Note 192 — 1855. 17th July-25th August. SIEGE OF SEBASTOPOL.

When Cray arrived at the front, Jenkins, by order, took him round the trenches, so that when it should become his turn for duty he might know the several works and the points where danger most existed. They had gone into the fifth parallel by the left approach, and were leaving it by the right one, which had a parapet so low it would scarcely cover a crow. “You must look alive here,” said Jenkins, “or we shall get a knock.” Off Jenkins started, rushing down an enfiladed piece of the trench, and creeping on all-fours where the cover was insufficient. His movements were seen by the Russian riflemen, and a few unavailing shots told of their vigilance. It was now Cray’s turn to move, but declining to follow the crafty progress of his experienced cicerone, he preferred to make a rush into the completed boyau; but he had scarcely taken a step beyond the parallel, when a tempest of bullets overtook him. With alarming nearness they whistled about his head, and feeling the hot wind of a Minié brushing his nose, as if an iron feather had rasped it, he fancied that that prominent feature of his countenance had been shot off. The delusion was but momentary, for another mishap occurred to drive away the unpleasant sensation which the first had created. As he was bounding into deeper cover his foot tripped and down he fell with a crash, which quite upset the gravity of the guide and the blasters in the parallel.

“I thought you were done for,” said Jenkins, as Cray crawled up to him, every muscle of his face in laughing activity.

“Not yet,” replied Cray. “It was near enough though to make the escape a miracle.” He then added, with a significant smile,—“Some lucky Russian, no doubt, will be decorated with a distinguished service medal for killing me!”