"He is the same fellow we released in the evening after the Alma, when
Bolton came up with orders for the cavalry to fall back and abandon
prisoners. I know him by his grim visage and enormous white moustache."
"Aw--aw--a general officer, I take him to be."
"Now, lads," said I, "be steady. I think I saw the glitter of a bayonet
among that brushwood in front. There may be an ambush prepared
thereabout, and into that we must not fall."
I could not help thinking how useful a few hand-grenades would have been
on this occasion, as they would soon have solved our doubts.
To have fallen back would have served only to draw their fire upon us
instantly, if any men were concealed there.
"Follow me, lads!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Berkeley, keep the rear rank men
in their places."
"Captain Norcliff, asthore!" cried Lanty O'Regan, shaking his lance,
"lead the way, and, be me troth, we'll ride through the whole rookawn o'
them Roosians!"
Followed by my nine horsemen, I rode resolutely forward a few
lance-lengths, my heart beating wildly with excitement; but a climax was
soon put to that, for a hoarse voice in a strange language suddenly rang
among the underwood; fire flashed redly on both sides of us; I heard the
whistle of passing bullets, and amid the explosion of thirty Minie
rifles a double cry, as Berkeley and one of my men fell heavily on the
turf. The horse of the former was shot; but the poor lancer was
mortally wounded, and his charger galloped madly away.
"Good-bye, old nag. You will never carry Bill Jones again, I fear,"
cried the bleeding corporal, as he was hurrying to the rear with his
lance on his shoulder, when a second shot pierced his back, and finished
his career.
"Retire, Travers, retire!" I shouted at the fullest pitch of my voice;
"right about, lads, and away!"
The firing from the thicket was resumed, and another lancer fell dead
from his saddle.
"Aw--aw--for Heaven's sake, don't leave me here!" cried Berkeley,
piteously, while we heard the steel ramrods ringing, as the Russians
cast about and reloaded.
While the rest of my party retired at a gallop, I caught the fallen
lancer's horse by the bridle, and--in less time than I take to write
it--dragged up the pale and crestfallen Berkeley, who scrambled rather
than mounted into the blood-covered saddle, and we galloped off
together, another shot or two adding spurs to our speed, and strewing
the leaves about us. So close were we to this ambush that I heard many
of the percussion caps snapping, as the Russian muskets doubtless
remained foul since the Alma.
Berkeley's fresh horse carried him half its length before mine; he was
riding with wild despair in his heart; and bitter malice glittering in
his eye, for he felt that I had been heaping coals of fire upon his
head. I could read the double emotion in his pale face, as he glanced
fearfully back.
He had drawn a pistol from its holster, and, inspired by the spirit of
the devil, the unnatural wretch discharged it full into my horse's head!
Wildly it plunged into the air, and then fell forward on its head, and,
as its forelegs bent, I toppled heavily over, and fell beneath it.
The whole affair passed in a moment, and the next saw me surrounded by
fierce and exulting Russian riflemen, with muskets clubbed and bayonets
charged.
*CHAPTER XLIII.*
ALBANY. O save him! save him!
GONERIL. This is mere practice, Gloster:
By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquished,
But cozened and beguiled. SHAKSPEARE.
The prayer of Hezekiah for the prolongation of life flashed on my
memory, and rose to my lips, as with rage, and almost with despair at my
heart, I struggled to my feet, half-stunned, and groping blindly for my
sword-hilt, which hung from my wrist by its gold knot and tassel.
Just as I grasped it firmly, the nearest rifleman charged me with his
fixed bayonet, which ran through the left side of my full-dress jacket,
and came off. Clutching his weapon by the barrel, I closed in, and
plunged my sword twice into his breast. As he fell back, groaning
heavily, the bayonet of another struck me; but luckily, those fellows,
who belonged to the Kazan column, had blunted their weapons by broiling
beef on them over their wood fires.
A third rifleman fired full at my head; but, by a singular chance, the
nipple of his rifle was blown out by the explosion, and buried itself in
his forehead, just above the nose, severing the optic nerve, and nearly
forcing his eyes out. (In two hours after he died, raving mad.)
This incident created, for a moment or two, a diversion in my favour;
but a Cossack officer, armed with a great crooked sabre, assailed me.
Like one of Caesar's Legionaries of old, this fellow seemed bent on
cutting only at my face; and having some regard for my personal
appearance, I was not sorry when he fell backwards over my dead horse,
and in doing so, snapped his blade off near the hilt.
