More than an hour of misery and terror passed as Tony and Phil clung,
half-submerged, to their gratings, and as they held on, the sound of
huge waves, breaking upon the iron-bound coast to which they were fast
approaching, grew louder. Phil pulled upon the rope which kept their
fragile rafts together and shortened it, bringing them close alongside
one another.
"Good-bye, old man!" he shouted, between two gusts of wind.
Tony's mouth opened and he bellowed something, but the words were
carried away on the gale. Conversation, even by shouting, being
hopeless, they once more fell into despairing silence.
"What has happened?" cried Phil half an hour later. "We seem to have
left the crash of waves on the cliff behind us, and already the sea
seems to be going down."
Tony crept closer. "The wind ain't going down," he shouted hoarsely.
"It's blowing stronger if anything, and though we lies low in the water,
we're bowling along in fine style. Can't make it out, mate; this sea
going down looks as if we'd been washed into some sheltered cove.
Anyway we shall know soon," and he jerked his arm to the right, where
already the black clouds were lifting.
Half an hour passed, when Phil suddenly caught sight of high cliffs to
right and left, while on the summit of one of them seemed to be a fort,
for the white masonry was distinctly visible. He stared through the
gloom and sweeping sheets of spray, and thought he detected another fort
on the opposite side. A few minutes later they were washed through a
large opening in the cliffs, and the forts flashed by on either side; at
the same moment the sea became still quieter, and the roar of the wind
seemed left behind them.
"I think I saw a fort on either side," cried Phil, "and as I know there
is only one harbour on this coast with high cliffs and forts, I feel
certain that we are drifting into Sebastopol. Great Scott! We shall be
made prisoners again."
Tony groaned. "Can't be helped," he shouted, suddenly brightening. "If
we are, why, it'll just give us the fun and excitement of escaping
again. But, old friend, this here's an escape from sudden and horrible
death, and if it hadn't been that the Almighty up there, above them
black clouds, had been keeping His eye on us, we'd have been washing
about amongst the fishes hours ago."
Tony looked upwards to the sky, and his lips moved. Phil watched him
curiously, and there, tossing on the storm-troubled water, offered up a
prayer for his safety so far. Nor could he help contrasting Tony's
condition of mind as it was at that moment with what it had been when
first he made his acquaintance in the menagerie many months before.
"Hallo! What's that over there?" he suddenly shouted, catching sight of
a dark mass in the water. "It looks like a piece of wreckage. Perhaps
there is someone on it."
Both stared at the object which, being much larger and higher out of the
water, bore down upon them quickly. There was no doubt now that it was
a portion of a ship, perhaps of the wrecked _Columbine_, and in the hope
that it was, Phil and his friend dipped their hands in the water and
slowly propelled themselves so as to lie in its path.
"I can see something red on it," said Phil, shading his eyes. "Can you
make anything out, Tony?"
"There's a chap there in red breeches, or I'm an idiot, Phil. Yes, I
can see him plainly. He's tied to the wreckage, and as far as I make
out there isn't a move in him. Tell yer what, old man, that would be a
safer place than these here gratings, and I advise that we swop."
When the floating mass reached them, Phil and Tony sprang on to it,
securing their gratings to it, and casting off the ropes with which they
had fastened themselves. Lashed to a ring-bolt was a little,
red-breeched French linesman, apparently dead.
Phil cut his lashings free, and turning him on to his back, tore his
coat open. "Not dead yet," he cried eagerly. "Lend a hand here, Tony.
We'll pull this fellow round. He is as cold as ice, so we'll take his
shirt off and rub his chest and arms. That ought to restore the
circulation."
Setting to work with a will they tore the clothing from the unconscious
Frenchman, and chafed his body and limbs with such energy that soon
there were obvious signs of returning consciousness, and moreover their
exertions had made both of them thoroughly warm, whereas before they had
been numbed with cold.
Suddenly their ally opened his eyes and stared round wildly.
"Mon Dieu!" he groaned, and seemed to relapse into unconsciousness.
Once more opening his eyes he stared at Phil, and, recognising him as an
English officer, stretched out his hand, while a look of relief and
gladness overspread his face.
"Mon cher, mon cher!" he cried joyfully. "Ah, zis is ze grand plaisir.
Ah!"
"Cheer up, my good fellow," said Phil kindly, patting him on the
shoulder, for, overcome by emotion, the little man had burst into tears.
"Come, tell us how you came to be wrecked like us. You speak our
language, so we shall be able to understand."
"Oui, monsieur, I speak ze language of ze English. Ah, I speak 'im
well!" laughed the Frenchman, with some pride. "Once I live in England
three months and act as a waiter. You wish to know how I came here.
