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