He spent the evening and the greater part of the night in the deepest
agitation, hoping hourly, momentarily, for deliverance.
None came, no news even; but that the struggle was being fought out
strenuously he knew from the absence of the men that occupied his
casemate, all of whom were doubtless engaged. But towards daylight one
or two dropped in who had been wounded and forced to retire from the
batteries. From them he learnt something of what had occurred.
The French had stormed the works on the left of the Russian front, and
had carried them once, twice, three times. The Russians had returned
again and again to recover their lost redoubts, but had been obliged
to surrender them in the end.
In the same way the English had attacked the ambuscades--what we call
the Quarries--and between night and dawn the Russians had made four
separate attempts to recover what had been lost at the first
onslaught.
"And now it is over?"
"No one can say. We have suffered fearfully; we are almost broken
down. If the enemy presses we shall have to give up the town."
"Pray God they may come on!" cried McKay, counting the moments till
relief came.
But bitter disappointment was again his portion. The day grew on, and,
instead of renewed firing, perfect quiet supervened. There was a
truce, he was told, on both sides, to bury the dead.
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