CHAPTER XIX
"'SKENDER BEY"
The old Lion is sober enough now. What a headache he ought to haveafter all that brandy yesterday: but the prospect of fighting alwaysputs Iskender Bey to rights, and to-day he will have a bellyful, or weare much mistaken. At the head, in the rear, on the flanks of his smallforce, the fiery Pole seems to have eyes and ears for every trooperunder his command. The morning is dark and cloudy; a small drizzlingrain is falling, and effectually assists our manoeuvres. We havecrossed the Danube in a few flat boats before daybreak, fortunately withno further casualty than the drowning of one horse, whose burial-servicehas been celebrated in the strongest oaths of the Turkish language. Wehave landed without opposition; and should we not be surprised by anyoutpost of the enemy, we are in a highly favourable position for takingour share in the combined attack.
Victor de Rohan has been attached for the occasion to our commander'sstaff. He is accompanied by a swarthy, powerful man, mounted on agame-looking bay mare, the only charger of that sex present on thefield. This worthy goes by the name of Ali Mesrour, and is by birth aBeloochee: fighting has been his trade for more than twenty years, andhe has literally fought his way all over the East, till he found himselfa sort of henchman to Omar Pasha on the banks of the Danube. He hasaccompanied De Rohan here from head-quarters, and sits on his mare bythe Hungarian's side, grim and unmoved as becomes a veteran warrior.There is charlatanism in all trades. It is the affectation of the youngsoldier to be excited, keen, volatile, and jocose, while the older handthinks it right to assume an air of knowing calmness, just dashed with atouch of sardonic humour. We are situated in a hollow, where we arecompletely hidden from the surrounding district: the river guards ourrear and one of our flanks; a strong picket is under arms in our front;and beyond it a few videttes, themselves unseen, are peeping over theeminence before them. Our main body are dismounted, but the men areprepared to "stand to their horses" at a moment's notice, and all noiseis strictly forbidden in the ranks. If we are surprised by asufficiently strong force we shall be cut to pieces, for we have noretreat; if we can remain undiscovered for another hour or so, the gamewill be in our own hands.
Iskender Bey is in Paradise. This is what he lives for; and to-day, hethinks, will see him a pasha or a corpse.
"Tergyman," he whispers to me, whilst his sides shake, and his eyeskindle with mirth, "how little they think who is their neighbour. Andthe landing, Tergyman! the landing; the only place for miles where wecould have accomplished it, and they had not even a sentry there. Oh, itis the best joke!" And Iskender dismounts from his horse to enjoy hislaugh in comfort, while his swollen veins and bloodshot eyes betoken theseverity of the internal convulsion, all the more powerful that he mustnot have it out in louder tones.
"Another hour of this, at least," observes Victor, as he lights a largecigar, and hands another to the commandant, and a third to myself, "onemore hour, Egerton, and then comes our chance. You have got a pickedbody of men to-day, Effendi!" he observes to the Bey; "and not the worstof the horses."
"They are my own children to-day, Count," answers Iskender, withsparkling eyes. "There are not too many of the brood left; but thechickens are game to the backbone. What say you, Ali? These fellowsare better stuff than your Arabs that you make such a talk about."
The Beloochee smiles grimly, and pats his mare on the neck.
"When the sun is low," he answers, "I shall say what I think; meanwhilework, and not talk, is before us. The Arab is no bad warrior, Effendi,on the fourth day, when the barley is exhausted, and there is no waterin the skins."
Iskender laughs, and points to the Danube. "There is water enoughthere," he says, "for the whole cavalry of the Padisha, Egyptian guards,and all. Pah! don't talk of water, I hate the very name of it. Brandyis the liquor for a soldier--brandy and blood. Count de Rohan, yourHungarians don't fight upon water, I'll answer for it."
"You know our proverb, Effendi," replies Victor, "'The hussar's horsedrinks wine.' But the rain is coming on heavier," he adds, looking upat the clouds; "we shall have water enough to satisfy even a trueMussulman like Ali, presently. How slow the time passes. May I not goforward and reconnoitre?"
The permission is willingly granted; and as my office is to-day asinecure, I creep forward with Victor beyond our advanced posts to asmall knoll, from which, without being seen, we can obtain a commandingview of the surrounding country.
There is a flat extent in front of us, admirably adapted for theoperations of cavalry; and a slight eminence covered with brushwood,which will conceal our movements for nearly half-a-mile farther.
"The fools!" whispers Victor; "if they had lined that copse withriflemen, they might have bothered us sadly as we advanced."
"How do you know they have not?" I whisper in reply; "not a man could wesee from here; and their grey coats are exactly the colour of the soilof this unhappy country."
