‘Serve ’em right too,’ said Will as he proceeded to twist some hay-bands round his legs, his overalls having been worn to tatters weeks before. ‘Jack,’ he continued, ‘have you got a bit of that string left? I might be able to tie the sole of my left boot on so that it will last for another day.’ Jack, who was busy sewing a patch made of a shred of old blanket on his own overalls, passed Will the piece of string he had brought up from Balaclava; then went on with his work. The boots and fur-coat he had become possessed of on the day of the capture of the convoy by Mackenzie’s Farm proved of the utmost value to him, and in this respect he was better off than Will. Jack’s horse being too far gone for further work, Barrymore told him he must take his. ‘Thank God, poor Dainty did not live to be starved to death here,’ said Jack as he and Will mounted, the latter going out on escort-duty with a mixed troop. A party of Rifles went by, many of the men having made themselves a sort of smock from blankets fastened round their waists with their belts, their trousers being patched with every variety of stuff, from pieces of cloth cut from Russian uniforms to scraps of canvas or bagging. Jack joined the squad, mostly men of the Guards, who were going down to Balaclava for supplies; bearded, haggard-looking fellows, whose greatcoats were thick with successive layers of mud, and whose feet were almost bare, but in whose eyes burned that fierce, unquenchable light that spoke of a resolve to conquer or die. The journey was the same as dozens of others Jack had made, except that Balaclava looked filthier than ever and more full of misery. On the road back to camp several horses, after stumbling a few times, fell one by one. They would lie in the mud looking up with lack-lustre eyes, their tongues hanging out. A few spasmodic movements of the legs, smoothing down the mud, would follow, and then the poor beasts would die, being left where they had fallen--a few more carcasses to rot and putrefy; while their loads would be distributed among the other animals or on the men’s shoulders. December wore on and Christmas approached. Jack received letters from his mother and sisters and from the Lelands. Mrs Blair’s and the girls’ were full of thankfulness that their dear one had escaped so far, prayed that the war might soon be over, and wound up by saying they had sent him a small hamper which they hoped he would find useful at Christmas. The hamper contained some warm shirts and socks, a bottle of brandy, a ham, and a plum-pudding. Poor Jack could almost have cried when he read the list, just the very things that would be most acceptable; but he knew well enough he would never see the hamper, and he never did. What became of the things sent to the soldiers during the Crimean war remains a mystery to this day. CHAPTER XXXIX. IN THE HANDS OF THE COSSACKS.