Chapter LVII: Hot Ovens

Jack was back, in the best of health and spirits.

"I'm almost sorry I didn't join the navy," he said, as he trudged with Jim through the mud to the Picket House, to see how things had gone on in his absence. "They do keep things clean, anyway."

"That's the only place where they have any fun nowadays," he said, as they stood looking down on the lines and zigzags, creeping nearer and nearer to the town, and pointed to a deep gully which ran up from the head of the Admiralty Harbour and separated the British position from the French.

"The Ovens," said Jim. "Couldn't we go down some night and see some of it?"

"Any night you like when I'm not on duty."

"Why not to-night? You won't start work till to-morrow, I suppose."

"All right! To-night! The 50th are down there, and there are some capital fellows among them."

And that was how it happened that, for the sake of a little fun, or, in other, words, the chance of a brush with the enemy, the boys found themselves that night stumbling along the deep trench which zigzaged down from Chapman's Battery towards the Green Hills and so into the deep gully which ran up into the plateau from the head of Admiralty Harbour in Sebastopol. The sides of the gully contained numerous caves formed by the decay of the softer strata in the rocks, and these caves had for some time past been the stakes for which small parties on each side played sharp little war-games, and paid at times with their lives.

First they were Russian, then they were British, then again Russian, till the 50th had ousted them and remained in possession.

It was a bitterly cold night, but the boys, In the great fur coats Jim had bought out of the loot at Mackenzie's Farm, had nothing to complain of.

They found a strong picket of the 50th making themselves very much at home in the Ovens, and received a warm welcome from the officers in charge.

"Any chance of any fun to-night?" asked Jack.

"We can never tell what's going to happen. Keeps us on the jig the whole time, but it's better than doing nothing upstairs."

"And it comes off sometimes," said another.

"And when it does, the Ovens get hot," laughed a third, and they squatted on the floor and discussed zigzags and such matters.

"Almost took you for Russians in those big coats," said one enviously. "Did you steal 'em?"

"Somebody else 'stole 'em," laughed Jack. "We're only receivers. Jim bought them that day at Mackenzie's, when Menchikoff bolted and left us his baggage."

"Talking of spies," said another, sliding off on an inference, "did you hear of the one who walked about our lines for half a day as cool as a cucumber? He was dressed in full French uniform, asked heaps of questions in very bad English, and said we were doing wonders, and made himself quite pleasant all round. And then he caught sight of some more Frenchmen, coming down with the Colonel towards the battery to have a look at the Lancasters. As soon as he saw them he began to edge off down the hill, and when he saw his chance he just made a clean bolt of it, with our men blazing away at him as hard as they could, but he got clear away under the Redan there. And now we're a bit suspicious' of men in big fur coats. If you'll take my advice you'll leave 'em behind you here. Save you a heap of trouble maybe."

"Any sentry would be justified in shooting any man he saw in a coat like that," said another.

"All right, my boys! We'll keep our coats and take our chances. What's that?" And they all pricked up their ears to listen.

An order in French came to them from the opposite side of the gully.

"Their sentries and pickets are just over there. This is Tommy Tiddler's Ground, between England, France, and----"

A hoarse shout outside, and shots and yells, and they were all out in a moment and found the gully packed with Russians, and their own men, taken by surprise, falling back in some confusion.

"Brace up there, men!" shouted the officer in charge. "They're only a handful and only Russians."

It was very dark, except where the fires inside the caves sent out a dull glow here and there on the bare space between the combatants. Then the whole place blazed with a Russian volley, and again with the reply to it.

"Bayonets, men! And down with them!" And with a yell the Englishmen plunged down past the dull-glowing Ovens, and Jack and Jim raced with them, revolver in hand, blazing away into the darkness in front as they ran.

But the Russian plans for that night had been well laid. It was a miniature Balaclava charge over again.

A ripping volley met them, not from the front, but from both sides, and then masses of men closed in behind them and swallowed them up, and every man was fighting for his life against unnumbered odds.

Jim, elbow to elbow with Jack, and yelling with excitement, felt him suddenly trip and fall. He stooped to help him up again. But Jack lay still.

He straddled across him to keep him from being trampled on, and men lunged into him and tumbled over Jack, and he hurled them aside. Hand-to-hand fights were going on all round, and the place was full of the clash of steel on steel and pantings and groanings and hearty British curses.

But they were outnumbered twenty to one, and the last dozen were borne to the ground by sheer weight of Russians on their backs. The Ovens changed tenants and were occupied in force, and their late occupants were dragged away down the sloping valley towards the Harbour.

Jim found himself the centre of a raging mob. He had snatched up a rifle, and, swinging it by the muzzle, kept a rough circle clear of Jack's body. But vicious bayonets were jabbing at him all round, and a bullet went singing past his head.

"Cowards Murderers! Do you call this fighting fair?" he shouted savagely.

And of a sudden the mob parted, and an officer was belabouring his men with the flat of his sword and strong words.

"Vous vous rendez?" he cried to Jim.

"Suppose I must," he growled.

"All right!" said the Russian. "Go there! Allez!" and pushed him towards the gorge.

Jim stooped and endeavoured to lift Jack.

"Quoi donc? What?"

"My brother. I must take him."

"Dead?"

"My God!" gasped Jim at the word, as all that would mean to them all flashed upon him. "No, no! I hope not--only wounded."

"We cannot take him,"

"We must."

The Russian used language, then called to one of his men, who sulkily took Jack's limp legs while Jim took him under the arms, and they stumbled away downhill, leaving a strong force in possession of the Ovens.

Skirting a dark sheet of water, they came on a road where some rough carts were waiting. The wounded were bundled into them, and a place found for Jack, and Jim trudged behind with his hand on the tail of the cart, and his heart full of bitterness. Their fun had become, of a sudden, grimmest earnest.

They turned to the right over a bridge, where many lights gleamed on the water in front, and so came at last to a great building which proved to be the hospital.