"Ah, he is a costly leader, this General Principles," said the other, with a twinkle. "Permit me to offer you a cigar."
"We will exchange," said Eager, producing some of Sir George's extra specials. "Let us smoke to a speedy peace."
"With all my heart." And they parted friends, and both went their ways wondering why such things must be. And if the Russian never delivered Eager's message it was not his fault, for he was killed by a shell that same afternoon in Bastion No. 4.
The ground was cleared at last. There was a moment's pause. Then the white flags came fluttering down, and a gun from the Redan sent a shot hurling up the trenches, to show that playtime was over.
Eager was much comforted in mind by his interview with the Russian. He had seemed a good fellow, and could have no object in deceiving him. He wrote long letters home, and resolved to wait on and see if the great bombardment, to which all efforts were now directed, would bring the end any nearer.
And so it came about that he stood with the rest on Cathcart's Hill, in the misty drizzle of that bleak Easter Monday morning, and watched the opening of the second bombardment of Sebastopol.
They could hear enough up there. All round the vast semicircle more guns were crashing than had ever roared in concert before. But they could see very little. The gunners themselves could not see. They knew Sebastopol lay over there and they were bound to hit something.
And Eager strained his eyes into the chill white mist to see all he could, and felt sick at heart at thought of the destruction any one of those wildly flying shot and shell might wreak.