Boy Scouts in Front of Warsaw; Or, In the Wake of War

by G. Harvey Ralphson

  Produced by John Pobuda

  The Boy Scouts in Front of Warsaw

  Or In the Wake of War

  Boy Scout Series Volume 20

  By Colonel George Durston

  Chapter I

  The Disappearance

  It was the fifth of August. Warsaw the brilliant, Warsaw the Beautiful,the best beloved of her adoring people, had fallen. Torn by bombs,wrecked by great shells, devastated by hordes of alien invaders, she layin ruins.

  Her people, despairing, seemed for the greater part to have vanished inthe two days since the fatal third of August when the city was taken.

  Many of the wealthiest of her citizens had taken refuge in the lowerpart of the city, leaving their magnificent palaces and residencessituated in the newer part to the flood of invading soldiers, who wentwith unerring directness to the parts containing the greatest comfortand luxury.

  Warsaw is built in the midst of a beautiful plain mostly on the leftbank of the river Vistula. All the main part of the city lies close tothe river, and the streets are so twisted and crooked that it is almostimpossible to picture them. They wriggle here and there like snakes ofstreets. The houses, of course, are very old, and with their heavybarred doors and solid shutters, look very strange and inhospitable.

  People, in a way, become like their surroundings. Here in these twisted,narrow streets are to be found the narrow, twisted souls of the worstelement in Poland; but the worst of them love their country as perhapsno other people do. To the last man and to the frailest woman, they areloyal to Poland. For them, it is Poland first, last and always.

  In these low and twisted streets, the devastation was greatest and thepeople had scurried like rats to cover. A week before they had swarmedthe streets and crowded the buildings. Now by some miracle they hadgone, utterly disappeared. The houses were deserted, the streets empty.The destruction had been greatest in these crowded places, but many ofthe beautiful public buildings and state departments in the new partwere also in ruins, as well as a number of matchless palaces.

  The people from the upper part of the city who had taken refuge in theholes along the river front, were for the most part a strange appearinglot. Some of them carried great bundles which they guarded with jealouscare. Others, empty handed, sat and shivered through the summernight-chills that blew from the river. Scores of little children clungto their mother's hands, or wandered trembling and screaming from groupto group, seeking their own people.

  There was a general gathering of types. Nobles mixed with the poorest,meanest and most criminal classes, and mingled with their common sorrow.For the most part a dumbness, a silence prevailed. The shock of thenational disaster had bereft the people of their powers of expression.

  Since 1770, Poland had been torn and racked by foes on every hand.Prussia, Austria and Russia envied her wealth, courage, and her fertileplains. Little by little her enemies had pressed across her shrinkingborders, wet with the blood of her patriot sons. Little by little shehad lost her cherished land until the day of doom August third, 1915.

  Sitting, hiding in their desolated city, the people of Poland knew thattheirs was a country no longer on the map. Russia, Austria and Prussiaat least had met. There was no longer any Poland. For generations therehad been no Polish language; it was forbidden by her oppressors. Now thecountry itself was swallowed up. No longer on the changing map of theworld had she any place.

  But in the hearts of her people Poland lives. With the most perfectloyalty and love in the world, they say, "We are Poland. We live and diefor her."

  A gray haze hung over Warsaw. The streets, after the roar of great guns,the bursting of shells, and the cries of thousands of people rushingblindly to safety, seemed silent and deserted. The hated enemy held thetown, and the people of Warsaw, most hapless city of all history,cowered beneath the iron hand of the enemy.

  As is usual in the fearful lull after such a victory, the town wasfilled with dangers of the most horrible sort. Murder, crime of everykind, lawlessness in every guise, stalked through the streets or lurkeddown the narrow, dark and twisted alleys. The unfortunate citizens whohad not retreated in time hid, when they could, in all sorts of strangeplaces. They gathered in trembling, whispering groups, into garrets andcellars; even the vaults in the catacombs, the old burial place of thedead, were opened by desperate fugitives, and became hiding places forthe living.

