The enemy had indeed withdrawn from the ridges in front; but no one doubted that he lay further on awaiting the attack, and on ground that had been carefully selected.
On and on and on they marched, tired enough already, many faint and obliged to fall out.
In the regiment of brave Highlanders, the 93rd, in which Llewellyn Morgan held his commission, every man seemed burning for the fray. The certainty of battle had raised their spirits, and even those among them that but the day before had felt weak and sickly, now marched on with heads erect. Llewellyn was certain in his own mind that, were it not for the fact that they had to keep in alignment with the vast army which stretched from their right away towards the sea, the Highlanders would soon have been far in advance.
It was not, however, until nearly noon that the sound of great guns came booming towards them from the west.
"What do you make of it, Grant?" said Llewellyn to a lieutenant who marched by his side.
"Oh," said Grant, "those are the guns of the allied fleet. They have found the enemy on the heights beyond the river Alma, and have opened fire. How do you feel, Morgan?" he added.
Llewellyn smiled. "Well," replied the brave young fellow, "I cannot say that I feel afraid; but I suppose what I do feel is something very like it. I am burning with anxiety, and now and then my heart goes pit-a-pat."
Grant laughed. "You are very candid," he said; "and your feelings are just mine. Confound those French fellows! why don't they come on?"
"Well, a short while ago they had to halt for us. Come, Grant, time about is fair play."
"Yes, halt the beggars did to make their coffee. But now when we get to the top of this grassy slope we shall see the river Alma, and see the enemy also."