In process of time I reached the front, and chanced to arrive on the
field of action at a somewhat critical moment.
Many skirmishes, and some of the more important actions of the war, had
been fought by that time--as I already knew too well from the hosts of
wounded men who had passed through my hands at Sistova; and now it was
my fate to witness another phase of the dreadful "game."
Everywhere as I traversed the land there was evidence of fierce combats
and of wanton destruction of property; burning villages, fields of
produce trodden in the earth, etcetera. Still further on I encountered
long trains of wagons bearing supplies and ammunition to the front. As
we advanced these were met by bullock-trains bearing wounded men to the
rear. The weather had been bad. The road was almost knee-deep in mud
and so cut up by traffic that pools occurred here and there, into which
wagons and horses and bullocks stumbled and were got out with the
greatest difficulty. The furious lashing of exhausted and struggling
cattle was mingled with the curses and cries of brutal drivers, and the
heartrending groans of wounded soldiers, who, lying, in many cases with
undressed wounds, on the hard, springless, and jolting vehicles,
suffered excruciating agony. Many of these, unable to endure their
sufferings, died, and thus the living and the dead were in some cases
jolted slowly along together. The road on each side was lined with dead
animals and men--the latter lying in a state of apparent _rest_, which
called forth envious looks from the dying.
But a still sadder spectacle met my eye when, from another road which
joined this one, there came a stream of peasantry, old men, women, and
children, on foot and in country carts of all kinds, flying from the
raging warriors who desolated their villages, and seeking, they knew not
where--anywhere--for refuge. Too often they sought in vain. Many of
these people had been wounded--even the women and little ones--with
bullet, sword, and spear. Some carried a few of their most cherished
household articles along with them. Others were only too glad to have
got away with life. Here an old man, who looked as if he had been a
soldier long before the warriors of to-day were born was gently
compelled by a terror-stricken young woman with a wounded neck to lay
his trembling old head on her shoulder as they sat on a little straw in
the bottom of a native cart. He had reached that venerable period of
life when men can barely totter to their doors to enjoy the sunshine,
and when beholders regard them with irresistible feelings of tenderness
and reverence. War had taught the old man how to stand erect once
more--though it was but a spasmodic effort--and his poor fingers were
clasped round the hilt of an old cavalry sabre, from which female hands
had failed to unclasp them. There, in another cart, lay an old woman,
who had been bed-ridden and utterly helpless for many a year, but war
had wrought miracles for her. It had taught her once again to use her
shrunken limbs, to tumble out of the bed to which she had been so long
accustomed, and where she had been so lovingly nursed, and to crawl in a
paroxysm of terror to the door, afraid lest she should be forgotten by
her children, and left to the tender mercies of Cossack or Bashi-Bazouk.
Needless fear, of course, for these children were only busy outside
with a few absolute necessaries, and would sooner have left their own
dead and mangled bodies behind than have forgotten "granny"! Elsewhere
I saw a young woman, prone on her back in another cart, with the pallor
of death on her handsome face, and a tiny little head pressed tenderly
to her swelling breast. It was easy to understand that war had taught
this young mother to cut short the period of quiet repose which is
deemed needful for woman in her circumstances. Still another cart I
must mention, for it contained a singular group. A young man, with a
powerfully-made frame, which must once have been robust, but was now
terribly reduced by the wasting fires of a deadly fever, was held
forcibly down by a middle-aged man, whose resemblance to him revealed
his fatherhood. Two women helped the man, yet all three were barely
able to restrain the youth, who, in the fury of his delirium, gnashed
with his teeth, and struggled like a maniac. I knew nothing about them,
but it was not difficult to read the history of one who had reached a
critical period in a fell disease, who had, perchance, fallen into a
long-desired and much-needed slumber that might have turned the scale in
his favour, when the hope of parents and the chances of life were
scattered suddenly by the ruthless trump of war. War had taught him how
to throw off the sweet lethargy that had been stealing over him, and to
start once again on that weary road where he had been grappling in
imagination with the brain-created fiends who had persecuted him so
long, but who in reality were gentle spirits compared with the human
devils by whom he and his kindred were surrounded.
