the Alma—a terrible toll.[4] Balaclava was crowded with invalids; hundreds were sent away daily to Scutari; yet more and more came, till they had to be left dying in the streets for want of accommodation.

Among the victims was St Arnaud, the French commander-in-chief, who was succeeded by General Canrobert, a much abler man.

The ‘Death or Glory Boys’ suffered with the others, and the regiment was only a shadow of its former self. Captain Norreys being on the staff, and Major Willett ill at Balaclava, Captain Wintle was in command.

‘What’s the use,’ growled Linham one morning when, after the usual hour of standing under arms, the cavalry had been dismissed for breakfast—‘what’s the use of bringing cavalry to a place like this I want to know?’

‘Just to give you something to grumble at, Jimmy,’ said Sergeant Barrymore.

‘Well, I’ve got cause enough here,’ said Linham. ‘Seven months’ campaigning, and never anything for us to do that a militiaman on a donkey couldn’t have done as well. Sent to the most unhealthy places they could find, and, to wind up with, a prospect of winter under canvas in a hole like this with nothing to do but escort sick and wounded or haul stores up from Balaclava. What’s the use of cavalry here, that’s what I want to know.’

‘Never mind, sergeant, I’ll get you a cup of coffee made directly,’ said Jack as he unsaddled Dainty.

‘And I’ll grub about for a bit of wood,’ said Will; ‘that commodity is getting uncommonly scarce.’

Jack took a pail and went off to the river for the water. Several others were bent on the same errand, and all had filled their buckets and were on their way back to the camp when suddenly there was a shrill, horrible screaming overhead, and something fell with a crash just in front of them.

‘Shell! Down all of you!’ cried a man of the 11th Hussars; and Jack threw himself flat on his face.

In an instant there was a blinding flash, a terrific roar, and the earth seemed almost to quake. For a few seconds no one moved; then, half-dazed, they raised up their heads and slowly got on their feet. Jack found he was drenched with water from his pail and covered with earth, otherwise he was not hurt, nor were any of the others; but his pail had disappeared, having been blown clean away. In front of them was a hole big enough to have buried a horse in.

‘That was a close call,’ said the man of the 11th Hussars.

‘A bit too close,’ said Jack; ‘but I must have some water. Will any one lend me enough from his pail to fill our pot?’

‘Come back with me and help to fill mine again, chum,’ said the Hussar, ‘and I’ll give you some out of it.’

Jack’s pot was thus filled, and presently he sat down beside the fire Will had managed to make, and thought for a moment over his escape.

‘What’s up, Jack? You look as solemn as if you were going to your own funeral,’ said Will, who was trying to roast some green coffee-berries on a mess-tin.

‘I did jolly nearly go just now,’ said Jack; and he related what had happened.

‘Whew!’ whistled Will, ‘that’s too near to be pleasant. I thought I heard a shell pass pretty close. But give me a hand with the grinding, will you?’

The scorched berries were put into a piece of an old exploded five-inch shell, and then with a couple of nine-pounder balls the trumpeters crushed them up, finally emptying them into the pot when the water boiled. They at last succeeded in making a greasy sort of browny-coloured liquid, having fragments of berries floating about on the top of it, and this, with some hard biscuit, was to form their breakfast.

They had hardly, however, tasted this beverage, which, poor stuff that it was, was more than welcome, when bang! bang! rang out a couple of carbines.

All jumped to their feet, and Pearson, looking down the valley, said, ‘There’s something up, the vedettes are retiring and circling left, and here comes an orderly.’

A Dragoon was seen coming towards the light cavalry camp at full gallop; then the trumpets in the heavy cavalry camp were heard sounding boot-and-saddle, and the Scots Greys with a troop of horse artillery were seen galloping to the front.

The guns in the Turkish redoubts opened fire and the trumpets of the light cavalry sounded boot-and-saddle.

Jack and Will took up the call, and in a few minutes Lancers and Hussars were trotting down the valley, leaving their breakfast behind them.

When they arrived at the Turkish redoubts it was seen that a large body of Russian infantry had debouched from the ravine and taken up a position some two thousand yards away on the left front. Cossacks appeared on the ridges, and it seemed as if an advance were intended. A couple of hours passed however, and nothing further happened, then the English cavalry returned, all but one regiment which remained watching the enemy, being relieved in a couple of hours by another one.

Sergeant Linham cursed the Russians most heartily. ‘It’s just one of their dirty tricks,’ he said, ‘to keep us hanging about in the saddle for two or three hours, cold and starving, then to draw off, doing nothing.’

At night the watch-fires of the Russians could be plainly seen, and the cavalry were kept under arms; but in the morning the enemy had entirely disappeared, a fact about which there were a good many things Sergeant Linham ‘wanted to know.’

CHAPTER XXX.

A NIGHT ON VEDETTE DUTY.

DURING the next few days the enemy kept pretty quiet, and on the night of the 24th Jack’s troop mounted picket for vedette duty at No. 1 Turkish Redoubt. In the evening rain set in, and it poured down for hours. There was an old wagon-shed at the back of the redoubt which was used as a picket-house by the men on guard, and while there they were fairly comfortable.

Sergeant Barrymore, Jack, Brandon, Pearson, and the others of the relief, wrapped in their cloaks, were huddling round the fire and blessing their luck in being out on such a nasty night, when a jingle of spurs was heard and a rough voice cried, ‘Ha, hum! not much trouble to surprise this picket, I’m thinking;’ and Sergeant Linham stepped into the circle of firelight.

‘Hallo, Jim!’ said Barrymore, ‘what brings you here?’

‘First, my legs; second, I’m not feeling sleepy; third, I got a bottle of rum down in Balaclava to-day from a friend of mine in the commissariat; so I thought a tot round would be welcome to you.’

‘Forward, true friend and comrade,’ said Brandon, ‘for has it not been written: “Wine maketh glad the heart of man”?’

‘You’ve got a quotation for everything, Frank?’ said Pearson; ‘you’re like an encyclopædia with the covers off.’

‘Compliments fly when friends meet’ replied Brandon.

‘Blair, throw on another handful of roots and put the pot on,’ said Barrymore to Jack.—‘And, Jimmy, sit down by me and uncork your bottle.’

Soon each man had a steaming pannikin of rum in his hand.

Brandon sipped his, saying:

‘I am no orator, as Brutus is,
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man;

so in a few words I give you the health of Sergeant Linham who, “For love of friends that distant be,” has heart enough to walk a mile on such a vile night as this to bring his friends a cheering cup.’

‘Frank, why on earth did you enlist?’ asked Pearson. ‘With your education and talents I should have thought you would have found life easier as an actor, for which life you seem entirely fitted, than as a private of Lancers, risking his life every minute of the day in the Crimea for a shilling a day.’

‘A fancy, Pearson—a fancy—the love of glittering mail and martial glory.’

Whenever Brandon was asked a question he did not care about answering he always turned it aside in some jesting manner, or gave the conversation another turn. Looking at the buttons on the sleeve of his tunic, he said, ‘Who on earth gave the regiment this gruesome badge of grinning skull and becrossed shin-bones?’

‘That I can tell you,’ replied Barrymore. ‘The regiment was raised by one John Hale, colonel of the 47th Foot. He was the officer who brought home the news of Wolfe’s victory at Quebec and of his death. To commemorate the latter, the 17th were raised, and in his memory the skull and cross-bones was made the badge of the regiment. It was at first worn on the left breast of the scarlet tunic, and though the uniform has been several times changed the badge has always remained the same.’

Reference to the grim regimental badge seemed to have a depressing effect on Brandon, who lapsed into silence.

Presently Linham went off back to his tent, and one or two of the men round the fire dozed off.

Brandon—who half-sat, half-lay on the ground beside Jack—fell into a fitful slumber, but presently started in his sleep and muttered, ‘Skull and cross-bones—good badge—nothing to live for—I will go’—— He turned uneasily; then added, ‘All skeletons’—— when the voice of Barrymore, bidding the next relief mount, roused him up.

The men departed, and the relieved men came in reporting all quiet. The night passed, the rain leaving off and the moon coming out. Presently the cold, gray dawn broke, and Jack was just off to try and find some more wood for the fire when, looking up, he chanced to glance across to the height on his right, known as Canrobert’s Hill. Instantly he noticed that instead of one there were two flags flying.

‘Hallo, sergeant, I wonder what that means?’ he asked of Barrymore.

‘Danger, Jack; look at the vedettes.’ And Jack, looking, saw that they were ‘circling right and left at a trot,’ thus signalling the advance of both cavalry and infantry, and at a quick pace.

‘Sound the alarm,’ said Barry more to Jack; and the men sprang to their horses.

‘Look over towards the second redoubt!’ cried Pearson; ‘there’s some of the staff, I can see the cocked hats.’

‘If there’s going to be a scrimmage we must be in it,’ said Barry more joyfully; ‘we’ve heard enough about being do-nothings. If we get a chance to-day we’ll show ’em.’

‘I hope to goodness we do!’ cried half-a-dozen grimly eager voices behind him.

Just then the boom of a twelve-pounder gun in the redoubt before them rang out. It was the warning note, announcing, though no one knew it then, that the day of the cavalry had arrived. It was the morn of Balaclava!

CHAPTER XXXI.

‘THE THIN RED LINE.’

THE booming of that first gun from Redoubt No. 1 was the opening note heralding in a day that will live long in the history of Britain. The first report was followed quickly by others, both from the first and other redoubts, and the vedettes came in at a smart trot.

An enormous force of Russians, horse, foot, and artillery, was advancing upon Balaclava, they said. After events showed that twenty-five battalions, thirty-four squadrons, and seventy-eight guns, nearly twenty-five thousand men in all, was the actual number.

The guns from the Turkish redoubts were quickly replied to by a tremendous fire from several Russian batteries. The picket was ordered to fall back towards the camp.

The whole of the Light Brigade had stood to their horses an hour before daybreak as usual, and had just received the command, ‘File to your lines!’ when the guns of No. 1 Redoubt opened fire. They immediately received orders to mount and advance, meeting Jack’s troop on their way. The whole were then halted with a troop of horse artillery, just to the right of No. 3 Redoubt, under the southern slopes of the Causeway Heights. Here they got a good view of what was going on.

On their right front dense masses of Russians, having silenced with their artillery the guns in No. 1 Redoubt, were advancing to the attack, while other columns were preparing to storm Canrobert’s Hill. On their right flank was Balaclava, the slight defence in front of it being held by the Royal Marines, a hill to the left of Kadikoi being crested by Sir Colin Campbell with the 93rd Highlanders. The heavy cavalry was on the right of the Light Brigade. The Fedioukine Hills on the left front, across the Woronzoff Road, were crowded with Russian infantry and cavalry, while Lord Raglan with his staff had taken up a position to the left rear on the Sapoune Ridge.

Jack had hardly time to take in all these details when a sort of guttural yell in front, accompanied by crashing volleys of musketry, announced the fact that the Russian infantry were attacking the redoubt.

Captain Maude’s troop of horse artillery opened fire on the Russians and maintained it for some time. Presently the Lancers saw on their flank a stretcher being carried by. On it, horribly wounded, lay the gallant Captain Maude. Soon the ammunition of the horse battery was exhausted, and it had to retire till the ammunition wagons should arrive.

By that time the Russians were swarming across the ditch and over the feeble parapet of No. 1 Redoubt. The Russians outnumbered the Turks by ten to one, yet the latter maintained an obstinate bayonet-fight until sheer weight of numbers crushed the Turks and they fled, or at least about a third of them did. Two-thirds they left dead—for the Russians could be depended upon to slay all the wounded—in the fort behind them.

‘By George, the Bono Johnnies are running!’ exclaimed Pearson; ‘they’ve bolted.’

‘Ha, hum! they won’t bolt far,’ said Sergeant Linham grimly; and as he spoke the Russian artillery opened on them; then a cloud of Cossacks pursued them and speared many a hapless Moslem.

Jack bit his lip. ‘It’s galling to sit here and see one’s allies butchered before one’s face,’ he said. ‘Why don’t they let us go out and cover the retreat of these poor wretches?’

‘We should be simply eaten up,’ replied Linham; ‘look at the enormous masses of cavalry advancing.’

‘Besides, why should we bother about these cowardly Turks?’ said Pearson. ‘Why don’t they stick to their guns?’

‘They’ve stuck pretty well to ’em, I think,’ replied Linham. ‘They fought till it was quite clear we either could not or would not support them, and to have stopped longer would have been sheer madness.’

An enormous body of cavalry advanced down the valley, covering the advance of seven battalions and several batteries. These latter soon opened fire on the other forts, the guns from the captured No. 1 Redoubt being directed against No. 2.

The Turks, realising that the English cavalry was unable to support them, did not wait for the attack which the Russian infantry was seen to be preparing to make upon them, and were soon scuttling out of the forts and retreating towards Balaclava. The Light Brigade was advanced to cover their retreat.

‘They don’t seem inclined to make much of a fight of it,’ said Jack to Pearson.

‘No, the fate of their comrades in No. 1 Fort seems to have given ’em the funks. They’ve actually deserted the guns, and left their colours too.’

‘They seem more anxious about their personal belongings than anything else,’ said Jack; ‘just look at the beggars, surely those are pots and pans some of them are carrying.’

‘So it is,’ laughed Brandon; ‘and look at that white-bearded old sinner, he’s actually carrying a bed on his back.’

This was the case, and the Turks began to pour from the forts towards the English cavalry, many crying loudly, ‘Ship, ship!’

‘I’ll give yez ship, ye dhirty blackguards,’ cried an Irish trooper of the 8th Hussars, belabouring with the flat of his sword a man who ran past him crying loudly, his frying-pan and pot banging and jangling behind him.

Most of the Englishmen, however, only laughed at the flying Turks.

One of the last to leave the redoubts was an English artilleryman who had been detailed to show the Turks how to use the guns. He had a narrow escape of his life from the enemy’s cavalry, and as he ran towards a few men of Jack’s troop who had been sent out to cover his retreat he panted, ‘The Bono Johnnies left me in the lurch. Anyhow, the guns of No. 4 Fort won’t be turned against you, for I spiked ’em before I left.’

Had the Turks spiked the other guns before they bolted it would have saved much unnecessary loss of life and have robbed the Russians of much of their vaunted victory when, next day, they paraded the captured guns in Sebastopol.

The flight of the Turks was ultimately arrested, and they were persuaded to form up in a wobbly line on the left of the 93rd Highlanders, who under old Sir Colin lined the heights outside Balaclava.

Round shot from the forts now began to fall in amongst the Light Brigade, and several horses were hit.

‘This is the part of fighting I don’t like,’ said Jack; ‘this sitting still and being fired at. Why on earth don’t they let us do something?’

‘Ha, hum! don’t be impatient,’ growled Sergeant Linham, who it was noted looked remarkably smart that morning; ‘you’ll have work to do presently.’

Bullets began to whistle about their ears from the dense battalions in front, and presently the order was given to retire farther down the valley. The battle now appeared to lull; it almost seemed as if the Russians, having captured the forts, did not know what to do next. The order was given for the Light Brigade to dismount, and many men lit their pipes.

‘If the Russians had any go about them,’ said Pearson, ‘with the enormous numbers they’ve got they might advance and sweep us all into the sea before any help could arrive from our fellows before Sebastopol.’

‘It’s a good thing for us they haven’t any go, then,’ said Jack. ‘Anyway, I wish I had a bit of biscuit, for I’m jolly hungry.’

‘I’m simply ravenous,’ said Linham, ‘and so are all the regiment; not one of us has had bit or drop this morning.’

Time passed, and the cavalry remained inactive, while enormous masses of Russians crept rather than marched up the valley. Batteries could be seen taking up their position on the Fedioukine Heights, while between three and four thousand cavalry, Lancers, Hussars, and Dragoons, came steadily forward. Then several batteries were seen to be advancing so as to open fire on Sir Colin Campbell and his Highlanders.

‘Good heavens!’ muttered Captain Wintle, who was just by Jack, ‘if they succeed in defeating the Scotsmen—and how can they help it with such numbers—nothing can save Balaclava, and our base and all our stores are gone.’

He trotted up to Lord Paget, who in the absence of Lord Cardigan, still aboard his yacht, was in command. He and Captain Wintle spoke for a few seconds; then Captain Wintle trotted back, crying out to Jack, ‘Follow me, corporal.’

In an instant Jack was in the saddle and trotting after his officer. Increasing their pace to a gallop, they went by the inner line of defence held by the Marines, and were going on towards the town when they met about forty Guardsmen under a young officer marching out.

‘Hallo, Verschoyle,’ cried Captain Wintle, ‘I was just coming in to beat up every man who can fire a musket. The Russians evidently mean to attack the town, and there are only Turks and the Highlanders to hold it till reinforcements come down from the plain.’

‘We’ve seen that, Wintle, and I and my men are off to join the 93rd. Colonel Davenant is just behind with a hundred invalids. Come with us and see the fun!’

Captain Wintle rode beside the gallant young Guardsman, and they soon reached Sir Colin, who with a grim smile told Verschoyle to take position on the left of the 93rd. The hundred invalids, men of all regiments, a pale and sickly crowd, who were waiting at Balaclava to embark, soon after arriving took up their position on the left of the Guards.

Jack had kept close to Captain Wintle, and reaching the top of the ridge he saw the great mass of Russian cavalry still advancing. Presently some squadrons detached themselves and shaped their way towards the Highlanders. These, on account of some casualties they had already suffered from the enemy’s artillery, had retired behind the crest of the hill and lay down.

No sooner was the cavalry seen advancing than Sir Colin gave a brisk order, and the Highlanders sprang up and lined the crest. The advancing cavalry seemed hardly to have expected to see infantry; but they came steadily on, when, as though by common consent, the two battalions of Turks turned and fled.

This was a serious defection, and it at once became evident to that ‘thin red line’ crowning the hillock in front of Kadikoi that on them, and on them alone, rested the fate of Balaclava.

Sir Colin Campbell saw and understood the situation in a moment, and the stern old warrior rode down the lines and said, ‘Men, the safety of Balaclava rests on you. There is no retreat from here. You must die where you stand!’

The Highlanders’ faces lit up; they set their lips, their eyes gleamed, and from between their clenched teeth came the words in a sort of ominous growl,’Ay, ay, Sir Colin, we’ll do that.’

The Russian cavalry resumed their advance, and some of the Highlanders in their wild impetuosity would have rushed down upon their foe; but the angry voice of the chief rang out, ‘93rd—93rd, hang all that impetuosity!’

Then the Russian Hussars, gay troops in sky-blue, with yellow and silver lace, came within range, and the Highlanders and others, standing only in double rank, delivered a withering volley which emptied many a saddle. The enemy staggered, but still came on, when a second volley crashed into them. Then the horsemen halted and wheeled as though to take the gallant red-coats in flank; but one company of the Highlanders brought up their left shoulders, and again delivered a volley, on which the gay Hussars broke and retired downhill in confusion, followed by the fire of the English artillery and the cheers from the ‘Thin Red Line.’

Balaclava was saved!

CHAPTER XXXII.

WELL DONE HEAVIES!

NO sooner had the Russians been repulsed than Captain Wintle turned to rejoin his regiment, Jack following.

They had reached the site of the light cavalry camp, some of the tents being already taken down, while others remained standing, when Captain Wintle, actuated by a sudden impulse, said, ‘Dismount, corporal, and run to my tent—that one yonder. Inside is a bottle of brandy. I’ll fill my canteen with it.’

Jack went inside the tent indicated, found the bottle, poured some into his officer’s water-bottle, and, as he was bidden, poured the rest into his own. He then mounted again and both were making their way to where the Light Brigade still stood dismounted, when just behind them, picking their way among the remains of the camp, they saw the heavy Dragoons advancing.

Gray-headed old General Scarlett, followed by his aide-de-camp Lieutenant Elliot, led the Inniskillings, who were advancing by ‘threes.’

‘Hallo, Wintle,’ cried out General Scarlett,’where did you spring from?’

‘I’ve just returned from Kadikoi, General,’ replied Captain Wintle, saluting.

‘I’m just off there to support the Highlanders.’

‘They don’t want any support, General;’ and in a few words Captain Wintle related their gallant action.

‘Well done!’ exclaimed the General.

Lieutenant Elliot had been riding beside the General as he talked, and Jack was just behind. They were marching parallel with the Causeway Heights and about eight hundred yards from the summit, when Jack happened to glance up, and in a moment noticed the top fringed with lance-points.

He immediately called out the fact, and Lieutenant Elliot, who had seen much service, said, ‘The trumpeter’s right, and, moreover, those troops are fronting towards the south valley and will take us in flank as we pass them.’

General Scarlett, who had seen no war-service, had the greatest confidence in his aide-de-camp who had, and he said instantly, ‘Elliot, ought we not to charge them?’

To which the gallant aide-de-camp replied, Certainly, General.’

‘Left wheel into line,’ cried the old General, and the Inniskillings immediately obeyed the order.

Behind the squadron of Inniskillings were two of the Scots Greys, and these formed up on the left of the column. The 4th and 5th Dragoon Guards and the Royals were following, making, with the other squadron of the Inniskillings, eight squadrons in all; but Scarlett had with him at the moment but three, the gallant ‘Three Hundred.’

Hardly had the General announced his determination of charging the enemy than they came over the ridge and began to descend the slope, an enormous mass, nearly forty squadrons of Lancers, Hussars, Dragoons, and Cossacks, all, with the exception of one Hussar corps in pale-blue, clad in dark-gray overcoats, which seemed to be the distinguishing badge of Russian troops.

Seeing the handful of red-coated Dragoons below them, they started forward at a smart canter. Greys and Inniskillings, however, were going on calmly with dressing their line, the officers facing their men and seeing that the line was dressed with nicety. Captain Wintle had remained near General Scarlett, and Jack remained with his officer.

The advancing Russians—seeing the calmness with which the British cavalry prepared for the attack, apparently ignoring the fact that the enemy was in sight—as though fearing an ambush, slackened their pace to a trot, then to a walk, then halted altogether.

‘Will you lead the charge, or will you direct, sir?’ asked Lieutenant Elliot of his chief, saluting with his sword.

‘I shall lead, by all means,’ said the gallant old General. ‘Lord Lucan is on the ground and in supreme command; as its brigadier I will lead my brigade.’

The Inniskillings were eager to be off, and several men seemed inclined to start; but the General waved them back, saying, ‘Back, men; the Greys are not ready.’

When the line was dressed to his satisfaction, the General, ignoring the intermediate steps of trot, canter, and gallop, said simply to his trumpeter, ‘Sound the charge;’ and as the notes rang out the squadrons started forward.

Captain Wintle rode behind the General, and Jack followed him, keeping almost in a line with General Scarlett’s trumpeter and orderly. The General himself, mounted on an immense bay horse, was fully fifty yards in front. No matter what happened, he was determined to be first among the enemy.

These, with a precision that showed they were highly trained troops, had thrown out two huge wings on either flank as though, when the Dragoons had passed, to close in on them and cut off their retreat. From the start the distance was only about four hundred yards; but at first the pace was slow, owing to the litter of the camp over which they moved.

The Russian cavalry had a depth of fully twenty files and a frontage thrice that of the handful of heavy Dragoons, every man of whom knew that it was absolutely impossible to hurl such a mass back by mere shock; all they could hope to do was to carve their way in and to ply their swords until they fell. This was all they asked.

As the Inniskillings neared the enemy they gave a wild cheer; but the Greys came more silently, though their faces were lit up with the stern joy of war. An officer sat in front of the Russian squadrons, and General Scarlett, passing him on his left, hewed his way into the serried masses behind. The General’s aide-de-camp rode straight at the Russian officer, and, parrying a cut made at him, drove his sword up to the hilt in the Russian’s body. For a moment he could not withdraw it, and clinging to the hilt he turned the wounded Russian round and literally tore him from his saddle. He then disappeared into the mass, as did the orderly and trumpeter, and Jack found himself face to face with the foe.

A trumpeter, probably obeying some order, was sounding a call, and had turned his head towards his comrades while doing so. As Dainty raced by him Jack raised his sword to cut this trumpeter from his saddle; but seeing the man was unable to protect himself he stayed his hand, and dashed at the Hussars behind. The two Russians who faced him forced their horses to right and left, and left Jack a space, into which he urged his horse. He made a tremendous cut at the Hussar on his right as he did so, and the man reeled in his saddle. The other man, though, made a point which Jack parried; and, his horse still going forward between the files, he found himself surrounded by enemies. For a few seconds that half-dozen intrepid cavalrymen were alone amidst thousands of Russians; then came a wild yell, a crashing shock, and the first line of Inniskillings and Greys had reached the foe.

Jack was forced farther in, being absolutely surrounded by blue jackets and gray greatcoats. Blows were rained at him; but by keeping up a rapid circling of his own blade above his head he managed to ward them off. Another crash behind told that the second rank had charged in, and the forward movement of that handful of red-coats became accelerated.

The Russians did not directly face their enemies, but always gave way to right and left, as much as they could, before them; then they closed in on the flanks and behind, and tried to cut the Englishmen from their saddles. But the heavy Dragoons were men of fine physique, larger, heavier, and better mounted than the Russians, and their blows told with terrible effect.

Fierce denunciations and epithets of disdain were hurled at the foe by Irishman and Scot as they hacked and hewed; but the Russians, with lips curled back from their clenched teeth, made only a sort of gurgling roar or a low kind of hissing noise. The turf beneath the horses’ hoofs was thick and spongy and deadened the sound of the trampling of thousands of hoofs; but the ceaseless clash of sabres, the frequent firing of pistols, the incessant jingle of cavalry accoutrements made such a volume of sound as must have been heard by the headquarter staff up on the heights above.

Jack had hewed his way half-through the dense mass, and had got in amongst some Dragoons, on whose thick gray coats a sword-blade fell quite harmless. The men wore tall red felt shakos with a brass eagle in front, and several of them closed round Jack with the intention of slaying him. One fellow made two blows in rapid succession, and while Jack was parrying these another made a thrust at his head. Fortunately, his aim was too high, and though he pierced the top of Jack’s lance-cap he missed his head. That man fell back with his sword-hand almost severed by Jack’s sword.

The other three, however, uttering their curious zizzing sound through their clenched teeth, renewed the attack, and a blow fell on Jack’s left shoulder which almost knocked him from the saddle. Fortunately for him the aim had not been true, and the flat rather than the edge of the Russian’s blade struck him. As it was he reeled, and next moment must have been struck from his saddle, to have been trampled to death by hundreds of horses; but a sergeant of the Greys cut his way to him, and with three tremendous successive strokes cut down the Russians attacking him.

The pressure thus relaxed, Jack paused a moment to take breath and look round him. It looked like a vast sea of gray coats and Russian faces. Here and there a tall bearskin or burnished helmet could be seen, and an occasional gleam of a scarlet tunic; but in that throng of Russians they appeared buried. A mighty swaying, heaving motion had become imparted to the mass, and it was no longer possible to direct one’s way.

But at that moment a tremendous cheer was heard from behind, and the 5th Dragoon Guards came crashing in. A moment later another cheer, a good, hearty English one, and the Royals rolled up one of the wheeling wings. Then the 4th Dragoon Guards in grand style charged in on the Russian right flank, and the three fresh regiments carved a gory way to the aid of their comrades of the Greys and Inniskillings.

The Russians were pierced and riven, the swaying motion set in upwards, and the enormous mass, incredible as it seemed, began to fall back before the fiery impetuosity of the British Dragoons.

Jack, mixed up with men of different regiments, cut his way out of the left flank of the Russians.

The adjutant of the Greys, a mighty man with a mighty voice, was calling upon his men, ‘Rally, the Greys! Rally, rally! Rally on me!’

Another officer, minus his bearskin, his face streaming with blood, though he seemed unaware of it, joined the adjutant, and the men began to rally on the Russian flank.

A trumpeter of the Greys was near Jack, when an officer, whose burnished helmet was cloven down to his head, laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder, crying, ‘Trumpeter, sound the rally!’

Jack and the Scots Grey sounded again and again. Men of different regiments rallied, formed, and at a word from an officer of the Royals, with a cheer charged once more upon the enemy. Taken now in flank, pressed hard from in front, smitten on all sides by the mighty scarlet-clad Dragoons, the Russians broke, the movement uphill got more pronounced, they turned their horses’ heads, and soon the thousands were galloping up the hill whence but ten minutes before they had come down in all the majesty of overwhelming numbers.

