XV

Towards dawn a shell fell near the house. It was followed by another,

and yet another, but these were nearer the village. Ian went out, to

try and see if he ought to send his household into the cellars. At the

front door he found von Senborn, struggling with complicated locks and

bolts. He said he was going out to reconnoiter. Ian let him go alone,

having no wish for his company. He knew that the Russians were in

telephone communication with Lipniki at any rate, if not with the more

distant centers they had occupied during the last few days.

As the sun rose and the household began to stir, Martin, the faithful

old butler, being first on the scene, a couple of maids following, von

Senborn came back. He took no notice of Ian except to ask where the

baron's window was. It happened to be over the spot where they stood.

Von Senborn aroused his friend with a shout. In the fullness of time a

shock-head appeared at the window.

"Come down," von Senborn cried in his native tongue. "The Russians have

made a stand."

"Where?" asked the baron sleepily.

"God knows. They are shelling Lipniki like the devil. Our losses are

already heavy. I'm going back to the telephone."

He strode off. The shock-head disappeared. Ian went to his bath; and

the whole village soon knew that the Germans in Lipniki were having a

very bad time of it, whilst their friends in Ruvno were breaking their

heads to know what to make out of the Russian awakening. Where had

those fools found ammunition? Where were they firing from? Who was

spying for them? There were no Russian aeroplanes about, yet the news

from Lipniki grew worse and worse.

This development made the Prussians very sullen, but the household could

barely hide their joy. Later on, news came in that the Russians,

retreating beyond Kosczielna, had found more ammunition and were using

it with good effect. Firing seemed pretty near all that day. Ian and

the others hoped it would send these men off to help their friends; but

not a bit of it. More Prussians came up and settled themselves just

outside the village. The house was full of officers, and it was worth

something to see their disappointment when they found out that all the

wine had been drunk, all the lace looted and all the plate sent to

Moscow.

As a matter of fact, this new phase was Ruvno's undoing. If the

Russians had not been firing on Lipniki it would probably have escaped

the worst of its troubles. As it was, von Senborn worked his vengeance

upon the innocent household.

On the second day von Senborn sent for Ian just as he was going out to

the fields. The squire found him and a couple more standing on that

hillock where the pine copse used to be and where Ian had spent many

nights at the beginning of the war, watching the shells hit his

property. The trees went months ago, opening up a very good view of the

neighborhood country, denuded of timber. Indeed, the war had now taken

every good tree Ruvno ever possessed. They were using their

field-glasses as he joined them; he could see they were upset.

"Count," von Senborn began, "there must be a Russian observatory in the

neighborhood, between this and Kosczielna, or even here, within reach of

the Russian retreating army. It is either a tower or other elevated

building, or else an underground one. It might be hidden in such a

place as this." He stamped his foot on the ground. "Where is it?"

"There are no towers left in the neighborhood, except that belonging to

the village church. As to an underground observatory, I never heard of

one in the neighborhood, which is fiat as a pancake," he returned.

Von Senborn gave him one of his arrogant looks, which Ian returned with

interest.

"Your escape from shooting is so recent that I need hardly remind you it

would be better to tell the truth at once," said the Prussian.

"Life, bad as it is, is too dear to me for me to run needless risks,"

retorted the other. "If you don't believe me, I can't help it."

He only seemed half convinced, but walked off. Ian did not go to the

fields, but hung about to watch them. They evidently suspected that he,

or somebody on his land was signaling to the Russians. They searched

every inch of the hillock for a possible inlet to a hidden observatory

and then inspected the house and outbuildings from top to bottom,

turning over hay and straw till Ian heartily wished them all at the

devil. After that they tried the village. He saw some of them on the

church tower from, where he had signaled for help last winter with

Minnie and Martin to help, on the night his stores were looted....

