CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
IN WHICH SOME DESPERATE ENTERPRISES ARE UNDERTAKEN.
At this time the Russians had taken up a strong position in the Balkanmountain range, and entrenched themselves within a short distance of theenemy.
After a night and a day of aimless wandering, Jacob Lancey found himselfat last in a rocky defile between the hostile lines. How he got therehe could not tell, but there he was, in a position of imminent danger,with the sentinels of the belligerent armies on either side of him.
Evening was setting in when he made this discovery, and recoiled,happily without having been seen, into a narrow rocky place where thefast-failing light had already deepened into gloom. A cold white fogwas slowly creeping up from the valleys and covering the hill-sides.
It is in such places and circumstances that men conceive and executedesigns, which, according to their nature, are deeds of recklessness orof heroism. Two such ventures were afoot that night.
In the Russian camp preparations were being made for a night attack on avillage in possession of the Turks, and out of which, with a view tofuture movements, it was deemed necessary to drive them. In thisvillage there dwelt a youth, an intimate friend of Dobri Petroff. Thetwo had played with each other in childhood, had roamed about thecountry together in boyhood, and, when they reached man's estate, hadbecome faster friends than ever, being bound by the ties of intellectualas well as physical sympathy. When this friend, Petko Borronow, leftYenilik at the death of his mother, it was to take charge of the littlefarm in the Balkan mountains,--the desolate home where his sisterGiuana, an invalid, and a beautiful girl, was now left in solitude.
In his capacity of scout, Petroff was always in the neighbourhood ofheadquarters, and was frequently summoned to the tent of the generalcommanding, to be interrogated. Thus he chanced to overhear occasionalremarks and hints which, when pieced together by his intelligent mind,showed him pretty clearly what was pending.
He sat by the camp-fire that night, buried in meditation, with a seriesof troubled wrinkles on a brow that was usually open and unclouded.Many a time did he light his pipe and forget to smoke it, and relightit, and again let it die out, until his comrades were impressed by hisabsence of mind. Well did the scout know by that time the certain fateof a village which was to be fought for by contending armies. To warnhis friend Borronow in time to remove his sister from the doomed villagebecame to the scout a duty which must be performed at all hazards, buthow to do this without deserting his post, and appearing to go over tothe enemy, was the difficulty.
"Something troubles you," said his young friend Andre Vanovitch, who hadfor some time sat smoking quietly at his side, gazing into the fire, andthinking, no doubt, of the girl with the auburn hair, far away in theland of the Muscove.
"Yes, I'm troubled about friends," was the scout's laconic answer.
"Oh! they're all right, you may be sure, now that our fellows havecrossed the Danube in such force," said Andre, supposing that the otherreferred to his family.
"Perhaps!" returned Petroff, and relapsed into silence.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he had overheard some expression amongthe officers around the General of a desire to know more particularlyabout the disposition of the Turkish force, and the suggestion that aspy should be sent out. His brow cleared at once; with almost atriumphant look on his countenance, he turned sharply to Andre, andseized his arm.
"Well, Dobri," said the latter, with a smile and look of surprise, "Ihave had perfect faith in the strength of your grip without requiringpositive proof."
"Listen," said the scout earnestly. "I have a job to do, and a risk torun."
"That is obvious to every one in the division," returned Andre, with atouch of the smile still curling his young moustache.
"Ay, but I mean a private job, and a great risk--the risk of being shotas a traitor or a spy, and I want you, Andre, to clear my character withthe Russians if it fares ill with me."
Petroff's unwonted energy of action and earnestness of look and toneproduced their effect on the young dragoon. He listened intently whilehis friend told him of his intended plan.
"But why go into the enemy's lines without permission?" objected Andre."Why risk being thought a deserter when you have only to go and askleave? It seems to me they would be only too glad to accept yourservices as a spy."
"I'm not certain that they would accept them," replied the scout, with areturn of the perplexed look; "and if they chanced to refuse leave, mycase would be hopeless, because I could not and would not dare to act inopposition to positive orders; whereas, if I go off without leave, Ishall only be blamed for undertaking a foolish or reckless act; that is,if I return in safety. If I don't return at all, it won't matter whatis said or done, but I should count on you, Andre, explaining that I didnot desert."
"But," returned Andre, "if you merely go to warn and save your friends,I think the General won't think much of your spying."
