Chapter XLIV: The Rescue

The arrival of a fresh batch of prisoners was a great event in the lives of the unfortunates at Voronesh. The prisoners taken were not many; consequently they arrived at very long intervals, especially as they were sent to different places.

When Jack and his companions entered, an immediate hush fell upon the company; then a chorus of voices broke out, welcomes were uttered, those who had been there some time shaking hands with the new-comers, assuring them that life was not unbearable there, and saying they all had hopes of soon being exchanged. Then came questions about the operations of the war. Had Sebastopol fallen? Had reinforcements and supplies come out? How was the road from Balaclava? What was the old 47th or 23rd, or whatever particular regiment the speaker belonged to, doing? And so on.

While all this was going on, Jack was talking to Linham.

‘Being prisoners don’t go with the motto of the regiment,’ Linham said presently.

‘Better in prison than dead,’ said Jack.

‘Perhaps so, and there are several more cavalrymen here who went down in the charge--Dryden of the 11th Hussars, who had thirty-six wounds when he was found on the field by the Russians; Cooper of the 13th, who had twenty-five; and Duke, same regiment, eighteen. We’ve several of the 8th, three of the 4th, and two 17th men, Stephenson and O’Lavery, besides myself. But not one of these but what was most severely wounded. Nearly a dozen of our fellows were taken from the field alive; but as far as I’ve heard we three are the only survivors, except two officers, who, I believe, were Cornets Leland and Sir William Lennox. While I was in hospital, a Russian who could speak English told me they had buried over forty men who had the “death’s head” on their appointments, and showed me several buttons he had cut off their uniforms.’

‘It was a terrible day, Jim,’ said Jack. ‘There were only thirty-four of us who came out of the charge. But tell me your own adventures?’

‘They’re soon told. You remember, after you rallied the handful of ours and some of the 8th we charged? Well, I cut my way through that and the second lot, when you remember the Russian brutes opened on us and their own men from their field-guns.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it was that a piece of shell brought down my horse, and I was a bit stunned by the fall. Presently I freed myself, just as several Polish Lancers came at me. One I cut from his saddle, and was tackling the others when another splinter of shell shattered my sword. One of the Russians then drew a pistol and shot at me, the ball passing through my arm. A Dragoon came up and cut me over the head with his sword and I went down; but before I lost consciousness some more Lancers went by and dug at me on the ground, piercing my left leg, my body, and my wounded arm. I remembered no more till I was being carried off the field at night, when I went in hospital with seven wounds. I had nothing to complain of there, and in due course I was packed off with a batch of other prisoners and brought here. Now you know all about me. What of yourself, of the regiment, and all our comrades?’

‘Alas! there are few left,’ said Jack; and he told Linham the names of the survivors.

Of Inkermann, of the great hurricane, and something of the cruel sufferings of the badly clad, half-starved heroes dying by hundreds of exposure, overwork, cholera, and sheer starvation, Linham had already heard from the most recent batch of prisoners, and Jack told him how things had been at the end of the year.

‘What a Government, what bungling, what murder! Yet in spite of all, our gallant fellows never complain; they just work till they die, and the few who survive will get a medal worth half-a-crown, and the right to die in the workhouse--ha, hum!’

Several other men then came in from another room, and amongst them were those few survivors of the light cavalry charge whom Linham had spoken of.

These few cavalrymen kept much together. Amongst them was the trumpet-major of the 4th Light Dragoons, and an enormous trooper named Parkes, standing six feet three. The trumpet-major of the 4th and Linham were looked upon as the leaders of the little society, who all welcomed Jack most heartily.

Poor fellows! several of them were so disfigured and maimed by their wounds that their soldiering days were over for ever. With the exception of Linham, too, they were dressed in all sorts of nondescript rags--old sheepskin coats, Russian tunics, native wool trousers, and boots of every description. Here and there might be seen a tattered remnant of uniform, showing that, in spite of the long hair and great beards, the wearers had once been soldiers.

Linham, however, still wore the remains of his uniform. How he had managed it was a mystery to all; but there he was, patched and darned truly, but still in uniform, even to his stock, which he had refused to abandon when everybody else had thrown theirs away with joy. He had bought from a Russian a flat-topped, white-banded forage-cap, and was brushed and pipe-clayed and shaved till he looked much like the Linham of old.

The next day it was arranged that the new-comers should be entertained at a feast; and, as most of the men had a number of copecks saved out of their daily dole, provisions on a lavish scale were bought, and quite a merry evening was spent, cards and dominoes, and after that songs and anecdotes, helping to pass the time pleasantly.

