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.

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.

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.’

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.