"Talking of spies," said another, sliding off on an inference, "did you hear of the one who walked about our lines for half a day as cool as a cucumber? He was dressed in full French uniform, asked heaps of questions in very bad English, and said we were doing wonders, and made himself quite pleasant all round. And then he caught sight of some more Frenchmen, coming down with the Colonel towards the battery to have a look at the Lancasters. As soon as he saw them he began to edge off down the hill, and when he saw his chance he just made a clean bolt of it, with our men blazing away at him as hard as they could, but he got clear away under the Redan there. And now we're a bit suspicious' of men in big fur coats. If you'll take my advice you'll leave 'em behind you here. Save you a heap of trouble maybe." "Any sentry would be justified in shooting any man he saw in a coat like that," said another. "All right, my boys! We'll keep our coats and take our chances. What's that?" And they all pricked up their ears to listen. An order in French came to them from the opposite side of the gully. "Their sentries and pickets are just over there. This is Tommy Tiddler's Ground, between England, France, and----" A hoarse shout outside, and shots and yells, and they were all out in a moment and found the gully packed with Russians, and their own men, taken by surprise, falling back in some confusion. "Brace up there, men!" shouted the officer in charge. "They're only a handful and only Russians." It was very dark, except where the fires inside the caves sent out a dull glow here and there on the bare space between the combatants. Then the whole place blazed with a Russian volley, and again with the reply to it. "Bayonets, men! And down with them!" And with a yell the Englishmen plunged down past the dull-glowing Ovens, and Jack and Jim raced with them, revolver in hand, blazing away into the darkness in front as they ran. But the Russian plans for that night had been well laid. It was a miniature Balaclava charge over again. A ripping volley met them, not from the front, but from both sides, and then masses of men closed in behind them and swallowed them up, and every man was fighting for his life against unnumbered odds. Jim, elbow to elbow with Jack, and yelling with excitement, felt him suddenly trip and fall. He stooped to help him up again. But Jack lay still. He straddled across him to keep him from being trampled on, and men lunged into him and tumbled over Jack, and he hurled them aside. Hand-to-hand fights were going on all round, and the place was full of the clash of steel on steel and pantings and groanings and hearty British curses. But they were outnumbered twenty to one, and the last dozen were borne to the ground by sheer weight of Russians on their backs. The Ovens changed tenants and were occupied in force, and their late occupants were dragged away down the sloping valley towards the Harbour.