CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
FAREWELL TO SANDA PASHA--A SCUFFLE, AND AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
Some time after the events narrated in the last chapter I was seated inan apartment of Sanda Pasha's residence in Adrianople, the Turkish citynext in importance to Constantinople.
My health had returned, and, although still somewhat weak, I feltsufficiently strong to travel, and had once or twice urged my kind host,who was fast recovering from his wound, to permit me, if possible, toreturn to the Russian lines. I had had from him, of course, a fullaccount of the fall of Plevna, and I had also learned from anothersource that Nicholas had been desperately wounded; but the latterinformation was a mere rumour, which only rendered me the more anxiousto get away.
The Pasha's chief secretary, who spoke Russian well, informed me at thistime of some of the doings of his countrymen in the city andneighbourhood. I could hardly credit him, but English "correspondents"afterwards confirmed what he said. The daily executions of Bulgarianson the slightest pretexts, without trial, were at that time so numerousthat it seemed as if the Turks had determined to solve the question ofBulgarian autonomy by killing or banishing every male in the province.In one instance fifteen Bulgarian children, the youngest of whom was tenyears of age, and the eldest fifteen, were condemned to hard labour forlife. It was said, but not proved I believe, that these young peoplehad committed murder and contributed to the insurrection. At this timethere were over 20,000 refugees in Adrianople, all of whom were womenand children whose protectors had either been massacred or forced tojoin the army.
The secretary evidently rejoiced in the slaying and otherwise gettingrid of Bulgarian men, but he seemed to have a slight feeling ofcommiseration for the helpless refugees, among whom I had myselfwitnessed the most heart-rending scenes of mental and physicalsuffering.
Wherever I wandered about the town there were groups of these tremblingones, on whose pallid faces were imprinted looks of maniacal horror orof blank despair. Little wonder! Some of them had beheld the fathers,brothers, lovers, around whom their heart-strings twined, tortured todeath before their eyes. Others had seen their babes tossed onspear-points and bayonets, while to all the future must have appeared afearful prospect of want and of dreary sighing for a touch of those"vanished hands" that had passed from earth for ever.
"Philanthropic societies," said the secretary, "have done great thingsfor Turkey and for Russia too. Had it not been for the timely aid sentout by the charitable people in England and other countries, it iscertain that many thousands of these refugees would already have been intheir graves."
I did not like the tone or looks of this secretary. He was an oily man,with a touch of sarcasm.
"Doubtless there are many of them," I returned sharply, "who wish thatthey had fallen with their kindred. But you say truth: thetender-hearted and liberal ones of England and elsewhere have donesomething to mitigate the horrors of war, and yet there is a party amongus who would draw the sword, if they were allowed, and add to the numberof these wretched refugees. A pretty spectacle of consistency, truly,is presented by war! If we English were to join the Turks, as of courseyou wish us to do, and help you to maintain your misrule, to say nothingof the massacres which have been and still are going on around us, weshould have to keep our philanthropic societies at work still longer,and thus we should be seen cutting men down with one hand and bindingthem up with the other,--roaring like fiends as we slaughter sires, andat the same time, with the same voice, softly comforting widows andfatherless children. Oh, sir, if there is a phrase of mockery on theface of this earth, it is the term `civilised warfare'!"
Before the secretary had time to reply the Pasha entered, accompanied byLancey.
"Mr Childers," said the Pasha, sitting down on a cushion beside me, "Ihave managed it at last, though not without difficulty, but when a manwants to help an old school-mate in distress he is not easily put down.You have to thank Lancey for anything I have done for you. There is, itseems, to be an exchange of prisoners soon, and I have managed that youand Lancey shall be among the number. You must be ready to take theroad to-morrow."
I thanked the Pasha heartily, but expressed surprise that one in soexalted a position should have found difficulty in the matter.
"Exalted!" he exclaimed, with a look of scorn, "I'm so exalted as tohave very narrowly missed having my head cut off. Bah! there is nogratitude in a Turk--at least in a Turkish grandee."
I ventured to suggest that the Pasha was in his own person a flat--orrather sturdy--contradiction of his own words, but he only grinned as hebowed, being too much in earnest to smile.
