t amongst all the glorious deeds of that splendid day as more glorious
than all the rest. As if at school and struggling for the possession of
some imaginary castle, British and Russians fought fiercely for the
sandbag battery. A mere mound of earth, and having no guns, it was but
a mark, a ridge upon the rolling crest, which attracted the eye. Foiled
in their main attempt to force the enemy back and march on towards
Balaclava, the Russians forgot the object of the day, and those in the
neighbourhood of the battery straggled furiously for its possession.
Frantic with rage and disappointment, and with noble courage, they
hurled themselves upon it time and again, only to be as bravely met and
dashed down the hill once more. Grim, bareheaded, and full of valour
the Guards clustered round that battery and disputed its ownership with
the Russians. Undaunted by the numbers advancing, time and again they
hurled them back, and then stood leaning upon their rifles, and between
their gasps for breath called to the Russians to come again, to mount
the slope and capture the position. And the grey-coated host glared up
at them across a stretch of beautiful green turf now piled high with
poor lads who had fought their last fight. Yes, hundreds of fine men
lay there, some barely more than boys, others in the prime of life,
gaunt, raw-boned Russian linesmen, with ugly red streaks upon their
faces, or big patches of like colour growing ever larger upon the grey
cloth of their uniforms. Amongst them, too, still clutching rifles, and
some even with hands clenched and tightly grasping their enemies, lay
fine stalwart Guardsmen, young men in the pride of youth and strength,
and veterans. Death had called them away, and just as many an eye would
dim, and cheeks be moistened, in far-away Russian cabins for those near
and dear who had gone, so in good old England women and lasses would
soon be weeping for those gallant sons and brothers who had died for the
country's good.

For long hours the conflict raged round the battery, but though the
Russians were in far greater numbers than the British, the Guardsmen
budged not an inch; and when the day was done, stood victorious and
proud owners of the position.

Meanwhile the orderly lines of the Second Division had been broken by
sheer weight of numbers, and pushed back here and there; in other parts
they pressed forward with irresistible valour into the enemy's columns,
and fought on in p