"Good-bye, old man. Bon voyage. You're a lucky dog. Don't come back with your head under your arm, and your promotion is certain."
Jack determined to make a record. He took no arms with him save a revolver and his dirk. To support his strength, the provision he made was simple in the extreme—namely, a couple of ship biscuits and a bottle of water. The biscuits were so full of weevils that he wouldn't want for fresh meat anyhow.
He started in the afternoon, and in less than two hours he had reached the Belbek. He had crossed hill and dell and grassy slope very much as the crow flies; but having reached the river, he went onwards up the banks. He must strike the trail of the allied armies, for if he lost the road it would be indeed a poor record he should make.
After striking the trail of the army, he crossed the river by a ford. The river looked rather deep, but if the worst came to the worst he could swim. The water did look deep though, so he did what many a Scotsman has done before him: he partially undressed and waded through bravely. After getting inside his clothes again, he sat down to rest, and to munch a biscuit. The sun was getting very low, however, so he soon got up and hurried on again. He had six miles to go before he could reach M'Kenzie's Farm, and nearly the same distance before he came to the British camp on the Tchernaya. But what was that to a young fellow like him, and a hockey-player to boot? The path he followed now was very rough. He hugged the waggon tracks.
The country was a wooded or at least a bush-covered one, but all silent and deserted. When night fell it found him still struggling on, and he knew by the stars that the road was now taking him more inland. When he came near a hill at last, he left the trench, and climbed it to have a look around. What a scene! Far away beneath him glinted the lights of Sebastopol harbour, doubled and tripled as they sparkled on the water; and still farther off was the darkness of the star-lit sea itself. But yonder in the south-east a moon was struggling with a bank of clouds, low down on what appeared to be a woody horizon.
Jack was preparing to descend and resume his journey, when not far in his rear he heard voices. He had barely time to get into hiding under a friendly bush, when four men, evidently Russian soldiers, passed almost close by him. Jack afterwards learned that, like himself, these men had come from the Belbek, but from the upper regions thereof. In fact they were emissaries from Menschikoff, on their way to Sebastopol to obtain news as to the whereabouts of the invaders.
Jack was glad enough when they had passed. But, lo, they had not gone twenty yards away when they threw themselves on the ground to rest. Then they proceeded leisurely to light a fire.
As this burned up, Jack crept further back under the shadow of the bush—a species of dwarf yew—lest his face or figure might be seen. He was so close to them that he could hear every word they said. As, however, they spoke in the Russian language, this was not of much advantage to Jack.
Probably I myself am no born linguist, though I can manage to bless myself in two or three tongues; but the Russian, whenever I attempted it, always seemed to loosen all my teeth.
The greybacks had laid down their arms, and proceeded to make themselves very comfortable indeed. They had their toes towards the fire and pipes between their teeth—the stalks of the pipes at all events. Now and then they laid aside their pipes to stuff their maws with coarse bread. Then they made many applications to black bottles, and seemed to get jollier every minute.