"You do me injustice, lad," said Petroff quietly. "I shall enter theenemy's lines as a real spy. I will visit every point of his position,ascertain the number of his troops, count his guns, and bring in suchinformation as will make the General wink, I hope, at my having actedwithout orders. It would please me better to go with permission, but Icannot allow the lives of my friends to hang upon the chance humour of aRussian general. You must remember, Andre, that I am not a Russiansoldier, and may therefore take upon me to exercise a little morepersonal liberty than you can. Why, you know," continued the scout,with a touch of humour in his glance, as he rose and made somepreliminary preparations, "I might refuse to lead you Russians, or mightlead you to your destruction."
"You would be shot if you did," returned the dragoon quietly.
"And what if I am willing to be shot in a good cause? I should be nogreater hero than every man in your armies. But now, Andre, one moreshake of your hand. We may never meet again, and I won't part withoutsaying I've taken a fancy to you."
"God knows I can truly say the same to you," cried Andre, leaping upwith enthusiasm, and seizing the scout's hand with a grasp as powerfulas his own.
"And don't be angry," added Petroff, in a gentle tone, as he tightenedhis belt, "if I again urge you to keep the locket always in remembrance.You're not likely ever to forget the auburn hair, but you _may_, lad,you may, for there is no perfection in this world, and soldiering is adangerous life."
Andre smiled half-contemptuously. He _felt_ that the advice wasneedless. Petroff also smiled kindly, for he knew that it might beneedful.
Neither of these men was very deeply impressed with the fact thatkeeping before the mental eye the Maker of the "auburn hair," and of allother blessed human influences, was a better and safer refuge. But whatmatter? Does not our Creator in all His dealings make use of means?Does He not lead us step by step from a lower to a higher level? Thereare no ready-made human angels in this life, male or female, withfull-grown wings to bear them over the troubles of earth to a state ofsudden sanctification. We are in a rebel world, and, when lifted fromthe pit by a Saviour's hand, the steps by which the Spirit of God leadsus upwards are numerous as well as varied, including sometimes--I writewithout irreverence--such footholds as "auburn hair."
Disguised as a Bulgarian rustic, Dobri Petroff left the Russian camp,passed the outposts, and, under cover of the fog, gained the neutralground between the two armies.
Of course the sentries on both sides were numerous as well as vigilant--especially so on such a night. It therefore behoved him to advance withextreme caution. Creeping from mound to rock, and bush to knoll, hereached a small clump of bushes, into which he entered for the purposeof resting a few minutes and considering well his future movements.
A thrill of excitement ran through his frame when he discovered that hewas not alone in this thicket. A man sat there leaning against a treeas if asleep. The scout crouched and drew a revolver. A momentsufficed to show that his arrival had not been observed. No wonder, forhis approach had
been like that of a cat! He was now in greatperplexity. The man was evidently not a sentinel of eitherbelligerent--that was plain, but it was equally plain that he was armed.To shoot him would be impossible without putting the sentries of bothsides on the alert. To pass him in so small a thicket, withoutattracting attention, would be difficult. To draw back wouldnecessitate a long detour, involving loss of precious time and increaseof risk. A thought occurred to him. Many a time had he hunted amongthese mountains, and well accustomed was he to glide with serpentinecaution towards his game. He would stalk him! Petroff seldom thoughttwice in cases of emergency. He unbuckled his sword quietly and hung iton a branch, and leant his carbine against a tree, resolving to trust tohis great personal strength alone, for he did not mean to sacrifice lifeif he could avoid it. In case of being driven to extremity, his knifeand revolver would suffice.
Then, sinking down until he became lost among the deep shadows of bushand brake, he began the slow, laborious, and silent process of glidingtowards his unconscious victim.
This was one of those ventures to which we have referred as being afooton that foggy night. The other venture had some points of similarity toit, though the end in view was different.
Let us turn aside for a little to the Turkish camp.
There, round one of the watch-fires, a considerable distance to therear, stood a group of Turkish soldiers chatting and smoking. Althoughnot so noisy as the Russians round their camp-fires, these Turks were byno means taciturn. There was a touch, now and then, of dry humour inthe remarks of some, and a sedate chuckle occasionally. Among themstood Eskiwin and his resuscitated friend Ali Bobo. The latter,although not naturally boastful, had been so nettled by a big comradeunderrating his courage and muscular power, in regard to which latterhe, Bobo, was rather vain, that he vowed he would prove both by going tothe front and bringing in, single-handed, a live Russian sentinel!
