Kitabı oku: «A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War», sayfa 9
Chapter Nine.
An Exciting Adventure
“Cossacks, by George! Wake up, you fellows!” shouted Phil, frantically kicking his comrades and caring little for the pain he caused, while at the same moment he saw to the loading of his Minié rifle.
“What’s up? Why are you kicking us like that?” grunted Tony, lazily sitting up on his elbow. Then, as he saw Phil’s anxious face and his preparations for defence, he sprang to his feet, and, grasping his rifle, cried, “Cossacks, is it? All round us, too, Phil. I guess we’re trapped. But we’ll make a fight of it.”
“Fight! Of course we will. Do you think them fluffy-looking beggars is going to collar us without a little shooting?” growled Sam, grimly ramming down a charge, while he gazed over the top of the ammunition-boxes at the advancing enemy.
“Are you all loaded?” asked Phil shortly. “Then creep under the cart, Sam, and fire between the spokes of the wheel. Whatever you do, though, wait till I give the word. Our rifles carry a good long way, and we’ll be able to get in a couple of volleys before they reach us.”
In a twinkling Sam had dived beneath the cart, and a “Ready, boys!” shouted in a cheery voice, which scarcely showed a trace of the excitement he felt, told Phil and Tony he was prepared for any emergency.
Seeing three heads appear above the boxes, the Cossacks at once spread out, and completely surrounded the cart. Then, without pausing in their headlong gallop, they came full tilt at it, lance heads well in advance, each with his face close to his pony’s neck, and his spurs buried in its flanks.
Phil and his friends singled out their men, and waited a few moments to get them well in range; then at the command “Fire!” from the former, three jets of smoke and flame spurted out from their rifles. Almost instantly the man at whom Phil had aimed tossed his arms into the air, and, falling heavily from his saddle, with one foot jammed in the stirrup, was dragged across the grass right up to the wall of ammunition-boxes, where the frightened animal came to a sudden halt, and having sniffed at it suspiciously, and snorted as if in disdain, lowered its head and commenced to crop the grass as if nothing out of the usual had occurred.
Sandy’s bullet also found a mark, for another of the shaggy ponies fell as if struck by a pole-axe, and the rider shot out over its head and remained stunned and senseless upon the ground.
A grunt of disgust from Tony showed that his shot had missed.
“Well, I’m bothered! Missed!” he cried. “But here goes for another.”
Reloading as rapidly as possible, they fired again, with the result that one of the horsemen was hit in the chest, and, doubling up, with arms hanging limply on either side of his pony’s neck, was carried past the little fort like a whirlwind.
“Load up, boys!” cried Phil excitedly. “They’ll be here in a minute; we must stop them, or those lances will be into us.”
But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft, armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one’s chest. It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy’s breast. All honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left. Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and, unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with an ugly wound gaping in his neck.
The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance, he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder.
“Bayonets! Come along, Tony!” shouted Phil, and without waiting to see if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent’s body, and dragged him from his pony.
“Give a hand here, corporal,” sang out Sam at this moment. “This beast of a spear holds me so tight I can’t move. I feel just like a butterfly pinned to a board.”
“Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on,” cried Tony, grasping the spear. Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground.
“My eye, don’t it hurt!” groaned poor Sam, suddenly becoming pale. “Go easy with it, mate. Let the corporal have a turn.”
Phil crept under the wagon, and finding the spear protruding almost a foot on the other side of the shoulder, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opening a small saw, which was a special feature of it, proceeded to cut the point off. That done, he grasped the shaft and gently pulled it from the wound.
“Come and help here, Tony,” he cried. “But – wait a minute. Have a good look round first of all, and tell me if you can see any more of those fellows.”
Tony climbed on top of the cart, and gazed all round.
“Not a single one of ’em in sight,” he cried; “but they’ll be here soon, you may be sure.”
“Then come and give a hand here with Sam,” answered Phil, pulling out his handkerchief. “I want a pad of linen or something.”
“Here’s the very thing, Phil;” and, pulling his bearskin off, Tony produced a large woollen muffler.
