the northern side was impossible, for the harbour intervened, and
in consequence the march was resumed till finally the British left
approached the harbour of Balaclava; the rest of the allied forces
extended along the slopes of the Chersonese heights surrounding the
town, and prepared to throw up earthworks in readiness for a gigantic
bombardment.

Meanwhile the Russians in Sebastopol were by no means idle. All
civilians left the town and forts, and, under the great Todleben, their
engineer, thousands set to work with pick and spade to improve their
defences on the south and mount extra guns, relying on their huge army
in the field to keep the allied enemy busy. Unlimited supplies poured
into the town, and thus, though the Allies were besieging it on the
southern side, and the harbour-mouth was blockaded by the opposing
fleet, it was in a position to hold out for an indefinite period.

Meanwhile what had become of our hero?

A burly, grey-clad Cossack had charge of Phil, and noticing that he was
exhausted after the struggle in which he had been engaged, he turned and
spoke kindly to him.

"We will go along easily till you have got your wind," he said. "You
must be tired after such a fight. My word, what gluttons you English
are for hard knocks and desperate battles! I watched from the summit of
the hill and saw you and your comrade rush to the rescue of the flag.
It was a mad act, Englishman, but bravely done. But come, I am
forgetting. You are a comrade in distress. Take a sip from this
bottle. It is vodka with a little water added, and will put new life
into you."

Phil thanked him heartily, and as soon as they were out of range of the
British batteries, sat down on a boulder and took a pull at the
Cossack's flask.

"Thank you, my friend!" he exclaimed earnestly. "A short rest here will
do me a world of good. Have we far to go to-night?"

"What! You speak our language, Englishman! Good!" and the Russian's
broad and rugged face lit up with a kindly smile. "Yes," he continued,
"we have a long way to go. But you are tired. Give me your word that
you will not attempt to throw me, or get the better of me, and I will
let you mount behind on the crupper. Come, there is no one about, and
before we join the squadron again you can dismount."

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