The big comrade laughed contemptuously, whereupon Ali Bobo rose to carryout his threat, but was warned by his mates of the danger of being shotby his own commander for going on such an errand without leave. Boboreplied that his captain would forgive him when he presented his Russianprisoner. As it was clear that the angry little man was in earnest, hisfriend Eskiwin vowed he would go with him, and the big comrade agreed toregard the deed as a sufficient proof of Ali Bobo's strength and prowessif a Russian should be brought in by the two of them. Bobo would havepreferred to go alone, but Eskiwin would take no denial.
Accordingly the two adventurous fellows went off and were soon lost inthe fog. In a short time they reached the front, and began to move withexcessive caution in order to pass their own sentries unobserved.
Ali Bobo, it must be remarked, had not originated this idea of stalkingsentinels. Some Albanians in the army had already done so with greatsuccess; but these ferocious murderers had done it for the mere pleasureof killing their enemies, without any other end in view. Their methodwas to creep towards a wearied sentinel, which they did with comparativeease, being expert mountaineers. Each man on reaching his victim sprangon him from behind, clapped a hand on his mouth, crushed his neck, afterthe manner of garrotters, with his strong left arm, and drawing a longkeen knife thrust it into his heart.
But our adventurers had no such murderous design as this. To capture alive Russian was their aim.
The front reached, and the Turkish line of sentries safely passed in thefog, they came unexpectedly on two Russian horsemen who were cautiouslyriding towards the Turkish lines. These horsemen were SergeantGotsuchakoff and Corporal Shoveloff. They had been visiting theoutposts, and, before returning, were making a little privatereconnaissance of the enemy's disposition, for Gotsuchakoff andShoveloff were enthusiasts in their way, and fond of adventure.
The ground at the spot being much broken, and affording facility forconcealment, especially to men on foot, Eskiwin and Ali Bobo creptunseen upon a low cliff, and lay down behind a mass of rocks.
The Russians chanced to select the same spot as a point of observation,but, instead of riding to the top of the eminence, where they would havebeen rather conspicuous, they rode under the cliff and halted justbelow,--not far distant from the spot where the Turks lay, so thatEskiwin, craning his long neck over the rocks, could look down on thehelmets of the Russian cavaliers.
For some minutes the sergeant and corporal conversed in whispers. Thiswas exceedingly tantalising to the friends above! The hiss of theirvoices could be distinctly heard. Eskiwin's long arm could almost havereached them with a lance. Presently the corporal rode slowly away,became dim in the fog, and finally disappeared, while the sergeantremained immoveable like an equestrian statue.
"This," whispered Ali Bobo solemnly, "is more than I can stand."
Eskiwin whispered in reply that he would have to stand it whether hecould or not.
Bobo didn't agree with him (not an unusual condition of mind withfriends). He looked round. A huge stone lay at his elbow. It seemedto have been placed there on purpose. He rose very slowly, lifted thestone, held it in a position which is familiar to Scotch Highlanders,and hurled it with tremendous force down on the head of SergeantGotsuchakoff.
The sergeant bowed to circumstances. Without even a cry, he tumbled offhis horse and laid his helmet in the dust.
The Turks leaped down, seized him in their powerful arms, and carriedhim away, while the frightened horse bolted. It followed, probably, ananimal instinct, and made for the Russian lines.
The corporal chanced to return at that moment. The Turks dropped theirburden and lay flat down beside it. Seeing that his friend was gone,and hearing the clatter of his retreating charger, Corporal Shoveloffput spurs to his steed and followed.
The Turks then rose, tied the legs of the sergeant with his ownsword-belt, lest he should recover inopportunely, and bore him to aneighbouring thicket which loomed darkly through the fog.
"Fate smiles upon us," whispered Ali Bobo, as the comrades entered thebushes and laid their burden down.
If Bobo had known that he had laid that burden down within ten yards ofthe spot where Dobri Petroff was preparing, as I have described, tostalk the figure he had discovered in the same thicket, he might haverecalled the sentiment in reference to Fate. But Bobo did not know.
