Two o’clock came. Schahofskoy rode up the slope from the village to see for himself from the crest how things were going. As he reached the sky line the Turks marked the mounted group, and a volley of shell-fire was directed upon it. Schahofskoy promptly rolled out of the saddle and crept forward to where the two correspondents were squatting. His eyes were blazing and his face was flushed, as he swore most vigorously in the colloquial Russian of the common soldier. He looked at his watch; it was a few minutes past two. Krüdener seemed, after all these long hours, to be making no headway. Schahofskoy in his impatience threw his orders to the wind and determined to act independently. He turned to his Chief of Staff and shouted, “Bring up the 125th and 126th regiments at once! Quick!” These were his own two regiments which had accompanied him from the foot of the Balkans. General Tchekoff, the brigade commander, came up the slope at a canter and told the Prince the two regiments were following close. They came up with swift swinging stride and deployed just before reaching the crest, breaking to pass through the intervals between the guns. The General had risen, and was standing against a tree saluting his soldiers as they streamed past him. His guns recommenced firing as soon as the infantrymen were descending the further slope, and continued their fire while the regiments were crossing the intervening hollow to the assault of the Turkish positions. The Turkish shells crashed through the ranks as the regiments pressed forward; men were already down in numbers, but the long, undulating line pushed through the undergrowth of the descent and then tramped steadily over the stubble-fields below. No skirmishing line was thrown out in advance. The fighting line retained its formation for a time till, what with eagerness and what with men falling, it broke into a ragged spray of humanity and surged on swiftly, but with no close cohesion. It was a rush of vehement fighting-men on which the spectators looked down with eyes intent--a helter-skelter of men impelled by a burning ardour to get forward and come to close quarters with the enemy calmly firing upon them from behind the shelter of his earthworks. The Turkish position was neared; and now men held their breath. The crackle of the musketry fire rose in a sharp continuous peal. The clamour of the cheering of the fighting-men came back on the wind, making the blood tingle with excitement. The wounded were beginning to withdraw, limping and groaning; the dead and the more severely wounded lay where they fell among the stubbles and amidst the maize. The living wave of fighting-men was pouring over them ever on and on. Suddenly the disconnected men were drawing together, the officers signalling for the concentration by the waving of their swords. Then there followed a headlong rush, led by a brave colonel. The Turks in the shelter trench held their ground, firing steadily and with terrible effect into