Never before had our hero so much need of courage and quick resolution
as on that occasion, when, helpless to save himself, he slid like a sack
down the chimney, and plumped into the very presence of his bitter
enemy. But he was the kind of lad to make the best of a difficult
situation. It was not for nothing that he had joined heart and soul in
cricket and football, and in every manly game. He had gone through a
schooling indeed which no English lad should neglect, and which no one
ever regrets; for even in later days, when the cares and duties of life
prevent one from indulging in the old games, the quickness and sureness
of eye and the presence of mind still remain, and may at any moment
extricate one from danger or difficulty.
Phil was a young man whose muscles had been hardened in every game, and
whose judgment could be relied on to count the chances of victory in
each. Here was a game--one, indeed, of life and death--and instantly
recovering from his surprise, and recognising that immediate action was
necessary, he sprang to his feet and hurled himself upon the astonished
Russian before the latter could grasp his sword. Linked together in a
close embrace they swayed from side to side, but Phil had the advantage
of size, and squeezing his adversary till the breath was driven from his
body, he lifted him in his strong arms and dashed him to the floor.
"Great heavens! you've done for him," cried McNeil, kneeling by the
Russian's side. "Look, his neck is broken."
"Then his death be on his own head," gasped Phil. "If I had not killed
him, he would soon have had me shot, and besides, my tumbling down that
chimney would have spoilt all our chances of escape. Now he's dead, and
if we are to get away, it must be done to-night, for should the guards
discover what has happened it will mean little mercy. As likely as not
we should be taken out and shot before half an hour had passed."
"But what about the jailer?" asked McNeil. "We can be sure that he has
heard nothing suspicious or he would have been in here by this. He is
aware, though, that Stackanoff is with me, and he will be waiting
impatiently for his return?"
"Yes, he will be getting impatient before long," mused Phil. "There is
nothing else to be done at present. We will wait till his patience is
exhausted, then my friend and I will knock, and as soon as he comes in
we will collar him."
"It seems desperately risky, but I suppose it is the only way, Western.
If you get hold of him, though, it will save the trouble of climbing
through the chimney, an acrobatic feat which, in my present condition, I
shall not be sorry to be spared."
"Quite so. I had not thought of that, McNeil," said Phil. "Now I will
call Tony. I shall only be gone a few minutes."
Slipping into the chimney, Phil soon regained his own cell.
"Did you hear anything, Tony?" he asked shortly.
"Nothing, mate; but what's been keeping yer so long. You look flurried
too. What's happened?"
Phil explained that Stackanoff was dead.
"We must get away to-night, Tony," he said, with decision, "and first of
all we must capture the jailer. He is to open the door at Stackanoffs
knock, and I propose that we throw ourselves upon him. Now, listen.
After knocking, I will stand behind the door so that he cannot see me,
and will call to him to come in. You will crouch behind me, and bang
the door to. Then we will pull him down and gag him. Bring your
blanket with you."
Meanwhile Pierre had listened anxiously, his ferrety little eyes
shifting from face to face.
"What is this that happens?" he asked eagerly. "Monsieur makes ze
disappearance up ze chimney, then he come back again."
"We must get away to-night, do you understand?" Phil replied, looking
searchingly at him. "Are you willing to come?"
"Vraiment, I will accompany you, monsieur," answered Pierre
hesitatingly. "Mais--ah, what will ze Russian with ze face severe do to
us? Surely he will make ze bang."
"Oh, you little coward!" murmured Phil bitterly, "you will spoil
everything yet. I tell you, Pierre," he added, clutching him by both
shoulders, "if you wish to stay, do so; but you will probably be shot as
a spy. That will be your bad luck in having been washed ashore with us.
If you attempt the escape with us, beware how you behave, for should
you make a sound to betray us, I will kill you. Now, stay here, and
prepare to accompany us. We shall be back in half an hour. Come, Tony,
it is already dark, and we must capture that fellow."
"Then in a half of the hour you make ze return," said the little
Frenchman, looking as though he had smothered his fears. "Bien, I shall
be prepared.
"Aha, my good fellows!" he muttered in his own language a few moments
later, with quivering lips. "You have gone up the chimney, and will be
back in half an hour. Why should I die for your foolishness? It would
be suicide."
