A FRIEND IN NEED.
The Cossacks were thoroughly familiar with the country, and despite the
darkness urged their shaggy ponies forward without any hesitation.
Having his hands tied behind him, Jack experienced the greatest
difficulty in keeping up with his captors. Once or twice he slipped, but
was jerked up again by the rope round his neck, receiving a blow or two
from the butt-end of a lance for his clumsiness.
Presently they came to the banks of a river, into which the foremost
riders at once plunged. The man who held the rope round Jack’s neck
followed, and dragged his prisoner in after him. The ford was rather
deep and the current running strongly. About half-way across Jack lost
his footing, and went head-first under the icy water. His hands being
bound he would assuredly have been drowned had not his captor spurred
his pony and dragged him quickly through the river and up on to the
bank. Half-drowned, frozen to the bone, and hardly able to put one foot
before the other, Jack was again jerked on to his feet, while the
Cossacks laughed heartily, as though at some rich joke.
For another half-mile they went forward. Then Jack, thoroughly
dead-beat, feeling that death was preferable to the indignities he was
suffering, threw himself on the ground, and in spite of blows with whips
and lance-butts, of kicks and vituperation, doggedly refused to move.
One man brought the point of his lance once or twice close to Jack’s
breast, and seemed very much inclined to make an end of him; and indeed
he would have done so had not he who had taken Jack’s cross, and who
seemed to be in charge, positively forbidden it, ending up by
dismounting and with the help of another Cossack putting Jack on his own
pony, when at a walking pace they proceeded about another mile.
They then arrived at an outpost and joined the main body of Cossacks,
several of whom came and stared at Jack. Some conversation took place
between his captors and the others, after which the picket-rope was tied
to a stunted tree. Some distance away the patrol had a great fire made
under the sheltering wall of a deserted cottage; round this fire the
Cossacks off duty gathered, eating some black bread and onions, and
drinking _vodka_. Nothing was given to Jack, who, wet through and deadly
cold, lay shivering where he had been literally thrown.
Presently a couple of horsemen approached the post, upon which the
Cossacks got up and saluted. The new-comers were evidently officers, and
the man who had taken Jack’s cross handed it to one of them, talking
volubly all the while. A minute later Jack’s rope was untied from the
tree, and he was dragged before the Cossack officer.
Recognition was mutual, and Jack saw he had before him the man of the
Tartar village and the man with whom Linham had been engaged on the day
of Balaclava. The fellow scowled most ferociously at Jack; then holding
up the cross, talked at a great rate, winding up by striking Jack in the
face with his open palm.
Exasperated beyond all measure at the brutal treatment he had received,
Jack, whose hands were still tied, kicked out and caught the Cossack
captain on the shin. The fellow gave an angry exclamation, and drawing a
pistol, presented it at Jack’s chest and pulled the trigger. Only a
click followed, and the Cossack, looking at his weapon and finding it
was not loaded, hurled it at Jack’s head.
The second officer, speaking in French, drawled, ‘Don’t make a scene,
Kirchoff.’
Jack looked at this second man. He was a tall, handsome, but
sinister-looking fellow, with fair hair and moustache. He was dressed in
a Hussar uniform all crimson, elaborately laced with gold. A dark-green
fur-lined cloak, fastened at the neck with a gold clasp, hung down to
his spurred heels, while a black busby with a tall green plume adorned
his head. His uniform was almost new, and he looked a great dandy. He
was smoking a choice cigarette, and as he daintily knocked off the ash
Jack noticed that several rings glittered on his long white fingers.
Hearing him speak French, Jack burst out in an indignant tone. ‘I am a
British soldier, captured bearing arms, and I demand the same treatment
from you that we extend to Russian prisoners of war! I have been treated
worse than a dog or a spy!’
The crimson Hussar shrugged his shoulders as though the matter were of
no importance to him.
‘You are Captain Kirchoff’s prisoner, not mine,’ he said, stirring the
fire with the end of his sword-scabbard.
The Cossack captain, whose name appeared to be Kirchoff, jabbered for a
few moments at Jack in Russian; then two troopers seized him and again
bound him to his tree. Some black bread and onions and some raw spirit
were, however, given to him, and, one of his hands being freed, he ate
heartily.
Kirchoff and the Hussar, mounting, rode off, and as they passed Jack the
latter said to the Cossack, ‘You might as well hang the poor devil at
once as let him be frozen to death.’
And during that terrible night such seemed likely to be Jack’s fate. In
the biting blast his threadbare clothes froze on his body, while the
snow fell and half-covered him. He ached to the very bones, and had he
been left where he was the whole night must of a certainty have been
frozen to death. The men who had captured Jack, though, had to go out to
relieve their companions. These on their return stamped round the
blazing fire for a minute; then, seeming more humane than their
comrades, they undid Jack’s bonds, tying only his legs, and bringing him
near to the blazing fire, laid him down, covering him with a sheepskin.
One man gave him a drink of _vodka_, and the fiery spirit, though it
made Jack cough and splutter, probably saved his life.