  The soldiers were in possession of all the uninjured residences in themore modern portion of the city, where they reveled in the comforts ofmodern baths, lights and heat. But the lower part of the city, lyingalong the left bank of the river Vistula, was filled with a strangemixture of terrified people. In all the throngs, huddled in streets andalleys, storehouses and ware-rooms, there was perhaps no stranger groupthan the one gathered in a dark corner of a great building wheremachinery of some sort had been manufactured.

  This had, strangely enough, escaped destruction and stood unharmed in astreet where everything bore the scars of shells or bombs.

  The engines were stopped; the great wheels motionless; the broad beltssagged hopelessly. Even the machinery seemed to feel the terrible blowand mourned the fallen city.

  The persons huddled in the shadow of a vast wheel, however, gave littleheed to their strange surroundings. They seemed crushed by a frightfulgrief more personal even than the taking of Warsaw would cause in themost loyal heart.

  In the center of the group a boy of fourteen or fifteen years stoodtalking excitedly. He was tall, dark as an Italian, and dressed with thegreatest richness. Two rings set with great jewels flashed on his handand while he spoke, he tapped his polished boot with a small cane in theend of which was set a huge, sparkling red stone. He spoke with greatrapidity, in the pure Russian of the Court, and addressed himself to anelderly man who sat drooping in an attitude of hopeless sorrow.

  Near them sat a plainly dressed woman who buried her stained face in herapron, and wept the hard sobs of those who can scarcely weep more. Ayoung girl clung to her, silent but with beautiful dark eyes wild withterror and loss. On the floor lay a wounded soldier, bearing in perfectsilence the frightful pain of a shattered shoulder. His only bandage wasa piece of cloth wound tightly around his coat, but not a groan escapedhis pale lips. At the window, gazing down into the wrecked street, stooda tall boy of perhaps fifteen years. His face was bloodless; his strongmouth was set in a straight line; the hand resting on the window sillwas clenched until the knuckles shone white through the tanned skin.Desperation, horror, and grief struggled equally in his face. His leftarm encircled a boy nearly his own size. He, like the woman, sobbedbrokenly, and the taller boy patted him as he listened to the rapidwords of the boy who was talking.

  Suddenly the elderly man spoke.

  "You must pardon me, Ivanovich," he said in a trembling voice. "I do notseen to comprehend. Will you kindly repeat your account?"

  A flash of anger passed over the face of the young nobleman; then hespoke courteously.

  "Certainly, Professor! It was thus. You remember, don't you, that I cameto your house as usual, five days ago, for my lessons in English? Andyou know the sudden bombardment, so close to the city, was so terriblethat you would not let me go home? Good! Then you understand all, up tothis morning. You know we had watched all night with the doorsbarricaded, and we decided it was too unsafe to remain longer in thedirect path of those brutal soldiers. So we prepared to come here, toone of my father's buildings where there is a chute and an undergroundstoreroom where we could be safe.

  "You send me for this cloak and when I returned, what did I find in theroom where I had left everyone of the household gathered ready for theflig
ht? The room was empty. I had been upstairs perhaps ten minutesbecause I could not find my cloak, and there was the room empty. Sir, Iwas furious at you for leaving me. I am in your charge; I am a Prince;yet you left me--"

  The tall boy turned from the window and spoke.

  "Never mind that, Ivan," he said. "Just cut that all out and hustle tothe part you haven't told." Although he spoke English, while Ivan toldhis story in Russian, the boys understood each other perfectly for witha frown and quick glance, the boy Ivan nodded and continued.

  "I stood for a while and listened but heard nothing. Then I went throughthe other rooms on the floor, and all were empty. I decided to get tothe warehouse alone if I could, and crept to the door. I drew backhastily. A horrible old woman squatted on the step. She was watchingover two great sacks full, no doubt, of valuables stolen from your houseand others. As I looked, two men came up. Criminals, they looked, and Iscarcely breathed. Presently they went away, the men throwing the sacksover their shoulders, and the woman dragging a jeweled Icon in her hand.

