A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War

Turning his horse, he nodded to Phil and cantered away.

“My word, but there will be trouble!” said Vilnoff after a few moments’ silence. “That demon Stackanoff is disgraced, and he will never forget. He will learn that it was I – Vilnoff – who told the prince the whole truth, and he will repay me. Ah, he will not forget! And you, too, you Englishmen; he will take his revenge on you also. A Cossack never forgives. But there will be time to talk of this. Come with me. You can be free and lie with me beneath my blankets if you will only promise to stay and not give me the slip.”

Phil held a few moments’ hurried conversation with Tony before giving the desired promise.

“We must remember that we are prisoners, Tony,” he said, “and though this good fellow, Vilnoff, is evidently inclined to be most friendly, and act differently from the majority of his comrades, thereby making our lot easier, yet we have a duty to perform. We must escape at the earliest opportunity and try to rejoin our comrades.”

“Should think so,” Tony grunted. “If it hadn’t been for this here chap there’s no saying what would have happened. Most like we should have been run through with their pig-stickers same as poor old Sam. Those Cossacks gave me a taste of their gentle treatment on the way here. They trotted pretty nearly all the way, and if I dragged a bit on the rope, the brute who was in charge of me just picked up the slack of his lasso and whopped me over the shoulders. I can feel the sting yet. He was a big black-bearded chap, and I shall know him and be able to talk to him in the proper way next time we meets, see if I sha’n’t. Yes, Phil, we’ve got to get out of this as quick as we can. As for the promise to Vilnoff, you do as you like.”

“Very well,” said Phil, turning to the Cossack. “How long are we likely to be in your charge?” he asked.

“Only till to-morrow, Englishman. Then we Cossacks will leave the camp and act as outposts and scouts, while you and your friend may be sent into the fortress. In any case, you will be handed over to the infantry. Do not fear. I will speak a word for you.”

“Then we promise not to attempt to escape while in your charge, Vilnoff.”

“Good!” exclaimed the Cossack. “You will promise, and that is enough, for we have heard that an Englishman prides himself upon his honour. After I have left you can do as you wish,” he added, smiling in their faces. “And perhaps it were better that you should risk anything rather than Stackanoff’s vengeance. Ah, that man is a brute! Now, follow me, and I will see what can be done in the way of food.”

Following the friendly Russian, Phil and Tony at length entered the Cossack lines, and, passing between the horses, reached the farther end, where Vilnoff rapidly removed his saddle and bridle, and, picketing his shaggy animal, went in search of some grain.

“The sooner we are out of this the better,” muttered Phil. “Just look round without attracting attention, Tony. These Cossacks are scowling at us as if they would like to cut our throats.”

Tony drew an extremely black pipe from his pocket, and, holding a cake of plug tobacco above the bowl, dexterously cut shavings with his knife, ramming them down with his finger till the pipe was filled. Then he placed it in his mouth, and, calmly stepping over to a fire, which was burning close at hand, he lifted a blazing stick and applied it to the weed, turning as he did so, and swiftly gazing round the Cossack lines. A crowd of the horsemen were standing a few yards away, scowling heavily at their prisoners and muttering amongst themselves.

“Ugh! a bigger set of blackguards I never see,” Tony remarked calmly. “‘Git’, as the Yankees say, is the word for us, Phil. It’ll be safe to-night with Vilnoff, but to-morrow, when he’s gone, they’ll pass on their tale to the other coves who’ve got to look after us, and a precious poor time of it well have.”

At this moment Vilnoff returned, and, beckoning to his prisoners, led them to where his blankets and saddle lay. The former were spread upon the ground, and Phil and Tony sat down on them.

“The horse is fed and watered, and now we will look to ourselves,” said Vilnoff, with a friendly smile. “I have managed to get an extra allowance of meat, and here is plenty of bread. Now we will have a fire to ourselves;” and stepping across he quickly returned with a blazing stake. Round this sticks from a bundle tied to his saddle were piled, and soon a cheerful fire was burning. Over the blaze was placed an iron tripod, from which a small kettle full of water was suspended, and into this the meat was thrown, after having been cut into small pieces.

For an hour the three sat gazing at the blazing embers, while Phil and Vilnoff discussed the prospects of the campaign. At last the stew was ready. The Russian produced three tin plates and as many mugs, and soon they were enjoying their meal. A small tot of vodka, diluted with water, followed, and then, having smoked a last pipe, and being thoroughly tired out, Phil and Tony lay full length on the rugs, while Vilnoff, producing an enormous kaross of sheep-skin, spread it over them, crawled beneath it himself, and with a guttural “Good-night, Englishman!” placed his head on his saddle, and was quickly in the land of dreams. As for Phil and Tony, they were worn out, and scarcely had they turned over when they too were asleep, in blissful forgetfulness of the stirring events of the day, and of the dead and dying, who lay not ten miles away on the blood-stained slopes of the Alma.

The next morning the Cossack lines were early astir, and horses and men were fully ready to set out when two officers came towards them, one dressed as a Cossack, and leading his horse. The men were quickly drawn up, and having explained that he was their new commander, the Cossack officer turned to his companion and formally handed over the two prisoners.

“There, comrade,” he said, “take them and look well after them. I heat they have already done harm enough, though, indeed, I cannot say much against them, for Stackanoff was too harsh with the wounded prisoner, and, besides, his dismissal has given me this command and a chance of distinguishing myself, and having my name brought before our master the Czar.”

The infantry officer answered that he hoped the long-looked-for opportunity would not take long in coming, and beckoning to four men who had followed him, ordered them to march the prisoners off.

