Jack fought his way close to Colonel Harrington, who was attempting to get the regimental officers to rally their men. A number of Russians came charging forward, and an officer cut at Colonel Harrington, but Jack with the pistol of a dead officer shot the Russian. Then a terrible mêlée took place, and the English began to retire rapidly towards their trenches, pursued by a perfect storm of lead.
Keeping in the rear, Jack presently missed Colonel Harrington, and, looking round, saw him lying on the ground some distance in the rear. Heedless of the storm of bullets, he ran back and raised the colonel’s head, attempting to get him on his feet. He succeeded, when two Russian sharpshooters rushed forward.
One Jack cut down; but the other wounded the colonel in the leg with his bayonet, only next instant to fall dead, shot through the head. The colonel was on the ground, and Jack attempted to carry him; but he was too heavy.
‘Leave me, lad!’ gasped the colonel; ‘save yourself.’
A sergeant of the Fusiliers, though, seeing what was happening, ran back, and, helping Jack, they together raised the colonel and carried him along with the retiring troops. They had almost reached the most advanced parallel when the gallant sergeant was cut almost in two by a round-shot. Other willing hands, however, now helped, and the colonel was got into the trenches. There a stretcher was procured, Jack bearing one end, and the colonel was got out of danger to the hospital tent.
Jack remained with him while the surgeon bound up his wounded leg and his left arm, which had also been struck by a bullet. He had never lost consciousness during the whole time, and when his wounds were dressed he said to Jack, ‘My brave fellow, I see you belong to the Lancers. What are you doing here?’
‘I came to find you, sir. My name is Blair.’
The colonel looked at him. ‘Is it?’ he said faintly. ‘Are you the trumpeter whom I met first at the Alma? But I see you are. Tell me, who was your father?’
Jack’s replies soon proved to the wounded colonel that he was talking to his own nephew.
‘After Balaclava,’ he said, ‘I heard several times about you from Captain Norreys. Quite by accident I saw your name some months later returned amongst the missing as John Harrington Blair. I remembered hearing that my sister’s son had received her maiden name, and a suspicion of the truth dawned upon me. I determined to see you, but you were supposed to be dead. Only the other day I heard you had returned from captivity, and I rode over to your camp and left a note for you. Now we meet thus!’