A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War

But for an untoward event Sebastopol might have fallen on that very day, and the Crimea as a campaign have sunk into comparative historical insignificance. After four hours’ firing a shell unluckily struck the magazine of Mount Rudolph, and with a roar which shook the surrounding camp the battery was destroyed. The French fire at once ceased, and was not renewed for two days. As for the British, they battered the Malakoff, reducing the stone-work to ruin, and silenced its guns. Soon afterwards the magazine of the Redan exploded, and though our fire still continued furiously, it was answered only feebly and at intervals, showing that the enemy too had suffered heavily like the French.

And now let us consider, before returning to Phil and his comrades, why an assault was not delivered either at once, or on the following morning. But for the calamity to the French this would have occurred; owing, however, to the destruction of their chief battery, and the consequent failure to destroy the defences in front of them, assault became almost impracticable, while now that they were to some extent demoralised, it was utterly hopeless. Also it must be borne in mind that the force in Sebastopol was greatly superior in numbers to the Allies, while an attack in rear by the Russian army in the field was always to be dreaded, and, as will be seen, was not long in actually occurring. As to an assault on the following day, dawn showed that it was useless to attempt it, for the brave and energetic enemy had already reconstructed the defences, and made good all the damage that had been done.

Almost a whole month had passed from the date of their incarceration, when one morning the prisoners in Sebastopol were awakened by a roar of exploding artillery.

“What’s that?” asked Phil, starting up suddenly and throwing off his blanket. “Listen, you fellows! Yes, there it goes again. That banging is the Russian artillery. Wait a minute and we shall hear our own at work.”

A moment later a distant, muttering growl told them that the Allies were answering the fire, while, had there been any doubt, a peculiar shriek overhead, which all had heard before, and the fall of a wall close at hand, told them that a shell from the far-off guns had found a mark.

“Blow me!” exclaimed Tony excitedly. “Supposing one of them shells found its way in here!”

“What, yer ain’t afraid!” jeered a big rifleman who was amongst the prisoners. “You ’as helped to save the colours, too!”

“Afraid! Booby! I’ll punch yer head if yer don’t mind what yer saying,” retorted Tony hotly. “It ain’t that I was thinking of, but of trying to get out of this. Supposing a hole got knocked in the wall, couldn’t we chaps climb through it, and shy bricks at the sentries. Then we’d make a rush for it. You may bet all these Russian soldiers are busy in the forts.”

A grunt of assent went round the gathered prisoners, and far from being nervous or anxious lest a shell should knock the house about their ears, they sat there longing to hear the crash and make a dash for liberty.

That such an eventuality might occur had evidently struck the Russians, for that night the doors of the prison were thrown open, and the prisoners ordered out with their blankets. Then they were marched under a strong guard to the harbour and ferried across.

“Where do we go?” Phil asked the soldier who sat in the boat by his side.

“That you will see,” was the gruff reply. “But you leave the Crimea at once, and I do not envy you your long march. It is fine weather now, but as you get north you will meet the rains and cold winds, and you will wish yourself back in Sebastopol.”

Arrived on the northern bank of the harbour, the prisoners were grouped together, and a meal of hot coffee and bread given them. Then they set out, two ranks of armed guards marching on either side, while some twenty fierce-looking Cossacks hovered here and there, only too ready and willing to transfix any man sufficiently foolhardy to attempt an escape.

“This won’t do,” muttered Phil, whose wits had been at work. “It won’t do,” he repeated almost unconsciously.

“What won’t?” asked Tony brusquely. “It ain’t over nice, I know, but I can’t see that anything’s extra wrong.”

“Where do you think we are marching to, Tony?” asked Phil. “You don’t know. Then I’ll tell you. We are going due north, out of the Crimea and into some part of the Russian interior. Once there, what chance shall we have of ever getting back?”

“There you puzzle me, Phil,” Tony answered, scratching his head. “I suppose it’s a long way off.”

“Yes, a long way, Tony; but that is not the difficulty. The weather is on the point of changing, and soon we shall have rain and snow. We must get away within the next few days or not at all, so keep your eyes open for the first chance that comes along.”

