It must undoubtedly have fallen by a coup de main.  But generals hesitated and differed, bolder spirits were overruled, undue weight was given to the too-cautious counsels of scientific soldiers, and it was decided to sit down before and slowly besiege the place.

The chance on which the allies turned their backs was quickly seized by the enemy.  One of the brightest pages in modern military annals is that which records how the genius and indomitable energy of one man improvised a resolute and protracted defence; and none have done fuller justice to Todleben than the foes he so long and gallantly kept at bay.

The allies now entered, almost with light hearts, upon a siege that was to last for eleven weary months and prove the source of unnumbered woes.  In a comfortable leisurely fashion they proceeded to break ground, to open trenches, and approach the enemy’s still unfinished works by parallel and sap.  The siege-train—­the British War Minister’s fatal gift, encouraging as it did the policy of delay—­was landed, as were vast supplies of ammunition and warlike stores.  Tents, too, were brought up to the front, and the allied encampment soon covered the plateau from the Tchernaya to the sea.  The troops soon settled down in their new quarters, and the heights before Sebastopol grew gradually a hive of military industry, instinct with warlike sounds, teeming with soldier life.

The Royal Picts found themselves posted on the uplands above the Tchernaya valley, very near the extreme right of the British front, and here they took their share of the duties that now fell upon the army, furnishing fatigue-parties to dig at the trenches, and armed parties to cover them as they worked, and pickets by day and night to watch the movements of the enemy.

Since McKay’s official recommendation for a commission, he had been entrusted with duties above his position as sergeant-major.  The adjutant had been badly wounded at the Alma, and it was generally understood that when promoted McKay would succeed him.  Meanwhile he was entrusted with various special missions appertaining to the rank he soon expected to receive.

One of these was his despatch to Balaclava to make inquiries for the knapsacks of the regiment.  They had been left on board ship, and the transport had been expected daily in Balaclava harbour.  The men were sadly in want of a change of clothes, and neither these nor the little odds and ends that go to make up a soldier’s comfort were available until they got their packs.  McKay was directed to take a small party with him to land the much-needed baggage and have it conveyed by hook or crook to the front.

He left the camp late in the afternoon, and, striking the great Woronzoff Road just where it pierced the Fediukine Heights, descended it until he reached the Balaclava plain.  A few miles beyond, the little town itself was visible, or, more exactly, the forest of masts that already crowded its little land-locked port.