CHAPTER TWENTY.
TREATS OF WAR AND SOME OF ITS "GLORIOUS" RESULTS.
In process of time I reached the front, and chanced to arrive on thefield of action at a somewhat critical moment.
Many skirmishes, and some of the more important actions of the war, hadbeen fought by that time--as I already knew too well from the hosts ofwounded men who had passed through my hands at Sistova; and now it wasmy fate to witness another phase of the dreadful "game."
Everywhere as I traversed the land there was evidence of fierce combatsand of wanton destruction of property; burning villages, fields ofproduce trodden in the earth, etcetera. Still further on I encounteredlong trains of wagons bearing supplies and ammunition to the front. Aswe advanced these were met by bullock-trains bearing wounded men to therear. The weather had been bad. The road was almost knee-deep in mudand so cut up by traffic that pools occurred here and there, into whichwagons and horses and bullocks stumbled and were got out with thegreatest difficulty. The furious lashing of exhausted and strugglingcattle was mingled with the curses and cries of brutal drivers, and theheartrending groans of wounded soldiers, who, lying, in many cases withundressed wounds, on the hard, springless, and jolting vehicles,suffered excruciating agony. Many of these, unable to endure theirsufferings, died, and thus the living and the dead were in some casesjolted slowly along together. The road on each side was lined with deadanimals and men--the latter lying in a state of apparent _rest_, whichcalled forth envious looks from the dying.
But a still sadder spectacle met my eye when, from another road whichjoined this one, there came a stream of peasantry, old men, women, andchildren, on foot and in country carts of all kinds, flying from theraging warriors who desolated their villages, and seeking, they knew notwhere--anywhere--for refuge. Too often they sought in vain. Many ofthese people had been wounded--even the women and little ones--withbullet, sword, and spear. Some carried a few of their most cherishedhousehold articles along with them. Others were only too glad to havegot away with life. Here an old man, who looked as if he had been asoldier long before the warriors of to-day were born was gentlycompelled by a terror-stricken young woman with a wounded neck to layhis trembling old head on her shoulder as they sat on a little straw inthe bottom of a native cart. He had reached that venerable period oflife when men can barely totter to their doors to enjoy the sunshine,and when beholders regard them with irresistible feelings of tendernessand reverence. War had taught the old man how to stand erect oncemore--though it was but a spasmodic effort--and his poor fingers wereclasped round the hilt of an old cavalry sabre, from which female handshad failed to unclasp them. There, in another cart, lay an old woman,who had been bed-ridden and utterly helpless for many a year, but warhad wrought miracles for her. It had taught her once again to use hershrunken limbs, to tumble out of the bed to which she had been so longaccustomed, and where she had been so lovingly nursed, and to crawl in aparoxysm of terror to the door, afraid lest she should be forgotten byher children, and left to the tender mercies of Cossack or Bashi-Bazouk.Needless fear, of course, for these children were only busy outsidewith a few absolute necessaries, and would sooner have left their owndead and mangled bodies behind than have forgotten "granny"! ElsewhereI saw a young woman, prone on her back in another cart, with the pallorof death on her handsome face, and a tiny little head pressed tenderlyto her swelling breast. It was easy to understand that war had taughtthis young mother to cut short the period of quiet repose which isdeemed needful for woman in her circumstances. Still another cart Imust mention, for it contained a singular group. A young man, with apowerfully-made frame, which must once have been robust, but was nowterribly reduced by the wasting fires of a deadly fever, was heldforcibly down by a middle-aged man, whose resemblance to him revealedhis fatherhood. Two women helped the man, yet all three were barelyable to restrain the youth, who, in the fury of his delirium, gnashedwith his teeth, and struggled like a maniac. I knew nothing about them,but it was not difficult to read the history of one who had reached acritical period in a fell disease, who had, perchance, fallen into along-desired and much-needed slumber that might have turned the scale inhis favour, when the hope of parents and the chances of life werescattered suddenly by the ruthless trump of war. War had taught him howto throw off the sweet lethargy that had been stealing over him, and tostart once again on that weary road where he had been grappling inimagination with the brain-created fiends who had persecuted him solong, but who in reality were gentle spirits compared with the humandevils by whom he and his kindred were surrounded.