Royals, Greys, and Inniskillings would have pursued; but the officers knew that once upon the crest of the Causeway Heights they would become exposed to a galling fire of musketry and artillery.

‘Rally, rally, rally!’ shouted officers and sergeants; ‘Rally, rally!’ went the bugles, and the scarlet coats were got in hand, while a British field-battery and a battery of position opened fire on the defeated Russians and hastened their retirement.

As the Dragoons reformed a thundering roar of cheering went up from the throats of all those comrades who had beheld their gallant deed.

An aide-de-camp came down from Lord Raglan to Scarlett, bearing the hastily scribbled words, ‘Well done!’

Sir Colin Campbell galloped up, and doffing his cocked hat, turned to the Scots Greys.

‘Greys, gallant Greys,’ he said, ‘I am sixty-one years old, and if I were young again I should be proud to serve in your ranks.’

Such praise from such a man raised the enthusiasm of his countrymen, and they gave him a cheer that brought the colour to his cheeks.

Jack was cheering as loudly as any one when he felt himself tapped on the shoulder, and, turning, saw Captain Wintle, his reeking sword in his hand, regarding him sternly.

‘What the dickens are you doing here?’ he exclaimed.

‘I followed you, sir,’ said Jack naïvely.

‘Then follow me back to our brigade, or Lord Cardigan will have something to say to both you and me;’ and setting spurs to their horses the two Lancers galloped across the heights to where the Light Brigade sat, some five hundred yards away.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

‘INTO THE JAWS OF HELL.’

THE charge of the heavy Dragoons had been so glorious that the whole of the cavalry were mad with delight about it. The only feeling in the Light Brigade was one of envy that they had not been able to share in it. When Captain Wintle and Jack rejoined their regiment a loud cheer went up from those men who saw them.

Lord Cardigan had by that time come up from his yacht in Balaclava harbour, and had taken over the command. He sat in front of his brigade, savagely gnawing his moustache.

Captain Norreys, on seeing that his regiment was likely to go into action, had instantly asked for and obtained permission from Lord Raglan to take over the command. Still in his staff tunic and undress cap, he sat in front of the regiment; but as Jack and Captain Wintle rode up he spurred to Lord Cardigan’s side and spoke earnestly to him.

As Lord Cardigan was just in front of the 17th Lancers, Jack heard all that was said.

‘My lord,’ said Captain Norreys, ‘we should advance at once; we could cut off the enemy’s cavalry and convert their retreat into a rout.’

‘No, no, Norreys,’ replied Lord Cardigan angrily. ‘My orders are positive, to hold this position and on no account to leave it.’

‘But, my lord, such an opportunity creates a different situation. It’s clearly our duty to charge, and through doing so we need not fail to hold this position.’

‘I tell you no!’

‘Will you give me leave to charge with my regiment, then, my lord?’

‘Once and for all, no! Retire to your regiment, sir! I will obey my orders, though those confounded heavies have the laugh of us this day.’

Captain Norreys saluted, and biting his lips with anger and vexation retired, noticing Captain Wintle as he did so.

‘You, at least, have had a chance,’ he said. ‘We are committing a frightful blunder by remaining here, through the ignorance of our chief. His obstinate adherence to the very letter of an order he does not understand will cost us dear.’

Alas! a still more deplorable misconception of orders by his superior officer was shortly to send two-thirds of the light cavalry to their doom.

The colonel of the 8th Hussars had been speaking to Lord Cardigan; and Larry, as the colonel’s orderly trumpeter, was with him, the two passing close by Jack as they started back to their regiment. Larry reined in a moment.

‘Jack, ye’ve just all the luck in the wurrld,’ he said; ‘ye’ve been in the finest charge since Waterloo, and here are we, sitting still, eating our hearts out wid envy.’

‘Our turn may come yet, Larry,’ said Jack, shaking his warm-hearted friend’s hand; and then he took his place in the ranks, telling Pearson and the others round what he had seen of the heavy cavalry charge.

Presently Pearson said, ‘Hallo, what’s up. There’s an aide-de-camp from headquarters jawing old Lucan,’

All turned and saw an officer in Hussar uniform, the impetuous Captain Nolan, talking vehemently to Lord Lucan, waving his arm and pointing straight up the north valley to where the Russians had a battery of twelve guns posted. They talked some time; then both Lord Lucan and Captain Nolan rode over to Lord Cardigan and a further conversation occurred. They spoke loudly, and the front-rank men of the 17th could hear distinctly some of the conversation.

‘Certainly, sir; but allow me to point out to you that the Russians have a battery in the valley on our front, and batteries and Riflemen on each flank,’ they heard Lord Cardigan say.

Lord Lucan shrugged his shoulders and replied, ‘I cannot help it; Lord Raglan will have it so. We have no choice but to obey. When I asked Captain Nolan what we were to attack, he pointed up the valley with his sword, and said in an insulting manner, “There, my lord, is your enemy; there are your guns.”’

‘Enough, my lord,’ answered Lord Cardigan quietly, saluting with his sword. Then turning and facing his men he said, ‘The brigade will advance.’

Lord Lucan first ordered the 11th Hussars back, leaving the 17th Lancers and 13th Light Dragoons in the front rank, 11th Hussars and 4th Light Dragoons in the second, and the 8th Hussars in the rear rank. These dispositions were made quietly and orderly; the lines were dressed, and the squadron, troop, and serrafile leaders took up their positions.

Lord Cardigan called Lord Paget, the colonel of the 4th Light Dragoons, to him, and said, ‘My lord, I want you to give me your best support—mind, your best support.’

Lord Paget saluted his superior, saying, ‘You may rely upon me, my lord,’ and retired to his regiment.

Lord Cardigan then placed himself about five horses’ length in front of his brigade, saying to Trumpeter Brittain of the 17th, who was his orderly, ‘Sound the trot,’ and the brigade moved off.

Jack was behind Captain Wintle; on his right was Cornet Leland, and just behind him were Brandon, Pearson, and Williams. Will was with Captain Norreys in front. The men were in high spirits, though all realised the desperate venture on which they were about to be launched.

‘We’ll show ’em to-day whether cavalry are any good or not,’ said Pearson, as he gripped his lance firmly.

‘Ay, the heavies are not the only ones who can push home a charge,’ said Williams.

‘Ha, hum!’ sounded a voice from behind, ‘ye’ll be better keeping your breath, you toads. Use your arms more and your tongues less; we’ve got a long way to go;’ and Sergeant Linham blew violently down his nose.

Most of them there were going on the longest journey of all—the last, long journey from whence none return.

They had not proceeded very far when some shouting was heard from behind; a hoarse command to some one to halt it seemed. Jack turned his head and beheld a strange sight. Private Veigh, the regimental butcher, clad only in shirt and overalls, the former blood-stained, mounted on a white horse, a black clay-pipe in his mouth, a sword in his hand, was forcing his way into his proper place in the ranks. He had been busy killing oxen, when, hearing the trumpets of the Light Brigade sounding the advance, he had seized a sword, jumped bareback on the first horse he could see, and joined his troop.

‘If the old 17th’s going into action I’m going with it,’ he said, and in spite of the positive orders of his officers to retire he insisted on remaining, and went on with his regiment.

They had got some little distance up the valley when Captain Nolan, who had announced his intention of charging with the brigade, and had taken up his position on the left flank, was seen spurring wildly forward, advancing diagonally across their front, waving his sword and shouting out something at the top of his voice as though he would address the brigade.

Lord Cardigan looked angrily at the aide-de-camp; and Captain Norreys, who was close to him, thinking he was trying to force the pace of the brigade, shouted out, ‘No, no, Nolan, that won’t do; we’ve got a long way to go yet.’

The Hussar shouted still more frantically and waved his sword, when a shell, the first fired at the Light Brigade, burst just above him and a fragment struck him full in the chest. His features turned livid; but he still galloped on, his sword-arm held high in the air. He gave one cry, a shrill, unearthly scream, then his horse carried him on through the interval of the 13th Light Dragoons, and he fell to the ground a corpse, the first to pay the penalty of the fatal blunder for which he was partly responsible, and which was sending four hundred of England’s most gallant sons to their death.

The first discharge was followed by others, and in a few seconds a hundred guns and thousands of rifles thundered and rattled. The Fedioukine Heights on their left and the Causeway Heights on their right were held by infantry and field-artillery in great numbers, and these opened a tremendous fire on the devoted horsemen charging down the valley. Facing them, but at a distance of a mile and a quarter, were twelve Cossack nine-pounders; and behind these, smarting under their late defeat and waiting for an opportunity to avenge themselves, could it be done with safety, were the dense columns of cavalry which the heavy Dragoons had rolled up the Causeway Heights little more than half-an-hour before.

A regiment charging an army! Six hundred light horsemen against twenty-four thousand of all arms! As they got farther up the valley the fire under which they came was terrific. Shells, round-shot, grape, rockets, tore and ploughed through the ranks, while bullets simply rained. Down the whole length of the line men and horses began to fall, and the cry ran constantly along the ranks, ‘Close up! Close up!’

The calmness of the officers seemed terrible. Amidst all the slaughter, Captains Norreys and Wintle kept a sharp eye on their squadrons, and every now and then they cried out, ‘Mind your dressing, Private Jones! Do keep back, Wilson! Steady there!’ as a round-shot with a hideous, moist plunge struck a corporal in the chest and literally cut him in two. ‘Steady there, steady! Close up! Close up!’ as a man and horse went down on the left. Gaps were constantly occurring, and the line was diminishing as the riders closed in. The riderless horses, their eyes wild with terror, their breasts flecked with foam, galloped along with the line, trying to force their way to their places in the ranks or crowding round the officers in front.

On, on, ever on they went, Jack keeping his eyes on the crimson overalls and scarlet pelisse, blazing with gold, of Lord Cardigan, who, with his admirable seat in the saddle and his sword carried at the slope, without turning to right or left, led that line of horsemen straight for the mouths of the guns. Presently a great white cloud of smoke appeared in front, and from the twelve guns facing them another torrent of shot and shell was poured upon them. Assailed on front and flanks, the fury of the hail of death was indescribable. The excitement of the men reached fever-heat.

‘Forward! forward!’ they cried. ‘Let us get at the guns.’

Captain Norreys increased the pace and was soon alongside Lord Cardigan, who put out his sword across the Lancer’s breast.

‘Don’t pass the leader of the brigade,’ he said sternly; and Captain Norreys fell back.

A second round from the battery in front came crashing through the already torn and mangled ranks; then Lord Cardigan waved his sword and increased his pace.

‘Charge!’ cried Captain Norreys; and Jack jerked out a note or two as they literally raced along.[5]

‘Who is there here would ask another man from England?’ quoted Brandon, bringing his lance down to the ‘engage.’

Hardly had the words left his lips when a nine-pounder ball took him in the face, and his brains were scattered on Jack and Pearson, between whom he was at that moment riding.

Sergeant Linham, on the left of Jack, was riding with set lips, a hard light shining in his eyes.

‘A little farther, you toads,’ he cried, ‘and then we shall be in amongst ’em! Remember the motto of our regiment, “Death or Glory!”’

The line was then so torn that all cohesion was lost; they were advancing in clumps and clusters.

Captain Wintle, Cornet Leland, Sir William Lennox, Sergeant Linham, Brittain, Pearson, and Jack were all together, just to the right rear of Lord Cardigan, when the guns in front, not eighty yards away, were all fired simultaneously. The flash from the muzzles seemed almost to burn and blind the devoted riders advancing upon them, a shower of grape swept through them, and almost the whole of the front rank vanished. Jack just had time to notice that he and Linham were the only two left of all who had been together a moment before; then they were in the smoke of the guns, past the gleaming brass muzzles, and in amongst the leather-helmeted artillerymen, cutting and thrusting with the anger of men who have seen their best comrades blown to pieces.

Jack found himself opposed to an immense, beetle-browed fellow, who aimed a blow at him with a rammer. Jack drew his pistol and immediately shot him through the head. Another artilleryman made a cut at him with his sword, but Jack clove his head and made a point at another fellow, who crept under the wheels of his gun to escape. Vain hope, a Lancer behind Jack saw him, and in another moment had pinned him to the ground with his lance.

For a couple of minutes, Lancers and Dragoons, the remnant of the leading regiments not more than fifty men in all, raged among the battery, and very few Russians lived to relate their experiences. The battery silenced, Jack rode on with his comrades, who then found themselves faced by a dense mass of Russian cavalry.

Captain Norreys immediately held up his sword. ‘Rally on me, 17th,’ he cried; and about twenty men formed behind him.

Jack, sword in hand, placed himself with the rest, when the gallant captain cried, ‘Now, men, keep together—charge!’ and away they went at the Russian Dragoons, who sat perfectly still awaiting the shock.

Captain Norreys rode straight for the officer in command, and with his sword pierced him through and through. The Russian threw up his arms and fell from the off-side of his horse; and the Lancer, being unable to withdraw his blade, which was fastened to his wrist by the sword-knot, was held a prisoner.

As Jack flew past he saw his officer receive a cut on the side of the head which brought him from the saddle. There was no time to stop, however, and he dashed on with the handful of Lancers, who crashed into the Russians, unhorsing and killing a good many, when the rest instantly turned and fled. The Lancers pursued them for some distance till they found themselves being charged in turn by a horde of Cossacks, who were taking them in flank, when they drew off towards a small party of the 13th.

Jack then saw Lord Cardigan some distance ahead, sitting quite calmly on his horse, with his sword at the slope, while several Cossacks circled round him, poking at him with their lances. A large troop of Cossacks were just in front of Lord Cardigan, and it seemed as if his enemies were more intent on capturing than killing him.

‘Come on, boys! the chief’s in danger,’ cried Jack; and he dashed forward just as a Cossack got his lance entangled in Lord Cardigan’s pelisse.

Seeing the handful of Lancers advancing towards them, the Cossacks wheeled and fled, and Lord Cardigan, turning his horse’s head, trotted off back towards the Russian guns, which he passed through and then went on down the valley, taking no further part in the fight.

Jack heard a shout behind them, and, turning, saw Sergeant Barrymore with a few men of his own regiment.

‘Death or Glory Boys, this way,’ Jack cried to those with him as he waved his sword.

There was no one above the rank of corporal among the dozen or so men he was with, and these yielded Jack ready obedience. They followed him and formed up with those of their comrades under Sergeant Barrymore.

‘Thank God you’ve escaped, Jack,’ said the latter; and they all trotted off towards their left.

Some Russian Hussars were passing close to them; and Jack, whose eyes were very keen, cried, ‘By heaven, they’ve got some of our officers prisoners;’ and before any one could stop him, at headlong pace he charged down upon the Hussars.

He cut down one man who, he saw, was leading along Captain Norreys, who was bleeding freely from one or two wounds in the head. Bidding the captain take hold of his stirrup, Jack then laid about him furiously with his sword; but he would have been quickly cut to pieces had not Sergeant Barrymore come charging down with the rest of the men and put the Hussars to flight.

Besides Captain Norreys, there was an officer of the 11th Hussars prisoner, and both these were rescued. Jack caught a riderless horse, bound up his officer’s head, and, putting a sword in his hand, mounted him and directed him down the valley.

‘Your gallantry will not go unrewarded, Blair,’ said the wounded captain as he started on his homeward ride.

Meanwhile the other regiments of the Light Brigade had charged in amongst the guns and had prevented the Russians from carrying them off, for, after the first line of English cavalry passed through, more Russian artillerymen came flocking down and endeavoured to withdraw the guns. Their fire having been silenced by the first line, the 11th Hussars passed through the guns with but little damage, and Jack, with his handful of Lancers, saw them draw up in beautiful order, facing the Russian rear and preparing to charge down upon a large body of Russian Hussars and Lancers who faced them.

‘We must not be out of this,’ cried Jack, turning round to where Barrymore had been a few minutes before; but the sergeant had disappeared. ‘17th, follow me!’ cried Jack, waving his sword, and the troopers trotted off.

They formed up on the left of the Hussars just as the colonel gave the word to charge, and away they went at the foe. These did not stand to receive the shock, but turned and fled, Lancers and Hussars pursuing them and sabring a good many.

Maddened by the terrible charge they had made down that long valley, on which they had left the greater part of their comrades, the English went on till they had driven the Russians right back to the aqueduct against the Tractir Bridge. Then, overwhelming masses advancing on both flanks, they gave up the pursuit and halted. Officers shouted commands, and the trumpets sounded threes about, when the 11th wheeled and retired.

Jack and his comrades had become separated from the Hussars in the charge and pursuit, and had gone on farther than any of the rest, having no officer to restrain them. Jack suddenly noticed that they were isolated, and that the other regiments had retreated.

‘What are we going to do now, youngster?’ asked a voice behind him, and turning he saw Veigh, the butcher, still smoking his black clay-pipe.

‘We must retire,’ said Jack; and seizing his bugle he sounded ‘threes about.’

The handful of Lancers had not gone far, however, when a whole cloud of Cossacks came charging down upon them.

‘Keep together!’ cried Jack, spurring out to the front; ‘knee to knee, we must cut our way through!’

This they endeavoured to do; but the enemy surrounding the little group was too strong, and, circling round, cut and hacked as though determined that not a solitary man should escape. They were indeed in a tight corner, and Jack was thinking that not one of them would get away when he heard a shout from the flank, and on the slope above the Russians saw the well-known uniform of the 8th Hussars.

‘Hurrah! the busby-bags are coming,’ he cried; and in another minute the 8th were cutting their way through to their comrades.

Foremost among them was Larry, who recognised Jack with a shout of welcome.

‘Praise the saints, you’re safe, Jack!’ he said. ‘Come on, this way; 17th and 8th for ever! Hurrah for the ould 25th!’

They dashed through the Russians and returned to the guns, where they were joined by a few men of the 4th Light Dragoons, and as fast as their tired horses would go they began to retreat down the valley, which, alas! was now strewn with dead and dying men and horses. Some on foot, some mounted, singly and in groups, the remnants of the brigade were staggering back. The Russians on the Causeway Heights had opened again with rifle and artillery, and were directing their fire on every little group.

Jack and his comrades did not number more than forty in all, till presently, down the valley, they came upon a little group of Englishmen engaged with a score of Cossacks. Jack recognised his own uniform, and to his joy saw Sergeant Linham and Will, the latter being dismounted.

Linham was engaged in a single combat with a Cossack officer, who made a cut which Linham parried. He prepared to return it when the Cossack officer threw up his hand, then handed the hilt of his sword to Linham.

‘Ha, hum, you toad!’ cried the sergeant; ‘form guard there, you heathen. Don’t give up till you’re hurt.’

The Russian understood nothing, and as Jack came up with his comrades he noticed the man was the very same whom they had last seen wounded in the cottage. He seemed to recognise Jack too.

Linham cried out angrily, ‘It’s opposed to all the rules of warfare to surrender in the middle of a fair fight; form your guard.’

‘Never mind that, Jim,’ said Will; ‘help me catch a horse.’

‘Here, Will,’ cried Jack, seizing the pony of a Cossack who had just been cut down; and he helped his chum into the saddle.

They now saw that before them several squadrons of Russian Lancers had advanced into the valley from the slopes, and were drawn up barring their progress. Behind them was a whole cloud of Cossacks and Hussars.

‘Quick, men!’ cried Jack; ‘we must cut our way through the force in front, or we’re done!’

‘Lead us, youngster, and we’ll follow’ cried a grizzled Hussar with many years’ service.

With the group of cavalrymen of different regiments there was only one officer, and he was so grievously wounded as to be hardly able to sit his horse, much less command. Several non-commissioned officers there were, but these seemed quite willing to act under Jack’s guidance.

The opportunity of Jack’s life had occurred, and he took it; he felt that he was born to command, and it came easy to him.

‘Front form!’ he cried, facing his little force. ‘17th on the right! Keep well together and save your horses till I give the word. We shall want every ounce that is in them.’

‘Well done, Jack!’ growled Sergeant Linham.

Jack placed himself well in front of his troop; Sergeant Linham directed the left, a sergeant of Dragoons the right.

‘Trot!’ cried Jack; and they moved down, a compact body, upon the Russian Lancers.

From the Causeway Heights they were plied with shot as they advanced; but as the distance between them and their enemies in front was decreased the fire necessarily lessened.

When fifty yards from the foe, Jack placed his bugle to his mouth and sounded the charge. As the last note rang out a round-shot caught the bugle and dashed it from Jack’s grasp, ripping it from the cord by which it was attached to his shoulder, and almost tearing him from the saddle. So dazed was he that he dropped his sword, and, allowing it to dangle from his wrist by the sword-knot, caught a rein in each hand. He, however, headed his horse directly for the officer who seemed in command of the Lancers in front of him. The Russian, seeing the trumpeter making straight for him, drew aside, and Jack, passing him, dashed in amongst the men behind him. He went in between two files, and almost before he could realise it was through.

His momentary dizziness passed, and he clutched his sword just as those behind him crashed into the Lancers. The combat was short and sharp. The Russians had again received the charge at the halt, and again were scattered.

Then in front of them Jack perceived more squadrons drawn up to bar their way, and these were wheeling back from their left so as to fall upon the flank of the little body as it passed.

‘Bring up your left shoulders!’ shouted Jack as they dashed on, and this they did.

They were soon up with the second body of Lancers, and as Jack went by he noticed the same clenched teeth, the same uncertainty of purpose. Though they were in the correct position for their attack, the Russians did not press it home, and the handful of Englishmen went by, brushing aside the lance-points with their swords and losing only one or two men in both charges. But their horses were by then almost done up, their pace was only a shambling trot, in many cases little better than a walk. With renewed fury the guns on the Causeway Heights opened on them, though Jack noticed that the guns on the Fedioukine Hills were silent. Afterwards he learnt that this was due to the brilliant and timely charge of D’Allonville with his Chasseurs d’Afrique.

The part of the valley along which the survivors of that terrible charge were struggling bore dreadful testimony to the havoc which had been wrought. Men in the blue and white of Lancer and Dragoon, in the laced pelisse and crimson overalls of the Hussars, lay scattered about in every conceivable attitude of agony and death. Shattered horses and mangled riders lay around. Some men were seen limping painfully, helped by comrades, some even crawling, over the ground strewn with headdresses and accoutrements. And while the enemy still plied them with shot and shell, Cossacks clung to them, spearing without mercy the stragglers, cutting down those who were too weak to move. Besides which, little bands of the defeated Russian Lancers pursued remnants of the brigade till the Russian artillery, unwilling that any of the ill-fated cavalrymen should escape, opened with grape and shell on both friend and foe together.

The Russians retreated, and the devoted few held on their way a little farther. Jack was hoping they would, after all, win back to where, still some distance ahead, he could see the scarlet coats of the Scots Greys, when Dainty suddenly fell dead-lame.

Jack, who was in rear of the others, instantly dismounted and found the poor animal had been struck in the foreleg by a bullet. ‘Faithful friend, I will get you out of this inferno if I can,’ he muttered; and led Dainty, who limped on three legs, along for some distance. His comrades had got some way down the valley when two shells, in rapid succession, burst over them, and several men and horses, mostly of the Hussars, fell killed or wounded.

While leading his limping horse Jack suddenly noticed on his right a dismounted man of his own regiment engaged with five Cossacks. He turned aside to help him just as a shell exploded close by him, one of the splinters of which struck poor Dainty, and, penetrating to her heart, killed her on the spot.

Jack was dazed for a moment, but he recovered and ran towards his comrade. The shell which had killed Dainty had also killed three of the Cossacks. Jack, taking another from behind, ran him through, when the last man, after firing at Jack, galloped off.

Jack now saw that the man he had come to rescue was Sergeant Barrymore. He stood over Captain Norreys, who was lying with his leg under a dead horse.

‘I found the captain lying pinned to the ground by his charger,’ said Barrymore, ‘and stayed to help him.’

‘Go on, friend,’ said poor Captain Norreys in a weak voice; ‘I feel I’m done for.’

In truth, Captain Norreys was a terrible sight, his face being simply covered with blood, while his right arm was shattered, smashed by a bullet.

‘Never fear, sir; we’ll get you out of this or die with you,’ said Jack.

Remembering the brandy he had in his water-bottle, Jack gave the captain a good drink; then he and Barrymore took a sip. They then managed to get the dead horse off their officer, when Barrymore took him gently under the arms, Jack supporting his legs, and they began to carry him along between them.

By that time they were almost the last of the Light Brigade in the valley. The Russians directed a heavy fire at them; but although balls hummed and sang round them they won on fifty yards or so unhurt, till several more Cossacks, as though grudging that one should escape, came spurring down towards them.

The gallant pair had to lay down the wounded captain, and Jack picked up the carbine and pouch-belt of a Dragoon who lay dead at his feet.

‘Leave me, boys; leave me,’ moaned the wounded officer. ‘I must die.’

‘Then we’ll all die together,’ said Barrymore grimly; and Jack, raising his carbine, brought down a Cossack. He loaded quickly and fired again with equal success; then he and Barrymore stood, sword in hand, and for a few moments defended Captain Norreys from the Cossacks who circled round, making savage thrusts with their lances.

The sergeant managed to give one of them a tremendous gash across the hand with his sabre, on which he fell back, and the others, seeing the resolute attitude of the two Lancers, trotted off.

Again Jack and Barrymore took up the wounded officer, this time making a chair of their hands. On and on they staggered, until from sheer exhaustion Jack felt he could go no farther. He began to stumble, and at last Barrymore was compelled to stop. They were then almost at the end of the valley. They laid down their wounded officer again, but still determined to remain with him and die rather than leave him, though he was then unconscious.

They had stood thus for nearly a minute when they heard a cheer behind them, and a troop of the Scots Greys came up at a trot.

‘Come on, comrades,’ cried a hearty voice, and two Dragoons, having a stretcher with them, picked up the wounded Lancer and helped the faithful pair to carry him down the valley and out of the zone of fire.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A NIGHT ON THE BATTLEFIELD.

WHEN Jack found himself once more out of danger, and the excitement of that terrible charge had died away, he became aware of a feeling of absolute weakness and helplessness, while his mouth and throat were so parched and dry that he felt he could not have spoken a word to save his life.

Many officers came crowding round shaking hands with him and Barrymore, congratulating them on their escape, and lauding their gallantry in standing by and rescuing their officer in face of the terrible odds they had to contend with.

A doctor and two assistants came up and took the insensible Captain Norreys in hand, while many questions were poured on Jack and the sergeant.

They had answered a few questions; and just then a French General came up, and, pointing to Captain Norreys, said, ‘Your officer, comrades?’

Jack and Barrymore, saluting, said he was.

‘And you, sous officiers,’ he said, ‘I saw you bring him from under fire. Ah, mes braves, if you were French I would make you officers on the spot.’ He was the same officer who on seeing the charge exclaimed, ‘It is splendid, but it is not war!’

A little revived, Jack and Barrymore walked on to the crest of the hill on which the remnants of the Light Brigade were forming up. The flutter of lance-pennons showed where Jack’s regiment was, and the two battle-weary soldiers walked towards them. Jack counted the survivors, officers and men, under thirty! The 13th Light Dragoons were barely a dozen, and the remains of all five regiments numbered but little over a hundred men. Many of these were bareheaded and blood-stained; all had a strained, far-away look in their eyes which told of the terrible ordeal through which they had passed.[6]

Jack gazed along the faces of the men of his own regiment; but none of his particular friends were there. Captain Norreys, Cornet Leland, Linham, Brandon, Pearson, Williams, Hodson—all, all gone.

Jack turned his eyes down the hill. One or two weary, wounded stragglers were seen coming up—a man of the 11th Hussars, his head bound up, leaning round the neck of a Light Dragoon; two men of the 8th, half-carrying a trumpeter between them. Jack strained his eyes; it was not Larry, neither did he see his Irish friend with his regiment.

He felt his hand grasped, and, turning, saw Will, his arm bound round with a blood-stained bandage. He had just come from having his wound dressed.

‘Will, Will,’ cried Jack, ‘where are our comrades—where is the old regiment?’

‘Gone, Jack. All gone,’ half-sobbed Will; and at those words Jack’s fortitude gave way and the tears rolled down his weather-beaten face. ‘It can’t be helped Jack,’ said Will. ‘It’s been a horrible blunder; but at least we’ve done our duty. You’re wounded though. Look at your cap.’

