In the Track of the Troops

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  SIMTOVA--NEW VIEWS OF WAR--LANCEY GOES TO THE FRONT, AND SEES SERVICE,AND GETS A SCARE.

  Shortly afterwards our detachment reached the headquarters of GeneralGourko, who, with that celebrated Russian general, Skobeleff theyounger, was pressing towards the Balkans.

  Here changes took place which very materially altered my experiences.

  Nicholas Naranovitsch was transferred to the staff of General Skobeleff.Petroff was sent to act the part of guide and scout to the division,and I, although anxious to obtain employment at the front, was obligedto content myself with an appointment to the army hospitals at Sistova.

  As it turned out, this post enabled me to understand more of the truenature of war than if I had remained with the army, and, as I afterwardshad considerable experience in the field, the appointment proved to beadvantageous, though at the time I regarded it as a disappointment.

  When I had been some weeks at Sistova I wrote a letter to my mother,which, as it gives a fair account of the impressions made at the time, Icannot do better than transcribe:--

  "Dearest Mother,--I have been in the hospitals now for some weeks, and it is not possible for you to conceive, or me to convey, an adequate description of the horrible effects of this most hideous war. My opinions on war--always, as you know, strong--have been greatly strengthened; also modified. Your heart would bleed for the poor wounded men if you saw them. They are sent to us in crowds daily, direct from the battle-fields. An ordinary hospital, with its clean beds, and its sufferers warmly housed and well cared for, with which you are familiar enough, gives no idea of an army hospital in time of war.

  "The men come in, or are carried in, begrimed with powder, smoke, and dust; with broken limbs and gaping wounds, mortifying and almost unfit for inspection or handling until cleansed by the application of Lister's carbolic acid spray. Some of these have dragged themselves hither on foot from that awful Shipka Pass--a seven days' journey,-- and are in such an abject state of exhaustion that their recovery is usually impossible. Yet some do recover. Some men seem very hard to kill. On the other hand, I have seen some men whose hold on life was so feeble as to make it difficult to say which of their comparatively slight wounds had caused death.

  "I am now, alas! familiar with death and wounds and human agony in every form. Day and night I am engaged in dressing, operating, and tending generally. The same may be said of all connected with the hospital. The doctors under Professor Wahl are untiring in their work. The Protestant sisters of mercy, chiefly Germans, and the `Sanitaires,' who take the weary night-watches, are quite worn out, for the number of sick and wounded who pour in on us has far exceeded the computations formed. Everything in this war has been under-estimated. What do you think of this fact--within the last fifty days 15,000 men have been killed, and 40,000 sick and wounded sent to Russian hospitals? This speaks to 55,000 Russian homes plunged into mourning,--to say nothing of similar losses, if not greater, by the Turks,--a heavy price to pay for improving the condition of Bulgaria,--isn't it?

  "There is a strong feeling in my mind that this is a war of extermination. `No quarter' is too frequently the cry on either side. I do not say that the Russians mean it to be so, but when Bashi-Bazouks torture their prisoners in cold blood, and show fiendish delight in the most diabolical acts of cruelty, even going the length of roasting people alive, is it strange that a brutalising effect is produced on the Russians, and that they retaliate in a somewhat similar spirit at times? The truth is, mother, that one of the direct and most powerful effects of war is to dehumanise, and check the influence of, the good men engaged, while it affords a splendid opportunity to the vicious and brutal to give the rein to their passions, and work their will with impunity.

  "But, while this is so with the combatants, many of those outside the ring are stirred to pity and to noble deeds. Witness the self-sacrificing labours of the volunteer heroes and heroines who do their work in an hospital such as this, and the generous deeds evoked from the peoples of other lands, such as the sending of two splendid and completely equipped ambulance trains of twenty-five carriages each, by the Berlin Central Committee of the International Association for the Relief of Sick and Wounded Soldiers in the field, the thousands of pounds that have been contributed by the Russians for the comfort of their sick and wounded, and the thousands contributed by England for that fund which embraces in its sympathies both Russian and Turk. It seems to me that a great moral war is going on just now--a war between philanthropy and selfishness; but I grieve to say that while the former saves its thousands, the latter slays its tens of thousands. Glorious though the result of our labours is, it is as nothing compared with the torrent of evil which has called us out, and the conclusion which has been forced upon me is, that we should--every one of us, man, woman, and child--hold and pertinaciously enforce the precept that war among civilised nations is outrageous and intolerable. Of course we cannot avoid it sometimes. If a man _will_ insist on fighting _me_, I have no resource left but to fight _him_; but for two CIVILISED nations to go to war for the settlement of a dispute is an unreasonable and childish and silly as it would be for two gentlemen, who should differ in opinion, to step into the middle of a peaceful drawing-room, button up their coats, turn up their wristbands, and proceed to batter each other's eyes and noses, regardless of ladies, children, and valuables. War would be a contemptible farce if it were not a tremendous tragedy."

