Beside the shore marched the French divisions in column, their weapons sparkling and colours waving. Behind them came the Turks. On their left, in the post of danger, their front and flank open to attack, came the British army in battle array. The advance-guard was formed of the 11th Hussars and 13th Light Dragoons, with an infantry battalion. A long line of nimble, green-clad Riflemen in skirmishing order followed. Four grand divisions of scarlet-coated infantry, massed in close columns, with their accompanying batteries of artillery, formed the main body, the baggage and cattle being in rear. On the left flank there was another line of skirmishers of the Rifles, two hundred yards from the main body; outside them again came the 8th Hussars on the left front; the 17th, as already stated, on the left rear; while the 4th Light Dragoons formed the rear-guard. The sun sparkled on arms and accoutrements, colours waved in the air, uniforms of every colour met the eye as far as it would reach; the whole, while the bands pealed forth their brazen music, forming such a picture of martial glory as few men are privileged to behold. The march continued. Soon the bands ceased playing. Then stragglers began to fall out of the ranks. Poor fellows, worn with sickness and privation, they were absolutely unable to stand the strain of a march of a few miles. Many of Jack’s comrades tried to urge the stragglers to keep up. Alas! it was but too clearly evident by the blackened, swollen faces of many of those who fell out that they were in the last throes of cholera. They had to be left where they fell, for nothing could be done for them. Others of the stragglers fell out from sheer weakness and exhaustion, and these were told that the Cossacks would overtake and spear them did they not keep up. Not a man, however, gave up until he could go no longer, and then no threats were of any avail. The ground became littered with arms and accoutrements--bearskins, shakos, belts, knapsacks, and rifles; with that, and the figures of the men who had fallen from the ranks, the country over which the troops had passed resembled a field on which a pitched battle had been fought. The spirits of the men drooped, their faces took on a dogged look; but their enthusiasm was gone. The glory of the morning was over. As the hours dragged on another terrible hardship afflicted the poor soldiers. A maddening, burning thirst consumed them, yet not a drop of water was to be had. Sergeant Linham, who had suffered all the horrors of thirst in India, chewed a bullet grimly. ‘It’s the first taste of real war the youngsters have had,’ he said. ‘It isn’t the fighting--that’s nothing. It’s the starving and marching, lying on the ground all night in pouring rain or snow, the freezing and the burning--that’s war. Fighting, pah! that’s the only pleasant part of war.’