"Do you forget," he continued, "that I am in disgrace? I have servedthe Turk faithfully all my life, and now I am shelved at the very timemy services might be of use, because the Sultan is swayed by a set ofrascals who are jealous of me! And is it not the same with better menthan myself? Look at Mehemet Ali, our late commander-in-chief, deposedfrom office by men who had not the power to judge of his capacities--forwhat? Did he not say with his own lips, to one of your owncorrespondents, that although he had embraced the religion of Mohammedthey never could forget or forgive the fact that he was not born a Turk,but regarded him as a Giaour in disguise; that his elevation to powerexcited secret discontent among the Pashas, which I know to be true;that another Pasha thwarted instead of aiding him, while yet another wassent to act the spy on him. Is not this shameful jealousy amongst ourleaders, at a time when all should have been united for the common weal,well known to have operated disastrously in other cases? Did not OsmanPasha admit as much, when he complained bitterly, after the fall ofPlevna, that he had not been properly supported? Our rank and file arelions in the field--though I cannot allow that they are lambs anywhereelse--but as for our--Bah! I have said enough. Besides, to tell youthe truth, I am tired of the Turks, and hate them."
Here my servant interrupted the Pasha with a coolness and familiaritythat amused me much.
"Sandy," said he, with a disapproving shake of the head, "you oughtn'tto go an' speak like that of your hadopted nation."
The Pasha's indignation vanished at once. He turned to Lancey with acurious twinkle in his eye.
"But, my good fellow," he said, "it isn't my hadopted nation. When Icame here a poor homeless wanderer the Turks adopted _me_, not I _them_,because they found me useful."
"That," returned Lancey, "should 'ave called hout your gratitood."
"So it did, Lancey. Didn't I serve them faithfully from that day tothis, to the best of my power, and didn't I shave my head and wear theirgarb, and pretend to take to their religion all out of gratitude?"
"Worse and worse," retorted Lancey; "that was houtrageous 'ypocrisy.I'm afraid, Sandy, that you're no better than you used to be w'en yousmashed the school-windows an' went about playin' truant on the Scottish'ills."
"No better indeed," returned the Pasha, with a sudden touch of sadness;"that is true, but how to become better is the difficulty. Islamismfills a land with injustice, robbery, and violence; while, in order thatsuch things may be put right, the same land is desolated, covered withblood, and filled with lamentation, in the name of Christianity."
Here I could not refrain from reminding the Pasha that the professors ofreligion did not always act in accordance with their profession, andthat the principles of the "Prince of Peace," when carried out, evenwith average sincerity, had an invariable tendency to encourage peaceand good-will among men, which was more than could be said of thedoctrines of Mohammed.
"It may be so," said the Pasha, with a sigh.
"Meanwhile, to return to our point, you will find everything ready foryour journey at an early hour to-morrow."
"But what of little Ivanka Petroff?" I asked. "She must go with us."
The Pasha seemed a little perplexed. "I had not thought of that," hesaid; "she will be well-cared for here."
"I cannot go without her," said I firmly.
"No more can I," said Lancey.
"Well, that s
hall also be arranged," returned the Pasha, as he left us.
"Never saw nothink like 'im," observed Lancey; "'e sticks at nothink,believes nothink, cares for nothink, an' can do hanythink."
"_You_ are showing want of gratitude now, Lancey, for it is plain thathe cares a good deal for you."
Lancey admitted that he might, perhaps, have been a little harsh inexpressing himself, and then went off to prepare for the journey.
"We are going back again to your own country, Ivanka," said I, gentlystroking the child's head, as we sat together in the same room, somehours later.
Ivanka raised her large eyes to mine.
"There is no _home_ now," she said, in a mournful voice.
"But we shall find father there, perhaps."
The child dropped her eyes, and shook her head, but made no furtherremark. I saw that tears were trickling down her cheeks, and, feelinguncertain as to how far she realised her forlorn condition, refrainedfrom further speech, and drew her little head upon my breast, while Isought to comfort her with hopes of soon meeting her father.
Snow lay on the ground when we bade farewell to our kind host."Good-bye, Sanda Pasha; I shall hope to see you in England one of thesedays," said I at parting.