  My mother's reply to this letter was characteristic and brief.

  "My dear Jeff," she wrote, "in regard to your strictures on war I have only to say that I agree with you, as I have always done on all points, heart and soul. Don't forget to keep your feet dry when sleeping out at nights, and never omit to take the globules."

  While I was busy at Sistova--too busy with the pressing duties of mypost to think much of absent friends, my poor servant Lancey was goingthrough a series of experiences still more strange and trying than myown.

  As I have said, he had been appointed by Sanda Pasha to a post inconnection with a Turkish ambulance corps. He was on his way to thefront, when the detachment with which he travelled met with a reversewhich materially affected his fortunes for some time after.

  There were two Turkish soldiers with whom Lancey was thrown much incontact, and with whom he had become very intimate. There was nothingvery particular in the appearance of the two men, except that theyformed contrasts, one being tall and thin, the other short and thick.Both were comrades and bosom friends, and both took a strong fancy totheir English comrade. Lancey had also taken a fancy to them. It was,in short, the old story of "kindred souls," and, despite the fact thatthese Turks were to Lancey "furriners" and "unbelievers," while he wasto them a "giaour," they felt strong human sympathies which drew thempowerfully together. The name of the thick little man was Ali Bobo,that of the tall comrade Eskiwin.

  That these two loved each other intensely, although Turks, was the firstthing that touched Lancey's feelings. On discovering that Ali Bobohappened to have dwelt for a long time with an English merchant inConstantinople, and could speak a little of something that wasunderstood to be English, he became intimate and communicative.

  Not more tender was the love of David and Jonathan than was that ofEskiwin and Ali Bobo. As the screw to the nut, so fitted the one to theother. Eskiwin was grave, his friend was funny. Ali Bobo was smart,his comrade was slow. They never clashed. Jacob Lancey, being quietand sedate, observed the two, admired each, philosophised on both andgained their esteem. Their friendship, alas! was of short duration.

  "You's goodish sorro man," said Ali Bobo to Lancey one evening, as theysat over the camp-fire smoking their pipes in concert.

  Lancey made no reply, but nodded his head as if in approval of thesentiment.

  "Heskiwin, 'e's a good un too, hain't 'e, Bobo?" asked Lancey, pointingwith his thumb to the tall Turk, who sat cross-legged be
side him smokinga chibouk.

  Ali Bobo smiled in the way that a man does when he thinks a great dealmore than he chooses to express.

  At that moment the officer in command of the detachment gallopedfuriously into the camp with the information that the Russians were uponthem!

  Instantly all was uproar, and a scramble to get out of the way.Eskiwin, however, was an exception. He was a man of quiet promptitude.Deliberately dropping his pipe, he rose and saddled his horse, while hismore excitable comrades were struggling hurriedly, and therefore slowly,with the buckles of their harness. Ali Bobo was not less cool, thoughmore active. Lancey chanced to break his stirrup-leather in mounting.

  "I say, Bobo," he called to his stout little friend, who was near, "lenda 'and, like a good fellow. This brute won't stand still. Give us aleg."

  The little Turk put his hand on Lancey's instep and hoisted him into thesaddle. Next moment the whole party was in full retreat. Not a momenttoo soon either. A scattering volley from the Russians, who were comingon in force, quickened their movements.

  The faint moonlight enabled the Turks to distance their pursuers, andsoon the chase appeared to be given up. Still, most of the detachmentcontinued its headlong retreat for a considerable time.

  Suddenly Eskiwin observed that Ali Bobo swayed from side to side as herode, and then fell heavily to the ground. He pulled up at once anddismounted. Lancey, who saw what had happened, also dismounted. Therest of the detachment was out of sight in a moment. There was no soundof pursuers, and they found themselves left thus in a lonely spot amongthe hills.