Ripping the seams of the coat with his knife, Phil quickly exposed the wound, and at once bound the muffler round it. Then with Tony’s help he propped Sam with his back against the wheel, and placed the arm in a sling.
“Stay there, old boy,” he said gently, “and as soon as the pain goes off, crawl in behind the boxes. The Russians will not be able to reach you there.”
“Here yer are, mate,” said Tony, handing Phil his bearskin. “It’s about as near a go as you’ll ever want. See, there’s a hole bang through it, and the fur’s all singed off the front.”
Phil inspected it with an outward show of coolness, but as he jammed it on his head he muttered beneath his breath a fervent thanksgiving to the Almighty for his preservation, for had he not ducked at the critical moment, that hole would not have been blown through the helmet, but through his head.
“Get up on top, and keep a look-out, Tony,” he exclaimed. “We’re in a tight hole, and it will only be by keeping our eyes well open that we shall get safely out of it. First of all, though, break open one of those boxes, and load the rifles. We shall want plenty of ammunition, and had best have it ready and close at hand, in case of a sudden attack. I will have a look at these poor fellows.”
Crawling from beneath the cart, he knelt beside the Cossack into whose body he had thrust the bayonet. The poor fellow was evidently at his last gasp, but hearing Phil’s voice he opened his eyes, and gazed wonderingly at him. Then, as he recognised him, he feebly raised his hand.
A feeling of terrible grief and dismay surged through Phil’s heart, for he was a lad who would sooner have lost his own life than taken that of another in cold blood. And yet, though this had been done in war-time, and whilst battling for life and liberty, a pang of regret oppressed him, and he felt only as a young man can feel who, for the first time in his existence, has been the cause of suffering and death to another.
He took the hand of the dying man, and gently pressed it.
“Are you in great pain, my poor fellow?” he whispered.
The wounded Russian shook his head, and answered something. Phil placed his ear close to his mouth and listened.
“We were enemies,” the Cossack gasped, “bitter enemies, for you have invaded our country. But now we are friends, friends until death. Hold my hand, brother, and the Virgin will bless you. Feel round my neck when I am gone, and you will find a cross. Take – take it for yourself, and when you glance at it think sometimes of him who died for his beloved Czar and country.”
“I will, I will!” whispered Phil, with a groan of anguish.
“I see my old peasant home,” went on the dying Cossack in a voice that was scarcely audible. “Ah, I see it better than ever – ever before. My poor mother! – thank God she has long gone to her rest! – and my brother. The stream in front, and the trees all round. Hold me, Englishman! Everything is dancing and blurred before my eyes. I – I am dying. Good-bye! Think some – sometimes of the man who died for his country.”
The poor fellow, who had struggled into a sitting position, fell back, and Phil thought that he was dead. But he opened his eyes again, smiled, and with a sigh his spirit fled.
Deeply impressed, Phil knelt by his side and offered up a short prayer. Then he rose to his feet, and, climbing on to the cart, looked round.
Phit! A bullet struck the corner of one of the ammunition-boxes, and, glancing off, buried itself in the heel of his boot.
“That’s a close one again, Phil, old boy,” laughed Tony, who seemed to enjoy the risk of being shot. “It’s that fellow over there. He’s just below the hill, and you can only see him by standing up on top here.”
This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends.
“This won’t do,” muttered Phil. “If he were in sight we could make it warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag him by the merest chance. There, didn’t I say so?” he exclaimed, as a second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. “Look here, Tony,” he continued, “climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can at the beggar. That will distract his attention.”
“Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?” asked Tony wonderingly.
“I’m going to creep round and drive him off,” Phil answered with decision.
“Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he’ll change his position, but if you’re riding you’ll be able to stop his game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me,” he added, as if the thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had suddenly occurred to him. “You ain’t the only chap as can ride, and as you’re boss here, should stay in command of our fort.”
Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off.
Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of gaining another post from which to fire.
“By George, I’ll bag that chap!” muttered Phil. “It would be great to rejoin the regiment with a captive.”
