A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War

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.

Chapter Nineteen.

You are Spies

“We are properly bottled this time,” exclaimed Phil, with some concern, closely examining the cell into which they had been thrust. “Look at these walls, all of thick stone, and pierced by two tiny windows with grilles. It is a regular cage, and after a first look at it I should imagine escape will be impossible.”

“We was in a worse hole before,” cried Tony encouragingly. “And yer must remember there’s lots of ways of getting out besides digging holes in the wall. For instance, we might collar that surly-faced jailer and make a bolt for it. But it wants a bit of thinking out.”

“Consider now, monsieur,” chimed in Pierre in a plaintive voice. “To make ze escape from this – ah – I do not know ’is name, mais – maison – oui, maison – comprenez-vous, monsieur? To make ze escape will bring ze death to us, ze bang and ze bullet. Alas, it will be for ze no good!”

“Nonsense!” said Phil shortly. “If we want to get out we must chance that.”

“Mais, monsieur, we are so happy. Why should we make ze escape? See, ze wall is strong, and ze cannon will not reach us,” Pierre answered, with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Bah! thought you was for getting out?” cried Tony in disgust. “Look here, little ’un, if we tries the game you’re welcome to this here cell to yourself.”

Pierre subsided into silence, and commenced to make beds of the blankets, while Phil and Tony made a thorough inspection of the cell.

“Not a loophole for escape,” growled Tony. “I suppose we’ll have to dig our way out, for get away from here I will.”

“And I too, Tony,” Phil answered quietly. “There must be a way. What is this?” and he pointed to an open grate, upon the hearthstone of which were the long-cold embers of a fire. He put his head into it and looked up the chimney, but all was black as night. Suddenly a familiar voice, sounding a long way off, reached his ear.

“What can it be?” he cried, withdrawing his head. “I can hear that brute Stackanoff distinctly. Hush! I will get higher up into the chimney. Pierre, if you hear footsteps warn me in good time.” Phil crawled beneath the overhanging lip of the grate, and stood up in the chimney. Then, finding a rest for his feet, he gradually ascended. Suddenly his head struck against some brickwork, and by stretching out his hands he found that the chimney bent upward at an easy slope. Surmounting the corner he crept up with some difficulty. The voice now sounded much nearer, so he lay still and listened.

“Know, then, that I have set hands on your comrades, beggarly Englishman!” he heard Stackanoff cry in a cruel voice. “They have been taken as spies, and I hope will be shot. I promise you that you shall see the fun.”

“Wretch!” a weak voice replied, in tones which sounded like Lieutenant McNeil’s, “have you not already ill-treated me sufficiently, and must you now persecute my poor countrymen? Were it not for this wound, which lames me, I would spring upon you and crush the life from your miserable carcass. Leave me, you coward!”

A derisive laugh was the only answer, and, having waited in vain to hear more, Phil slipped back into the cell, looking more like a sweep than a British officer. He was greatly excited, and that, together with the fact that he was partially choked by soot, made it difficult to answer Tony’s eager question.

“What luck!” he cried at last. “This cell must communicate in some way with the next one, and in that is Lieutenant McNeil. Listen, and I will tell you what happened.”

Sitting on his blankets he rapidly communicated the words he had overheard.

“I’m going up there again,” he said, when some ten minutes had elapsed. “If this chimney allows us to reach the other cell, it will allow us, perhaps, to escape. Evidently our pleasant Stackanoff knows nothing about it. At any rate, if I can get into McNeil’s prison, and can find some way out for both of us, he comes with me. Poor chap! See how long he has been shut up.”

“What, another!” exclaimed Tony aghast. “Ain’t it bad enough to have this here Froggy? ain’t that hard enough? And now yer wants to take on another pal?”

Phil glared at him.

“Very well,” he said curtly, “we’ll not make the attempt. I am sorry, for I did not know you were a coward.”

“Call me a coward, me a funk!” cried the gallant Tony, springing from his blanket-bed and striking himself on the chest. “Me, yer old pal too!” He looked half-sorrowfully and half-angrily at Phil. Then his face suddenly flushed.

