Produced by Victorian/Edwardian Pictorial Magazines,
Jonathan Ingram, Josephine Paolucci and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
THE STRAND
AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY
Vol. 5, Issue. 30.
June 1893
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE HEAD BOOK-KEEPER STEPPED OUT OF THE SAFE."
(_Pierre and Baptiste._)]
Pierre and Baptiste
BY BECKLES WILLSON.
I once knew two industrious mechanics named Pierre and Baptiste. They
dwelt in a ramshackle tenement at Sault aux Beloeuil, where each had
half-a-dozen children to support, besides their wives; who, it is
grievous to relate, were drones. They were only nominally acquainted
with that godly art commonly associated with charwomen.
Pierre and Baptiste were hard workers. They worked far into the night
and, occasionally, the thin mists of dawn had begun to break on the
narrow city pavements before their labours would cease. No one could
truthfully say that theirs was not a hard-earned pillow. Sometimes they
did not toil in vain. It depended largely upon the police.
It was early one November that this horny-handed pair planned the
burglary of a certain safe located in a wholesale establishment in St.
Mark Street. On the particular evening that Pierre and Baptiste hit upon
for the deed, the head book-keeper had been having a wrangle with his
accounts.
"I can't make head or tail of this!" he declared to his employer, the
senior member of the firm, "yet I am convinced everything must be right.
An error of several hundred dollars has been carried over from each
daily footing, but where the error begins or ends, I'm blessed if I can
find out."
[Illustration: "THE HEAD BOOK-KEEPER HAD BEEN HAVING A WRANGLE WITH HIS
ACCOUNTS."]
The fact was that the monthly sales had been unusually heavy, and a page
of the balance had been mislaid. The head book-keeper spent upwards of
an hour in casting up both the entries of himself and his subordinates
after the establishment had closed its doors for the day.
Then he went home to supper, determined to return and locate the
deficit, if he didn't get a wink of sleep until morning.
Book-keepers, it must be borne in mind, have highly sensitive organisms,
which are susceptible to the smallest atom reflecting upon their probity
or skill. At half-past eight the book-keeper returned and commenced anew
his critical calculations. He worked precisely three hours and a half;
at the end of which period he suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead
and exclaimed:--
"Idiot! Why haven't you looked in the safe for a missing sheet? Ten
chances to one they have been improperly numbered!"
He turned over the pages of the balance on his desk, and, sure enough,
the usual numerical mark or designation in the upper left-hand corner
which should follow eleven was missing. Page twelve, in all likelihood,
had slipped into some remote corner of the safe.
The safe was a large one, partially receding into the wall and
containing all the papers, documents, and several day receipts in cash
and drafts of the firm.
The head book-keeper, in his efforts at unearthing the lost page of the
cash balance, was obliged to intrude his entire person into the safe.
Fearful lest the candle he held should attract attention from the
street, showing out as it did against the black recesses of the safe,
upon entering he drew the door slightly ajar.
As he stepped in the tail of his coat caught on an angle of the huge
riveted lock; the massive gate swung to as if it weighed no more than a
pound, and the book-keeper was a prisoner.
He heard a resonant click--that was all. His candle went out.
The book-keeper at the outset lost his presence of mind. He fought like
a caged animal. He first exerted almost superhuman strength against the
four sides of the iron tomb. Then his body collapsed and, not for an
instant losing consciousness, he found himself sitting in a partially
upright posture, unable to so much as stir a muscle.
It was almost at the same moment, although hours seemed to have passed,
that the drum of his ear, now abnormally sensitive, was almost split
into fragments. A frightful monotonous clangour rent the interior of the
safe.
[Illustration: "HE STEPPED IN."]
The book-keeper used to observe afterwards that a single second's
deviation of characteristic thought and he would have gone mad. Stronger
minds in a parallel situation would have indeed collapsed. But a weaker
man can never confront the inevitable, but clings more stubbornly to
hope. They are only weak individualities who, in the act of drowning,
catch at straws.
As the book-keeper felt himself gradually growing faint for want of air
to breathe, his revivified hope led him to deliberately crash his fist
into the woodwork with which the interior of the safe was fitted, in
secretaire fashion, one drawer being built above another. This gave him
a few additional cubic feet of air.
As may have been conjectured, the noise which smote the book-keeper's
ear was that of a drill. Although acutely discerned within, the sound
was practically smothered on the outside of the vault.
At one end of the drill was a cavity, rapidly growing larger, in one of
the steel panels. At its other end was a heavy, warty fist, part of the
anatomy of Baptiste, the industrious mechanic. Baptiste held the drill
while his comrade, Pierre, pounded it in.
Soon the two burglars became aware that some sort of animal commotion
was going on within the safe. It nearly drove them into convulsions of
astonishment. Baptiste was so startled that he dropped the drill.
"It is a ghost," he said.
Baptiste was for throwing up the job uncompromisingly on the spot, but
this proposal met with obstacles. His fellow workman, who was of stiffer
courage, rejected it with scorn, as savouring too much of the
superstitious. Pierre had a large family to support, he argued. He spoke
frankly. They could not afford to throw away the opportunities of
Providence. To his friend and co-labourer, the burden of his remarks
was:--
"_Lâche!_ Go hon! You make me tired wiz yer ghosts an' tings. Let's not
have no beast foolin'--see? De job is commence: _Allons!_"
The upshot of this was that Pierre and Baptiste went back to work. At
the third crack of the drill, Pierre crossed himself, and said:--
"Baptiste, dere's a man in dat safe!"
