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."

CHAPTER XVII.

A COSTLY VICTORY.

Now followed one of the fiercest and bloodiest episodes of the day.

Wilders had made the best show with his little band and clung
tenaciously to the battery yet. The Russians came on and on, with
stubborn insistence, and all along the line a hand-to-hand fight
ensued. Numbers told at length, and the small garrison was slowly
forced back, after enduring serious loss.

It was in this retreat that General Wilders received a dangerous
wound: a fragment of a shell tore away the left leg below the knee.

"Will some one kindly lift me from my horse?" he said quietly,
schooling his face to continue calm, in spite of the agony he
endured.

McKay was on the ground in an instant and by his general's side.

"Don't mind me, my boy" said the general. "Leave me with the doctors."

"On no account, sir; I should not think of it." "Yes, yes. They want
every man. Attach yourself to Blythe; he will command the brigade now.
Do not stay with me: I insist."

McKay yielded to the general's entreaties, but first saw the wounded
man bestowed in a litter and carried to the rear.

Then he joined Colonel Blythe.

But now fortune smiled again. Our artillery had stayed the Russian
advance; and the Grenadier Guards, followed by the Fusiliers, once
more regained the coveted but worthless stronghold.

They could not hold it permanently, however: the tide of battle ebbed
and flowed across it, and the victory leant alternately to either
side. The Guards fought like giants, outnumbered but never outmatched,
wielding their weapons with murderous prowess, and, when iron missiles
failed them, hurling rocks--Titan-like--at their foes.

Even when won this Sandbag Battery was a perilous prize: tempting the
English leaders to adventure too far to the front and to leave a great
gap in the general line of defence unoccupied and undefended.

Lord Raglan saw the error and would have skilfully