We were now far in the rear of the original Russian position, and were actually riding along the Sebastopol road, when Captain Bolton, of the 1st Dragoon Guards, whose sword hand was muffled in a bloody handkerchief, came galloping after us, to explain that Lord Raglan desired we should fall back at once. "His lordship fears that you are going too far in advance," said he, "and that the Russian flying artillery may halt and open on you. Give up all pursuit of prisoners; set loose those you have, and simply escort the guns." On this we halted and liberated more than a hundred prisoners of all ranks, several being officers. Some of the latter shrugged their shoulders contemptuously at the commiseration we expressed for some of the Russian wounded, who lay on the road expiring of weakness and thirst. "Bah!" said one, in French, to me; "they are only private soldiers—peasants—and will soon die." His sentiments were worthy of a Russian aristocrat; but he was a grim, stern, and white-moustached officer, evidently of high rank, for his breast was covered from epaulette to epaulette with stars, medals, and crosses. I had afterwards reason to know that this officer was General Baur, who had commanded the reconnaisance at Bulganak. As we were retiring, we came among some of the French, and I recognised Mademoiselle Sophie, the _vivandière_ whom I had seen at Gallipoli and Varna, and who immediately offered me a _petit verre_ of cognac from her little store, which I gladly accepted. She looked pale and excited, and her eyes were bloodshot. "Our regiment has suffered heavily to-day, monsieur," said she. "I was thrice under fire with it; but so many of my comrades fell—that—that—_mon Dieu!_ it proved too much for me." "Your friend, M. Jolicoeur, of the 2nd Zouaves," said I; "he, I hope, has escaped to-day?" "_Hélas! mon pauvre Jules!_ he is lying yonder with ever so many more of ours," she replied, pointing with her trembling hand to the Telegraph Battery. "Wounded?" "Dead, monsieur, dead! He fell when planting the standard of the 2nd Zouaves on the summit, where you may still see it flying. Poor Captain Victor Baudeuf, who used to flirt so terribly with Rigolboche, and pay such frightful sums for a _fauteuil_ every night she danced, till Mademoiselle Theresa took her place at the _cafés chantants_—well, he, too, and two hundred of our rank and file, are lying there." The _vivandière_ wept and wrung her hands. All great excitements are followed by a painful reaction; and I shall not readily forget the dreary night that followed the day of the Alma. My troop bivouacked near the old ruined walls that lie on the western flank of the Kourgané Hill. Vast numbers of dead were lying near; they disturbed us not. But the wounded, the dying—ah, their moans and cries were frightful! I muffled my head in my cloak, and strove to shut out the piteous-sounds, and court sleep beside my jaded charger, close to whose side I crept for warmth.