It was soon after five in the morning when the pickets of the second division, keeping such watch as they were able in the misty light, while the rain fell steadily and thickly, dimly perceived a gray mass moving up the hill from the road at the end of the harbor.  Although this point was greatly exposed to attack, nothing had been done to strengthen the position.  A few lines of earthworks, a dozen guns in batteries, would have made the place secure from a sudden attack.  But not a sod had been turned, and the steep hillside lay bare and open to the advance of an enemy.

Although taken by surprise, and wholly ignorant of the strength of the force opposed to them, the pickets stood their ground, but before the heavy masses of men clambering up the hill, they could do nothing, and were forced to fall back, contesting every foot.

Almost simultaneously, the pickets of the light division were also driven in, and General Codrington, who happened to be making his rounds at the front, at once sent a hurried messenger to the camp with the report that the Russians were attacking in force.  The second division was that encamped nearest to the threatened spot.  General Pennefather, who, as Sir De Lacy Evans was ill on board ship, was in command, called the men who had just turned out of their tents, and were beginning as best they could to light their fires of soaked wood, to stand to their arms, and hurried forward General Adam’s brigade, consisting of the 41st, 47th, and 49th, to the brow of the hill to check the advance of the enemy by the road from the valley, while with his own brigade, consisting of the 30th, 55th, and 95th, he took post on their flank.  Already, however, the Russians had got their guns on to the high ground, and these opened a tremendous fire on the British troops.

Sir George Cathcart brought up such portions of the 20th, 21st, 46th, 57th, 63d, and 68th regiments as were not employed in the trenches, and occupied the ground to the right of the second division.  General Codrington, with part of the 7th, 23d, and 33d, took post to cover the extreme of our right attack.  General Buller’s brigade was to support the second division on the left, while Jeffrey’s brigade, with the 80th regiment, was pushed forward into the brushwood.  The third division, under Sir R. England, was held in reserve.  The Duke of Cambridge, with the Guards, advanced on the right of the second division to the edge of the plateau overlooking the valley of the Tchernaya, Sir George Cathcart’s division being on his right.

There was no manoeuvring.  Each general led his men forward through the mist and darkness against an enemy whose strength was unknown, and whose position was only indicated by the flash of his guns and the steady roll of his musketry.  It was a desperate strife between individual regiments and companies scattered and broken in the thick brushwood, and the dense columns of gray-clad Russians, who advanced from the mist to meet them.  Few orders were given or needed.  Each regiment was to hold the ground on which it stood, or die there.

Sir George Cathcart led his men down a ravine in front of him, but the Russians were already on the hillside above, and poured a terrible fire into the 63d.  Turning, he cheered them on, and led them back up the hill; surrounded and enormously outnumbered, the regiments suffered terribly on their way back, Sir George Cathcart and many of his officers and vast numbers of the men being killed.  The 88th were surrounded, and would have been cut to pieces, when four companies of the 77th charged the Russians, and broke a way of retreat for their comrades.

The Guards were sorely pressed; a heavy Russian column bore down upon them, and bayonet to bayonet, the men strove fiercely with their foes.  The ammunition failed, but they still clung to a small, unarmed battery called the Sand-bag battery, in front of their portion, and with volleys of stones tried to check their foes.  Fourteen officers and half the men were down, and yet they held the post till another Russian column appeared in their rear.  Then they fell back, but, reinforced by a wing of the 20th, they still opposed a resolute front to the Russians.

Not less were the second division pressed; storms of shot and bullets swept through them, column after column of grey-clad Russians surged up the hill and flung themselves upon them; but, though suffering terribly, the second division still held their ground.  The 41st was well-nigh cut to pieces, the 95th could muster but sixty-four bayonets when the fight was over, and the whole division, when paraded when the day was done, numbered but 800 men.

But this could not last.  As fast as one assault was repulsed, fresh columns of the enemy came up the hill to the attack, our ammunition was failing, the men exhausted with the struggle, and the day was well-nigh lost when, at nine o’clock, the French streamed over the brow of the hill on our right in great force, and fell upon the flank of the Russians.  Even now the battle was not won.  The Russians brought up their reserves, and the fight still raged along the line.  For another three hours the struggle went on, and then, finding that even the overwhelming numbers and the courage with which their men fought availed not to shake the defence, the Russian generals gave up the attack, and the battle of Inkerman was at an end.