On this occasion Linham so far unbent as to sing; in harsh, unmusical tones, the only song he was ever known to attempt:

‘Wrap me up in my old stable-jacket,
And say a poor buffer lies low;
And six stalwart Lancers shall carry me,
With steps mournful, solemn, and slow.’

The song, however, was as loudly applauded as though rendered by the finest singer in Europe, and good fellowship reigned supreme.

Jack found life at Voronesh tolerably comfortable. The governor of the place was a kind-hearted man, and the prisoners were allowed much latitude, being permitted to wander about the town almost at free-will.

There were several English families resident there, and some of the soldiers had made friends with them, and were always welcome visitors. Many of the ladies of the town frequently came to the prison, bringing presents of clothes, food, wine, and such like.

Altogether, the prisoners had nothing to complain of. There was no fear of any of them escaping; for, hundreds of miles from their comrades, in a foreign country, without money or the means of transport, discovery and rearrest was absolutely certain, and that meant stricter captivity, with hard and menial labour.

Linham and the rest of the cavalrymen had made friends with a Scotsman who managed a large oil-mill, and at his big hospitable house spent many a comfortable hour. Jack was taken there, and soon became a favourite, especially with the mistress of the house and the two daughters.

Weeks passed, spring and summer came, and Jack found himself still a prisoner. He was sick of his inactive life and longed to be back again with his regiment. Of what was going on the prisoners knew nothing; the only bit of news they had received was that Czar Nicholas was dead.

Although the prisoners were always inquiring, no news of any exchange ever came, and it almost seemed as if in that, to them, out-of-the-way corner of the world they had been forgotten by friends and foes alike.

Jack and Linham were returning one evening from the house of the Scotsman to their prison, where they had to be by sunset to answer to their names, when Jack saw a trading caravan enter the place. They were on their way to Moscow, having come from Perekop, and it was stated that they would remain in the town a few days, holding a sort of market.

The arrival of the caravan caused quite a sensation in the town, and the prisoners promised themselves to go down next morning and see what was offered for sale, more from curiosity than anything else, as they had no money to buy with.

Jack and Linham were wandering about next morning, examining the various articles, when Jack noticed a stout-looking man who seemed to be eyeing them very keenly.

Presently the Russian took a pair of boots from a wagon near him, stepped up to Jack and said in low tones, in Russian, which Jack could then speak fairly well, ‘Don’t you know me, excellency?’

Jack stared at the man; then replied, ‘No.’

The man looked straight at him, and his eyes and nose seemed familiar; but that beard and long hair--no. But stay. Was it--could it be---- And Jack paused; then said, ‘You’re not Sergius surely?’

‘Yes, excellency, I am he. I am here to help you to escape. My lord the count wills it. Pretend to bargain for the boots, for we may be watched.’

Jack did so, and Sergius continued, ‘I have been months trying to find you. I have been to four other places. I have horses and a disguise. You must slip away; arrange to meet me, and when it is dark we will fly.’

Jack was wild with delight for a few minutes, and entered fully into the scheme, then he thought of his companions, and of Linham especially. He would not go and leave his old comrade behind. He told Sergius so.

‘It is impossible, excellency. I can take only one.’

‘Then I will not go,’ said Jack.

‘Excellency,’ urged Sergius, ‘we cannot talk longer now; come back to-morrow and arrange. We start in two days; then you must come.’

Jack immediately took Linham into his confidence, and told him what he had learnt.

‘But I will not go without you,’ said Jack; ‘we have gone through too much together for me to desert you now.’

‘Ha, hum! Jack, you’re a fine fellow; you’re a--a---- Jim Linham, you’re a fool,’ he concluded.

Then in more husky tones he said, ‘Jack, you’ll go. I’m an old war-horse that it doesn’t matter a snap about. I don’t say much, but the wound in my leg troubles me a great deal. I fear I shall never do much more soldiering. Go and leave me.’

‘Never.’

‘But you must. What’s the good of you’re staying here? You can’t do us any good. You’ve got all your life before you, so what’s the good of being silly, now, I want to know?’

‘Then you must find out, my dear Jimmy. I’m not going to leave you.’

That night the little cavalry clique gathered together in one corner of the general room, and Linham solemnly put to them the facts of the case.

‘Blair has a chance of escape,’ he said, ‘and he won’t take it.’

Then the details were gone into, and the unselfish fellows unanimously agreed that Jack must go.

‘Not without Jim,’ said Jack.

But they told him that was nonsense.

Next morning Jack again sought Sergius, and fought a big fight with him. In the end he agreed to include Linham in the party, though he said it would increase the risk of detection.

Then Linham was obstinate and refused to go till Jack declared he would not go without him, and so at last it was decided.

