"How dare you! without my permission?" cried the officer, as he dashed the water from McKay's lips, and punished the offending Cossack by a few sharp strokes with his whip.
"Come, fall in!" the officer next said. "It won't do to linger here." And the party resumed their ride, still in the valley, but as far as possible from the stream.
Every yard McKay's hopes sank lower and lower; every yard took him further from his friends, who were advancing, he felt certain, towards the river. Large bodies of troops, columns of infantry on the march, covered by cavalry and accompanied by guns, were now perfectly visible in the distant plain.
"Look to your front!" cried the Russian officer peremptorily to Stanislas, as he stole a furtive, lingering glance back. "Faster! Spur your horses, or we may be picked up or shot."
All hope was gone now. This was the end of the Tchernaya valley. Up there opposite were the Inkerman heights, the sloping hills that a few months before McKay had helped to hold. This paved, much-worn causeway was the "Sappers' Road," leading round the top of the harbour into the town.
No one stopped the Cossacks.
They passed a picket in a half-ruined guard-house, the roof of which, its door, walls, and windows, were torn and shattered in the fierce and frequent bombardments. Even at that moment a round shot crashed over their heads, took the ground further off, and bounded away. The sentry asked no questions. Some one looked out and waved his hand in greeting to the Cossack officer, who replied, pointing ahead, as the party rode rapidly on.
Time pressed; it promised to be a warm morning. The besiegers' fire, intended no doubt to distract attention from the movements in the Tchernaya, was constantly increasing.
"What dog's errand is this they sent me on?" growled the Cossack officer, as a shell burst close to him and killed one of the escort.
"Faster! faster!"