Could I have reached my holsters, in which were a pair of six-chambered
Colts, I might have escaped; but now I was hemmed in on all hands by a
band of fierce, ugly, beetle-browed, and snub-nosed Russians, in flat
caps and long great-coats.
In an instant my gold epaulettes, my rings--Louisa's miniature and her
ring, the treasured pearl in blue enamel--my purse and watch, were rent
from me as if I had been in the hands of common footpads; and one of
those who assisted in such work was the Cossack officer, whose name I
afterwards ascertained to be Lieutenant Adrian Trebitski of the
Tchernimoski corps.
In fact, he made himself very busy about the knees of my trousers in
search of my portmonnaie (as the Russians usually carry their purses
strapped to the knee), while his Corporal found it in my pocket; and
each acquisition was greeted by a torrent of uncouth sounds, expressive,
I presume, of great satisfaction.
My sabretache was torn away. It contained only my uncle's letter, which
I afterwards learned, was duly translated into choice French for any
secrets it might contain, and for the information of Princes Menschikoff
and Gortschikoff, who, I hope, were much edified by Sir Nigel's
description of Mr. Brassy Wheedleton, and of Scotch prigs in general.
Having stripped me of every article of value, and ripped all the gold
lace from my lancer jacket and blue pantaloons, I have no doubt those
savage wretches would soon have despatched me; but a wounded officer
rode up--the same personage with the many decorations and long grim
moustache. He ordered them to desist, striking those who were near him
with a whip that was attached to his bridle. He then placed me in charge
of his aide-de-camp, Captain Anitchoff, a fashionable-looking young
Muscovite, who wore the light blue and yellow-laced uniform of a hussar
corps (the Princess Maria Paulowna's), and who has since that time
published a work on the Crimean campaign. He courteously informed me,
in French, that he was on the general staff of the Russian army, and
that the name of my preserver was Lieutenant-General Karlovitch Baur.
He also desired me to remain close by his side, while we proceeded
quickly to the rear. By this time, every trace of Travers and my
squadron had disappeared.
And so I was actually a prisoner!
I was, perhaps, the sole trophy of the Russian army, so they were
disposed to make the most of me. I had a special escort of a corporal
and two well-bearded and ill-washed Cossacks, who rode one on each side
of me, and one in the rear, each trussed up among his forage plunder and
fleas--their shaggy little horses being so laden that little more than
their noses and tails were visible. If I lagged, the corporal used to
grin and shake his lance ominously; and when not occupied in scratching
themselves, they were very merry and not unpleasant, though totally
incomprehensible companions.
I knew not in what direction they were conveying me, and our mutual
ignorance of each other's language prevented me from discovering. I
could but trust to chance and patience.
Meanwhile, my friends were, I am pleased to say, under no small concern
on my account elsewhere.
The army halted at Belbeck, where five hundred sick--among whom were
many of my lancer comrades--were left behind, all ill with cholera.
Lord Raglan occupied the chateau of a fugitive Russian noble, and there
Travers rode to report that he had seen the Russians in strength among
the woods between Belbeck and Khutor-Mackenzie, where, as all the world
knows, a sharp engagement took place with them soon after, and where
they were driven back with the loss of baggage and ammunition for more
than twenty-five thousand men. Among the former were a great quantity
of watches, jewellery, and gay hussar jackets, in which the artillery
and Highlanders masqueraded for a time.
After making his report to Lord Raglan and General Airey, Travers rode
to Colonel Beverley, who occupied a Tartar's cottage near the river
side. There he found several of ours, including Fred Wilford, old
M'Goldrick, the paymaster, and Studhome, making a hearty repast on some
well-cooked wild boar, with caviare, biscuits, and plenty of champagne,
which had been found in the broken-down carriage of General Kiriakoff,
whose crest and initials were painted on the lid of his canteen, which
contained a tiny dinner service for four, but all of Dresden china.
"Gentlemen," exclaimed Beverley, starting to his feet, as Travers,
Berkeley, and young Scarlett entered, "I am sorry to see you return
alone. Where is our friend Norcliff?"
"Gone to the--aw--devil by the down train, probably," muttered Berkeley,
whose teeth chattered as he drained a glass of champagne.
"He has fallen into the enemy's hands," said Captain Travers; "a rescue
was impossible, as we knew not the extent of the ambush into which we
fell. I saw him riding after us, with Berkeley----"
"Aw--yes, colonel--we were covering the rear of the squadron, in fact,"
interrupted that personage.