Jack removed his battered lance-cap, and found it had a bullet-hole through it, and that a sabre had cut the square top right down to the plate in front, inflicting a slight wound on his head, of which he was quite unaware. He had a graze from a bullet on his left shoulder, the right leg of his overalls had been ripped open by a lance or sword, exposing the flesh, and there were several rents in his uniform.

‘I’m all right, Will,’ he said; ‘just tie my handkerchief round my shoulder till we are dismissed.’

Presently the roll was called, and thirty-five of the 17th answered to their names, every man, when the name of a missing comrade was called, giving what information he could as to when he had last seen his chum. Several men spoke to having seen poor Brandon’s head literally blown to pieces. Pearson had been seen returning down the valley unhorsed, and fighting with five Russians. Cornet Leland had been seen for the last time amongst the cavalry in rear of the guns; but none knew what had happened to Sergeant Linham, he seemed to have disappeared about the time when Jack’s horse had been killed.

While the roll was being called and the farriers were busy with their pistols despatching the wounded horses, Lord Cardigan rode up to the remnants of the brigade. His face wore a sorrowful expression.

‘Men,’ he said, ‘it was a mad-brained trick; but it was no fault of mine.’

The charge of the Light Brigade lasted but twenty minutes, and it was barely noon when the survivors formed up on the hill overlooking the valley.

Firing went on till four o’clock, but nothing else was attempted by the Allies. The cavalry retired some distance from the site of their old camp, and the field remained in possession of the enemy.

In the evening, as the survivors struggled to light fires to cook their rations, an ominous silence reigned.

They had just taken part in the most brilliant cavalry charge in modern warfare. Every survivor, so long as he should live, would be looked upon as a hero; but there was no elation. Every one was thinking of friends and comrades, sometimes brothers, lying cold and stiff out in that Valley of Death. It would be a terrible day for those left behind in England!

Presently the men sought their tents; but few of them could sleep. Of those who had occupied Jack’s tent he was the only one left. Linham, Brandon, Pearson, Williams—all were gone. He asked Will to share his tent with him, and they both turned in. Presently Jack, who had been trying to get to sleep, jumped up.

‘Hallo!’ said Will,’can’t you sleep? Nor can I.’

‘My mind keeps running on our comrades. I can’t get it out of my head that they may be out there on the field, perhaps dying for the want of a drink of water.’

‘I feel the same,’ said Will. ‘Are you game to come with me and see if we can find any one alive?’

‘Anything, to keep myself from thinking.’

‘Come on then.’

The two donned their forage-caps, and each taking a pistol and their water-bottles, in which they had some spirits-and-water, they started.

They made their way to the north valley, easily passing the picket. They reached the spot from whence the Light Brigade had started, and kept along till presently they came to the place where Nolan had been killed. His dead body still lay where it had fallen.

Some distance farther along they came to several dead horses; then men, all in the blue and white of their own regiment or the 13th Light Dragoons, either stretched out as though asleep, or lying in curiously huddled-up positions. Some of their comrades they recognised; in others, the nature of their wounds was such as to render this impossible. All were dead, however.

As they proceeded farther the pale moonbeams showed some Hussars. Among them they came to a poor fellow of the 11th with one leg crushed, who from time to time moaned in agony. This man they were able to make more comfortable, and gave him a drink, for which he blessed them.

They were moving farther along when they saw at a little distance from them another figure, crouching low as though to avoid detection. In an instant Will cocked his pistol.

‘Some murdering wretch robbing the wounded,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll put an end to his game.’

He was about to pull the trigger when Jack seized his arm. ‘Don’t fire,’ he said, ‘the Russians are in possession of the field and must be close to us. We shall bring them down on us. We are two to one; pick up one of these swords lying about and let us tackle him.’

They did so, and advanced towards the man, who as quickly retreated. As he did so Jack saw that the man was a soldier, and he seemed to be wearing a scarlet tunic.

‘He can’t be a Russian, Will,’ he said; ‘none of them wear scarlet.’

Then, raising his voice, he cried, ‘Hi there, who are you?’

The man in front, halted and turned round, when Jack and Will, getting nearer, to their surprise saw he was a British Dragoon.

‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’ asked Jack.

‘I might as well ask you that,’ replied the Dragoon, recognising the uniform of the 17th; ‘but I’m Denis O’Callaghan of the Inniskillings, and I’m looking for my cousin Larry. He’s in the 8th Hussars, and I’m told he’s not with his regiment, so I could not rest till I tried to find the poor bhoy’s body.’

‘He is one of my best friends,’ said Jack; ‘I’m here as much to find him as anybody.’

Together, then, the three searched, and presently they came across several Hussars in blue and yellow. One was lying on his face, and in an instant Jack saw the gold chevrons of a sergeant glittering faintly in the moonlight. There was a trumpet on his back too, and Jack’s heart grew heavy as he saw it.

Gently he stepped up to the body and turned it over. Larry’s well-known features were exposed. Jack dropped on his knees and raised his friend’s head; his face was white as marble. He felt under the laced jacket; all was cold and still and silent, the faithful heart had ceased to beat. Tears, of which Jack was not ashamed, dropped on poor Larry’s face.

‘True comrade, faithful heart,’ Jack murmured, ‘God has willed that you shall never be trumpet-major of the 8th; but you have gone to join that nobler army in the ranks of which we must all sooner or later answer to our names.’

‘Ochone, ochone!’ wailed the big Dragoon; ‘shure this will be a sad day for ould Con O’Callaghan. Larry was the apple of his eye, his favourite son, who followed in the ould man’s footsteps. Wirra, wirra, Larry darlint, spake to me!’

‘Hush, comrade!’ said Jack; ‘poor Larry will never speak again!’

He had been killed by the splinter of a shell, and death must have been instantaneous, for the poor lad’s face still wore a kind of triumphant smile. They straightened his limbs, sheathed the sword still attached by the sword-knot to his wrist, and placed his trumpet and bugle on his breast. The Dragoon knelt beside his dead cousin in prayer for a minute, and Jack and Will stood bareheaded.

Suddenly a faint scream broke on the night air, and Jack, looking behind him, saw a dark figure bending over a dead or wounded man. As he gazed he saw a gleam of steel, and in an instant, being suspicious, darted towards the spot. As he did so a tall, thin figure in a long, dark sort of gown darted away. Jack followed him, Will coming on behind.

The man, who carried a little sack, ran swiftly, and the two Lancers chased him for some distance down towards the Russian lines before they overtook him. They then saw he was a hook-nosed villain with a long black beard, and Jack immediately grappled him.

The fellow drew a knife and tried to stab Jack; but the latter seized his wrist and held it. Will coming up, they got the man on the ground, and, overpowering him, proceeded to bind him with the bridle of a dead horse. This done, they examined the bag he was carrying, and saw it was filled with gold epaulets, watches, rings, money, medals, even chevrons and sword-knots.

‘The scoundrelly villain,’ cried Jack; ‘he’s been robbing the dead and wounded!’

‘If nothing worse,’ said Will. ‘Look at this!’ and he held up the knife which he had wrested from him. There was a dark, sticky fluid on the blade.

Jack shuddered. ‘Blood,’ he said; ‘that accounts for the scream we heard.’

‘What shall we do with him?’ asked Will.

‘Haul him back prisoner,’ replied Jack.

‘Blow his brains out,’ said Will. ‘Why be troubled with such a reptile?’

They were standing irresolute, when suddenly Jack cried, ‘By Jove, look there!’

Close behind them a number of men, some carrying lanterns, had crept up, and several with rifles in their hands were advancing rapidly towards the two Lancers.

‘Russians,’ said Jack. ‘We’re in a fix!’

‘We must run,’ said Will.

They started to do so, when bang! bang! two reports rang out and two balls whizzed past them.

‘Let’s fall as though killed,’ said Jack; ‘perhaps they won’t trouble anything more about us.’

They did as Jack suggested, and lay still for a second. But rapid footsteps approaching, they felt themselves seized, and looking up saw the flat faces and dark-gray coats of several Russians.

They were prisoners!

For a few moments Jack half-expected to be immediately despatched, for ominous tales about the treatment of wounded and prisoners by the Russians had found their way to the camp of the Allies. Instead, he and Will were raised to their feet, and on the group with the lanterns approaching Jack saw, to his surprise, several officers of high rank.

One, a handsome man with a white moustache, on whose breast several orders glittered, spoke sharply to his companions, some of whom spoke in reply. Then the scoundrel whom the Lancers had bound was discovered, on which the Russian officers spoke rapidly together.

Then a couple of soldiers came and felt over Jack’s and Will’s uniforms, as though to find out whether they had any ill-gotten gains concealed about their persons.

The action was so significant that Jack cried out, ‘Good Heavens, they can’t think we’ve anything to do with that vile wretch! Can’t they see by our uniforms we’re English soldiers?’

‘If you are,’ said a voice in excellent English, ‘why are you prowling about on the battlefield? Do you not know you are liable to be shot as spies?’

Jack turned in surprise and saw he was addressed by an officer in a handsome uniform of green and silver.

‘You cannot mistake us for spies, sir,’ he said respectfully, ‘seeing we are in uniform.’

The white-moustached officer now spoke, and the officer in green said, ‘General Liprandi wants to know at once who you are, and what you are doing here?’

‘We are English Lancers, and we came to see if we could succour any of our wounded comrades.’

‘You are both very young.’

‘We are trumpeters.’

‘And what is this man?’

Jack related what had happened; and on the officer translating to the General, he gave a curt command; when two of the soldiers, despite the screams of the wretch, knelt the fellow up, levelled their muskets at him, and shot him dead.

‘Sharp work,’ said Will, shuddering, ‘but served the scoundrel right.’

That being finished, the officer, translating for General Liprandi, said, ‘Do you belong to one of the regiments which charged down the valley this morning?’

Jack replied that they did, and that they were both in the charge.

General Liprandi took a lantern and held it up to their faces; then noticing the skull and cross-bones on the buttons of their jackets, asked, through his interpreter, how they came to have such a badge. On Jack replying, the General, with a small penknife, cut two of the buttons from his jacket and put them in his pocket. He then asked, ‘Were not all your men and officers drunk when they charged this morning?’

‘On the contrary,’ replied Jack, ‘none of them had even broken their fast.’

This the General did not seem inclined to believe, when, an idea striking Jack, he said, ‘If you like to look in the haversacks of any of my dead countrymen you will doubtless find their day’s rations untouched!’

This was done, and the General actually inspected the food found in the haversack of a dead Hussar.

Various other questions as to the number of troops the English had, what they thought of the action of the day, and so on, were put to Jack and Will, none of which they would answer. They were then asked if they could prove they had only ventured on the field of battle in search of wounded comrades, and Jack replied that if the Russians would return a little way along the valley with him he would show them the body of a comrade whom they had decently laid out.

To Jack’s surprise he was told to lead the way, the Russians following him. When they came to the place where poor Larry lay, the trumpeters were alarmed to see the Dragoon still kneeling, as though in prayer, beside the body of his cousin.

Jack expected every instant he too would be made a prisoner; but on a sharp word from General Liprandi, the officers removed their headdresses and stood still till the poor pious Irishman, looking up, saw to his intense astonishment the group of Russians, with Jack and Will prisoners among them. He jumped to his feet, when the English-speaking officer said, ‘Do not be afraid; we shall not hurt you. And you two,’ turning to Jack and Will, ‘are free. The General says you may return to your camp and do not trouble any more about your wounded. It is for this very reason these men you see about are on the field. He bids me tell you that the Russians are Christians as well as the English, and that what the English doctors did for the Russian wounded after the battle of the Alma our doctors will do for your wounded after our victory of Balaclava.’ The words ‘victory of Balaclava’ rankled in Jack’s mind. True, the Russians had possession of the field, and had even captured a few English guns; but not once had they stood before the English, who had proved their superiority in the field and driven the Russians before them.

However, that was no moment for arguing, and, thankful to regain his liberty, he asked permission to take the dead body of Larry with them. This being granted, they departed towards their own lines.

Confident that any of their wounded comrades would be well treated did they fall into the hands of General Liprandi, Denis O’Callaghan returned with Jack and Will, and they reached their lines just as word had been given to move the camp half a mile farther back.

They then wrapped poor Larry in the cloak of a dead Lancer, and Denis sat beside the body till daylight, while Jack, at last worn out with the exertions of the past day and night, lay down and slept almost as soundly as his dead friend.

Williams, who had been wounded in the charge, had managed to crawl back to the English lines during the night, and was then in hospital. The next day the remnants of the light cavalry brigade were moved still farther up the valley.

During the day, the Russians, elated with a rose-coloured account of the battle of Balaclava, made a determined attack upon the Second Division; but the English outlying pickets met them bravely and held them in check till reinforcements came up, when the able commander of the division so handled his men that he drew the enemy on till he had got him within his grasp, and then completely crushed him with his artillery, killing and wounding about five hundred.

Poor Larry was laid to rest with military honours. Jack cut the gold chevrons from his jacket to keep in remembrance of him, and Denis O’Callaghan, with the permission of Larry’s colonel, had his bugle, which he intended to send to Larry’s father. The trumpeters of his own and Jack’s regiment, only five in all, attended and sounded the ‘last post’ over the grave in which he was laid, his only covering being the old Lancer cloak in which Jack had wrapped him. During the ceremony, Jerry, the regimental dog of the 8th Hussars, sat looking as if he understood it all, giving an occasional whine, and following the men of the 8th when they turned away from the grave.

Two days later the camp was again shifted to a pretty spot up among the hills on the road from Balaclava, close to the rear of the French centre on the Sapoune Ridge.

The depression in the Light Brigade caused by their terrible losses began to wear off, and the men were pretty busy doing orderly and escort duty.

Jack’s share in the great fight was brought under notice of Captain Morgan, then in command, Captain Wintle having been killed and Captain Norreys in hospital. He was the only soldier who had taken part in both charges, and earned more celebrity than his modesty appreciated.

Sergeant Barrymore, who was promoted to sergeant-major after the charge, said on several occasions, ‘Captain Norreys took the old regiment into action; but if any one can be said to have brought out what remained of it, that man was Jack Blair. He is, so far as “Ours” is concerned, the hero of Balaclava.’ The men fully agreeing, Jack got the nickname of ‘Blair of Balaclava.’

Being then old enough, acting on the advice of Captain Norreys, who in spite of his terrible hurts was in a fair way of recovery, Jack transferred to the ranks, resigning his place as trumpeter. In fact there was small need for a trumpeter at all with the handful of men who were left, and Will was quite able to do all the duty required. Jack on transfer received promotion, and found himself in orders as sergeant, probably the youngest sergeant in the Crimea.

During the next few days the pickets and vedettes, keeping an ever watchful eye on the enemy, noticed that enormous reinforcements reached the Russians, and it was evident that the Czar, probably enraged at the idea of a mere handful of hardy soldiers invading his territories and sitting down before his fortress of Sebastopol, had determined to use all the resources of his mighty empire to sweep the arrogant invaders into the sea.

Thousands upon thousands of men, horse, foot, and artillery, were poured into Sebastopol, whole divisions at a time, and to the badly fed, ragged, and overworked heroes in the allied camps it became evident that soon, very soon, they would have to wage grim battle against their enemy for their very existence.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE CAVES OF INKERMANN.

ABOUT a week after the charge, the remnant of the brigade made a rather extended reconnaissance in the direction of Baktchi Serai, with the idea of discovering whether any very large body of troops had been massed in that direction.

The brigade descended from the heights, crossed the swampy ground, and got across the Tchernaya or Black River by the ford. Thence they went on for some distance in the direction of Mackenzie’s Farm; and as Jack recognised the country he and his comrades, then so full of high spirits after the victory of the Alma, had crossed over on the flank march, his heart grew heavy within him. Where were those comrades now? Alas! they were gone to await that final muster at which all must answer to their names and give an account of their lives.

Many Cossack vedettes were seen, but these promptly retired from ridge to ridge before the British cavalry, who, making a detour to their left, skirted the Inkermann ruins, reforded the Tchernaya, and regained their camp, having discovered nothing of any importance.

It was on the Friday following that a whole division of horse, foot, and artillery were seen to be entering Sebastopol, and every one knew a great battle was near at hand.

All day Saturday it poured with rain, and in the evening Jack and Will, after vainly striving to light a fire with damp roots, gave it up, and wrapping themselves in their cloaks retired inside their tent.

‘Do you know, Will,’ said Jack, ‘I can’t rid myself of a sort of feeling of impending disaster.’

‘After Balaclava no disaster can trouble me much,’ said Will gloomily.

‘True; but after all the cavalry were the only sufferers there. If anything happened to the whole army we should be in a hole if you like, and with the reinforcements the Russians have been receiving lately they must outnumber us and the French and Turks by at least two to one.’

‘I dare say.’

‘And tied up as we are, having to find all the pickets and guards, to man the trenches, keep open our road to Balaclava and guard that, why, if the Russians delivered an attack in force we couldn’t put ten thousand men in the field to face them to save our lives.’

‘Cheerful outlook,’ growled Will.

‘And if the Russians should surprise us we shouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘Pile it on, Jack.’

Both lapsed into silence, then Jack started up. ‘Will, I can’t rest,’ he said, ‘I feel something is going to happen. I’m going to creep by our Light Division pickets and try if I can see or hear anything. I noticed out by the Inkermann Heights dozens of places, ruins and caves, where any one could lie safely hidden from sight, but could yet observe all that was going on round them. Are you game to accompany me?’

‘You seem determined to run into unnecessary danger,’ said Will; ‘but if you’re bent on going I’m with you.’

The rain by then had left off, and leaving their cloaks behind, so as to be able to move more freely, Jack and Will left their lines.

They carried only pistols with them, relying upon their agility to keep out of the way of any prowling Russian sentries or patrols. They made their way past the camp of the Light Division, and creeping down a ravine made towards the river. Emerging safely from the ravine, they saw, some couple of miles in front of them, the lighthouse, which they knew stood at the head of the roadstead of Sebastopol.

They then had the Karabel Faubourg of Sebastopol on their left; and though it was too misty to see the lights of the town they heard the church bells ringing. They ascended a slight hill, noticing that several caves opened from it into the side of the hill. They entered one or two of these, disturbing flocks of sea-gulls as they did so.

‘Rummy sort of place this,’ said Will.

‘Yes, tradition says that the original Tartar inhabitants lived in these caves.’

‘Good luck to ’em,’ growled Will. ‘I should think they found it a pretty chilly sort of life.’

It began again to drizzle with rain, and the two lads entered one of the caves to get out of the wet. They remained there some time, Jack being busy thinking, when he suddenly exclaimed, ‘Will, it must be getting on towards morning. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that the church bells in Sebastopol should be kicking up such a row at this time of night?’

‘It is a bit funny; but perhaps, as to-morrow’s Sunday, it’s one of their saints’ days, and they’re sort of ringing him in.’

But presently they heard twelve o’clock chiming from the various churches, and still the bells kept ringing.

‘Well,’ said Jack, ‘I’m going to try and get a bit nearer to the town to see what’s up; the Russians are not ringing those bells for nothing.’

Accordingly, the two lads left the cave and began to descend the somewhat steep sides of the hill. By some mischance they did not descend at the same place they had gone up, getting on a much more steep part.

They found themselves slipping, and they turned sideways, grabbing at the tufts of scrub as they went down. But presently these tufts ceased, the ground was loose and stony, and helter-skelter through the mist Jack and Will descended. They had almost reached the bottom of the hill when Jack thought he heard voices. He called out to Will and tried to stop; but the hill was too steep and he was going too fast.

A gruff challenge rang out; then a dozen flat-capped soldiers in long coats almost to their feet loomed big in the fog, and with a crash Jack and Will dashed into them. Several cries, either of anger or fear, rang out; then bang! bang! went a couple of rifles.

‘Come on,’ cried Jack; ‘let’s dash through them!’

A heavy hand was laid upon him; but he tore himself free. Another man advanced towards him, but Jack’s pistol was in his hand, and he shot the fellow in the leg. He was then free; but, turning, he saw Will in the grasp of two Russians.

The man whom Jack had shot had dropped his rifle, and this Jack instantly picked up. He pointed it at one of Will’s captors and pulled the trigger. The man fell. A crashing blow with the butt-end on the shoulder of the second Russian made him release his hold.

‘Come, Will,’ cried Jack; and before the other astonished Russians could do anything they dashed away up the hill.

They were soon out of sight in the mist; but several shots were fired in their direction, the balls chipping up the rocky ground around them. The heavy, crashing footsteps of the Russians could be heard behind them too, and it was clear they were not going to be allowed to escape with impunity.

Jack and Will struggled and panted up the hillside, and, being lighter, got along quicker than their pursuers.

‘There’s a cave,’ cried Will; ‘into it, Jack.’

The two dashed in; but the pursuing Russians had seen them, and one fellow ran up and fired his rifle into the black opening. The ball whizzed uncomfortably near Jack’s head.

‘Let’s throw ourselves down,’ said Will, and this they did; luckily, indeed, for several other bullets were fired into the cave.

The lads could hear the Russians outside talking and stamping about. Presently there was a glare, and a big Russian, stooping, entered the cave, carrying a lighted lantern. He was followed by several others, all having rifles with fixed bayonets in their hands.

Jack and Will could see the Russians though they themselves remained invisible.

‘If those pasty-faced scoundrels get hold of us,’ said Jack, ‘it’s all over with us. Will, we must put out that light. Load your pistol.’

On hearing Jack’s voice the Russian stopped, and one man, pointing his musket, fired. He imagined the lads were standing though, and again fired too high.

‘Are you loaded?’ whispered Jack.

‘Yes.’

‘Take aim at the man with the lantern, and when I say, “Now!” fire at him.’

‘Now!’

Two reports rang out; there was a groan and a strong smell of gunpowder. The lantern had been dashed to the ground and extinguished, and judging by the sounds, the other Russians were beating a hasty retreat.

All remained silent for some time, then Jack said, ‘We’ve driven them off for the moment; but I should not be surprised if they waited at the mouth of the cave for us. If they do catch us our fate is sealed. After our usage of them they won’t trouble to take us prisoners.’

The lads sat down and waited for what seemed ages, but which was in reality about an hour. Then they crept noiselessly to the mouth of the cave and looked out.

There, sitting round a small fire which they had somehow managed to make, were nine Russian soldiers, one having his hand bound up. Their muskets were all close handy, and they seemed ready to leap to their feet at a moment’s notice.

Jack and Will crawled back again into the cave, and spite of themselves presently fell asleep. How long Jack slept he had not at the moment the faintest idea. He awoke Will softly.

‘Hist,’ he cried, ‘be silent; we’ll go and see if the Russians are still watching.’

They got up and blundered slowly along in the pitchy darkness, but they did not come to the mouth of the cave.

‘Funny,’ said Will; ‘seems we’ve come a tremendous distance, and it’s strange how fresh the air is in here.’

‘I wonder whether there is more than one exit,’ said Jack.

On and on they crept till presently a faint, very faint light, or rather less dense blackness, appeared before them. They hastened, and soon found themselves at a mouth of the cave; but it did not seem the one they had entered by. Anyway, no Russians were in sight.

Jack and Will crept out and looked about them.

There, a good distance away on their right, was the glimmer of a fire, and dim forms could be seen round it.

‘That’s it. This is another exit—hurrah!’ cried Jack. ‘We’ve done them after all.’

Silently the lads stole away, keeping up on the side of the hill. For half-an-hour they kept on; then they began to wonder where they were. The night was so dark and the mist so thick that it was impossible to tell in which direction they ought to go to reach the British camp.

‘Seems we’ve been on a wild-goose chase,’ growled Will.

‘I’m afraid we have,’ said Jack, ‘and the fact that we can’t see the moon prevents my being able to take our bearings.’

They descended the hill, and getting on marshy ground knew they must be near the river.

‘This is lucky,’ said Jack, ‘for we know that if we keep the river on our left we must be going towards our camp. If we keep along the ridge on our right we shall strike the outposts of the Light Division.’

‘And very likely get shot for our trouble,’ said Will, who was wet and tired.

They climbed up the ridge and reached the top, when by a common impulse they stopped. Borne upward faintly on the misty, wet-laden air, was a rumbling, grinding noise, accompanied by a kind of sullen hum like the buzzing of millions of bees.

‘Do you hear that, Will?’ cried Jack, clutching his companion’s arm.

‘Guns,’ said Will.

‘Men,’ said Jack, ‘in thousands too.’

‘Let’s make sure,’ said Will.

They descended the side of the ridge and presently through the mist could make out the ghostly forms of men marching in files closely packed, passing, passing, apparently without end. Then came the grinding of wheels on the gritty ground, accompanied by the jangling of chains and harness, as gun after gun went by.

Jack and Will reascended the ridge, and then far away on their left similar sounds of marching thousands and numberless guns could be heard.

‘The enemy is marching in overwhelming numbers,’ said Jack. ‘Our camp is asleep. In this fog it will be surprised. Will, come on; on our efforts perhaps depend the lives of hundreds of our countrymen.’

‘We must give them warning,’ said Will; and at top speed the intrepid Lancers started off. On and on they went, directed by the sounds of the advancing Russians.

These, to some extent, they were presently enabled to leave behind; but on the right and left ominous rumblings could still be heard.

Blundering, falling, running, Jack and Will tore on, their one idea being to put their countrymen on their guard. Sometimes they were so close to the Russians that they could almost have touched them, but Providence always protected them. Presently they struck a road, and this they raced along till, emerging suddenly from the fog, a quick challenge fell upon their ears.

‘Halt! Who goes there?’

‘Friends,’ panted the lads; ‘two of the 17th Lancers.’

‘Stay where you are,’ returned a stern voice, and in an instant several men belonging to a picket of the 41st Regiment advanced and seized them.

In a few breathless, impassioned words Jack told of the danger.

‘Give the alarm,’ he panted, ‘the Russians in thousands are advancing upon you.’

The curious humming buzz of the advancing hordes could be distinctly heard by all. The sergeant sent for the officer of the picket, which had just been newly posted. He heard what Jack and Will had to say, and asked them how they came to be outside the British lines. Being answered, he said calmly, ‘Return at once, sergeant, and tell the officer in command of the relieved picket what you’ve heard. Then go and alarm the camp.’

He then went up to the brow of the hill in front, Jack and Will with him. Soon, very soon, just as day was breaking, he saw close upon him the leading columns of two Russian battalions. He fell back and gave his men the order to deliver their fire.

Three crashing volleys rang out, and the advancing columns, taken by surprise and thus suddenly greeted, fell back.

The battle of Inkermann, the most sanguinary struggle that has taken place since war cursed the earth, had begun.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

‘THE SOLDIERS’ BATTLE.’

THE crashing volleys with which the picket Jack and Will had alarmed greeted the Russians were quickly echoed from right and left. The rattling of musketry was soon interrupted by the sharp, ringing report of field-guns, and along a great part of the British lines a heavy fire was opened.

The picket of the 41st were outnumbered a hundred to one; but they refused to give ground. For half-an-hour they maintained their position, and long before that time had elapsed both Jack and Will, possessing themselves of the rifles and cartridge-pouches of two men who had fallen, were bearing their part with their comrades of the line.

During the half-hour in which the picket stuck to their post, the Russians placed twenty-two heavy guns on the height known as Shell Hill, just in front of them. When these opened fire, and not till then, the gallant picket retired, not falling back, but moving away to their right.

A fierce struggle was then taking place between other Russian columns and a company of the 49th. Jack’s party joined these, and presently a British field-battery came groping its way through the mist in order to find a suitable place on which to unlimber and open fire. The ground was much encumbered with thick brushwood, and it was some time before they could unlimber. Even then they paused before opening fire, for the mist was so thick that they could not see whether Russians or English were before them.

Presently the 49th were assailed with so tremendous a fire that they fell back with loss, retiring to reform behind the guns. Before these latter could open fire, with yelps and shouts, dense masses of gray-coated, flat-capped Russians threw themselves upon the gunners, and a terrific hand-to-hand combat commenced. The men fired literally in each other’s faces; then muskets were clubbed, and a fierce mêlée ensued.

‘Fire a round of case,’ yelled the officer in command of the guns; but the enemy was in amongst the gunners.