Victor points to a flock of bustards feeding in security on the plain."Not one of those birds would remain a second," says he, "if there werea single man in the copse. Do you not see that they have got the wind ofall that brushwood? and the bustard, either by scent or hearing, candetect the presence of a human being as unerringly as a deer. But see;the mist is clearing from the Danube. It cannot but begin soon."
Sure enough the mist was rolling heavily away from the broad, yellowsurface of the river; already we could descry the towers and walls ofRoustchouk, looming large, like some enchanted keep, above the waters.The rain, too, was clearing off, and a bit of blue sky was visible aboveour heads. In a few minutes the sun shone forth cheeringly, and a larkrose into the sky from our very feet, with his gladsome, heavenwardsong, as the boom of a cannon smote heavily on our ears; and we knewthat, for to-day, the work of death had at last begun.
The mist rose like a curtain: and the whole attack was now visible fromour post. A few flats were putting off from the Bulgarian side of theriver, crowded with infantry, whose muskets and accoutrements glitteredin the fitful sunlight, loaded to the water's edge. It was frightful tothink of the effect a round-shot might have on one of those crazyshallops, with its living freight. The Russian batteries, well andpromptly served, were playing furiously on the river; but their rangewas too high, and the iron shower whizzed harmlessly over the heads ofthe attacking Moslem. A Turkish steamer, coolly and skilfully handled,was plying to and fro in support of her comrades, and throwing hershells beautifully into the Russian redoubts, where those unwelcomevisitors created much annoyance and confusion. Victor's eyes lightenedas he puffed at his cigar with an assumed _sang-froid_ which it was easyto see he did not feel.
"The old Lion won't stay here long," he whispered to me; "look back athim now, Vere. I told you so: there they go--'boots and saddles.' We,too, shall be at it in ten minutes. _Vive la guerre!_"
As he spoke, the trumpet rang out the order to "mount." Concealment wasno longer necessary, and we rushed back to our horses, and placedourselves on either side of our commander, ready to execute whateverorders he might choose to give.
Iskender Bey was now cool as if on parade; nay, considerably cooler: forthe rehearsal was more apt to excite his feelings than the play itself.He moved us forward at a trot. Once more he halted amongst thebrushwood, from which the scared bustards were by this time flying inall directions; and whilst every charger's frame quivered withexcitement, and even the proud Turkish hearts throbbed quicker under theSultan's uniform, he alone appeared wholly unmoved by the stake he hadto play in the great game. It was but the calm before the hurricane.
From our new position we could see the boats of our comrades rapidlynearing the shore. Iskender, his bridle hanging over his mutilated arm,and his glass pressed to his eye, watched them with eager gaze. It wasindeed a glorious sight. With a thrilling cheer, the Turkish infantrysprang ashore, and fixing bayonets as they rushed on, stormed theRussian redoubts at a run, undismayed and totally unchecked by thewell-su
stained fire of musketry, and the grape and canister liberallyshowered on them by the enemy. An English officer in the uniform of abrigadier, whom through my glass I recognised as the good-humouredintercessor for the prisoner in Omar Pasha's tent, led them on, wavinghis sword, several paces in front of his men, and encouraging them witha gallantry and daring that I was proud to feel were truly British.
But the Russian redoubts were well manned, and a strong body of infantrywere drawn up in support a few hundred paces in their rear; the guns,too, had been depressed, and the cannonade was terrible. Down went thered fez and the shaven head; Turkish sabre and French musket laymasterless on the sand, and many a haughty child of Osman gasped out hiswelling life-blood to slake the dry Wallachian soil. Wave your greenscarfs, dark-eyed maids of Paradise! for your lovers are thronging toyour gates. But the crimson flag is waving in the van, and the Russianeagle even now spreads her wings to fly away. A strong effort is madeby the massive grey column which constitutes the enemy's reserve, butthe English brigadier has placed himself at the head of a freshly-landedregiment--Albanians are they, wild and lawless robbers of the hills--andhe sweeps everything before him. The redoubts are carried with a cheer,the gunners bayoneted, the heavy field-pieces turned on their formermasters, and the Russian column shakes, wavers, and gives way. Theglass trembles in Iskender's hand; his eye glares, and the veins of hisforehead begin to swell: for him too _the_ moment has come.
"Count de Rohan," says he, while he shuts up his glass like a man whonow sees his way clearly before him, "bring up the rear-guard.Tergyman! I have got them _here_ in my hand!" and he clasps themutilated fingers as he speaks. "Now I can crush them. The column willadvance at a trot--'March!'"