Phil and Tony shook hands heartily with Vilnoff, and the former thanked him for his kindness.

“If ever we meet again, Vilnoff,” he said, “perhaps we shall be able to do as much for you, and in any case, when we get back to our friends, as we mean to do, we shall tell them how good one of the Cossack horsemen has been to us. Now, good-bye and good luck! I hope Stackanoff will do you no harm, and that before long you will be seeking the girl you spoke of near Moscow.”

“Ah!” the Russian grunted, while a broad grin overspread his usually grave features, “you give me hope, Englishman. Good-bye, and may the blessed Virgin see you safely to your friends!”

Phil and Tony were surrounded at this moment by their infantry guard, and marched smartly away to the rear of the camp. Here they were ordered to enter a large shed adjoining a farmhouse, and this they found was filled with other prisoners like themselves.

“Halloo, mates,” voices sang out, “when were you taken? What’s going to happen to us?”

Phil hastily explained, and then suddenly seeing the wounded officer who had borne the colour on the previous day, and who had been removed from the Cossack lines a few minutes after the brutal Stackanoff’s dismissal, he walked over to him and asked him how he felt.

“Much better, thanks to you, Corporal,” answered the young fellow. “The doctor dressed my wound, and then got this mattress for me. After all, it was only a flesh wound, and but for severe loss of blood I should have been all right and the colour saved. It is sad to think that it was captured.”

“The colour is all right,” answered Phil. “As I was dragged away I saw that the Highlanders had rescued it.”

“That’s good news! Excellent news!” exclaimed the young officer in tones of relief. “Look here, Corporal, my name is McNeil, and I am sending in an account of our little affair. The doctor here has promised to have it taken over to our lines under a flag of truce. What is your name and your friend’s? I am going to recommend you both for distinguished gallantry.”

Phil gave the required information, and after a few more words returned to Tony flushed with happiness and pride that he and his friend had so early won praise for their deeds.

Half an hour later four Russians entered, and, lifting the wounded officer, carried him outside, and with great gentleness placed him in an araba. The other prisoners were ordered to file out, and in a few minutes they were marching, surrounded by guards, for the grim fortress of Sebastopol. Phil and Tony longed to escape, for once behind the stone walls of Sebastopol there would be little hope. But no opportunity occurred, and by nightfall they, with their comrades, were safely under lock and key, the officer having been taken to separate quarters.

Chapter Twelve.
Close Prisoners

It was a wearisome time that Phil and his friend spent in prison. Confined in a huge stone building, they passed the greater part of the day in a court-yard open to the sky. Here they discussed with their comrades every possible means of escape, but they could hit on no plan that was likely to be successful. The windows were small and heavily barred, sentries with loaded weapons stood all round the walls of the court-yard, and at night occupied a room commanding the prison, being separated from it by a wall perforated for rifle fire.

“Don’t worry, Tony, old chap,” said Phil one day, seeing that his friend was becoming despondent. “Our chance will come yet, and we shall get away. If we don’t, the Allies may take the place by storm and set us free. After all, we have little to complain of, for our quarters are moderately comfortable, and our food, though plain, is plentiful.”

“Right yer are, Phil! I’ll cheer up,” answered Tony brightly. “When I comes to think of it, we ain’t got much to grumble at. Think of them poor chaps as had arms and legs blown off at the Alma – we’re far better off than they. But I expects this being caged up ain’t for long, and any day the army will be breaking in, as you say, and setting us free.”

And indeed, had the prisoners but known it, the Allies were hard at work preparing to take the fortress and town. To do so from the north was, as has already been said, impossible, for the harbour was far too broad to allow of an effective bombardment, and, moreover, its northern shore was commanded by heavy batteries. Therefore, as we have seen, the Allies marched to the Chersonese heights, the British left resting upon Balaclava, while the French lay to our right. Opposite them was the southern face of Sebastopol, up till then undefended by very formidable works, though the plan of defences had long ago been sketched and partially executed. But no sooner was the object of the allied army discovered than hordes of Russians quickly transformed this side of the fortress, throwing up powerful earthworks, and arming them with guns drawn from the inexhaustible arsenals at the dockyard. And while they slaved, the British and French planned their own earthworks, and set fatigue-parties to work. By October 16th they were completed, and after a council of war, in which naval as well as military officers took part, it was decided that the bombardment should commence on the morrow, the batteries on the Chersonese heights doing their utmost to reduce the works in front of them, while the ships engaged the forts on the sea-face to distract attention. The cannonade was to be followed by a general assault.

A moment’s reflection will show the reader that nothing could have been wiser than a preliminary battering with cannon-shot, followed by an assault; but how the ships could have aided in one or the other it is difficult to understand. As the forts were placed on elevated plateaux, and in some cases on the cliffs, an assault by means of landing-parties was out of the question. Therefore the Russian commander would not, and did not, trouble to garrison them with infantry, but merely assured their having a sufficiency of gunners to replace possible casualties. Then again, compared with a heavily-armed stone fort, what is a wooden ship? It was a hopeless and a foolish undertaking, and it is not surprising that the allied fleet retired, having done little damage, although they had suffered severely themselves.

On shore things were perhaps a little more satisfactory. Three star shells fired from Mount Rudolph, the French battery, gave the signal for the bombardment at an early hour on October 17th, and from that moment for four awful hours the Allies’ combined 126 heavy guns poured a hail of shell into the Russian defences. These consisted of outworks and of various forts of formidable power known as the Flagstaff Bastion, the Malakoff, and the Redan, the whole armed with 118 guns, not to mention a thousand and more of lighter casting to be used in case of assault.

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.”