Boy Scouts In Russia

  CHAPTER III

  A STRANGE MEETING

  As he walked west Fred noticed, even in the night, a change in thecountry. It was not that he passed once in a while a solitary soldierguarding a culvert, as he neared a railway, or a patrol, with itstwinkling fire, watching this spot or that that needed special guarding.That was part of war, the part of war that he had been able to foresee.It wasn't anything due to the war that made an impression on his mind somuch as a sort of thickening of the country. Though he had traveled soshort a distance from the Russian border, there seemed to be more peopleabout.

  Great houses, rising on high ground, with small, contented lookingvillages nestling, as it were, under their protection, were frequent. Hewas, as a matter of fact, in a country of great aristocraticlandholders, the great nobles of Prussia, the men who are the realrulers of the country, under the Prussian King, who is also the GermanKaiser. And in many of these great houses lights were burning, evenafter midnight, when all signs of life in the villages had ceased. Thecountry was stirring, and there was more of it to stir. Now from time totime he heard the throbbing hum of an automobile motor. Only one or twoof these passed him, going in either direction, on the road along whichhe was traveling. But there were parallel roads, and he could hear thethrobbing motors on these, and often see the pointing shafts of lightfrom their lights, searching out the road before them as they spedalong.

  Fred knew enough of Germany to understand something of what he saw andheard. It was from these great houses that a great many officers werecontributed to the army. These young men had no real career before themfrom their birth, almost, except in the army. So it was easy to guesswhy the lights were burning in those mansions, and why there was anxietyamong them, and why the throbbing motor cars were humming over theroads.

  If Germany were beaten back in the beginning, if the task she hadundertaken proved too heavy, this was the province that was sure to feelthe first brunt of invasion. Behind him, to the east, Fred knew were thegreat masses of Russia, moving slowly, but with a terrible, alwaysincreasing force. No wonder these people were stirring, were sending outall their men to drive back the huge power that lay so near them, aconstant menace!

  But now, though he did not know it, Fred was approaching real danger forthe first time. Many of the motors he saw and heard were going west.Though he could not guess it, they were carrying women and children awayfrom the old houses that were too much exposed, too directly in the pathof a possible invasion for the helpless ones to be left in them when themen had gone to fight. All Germany had to be defended. It happened to bethe part of East Prussia to bear invasion, if it came to that.

  And so the people of the great houses were making their migration. Themen went to their regiments; the women to Berlin, and to the greatfortresses that lay nearer than Berlin--Koenigsberg, Danzig, Thorn. Thiswas historic country that Fred was traversing, the same country that hadtrembled beneath the thundering march of Napoleon's grand army more thana hundred years before, when the great Emperor had launched the madadventure against Russia that had sealed his fate.

  But he didn't think of these things, except of Napoleon, as he trudgedalong. Once more he traveled through the night. Once more, as the firstsigns of morning came, he began to feel tired, and, despite the food hehad carried with him which he had stopped to eat about midnight, he washungry. And, as had been the case on the night of his tramp fromVirballen, the first rays of the rising sun showed him a village. It wasin a hollow, and above it the ground rose sharply to a large house,evidently very old, built of a grey stone that had been weathered by thewinds and rains of centuries. It was a very old house, and strangelyout of tune, it seemed to Fred, with the country though not with thetimes. It was so old that it showed some traces of fortification, andFred knew how long it was since private houses had been built with anyview to defence. It was a survivor of the days when this whole regionhad been an outpost of civilization against hordes of barbarianinvaders.

  One curious thing he noticed at once about the great house. No flag wasflying from it, though it boasted a sort of turret from which a flagmight well have been flung out to the wind. All the other big houses hehad seen had had flags out and the absence of a standard here seemedsignificant, somehow.

  When he entered the village he found that there was no inn. He saw theusual notice of mobilization and the proclamation of war, but the peoplewere not stirring yet. He had to wait for some time before he found ahouse where people were up. They looked at him curiously, but grudginglyconsented to give him breakfast. There was an old man, and another whowas younger, but crippled. And this cripple was the one who seemed mostpuzzled by Fred's appearance in the place. He surveyed him closely andtwice Fred caught him whispering, evidently about him.

  Then the cripple slipped away and came back, just as Fred was finishinghis meal, with a pompous looking, superannuated policeman, recalled toduty since the younger men had all gone to war. This man asked manyquestions which Fred answered.

  "You are American?" asked the policeman, finally. "You are sure you arenot English?"

  All at once the truth came over Fred. They thought he was English! ThenEngland must have entered the war! They would think that he was anenemy, perhaps a spy! Yet, though he knew now the cause of thesuspicious looks, the mutterings, he couldn't utter a word in hisdefence. He hadn't been formally accused of anything.

