Accordingly, employing the same tactics as before, he landed at sunset. The night was bitterly cold, and so intensely dark that he had to grope his way at every step. He soon discovered that he was off the right track, and more deeply involved among the Russian sentries than was at all pleasant or desirable; but he never for a moment lost his presence of mind, and it was to this cause that he owed his safety. He crept along with all the stealthiness of a Red Indian, stopping every moment, and feeling his way at every step. He soon saw enough to satisfy him that the enemy’s forces were far too numerous to admit of the possibility of their being captured or surprised. There was no help for it; the expedition must be abandoned, and he must try to reach his vessel in safety. This was no easy undertaking; if it was difficult to advance, it was still more difficult to retreat. The place was full of quagmires and pits, into which he repeatedly fell, and, to add to other delightful sensations, more than one ball came whizzing past his ears in such close proximity as to be far from pleasant. It was his impression at the moment that the sentries had discovered him and were firing at him; but he was satisfied afterwards that this was not the case. They were only firing in accordance with their usual custom, to show that they were on the alert, and thus avert the attack they dreaded. After nine hours’ wandering he reached the beach, and the sight of the blue waves must have been as grateful to him as the first glimpse of the ocean to the Ten Thousand Greeks in their retreat. But his dangers were not yet at an end: he looked everywhere for his boat, but it could not be seen; he waded up to the waist in the water, and, putting his mouth close to its surface, so as to veil the sound, he shouted to them to come in. There was no answer. In his desperation he drew his pistol from his belt, and, placing it close to the water, fired. It did not strike him at first that this act was more likely to attract the attention of the enemy than that of the men in the boat; but as soon as he heard the report of the pistol he was alive to the extent of the danger which he had incurred through his imprudence. His safety lay in the proximity of his own vessel, which was so close to the beach that the Cossacks could not approach the shore without being under range of her guns. It was a fearful position to be placed in. He was shivering with cold, his feet were benumbed, and his clothes saturated with wet. Overpowered with fatigue and half-dead with exposure, he threw himself down on the beach and prayed earnestly for the dawn. It was one of those hours which may concentrate in themselves more than the agony of a whole lifetime. Such hours are never forgotten in after-life, and are often the starting-point of a new existence. But we need not dwell upon those weary hours that preceded the dawn. A little before daylight, Mr. W. H. Parker, an officer