“Come, fall in!” the officer next said.  “It won’t do to linger here.”  And the party resumed their ride, still in the valley, but as far as possible from the stream.

Every yard McKay’s hopes sank lower and lower; every yard took him further from his friends, who were advancing, he felt certain, towards the river.  Large bodies of troops, columns of infantry on the march, covered by cavalry and accompanied by guns, were now perfectly visible in the distant plain.

“Look to your front!” cried the Russian officer peremptorily to Stanislas, as he stole a furtive, lingering glance back.  “Faster!  Spur your horses, or we may be picked up or shot.”

All hope was gone now.  This was the end of the Tchernaya valley.  Up there opposite were the Inkerman heights, the sloping hills that a few months before McKay had helped to hold.  This paved, much-worn causeway was the “Sappers’ Road,” leading round the top of the harbour into the town.

No one stopped the Cossacks.

They passed a picket in a half-ruined guard-house, the roof of which, its door, walls, and windows, were torn and shattered in the fierce and frequent bombardments.  Even at that moment a round shot crashed over their heads, took the ground further off, and bounded away.  The sentry asked no questions.  Some one looked out and waved his hand in greeting to the Cossack officer, who replied, pointing ahead, as the party rode rapidly on.

Time pressed; it promised to be a warm morning.  The besiegers’ fire, intended no doubt to distract attention from the movements in the Tchernaya, was constantly increasing.

“What dog’s errand is this they sent me on?” growled the Cossack officer, as a shell burst close to him and killed one of the escort.

“Faster! faster!”

And still, harassed by shot and shell, they pushed on.

All this time the road led by the water’s edge; but presently they left it, and, crossing the head of a creek, mounted a steep hill, which brought them to the Karabel suburb, as it was called, a detached part of the main town, now utterly wrecked and ruined by the besiegers’ fire.

The Cossack officer made his way to a large barrack occupying a central elevated position, and dismounted at the principal doorway.

“Is it thou, Stoschberg?” cried a friend who came out to meet him.  “Here, in Sebastopol?”

“To my sorrow.  Where is the general?  I have news for him.  The enemy are moving in force upon the Tchernaya.”

“Ha! is it so?  And that has brought you here?”

“That, and the escort of yonder villain—­a rascally spy, whom we caught last night in our lines.”

“Bring him along too; the general may wish to question him.”

McKay was unbound, ordered to dismount, and then, still under escort, was marched into the building.  It was roofless, but an inner chamber had been constructed—­a cellar, so to speak—­under the ground-floor, with a roof of its own of rammed earth many feet thick, supported by heavy beams.  This was one of the famous casemates invented by Todleben, impervious to shot and shell, and affording a safe shelter to the troops.