In the Track of the Troops

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  THE BLACK CLOUDS GATHER.

  While I was enjoying myself thus, among the towns and villages on thebanks of the Danube, admiring the scenery, cultivating the acquaintanceof the industrious rural population of the great river, and making anoccasional trip into the interior, the dogs of war were let loose, andthe curtain rose on the darkest tragedy of the nineteenth century.

  The comic and the tragic are inextricably mingled in this world. Ibelieve that this is no accident, but, like everything else, a specialarrangement. "All fun makes man a fool," but "all sorrow" makes him adesperado. The feeling of anxiety aroused by the war news was, I maysay, mitigated by the manner of its announcement.

  "Sir," cried Lancey, bursting into the cabin one afternoon while I waspreparing for a trip ashore, "the Roossians 'as declared war, an' thewhole country is gettin' hup in harms!"

  Of course I had been well aware for some time past that there was aprospect, nay, a probability, of war; but I had not allowed myself tobelieve it, because I have a strong natural tendency to give civilisedmen credit for more sense than they appear to possess. That Russiawould really draw the sword, and sacrifice millions of treasure, andthousands of her best young lives, to accomplish an object that could bemore easily and surely attained by diplomacy, with the expenditure oflittle money and no bloodshed, seemed to me incredible. That the otherEuropean nations should allow this state of things to come to pass,seemed so ridiculous that I had all along shut my eyes to facts, andproceeded on my voyage in the confidence of a peaceful solution of the"Eastern question."

  "In days of old," I said to my skipper, in our last conversation on thissubject, which we were fond of discussing, "the nations were lesseducated than now, and less imbued perhaps with the principles of thepeace-teaching gospel, which many of them profess to believe; but nowthe Christian world is almost out of its teens; intercommunication ofideas and interests is almost miraculously facile. Thought is well-nighinstantaneously flashed from hemisphere to hemisphere, if not from poleto pole; commerce is so highly cultivated that international exhibitionsof the raw material and the fabrics of all nations are the order of theday; while good-will between man and man--to say nothing of woman--is soprevalent, that I really find it hard to believe in the possibility of agreat European war."

  "Nevertheless," replied Mr Whitlaw, in a tone of cynicism, to which attimes he gave pretty free indulgence, "the Crimean war occurred in thenineteenth century, and the American civil war, and the young widows ofthe Franco-Prussian war are not yet grey-haired, while their childrenhave scarcely reached their teens. Truly, civilisation and the progressof knowledge, which men boast of so much, seem to be of little value."

  I pointed out to Mr Whitlaw that he was wrong in supposing thatcivilisation is of little value. "If you compare the condition of theUnited States or England," I said, "with that of the Red Indians of yourown land, or with the semi-barbarous states of Asia, you must allow thatcivilisation has done much. It seems to me that the fault of mankindlies in expecting too much of that condition. Civilisation teaches manhow to make the world most comfortable to himself and to his fellows;but there is a higher attainment than that, and it is only Christianitywhich can teach man how to sacrifice himself for others, and, in sodoing, to attain the same ends as those arrived at by civilisation, withmore important and lasting ends in addition."

  "Well, then, on that principle," objected the skipper, "you ought toexpect war just now, for there is very little Christianity going that Ican see, though plenty of civilisation."

  "On these points we differ, Mr Whitlaw," said I, "for there seems to mevery little civilisation at present, considering the age of the world;and, on the other hand, there is much genuine Christianity,--more, Ibelieve, than meets the careless or the jaundiced eye. However, nowthat war _has_ been declared, it becomes necessary that we should getout of the Danube as fast as possible."

  Accordingly, the yacht's head was turned eastward, and we descendedrapidly with the stream. My intention was good, but the result wasdisastrous; not an unwonted state of things, the best intentions inhuman affairs being frequently doomed to miscarry.