Kicking his pony with his heels he was soon flying across the turf, the nimble and sure-footed little animal leaping the few holes that came in his path with an ease that showed how accustomed he was to it. Soon the flying Cossack had disappeared over another ridge, and Phil was not surprised to hear the report of a rifle a moment later and an angry hiss above his head.
“He’ll certainly knock me over with one of his shots if I ride on like this,” he thought. “I’ll dismount and stalk him.”
Acting on the thought he pulled up sharply and leapt from the saddle, the pony immediately dropping his head to graze. Then, flinging himself on to hands and knees, he scrambled forward until he reached a patch of long grass, where he lay full length, and, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the Cossack and waited breathlessly.
An instant later the Russian appeared in sight, and Phil pressed the trigger; then, jumping to his feet, he rushed forward to secure his prisoner, for the Cossack had dropped like a stone. He topped the ridge, and was on the point of running down, when a bullet struck the butt of his rifle and shattered it, while the Russian, who had been merely acting, rose on one knee not fifty yards away, and commenced to rapidly reload. What was Phil to do? He hesitated, but the sight of some eight or nine more Cossacks galloping up to help their comrade decided him.
“I’m off,” he muttered hurriedly, and, dropping his useless rifle, he took to his heels. It seemed as though he would never reach the pony, but at last he did and, flinging himself astride it, galloped madly back to the fort, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the Cossacks. They had closed together, and, topping the rise at this moment, came thundering down, shouting encouragement to one another.
Phil reached the cart, and was off the pony’s back and in the fort in a trice.
“Shake hands, old man!” exclaimed Tony grimly. “This here will be our last. There’s a hundred or more of these fellows charging.”
“Nonsense! Pick up the rifles,” gasped Phil. “Now get ready to give them a volley. Sam, where are you?”
“Here, and ready to lend a hand, mate,” the wounded man answered, crawling from beneath the cart at that moment. “I’ve got hold of these barkers,” he said, with a grin, producing two pistols which he had taken from the Cossacks lying dead close at hand, “and I bet yer if those Russian coves gets close enough, I’ll give ’em some of their own lead to swallow.”
But though the three put the best face on the matter, there was no doubt that they were in desperate straits. The first volley failed miserably, and already the fiery horsemen were within a hundred yards of the cart, when there was a shout from behind, and to the joy of Phil and his comrades a patrol of dragoons came cantering across the grass.
“Pals, hooray!” shouted Tony. “Phil, we’ll join ’em. Get hold of your nag and I’ll take this other here. Now, up we get; and when the boys come along, we goes at them beggars with them.”
Caught by the excitement of the moment Phil vaulted over the wall, and just as the dragoons came spurring by with drawn swords poised ready for the encounter, he and Tony dashed out and joined them.
“What ho, mates!” sang out the troopers. “Coming for a picnic with us, are yer? Good, boys!”
There was no time for more. Setting spurs to their horses, the troop, which was only ten strong counting Phil and Tony, went headlong at the Cossacks. The latter pulled up immediately, hesitated for a moment, and were on the point of flying, when the impossibility of getting away from dragoons mounted on fresh English horses occurred to them. They threw down their arms and sullenly waited to be made prisoners.
“Each of you catch hold of one of their reins and come along, quick,” sang out the non-commissioned officer who was in charge of the dragoons. “That’s it. Now off we go, back to the cart.”
“How far is the camp away?” asked Phil.
“Five miles, I should think, corporal. We’ll have to look precious smart. As soon as we get the horses in, and the boxes loaded up, we’ll scatter. I’ve enough men to spare – two in front, and two well out on the flanks. Then if we’re attacked we’ll make a running fight of it.”
“We’ve a wounded friend under the cart,” replied Phil, “but I expect if we perch him up on top of the ammunition-boxes he’ll be able to drive. Then Tony and I will give a hand by looking after the prisoners. It’ll be grand getting back to camp safely with our charge, and with a few of the Cossacks in addition, though, mind you, we would have been prisoners if you fellows hadn’t ridden up in the nick of time.”
