Phil readily gave the required promise, and, vaulting up behind the friendly Cossack, they pushed on amongst the retreating infantry.
“What has become of my comrades?” asked Phil after a pause, for he was terribly afraid that Tony and the officer were killed.
“Comfort yourself, Englishman, they too are prisoners, and you will meet them at the camp; but I doubt whether they will reach there so easily as you, for Alexoff has charge of your soldier friend, while the brave wounded officer walks by the side of our commander, who is not too kind to us, and hates all Englishmen bitterly. Yes, I fear it will go hard with him, for we have lost heavily, and Stackanoff will not easily forget it.”
“And is Stackanoff your commander?” asked Phil.
“Yes, that is his name. His excellency rules us with a rod of iron. Ah! my English comrade, there is a little girl waiting for me about half a verst from Moscow town, and I long to break from this life and return to her. I have served my time, and should have been free long ago, but Stackanoff keeps me. Ah, how I hate him! Some day, perhaps, I shall repay him, and meanwhile I will fight for my country, for she has need of us all.”
“Yes, it will be a big struggle,” agreed Phil, “and if your comrades fight as pluckily as they did to-day, Russia will need many brave men to fill the gaps.”
The Cossack gave a hearty grunt of satisfaction, for, though longing to reach Moscow, he was at heart a patriot, and liked to hear his brothers-in-arms well spoken of.
“We are friends from this day,” he said, grasping Phil’s hand. “But prepare to get down. We are nearing our bivouac, and it would not do to let Stackanoff see you mounted behind me. Wait, though, I will tell you when to jump off.”
Putting his horse into a gentle trot the Cossack jogged towards a collection of tents and horsemen. Suddenly there was a shout from behind them, and just as Phil and his captor joined a squadron of Cossacks, a small, fierce-looking man, with a bristling moustache and a face deeply pitted by smallpox, cantered up, dragging beside him an unhappy captive, who was scarcely able to retain his feet.
Phil’s blood boiled, for he recognised in an instant that the prisoner was the officer who had so bravely carried the colour.