BURIED DECENTLY.
It was a mournful pleasure to William Barnwell to be able to place the
body of poor old Batavsky in a respectable coffin and see it given a
Christian burial, instead of being thrown, like hundreds of others, into
a ravine, for the wolves to devour and fight over.
And it caused no little comment and speculation among those employed
about the hospital, for they had become so used to seeing the dead
barbarously disposed of, that it was an event to see one given Christian
burial.
Some said Batavsky was an exiled nobleman, and that he had been thus
buried by order of the governor, but no one suspected for a moment that
it was at the orders of the surgeon-in-chief, whose dream had frightened
him into the semblance of a human being.
When all had been done, and the grave marked with Batavsky's prison
number, Barnwell returned, as ordered, to Kanoffskie.
"Is he buried?" was his first question.
"He is, sir."
"And decently?"
"As a Christian should be buried, sir."
"And a prayer was said?"
"Yes, sir."
Kanoffskie vented a sigh of relief, but he was a frightened and an
altered man.
He was pale and trembling, and he glared wildly about, as though
expecting to see the ghosts of his victims, or the real return of
Batavsky to drag him down, as he had done in that awful dream.
"Have you any further orders, sir?"
"No; but stay--come to me again just before dark--I may want you," said
Kanoffskie, hesitatingly.
"Very well," replied Barnwell, bowing himself from the room.
He understood very well that the iron had entered the tyrant's heart,
and he resolved to work upon it.
That terrible dream was not all for nothing, even though he did not
believe in dreams, and the young American made up his mind to humor the
man, and see what would come of it in the future.
Barnwell mingled with his fellow-servants in the hospital, and answered
their questions regarding Batavsky.
Concluding that it was best to humor the prevailing idea, he half-way
admitted that the old man belonged to a noble family, and that he had
been given a Christian burial at the instigation of the Czar himself.
This, of course, produced food for comment and controversy for a long
time, during which Barnwell, now able to speak the Russian language, was
able to converse and to learn much.
The short days of Siberia give one but a moment's warning between
daylight and total darkness, and although this is not known or felt away
down in the gold-mines, where they work from four o'clock in the morning
until ten o'clock at night--where night and day are all the same to the
poor victims--those on the surface of the earth understand that when the
sun goes down darkness follows, save when the Aurora Borealis comes with
its weird light to illuminate the frozen world of Siberia.
Kanoffskie waited with impatience.
Somehow or other this young American had wormed himself into his cold
and beastly nature, and even exercised more influence over him than he
knew of.
Darkness came on, and Barnwell went to his master, as ordered.
He found him pacing his office in a highly nervous state.
"I am here, surgeon," said Barnwell.
"Stay here. Do not leave me," said the surgeon, with a sigh.
"I will do so, sir," replied Barnwell. "You seem nervous."
"No, well--you saw him decently buried?" he asked, stopping before
Barnwell.
"Yes, sir."
"And there was a prayer said over him?"
"Yes, by the chaplain from the government house," said Barnwell.
"And you buried him deep?"
"Fully five feet underground."
"That is well. And a prayer was said?"
"Yes, sir."
Kanoffskie seemed entirely at sea.
"Will you retire, sir?"
"No, I shall remain here all night, and you will remain with me,"
replied Kanoffskie, timidly.
"But you will not sleep in your chair?"
"Yes, and so must you. But he had Christian burial?" he asked,
anxiously.
"Yes, everything was all right."
"Thank goodness! But that dream troubles me, Barnwell," said he.
"Let it not, my dear sir--it was only a dream."
"But the coincidence!"
"True, it is a strange one; but only think, my dear sir, how many dreams
you might have--many dreams you have had, or may have hereafter, in
which there has been, and will be, no coincidence. It is merely a
happen-so, my dear sir."
"No--no, Barnwell. I cannot believe it. But I feel better now that he
has had a Christian burial, and you assure me that a holy prayer was
said over his dead body."
"Rest assured on that point, sir."
"But it was such a dreadful dream."
"So I grant you, sir."
"And happening just at the moment of old Batavsky's death!"
"As I said before, simply a coincidence."
"Oh, if I could only think so! Light the lamps."
"Yes, sir," and he at once proceeded to light a chandelier of oil-lamps.
The gloom of coming night had weighed upon him, but now that there was
light in the room, he felt better, and more composed, but still ill at
ease.
Finally he fell asleep, but it was long past midnight, and after he had
gone through with all sorts of mental misery, and then Barnwell ventured
to sleep himself.
But it was a wild sleep that came to him, for all that he had passed
through during the day had so wrought up his feelings that it was next
to impossible for him to sleep.
But both of them got gradually quieted down, and slept, one an honest
man, and the other a rascal, and for an hour or more they kept it up,
until Kanoffskie again fell into a nightmare.
Barnwell was awakened.
"Help! help! Take him away!" cried Kanoffskie, in his sleep. "No, no! do
not let him drag me down to that pit! I know it, I know it, but do not
let him drag me down! I repent!"
And much more he said that Barnwell was perforce obliged to listen to,
and of course he could not sleep.
But the night went on, and finally the doctor awoke.
He glared wildly around.
"Have you slept all night?" was the first question he asked, looking at
Barnwell.
"No, doctor; you kept me awake."
"In what way?"
"You were talking in your sleep, sir."
"Indeed; what did I say?"
"Your mind seemed to be on old Batavsky."
"Did I mention his name?"
"No, sir, not directly; but you recalled portions of your horrible
dream."
"Did I?" and he fell to musing.
Nothing further happened at this time, but the next day Kanoffskie
visited the governor, who was startled by his altered appearance, and at
once inquired the meaning of it.
"Your Excellency, I am not well. I am overworked, and have come to ask
you to grant me a year's leave of absence," replied Kanoffskie.
"You certainly do look ill, doctor, but who can fill your place in the
interim?"
"Waskoff is fully competent, sir."
"Very well, then; I will appoint him to fill your place for a year,"
replied the governor, writing the order.
"Thanks, your Excellency. And may I take a servant along with me, for I
am not able to travel so far alone."
"Yes; but on arriving at St. Petersburg, report the fact and the
servant's number to the Prefect of Police."
"I shall obey you, sir."
"When do you propose to set out?"
"By the next convoy."
"Very well, but let me see you again before you start, for I have
several private commissions which I wish you to undertake for me."
"With the greatest pleasure, Excellency."
"And I trust you will return in better health, and well rested."
"I hope so, sir," replied Kanoffsky, bowing himself from the room.
He was indeed a changed man, and the governor did not fail to notice it,
as did others who noticed him.
Some of the old hospital inmates whom he had abused at various times, as
he had the dead Batavsky, said among themselves that the spirits of his
dead victims were haunting him, which was pretty nearly the truth.
And to get away from them was, now that he had received leave of
absence, what now urged him in the preparations.
He dared not encounter those horrible dreams again.