He found his regiment in the Sandbag Battery, and they received him, so soon as his errand was known, with a wild cheer.

“Excellently done!” cried Colonel Blythe.  “You have a good head on your shoulders, Hyde:  ammunition was the one thing we needed.”

“Yes,” shouted a brawny soldier, “we were just killed for want of cartridges.”

“And want of food,” grumbled another; “sorra bite nor sup since yesterday.”

“Sergeant darling,” said a third, “won’t you sound the breakfast-bugle?  Fighting on an empty stomach is but a poor pastime.”

Thus, in the interval between two combats, but always under a galling and destructive fire, they joked and bandied words with a freedom that discipline would not have tolerated at any other time.

“I think, colonel, I could bring up the rations:  biscuits and cold pork, anyhow,” suggested Hyde.

“And the grog-tub:  don’t forget that, sergeant” cried a fresh voice.

“By all means, Hyde, get us what you can,” replied Blythe; “the men are all fasting, and some sort of a meal would be very good for them, only you must keep a sharp look-out for us.  We may not be still here when you return.”

This Sandbag Battery, which for the moment the Royal Picts still held, was the object of ceaseless contention that day.  Although at best but an empty prize, useful to neither side, because its parapet was too high to be fired over, the battery was lost and won, captured and recaptured, constantly during the battle.

Even now the Russians, regaining heart, had made it the first aim of their fresh attack.

General Dannenberg, who was now in chief command, had a twofold object:  he was resolved to press the centre of the English position and at the same time vigorously attack the right, throwing all his weight first upon the Sandbag Battery.

The small force under General Wilders, which included the Royal Picts, soon began to feel the stress of this renewed onslaught.

“They are coming on again and in great numbers, sir,” said McKay to his general.

“I see, and menacing both our flanks.  We shall be surrounded and swallowed up if we don’t take care.”

“Some support ought to be near by this time, sir,” replied McKay.

“Ride back, and see.  I don’t want to be outflanked.”

McKay retired and presently came upon two battalions of Guards, Grenadiers and Fusiliers, advancing under the command of the Duke of Cambridge.

“General Wilders, sir, is very hard pressed in the Sandbag Battery,” said McKay, briefly.

“I’ll march at once to his aid,” replied the duke, promptly.

“Sir George Cathcart and part of the Fourth Division are coming up, and not far off,” added one of the staff; “we won’t wait for any one.  Ride on ahead, sir,”—­this was to McKay,—­“and let your general know he is about to be supported by her Majesty’s Guards.”