Yes, this general was now in command of the French forces, and poor St. Arnaud was dying. He had turned faint some days before, and fallen off his horse. The moment they saw him the doctors had given him up for lost. He was plague-stricken.
Early next morning Jack was in the British camp, and had delivered his message and handed over the wallet. This contained important letters from Menschikoff himself, but whether they were of any utility or not I cannot say, only Lord Raglan complimented Jack very highly indeed, and even found time in a letter he sent back to Admiral Lyons to recommend our young hero for promotion.
Lord Raglan offered Jack an escort back, but this was politely but pluckily declined.
"One man, my lord"—the reader will note that Jack talked of himself as a man—"one man can move along more quickly and make less noise than half a dozen."
His lordship laughed in his good-natured, fatherly way, and gave in.
After this, Jack saw and shook hands with Sir Colin Campbell.
"Man, you're a birkie,"* said Sir Colin. "I like you. Don't be rash, though. Study war, if study it you must, as an exact science. Not that 'go' and 'movement' don't count, for they do. Before the battle you must be a lynx; during the fight you may be a bull. Good-morning. Good-luck to you, lad. We may meet again."
* "Birkie," a brave young fellow.
"Well, I declare!" cried stalwart young Llewellyn, who had his left hand in a sling. "Why, you turn up at the oddest times and in the drollest ways. By this and by that, Jack, I am glad to see you. But how haggard and hungry you look! Come and have breakfast. Grant will be glad to see you. My arm? Oh, nothing, only a chip of a Russian shell tore my coat."
"And tore the flesh?"