In the Track of the Troops

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  TELLS MORE OF WHAT OCCASIONALLY HAPPENS IN THE TRACK OF TROOPS.

  As we advanced towards the high lands the scenery became more beautifuland picturesque. Rich fields of grain waved on every side. Prettytowns, villages, and hamlets seemed to me to lie everywhere, smiling inthe midst of plenty; in short, all that the heart of man could desirewas there in superabundance, and as one looked on the evidences ofplenty, one naturally associated it with the idea of peace.

  But as that is not all gold which glitters, so the signs of plenty donot necessarily tell of peace. Here and there, as we passed over theland, we had evidences of this in burned homesteads and trampled fields,which had been hurriedly reaped of their golden store as if by the swordrather than the sickle. As we drew near to the front these signs of warbecame more numerous.

  We had not much time, however, to take note of them; our special servicerequired hard riding and little rest.

  One night we encamped on the margin of a wood. It was very dark, for,although the moon was nearly full, thick clouds effectually concealedher, or permitted only a faint ray to escape now and then, like a gleamof hope from the battlements of heaven.

  I wandered from one fire to another to observe the conduct of the men inbivouac. They were generally light-hearted, being very young andhopeful. Evidently their great desire was to meet with the enemy.Whatever thoughts they might have had of home, they did not at that timeexpress them aloud. Some among them, however, were grave and sad; a fewwere stern--almost sulky.

  Such was Dobri Petroff that night. Round his fire, among others, stoodSergeant Gotsuchakoff and Corporal Shoveloff.

  "Come, scout," said the corporal, slapping Petroff heartily on theshoulder, "don't be down-hearted, man. That pretty little sweetheartyou left behind you will never forsake such a strapping fellow as you;she will wait till you return crowned with laurels."

  Petroff was well aware that Corporal Shoveloff, knowing nothing of hisprivate history, had made a mere guess at the "little sweetheart," andhaving no desire to be communicative, met him in his own vein.

  "It's not that, corporal," he said, with a serious yet anxious air,which attracted the attention of the surrounding soldiers, "it's notthat which troubles me. I'm as sure of the pretty little sweetheart asI am that the sun will rise to-morrow; but there's my dear old motherthat lost a leg last Christmas by the overturning of a sledge, an' myold father who's been bedridden for the last quarter of a century, andthe brindled cow that's just recovering from the measles. How they areall to get on without me, and nobody left to look after them but an oldsister as tall as myself, and in the last stages of a decline--"

  At this point the scout, as Corporal Shoveloff had dubbed him, wasinterrupted by a roar of laughter from his comrades, in which the"corporal" joined heartily.

  "Well, well," said the latter, who was not easily quelled eithermentally or physically, "I admit that you have good cause fordespondency; nevertheless a man like you ought to keep up his spirits--if it were only for the sake of example to young fellows, now, likeAndre Yanovitch there, who seems to have buried all his relatives beforestarting for the wars."

  The youth on whom Shoveloff tried to turn the laugh of his owndiscomfiture was a splendid fellow, tall and broad-shouldered enough fora man of twenty-five, though his smooth and youthful face suggestedsixteen. He had been staring at the fire, regardless of what was goingon around.

  "What did you say?" he cried, starting up and reddening violently.

  "Come, come, corporal," said Sergeant Gotsuchakoff, interposing, "noinsinuations. Andre Yanovitch will be ten times the man you are when heattains to your advanced age.--Off with that kettle, lads; it must bemore than cooked by this time, and there is nothing so bad for digestionas overdone meat."

  It chanced that night, after the men were rolled in their cloaks, thatDobri Petroff found himself lying close to Andre under the same bush.

  "You don't sleep," he said, observing that the young soldier movedfrequently. "Thinking of home, like me, no doubt?"

  "That was all nonsense," said the youth sharply, "about the cow, andyour mother and sister, wasn't it?"

  "Of course it was. Do you think I was going to give a straight answerto a fool like Shoveloff?"

  "But you _have_ left a mother behind you, I suppose?" said Andre, in alow voice.

  "No, lad, no; my mother died when I was but a child, and has left naughtbut the memory of an angel on my mind."

  The scout said no more for a time, but the tone of his voice had openedthe heart of the young dragoon. After a short silence he ventured toask a few more questions. The scout replied cheerfully, and, from onething to another, they went on until, discovering that they weresympathetic spirits, they became confidante, and each told to the otherhis whole history.

  That of the young dragoon was short and simple, but sad. He had beenchosen, he said, for service from a rural district, and sent to the warwithout reference to the fact that he was the only support of an invalidmother, whose husband had died the previous year. He had an elderbrother who ought to have filled his place, but who, being given todrink, did not in any way fulfil his duties as a son. There was also,it was true, a young girl, the daughter of a neighbour, who had done herbest to help and comfort his mother at all times, but without the aid ofhis strong hand that girl's delicate fingers could not support hismother, despite the willingness of her brave heart, and thus he had leftthem hurriedly at the sudden and peremptory call of Government.

