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.