emolish the foe.

But the wave of the advance left McKay behind it, and well within the
shelter of his own people.

Although badly wounded, he was not disabled, and he took advantage of
the first pause in the fight to appeal for help to some men of the
38th who occupied the wall behind which he fell.

"You speak English gallows well for a Rooskie," said one of the men,
brusquely, but not without sympathy. "What do you want? Water? Are you
badly hit?"

"A bullet in my leg and a flesh-wound in my arm."

"Hold hard! Sawbones will be up soon. Meanwhile, let's try and staunch
the blood. We'll tear up your shirt for a bandage."

And with rough but real kindness he tore open McKay's old _greggo_ so
as to get at his underlinen. This action betrayed the red cloth
waistcoat he still wore.

"Why, that's an English staff waistcoat. Quick! How did you come by
it, you murdering rogue?"

"I am a staff officer."

"You! What do you call yourself?"

"Mr. McKay, of the Royal Picts: deputy-assistant-quartermaster-general
at headquarters."

"Save us alive! This bangs Bannagher. Wait, honey--wait till I call an
officer."

Presently, when the wounds had been rudely but effectively bound up, a
captain of the 38th came up, and to him McKay made himself known.

"This is no time or place to ask how you came here. Taken prisoner, I
suppose?"

"Who are you? What force?"

"Eyre's Brigade: of the Third Division. Told off to attack the Creek
Battery. We have carried the cemetery, but what else we've done I have
not the least idea."

"Haven't you? Well, I'll tell you. You've taken Sebastopol."

"Not quite, I'm afraid."

"You're well inside the fortress anyway. I can tell you that for
certain. Just above is the place in which I was kept a prisoner."

"Is that a fact? By Jove! what tremendous luck!"

"But can you hold your ground?"

"Eyre will. He'll hold on by his eyelids till reinforcements come up,
never fear. And the French have promised us support."

"Is yours the only attack?"

"Dear no! The French have gone in at the Malakoff, and our people at
the Redan."

"How has it gone--have you any idea?" asked McKay, anxiously.

"No one knows, except the general, perhaps. Here he comes; and he
don't look over pleased."

General Eyre, a tall, fierce-looking soldier, strode up with a long
step, talking excitedly to a staff-officer, whom McKay recognised as
one of Lord Raglan's aides-de-camps.

"Hold our ground!" the gener