The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood Part 68

But bitter disappointment was again his portion. The day grew on, and, instead of renewed firing, perfect quiet supervened. There was a truce, he was told, on both sides, to bury the dead.

Now followed several dreary days, when hope had sunk again to its lowest ebb, and all his worst apprehensions revived. It was like a living death; he was a close prisoner, and never a word reached him that any of his friends were concerning themselves with his miserable fate.

Again there came a glimpse of hope. Surely there was good cause: in the renewal of the bombardment, which, after an interval of a few days, revived with yet fiercer intention and unwavering persistence.

Surely this meant another--possibly the final--and supreme attack?

The firing continued without intermission for four days. It was increased and intensified by an attack of the allied fleet upon the seaward batteries. This new bombardment made itself evident from the direction of the sounds, and the merciless execution of the fiery rockets that fell raging into the town.

At length, in the dead of night, McKay was aroused from fitful sleep by the beating of drums and trumpets sounding the a.s.sembly.

It was a general alarm. Troops were heard hurrying to their stations from all directions, and in the midst of it all was heard--for a moment there had been a lull in the cannonade--a sharp, long-sustained sound of musketry fire.

Evidently an attack, but on what points it was made, and how it fared, McKay at first could have no idea. But, as he listened anxiously to the sounds of conflict, it was clear that the tide of battle was raging nearer to him now than on any previous occasion.

He waited anxiously, his heart beating faster and faster, as each minute the firing grew nearer and nearer. He was in ignorance of the exact nature of the attack until, as on the last occasion, the Russian soldiers came back by twos and threes and re-entered the casemate.

"What is going on in the front?" McKay asked.

"The enemy are advancing up the ravine. We have been driven out of the cemetery, and I doubt whether we shall hold our ground."

"They are coming on in thousands!" cried a new arrival. "This place is not safe. Let us fall back to the Karabel barrack."

"You had better come too," said one soldier thoughtfully to McKay, as he gathered up the long skirts of his grey great-coat to allow of more expeditious retreat.

"All right," said McKay, "I will follow."

And taking advantage of the confusion, during which the sentries on the casemate had withdrawn, he left his prison-chamber and got out into the main road.

The fusilade was now close at hand; bullets whistled continually around and pinged with a dull thud as they flattened against the rocky ground.

The a.s.sailants were making good progress. McKay, as he crouched below a wall on the side of the road, could hear the glad shouts of his comrades as, with short determined rushes, they charged forward from point to point.

His situation was one of imminent peril truly, for he was between two fires. But what did he care? Only a few minutes more, if he could but lie close, and he would be once more surrounded by his own men.

While he waited the dawn broke, and he could watch for himself the progress the a.s.sailants made. They were now climbing along the slopes of the ravine on both sides of the harbour, occupying house after house, and maintaining a hot fire on the retreating foe. It was exciting, maddening; in his eagerness McKay was tempted to emerge from his shelter and wave encouragement to his comrades.

Unhappily for him, the gesture was misunderstood. The crack of half-a-dozen rifles responded promptly, and a couple of them took fatal effect. Poor Stanislas fell, badly wounded, with one bullet in his arm and another in his leg.

CHAPTER XI.

AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN.

McKay lay where he fell, and it was perhaps well for him that he was prostrate. The attacking parties soon desisted from firing, and charged forward at racing-pace, driving all who stood before them at the point of the bayonet. They swept over and past McKay, trampling him under foot in their hot haste to demolish the foe.

But the wave of the advance left McKay behind it, and well within the shelter of his own people.

Although badly wounded, he was not disabled, and he took advantage of the first pause in the fight to appeal for help to some men of the 38th who occupied the wall behind which he fell.

"You speak English gallows well for a Rooskie," said one of the men, brusquely, but not without sympathy. "What do you want? Water? Are you badly hit?"

"A bullet in my leg and a flesh-wound in my arm."

"Hold hard! Sawbones will be up soon. Meanwhile, let's try and staunch the blood. We'll tear up your s.h.i.+rt for a bandage."

And with rough but real kindness he tore open McKay's old _greggo_ so as to get at his underlinen. This action betrayed the red cloth waistcoat he still wore.

"Why, that's an English staff waistcoat. Quick! How did you come by it, you murdering rogue?"

"I am a staff officer."

"You! What do you call yourself?"

"Mr. McKay, of the Royal Picts: deputy-a.s.sistant-quartermaster-general at headquarters."

"Save us alive! This bangs Bannagher. Wait, honey--wait till I call an officer."

Presently, when the wounds had been rudely but effectively bound up, a captain of the 38th came up, and to him McKay made himself known.

"This is no time or place to ask how you came here. Taken prisoner, I suppose?"

"Who are you? What force?"

"Eyre's Brigade: of the Third Division. Told off to attack the Creek Battery. We have carried the cemetery, but what else we've done I have not the least idea."

"Haven't you? Well, I'll tell you. You've taken Sebastopol."

"Not quite, I'm afraid."

"You're well inside the fortress anyway. I can tell you that for certain. Just above is the place in which I was kept a prisoner."

"Is that a fact? By Jove! what tremendous luck!"

"But can you hold your ground?"

"Eyre will. He'll hold on by his eyelids till reinforcements come up, never fear. And the French have promised us support."

"Is yours the only attack?"

"Dear no! The French have gone in at the Malakoff, and our people at the Redan."

"How has it gone--have you any idea?" asked McKay, anxiously.

"No one knows, except the general, perhaps. Here he comes; and he don't look over pleased."