Suddenly, however, he discovered the figure that Petroff was stalking.It was leaning against a tree. He pointed it out to Eskiwin, while thescout, interrupted in his plans, sank into darkness and watched theresult with much curiosity and some impatience.
Just then the figure roused itself with a heavy sigh, looked sleepilyround, and, remarking in an undertone, "It's an 'orrible sitooation,"turned itself into a more comfortable position and dropped off againwith another sigh.
But Ali Bobo did not allow it to enjoy repose. He glided forward, and,with a spring like that of a cat, laid his hand upon its mouth and threwit violently to the ground. With the aid of Eskiwin he pinned it, andthen proceeded to gag it.
All this Dobri Petroff observed with much interest, not unmingled withconcern, for he perceived that the new-comers were Turks, and did notlike the idea of seeing a man murdered before his eyes. But the thoughtof his friend Petko Borronow, and what he had at stake, restrained himfrom action. He was however at once relieved by observing that, whilethe short Turk kneeled on the prisoner's chest and kept his mouthcovered, so as to prevent his crying out, the tall Turk quickly tied hislegs and hands. It was thus clear that immediate death was notintended.
The scout's interest, to say nothing of surprise, was increased by whatfollowed. When the short Turk, pointing a revolver at the prisoner'shead, removed his hand so as to admit of speech, that prisoner's firstutterance was an exclamation of astonishment in tones which werefamiliar to Petroff's ear. This was followed by exclamations ofrecognition from the Turks, and the short man seizing one of victim'stied hands shook it warmly.
At that moment the scout's eyes were opened still wider with amazement,for the unfortunate Sergeant Gotsuchakoff--who, as I have said,
had beenlaid down a few yards from him, and whom he had almost forgotten--beganto recover consciousness and growled something in an undertone about itsbeing "far too soon to turn out."
Petroff recognised the well-known growl of the sergeant. In an instanthe glided to his side, laid his hand on his mouth, and whispered--
"Gotsuchakoff, be still for your life! I am Dobri Petroff. Do youunderstand?"
He looked close to the sergeant's eyes, and saw that he was understood.At once he removed his hand, and untied the belt which fastened thesergeant's feet.
Gotsuchakoff was too well used to war's alarms to give way tounreasonable curiosity. He instantly perceived that the scout requiredof him the utmost circumspection for some reason or other, and, in thespirit of a true soldier, awaited orders in total silence, ready forprompt action.
This was well, because there was little time to spare. When Petroffdirected the sergeant's attention to the Turks they were busy undoingthe bonds of their prisoner.
Without saying another word, the scout glided swiftly forward. He waspromptly followed by the sergeant. Next moment both men leaped on theTurks and had them by their throats.
Eskiwin was no match for Gotsuchakoff, who bore him back and held himlike a vice. As for Ali Bobo, strong though he was, he felt himself tobe a perfect baby in the grasp of the scout. The two men submitted atonce, and while Petroff ordered them in a low tone to keep silence,enforcing the order with the touch of a revolver's muzzle, the sergeantquickly bound their arms behind them.
The scout turned to the prisoner, who was sitting on the ground witheyes dilated to the uttermost, and mouth wide open. He sat perfectlyspeechless.
There was just light enough to make darkness visible. Petroff lookedclose in to the face of the man whom he had been about to stalk.
"Lancey!" he exclaimed.
"Dobri Peterhuff," gasped the other.
"Why, where _did_ you come from?" asked the scout in Turkish, which hewas aware Lancey had been attempting to learn.
"Dobri, my friend," replied the other solemnly, in English, "if this isa dream, it is the most houtrageous dream that I've 'ad since I was ababby. But I'm used to 'em now--only I do wish it was morning."
The scout smiled, not because of what was said, which of course he didnot understand, but because of the Englishman's expression. But timepressed; too much had already been lost. He therefore contented himselfby giving Lancey a friendly slap on the shoulder and turned to thesergeant.
"Gotsuchakoff," said he, "I'm out on special service, and have alreadybeen delayed too long. This man," pointing to Lancey, "is an Englishmanand a friend--remember that. The others are Turks. You know what to dowith them. I cannot help you, but you won't need help."
"Just so," replied Gotsuchakoff, with an intelligent nod, "only lend ahand to tie them together and then be off about your business."
"Lancey," said Ali Bobo, while the operation was being performed, "zatbig Bulgar beast he say you's his friend."