On this journey, too, I met many brethren of the medical profession,
who, urged by the double motive of acquiring surgical skill and
alleviating human woe, were pressing in the same direction. Some had
been fortunate enough, like myself, to obtain horses, others, despising
difficulties, were pushing forward through the mud on foot. I need
scarcely add that some of us turned aside from time to time, as
opportunity offered, to succour the unfortunates around us.
At last I reached the front, went to headquarters, presented my
credentials, and was permitted to attach myself to one of the regiments.
At once I made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Nicholas
Naranovitsch, and was so fortunate as to find him. He was in the act of
mounting his horse as I reached his quarters.
It is impossible to describe the look of surprise and delight with which
he greeted me.
"My dear fellow!" said he, turning at once to his girths and stirrups
after the first hearty squeeze, "what breeze of good fortune has blown
you here? Any news from home?"
"Yes, all well, and a message--by the way, I had almost forgot it,"
fumbling in my pocket, "for you."
"Almost forgot it!" echoed Nicholas, looking round with a smile and a
glance which was meant for one of withering rebuke.
"Here it is," I exclaimed, handing him a three-cornered note, which had
come in my mother's letter. He seized it eagerly and thrust it into the
breast-pocket of his coat.
"Now look here, Jeff," he said, having seen to the trappings of his
steed, "you know what war is. Great things are at stake. I may not
delay even to chat with _you_. But a few words will suffice. Do you
know anything about your servant Lancey?"
"Nothing. I would give anything to hear that the poor fellow was alive.
Have you--"
"Yes, I have seen him. I chanced this very morning, while galloping
across country with an order from the General, to see him among the
camp-followers. Why there I know not. To search for him now would be
like looking for a needle in a haystack, but I observed that he was in
company with our Bulgarian friend the scout Dobri Petroff, who is so
well known that he can easily be found, and will probably be able to
lead you to him. Now, only one word for myself: don't forget a message
to Bella--say--say--bah! You English are such an undemonstrative set
that I don't like to put it in words, but--you ought to know what to
say, and when you've said it, just add, like a good fellow, that I would
have said a great deal more if I had had the saying of it myself. D'you
understand?"
"All right," said I, with a laugh. "We English _feel_, although we
don't demonstrate much, and can act when occasion requires it with as
much energy as Russians I'll say all you could wish, and some things,
mayhap, that you couldn't have said yourself.--But where are you going
in such haste?"
"To battle, Jeff," he replied, with one of those proud glances of the
eyes which must be somewhat akin to the expanded nostrils of the
warhorse when he scents the battle from afar. "At least," he added, "to
convey orders which will have some bearing on what is about to follow.
The Turk is brave. We find that he fights well."
"Ha!" said I quickly, "you find him a plucky fellow, and begin to
respect him?"
"Yes, truly, he is a worthy foe," returned Nicholas with animation.
"Just so," I rejoined, unable to repress a feeling of bitterness, "a
worthy foe simply because he possesses the courage of the bull-dog; a
_worthy_ foe, despite the fact that he burns, pillages, violates,
murders, destroys, and tortures in cold blood. What if Bella were in
one of these Bulgarian villages when given over to the tender mercies of
a troop of Bashi-Bazouks?"
Nicholas had his left hand on the reins and resting on the pommel of his
saddle as I said this. He turned and looked at me with a face almost
white with indignation.
"Jeff, how _can_ you suggest? Bashi-Bazouks are devils--"
"Well, then," said I, interrupting, "let us suppose Cossacks, or some
other of your own irregulars instead--"
I stopped, for Nicholas had vaulted on his horse, and in another second
was flying at full speed over the plain. Perhaps I was hard on him, but
after the miseries I witnessed that day I could not help trying to send
the truth _home_.
Time pressed now. The regiment to which I was attached had received
orders to march. I galloped off in search of it. At first I had
thought of making a hurried search for Lancey or the scout, but gave up
the idea, well content to have heard that the former was alive.
The Turks at this time were advancing under Mahomet Ali Pasha on the
position occupied by the Russians on the Lom river. As I joined my
regiment and reported myself, I heard distant cannonading on the left,
and observed troops moving off in all directions. We soon got the order
to march, and, on going to the top of a small eminence, came in sight of
the field of action.