“So I am,” he cried hoarsely. “Ain’t the poor young officer in distress, and me wanting to desert him? Phil, old friend, here’s my hand. I won’t say another word against it.”

“That’s right,” said Phil, with a smile of relief. “I knew I had only to call you names to make you give way. Now I’ll go up again. Come and give me a lift.”

Climbing into the chimney he worked his way up laboriously. Soon his hand caught upon a sharp ridge of brick, and happening to look up at that moment, he saw a square patch of light with somewhat rugged margins.

“By George,” he muttered, “that must be the broken chimney.”

He turned over so as to be able to inspect it the better, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, noticed that several bars crossed the chimney some eight feet up.

“That will be our greatest difficulty,” he thought. “Still, they are only built into brick, and we ought to be able to loosen them. Now for the other cell.”

He felt the brickwork with his hands, and was delighted to find that it descended suddenly at an angle, showing that it corresponded to the part in which he was lying, and that two fireplaces were evidently arranged to pour their smoke through one common chimney. The flue down which he was looking then must communicate with the other cell.

“McNeil!” he cried softly. “McNeil!”

“Hallo! Who’s that?” came a muffled answer.

Phil repeated his name again more loudly.

“Come to the chimney!” he cried. “I am up here.”

A minute passed, and then the small patch of light which he could just discern beneath was suddenly obscured.

“Who are you? Whatever is happening?” McNeil asked in an eager whisper. “Hush! Speak low. The jailer lives close outside my cell.”

“Do you remember Corporal Western and his friend? The two who helped you with the flag?” asked Phil, making a funnel of his hands.

“Yes, of course I do. But who are you?”

“I am Corporal Western, or rather I was,” said Phil. “I am now a lieutenant in the 30th. But I will explain later. My friend and I, together with a Frenchman, were wrecked and blown ashore this morning. That brute Stackanoff recognised us, and has put us in the cell next to yours, with the accusation that we are spies.”

“Stackanoff! That man must die, Western,” the stern answer came. “He has treated me with the foulest brutality. I am half-starved, and altogether lame, for the second wound I received while trying to escape has festered, and I am racked with fever. For God’s sake get me out of this, old chap!”

“I mean to,” Phil cried cheerfully. “We have no idea how we shall get out yet, but we gave the Russians the slip once before, and will do so now. Be ready at any moment. But I will try to warn you in good time. Now I will slip back, but to-morrow I will come right down into your prison.”

Carefully lowering himself, it was not long before he was back in his own cell, and telling Tony all that had happened and what chances there were of escape.

“Speak low, mate,” said Tony cautiously. “Tell yer what it is. This ’ere Froggy” – and he nodded contemptuously at Pierre – “ain’t worth a bag of salt. My advice is, don’t tell him what we’re up to. You can see he ain’t got the pluck to get out of this, and he’s bound to know he’ll catch it if we get away and leave him. So he’ll round on us if we’re not careful.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Phil.

“Look at the fellow then, and perhaps you’ll change your mind,” replied Tony in a whisper.

Pierre was lying disconsolately in his corner, and when Phil glanced at him the Frenchman’s eyes were shifty. He looked ill at ease, and was evidently deeply curious as to his fellow-prisoners’ movements.

“What for does monsieur mount ze chimney?” he asked peevishly. “Eef ze door open, what happen? Vraiment, ze bang;” and he shuddered at the thought that all would be shot.

“Look here,” said Phil sternly, and with hardly repressed anger and contempt, “that man Stackanoff has got us in his clutches, and if we are to live we must escape. I went up the chimney for that purpose, but could see no way out in that direction. If we find a loophole, you must decide whether to accompany us; but mind me, do not attempt to betray us, or we will break your neck!”

“Betray monsieur! Ah, non!” the little man cried, lifting his hands in expostulation. “Surely I will come with you. I will brave ze death.”

