"Cossacks, by George! Wake up, you fellows!" shouted Phil, frantically
kicking his comrades and caring little for the pain he caused, while at
the same moment he saw to the loading of his Minie rifle.
"What's up? Why are you kicking us like that?" grunted Tony, lazily
sitting up on his elbow. Then, as he saw Phil's anxious face and his
preparations for defence, he sprang to his feet, and, grasping his
rifle, cried, "Cossacks, is it? All round us, too, Phil. I guess we're
trapped. But we'll make a fight of it."
"Fight! Of course we will. Do you think them fluffy-looking beggars is
going to collar us without a little shooting?" growled Sam, grimly
ramming down a charge, while he gazed over the top of the
ammunition-boxes at the advancing enemy.
"Are you all loaded?" asked Phil shortly. "Then creep under the cart,
Sam, and fire between the spokes of the wheel. Whatever you do, though,
wait till I give the word. Our rifles carry a good long way, and we'll
be able to get in a couple of volleys before they reach us."
In a twinkling Sam had dived beneath the cart, and a "Ready, boys!"
shouted in a cheery voice, which scarcely showed a trace of the
excitement he felt, told Phil and Tony he was prepared for any
emergency.
Seeing three heads appear above the boxes, the Cossacks at once spread
out, and completely surrounded the cart. Then, without pausing in their
headlong gallop, they came full tilt at it, lance heads well in advance,
each with his face close to his pony's neck, and his spurs buried in its
flanks.
Phil and his friends singled out their men, and waited a few moments to
get them well in range; then at the command "Fire!" from the former,
three jets of smoke and flame spurted out from their rifles. Almost
instantly the man at whom Phil had aimed tossed his arms into the air,
and, falling heavily from his saddle, with one foot jammed in the
stirrup, was dragged across the grass right up to the wall of
ammunition-boxes, where the frightened animal came to a sudden halt, and
having sniffed at it suspiciously, and snorted as if in disdain, lowered
its head and commenced to crop the grass as if nothing out of the usual
had occurred.
Sandy's bullet also found a mark, for another of the shaggy ponies fell
as if struck by a pole-axe, and the rider shot out over its head and
remained stunned and senseless upon the ground.
A grunt of disgust from Tony showed that his shot had missed.
"Well, I'm bothered! Missed!" he cried. "But here goes for another."
Reloading as rapidly as possible, they fired again, with the result that
one of the horsemen was hit in the chest, and, doubling up, with arms
hanging limply on either side of his pony's neck, was carried past the
little fort like a whirlwind.
"Load up, boys!" cried Phil excitedly. "They'll be here in a minute; we
must stop them, or those lances will be into us."
But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at
one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft,
armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one's chest.
It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real
courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its
mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy's breast. All
honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left.
Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of
hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and
next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and,
unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the
thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave
Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual
effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with
an ugly wound gaping in his neck.
The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance,
he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him
to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder.
"Bayonets! Come along, Tony!" shouted Phil, and without waiting to see
if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the
Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for
him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin
away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent's body,
and dragged him from his pony.
"Give a hand here, corporal," sang out Sam at this moment. "This beast
of a spear holds me so tight I can't move. I feel just like a butterfly
pinned to a board."
"Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on," cried Tony, grasping the spear.
Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground.
"My eye, don't it hurt!" groaned poor Sam, suddenly becoming pale. "Go
easy with it, mate. Let the corporal have a turn."
Phil crept under the wagon, and finding the spear protruding almost a
foot on the other side of the shoulder, pulled out his clasp-knife, and
opening a small saw, which was a special feature of it, proceeded to cut
the point off. That done, he grasped the shaft and gently pulled it
from the wound.
"Come and help here, Tony," he cried. "But--wait a minute. Have a good
look round first of all, and tell me if you can see any more of those
fellows."
Tony climbed on top of the cart, and gazed all round.
"Not a single one of 'em in sight," he cried; "but they'll be here soon,
you may be sure."