Both men grew pale as death at the very suggestion. Baptiste, for
instance, was so frightened he couldn't utter a syllable. His tongue
clove to the roof of his mouth. However, Pierre, as usual, was the first
to recover. He applied his ear, first to the lock and then to the
drill-hole.
"Hey, in dere!" he cried, yet not so loud as to be heard on the
side-walk. To this there came a faint response--a very faint shout
indeed; it sounded as if it were a mile away:--
"For God's sake, give me air! I am locked in here. Try and burst open
the safe!"
The two burglars did not stop to talk, but went at once to work as if
their own lives depended on the result, instead of the life of the
mysterious occupant of the vault. In less than four minutes they had a
hole, somewhat smaller than the business end of a collar-button, knocked
into the panel of the vault.
Then Pierre and Baptiste paused to wipe the sweat from their brows. The
man inside breathed.
It was now that the pair began to muse on the dénouement. Could this be
a member of the firm or an employé? This hypothesis jeopardized the
success of the night's adventure, unless, when they had permitted the
prisoner to emerge, they bound and gagged him into silence.
On the other hand, this course would have an ugly look. If he resisted
it might mean murder in the end; whereas, if they did not let him out at
all, they would stand no chance of profiting by the pecuniary contents
of the safe. Besides, as the man could scarcely live thus until morning,
they would be responsible for his taking off. Thus reasoned Pierre and
Baptiste.
[Illustration: "BOTH MEN GREW PALE AS DEATH."]
These were not highly comforting reflections, but there was still
another and a better in reserve. What if, after all, the man were
himself a felon? Might he not be a companion crib-cracker? In that case
they would merely have to divide the spoils.
"Hey, in dere," cried Pierre, suddenly struck with an idea. "What is de
combination hof de safe?"
"Fifteen--three--seventy-three!" came back in sepulchral tones.
It was evidently growing harder and harder to draw breath through the
tiny aperture.
Thus it transpired that at the expiration of fifteen seconds the lock of
the vault gave back the same resonant click it had rendered eight
minutes previously. Thanks to the timely advent of Pierre and Baptiste
it opened as lightly, as airily, and as decisively as it had closed 480
seconds before on the unhappy accountant.
The head book-keeper gasped once or twice, but without any assistance
stepped out into the free air. He was very pale and his dress was much
rent and disordered when his feet touched the floor. But this pallor
quickly made way for a red flush at perceiving the two burglars, with
the implements of their profession strewn around them.
Meanwhile Pierre and Baptiste themselves stood transfixed by the sheer
novelty of the situation.
Without any kind of speech or warning, or without making any attempt at
bravado, the book-keeper walked deliberately to his desk and rang an
electric call for the police. Simultaneously it seemed, for so rapid and
quiet was the action, he opened a drawer, took out a small revolver, and
covered both burglars with a fatal precision. As he did so he uttered
these remarkable words:--
"Gentlemen, I would, indeed, be the basest of men if I did not feel
profoundly grateful for the service you have just rendered me. I shall
always regard you as any right-minded man should regard those who have
saved his life with imminent peril to themselves or, which is just the
same, to their liberty. Any demand in reason you make of me I shall make
an effort to perform--but my duty to my employers I regard as
_paramount_. I have accumulated a little money, and with it I propose to
engage the best counsel in your defence, which is certainly marked by
mitigating circumstances. If, on the other hand, you are convicted----"
Here the officers of justice entered, having broken open the door with a
crash.
[Illustration]
Future Dictates of Fashion
BY W. CADE GALL.
An elderly gentleman of our acquaintance, whose reading has been rather
desultory than profound, and tending rather to the quaint and
speculative, was astonished recently at coming across a volume in his
library of whose very existence he had been completely unaware. This
volume was oblong in shape, was bound in mauve morocco, and was called
"Past Dictates of Fashion; by Cromwell Q. Snyder, Vestamentorum Doctor."
Glancing his eye downwards past a somewhat flippant sub-title, the
elderly gentleman came, with intense amazement, to understand that the
date of this singular performance was 1993. Other persons at a similar
juncture would have pinched themselves to see if they were awake, or
have tossed the book into the street as an uncanny thing. But our
elderly gentleman being of an inquisitive and acquisitive turn of mind,
despite his quaintness, recognised the fact that if he was not of the
twentieth century the volume obviously was; seized pen and paper, and
began to make notes with the speed of lightning. Being also something of
a draughtsman he was able to embellish his notes with sketches from the
engravings with which "Past Dictates of Fashion" was copiously
furnished. These sketches appear with the present article.