To my unaccustomed eyes the country appeared to be alive with confused
masses of moving men, from some of which masses there burst at intervals
the rolling smoke of rifle-firing. Of course I knew that there was
order and arrangement, but the only order that impressed itself on me
was that of the Russian regiment at my side, as the men strode steadily
forward, with compressed lips and stern yet eager glances.
The Turkish troops had moved out and taken up a position on the face of
a hill under cover of some woods. As battalion after battalion marched
away, I, for the first time, became impressed with the multitudes of men
who constitute an army, and, at the same time, with the feeling that
something like a pitched battle was about to be fought. From the
elevated position on which we stood, I could see that numbers of Russian
cavalry were prowling about over the plain, as if watching the movements
of the enemy. The intention of the Turks soon became evident, for they
suddenly swarmed out of the woods and advanced to the attack. A Russian
battery on our right instantly opened on them. This was replied to
vigorously by a Turkish battery opposite. While these two turned their
attention on each other, the troops in the plain below came into action.
They swarmed over the numerous undulations, skirmished through the
scrub and the fields of corn and maize, attacked a village in a hollow,
and charged on various batteries and positions of strength,--sometimes
one side, sometimes the other, being successful. The thunder of the
great guns increased, the tremendous rattle of small arms became
continuous, with now and again exceptionally strong bursts, when whole
battalions fired in volleys. The smoke soon became so dense as partly
to obscure the vision.
At that moment a Turkish battalion was seen to approach the mound on
which we stood, with the evident intention of storming it. At the same
time I observed a squadron of Russian cavalry trot smartly round the
skirt of a wood on our left and take up a position. They were not fifty
yards from the spot where I stood. I could even see the expression of
their faces, and I fancied that the figure and countenance of the
right-hand man of the troop were familiar to me.
"He's a fine-looking man, sir, is he not?" said a voice at my elbow.
I turned in amazement. It was Dobri Petroff! There was no room for
more than a squeeze of the hand at such a moment.
"That is our friend Andre Vanovitch, sir."
As he spoke I saw the captain of the troop fall from his horse. A stray
ball had killed him, and this was the first thing that drew my attention
to the fact that bullets were whistling over our own heads now and then.
This happened at the very moment when a staff officer galloped up to the
troop with an order. Seeing what had happened, this officer put himself
at the head of the troop and gave the command to advance.
I recognised the voice at once as that of Nicholas. They swept past
close in front of us at full gallop, and I could see on the face of
Nicholas and on that of the stalwart Andre the same open, gladsome,
noble expression, suggestive of high chivalrous sentiment, and a desire
to do noble self-sacrificing deeds for fatherland. My own heart bounded
within me as I looked at them, and I could not resist bursting into a
cheer, which was taken up and prolonged wildly by the troops around.
The squadron came upon the Turks unexpectedly, but they stood like true
men. Courage, however, was of no avail. The dragoons were heavy and
irresistible. They cut right through the Turks; turned, charged again,
and scattered them like chaff. I could perceive, in the midst of the
fray, the lithe forms of Nicholas and Andre laying about them with
tremendous impetuosity.
Personal valour is necessary, but it is not omnipotent nowadays. When
the squadron returned, reduced almost to a skeleton, the Turks had
reformed, were largely reinforced, and came at us again with steady
determination. At the same time reinforcements came pouring in on our
side, and I soon found that the position we occupied was deemed one of
considerable importance.
The Turks came on steadily, and now I learned, for the first time, the
power of modern weapons. Our men were armed with breech-loaders, so
that no time was lost in loading.
Our commander acted on a principle which is said to be usually adopted
by General Skobeleff. He reserved his fire until the Turks were within
a hundred yards, and then gave the order to commence. The scene that
followed is indescribable. Eight hundred men fell at once before the
withering blast of lead. The firing was continuous. No troops on earth
could have stood it. The Turks were instantly shattered and repulsed.
When they had retired, and the smoke had partially cleared away, I saw
the plain covered with slaughtered men. Some were prone and motionless
in death. Some were moving slightly. Others were struggling, as if in
a delirium of agony, which it was frightful to witness. A few had life
enough to rise, stagger forward several paces, fall and rise again to
repeat the process until death ensued.