A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean WarBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
General
A Gallant Grenadier: A Tale of the Crimean War
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
Crimean War, 1853-1856 -- Juvenile fiction
Taking the precaution to drag Stackanoff's body into the corner behind
the door, Phil knocked loudly, and, hearing footsteps outside, cried out
in a feigned voice and in the fierce manner in which the dead Russian
seemed to have been in the habit of addressing his subordinates, "Hi,
you, fool that you are! Why do you not listen, and let me out?"
A second later there was the sound of a key in the lock, and almost at
the same moment a most unearthly scream.
The escaping prisoners looked at one another with doubting eyes, but
before a question could be asked the door was pushed open cautiously.
Phil clutched its edge, so that it could not easily be closed, and
waited. Then again came the scream, this time more clearly heard, while
the voice of Pierre could be distinguished crying at the top of his
voice, and still in broken English, as if that would be better
understood by the Russians, "Help! help! Ze English prisonaire make ze
escape!"
"Ah! treachery!" gasped the jailer, stepping back and attempting to
close the door.
Phil darted out and made a grab at the man, but with a cry of terror the
Russian took to his heels, and raced up the steep flight of steps, where
he turned towards the town.
Phil followed him to the top of the stairway, and then returned
hurriedly.
"He has got away, and has gone to call the nearest guard," he cried in
hurried tones. "Tumble out, you fellows. They will be back here in a
quarter of an hour or less, and if we are to give them the slip, it must
be now. What are you doing, Tony? Come here, you idiot!"
Tony crept from the chimney, into which he was in the act of climbing,
and slunk back to his friend's side abashed, and yet full of
indignation.
"Going to leave that cabbage-eating French monkey?" he asked angrily.
"What's he done? Why, just spoilt all our chances; that's all."
"It is the very thing you will be doing, old man," answered Phil. "Now,
give me one of those bars, and keep one yourself. McNeil, I'm ready, if
you are. Here is Stackanoff's sword for you. As for that little
coward, he has done all the harm he can possibly do us, so we will leave
him to his own devices."
They grasped their weapons, and Phil and Tony, placing themselves on
either side of the wounded lieutenant to help him along, hurried out of
the cell, up the stairs, and ran for a deep ditch which they had noticed
as they were marched to prison. It seemed to be a trench constructed to
command the rear of some of the fortifications, and for the moment would
prove an excellent shelter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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