Ah, c'est terrible!" And he covered his face with his hands.
"Now then, pull yerself together, little 'un!" exclaimed Tony
encouragingly. "We're all in the same box. Fire away and let's have
the yarn."
"Eh, bien," said the little man, sitting up. "I leave my beloved France
six months ago, and sail for to fight ze perfide Russian. Then after ze
battle for Balaclava,--monsieur, what horsemen terrible are yours--I get
ze malade; ze--what you call 'im--ah, ze water and ze cold do catch me
here;" and placing his hands on his stomach, he rolled his eyes till the
whites alone showed, and groaned dismally. "Ze officer say, `mon pauvre
garcon!'" he continued, "and send me on the ship _Henri Cinq_."
"What! you don't mean to say that that fine boat has gone down?"
interrupted Phil.
"Alas, monsieur, it is true!" the Frenchman answered, lifting his hands.
"Behold, all is peace; ze sun 'e shine so brightly. Then ze tempest
come, ze ship fight bravely, and then rush on the land. `Sauve qui
peut', ze captain shout, and I tie myself here. Then I think of my
country, and all is dark. I wake, and you are here, mon cher. Aha!
what does he matter? Mais--ah, monsieur, mes pauvres camarades!" and
once more the little man relapsed into tears.
Meanwhile the wreckage had been rapidly drifting, and as the darkness
lifted it became perfectly evident that the harbour into which the gale
had swept them was indeed that on the shore of which Sebastopol was
built. Soon sentries noticed the wreckage, and before long boats had
put off to secure it, for wood was of value for fires. To offer any
opposition was hopeless; the three were lifted into one of the boats,
and were rowed swiftly into the inner harbour, where they were handed
over to a guard.
"Our second visit to this place," said Tony disgustedly. "Blow'd if it
ain't the hardest luck as ever was. But I sha'n't grumble no more.
We've come safe through when other lads have gone to their last. I say
we was saved by a miracle."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Phil. "We have much to be thankful for."
"Then you have been prisonaire before?" asked the Frenchman, astonished.
"We only escaped a matter of three weeks ago," answered Phil.
"You make ze escape, monsieur?" the little man repeated, lifting his
eyebrows in his amazement. "Truly, you Englishmen are brave. Ha, ha!"
he went on, clapping his hands, "what need I, Pierre Moutard, fear? We
will make ze escape with each others, and we will snap ze fingers at our
perfide enemy;" and, putting his arms akimbo and throwing his chin
proudly in the air, he frowned at the nearest sentry as though he would
eat him. The man answered with a hoarse growl, causing the Frenchman to
start and take his place between Phil and Tony rather hurriedly.
"Aha, ze perfide!" they heard him mutter beneath his breath. "He think
'e frighten me."
"I wonder where they will take us!" mused Phil. "If only they will be
good enough to put us in the same prison as last time, I think we can
guarantee that we will get out somehow."
"That we will," answered Tony with emphasis. "But what about this here
Froggy with the red legs?" he asked in a cautious whisper. "He's kind
of tied himself on to us--made pals of us, yer see,--so I suppose he'll
have to escape with us too?"
He asked the question as though an escape had been already arranged.
"Heaps of time to think of that," said Phil, with a laugh. "But I must
say the little man seems rather nervous."
"Pah! nervous! Just fancy getting frightened when one of these
surly-looking guards growls at him. It's disgusting, that's what it
is."
"Well, we won't worry about it now, Tony. Look out. Here come our
orders."
An officer joined the group at this moment, and closely inspected the
prisoners.
"What has happened?" he asked, less gruffly than usual.
"We were wrecked by the storm and blown into the harbour," answered Phil
in his best Russian.
"Ah, you speak our language, sir! Good! You were wrecked, you say, and
must therefore be cold and exhausted. Sergeant, take the prisoners into
the guard-room, and bring this officer to my quarters. See that coffee
and a glass of vodka are given to the other two. In half an hour you
will call for my guest and march them all three to the prison-hall."
The man saluted, and led Tony and Pierre away, while, taking Phil's arm,
the Russian led him on one side and asked how he happened to have the
little Frenchman in his company.
A few minutes later he strode away, but rejoined Phil when the latter
had been taken to the quarters set aside for officers.
"Sit down there, sir," said the Russian, politely motioning Phil to a
chair.
"Now we will have breakfast, and I am sure you must be in great need of
food. You look quite exhausted."
He struck a bell, and a meal of steaming hot fish and coffee was brought
in, to which Phil did ample justice. Then a cigar was handed him, and
he puffed at it with the greatest pleasure.