Fashion in dress, according to the twentieth century author,
notwithstanding its apparent caprice, has always been governed by
immutable laws. But these laws were not recognised in the benighted
epoch in which we happen to live at present. On the contrary, Fashion is
thought a whim, a sort of shuttlecock for the weak-minded of both sexes
to make rise and fall, bound and rebound with the battledore
called--social influence. But it will interest a great many people to
learn that Fashion assumed the dignity of a science in 1940. Ten years
later it was taken up by the University of Dublin. By the science as
taught by the various Universities later on were explained those points
in the history, manners, and literature of our own ancestors which were
formerly obscure and, in fact, unknown. They were also, by certain
strict rules, enabled to foretell the attire of posterity. Here is a
curious passage from the introductory chapter to the book:--
"Cigars went out of fashion twenty years ago. Men and women consumed so
much tobacco that their healths were endangered. The laws of Nature were
powerless to cope with the evil. Not so the laws of Fashion, which at
once abated it. It will, however, return in thirty-one years. In 1790
Nature commanded men to bathe. They laughed at Nature. In 1810 Fashion
did the same thing. Men complied, and daily cold baths became
established. In 1900 it was pushed to extremes. The ultra-sect cut holes
in the ice and plunged into the water. The fashion changed. For forty
years only cads bathed."
The following table is also interesting, and should be borne in mind in
considering the accompanying cuts. It professes to exhibit the
sartorial characteristics of an epoch:--
TABLE OF WAVES.
Type. Tendency.
1790 to 1815 Angustorial Wobbling
1815 " 1840 Severe Recuperative
1840 " 1875 Latorial Decided
1875 " 1890 Tailor-made Opaque
1890 " 1915 Ebullient Bizarre
1915 " 1940 Hysterical Angustorial
[Illustration: 1893]
[Illustration: 1905]
The first plate in the book is dated 1893, and serves as a frontispiece.
The costumes of the lady and gentleman are familiar enough, although we
note with surprise that the gentleman's coat-talks seem to have a
crinoline cast, and if the turned-up bottoms of his trousers are a
little mortifying, it is atoned for by a triumphant attitude which
disarms hypercriticism. Also the lady's posture makes it difficult for
us to tell whether it is a stick or an umbrella she is carrying.
[Illustration: 1908]
There is a pictorial hiatus of some years, but the text notes that
crinoline for women enjoyed a sway of some years' duration. For, taking
the tracings from the plates in the order in which they are given in the
book, we find a subdued form of the article in the female costume for
1905. The ladies may well regard this plate as astounding. There is even
a suggestion of "bloomer" about its nether portion, and if the hat is
not without precedent in history, the waist is little short of
revolutionary.
[Illustration: 1910]
The next plate displays a gentleman's habit for the year 1908. The
tailors, fifteen years hence, seemed to have borrowed, in the
construction of the coat, very liberally from the lady's mantle of 1893.
Apropos of this and the ensuing three plates, it is pleasing to be told,
as we are by the author of this book, that the long reign of black is
doomed. Towards the close of April, 1898, Lord Arthur Lawtrey appeared
in the Park attired literally in purple and fine linen, _i.e._, in a
violet coat, with pale heliotrope trousers.
[Illustration: 1902, 1911-12]
Yet, in spite of the opposition to Lord Arthur, the wave was due, and
the affection for colour spread. The new century, at its birth, saw
black relegated to the past--also to the future. This was midway in the
Ebullient Age. Pent up for decades, mankind naturally began to slop over
with sartorial enthusiasm. In 1920 its _bizarrerie_ became offensive,
and an opposition crusade was directed against it. Something had to be
conceded. Trousers, which had been wavering between nautical buttons and
gallooned knees--or, in the vernacular of the period, a sail three
sheets in the wind and a flag at half-mast--were the items sacrificed.
Knee-breeches enjoyed vogue for a time, but only for a time; for they
vanished suddenly in 1930 and were replaced by tights or shapes. Boots
made way for Elizabethan slippers. Hats had long since gone the way of
the superannuated. Taught by the Darwinian theory, society discovered
whence its tendency to baldness originated. They had recourse by degrees
to flexible tiles of extraordinary cut.
[Illustration: 1912]
[Illustration: 1912]
A further glance at the costume for the swells between 1902 and 1912
reveals the existence of an entirely novel adjunct to male attire. Silk
bows have been worn about the neck for nearly, if not quite, a century,
but never in the body of the attire. It is true the gentleman as early
as 1910 adorns his nether garments with a plain silk band, but in the
elderly party of 1911 he has assumed gay ribbons for his shoes as well
as at his knees and throat. In this plate we greet the presence of an
unmistakable umbrella as a good omen. But it is only a short-lived
rapture, for the spruce young party in the next sketch is balancing
lightly between thumb and forefinger what we take to be nothing more or
less than a shepherd's crook. This is hardly an edifying prospect. Yet
if we do not altogether mistake the two wing-shaped objects projecting
from his person, it is not the only feature of gentlemen's fashions
twenty years hence which will occasion a shock. Nor must we overlook the
frivolity of the lady of the same period who is doing her utmost to look
pleasant under the most trying conditions. Yet it must be confessed that
in spite of its intricate novelty and perplexity, the costume must still
be called plain. One might be forgiven for surmising that the
kerchief-shaped article covering a portion of the lady's bust is formed
of riveted steel, for surely nothing else could support the intolerable
load she is so blandly carrying off.
Female costume seems to have always been regulated by the same waves and
rules which governed male costume, but in a different degree. In the
Ebullient period it is chiefly distinguished by head-dress and the total
abolition of stays. Crinoline, in spite of certain opposition, enjoyed a
slight revival in the present day, and in 1897 the divided skirt
threatened to spread universally. But it passed off, and nothing of a
radical order was attempted in this direction until the revolution which
brought in trousers for women in 1942.
