The men knew his voice, and, weakened, though not dispirited, they gallantly responded to the appeal. Once more the line pressed forward. The short space between them and the earthwork was quickly traversed. Before the artillery could deal out a second salvo, the Royal Picts were over the parapet and in the thick of the Russians, bayoneting them as they stood at their guns.
The battery was won.
"Well done, sergeant-major—right well done! I saw it all. It shan't be forgotten if we two come out of this alive!"
The speaker was Colonel Blythe, who, happily, although dismounted by the shot that wounded his horse, had so far escaped unhurt.
"But this is no time for compliments; we must look to ourselves. The enemy is still in great strength. They are bringing up the reserves."
Above the battery a second line of columns loomed large and menacing. Was this gallant handful of Englishmen, which had so courageously gained a footing in the enemy's works, to bear the brunt of a fresh conflict with a new and perfectly fresh foe? The situation was critical. To advance would be madness; retreat was not to be thought of; yet it might cost them their lives to maintain the ground they held.
While they paused in anxious debate, there came sounds of firing from their right, aimed evidently at the Russians in front of them, for the shot and shell ploughed through the ranks of the foe.
"What guns can those be?" asked Colonel Blythe. "They are catching them nicely in flank."
"French, sir, I expect," replied McKay. "That is the side of their attack."
"Those are English guns, I feel sure. I know the crack they make."