  "That young girl," said Petroff, after listening to the lad's earnestaccount of the matter with sympathetic attention, "has no place _there_,has she?"--he touched the left breast of Andre's coat and nodded.

  The blush of the young soldier was visible even in the dim light of thecamp-fire as he started up on one elbow, and said--

  "Well, yes; she _has_ a place there!"

  He drew out a small gilt locket as he spoke, and, opening it, displayeda lock of soft auburn hair.

  "I never spoke to her about it," he continued, in a low tone, "till thenight we parted. She is very modest, you must know, and I never daredto speak to her before, but I became desperate that night, and told herall, and she confessed her love for me. Oh, Petroff, if I could onlyhave had one day more of--of--but the sergeant would not wait. I had togo to the wars. One evening in paradise is but a short time, yet Iwould not exchange it for all I ever--" He paused.

  "Yes, yes, _I_ know all about that," said the scout, with an encouragingnod; "I've had more than one evening in that region, and so will you,lad, after the war is over."

  "I'm not so sure of that," returned the dragoon sadly; "however, shegave me this lock of her hair--she is called `Maria with the auburnhair' at our place--and mother gave me the locket to put it in. Inoticed that she took some grey hair out when she did so."

  "Keep it, lad; keep it always near your heart," said the scout, withsudden enthusiasm, as the youth replaced and buttoned up his treasure;"it will save you, mayhap, like a charm, in the hour of temptation."

  "I don't need _that_ advice," returned the soldier, with a quiet smile,as he once more laid his head on his saddle.

  Soon the noise in our little camp ceased, and, ere long, every man wasasleep except the sentinels.

  Towards morning one of these observed a man approaching at full speed.As he came near the sentinel threw forward his carbine and challenged.The man stopped and looked about him like a startled hare, then, withoutreply, turned sharply to the left and dashed off. The sentinel fired.Of course we all sprang up, and the fugitive, doubling again to avoidanother sentinel, almost leaped into the arms of Andre Yanovitch, whoheld him as if in a vice, until he ceased his struggles, and sankexhausted with a deep groan.

  On being led to one of the fires in a half-fainting condition, it wasfound that he was covered with blood and wounds. He looked round him atfirst with an expression of maniacal terror, but the moment he observedPetroff among his captors he uttered a loud cry, and, spring
ing forwardseized his hand.

  "Why, Lewie," exclaimed the scout, with a gleam of recognition, "whathas happened?"

  "The Bashi-Bazouks have been at our village!" cried the man wildly, ashe wiped the blood out of his eyes.

  "Ha!" exclaimed Dobri, with a fierce look; "we can succour--"

  "No, no, no," interrupted the man: with a strange mixture of horror andfury in his blood-streaked face; "too late! too late!"

  He raised his head, stammered as if attempting to say more, then,lifting both arms aloft, while the outspread fingers clutched the air,uttered an appalling cry, and fell flat on the ground.

  "Not too late for revenge," muttered the officer commanding thedetachment. "Dress his wounds as quickly as may be, Mr Childers."

  He gave the necessary orders to get ready. In a few minutes the horseswere saddled, and I had done what I could for the wounded man.

  "You know the village he came from, and the way to it?" asked thecommanding officer of Petroff.

  "Yes, sir, I know it well."

  "Take the man up behind you, then, and lead the way."

  The troop mounted, and a few minutes later we were galloping over a wideplain, on the eastern verge of which the light of the new day was slowlydawning.

  An hour's ride brought us to the village. We could see the smoke of thestill burning cottages as we advanced, and were prepared for a sadspectacle of one of the effects of war; but what we beheld on enteringfar surpassed our expectations. Harvests trampled down or burned werebad enough, so were burning cottages, battered-in doors, and smashedwindows, but these things were nothing to the sight of dead men andwomen scattered about the streets. The men were not men of war; theirpeasant garbs bespoke them men of peace. Gallantly had they fought,however, in defence of hearth and home, but all in vain. The trainedmiscreants who had attacked them form a part of the Turkish army, whichreceives no pay, and is therefore virtually told that, after fighting,their recognised duty is to pillage. But the brutes had done more thanthis. As we trotted through the little hamlet, which was peopled onlyby the dead, we observed that most of the men had been more or lessmutilated, some in a very horrible manner, and the poor fellow who hadescaped said that this had been done while the men were alive.

  Dismounting, we examined some of the cottages, and there beheld sightsat the mere recollection of which I shudder. In one I saw women andchildren heaped together, with their limbs cut and garments torn off,while their long hair lay tossed about on the bloody floors. Inanother, which was on fire, I could see the limbs of corpses that werebeing roasted, or had already been burnt to cinders.