A feeling of intense anxiety came over him, as if instinct was

foretelling fresh disaster more terrible than anything which had yet

fallen. The firing from the Russians went on and he could see von

Senborn and his fellow officers were not only disturbed but very

suspicious. By the way Kosczielna lay it was clear that the Russians,

retreating on Warsaw, could easily shell it if their fire was directed

by anybody on a high spot in Ruvno, since on the level it was above all

the other villages by a hundred feet. They questioned every man, woman

and child in the village, trying to find out if there was some vantage

ground from which the Russians could have their attack directed. Ian

kept as far away from von Senborn and his friends as he could, not

wanting him to think he spied on their movements. The experience of the

day before had taught him a lesson. All the same, he was determined to

follow their movements as far as possible, if only to be on his guard;

and he managed it fairly well, for some of them were always coming and

going between the house and the village, where they had put up a

telephone with their friends at Kosczielna. These were having a bad

time of it and had lost heavily. Before long he heard one trooper say to

another who was watering horses:

"We'll have work again soon. All ours in that place near by have been

put out of action."

"Liar," said the man's comrade, with that courtesy so characteristic of

the race.

"True as gospel. I was by the major when the news came. He's mad,

too."

"What's going to happen?" said the man at the trough.

"We're falling back from that place."

"What place, idiot?"

"That begins with a kay and ends in a curse."

The man was evidently right, for a lull came now as though the

retreating force had completed its tasks in Kosczielna. The day wore

on. The women, though obsessed with the same sense of coming disaster,

bore up splendidly. But at about four in the afternoon, when the firing

began again and two shells burst, one on the site of the windmill, the

other at the end of the village, where Szmul used to live, Ian sent them

and the women and children from the village into the cellars.

The Russians stopped firing at six o'clock and the women came up from

the cellars. The little family had supper in the dining-room as quietly

as in times of peace. None of the Prussians came to table. They had

just received a supply of fresh provisions by motor-lorry and sent the

Countess some, with a message that there was beer too, if she liked.

They refused the beer, but ate the food. They could not afford to be

proud, for supplies, except for cereals, had quite given out. Being cut

off from Russia, the land of plenty, and the refugees they had fed, put

them in this unenviable position. There was no chance of buying things

in the neighborhood, as bare of supplies as if it had seen ten years'

war. Vanda, noticing that her aunt had no appetite, laughingly remarked

that she had better eat a good meal, for who knew where the next would

come from. Little did they think how true her jest would prove to be.

They had finished and were sitting out in the ruins of the rose garden

when the firing suddenly began again and so violently that Ian insisted

upon the women taking to the cellar. Then he ran to the sacristy,

calling to Father Constantine to keep under the broad archway leading

from the chapel. He heard an answering voice, no more. He wanted to

see what was happening with the Germans, so ran to the hillock, which

seemed safe so far. Indeed, all the firing was on the other side,

towards the village.

This new attack made fearful havoc amongst the Prussians who had taken

up their quarters beyond the church. They had been making merry over

the beer when it began, and though not a shell dropped within five

hundred yards of the house the human target was hit so well that even to

Ian's civilian eyes it was clear that the Russians knew exactly where to

aim. The earth didn't shake; it rocked; beasts and men were belched up

in an eruption of earth and smoke, to come down again in pieces. Those

who could got away and began running towards the house; but they must

have left three-fourths of their force behind, literally blown to bits.

Von Senborn, who happened to be near the house when the attack began,

was saved. But Ian could not help admiring the way the surviving

officers rallied their handful of men and brought them up from the

village. Even as they made for the cover of trenches in the garden the

shells had them. Then, either because their ammunition had run out or

else because their mysterious signaler could not work in the dusk--for

night was falling--there was sudden calm. Ian sighed to think what

destruction the Russians could work if only they had enough guns and

gun-fodder. Oh, the pity of it.

When things had quieted down, von Senborn turned to his men.

"We are going to blow up that church tower," he said, wiping the sweat

from his face.

A haggard subaltern explained that they had already searched every nook

and corner of tower and church several times.

"We'll blow it up," he repeated. Then he turned to Ian, every muscle of

his face drawn with nervous tension, his voice hoarse as a crow's.

"Hark ye, Count. If I find that signaler I'll hold you responsible."

"As for those two Cossacks," he retorted. The Prussian muttered

something inaudible and turned on his heel.

