fight on for it, sir, never fear," he muttered. "We'll fight
till we're dead."

Phil nodded.

"I'll borrow your sword, sir," he said, grasping the weapon as he spoke.
"A rifle and bayonet are too heavy to use one-handed."

"Look out, lads! Here come the cavalry!" the officer exclaimed at this
moment; and almost instantly Cossack horses dashed through the Russian
infantry, scattering them and surrounding the colour. There was one
last desperate fight. Phil's sword smashed in two at the first vicious
cut, and for a minute he continued the defence by belabouring the
horsemen with the colour-staff. Then that was dashed to the ground, and
before he was aware of it a lasso-noose had been slipped over his
shoulders, securing his arms to his side, and he was being dragged away.

The last backward glance as he was hurried away showed him a grand rush
by the Highlanders. The grey-coats retreated precipitately, and amid
hoarse shouts of exultation the rescued colour was borne back to the
British lines.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A RUSSIAN VILLAIN.

The celebrated, the historical battle of the Alma was over almost as
soon as Phil had been dragged away, for there was no stopping the
British troops, and once the Russians had turned to retreat, our brave
fellows pressed forward till the summit of the slopes was gained. They
had fought magnificently against desperate odds, and without ever having
need to call upon their reserves. And while the infantry had been busy,
other arms of the service had been by no means idle. The cavalry
protected the left, and the guns, after firing for some time across the
river, had limbered up, and while some crossed by the bridge which
carried the post-road, others plunged through the water to its right,
and ascending close to Telegraph Hill, raked the Russian batteries and
struggling infantry with their fire.

It was a sight to see--an example of the dogged pluck which
characterises our nation; and an example which the French, perched upon
the cliff on the right, did not fail to watch with admiration, and with
a secret determination to emulate it on the first occasion.

And now that the enemy had retreated, the British guns still plied them
with shot. Lord Raglan longed to convert their retirement into a rout,
but the French had discarded their knapsacks before fording the river,
and on the plea, that without their kits it was impossible to pursue,
the marshal refused to agree to the pla