oys--
happily not in England--called duellists. We deliberately call the
state of mind "contemptible," because, if a matter is worth fighting for
(physically), it ought to be fought for to the "bitter end." If it is
not worth fighting for, there should be no fighting at all!

However, as I have said, the fire began to slacken about mid-day, and
then gradually ceased. The silence that succeeded was deeply
impressive--also suggestive. Half-an-hour later a white flag was seen
waving from the road that ran round the cliffs beyond the bridge.

Plevna had fallen. Osman Pasha and his army had surrendered. In other
words--the fate of the Turkish Empire was sealed!

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

WOE TO THE "AUBURN HAIR!" AFTER THE BATTLE--PROWLING VILLAINS PUNISHED.

When the white flag was seen a loud shout went up from the Russian army.
Then a party of officers rode forward, and two Turkish horsemen were
seen advancing. They stated that Osman himself was coming to treat with
the Russians.

The spot on which they stood was covered with the grim relics of battle.
The earth had been uptorn by exploding shells. Here lay a horse
groaning and struggling in its agony. Close to it lay an ox, silently
bleeding to death, his great, round, patient eyes looking mournfully at
the scene around him. Close by, was a cart with a dead horse lying in
the yoke as he had fallen, and a Turkish soldier, stretched alongside,
whose head had been carried away by a cannon shot. Under the wagon was
a wounded man, and close to him four others, who, drained of nearly all
their life-blood, lay crouched together in helplessness, with the hoods
of their ragged grey overcoats drawn down on their faces. These latter
gazed at the murky sky in listless indifference, or at what was going on
in a sort of weary surprise. Among them was Nicholas Naranovitsch.

Russian surgeons were already moving about the field of battle, doing
what they could, but their efforts were trifling compared with the vast
necessity.

At last there was a shout of "Osman!" "He comes!"

"We will give him a respectful reception," exclaimed one Russian
officer, in what is supposed by some to be the "gallant spirit of true
chivalry."

"That we will," cried another; "we must all salute him, and the soldiers
must present arms."

"He is a great soldier," exclaimed a third, "and has made a heroic
defence."

Even Skobeleff himself seems to have been carried away by the feel