Meantime, in the next plate of a lady's costume, which is dated 1922, we
have presented a very rational and beautiful style of dress. The skirt,
it is true, is short enough to alarm prim contemporary dames, and it is
scarcely less assuring to find in the whole of the remaining plates only
three periods when it seems to have got longer. But doubtless the very
ample cloak, which is so long that it even trails upon the ground,
extenuated and in some degree justified its shortness.
[Illustration: 1922]
[Illustration: 1920]
[Illustration: 1926]
The plate dated 1920 exhibits a very gorgeous and yet altogether simple
set of garments for the male of that period. We are told that the upper
portion was of crimson plush, and the lower part of a delicate pink,
with white stockings and orange boots. It were well had the leaders of
fashion stopped at this, but it would appear that either their thirst
for novelty was insatiable or the Hysterical Wave too strong for them,
for in the incredibly short space of six years fashion had reached the
stage depicted in the following plate. Yet, even then, the depth of
folly and ugliness does not appear to have been sounded, for three years
later, in 1929, we are favoured with a plate of what is presumably a
husband and wife on their way to church or perchance upon a shopping
excursion. The lady is evidently looking archly back to see if anybody
is observing what a consummate guy her spouse is making of himself, for
with all her sartorial short-comings she has certainly the best of the
bargain. The prudes, too, seemed to have gained their point, for the
skirt is considerably less scanty in the region of the ankles.
[Illustration: 1929]
This skirt seems to have been rather a weak point with our posterity of
the female persuasion, for in the next three or four plates we find it
rising and falling with the habitual incorrigibility of a shilling
barometer. The Oriental influence is easily traced in the fashions from
1938 to 1945, but it cannot but make the judicious grieve to note that
trousers seem to have been adopted by the women at the same time that
they were discarded by the men.
[Illustration: 1935]
[Illustration: 1938]
A further detail which might interest the student concerns the revival
of lace, which transpired so early as 1905. Curiously enough, this
dainty adjunct to the attire had fallen into desuetude among women. More
curiously still, it remained for the sterner sex to revive it. For it
was in that year that the backbone of stiff white collars and cuffs was
broken. A material being sought which would weather the existing
atmospheric conditions, it was yielded in lace, which continued in vogue
for at least two generations.
[Illustration: 1940]
[Illustration: 1945]
If we look for the greatest donkey in the entire collection, it is
obvious that we shall find him in the middle-aged party of 1936, who is
gadding about in inflated trunks and with a fan in his hand. If it were
not for the gloves and polka-dot neck-wear we should assume that this
costume was a particularly fantastic bathing-suit. The youth of the
ensuing year, in the next plate, is probably a son of the foregoing
personage, for it is not difficult to detect a strong family likeness.
As to the costume itself for 1937, barring the shaved head and
Caledonian cap, there is nothing particular to be urged against it. It
seems clearly a revival of the dress of the Middle Ages.
[Illustration: 1936]
[Illustration: 1937]
[Illustration: 1945]
It is at least consoling to feel that only a very small minority of
those who read this is destined to enliven our thoroughfares with such
grotesque images as is furnished by the plate for 1945. The confidently
asinine demeanour of this youth is hardly relieved by the absurdity of a
watch suspended by a chain from the crown of his hat. That society
protested against this aspect of idiocy is evinced by the harmonious
costume for 1950, in which a complete revolution is to be noted. We
hasten to observe that the latter plate--the one for 1948--is that of a
clergyman.
[Illustration: 1950]
[Illustration: 1946]
[Illustration: 1948]
There is very little beauty about the lady's costume for 1946, or in
that of the child in the plate. That for 1950 is a great improvement.
The exaggerated chignon has disappeared, and two seasons later we find
the costume fascinating to a degree, although certainly partaking more
of the male than of the female order of dress. Without the cape it is
not so captivating, as shown by the plate dated 1955-6, where both a
lady and gentleman are shown, although to accord praise to either's
hideous style of head-dress would be to abandon permanently all
reputation for taste.
[Illustration: 1950]
[Illustration: 1952]
[Illustration: 1955-6]
The policeman shown in the drawing for 1960 seems to have a very easy
time of it, for no man's person can be considered in danger from the mob
who habitually offers so many _points à saisir_ as this policeman's head
displays. We may likewise suspect the military gentleman depicted in the
plate for 1965. It is not customary in the present day for army officers
to affect umbrellas, but seventy years hence it may be found necessary
to protect one's head-dress.
[Illustration: 1960]
[Illustration: 1965]
[Illustration: 1965]
Mawkish describes the attire of the civilian of the same year, but in
1970 we notice a distinct change for the better, although personally
many of us would doubtless strenuously object to wearing neckties of the
magnitude here portrayed. In 1975 costume seems to have taken a step
backward, and the literary young gentleman, who is the hero of the
engraving, may well be carrying about his MSS. inside his umbrella.
Whatever may be the merits of the spring fashions for 1978, it would
appear to have been universal (to speak of the future in the past
tense), for both these young gallants are dressed precisely alike. Of
the three remaining designs, that of 1984 appears to us to exhibit the
contour of the lady's figure most generously, and to have certain
agreeable and distinctive traits of its own which are not only lacking
in the gentleman's apparel, but are absent from the inane conception
which appears to have obtained vogue five years later.