"Suddenly there was heard a single shot, and on looking back, I saw
Berkeley galloping on alone----"
"Alone!"
"And poor Norcliff in the hands of the Russians, who were cutting him to
pieces apparently."
"His horse had been shot under him?" said the colonel.
"Yes--but--aw--not by the Russians," said Berkeley.
"By whom, then?" asked the colonel, sharply.
"By himself," was the unhesitating response.
"Himself?"
"Absurd!"
"Impossible!" exclaimed his hearers, in succession.
"It is neither absurd nor impossible. The horse was killed by a
pistol-shot, and he fell into the power of the Russians."
"Do you mean to say," asked the colonel, slowly, after a very ominous
and unpleasant pause, during which Berkeley's paleness increased, and he
tugged his moustache with his effeminate, girlish-like fingers, feeling
evidently the loss of a toothpick, with which, like other fops, he
soothed his leisure moments; "do you mean to say that this event was not
accident, but design?"
"Can't tell, 'pon my life--aw--haw--would rather not say anything about
it--it was doocid odd, anyway," drawled Berkeley, applying himself to
the champagne again.
"Mr. Berkeley, I must insist upon your explaining."
"Can't say, I repeat--his pistol exploded--the bullet went through his
horse's head----"
"Killing it on the spot?"
"Of course--aw--of course."
"What could be his reason----"
"Perhaps he thought--aw--it safer work to fall quietly into the hands of
the Russians thus than to ride back under their fusilade."
"Are you aware, Mr. Berkeley," said the colonel, with increasing
gravity, while all present exchanged some very peculiar glances, "that
this is tantamount to branding our friend with cowardice?"
"I shall--aw--aw--answer that question, Colonel Beverley, when the time
comes, and he returns," replied Berkeley; "but I don't think those
Russian riflemen were in the mood to show much mercy or quarter to-day."
"And Norcliff was not such a muff as to surrender quietly," said
M'Goldrick.
"You will answer the colonel's question when Norcliff returns say you?"
exclaimed Studhome, starting forward, pale with passion; "answer it you
shall, and now, to me!"
"Studhome!" said the colonel, interposing angrily, "this is some
mistake--some wretched misconception. We all know that Captain Norcliff
was incapable of committing the act you, Mr. Berkeley, impute to him."
"I have seen him lead his troop under fire ere now," growled Studhome;
"and lead it when Mr. Berkeley might have thought it unpleasant work to
follow him."
"Aw--haw--well, disprove it if you can," said Berkeley, with one of his
old insufferable smiles, as he stuck his glass in his eye, and lounged
out of the cottage, near which my poor fellow, Willie Pitblado, was
lingering to pick up some certain information about me from the
colonel's servants.
"Eh, me! this will be sair news for the folk at Calderwood Glen," he
sighed, as he and Lanty O'Regan turned away together.
As Berkeley and I had been in the rear, none save myself could be
cognisant of his foul act of treachery. He never doubted that I had
been bayoneted by the Russians, and, confident that I should never
return, he thus crowned his villany by attempting to destroy my honour.
Ere long we shall see what this availed him.
*CHAPTER XLIV.*
Yes, thou art gone, sweet friend, my own,
We miss thee every day,
And I, yet more than all, alone,
Can only weep and pray.
Pray to be rendered meet for heaven,
And agonize in prayer,
That if we meet no more below,
Our meeting may be there.
The first halting-place of my escort was in a wood of wild pear trees,
among some of those ancient burial mounds or green tumuli which stud all
the Crimea, but more particularly the peninsula of Kertch, where one
still marks the tomb of Mithridates. In that solitude we heard only the
voices of the birds, the lark, the tomtit, and the wren, as they
twittered among the caper bushes.
The Cossacks hobbled their horses, and proceeded to seat themselves on
the green sward that covered the bones of the classic warriors of other
times. In their havresacks they had some black bread and salt, with a
flask of quass. These they shared freely with me; and with such coarse
fare I was forced to be content.
The corporal had a Russian poodle, red-eyed, fox-headed, and white as
snow, which he pretentiously named Olga, after the Grand Duchess, and
with this cur, to which he was much attached, he freely shared his
repast, and that piece of felt which serves the Cossack alike for cloak,
tent, and bed.
I could not be prevailed upon to join them in partaking of some wild
horseradish, which Corporal Pugacheff discovered, and unearthed with his
sabre, exhibiting a root as thick as his arm. After they had smoked for
nearly an hour, during which I was left to my own unpleasant
reflections, the march was once more resumed--leisurely, because I was
afoot--towards the east, as the sun informed me, and that was all I
could learn about it.