"It has been a terrible night, a truly awful gale," remarked the officer
after a few moments' silence. "Even here we have suffered. Vessels
have sunk in the harbour, and roofs have been torn from the houses, and
many people killed in consequence. But at sea the unhappy English have
met with a shocking disaster. It is said that along our coast and
within the harbour of Balaclava no fewer than twenty-two fine transports
have gone ashore, including the French ship _Henri Cinq_. Few lives
have been saved, I fear, and how you and your comrades managed to escape
is past belief. It is the fiercest storm we have experienced for
years."
Phil was struck dumb with consternation. "Twenty-two ships ashore!" he
murmured in a broken voice. "How awful! All those lives lost, not to
mention the stores."
It was only too true. Twenty-two vessels had been wrecked, and of these
the majority were filled with valuable stores of warm clothing and food,
the former being urgently needed at that moment, for the cold weather
had set in in earnest, and snow and sleet were falling.
"I grieve for you, sir," said the officer kindly. "It is ill fortune
indeed. But, if you feel so inclined, tell me how you came to be washed
into our harbour? It must have been a terrible experience."
Phil described the foundering of the _Columbine_ and their miraculous
escape.
"To be taken prisoner is always painful, Englishman," the officer said
consolingly, "but to be dashed upon the cliffs is to meet with a
reception compared to which your comfort here will be perfect luxury.
It is unfortunate for you, but war is always filled with misfortunes. I
will see that you and the two men with you are given blankets, and I
will speak to the prison official for you. For myself, I leave for the
field-army to-night. Ah, I hear the sergeant! Farewell, sir, and the
best of fortune!"
Phil thanked him suitably, and half an hour later found himself in his
old prison. As before, there were a number of other soldiers present,
who greeted them enthusiastically, and eagerly asked for news.
"Some of us have been here since a day or two after the Alma," said
their spokesman, "and we are dying for news. These Russian beggars
won't even give us a hint. But we keep our spirits up, and when there's
an extra heavy bombardment, we shout and sing till the guards get angry
and come in and threaten to shoot. But we only laugh at them. It is
the same if the food is bad; we kick up as much noise as possible, and
in the end get what we want, for these fellows seem almost afraid of
us."
"Is there no chance of escape then?" asked Phil.
"Not a morsel, sir. We've had a try all round, but always failed.
There was an officer here named McNeil. He was wounded, and in trying
to escape got stuck again with a bayonet. Then an ugly little brute
they call an inspector of the prison came in and struck him with his
whip. He seemed to know him, too, and accused him of inciting us to
escape. That afternoon the lieutenant was dragged away, and we have
never seen him since."
"Hum! that looks bad for us, Tony," muttered Phil. "If it is
Stackanoff, and he recognises us, it will be a bad business. He is sure
to pay off old scores if possible."
"Trust the brute," growled Tony. "But if he tries to come any of his
larks on us he'll be getting a tap over the head like that fellow who
found us hidden in the carriage."
At this moment the door of the prison was thrown open, and some blankets
were given to the new prisoners.
"Prepare for a visit from the inspector," said the jailer curtly, "and
see that everything is clean and straight, so that you do not disgrace
me. It will mean evil for you if his excellency is not pleased."
A yell of derision met this speech, for the English prisoners had
already met with such poor entertainment that they could scarcely
receive worse, and, moreover, finding that a noisy, mutinous line of
conduct overawed their guards, they had long ago got quite out of hand.
"Don't you go for to worry yerself, Whiskers," cried one sturdy
linesman. "This place ain't no palace, so the cove who expects to find
it such will be a fool. But it's clean, and always will be, 'cos us
chaps ain't the sort to live in a pig-sty. Now hop away, Whiskers, and
don't fret. We'll put it right with the inspector."
The Russian looked round at the grinning faces, while Phil, who had
translated his message, put the last speaker's into Russian, taking the
liberty, however, of making it more polite.
"Very well, do not fail me," growled the jailer, showing his teeth. "It
will be the worse for you if you do."
"He will discover us as sure as we are alive!" remarked Phil as soon as
the man had gone. "I mean Stackanoff, of course, for I suppose he is
inspector. We must try to disguise ourselves."
Accordingly he and Tony ruffled their hair and disarranged their
clothing. Then they took a place amongst the prisoners, taking care to
keep well in the background.
Suddenly the door was thrown open with a crash, and Stackanoff stalked
in majestically, his little pig-like eyes glaring at the prisoners.
"Line them up," he said, with an angry snap. "I wish to see if all are
here."
The prisoners fell into line, and Stackanoff slowly inspected them.
"Who is this?" he asked, as he came opposite Pierre. "This is a
Frenchman."