“Trust me, mate,” whispered Tony, unconsciously dropping his voice. “I don’t want to spend the next year or so in a Russian prison. A month’s been enough for me. But it’ll be a job to get away from these fellows: and what shall we do for food once we are free?”

“That we must chance, Tony. The main thing is to get safely away, and, of course, we must make the attempt when it is dark. To-night our guards, knowing we are close to the allied camp, will be extra watchful, but a couple of nights later, when we are well on the way, and the Russian field-army is between us and our friends, they are certain to become slack and careless about keeping a watch. That will be our time, and we must make the best of it. There are plenty of small farmhouses scattered about this part of the Crimea, for it is famous for its vineyards, and if the worst comes to the worst, we must break into one and obtain food in that way. In any case there are grapes to be had in abundance.”

Having agreed that it was useless to attempt an escape for two days or more, and that it was unnecessary to inform their comrades of their intentions – for where two might chance to slip away, it was hopeless for fifty or more to make the attempt, – Phil and Tony marched on stolidly. Amongst the prisoners were Riflemen, Guards, and Highlanders, some slightly wounded, and all more or less in a tattered and forlorn condition, for head-gear had been for the most part lost, and the bright red of tunics had long ago been dulled by lying on the dirt and mud.

That night they pressed on, and halted only when the field-army was reached. Then they bivouacked and waited till the following day, when the march was resumed in a leisurely manner, the guards, however, still keeping careful watch over their prisoners, while the fierce and restless Cossacks rode their shaggy ponies on either flank and kept a scowling eye on the captives.

Phil and Tony saved some portion of their meal of bread daily, cramming it into their pockets. But it was not till the third night that they dared to attempt an escape.

“Keep an eye on those Cossack fellows as we bivouack, Tony,” said Phil in an undertone, as the column came to a halt. “They are the ones we have most to fear. Up to this, I notice that half of them have nightly gone out as pickets, ready to cut off any escape, while the others have camped alongside us. If only we can see the positions the outposts take up, and get away from here without rousing an alarm, we ought to be able to hide up in some vineyard.”

Lying down on the ground, as if tired out, the two watched eagerly, and carefully noted the position of the Cossacks. Riding some three hundred yards from their comrades, each of these wiry horsemen leapt from his pony, removed the bit and slipped it under its jaw, and left it there with the reins on the neck, so that in a few moments it could be replaced. Girths were then loosened, and while the animal cropped the grass its watchful master trudged backwards and forwards, lance in hand, and with his face always turned towards the distant camp.

“Sebastopol lies over there,” said Phil, nodding in the direction they had come, “and we must make a bolt for it some other way. The outposts are certain to be more vigilant behind us. Look at that fellow over there on our right. I have had my eye on him these last two days; he is evidently lazy and careless of his duties, especially now that no Cossack officer is with the horsemen guarding us.”

Tony glanced in the direction indicated, and noted that the man Phil had called his attention to was standing by his pony’s side, with one elbow resting on the saddle, and his head on his hand, as if already asleep.

“Yes, that’s the beggar for us, Phil,” he whispered. “If we crawl over there we ought to be able to slip by him unawares. To-night will be fairly light – just sufficient for us to spot him at twenty yards, – and once we know where he is, it won’t be much of a job to slip between him and the next.”

At dusk a meal was served, and having eaten their portion, Phil and Tony threw themselves down upon a blanket, and spread the second over them, for the nights were already chilly, and they had discovered that with only one blanket apiece greater warmth and comfort could be obtained in this way.

“It won’t do to fall asleep now,” whispered Phil. “We have had a tiring uphill march, and are both in need of a snooze and inclined to take it. Let us talk about something interesting, so as to keep awake.”

Tony yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes.

“I was precious near off then,” he answered. “Tell yer what, Phil, teach me a few words of this Russian lingo. That’ll wake me up.”

Accordingly Phil commenced with the simpler words, and when Tony had heard and repeated as many as he was likely to remember, they commenced to chat about their life in the menagerie, taking care only to whisper, and keeping a vigilant watch upon the sentries close at hand.

“We must clear out of this about an hour before midnight,” whispered Phil. “The sentries are changed at twelve o’clock, and the Cossack outposts too. If we wait till then they are all sure to be wide-awake in expectation of relief, and after midnight there will be little chance of slipping past the fresh ones. As it is, I see it will be a far more difficult job than we had imagined.”

