A young midshipman, badly wounded, lay close by Jack, his naked sword by his side. Fired by a sudden impulse, Jack snatched up the sword and rushed forward with the stormers. In an instant he was in a regular storm of grape and bullets, and men were falling quickly all round him. He made his way along, and was soon with the men who had been driven from the Redan. These, men of all regiments, inextricably mixed, were firing steadily upon the Russians, holding their ground and waiting, waiting for the supports--supports which never came. Yet they hung on, losing men by tens and dozens. Officers went back to try and get reinforcements; but General Codrington hesitated. Then the Royals sprang forward, and made a last attempt; but their formation was lost, and they were soon mixed up with the bleeding, panting, and exhausted crowd. The guns from the Barrack and Garden Batteries poured in grape, and the Russians, issuing from the Redan, rushed on with the bayonet. A struggle that almost baffles description took place, and the British were borne back. Jack fought his way close to Colonel Harrington, who was attempting to get the regimental officers to rally their men. A number of Russians came charging forward, and an officer cut at Colonel Harrington, but Jack with the pistol of a dead officer shot the Russian. Then a terrible mêlée took place, and the English began to retire rapidly towards their trenches, pursued by a perfect storm of lead. Keeping in the rear, Jack presently missed Colonel Harrington, and, looking round, saw him lying on the ground some distance in the rear. Heedless of the storm of bullets, he ran back and raised the colonel’s head, attempting to get him on his feet. He succeeded, when two Russian sharpshooters rushed forward. One Jack cut down; but the other wounded the colonel in the leg with his bayonet, only next instant to fall dead, shot through the head. The colonel was on the ground, and Jack attempted to carry him; but he was too heavy. ‘Leave me, lad!’ gasped the colonel; ‘save yourself.’ A sergeant of the Fusiliers, though, seeing what was happening, ran back, and, helping Jack, they together raised the colonel and carried him along with the retiring troops. They had almost reached the most advanced parallel when the gallant sergeant was cut almost in two by a round-shot. Other willing hands, however, now helped, and the colonel was got into the trenches. There a stretcher was procured, Jack bearing one end, and the colonel was got out of danger to the hospital tent. Jack remained with him while the surgeon bound up his wounded leg and his left arm, which had also been struck by a bullet. He had never lost consciousness during the whole time, and when his wounds were dressed he said to Jack, ‘My brave fellow, I see you belong to the Lancers. What are you doing here?’ ‘I came to find you, sir. My name is Blair.’