  "Yes, I'm an American," he said, quietly. "I'm not English. I've noEnglish blood in me."

  He had intended to try to get a place to sleep in the village, but nowhe decided that it would be better to get away as soon as he could. Ifthere had been soldiers about, or any really responsible policeofficials, he would not have been at all disturbed. But these peoplewere nervous and ignorant; the best men of the place had gone, the onesmost likely to have a good understanding. So he paid his littlereckoning, and started to walk on.

  They followed him as he started. As soon as he was in the open roadagain, a new idea came to him. Why not try the great house on the hill?There certainly someone would know the difference between an Americanand an Englishman. He was very tired. He knew that, even if he went on,he would have to stop at some village sooner or later. And if he wassuspected here, he would be at the next place.

  And so, trying to ignore the little crowd that was following him, heturned off and began climbing toward the mansion above the village.

  It was like a signal. From behind him there rose a dull murmur. A ladnot much older than himself raced up and stood threateningly in hispath.

  "If you are an American and honest, why are you going there?" asked thisboy, a peasant, and rather stupid in his appearance.

  "None of your business!" said Fred, aroused. He didn't think that theadvice of his friend Lieutenant Ernst to answer questions covered this.

  "You can't go there. There are spies enough there already!" cried theother.

  And then without any warning, he lunged forward and tried to grapplewith Fred.

  That aroused all the primitive fight in Fred. He met the attack joyouslyfor wrestling was something he understood very well. And in a moment hehad pinned the peasant boy, strong as he was, to the earth.

  But he had got rid of one opponent only to have a dozen others springup. There was a throng about him as he shook himself free, a throngthat closed in, shouting, cursing. For a moment things looked serious.Fred now understood these people thought he was a spy. And he couldguess that it would go hard with him if he didn't get away. He forgoteverything but that, and he fought hard and well to make good hisescape. But they were too many for him. Try as he would, he couldn't getclear, although he put up a fight that must have been a tremendoussurprise to his assailants. In the end, though, they got him down, withcries of triumph.

  And then there came a sudden diversion from outside the mob. Down theroad from the great house, shrieking a warning, came a flying motor car.Its siren sounded quick, angry blasts, and the mob, terrified, broke andscattered to get out of the way of the car. Fred, stupefied,
didn't run.He had to jump quickly to one side to get out of the car's path. Then hesaw that it was slowing down, and that it was driven by a boy of his ownage. This boy leaned toward him.

  "I'm going to turn and go back. Jump aboard as I come by--I won't begoing very fast!" he cried.

  Fred didn't stop to argue or to wonder why this stranger had come to hisaid in such a sensational and timely fashion. Instead, he gatheredhimself together and, as the car swung about and passed him, leaped in.As he grasped the seat, the driver shot the car forward and it wentroaring up the hill, pursued by a chorus of angry cries from the crowd,utterly balked of its prey.

  "That was a close call for you!" said the driver, in German.

  But something in his tone made Fred look at him sharply. And then partof the mystery was solved. For the driver was not a German at all, butplainly and unmistakably a Russian.

  "Yes--but how--why--?"

  "Wait! Don't talk now!" said the driver. "Wait till we're inside. We'llbe all right there, and I've got a few questions I'd like to ask, too."

  There was no more danger from the mob of villagers, however. The speedof the car, even on the steep grade, was too great to give pursuers onfoot a chance, and so its driver was able, in a few moments, to drive itthrough great open gates into a huge courtyard.

  "Now who are you?" he asked. "And why were those people attacking you?"

  "They thought I was English," said Fred. "I suppose England must havedeclared war on Germany, too."

  "She has. Aren't you English, then?"

  "No, I'm American. My name's Fred Waring. You're a Russian, aren't you?"

  "Yes. My name's Boris Suvaroff. This is a summer place my father ownshere. He's away. I'm glad of that, because the Germans would have takenhim prisoner if he'd been here."

  For just a moment neither seemed to catch the other's name. Then theRussian boy spoke.

  "Fred Waring--an American?" he said. "I--is it possible? I've got acousin called Waring in America! My father's first cousin married anAmerican of that name years and years ago."

  "She was a Suvaroff--my mother," said Fred, but he spoke stiffly. "Herfamily here disowned her--"

  "Some of them--only some of them," said Boris. "Are you really mycousin? My father wrote to your mother long ago--but he got no answer!He has often told me of her. He was very fond of her! Are you really mycousin?"

  "I guess I am!" said Fred. "I'm glad to know that some of you will ownme! My uncle Mikail had me arrested when I went to see him inPetersburg!"

  And then while they learned about one another, the two of them forgotthe war and the danger in which they stood.