They now skirted
the ridge of the Karabel suburb, and began to descend. Half way down
they came upon a series of excavations in the side of the hill. These
were old caves that had been enlarged and strengthened with timbers
and earth. Each had its own doorway, a massive piece of palisading.
They were used as barracks, casemated, and practically safe during the
siege. Into one of these McKay was taken; it was empty; the men who
occupied it were on duty just then at the Creek Battery below. In one
corner lay a heap of straw and old blankets, filthy, and infested with
the liveliest vermin.
One of the escort pointed to this uninviting bed, and told the
prisoner he might rest himself there. McKay, weary and disconsolate,
gladly threw himself upon this loathsome couch. They might shoot him
next morning, but for the time at least he could forget all his cares
in sleep.
CHAPTER VIII.
FROM THE DEAD.
We have seen how the news of Stanislas McKay's capture by the Russians
was communicated to his uncle, Mr. Faulks.
Next day the brief telegram announcing it was published in the morning
papers, with many strong comments. Although some blamed the young
officer for his rashness, and others held Lord Raglan directly
responsible for his loss, all agreed in execrating the vindictive
cruelty of the uncompromising foe.
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