At that time the life of a Russian was deemed by us of no more account than that of a hare or rabbit in the shooting season; but, if reckless of the lives of others, it must be remembered that we were equally reckless of our own; and, with all its horrors, war is not without producing some of the gentler emotions. Thus, even on those weary, exciting, and perilous days and nights in the trenches, under the influence of _camaraderie_, of general danger, and the most common chance of a sudden and terrible death, men grew communicative, and while interchanging their canteens and tobacco-pouches they were apt to speak of friends and relations that were far away: the old mother, whose nightly prayers went up for the absent; the ailing sister, who had died since war had been declared; the absent wife, left on the shore at Southampton with a begging-pass to her own parish; the little baby that had been born since the transport sailed; the old fireside, where their place remained vacant, their figure but a shadowy remembrance; the girls they had left behind them; their disappointments in life; their sorrows and joys and hopes for the future; the green lanes, the green fields, the pleasant and familiar places they never more might see: and officers and privates talked of such things in common; so true it is that "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." On the 3rd of November, Caradoc and I were sitting in a sheltered corner, between the gabions, chatting on some of the themes I have enumerated, when a little commotion was observable among our men, and we saw the adjutant and the major--the worthy holder of Toby Purcell's spurs, he who had carried off the first gun at Alma, B-- of ours, and who, since Colonel Chesters was killed, had commanded the regiment--coming directly towards us. "What the deuce is up?" said I. "Their faces look important," added Caradoc. "Sorry to disturb you; not that there is much pleasure here, certainly," said the major, smiling; "but the adjutant tells me that you, Hardinge, are the first officer for duty." "We are all on duty," replied I, laughing; "if we are not, I don't know what duty is. Well, major, what is to be done?" "You are to convey a message from Lord Raglan into Sebastopol." "To Sebastopol?" "Yes, to that pleasant city by the sea," said the adjutant. "To Prince Menschikoff?" "No," replied the major; "to the officer commanding the nearest post." "Under a flag of truce?" "Of course; it would be perilous work otherwise." "About what is the message?" "The capture of Major MacG--, of the 93rd, who was carried off by a kind of sortie the other night, and who is supposed to have been afterwards killed in cold blood."