  I must ask the reader now to turn aside with me from my own personaladventures, to events which had occurred near the banks of the Pruth,--the river that divides Russia from Turkey.

  Here, on Tuesday, the 24th of April 1877, a scene of the utmostanimation and excitement prevailed. The Emperor of "all the Russias"was about to review his troops previous to the declaration of war onTurkey. Up to that time, of course, war had been expected--as regardsthe army, eagerly desired; but no declaration had absolutely been made.

  Ungheni, where the railway crosses the Pruth, and not far fromKischeneff, the capital of Bessarabia, was fixed on as the spot wherethe grand review should take place.

  Great were the preparations for the reception of his Majesty, forwhether "majesty" be right or wrong, majesty must be honoured andcheered. Majesty, male or female, represents _power_, and power _must_be treated with respect, nay, ought to be so treated--when it behavesitself!

  There is something overwhelmingly grand in multitude. Humanity cannotresist the influence. It is quite clear that the human race were meantto be gregarious. What were the orator without his multitude? I mightgo further, and ask, What were the multitude without its orator? Flagsand banners waved, and ribbons rippled that day in Bessarabia, for theserried legions of Russia marched in almost unending columns towardsUngheni, on the Roumanian frontier, and, after they had passed, theEmperor himself made for the same point with the Grand Duke Nicholas,and the Czarewitch, and General Ignatieff, and the Minister of War, andmany other dignitaries of the empire, with a numerous and gorgeousstaff.

  The day was magnificent. The people who streamed out to see the reviewwere enthusiastic. Perhaps, if they had been Bulgarian peasantry, andhad been able to foresee the future, their enthusiasm would not havebeen so great. Yet I do not say that their enthusiasm was misplaced.They saw a nation's chivalry assembled to fight and die, if need be, inthe nation's cause, with its Emperor to patronise, and its nobles tolead the legions on, in all of which there was ground for realenthusiasm.

  Among the regiments that marched that day to Ungheni was one to which Iwould draw special attention. It was not much better, perhaps, than theothers, but it was a good typical Russian regiment, and had a commanderat its head who looked as if he could do it justice. They marched at asmart pace, four miles an hour, with a long, dogged, steady tramp thatwas clumsy to look at, but seemed likely to last. Few of the men weretall, but they were burly, square-set fellows, broad of shoulder, deepof chest, and smart of limb. They wore a French-like blue cap, with ared band round it, and a blue tunic, with loose blue trousers stuffedinto boots that reached the knee. Their knapsacks were hairy, and theirbelts black, the latter suggesting deliverance from that absurdity ofold, pipeclay. Their great-coats, heavy and brown, were worn in a rollover the left shoulder, and each man carried his own kettle, the latterbeing suggestive of tea and tuck-in, followed by tobacco and turn-in.

  Among these warriors, in his proper position, marched a noteworthy younglieutenant. He was my old college chum and brother-in-law to be,Nicholas Naranovitsch, head and shoulders over his fellows, straight asa poplar, proud as a peacock, and modest as an untried man ought to be.

  The spot for the review was well chosen, on a gentle undulatinghillside, which enabled the spectators to see the whole army at once.The weather was bright and sunny, as I have said, and the glitter ofuniforms and thousands of bayonets with the broad blaze reflected from along line of polished field-pieces, sent a thrill through many a heart,suggesting "glory." There were a few hearts also, no doubt, to whomthey suggested the natural end for which these glorious things werecalled together--blood and murder, national ruination, brokenconstitutions, desolated homes, and sudden death.

  Holiday reviews are common enough all over the world, but this was noholiday review. Every one knew that it was the
prelude to war, andthere was an appropriate gravity and silence in the conduct ofspectators. It was deeply impressive, too, to watch the long lines andmasses of troops,--each unit full of youth, strength, energy,enthusiasm, hope,--standing perfectly silent, absolutely motionless,like statues, for full an hour and a half. Their deep silence andimmobility seemed to produce a sympathetic condition in the spectators.There was no laughing, jesting, or "chaff" among them.