"Farewell, Sandy," said my man, grasping the Pasha's hand warmly, andspeaking in a deeply impressive tone; "take the advice of a wery oldfriend, who 'as your welfare at 'art, an' leave off your evil ways,w'ich it's not possible for you to do w'ile you've got fifty wives, moreor less, shaves your 'ead like a Turk, and hacts the part of a'ypocrite. Come back to your own land, my friend, w'ich is the only oneI knows on worth livin' in, an' dress yourself like a Christian."
The Pasha laughed, returned the squeeze heartily, and said that it washighly probable he would act upon that advice ere another year hadpassed away.
Half an hour later we were driving over the white plains, on which thesun shone with dazzling light.
I felt unusual exhilaration as we rattled along in the fresh frosty air,and crossed the fields, which, with the silvered trees and bushes,contrasted so pleasantly with the clear blue sky. I began to feel as ifthe horrible scenes I had lately witnessed were but the effects of adisordered imagination, which had passed away with fever and bodilyweakness.
Ivanka also appeared to revive under those genial influences with whichGod surrounds His creatures, for she prattled a little now and thenabout things which attracted her attention on the road; but she neverreferred to the past. Lancey, too, was inspirited to such an extentthat he tackled the Turkish driver in his own tongue, and caused theeyes of that taciturn individual occasionally to twinkle, and hismoustache to curl upwards.
That night we slept at a small road-side inn. Next day we joined agroup of travellers, and thus onward we went until we reached the regionwhere the war raged. Here we were placed under escort, and, with someothers, were exchanged and set free.
Immediately I hired a conveyance and proceeded to the Russian rear,where I obtained a horse, and, leaving Ivanka in charge of Lancey at aninn, hastened to headquarters to make inquiries about Nicholas andPetroff.
On the way, however, I halted to telegraph to the _Scottish Bawbee_, andto write a brief account of my recent experiences among the Turks.
I was in the midst of a powerful article--powerful, of course, becauseof the subject--on one of the war-episodes, when I heard a foot on thestaircase. I had placed my revolver on the table, for I was seated in aroom in a deserted village. One wall of the room had been shattered bya shell, while most of the furniture was more or less broken by the samemissile, and I knew well that those sneak-marauders who infest the rearof an army were in the habit of prowling about such places.
Suddenly I heard a loud shout on the staircase, followed by the clashingof swords. I leaped up, seized the revolver, and ran out. One manstood on the stair defending himself against two Circassians. I knewthe scoundrels instantly by their dress, and not less easily did Irecognise a countryman in the grey tweed shooting coat, glengarry cap,and knickerbockers of the other. At the moment of my appearance theEnglishman, who was obviously a dexterous swordsman, had inflicted atelling wound on one of his adversaries. I fired at the other, who,leaping nearly his own height into the air, fell with a crash down thestaircase. He sprang up, however, instantly, and both men bolted out atthe front door and fled.
The Englishman turned to thank me for my timely aid, but, instead ofspeaking, looked at me with amused surprise.
"Can it be?" I exclaimed; "not possible! _you_, Biquitous?"
"I told you we should probably meet," he replied, sheathing his sword,"but I was not prophetic enough to foretell the exact circumstances ofthe meeting."
"Come along, my dear fellow," said I, seizing his arm and dragging himup-stairs; "how glad I am! what an unexpected--oh! never mind the lookof the room, it's pretty tight in most places, and I've stuffed myovercoat into the shell-hole."
"Don't apologise for your quarters, Jeff," returned my friend, layinghis sword and revolver on the table; "the house is a palace comparedwith some places I've inhabited of late. The last, for instance, was sofilthy that I believe, on my conscience, an irish pig, with an averageallowance of self-respect, would have declined to occupy it.--Here itis, you'll find it somewhere near the middle."
He handed me a small sketch-book, and, while I turned over the leaves,busied himself in filling a short meerschaum.
"Why, how busy you must have been!" said I, turning over the well-filledbook with interest.
"Slightly so," he replied. "Some of these will look pretty well, Iflatter myself, in the _Evergreen Isle_, if they are well engraved; butthat is the difficulty. No matter how carefully we correspondentsexecute our sketches, some of these engravers--I won't say all of them--make an awful mess of 'em.