“Mind yer do then,” grunted Tony, looking searchingly at him.

But the incident, small as it was, was sufficient to put Phil and his friend on their guard, and after that they kept their counsels to themselves.

At dusk, the sour-faced jailer brought in some bread and a jug of water, and without answering Phil’s remarks that the cell was not fitted for officer or men, banged the door and locked it. Before he did so, Tony caught sight of six Russian soldiers standing in the doorway.

“No chance of rushing that when the jailer comes in,” he said shortly. “Never mind, the chimney’s good enough for me.”

The bread was now divided up, and they fell to hungrily. Then, when his wound had been dressed, Phil and his friends lay down. Fortunately for the former, the bayonet had made a clean thrust through the muscles, and though he suffered some pain, and was stiff, the wound was too slight to incommode him greatly.

The following morning, just as dawn was breaking, Phil slipped off his coat, climbed up the chimney, and slid down into the other cell, where he found McNeil sleeping soundly. He was shocked at the poor fellow’s appearance. He was greatly emaciated and intensely pallid. Phil woke him gently.

“Hush, keep quiet!” he said. “Here I am, come to have a chat with you.”

McNeil sat up with difficulty.

“Ah, Western!” he cried, grasping Phil by both hands, while his lips quivered, “yours is the first friendly grasp I have felt since I was taken prisoner. So you are now a subaltern, and have been taken prisoner for the second time? How did you escape? I sent a letter to say how gallantly you and your friend fought by my side for the flag.”

“Yes, and it reached the camp safely,” said Phil, “and I was promoted to sergeant, and my friend to corporal. But I will tell you all about it later. Now let me know about this brute Stackanoff.”

“Ah, he is a brute! See here, Western! He has refused me the help and advice of a doctor, and my wound daily gets worse and cripples me.”

Phil looked at it, and going to a basin in the corner of the cell, filled it with water and returned.

“I’ll set you right in a minute,” he said. “I was for a little while in the cholera hospital, and know a little about wounds too.”

Some linen lay at hand, and with this he cleaned the wound and dressed it carefully.

“Thank you, Western!” said McNeil gratefully. “You are my good Samaritan. Now what about this escape? I can just limp along, and shall be ready at any moment.”

“The door is out of the question,” Phil replied thoughtfully. “It is too strong to break, and a guard accompanies the jailer. Then the windows are too small and too high up, while the floor is impossible. The only way is up the chimney.”

“Good heavens! up the chimney?”

“Yes; listen! Our cells communicate by slanting flues, and above the junction rises a brick chimney, which is amply wide enough for our bodies. At present it has bars across it, but my friend – who, by the way, is now my servant – will help me to remove them. Fortunately, a shot has cut the chimney off short, and I noticed before coming in that the drop from the top to the roof is not very great.”

“And what do you intend doing once you get out?” asked the wounded officer. “Remember you are in the fortifications, and the Russians are as thick as peas all round.”

“We must make for the harbour, if possible, and in any case we must chance it. I have been thinking it over this morning; and that is the only way out that I can see. Of course if we cannot get down to the shore and secure a boat, we must creep out between the forts and bolt for our lives. That would be a desperate undertaking.”

Both were thoughtful and silent for a moment.

“Now I think I had better return,” said Phil. “Be prepared at any time, for the sooner we are away the better. Our lives are never safe while Stackanoff has us in his power.”

He grasped McNeil’s hand and crept into the chimney.

That night, when all was quiet in the cells, and only the distant booming of the English mortars, and the louder crash of their exploding shells, broke the silence, Phil and Tony crept into the chimney, leaving Pierre breathing heavily on his bed.

Phil climbed to the angle and helped Tony to reach his side. Then, taking it in turn, they stood on one another’s shoulders, and wrenched at the bars.

They were more solidly-wedged than had at first seemed likely, but the shell which had struck the stack had cracked the brickwork below, and this lessened the difficulty of their task. It was terribly hot work, however, and by the time two heavy bars had been wrenched free they were exhausted.