Rapidly we clear the space that intervenes between our former positionand the retreating columns of the enemy--now to sweep down with ourhandful of cavalry on their flank, and complete the victory that hasbeen so gallantly begun! For the first time the enemy appears aware ofour proximity. A large body of cavalry moves up at a gallop tointercept us. We can see their commander waving his sword and givinghis orders to his men; their number is far greater than our own, andIskender is now indeed in his glory.
"Form line!" he shouts in a voice of thunder, as he draws his glitteringsabre and shakes it above his head. "Advance at a gallop!--charge!!"
Victor de Rohan is on one side of him, the Beloochee and myself on theother; the wildest blood and the best horses in Turkey at our backs: anddown we go like the whirlwind, with the shout of "_Allah! Allah!_"surging in our ears, lances couched and pennons fluttering, the maddenedchargers thundering at their speed, and the life-blood mounting to thebrain in the fierce ecstasy of that delirious moment.
I am a man of peace, God knows! What have I to do with the folly ofambition--the tinsel and the glare and the false enthusiasm of war? Andyet, with steel in his hand and a good horse between his knees, a manmay well be excused for deeming such a moment as this worth many a yearof peaceful life and homely duties. Alas! alas! is it all vanity? is_cui bono_ the sum and the end of everything? Who knows? And yet itwas glorious while it lasted!
Long ere we reach them, the Russian cavalry wavers and hesitates. Theircommander gallops nobly to the front. I can see him now, with his highchivalrous features, and long, fair moustache waving in the breeze. Hegesticulates wildly to his men, and a squadron or two seem inclined tofollow the example of their gallant leader. In vain: we are upon themeven now in their confusion, and we roll them over, man and horse, withthe very impetus of our charge. Lance-thrust and sabre-cut, stab, blowand ringing pistol-shot, make short work of the enemy. "_Allah!Allah!_" shout our maddened troopers, and they give and take no quarter.The fair-haired Colonel still fights gallantly on. Hopeless as it is hestrives to rally his men--a gentleman and a soldier to the last. Mycomrade, the Beloochee, has his eye on him. They meet in the _melee_.The Colonel deals a furious blow at his enemy with his long sabre, butthe supple Asiatic crouches on his mare's neck, and wheels thewell-trained animal at the same instant with his heel. His curved bladeglitters for a moment in the sun. It seems to pass without resistancethrough the air; then the fair moustache is dabbled all in blood, andthe Colonel's horse gallops masterless from the field.
Victor de Rohan fights like a very Paladin, and even I feel the accursedspirit rising in my heart. The Russian cavalry are scattered like chaffbefore the wind. Their disorganised masses ride in upon their owninfantry, who are vainly endeavouring to form with some regularity. Theretreat becomes a general rout, and our Turkish troopers fly likehell-hounds to the pursuit.
How might a reserve have turned the tables then! What a bitter lessonmight have been taught us by a few squadrons of veteran cavalry, kept inhand by a cool and resolute officer. In vain Iskender rides and cursesand gesticulates; he is himself more than half inclined to follow theexample of his men. In vain the Beloochee entreats and argues, and evenstrikes the refractory with the flat of his sabre; our men have tastedblood, and are no longer under control. One regiment of Russianinfantry, supported by a few hussars and a field-piece, are stillendeavouring to cover the retreat.
"De Rohan," exclaims Iskender, while the foam gathers on his lip and hisfeatures work with excitement, "I must have that gun! Forward, andfollow me!"
We placed ourselves at the head of two squadrons of the flower of ourcavalry; veterans are they, well seasoned in all the artifices of war,and "_own children_"--so he delights to call them--to their chief. TheBeloochee has also succeeded in rallying a few stragglers; and once morewe rush to the attack.
The Russian regiment, however, is well commanded, and does its dutyadmirably. The light field-piece opens on us as we advance, and awell-directed volley, delivered when we are within a few paces, checksus at the instant we are upon them. I can hear the Russian officerencouraging his men.
"Well done, my children," says he, with the utmost _sang-froid_--"oncemore like that will be enough."
Several of our saddles are emptied, and Iskender begins to curse.
"Dogs!" he shouts, grinding his teeth, and spurring furiouslyforward--"dogs! I will be amongst you yet. Follow me, soldiers! followme!"