  "I heard footsteps behind me, and there you were coming down the stairs.You had that package in your hands, and you said, 'Just think, I nearlyforgot my book, Ivan; my great book on the history of Warsaw, now sonearly finished.'

  "You asked where the others were, and you said they had thought it wiseto go in two parties. You said they had told you to be very careful ofsomething; you couldn't very well remember just what, but it made youremember your book in your and you hurried to save it. So we hurriedout, and managed to escape the soldiers, and get here and then everyonecried out, 'Where are the children?'"

  "When I went to get my book," said the Professor, with a groan, "theywere sitting quiet as mice by the stove, holding each other's hands. Howcould they have gone off?"

  The woman looked up. "They could not go," she said. "I myself slid thegreat latch on the door; they could not lift it. I have seen Elinor tryto do so. The little stranger was much too small. The Germans have them,I am sure of it." She bowed her head with fresh sobs.

  "There were no Germans about," said Ivan. "No soldiers of any sort; noone at all save the three of whom I spoke and they certainly did nottake them away."

  "Certainly not!" said Professor Morris, frowning. "They must have goneout and wandered off while I was after my book, although I distinctlytold Elinor not to stir from her seat. I have always endeavored to teachmy children absolute obedience. I am surprised at Elinor. Sheunderstood. She is six years of age, and she said, "Yes, father." Thisis a terrible thing; but they will be found. I will report at once tothe military authorities. I am convinced that they are safe. Someonewill take them in just as we took in the strange child whom we found atthe door. That child, as you know, is a noble, yet she was lost. Theseare war times. People are glad to return lost children. They do not wantthem. Now if I had forgotten my book, it might have been burned; threeyears of effort in this city wasted and lost forever! I will hide themanuscript in the underground room you told of, Ivan, then we will go tothe proper authorities, and get the children."

  "Bah!" said the soldier with the broken shoulder suddenly. "Go wherethou wilt these days there is no authority save the authority of brutemight. Will that help thee?"

  "We must find them," said the Professor brokenly. The seriousness of theaffair was beginning to dawn on him. "It will certainly be simple. Wewill advertise."

  The girl at his side smiled. "Advertise?" she said. "Why, father, thereare no papers left to advertise in."

  "Ivan," said the tall boy at the window, "did you hear what the threepeople at the door were talking about? What did they say? The people yousaid looked like thieves."

  "Yes, they talked," said Ivan, "but it did not seem to mean much. Ididn't get much from it anyway."

  "Try to think what they said," said the boy. He passed a hand carefullyacross the bright fairness of his hair where a dark red streak stainedit. "Can't you remember anything they said?"

  Ivan stood thinking, the jeweled cane still tapping his boot. "Yes," hesaid, "when the men came up, they said, 'What have you?' The womanlaughed--evilly, and said, 'All the wine we can drink, and all the breadwe can eat, and all the fire we burn for years and years.'"

  "The man who had spoken said 'Jewels,' and rubbed his hands. 'That isindeed good! Jewels fit for a king!"

  The woman said, "Jewels now, thou fool! Where can one sell jewels thesedays when one cannot cross the border, and when the world cracks? No onewants jewels!"

  "'Then what?' said the man.

  "'Oh, stupid!' said the woman. 'Pick up my sacks carefully and be off."

  "Then the other man who had already picked up the larger sack, laughed.'Better than rubies,' he said. 'You are always wise, my woman!'"

  "And then the other man picked up the other sack and he laughed too, andthe woman held hand to them and whined, 'Please give me some money forthese poor little refugees are starving!'

  "At that they all roared, and hurried on."

  Ivan paused. "That was all they said," he added. "It doesn't help, doesit?"

  The girl Evelyn leaned forward. "Say it again, Ivan," she saidexcitedly. "Say just what the woman said."