  On examining the fallen Turk it was found that he had been hit by twoballs. One had apparently penetrated his shoulder, the other had grazedhis temple. It was the latter which had brought him to the ground, butthe shoulder-wound seemed to be the more dangerous.

  "Dead!" said Lancey solemnly, as he kneeled beside the body.

  Eskiwin made no answer, his grave countenance expressed nothing butstern decision. His friend's face was colourless, motionless, andgrowing cold. He raised Bobo's hand and let it drop as he gazedmournfully into his face.

  Just then the sound of the pursuers was heard, as if searching theneighbouring thicket.

  Eskiwin rose slowly, and, with his bayonet, began to dig a grave. Thesoil was soft. A hollow was soon scooped out, and the dead Turk was puttherein. But while the two men were engaged in burying it, the Russianswere heard still beating about in the thicket, and apparently drawingnear. Lancey felt uneasy. Still Eskiwin moved with slow deliberation.When the grave was covered he kneeled and prayed.

  "Come, come; you can do that on horseback" said Lancey, with impatience.

  Eskiwin took no notice of the irreverent interruption, but calmlyfinished his prayer, cast one sorrowful glance on the grave, andremounted his charger.

  Lancey was about to do the same, being retarded by the brokenstirrup-leather, when a tremendous shout caused his horse to swerve,break its bridle, and dash away. At the same moment a band of DonCossacks came swooping down the gorge. Lancey flung himself flatbeneath a mass of underwood. The Cossacks saw only one horseman, andwent past the place with a wild yell. Another moment and Lancey wasleft alone beside the grave.

  To find his way out of the thicket was now the poor man's chief care,but this was difficult, for, besides being ignorant of the road, he hadto contend with darkness, the moon having become obscured.

  It is a well-known fact that when a lost man wanders he does so in acircle. Twice, during that night, did Lancey start with a view to getaway from that spot, and twice did he find himself, after two hours'wandering, at the side of Ali Bobo's grave. A third time he set out,and at the end of that effort he not only came back to the same spot,but chanced, inadvertently, to plant his foot over the stomach of theluckless Turk.

  This was too much, even for a dead man. Ali Bobo turned in his shallowgrave, scattered the sod, and, sitting up, looked round him with anexpression of surprise. At that moment the moon came out as ifexpressly for the purpose of throwing light on the dusty, blood-stained,and cadaverous visage of the Turk.

  Jacob Lancey, although a brave man, was superstitious. On beholding theyellow countenance and glaring eyeballs turned full upon him, he uttereda yell of deadly terror, turned sharp round and fled, stumbling overstumps and stones in his blind career. The Don Cossacks heard the yell,and made for the spot. Lancey saw them coming, doubled, and eludedthem. Perceiving only a wounded man sitting on the ground, the foremostCossack levelled his lance and charged. Ali Bobo's stare of surprisedeveloped into a glare of petrified consternation. When the Cossackdrew near enough to perceive an apparently dead man sitting up in hisgrave, he gave vent to a hideous roar of horror, turned off at atangent, and shot away into the bushes. Those in rear, supposing thathe had come on an ambuscade, followed his example, and, in anothermoment, Ali Bobo was left alone to his moonlight reflections.

  That these were of a perplexing nature was evident from his movements.Allowing his eyes to resume their ordinary aspect, he looked round himwith a troubled expression, while his fingers played slowly with theloose earth that still covered his legs. Then he shook his head, afterthat he scratched it, and put on his fez, which had fallen off.Finding, apparently, that meditation was of no avail, he finally heaveda deep sigh, rose, shook off the dust, picked up his rifle and marchedaway.

  He had not gone far when he came upon Lancey, who, having fled with suchhaste that he could scarcely breathe, had been fain to lie down and restfor a few minutes. Hearing a step behind him, he started up. Oneglance sufficed. The dead Turk again! With another horrific howl heplunged headlong into the nearest thicket and disappeared.

  A humorous smile stole over the features of Ali Bobo as he began tounderstand the situation. He searched the thicket, but his latecompanion was not to be found. Continuing his march, therefore, hetravelled all night. Next morning he found his detachment, andintroduced himself to his friend Eskiwin, whose astonishment, I needscarcely say, was great, but his joy was greater.

  Ali Bobo's wounds turned out after all to be slight, and were notpermitted by him to interfere long with his service in the field.