A young lieutenant of artillery drew his sword, and crying to his men to do likewise and follow him, charged at the enemy. A shower of bullets greeted him and those who followed him, amongst whom were Jack and Will. Then the Russians, as though bewildered by the suddenness of this onslaught, halted, and in an instant men with swords, rammers, and sponge-staves were in amongst them, smiting them and hurling them back. One enormous gunner, having smashed a rammer on a particularly thick Russian skull, stood alone for some time, felling Russian after Russian with tremendous sledge-hammer blows of his fists. Then the Russians rallied, rolled on in irresistible numbers, drove back the defenders, and three of the guns were in the enemy’s hands.

The artillery lieutenant, borne back with the sullenly retreating infantry, loudly bewailed the loss of his beloved guns, and the men of the 41st and the 49th, reforming, poured such a galling fire upon the advancing Russians that they halted and wavered.

‘Men,’ cried the officer in command, ‘the enemy pauses; give them one more volley, then let them have the bayonet.’

The men answered with a wild cheer, and soon along the whole line a crashing volley rang out.

As was frequently the case during the day, the fog lifted for a few minutes and showed the little band of Englishmen that they were opposed to several whole battalions fully six thousand strong. They also saw that four slender companies of the 77th Regiment, barely two hundred and fifty strong, coming down the crest, had as it were come unexpectedly upon the huge horde of Russians. Not for one instant did they pause, however. They delivered a crashing volley; then, led by several mounted officers, with a soul-stirring cheer they charged with the bayonet. They dashed in amongst the dense masses of Russian infantry, literally rolling them up. The gray-coated battalions broke and wavered.

‘Now is our time, men,’ cried the officer in command of the mixed party with which were Jack and Will, and bringing their bayonets down to the charge they sprang forward to complete the work so gallantly begun by the 77th.

The Russians had faced half-about to meet the 77th, and Jack’s party took them in flank, bayoneting and driving them backward like sheep. The great battalions broke and fled for their lives, leaving hundreds of dead behind them. The captured guns, which had been left where they were, were retaken, and the artillerymen almost wept with joy to find their weapons had not been spiked.

The defeated battalions were pursued down to the very slopes of Shell Hill, and it was only when the Russian artillery posted on the crest began to hurl showers of shot and shell amongst the handful of British that the bugles sounded the rally, and the men retreated to the ground they had originally occupied. Then those two Russian battalions, the Catherinburg and Tomsk, retreated from the field and took no more part in that day’s fighting.

‘Cavalry work is brilliant,’ said Jack; ‘but after all it’s the infantry that do the real business. That charge was grand, Will.’

But the tremendous fire from the guns on Shell Hill was so rending and tearing them that this gallant band had to retire, and but few would have lived to tell the tale had it not been for the English artillery, which silenced some of the Russian guns.

The remainder of the 41st Regiment, under General Adams, advancing, Jack’s party formed in their rear and marched with them towards the spot known as the Fore Ridge, which was being assaulted by an overwhelming force of Russians. Marching along the ridge, the gallant seven hundred descended the slope, meeting on their way the pickets driven in from the front.

Then through the fog they saw looming enormous columns of Russians, thousands strong. The English fired a volley, and while they were reloading the Russian bugles began to sound and the men to face about and retreat.

The voice of the gallant Adams rang out, but only those near him could hear, ‘Another volley, lads; then charge!’

Those near him started; the others followed the example, and the line dashed downhill, crashing into the Russian column, which turned and fled. They were the Taroutine and Borodino regiments, the same that the British had taught such a terrible lesson to on the day of the Alma. Disheartened by their previous experience, their hearts failed them; leaving hundreds of dead and wounded behind them, they too fled, and were no more seen that day.

It was with difficulty that the pursuit by the victorious English could be stopped; but at last they were brought back and took up their position in what was known as the Sandbag Battery, which was simply a dismounted earthwork having a parapet about eight or nine feet high, but no banquette on which the men defending it might stand to fire over the top. It had afforded a shelter from the wind to the pickets stationed there; but for defensive purposes it was useless. Yet it was for the possession of this useless work that the fiercest struggles of the day took place.

Hardly were the defeated battalions out of range than ten thousand fresh men, with ninety-seven more guns, came forward to the attack. So quickly did they appear through the fog, and so much were all the Russian soldiers alike, that the English thought it was the same force they had defeated returning to the attack.

These fresh troops, stern-looking, resolute men, came on with great determination, and soon a terrific combat began. The guns on the Home Ridge behind did good work by pouring in their fire on the Russians, the vivid, searing flashes showing up through the mist.

Often the opposing bodies met bayonet to bayonet; then the Russians would be hurled back and the English would coolly load and pour in a volley. Again the bayonet, a struggle, heaving first this way, then that; the repulse of the enemy, another volley, and another attack.

But the hundreds who were holding their ground against the thousands were feeling the stress. A seventh part of their number was down, and though they had done fourfold the damage they had suffered, yet as fast as they shot or bayoneted a foe, other two high-cheek-boned, pasty-faced soldiers seemed to take his place. Masses had also worked round on their right and left flanks and rear.

The position was desperate. All cohesion was lost; the men were acting together in tens and sixes, or even singly. Every man had set his teeth and determined to fall where he stood. The British had their backs to the wall; they knew that on them depended the fate of the army, of the whole expedition; defeat meant disaster, so they fought on till they died.

Jack and Will, with two privates and a sergeant, a man of great stature, fought in one group, and terrible were the combats they had.

Spite of all, the British had to give ground foot by foot; but they hung on with the bull-dog tenacity of their race. Twice they were driven from the Sandbag Battery, and twice did they retake it, only again to be driven out. Then four officers sprang forward, waving their swords.

‘Follow us, men!’ they cried.

They sprang in among the foe, and for a moment no one followed. Two were at once slain. Then Jack ran forward. ‘They will all be killed!’ he cried. ‘To the rescue!’

A rush followed, the Russians were driven back, the bayonets went to work till they dripped blood, and the battery was again in British hands, though at a terrible cost. But now the ammunition failed, and men cried out to General Adams to ask what they should do.

‘You have still your bayonets, boys,’ he replied; and with these they fought on. But numbers told; and, unsupported as they were, they had to fall back, carrying their wounded with them, for they had seen that day that the Russians brained or bayoneted every wounded man they saw.

While they were sullenly retreating, General Adams received a mortal wound, and a cry of sorrow went up from the men. Then suddenly, three field-guns behind them opened fire, and instantly the advance of the Russians was checked, the round-shot crashing through their ranks; but presently, being reinforced by yet another battalion, they again advanced, moving cautiously in skirmishing order through the brushwood. Then the guns opened with ‘case,’ and they retreated.

Soon, coming through the mist, tall black headdresses were seen, and a cheer went up from the sorely smitten 49th as they recognised the Guards. The Grenadiers were moving down grandly to the attack, and the remnants of the 49th and 41st, not waiting to replenish their ammunition, but depending alone upon their bayonets, formed up and advanced on the left of the Guards.

Upon coming up with the enemy, the Guards tried to open fire; but the chambers of their rifles were wet and the caps only snapped, failing to explode the cartridges.

Low, angry growls burst from the Guards till a cheery voice rang out, ‘Never mind, Grenadiers; the steel will do it.’

Then they brought their rifles down to the charge, and without any word of command dashed down upon the Russians, sweeping them from the battery and from the ground on its flanks. The Grenadiers used the few minutes’ respite they had won in drying their rifles by firing caps, and by then the Russians had returned to the attack.

The Guards soon found that the wall of the battery, having no banquette on which the defenders might stand, though it might be a protection, yet hindered them from inflicting harm on the enemy, so they left it and engaged the Russians on the flank of it. Again and again did they charge the countless hordes, again and again did the Sandbag Battery change hands, till the slain around it lay in heaps. The Scots Fusiliers joined in the fight, and for two hours a struggle went on that is almost impossible to describe.

The English fought mostly in grim silence; but the Russians, roused to a wild, religious enthusiasm, and maddened by vodka, yelled and howled like demons.

At last the Russians brought up an overwhelming mass of artillery, which opened on the defenders and so played on the slopes behind them that it would have been impossible to bring up reinforcements, even were there any to bring; but all were engaged. Under cover of this fire, six thousand fresh troops were hurled against the remnants of the Guards, less than eight hundred strong at the beginning of the fight; and, the fog again lifting, the colonel of the Grenadiers saw the columns upon columns of flat-capped, white-faced soldiery, with their close-cropped bullet-heads, and their high cheek-bones, throwing up their right shoulders to outflank him. He knew the Sandbag Battery was useless to him, and he moved his men so as to form his line to meet the Russians.

Just then over the crest came a long line of bearskins. Jack saw them as quickly as any one.

‘Hallo, Will,’ he cried, ‘what troops are those?’

A sergeant of Grenadiers answered that question. ‘They’re the Coldstreams, sonny’ he said; ‘now we’ll show these long-gowned putty-faces’—alluding to the Russians’ greatcoats, which reached to their feet—‘what stuff the Guards are made of.’

The ‘long gowns,’ finding the Sandbag Battery deserted, had already rushed in with wild yells of delight. This sight made the Grenadiers chafe.

‘Boys,’ said the sergeant who had just spoken to Jack and Will, ‘are we going to let the Coldstreams get back the battery? Who’ll follow me? The Grenadiers have held it and they’ll keep it.’

With a wild cheer a hundred of them dashed down, bayoneting the Russians; and, before the Coldstreams came up, for the seventh time the Sandbag Battery was retaken. Neither Jack nor Will had followed the impetuous sergeant; but they took part in the forward movement which presently set the Okhotsk and Selinghinsk battalions reeling down the hill. And so the fight went on; but slowly the force of thousands against hundreds began to tell, and though every man in the British force was a hero, he could not maintain for ever a struggle against odds ten to one. Russians seemed to spring up on all sides; and, though the earth was cumbered with their dead and wounded, in countless hordes they still came on.

It presently became imperative that the Guards and the remnants of the 49th and 41st should receive reinforcements. The Duke of Cambridge himself had gone some time before to find men to come to the assistance of his beloved Guards; but not a man had arrived.

A desperate attack had just been beaten off, in which Will had received a blow on the head from the butt-end of a rifle which had laid him senseless for a few minutes.

Jack was kneeling beside his injured comrade when a mounted officer tapped his shoulder with his blood-stained sword.

‘Sergeant,’ he said, ‘I’ve several times noticed you and your comrade to-day using a rifle and bayonet with the best of us, and you’ve done good service, though how on earth you got here I can’t tell.’

‘Accident brought us here, sir,’ replied Jack.

‘Well, it was a lucky chance, and you can render us further service if you will. You’re a cavalryman. Mount my horse, go back to the ridge, and find General Pennefather. Ask him to send us what men he can spare, we’re hard pushed.’

Jack looked at Will and then at the officer.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said the officer; ‘but you can get your comrade up before you on the mare. She’ll carry you both, and your chum will be better in the rear. I can’t go myself, because my place is here with my battalion. We shall have to fight for our very lives, and few if any of us will get out of this. When you find the General, impress upon him that we are almost out of cartridges.’

This amounted to an order, and so, reluctantly, Jack climbed into the saddle which the major vacated; and, two stalwart Guardsmen lifting up Will tenderly and seating him before Jack, he turned his horse’s head uphill. As he went along, bullets whizzed by his ears and several times round-shot ploughed up the ground round him; but he reached the crest, and having placed Will in safety, he had the good fortune to find General Pennefather and his staff. He delivered his message, and the genial Irishman, his face aglow with pleasure at the fight he was enabled to wage against tremendous odds, untrammelled by superiors, said, ‘And what the dickens are you doing here?’

Jack replied, and the General burst out laughing. ‘A lame excuse, youngster,’ he said; ‘but any excuse that takes a man into the fight will pass with me. Now we must see what men we can spare to help the Guards. Keep with me, Lancer, you may be useful, for many of my staff have been bowled over.’

Reinforcements in tens or twenties were found and formed up—men of the 20th, 21st, and 63rd Regiments who had wandered back for ammunition; men who had been in the fight and been driven back, losing their companies; men who were acting as camp-guard. These men, just driblets, fell in and marched to the assistance of those in the Sandbag Battery, who, from the occasional glimpses which could be caught of them, it was seen were waging a stubborn fight.

Then immense masses of the enemy emerging from the Quarry Ravine advanced against the right of the Home Ridge. Perceiving the movement, General Pennefather galloped off there, and Jack, still on the charger of the Guards’ officer, followed.

That part of the ridge was held by four hundred men only; but they were men of historic regiments, the 20th and the 57th. When the Russians came within striking distance the 20th delivered their fire; then, with the old Minden yell, a cry practised by that regiment alone, they swooped down on the Russians. The colonel of the 57th bade his men prepare.

‘A volley, then the bayonet,’ he said. ‘Remember Albuera, men, and die hard!’

That regiment, known since Albuera by the proud nickname of the ‘Die Hards,’ needed no second bidding. They sprang upon the flank of the Russians and rolled them up; but another battalion appearing, General Pennefather ordered both the 20th and the 57th to retire to the top of the ridge, where they lay down, and with concentrated fire held the enemy in check.

For three hours, then, the battle had waged, and everywhere, in spite of occasional advantages, the Russians had been defeated. A lull now ensued; the enemy were preparing for their great final effort.

The weather cleared a little, so that surrounding objects could be seen; and, riding behind heroic General Pennefather, Jack presently saw the Russians coming up the slope towards the Home Ridge in enormous columns. They covered the advance of their infantry with a raging artillery fire, and the ridge was swept from end to end.

Presently, just by Jack, the head of a Russian column gained the ridge. There were no English troops in sight; but a French regiment, the 7th of the line, was moving along the crest. It was smitten by the Russian artillery, it wavered and faltered. An English staff-officer rode up and harangued them in broken French. Jack, speaking the language fluently, also galloped up.

‘Comrades, brothers, stand firm!’ he cried; ‘prove that you are the sons of the heroes who under the great Napoleon conquered half Europe.’

The battalion advanced; but the Russians poured in a volley when they retreated down the hillside. The troops on the Home Ridge were in danger, the victorious Russians were advancing, when two hundred men of the 55th and 77th flew at the mass, charged it, tore through it from end to end; and the Russians, paralysed by the very audacity of the attack, retired down the hill. They were not defeated though; they rallied and returned to the attack.

The French 7th Regiment advanced; some English troops who had been driven back formed up beside them. The French deployed right in the face of the advancing Russians. They delivered a volley and were reloading when a panic seemed to seize them. They saw the Russians would be upon them before they had finished loading, and they had not that calm confidence in their prowess which enables the British to charge home with the bayonet. They began to fall back, when General Pennefather, in strong, vigorous language, bade them stand; many of his officers did likewise, and the English soldiers on their left shouted out encouragingly. The French soldiers listened; they took heart, but the Russians were then only a few paces from them.

Suddenly the enemy’s leading battalions halted, and began to gaze nervously over their shoulders. A tremendous tumult broke out behind them. They saw their supporting battalions reel and stagger, then weaken.

The English around their General, looking from the vantage of their seats on horseback, saw the gallant Daubeney with thirty men of the 55th dash at the flank of the whole Russian battalion, strike in, lose itself in the horde of Russians; then—by stabbing, kicking, punching, heaving—literally tear a way through from flank to flank, throwing them into fearful disorder. This disorder spread to the first battalion of Russians, who, thinking they were attacked by numbers, wavered.

General Pennefather gave a tremendous cheer, those with him took it up; the handful of English on the flank of the French sprang forward, and a fierce fight began. The French officers cried out, ‘Drummers to the front.’

In an instant they were beating a pas de charge; the French gave a cry, and with levelled bayonets dashed on the foe, who were driven down the hill with great slaughter.

The Russians this time, however, were in grave earnest. They rallied, and again attacked along the whole line with great vigour. But the British artillery had gained the ascendant, and was doing enormous damage with two eighteen-pounders which Lord Raglan had caused to be dragged up to the front.

The whole of the Russian battalions concentrated their fire on these guns; and although they struck down one-tenth of the men working them, so magnificently were they handled that they smashed up gun after gun of the Russians and effectually quieted their fire.

It was then that every available man was brought up to repel the final Russian attack. More French troops arrived, with them being a cavalry regiment, the 4th Chasseurs d’Afrique.

They passed close by Jack, and to his surprise he saw the remnants of the Light Brigade, the whole only two hundred strong, acting in support of the French cavalry.

Barrymore saw Jack, and immediately called him, and Jack took his place in the ranks. There was no time then for explanations, and he rode on with his regiment till they came under a tremendous artillery fire. A shell burst right in amongst them, and several men and horses fell.

‘Poor Harry Scarfe is down,’ cried Jack.

‘Ay,’ growled Barrymore, ‘and so is our cornet; that leaves us only two officers.’

Unfortunately both men were killed; and, several other casualties occurring, the cavalry was retired.

The French General decided to recall his troops, for they had all met with discomfiture. One regiment of Zouaves, however, remained, and with the remnant of our Guards they advanced towards the Sandbag Battery.

So fierce was the attack the thus allied brigade delivered that the Russians were hurled back against the wall. The only outlets were the two embrasures; and, encumbered by their long coats, the Russians tried in vain to force themselves through. They were caught in a trap and a terrible slaughter ensued, the pursuit following them right down to the Quarry Ravine.

Along the whole line the British were equally successful, the Russians were hurled back; and the eighteen-pounders continuing to do grand work, the Russian artillery fire was gradually overcome.

General Pennefather ordered a fresh advance of his handful of men, only a few hundreds being left of his three thousand six hundred of the morning.

‘Forward once more, boys,’ he said, ‘and we’ll lick ’em yet—lick ’em to the devil!’

Once more they advanced, once more crossed bayonets with the sulky foe, no longer yelling like demons, but now fighting with the stubbornness of despair. Gradually they drove them back, the Russians again giving vent to that wailing cry of despair that had been heard on the heights of the Alma.

About one o’clock a staff officer with Lord Raglan observed the Russians beginning to withdraw their artillery; then the news flew round that the enemy acknowledged his defeat, and at last the battle, the great ‘Soldiers’ Battle,’ was won.

A mass of two thousand men, all gathered closely together, formed to cover the retreat of the Russian artillery. The eighteen-pounders were turned upon them, and the balls tore through, carrying cruel destruction with them.

The moment had arrived for pursuit; but the fasting British were too exhausted to move, the French General refused to advance his troops unless the British supported him, and the Russians were allowed to fall sullenly back.

There was no semblance of riot or disorder. The defeated battalions, still in their thousands, retreated in good order.

By three o’clock Mount Inkermann was free of Russians, all but the ghastly thousands of dead and wounded.

The French artillery followed the foe and did them some damage; but the ships from the harbour opened on them, and they retreated.

Night settled down in mist and fog and gloom, hiding the horrors on those blood-stained slopes. By eight o’clock the last gun had passed back into the Russian lines of defence.

The great battle of Inkermann was lost—and won!

CHAPTER XXXVII.

MISERIES ACCUMULATE

WHEN Jack got back to the lines of his regiment he found that Will, not much the worse for his broken head, had already returned.

It was more than likely that the timely warning they had been able to give the picket of the 41st saved a surprise on the part of the Russians which might have been most awkward for the British.

Jack and Will had, however, been ‘absent without leave;’ and though in their own regiment the part they had played became known, yet no official mention was made of it, for awkward questions might have been asked.

The next morning was bright and cold, and the whole of the battlefield could be seen. It was then, and only then, that the terrible nature of the struggle of the day before could be realised; and it was seen that the fog, though most confusing at the time, had yet been a blessing, for it had prevented the British from being disheartened by the tens of thousands who had been pitted against them, and the Russians from discovering the mere handful of British by whom they were opposed.

Early in the morning shoals of people from Balaclava—Greeks, Armenians, Turks, sailors from the fleet, and others—came to visit the battlefield, taking medals, ribbons, crucifixes, chains, and so on as mementos of the great fight.

To prevent this the cavalry were ordered to turn out as patrols, and to keep every one off the battlefield but those engaged there. All day long Jack and Will were thus engaged, and a terrible duty it was.

‘It’s worse than fighting,’ said Jack. ‘Just look there, Will, where we fought so long at the Sandbag Battery. The dead are literally in heaps—see, eight deep! English, Russians, and French, all one on top of the other!’

The groans and cries of the wounded as they were borne past were heart-rending. The Russians lay around in thousands, and it seemed as if the task of gathering them in would never finish. The wounded were seen to first, being carried to the hospital tents. The dead Russians were placed side by side in long trenches. Even while thus engaged, the enemy on several occasions opened fire from Sebastopol on the burying-parties, much to the indignation of officers and men.

On the second day Jack’s regiment had to go down to Balaclava for stores. Near the town they heard the cheery tones of a band playing ‘Cheer, boys, cheer!’ the words of which the men were singing, and saw an infantry regiment, just landed, marching up to the front.

The fresh-coloured, smart-looking lads were cheering loudly, for they had heard of the glorious victory of Inkermann. Presently they came abreast of the Lancers, and they stared hard at the handful of war-worn, tattered, bearded, dirty horsemen, with battered caps and rusty arms. One youngster said to another as they passed Jack, ‘What troops are these, Bill, old man?’

‘Look like the “Beggars’ Own,”’ answered Bill. ‘I reckon they’re Frenchies.”

‘No fear,’ said another; ‘they’re English; look at their faces.’

‘Crikey, Bill!’ said the first speaker, ‘they ain’t much to look at; a wash ’u’d do ’em good,’ at which there was a laugh, and several of the troopers who had ridden down the Valley of Death coloured redly.

‘Poor fellows!’ said Barrymore to Jack, ‘wait till they’ve been in the Crimea a fortnight and taken a turn at trench and picket duty, they’ll understand things a bit then.’

Alas! within a month that regiment had lost two-thirds of its number, mostly from cholera.

The work in the trenches was being pushed forward rapidly; but there was no longer any hope that Sebastopol could be taken by assault. True, the Russians had lost heart over Inkermann, and it was doubtful whether they could again be got—at least for months—to come out in the open and face the English, and all felt that the siege must be a long and protracted affair.

The losses in the trenches and from sickness were nearly a hundred a day, and the handful of men before Sebastopol knew that unless speedy reinforcements arrived they would be absolutely at the mercy of the enemy. A week after Inkermann, had the Russians attempted another sortie the result might have been different.

The weather changed, and it began to get bitterly cold, and rain fell in torrents.

‘I believe we shall have to winter here,’ said Will to Jack one night as they shiveringly turned into their tent.

‘Then may the Lord help us,’ replied Jack, ‘for few of us will live to see the spring again.’

‘It almost seems as if the people at home had forgotten us.’

‘It’s easy to do that, sitting before a cosy fire after a good dinner, your feet in slippers, a book in your hand, and’——

‘For goodness’ sake shut up, Jack, or I shall murder you,’ said Will, ‘to draw such a picture with us here, hungry, cold, and wet, with nothing but the sodden ground to sleep on. Ugh, it’s awful!’

Jack and Will occupied a tent together. Since Balaclava all troop distinctions had been lost. The handful of survivors formed themselves into one regiment, the men of different corps making troops. Since that day in the North Valley the survivors seemed drawn together by a mutual bond of sympathy, and in place of the jealousy often existing between regiments there was a feeling of good-fellowship.

On the particular night on which Will had his grumble it poured with rain, and the canvas getting saturated, the water soon began to leak through. Jack and Will wrapped their cloaks round them to keep some of the rain off, and so inured to hardships were they that they managed to sleep.

About five o’clock, however, they were both awakened by the streams of water which flowed underneath the flaps of the tent and were saturating them. Cold and miserable, they both sat up, listening to the wind howling through the camp. It got louder and louder; the sides of the tent began to rise and flutter, the rain driving right into the lads’ faces. The cords creaked and the pole began to bend.

‘Blest if I don’t think the lot’ll come down directly,’ said Will.

‘No fear,’ replied Jack; ‘it’s weathered as bad before; this pole is very strong.’

The wind simply shrieked, while the rain was dashed in sheets upon the side of the tent.

‘It certainly is violent,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve heard they get bad storms here, but’——

Snap—crash! the pole of the tent had broken off close to the ground, and Jack and Will were struggling under a heap of wet, cold canvas. Painfully, and at considerable risk, they fought their way out, and at last stood erect.

Heavens, what a sight met their gaze! Nearly every tent was down; many were being whirled sky-high in the blast; others covered the struggling forms of their former occupants. Men in every state of dress and undress were to be seen, some trying to chase their belongings, others having as much as they could do to stand up against the blast, many only staring blankly at each other. All round was a sea of mud; this was picked up by the wind, and being whirled along soon covered everybody and everything with a wet, freezing coating of earth.

Everything that Jack and Will possessed was under the wreck of their tent, and they fought manfully to rescue some of their things. Jack at last got his boots; but he had to sit down in mud almost to his waist to put them on. His fur-jacket, spoil from the convoy at Mackenzie’s Farm, he also got, and his dress-cap. Will rescued part of his things too; then the wind picked up the tent and whirled it away.

Tentless, Jack and Will looked around them. A captain of Hussars, in his shirt only, was tearing after a pair of overalls, which he at last captured only to find they were not his own. Men everywhere were chasing articles, while the air was filled with headdresses, caps, coats, wet blankets, even pieces of furniture from the officers’ tents.

And still the force of the wind increased. Wagons were overturned; the horses were knocked down and rolled over, then getting up, they broke loose from the picket-ropes and rushed madly out over the plain. The skies were leaden-coloured, the wind howled fiercer and fiercer; snow, sleet, rain all fell together; every one was soon knee-deep in mud.

Presently a cry arose, ‘The hospital-tent is down!’ and this was seen to be the case. Hundreds of poor fellows suffering from ghastly wounds received at Inkermann and in the trenches since were exposed to all the fury of that dreadful storm, and many succumbed.

All who were able to stand fought their way over to the hospital-tent, and, moving up to their knees in mud, lashed by the storm, they helped to carry the poor, uncomplaining fellows behind walls, into barns and stables, anywhere, so that they could get a little shelter until the fury of the elements abated.

All the morning Jack and Will worked at the hospital; and when they had finished, a good-hearted doctor took the lads into a hut which had been erected for his stores, and there gave them a hot cup of tea each—luxury of luxuries—some beef and ration-biscuits, and then a glass of brandy. To the doctor’s kindness the two lads always attributed the fact that they took no serious harm from the effects of the storm.

About midday the wind changed; it got piercingly cold, and snow fell heavily, soon covering everything with a mantle of white. During the afternoon the wind abated somewhat, and some attempts were made to recapture and re-erect tents; but only a few were recovered, and the ground being literally turned to mud the pegs would not hold. A few were got up by some means or other; but, the wind again rising, they were all blown down again.

Night approached, and the storm showed but small signs of abating. Jack and Will, huddled up in their cloaks, wet through and through, were sheltering from the wind under the lee of a wall, when a sergeant of the 8th Hussars whom both knew passed them.

‘Hallo, boys,’ he said, ‘there’s small comfort there. Have ye no better shelter?’

‘No, Flannigan,’ replied the lads.

‘Come with me, then. I’m going up to the barn used as a stable by the men of “Ours” who are Lord Raglan’s escort.’

The lads gladly followed the kindly sergeant, and presently reached the great barn. Here they found a mixed company, Hussars, Lancers, linesmen, officers, privates, all mixed up together, huddling round two fires which they had managed to light. There were a number of horses in the barn which the smoke from the fires made very restless. It is impossible to describe the combination of smells in the place; but it was heaven compared with outside, and thankfully Jack and Will squeezed up to a fire, and standing in their steaming garments thankfully accepted the bit of fried ration-pork offered to them, and drank a tot of rum.

Dozing by fits and starts, disturbed by the constant going and coming of different people, the neighing and stamping of the horses, and a tremendous cannonading opened by the Russians on the French lines, they passed the night, and awoke in the morning to find a bright, cold sky, the country covered in snow, every place ankle-deep in mud; but oh, blessing of blessings! the wind gone, and the sun, the genial sun, shining gloriously!

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

WAR IN GRIM EARNEST.

JACK and Will, both feeling sore and stiff, went off together to their own lines, and were busy with their horses when Sergeant-major Barrymore came striding along.

‘Oh Blair,’ he cried out, ‘I’ve been looking for you. Get saddled up as quickly as you can; you’ve got to go down to Balaclava with a despatch.’

‘Right you are, major,’ replied Jack; ‘I’ll just scrape a few pounds of mud off my poor beast, then I’ll be ready.’