"Then come and give a hand here with Sam," answered Phil, pulling out
his handkerchief. "I want a pad of linen or something."
"Here's the very thing, Phil;" and, pulling his bearskin off, Tony
produced a large woollen muffler.
Ripping the seams of the coat with his knife, Phil quickly exposed the
wound, and at once bound the muffler round it. Then with Tony's help he
propped Sam with his back against the wheel, and placed the arm in a
sling.
"Stay there, old boy," he said gently, "and as soon as the pain goes
off, crawl in behind the boxes. The Russians will not be able to reach
you there."
"Here yer are, mate," said Tony, handing Phil his bearskin. "It's about
as near a go as you'll ever want. See, there's a hole bang through it,
and the fur's all singed off the front."
Phil inspected it with an outward show of coolness, but as he jammed it
on his head he muttered beneath his breath a fervent thanksgiving to the
Almighty for his preservation, for had he not ducked at the critical
moment, that hole would not have been blown through the helmet, but
through his head.
"Get up on top, and keep a look-out, Tony," he exclaimed. "We're in a
tight hole, and it will only be by keeping our eyes well open that we
shall get safely out of it. First of all, though, break open one of
those boxes, and load the rifles. We shall want plenty of ammunition,
and had best have it ready and close at hand, in case of a sudden
attack. I will have a look at these poor fellows."
Crawling from beneath the cart, he knelt beside the Cossack into whose
body he had thrust the bayonet. The poor fellow was evidently at his
last gasp, but hearing Phil's voice he opened his eyes, and gazed
wonderingly at him. Then, as he recognised him, he feebly raised his
hand.
A feeling of terrible grief and dismay surged through Phil's heart, for
he was a lad who would sooner have lost his own life than taken that of
another in cold blood. And yet, though this had been done in war-time,
and whilst battling for life and liberty, a pang of regret oppressed
him, and he felt only as a young man can feel who, for the first time in
his existence, has been the cause of suffering and death to another.
He took the hand of the dying man, and gently pressed it.
"Are you in great pain, my poor fellow?" he whispered.
The wounded Russian shook his head, and answered something. Phil placed
his ear close to his mouth and listened.
"We were enemies," the Cossack gasped, "bitter enemies, for you have
invaded our country. But now we are friends, friends until death. Hold
my hand, brother, and the Virgin will bless you. Feel round my neck
when I am gone, and you will find a cross. Take--take it for yourself,
and when you glance at it think sometimes of him who died for his
beloved Czar and country."
"I will, I will!" whispered Phil, with a groan of anguish.
"I see my old peasant home," went on the dying Cossack in a voice that
was scarcely audible. "Ah, I see it better than ever--ever before. My
poor mother!--thank God she has long gone to her rest!--and my brother.
The stream in front, and the trees all round. Hold me, Englishman!
Everything is dancing and blurred before my eyes. I--I am dying.
Good-bye! Think some--sometimes of the man who died for his country."
The poor fellow, who had struggled into a sitting position, fell back,
and Phil thought that he was dead. But he opened his eyes again,
smiled, and with a sigh his spirit fled.
Deeply impressed, Phil knelt by his side and offered up a short prayer.
Then he rose to his feet, and, climbing on to the cart, looked round.
Phit! A bullet struck the corner of one of the ammunition-boxes, and,
glancing off, buried itself in the heel of his boot.
"That's a close one again, Phil, old boy," laughed Tony, who seemed to
enjoy the risk of being shot. "It's that fellow over there. He's just
below the hill, and you can only see him by standing up on top here."
This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a
convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head
showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends.
"This won't do," muttered Phil. "If he were in sight we could make it
warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at
every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag
him by the merest chance. There, didn't I say so?" he exclaimed, as a
second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. "Look here, Tony,"
he continued, "climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can
at the beggar. That will distract his attention."
"Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?" asked Tony wonderingly.
"I'm going to creep round and drive him off," Phil answered with
decision.
"Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he'll
change his position, but if you're riding you'll be able to stop his
game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me," he added, as if the
thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had
suddenly occurred to him. "You ain't the only chap as can ride, and as
you're boss here, should stay in command of our fort."
Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of
ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up
a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony
was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he
disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he
had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the
pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off.
Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to
find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of
gaining another post from which to fire.
"By George, I'll bag that chap!" muttered Phil. "It would be great to
rejoin the regiment with a captive."
Kicking his pony with his heels he was soon flying across the turf, the
nimble and sure-footed little animal leaping the few holes that came in
his path with an ease that showed how accustomed he was to it. Soon the
flying Cossack had disappeared over another ridge, and Phil was not
surprised to hear the report of a rifle a moment later and an angry hiss
above his head.
"He'll certainly knock me over with one of his shots if I ride on like
this," he thought. "I'll dismount and stalk him."
Acting on the thought he pulled up sharply and leapt from the saddle,
the pony immediately dropping his head to graze. Then, flinging himself
on to hands and knees, he scrambled forward until he reached a patch of
long grass, where he lay full length, and, bringing his rifle to his
shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the Cossack and waited
breathlessly.
An instant later the Russian appeared in sight, and Phil pressed the
trigger; then, jumping to his feet, he rushed forward to secure his
prisoner, for the Cossack had dropped like a stone. He topped the
ridge, and was on the point of running down, when a bullet struck the
butt of his rifle and shattered it, while the Russian, who had been
merely acting, rose on one knee not fifty yards away, and commenced to
rapidly reload. What was Phil to do? He hesitated, but the sight of
some eight or nine more Cossacks galloping up to help their comrade
decided him.
"I'm off," he muttered hurriedly, and, dropping his useless rifle, he
took to his heels. It seemed as though he would never reach the pony,
but at last he did and, flinging himself astride it, galloped madly back
to the fort, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the Cossacks. They
had closed together, and, topping the rise at this moment, came
thundering down, shouting encouragement to one another.
Phil reached the cart, and was off the pony's back and in the fort in a
trice.
"Shake hands, old man!" exclaimed Tony grimly. "This here will be our
last. There's a hundred or more of these fellows charging."
"Nonsense! Pick up the rifles," gasped Phil. "Now get ready to give
them a volley. Sam, where are you?"
"Here, and ready to lend a hand, mate," the wounded man answered,
crawling from beneath the cart at that moment. "I've got hold of these
barkers," he said, with a grin, producing two pistols which he had taken
from the Cossacks lying dead close at hand, "and I bet yer if those
Russian coves gets close enough, I'll give 'em some of their own lead to
swallow."
But though the three put the best face on the matter, there was no doubt
that they were in desperate straits. The first volley failed miserably,
and already the fiery horsemen were within a hundred yards of the cart,
when there was a shout from behind, and to the joy of Phil and his
comrades a patrol of dragoons came cantering across the grass.
"Pals, hooray!" shouted Tony. "Phil, we'll join 'em. Get hold of your
nag and I'll take this other here. Now, up we get; and when the boys
come along, we goes at them beggars with them."
Caught by the excitement of the moment Phil vaulted over the wall, and
just as the dragoons came spurring by with drawn swords poised ready for
the encounter, he and Tony dashed out and joined them.
"What ho, mates!" sang out the troopers. "Coming for a picnic with us,
are yer? Good, boys!"
There was no time for more. Setting spurs to their horses, the troop,
which was only ten strong counting Phil and Tony, went headlong at the
Cossacks. The latter pulled up immediately, hesitated for a moment, and
were on the point of flying, when the impossibility of getting away from
dragoons mounted on fresh English horses occurred to them. They threw
down their arms and sullenly waited to be made prisoners.
"Each of you catch hold of one of their reins and come along, quick,"
sang out the non-commissioned officer who was in charge of the dragoons.
"That's it. Now off we go, back to the cart."
"How far is the camp away?" asked Phil.