[Illustration: 1970]
[Illustration: 1975]
[Illustration: 1978]
[Illustration: 1984]
As to the last plate in the series, we can only remark that if the
character of our male posterity after four or five generations is to be
as effeminate as its attire, the domination by the fair sex cannot be
many centuries distant. The gentleman appears to be lost in
contemplation of a lighted cigar. If he possessed the gift of seeing
himself as others now see him, he would probably transfer his attentions
to another and not less contiguous quarter.
[Illustration: Spring and Summer Fashions, 1932.]
In a general review of the costumes of the forthcoming century the
Doctor observes:--
"The seventeenth is famous as the brown; the eighteenth is with us the
yellow; and the nineteenth we term the black century. I am asked my
opinion of the twentieth. It is motley. It has seen the apotheosis of
colour. Yet in worshipping colour we do not confound the order of
things. As is the twentieth, so was the fifteenth."
The author furthermore observes that "the single article of apparel
which stands out most silhouetted against the background of the 19th
century's dress is its hard, shiny, black head-gear. It is without a
parallel. It is impossible for us to conceive of a similar article
surviving for so long a period; and I venture to say, versed as I am in
the science, nothing more absurd and irredeemably inappropriate, or more
openly violating in texture and contour every rational idea on the
subject, was ever launched. In 1962 the neck was left bare, in the
négligé fashion, in imitation of Butts, the æsthete who the year
previously had discovered the North Pole. In 1970, however, ruffs were
resumed and are still worn, and I regret to say are growing in
magnitude, until they threaten to eclipse precedent."
At this juncture the notes and nap together terminated, for our elderly
gentleman woke up.
[Illustration: 1989]
[Illustration: 1993]
_Shafts from an Eastern Quiver._
XII.--THE DAUGHTER OF LOVETSKI THE LOST.
BY CHARLES J. MANSFORD, B.A.
I.
"Our journey seems to have no end, Harold," remarked Denviers, as he
lashed the horses which drew our sledge over the dreary plain; "for a
week we have been pressing on, night and day almost, in the hope of
coming across the hut near the road over which the exiles pass. If that
mujik told us the truth, we certainly ought to have seen it by this
time."
"We have had a long, desolate ride since we parted with him," I
assented; "yet the snow lies in such drifts at times that we can hardly
be surprised to find ourselves still driving onwards."
"See, sahibs!" exclaimed Hassan, as he pointed to where the snow-clad
plain was at last broken by a distant forest of stunted pines. "There is
surely the landmark of which the mujik spoke, and the peasant woman's
dwelling cannot be far off."
After wandering through the outlying provinces of China, we determined
to visit the vast plains beyond, being anxious to see a Russian mine. To
all our requests for such permission we met with refusals, until
Denviers pressed a number of roubles into the hand of an official, who
eventually helped us to effect our purpose, after evincing some
reluctance. Staying a few days after this at a peasant's hut, we had
been fortunate enough to win his goodwill, and it was in consequence of
what he told us that we promised to undertake our present expedition.
[Illustration: "A DESOLATE RIDE."]
No sooner did the keen eyes of Hassan discover the forest far ahead than
we dashed onwards quicker than ever, as our exhaled breath froze in icy
particles and the biting wind struck right through the heavy sheepskin
wraps which we had purchased on entering Russia. Away across the snow
our foam-flecked horses sped, until we saw the blue smoke curling upward
in the frosty air from a low log hut, situated so that the pine forest
sheltered it somewhat from the icy winds.
"Someone evidently lives here," said Denviers, as he beat with the
handle of his whip against the low door. We heard a footstep cross the
floor, then the noise of a bar being removed as a woman opened the door
cautiously and peered into our faces. Bent as she was with age, with
hair that hung in white masses about her shoulders, there was an
unsubdued look which rested upon us from her dark eyes that contrasted
forcibly with the dull, patient glance of the average Russian peasant.
"Who is it crossing the plains? Are you servants of the Czar?" she
asked, in a tone of hesitation at our unexpected appearance, and
glancing strangely at Hassan, who had secured our steeds and joined us.
"We are travellers crossing the Siberian wastes with our guide, and
come to you for shelter," I answered, although we had a deeper purpose
in visiting her.
"It is yours," the woman replied, and having shaken our sheepskin wraps,
we entered the hut and accepted the invitation to gather about the
pine-wood fire which burnt in one corner of the rude dwelling.
"You are not a Russian peasant?" remarked Denviers, in a tone of
inquiry, for the woman spoke English with some fluency.
"I am not, for my people are the Lost Ones, of whom you may have heard,"
she answered, with a dreary smile.
"We do not understand you," Denviers responded, as we waited for her
explanation.
"If you were men of this country my words would be lucid enough. Among
all those who were overcome in the many Polish struggles for liberty,
none have ever returned who once trod the road by which the exiles
passed to join those whom we call Our Lost."
"You have a motive for living here?" I remarked quietly, watching
attentively to see what effect my words would have upon her.
"I am friendless and alone, choosing rather to dwell here within sight
of the way to Tomsk, than in the great city from which I came. The Czar
is merciful, and permits this."
