In the Track of the Troops

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  THE FALL OF PLEVNA.

  The events which followed the massacre in the Bulgarian village remainin my mind, and ever must remain as a confused dream, for I was smittenthat night with a fever, during the course of which--part of it atleast--I was either delirious or utterly prostrate.

  And who can tell, save those who have passed through a similarcondition, the agonies which I endured, and the amazing fancies by whichI was assailed at that time! Of course I knew not where I was, and Icared not. My unbridled fancy led me everywhere. Sometimes I was in abed, sometimes on horseback; now in hospital attending wounded people,most of whom I noticed were women or little children; then on abattle-field, cheering the combatants with all my power, or joiningthem, but, when I chanced to join them, it was never for the purpose oftaking, but of saving life. Often I was visited by good spirits, andalso by bad. One of these latter, a little one, made a deep impressionon me. His particular mission seemed to lie in his power to presentbefore me, within a flaming frame, pictures of whatever I wished tobehold. He was wonderfully tractable at first, and showed me whatever Iasked for,--my mother, Bella, Nicholas, and many of my friends,--but bydegrees he insisted on showing what I did not wish to see, and amongthese latter pictures were fearful massacres, and scenes of torture andbloodshed. I have a faint recollection of being carried somewhere in ajolting wagon, of suffering from burning thirst which no one seemed tocare to relieve, of frequent abrupt stoppages, while shouts, shrieks,and imprecations filled my ears; but whether these things were realitiesor fancies, or a mingling of both, I cannot tell, for assuredly the badspirit never once succeeded in showing me any picture half so terribleas those realities of war which I had already beheld.

  One day I felt a peculiar sensation. It seemed to me that myintellectual faculties became more active, while those of my bodyappeared to sink.

  "Come," said I to the demon who had wearied me so much; "come, youtroublesome little devil, and show me my man Lancey. I can see betterthan usual; present him!"

  Immediately Lancey stood by my side. He looked wonderfully real, and Inoticed that the fiery frame was not round him as it used to be. Amoment later, the pretty face of Ivanka also glided into the picture.

  "Hallo!" I exclaimed, "I didn't ask you to send _her_ here. Why don'tyou wait for orders--eh?"

  At this Lancey gently pushed Ivanka away.

  "No, don't do that," I cried hastily; "I didn't mean that; order herback again--do you hear?"

  Lancey appeared to beckon, and she returned. She was weeping quietly.

  "Why do you weep, dear?" I asked in Russian.

  "Oh! you have been _so_ ill," she replied, with an anxious look and asob.

  "So, then," I said, looking at Lancey in surprise, "you are notdelusions!"

  "No, sir, we ain't; but I sometimes fancy that everythink in life isdelusions since we comed to this 'orrible land."

  I looked hard at Ivanka and Lancey again for some moments, then at thebed on which I lay. Then a listless feeling came over me, and my eyeswandered lazily round the chamber, which was decidedly Eastern in itsappearance. Through a window at the farther end I could see a garden.The sun was shining brightly on autumnal foliage, amidst which a talland singular-looking man walked slowly to and fro. He was clad inflowing robes, with a red fez on his head which was counterbalanced by ahuge red beard.

  "At all events _he_ must be a delusion," said I, pointing with a hitchof my nose to the man in question.

  "No, sir, 'e ain't; wery much the rewerse.--But you mustn't speak, sir;the doctor said we was on no account to talk to you."

  "But just tell me who he is," I pleaded earnestly; "I can't rest unlessI know."

  "Well, sir, I s'pose it won't do no 'arm to tell you that 'e's a Pasha--Sanda Pasha by name--a hold and hintimate friend of mine,--the Scotchboy, you know, that I used to tell you about. We are livin' in one of'is willas. 'E's in disgrace, is Sanda Pasha, just now, an' superseded.The day you was took bad, sir, Russians came into the willage, an' w'enI come back I found 'em swarmin' in the 'ouses an' loop-'oling the wallsfor defence, but Sanda Pasha came down on 'em with a harmy of Turks an'drove 'em out. 'E's bin a-lickin' of 'em all up an' down the countryever since, but the other Pashas they got jealous of 'im, speciallysince 'e's not a real Turk born, an' the first rewerse that come to'im--as it will come to every one now an' again, sir--they left 'im in afix instead of sending 'im reinforcements, so 'e was forced to retreat,an' the Sultan recalled 'im. It do seem to me that the TurkishGovernment don't know good men when they've got 'em; an', what's more,don't deserve to 'ave 'em. But long before these things 'appened, w'en'e found that you was my master an' Ivanka our friend, 'e sent us to therear with a strong guard, an' 'ere we are now in one of 'is willas, inwhat part o' the land is more than I can tell--near Gallipopolly, orsomethink like that, I believe."

