Another lesser result of the Russian advance was that McKay and his men that afternoon were unable to rejoin their regiment by the road they had travelled the day before.  He returned to camp by a long and circuitous route, through Kadikoi, instead of by the direct Woronzoff road.

It was late in the day, therefore, when he was once more at his headquarters.  He had much to tell of his strange adventures on these two eventful days, and the colonel, who had at once sent for him, kept him in close colloquy, plying him with questions about the battle, for more than an hour.  It was not till he had heard everything that Colonel Blythe handed the sergeant-major a bundle of letters and papers, arrived that morning by the English mail.

“There is good news for you, McKay,” said he.  “I was so interested in your description that I had forgotten to tell you.  Let me congratulate you; your name is in the Gazette,” and the Colonel, taking McKay’s hand, shook it warmly.

McKay carried off his precious bundle to his tent, and, first untying the newspaper, hunted out the Gazette.

There it was—­

“The Royal Picts—­Sergeant-Major Stanislas Anastasius Wilders McKay to be Ensign, vice Arrowsmith, killed in action.”

They had lost no time; the reward had followed quickly upon the gallant deed that deserved it.  Barely a month had elapsed since the Alma, yet already he was an officer, bearing the Queen’s commission, which he had won with his own right arm.

His letters were from home—­from his darling mother, who, in simple, loving language, poured forth her joy and pride.

“My dearest, bravest boy,” she said, “how nobly you have justified the choice you made; you were right, and we were wrong in opposing your earnest wish to follow in your poor father’s footsteps—­would that he had lived to see this day!  It was his spirit that moved you when, in spite of us all, of your uncles’ protests and my tears, you persisted in your resolve to enlist.  They said you had disgraced yourself and us.  It was cruel of them; but now they are the first to come round.  I have heard from both your uncles; they are, of course, delighted, and beg me to give you their heartiest good wishes.  Uncle Ralph said perhaps he would write himself; but he is so overwhelmed with work at the Munitions Office he may not have time.  Uncle Barto you will, perhaps, see out in the Crimea; he has got command of the Burlington Castle, one of the steamers chartered from his Company, and is going at once to Balaclava.

“Oh, my sweet son be careful of yourself!” went on the fond mother, her deep anxiety welling forth.  “You are my only, only joy.  I pray God hourly that He may spare your precious life.  May He have you in His safe keeping!”

The reading of these pleasant letters occupied Stanislas till nightfall.  Then, utterly wearied, but with a thankful, contented heart, he threw himself upon the ground, and slept till morning.