In the Track of the Troops Part 10

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

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

There is something overwhelmingly grand in mult.i.tude. Humanity cannot resist the influence. It is quite clear that the human race were meant to be gregarious. What were the orator without his mult.i.tude? I might go further, and ask, What were the mult.i.tude without its orator? Flags and banners waved, and ribbons rippled that day in Bessarabia, for the serried legions of Russia marched in almost unending columns towards Ungheni, on the Roumanian frontier, and, after they had pa.s.sed, the Emperor himself made for the same point with the Grand Duke Nicholas, and the Czarewitch, and General Ignatieff, and the Minister of War, and many other dignitaries of the empire, with a numerous and gorgeous staff.

The day was magnificent. The people who streamed out to see the review were enthusiastic. Perhaps, if they had been Bulgarian peasantry, and had been able to foresee the future, their enthusiasm would not have been so great. Yet I do not say that their enthusiasm was misplaced.

They saw a nation's chivalry a.s.sembled to fight and die, if need be, in the nation's cause, with its Emperor to patronise, and its n.o.bles to lead the legions on, in all of which there was ground for real enthusiasm.

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

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

The spot for the review was well chosen, on a gentle undulating hillside, which enabled the spectators to see the whole army at once.

The weather was bright and sunny, as I have said, and the glitter of uniforms and thousands of bayonets with the broad blaze reflected from a long line of polished field-pieces, sent a thrill through many a heart, suggesting "glory." There were a few hearts also, no doubt, to whom they suggested the natural end for which these glorious things were called together--blood and murder, national ruination, broken const.i.tutions, desolated homes, and sudden death.

Holiday reviews are common enough all over the world, but this was no holiday review. Every one knew that it was the prelude to war, and there was an appropriate gravity and silence in the conduct of spectators. It was deeply impressive, too, to watch the long lines and ma.s.ses 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 and immobility 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 the Emperor had overawed them. They merely swayed open and took off hats deferentially as he pa.s.sed. It was not till he began to ride round the lines with his brilliant staff that the silence was broken by music and cheers.

Of the review itself I will not speak. That, and the three-quarters of an hour ma.s.s which followed, being over, a murmur of expectation ran through the crowd and along the ranks like a solemn growl. Then there was a deep, intense silence, which was faintly broken by the Bishop of Kischeneff reading the manifesto. He had not read far, when sobs were heard. It was the voice of the Emperor Alexander, who prided himself on the fact that the glory of his reign had hitherto been its peaceful character. They say that it had been his boast and hope that he should finish it without a war. Previously he had said to the troops: "I have done everything in my power to avoid war and bloodshed. n.o.body can say we have not been patient, or that the war has been of our seeking. We have practised patience to the last degree, but there comes a time when even patience must end. When that time comes, I know that the young Russian army of to-day will not show itself unworthy of the fame which the old army won in days gone by."

What the "young army" thought of the fame of its elder brother, as well as of the sobs of its present Emperor, may be gathered from the fact that it went all but mad with enthusiasm! When the Bishop finished reading, there went up a wild and universal shout of joy of exultation, of triumph, of relief, as though a great weight of suspense had been lifted from the hearts of the mult.i.tude. It spread through the army like light, and was raised again and again, until the very vault of heaven seemed to thunder, while the soldiers tossed their caps in the air, or twirled them on their bayonets for several minutes.

Then the _ordre du jour_ of the Grand Duke Nicholas, commander-in-chief of the army, was read to every battalion, squadron, and battery, and the day's work was done. The right was legally and const.i.tutionally granted to some hundreds of thousands of young men to go forth and slaughter, burn, and destroy, to their hearts' content--in other words, to "gather laurels."

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 the theatre of the future war. It was a good day's work for n.o.body and for nothing; but it was the legitimate outcome of work that had been going on for years before.

In pondering over the matter since, I have often been led to ask myself with considerable surprise, Why did this war occur--who wanted it? It is 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 the prospect of it "like a child." Who, then, _did_ desire and cause it?

There are some things in this remarkable world that no man can understand. At all events I cannot. When I put the same question, long afterwards, to my dear and ever-sagacious mother, she replied, "Do you not think, Jeff; that perhaps the men in power, somewhere, wanted it and caused it? There are some countries, you know, where the _people_ are mere chessmen, who have nothing whatever to do or say in the management of their own affairs, and are knocked about, wisely or foolishly as the case may be, by the _men in power_. England herself was in that sad case once, if we are to believe our school histories, and some of the European nations seem to be only now struggling slowly out of that condition, while others are still in bondage."

I think my mother was right. After much consideration, I have come to the conclusion that war is usually, though not always, caused by a few ambitious 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 forced into war in spite of themselves.

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

Nicholas Naranovitsch was summoned to the presence of his colonel.