"Five miles, I should think, corporal. We'll have to look precious
smart. As soon as we get the horses in, and the boxes loaded up, we'll
scatter. I've enough men to spare--two in front, and two well out on
the flanks. Then if we're attacked we'll make a running fight of it."
"We've a wounded friend under the cart," replied Phil, "but I expect if
we perch him up on top of the ammunition-boxes he'll be able to drive.
Then Tony and I will give a hand by looking after the prisoners. It'll
be grand getting back to camp safely with our charge, and with a few of
the Cossacks in addition, though, mind you, we would have been prisoners
if you fellows hadn't ridden up in the nick of time."
"You're right there, corporal. You chaps made a fine stand of it, we
can all see, and we'll not forget to say something about it when we get
into camp. But you were fair goners if we hadn't been out and heard the
firing. Now let's get smartly ahead. Some more Cossacks will be riding
down before long, and though we're all game for a brush with them, we
don't want to lose this chance of bringing in prisoners."
By this time the cart had been reached, and while half the patrol
guarded the prisoners, the remainder set to work and rapidly loaded it
with the ammunition. Then the horses were yoked, Sam was placed upon a
folded-up blanket on top of the boxes, and the cavalcade started, Tony
and Phil forming the flank guard, and proudly riding their
newly-acquired steeds.
"I should have liked to give those poor fellows a decent burial," said
Phil with a sigh of regret as they rode away, "but it is impossible. We
haven't any spades or picks, and, above all, it would not do to wait."
"Don't worry about that, mate," one of the troopers answered. "Their
chums is certain to come over and see to that, for these Russians ain't
bad chaps when you take 'em all round, and I hear they're as kind as
possible to one another."
An hour later the party rode into camp and caused quite a sensation.
"Why, Corporal Western, we gave you up for lost!" said the adjutant of
the Grenadiers, coming out to meet them. "We made sure you had been
killed or captured, and now you turn up with prisoners. How has it
happened?"
"Quite simply, sir," Phil answered, with a smile. "We were left behind
when the shaft of our cart broke, and then we took the wrong road. This
morning we were attacked, and beat off five Cossacks. Then others
appeared, and just as we were thinking of giving in, a patrol of
dragoons rode up."
"Giving in!" exclaimed Sam in high disdain from his elevated seat.
"Tell you what it is, sir. That Corporal Western don't know when the
time to hoist the white flag arrives. He meant sticking to it, so we
just backed him up."
"Whoever was the cause of your holding on, my lads, it's much the same
in the end," exclaimed the officer heartily. "You have done well, and
your names shall be mentioned to the colonel. Now you had better see
what the cooks have left, while the doctors take your wounded comrade in
charge."
Handing the cart over to the quarter-master, Tony followed Phil to the
cook's fire, and both were soon devouring a meal of bully beef and
bread, for they were almost famished, having been too much engaged and
too highly excited to eat while threatened by the Cossacks.
They found the Allies encamped a few miles from the River Alma, and
almost in sight of the Russian position.
"It'll be hot work to-morrow," said one of the sergeants that evening,
as they sat wrapped in their blankets round the fire. "The enemy has
chosen a splendid position along the heights the other side of the
river, and I expect our job will be to turn him out. It will be a big
fight, or I'm mistaken, and as we shall all have plenty to do I'm for
turning-in at once and getting as long a sleep as I can. Good-night,
you chaps! Corporal Western, you'll have them three stripes this time
to-morrow if you do only half as well as you and your two mates did
to-day."
The stalwart sergeant laid his blanket on the ground, rolled himself in
it, and, placing his head on his haversack, was very soon in a deep
sleep, untroubled by the fact that to-morrow might be his last day on
earth.
As for Phil and Tony, they sat up an hour or more longer, chatting over
past events and the probabilities of the next day's fight, never
dreaming that it was destined to be on historical one, and one in which
the mettle of British troops was to be tested and found of the
staunchest, by as fierce a storm of shot and shell as ever assailed an
army.