"God help us!" I exclaimed aloud; "these murdered hundreds represent
thousands of bleeding hearts AT HOME, and yet the maniacs continue to
kill each other as if human lives were of no account and human souls not
worth a thought."
"Pardon me, sir," said a voice at my side, "the maniacs who cause all
this are not here, but at the place you mentioned just now--_at home_.
These fine fellows are their unhappy tools, who, with untold depths of
enthusiasm and kindliness in their nature, and a good deal of devilment
too, are compelled, willing or not willing, to fight for what is called
`religion and country'!"
I found that the speaker was the special correspondent of a Scotch
newspaper. As brother "specials" we fraternised immediately; but we had
scarcely had time to exchange a few rapid queries and replies when our
men were ordered to advance to the attack.
Very soon the ambulance corps was busily employed, and I had to devote
my entire energies to the wounded who came pouring in.
Oh! it was pitiful to see the hundreds of strong and stalwart youths,
who might have been the glory of succeeding generations, brought in with
frames shattered beyond recovery, with brave lip compressed to check the
rising cry of agony, with eyes glaring in the terrible conflict between
lusty manhood and sudden death, or, with nerves utterly unstrung, giving
vent to the shrieks of the maniac.
Several surgeons and students among us had extemporised an hospital in
the shelter of a cliff.
One of the students, whose mind was in advance of his years and whose
spirit seemed roused, came suddenly to me, during a brief interval in
our labours.
"Our rulers are fools, or worse," said he, with indignation; "what is
the use of diplomacy if it cannot prevent _this_?"
I remonstrated with the youth on the impropriety of his language, but my
new friend the "special" broke in with--
"Ah! young man, you have not yet seen enough of life to understand it.
A man is a machine which regulates itself, more or less, for its own
interests. A household does the same; a town does likewise; so does a
state. No doubt a man sometimes fights with himself--so, too,
households are addicted to disagreement, and towns are often afflicted
with difference of opinion, while a state is not unacquainted with
internal commotions, but, in each and all of these cases, reason and
common sense prevent the people from degenerating into pure savages. It
is reserved for governments alone, when they come into collision with
each other, to do that. _Peoples_ don't desire war, my good sir, it is
government--in other words, the non-combatant gentlemen at the head of
the world's affairs--who thirst for blood, backed up, of course, by such
of the people as are more or less interested in the breaking out of war.
In all ordinary matters humanity is satisfied to submit its cases to
courts of law, to umpires, to individual or collective arbitrators. If
things don't go right, it is usually understood among Christian men and
women that a little touch of forbearance here, of self-sacrifice there,
of pocketing of slight affronts elsewhere, will bring things into the
best possible condition, and, where these plans won't do,--as in the
case of drunkards, maniacs, and villains,--they understand and quietly
practise the power of _overwhelming constraint_. If the Turks had been
overwhelmingly constrained by Europe during the late Conference at
Constantinople, we should have had no war."
I never met with any nation so fond of argument as the Scotch!
Surrounded as we were by dead and dying men, the "special" and the
student (who was also Scotch) sat down and lighted their pipes to have
it out. To do them justice, there was a lull at the time in the arrival
of wounded men.
"But," said the student, in that tone which is so well known to the
argumentative, "is not overwhelming constraint tyranny?"
"My friend," replied the special, lighting his pipe at the other's
cigar, "if a blackguard stole a poor widow's purse, and six policemen
took him up, compelled him to restore it, and put him in limbo, would
you call that tyranny?"
"Of course not."
"But it would be overwhelming constraint, would it not?"
"Well--ah!--yes--I see--but--"
"Of course there's a _but_. Quite right. That is the word by which it
is conveniently stated that the mind is not yet clear. Far be it from
me to coerce you. I would, if I could, clear you. Listen, then:--
"Has not the Turk treated his Christian subjects in a way that can only
be expressed as diabolical?"
"Unquestionably. Every one admits that: but he promises to govern them
better in future."
"If a thief," said the special, "were to promise amendment and
restoration of stolen property, would you let him off with the stolen
property in his pocket?"
"Certainly not," answered the student.
"Well, then, the Turk has stolen the _liberty_ of his Christian
subjects--to say nothing of his own subjects--and he only _promises_ to
give it back. He promised that more than twenty years ago, but has not
done it yet. Ought he not to have been overwhelmingly constrained by
the European Conference to fulfil his promises? And if he had been thus
constrained, would not war have been avoided?"
"But perhaps he would have resisted," said the student.
"No, the Turk is not mad, therefore he would not have resisted united
Europe," returned the special; "and, even suppose that he had, his
resistance could not have produced such a frightful war as this, for
Europe would have crushed him _at once_, with comparatively little
bloodshed. As it is, we have left the Muscovite (with good or bad
intentions, I know not which) to tackle him alone,--and the result is
before you. If the Russian is upright in his intentions we have treated
him shabbily, if he is false we have given him a splendid opportunity to
carry out his plans. I pronounce no opinion on Russia; the sin of this
war lies with Europe; certainly not with England, for, whether she
behaved rightly or wrongly, she was not omnipotent at the Conference.
Perhaps I should say that the sin lies with the members of that
Conference who misrepresented Europe, and allowed a notorious criminal
to escape."
"There are various opinions on that subject," said the student.
"There are various opinions on every subject," replied the special, "but
that is no reason why men and women should be content to have _no_
opinion at all, or a bigoted one--which latter means an opinion founded
largely on feeling, and formed before both sides of a question have been
considered."
