site on which to bivouac I will take the front rank on and
post the sentries."

Leaving the others to select some comfortable spot, Phil strode on with
the front rank of his command, and only halted them when the brushwood
showed signs of becoming too scanty to act as cover. Then he took each
man individually, and, repeating his orders to him, placed him in the
position he was to occupy.

That done to his satisfaction, he returned to the camp, to find that
Tony had spread the blankets beneath an overhanging rock, and was
already engaged preparing supper.

But Phil had other matters than his own comfort to think about.

"I am sure the colonel expects an attack," he murmured, as he sat upon a
boulder and gazed at the flames. "Something is about to happen. I have
been put in the responsible position of commander of the outposts. If I
fail in my duty the result might be terrible to the Allies, for if only
the Russians could reach the camp of the Second Division without
observation, nothing could stop them from driving the remaining troops
from their camps and trenches down to Balaclava. Well, at any rate I am
warned, and to make sure that my sentries are alert I will go round
every hour."

Accordingly, Phil spent a restless and watchful night, constantly
passing from man to man and listening for movements of the enemy. But
nothing seemed to disturb the silence save the moaning of the wind and
the splash of rain as it beat upon the boulders.

Towards dawn, however, he fancied he heard sounds from the heights of
Inkermann, and, posting himself amongst his men, he waited anxiously,
vainly endeavouring to pierce the thick, white mist which had replaced
the rain, and now filled the valley from end to end.

Tramp, tramp, tramp! What was that? The sound rolled dull and muffled
along the valley. Scarcely had Phil time to ask the question when a
battery of Russian guns, placed on an elevation in front, fired a
perfect salvo, the shells shrieking overhead, and bunting near the camp
of the Second Division; while at the same moment columns of grey-coated
infantry loomed up in front and to either side, marching rapidly towards
him.

Hastily lifting his rifle, Phil sighted for the central one and pulled
the trigger. There was a flash, a sharp report, and the rattle of other
rifles answering the Russian fire, and telling those in the English camp
that the enemy was upon them, and that the battle of Inkermann had
comme