On this journey, too, I met many brethren of the medical profession,who, urged by the double motive of acquiring surgical skill andalleviating human woe, were pressing in the same direction. Some hadbeen fortunate enough, like myself, to obtain horses, others, despisingdifficulties, were pushing forward through the mud on foot. I needscarcely add that some of us turned aside from time to time, asopportunity offered, to succour the unfortunates around us.
At last I reached the front, went to headquarters, presented mycredentials, and was permitted to attach myself to one of the regiments.At once I made inquiries as to the whereabouts of NicholasNaranovitsch, and was so fortunate as to find him. He was in the act ofmounting his horse as I reached his quarters.
It is impossible to describe the look of surprise and delight with whichhe greeted me.
"My dear fellow!" said he, turning at once to his girths and stirrupsafter the first hearty squeeze, "what breeze of good fortune has blownyou here? Any news from home?"
"Yes, all well, and a message--by the way, I had almost forgot it,"fumbling in my pocket, "for you."
"Almost forgot it!" echoed Nicholas, looking round with a smile and aglance which was meant for one of withering rebuke.
"Here it is," I exclaimed, handing him a three-cornered note, which hadcome in my mother's letter. He seized it eagerly and thrust it into thebreast-pocket of his coat.
"Now look here, Jeff," he said, having seen to the trappings of hissteed, "you know what war is. Great things are at stake. I may notdelay even to chat with _you_. But a few words will suffice. Do youknow anything about your servant Lancey?"
"Nothing. I would give anything to hear that the poor fellow was alive.Have you--"
"Yes, I have seen him. I chanced this very morning, while gallopingacross country with an order from the General, to see him among thecamp-followers. Why there I know not. To search for him now would belike looking for a needle in a haystack, but I observed that he was incompany with our Bulgarian friend the scout Dobri Petroff, who is sowell known that he can easily be found, and will probably be able tolead you to him. Now, only one word for myself: don't forget a messageto Bella--say--say--bah! You English are such an undemonstrative setthat I don't like to put it in words, but--you ought to know what tosay, and when you've said it, just add, like a good fellow, that I wouldhave said a great deal more if I had had the saying of it myself. D'youunderstand?"
"All right," said I, with a laugh. "We English _feel_, although wedon't demonstrate much, and can act when occasion requires it with asmuch energy as Russians I'll say all you could wish, and some things,mayhap, that you couldn't have said yourself.--But where are you goingin such haste?"
"To battle, Jeff," he replied, with one of those proud glances of theeyes which must be somewhat akin to the expanded nostrils of thewarhorse when he scents the battle from afar. "At least," he added, "toconvey orders which will have some bearing on what is about to follow.The Turk is brave. We find that he fights well."
"Ha!" said I quickly, "you find him a plucky fellow, and begin torespect him?"
"Yes, truly, he is a worthy foe," returned Nicholas with animation.
"Just so," I rejoined, unable to repress a feeling of bitterness, "aworthy foe simply because he possesses the courage of the bull-dog; a_worthy_ foe, despite the fact that he burns, pillages, violates,murders, destroys, and tortures in cold blood. What if Bella were inone
of these Bulgarian villages when given over to the tender mercies ofa troop of Bashi-Bazouks?"
Nicholas had his left hand on the reins and resting on the pommel of hissaddle as I said this. He turned and looked at me with a face almostwhite with indignation.
"Jeff, how _can_ you suggest? Bashi-Bazouks are devils--"
"Well, then," said I, interrupting, "let us suppose Cossacks, or someother of your own irregulars instead--"
I stopped, for Nicholas had vaulted on his horse, and in another secondwas flying at full speed over the plain. Perhaps I was hard on him, butafter the miseries I witnessed that day I could not help trying to sendthe truth _home_.
