One of the Six Hundred: A Novel
I vaulted into the saddle, leaving the adjustment of the stirrups to a
more leisure time, as Trebitski, in Cossack fashion, rode with his knees
up to his elbows; and just as that redoubtable personage was reviving
after his rough tap on the head, I dashed into the forest, and soon left
the scene of suffering far behind me.
In several places the wood was on fire, and, being dry with the heat of
the past summer, the branches and crisp leaves, particularly those of
the turpentine trees, burned briskly. Thus I could see the wavering
flames reddening the clouds above, while riding on, and ignorant of the
route I was pursuing, through this dense old forest, the jungle and
underwood at times completely retarding all progress.
I paused only to lengthen the stirrups, and give my newly-acquired
steed--in which I began to feel all the interest of proprietorship--a
draught at a runnel, and then sought the recesses of the densest thicket
I could find to wait for day, that I might look warily about, and
consider what to do next, for, if taken with the horse of the
Parooschick Adrian Trebitski in my possession, the chances of being
shot, or sent to life-long slavery, were great. Anyway, I feared there
would be a vacant troop in Her Majesty's lancers--a troop, perhaps,
given to Berkeley; and I feared that few Russian officers like the gay
young Anitchoff or kind old Vladimir Dahl might come in my way again.
My more immediate fear was for the wolves, which there roam in packs,
and were, no doubt, by this time howling and snarling among the victims
on the railroad. If any of them scented me, I should have to take
refuge in a pine, where I might be starved to death, after they had
devoured my horse.
Every sound startled me; but I heard only the occasional gobble of the
wild bustards, which usually go in great flocks through all the wild
places of the Crimea.
I unbitted the Arab, and let him graze, but hobbled him so that he could
not escape; and as day began to steal redly through the distant dingles
of the wood, the light slowly descending from the summits to the lower
stems of the lofty pines, I found some wild grapes whereon to breakfast,
and quench the fierce thirst which recent excitement had induced.
When the light sufficed I drew forth the map given me by poor Captain
Baudeuf, and began to study my whereabouts. Through the openings of the
trees I could see, about a mile distant, the current of a broad and
evidently deep river shining in the morning sun.
The railway had not, to my knowledge, crossed such a stream; it flowed
from the west towards the east; hence, from its magnitude, it could only
be the Salghir, which, after being joined by the Karasu, flows into the
Putrid Sea.
This stream has usually little water in its bed, save after the melting
of the winter snows; but recent rains among the mountains of Ac-Metchet
had swollen it beyond its usual size. And now I beheld what must have
been a bend or sweep of it flowing between me and the tract of country
where our armies lay--the tract that stretched away towards Sevastopol,
which I supposed to be at least a hundred miles distant; and that idea
afterwards proved to be correct.
For a time my spirit quailed at the prospect before me. I was nearly in
the middle of the savage and hostile Crimea, ignorant of the many
languages spoken there, ignorant of the roads, and with no money to
bribe or arms to intimidate.
No house or town was visible, or a sign of any living thing, save the
goldfinches that twittered in the trees, and the heron and wild duck
that waded or squattered among the green weeds and long trailers on the
bank of the rushing stream. The latter was nearly eighty yards broad. I
knew that it must be crossed, as the south side was the safest.
Crossed! but how?
While considering this, the sound of a Cossack trumpet among the
woodlands in my rear gave me a nervous start, and made me resolve on
instant action. I put my treasured map carefully away, mounted, and
urged my horse at once to the bank of the river.
I took my feet out of the stirrups, which I then crossed above the
saddle--a precaution no dragoon or other horseman should ever forget
when about to cross a river mounted; for if the horse should sink his
hind-legs to seek for footing, or, worse still, should he "turn a
turtle," while the rider's feet are in the stirrups, the most fatal
results may ensue, and he will be helplessly drowned.
I was without spurs, yet I rushed him at the stream, for there are times
when rider and horse feel as one. He took the water well, and struck
out bravely, for I leant well forward, so that my body rested on his
crest. I had no occasion to touch the rein or use the bit; but steered
him by a switch torn from a tree.
With his neck stretched out like that of a dog, he swam coolly and
steadily across, with the ripples of the water under my armpits. When
he grounded, and scrambled up the other side, I dismounted, and led him
by the bridle into a thicket beyond.
This was scarcely achieved, when some tall lances glittered on the other
side of the stream, where a party of twelve Cossacks were scouting; and
had my horse neighed they must have discovered me. However, they all
disappeared in the wood; after which I breathed more freely, and
proceeded to rub down my Arab with tufts of dry grass, and to wring out
my wetted garments.
All that day I travelled through the woods, and at times along the
highways, avoiding even the Tartar herdsmen and field-labourers,
steering in the direction of Sebastopol, guided by my tiny map and the
sun; and towards nightfall I was lucky enough to meet with some French
troops, though at first I narrowly escaped being shot by their advanced
guard--a favour procured me by my Tambrov uniform. Luckily I could
muster sufficient French to make myself known as an officer of her
Britannic Majesty's service, and was conducted to the commander.
These troops proved to be the 77th Regiment of the Infanterie de la
Ligne, under Colonel Jean Louis Giomar, Commander of the Legion of
Honour, on their march towards Sebastopol.