Sometimes dozing, sometimes half-delirious, Jack passed the hours till
dawn. The picket was again relieved, and the same men who had captured
Jack were again enjoying an off-duty spell.
The Cossacks prepared breakfast, which they disposed of, and lit their
pipes, offering Jack nothing. He was wondering how long he would have to
endure his present treatment, when the galloping of horses was heard.
Several men dashed up to the fire, and one, dismounting, made straight
for Jack, bending down and looking in his face. He gave way to an
exclamation of annoyance, then said a few words in haughty tones.
The Cossacks, who on his approach had sprung to their feet and
uncovered, instantly cut Jack’s bonds.
‘My friend! my preserver!’ cried the young officer in French, taking
both Jack’s hands as he was lifted to his feet; ‘to think you should
have been treated thus!’
Jack, who felt half-dazed, and whose legs were terribly cramped, would
have fallen to the ground, but the officer caught him in his arms.
‘Courage! courage!’ he said; ‘you shall soon be more comfortable, and
these dogs who have dared to use a British soldier thus shall smart for
it.’
Jack stared dully at him.
‘Do you not recognise me?’ asked the young officer.
Jack shook his head, when the officer removed his cap and opening his
cloak showed the white uniform beneath.
‘I am Count Pauloff, he whom you saved at the Alma,’ he said. ‘I gave
you this,’ and he held up the cross which Kirchoff had taken away the
night before.
‘I remember,’ said Jack.
‘You look ill; you have been badly used. My poor friend, tell me what
has happened?’
‘I have been brutally used,’ said Jack; and he told the count what he
had gone through.
The Russian’s handsome features grew dark with rage.
‘I will teach these scum a lesson for disgracing our country. Are the
men here who captured you?’
Four of them who had beaten Jack with their whips and lance-butts stood
by the fire, pale with fear, for though they could not understand French
they seemed to guess at the impending storm.
Jack pointed them out. ‘Those fellows used their whips upon me,’ he
said.
The count uttered a few words in a terrible voice, and one of the guilty
Cossacks called two others to him. Then the count gave another curt
order, six of his orderly Dragoons, big men in dark-green, with tall,
red felt shakos, dismounted; the wretched Cossacks were seized and their
upper garments stripped off them. The Dragoons, who seemed to enjoy the
task, then taking some of the Cossacks’ whips, laid them about the men’s
shoulders till they howled again with pain.
‘We need not wait to see this,’ said the count to Jack; ‘my men will
carry out their task properly. Now, are you able to sit a horse?’
‘I think so,’ said Jack.
‘Then away.’
Jack was wrapped in the coat of one of the Dragoons, mounted on his
horse, and they rode off at once for Sebastopol.
On the way the count told Jack how he came to know what had happened to
him. He was one of Prince Mentschikoff’s aides-de-camp, he said, and he
had been on duty at daybreak that morning. Captain Kirchoff, of the
Black Sea Cossacks, had come in to make his report; but the Prince was
engaged and he had to wait. He entered into conversation with Count
Pauloff, and in a blustering, braggart fashion told a tale of having met
several English cavalrymen, of having killed two and taken one prisoner.
On his prisoner he had found a golden cross, which the English soldier
had admitted having taken from a dead or wounded Russian officer on the
field of Inkermann. Kirchoff had the man a prisoner, and was going to
bring him into Sebastopol when his men were relieved at noon that day.
Though personally disliking Captain Kirchoff, Count Pauloff had been
interested in the tale, and when Kirchoff produced the cross in proof of
his words had taken it in his hands to examine it. To his intense
surprise he had then recognised his own cross, which he had given to
Jack on the day of the Alma. He had immediately taxed Kirchoff with
falsehood; but the man had persisted, though with evident signs of
confusion.
Count Pauloff had then demanded to be instantly informed where the
prisoner was; and the count, taking the cross and mounting a dozen
Dragoons, galloped off, finding Jack as described.
‘And now I must settle with Captain Kirchoff,’ said the count sternly.
‘A thief of a Cossack must not lie with impunity to a hereditary
nobleman.’
Entering Sebastopol, they made for the military prison, where it was
necessary for Jack’s name, regiment, and other particulars to be entered
on the prison books. While this was being done Count Pauloff sent an
orderly to find Captain Kirchoff and bring him at once to the prison.
Meanwhile the count had armed himself with a Russian artillery driver’s
whip, a terrible-looking weapon.
Jack was still undergoing his examination when Captain Kirchoff appeared
in the large room in which they all were. The count immediately strode
up, addressed rapidly some words to him, and then, without further
parley, held him by the collar while he unmercifully lashed him with the
whip.
Jack, who for some time had been feeling more and more ill, took but
little notice of the occurrence; and when, tired of thrashing Kirchoff,
the count turned towards him his voice sounded far away.
‘Friend,’ he said, ‘come with me; I will now see that your wants are
looked after.’
Jack had some dim idea of being led away, supported by gentle hands;
then he grew drowsy and thought he fell asleep, when all became dark and
dreamy.