"Then the mujik who directed us here was mistaken," I persisted. "He
related strange stories to us of fugitives, whom the peasants
whisper----"
"Hush!" she cried, looking nervously round. "What was the mujik's name?"
For reply I placed in her hand a scrap of paper, upon which the man had
scrawled a message. She glanced keenly at us after reading the missive,
then answered:--
"He may be mistaken in you, for you are Englishmen, and do not
understand these things. A piece of black bread--what is it that it
should be denied to an enemy, even of the Czar, who has escaped from the
mines and wanders for refuge over these frozen wastes?"
"You may trust us fully in this matter," said Denviers. "We have given
our word to the mujik to render all the help we can."
"It is a terrible day to traverse the plain," the woman replied, as she
rose and threw open the rough door to the icy blast, which was only
imperfectly kept out before. We followed to where she stood, then
watched as she raised her hand and pointed at a distant object.
"See!" the woman cried, bitterly; "yonder pine cross marks the spot
where a brave man fell, he who was the lover of the daughter of
Lovetski, one of our Lost Ones. By it, before the day is ended, will
pass the long train of exiles guarded by the soldiery and headed by the
one who hates to see that monument of his own misdeeds, but fears to
remove it, for, persecuting the living, he dreads the dead." She closed
and barred the door again; then, after some hesitation, spoke of the one
to help whom we had gone so far.
"It was the night of a masquerade at the Winter Palace, long to be
remembered by many, for on the following day another rising of the Poles
had been planned to take place. A number of the leading citizens of St.
Petersburg were involved in it, but so well apparently was their secret
kept, that they ventured to accept the invitations issued to them. Amid
the mad revel the plotters moved, making occasionally a furtive sign of
recognition to each other, or venturing at times to whisper as they
passed the single word which told of all their hopes and
fears--'To-morrow!' Chief among them was Count Lovetski, who murmured
the watch-word more hopefully than any of those concerned whenever his
keen eyes searched out those sworn to take part in the revolt so near at
hand.
"For three hours the gay crowd moved through the salons, then Lovetski,
as he leant against a carved pillar, saw one of the revellers who was
clad in strange attire approach several of the masqueraders and
smilingly whisper something in their ears. At last the Count saw the
stranger move close to himself, and a moment after he heard a mocking
laugh from behind the black mask, as the unknown one stooped and uttered
the preconcerted word. Lovetski looked doubtfully at the man's sombre
garb, for the glance from his eyes was by no means reassuring.
"'To-morrow!' repeated the masker. 'Count Lovetski, you do not respond.
Have you forgotten?'
"'Lower your voice, or we shall be heard by others,' said the Count,
with a warning gesture. 'Who are you?'
"'One of the three hundred citizens who are sworn to revolt to-morrow.
The appointed day is fast drawing near, for in ten minutes the
great clock will chime the midnight hour, and then, Count
Lovetski--_Siberia!_'
"His listener stared in blank amazement, then, regaining his composure,
he replied:--
"'So the plot is discovered? I am no coward. When is it settled for me
to set out?'
"'At the last stroke of the hour a drosky will await you at the main
entrance. The palace is guarded by the soldiery. The others do not start
immediately; you are the leader, and will be ready, doubtless.'
"'Quite,' answered Lovetski, for he knew resistance would be useless. He
quietly passed his sword to the masker, who took it, smiled again, and
disappeared in the crowd. One by one the followers of the Count were
singled out by the strange messenger of the Czar, and when the
masquerade was over three hundred exiles followed the track of the
sledge in which their leader had been hurried away a couple of hours
before them on the long, dreary journey to Tomsk.
[Illustration: "SIBERIA!"]
"Lovetski was refused the privilege of communicating his whereabouts to
his wife, who shortly after this event died, leaving their daughter to
the care of strangers. Before long a rumour reached the capital that the
Count had been shot while attempting to escape in disguise, and this was
eventually found to be true.
"Scarcely had Marie Lovetski reached womanhood when she joined a
political movement, fired with a mad resolve to avenge her father's
death, and within a year her name appeared among those on the list of
suspects, whose every action was closely observed. A Russian officer of
high rank, Paul Somaloff, who had more than once made her an offer of
marriage, begged her to remember the fate which overtook Count Lovetski,
but the bare mention of it only made the woman more inexorable. The end
which everyone foretold soon came, for, seated one day in the midst of
treasonable correspondence, Marie Lovetski was surprised by three
gendarmes, who burst into her apartment. She tore the letter into
fragments before they could stop her, then scattered the pieces over the
floor. One of the gendarmes, motioning to his companions to pick them
up, moved towards her and attempted her arrest. For one moment the woman
stood at bay, then thrust the cold barrel of a pistol into the
gendarme's ear.
"'Raise but a hand or move an inch nearer and I will shoot you!' she
cried, warningly. Her would-be captor shrunk back, and before he had
recovered from his surprise Marie Lovetski darted past him towards the
door. She seized the handle to wrench it open, then saw that all was
lost. The door was locked and the gendarme had removed the key. There
was a fierce struggle, in which one of the officers was dangerously
wounded, but eventually they secured her, and within two months Marie
Lovetski set out to traverse the same dreary road over which the Count
had gone long before when she was a mere child.