Jack was soon on his way, and many a sad sight did he see as he went along. Dozens of poor fellows who had died of exposure during that dreadful night were being carried off for interment. The sufferings of those in the trenches had been terrible, and many a stalwart soldier had succumbed to the fury of the storm.

The road to Balaclava was a mere quagmire, and Jack had to struggle along through lines of ammunition-mules, artillery wagons, and so on, the poor exhausted beasts being hardly able to drag the vehicles through the sludge. Dead horses and cattle were scattered all over the country, with the débris of the camp, personal belongings, roofs of huts, and shreds of tents.

Balaclava itself far exceeded in filth and dirt anything that Varna had ever been. Its main street was simply a channel of mud, through which horses, camels, mules, soldiers, and sailors, with artillery and transport-wagons, continually fought their way. The air was full of the cries of Turks, Arabs, Italians, Maltese, Greeks, Tartars, Bulgarians, all offering the worst wares at fabulous prices.

From the side lanes one heard continually the cries of pain and the prayers of Moslem soldiers dying by dozens of cholera and other diseases. Since their conduct on the 25th of October the Turks had been treated with contempt by the British, and, finding no favour at the camp, had made Balaclava their headquarters, where, neglected by their own government, they had contracted the seeds of disease and made Balaclava a very pest-house. The bodies of the Turks lay sometimes for days where they had died. The stench in these narrow lanes was appalling, and the different forms of human suffering which met the sight at every turn enough to shock the most callous.

As Jack’s horse slowly and painfully made its way down towards the harbour, where he had to deliver his despatch, signs of damage done by the great storm met him on every side. Windows were blown in, roofs torn off, and at the neck of the harbour Jack saw two or three large boats which had been driven up inland and smashed to pieces. Floating on the waters of the harbour were trusses of hay, heavy pieces of timber, broken spars and masts, and all sorts of other things, indicating that great damage must have been done to the shipping.

From those employed in the harbour Jack learnt sad news indeed. During the storm twenty-one vessels had been wrecked. The new steamship Prince, which had arrived but a few days previously with the 46th Regiment, had gone down with a cargo valued at half a million aboard her. The whole of the winter clothing sent out for the troops, and of which they were fearfully in want, was lost. Forty thousand thick suits, with woollen underclothes, socks, gloves, boots, and blankets; hundreds and thousands of pounds of biscuit, salt-meat, coffee, and rice, thousands of gallons of rum; millions of pounds of forage and compressed hay; and millions of rounds of ball-cartridge, with all the artillery reserve ammunition were lost in that terrible storm.

Jack was appalled at the news, and as he made his way back to camp, through a biting snow and sleet storm, it seemed as if the very elements themselves were fighting for the Russians against the Allies.

Those were terrible days! Rain, fog, frost, and snow, followed one another in rapid succession. The winter set in with unwonted severity; the camp became a quagmire, and the men in the trenches were often up to the middle of their thighs in mud and slush for sixteen hours at a time. The road to Balaclava was often impassable, the putrid carcasses and skeletons of horses, camels, and mules lay half-buried in mud from one end of it to the other; and for days no sugar, coffee, tea, or rum was issued to the troops; biscuit and meat were also scarce. There was very little in Balaclava, and it was impossible to get what was there up to the camp. Thus, only half-fed, in rags, exposed to the rigour of a severe climate, working often twenty hours out of the twenty-four, the men broke down. Cholera raged more fiercely than ever, and things looked in a bad way in the camp of the Allies.

The Russians gave them no peace. By day and by night they kept up a heavy fire and made frequent sorties; but the British, with dogged persistence, pushed their parallels nearer and nearer, repulsed the sorties, and snapped their fingers at the cannonading.

‘Heaven help us!’ said Jack to Will one morning about the middle of December. ‘I’m for Balaclava to-day, and my poor horse can hardly stand. It’s no good saddling him, for I know he couldn’t carry me. He won’t last another day, I’m sure.’

‘He’ll only go the way of most of the others,’ said Will. ‘There are only twenty-seven horses fit for duty left in the whole brigade.’

‘I know; we lost five the night before last and three last night,’ said Jack gloomily. ‘Will, unless we soon get big reinforcements from home, with stores and warm clothing, England will wake up one morning to find that her army in the Crimea is a thing of the past.’

‘Serve ’em right too,’ said Will as he proceeded to twist some hay-bands round his legs, his overalls having been worn to tatters weeks before. ‘Jack,’ he continued, ‘have you got a bit of that string left? I might be able to tie the sole of my left boot on so that it will last for another day.’

Jack, who was busy sewing a patch made of a shred of old blanket on his own overalls, passed Will the piece of string he had brought up from Balaclava; then went on with his work.

The boots and fur-coat he had become possessed of on the day of the capture of the convoy by Mackenzie’s Farm proved of the utmost value to him, and in this respect he was better off than Will.

Jack’s horse being too far gone for further work, Barrymore told him he must take his.

‘Thank God, poor Dainty did not live to be starved to death here,’ said Jack as he and Will mounted, the latter going out on escort-duty with a mixed troop.

A party of Rifles went by, many of the men having made themselves a sort of smock from blankets fastened round their waists with their belts, their trousers being patched with every variety of stuff, from pieces of cloth cut from Russian uniforms to scraps of canvas or bagging.

Jack joined the squad, mostly men of the Guards, who were going down to Balaclava for supplies; bearded, haggard-looking fellows, whose greatcoats were thick with successive layers of mud, and whose feet were almost bare, but in whose eyes burned that fierce, unquenchable light that spoke of a resolve to conquer or die.

The journey was the same as dozens of others Jack had made, except that Balaclava looked filthier than ever and more full of misery. On the road back to camp several horses, after stumbling a few times, fell one by one. They would lie in the mud looking up with lack-lustre eyes, their tongues hanging out. A few spasmodic movements of the legs, smoothing down the mud, would follow, and then the poor beasts would die, being left where they had fallen—a few more carcasses to rot and putrefy; while their loads would be distributed among the other animals or on the men’s shoulders.

December wore on and Christmas approached. Jack received letters from his mother and sisters and from the Lelands. Mrs Blair’s and the girls’ were full of thankfulness that their dear one had escaped so far, prayed that the war might soon be over, and wound up by saying they had sent him a small hamper which they hoped he would find useful at Christmas. The hamper contained some warm shirts and socks, a bottle of brandy, a ham, and a plum-pudding. Poor Jack could almost have cried when he read the list, just the very things that would be most acceptable; but he knew well enough he would never see the hamper, and he never did.

What became of the things sent to the soldiers during the Crimean war remains a mystery to this day.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

IN THE HANDS OF THE COSSACKS.

CHRISTMAS Day came and went, the gallant heroes doing their best to be jovial; but, cold, ragged, and starved, it was a sad day for them.

Early in the New Year the remnants of the brigade were returning from a reconnaissance they had made towards Tschorgoun, where, it had been stated, a large Russian force was gathering.

It was a bitterly cold day, with a freezing wind which penetrated the ragged, tattered uniforms of the men and chilled them to the bone. Jack was riding with his face well buried in the collar of his cloak and his right hand in his pocket, when he turned to Will, who was riding by his side, to make some remark to him. He was immediately struck by the pallor of his friend’s face and the way in which it was drawn as though in agony.

‘Will, dear old Will, what’s the matter?’ cried Jack.

For answer Will only groaned.

Jack spurred closer just in time to catch him as he reeled in his saddle.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ repeated Jack in agitated tones.

A couple of troopers dismounted, and Will was lifted from his saddle and laid on the ground.

‘Cholera,’ said one of the men sententiously.

‘Cheer up, Will!’ cried Jack. ‘What is it, old man?’

‘Cramps, awful pains,’ moaned Will. ‘Leave me, Jack; I’m done for.’

‘Nonsense! You’ll soon be all right.”

A staff-officer who happened to have some brandy in his flask trotted up and gave the bottle to Will. The spirit rather revived him, and some of his companions helped him up in front of Jack, and they managed to get back to camp. Here Jack got Will to their tent, wrapped him up in both their blankets, which were fortunately dry; and, getting some charcoal from a man in the artillery, lit a fire.

All that night Jack sat up by his friend, soothing him, rubbing him, and wiping the damp perspiration from his brow, while he heaped everything in the tent on him to keep him warm. It was a fight for poor Will between death and Jack; but morning broke and found Will still alive, though insensible.

Barrymore came in and brought a doctor. He looked at Will, shook his head, and said,’Poor fellow! he might pull through if he had medical comforts and good nursing; but here, I’m afraid, he’s booked;’ and he shrugged his shoulders.

‘He sha’n’t die if I can help it,’ said Jack doggedly.—‘Barrymore, you must get me excused from duty. I’ll nurse Will, and if mortal man can save him I will.’

The doctor looked admiringly at the young sergeant. ‘My poor fellow,’ he said,’you’ll only kill yourself.’

‘Then I accept my fate.’

The doctor went off; but in half-an-hour an orderly returned from him, bringing some soup, medicine, and a few instructions.

All day Jack stuck to his task, and at night Barrymore helped him. In the morning the kind-hearted doctor again came in.

‘He’s got a splendid constitution,’ he said, ‘and youth is on his side, or he would have been dead long since. He must be got away from here anyway. There’s a convoy of sick going down to Balaclava to-day for Scutari. I’ll send round a litter for him.’

Will was conscious and heard these words, and when they were alone he said feebly, ‘Jack, old man, the best chum a fellow ever had, don’t send me to Scutari; we’ve heard of the horrors of that place. Let me die here. It makes little difference how or when we go, the few of us who are left.’

‘No, Will; we can save you if you get into hospital. I must go back to my duty to-morrow, and then there will be no one to look after you.’

There were tears in Will’s eyes as he pressed Jack’s hand.

Later on a hospital orderly came round with a litter, and, wrapped in the blankets and his own and Jack’s cloak, Will was laid upon it; then Jack took one end of the litter and the orderly the other, when they joined the convoy of sick going down to Balaclava. It was a ghastly procession. Some wagons contained the men wounded in the trenches during the night, and these groaned terribly as they were roughly jolted along, while the blood oozed between the planks and dripped into the mud and snow. Others, stricken with fever and cholera, presented a ghastly spectacle, with closed eyes, open mouths, and attenuated faces; only a thin steam of breath showing they were still alive.

Some were strapped on horseback, and just in front of Jack was one poor fellow who, having died on the road, still sat on his horse, the staring eyes wide open, the teeth clenched on his protruding tongue, while the head and body nodded with a terrible grotesqueness that filled with horror those who saw it. From many of the litters protruded hands and feet from which raw flesh and skin were literally hanging; these were cases of frost-bite.

Amidst such terrible sights Jack at last got Will to Balaclava, and was fortunate in being able at once to get him aboard the vessel that was sailing that night for Scutari. Poor Will was half-insensible, and Jack was spared the pain of leave-taking.

‘God bless you, old boy,’ he muttered as he took a last look at his friend and thought of the day when he had first seen the laughing, rosy, happy-looking trumpeter in Hounslow Barracks.

Jack got a mount at Balaclava, possibly the same horse on which the man had died coming down; and, feeling more depressed than he had been since the fatal 25th of October, he started back. Snow and sleet were driving in his face, and he could not see where he was going. With head bent he kept on, leaving his horse to find its way, he probably having made many a journey to Balaclava before.

It got very dark, and Jack reined in to look about him. He could see but a few yards, and he did not recognise any of his surroundings. Stunted snow-covered bushes were round him, and he missed the carcasses of the beasts which had died on that terrible road.

Heavens! the horse must have strayed! He was lost! He tried to look about him; but the bits of frozen rain cut into his face and prevented him from seeing more than a yard or two around him. He spurred his jaded horse and went forward a little quicker, vainly staring to right and left. Of a sudden he saw several mounted figures in front of him. They must be some stragglers riding from Balaclava to the camp, he thought; and, pushing forward, he hailed them. They turned, and then Jack’s heart gave a great thump—they were Cossacks!

Immediately wheeling his horse, Jack dug in his spurs, while he wildly endeavoured to draw his sword, the only weapon he then carried. His cloak, however, was entangled round the hilt, and he could not get at it. Shouts behind him showed he had been recognised as an Englishman.

A sharp report rang out. Jack’s horse gave a lurch, then fell heavily, throwing its rider. Next moment a mounted figure dashed up, something bright whizzed by Jack’s shoulder, and a lance-blade ripped through his cloak and the sleeve of his jacket, only just grazing the flesh, but sticking six inches in the ground and pinning him down. He tried to free himself from his wounded horse, but the lance held him too securely.

In an instant half-a-dozen flat-faced Cossacks were round him, and one quieted Jack’s horse by placing the muzzle of his carbine in his ear and firing. Then they observed how Jack was pinned down by the lance, and the spectacle seemed to tickle them, for they laughed merrily. The man whose lance it was, dismounting, withdrew the weapon by using both hands to it, standing on Jack’s body to do so. He looked at the blade, and seeing it bright realised that Jack was practically unhurt, on which he called out to his companions, who, dismounting, threw themselves on Jack, tore off his cloak, which one of them promptly annexed, took his sword, and then with the lines that

Jack having as much as he could do to keep up with his brutal captors.

encircled his body and his lance-cap tied his hands behind him so tightly that the skin was in several places broken.

With a dexterity that spoke of long practice, they then searched him, taking his watch and every scrap of any value which he possessed. The cross which the Russian count had given him, after the battle of the Alma, Jack had ever since worn suspended round his neck under his jacket, thinking if ever he lived to return to England it would be a souvenir to give his mother. The Cossack who ripped this from Jack’s neck uttered a guttural exclamation, and showed it to his companions, whereupon they all began talking at once, one holding up the order in front of Jack as though asking where he got it from.

‘I suppose that’s what you mean, you ugly brutes,’ said Jack; ‘but I can’t make you understand any more than you can make me. If I were only again on poor Dainty’s back with a lance in my hand I’d make you sing another tune, some of you.’

The Cossacks did not, of course, understand one word of Jack’s speech; but something seemed to annoy them, and two or three of them, taking the whips which every Cossack carries at his saddle-bow, fell to and lashed Jack cruelly about the head and body.

‘You cowardly dogs!’ cried Jack between his clenched teeth, ‘you cowardly dogs! if ever I get a chance I’ll make you pay for this!’

Tired of using their whips, a Cossack fastened one end of his picket-rope round Jack’s neck, while he secured the other end to his saddle, then, having taken the saddle off the dead horse, the others mounted, and at a smart trot started off, Jack having as much as he could do to keep up with his brutal captors.

CHAPTER XL.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

THE Cossacks were thoroughly familiar with the country, and despite the darkness urged their shaggy ponies forward without any hesitation.

Having his hands tied behind him, Jack experienced the greatest difficulty in keeping up with his captors. Once or twice he slipped, but was jerked up again by the rope round his neck, receiving a blow or two from the butt-end of a lance for his clumsiness.

Presently they came to the banks of a river, into which the foremost riders at once plunged. The man who held the rope round Jack’s neck followed, and dragged his prisoner in after him. The ford was rather deep and the current running strongly. About half-way across Jack lost his footing, and went head-first under the icy water. His hands being bound he would assuredly have been drowned had not his captor spurred his pony and dragged him quickly through the river and up on to the bank. Half-drowned, frozen to the bone, and hardly able to put one foot before the other, Jack was again jerked on to his feet, while the Cossacks laughed heartily, as though at some rich joke.

For another half-mile they went forward. Then Jack, thoroughly dead-beat, feeling that death was preferable to the indignities he was suffering, threw himself on the ground, and in spite of blows with whips and lance-butts, of kicks and vituperation, doggedly refused to move. One man brought the point of his lance once or twice close to Jack’s breast, and seemed very much inclined to make an end of him; and indeed he would have done so had not he who had taken Jack’s cross, and who seemed to be in charge, positively forbidden it, ending up by dismounting and with the help of another Cossack putting Jack on his own pony, when at a walking pace they proceeded about another mile.

They then arrived at an outpost and joined the main body of Cossacks, several of whom came and stared at Jack. Some conversation took place between his captors and the others, after which the picket-rope was tied to a stunted tree. Some distance away the patrol had a great fire made under the sheltering wall of a deserted cottage; round this fire the Cossacks off duty gathered, eating some black bread and onions, and drinking vodka. Nothing was given to Jack, who, wet through and deadly cold, lay shivering where he had been literally thrown.

Presently a couple of horsemen approached the post, upon which the Cossacks got up and saluted. The new-comers were evidently officers, and the man who had taken Jack’s cross handed it to one of them, talking volubly all the while. A minute later Jack’s rope was untied from the tree, and he was dragged before the Cossack officer.

Recognition was mutual, and Jack saw he had before him the man of the Tartar village and the man with whom Linham had been engaged on the day of Balaclava. The fellow scowled most ferociously at Jack; then holding up the cross, talked at a great rate, winding up by striking Jack in the face with his open palm.

Exasperated beyond all measure at the brutal treatment he had received, Jack, whose hands were still tied, kicked out and caught the Cossack captain on the shin. The fellow gave an angry exclamation, and drawing a pistol, presented it at Jack’s chest and pulled the trigger. Only a click followed, and the Cossack, looking at his weapon and finding it was not loaded, hurled it at Jack’s head.

The second officer, speaking in French, drawled, ‘Don’t make a scene, Kirchoff.’

Jack looked at this second man. He was a tall, handsome, but sinister-looking fellow, with fair hair and moustache. He was dressed in a Hussar uniform all crimson, elaborately laced with gold. A dark-green fur-lined cloak, fastened at the neck with a gold clasp, hung down to his spurred heels, while a black busby with a tall green plume adorned his head. His uniform was almost new, and he looked a great dandy. He was smoking a choice cigarette, and as he daintily knocked off the ash Jack noticed that several rings glittered on his long white fingers.

Hearing him speak French, Jack burst out in an indignant tone. ‘I am a British soldier, captured bearing arms, and I demand the same treatment from you that we extend to Russian prisoners of war! I have been treated worse than a dog or a spy!’

The crimson Hussar shrugged his shoulders as though the matter were of no importance to him.

‘You are Captain Kirchoff’s prisoner, not mine,’ he said, stirring the fire with the end of his sword-scabbard.

The Cossack captain, whose name appeared to be Kirchoff, jabbered for a few moments at Jack in Russian; then two troopers seized him and again bound him to his tree. Some black bread and onions and some raw spirit were, however, given to him, and, one of his hands being freed, he ate heartily.

Kirchoff and the Hussar, mounting, rode off, and as they passed Jack the latter said to the Cossack, ‘You might as well hang the poor devil at once as let him be frozen to death.’

And during that terrible night such seemed likely to be Jack’s fate. In the biting blast his threadbare clothes froze on his body, while the snow fell and half-covered him. He ached to the very bones, and had he been left where he was the whole night must of a certainty have been frozen to death. The men who had captured Jack, though, had to go out to relieve their companions. These on their return stamped round the blazing fire for a minute; then, seeming more humane than their comrades, they undid Jack’s bonds, tying only his legs, and bringing him near to the blazing fire, laid him down, covering him with a sheepskin. One man gave him a drink of vodka, and the fiery spirit, though it made Jack cough and splutter, probably saved his life.

Sometimes dozing, sometimes half-delirious, Jack passed the hours till dawn. The picket was again relieved, and the same men who had captured Jack were again enjoying an off-duty spell.

The Cossacks prepared breakfast, which they disposed of, and lit their pipes, offering Jack nothing. He was wondering how long he would have to endure his present treatment, when the galloping of horses was heard. Several men dashed up to the fire, and one, dismounting, made straight for Jack, bending down and looking in his face. He gave way to an exclamation of annoyance, then said a few words in haughty tones.

The Cossacks, who on his approach had sprung to their feet and uncovered, instantly cut Jack’s bonds.

‘My friend! my preserver!’ cried the young officer in French, taking both Jack’s hands as he was lifted to his feet; ‘to think you should have been treated thus!’

Jack, who felt half-dazed, and whose legs were terribly cramped, would have fallen to the ground, but the officer caught him in his arms.

‘Courage! courage!’ he said; ‘you shall soon be more comfortable, and these dogs who have dared to use a British soldier thus shall smart for it.’

Jack stared dully at him.

‘Do you not recognise me?’ asked the young officer.

Jack shook his head, when the officer removed his cap and opening his cloak showed the white uniform beneath.

‘I am Count Pauloff, he whom you saved at the Alma,’ he said. ‘I gave you this,’ and he held up the cross which Kirchoff had taken away the night before.

‘I remember,’ said Jack.

‘You look ill; you have been badly used. My poor friend, tell me what has happened?’

‘I have been brutally used,’ said Jack; and he told the count what he had gone through.

The Russian’s handsome features grew dark with rage.

‘I will teach these scum a lesson for disgracing our country. Are the men here who captured you?’

Four of them who had beaten Jack with their whips and lance-butts stood by the fire, pale with fear, for though they could not understand French they seemed to guess at the impending storm.

Jack pointed them out. ‘Those fellows used their whips upon me,’ he said.

The count uttered a few words in a terrible voice, and one of the guilty Cossacks called two others to him. Then the count gave another curt order, six of his orderly Dragoons, big men in dark-green, with tall, red felt shakos, dismounted; the wretched Cossacks were seized and their upper garments stripped off them. The Dragoons, who seemed to enjoy the task, then taking some of the Cossacks’ whips, laid them about the men’s shoulders till they howled again with pain.

‘We need not wait to see this,’ said the count to Jack; ‘my men will carry out their task properly. Now, are you able to sit a horse?’

‘I think so,’ said Jack.

‘Then away.’

Jack was wrapped in the coat of one of the Dragoons, mounted on his horse, and they rode off at once for Sebastopol.

On the way the count told Jack how he came to know what had happened to him. He was one of Prince Mentschikoff’s aides-de-camp, he said, and he had been on duty at daybreak that morning. Captain Kirchoff, of the Black Sea Cossacks, had come in to make his report; but the Prince was engaged and he had to wait. He entered into conversation with Count Pauloff, and in a blustering, braggart fashion told a tale of having met several English cavalrymen, of having killed two and taken one prisoner. On his prisoner he had found a golden cross, which the English soldier had admitted having taken from a dead or wounded Russian officer on the field of Inkermann. Kirchoff had the man a prisoner, and was going to bring him into Sebastopol when his men were relieved at noon that day.

Though personally disliking Captain Kirchoff, Count Pauloff had been interested in the tale, and when Kirchoff produced the cross in proof of his words had taken it in his hands to examine it. To his intense surprise he had then recognised his own cross, which he had given to Jack on the day of the Alma. He had immediately taxed Kirchoff with falsehood; but the man had persisted, though with evident signs of confusion.

Count Pauloff had then demanded to be instantly informed where the prisoner was; and the count, taking the cross and mounting a dozen Dragoons, galloped off, finding Jack as described.

‘And now I must settle with Captain Kirchoff,’ said the count sternly. ‘A thief of a Cossack must not lie with impunity to a hereditary nobleman.’

Entering Sebastopol, they made for the military prison, where it was necessary for Jack’s name, regiment, and other particulars to be entered on the prison books. While this was being done Count Pauloff sent an orderly to find Captain Kirchoff and bring him at once to the prison.

Meanwhile the count had armed himself with a Russian artillery driver’s whip, a terrible-looking weapon.

Jack was still undergoing his examination when Captain Kirchoff appeared in the large room in which they all were. The count immediately strode up, addressed rapidly some words to him, and then, without further parley, held him by the collar while he unmercifully lashed him with the whip.

Jack, who for some time had been feeling more and more ill, took but little notice of the occurrence; and when, tired of thrashing Kirchoff, the count turned towards him his voice sounded far away.

‘Friend,’ he said, ‘come with me; I will now see that your wants are looked after.’

Jack had some dim idea of being led away, supported by gentle hands; then he grew drowsy and thought he fell asleep, when all became dark and dreamy.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE CHÂTEAU PAULOFF.

WHEN Jack next opened his eyes with consciousness upon the world he found he was lying on a soft bed in a sumptuously furnished apartment.

The room was dimly lighted by a handsome lamp, and the cheery flickering of a large fire cast fantastic shadows upon the massive polished furniture.

Jack was conscious of a curious inability to move, of a sense of languor not altogether unpleasant. He seemed to have been asleep a long time, and to have been troubled with dreams—dreams of the cholera camp at Varna, of the death-ride in the North Valley, of the struggle in the fog at Inkermann, of Linham and Will and Pearson, of his mother and sisters. Strange people seemed to flit about in his dreams: the count, a white-haired old gentleman, a stately lady, and a young girl who looked at him always with anxious eyes. The room, too, seemed familiar, though what it all meant Jack could not tell.

Presently he fancied he was still lying on the cold, wet ground at Old Fort, then in the caves of Inkermann; then he ceased to think, lamplight and firelight grew dimmer and dimmer, and at last vanished altogether.

Next it was broad daylight, with a wintry sun shining through the curtains, and Jack awoke to realise that he really was in bed in a strange place, and that he felt as weak as a baby. He tried to sit up and get out of bed; but, utterly unable to do so, he fell back with a deep groan. Then there sounded a rustle of garments, and a stout, kind-faced woman, dressed like a nun, wearing a crucifix on her bosom and beads round her waist, got up from a chair by the bedside, uttered kind, soothing words in a tongue Jack guessed was Russian, smoothed his pillows, and gently laid him back upon them.

Then Jack remembered more—he had been taken prisoner by Cossacks. Count Pauloff had found him and taken him to the prison at Sebastopol. Well, Russian prisons were splendid places thought Jack, looking round him, and their attendants were more than kind.

Then some warm milk, flavoured with something very nice, was given him; the good nun gently bathed his face and hands, and Jack wanted to talk. He tried his kind nurse with French and English; but she only smiled gently and shook her head. And so Jack lay quietly thinking until he happened to catch sight of his own hand and arm. Heavens! it was only skin and bone; in one day he seemed to have turned into a skeleton!

This gave him fresh food for thought, and his mystification was growing deeper when his nurse murmured something, among which Jack thought he caught the name Irma, when a soft footstep approached the bed and a young girl of exceeding beauty, gladness beaming from her eyes, took Jack’s hand, saying softly in French, ‘Good-morning, monsieur, welcome back to life! It has been a hard struggle, but you have conquered.’

The features of the young girl did not seem altogether strange, though Jack could not for the moment recollect where he had seen them before. Something of his uncertainty must have showed in his face, for the girl continued, ‘You are wondering where you are, how you got here, and who I am?’

‘I confess, mademoiselle, I am puzzled. At first I thought I was in the prison at Sebastopol; but’—— and Jack looked round him.

The girl laughed gaily. ‘You think more of where you are than of anything else,’ she said. ‘Well, you are in the house of Count Pauloff; he brought you here from Sebastopol.’

‘Ha! now I know who you are. You must be the count’s sister; you are so much alike, yet so much more handsome’—— Then Jack checked himself and blushed; but Irma, for such was her name, seemed by no means displeased.

‘I am the count’s sister,’ she said.

‘I saw you at the Alma.’

‘Ah that dreadful day, when poor Alexis was wounded and would have been slain but for you!’ and Irma covered her face with her hands as though to shut out some disagreeable vision.

‘The count told me yesterday’—— began Jack.

‘Yesterday?’ interrogated Irma with a smile.

‘I mean, as we rode into Sebastopol from the picket who captured me.’

Irma opened her eyes very wide; then they suddenly dimmed, as though with tears.

‘Alas! monsieur,’ she said, ‘that is two weeks ago to-morrow.’

Jack looked and felt horrified. ‘And I have been here all that time?’ he said.

Irma nodded her head.

Jack looked at his thin arms. ‘That accounts for these then,’ he said, and sank back wearily.

‘Monsieur,’ said Irma, ‘you have been very, very ill; we long despaired of saving your life. We have watched you day and night. You have been delirious all the time, and talking, oh, so much! till our hearts ached for you. We could not understand one word you said; but we thought you called always for mother—mother.’ She pronounced it ‘mauzher.’ ‘Tell me, who is “mauzher”?’

Jack smiled and explained that it must have been his mother he raved of.

Irma smiled, and said artlessly, ‘Ah, I am glad! After some days the doctor said you would live; but you had to be kept very quiet, and now here you are. The fever has left you, and all you have to do is to get strong again.’

Jack thought for some time, then he said, ‘How did I get here?’