The secret was told to most of the prisoners, who immediately set about writing letters to relatives and friends, which Jack and Linham were to take with them. Final arrangements were made with Sergius, and on the fourth day Jack and Linham were to make their attempt.

They had a sort of farewell supper, and all sorts of messages were given to the two Lancers for friends and comrades in camp should they ever reach it.

Next morning, with a number of others, they left the prison as usual, their hearts beating wildly, for if all went well by that time to-morrow they hoped to be many miles away.

The caravan was to start about midday, and bartering had been finished. Sergius had a van driven by a lad and a droshky in which he himself travelled.

Jack and Linham with their friends went down to the arch under which Sergius’s van and droshky were kept at night, and they stood round talking and watching Sergius stow away his wares for the journey. They were at the back of the wagon, with the other prisoners all round them. Waiting until Sergius made them a sign that there was no one about, Jack and Linham popped into the wagon, were promptly hidden between two bales, and covered with a pile of rugs.

It seemed a very long time to them before they started; but presently, with a rumble, off they went, and as the wheels rolled from the stones to the more even metalled road a cheer burst forth.

‘That’s a signal from those friends who have followed us that we are safely out of the town,’ said Jack.

‘Ha, hum! I wish I were safely out of the wagon too,’ growled Linham; ‘I’m half-suffocated.’

‘If the chaps can only answer our names for us to-night, as they said they would try to do,’ said Jack, ‘that will give us a good start, providing our absence is not discovered until to-morrow.’

‘They will do all they can,’ said Linham; and, lulled by the motion of the wagon, both he and Jack fell asleep.

When they awoke they were standing still.

‘Hallo!’ cried Jack, ‘what’s the matter I wonder?’

He poked out his head just as Sergius was heard calling, ‘Excellency, excellency, are you asleep?’

‘I was,’ replied Jack; ‘but am now awake.’

‘You can both come out,’ cried the delighted Sergius; and Jack and Linham did so.

They found they were in the open country, far away from Voronesh. The droshky stood behind them, and the driver was feeding his horses.

‘I dropped behind,’ said Sergius; ‘the others are now well ahead. We must do quickly what we have to do,’ and he produced a bundle containing complete suits of clothes, which he wanted Jack and Linham to assume. Jack at once consented, but Linham flatly refused.

He would wear no Russian clothes he said. If he were captured it should be as a soldier; he would run no risk of being shot as a spy. In the end he consented to wear a black astrakhan cap, and put on a light coat over his uniform, which quite altered his appearance.

Jack assumed the dress of a Russian trader; then, transferring several packages from the van to the droshky, Sergius bade Jack and Linham enter, and whipping up his horses, away they went southwards.

‘What will become of the van?’ asked Jack.

‘My boy will overtake the others, and travel with them as far as Moscow. There he will sell all and return to Teberti.’

The two horses in the droshky were splendid animals and spanked along at a grand rate. By nightfall they had travelled fifty versts, and they slept at a tiny village where no questions were asked.

Next day they went on again, and thanks to the passport with which the count had provided Sergius, and thanks also to a good supply of money which he used freely, they made splendid progress.

They went by unfrequented roads, staying mostly at small villages. Jack’s knowledge of Russian stood them in good stead; and though, owing to Linham’s eccentricities, they had several narrow escapes from detection by detachments of soldiers they met upon the road, at last they crossed the Dneiper at Kherson, and next day came once again in sight of Perekop, which town, however, Sergius avoided, going on as far as Balgaza.

Jack was overjoyed at finding himself once more in the Crimea, and hoped soon to be again with the British army. The following night they neared Simpheropol, and then it was necessary to move with the greatest caution, as they were surrounded by Russian troops. They were not very far from Old Fort, the spot where the allied armies had landed nearly a year before, and Jack sighed as he thought of the terrible experiences they had passed through since that date.

At a small village just north of Baktschi-Serai, Sergius placed Jack and Linham in the house of a small farmer, and bade them on no account show themselves till he returned. That was not until the following night, when he was accompanied by another rider.

Jack saw them dismount, and in a few moments the taller figure had entered the house, and, running up to Jack, had taken him by both hands. It was Count Pauloff, and his joy at seeing Jack was undeniable.

‘My dear friend,’ he said, ‘I cannot tell you how much I rejoice to see you again. After I left you at Teberti I went straight to Sebastopol. Liprandi had returned, and with him I sought out the Prince and begged for your release. I found, however, that my cousin Sominoff had forestalled me, had procured an order for you to be conveyed to Perekop, and had sent an escort to conduct you. I had passed the escort on my way to Sebastopol. The Prince had, however, insisted that you should be well treated. Determined not to be defeated, directly I could obtain leave to go to Teberti I sent Sergius to seek you, and here you are.’