"Ivan Rachieff, the masquerader who had whispered into Count Lovetski's
ear the fate to which he was consigned, was at that time a young attaché
at the Court of the Czar. The zeal which he displayed in hunting down
the autocrat's enemies rapidly brought promotion, so that when Marie
Lovetski was exiled he had risen to be a general of the Russ army, and
specially chosen for the duty of heading the Cossacks who conducted the
exiles over the Siberian wastes, while among his subordinates was Paul
Somaloff, who held a position scarcely inferior to his own.
"Convicted of a double offence, Marie Lovetski was condemned to walk the
whole of that wearisome distance among criminals bound for the mines,
while the political exiles were somewhat less harshly treated. General
Rachieff had been warned that a band of discontents had threatened to
attempt the rescue of the prisoners, and special powers of life and
death were granted to him. By long forced marches he hurried the exiles
on, scarcely giving them a few hours' rest each night when they arrived
at their halting-places on the route.
[Illustration: "SHE THRUST THE COLD BARREL OF A PISTOL INTO THE
GENDARME'S EAR."]
"It was with a deep feeling of sorrow at his inability to lessen her
sufferings that Paul Somaloff glanced many times on the way at Marie
Lovetski. In spite of the strange position in which he found himself,
his love for the woman was by no means lessened, but increased each day
as he saw to his dismay how plainly her strength was failing as he
looked upon the woman's haggard countenance, who was wearily dragging
her limbs forward over the frozen wastes. One day Marie Lovetski's
condition became so serious that Somaloff begged General Rachieff to
order the fetters which bound her wrists to be removed, receiving in
reply a refusal as contemptuous as it was decisive. All that day the
exile's secret lover walked moodily on, racking his brains for some
method by which to save the woman from dying before even the terrible
journey was ended.
"Not far from the hut in which you are now resting, the weary exiles
were halted that night, and soon sank down in the log building into an
exhausted sleep. After a severe conflict between his love and his
allegiance to the Czar, Paul Somaloff rose, and, stealing carefully
among the unconscious ones, he bent at last over the form of Marie
Lovetski, stretched upon a straw pallet.
"'Marie,' he whispered softly, as he cautiously awakened her. ''Tis I,
Paul Somaloff--I come to save you.'
"He remained by the woman's side till he had deftly removed the manacles
from her wrists, then stole to the entrance as she silently followed
him. Once he was outside the log building, Somaloff made for where his
general's horse was stabled, and quickly untethering it led it forth.
For one brief moment he clasped the exile to his breast, then lifted her
into the saddle and placed the reins in her hand with a few hurried
words as to the best course to pursue to avoid pursuit.
"Suddenly Paul Somaloff felt a heavy hand grip him by the shoulder, and
turning round he found himself face to face with Ivan Rachieff, his
general! At the same time the woman was dragged from the horse and held
by three of the Cossacks.
"'Your traitorous plan was well thought out,' said Rachieff, as he
smiled in derision at its failure. 'Paul Somaloff, you have broken your
oath to the Czar, and I swear you shall die for this.'
"'You may do your worst,' replied the young officer. 'You would not
listen to my repeated appeals for a slight act of clemency for Marie
Lovetski, and so have turned a loyal subject of the Czar into a
traitor.'
"'Insolent!' cried General Rachieff. 'At sunrise you shall be knouted to
death.'
"'Coward that you are,' retorted Somaloff, 'that is a punishment you
dare not inflict upon one who wears a decoration given to him by the
august Czar. I am a soldier, General, and, at the hands of my comrades,
will die a soldier's death.'
"'So be it,' answered Rachieff, calmly; 'you shall be shot at sunrise,'
and he motioned to the soldiers who had gathered about him to take
Somaloff into their charge, then turned on his heel and strode away,
humming an idle air.
"The grey morning had scarcely dawned when brave young Somaloff was
blindfolded and led forth to be shot in sight of the exiles, while the
woman whom he had failed to save looked helplessly on.
"A few minutes afterwards, Paul Somaloff knelt on the snow-covered
plain, the report of a dozen rifles rang out on the morning air, and the
exiles saw his arms raised as he clutched convulsively at his breast,
then he fell forward, dead!
[Illustration: "HE FELL FORWARD, DEAD."]
"The wild, despairing cries of the exiles were quelled with threats of
the knout, and then the prisoners were hurried on, as they had been for
so many days and weeks past. Ten days later a large number of Polish
insurrectionists, ill-armed, and accompanied by a throng of even worse
accoutred peasants carrying a red banner, flung themselves upon the line
of march, and made a futile effort to break through the soldiers who
guarded the exiles. The trained troopers of the Czar thrust them back
and, as they broke and fled into the forest, chased and cut them down
like sheep, till the snow turned to a crimson hue with their hearts'
blood.
"The exiles made desperate efforts to avail themselves of the
opportunity to escape which the confusion presented. Those who were
unbound fought with branches, which they tore from the stunted trees,
while the others madly thrust the shackles upon their wrists into the
faces of the brutal soldiery, who knouted or cut down men and women
indiscriminately. Long will that massacre be remembered, and the
dreadful sufferings which the survivors endured at the command of Ivan
Rachieff. When at last Tomsk was reached, only a handful of decrepit
exiles passed into the city out of all those who started on the long
journey."
"And Marie Lovetski?" I interrupted, "did she live to complete the
distance, or what was her fate?"