On the Russian side some 35,000 men were actually engaged, with reserves of 15,000 more in their rear; while the British, who for three hours withstood them, numbered but 8500 bayonets.  Seven thousand five hundred of the French took part in the fight.  Forty-four British officers were killed, 102 wounded; 616 men killed, 1878 wounded.  The French had fourteen officers killed, and thirty-four wounded; 118 men killed, 1299 wounded.  These losses, heavy as they were, were yet small by the side of those of the Russians.  Terrible, indeed, was the destruction which the fire of our men inflicted upon the dense masses of the enemy.  The Russians admitted that they lost 247 officers killed and wounded, 4076 men killed, 10,162 wounded.  In this battle the British had thirty-eight, the French eighteen guns engaged.  The Russians had 106 guns in position.

Jack Archer and his comrades were still in bed, when the first dropping shots, followed by a heavy roll of musketry, announced that the Russians were upon them.  Accustomed to the roar or guns, they slept on, till Tom Hammond rushed into the tent.

“Get up, gentlemen, get up.  The Russian army has climbed up the hill, and is attacking us like old boots.  The bugles are sounding the alarm all over the camps.”

In an instant the lads were out of bed, and their dressing took them scarce a minute.

“I can’t see ten yards before me,” Jack said, as he rushed out.  “By Jove, ain’t they going it!”

Every minute added to the din, till the musketry grew into one tremendous roar, above which the almost unbroken roll of the cannon could scarce by heard.  Along the whole face of the trenches the batteries of the allies joined in the din; for it was expected that the Russians would seize the opportunity to attack them also.

In a short time the fusillade of musketry broke out far to the left, and showed that the Russians were there attacking the French lines.  The noise was tremendous, and all in camp were oppressed by the sound which told of a mighty conflict raging, but of which they could see absolutely nothing.

“This is awful,” Jack said.  “Here they are pounding away at each other, and we as much out of it as if we were a thousand miles away.  Don’t I wish Captain Peel would march us all down to help!”

But in view of the possible sortie, it would have been dangerous to detach troops from their places on the trenches and batteries, and the sailors had nothing to do but to wait, fuming over their forced inaction while a great battle was raging close at hand.  Overhead the Russian balls sang in swift succession, sometimes knocking down a tent, sometimes throwing masses of earth into the air, sometimes bursting with a sharp detonation above them; and all this time the rain fell, and the mist hung like a veil around them.  Presently a mounted officer rode into the sailor’s camp.

“Where am I?” he said.  “I have lost my way.”

“This is the marine camp.”  Captain Peel said, stepping forward to him as he drew rein.  “How is the battle going, sir?”

“Very badly, I’m afraid.  We are outnumbered by five to one.  Our men are fighting like heroes, but they are being fairly borne down by numbers.  The Russians have got a tremendous force of artillery on to the hills, which we thought inaccessible to guns.  There has been gross carelessness on our part, and we are paying for it now.  I am looking for the third division camp; where is it?”

“Straight ahead, sir; but I think they have all gone forward.  We heard them tramping past in the mist.”

“I am ordered to send every man forward; every musket is of value.  How many men have you here in case you are wanted?”

“We have only fifty,” Captain Peel said.  “The rest are all in the battery, and I dare not move forward without absolute orders, as we may be wanted to reinforce them, if the enemy makes a sortie.”

The officer rode on, and the sailors stood in groups behind the line of piled muskets, ready for an instant advance, if called upon.

Another half-hour passed, and the roll of fire continued unabated.

“It is certainly nearer than it was,” Captain Peel said to Mr. Hethcote.  “No orders have come, but I will go forward myself and see what is doing.  Even our help, small as it is, may be useful at some critical point.  I will take two of the midshipmen with me, and will send you back news of what is doing.”

“Mr. Allison and Mr. Archer, you will accompany Captain Peel,” Mr. Hethcote said.

And the two youngsters, delighted at being chosen, prepared to start at once.