Time pressed now. The regiment to which I was attached had receivedorders to march. I galloped off in search of it. At first I hadthought of making a hurried search for Lancey or the scout, but gave upthe idea, well content to have heard that the former was alive.
The Turks at this time were advancing under Mahomet Ali Pasha on theposition occupied by the Russians on the Lom river. As I joined myregiment and reported myself, I heard distant cannonading on the left,and observed troops moving off in all directions. We soon got the orderto march, and, on going to the top of a small eminence, came in sight ofthe field of action.
To my unaccustomed eyes the country appeared to be alive with confusedmasses of moving men, from some of which masses there burst at intervalsthe rolling smoke of rifle-firing. Of course I knew that there wasorder and arrangement, but the only order that impressed itself on mewas that of the Russian regiment at my side, as the men strode steadilyforward, with compressed lips and stern yet eager glances.
The Turkish troops had moved out and taken up a position on the face ofa hill under cover of some woods. As battalion after battalion marchedaway, I, for the first time, became impressed with the multitudes of menwho constitute an army, and, at the same time, with the feeling thatsomething like a pitched battle was about to be fought. From theelevated position on which we stood, I could see that numbers of Russiancavalry were prowling about over the plain, as if watching the movementsof the enemy. The intention of the Turks soon became evident, for theysuddenly swarmed out of the woods and advanced to the attack. A Russianbattery on our right instantly opened on them. This was replied tovigorously by a Turkish battery opposite. While these two turned theirattention on each other, the troops in the plain below came into action.They swarmed over the numerous undulations, skirmished through thescrub and the fields of corn and maize, attacked a village in a hollow,and charged on various batteries and positions of strength,--sometimesone side, sometimes the other, being successful. The thunder of thegreat guns increased, the tremendous rattle of small arms becamecontinuous, with now and again exceptionally strong bursts, when wholebattalions fired in volleys. The smoke soon became so dense as partlyto obscure the vision.
At that moment a Turkish battalion was seen to approach the mound onwhich we stood, with the evident intention of storming it. At the sametime I observed a squadron of Russian cavalry trot smartly round theskirt of a wood on our left and take up a position. They were not fiftyyards from the spot where I stood. I could even see the expression oftheir faces, and I fancied that the figure and countenance of theright-hand man of the troop were familiar to me.
"He's a fine-looking man, sir, is he not?" said a voice at my elbow.
I turned in amazement. It was Dobri Petroff! There was no room formore than a squeeze of the hand at such a moment.
"That is our friend Andre Vanovitch, sir."
As he spoke I saw the captain of the troop fall from his horse. A strayball had killed him, and this was the first thing that drew my attentionto the fact that bullets were whistling over our own heads now and then.
This happened at the very moment when a staff officer galloped up to thetroop with an order. Seeing what had happened, this officer put himselfat the head of the troop and gave the command to advance.
I recognised the voice at once as that of Nicholas. They swept pastclose in front of us at full gallop, and I could see on the face ofNicholas and on that of the stalwart Andre the same open, gladsome,noble expression, suggestive of high chivalrous sentiment, and a desireto do noble self-sacrificing deeds for fatherland. My own heart boundedwithin me as I looked at them, and I could not resist bursting into acheer, which was taken up and prolonged wildly by the troops around.
The squadron came upon the Turks unexpectedly, but they stood like truemen. Courage, however, was of no avail. The dragoons were heavy andirresistible. They cut right through the Turks; turned, charged again,and scattered them like chaff. I could perceive, in the midst of thefray, the lithe forms of Nicholas and Andre laying about them withtremendous impetuosity.
Personal valour is necessary, but it is not omnipotent nowadays. Whenthe squadron returned, reduced almost to a skeleton, the Turks hadreformed, were largely reinforced, and came at us again with steadydetermination. At the same time reinforcements came pouring in on ourside, and I soon found that the position we occupied was deemed one ofconsiderable importance.