"Big he is, a beast he's not, and a friend he was," replied Lancey, witha dazed look.
Further conversation was cut short by the sergeant ordering the trio tomove on. He led them towards the Russian lines by a cord passed roundBobo's neck, and carried a revolver in his right hand. Dobri Petroffimmediately disappeared in the opposite direction.
At a later hour that night he entered the cottage of young Borronow.Giuana, Petko's sister, reclined on a rude but comfortable couch. Shewas singularly pretty and innocent-looking, but very delicate and young.Her friends called her Formosa Giuana or Pretty Jane. Petko had beenseated beside her, talking about the war, when his friend entered with aquick stealthy motion and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Dobri!" exclaimed the youth.
"Petko, there is danger at hand. Mischief is in the air. Time isprecious. I may not say what it is, but you know me--I am not easilyalarmed. You must promise me to quit this village with your sisterwithin one hour."
"But, Dobri, why?--what?--"
"Petko, no questions. More than that, no remarks," interrupted thescout earnestly and firmly. "Another time I will explain. At present Iask you to trust, believe, and obey your friend. If you would save yourlife and that of Giuana leave this village within an hour. Go where youwill, but leave it."
"I will both trust and obey you, Dobri," said Petko, returning thesqueeze of his friend's hand, which he had not yet let go.
"I said that time pressed, Petko; God be with you! Farewell."
The scout turned, stooped to kiss Giuana on her pale cheek, and beforeeither could utter another word was gone.
By midnight Dobri Petroff had made his rounds--now as a carter grufflyand clumsily driving a cart and horse of which he had managed to possesshimself; anon as a stupid countryman belonging to the village on theheight, noisily wanting to know why the Turks had robbed him of the saidcart and horse, which he had conveniently tipped over a precipice, andvowing that he would carry his complaint against the army to the Sultanhimself; once he was fain to act the part of a drunk man, almostincapable of taking care of himself.
During his perambulations he ran frequent risk of being shot byirascible Bashi-Bazouks or wearied Albanians; was more than once lookedon with suspicion, and frequently suffered rough treatment, but he actedhis part well. Nothing could draw from him a word or look beyondaverage intelligence.
No indignity could rouse him to more than the warfare of abuse, and theresult was that long before dawn he found himself once more close to thefront.
But fortune seemed inclined to fail him here. He was creepingcautiously among a heap of rocks when a sentinel of the advanced line ofthe Turks discovered and challenged him. Petroff knew well that escapeby running would be impossible, for he was only six yards distant. Hemade therefore no reply, but sank on the ground, keeping his eye,however, sharply on the advancing sentinel. His only cause of anxietywas that the Turk might fire at him, in which case his doom would havebeen sealed. The Turk, however, preferred to advance and thrust hisbayonet into him.
Petroff had calculated on and was prepared for this. He caught thebayonet and checked its progress between his ribs. Another moment andthe Turk lay on his back with the stock of his own rifle broken over hisskull. The scuffle had attracted the next sentry, who ran to hiscomrade's assistance. The scout instantly made the best use of hislegs. He was as fleet as a mountain deer, but the rifle-ball wasfleeter. He felt a sharp pain in his left arm, and almost fell. Thealarm was given. Sentries on both sides fired, and another bulletgrazed his temple, causing blood to flow freely down his face. Still heran steadily on, and in a few minutes was safe within the Russian lines.
He was seized, of course, by those who first met him, and, not beingknown to them, was at once carried before a captain of dragoons, whoknew him.
By the captain he was sent to the tent of the General--the youngerSkobeleff,--to whom he related the important information which he hadobtained at so great risk.
"Thank you, my fine fellow," said the General, when Petroff hadfinished; "you have done good service--are you badly wounded?"
"No--nothing worth mentioning," replied the scout, but as he spoke afeeling of giddiness oppressed him. He fainted and fell as he left theGeneral's tent, and was carried on a stretcher to the rear.
Before the grey dawn had dissipated the mists of morning, the village onthe height was fought for, lost, and won; its dwellings were reduced toashes, and those of its inhabitants who had escaped massacre werescattered like sheep among the gorges of their native hills; but Petkoand Giuana Borronow were safe--at least for the time--with a kinsman,among the higher heights of the Balkan range.
In the Track of the Troops Page 17