Phil hastily explained, and then suddenly seeing the wounded officer who
had borne the colour on the previous day, and who had been removed from
the Cossack lines a few minutes after the brutal Stackanoff's dismissal,
he walked over to him and asked him how he felt.

"Much better, thanks to you, Corporal," answered the young fellow. "The
doctor dressed my wound, and then got this mattress for me. After all,
it was only a flesh wound, and but for severe loss of blood I should
have been all right and the colour saved. It is sad to think that it
was captured."

"The colour is all right," answered Phil. "As I was dragged away I saw
that the Highlanders had rescued it."

"That's good news! Excellent news!" exclaimed the young officer in
tones of relief. "Look here, Corporal, my name is McNeil, and I am
sending in an account of our little affair. The doctor here has
promised to have it taken over to our lines under a flag of truce. What
is your name and your friend's? I am going to recommend you both for
distinguished gallantry."

Phil gave the required information, and after a few more words returned
to Tony flushed with happiness and pride that he and his friend had so
early won praise for their deeds.

Half an hour later four Russians entered, and, lifting the wounded
officer, carried him outside, and with great gentleness placed him in an
araba. The other prisoners were ordered to file out, and in a few
minutes they were marching, surrounded by guards, for the grim fortress
of Sebastopol. Phil and Tony longed to escape, for once behind the
stone walls of Sebastopol there would be little hope. But no
opportunity occurred, and by nightfall they, with their comrades, were
safely under lock and key, the officer having been taken to separate
quarters.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

CLOSE PRISONERS.

It was a wearisome time that Phil and his friend spent in prison.
Confined in a huge stone building, they passed the greater part of the
day in a court-yard open to the sky. Here they discussed with their
comrades every possible means of escape, but they could hit on no plan
that was likely to be successful. The windows were small and heavily
barred, sentries with loaded weapons stood all round the walls of the
court-yard, and at night occupied a room commanding the prison, being
separated from it by a wall perforated for rifle fire.

"Don't worry, Tony, old chap," said Phil one day, seeing that his friend
was