"Yes, you may well laugh at that one. It was taken under fire, and Ican tell you that a sketch made under fire is apt to turn out defectivein drawing. That highly effective and happy accidental touch in theimmediate foreground I claim no credit for. It was made by a bulletwhich first knocked the pencil out of my hand and then terminated thecareer of my best horse; while that sunny gleam in the middle distancewas caused by a piece of yellow clay being driven across it by thesplinter of a shell. On the whole, I think the sketch will hardly dofor the _Evergreen_, though it is worth keeping as a reminiscence."
My friend and I now sat down in front of a comfortable fire, fed withlogs from the roof of a neighbouring hut, but we had not chatted longbefore he asked me the object of my visit to headquarters.
"To inquire about my friend Nicholas Karanovitsch," I said.
From the sudden disappearance of the look of careless pleasantry from myfriend's face, and the grave earnest tone in which he spoke, I saw thathe had bad news to tell.
"Have you not heard--" he said, and paused.
"Not dead?" I exclaimed.
"No, not dead, but desperately wounded." He went on in a low rapidvoice to relate all the circumstances of the case, with which the readeris already acquainted, first touching on the chief points, to relieve myfeelings.
Nicholas was not dead, but so badly wounded that there was no chance ofhis ever again attaining to the semblance of his old self. The doctors,however, had pronounced him at last out of danger. His soundconstitution and great strength had enabled him to survive injurieswhich would have carried off most men in a few days or hours. His wholeframe had been shattered; his handsome face dreadfully disfigured, hisleft hand carried away, and his right foot so grievously crushed by agun-carriage passing over it that they had been obliged to amputate theleg below the knee. For a long time he had lain balancing between lifeand death, and when he recovered sufficiently to be moved had been takenby rail to Switzerland. He had given strict orders that no one shouldbe allowed to write to his friends in England, but had asked veryanxiously after me.
Biquitous gave me a great many more particulars, but this was the gistof his sad news. He also told me of the fall of Dobri Petroff.
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br /> "Nicholas had fainted, as I told you," he said, "just before the picketby which he had been rescued lifted him from the ground, and he wasgreatly distressed, on recovering, to find that his faithful followerhad been left behind. Although he believed him to be dead, heimmediately expressed an earnest wish that men should be sent to lookfor and recover the body. They promised that this should be done, buthe never learned whether or not they had been successful."
"And you don't know the name of the place in Switzerland to whichNicholas has been sent?" I asked.
"Not sure, but I think it was Montreux, on the Lake of Geneva."
After all this sad news I found it impossible to enjoy the society of myeccentric friend, and much though I liked him, resolved to leave theplace at once and make arrangements to quit the country.
I therefore bade him farewell, and hastened back to the inn where I hadleft Ivanka and Lancey.
The grief of the dear child, on hearing that her father had fallen onthe battle-field, was for a time uncontrollable. When it had abated, Isaid:--
"There is no one here to love you now, my little darling, but God stillloves you, and, you see, has sent me and Lancey to take care of you.--Come, we will return to Venilik."
I did not dare at this time to raise hopes, which might soon be dashedto pieces, in the heart of the poor forlorn child, and therefore did notsay all that was in my mind; but my object in returning to Venilik wasto make inquiry after her mother. My own hopes were not strong, but Idid not feel satisfied that we had obtained sufficient proof that Marikahad been killed.
Our search and inquiries, however, were vain. Venilik was almostdeserted. No one could tell anything about the Petroff family that wedid not already know. It was certainly known that many persons--men andwomen--had fled to the neighbouring woods, and that some had escaped,but it was generally believed that Marika had been burnt in her owncottage. No doubt, however, was entertained as to the fate of herlittle boy; for there were several people who had seen him thrustthrough and held aloft on the point of a Circassian spear. When I toldof Dobri Petroff having fallen by the side of Nicholas, several of thevillagers said they had heard of that from other sources.
As nothing further could be done, I resolved to adopt Ivanka, and takeher away with me.
My preparations were soon made, a conveyance was obtained, and beforemany days were over I found myself flying by road and rail far from theland where war still raged, where the fair face of nature had been soterribly disfigured by human wrath--so fearfully oppressed with humanwoe.