‘You fainted right away in the hospital in Sebastopol, and then grew delirious. The doctors there said you must die; but Alexis had you wrapped in blankets, and, borrowing a carriage, drove you here, and—we have nursed you.’

‘How can I ever repay you?’

‘Hush, do we not owe to you the life of Alexis?’

The nurse then came forward and spoke gently to Irma, who smilingly said to Jack, ‘Sister Katrin says I must not talk to you any more now; but I shall come back presently. I sit some hours by your bedside every day.’

And later on she came back with her mother, the countess, a tall, stately, white-haired lady. In the evening came the young Count Alexis, who was overjoyed that Jack was at last on the highroad to recovery.

‘Where are we now?’ asked Jack presently.

‘In my house,’ smiled the count.

‘But where is that?’

‘Near Teberti, on the Katcha, fifteen miles from Sebastopol.’

Having once turned the corner, Jack began rapidly to improve, and in a week was able to sit up for an hour or two, wrapped in a costly dressing-gown and wearing slippers of the count’s.

What on earth he was going to do for clothes puzzled him, for it would be impossible for him to wear the mud-and-blood-stained rags he had been captured in.

‘Perhaps they will send me off to Sebastopol,’ he thought; ‘then it will not matter.’

But Count Pauloff had no idea of sending Jack to Sebastopol; and a day or two later he settled the clothes question in a very simple manner.

‘I’ve got my uniform as a cadet at the Military College,’ he said; ‘it will just about fit you.’ And he went away, presently returning with a handsome dark-green uniform trimmed with silver lace, with cap, boots, belts, all complete; and when Jack was dressed he looked a handsome figure in the Russian uniform.

‘If I only had my hair cut!’ he said with a laugh.

‘That we will soon settle;’ and, touching the bell, the count bade the servant request his valet to attend.

That obsequious gentleman was a Frenchman, and on his appearance the count bade him cut Jack’s hair.

He insisted then on taking Jack to the drawing-room, where he was received by the countess and Irma with the utmost cordiality and quite on terms of equality.

That evening was the beginning of several happy weeks for Jack, who felt himself growing daily stronger.

Waited on hand, foot, and finger, treated as a dear friend or relative by the count’s family, and living on the choicest fare, who could fail to be happy, especially after the experiences Jack had passed through during the last twelve months?

It became apparent at once to Jack that the countess idolised her daughter, and that all the servants did the same. Irma was a self-willed and imperious young lady, and governed everybody except the count, who, however, seldom thwarted any wish of hers, for brother and sister were devotedly attached to one another.

Now Irma and Jack spent the greater part of every day in each other’s society, and it would have been evident to any one less modest than was Jack that the young Russian lady had a warm regard for the English soldier.

As they wandered about the summer mansion of the Pauloffs, where the family stayed on so as to be near Alexis, by adroit questioning Irma got from Jack the whole of his history; not that Jack wanted much coaxing, as it proved a convenient topic on which to talk.

The mansion had very extensive grounds, which were surrounded by a high wall in which were several gates, one opening out into the forest, which on one side came right down to the walls. In this forest, Irma and Jack had many a gallop on horseback, an exercise in which, on one or two occasions when he was able to snatch a day’s leave, they were joined by the count. Always, however, whether he accompanied them or not, a sort of retainer of the family, a head servant named Sergius, rode behind them.

Sergius was devoted to his young master and to Irma. For Jack he seemed to have a genuine regard; but, like the true Russian domestic, he never betrayed his feelings either one way or the other. It was a noticeable fact, though, that whenever he rode abroad with Jack he carried both sword and pistols, not that Jack, despite his longing to be again with his comrades in the field, ever thought of repaying the kindness he had received from the Pauloffs by trying to escape from their custody.

In the evenings they had cards or music, and Jack, being a very fair performer on the pianoforte, played duets with Irma or sang some of the songs which had been popular in England before the war. Then there were lessons from Irma in Russian and lessons from Jack in English, so that time passed like a dream.

But Jack knew the life of idleness and luxury he was leading would unfit him for those duties which he would have to perform when he got back to the regiment; and, spite of the terrible sufferings which he heard the others were undergoing, he wished he were back again among them, sharing the danger and the glory. Once or twice he had led up to this subject with Count Pauloff; but the latter had always adroitly turned the conversation.

A few days after his last attempt, a dinner-party was given at the château, and the young count brought several officers from Sebastopol. Among others was a Hussar in a magnificent crimson uniform, having a dark-green pelisse richly laced with gold. The count, in introducing Jack, alluded to him as ‘My cousin, Colonel Vladimir Sominoff.’

Jack immediately recognised him as the Hussar who had been with Kirchoff on the night he had been captured; but Sominoff, hardly giving Jack a glance, just nodded slightly and passed him by. Jack was relieved to think he had not been recognised; but presently he heard Count Pauloff relating how Jack had saved his life at the Alma, how later he had been captured by Kirchoff, and how the count had rescued him.

Then Colonel Sominoff favoured Jack with a long, cold stare.

During the evening Sominoff paid Irma very great attention. She, however, received his advances with great coolness. The handsome Hussar stroked his moustache and pretended not to notice this treatment; but there was a look in his eye that Jack did not like, and later on in the evening, when Irma seated herself on a divan in one corner of the room with him, and told him who all the people were, he glanced up to see Colonel Sominoff regarding him with a look that quite made him start.

Seeing Colonel Sominoff glaring at Jack, Irma said, ‘Oh, that’s my cousin Vladimir; he pesters me to death with his odious attentions, but I hate him. Alexis says he is careful to keep as far from danger as he can, which means he is a coward, and I am sure he is a bully as well, in spite of his cat-like manners.’

After that Colonel Vladimir Sominoff was a frequent visitor at the château, and he kept by Irma’s side all the while he was in the house. Jack he simply ignored, never addressing a word to him, and treating him as if he did not exist. Sometimes the count came with the colonel, but more often the latter came alone.

On one occasion the colonel and the count came to spend a few days at the mansion, and Jack determined to keep in the apartments which he occupied. This, however, Irma did not let him do.

‘Why do you shut yourself up here?’ she cried with a little stamp of her foot, while her dark eyes shone angrily.

‘I—I do not wish to intrude,’ said Jack rather lamely.

‘Intrude, intrude! who has dared say you intrude?’ she cried fiercely. ‘If any of the servants’—— and her eyes blazed ominously.

‘No one has said a word,’ interrupted Jack hastily; ‘but your brother and your cousin are here. You are quite a little family circle, and—and’——

‘And what? Have we neglected you? Have we slighted you?’

‘No, a thousand times no,’ said Jack; ‘but can you not understand? You are of the aristocracy. I am a plain English soldier; I cannot mix on an equality with you, and it is better that I should not. This life is unfitting me for my career. I shall never forget your kindness; but the longer I remain here the harder I shall find it when I go. At any moment I may be taken off to prison’——

‘You won’t,’ cried Irma. ‘Alexis has promised me that you shall not be taken from here if he can help it; and he can help it—he shall. He is a friend of Prince Mentschikoff.’

‘Then I must return to my duty, and before long I hope.’

At this point Irma burst into a flood of tears. ‘You are unkind; you are ungrateful!’ she sobbed. ‘We have done all we could for you, and you repay us by saying you hope you will soon go.’

Irma’s tears were more than Jack could bear. He felt he was making a muddle of things. Ungrateful! Why, if he lived a hundred years he would never forget their kindness!

He stepped to the angry girl and laid one hand on her arm.

‘Countess,’[7] he said, ‘you do not understand. It is duty calls me, not inclination. I am a soldier and’——

The door was suddenly flung violently open, and Vladimir Sominoff rushed in. ‘So, dog, scum!’ he hissed, ‘you dare to lay finger on a daughter of the house of Pauloff;’ and he struck at Jack.

Irma, however, threw herself in front of him. ‘Touch him if you dare!’ she cried, her eyes blazing like those of a tigress.

Sominoff choked back his rage and gave vent to a mocking laugh. ‘Stand aside,’ he said, seizing her by the wrist, ‘the countess shall talk to you. I will settle with this clod.’

‘Coward, you hurt me!’ she cried in cutting tones; ‘but it is only what one might expect from a man who would leave a helpless prisoner to be frozen to death on a winter’s night.’

This allusion to Jack maddened Sominoff. He must have squeezed her wrist, for she screamed out. Next moment, however, the gaudily uniformed Hussar was sprawling on the floor, dashed there by a blow from Jack’s fist.

With a hoarse cry he leapt to his feet, and tearing his sword from the scabbard rushed on Jack. The latter snatched up a chair and stood facing the infuriated Russian.

‘Leave us, countess,’ Jack said; ‘I think I can give this feather-bed dandy a lesson in swordsmanship that will lower his pride.’

CHAPTER XLII.

TREACHERY AT WORK.

HARDLY had Jack and the infuriated Russian faced each other, when, even before Irma could interpose, Count Pauloff, who had evidently followed his cousin, rushed into the room.

He took in the position in one glance, and, stepping between his cousin and Jack, began to talk rapidly in Russian. Irma joined in the conversation, speaking vehemently, stamping her foot and looking from one to the other with heightened colour and flashing eyes.

Vladimir Sominoff answered angrily at first; then, mastering his temper, he spoke more calmly, a sneer upon his lips the while.

Jack stood aloof, and from the little Russian which he had learnt from Irma he was able to gather that the count was upbraiding his cousin for having made a scene, while Irma poured contumely upon him with great zeal.

Presently all three left the room, Sominoff going first, and the count taking his sister’s arm. She apparently wanted to speak to Jack before she went; but the count, with his hand on the handle of the door bowed her out, then himself retired, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Jack dropped into a chair. ‘By Jove!’ he muttered, ‘here’s a pretty kettle of fish. I’m sorry for the count. It would have been better if Miss Irma had left me to my own devices. As for that popinjay Sominoff, I’d like to make him stand up before me for ten minutes with bare fists!’

Late that night old Sergius, with a perfectly imperturbable air, appeared and asked Jack if there was anything he required before he retired to rest.

Jack replied that there was nothing; but bade him carry his respectful salutation to the count and countess and the Lady Irma.

Without moving a muscle of his face, Sergius retired, and Jack could not help thinking that the old man, at his master’s bidding, would as calmly cut a guest’s throat as offer him a glass of wine.

In the morning the count appeared. At first he seemed much annoyed, and talked coldly on various subjects.

Jack, who felt very sorry for him, treated him with the utmost courtesy, and presently the count referred to the occurrence of the afternoon before.

Jack expressed his regret at the affair, and said how distasteful it was to him to be mixed up in what was really a family squabble.

‘The fact is,’ said the count, ‘Vladimir has taken it into his head to be madly jealous of you.’

‘My dear count, is it not absurd for him to be jealous of a plain English sergeant of Lancers. Has he such a poor opinion of the daughter of one of the oldest families in Russia?’

The count looked keenly at Jack.

‘The worst of it is,’ he said, rather shamefacedly, ‘my sister is young and very impressionable. She met you under somewhat romantic circumstances on the day of the Alma; then you came here at the point of death, and she pitied you. You are really a gentleman, though you choose to serve in the ranks of your army. You two have been thrown much together, and’——

‘My dear count, it is time I went. I will not stay here to embarrass you. Send me at once to Sebastopol.’

‘That I will never do,’ cried the count vehemently, ‘if only to thwart Vladimir; and, besides, Irma will not hear of it. I have tried to get you exchanged; but, unfortunately, you are—er’——

‘Not an officer,’ said Jack, finishing the sentence.

‘Exactly, and for some reason Prince Mentschikoff is obdurate. I fear Vladimir, who possesses much influence with him, has been using it against you. I will, however, see what I can do for you to-day. Meanwhile it would be better if you kept to the house, or at least the grounds. I—er—forgot to mention that I have pledged my word for your safe custody.’

Jack understood the delicately inferred hint. ‘Do not fear, count, that I could ever think of repaying your kindness by escaping,’ he said.

‘And I implore you not to attempt it. The whole country swarms with our men, and capture would be certain. Then it would be Siberia for you, even if nothing worse happened.’

When the count had departed a servant came to Jack’s room with a message, saying that the countess desired to see him. He at once went, and found Irma and her mother together.

The elder lady greeted him kindly, the younger with marked cordiality. Soon Irma carried Jack off to the grounds, and they were at once on their old familiar footing, as though the scene with Vladimir had never occurred. During the morning Irma said, ‘When this terrible war is over, why don’t you exchange into the Russian service?’

Jack stared at her in surprise. ‘Why on earth should I?’ he asked.

‘Why not? Alexis tells me we have many Englishmen and Scotsmen in our army and navy. They have all risen to high commands. So would you; you are clever, you are brave, you are a gentleman. You say in your army you can never hope to be an officer. Why not join ours? Alexis is your friend, he has great influence, he would do anything for me. In a few years you might be a colonel, a General. Who knows?’

Jack paused and gazed at his companion in astonishment. ‘I—I’—— he began. ‘It is impossible.’

‘Why?’

Jack’s position was getting awkward. He heartily wished himself back amongst the mud and filth of Balaclava, amongst the wretchedness and dangers of the camp. Though this imperious young beauty could not be a day older than Jack, he felt like a baby in her hands.

‘It would be impossible for me to do as you suggest,’ he said lamely. ‘In the English army we join for a number of years, and I have yet ten to serve.’

‘But money can buy your liberation, can it not?’

‘Yes, but I have none,’ said Jack desperately, thinking he had at last scored a point.

‘No matter,’ continued Irma with a merry laugh; ‘Alexis has plenty. Not a word, it is settled. Now for my English lesson.’

The day passed most pleasantly. The count did not return that night.

Next morning Irma and Jack were in the music-room, when outside they heard a good deal of noise. They looked out of the window, and to their surprise saw a party of Cossacks who had ridden in. Captain Kirchoff, the officer in command, was talking to Sergius, who appeared to be arguing with him, when the captain called to a trooper, who struck Sergius with the butt-end of his lance, knocking him down. The officer then spurred past, and, dismounting, entered the house.

Irma’s face grew scarlet with passion, her aristocratic blood boiled. ‘By my father’s soul!’ she cried, ‘the presumptuous dog shall learn he cannot lay a hand on a servant of our house on our domain. His shoulders shall feel the knout when Alexis hears of this!’

‘Let us go and see what is amiss,’ said Jack quietly, who with a sinking heart guessed what had brought the Cossacks there.

A servant came hurrying forward toward Jack and Irma. ‘An officer from Sebastopol wishes to see the young excellency at once,’ he said, bowing.

‘“His excellency” has no particular wish to see him,’ thought Jack to himself; but he was going forward when Irma caught his arm.

‘Wait,’ she commanded. ‘I will go. This must be some messenger from Alexis.’

‘If so, I will send you word,’ said Jack; and went on after the servant.

Loud voices were heard from below, and as they descended the stair Jack recognised Captain Kirchoff’s voice. Though he did not know enough Russian to understand all that was said, he was able to distinguish the words ‘Prisoner—Mentschikoff—peril—authority’——

He found the countess, tall and dignified, confronting Kirchoff, who held a paper in his hand. Behind Kirchoff were half-a-dozen Cossacks.

‘Monsieur Blair,’ said the countess, ‘this officer, a most rude person, states that he has orders to take you at once to Perekop.’

‘I am ready to go this moment, countess,’ said Jack.

‘But I refuse to allow it,’ said the countess. ‘My son would never have consented to this step. I am told it is by Prince Mentschikoff’s orders; but he would not go directly against the wishes of Alexis, who sends me no word.’

‘Take no notice of this man,’ said Irma to Jack; ‘I will order him to go at once.’ And she spoke angrily to him in Russian.

Kirchoff gave an ugly scowl; then said a few words to his men, and they immediately advanced and seized Jack, who made no resistance.

Irma, with a cry half of rage, half of fear, advanced to interfere between Jack and the soldiers; but Kirchoff, with a rude laugh, caught her by the wrists and held her despite her cries. Sergius, however, who had evidently been watching the scene, sprang forward, and with one strong, straight blow, felled Kirchoff to the ground. Other servants, all armed, appeared, and for a moment it seemed as if a fight must ensue. Jack’s captors, however, closed around him, and with Irma’s cries still ringing in his ears he was dragged away a prisoner, Kirchoff following behind, cursing loudly and volubly.

CHAPTER XLIII.

A DREARY MARCH.

THE Cossacks had a spare horse with them, and on this Jack was mounted. With a deal of unnecessary violence he was strapped in the saddle; then, Kirchoff giving the horse a cut, they started off. They reached Baktschi-Serai at midday, where a halt was made.

The weather was very cold, and Kirchoff seemed in no hurry to leave his comfortable quarters; but in the afternoon they went on again and reached Simpheropol. This was a most filthy place. The streets were knee-deep in mud and slush, and the few people they passed stared apathetically at the Cossacks, who laid about them freely with their whips.

Jack was bundled into a disgustingly dirty lock-up, and the two men who conducted him no sooner got him inside than they stripped off his epaulets, rifled his pockets, and took every penny of money and everything of value he possessed. One of the men then struck savagely at Jack’s head with the butt-end of his whip; but Jack, having had experience of their treatment, was on the lookout, and, his arms being free, he caught the fellow such a blow on the jaw that he retired, uttering threats of what he would do presently.

Jack was then left alone, and, seating himself on a bundle of filthy straw in one corner, he reviewed his situation, which seemed pretty hopeless. That Sominoff was at the bottom of the affair he felt convinced; but he could not understand how he had prevailed over the count, who would, he felt assured, have done all he could for him.

As it got dark, swarms of rats came out from innumerable holes, running over Jack’s feet and trying to claw up his legs. He had to walk about to keep these noxious vermin off him. He had an instinctive dread of rats, and shouted aloud both to frighten them away and to call the attention of his captors. No notice, however, was taken of his cries, and in sheer desperation he banged upon the door and tried to open it. To his intense surprise it yielded and opened, and, stepping out, he found himself in the passage. All was dark, and he went gently along, feeling his way with his hands.

Presently a gust of cold air blew upon his face, and he came to another door, which was also open. He stepped out into the moonlight just as several men threw themselves upon him. Filled with a horrible dread of going back to the noisome den he had just escaped from, Jack struggled fiercely, and the men seemed to release their hold of him as by common consent.

Then there was a dazzling flash in front of him, a loud report, and a ball whizzed by him. It missed him by a hair’s-breadth; but a scream from behind told that some one had been hit.

In an instant, several men with lanterns appeared upon the scene, just as Jack was again seized. Among the new-comers was Kirchoff and a Cossack with a carbine in his hand. Just behind Jack was a Cossack lying on the ground, and one of his comrades stooping over him pronounced him dead.

‘Clumsy fool!’ cried Kirchoff furiously to the man with the carbine, ‘you have shot Ivan and the prisoner is unhurt.’

Jack was dragged back to his prison, where he was punched, thumped, struck with the butt-end of whips, and cruelly kicked, being left insensible at last on the slimy, filthy floor. He revived presently to find that swarms of rats were running over his hands and face, when, aching in every limb and feeling ready to die, he crawled to the heap of straw, and there, amidst the rats, vermin, and innumerable slimy, creeping things, he passed the night.

The following morning the journey was continued, and on the second night they had reached Perekop which was if anything more dirty than Simpheropol. After their arrival Jack saw no more of Kirchoff and his Cossacks, a party of Dragoons taking charge of him. From Perekop they went on, marching leisurely, Jack being well treated. Near the Sea of Azov they passed the Putrid Sea, a stinking, sickening, dreadful place, the very picture of desolation.

For a week they proceeded through a cold, bleak, inhospitable country, lodging each night at prisons which varied only in their degrees of filthiness. At last they arrived at Meritipol, and there Jack was lodged in prison, and saw no more of his escort of Dragoons. The days passed drearily until at last a whole troop of French prisoners of war arrived. Many of them were confined in the same large apartment with Jack, and from them he was able to learn something of the state of affairs before Sebastopol.

The French soldiers had made the whole journey from Sebastopol on foot and were worn out with fatigue. Their boots were in shreds; many of them were sick and ill, and all of them were in a very despondent state. When Jack spoke to them in their native language, and told them he was an English prisoner of war, several of them embraced him and wept copiously. Poor fellows, most of them were conscripts, and their hearts were not in their profession. The prisoners mostly belonged to the 22nd of the line; but there were some Zouaves, who seemed of sterner mould, and two Chasseurs d’Afrique.

These latter, when they found out Jack was one of the Light Brigade heroes, insisted upon kissing him on both cheeks and declaring everlasting friendship. One, who was a sous-officier, spoke English, and was very fond of airing his knowledge. Talking of the charge, he declared it was the finest thing the world had seen.

‘But, mon ami,’ he said, ‘it was foolish—oh, so ver foolish; and if it had not been for the 4th Chasseurs d’Afrique, hélas! you poor English—pouf, you would no more any of you remain alive.’

From this man, whose name was Alphonse Bluet, Jack heard of the arrival of reinforcements, the progress of the siege, and the succession of Pelissier the ‘Man of Iron’ to the command of the French. He also learnt that the whole of the prisoners were on their way to some place farther north, where numbers of both French and English soldiers were already in confinement.

The French prisoners were in too exhausted a condition to march farther for the present, so a long halt was made at Meritipol. Their treatment was strict, but not rigorous, and about a fortnight passed away when they were joined by a fresh batch of prisoners, and when they were brought in Jack was both pained and pleased to hear sturdy English voices. The men were mostly fresh from England, belonging to the infantry of the line, and with one or two sailors had been captured during a Russian sortie.

There was a marked difference in the demeanour of the French and English. The latter were far more cheerful; and, though prisoners, plainly showed their guards they would stand no nonsense. They were consequently treated with a great deal more consideration by the Russians, many of the latter showing a disposition to be quite friendly.

One morning the prisoners were told that next day their march inland would be resumed. Every man was served out with a pair of thick socks and rough boots and a sheepskin coat. Added to that was an overcoat with a large yellow diamond on the back, and in the morning they started. The escort was of infantry, and their journey was to be on foot. The prisoners were informed they would be allowed thirty copecks[8] a day. On this they were to provide for themselves.

The weather was cold but fine, and in pretty good spirits the whole convoy started. They had a long march that day, and in the afternoon entered a town. The drummer of the escort beat his drum as they marched in, and the inhabitants turned out to see the prisoners; but their demeanour was not unfriendly. Under escort the prisoners were marched to the market-place, where they made their purchases, after which they were conducted to the prison, where they cooked their food, often passing the evening quite merrily.

Ekaterinoslav was reached, and here two days’ halt was made; then on again, day after day, week after week, through Kharkov and Starai-Oskoe, always north, sometimes through pleasant country, sometimes through bleak and flat and wild regions.

The French were not treated so well as the English, the Russians seeming for some reason to dislike them personally. At Starai-Oskoe the French were left behind, their destination being different from that of the English.

Alphonse Bluet parted with Jack most reluctantly, indulging freely in tears. ‘Farewell, mon ami!’ he cried; ‘I feel we shall never meet again. The bones of Alphonse Bluet will whiten in this barbarous Russia; he will never see the boulevards of his dear Paris again. But no matter. Ever he will remember his brave comrade Monsieur Blair de Balaclava.’

‘Cheer up, Alphonse,’ said Jack, ‘we shall meet again when we have licked the Russians and peace is declared.’

‘Licked? How do you mean? Je ne comprends pas.’ But a Russian sergeant at that moment, taking him by the nape of the neck, gently intimated that it was time he joined his companions, and with a look of supreme disdain at his captor and a wave of the hand to Jack, he was hurried away.

There were still some weeks of tramping before Jack and his companions. As they got farther north discipline was much relaxed, and they became quite friendly with their guards, especially when they stood treat to them out of their thirty copecks, which they were easily able to do.

At many of their halting-places the ladies of the town visited them, giving them presents of warm clothing, food, and so on. Several times they came across English and Scotch people who had settled in Russia, and then they had a royal time.

At last, at the end of what had been a really fine day, the captain of the escort pointed to the burnished copper domes of a large town before them, and said, ‘Men, that is Voronesh, the end of your journey.’

He spoke in Russian, but by that time most of the men could understand what was said in that language, and Jack spoke it fairly well.

Night had fallen ere they reached the town and were marched up to the market-place. They were then conducted to the different large buildings which served as prisons; and Jack, with about a dozen others, was taken to a stone building which had once served as a corn warehouse.

Rather tired, he was making his way with the others to the large common living-room when a familiar voice struck upon his ear.

‘Ha, hum! it’s all very well to talk about the usages of civilised warfare; but who is going to say these Russians are civilised? If they’d been going to exchange us, tell me why they shouldn’t have done it months ago? Why shouldn’t we have been kept in Sebastopol—eh, you toads? Now tell me; I want to know?’

Before any one had time to make an answer Jack had darted into the room, and, seizing both hands of the speaker, was crying, ‘Jimmy, dear old Jimmy Linham, it was worth tramping all these hundreds of miles to find you alive and well! We’ve mourned you as dead in the old regiment for many and many a day.’

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE RESCUE.

THE arrival of a fresh batch of prisoners was a great event in the lives of the unfortunates at Voronesh. The prisoners taken were not many; consequently they arrived at very long intervals, especially as they were sent to different places.

When Jack and his companions entered, an immediate hush fell upon the company; then a chorus of voices broke out, welcomes were uttered, those who had been there some time shaking hands with the new-comers, assuring them that life was not unbearable there, and saying they all had hopes of soon being exchanged. Then came questions about the operations of the war. Had Sebastopol fallen? Had reinforcements and supplies come out? How was the road from Balaclava? What was the old 47th or 23rd, or whatever particular regiment the speaker belonged to, doing? And so on.

While all this was going on, Jack was talking to Linham.

‘Being prisoners don’t go with the motto of the regiment,’ Linham said presently.

‘Better in prison than dead,’ said Jack.

‘Perhaps so, and there are several more cavalrymen here who went down in the charge—Dryden of the 11th Hussars, who had thirty-six wounds when he was found on the field by the Russians; Cooper of the 13th, who had twenty-five; and Duke, same regiment, eighteen. We’ve several of the 8th, three of the 4th, and two 17th men, Stephenson and O’Lavery, besides myself. But not one of these but what was most severely wounded. Nearly a dozen of our fellows were taken from the field alive; but as far as I’ve heard we three are the only survivors, except two officers, who, I believe, were Cornets Leland and Sir William Lennox. While I was in hospital, a Russian who could speak English told me they had buried over forty men who had the “death’s head” on their appointments, and showed me several buttons he had cut off their uniforms.’

‘It was a terrible day, Jim,’ said Jack. ‘There were only thirty-four of us who came out of the charge. But tell me your own adventures?’

‘They’re soon told. You remember, after you rallied the handful of ours and some of the 8th we charged? Well, I cut my way through that and the second lot, when you remember the Russian brutes opened on us and their own men from their field-guns.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it was that a piece of shell brought down my horse, and I was a bit stunned by the fall. Presently I freed myself, just as several Polish Lancers came at me. One I cut from his saddle, and was tackling the others when another splinter of shell shattered my sword. One of the Russians then drew a pistol and shot at me, the ball passing through my arm. A Dragoon came up and cut me over the head with his sword and I went down; but before I lost consciousness some more Lancers went by and dug at me on the ground, piercing my left leg, my body, and my wounded arm. I remembered no more till I was being carried off the field at night, when I went in hospital with seven wounds. I had nothing to complain of there, and in due course I was packed off with a batch of other prisoners and brought here. Now you know all about me. What of yourself, of the regiment, and all our comrades?’

‘Alas! there are few left,’ said Jack; and he told Linham the names of the survivors.

Of Inkermann, of the great hurricane, and something of the cruel sufferings of the badly clad, half-starved heroes dying by hundreds of exposure, overwork, cholera, and sheer starvation, Linham had already heard from the most recent batch of prisoners, and Jack told him how things had been at the end of the year.

‘What a Government, what bungling, what murder! Yet in spite of all, our gallant fellows never complain; they just work till they die, and the few who survive will get a medal worth half-a-crown, and the right to die in the workhouse—ha, hum!’

Several other men then came in from another room, and amongst them were those few survivors of the light cavalry charge whom Linham had spoken of.

These few cavalrymen kept much together. Amongst them was the trumpet-major of the 4th Light Dragoons, and an enormous trooper named Parkes, standing six feet three. The trumpet-major of the 4th and Linham were looked upon as the leaders of the little society, who all welcomed Jack most heartily.