Ian followed them down to the church. It stood a little aloof from the

village, nearest the house, yet almost half-way between the two. It had

not suffered from the day's bombardment any more than the house. The

scene of horror where the Russian shells had done their work was beyond

description. Though by now fairly hardened to the abominations of war,

the things Ian saw and heard through the twilight of that summer evening

made him very sick. The surviving Germans were too busy looking for the

signaler to worry about the wounded who howled, groaned and shouted with

pain. It was a pandemonium of anguish. One man, mutilated beyond all

semblance of God's image, implored him to end his misery ... as Ian

stood there hesitating a trooper shot him.

"He was my good friend," he explained, and burst into tears. But he

soon controlled himself and a few minutes later Ian saw him carrying out

von Senborn's orders, apparently unmoved by his ordeal. Indeed, again

he could not help admiring these brutes when it came to the pure

fighting part of their work. It was in the intervals and with the

unarmed that they were so cowardly, such bullies. Once it was a

question of fight they bungled nothing and left nothing to chance.

Perhaps their passion for perfection in detail made them doubly furious

at the trick a handful of Russians who had found some ammunition played

on them that evening. Von Senborn was determined to solve the mystery.

"We must not blow the tower to bits," Ian heard him say to the haggard

subaltern. "We must do the work in such a way that we make a rift in

the tower and can explore it ourselves." Then, aloud to his men: "Now,

you are going to avenge your dead comrades."

They were willing enough, but found they must go to fetch some

explosives which they had stored near the house. It took them some few

minutes to get there. The time seemed very long to Ian, listening to

and watching that human charnel house near by. He wanted to get home,

away from it all. Yet some mysterious force kept him there. Later, he

thanked God for it....

Once more, Russian wit was to forestall Teutonic thoroughness. Before

the men told off to the stores got back a shell whizzed past, struck the

tower at a tangent. Ian was thrown to the ground and half buried. It

took him some time to get clear. Sore, dazed, yet alive and with,

apparently, no bones broken, he managed to regain his feet. Then he sat

down, for his legs were like cotton wool.

The moon was rising now and lit up a hundred details of the desolation

around. He could see von Senborn, sitting down, holding his head and

swearing. Several dead bodies were near that had not been there before.

Other men were perched on what seemed a hillock, born out of nothing

since that shell burst. They were very excited, and he languidly

wondered what they found to be excited about, when he felt so

indifferent. He heard them quite plainly, without wanting to.

"It's a captain," said one.

"And an engineer," put in another.

"No--a sapper. Look at his collar."

"Look at this," cried somebody else, and the tone of his voice made Ian

look, too. He was holding up a Russian drinking bottle.

"And food--look--a loaf of black bread. _Gott in Himmel_, he was a

tough one."

Von Senborn stopped swearing and asked Ian if he was alive.

"Yes," he answered.

"Then go and see what they've got there. I can't move till I've had

something," he groaned loudly.

"Can't I help you?"

"Only that." And he lay back, yelling for the surgeon.

Ian went up to what he had supposed was a hillock and found it to be a

heap of stones and debris--the remains of the church tower. Only the

top part had fallen; the rest loomed up, jagged and broken.

Several of the Germans squatted round a body, so limp that every bone of

it must have been smashed.

"A Russian, sir," said the man who held the water-bottle. "He fell with

the tower."

They rifled the dead man's pockets, turning over his broken body with as

scant care as if it had been a lump of beef. They contained little; an

old man's photograph; one of a girl with a broad face and small eyes,

and a slip of paper. Nothing more.

Von Senborn joined them, staggering but alert. He took the slip of

paper and glanced at it by the light of an electric torch. Then he

handed it to the haggard subaltern.

"Russian. Read it."

The boy took the slip and pored over it for some minutes, either because

the torch burnt dull or because he had not much knowledge of the

language. They had left the body, which lay in shadow. Ian looked at

that young, tired face without recognizing in it any of the sappers who

were in Ruvno during the Russian retreat. Later on, he heard from a

peasant that the Russians, when last in Ruvno, kept everybody away from

the church and that at night they made noises, as with picks and spades.

"Go on," urged von Senborn impatiently. "I thought you spoke Russian

like a native."

"It is hastily written," explained the other. "And therefore

indistinct. But I think I have the meaning now."

"Well, for Hell's sake let me have it, too."