‘How can I thank you, count?’ asked Jack.

‘No thanks, friend. I am still in your debt, for you saved my life; I have only procured your liberty. I have the order for your release in my pocket, for, alas! poor Vladimir can no longer oppose me in this; he was killed a month ago in the streets of Sebastopol by the splinter of a shell from the French batteries. But who is this?’ pointing to Linham, who had discarded his Russian coat and stood revealed in the remains of his uniform.

Jack explained, and the count laughed. ‘I can manage it,’ he said. ‘I have horses. To-morrow morning we will start, and I will see you through our lines. By midday you will be among your own people. Now you must return with me and see my mother and Irma.’

This, however, Jack was by no means willing to do. He had a very great respect for the beautiful but imperious girl, but he did not want to meet her in her mother’s house again. He fancied she might renew her persuasion that he should transfer to the Russian army, and somehow--he hardly liked to confess it to himself--she exercised more will-power over him than he cared to own. So he pleaded fatigue, and they passed the night at the farm.

Next morning, Jack mounted on a splendid horse the count had brought, and Linham on Sergius’s mount, they started, and in glorious weather rode on, crossing the Katcha and the Belbec, skirting the Russian division in the Korales Valley, and eventually reaching the Tractir Bridge.

Here the count halted. ‘It will not be safe for me to go farther,’ he said, ‘or I may find you and I have changed places.’

‘And I fear I should have much more difficulty in procuring your release than you did mine,’ said Jack.

With mutual good wishes, Jack sending very kind messages to the countess and Irma, he shook hands with the count, and Linham saluted. They dismounted, and were going to cross the bridge on foot; but the count stayed them.

‘I want you both to accept the horses you ride,’ he said, ‘as a present to two gallant soldiers whom I only regret having met as enemies instead of as comrades.’

Jack was really touched at this new proof of kindness, and when they had parted he sat for some time watching the figure of the gallant count as he trotted away.

He and Linham then crossed the bridge and soon met an English picket, who stared in open-eyed astonishment at the nondescript pair. The soldiers were healthy, well-fed, rosy-looking English lads in smart scarlet tunics, wearing good boots, their appointments being bright and clean. The sergeant, who had come from England but a few months ago, and knew of the winter misery only by hearsay, heard with astonishment that the two before them were English prisoners of war. They were taken to the officer commanding the picket, who was equally astonished, but who, at their request, passed them on to the cavalry camp.

Presently they saw the rows of tents and the horse lines. Then lance-flags were seen fluttering, and a party of Lancers passed them. Jack and Linham stared in astonishment. All the men were smart, clean, and well clothed and booted. Even their uniforms were changed; the tunics had a white, turned-back facing.

‘These must be the 17th,’ said Jack; ‘look at the skull and cross-bones.’

They reached a sentry and dismounted.

‘Here, who are you, and what do you want?’ he cried.

‘We’re prisoners of war returned from captivity,’ said Jack.

‘What regiment do you belong to?’

‘We did belong to the 17th Lancers.’

‘Here, that won’t do!’ he cried; ‘stand where you are.--Tom, pass the word for the regimental.’

Jack and Linham stood humbly by their horses, while a little crowd of men, all of the 17th, but all strangers from England, gathered round them, staring curiously at the two travel-stained and battered arrivals.

A big man came shouldering his way through the gazers, an officer followed him, and the troopers sprang to attention.

‘Here’s a couple of chaps who say they belong to “ours,”’ said the sentry; ‘but strikes me they’re frauds. They look more like rag-pickers than Lancers.’

The regimental stared at the new-comers; then Jack said, ‘Barrymore, don’t you know us?’

‘Heavens above!’ cried Barrymore in mighty tones. ‘Stand back there, men!--Jack, Jim, God bless you both! we’d given you up as dead months ago!’

The officer approached. It was Leland, no longer cornet, but captain. He stared a moment; then took the hands of the nondescripts as Barrymore had done.

‘Who are they?’ murmured a trooper fresh out from England.

‘Who are they?’ roared Barrymore. ‘Why, men who covered themselves with glory while you were learning your drill at Canterbury. They’re Sergeant Linham and “Blair of Balaclava.”’

‘Blair of Balaclava?’ cried the men, and then spontaneously there burst out a cheer, and in a moment the two heroes were seized, seated shoulder high, and, amidst the thundering plaudits of men who had heard of their deeds over and over again, despite their struggles they were carried to the headquarters of the regiment whose recent laurels they had borne no mean share in winning.

PAGE 360 ]