The Turks came on steadily, and now I learned, for the first time, thepower of modern weapons. Our men were armed with breech-loaders, sothat no time was lost in loading.
Our commander acted on a principle which is said to be usually adoptedby General Skobeleff. He reserved his fire until the Turks were withina hundred yards, and then gave the order to commence. The scene thatfollowed is indescribable. Eight hundred men fell at once before thewithering blast of lead. The firing was continuous. No troops on earthcould have stood it. The Turks were instantly shattered and repulsed.
When they had retired, and the smoke had partially cleared away, I sawthe plain covered with slaughtered men. Some were prone and motionlessin death. Some were moving slightly. Others were struggling, as if ina delirium of agony, which it was frightful to witness. A few had lifeenough to rise, stagger forward several paces, fall and rise again torepeat the process until death ensued.
I stood fascinated.
"God help us!" I exclaimed aloud; "these murdered hundreds representthousands of bleeding hearts AT HOME, and yet the maniacs continue tokill each other as if human lives were of no account and human souls notworth a thought."
"Pardon me, sir," said a voice at my side, "the maniacs who cause allthis are not here, but at the place you mentioned just now--_at home_.These fine fellows are their unhappy tools, who, with untold depths ofenthusiasm and kindliness in their nature, and a good deal of devilmenttoo, are compelled, willing or not willing, to fight for what is called`religion and country'!"
I found that the speaker was the special correspondent of a Scotchnewspaper. As brother "specials" we fraternised immediately; but we hadscarcely had time to exchange a few rapid queries and replies when ourmen were ordered to advance to the attack.
Very soon the ambulance corps was busily employed, and I had to devotemy entire energies to the wounded who came pouring in.
Oh! it was pitiful to see the hundreds of strong and stalwart youths,who might have been the glory of succeeding generations, brought in withframes shattered beyond recovery, with brave lip compressed to check therising cry of agony, with eyes glaring in the terrible conflict betweenlusty manhood and sudden death, or, with nerves utterly unstrung, givingvent to the shrieks of the maniac.
Several surgeons and students among us had extemporised an hospital inthe shelter of a cliff.
One of the students, whose mind was in advance of his years and whosespirit seemed roused, came suddenly to me, during a brief interval inour labours.
"Our rulers are fools, or worse," said he, with indignation; "what isthe use of diplomacy if it cannot prevent _this_?"
I remonstrated with the youth on the impropriety of his language, but mynew friend the "special" broke in with--
"Ah! young man, you have not yet seen enough of life to understand it.A man is a machine which regulates itself, more or less, for its owninterests. A household does the
same; a town does likewise; so does astate. No doubt a man sometimes fights with himself--so, too,households are addicted to disagreement, and towns are often afflictedwith difference of opinion, while a state is not unacquainted withinternal commotions, but, in each and all of these cases, reason andcommon sense prevent the people from degenerating into pure savages. Itis reserved for governments alone, when they come into collision witheach other, to do that. _Peoples_ don't desire war, my good sir, it isgovernment--in other words, the non-combatant gentlemen at the head ofthe world's affairs--who thirst for blood, backed up, of course, by suchof the people as are more or less interested in the breaking out of war.In all ordinary matters humanity is satisfied to submit its cases tocourts of law, to umpires, to individual or collective arbitrators. Ifthings don't go right, it is usually understood among Christian men andwomen that a little touch of forbearance here, of self-sacrifice there,of pocketing of slight affronts elsewhere, will bring things into thebest possible condition, and, where these plans won't do,--as in thecase of drunkards, maniacs, and villains,--they understand and quietlypractise the power of _overwhelming constraint_. If the Turks had beenoverwhelmingly constrained by Europe during the late Conference atConstantinople, we should have had no war."
I never met with any nation so fond of argument as the Scotch!Surrounded as we were by dead and dying men, the "special" and thestudent (who was also Scotch) sat down and lighted their pipes to haveit out. To do them justice, there was a lull at the time in the arrivalof wounded men.
"But," said the student, in that tone which is so well known to theargumentative, "is not overwhelming constraint tyranny?"
