A Russian ran up to bayonet him as he lay, when Jack, running back, shot him through the head.

In a moment he was surrounded, and while in the act of shooting down an assailant in front, he was struck on the back of the head with the butt of a musket, and fell stunned across the body of his friend.
When he recovered consciousness, he found that he was being carried along by four Russians.

He could hear the boom of cannon and the rattle of musketry, and knew that the defenders on the heights were angrily firing at the retreating party, who had so successfully surprised them.

As soon as his bearers perceived that Jack had opened his eyes, they let him drop, hauled him to his feet, and then holding him by his collar, made him run along with them.
When they had mounted the other side of the slope, and were out of fire of the guns, the party halted, and Jack, hearing his own name called, looked round, and saw Hawtry in the snow, where his captors had dropped him.
"Hullo, Dick! old fellow," Jack shouted joyfully; "so there you are.

I was afraid they had killed you." "I'm worth a lot of dead men yet, Jack.