But the words were not lost upon our hero, although he had but little time then to consider their deep meaning.
"What shall we do with the prisoner?" asked his escort.
"Take him back to his place of confinement."
McKay's heart was lighter that evening than it had been at any time since his capture. He remembered now that this was the 7th of June, the day settled for the night attack upon the Mamelon and Quarries, and he hoped that if these succeeded, as they must, they would probably be followed by a further assault upon the principal inner defences of the town.
He spent the evening and the greater part of the night in the deepest agitation, hoping hourly, momentarily, for deliverance.
None came, no news even; but that the struggle was being fought out strenuously he knew from the absence of the men that occupied his casemate, all of whom were doubtless engaged. But towards daylight one or two dropped in who had been wounded and forced to retire from the batteries. From them he learnt something of what had occurred.
The French had stormed the works on the left of the Russian front, and had carried them once, twice, three times. The Russians had returned again and again to recover their lost redoubts, but had been obliged to surrender them in the end.
In the same way the English had attacked the ambuscades—what we call the Quarries—and between night and dawn the Russians had made four separate attempts to recover what had been lost at the first onslaught.
"And now it is over?"
"No one can say. We have suffered fearfully; we are almost broken down. If the enemy presses we shall have to give up the town."