Creeping to the chimney, the crafty little coward listened while Phil
and Tony slid into the other cell. Then he stepped to the door, and
prepared to give the alarm, hoping thereby to escape the fate which
would certainly befall the others if discovered. But, overcome by
terror of the consequences, he remained irresolute for more than ten
minutes ere he dared to shout, for he had a wholesome terror of the
fair-haired young Englishman who had brought him back to consciousness
when lashed to the wreckage, and moreover there was an ominous look in
Tony's eyes as that burly young giant looked at him for the last time
before entering the chimney.
Meanwhile Phil and Tony had entered the other cell.
"Now for it," said Phil. "McNeil, you are too lame to help us, so had
better lie down on your blankets. Tony, tear up the blanket and get the
gag ready. You quite understand?" he went on, when all was finished.
"You crouch behind me, and slam the door as soon as the fellow comes in.
Then we jump on him. It is dark enough now, so we'll knock."
Taking the precaution to drag Stackanoff's body into the corner behind
the door, Phil knocked loudly, and, hearing footsteps outside, cried out
in a feigned voice and in the fierce manner in which the dead Russian
seemed to have been in the habit of addressing his subordinates, "Hi,
you, fool that you are! Why do you not listen, and let me out?"
A second later there was the sound of a key in the lock, and almost at
the same moment a most unearthly scream.
The escaping prisoners looked at one another with doubting eyes, but
before a question could be asked the door was pushed open cautiously.
Phil clutched its edge, so that it could not easily be closed, and
waited. Then again came the scream, this time more clearly heard, while
the voice of Pierre could be distinguished crying at the top of his
voice, and still in broken English, as if that would be better
understood by the Russians, "Help! help! Ze English prisonaire make ze
escape!"
"Ah! treachery!" gasped the jailer, stepping back and attempting to
close the door.
Phil darted out and made a grab at the man, but with a cry of terror the
Russian took to his heels, and raced up the steep flight of steps, where
he turned towards the town.
Phil followed him to the top of the stairway, and then returned
hurriedly.
"He has got away, and has gone to call the nearest guard," he cried in
hurried tones. "Tumble out, you fellows. They will be back here in a
quarter of an hour or less, and if we are to give them the slip, it must
be now. What are you doing, Tony? Come here, you idiot!"
Tony crept from the chimney, into which he was in the act of climbing,
and slunk back to his friend's side abashed, and yet full of
indignation.
"Going to leave that cabbage-eating French monkey?" he asked angrily.
"What's he done? Why, just spoilt all our chances; that's all."
"It is the very thing you will be doing, old man," answered Phil. "Now,
give me one of those bars, and keep one yourself. McNeil, I'm ready, if
you are. Here is Stackanoff's sword for you. As for that little
coward, he has done all the harm he can possibly do us, so we will leave
him to his own devices."
They grasped their weapons, and Phil and Tony, placing themselves on
either side of the wounded lieutenant to help him along, hurried out of
the cell, up the stairs, and ran for a deep ditch which they had noticed
as they were marched to prison. It seemed to be a trench constructed to
command the rear of some of the fortifications, and for the moment would
prove an excellent shelter.
"Listen, I hear the guard returning!" whispered McNeil, "and the bell
that is ringing must be a warning to announce that prisoners have
escaped. Whew! that was a nasty one!" he exclaimed a moment later, for
the guard had advanced with a blazing torch to assist in the search,
and, the street being visible from the British trenches, and the range
known to a nicety, a shell had been pitched with precision just in front
of the group. The torch was instantly extinguished and all was darkness
again, but the sound of distant marching, and an occasional order
sharply given, proved that troops were being hastened from their
quarters to patrol the streets and cut off the escaping prisoners.
"They know that the harbour is our only chance," said Phil bitterly. "I
fear it looks like failure this time, McNeil."
"It does look bad," agreed the latter sadly. "What hard luck, when we
had all set our hearts so much upon it!"
"Are you game to try the other way?" asked Phil eagerly.