  "So, then, we are prisoners?" said I.

  "Well, I s'pose we are, sir, or somethink o' the sort, but, bless your'art, sir, it's of no manner of consiquence. We are treated likeprinces and live like fighting-cocks.--But you mustn't talk, sir, youmustn't indeed, for the doctor gave strict orders that we was to keepyou quiet."

  Lancey's communications were of so surprising a nature, so varied and sosuggestive, that my mind was overwhelmed in the mere attempt to recallwhat he had said; in another moment I had forgotten all, and droppedinto a deep, dreamless, refreshing slumber.

  During the period that I was thus fighting, as it were, with death--inwhich fight, through God's blessing, I finally gained the victory--thefight between the Russians and the Turks had progressed apace; victoryleaning now to the former, now to the latter. Many bloody engagementshad taken place on the plains of Bulgaria and among the Balkanmountains, while Osman Pasha had carried on for some time thatcelebrated defence of Plevna which afterwards carried him to the frontrank of the Turkish generals, and raised him, in the world's estimation,above them all. Everywhere breech-loading weapons, torpedoes,telegraphs, monster cannon, and novel appliances of modern warfare, hadproved that where hundreds fell in the days of our fathers, thousandsfall in our own--that the bloody game is immensely more expensive anddeadly than it used to be, and that if war was folly before, it is sheermadness now.

  The first great attack had been made on the redoubts in front of Plevna,and in assaulting one of these poor Dobri Petroff distinguished himselfso highly for desperate, reckless courage, that he drew the specialattention of General Skobeleff, who sent for him, probably to offer himsome appointment, but whatever it might be the scout declined promotionor reward. His object was to seek what he styled honourable death inthe front of battle. Strange to say, he led a sort of charmed life, andthe more he sought death the more it appeared to avoid him. Somewhatlike Skobeleff himself, he stood unhurt, many a time, when balls werewhistling round him like hail, and comrades were mown down in ranks andheaps around him.

  In all armies there are men who act with heroic valour and desperatedaring. Some are urged thereto by calm contempt of danger, coupled witha strong sense of duty. It was something like this, probably, thatinduced Skobeleff to expose himself so recklessly on almost alloccasions. It was simply despair, coupled with natural lion-likecourage, that influenced the wretched scout.

  Nicholas Naranovitsch had also acquired a name among his fellows forthat grand sweeping fervour in attack which we are wont to associatewith the heroes and demigods of ancient story. But Nicholas's motivewas a compound of great physical strength, hot-blooded youth, and aburning desire to win distinction in the path of duty.

  One consequence of the scout's return to headquarters was that hefrequently met Nicholas, and felt an intense drawing towards him asbeing one who had shown him sympathy and kindness in that home which wasnow gone for ever. Deep was the feeling of pity which Nicholas feltwhen the scout told him, in a few sternly-uttered sentences, what hadoccurred at Venilik; and when Dobri expressed a desire to attach himselfto Nicholas as his servant, the latter
was only too glad to agree. Eachknew the other well by report, and felt that the connection would bemutually agreeable.

  At last one of the greatest events of the war approached. Plevna hadbeen so closely hemmed in by Russian troops, and cut off from supplies,that the garrison was reduced to starvation. In this extremity, as iswell known, Osman Pasha resolved on the desperate attempt to cut his wayout of the beleaguered position.

  Snow had fallen heavily, and the ground was white with it--so were thehuts of the Russian soldiers, who, welcoming the snowfall as a familiarreminiscence of home, went about cooking their food and singingjoyously. The houses of Plevna, with blue lines of smoke curling abovethem, were faintly visible through the driving snow. Now and then thesullen boom of a great gun told of the fell work that the forces hadassembled there to execute.