"My friend," replied the special, lighting his pipe at the other'scigar, "if a blackguard stole a poor widow's purse, and six policementook him up, compelled him to restore it, and put him in limbo, wouldyou call that tyranny?"
"Of course not."
"But it would be overwhelming constraint, would it not?"
"Well--ah!--yes--I see--but--"
"Of course there's a _but_. Quite right. That is the word by which itis conveniently stated that the mind is not yet clear. Far be it fromme to coerce you. I would, if I could, clear you. Listen, then:--
"Has not the Turk treated his Christian subjects in a way that can onlybe expressed as diabolical?"
"Unquestionably. Every one admits that: but he promises to govern thembetter in future."
"If a thief," said the special, "were to promise amendment andrestoration of stolen property, would you let him off with the stolenproperty in his pocket?"
"Certainly not," answered the student.
"Well, then, the Turk has stolen the _liberty_ of his Christiansubjects--to say nothing of his own subjects--and he only _promises_ togive it back. He promised that more than twenty years ago, but has notdone it yet. Ought he not to have been overwhelmingly constrained bythe European Conference to fulfil his promises? And if he had been thusconstrained, would not war have been avoided?"
"But perhaps he would have resisted," said the student.
"No, the Turk is not mad, therefore he would not have resisted unitedEurope," returned the special; "and, even suppose that he had, hisresistance could not have produced such a frightful war as this, forEurope would have crushed him _at once_, with comparatively littlebloodshed. As it is, we have left the Muscovite (with good or badintentions, I know not which) to tackle him alone,--and the result isbefore you. If the Russian is upright in his intentions we have treatedhim shabbily, if he is false we have given him a splendid opportunity tocarry out his plans. I pronounce no opinion on Russia; the sin of thiswar lies with Europe; certainly not with England, for, whether shebehaved rightly or wrongly, she was not omnipotent at the Conference.Perhaps I should say that the sin lies with the members of thatConference who misrepresented Europe, and allowed a notorious criminalto escape."
"There are various opinions on that subject," said the student.
"There are various opinions on every subject," replied the special, "butthat is no reason why men and women should be content to have _no_opinion at all, or a bigoted one--which latter means an opinion foundedlargely on feeling, and formed before both sides of a question have beenconsidered."
An ambulance-wagon drove up at this moment. The student and I,forgetting the subject of discussion, hastened with our brethren toattend to the wretched beings who were laid shattered, bleeding, anddying on the ground before us, while the special, seeing that we had runshort of water, caught up a couple of buckets and ran to a neighbouringspring. It chanced that the ground between our place of shelter and thespring was at that time swept by the fire of contending troops, but inspite of this the special coolly filled his buckets and brought themin--happily without being injured.
The battle raged during the whole of that day all over the plain. Beingtaken up almost exclusively with our duties, we surgeons had little timeto observe the progress of the fight; nevertheless, mindful of mycharacter as a reporter, I took advantage of an occasional moment ofrelaxation to jot down a few notes.
There was a hill not far from that on which we stood which was held by aRussian regiment. Around it the fight appeared to rage very fiercely.The roar of artillery and the incessant rattle of small arms had by thistime gathered in force until it resembled a storm. Hundreds of whitepuffs all over the field told of death from shots which were too far offto be heard, while the belching of a battery on the hill just mentionedcaused the very earth to tremble.
The Turks at this point executed a flank movement, and attempted to takethe hill by storm. At the same time one of their batteries appeared onthe top of a ridge opposite, and began to play on the hill with terribleprecision. To counteract this a Russian battery of three guns wasdespatched. I saw the horses come galloping in from the rear; one ofthe guns was limbered up, and off they went like the wind. At thatmoment a shell from the Turkish battery fell right under the gun, and,exploding, blew it, with the men and horses, into the air. The otherguns reached the hill in safety, wheeled into position, and, for a time,checked the Turkish fire. Nevertheless, undeterred by the witheringsalvos, the Turks came on in powerful columns till they drew near to thehotly contested point.