“If they send up for reinforcements from the battery, Mr. Hethcote, you will move the men down at once, without waiting for me.  Take every man down, even those on duty as cooks.  There is no saying how hard we may be pressed.”

Followed by the young midshipmen, Captain Peel strode away through the mist, which was now heavy with gunpowder-smoke.  They passed through the camp of the second division, which was absolutely deserted, except that there was a bustle round the hospital marquees, to which a string of wounded, some carried on stretchers, some making their way painfully on foot, was flowing in.

Many of the tents had been struck down by the Russian shot; black heaps showed where others had been fired by the shell.  Dimly ahead, when the mist lifted, could be seen bodies of men, while on a distant crest were the long lines of Russian guns, whose fire swept the British regiments.

“I suppose these regiments are in reserve?” Jack said, as he passed some of Sir R. England’s division, lying down in readiness to move to the front when required, most of the battalions having already gone forward to support the troops who were most pressed.

Presently Captain Peel paused on a knoll, close to a body of mounted officers.

“There’s Lord Raglan,” Allison said, nudging Jack.  “That’s the headquarter staff.”

At that moment a shell whizzed through the air, and exploded in the centre of the group.

Captain Gordon’s horse was killed, and a portion of the shell carried away the leg of General Strangeway.  The old general never moved, but said quietly, ­

“Will any one be kind enough to lift me off my horse?”

He was laid down on the ground, and presently carried to the rear, where an hour afterwards he died.

Jack and his comrades, who were but a few yards away, felt strange and sick, for it was the first they had seen of battle close at hand.  Lord Raglan, with his staff, moved slowly forward.  Captain Peel asked if he should bring up his sailors, but was told to hold them in reserve, as the force in the trenches had already been fearfully weakened.

“Stay here,” Captain Peel said to the midshipmen.  “I shall go forward a little, but do you remain where you are until I return.  Just lie down behind the crest.  You will get no honor if you are hit here.”

The lads were not sorry to obey, for a perfect hail of bullets was whistling through the air.  The mist had lifted still farther, and they could obtain a sight of the whole line along which the struggle was raging, scarce a quarter of a mile in front of them.  Sometimes the remnants of a regiment would fall back from the front, when a fresh battalion from the reserves came up to fill its place, then forming again, would readvance into the thick belt of smoke which marked where the conflict was thickest.  Sometimes above the roll of musketry would come the sharp rattle which told of a volley by the British rifles.

Well was it that two out of the three divisions were armed with Minies, for these created terrible havoc among the Russians, whose smooth-bores were no match for these newly-invented weapons.

With beating hearts the boys watched the conflict, and could mark that the British fire grew feebler, and in some places ceased altogether, while the wild yells of the Russians rose louder as they pressed forward exultingly, believing that victory lay within their grasp.

“Things look very bad, Jack,” Allison said.  “Ammunition is evidently failing, and it is impossible for our fellows to hold out much longer against such terrible odds.  What on earth are the French doing all this time?  Our fellows have been fighting single-handed for the last three hours.  What in the world can they be up to?”

And regardless of the storm of bullets, he leaped to his feet and looked round.

“Hurrah, Jack!  Here they come, column after column.  Ten more minutes and they’ll be up.  Hurry up, you lubbers,” he shouted in his excitement; “every minute is precious, and you’ve wasted time enough, surely.  By Jove, they’re only just in time.  There are the Guards falling back.  Don’t you see their bearskins?”

“They are only just in time,” Jack agreed, as he stood beside his comrade.  “Another quarter of an hour and they would have had to begin the battle afresh, for there would have been none of our fellows left.  Hurrah! hurrah!” he cried, as, with a tremendous volley and a ringing shout, the French fell upon the flank of the Russians.

The lads had fancied that before that onslaught the Russians must have given way at once.  But no.  Fresh columns of troops topped the hill, fresh batteries took the place of those which had suffered most heavily by the fire of our guns, and the fight raged as fiercely as ever.  Still, the boys had no fear of the final result.  The French were fairly engaged now, and from their distant camps fresh columns of troops could be seen streaming across the plateau.