"He came with two other prisoners this morning, Excellency," answered
the jailer. "They were wrecked and washed into the harbour."
"Fool! What do I care about their method of reaching here?" snarled
Stackanoff, turning on the trembling man. "They are prisoners. That is
good enough. Bring them before me."
"It's all up, Tony," whispered Phil. "We are to be brought before him."
"Let him take care, that's all!" muttered Tony, looking daggers at the
Russian. "I'll down the fellow yet."
Stackanoff stared at them spitefully when they were marched in front of
him, but for the moment did not recognise them.
"Ha! what is this?" he suddenly exclaimed, gazing at Phil. "Your face I
know. Who are you? Ah!--villain!" And suddenly realising that Phil
was the Englishman who had thrown him from his saddle and brought him
into disgrace, he drew his sword, and, mad with rage, threw himself upon
him with tigerish fury.
Phil was helpless. Another moment and he would have been cut down, when
Tony grappled with the angry Russian, and, picking him up like a child,
turned him upside-down, and, using all his strength, held him there,
cursing and screaming with rage, and with his head resting on the floor.
"Get hold of his sword, Phil," he shouted. "Now I'll let him up if he
promises to behave."
Phil snatched up the weapon, while Tony, now aided by a second prisoner,
clung to the legs of the frantic Stackanoff, while the remainder looked
on and laughed at the ridiculous scene till they were doubled up with
merriment.
"You can let him go now," said Phil quietly. "If he rushes at me again
I shall set to work with my fists and give the brute a thrashing."
Tony and his helper promptly released the inspector, and he doubled up
in a heap on the floor. A second later he was on his feet, glaring
savagely at Phil, his lips curling away from his teeth, and his hair and
beard bristling with fury. But the steady stare with which Phil greeted
him, and his air of preparation, caused the Russian to pause and think
before attacking him again.
"Viper! Wretched Englishman!" he hissed. "You shall pay bitterly for
this insult. Ah, you are dressed now as an officer! You were a private
before. Your friend too has different uniform. You are spies--spies!"
he shrieked, with a hideous laugh. "Yes, the tale of the shipwreck is a
lie, and you two have been sent here to learn our plans. Take them
away. They shall be severely dealt with."
"Where to?" asked the jailer, who had looked on anxiously at the scene,
not knowing how to act.
"Fool! To the cells, of course," Stackanoff cried. "We have an empty
one. Place them there, and take this Frenchman too. He also is a spy;"
and he glared at poor Pierre as though he would kill him.
"What is it, monsieur?" the little man asked tremulously. "What are
they about to do to ze prisonaires?"
"He says we are spies," answered Phil.
"Ah, spies! He make ze lie. Pierre is no spy. But they will not
believe, and we shall all die!" The poor little man threw himself on
the floor and howled dismally.
"Come up, won't yer?" exclaimed Tony with disgust, clutching him by the
seat of his red breeches and hoisting him to his feet. "Ain't it enough
to know as you're to come along with us? Ain't that bad enough? Shout
when you're hurt, but till yer are hold yer tongue, or it'll be the
worse for yer."
Pierre wept softly, his narrow shoulders and baggy breeches shaking with
convulsive sobs. His chin was bowed upon his breast, and altogether the
unhappy little Frenchman looked the very picture of despair.
"Pshaw! At least the Englishmen have courage!" scowled Stackanoff
disdainfully. "Call the guard."
Half a dozen armed Russians marched in and surrounded the prisoners.
Then, followed by shouts of farewell and encouragement from their
comrades, the three prisoners were taken to the opposite side of the
town, close to the fortifications facing the British guns, which could
be heard booming in the distance, while an occasional shell passed
overhead.
"You see that," said Stackanoff maliciously, drawing Phil's attention to
a group of low buildings which in parts were tumbled into ruins. "The
cells are there, and perhaps a friendly message from your comrades on
the heights may find you out. It would be best for you, for no man has
yet insulted me and lived to boast of it."
Phil did not deign to answer, but, looking closely at the buildings,
noticed that they had indeed suffered heavily from the British fire.
Walls were lying flat, roofs were broken, and a large brick chimney had
been shorn off like a stick struck by a sword.
The escort halted opposite it, and a door was thrown open by a jailer.
"Place these three in number five cell, and come to me when you have
done so," said Stackanoff. "I have special instructions to give you as
to their comfort," he added cynically.
He turned on his heel and was gone, while Phil and his comrades followed
the jailer down a steep flight of stone steps and entered a gallery.
They stopped opposite a door studded with big nails. It was thrown
open, and half a minute later had closed behind them with a harsh clang.