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.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA.

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.

‘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.

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!’

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.