"Any sentry would be justified in shooting any man he saw in a coat like that," said another.
"All right, my boys! We'll keep our coats and take our chances. What's that?" And they all pricked up their ears to listen.
An order in French came to them from the opposite side of the gully.
"Their sentries and pickets are just over there. This is Tommy Tiddler's Ground, between England, France, and----"
A hoarse shout outside, and shots and yells, and they were all out in a moment and found the gully packed with Russians, and their own men, taken by surprise, falling back in some confusion.
"Brace up there, men!" shouted the officer in charge. "They're only a handful and only Russians."
It was very dark, except where the fires inside the caves sent out a dull glow here and there on the bare space between the combatants. Then the whole place blazed with a Russian volley, and again with the reply to it.
"Bayonets, men! And down with them!" And with a yell the Englishmen plunged down past the dull-glowing Ovens, and Jack and Jim raced with them, revolver in hand, blazing away into the darkness in front as they ran.
But the Russian plans for that night had been well laid. It was a miniature Balaclava charge over again.
A ripping volley met them, not from the front, but from both sides, and then masses of men closed in behind them and swallowed them up, and every man was fighting for his life against unnumbered odds.