“That’s so,” grunted Tony, staring at the nearest sentry. “In course if we could get alongside that feller we could double him up like a rag before he’d got time to shout, and I doubt that the ones on either side can see him. But I fear it would be a failure. We’d never be able to get close enough to smash him before he pulled his trigger.”

“I have it, Tony,” whispered Phil after a few minutes’ silence, during which he cudgelled his brains for a means of escape. “We should never get away together, for where one might slip through two would be certain to be discovered. Fortunately many of our comrades are still moving about or sitting up talking, so that my little scheme has a chance of working. Tony, we must have a row and separate.”

“Have a row, Phil? That we don’t, while I can help it!” exclaimed Tony hotly.

“Not a real one, Tony,” answered Phil, with a smothered laugh. “We must pretend. Listen. It now wants two hours before we must make our attempt, and we must do our best to judge that time pretty nearly. No doubt the sentry has noticed that we have been lying quietly as if asleep, for he has passed close by us several times. Let us peep out, and wait till he is near again, then you must roll over and pull the blanket from me as if in your sleep. The movement is certain to attract his attention. I will then start up and tear the blanket away from you, and after that we can easily come to words and almost to blows. No doubt the sentry will watch us and enjoy our quarrel, and as soon as we have made sufficient noise, I will get up in a regular huff, pull my blanket from you, and go to the other end of the camp. Two hours later I shall do my best to creep between the sentries, and once through I will imitate the whinny of a horse. The men on guard will think it comes from one of the Cossack ponies, and are not likely to stir, while you, knowing it is my signal, will take the first chance of slipping through and joining me.”

A suppressed chuckle burst from Tony’s lips, and the blanket shook as he attempted to smother his amusement and delight.

“Phil, you’re a good ’un,” he stuttered. “Yer fairly walk away with it. Blest if yer ain’t the smartest chap I ever see! There ain’t nothing more to be said. It’s bound to work is that there scheme, so the sooner we has that row the better. But – look here, old man, how do we join one another out there in the dark?”

“That I was just going to mention, Tony. Once through, crawl on for a hundred yards, and then sit down. You must take care to go straight to your front. I am going to lie down over there on the right, and I shall know you are on the left. I shall give you a quarter of an hour to get through, and then I shall crawl over in your direction. If after a good search I fail to find you I will give another whinny, and you must crawl up to me. Now is everything clear?”

“Everything, mate,” answered Tony, with evident delight. “We just plays this little game, and then I waits for the signal. Once through, there comes that Cossack chap, and if he so much as flickers an eyelid, bust me if I don’t smash him like an egg. Now, mate, give us yer flipper, cos, yer know, things might go wrong, and I specks those Russian coves have a nasty way of shooting if they spots a fellow giving them the slip.”

Phil stretched out his hand, and meeting Tony’s, gave it a cordial grip. Then for some ten minutes the two lay still, Tony snoring heavily, while the sentry passed them twice on his beat, humming a tune as he did so. Close at hand were the other prisoners, some asleep, while others sat up round a fire smoking a last pipe.

“Now, here goes,” whispered Tony, and with a loud snort he rolled over on his opposite side, clutching the blanket and dragging it from Phil.

The action was beautifully timed, for the sentry was just opposite them and within a few paces, and halted to see what would happen.

Phil awoke suddenly, sat up, and shivered. Then he felt for the blanket as if expecting to find it over his knees, but failing to hit upon it he looked at his sleeping comrade, and instantly, and with an exclamation of wrath, seized the blanket and dragged it away.

“Here, what are yer up to?” growled Tony hoarsely, sitting up and grabbing at the blanket. “Want it all yerself, yer greedy beggar? Let go, will yer?” They struggled together, while their anger apparently rose till they were on the point of blows.

“Whose blanket is it then?” cried Phil angrily. “It’s mine, and I mean to have it. There’s yours; you’re lying on it. Stick to it, and I’ll stick to mine; but not here. I’ve had enough of you. Every night it’s the same. I’m getting worn out for want of sleep.”

