“Get up, you little funk,” said Phil bitterly, while Tony clasped him by the collar and jerked him to his feet.
“Yes,” continued Stackanoff, “you are all spies. The tale that you were washed ashore is exploded. Confess now, and I will promise to deal leniently with you.”
“Confess!” shouted Phil, roused to anger. “You know well that we are no spies. And let me tell you, you are merely an inspector, and have no right to punish us. Is this fit treatment for a British officer? Wait,” and he shook his finger at the Russian, “I will yet communicate with the gentleman who dismissed you, and probably he will be less pleased with your conduct than before.”
“You will! then I will give you little time, you Englishman,” snarled Stackanoff, beside himself with rage at the mention of his disgrace. “To-morrow I will have you brought before the military court, and I myself will swear that you are spies who escaped me once before. Then you will be shot. After all, it is an easy death,” he laughed sardonically.
Phil felt inclined to fly at him, but he kept his temper.
“After all,” he answered quietly, “it is more easy than death by the bayonet, and that perhaps is why so many of your comrades chose death by the bullet in the fight at Inkermann.”
“Ha, you would remind me of our disgrace!” hissed the Russian. “Listen, you stubborn English pig. Once you disgraced me and pulled me, Stackanoff, leader of a regiment of Cossacks, to the ground. I did not forget, and I will repay in full measure. You shall come before the military tribunal, as I told you, and that officer for whom you did that foolish deed shall be evidence against you. You will be condemned, and at early dawn, when the cold fog still lies on the ground, you shall be led out to your doom. I shall be there. Do you hear? I, Stackanoff, who hate you worse than any, shall be there, and I myself will shoot you. You shall hear the word, my brave Englishman; you shall see the musket raised, and you shall wait. Ah, yes! you shall have time to think over and regret your folly. Then, when your knees give way like those of this cur of a Frenchman, I will shoot you, and your body shall be flung into the sea. Thus you will learn that it is ill to bring disgrace on the head of a Stackanoff.”
Phil laughed in the man’s face and looked at him with steady gaze, before which the fiery Russian’s eyes lowered.
“You call this man a cur,” said Phil with a smile, nodding his head at Pierre. “Believe me, you Russian dog, he is a brave man compared with you, for he would not murder his fellow-being. If that time comes of which you have spoken, I will do my best to bear it; and should your time to face death come first, I trust you may set me an example. I doubt it though. Bullies, such as you, are ever cowards, and vengeance, when followed too far, is apt to bring disaster to the avenger. My only wish is that I could reach your comrades. They have proved themselves brave and honourable men, and would spit on you.”
The Russian’s face was an ugly picture. Flushed with hate and rage, he looked as though he would repeat his former assault. But, standing upright and sturdy as he did, his head proudly held in air, Phil did not look a young man to be trifled with, even by one with weapons in his hands. Moreover, Tony was close alongside, his eyes fixed upon the Russian’s face, and clearly showing that at the slightest attempt he would treat him less gently than before.