ilence. "Even here we have suffered. Vessels
have sunk in the harbour, and roofs have been torn from the houses, and
many people killed in consequence. But at sea the unhappy English have
met with a shocking disaster. It is said that along our coast and
within the harbour of Balaclava no fewer than twenty-two fine transports
have gone ashore, including the French ship _Henri Cinq_. Few lives
have been saved, I fear, and how you and your comrades managed to escape
is past belief. It is the fiercest storm we have experienced for
years."

Phil was struck dumb with consternation. "Twenty-two ships ashore!" he
murmured in a broken voice. "How awful! All those lives lost, not to
mention the stores."

It was only too true. Twenty-two vessels had been wrecked, and of these
the majority were filled with valuable stores of warm clothing and food,
the former being urgently needed at that moment, for the cold weather
had set in in earnest, and snow and sleet were falling.

"I grieve for you, sir," said the officer kindly. "It is ill fortune
indeed. But, if you feel so inclined, tell me how you came to be washed
into our harbour? It must have been a terrible experience."

Phil described the foundering of the _Columbine_ and their miraculous
escape.

"To be taken prisoner is always painful, Englishman," the officer said
consolingly, "but to be dashed upon the cliffs is to meet with a
reception compared to which your comfort here will be perfect luxury.
It is unfortunate for you, but war is always filled with misfortunes. I
will see that you and the two men with you are given blankets, and I
will speak to the prison official for you. For myself, I leave for the
field-army to-night. Ah, I hear the sergeant! Farewell, sir, and the
best of fortune!"

Phil thanked him suitably, and half an hour later found himself in his
old prison. As before, there were a number of other soldiers present,
who greeted them enthusiastically, and eagerly asked for news.

"Some of us have been here since a day or two after the Alma," said
their spokesman, "and we are dying for news. These Russian beggars
won't even give us a hint. But we keep our spirits up, and when there's
an extra heavy bombardment, we shout and sing till the guards get angry
and come in and threaten to shoot. But we only laugh at them. It is
the same if the food is bad; we kick up as much noise as possible, and
in the end get what we want, for these fellows