Meantime, the Russian hussars have been reinforced, and are now capableof showing a front. They threaten our flank, and we are forced to turnour attention to this new foe. The infantry hold their ground manfully,and Iskender, wheeling his men, rushes furiously upon the comparativelyfresh regiment of hussars with his tired horses. The Beloochee andmyself are still abreast. Despite of a galling fire poured in by theinfantry upon our flank, the men advance readily to the attack. We arewithin six horses' lengths of the hussars. I am setting my teeth andnerving my muscles for the encounter, which must be fought out hand tohand, when--crash!--Injour bounds into the air, falls upon his head,recovers himself, goes down once more, rolls over me, and liesprostrate, shot through the heart. I disentangle myself from thesaddle, and rise, looking wildly about me. One leg refuses to support myweight, but I do not know that my ankle-bone is broken by a musket-ball,and that I cannot walk three yards to save my life. A loose chargergallops over me and knocks me down once more. I cannot rise again. Theshort look I have just had has shown me our cavalry retiring, probablyto obtain reinforcements. The Russian hussars are between me and them,whilst the desultory firing on my right tells me that the pursuit isstill rolling away far into Wallachia. But all this is dim andindistinct. Again the old feeling comes on that it is not Vere Egerton,but some one else, who is lying there to die. A cold sweat covers myface; a deadly sickness oppresses me; the ground rises and heaves aroundme, and I grasp the tufts of trodden grass in my hands. The sound ofchurch bells is in my ears. Surely it is the old bell at Alton; but itstrikes painfully on my brain. A vision, too, fleets before me, ofConstance, with her soft, dark eyes--the white dress makes me giddy--aflash as of fire seems to blind me, and I know and feel no more.
* * * * *
I was brought to my senses by the
simple process of a Cossack droppinghis lance into the fleshy part of my arm--no pleasant restorative, butin my case a most effectual one. The first sight that greeted my eyeswas his little horse's girths and belly, and his own rough, savagecountenance, looking grimly down upon me as he raised his arm to repeatthe thrust. I muttered the few words of Russian I knew, to beg formercy, and he looked at his comrades, as though to consult them on thepropriety of acceding to so unheard-of a request as that of a woundedman for his life. A few paces off I saw the Beloochee, evidently takenprisoner, disarmed, and his head running with blood, but his wholebearing as dignified and unmoved as usual.
In this awkward predicament I happily bethought me of the Russianprisoner's epistle.
"Quarter, comrade! quarter!" I shouted as loudly as my failing voicewould suffer me. "I have a letter from your officer. Here it is."
"Osmanli?" inquired the Cossack, once more raising his arm to strike. Ishuddered to think how quickly that steel lance-head might be buried inmy body.
"No, Inglis!" I replied, and the man lowered his weapon once more andassisted me to rise.
Fortunately at this juncture an officer rode up, and to him I appealedfor mercy and proper treatment as a prisoner of war. I misdoubtedconsiderably the humanity of my first acquaintance, whose eyes I couldsee wandering over my person, as though he were selecting suchaccoutrements and articles of clothing as he thought would suit his owntaste. The officer, who seemed of high rank, and was accompanied by anescort, fortunately spoke German, and I appealed eloquently to him inthat language. He started at the superscription of the deserter'sletter, and demanded of me sternly how I obtained it. In a few words Itold him the history of the unfortunate spy, and he passed his glovedhand over his face as though to conceal his emotion.
"You are English?" he observed rapidly, and looking uneasily over hisshoulder at the same time. "We do not kill our English prisoners,barbarians as you choose to think us; but to the Turk we give noquarter. Put him on a horse," he added, to my original captor, who keptunpleasantly near: "do not ill-treat him, but bring him safely alongwith you. If he tries to escape, blow his brains out. As for thatrascal," pointing to the Beloochee, "put a lance through him forthwith."
A happy thought struck me. I determined to make an effort for Ali."Excellence," I pleaded, "spare him, he is my servant."
The Russian officer paused. "Is he not a Turk?" he asked, sternly.
"No, I swear he is not," I replied. "He is my servant, and anEnglishman."
If ever a lie was justifiable, it was on the present occasion: I trustthis _white_ one may not be laid to my charge.
"Bring them both on," said the Russian, still glancing anxiously to hisrear. "Lieutenant Dolwitz, look to the party. Keep your men together,and move rapidly. This is the devil's own business, and our people arein full retreat." All this, though spoken in Russian, I was able tounderstand; nor did the hurried manner in which the great man gallopedoff shake my impression that he still dreaded a vision of Iskender Beyand his band of heroes thundering on his track.
I was placed on a little active Cossack pony. The Beloochee's wrist wastied to mine, and he was forced to walk or rather run by my side;whenever he flagged a poke from the butt-end of a lance admonished himto mend his pace, and a Russian curse fell harmlessly on his ear. Stillhe preserved his dignity through it all; and so we journeyed onwardsinto Wallachia, and meditated on the chances of war and the changes thata day may bring forth.