Poor fellows! several of them were so disfigured and maimed by their wounds that their soldiering days were over for ever. With the exception of Linham, too, they were dressed in all sorts of nondescript rags—old sheepskin coats, Russian tunics, native wool trousers, and boots of every description. Here and there might be seen a tattered remnant of uniform, showing that, in spite of the long hair and great beards, the wearers had once been soldiers.

Linham, however, still wore the remains of his uniform. How he had managed it was a mystery to all; but there he was, patched and darned truly, but still in uniform, even to his stock, which he had refused to abandon when everybody else had thrown theirs away with joy. He had bought from a Russian a flat-topped, white-banded forage-cap, and was brushed and pipe-clayed and shaved till he looked much like the Linham of old.

The next day it was arranged that the new-comers should be entertained at a feast; and, as most of the men had a number of copecks saved out of their daily dole, provisions on a lavish scale were bought, and quite a merry evening was spent, cards and dominoes, and after that songs and anecdotes, helping to pass the time pleasantly.

On this occasion Linham so far unbent as to sing; in harsh, unmusical tones, the only song he was ever known to attempt:

‘Wrap me up in my old stable-jacket,
And say a poor buffer lies low;
And six stalwart Lancers shall carry me,
With steps mournful, solemn, and slow.’

The song, however, was as loudly applauded as though rendered by the finest singer in Europe, and good fellowship reigned supreme.

Jack found life at Voronesh tolerably comfortable. The governor of the place was a kind-hearted man, and the prisoners were allowed much latitude, being permitted to wander about the town almost at free-will.

There were several English families resident there, and some of the soldiers had made friends with them, and were always welcome visitors. Many of the ladies of the town frequently came to the prison, bringing presents of clothes, food, wine, and such like.

Altogether, the prisoners had nothing to complain of. There was no fear of any of them escaping; for, hundreds of miles from their comrades, in a foreign country, without money or the means of transport, discovery and rearrest was absolutely certain, and that meant stricter captivity, with hard and menial labour.

Linham and the rest of the cavalrymen had made friends with a Scotsman who managed a large oil-mill, and at his big hospitable house spent many a comfortable hour. Jack was taken there, and soon became a favourite, especially with the mistress of the house and the two daughters.

Weeks passed, spring and summer came, and Jack found himself still a prisoner. He was sick of his inactive life and longed to be back again with his regiment. Of what was going on the prisoners knew nothing; the only bit of news they had received was that Czar Nicholas was dead.

Although the prisoners were always inquiring, no news of any exchange ever came, and it almost seemed as if in that, to them, out-of-the-way corner of the world they had been forgotten by friends and foes alike.

Jack and Linham were returning one evening from the house of the Scotsman to their prison, where they had to be by sunset to answer to their names, when Jack saw a trading caravan enter the place. They were on their way to Moscow, having come from Perekop, and it was stated that they would remain in the town a few days, holding a sort of market.

The arrival of the caravan caused quite a sensation in the town, and the prisoners promised themselves to go down next morning and see what was offered for sale, more from curiosity than anything else, as they had no money to buy with.

Jack and Linham were wandering about next morning, examining the various articles, when Jack noticed a stout-looking man who seemed to be eyeing them very keenly.

Presently the Russian took a pair of boots from a wagon near him, stepped up to Jack and said in low tones, in Russian, which Jack could then speak fairly well, ‘Don’t you know me, excellency?’

Jack stared at the man; then replied, ‘No.’

The man looked straight at him, and his eyes and nose seemed familiar; but that beard and long hair—no. But stay. Was it—could it be—— And Jack paused; then said, ‘You’re not Sergius surely?’

‘Yes, excellency, I am he. I am here to help you to escape. My lord the count wills it. Pretend to bargain for the boots, for we may be watched.’

Jack did so, and Sergius continued, ‘I have been months trying to find you. I have been to four other places. I have horses and a disguise. You must slip away; arrange to meet me, and when it is dark we will fly.’

Jack was wild with delight for a few minutes, and entered fully into the scheme, then he thought of his companions, and of Linham especially. He would not go and leave his old comrade behind. He told Sergius so.

‘It is impossible, excellency. I can take only one.’

‘Then I will not go,’ said Jack.

‘Excellency,’ urged Sergius, ‘we cannot talk longer now; come back to-morrow and arrange. We start in two days; then you must come.’

Jack immediately took Linham into his confidence, and told him what he had learnt.

‘But I will not go without you,’ said Jack; ‘we have gone through too much together for me to desert you now.’

‘Ha, hum! Jack, you’re a fine fellow; you’re a—a—— Jim Linham, you’re a fool,’ he concluded.

Then in more husky tones he said, ‘Jack, you’ll go. I’m an old war-horse that it doesn’t matter a snap about. I don’t say much, but the wound in my leg troubles me a great deal. I fear I shall never do much more soldiering. Go and leave me.’

‘Never.’

‘But you must. What’s the good of you’re staying here? You can’t do us any good. You’ve got all your life before you, so what’s the good of being silly, now, I want to know?’

‘Then you must find out, my dear Jimmy. I’m not going to leave you.’

That night the little cavalry clique gathered together in one corner of the general room, and Linham solemnly put to them the facts of the case.

‘Blair has a chance of escape,’ he said, ‘and he won’t take it.’

Then the details were gone into, and the unselfish fellows unanimously agreed that Jack must go.

‘Not without Jim,’ said Jack.

But they told him that was nonsense.

Next morning Jack again sought Sergius, and fought a big fight with him. In the end he agreed to include Linham in the party, though he said it would increase the risk of detection.

Then Linham was obstinate and refused to go till Jack declared he would not go without him, and so at last it was decided.

The secret was told to most of the prisoners, who immediately set about writing letters to relatives and friends, which Jack and Linham were to take with them. Final arrangements were made with Sergius, and on the fourth day Jack and Linham were to make their attempt.

They had a sort of farewell supper, and all sorts of messages were given to the two Lancers for friends and comrades in camp should they ever reach it.

Next morning, with a number of others, they left the prison as usual, their hearts beating wildly, for if all went well by that time to-morrow they hoped to be many miles away.

The caravan was to start about midday, and bartering had been finished. Sergius had a van driven by a lad and a droshky in which he himself travelled.

Jack and Linham with their friends went down to the arch under which Sergius’s van and droshky were kept at night, and they stood round talking and watching Sergius stow away his wares for the journey. They were at the back of the wagon, with the other prisoners all round them. Waiting until Sergius made them a sign that there was no one about, Jack and Linham popped into the wagon, were promptly hidden between two bales, and covered with a pile of rugs.

It seemed a very long time to them before they started; but presently, with a rumble, off they went, and as the wheels rolled from the stones to the more even metalled road a cheer burst forth.

‘That’s a signal from those friends who have followed us that we are safely out of the town,’ said Jack.

‘Ha, hum! I wish I were safely out of the wagon too,’ growled Linham; ‘I’m half-suffocated.’

‘If the chaps can only answer our names for us to-night, as they said they would try to do,’ said Jack, ‘that will give us a good start, providing our absence is not discovered until to-morrow.’

‘They will do all they can,’ said Linham; and, lulled by the motion of the wagon, both he and Jack fell asleep.

When they awoke they were standing still.

‘Hallo!’ cried Jack, ‘what’s the matter I wonder?’

He poked out his head just as Sergius was heard calling, ‘Excellency, excellency, are you asleep?’

‘I was,’ replied Jack; ‘but am now awake.’

‘You can both come out,’ cried the delighted Sergius; and Jack and Linham did so.

They found they were in the open country, far away from Voronesh. The droshky stood behind them, and the driver was feeding his horses.

‘I dropped behind,’ said Sergius; ‘the others are now well ahead. We must do quickly what we have to do,’ and he produced a bundle containing complete suits of clothes, which he wanted Jack and Linham to assume. Jack at once consented, but Linham flatly refused.

He would wear no Russian clothes he said. If he were captured it should be as a soldier; he would run no risk of being shot as a spy. In the end he consented to wear a black astrakhan cap, and put on a light coat over his uniform, which quite altered his appearance.

Jack assumed the dress of a Russian trader; then, transferring several packages from the van to the droshky, Sergius bade Jack and Linham enter, and whipping up his horses, away they went southwards.

‘What will become of the van?’ asked Jack.

‘My boy will overtake the others, and travel with them as far as Moscow. There he will sell all and return to Teberti.’

The two horses in the droshky were splendid animals and spanked along at a grand rate. By nightfall they had travelled fifty versts, and they slept at a tiny village where no questions were asked.

Next day they went on again, and thanks to the passport with which the count had provided Sergius, and thanks also to a good supply of money which he used freely, they made splendid progress.

They went by unfrequented roads, staying mostly at small villages. Jack’s knowledge of Russian stood them in good stead; and though, owing to Linham’s eccentricities, they had several narrow escapes from detection by detachments of soldiers they met upon the road, at last they crossed the Dneiper at Kherson, and next day came once again in sight of Perekop, which town, however, Sergius avoided, going on as far as Balgaza.

Jack was overjoyed at finding himself once more in the Crimea, and hoped soon to be again with the British army. The following night they neared Simpheropol, and then it was necessary to move with the greatest caution, as they were surrounded by Russian troops. They were not very far from Old Fort, the spot where the allied armies had landed nearly a year before, and Jack sighed as he thought of the terrible experiences they had passed through since that date.

At a small village just north of Baktschi-Serai, Sergius placed Jack and Linham in the house of a small farmer, and bade them on no account show themselves till he returned. That was not until the following night, when he was accompanied by another rider.

Jack saw them dismount, and in a few moments the taller figure had entered the house, and, running up to Jack, had taken him by both hands. It was Count Pauloff, and his joy at seeing Jack was undeniable.

‘My dear friend,’ he said, ‘I cannot tell you how much I rejoice to see you again. After I left you at Teberti I went straight to Sebastopol. Liprandi had returned, and with him I sought out the Prince and begged for your release. I found, however, that my cousin Sominoff had forestalled me, had procured an order for you to be conveyed to Perekop, and had sent an escort to conduct you. I had passed the escort on my way to Sebastopol. The Prince had, however, insisted that you should be well treated. Determined not to be defeated, directly I could obtain leave to go to Teberti I sent Sergius to seek you, and here you are.’

‘How can I thank you, count?’ asked Jack.

‘No thanks, friend. I am still in your debt, for you saved my life; I have only procured your liberty. I have the order for your release in my pocket, for, alas! poor Vladimir can no longer oppose me in this; he was killed a month ago in the streets of Sebastopol by the splinter of a shell from the French batteries. But who is this?’ pointing to Linham, who had discarded his Russian coat and stood revealed in the remains of his uniform.

Jack explained, and the count laughed. ‘I can manage it,’ he said. ‘I have horses. To-morrow morning we will start, and I will see you through our lines. By midday you will be among your own people. Now you must return with me and see my mother and Irma.’

This, however, Jack was by no means willing to do. He had a very great respect for the beautiful but imperious girl, but he did not want to meet her in her mother’s house again. He fancied she might renew her persuasion that he should transfer to the Russian army, and somehow—he hardly liked to confess it to himself—she exercised more will-power over him than he cared to own. So he pleaded fatigue, and they passed the night at the farm.

Next morning, Jack mounted on a splendid horse the count had brought, and Linham on Sergius’s mount, they started, and in glorious weather rode on, crossing the Katcha and the Belbec, skirting the Russian division in the Korales Valley, and eventually reaching the Tractir Bridge.

Here the count halted. ‘It will not be safe for me to go farther,’ he said, ‘or I may find you and I have changed places.’

‘And I fear I should have much more difficulty in procuring your release than you did mine,’ said Jack.

With mutual good wishes, Jack sending very kind messages to the countess and Irma, he shook hands with the count, and Linham saluted. They dismounted, and were going to cross the bridge on foot; but the count stayed them.

‘I want you both to accept the horses you ride,’ he said, ‘as a present to two gallant soldiers whom I only regret having met as enemies instead of as comrades.’

Jack was really touched at this new proof of kindness, and when they had parted he sat for some time watching the figure of the gallant count as he trotted away.

He and Linham then crossed the bridge and soon met an English picket, who stared in open-eyed astonishment at the nondescript pair. The soldiers were healthy, well-fed, rosy-looking English lads in smart scarlet tunics, wearing good boots, their appointments being bright and clean. The sergeant, who had come from England but a few months ago, and knew of the winter misery only by hearsay, heard with astonishment that the two before them were English prisoners of war. They were taken to the officer commanding the picket, who was equally astonished, but who, at their request, passed them on to the cavalry camp.

Presently they saw the rows of tents and the horse lines. Then lance-flags were seen fluttering, and a party of Lancers passed them. Jack and Linham stared in astonishment. All the men were smart, clean, and well clothed and booted. Even their uniforms were changed; the tunics had a white, turned-back facing.

‘These must be the 17th,’ said Jack; ‘look at the skull and cross-bones.’

They reached a sentry and dismounted.

‘Here, who are you, and what do you want?’ he cried.

‘We’re prisoners of war returned from captivity,’ said Jack.

‘What regiment do you belong to?’

‘We did belong to the 17th Lancers.’

‘Here, that won’t do!’ he cried; ‘stand where you are.—Tom, pass the word for the regimental.’

Jack and Linham stood humbly by their horses, while a little crowd of men, all of the 17th, but all strangers from England, gathered round them, staring curiously at the two travel-stained and battered arrivals.

A big man came shouldering his way through the gazers, an officer followed him, and the troopers sprang to attention.

‘Here’s a couple of chaps who say they belong to “ours,”’ said the sentry; ‘but strikes me they’re frauds. They look more like rag-pickers than Lancers.’

The regimental stared at the new-comers; then Jack said, ‘Barrymore, don’t you know us?’

‘Heavens above!’ cried Barrymore in mighty tones. ‘Stand back there, men!—Jack, Jim, God bless you both! we’d given you up as dead months ago!’

The officer approached. It was Leland, no longer cornet, but captain. He stared a moment; then took the hands of the nondescripts as Barrymore had done.

‘Who are they?’ murmured a trooper fresh out from England.

‘Who are they?’ roared Barrymore. ‘Why, men who covered themselves with glory while you were learning your drill at Canterbury. They’re Sergeant Linham and “Blair of Balaclava.”’

‘Blair of Balaclava?’ cried the men, and then spontaneously there burst out a cheer, and in a moment the two heroes were seized, seated shoulder high, and, amidst the thundering plaudits of men who had heard of their deeds over and over again, despite their struggles they were carried to the headquarters of the regiment whose recent laurels they had borne no mean share in winning.

The two heroes were seized, seated shoulder high.

Page 360

CHAPTER XLV.

THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA.

THE noise the men were making attracted the attention of all within hearing, and before the procession had got far several officers came toward them to see what was the matter. Foremost among them was Colonel Norreys, recovered in health, and promoted to the command of the regiment.

Barrymore, saluting, told the colonel who they were escorting, and in another moment Colonel Norreys was wringing Jack’s hand.

‘My dear Blair,’ he said, ‘it is to you and Barrymore that I owe my life. I ought to have died if any man ought on that fatal day; how I managed to cheat the doctors I don’t know. Your conduct in the affair was reported with Barrymore’s; but we all feared you had been killed.’

‘I have been a prisoner all the time, sir,’ said Jack.

‘You must tell me all your adventures; but first I must introduce you to the other officers, nearly all, alas! strangers to you, but all of whom have heard of your exploits.’

The colonel then turned to Linham. ‘Welcome back to you, too, sergeant,’ he said; ‘it will seem something like old times to see your familiar features in the ranks again.’

‘Ha, hum! sir, you do me honour,’ and Linham saluted with the precision of an automaton.

Jack did his best to get away from the congratulations and flattering speeches of his officers, most of whom, as the colonel had said, were new to the regiment, consequently strangers. Hardly had he succeeded before his hand was clutched in a firm grasp, and turning, he saw—could he believe his eyes?—Will Hodson, staring at him with an eye suspiciously dim.

‘Jack!’

‘Will!’

‘I thought you were dead.’

‘I’ve mourned you for months.’

‘Thanks to you, dear old chap, I’m alive. I was almost done when I got aboard at Balaclava; but the warmth and comfort did me good. I went back again after getting to Scutari. Oh the horrors of that place, Jack! Nothing that we heard about it came up to the reality. But there was an angel just arrived there, Miss Nightingale, from England. She was beginning to get the place into some sort of order, and I was lucky in coming under her notice. Two months it was before I was able to get back to duty; but I never should at all had it not been for her.’

Jack and Linham were taken possession of by Barrymore and those men who had been in the charge, and were the lions of the hour. They were soon assigned quarters, new uniforms were served out to them, and they resumed their regimental duties.

They found a tremendous difference in the camp. Large drafts had come out for the regiments that had served through the war, and many regiments had arrived to whom Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann were but names. The cavalry had received such large drafts that they were almost new regiments. Huts had sprung up, and the men had more clothing than they knew what to do with.

In June, fur coats, blankets, and woollen caps had arrived in thousands. The uniforms of the new arrivals were clean and smart, the men again looked more like soldiers than navvies, hundreds of remounts had been procured. The 10th Hussars and 12th Lancers had arrived from India and the Carbineers from England. There was an abundance of good food, an almost unlimited supply of war material, the hospital arrangements had been vastly improved, the health of the whole army was very good; and lastly, and most wonderful of all, a railway had been constructed between Balaclava and the camp!

These things were so amazing that it took Jack and Linham some days to believe it all. They heard about the assault of the Malakoff, and the determined, but unfortunate attack on the Redan in June. This was sad news; but sadder still was the news of the death of the gallant, the kindly, the warm-hearted Lord Raglan.

Bitterly mortified at the attempt of the Government to make him a scapegoat for their own gross mismanagement, he had worried in secret. The failure of the attack on the Redan and the death of a very dear friend and brother-officer, working on a constitution already weakened by the tremendous strain of the war, had caused an illness of which he died calmly and quietly on June 29th.

The honour paid to his remains on their removal to the vessel which was to convey them to England spoke of the esteem in which he was held by the army. English, French, Sardinians, even the Russians themselves, paid the highest respect to his memory.

Sergeant Linham seemed very depressed after his return to the regiment. ‘Here we are, Jack,’ he said, ‘stuck just in the same place; only it’s all so different. The officers are different, the men different, even our very uniform’s different, and what’s the use of it all, ha, hum! I want to know?’

Jack tried to cheer him up; but it was clear the sergeant was fretting, and it was evidently over the loss of his old comrades. There was, besides, another cause that made him downhearted that Jack did not know of till later—his wounded leg was causing him great pain and inconvenience.

About the middle of August spies brought in word that the Russians were going to make a great effort to raise the siege, and consequently the Allies were kept on the alert.

Jack’s squadron was moved down to Balaclava, close to the newly arrived Sardinian contingent, being brigaded under Jack’s old colonel, who had returned from England, having quite recovered.

Every morning at an hour before daybreak they paraded, and on the 16th, soon after they assembled, the sound of heavy firing on their front showed them that the Russians were attacking. The firing got heavier, and as day began to dawn the English cavalry were moved off down the very valley along which they had made their famous charge.

‘I wonder whether this is going to be another Balaclava,’ said Jack to Barrymore.

‘Don’t speak of that day,’ said the regimental; ‘I can never bear to think of it.’

Presently the cavalry came in sight of the Tractir Bridge, which was being held by French infantry. These were attacked by huge masses of Russian infantry and artillery, and were driven back, but rallying, they retook the bridge at the point of the bayonet. The Russians again routed them; but with indomitable gallantry the French once more attacked and drove the Russians across the river.

‘Well done, French!’ cried Jack.

But the Russians were in overwhelming numbers, and for the second time they took the bridge and the heights above it, and began to advance on Balaclava itself.

Things were looking serious, and the gallant Scarlett, now commanding the English cavalry, prepared his brigade for action. The Russians had quite sixty squadrons, and it was confidently expected that the cavalry would be heavily engaged. Seeing the enemy’s cavalry advancing from Tchorgoun towards the river, Scarlett moved his glittering squadrons forward.

Jack’s squadron was on the right, and the men tightened their hold on their bridles and gripped their lances, expecting every moment to be charging the enemy. In this they were, however, disappointed, being retreated behind a Sardinian outpost. Rising ground hid them from the Russian cavalry, and presently General de la Marmora, the Sardinian commander-in-chief, with his gay staff, cantered along between the English and the Sardinians, as though making for the plain beyond the rising ground.

General Scarlett was talking to Colonel Norreys when suddenly several squadrons of Russian Hussars were seen to have swept round on the right flank behind some hills, and were driving in at a gallop between the English cavalry and the Sardinian staff. The danger of the Sardinians was seen at once, and General Scarlett, in a few brief words to Colonel Norreys, bade him charge. The squadron sprang forward, the charge rang out, and the Lancers were racing at top speed, so as to get between the Russians and the Sardinian staff.

The Russian Hussars seeing the Lancers coming brought up their right shoulders so as to face the oncoming horsemen; then once again showed the curious hesitancy which seemed natural to them. With a crash the Lancers met them, riding them down and scattering them like chaff.

Jack drove his lance right through the body of a Hussar, and lost it. In an instant he had his sword in his hand and was aiming a blow at an officer dressed in a magnificent white uniform, when, glancing at his features, he recognised Count Pauloff. With a cry he withdrew his arm and swept by. Next minute the Russians were in full retreat, the count unhurt among them. Half-an-hour afterwards the battle was over, the Russians defeated, and the French and Sardinians in pursuit.

The Russians lost between five and six thousand men, and they realised once and for all that though they might be in overwhelming numbers they were no match for the Allies in the open field.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE STORMING OF THE REDAN.

THE prosecution of the siege seemed to flag a little during the last days of August and beginning of September; but, unknown to the men, preparations were being made for another great assault.

Jack had been away with his troop for some time in the valley of the Baidar; and, returning to camp late one afternoon, as he rode in was met by Will, who, after asking him what had happened, said, ‘While you’ve been away there’s been a staff-officer over here several times asking for you. He seemed most anxious to see you.’

‘Oh, what for?’

‘Goodness knows.’

‘What was his name?’

‘That I don’t know, though I’ve seen him once or twice with the staff. Anyway, he left a letter to be given to you. Here it is.’

Jack opened the letter and read:

‘Dear Sir,—I should much like to see you, having heard a deal of your conspicuous gallantry in the memorable cavalry charge of Oct. 25th last.

‘More especially I want to thank you for saving my life at the passage of the Alma, and for carrying the despatch of which I was the bearer, and which bore largely on the success of that day.

‘I am also most anxious to ask you a few questions about your family, for it may even turn out that we may be related.—Yours sincerely,

‘Charles M. Harrington, Lieut.-Col.’

‘Good Heavens! Colonel Harrington.’ It must be his mother’s younger brother, his own uncle Charles, of whom he had often heard but never seen. He remembered him at the Alma quite well; and, yes, there was a strong family likeness between his mother and the colonel. It was too late to go to headquarters that night, but he would take the first opportunity he had and seek out this new-found uncle.

The next morning a terrific bombardment was opened on Sebastopol, and it soon became evident that an assault was to be made that day. Companies of infantry were being marched to the trenches, supports were hurried up, ambulance-men followed, and all knew a great struggle was about to commence.

Jack obtained permission to go up to headquarters; but when he got there he found the colonel had gone down to the trenches with Sir William Codrington. Thither Jack followed him, making his way to the fifth parallel, in which was the General.

All around him were men crouching, having ladders with which to scale the walls. Jack looked in vain for Colonel Harrington; he was nowhere to be seen. The excitement of the coming assault had, however, seized Jack, and for the moment he forgot the cause which had brought him there.

Troops continued to arrive, and it was known the Redan was the point of attack, while the French were again to attempt the Malakoff. At noon the bombardment was urged to a terrific blaze of fire, which poured from many embrasures until then kept closed.

Soon after twelve the signal for the French to storm was given by the explosion of two mines near the counterscarp, and in the confusion caused by the smoke and uproar, the Zouaves and Chasseurs rushed over the twenty-five yards dividing the ditch of the Malakoff from their own parallel, and taking the Russians completely by surprise, drove them out of the redoubt at the point of the bayonet. The tricolour was soon flying over the Malakoff. That was the signal for the English to attack the Redan.

The Russians opened a heavy fire of grape upon the trenches, doing much damage as the men clambered over the parapet. They had then to pass through a murderous fire of round-shot, grape, and musketry, and they fell in scores. Wildly dashing through, they charged over the three hundred yards that separated them from the Redan, into the ditch of which they scrambled. Men of different regiments became inextricably mixed. A dense mass were jammed on the salient of the Redan. They opened a heavy fire over the parapet upon the enemy in the interior of the work, though losing heavily from rifle and artillery fire the while.

Fresh troops continued to arrive, but there was no room on which to collect for a sudden rush into the Redan. Ammunition was constantly passed up and a continuous fire upon the interior was maintained. Hundreds fell on both sides, the ditch being actually covered with dead. At last the supply of ammunition gave out, perceiving which the enemy made a sudden rush upon the salient, and by sheer weight caused the attackers to fall back into the ditch on to the tops of bayonets, ladders, and poor wounded men who writhed in agony as they were crushed to death. Then the Russians stood upon the parapet and threw hand grenades, stones, and every conceivable missile upon the struggling mass below them.

An hour had passed, and the English had not yet captured the Redan. Then, after a heroic struggle, the survivors were being driven back for lack of supports. A fresh body of red-coats, men of the Buffs, and 41st, 90th, and 97th, made a rush forward, gallantly led by staff-officers. They came close by Jack just as a bullet struck the cocked hat from the head of one of the leaders. In an instant Jack had recognised him; it was Colonel Harrington, his uncle!

A young midshipman, badly wounded, lay close by Jack, his naked sword by his side. Fired by a sudden impulse, Jack snatched up the sword and rushed forward with the stormers. In an instant he was in a regular storm of grape and bullets, and men were falling quickly all round him. He made his way along, and was soon with the men who had been driven from the Redan.

These, men of all regiments, inextricably mixed, were firing steadily upon the Russians, holding their ground and waiting, waiting for the supports—supports which never came. Yet they hung on, losing men by tens and dozens.

Officers went back to try and get reinforcements; but General Codrington hesitated. Then the Royals sprang forward, and made a last attempt; but their formation was lost, and they were soon mixed up with the bleeding, panting, and exhausted crowd.

The guns from the Barrack and Garden Batteries poured in grape, and the Russians, issuing from the Redan, rushed on with the bayonet. A struggle that almost baffles description took place, and the British were borne back.

Jack fought his way close to Colonel Harrington, who was attempting to get the regimental officers to rally their men. A number of Russians came charging forward, and an officer cut at Colonel Harrington, but Jack with the pistol of a dead officer shot the Russian. Then a terrible mêlée took place, and the English began to retire rapidly towards their trenches, pursued by a perfect storm of lead.

Keeping in the rear, Jack presently missed Colonel Harrington, and, looking round, saw him lying on the ground some distance in the rear. Heedless of the storm of bullets, he ran back and raised the colonel’s head, attempting to get him on his feet. He succeeded, when two Russian sharpshooters rushed forward.

One Jack cut down; but the other wounded the colonel in the leg with his bayonet, only next instant to fall dead, shot through the head. The colonel was on the ground, and Jack attempted to carry him; but he was too heavy.

‘Leave me, lad!’ gasped the colonel; ‘save yourself.’

A sergeant of the Fusiliers, though, seeing what was happening, ran back, and, helping Jack, they together raised the colonel and carried him along with the retiring troops. They had almost reached the most advanced parallel when the gallant sergeant was cut almost in two by a round-shot. Other willing hands, however, now helped, and the colonel was got into the trenches. There a stretcher was procured, Jack bearing one end, and the colonel was got out of danger to the hospital tent.

Jack remained with him while the surgeon bound up his wounded leg and his left arm, which had also been struck by a bullet. He had never lost consciousness during the whole time, and when his wounds were dressed he said to Jack, ‘My brave fellow, I see you belong to the Lancers. What are you doing here?’

‘I came to find you, sir. My name is Blair.’

The colonel looked at him. ‘Is it?’ he said faintly. ‘Are you the trumpeter whom I met first at the Alma? But I see you are. Tell me, who was your father?’

Jack’s replies soon proved to the wounded colonel that he was talking to his own nephew.