  Even when the Emperor arrived there was no cheering. A greater than theEmperor had overawed them. They merely swayed open and took off hatsdeferentially as he passed. It was not till he began to ride round thelines with his brilliant staff that the silence was broken by music andcheers.

  Of the review itself I will not speak. That, and the three-quarters ofan hour mass which followed, being over, a murmur of expectation ranthrough the crowd and along the ranks like a solemn growl. Then therewas a deep, intense silence, which was faintly broken by the Bishop ofKischeneff reading the manifesto. He had not read far, when sobs wereheard. It was the voice of the Emperor Alexander, who prided himself onthe fact that the glory of his reign had hitherto been its peacefulcharacter. They say that it had been his boast and hope that he shouldfinish it without a war. Previously he had said to the troops: "I havedone everything in my power to avoid war and bloodshed. Nobody can saywe have not been patient, or that the war has been of our seeking. Wehave practised patience to the last degree, but there comes a time wheneven patience must end. When that time comes, I know that the youngRussian army of to-day will not show itself unworthy of the fame whichthe old army won in days gone by."

  What the "young army" thought of the fame of its elder brother, as wellas of the sobs of its present Emperor, may be gathered from the factthat it went all but mad with enthusiasm! When the Bishop finishedreading, there went up a wild and universal shout of joy of exultation,of triumph, of relief, as though a great weight of suspense had beenlifted from the hearts of the multitude. It spread through the armylike light, and was raised again and again, until the very vault ofheaven seemed to thunder, while the soldiers tossed their caps in theair, or twirled them on their bayonets for several minutes.

  Then the _ordre du jour_ of the Grand Duke Nicholas, commander-in-chiefof the army, was read to every battalion, squadron, and battery, and theday's work was done. The right was legally and constitutionally grantedto some hundreds of thousands of young men to go forth and slaughter,burn, and destroy, to their hearts' content--in other words, to "gatherlaurels."

  It was a sad day's work--sad for Turkey, sad for Russia, sad for Europe,and especially sad for the women, children, and old people of thetheatre of the future war. It was a good day's work for nobody and fornothing; but it was the legitimate outcome of work that had been goingon for years before.

  In pondering over the matter since, I have often been led to ask myselfwith considerable surprise, Why did this war occur--who wanted it? Itis quite plain that Europe did not, equally plain that Turkey did not,still more plain that the Emperor Alexander did not, for he wept at theprospect of it "like a child." Who, then, _did_ desire and cause it?There are some things in this remarkable world that no man canunderstand. At all events I cannot. When I put the same question, longafterwards, to my dear and ever-sagacious mother, she replied, "Do younot think, Jeff; that perhaps the men in power, somewhere, wanted it andcaused it? There are some countries, you know, where the _people_ aremere chessmen, who have nothing whatever to do or say in the managementof their own affairs, and are knocked about, wisely or foolishly as thecase may be, by the _men in power_. England herself was in that sadcase once, if we are to believe our school histories, and some of theEuropean nations seem to be only now struggling slowly out of thatcondition, while others are still in bondage."

  I think my mother was right. After much consideration, I have come tothe conclusion that war is usually, though not always, caused by a fewambitious men in power at the head of enslaved or semi-enslaved nations.Not always, I repeat, because free nations, being surrounded by savage,barbarous, and semi-free, are sometimes wheedled, dragged, or forcedinto war in spite of themselves.

  After the review some of the regiments started directly for thefrontier.

  Nicholas Naranovitsch was summoned to the presence of his colonel.Nicholas was very young and inexperienced; nevertheless, during thebrief period in which he had served, he had shown himself possessed ofso much ability and wisdom that he was already selected to go on asecret mission. What that mission was he never told me. One result ofit, however, was, that he and I had a most unexpected meeting on theDanube in very peculiar circumstances.