The Red Symbol

by John Ironside

  CHAPTER XXI

  A FORLORN HOPE

  They were a craven crew,--bold enough when arrayed in their numbersagainst two men and one helpless girl, but terror-stricken at thesefresh tidings.

  That was my opinion of them at the time, but perhaps it was unjust.Every man who attended that meeting had done so at the deliberate riskof his life and liberty. Most of them had undoubtedly tramped the wholeway to the rendezvous, through the storm and swelter of the summernight, and they were fatigued and unstrung. Also, the Russian--andespecially the revolutionary Russian--is a queer psychological amalgam.Ordinarily as callous and stoical as a Chinaman in the infliction orendurance of death or torture, he is yet a bundle of high-strung nerves,and at any moment his cool cynicism is liable to give place to sheerhysteria.

  Therefore at the warning shout, panic seized them, and they fled,helter-skelter, through the main door. In less than a minute the placewas clear of all but ourselves and the dead and wounded on the floor.

  Loris slammed the door, barred it, and strode back to us. Pendennis waskneeling beside Anne, calling her by her name, and I leaned against thewall, staring stupidly down at them. I was faint and dizzy all at once,incapable for the moment of either speech or action.

  "Well done, my friend!" the Duke exclaimed. "You thought I had failedyou, eh? Come, we must get out of this quickly. They will return whenthey find it is a ruse. Is she hurt?"

  He pushed Pendennis aside unceremoniously, and lifted Anne in his arms,as easily as if she had been a child.

  I think she must have been regaining consciousness, for I heard him sayrapidly and tenderly:

  "Courage, _petite_, thou shalt soon be safe."

  "Who are you?" demanded Pendennis, peering at him in perplexity. Hisdisguise was palpable and incongruous enough, now that he was speakingin his natural voice.

  "Her friend, as I presume you are; therefore follow if you would saveher and yourself. There is no time for talk!"

  With Anne in his arms he made for the door by which he had entered, andPendennis rushed after him. Anne's arms were round his neck; she wasclinging to him, and her head lay on his shoulder. I saw the gleam ofher bright hair as they passed through the doorway,--the last I was tosee of Anne Pendennis for many a long day.

  I staggered forward, trying to beat back the horrible faintness that wasoverwhelming me, and to follow them, stumbled over a corpse, and fellheadlong. An agonizing pain shot through me, beginning at my left arm,and I knew now that it was broken. The pain dispelled the faintness forthe time being, but I made no attempt to rise. Impossible to followthem now, or even if not impossible, I could be of no service; I shouldonly hamper their flight. Better stay here and die.

  I think I prayed that I might die soon; I know I prayed that they mightyet reach safety. Where had Anne's father sprung from? How could he haveknown of her capture, of this meeting in the heart of the woods? How hadhe made his way here?

  Why, he must himself belong to this infernal society, as she did; thatwas it, of course. What an abominable din this was in my head,--worse tobear than the pain of my wounds. In my head? No, the noise wasoutside--shrieks and shouts, and the crackle of rifles. I dragged myselfto a sitting posture and listened. The Duke had said that his tale ofthe soldiers was a mere ruse, but certainly there was a fight going onoutside. Were the soldiers there, and had Loris unwittingly spoken thetruth,--or had he himself betrayed the revolutionists as a lastresource? Unanswerable questions, all of them; so why worry about them?But they kept whirling round maddeningly in my half delirious brain,while the din still raged without, though it seemed to be abating.

  The remaining lamp had flickered out, but sufficient light came nowthrough the gaps in the broken roof to enable me to see about me. Theplace was like a shambles round the spot where we had taken our stand;there were five or six bodies, besides the president, whom I had shot atfirst. It was his corpse I had stumbled over, so he had his revenge in away.

  I found myself wondering idly how long it would be before they wouldsearch the chapel, and if it would be worth while to try and get out bythe door through which Loris had come and gone; but, though I made afeeble effort to get on my feet, it was no good. I was as weak as aninfant. I discovered then that I was soaked with blood from bulletwounds in my right arm and in my side, though I felt no pain from themat the time; all the pain was concentrated in my broken left arm.

  There came a battering at the barred door, to which my back was turned,and a moment afterwards the other door swung open, and an officer sprangin, sword in hand, followed by a couple of soldiers with fixed bayonets.

  He stopped short, with an exclamation of astonishment, at the sight ofthe dead man, and I laughed aloud, and called:

  "Hello, Mirakoff!"

  It was queer; I recognized him, I heard myself laugh and speak, in astrange detached fashion, as if I was some one else, having noconnection with the battered individual half sitting, half lying on theblood-stained floor.

  "Who is it?" he asked, staying his men with a gesture, and staring downat me with a puzzled frown.

  "Maurice Wynn."

  "Monsieur Wynn! _Ma foi!_ What the devil are you doing here?"

  "Curiosity," I said. "And I guess I've paid for it!"

  I suppose I must have fainted then, for the next thing I knew I wassitting with my back to a tree, while a soldier beside me, leaning onhis rifle, exchanged ribald pleasantries with some of his comrades who,assisted by several stolid-faced _moujiks_, were busily engaged infilling in and stamping down a huge and hastily dug grave.

  At a little distance, three officers, one of them Mirakoff, were talkingtogether, and beside them, thrown on an outspread coat, was a heap ofoddments, chiefly papers, revolvers, and "killers." As I looked asoldier gathered these up into a bundle, and hoisted it on his shoulder.A watch and chain fell out, and he picked them up, and pocketed them.

  I heard a hoarse word of command on the right, and saw a number ofprisoners--the remnant of the revolutionists, each with a soldier besidehim--file into the wood. They all looked miserable enough, poorwretches. Some were wounded, scarcely able to stand, and their guardsurged them forward by prodding them with their bayonets.

  I wondered why I wasn't among them, and guessed if they tried to make memarch that way, I'd just stay still and let them prod the life out ofme!

  I still felt dazed and queer, and my broken left arm hurt me badly. Ithung helpless at my side, but my right arm had been roughly bandaged andput in a sling, and I could feel a wad over the other wound, held inplace by a scarf of some kind. My mouth and throat were parched with aburning thirst that was even worse than the pain in my arm.

  The group of officers dispersed, and Mirakoff crossed over to me.

  "Well, you are recovering?" he asked curtly.

  I moved my lips, but no sound would come, so I just looked up at him.

  He saw how it was with me, and ordered the soldier to fetch water. Hewas a decent youngster, that Mirakoff, too good for a Russian; he musthave had some foreign blood in him.

  "This is a serious matter," he said, while the man was gone. "Lucky Ichanced on you, or you'd have been finished off at once, and shoved inthere with the rest"--he jerked his head towards the new-made grave."I've done the best I could for you. You'll be carried through the wood,and sent in a cart to Petersburg, instead of having to run by thestirrup, as the others who can stand must do. But you'd have to go toprison. What on earth induced you to come here?"

  The man came back with the water, and I drank greedily, and found myvoice, though the words came slowly and clumsily.

  "Curiosity, as I told you."

  "Curiosity to see '_La Mort_,' you mean?"

  "No; though I've got pretty close to death," I said, making a feeblepun. (We were, of course, speaking in French.)

  "I don't mean death; I mean a woman who is called '_La Mort_.' Hername's Anna Petrovna. She was to have been there. Did you see her? Wasshe there?"

  I forgot my pain for the instant, in the reli
ef that his words conveyed.Surely he would not have put that question to me if she was already aprisoner. Loris must have got away with her, and, for the present, atleast, she was safe.