“You’re right there, corporal. You chaps made a fine stand of it, we can all see, and we’ll not forget to say something about it when we get into camp. But you were fair goners if we hadn’t been out and heard the firing. Now let’s get smartly ahead. Some more Cossacks will be riding down before long, and though we’re all game for a brush with them, we don’t want to lose this chance of bringing in prisoners.”
By this time the cart had been reached, and while half the patrol guarded the prisoners, the remainder set to work and rapidly loaded it with the ammunition. Then the horses were yoked, Sam was placed upon a folded-up blanket on top of the boxes, and the cavalcade started, Tony and Phil forming the flank guard, and proudly riding their newly-acquired steeds.
“I should have liked to give those poor fellows a decent burial,” said Phil with a sigh of regret as they rode away, “but it is impossible. We haven’t any spades or picks, and, above all, it would not do to wait.”
“Don’t worry about that, mate,” one of the troopers answered. “Their chums is certain to come over and see to that, for these Russians ain’t bad chaps when you take ’em all round, and I hear they’re as kind as possible to one another.”
An hour later the party rode into camp and caused quite a sensation.
“Why, Corporal Western, we gave you up for lost!” said the adjutant of the Grenadiers, coming out to meet them. “We made sure you had been killed or captured, and now you turn up with prisoners. How has it happened?”
“Quite simply, sir,” Phil answered, with a smile. “We were left behind when the shaft of our cart broke, and then we took the wrong road. This morning we were attacked, and beat off five Cossacks. Then others appeared, and just as we were thinking of giving in, a patrol of dragoons rode up.”
“Giving in!” exclaimed Sam in high disdain from his elevated seat. “Tell you what it is, sir. That Corporal Western don’t know when the time to hoist the white flag arrives. He meant sticking to it, so we just backed him up.”
“Whoever was the cause of your holding on, my lads, it’s much the same in the end,” exclaimed the officer heartily. “You have done well, and your names shall be mentioned to the colonel. Now you had better see what the cooks have left, while the doctors take your wounded comrade in charge.”
Handing the cart over to the quarter-master, Tony followed Phil to the cook’s fire, and both were soon devouring a meal of bully beef and bread, for they were almost famished, having been too much engaged and too highly excited to eat while threatened by the Cossacks.
They found the Allies encamped a few miles from the River Alma, and almost in sight of the Russian position.
“It’ll be hot work to-morrow,” said one of the sergeants that evening, as they sat wrapped in their blankets round the fire. “The enemy has chosen a splendid position along the heights the other side of the river, and I expect our job will be to turn him out. It will be a big fight, or I’m mistaken, and as we shall all have plenty to do I’m for turning-in at once and getting as long a sleep as I can. Good-night, you chaps! Corporal Western, you’ll have them three stripes this time to-morrow if you do only half as well as you and your two mates did to-day.”
The stalwart sergeant laid his blanket on the ground, rolled himself in it, and, placing his head on his haversack, was very soon in a deep sleep, untroubled by the fact that to-morrow might be his last day on earth.
As for Phil and Tony, they sat up an hour or more longer, chatting over past events and the probabilities of the next day’s fight, never dreaming that it was destined to be on historical one, and one in which the mettle of British troops was to be tested and found of the staunchest, by as fierce a storm of shot and shell as ever assailed an army.
Chapter Ten.
The Glorious Alma
The misty grey of early dawn lay over the smooth grassy slopes of the Crimea when Phil and Tony turned over on the following morning and looked about them. Here and there men were moving about like big ghostly shadows as they trudged down to the banks of the River Bulganak to fill their water-bottles and mess-tins in preparation for the morning meal. Some were crouching over smoking fires, encouraging them to burn up brightly and give out sufficient heat to cook the food. Close at hand others were grooming officers’ chargers, and on every side there was the clatter of an awaking camp, the stamp of restive hoofs, cheery calls from man to man, and the startling notes of reveillé ringing out clearly in the morning air, and warning all that another day had arrived, and that it was time to throw off sleep and be ready to try conclusions with the enemy.