‘After Balaclava,’ he said, ‘I heard several times about you from Captain Norreys. Quite by accident I saw your name some months later returned amongst the missing as John Harrington Blair. I remembered hearing that my sister’s son had received her maiden name, and a suspicion of the truth dawned upon me. I determined to see you, but you were supposed to be dead. Only the other day I heard you had returned from captivity, and I rode over to your camp and left a note for you. Now we meet thus!’

They talked some time longer, and then Jack helped to take the colonel to his own tent, where he was made comfortable and put under the care of his servant, a thoroughly reliable old soldier.

Jack then said he must return to his regiment, and the colonel took his hand. ‘My dear boy,’ he said, ‘it gives me very genuine pleasure to have found you, and that you are so much like my sister is an additional reason for liking you. I hope soon to be about again, and then I shall make it my business to push your promotion.’

Jack thanked his uncle for his good wishes; but he was more pleased over the joy he knew it would give his mother to be again on friendly terms with her family than he was at the promise of the colonel’s influence on his behalf.

CHAPTER XLVII.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

EARLY next morning Jack was roused from his slumbers by Barrymore putting his head into the tent and shouting, ‘Jack, up with you, and come out. The Russians are scooting out of Sebastopol, and the town is ours.’

Had Jack received an electric shock he could not have leapt up quicker. In two minutes he was outside and hurrying off with Barrymore and Will to a place whence they could get a good view.

There they saw dense clouds of black smoke rising from the town, while frequent violent explosions rent the air. The Russians had retreated across their bridge to the north side about two o’clock in the morning, having previously set fire to the town. The Malakoff was the key to the enemy’s position, and the loss of it compelled the Russians to evacuate the town. The attack upon the Redan, though unsuccessful, had drawn off a large force from the Malakoff, and thus rendered the task of the French much easier.

As the news flew round the camp that the siege of Sebastopol, the longest in modern history, was over, tremendous cheers burst out. The most curious thing about it all to Jack was the cessation from the incessant crashing of guns. Not a single cannon boomed. Pickets were at once sent out to prevent any one from entering Sebastopol, and a general order was issued thanking all ranks for their efforts to take the town.

That day poor Linham, who for some days had been very morose, confided to Jack that the wound in his leg so troubled him that he could no longer keep to his duty. Since the battle of the Tchernaya it had broken out afresh, and had been getting gradually worse. Jack and Will at once took him to the regimental doctor, who shook his head when he examined the wound.

‘Bad, bad—very bad,’ he said. ‘This ought to have been seen to long ago. Besides, you are much run down. A steamer starts from Balaclava to-morrow with invalids for England. I will get you sent with them. You have done your work here, and the sea voyage and good treatment at home will put you right.’

Sergeant Linham at first resolutely refused to go; but the colonel backed up the order, and Jack and Will took him down to Balaclava and saw him aboard the Himalaya.

‘Ha, hum! good-bye, boys,’ said Linham as they parted on the deck. ‘Somehow I feel my soldiering days are done. The war must be pretty near over now, and when the regiment comes home mind you come and see me if I am still in hospital.’

Jack and Will promised, and shook hands with their old comrade, who in a strangely husky voice said, ‘God bless you, you toads!’

The next day Jack was one of the commander-in-chief’s escort when he rode through Sebastopol, and Jack gazed in wonder at the awful ruins. The houses were roofless and gutted, every inch of ground was ploughed up by shot and shell, and dead and dying Russians lay about on every hand. Life in Sebastopol must have been almost unbearable. The ditch of the Redan was still half-full of the brave fellows who had fallen in the attack, and Jack gazed at them sadly, thinking that if Sebastopol was at last theirs bitter had been the price paid for it.[9]

Exactly twelve days after the fall of Sebastopol, on the first anniversary of the battle of the Alma, a review was held, and the Crimean medals just sent out from England were distributed. The medals had no names on them; but some sort of a muddle had been expected.

Jack’s medal had four clasps, and at the presentation it was further announced that for the gallant charge made by a squadron of the regiment at the battle of the Tchernaya, by which General de la Marmora and his staff had been saved from capture, the General had intimated that all the officers and non-commissioned officers of that squadron, excluding corporals, would be presented with the Sardinian war-medal, and that six troopers or corporals, to be elected by their comrades, would be similarly decorated.

‘That means that we shall have two medals instead of one,’ said Jack to Will, who had fortunately been with the squadron.

‘Well, the more the merrier,’ said Will.

Jack had several times been to visit his new-found uncle, Colonel Harrington; who, though making progress, was still very ill, and the doctors had ordered him at once to return to England. Jack went down to Balaclava with him, and the colonel’s last words were, ‘When I get home, and am well enough, the first visit I shall make will be to your mother and your sisters. From what you have told me of the girls I am most anxious to see them. And as for you, dear Jack, take care of yourself, and mind and write to me. I shall use my influence for you at the Horse Guards, for if you intend to remain in the army I shall see that you serve as an officer, a position for which you have every qualification.’

Jack thanked his uncle cordially, and begged he would convey his love to all his relatives and friends. Riding back from Balaclava, having plenty of time, he dismounted and walked for a considerable distance along the fatal valley down which they had made their charge, looking about him at the Causeway Heights and the Fedoukine Hills, the different landmarks bringing back with startling vividness all the incidents of that day. There were many relics of the fight still lying about—rotting headdresses, rusty bits of accoutrements and arms, and hundreds of fragments of shell and half-buried round-shot. Skeletons of horses were plentiful, and Jack stood gazing at one, wondering whether it was that of his faithful Dainty, for he guessed he was about on the spot where she had fallen.

Going some distance farther towards the hills he kicked a large boulder and moved it, when he saw a piece of discoloured metal which had been half-buried by it. Stooping, he picked it up and found it was a bugle, which had been crushed and battered as though smashed with a hammer. Curiosity prompted him to rub away the earth and rust from the bell of the instrument in order to see to which regiment it had belonged, when to his surprise he saw dimly No. 1243, 17th Lancers. That was his regimental number, and the bugle was his. In a flash he recollected how it was dashed from his grasp by a round-shot the last time he had ever sounded, for on that day he ceased to be a trumpeter.

He remounted and made his way to camp, taking his relic with him. When he showed it to Barrymore, just outside the regimental’s tent, the latter said, ‘It’s very strange your finding it; however, you must keep it. And that reminds me, I have a relic which, when I thought you were dead, I found in your tent and meant to keep.’

He went into his tent and brought out an old battered lance-cap, with the corners all broken down, the plate bent, a bullet-hole through the square top, and a sword-cut on the side which had cut completely down to the round leather skull-piece, the cut having been stitched up with a bit of string.

‘Do you know this?’ asked Barrymore.

‘My old cap!’ said Jack in surprise.

‘It is so, and since you’re here amongst us in the flesh I’ll make you a present of it. Put it with your bugle. When you’re a colonel you’ll show them with pride to your friends.’

‘I don’t suppose that day will ever come,’ laughed Jack; ‘but anyway I’ll accept it, and will give it to my mother as a relic of the Balaclava charge.’

So far as the cavalry was concerned the war was over. The troops would have to be kept in the Crimea till peace was finally declared, but there seemed to be no further use for cavalry; and in November the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ embarked for Ismail, where they went into comfortable quarters.

For several months they had a very easy time. The anniversaries of the three big battles were kept up in the army with great celebrations, and at Christmas they had a gay time.

Jack had many letters from his friends, and amused himself by writing an account of all that had happened to him since he had come out. One other honour came to him. The men of the different regiments had to choose so many of their comrades who were to be given the French war medal, and Jack was one of those chosen by his comrades.

With the cavalry, the great battle had been Balaclava, and for Jack’s unique experience in having ridden in both charges, and for having, as all the survivors of the 17th asserted, ‘brought the regiment out of action,’ to say nothing of him and Barrymore having rescued Captain Norreys, he had won the name of ‘Blair of Balaclava,’ which had ever since stuck to him. So he was one of those selected for the French war medal, which was presented to him at the same time as the Sardinian one.

‘I shall be decorated all over soon,’ he laughed to Will as he surveyed the three glittering medals on his breast. ‘I’m carrying quite a weight of metal.’

‘And I only wish that every man who carried metal,’ said Will with a laugh, ‘deserved it half as much as you do.’

One day, when Jack was reading in his quarters, he heard a tremendous cheering from some men of the regiment. He went out, book in hand, to see what was the matter.

‘What’s the row?’ he asked of a private who had been out only six months.

‘We’re under orders for home,’ shouted the lad; ‘we start in three days.’

‘Well,’ growled a grizzled veteran named Penn—who had nearly twenty years’ service, and who, besides having ridden beside Jack in the ‘death ride,’ wore five medals on his breast—‘well, you needn’t open your mouth so wide. If you had come out with us two years ago you’d perhaps think more of the chums you were leaving out here than the mincing miss you think’s waiting for you at home.’ And somehow the old soldier’s words found an answering echo in Jack’s heart.

Nevertheless, all was joyous bustle and excitement, and when three days later they embarked for home all were in high spirits. They had a comfortable voyage, and the few survivors, only a handful who had come out from England with the regiment, used to gather on the deck in the evening, and while they smoked their pipes fight their battles over again, and relate to one another the adventures they had passed through with comrades, alas! no more.

‘You and I, Will, of all the trumpeters who came out are the only two left,’ said Jack one magnificent evening as he and Will leant over the taffrail watching the sunset. ‘Napper dead of cholera, Brittain and Parkes killed at Balaclava, poor old Linham and the trumpet-major invalided, and Tom Callon discharged with one arm.’

‘Don’t talk about it, Jack; we’ve added new honours to the regiment, but we’ve paid the full price.’

After a prosperous voyage the good steamer Candra dropped anchor in Queenstown Bay, and next day the regiment was disembarked. And then a surprise was in store for the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’ The band of a Hussar regiment came to play them to the station, and when the regiment marched out through the dock-gates they saw a vast multitude of people. English troops had never been popular in Ireland; even in England they had been coldly treated. The army had waned in popularity during the forty years of peace since the Peninsula days.

But for two years the people had been full of the doings of the troops. They had read with moist eyes and kindly hearts the story of the heights of the Alma, of the valley of Balaclava. Their feelings had been wrung when they read of the thousands dying of cholera, of cold, of starvation, and of overwork before Sebastopol.

Their pulses had been quickened when they learned how the ragged, famished, disease-stricken handfuls had hurled back into the fog, whence they emerged, the thousands of the Czar, contending on the slopes of Inkermann from dawn almost till sunset, dying proudly—nay, joyously—where they stood, but never retreating. And, lastly, they had glowed with pride when they heard of the dogged pertinacity with which the handful of heroes, struggling against almost every evil to which an army is open, maintained that stubborn fight in the trenches, enduring without one word of complaint, facing with cheerfulness every danger, suffering privation in silence, meeting death and wounds before the enemy with a smile of contempt, or willingly yielding up their lives from sickness, because they held it was their duty. Every soldier had fulfilled his promise to Queen and Country.

And so the British soldier had shown that he was the same as the men who had hurled back the flower of Napoleon’s army in the Peninsula. He had vindicated his existence; he stood forth in the simple grandeur of his nature; he had shown his countrymen—nay, all the world—that he was the same calm and superb fighter as of yore, and his countrymen had taken him to their hearts and determined to show him they loved him.

So it happened that when the Lancers entered the streets the warm-hearted, impulsive Irish people gave full vent to their feelings. They shouted, they cheered, they forced themselves in amongst the horses, in several instances actually dismounting the Lancers. They shook hands with them, the women even kissing them, they pressed presents upon them, offered them food, drink, tobacco, and so on; and at last all progress was stopped till a large body of police arrived and literally forced a way for the embarrassed soldiers.

‘Good heavens, Will!’ said Jack to his friend when at last they were safely in the railway-station, ‘what an experience! The people seem to have gone mad. I’d almost as soon go through another Balaclava as that.’

‘I don’t know that I would not rather,’ said Will. ‘I’ve had three buttons torn off my tunic, been nearly cut in half by people hanging on to my sword, and been kissed by a terrible old woman who I should think has lived all her life on whisky, onions, and tobacco!’

When they arrived at Cahir, where they were to be stationed, the town had determined to give the Lancers a right royal welcome. The officers were invited to a banquet and ball by the mayor, the non-coms, and men were fêted and feasted; the townspeople pressed forward to make the acquaintance of the men, and asked them here and there till every one was tired. They soon got to know which of the men had ridden in the famous charge, and every one who wore the clasp with Balaclava on it was certain of a warm and hearty welcome.

Things presently began to settle down into the usual home routine, many men went away on furlough, and Jack himself was hoping to get away. He was sent off one day to Queenstown to meet some details from the depôt, returning next day.

When on the next morning he passed through the gate he almost burst out laughing as the sentry smartly ‘carried’ his lance and brought his left hand across his body till it touched the lance in salute.

‘Is he mad or has he got a touch of the sun?’ thought Jack.

Marching his men to the orderly-room, Jack was crossing the square when he met Sergeant-major Barrymore. Instead of the usual cheery, ‘Good-morning, Jack,’ the regimental passed his whip under his left arm, faced Jack, and saluted him as he would the colonel.

‘I say, Bob, what the dickens is up?’ said Jack. ‘Are you all mad? What does it mean?’

‘It means, sir,’ said Barrymore with a smile, ‘that you were gazetted some days ago to a cornetcy by purchase, and were in orders last night as posted to B Troop.’

Jack flushed crimson, then stammered out, ‘Surely you’re joking, Bob?’

‘Not at all,’ cried a voice from behind, and Jack saw Colonel Norreys and the adjutant. ‘Blair,’ continued the colonel, shaking hands with Jack, ‘I’m happy to welcome you as a brother-officer; you’re an honour to the regiment. Come over to the mess; there’s some one there waiting to see you.’

Feeling as if he were walking on air, Jack followed his colonel, and was soon shaking hands with his uncle, Colonel Harrington.

‘My dear Jack, how well you are looking!’ cried Colonel Harrington, ‘and what a show of medals you’ve got there! I intended to give you a little surprise over the matter of your commission, but was unfortunate in finding you away from barracks.’

‘How can I thank you, sir?’

‘By saying nothing about it. And, besides, it’s as much my old friend Colonel Leland’s doing as mine. I had no idea he knew you till I met him in London. He’s an old comrade of mine.’

‘But, sir, I can never keep up a commission in a regiment like this. I have nothing but my pay.’

‘You have me, Jack. I am a miserable old bachelor having no one to care for. I am going to adopt you as my son, and in return for what you have done for me I intend to leave you my fortune.’

Jack was overwhelmed. ‘My mother and sisters, how are they?’ he asked presently.

‘All well, and, by Jove, aren’t the girls handsome? You’ll open your eyes when you see them, young man, for they must have altered much in the last two years.’

‘I hope soon to see them,’ said Jack.

‘We start to-night,’ said Colonel Harrington. ‘I have just arranged with your colonel here, and I have got you two months’ leave. There are clothes, uniform, and all sorts of things to see to, settlements to make, and I don’t know what, all of which we must go to London to do.’

That night Jack dined for the first time in the officers’ mess, and as he entered in his sergeant’s uniform he received a magnificent reception.

They caught the night train, and at noon next day arrived in London. Jack did, indeed, stare with surprise at the handsome, elegant young ladies who stood beside his mother; he could hardly believe they were his sisters, so much had they altered, and they stared in surprise at the tall, broad, bronzed soldier, with the glittering medals and the incipient moustache.

But when Mrs Blair hung round his neck and sobbed out her thanks that her dear boy had been preserved to her amidst all the terrible dangers he had passed through, he knew that at least she had not changed.

The Lelands were there to welcome Jack, who noticed that his now fellow-officer Captain Leland, who had gone home on leave directly he had arrived in Ireland, kept very close to Molly, and that they seemed very pleased with one another. And the way in which Colonel Harrington beamed on them all did Jack’s heart good.

That night Mrs Blair confessed to Jack that her reconciliation with her brother and her family had given her more pleasure than she could tell; and, thanks to the colonel’s business acumen, on going over her late husband’s affairs with Mr Bailey he found that the old lawyer had much neglected and muddled things, and that Mrs Blair was much better off than she had supposed. Judicious changes and speculations made by the colonel, and a lawsuit successfully undertaken, had more than trebled her income.

‘So that, my dear Jack,’ she said, ‘as I am afraid I shall soon lose Molly, for she and Harry Leland seem to have made a match of it, I shall have more than enough for myself and the other two girls to live on in ease and comparative luxury.’

CHAPTER XLVIII.

‘FOR VALOUR!’

A GLORIOUS summer morning, Friday, 26th June 1857. Thousands upon thousands of spectators have wended their way to Hyde Park to see her Majesty the Queen present to the sixty-two heroes of the navy and army the newly instituted reward of bravery—the Victoria Cross.

Manufactured of bronze, cast from cannon taken at Sebastopol, the intrinsic value is fourpence halfpenny; but millions of money could not buy the right to wear that little Maltese cross. Underneath the lion-surmounted crown are the words, ‘For Valour!’ and valour alone, valour on the battlefield, can win for the soldier or sailor the proudest decoration a British subject can wear.

Amongst the sixty-two heroes to be decorated that day were two men wearing the handsome blue and white of the ‘Death or Glory Boys.’ They were Cornet Blair and Sergeant-major Barrymore. The Gazette records the deeds by which they earned the cross as follows:

‘For distinguished bravery at Balaclava on 25th October 1854, in rescuing Captain Norreys under a heavy fire; and, while both wounded, at the risk of their own lives in gallantly bringing him out of danger.’

Never will Jack forget the roaring, cheering thousands the little band passed through as they marched from Portman Barracks to the Park. There were assembled representative regiments of the different branches which had served in the Crimea, while the ground was kept by infantry and cavalry of the Household Brigade.

Jack and his comrades, officers and privates all together, were drawn up in line; and, just before ten, her Majesty, dressed in a sort of uniform, and mounted on horseback, appeared on the scene.

Then the heroes were presented to her by name by the Secretary of State for War, and her Majesty, with a few kind words, pinned to each man’s breast the coveted cross. Among them was one old comrade of Jack’s, Parkes the giant trooper of the 4th Light Dragoons, who had been in prison at Voronesh with him.

The presentation over, the troops marched past. Lord Cardigan, on the horse he had ridden in the celebrated charge, led by at a gallop his regiment, the 11th Hussars, many a Balaclava man still serving with them; and the Inniskilling Dragoons were also on the ground.

When the Queen left the ground a mad rush was made by the crowd to shake hands with the newly decorated heroes; but Jack, with the recollection of their reception in Ireland fresh in his mind, had arranged with his uncle Colonel Harrington, who had his carriage on the ground, into which Jack and Barrymore got directly the Queen went, and were driven off to Regent’s Park Terrace, to the town house of Colonel Harrington.

There a number of our old friends were assembled. A dinner-party was being held in Jack’s honour that night, and Colonel Harrington had told Jack he could ask whoever he liked. Colonel Norreys and Captain Leland were there, and Jack determined to have his humbler friends Will Hodson and Jimmy Linham, who were honoured guests. Colonel Harrington had asked Colonel Leland and Jack’s old colonel, then a General, who came with Linham. These two lived together, Linham being ostensibly General Rawlence’s valet; in reality he was a companion, and the two were never happy out of each other’s sight. Jimmy’s wounds had healed, and he was cured except that he walked with a stiff leg.

During the afternoon a servant approached Jack and said a young gentleman and an old lady had called, and begged a minute’s interview. Jack immediately went to the drawing-room, where he saw a ruddy-looking, fair young man, whose empty sleeve buttoned to his coat showed he had only one arm. This young man coloured when he saw Jack, and began, ‘Pardon my liberty in calling; but being in London I couldn’t go without’——

‘Tom, Tom, dear old Tom Callon!’ cried Jack, seizing him by his one hand, ‘this is indeed the only thing wanting to complete my happiness.’

‘This is kind, sir, most kind,’ said Tom, ‘to greet me like this. Of course now you’re an officer and a V.C.’

‘Bosh and nonsense. My old comrades, who shared the dangers of the Crimea with me, I am and always shall be happy to see.’

The old lady here had to shed a few tears. ‘Is this the gentleman, Tom, as saved your life?’ she asked gently.

‘Yes, mother, this is the Jack—I mean Mr Blair—I’ve so often told you about.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ said the old lady dropping a curtsey, ‘he talks of you by the hour. If an old woman’s blessings and prayers are of any value you have mine, for you saved to me my son, my only boy, and now my sole support.”

‘Say no more, Mrs Callon. What I did for Tom he would have done for me. We all did our best in the war.’

‘It’s most kind of you to say so, sir, and coming from one who this very day I saw our blessed Queen, with her own hands, present a medal to, I take the liberty of saying it’s a great honour, and if you would shake hands with me’——

‘I’ll do more, Mrs Callon; I’ll kiss you,’ and Jack suited the action to the word, and then said, ‘You must see my mother and sisters, Mrs Callon, and have a cup of tea, while Tom and I have a talk.’

Over a glass of wine Tom related how he had his arm amputated at Scutari and been invalided home, and how, while he had been in hospital, Colonel Leland and his daughter had visited the place, and seeing his name and regiment above his bed had asked him if he knew Jack Blair. Then he had told his tale, and the colonel had taken an interest in him, and when he was well had given him a position as a sort of under-bailiff on his estate.

‘So you see, Jack,’ he concluded, ‘as you say I may still call you so, I’m far better off, and quite as happy as if I’d remained in the service, and also I am able to keep the old mother in comfort, which I could not otherwise have done.’

‘Tom, you’ll dine with me to-night,’ said Jack; and so Tom Callon was of the party.

When after dinner the ladies had retired—which Captain Leland seemed to be in no hurry that they should do, holding open the door for them, and his eyes following Miss Molly up the stair—the gentlemen, all soldiers, most of whom had ridden in that fatal and historic charge, settled down to their wine and cigars. The toast of the Queen was duly drunk, and then Sergeant Linham, who was a little flushed, rose to his feet. He looked round him and blew violently down his nose.

‘Gentlemen and comrades,’ he said, ‘there are some here who never served in the glorious old 17th, some who did not share the dangers of the charge at Balaclava; but these I am sure will be as ready to drink my toast as those who did. Gentlemen, I give you the gallant four hundred who gave their lives for their country on that day.’

The toast was drunk amidst dead silence, and then Linham, filling his glass again, continued, ‘Ha, hum! gentlemen, though most here are officers, you will grant a plain soldier a word. I want to give you the health of one whom I’m proud to call friend—Jack Blair. The Queen, God bless her, has honoured him to-day, has honoured me, has honoured the old “Death or Glory Boys,” has honoured us all in honouring him. She bestowed on him the greatest prize a soldier can win, the Victoria Cross, and I ask you—I ask you all—who is there more worthy to be honoured?’

There was no answer.

‘Ha, hum!’ continued the sergeant, ‘you don’t answer. There is no answer; you all agree. Our respected officer Colonel Norreys led us into the charge, but who brought us out if Jack didn’t? I give you his health, “Blair of Balaclava,” with three times three!’

The toast was enthusiastically drunk, and then Linham dashed his glass on the floor and smashed it.

‘No other toast shall ever be drunk out of that glass,’ he said proudly; ‘and, ha, hum! you toads—I mean gentlemen—if Jack Blair hasn’t got cause to be proud this day I want to know who has? I want to know?’

And no answer being vouchsafed, Jimmy Linham sat down, convinced that his question was unanswerable, as indeed it was.

THE END.

Edinburgh:
Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Native wagon.

[2] This is the nickname of the 11th Hussars, so called on account of a number of them having been taken prisoners in a cherry-orchard during the Peninsular war.

[3] This gun is now at Woolwich.

[4] The losses incurred by our troops in the Crimea, from cholera and other diseases, was a lasting disgrace to English administration. When, through the letters of Dr W. H. Russell, the Times correspondent in the Crimea, the facts became known, the popular wave of indignation it aroused swept the inept Ministry from power. So far as the men were concerned, a finer army than the one sent to the Crimea, or one worse provided for, never left our shores. It is not too much to say that the transport, commissariat, and medical services, as we now understand the terms, did not exist. We had been at peace too long, we had lost the art of making war, the lessons of the Peninsular campaign had been forgotten. The men were sent to face a severe Russian winter in thin clothing, there were practically no tents, no blankets, no medical stores, no reserve clothing; but little food and less forage. The result was that sickness was rampant, the men died off by scores and hundreds, some regiments losing so many as to be disregimented, as were the 5th Dragoon Guards. Our total loss from cholera was about four thousand three hundred; from other diseases, largely the result of starvation, overwork, and exposure in the trenches, sixteen thousand; the number killed or who died of their wounds was three thousand five hundred and seventeen; so that for every man killed by the Russians we lost nearly six by disease. These numbers speak for themselves.

[5] The distinction of having sounded the charge that sent so many brave fellows to their death down the valley of Balaclava has been claimed by, and on behalf of, several people. Amongst others the distinction has been claimed for Trumpet-major H. Joy of the 17th Lancers. He was staff-trumpeter to Lord Lucan, and was with his lordship on the day of the charge. The bugle which Joy carried in the Crimea was sold by public auction in 1894, and was bought for the fabulous sum of seven hundred and fifty guineas. The bugle bears this inscription: ‘Presented by the colonel of the 17th Lancers to Trumpet-major Joy, on which the Balaclava charge was sounded, October 25th, 1854.’ On the death of the first purchaser the bugle was resold, fetching less than a third of the original price. It was presented to the United Service Institution in Whitehall, where it now is. The Earl of Lucan was in command of all the cavalry in the Crimea; his brigade commanders were responsible for carrying out his orders. After Lord Lucan, on the morning of the charge, had given Lord Cardigan his orders, beyond moving the 11th Hussars from the front to the second rank, he had nothing more to do with the Light Brigade. From the moment when Cardigan said simply, ‘The brigade will advance,’ it received no orders from any one else. It regulated its speed and took its direction from Cardigan alone, who rode about five horses’ lengths in front of the first line. Lord Lucan and, of course, his orderly trumpeter, remained behind with the heavy dragoons, and whoever may have sounded the fatal charge, no military man will believe that it was Trumpet-major Joy. Survivors of the charge deny that it was sounded at all, and when it is remembered that the brigade had some mile and a quarter to ride before it got to the guns, and that the men were almost mad with excitement long before the time to ‘charge,’ in the true military sense, had come, it is more than probable that the call was not sounded. If, however, it was sounded, it would have been by Trumpeter Brittain of the 17th Lancers, who was Lord Cardigan’s orderly trumpeter, and should have been taken up by the other trumpeters from him. But Brittain was severely wounded before the guns were reached. He was taken to Scutari hospital where he died, not from his wounds, but from the privation and neglect that he, in common with the other wounded, had to suffer through the lamentable lack of all that was necessary for the comfort and welfare of the patients.

[6] The total casualties of the Allies at Balaclava was about six hundred. Of these the cavalry lost, killed or wounded, three hundred and ninety, of which two hundred and forty-seven were in the Light Brigade. The strength of the brigade when it started down the valley has been differently stated; but the following return, taken from various sources, is probably correct. Some men who had been unhorsed or wounded managed to get back to their regiments later on, and some who had been taken prisoners afterwards rejoined. This table shows only the number of men who answered to their names at the first roll-call after the charge:

| Went into the Charge. | Came out. | Losses.
4th Light Dragoons | 118 | 39 | 79
8th Hussars | 104 | 38 | 66
11th Hussars | 110 | 25 | 85
13th Light Dragoons | 130 | 61 | 69
17th Lancers | 145 | 35 | 110
| 607 | 198 | 409

Total loss of the brigade, 67 per cent. There were also, killed or wounded, five hundred and twenty horses.

[7] In Russia the children of the nobility are often called by their parents’ titles.

[8] Equal to about eightpence in English money, but going as far in Russia as two shillings and sixpence.

[9] The losses of the English have been already given in note on pp. 207-8. The French lost in all about sixty-three thousand and eighty men. But the Russian loss in officers and men reached the huge total of over a quarter of a million! Inkermann alone cost them twelve thousand, while during the hottest part of the bombardment the Russians lost about seven hundred men daily.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

throughly ill=> thoroughly ill {pg 126}
absolutely surround=> absolutely surrounded {pg 228}
north of Baktchi-Serai=> north of Baktschi-Serai {pg 356}