Upon our allies now fell the brunt of the fight, and the British, wearied and exhausted, were able to take a short breathing-time.  Then, with pouches refilled and spirits heightened, they joined in the fray again, and, as the fight went on, the cheers of the British and the shouts of the French rose louder, while the answering yell of the Russians grew fainter and less frequent.  Then the thunder of musketry sensibly diminished.  The Russian artillery-men were seen to be withdrawing their guns, and slowly and sullenly the infantry fell back from the ground which they had striven so hard to win.

It was a heavy defeat, and had cost them 15,000 men; but, at least, it had for the time saved Sebastopol; for, with diminished forces, the British generals saw that all hopes of carrying the place by assault before the winter were at an end and that it would need all their effort to hold their lines through the months of frost and snow which were before them.

When the battle was over, Captain Peel returned to the point where he had left the midshipmen, and these followed him back to the camp, where, however, they were not to stay, for every disposable man was at once ordered out to proceed with stretchers to the front to bring in wounded.

Terrible was the sight indeed.  In many places the dead lay thickly piled on the ground, and the manner in which Englishmen, Russians, and Frenchmen lay mixed together showed how the tide of battle had ebbed and flowed, and how each patch of ground had been taken and retaken again and again.  Here Russians and grenadiers lay stretched side by side, sometimes with their bayonets still locked in each other’s bodies.  Here, where the shot and shell swept most fiercely, lay the dead, whose very nationality was scarcely distinguishable, so torn and mutilated were they.

Here a French Zouave, shot through the legs, was sitting up, supporting on his breast the head of his dying officer.  A little way off, a private of the 88th, whose arm had been carried away, besought the searchers to fill and light his pipe for him, and to take the musket out of the hand of a wounded Russian near, who, he said, had three times tried to get it up to fire at him as he lay.

In other cases, Russians and Englishmen had already laid aside their enmity, and were exchanging drinks from their water-bottles.

Around the sand-bag battery, which the Guards had held, the dead lay thicker than elsewhere on the plateau; while down in the ravine where Cathcart had led his men, the bodies of the 63d lay heaped together.  The sailors had, before starting, fill their bottles with grog, and this they administered to friend and foe indiscriminately, saving many a life ebbing fast with the flow of blood.  The lads moved here and there, searching for the wounded among the dead, awed and sobered by the fearful spectacle.  More than one dying message was breathed into their ears; more than one ring or watch given to them to send to dear ones at home.  All through the short winter day they worked, aided by strong parties of the French who had not been engaged; and it was a satisfaction to know that, when night fell, the greater portion of the wounded, British and French, had been carried off the field.  As for the Russians, those who fell on the plateau received equal care with the allies; but far down among the bushes that covered the hillside lay hundreds of wounded wretches whom no succor, that day at least, could be afforded.

The next day the work of bringing in the Russian wounded was continued, and strong fatigue parties were at work, digging great pits, in which the dead were laid those of each nationality being kept separate.

The British camps, on the night after Inkerman, afforded a strong contrast to the scene which they presented the night before.  No merry laugh arose from the men crouched round the fires; no song sounded through the walls of the tents.  There was none of the joy and triumph of victory; the losses which had been suffered were so tremendous as to overpower all other feeling.  Of the regiments absolutely engaged, fully one-half had fallen; and the men and officers chatted in hushed voices over the good fellows who had gone, and of the chances of those who lay maimed and bleeding in the hospital tents.

To his great relief, Jack had heard, early in the afternoon, that the 33d had not been hotly engaged, and that his brother was unwounded.  The two young officers of the 30th, who had, a few hours before, been spending the evening so merrily in the tent, had both fallen, as had many of the friends in the brigade of Guards whose acquaintance he had made on board the “Ripon,” and in the regiments which, being encamped near by the sailors, he had come to know.

Midshipmen are not given to moralizing, but it was not in human nature that the lads, as they gathered in their tent that evening, should not talk over the sudden change which so few hours had wrought.  The future of the siege, too, was discussed, and it was agreed that they were fixed where they were for the winter.

The prospect was a dreary one, for if they had had so many discomforts to endure hitherto, what would it be during the next four months on that bleak plateau?  For themselves, however, they were indifferent in this respect, as it was already known the party on shore would be shortly relieved.