An ambulance-wagon drove up at this moment. The student and I,
forgetting the subject of discussion, hastened with our brethren to
attend to the wretched beings who were laid shattered, bleeding, and
dying on the ground before us, while the special, seeing that we had run
short of water, caught up a couple of buckets and ran to a neighbouring
spring. It chanced that the ground between our place of shelter and the
spring was at that time swept by the fire of contending troops, but in
spite of this the special coolly filled his buckets and brought them
in--happily without being injured.
The battle raged during the whole of that day all over the plain. Being
taken up almost exclusively with our duties, we surgeons had little time
to observe the progress of the fight; nevertheless, mindful of my
character as a reporter, I took advantage of an occasional moment of
relaxation to jot down a few notes.
There was a hill not far from that on which we stood which was held by a
Russian regiment. Around it the fight appeared to rage very fiercely.
The roar of artillery and the incessant rattle of small arms had by this
time gathered in force until it resembled a storm. Hundreds of white
puffs all over the field told of death from shots which were too far off
to be heard, while the belching of a battery on the hill just mentioned
caused the very earth to tremble.
The Turks at this point executed a flank movement, and attempted to take
the hill by storm. At the same time one of their batteries appeared on
the top of a ridge opposite, and began to play on the hill with terrible
precision. To counteract this a Russian battery of three guns was
despatched. I saw the horses come galloping in from the rear; one of
the guns was limbered up, and off they went like the wind. At that
moment a shell from the Turkish battery fell right under the gun, and,
exploding, blew it, with the men and horses, into the air. The other
guns reached the hill in safety, wheeled into position, and, for a time,
checked the Turkish fire. Nevertheless, undeterred by the withering
salvos, the Turks came on in powerful columns till they drew near to the
hotly contested point.
At the foot of it the Russians had dug trenches and thrown up
earth-works the night before. I observed with surprise that, as the
attacking columns advanced, the Russian rifle-fire ceased, though the
battery continued to cut lanes in the living masses. It occurred to me
that our men were reserving fire according to the Skobeleff plan. In
this I was right. When the Turks were within a hundred yards of the
trenches the defenders fired as one man. The front ranks of the enemy
fell like corn before the scythe; those in rear charged with
irresistible impetuosity over their dead comrades. But the Russians had
anticipated such an event. They had placed mines in the ground, which,
when the Turks passed over them, were fired, and hundreds of men were
blown into the air. This checked them. For a time they recoiled and
were thrown into disorder. At that moment a young officer rallied them
and charged again. The trenches were entered and a hand-to-hand
conflict ensued. With my field-glass I could see the fierce expressions
of the men as they drove their reeking bayonets right through their
enemies, and the appalling gasp and glare of eye in those whose mortal
career had been thus suddenly brought to a close. Yells of fury,
shouts, curses, clubbed rifles, battered skulls, unearthly shrieks,
smoke and blood--who can imagine or describe such a scene!
The Russian soldier fights well. His courage is equal to that of the
men of other nations, and his weight gives him the advantage over some,
but nothing can resist the power of overwhelming numbers.
Sitting on a height, and comfortably watching the battle through
telescopes, the Turkish generals quietly move the "men" on the bloody
board. Hundreds of Turks have perished. What matter? there are
thousands on thousands ready to follow. Turkey must maintain her
"integrity." Pashas must wallow in wealth. Millions of peasants must
toil to accomplish these ends; if need be, they must die. The need at
present is--to die. "Push on more battalions to reinforce them" is the
order. No doubt the hundreds who have fallen, and the thousands who
must yet fall, will leave hundreds of wives and thousands of children to
hopeless mourning; but what of that? they are only _canaille_, cared for
by nobody in particular, but God. No doubt the country must suffer for
it. We must pay for war. We shall have an enormous national debt--that
can't be helped, and other countries have the same,--besides, we can
borrow from rich trusting nations, and repudiate our debts; our land
shall feel the drain of its best young blood for generations yet to
come, but time heals most sores; people will multiply as heretofore;
fate is unavoidable, and Allah is great! Moreover, what does it all
matter to us so long as our integrity is maintained, our seraglios
remain intact, and our coffers are filled? That hillock _must_ be
taken. It is a priceless hillock. Like other hillocks, no doubt, and
not very promising in an agricultural point of view, but still a
priceless hillock, which must be carried at any cost, for on our
obtaining it depends somehow (we can't say exactly how) the honour of
our name, the success of our arms, the weal of the Turkish empire.
And so another order is given; fresh troops are hurled into the
trenches, already filled with dead and dying; and the hillock is carried
by storm, swept over with fierce cries of "Allah! Allah!" which mingle
strangely with Russian curses, and is then left behind and regarded with
as much indifference as if it were the most insignificant mass of earth
and stone in all Bulgaria!
Flying backwards, the beaten Russians come panting towards the hill on
which we stand, and rally, while our men advance, meet and stop the
enemy, charge and overthrow them, turn the tide of battle, retake the
hillock which has cost so much, and ultimately things remain _in statu
quo_ when the blessed shades of evening put an end to the frightful
scene--leaving nothing whatever accomplished on either side, except the
legitimate and ordinary end of most wars, namely--death and destruction!
I had just finished dressing the wounds of a soldier, at the end of this
terrible episode, when a touch on my shoulder caused me to look up. It
was Dobri Petroff.
"Have you seen your servant Lancey?" he asked quickly.
"No. I had intended to ask if you knew anything about him when the
beginning of this carnage drove him and everything else out of my mind.
Do you know where he is?"
"I saw him not five minutes since, looking wildly for you."
While Petroff was speaking, Lancey appeared, running towards me,
bloodstained, blackened with powder, and with a rifle on his shoulder.