It was a sad sight when the four regiments of the Light Division mustered after their work was done.  Hitherto in the confusion and fierce excitement of the fight, men marked not who stood and who fell.  But now as the diminished regiments paraded, mere skeletons of the fine corps which had marched gayly from their camping-ground of the night before, the terrible extent of their losses was manifest.  Tears rolled down the cheeks of strong men who had never flinched in the storm of fire, as they saw how many of their comrades were absent, and the glory of the victory was dimmed indeed by the sorrow for the dead.

“I wanted to see a battle,” Harry Archer said to Captain Lancaster, who, like him, had gone through the fight without a scratch, “but this is more than I bargained for.  To think of half one’s friends and comrades gone, and all in about two hours’ fighting.  It has been a deadly affair, indeed.”

“Yes, as far as we are concerned, Archer.  But not for the whole army.  I heard Doctor Alexander say just now that the casualties were about 1500, and that out of 27,000 men is a mere nothing to the proportion in many battles.  The French have, I hear, lost rather less.”

“I thought in a battle,” Harry said, “one would see something of the general affair, but I certainly did not.  In fact, from the time when we dashed up the river bank till the capture of the battery, I saw nothing.  I knew there were some of our men by the side of me, and that we were all pushing forward, but beyond that I knew absolutely nothing.  It was something like going through a tremendous thunder shower with one’s head down, only a thousand times more so.”

After parade the men scattered in groups; some went down to the river to fill their canteens, others strolled through the vineyards picking grapes, and in spite of the fact that in many places the dead lay thickly together, a careless laugh was sometimes heard.  The regiments which had not been engaged were at work bringing in the wounded, and Doctor Alexander and his assistants were busy at the ghastly task of amputating limbs and extracting balls.

The next day a few officers from the fleet came up; among these was Hawtry, who was charged with a special mission from Jack, who could not again ask for leave, to inquire after his brother.  The wounded were sent down in arabas and litters to the ships, a painful journey of three miles.  The French wounded fared better, as they had well-appointed hospital vans.  Seven hundred and fifty Russian wounded were collected and laid together, and were given in charge of the inhabitants of a Tartar village near; Dr. Thomson, of the 44th Regiment with a servant volunteering to remain in charge of them, with the certain risk of capture when the Russian troops returned after our departure.

On the morning of the 23d the army started, continuing its march along the road to Sebastopol, the way being marked not only by debris thrown away by the retreating Russians, but by the cottages and pretty villas having been sacked by the Cossacks as they retired.