Then through the fog they saw looming enormous columns of Russians, thousands strong. The English fired a volley, and while they were reloading the Russian bugles began to sound and the men to face about and retreat. The voice of the gallant Adams rang out, but only those near him could hear, ‘Another volley, lads; then charge!’ Those near him started; the others followed the example, and the line dashed downhill, crashing into the Russian column, which turned and fled. They were the Taroutine and Borodino regiments, the same that the British had taught such a terrible lesson to on the day of the Alma. Disheartened by their previous experience, their hearts failed them; leaving hundreds of dead and wounded behind them, they too fled, and were no more seen that day. It was with difficulty that the pursuit by the victorious English could be stopped; but at last they were brought back and took up their position in what was known as the Sandbag Battery, which was simply a dismounted earthwork having a parapet about eight or nine feet high, but no _banquette_ on which the men defending it might stand to fire over the top. It had afforded a shelter from the wind to the pickets stationed there; but for defensive purposes it was useless. Yet it was for the possession of this useless work that the fiercest struggles of the day took place. Hardly were the defeated battalions out of range than ten thousand fresh men, with ninety-seven more guns, came forward to the attack. So quickly did they appear through the fog, and so much were all the Russian soldiers alike, that the English thought it was the same force they had defeated returning to the attack. These fresh troops, stern-looking, resolute men, came on with great determination, and soon a terrific combat began. The guns on the Home Ridge behind did good work by pouring in their fire on the Russians, the vivid, searing flashes showing up through the mist. Often the opposing bodies met bayonet to bayonet; then the Russians would be hurled back and the English would coolly load and pour in a volley. Again the bayonet, a struggle, heaving first this way, then that; the repulse of the enemy, another volley, and another attack. But the hundreds who were holding their ground against the thousands were feeling the stress. A seventh part of their number was down, and though they had done fourfold the damage they had suffered, yet as fast as they shot or bayoneted a foe, other two high-cheek-boned, pasty-faced soldiers seemed to take his place. Masses had also worked round on their right and left flanks and rear. The position was desperate. All cohesion was lost; the men were acting together in tens and sixes, or even singly. Every man had set his teeth and determined to fall where he stood. The British had their backs to the wall; they knew that on them depended the fate of the army, of the whole expedition; defeat meant disaster, so they fought on till they died.