The uniforms of these Cossacks were richer than any I had yet seen.
Each had a blue jacket, edged with yellow lace, hooked over a scarlet
silk vest; loose blue trousers, fastened high above the waist; busbies
of black shining wool, terminating in a crimson sack, with a scarlet
sash, cartridge-box, and sabre, completed their costume. Like
ourselves, they rode with the lance slung, and resting on the right toe.
That night we halted at a Tartar village. The inhabitants of the
cottage to which we proceeded were somewhat over-awed by the three
Cossacks--a race at all times rather unscrupulous--but were disposed to
view me with a commiseration that made me begin to conceive hopes of
escape.
Escorted by Corporal Pugacheff and his poodle, I was conducted to the
humble apartment used by the males of the family. A wooden basin,
filled with clear water, and a napkin, were presented to me by the
master of the house--a venerable Tartar of the old nomadic race--that I
might lave my face and hands; a pipe of the cherrywood tree, which grows
in the mountains, was then given me to smoke, while a repast--not of
horseflesh, happily--but of goat's milk, poached eggs, and cheese, was
prepared; and these we ate with our fingers, seated on mats on the
earthen floor, around the little stool on which the supper-tray was
placed, for, in their household and habits, the poor Tartars are nearly
as primitive as their forefathers were in the days of the valiant Batu
Khan, the destroyer of Moscow.
A dish of sour milk and water--the veritable yaourt of the Osmanlis--was
passed round; the master of the house returned thanks without uncovering
his shaven head, the Cossacks resumed their pipes, the repast was over,
and the day was closing in.
The hope of escape was growing stronger in my heart; but the corporal
crushed it, as if he had divined my thoughts, by quietly securing my
right hand to his left, with the small steel bridle of his horse, before
we lay down to take our repose, and the escort, with their pistols
loaded, slept side by side across the only doorway. In addition to all
these precautions, if I ventured to move, almost to wink, the poodle,
Olga, was on the alert, with cocked ears and bristling hair, barking
furiously. How I hated that dog!
Though weary in mind and body, I could not sleep, even if the deep bass
snoring that issued from the snub noses of my three keepers would have
permitted me to doze.
Berkeley's infamous treachery made my heart glow like a furnace! How
deeply I repented now that, instead of succouring and remounting him, I
had not left him, as his prior conduct deserved, to the chances of war
and fate, and to take the place now occupied by me!
How long might I be a prisoner!
Of this war with the greatest empire in the world none could foresee or
calculate the end.
Years, perhaps, might pass, and find me still a captive. By the troops
of General Canrobert, some men had been discovered who had been lost by
the French on their fatal retreat from Moscow in 1813, and who had, from
youth to age, been slaves in the Tartar fortresses or the Siberian
mines.
My blood ran cold with this idea. Oh, if such were to be my fate!
If Berkeley returned to England after all, and married Louisa! And
then, if this wretched Brassy Wheedleton succeeded in marrying Cora,
while I was industriously quarrying for copper and assafoetida in the
vicinity of that pleasant city, Tobolsk by name!
But what was Cora to me? She was my cousin, and, of course, my cousin
must not throw herself away and make an unequal marriage.
"There are men in this world," says a female writer, "who are quite
capable of being in love with two women at once."
This was not at all my case; but I fear that Louisa's cold and cutting
neglect was causing me to think more than I used to do of Cora
Calderwood, who I knew loved me well, and I remembered the strange
episode of the spell, or mesmeric riddle, wrought by the _hakim_
Abd-el-Rasig, the surgeon of the 10th Egyptian Infantry.
But to be a prisoner--the prisoner of these filthy wretches--and to be
conveyed by them, like a helpless Polish exile, I knew not whither!
If in boyhood, and even in infancy, I had ever a horror of study and
restraint; if in later years, even regimental discipline sometimes
galled me by its monotonous trammels, the reader may imagine how I
writhed, how my soul revolted, at the idea of being a Russian captive,
and how I longed for vengeance on Berkeley. I swore to horsewhip him in
front of the line, and pistol him after! There was no extravagant
length in punishment to which my fancy did not resort and my fury
indulge in. No MacGregor with the dirk at his lips, swearing vengeance
for Alaster of Glenstrae; no Corsican De Franchi, vowing a dreadful
_vendetta_ on his foe, could harbour feelings more bitter than I did in
those moments of futile anger in that poor Tartar cottage.