“Lummy, ain’t I sleepy just!” yawned Tony, throwing off his blanket and sitting up to rub his eyes with his knuckles.
“I too could have done with a couple of hours more,” answered Phil peevishly. Then, springing to his feet, he shook the heavy dew from his blanket and looked towards the river, the smooth and sluggish surface of which had just caught the first rays of the rising sun.
“Who’s for a dip?” he cried briskly. “Come along, Tony, boy; we shall never wake up till we have douched ourselves with water.”
“’Tain’t a bad idea, Phil, and I’m with yer,” exclaimed his friend, shaking himself like a dog. “There ain’t no towels, as I can see, so I suppose it’s a case of dry as best you can.”
“Yes, of course. The sun will be up in another ten minutes, and will serve our purpose well. Come along; we’ve a clear half-hour before breakfast.”
Another five minutes and Phil, accompanied by many comrades, was hastily pulling off his boots and clothing close to the bank of the stream. Then someone waded in and tried the depth, and having found a deep pool the others dived in, splashing the water in every direction. The pastime caught on like fire, and very soon a hundred or more were enjoying a bathe. Officers, too, came down to the river, some to look on, and others to join the men in the water.
By eight o’clock the whole of the Allies were under arms and waiting anxiously for orders, the French on the right, while the British took care of the left flank, where danger was to be expected. In rear of all were the arabas and cavalry, besides herds of cattle and sheep. Phil and Tony had been relieved of their charge, and were in the ranks with their comrades.
“I ain’t sorry to say good-bye to that old cart, araba, or whatever they call it,” exclaimed Tony. “Yer see, we shall get a chance of seeing most of the fun if there’s a fight, whilst if we was in charge of the ammunition where should we be? Right away behind, there ain’t a doubt, kicking our heels and waiting till some chance cannon-shot come bowling along our way and chopped our heads off. Halloo! who’s that?”
This exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance of a smartly-dressed officer, with glittering epaulettes and waving plume, cantering down before the British lines.
“It’s Marshal St Arnaud, him as commands the Froggies,” shouted someone. The news spread through the ranks, and at once, lifting their rifles, the troops greeted the Marshal with three hearty British cheers, a compliment which evidently caused him much gratification.
“We shall move now, Tony,” remarked Phil gravely, “so we’ll just shake hands, old man. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps it will be unnecessary, but we’ve a big fight before us, and who can say that we shall both come safely through it?”
“No one, Phil. No one but Him as sits above,” Tony answered earnestly; “but I tell yer we’re coming through it, you and me, and you’re going to do something for them stripes. I feel it somehow. But here’s my hand, old pal. You’ve been a good ’un to me, and if I go this day, I’ll have a better chance than a year or more ago. I shall, and yer know it.”
Tony grasped Phil’s hand and wrung it, while tears stood in his eyes. Phil returned the pressure earnestly, and then they leant on their rifles and waited for the word to advance.
Between nine and ten it came, and the Allies trudged forward over a wide sweeping plain leading to a ridge, beyond which lay the valley of the Alma, the valley – fair though it looked on that grand morning – of the shadow of death. And now guns in front boomed out, answering the shots of the Russian batteries, and each man grasped his rifle more firmly at the sound, while a keen, strained look came over his face, as though he had braced himself for the trial which was coming.
Trudge, trudge, trudge! On moved the mass of men, looking grand in their varied uniforms, and all seeming anxious to get more quickly to that ridge in front and look upon the enemy.
“Ah! there they are,” exclaimed Phil with a sigh of relief as his company topped the rise and came in full view of the Russian position. “See, they are right in front of us if we only march in the direction we are taking now, so there will be plenty of work for us, you fellows! Hurrah for the fight!” and in the excitement of the moment, he snatched his bearskin from his head, and, tossing it into the air, caught it on his bayonet with the skill of a juggler. Instantly a wave of cheering spread along the British lines, and a forest of bearskins and head-gear of every description was thrust aloft on the gleaming bayonets, soon – very soon – to be used in deadly and desperate earnest for another purpose. A minute later the answering cheers of the French came echoing along the lines, their “Vive l’Empereur!” piercing the morning air with a shrill note, showing that they too were roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm.