"Game!" answered McNeil enthusiastically; "just you try me. I've had
enough of Russian prisons for a lifetime, and I tell you I would rather
die than go back."
"Then we go forward," said Phil shortly. "Keep close together and steer
between the forts. If anyone challenges, leave me to answer."
Climbing from the ditch, they set their faces for the British camp and
crept forward cautiously till they recognised the Malakoff looming big
and shadowy in front. Phil led the way and attempted to make out the
position of the earthworks and trenches. "There--there they are, only a
few yards in front of us!" he whispered eagerly. "Hush! down for your
lives!"
A figure suddenly rose up in front of them and listened. Evidently the
man was a sentry, and had heard something suspicious, for next moment he
challenged loudly.
Long ere this Phil had learnt that polite words are not usually wasted
on Russian privates, and he determined to take advantage of the fact.
"Idiot!" he answered roughly. "Cannot you see that I am your officer,
and can I not give instructions to my lieutenant without your
challenging?"
"My orders are to challenge everyone," the sentry answered humbly.
"Excellency, give the countersign and I shall know you better. Some
dogs of prisoners have recently escaped, for I heard the bell, therefore
I must be cautious."
"My word, we're done again!" groaned Phil. Then taking the bull by the
horns, he advanced a pace and said roughly, "How can I remember the word
every night after all these weeks? Wait, though--ah, was not the first
letter `N'?"
"That is right, excellency; and our master the Czar's name also
commences with that letter," the sentry replied encouragingly.
"Nicolas!" cried Phil boldly.
"Excellency, your pardon on my insisting; pass whither you will. All is
well."
"That is good, fellow," Phil cried. "Come, comrades, we have business
with the Malakoff."
Another fire minutes, and the sentry and trench were passed. Skirting
by the great fortress, they bore up for the British trenches, crossing
as they did so several rows of ditches and earthworks. Then they lay
down and listened. Close at hand there was a hum of voices, while away
on the left a sharp musketry fire was being maintained, the flicker of
the exploding powder cutting the darkness at every second. In front all
was pitch blackness in the valley in which they stood, but higher up on
the elopes beyond fires were burning, and dark figures were occasionally
silhouetted against them as they passed.
"Now for it!" whispered Phil. "If there is any firing lie on your
faces. We don't want to be killed by our own side."
Sneaking through the mud and mire on hands and knees the three crept
forward in absolute silence. Soon the last trench was passed, and the
British earthworks loomed in the distance. At last they were close to
liberty and friends. Not more than sixty yards separated them, and
already the murmur of the men's voices could be heard, when, with a
sharp exclamation, Phil disappeared.
There was a scuffle, a startled cry of astonishment and fear, and the
loud report of a musket.
"Quick, help me!" Phil cried from the rifle-pit into which he had
fallen. Then there was a choked cry, and all was silence for a few
moments.
With a growl of rage Tony threw himself into the pit, almost smashing
Phil as he fell.
"That you, Tony?" the latter asked coolly.
"Yes, it's me sure enough, mate. Are yer hurt, old man?"
"Not a bit, but it was a hard struggle. I fancy the Russian is dead,
for I gave him a tremendous blow on the head with my iron bar. Now, let
us push on, for the alarm has been given, and it will mean capture if we
stay."
But the Russian sharpshooters had taken the alarm. Occupying a row of
pits, each of which was sufficiently large to hold one man, they had
orders to worry the besiegers by their fire, and to be always on the
look-out for an assault. At the report of their comrade's weapon they
imagined that they were about to be attacked, and poured volley after
volley at the British earthworks. Instantly the sharp crackle of Minie
rifles broke out, and Phil and his friends found themselves in the
awkward position of receiving fire from their friends.
"Down in here for your lives," cried Phil; and within half a minute they
were wedged in the pit, while a perfect hail of bullets swept overhead.
Both sides imagined that a sortie was taking place, and the alarm
spreading, the guns on either side opened fire, and a perfect torrent of
shell hummed in the air and burst with deafening crashes in the
darkness. A loud scuffling was then heard in the British trenches,
there was a sharp order, and a host of dark figures sprang over the
earthworks and dashed at the Russians.