"It was reported that she was cut down during the massacre," the woman
replied, slowly; "for nothing has been heard of her since by General
Rachieff, although her body could not be found among the slain."
I glanced at the woman thoughtfully as she concluded her story, and
Denviers, who had listened in silence throughout, asked:--
"Where is Marie Lovetski? You are aware that she is alive--nay, more,
you know her place of concealment."
Surprised at the directness of the question, the woman involuntarily
rose, and then, seeing that we suspected the fugitive was hidden in the
log hut, she answered:--
"Marie Lovetski is not here, yet if the mujik has rightly judged your
courage, within a week he will see your sledge return with one more
occupant than when it started. Once she is carried there her escape is
assured, for----" She stopped suddenly and pointed to the door. We
listened attentively as the sound of footsteps drew near, then a heavy
blow smote the barred entrance and a voice exclaimed:--
"Open, in the Czar's name!" The woman's face turned ashy pale as she
muttered faintly:--
"That is the voice of Ivan Rachieff, who is again in command of the
exiles," and she drew away the heavy bar to admit him. We rose to our
feet in an instant as the door was flung open and General Rachieff
entered and stood before us.
II.
For a moment the Russian officer stared at us without speaking, then
throwing back his heavy sealskin cloak and revealing the military garb
which he wore beneath, he asked the woman sternly:--
"What does the presence of these men in your hut mean?"
"We are travellers, who have asked for shelter. Our guide is an Arab; we
are Englishmen," responded Denviers, quietly but decisively.
"Spies, I do not doubt," said Rachieff, as he bit his heavy moustache.
"My word is accustomed to be believed," replied my companion, sharply.
"If you doubt what I have said, read that," and he flung a package
containing our passports upon the table as he spoke.
The officer took out our passports, which we had been careful to obtain.
He glanced through them, then tossed the papers on to the table again as
he remarked, in a morose tone:--
"You would not be the first Englishmen who have made their way into the
Czar's territory only to discredit it."
"You have chosen a curious method of displaying your pleasantry,"
retorted Denviers, glancing sternly at the heavy-bearded Russian who had
so wantonly insulted us. Rachieff drew a chair to the table, and,
sitting down, leant his head upon his hands, narrowly scrutinizing our
features.
[Illustration: "NARROWLY SCRUTINIZING OUR FEATURES."]
"I saw some horses and a sledge in the shed without," he continued; "are
they yours?"
"They are," answered my companion, laconically.
"Where was your last stopping-place before you reached here?" Rachieff
asked, as if he were examining some prisoners.
"We are neither Russian subjects nor refugees," Denviers replied. "You
may save your inquiries for others, since we have no intention of
satisfying your ill-timed curiosity." My companion turned his back to
Rachieff, and raising a blazing piece of pine-wood which had fallen,
tossed it again among the glowing embers, taking no more notice of the
discomfited officer. Rachieff was nonplussed; he frowned heavily, then
rising, moved to the door. He turned as he held it partly open,
saying:--
"If you were a Russian gentleman instead of an English spy, I would call
you out for your insolence to an officer in the Czar's service."
I saw the blood mount to Denviers's forehead as he snatched the driving
whip which Hassan held and, striding forward, struck the Russian a blow
across his face with it.
"If I were an exile, no doubt you would knout me for that," he said,
quietly. "You can do nothing as it is, since our papers are in order,
except fight me."
"I am in command of the exiles," answered Rachieff. "They are now
passing yonder; when the halting-place is reached to-night I will leave
my subordinate in charge of them and return here with an officer as my
second. If you are not a coward you will be here awaiting me at
mid-day."
"I shall be here," replied Denviers. "Choose your own weapons; you have
brought this meeting about entirely unprovoked, and to-morrow you or I
will fall."
"Adieu till then!" cried Rachieff, with a bitter smile of hatred, then
he turned his face away, upon which was a long livid mark where the whip
had fallen, and we saw him stride towards the exiles passing over the
plain before us.
"Ivan Rachieff is one of the most skilful duellists with sword or pistol
in the Czar's army," said the woman, who had been an attentive observer
of all that passed between the two men. "He will kill you with as little
remorse as he ordered Paul Somaloff to be shot by the soldiers."
"Paul Somaloff!" exclaimed Denviers. "Ah! I had forgotten his fate for a
moment; but to-morrow, when Rachieff and I stand face to face, I will
surely remember it."
"Allah and Mahomet help the sahib," cried Hassan. "If the bearded Russ
should chance to win, he shall fight the Arab afterwards."
"Never mind Rachieff, Hassan," said Denviers; "we must at once make our
plans for the purpose of helping Marie Lovetski to escape from Siberia.
Whatever happens to me, she must be saved at all hazards."
"Where is the woman concealed?" I asked the one who was our hostess.
She rose and questioned us:--
"Will you swear by the memorial which I have raised over Paul Somaloff's
resting-place never to speak of what you may see in the strange
hiding-place to which I may conduct you?"
"We will," I answered briefly, as Denviers joined in assenting.
We lost little time after Rachieff's departure, but drew together and
discussed the probabilities of various plans succeeding, and at last
decided on that which seemed to promise success. The dusk rapidly closed
in upon us as we sat in thoughtful conversation, after which the woman
rose, and, having scanned the plain near the hut as well as she could in
the gloom, motioned to us to follow her.