“Hurrah! here’s them two bosom friends a-fighting,” laughed a linesman who formed one of the number round the fire. “Have it out, boys. We’re getting stale for want of a little fun, and now’s just the time for a fight.”

Phil and Tony took no notice of this encouragement, but, tearing the blanket angrily from his friend, Phil trudged away with it to the other end of the sleeping line, leaving the sentry, who had watched the whole scene, doubled up with laughter, which was loudly echoed by the men sitting round the fire.

“Stop that noise,” came a harsh voice at this moment from the tent occupied by the officer in charge of the party; and instantly the sentry commenced to tramp his beat, while the prisoners rose and went to their hard and uncomfortable couches.

Phil chose a spot between two sleeping figures on the right, and, throwing himself down, apparently fell into a deep sleep. But part of his face was uncovered, and his eyes were fixed in the direction of the sentry, whose figure was now indistinguishable in the darkness. A weary hour and a half dragged by, and then he prepared to make the attempt. Leaving his blanket, he crept on all-fours through the grass, and within five minutes was safely through the sentries, where, having put a sufficient distance between them and himself he sat down and indulged in a whinny – a curious collection of sounds which every school-boy is an adept at, having, no doubt, times out of number, tried the nerves of some irascible master by repeating them from the remote and unobserved depths of his class-room, together with cat-calls and other pleasantries. Half an hour later Phil and Tony had met, and were crawling away towards the Cossack outposts. Stealing through the long grass, and avoiding stones and small patches of corn which were spread thereabouts, they were soon near the post occupied by the horsemen.

“We’ll get alongside that wall,” whispered Phil, pulling Tony’s sleeve in the direction he meant. “It is not a long one, and by crawling to the end and squeezing against it, we ought to be able to see our gentleman without ourselves being observed.”

Accordingly they crept to the wall, which surrounded a potato field, and advancing cautiously were soon at the corner, where, lying side by side, they searched the darkness for the Cossack horseman.

“Can’t see him anywhere,” muttered Phil in an undertone.

“Here, what’s that?” asked Tony excitedly, pointing in front of him.

Before Phil had time to answer, there was a hoarse cry of astonishment, and a figure which had been leaning upon the wall just round the corner started out, and, lowering a lance, rushed at them. The weapon struck the ground between them, narrowly missing Phil’s arm. Next moment Tony had sprung at the Cossack with a low cry, and had felled him to the ground with a powerful blow from his fist.

“Didn’t I say I’d do for yer if yer winked yer blessed eye?” he said breathlessly. “Move again and I’ll stick yer through with the lance.”

But even if the Russian had been able to understand, he was not in the condition which would allow him to prove offensive, for the fist had crashed like a sledge-hammer into his face, and he now lay motionless and stunned upon the ground. Phil picked up the lance, and while they lay still, in case the slight noise should have aroused the next outpost he produced his knife and commenced to cut it in half. It was soon done, and, keeping the head armed with the spear-point, he handed the other to Tony, and they once more rose to their knees and crept stealthily away into the darkness. Ten minutes later they were walking briskly in the direction of Sebastopol.

Chapter Thirteen.

The Highroad to Liberty

When they had placed half a mile or more between themselves and the Russian outposts, Phil caught Tony by the sleeve and came to a halt.

“We’ll have a breather and a consultation now, old chap,” he said with a cheery note in his voice. “We’re safely through so far, but there’s a lot to be done before we reach our comrades. It was bad luck our hitting up against that fellow, for when the outposts are relieved at midnight he will be found, and our flight discovered. So we may take it that we have barely an hour’s start.”

“It were bad luck,” agreed Tony, “but I don’t see as though it weren’t worser for him. We hit up against the beggar, but I can tell yer the knock he give us wasn’t nothing to the smasher I got in on his face. It fairly knocked the senses out of him, and will teach him to mind his own business in future.”

“Now, what’s to be done, Tony?” asked Phil. “We have an hour’s start, and barely that. I am for making across to the road, and trotting along it at our best pace. They are sure to send horsemen back by that way, and we shall be able to hear them if we keep our ears open. Then we will slip across the grass and hide up in some vineyard, where I expect we shall do well to stay until the search is over.”