  "We are ordered to the front to-night, Dobri," said Nicholas, as heentered his tent hurriedly, unbuckled his sword, and sat down to a hastymeal. "Our spies have brought information that Osman means to play hislast card. Our field telegraphs have spread the news. We even know theparticular point where the attempt to cut through our lines is to bemade. The troops are concentrating. I have obtained leave to join theadvance columns. Just see that my revolvers are in order, and look toyour own. Come after that and feed. Without food a man can donothing."

  The scout made no reply. Ever since the terrible calamity that hadbefallen him he had been a taciturn semi-maniac, but there was a glitterin his black eye that told of latent fires and deadly purpose within.

  During the night another spy came in, reporting that Osman wasconcentrating his men near the bridge over the Vid, and that he hadissued three days' rations to the troops, with a hundred and fiftycartridges and a new pair of sandals to each man. About the same timethere came a telegram to the effect that lights were moving about withunwonted activity in Plevna, and something unusual was evidently afoot.Thus the report of the first spy was partly corroborated.

  Meanwhile Nicholas and Dobri Petroff, mounting in the dark hours ofmorning, rode through the snowstorm--which was gradually abating--in thedirection of the bridge over the Vid, while Skobeleff himself proceededtowards the Krishina redoubts, which, it was reported, were beingabandoned. The report was true; he took possession of these redoubtsunopposed, and instantly put them in a state of defence.

  Meanwhile Osman, with his brave but worn-out band, made his last sortiefrom Plevna.

  The grey light of a dull wintry morning broke and revealed masses, likedarker clouds of the threatening storm, driving across the plain. Thesewere the Ottoman troops--some say 20,000 men--rushing like baited tigerstowards the trenches. Suddenly there came the thunderous roar of ahundred heavy guns, followed by the crash and incessant rattle of therifles. The deciding battle had begun. The mists of early morningmingled with the smoke of fire-arms, so that the movements of men werenot visible in many places. In others a few fighting companies werejust visible, showing indistinctly through the haze for a minute or two,while sheets of flame played in front of their rifles like tricklinglines of electric light. Elsewhere, from the cliffs above the Vid,globes of fire were seen to rend the mists, as cannon played their partin the deadly game, while the fearful cries of maddened and wounded menmingled with the crashing of artillery. Here and there numerousbullock-wagons were seen rolling slowly along, and horses and cattlewere galloping wildly about the plain. It was a scene that might havemade the flesh of the most callous people creep with pitying horror.

  Advancing as far as possible under cover of their bullock-wagons, theTurks began to play their part with vigour, but the Russians opened onthem from one of their batteries with shell and shrapnel, whilst the menin the trenches sent a rain of bullets from their Berdan breech-loaders.The terrified oxen, tearing about madly, or falling, soon rendered thewagon-cover useless. Then the Turks forsook it, and, with a wild shout,charged the first line of trenches. These were held by a Siberianregiment. The Turks swept over them like a tornado, poured into thebattery, where the artillerymen, who stood to their guns like heroes,were bayoneted almost to a man. Thus the first investing circle wasbroken, but here Ottoman courage was met by irresistible force, andvalour quite equal to its own, and here the tide of battle turned.

  Nicholas Naranovitsch, despatched by General Strukoff, galloped towardsthe scene of action.

  "Come, Dobri!" he cried, with blazing eyes that told of excitementalmost too strong to be mastered, "there is work for you and me now."

  Petroff, mounted and ready, awaiting the orders of his master, sprangout at the summons from a troop of the first brigade of grenadiers, whowere at she moment preparing to advance. They dashed forward. An orderhad been intrusted to Nicholas, but he never delivered it. He was metby advancing hosts of the enemy. He turned aside, intending to executehis mission, if possible, by a detour. In this effort he was caught up,as it were, and carried on by the Russian grenadiers, who flungthemselves on the Turks with irresistible fury. In another moment hishorse fell under him. Dobri instantly dismounted, but the horse whichhe meant to offer to his master also fell, and the two were carriedonward. The opposing forces met. A hand-to-hand fight ensued--man toman, bayonet to bayonet. The Turks clung to the guns in the capturedbattery with obstinate bravery. Nicholas and Dobri having both brokentheir sabres at the first onset, seized the rifles of fallen men andlaid about them with a degree of overpowering energy, which, conservedand expended rightly for the good of man, might have made each a notedbenefactor of the human race, but which, in this instance, resulted onlyin the crushing in of a few dozen Turkish skulls!

  Gradually the stabbing and smashing of "God's image," on the part of theRussians, began to tell. The Turks gave way, and finally took toflight.