Phil and his friends lay flat upon their faces, while the Russians in
the other pits for the most part fled for their lives. Those who did
not were bayoneted.
"Hallo, come out of it, you skulkers!" a voice cried; and, looking up,
Phil caught sight of the figures of English soldiers at the mouth of the
pit.
"Don't fire," he shouted, "we are friends. We are escaping prisoners."
"Now, then, none of yer sauce," the same voice answered wrathfully.
"Most like you're deserters. Out yer come and let's take a look at
yer."
In a trice they were dragged ignominiously from the pit.
"Why, what's this?" the sergeant, who had charge of the party,
exclaimed. "The light's bad, but blow me if there ain't two British
officers here. Get round 'em, boys, and bring 'em along."
With a rush the group of soldiers returned, bearing Phil and his friends
with them.
"Now, send along that lamp," cried the sergeant, as soon as they were
safely sheltered by the earthworks. "Blow me, but I'm right. They're
Britishers or I'm a wrong 'un," he cried, lifting the lantern to their
faces. "Hi, pass the word to Mr Ellis there."
A moment later an officer came hurrying along.
"What is all this commotion about?" he asked sharply. "The whole camp
is disturbed, and you seem to have made a sortie, Sergeant."
"Quite right, sir! There was a bit of a ruction over in them
rifle-pits, and as I knew you was anxious to teach them Russians a
lesson, and the boys was mad to get at 'em, why, we did a rush and
cleared 'em out like rats. We found these three there. They said they
were escaping prisoners, so we brought 'em along."
"Who are you, then?" asked the officer, examining them by the aid of his
lantern.
"Why, bless my life if it isn't Western, reported drowned at sea!" he
exclaimed with a start. "You're like a jack-in-the-box, Western. Who
are your friends?"
Phil mentioned their names.
"We had a near squeak for it," he said faintly. "By the way, Ellis, is
there a doctor near? McNeil is in need of dressing, and I fear I have
got a bullet in my ribs."
That was the case. At the first outburst of firing, a bullet had struck
him in the side like a sledge-hammer, but Phil kept his groans to
himself. Now, however, when all need for further silence and exertion
had passed, he sat down suddenly, and went off into a dead faint,
frightening poor Tony almost out of his life. A few drops of brandy
were forced between his teeth, and by the time he had been placed on a
blanket he was conscious again. Then he was carried with great
gentleness up to the field-hospital.
"Another bullet wound, my lad," said the surgeon kindly. "That makes
the fifth I have seen already to-night. Let me have a look at it;" and
with the greatest sympathy and gentleness he removed Phil's clothing and
examined the wound.
"Ah! a nasty one," he said gravely. "Two ribs badly smashed, and the
lung injured. Not fatal, though. Oh, no! not by any means. We'll
dress it carefully and get you out of this."
Phil gave an exclamation of disgust.
"It's awfully bad luck, doctor," he said testily. "Here I am, scarcely
landed on the Crimea, and already I have been captured twice. And now I
am to be sent away for the second time. Couldn't I possibly stay? I am
very anxious to serve to the end of the campaign with my regiment."
"Yes, I know you are, my lad, but Scutari is where you are going," the
doctor answered firmly. "Twice captured since you landed! Yes, but you
forget to mention that in the short time that has elapsed, you have
escaped twice from the Russians, taken part in two pitched battles, and
joined in a famous cavalry charge, not to mention having been promoted
to a commission for distinguished gallantry. Now, no more talking.
To-morrow you go, and your friend too."
Expostulations were unavailing, and on the following day Phil and
Lieutenant McNeil were carried to Balaclava and hoisted on board a ship
bound for the great hospital at Scutari, with her decks full of sick and
wounded soldiers. As was only natural, Tony accompanied them.
Before the convoy set out from camp the news of their reappearance had
got wind, and many officers of the 30th, besides friends from the
battalion of Grenadier Guards and Lieutenant McNeil's regiment, came
flocking to see them. Phil was scarcely in a condition to talk, and
Tony, who had, as it were, mounted guard over him, insisted that the
doctor's orders should be obeyed. But he himself was quite ready to
dilate on their adventures, and he did so in a manner which would have
made the bashful Phil blush. At length they were on the sea _en route_
for Scutari, and within two days, thanks to the cold and bracing air,
and an excellent constitution, Phil was able to lie in a hammock, on
deck, suspended between the mast and the top of the saloon skylight.
