"
But on the second day McKay, thanks to kindly care and plenty of
nourishment, was able to leave his cot, and on the third morning he
was determined to return to his duty.
"I won't baulk you, Stanny," said his uncle; "good soldiers, like good
sailors, never turn their backs on their work. But mind, this ship is
your home whenever and wherever you like to come on board; and if you
want anything you have only to ask for it, d'ye hear?"
McKay promised readily to draw upon his uncle when needful, and then,
his horse being still at Balaclava, he once more got into the saddle
and rode up to camp.
The journey prepared him a little for what he found. All the way from
Balaclava his horse struggled knee-deep in mud: a very quagmire of
black, sticky slush. Yet this was the great highway--the only road
between the base of supply and an army engaged eight miles distant in
an arduous siege. Along it the whole of the food, ammunition, and
material had to be carried on pony-back, or in a few ponderous carts
drawn by gaunt, over-worked teams, which too often left their wheels
fast-caught in the mire.
At the front--it had been raining in torrents for hours--the mud was
thicker, blacker, and more tenacious. Tents stood in pools of water;
their occupants, harassed by trench duty, lay shivering within,
half-starved and wet.
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