Stooping over his prostrate cousin, who lay entangled amidst the folds of the now crimson silk, he gently detached the colour, and, raising it aloft, cried—­

“Come on, Royal Picts!”

The men knew his voice, and, weakened, though not dispirited, they gallantly responded to the appeal.  Once more the line pressed forward.  The short space between them and the earthwork was quickly traversed.  Before the artillery could deal out a second salvo, the Royal Picts were over the parapet and in the thick of the Russians, bayoneting them as they stood at their guns.

The battery was won.

“Well done, sergeant-major—­right well done!  I saw it all.  It shan’t be forgotten if we two come out of this alive!”

The speaker was Colonel Blythe, who, happily, although dismounted by the shot that wounded his horse, had so far escaped unhurt.

“But this is no time for compliments; we must look to ourselves.  The enemy is still in great strength.  They are bringing up the reserves.”

Above the battery a second line of columns loomed large and menacing.  Was this gallant handful of Englishmen, which had so courageously gained a footing in the enemy’s works, to bear the brunt of a fresh conflict with a new and perfectly fresh foe?  The situation was critical.  To advance would be madness; retreat was not to be thought of; yet it might cost them their lives to maintain the ground they held.

While they paused in anxious debate, there came sounds of firing from their right, aimed evidently at the Russians in front of them, for the shot and shell ploughed through the ranks of the foe.

“What guns can those be?” asked Colonel Blythe.  “They are catching them nicely in flank.”

“French, sir, I expect,” replied McKay.  “That is the side of their attack.”

“Those are English guns, I feel sure.  I know the crack they make.”

He was right; the guns belonged to Turner’s battery, brought up at the most opportune juncture by Lord Raglan’s express commands.  To understand their appearance, and the important part they played in deciding the battle on this portion of the field, we must follow the other wing of the Royal Picts, which, when separated from the rest of the brigade, passed round the right flank of the village.

Hyde was with this detachment, and, as he afterwards told McKay, he saw Lord Raglan and his staff ride forward, alone and unprotected, across the river, straight into the enemy’s position.  In the river two of his staff were shot down, and the commander-in-chief promptly realised the meaning of this fire.

“Ah!” he cried.  “If they can enfilade us here, we can certainly enfilade them on the rising ground above.  Bring up some guns!”

It was not easy travelling for artillery, but Turner was a man whom no difficulties dismayed.  Within an hour a couple of his guns had been dragged up the steep gradient, were unlimbered, and served by the officers themselves.