Douglas McNeil had taken the greatest liking for his young friend, and
to the latter's secret astonishment, spent hours in gazing at him
thoughtfully, as though he were trying to recollect something. Very
soon both were on the closest terms of intimacy.
"What are you troubling about?" asked Phil with a wan smile one day,
noticing the look of perplexity on his friend's face.
Douglas was silent for a few minutes. "I will tell you," he said at
last. "From the very first there has been something about you that has
struck me; some strong resemblance to my dear mother. Sometimes I
think, too, that you and I have features much in common. You never
speak of your parents, Phil, and I have never liked to ask you, but if
you care to tell me I should be glad to hear."
"Parents!" said Phil, with a short and somewhat bitter laugh. "I never
knew my real father and mother. I was sold at the age of two, and
that's a good long time ago."
"Sold! Who sold you? Where did it take place, and who paid the money?"
Douglas asked excitedly, coming closer to Phil.
"As far as I have been able to learn from my adopted father, a poor
woman, with many children, sold me. Where, though, I do not recollect I
was sold to Mr Western, at one time an officer in the army, but for
many years a clergyman."
Douglas McNeil stared at him with wide-open eyes, and seemed strangely
excited.
"Listen, Phil," he said earnestly. "About twenty years ago my aunt, my
mother's younger sister, fell in love with a poor officer in the navy.
She married him against the wishes of her parents, and my grandfather,
who was a stubborn hard-hearted man, refused to have anything more to do
with her, refused even to hear of her or help her in any way. A year
later Frank Davidson, the husband, was drowned at sea, and my aunt
brought a boy into the world. For five years her relatives heard
nothing. But the old grandfather had already repented of his harshness,
and enquiries were set on foot. It is an odd story, Phil, and is full
of sadness. That unhappy aunt of mine was friendless, and to obtain a
post as governess was compelled to part with her child. You can imagine
the poor thing's grief and loneliness. She placed the child with a
certain woman who kept a kind of baby-farm in the midlands. For a year
all went well, but my aunt died very suddenly of fever, and we learnt
afterwards, from people who lived near the baby-farm, that the boy we
were in search of was disposed of to a clergyman. The neighbours
remembered having seen him. I suppose one cannot blame the woman in
charge, though the thing sounds hateful and impossible in our free
England. But, finding there was no yearly instalment coming for the
child's keep, she answered an advertisement and handed him over to a
clergyman. Unfortunately she herself died a few months before we
instituted the search, and although we advertised widely we never
obtained any more information. Tell me now, Phil, what you think of
that?"
There was a long silence.
"Could it be possible that, after all, he was indeed the lost child?"
Phil asked himself. "Was it possible that the story just narrated was
his own, and referred to his father and mother. Was the vicar's test to
be a useless one, for he had trained an adopted son for one purpose
only? What joy it would be to have relations of his own?" The thoughts
crowded through his brain, and his lips trembled with hope and
eagerness.
"Douglas," he said at last, in a voice that was weak and broken with
emotion, "I believe I am your cousin I believe that that unhappy lady
you have spoken of was my dear mother, the mother I never knew. We
cannot settle the question here, but my adopted father can do so as soon
as we get back to England. Something tells me that you have helped me
to discover the secret of my birth, and if so, then all I can say is,
that I greet you as a cousin with all my heart. Providence has thrown
us together, and let us hope that the same guiding hand will keep us
good friends till the last."
The lads shook hands silently, while Tony looked on with a grin of
pleasure on his face.
"Such a one as Phil is for making pals I never see," he muttered.
"Lor', if it was girls around he would be turning their heads, and
getting failed in love with by every one on 'em;" and with a loud guffaw
he dived down the companion ladder. As for Phil and Douglas McNeil,
they sat discussing the question of their relationship for more than an
hour, and when they retired, it was with the mutual and hearty agreement
that it was one of the happiest days in their lives when the fortune of
war brought them together to fight side by side for the honour of
England's flag.