  But shortly before this occurred there was a desperate effort made by ahandful of Turks to retrieve the fortunes of the day. It was personallyled by Sanda Pasha, who, reinstated by the vacillating and contemptiblepowers at Constantinople, had been sent--too late--to the relief ofPlevna.

  At the first rush the Pasha fell. He was only wounded, but hisfollowers thought he was killed, and, stung with rage and despair,fought like fiends to avenge him. At that moment the Russian generalrode up to a neighbouring eminence and had his attention drawn to thispoint in the battle.

  He ordered up reinforcements. Nicholas and his man now seemed on thepoint of having their wishes gratified. Poor Petroff's desire to meetan honourable death had every chance of being realised, while the thirstfor military distinction in Nicholas had at last a brilliant opportunityof being quenched.

  As the fight in this part of that bloody field progressed, itconcentrated into a knot around the two heroes. Just then a fresh bodyof Turkish infantry charged, led by the Nubian, Hamed Pasha, whose horsehad been killed under him. Dobri Petroff and Hamed rushed at oneanother instantly; each seemed at once to recognise the other as aworthy foeman. The great hacked sword whistled for a few minutes roundthe scout's head so fast that it required his utmost agility to parrycut and thrust with his rifle, but a favourable chance soon offered, andhe swung the stock of his piece at his adversary's head with such forceas to break the sword short off at the hilt. The Nubian sprang at Dobrilike a tiger. They grappled, and these men of herculean mould were sowell matched that for a few seconds they stood quivering with mighty butfruitless efforts to bear each other down. It was at this moment thatthe Russian reinforcements came up, fired a volley, and charged. Dobriand Hamed dropped side by side, pierced with bullets. Nicholas alsofell. The raging hosts passed over them, and the Turks were driven overthe plain like autumn leaves before the gale.

  Immediately after, a battery of horse artillery swept across thehotly-contested ground, the wheels of the heavy ordnance and the hoofsof the half-mad horses crashing over the heads said limbs of all whochanced to lie in their way.

  Oh! it is _bitter_ to reflect on the grand courage that is mis-displayedin the accursed service of war! Beaten, overwhelmed, crushed, all butannihilated, t
he poor peasant-soldiers of Turkey, who probably knewnothing whatever about the cause for which they fought, took shelter atlast behind the broken wagons under which they had advanced, and thenturned at bay. Others made for the deep banks of the Vid, where theyre-formed, and instantly began to return the Russian fire.

  The sortie was now virtually repulsed. It was about half-past eight.The Turks, evidently apprehensive that the enemy would charge and drivethem back into the gorge which led to Plevna, remained on the defensive.The Russians, obviously afraid lest the enemy should attempt anothersortie, also remained on the defensive. For four hours they continuedin this condition, "during which period the battle raged," it was said,"with the utmost fury," but it is also admitted that very little damagewas done to either side, "for both armies were under cover!" In otherwords, the belligerents remained for four hours in the condition of acouple of angry costermongers, hooting and howling at each other withoutcoming to blows, while shot and shell and powder and lead were beingexpended for nothing, at a rate which added thousands sterling to theburdens of the peace-loving members of both countries!

  "About twelve o'clock," according to an eye-witness, "the firing beganto diminish on both sides, as if by mutual agreement."

  I have a very thorough appreciation of this idea of "mutual agreement."It is well known among schoolboys. When two of these specimens of therising generation have been smashing each other's faces, blackening eachother's eyes, and bleeding each other's noses for three-quarters of anhour, without having decided a victory, they both feel a strong desireto stop, are ready to "give in," and, on the smallest encouragement from"seconds," will shake hands. Indeed, this well-known and somewhatcontemptible state of mind is familiar to a larger growth of boys--happily not in England--called duellists. We deliberately call thestate of mind "contemptible," because, if a matter is worth fighting for(physically), it ought to be fought for to the "bitter end." If it isnot worth fighting for, there should be no fighting at all!

  However, as I have said, the fire began to slacken about mid-day, andthen gradually ceased. The silence that succeeded was deeplyimpressive--also suggestive. Half-an-hour later a white flag was seenwaving from the road that ran round the cliffs beyond the bridge.

  Plevna had fallen. Osman Pasha and his army had surrendered. In otherwords--the fate of the Turkish Empire was sealed!