At the foot of it the Russians had dug trenches and thrown upearth-works the night before. I observed with surprise that, as theattacking columns advanced, the Russian rifle-fire ceased, though thebattery continued to cut lanes in the living masses. It occurred to methat our men were reserving fire according to the Skobeleff plan. Inthis I was right. When the Turks were within a hundred yards of thetrenches the defenders fired as one man. The front ranks of the enemyfell like corn before the scythe; those in rear charged withirresistible impetuosity over their dead comrades. But the Russians hadanticipated such an event. They had placed mines in the ground, which,when the Turks passed over them, were fired, and hundreds of men wereblown into the air. This checked them. For a time they recoiled andwere thrown into disorder. At that moment a young officer rallied themand charged again. The trenches were entered and a hand-to-handconflict ensued. With my field-glass I could see the fierce expressionsof the men as they drove their reeking bayonets right through theirenemies, and the appalling gasp and glare of eye in those whose mortalcareer had been thus suddenly brought to a close. Yells of fury,shouts, curses, clubbed rifles, battered skulls, unearthly shrieks,smoke and blood--who can imagine or describe such a scene!
The Russian soldier fights well. His courage is equal to that of themen of other nations, and his weight gives him the advantage over some,but nothing can resist the power of overwhelming numbers.
Sitting on a height, and comfortably watching the battle throughtelescopes, the Turkish generals quietly move the "men" on the bloodyboard. Hundreds of Turks have perished. What matter? there arethousands on thousands ready to follow. Turkey must maintain her"integrity." Pashas must wallow in wealth. Millions of peasants musttoil to accomplish these ends; if need be, they must die. The need atpresent is--to die.
"Push on more battalions to reinforce them" is theorder. No doubt the hundreds who have fallen, and the thousands whomust yet fall, will leave hundreds of wives and thousands of children tohopeless mourning; but what of that? they are only _canaille_, cared forby nobody in particular, but God. No doubt the country must suffer forit. We must pay for war. We shall have an enormous national debt--thatcan't be helped, and other countries have the same,--besides, we canborrow from rich trusting nations, and repudiate our debts; our landshall feel the drain of its best young blood for generations yet tocome, but time heals most sores; people will multiply as heretofore;fate is unavoidable, and Allah is great! Moreover, what does it allmatter to us so long as our integrity is maintained, our seragliosremain intact, and our coffers are filled? That hillock _must_ betaken. It is a priceless hillock. Like other hillocks, no doubt, andnot very promising in an agricultural point of view, but still apriceless hillock, which must be carried at any cost, for on ourobtaining it depends somehow (we can't say exactly how) the honour ofour name, the success of our arms, the weal of the Turkish empire.
And so another order is given; fresh troops are hurled into thetrenches, already filled with dead and dying; and the hillock is carriedby storm, swept over with fierce cries of "Allah! Allah!" which minglestrangely with Russian curses, and is then left behind and regarded withas much indifference as if it were the most insignificant mass of earthand stone in all Bulgaria!
Flying backwards, the beaten Russians come panting towards the hill onwhich we stand, and rally, while our men advance, meet and stop theenemy, charge and overthrow them, turn the tide of battle, retake thehillock which has cost so much, and ultimately things remain _in statuquo_ when the blessed shades of evening put an end to the frightfulscene--leaving nothing whatever accomplished on either side, except thelegitimate and ordinary end of most wars, namely--death and destruction!
I had just finished dressing the wounds of a soldier, at the end of thisterrible episode, when a touch on my shoulder caused me to look up. Itwas Dobri Petroff.
"Have you seen your servant Lancey?" he asked quickly.
"No. I had intended to ask if you knew anything about him when thebeginning of this carnage drove him and everything else out of my mind.Do you know where he is?"
"I saw him not five minutes since, looking wildly for you."
While Petroff was speaking, Lancey appeared, running towards me,bloodstained, blackened with powder, and with a rifle on his shoulder.