  Ivan, repeated the words.

  Evelyn whispered them after him. Then a wild cry broke from her lips.She turned to her father who sat holding the package containing thefatal manuscript. She seized his arm and shook him. So great was heremotion that she could not say the words she wanted.

  "Father, father, don't you see it now!" she cried. "Oh, oh, father! Oh,what shall we do? Oh, my darling little sister!" she gasped, and thetall boy ran forward and seized her hands.

  "Control yourself, Evelyn," he cried. "I never saw you act like this.Tell me what it is."

  She looked at him quite speechless. The agony of all that she hadwitnessed, the terror of the past week, the fright of losing herprecious little sister scarcely more than a baby, the blindness of herfather, all had combined to send her into state scarcely better thaninsanity. With a desperate effort to control, herself, she looked intoher brother's eyes.

  "You see, don't you, Warren?" she begged. "You can't seem to be able sayit. Say you see it too, Warren!"

  Then as if she had found some way of giving him her message of doom, shedrooped against brother's strong shoulder and fainted quietly away.Warren laid her down, and the governess rushed to her.

  "Is she dead?" asked Warren.

  "Certainly not," said the woman; "she has fainted."

  "What did she try to tell you?" cried Ivan. "Was it something I said?"

  "Yes, you told her," said Warren, "and she read it right. I know she isright."

  "Well, well, what is it?" demanded the Professor. "This is fearfullyupsetting, fearfully upsetting!"

  Warren bent tenderly above his sister. She was regaining consciousness.

  "It is about as bad as it can be," he said hesitatingly. "The remarkabout refugees told the whole thing. Our little sister was in one ofthose sacks, gagged or unconscious. They have been stolen to be used andbrought up as beggars."

  A deep silence followed. The governess covered her eyes. The woundedsoldier slowly shook his head. Professor Morris, Ivan and jack stoodwith bulging eyes staring at Warren, trying to make themselvesunderstand his speech. Ivan, who knew more of the ways of the halfbarbaric people of Poland and Russia, nodded his head understandingly.Jack stood with open mouth. The Professor rumpled his hair, thoughdeeply, and laughed.

  "Now what would they do that for!" he asked sarcastically. "That sort ofthing is not done nowadays."

  "Not in the best families," said Warren coldly. "But it is done, I'llbet."

  "Oh, yes, it's done," said Ivan, "all the time. I know my father talkeda lot about it just before the commencement of the war. He was going totry to stamp out a lot of that sort of thing, especially what affectedthe women and children. Yes, it is done, Professor."

  "Not now," said the Professor stubbornly. "There was recorded a case ofthat sort in 1793, and even later in the early sixties. Late
r, there areno records at all bearing on the subject. And if no records, surelythere are no instances requiring the attention of thinking people.

  "It would be most natural to record any instance of the sort, howeversmall and trifling. In my researches I would have run across the facts.There is no mention of it whatever."

  "I know it happens anyhow," said Ivan, sticking to his point.

  "Ivan, you forget that I am in a position to know," said the Professor."My researches have led me, thanks to the presentations of your fatherand many others, into secret records never before opened to outsiders ofany race. I regret the stand you take with me. I am unused tocontradiction."

  "Pardon me," said Ivan wearily. He looked at Warren. In the minds ofboth boys there was a feeling that the mystery was solved. There was nolonger any need to discuss it. A little search around the house wouldshow if the children were there; after that it meant that Evelyn wasright.

  "Well, Ivan's right," said Warren doggedly. "It doesn't matter what youhave found in your researches, father; you have had those dry oldrecords to prove everything to you. I have heard the people tell storiesthat would make your hair curl. They not only steal children, butsometimes they cripple them, just as they did hundreds of years ago inEngland. Why do you suppose boys like Ivan here are watched everysecond? Sometimes they take them for revenge, but when they are gone,they are gone. You can't go out with a wad of bills and stick it underthe park fence, and go back and find your child on the front stoop likeyou can at home."