Nicholas was very young and inexperienced; nevertheless, during the brief period in which he had served, he had shown himself possessed of so much ability and wisdom that he was already selected to go on a secret mission. What that mission was he never told me. One result of it, however, was, that he and I had a most unexpected meeting on the Danube in very peculiar circ.u.mstances.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

TREATS OF TORPEDOES, TERRIBLE CATASTROPHE, UNEXPECTED MEETINGS, AND SUCH LIKE.

To return to my personal experiences. It now became a matter of the deepest importance that we should get out of the river before the Russian army reached its banks and stopped the navigation. The weather, however, was against us. It rained a great deal, and the nights were very dark. The swollen current, it is true, was in our favour; nevertheless, as we had already spent several weeks in ascending the river, it was clear that we should have to race against time in retracing our course.

One dark night about the end of May, as we were approaching the Lower Danube, and speculating on the probability of our getting out in time, I gave orders to run into a creek and cast anchor, intending to land and procure a supply of fresh meat, of which we had run short.

"Better wait for daylight, sir," suggested my skipper. "It's not unlikely, in these days of torpedoes, that the entrance to places may be guarded by them."

The skipper was so far right. The entrance to unimportant creeks, indeed, had not been guarded, but the Russians had already laid down many torpedoes in the river to protect them from Turkish ironclads while engaged in constructing their pontoon bridges. He had scarcely made the remark, when I was half stunned by a shock under my feet, which seemed to rend the yacht asunder. There followed a terrific report, and the deck was instantly deluged with water. There could be no doubt what had occurred. We had touched a torpedo, and the yacht was already sinking.

We rushed to our little boat in consternation, but before we could lower it, our trim little vessel went down, stern foremost.

For a few moments there was a horrible rus.h.i.+ng sound in my ears, and I felt that I could hold my breath no longer when my head rose above the surface. I struck out with a gasp of relief, which was, as it were, echoed close to me. I looked round, as well as darkness and water would allow, and observed an object floating near me. I pushed towards it, and just as I caught hold, I heard a panting voice exclaim--

"'Eaven be praised!"

"Amen," said I; "is that you, Lancey?"

"It is, sir, an' I'm right glad to 'ear your voice. Cetch a tight 'old, sir; it's big enough for two."

"What is it?" I asked.

"One of the 'en-coops," said Lancey.

"It's too small for two, I fear," said I, seizing hold of it.

"Hall right, sir; it'll 'old us both. I can swim."

Clinging to our frail support we were hurried by the rapid current we knew not whither, for, although the moon was in the sky, it was so covered with black clouds that we could not see whether we were being swept towards the sh.o.r.e or into the middle of the stream. Besides this, the wind was driving the rain and das.h.i.+ng the water into our eyes continuously.

"Lancey," I gasped, "it is u-useless to let ourselves be--swe--swept about at the will of chance currents. The river is very wi-wide. Let us place ourselves side by side--and--strike--out--in--the--same-- d'rection. Uniformity of action--necessary--in desp'r't situations!"

Lancey at once acted on my suggestion, gasping that, "Haction of--of-- hany kind would tend to--to--k-p limbs warm."

We proceeded in silence for some minutes, when I observed the masts and rigging of several vessels drawn faintly against the dark sky. They were considerably to our right, and the current was evidently bearing us away from them.

"A strong effort now, Lancey," said I, "and we may reach them."

I could feel, as well as see, that my faithful servant exerted himself to the utmost.

As we approached the vessels, their huge black hulls loomed up out of the dark surroundings, and were pictured against the sky, which, dark though it was, had not the intense blackness of the vessels themselves.

We pa.s.sed the nearest one within twenty yards.

"Let go, sir, and swim for it," cried Lancey.

"No, no!" I cried earnestly, "never let go your--"

I stopped, for Lancey had already let go, and made a dash for the nearest s.h.i.+p. I heard him hail, and saw the flas.h.i.+ng of lights for a moment, then all was dark again and silent, as I was hurried onward.

The feeling of certainty that he could not have been saved with so rapid a current sweeping him past, filled my mind with intense anxiety. Just then I felt a shock. The hen-coop had been driven against another vessel, which I had not observed.

I tried to grasp her, but failed. I uttered a loud cry, not with the expectation that the crew of the vessel could save me,--that I knew to be impossible,--but in the hope that they might be ready for Lancey should he be carried close to them.

Then I was dragged onward by the powerful current, and tossed like a cork on the river. I had observed in pa.s.sing that the vessel was a Turkish ironclad, and came to the conclusion that I had pa.s.sed the Turkish flotilla, which I knew was at that time lying near the fortress of Matchin.

At the very time that I was being thus driven about by the wild waters, and praying to G.o.d for the deliverance of my comrades and myself-- sometimes audibly, more frequently in spirit--another and a very different scene was taking place, not far off, on the Roumanian sh.o.r.e.