the rest.

Perhaps the weakest part of the whole line was the extreme right, held
at this moment by the British Second Division. Here, on an exposed and
vitally important flank, the whole available force was barely 3,000
men. For some time past it had been intended to fortify this flank by
field-works, armed with heavy artillery. But, although the necessity
for protecting it was thus admitted, the urgency was not exactly
understood, or at least was subordinated to other operations; as a
matter of fact, this flank was "in the air," to use a military phrase,
lying quite open and exposed, with only an insufficient, greatly
harassed garrison on the spot, and no supports or reserves near at
hand.

The utmost assistance on which this small body could count, as was
afterwards shown, under stress, too, of most imminent danger, was
14,000 men. Not that all these numbers were fully available at any one
time; they were constantly affected and diminished by casualties in
the height and heat of the action; so that never were there more than
13,000, French and English, actually engaged.

On the other hand, the Russian attacking force was 70,000 strong, and
they had with them 235 guns.

It was in truth another battle of giants, like Waterloo. "Hard
pounding," as the great duke said of that other fight; a fierce trial
of strength; a protracted, seemingly unequal, struggle between the
dead weight of the aggregate many and the individual prowess of the
undaunted, indomitable few.

The enemy's plan of action had been minutely and carefully prepared.
We know it now. He meant to use his whole strength along his entire
front--in part with feigned and deceiving demonstrations to "contain"
or hold inactive the troops that faced him, in part with determined
onslaught, delivered with countless thousands, in massive columns,
against the reputed weakest point of our line.

This plan Menschikoff hastened to put into execution. Time pressed:
the enemy had learnt through spies that an assault on Sebastopol was
close at hand. Besides, the Grand Dukes had arrived, and the troops,
worked up to the highest pitch of loyal fanatic fervour, were mad to
fight under the eyes of the sons of their father, the holy Czar.

Dawn broke late on that drear November morning: November the 5th--a
day destined to be ever memorable in the annals of British arms: a
dawn that was delayed and darkened by dense, driving mists, and
rain-clouds, black and lowering.