“Never a morsel, sir,” said Jock; “any more than yourself, sir.”
Master went back to his place smiling at Jock’s way of paying a compliment.
The firing of the enemy had by this time slackened, and it was greatly feared by our fine soldier lads that they had drawn off, and not waited “to get their licks,” as Jock phrased it.
Breakfast was now hastily served out, I sharing with master, who had come round and sat down beside Jock and me.
Then by degrees the morning mists gathered up and up, till they lay only like a grey cloud on the snow-clad mountain peaks, and we beheld the Persian army drawn up in battle array ready and waiting for us.
It was a grand sight, Cracker, for the sun now shone gaily down on their soldiers, in serried ranks of horse and foot.
They had not long to wait for us, children. But there was a lot of marching and counter-marching of regiments and brigades, that I could not understand, unless it was that our fellows were just showing off their fine clothes.
But the tulzie soon commenced, and as I stuck to my seat on brave Jock’s back, my ears were deafened with the yelling and shouting and rattling of musketry, and with the awful roar of the enemy’s dread artillery.
On we marched, or rushed, and soon the fight was almost hand to hand, and so horrible!
But the enemy could not stand the onslaught of our forces. They began to give way and retire, and soon the battle became a rout. The Persians left nearly a thousand dead on the field, and many more bodies lay in every conceivable position along the route they had taken towards the hills.