“Look, Tony!” exclaimed Phil a few minutes later, having calmed down sufficiently to be able to make a good examination of the Russian position, “those beggars have chosen a splendid spot on which to manoeuvre. You can see them massed on the slope of the hill close upon the other side of the river, and to reach them we must cross the open and plunge through the water. That makes it pretty well impossible for our cavalry to help us by a flank attack. But we’ll go for them tooth and nail, in the regular old bull-dog way, and if we don’t rout them out of their position, well, I’ll – I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Yer won’t, won’t yer?” answered Tony, with a curious grin, staring at his friend with no small amount of astonishment. “Young ’un, I never see yer so wound up afore. I never thought yer was that bloodthirsty. Me and all yer mates took yer for one of them quiet kind of coves what takes a lot of rousing. But now – blow me – I can see yer monkey’s up, and I’ll have to keep an eye on yer, else yer’ll be trying to fight the whole of them Russian coves alone.” Then, having smiled once more at Phil, the honest fellow’s face suddenly assumed a sterner look, his eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed, while he hurriedly fumbled at the fastening of his ammunition-pouch. “Beat ’em, Phil, old boy! in course we will. If the Grenadier Guards don’t find their way to the top of that there hill, and take every one of them big guns yer see, it’ll be because there ain’t none of ’em left to do it. We’ll manage it or die on the way.”
And indeed, to look at the disposition of the Russian troops and guns made by General Menschikoff, there was every possibility that before they were forced to retire many a gallant British and French soldier would be laid low upon the grass. In front of the Allies stretched the river Alma, forming a sharp bend, the apex of which was opposite the division between French and English troops, and pointed towards the Russians. In the bend was the village of Bourliouk, soon to be the scene of sharp skirmishing, and on the right a road crossed the river and ascended the opposite bank, which at that point sloped easily towards a conical hill known as Telegraph Hill. To the right of this road, and exactly facing the French and Turkish troops, there was a steep cliff on the other side of the river. Up this, however, two roads ran, one of which was available for guns.
In front of the British, grassy slopes descended to gardens and vineyards which stretched to the river-bank, and through them passed a broad post-road from Sebastopol to Eupatoria, crossing the Alma by a bridge, and ascending between Telegraph Hill and another height known as Kourgani Hill. On either side of this road the banks of the river ascended in easy slopes, and here it was that Menschikoff had disposed his forces, planting a formidable battery of fourteen guns, of large calibre, behind an earthwork thrown up on a terrace one hundred yards from the water, while farther to the left was another battery, the two supported by nine field-batteries of eight guns each – a truly formidable armament.
“Heavens! what guns!” Phil heard one of the officers mutter. Then, gripping the colours he bore, the young fellow tossed his head proudly and added: “By Jove, we’ll have the lot before the day is out!” – a resolution which every soldier had also made.
What it was to cost them only the future could disclose, but those who had seen war before, who had trained themselves to conduct the movements of armies, could not but expect a heavy list of casualties; for even an amateur might have seen that the Russian position was one of extraordinary strength, while the expert able to grasp its salient points could tell at a glance that it presented an extremely difficult and anxious problem to the attacker. Even Phil, boy though he was and inexperienced in warfare, could not but be struck by the formidable works towards which the Allies were advancing.
“They seem impregnable,” he muttered. “Look at the batteries. They must have 100 guns at least, and all trained for the slope upon which we are advancing. Then there is the river to cross. It may or may not be fordable, but in any case it means a disadvantage to us and an advantage to the Russians. When that is crossed there is the rush uphill in the teeth of those guns, and opposed by the enemy’s bayonets. It will be hot work, Tony, very hot work, for I suppose we shall be compelled to make a frontal attack.”
