“We shall move now, Tony,” remarked Phil gravely, “so we’ll just shake hands, old man. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps it will be unnecessary, but we’ve a big fight before us, and who can say that we shall both come safely through it?”
“No one, Phil. No one but Him as sits above,” Tony answered earnestly; “but I tell yer we’re coming through it, you and me, and you’re going to do something for them stripes. I feel it somehow. But here’s my hand, old pal. You’ve been a good ’un to me, and if I go this day, I’ll have a better chance than a year or more ago. I shall, and yer know it.”
Tony grasped Phil’s hand and wrung it, while tears stood in his eyes. Phil returned the pressure earnestly, and then they leant on their rifles and waited for the word to advance.
Between nine and ten it came, and the Allies trudged forward over a wide sweeping plain leading to a ridge, beyond which lay the valley of the Alma, the valley—fair though it looked on that grand morning—of the shadow of death. And now guns in front boomed out, answering the shots of the Russian batteries, and each man grasped his rifle more firmly at the sound, while a keen, strained look came over his face, as though he had braced himself for the trial which was coming.
Trudge, trudge, trudge! On moved the mass of men, looking grand in their varied uniforms, and all seeming anxious to get more quickly to that ridge in front and look upon the enemy.
“Ah! there they are,” exclaimed Phil with a sigh of relief as his company topped the rise and came in full view of the Russian position. “See, they are right in front of us if we only march in the direction we are taking now, so there will be plenty of work for us, you fellows! Hurrah for the fight!” and in the excitement of the moment, he snatched his bearskin from his head, and, tossing it into the air, caught it on his bayonet with the skill of a juggler. Instantly a wave of cheering spread along the British lines, and a forest of bearskins and head-gear of every description was thrust aloft on the gleaming bayonets, soon—very soon—to be used in deadly and desperate earnest for another purpose. A minute later the answering cheers of the French came echoing along the lines, their “Vive l’Empereur!” piercing the morning air with a shrill note, showing that they too were roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm.
“Look, Tony!” exclaimed Phil a few minutes later, having calmed down sufficiently to be able to make a good examination of the Russian position, “those beggars have chosen a splendid spot on which to manoeuvre. You can see them massed on the slope of the hill close upon the other side of the river, and to reach them we must cross the open and plunge through the water. That makes it pretty well impossible for our cavalry to help us by a flank attack. But we’ll go for them tooth and nail, in the regular old bull-dog way, and if we don’t rout them out of their position, well, I’ll—I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Yer won’t, won’t yer?” answered Tony, with a curious grin, staring at his friend with no small amount of astonishment. “Young ’un, I never see yer so wound up afore. I never thought yer was that bloodthirsty. Me and all yer mates took yer for one of them quiet kind of coves what takes a lot of rousing. But now—blow me—I can see yer monkey’s up, and I’ll have to keep an eye on yer, else yer’ll be trying to fight the whole of them Russian coves alone.” Then, having smiled once more at Phil, the honest fellow’s face suddenly assumed a sterner look, his eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed, while he hurriedly fumbled at the fastening of his ammunition-pouch. “Beat ’em, Phil, old boy! in course we will. If the Grenadier Guards don’t find their way to the top of that there hill, and take every one of them big guns yer see, it’ll be because there ain’t none of ’em left to do it. We’ll manage it or die on the way.”
And indeed, to look at the disposition of the Russian troops and guns made by General Menschikoff, there was every possibility that before they were forced to retire many a gallant British and French soldier would be laid low upon the grass. In front of the Allies stretched the river Alma, forming a sharp bend, the apex of which was opposite the division between French and English troops, and pointed towards the Russians. In the bend was the village of Bourliouk, soon to be the scene of sharp skirmishing, and on the right a road crossed the river and ascended the opposite bank, which at that point sloped easily towards a conical hill known as Telegraph Hill. To the right of this road, and exactly facing the French and Turkish troops, there was a steep cliff on the other side of the river. Up this, however, two roads ran, one of which was available for guns.