“Look here, Phil, you’re bossing this show,” said Tony with some emphasis. “I haven’t a doubt but what yer proposes is the best, so let’s get off at once.”

Having settled the point they promptly swung to the right, and soon were on the post-road. Then, taking to their heels, they ran steadily along it. Every ten minutes they halted for a few moments to listen, but, hearing nothing, set out again. In this way they had covered some five or six miles before shouts and galloping hoofs striking hard upon the road behind them caught their ears. Instantly they turned on to the grass, and, climbing a wall, ran through a large cultivated field and hid themselves in a patch of corn beyond. It was well that they did so, for when opposite the wall the pursuing Cossacks halted, while two of their number dismounted, and, vaulting over it, searched in its shadow for them.

Finding nothing they returned to their companions, and soon the beat of hoofs again resounded along the post-road. Phil and Tony were congratulating themselves on their safety thus far, when the latter, who had pushed his head up through the ears of corn, strained his eyes towards the road, and clutching Phil by the shoulders, whispered, “Hush! I hear something.” Both listened intently, but for some minutes could neither see nor hear anything; the moon, however, was rising, and very soon they were able to make out a solitary horseman patrolling the road.

“That settles it,” muttered Phil. “Of course by creeping up to the wall we might manage to silence that fellow, but it would do more harm than good. At present they are uncertain of our whereabouts, but his disappearance would tell them at once that we were in the immediate neighbourhood. As it is, I doubt if they will think we have got so far, for the sentries are certain to declare that they noticed our sleeping figures up to the last moment. Tony, we must make a move, and find some better hiding-place than this.”

Stealing through the corn-patch they were not long in reaching its margin, and then, to their chagrin, nothing but open fields met their view.

“I fear it means lying where we are,” said Phil dejectedly. “We might easily slip across unobserved, but as far as one can see in this light there is not a vineyard or cover of any sort in sight. We must do something, for a couple of horsemen would quickly rout us out of this.”

“I seem to remember some kind of house along this way,” muttered Tony, trying to recall the spot. “Yes, I’m sure of it, and it’s away over there, half a mile or more, I should think;” and he stretched his arm and pointed to the right.

“Then we’ll try to find it,” said Phil with decision. “There is nothing else for it, and we cannot be in a worse spot than we occupy now. I blame myself for not having kept a better watch on our surroundings as we passed along the road with our escort. That Cossack has ridden away a little, so now is our time; we’ll strike straight across, and trust to luck. We haven’t time to pick roads, for it will be dawn in another hour. If they come over here they are certain to see our footmarks, but no doubt we shall get on to grassy land soon, and that will throw them off the scent.”

Standing up for a few moments, to make sure that no enemy was near, they plunged into the fields and walked steadily on for an hour; but still no house was in sight. Half an hour later, when they were almost in despair, and when a faint flush in the east and a waning of the pale, silvery gleams of the moon heralded the approach of dawn, they caught sight of some outbuildings on their left, and were hurrying towards them, when Phil suddenly saw some ghostly-looking horsemen issuing from behind them, and clutching hold of Tony, dragged him forcibly into a narrow ditch which he was in the act of crossing.

“What’s up?” asked Tony, somewhat nettled; but Phil’s whispered reply, “Cossacks! Hush!” appeased him.

The ditch was half-filled with water, but a thorough sousing is preferable to captivity, and the two companions squeezed still closer into it, wedging themselves into its slime and mud, and thrusting their bodies as far as possible beneath the long grass and reeds which sprang from its bank, for a hasty glance and approaching sounds told them that the Russians would probably pass close at hand. Five minutes later their voices were audible, and a series of splashes and thuds told them that they had leapt the ditch a few yards higher up.

“They are not there, and you have led us a fine goose-chase!” Phil heard one of the Russians angrily exclaim. “What made you take us on such a fool’s errand, Petroff?”

“It is no fool’s errand,” another voice replied gruffly. “I distinctly saw two figures cross the land beyond. They are not at the farm, that is clear; but we shall catch them, and then they shall suffer. Pigs that all Englishmen are! I myself will tie them to a wheel and thrash them before their comrades. It will be a good example, and our master the Czar would approve of it.”