I was in safety now, and was treated by him and his officers with every
attention and kindness, and, in truth, after all I had undergone during
the last twenty-four hours, I required both.
The 77th had landed but a few days before from _La Reine Blanche_[*] a
French ship of the line, in which the Emperor had revived the old
Parisian name for Mary Queen of Scots.
[*] Now an armour-clad, of six-inch iron plate.
*CHAPTER XLVII.*
In this manner we all sat ruminating upon schemes of vengeance, when our
little boy came running in to tell us that Mr. Burchell was approaching
at the other end of the field. It is easier to conceive than describe
the complicated sensations which we felt from the pain of a recent
injury and the pleasure of approaching vengeance.--VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
It was fully three weeks after the affair of the Belbeck river, when I
found myself sharing Jack Studhome's quarters in Balaclava, after duly
reporting myself to Colonel Beverley, and making special inquiries for
Berkeley, who had already procured a few days' sick leave, prior to
returning to Britain on "urgent private affairs," and was not with his
regiment, but was very snug on board his own yacht, which for his
convenience had come all the way from Cowes to Balaclava harbour.
"Leave--leave already--when we have barely broken ground before
Sebastopol!" I exclaimed, with profound disgust.
"Already," said Studhome, with a grim smile, as he twisted up a
cigarette, a luxury unknown to the "gentlemen of England" until
introduced by returned Crimeans. "You may remember that I went home
from India on sick leave, just before that Rangoon business."
"That was annoying."
"Not at all--I thought it would be a stupid concern, and I had a heavy
book on the Oaks."
"But you were, of course, ill."
"What a Griff! Those who get home on sick leave are always in the best
health. It is just like the 'urgent private affairs' of those who have
swell friends in high places. Uncles who are grooms of the backstairs,
and aunts who are ladies of the bedchamber. Take care of Dowb, you
know, and Dowb will take deuced good care of himself."
"Home to England!" I was almost stupefied with rage at the prospect of
his escaping the speedy vengeance I had schemed out for him, after
Studhome told me that he had had the daring effrontery to accuse me of
shooting my own horse!
"But now, Newton," said Jack, "for to-night, at least, not a word about
Berkeley. The colonel, Travers, Wilford, the paymaster, Jocelyn, and
Harry Scarlett are all coming here to sup with us jollily, in honour of
your safe return, providing their own plates and spoons, of course. I
omitted Scriven, because he is Berkeley's particular chum. To-morrow
I'll get a boat and board his yacht. Confound the fellow! we must
parade him--we must have him out now?"
"Or I shall shoot him in front of the line!" said I, grinding my teeth.
"Your Russian uniform would be quite in keeping with so melodramatic a
situation. By Jove, you are a figure!" exclaimed Jack, turning me
round, and surveying my Tambrov uniform with more amusement than
admiration; but his own "turn out" was the most comical of the two, for
the kind of work undergone since we landed had made serious alterations
in the gay uniforms of our troops.
Studhome had not enjoyed the luxury of washing his hands, perhaps, for a
week; and as for shaving, that was never thought of now. All our
officers had disembarked in their full uniforms. They had marched,
fought, and slept in them; the lace was frayed, the gorgeous
box-epaulettes all crushed, broken, and torn; the coats and trousers
were a mass of mud; shakos and regulation caps had all disappeared, or,
at least, the fez, the turban, the shawl, and the wide-awake were
rapidly replacing them.
Every officer had a canvas havresack wherein to carry those edibles he
was lucky enough to beg, borrow, or find; a revolver, with belt and
pouch, was strapped to his waist, and all had become bronzed, hairy,
gaunt, and brigand-like in visage and expression. "Oh for the mantle of
Fortunatus," says one in his letters, "to place such an officer all at
once into his London haunts, and among the old familiar faces. Put him
down in Pall Mall, or Piccadilly, or on the swelling carpets of the
Junior United Service!"
Such was the aspect of Lionel Beverley, that tall and stately soldier,
and polished English gentleman; of Frank Jocelyn, our lisping dandy; of
the usually clean-shaven M'Goldrick, our quaint old Scotch paymaster; of
dashing young Sir Harry Scarlett, and all the rest of our once splendid
lancer mess, most of whom came crowding into Jack's very queer bunk at
Balaclava, to welcome me back among them, and hear the story of my
adventures since I fell among the Russians.
Seated on boxes, chests, the camp bed, and even on the floor, they
jested, laughed, and smoked, while the din of the distant cannonade told
how the work of death was going on ceaselessly at Sebastopol.
"We are now, Norcliff, fairly in for the business of the siege," said
the colonel.
"Ugh! and a jolly and lucrative business it is likely to prove," added
the paymaster, with a grimace.
"Welcome back, Norcliff, old fellow!" said Travers, shaking me warmly by
the hand; "we must look up a kit for you somehow, and a remount too.
Beverley has a second horse; but I think its tail was eaten off by
Scarlett's bay mare when the corn fell short."
"Our horses have no nosebags. Those infernal red-tape-worms in London
are doing their best to destroy us," said Sir Harry Scarlett.
"Are Sir Nigel's suspicions to be right, after all?" thought I.