"You cannot take me alive," he read in his hard North German. "I have

chosen how I shall die. When I have written this I mean to signal to my

friends to shell the tower, before your men come back to mine it. And

we, too, shall return, driving you to the very streets of Berlin. And

Europe's wrongs shall be avenged. We Russians are slow; but neither

stupid nor discouraged, as you pretend." He stopped and looked up.

"That all?" asked von Senborn.

"All." He returned the paper to his superior.

"_Ja, ja,_" said a voice. "I see it now. He had himself bricked up in

that tower, to signal and cover the retreat. He was no coward."

Nobody spoke. The incident had impressed them all. The man who gets

himself bricked up with enough food to last till he is found out, is a

hero. Von Senborn, having his head seen to by a surgeon, talked it

over. Ian kept in the shadow, not wanting to be seen. Dazed though he

felt from the last shell, he knew that this discovery would spring back

upon him and his dear ones.

"How did he signal?" the surgeon asked.

"God knows."

"That Polish Count knew of this," murmured the haggard lieutenant,

little thinking Ian was within earshot.

"Yes," said von Senborn savagely. "I'll swear to that. But I'll be

even with him. Be quick, Surgeon, there's work to do yet."

"Serve him right to shoot him after all," put in the surgeon. Von

Senborn laughed angrily.

"Shooting's too good." He lowered his voice. Strain his ears as he

might, Ian only caught two words. But they were enough. He waited to

hear no more.

He ran as fast as sore legs would carry him up to the house. Outside,

not a soul. All the women and children, besides several men, were in

the cellars.

"Get out at once," he shouted. "Run as hard as you can, along the

Warsaw road."

"What is the matter?" asked the Countess.

"A Russian bricked up in the church tower. They are coming to blow us

up, shutting you in first. Run as far from the house as possible."

When he saw them on their way he left them, then ran for an ax and made

for the sacristy. There was no guard now, all the Germans being down by

the church and village. He soon had the door in, to find Father

Constantine walking up and down, saying his prayers. Ian hastily said

what had happened and urged him to join the others on the Warsaw road.

But the old man was in no hurry.

"They may not do it," he said. "I expect they'll go to sleep and wake

up in a better mood."

"If you don't go I'll carry you," cried the squire angrily. "And that

will prevent me warning the people hanging about."

Then he dragged his chaplain from the room. But the priest insisted on

taking a little malachite crucifix which hung over the cupboard. It was

the only thing they saved out of all Ruvno's beautiful things.

Then Ian warned as many of the peasants as he could find, though the

shelling had already frightened most of them out of the village and on

to the road. Baranski, whom he met, helped him.

Terrible was the confusion and alarm that followed, the calling of

mothers to children, the cries of frightened babies, the curses of old

men. Every second of that awful night was burnt in Ian's brain; he did

not forget it whilst he lived. In quite a short time the Warsaw road

was filled with panic-stricken peasants. Some of them had snatched up a

table, a chair, a kettle or a pillow. Those who had any left panted

along with a sack of potatoes or buckwheat. A few were fortunate enough

to possess a horse. He tried to get a couple of his--farm horses were

all he had left--but the Germans were around the yard before he could

get back. So quick were they that he had not time to take a thing for

the women. The peasants, being nearer the road, were more fortunate in

this way. Even as Ian left the village he could see soldiers hovering

round the house, evidently shutting the doors, lest their victims

escape! A wounded Prussian cursed him and Baranski as they hustled some

children on to the highway.

"You'll starve and die on the way," he shouted. "Decent Germans, not

Polish swine, will have this place."

His words ended in a yell. Ian did not look round, but Baranski

silenced him with a stick.

"He won't people Ruvno, thank God," he cried.

They took the road, destitute as any of those hordes they had pitied and

tried to succor during the terrible days of the Russian retreat.

Near where the windmill used to be Ian found his mother, Vanda, Minnie,

the Father and all those who had been in the cellar. Here he rallied

his people, giving the backward ones time to get up. But many laggards

were yet to come when the earth rocked under them; there was a dull

rumbling in its bowels.

"Mother of God!" shrieked somebody. They all looked towards the

house....

Ruvno, their home for centuries, where every stone was a friend, rose

towards the moonlit sky in a volcano of smoke, flame and rubbish.

Courage failed Ian. He fell down in the road and sobbed like a child.