  Not one soul in that village was left alive. How many had escaped wecould not ascertain, for the wounded man had fallen into such a state ofwild horror that he could not be got to understand or answer questions.At one cottage door which we came to he stood with clasped hands gazingat the dead inside, like one petrified. Some one touched him on theshoulder, when we were ready to leave the place, but he merely muttered,"My home!"

  As we could do no good there, and were anxious to pursue the fiends whohad left such desolation behind them, we again urged the man to comewith us, but he refused. On our attempting to use gentle force, hestarted suddenly, drew a knife from his girdle, and plunging it into hisheart, fell dead on his own threshold.

  It was with a sense of relief, as if we had been delivered from a darkoppressive dungeon, that we galloped out of the village, and followedthe tracks of the Bashi-Bazouks, which were luckily visible on theplain. Soon we traced them to a road that led towards the mountainouscountry. There was no other road there, and as this one had neitherfork nor diverging path, we had no difficulty in following them up.

  It was night, however, before we came upon further traces of them,--several fires where they had stopped to cook some food. As the sky wasclear, we pushed on all that night.

  Shortly after dawn we reached a sequestered dell. The road being curvedat the place, we came on it suddenly, and here, under the bushes, wediscovered the lair of the Bashi-Bazouks.

  They kept no guard, apparently, but the sound of our approach had rousedthem, for, as we galloped into the dell, some were seen running to catchtheir horses, others, scarcely awake, were wildly buckling on theirswords, while a few were creeping from under the low booths of brushwoodthey had set up to shelter them.

  The scene that followed was brief but terrible. Our men, some of whomwere lancers, some dragoons, charged them in all directions with yellsof execration. Here I saw one wretch thrust through with a lance,doubling backward in his death-agony as he fell; there, another turnedfiercely, and fired his pistol full at the dragoon who charged him, butmissed, and was cleft next moment to the chin. In another place awretched man had dropped on his knees, and, while in a supplicatingattitude, was run through the neck by a lancer. But, to say truth,little quarter was asked by these Bashi-Bazouks, and none was granted.They fought on foot, fiercely, with spear and pistol and short sword.It seemed to me as if some of my conceptions of hell were beingrealised: rapid shots; fire and smoke; imprecations, shouts, and yells,with looks of fiercest passion and deadly hate; shrieks of mortal pain;blood spouting in thick fountains from sudden wounds; men lying inhorrible, almost grotesque, contortions, or writhing on the ground inthroes of agony.

  "O God!" thought I, "and all this is done for the amelioration of thecondition of the Christians in Turkey!"

  "Ha! ha-a!" shouted a voice near me, as if in mockery of my thought. Itwas more like that of a fiend than a man. I turned quickly. It wasAndre Yanovitch, his young and handsome face distorted with a look offurious triumph as he wiped his bloody sword after killing the last ofthe Bashi-Bazouks who had failed to escape into the neighbouring woods."_These_ brutes at least won't have another chance of drawing blood fromwomen and children," he cried, sheathing his sword with a clang, andtrotting towards his comrades, who were already mustering at the bottomof the dell, the skirmish being over.

  The smooth-faced, tender-hearted youth, with the lock of auburn hair inhis bosom, had fairly begun his education in the art of war. His youngheart was bursting and his young blood boiling with the tumultuousemotions caused by a combination of pity and revenge.

  The scout also galloped past to rejoin our party. I noticed in the_melee_ that his sword-sweep had been even more terrible and deadly thanthat of Andre, but he had done his fearful work in comparative silence,with knitted brows, compressed lips, and clenched teeth. He was afull-grown man, the other a mere boy. Besides, Dobri Petroff had beenborn and bred in a land of rampant tyranny, and had learned, naturallybold and independent though he was, at all times to hold himself, andall his powers, well in hand.

  Little did the scout imagine that, while he was thus inflictingwell-deserved punishment on the Turkish Bashi-Bazouks, the Cossacks ofRussia had, about the same time, made demands on the men of his ownvillage, who, resisting, were put to the sword, and many of themmassacred. Strong in the belief that the country which had taken uparms for the deliverance of Bulgaria would be able to fulfil itsengagements, and afford secure protection to the inhabitants of Yenilik,and, among them, to his wife and little ones, Dobri Petroff went on hisway with a comparatively easy mind.

  It was evening when we reached another village, where the people hadbeen visited by a body of Russian irregular horse, who had murdered someof them, and carried off whatever they required.

  Putting up at the little hostelry of the place, I felt too much fatiguedto talk over recent events with Nicholas, and was glad to retire to asmall room, where, stretched on a wooden bench, with a greatcoat for apillow, I soon forgot the sorrows and sufferings of Bulgaria in profoundslumber.