In the Track of the Troops Part 24

But Ali Bobo did not allow it to enjoy repose. He glided forward, and, with a spring like that of a cat, laid his hand upon its mouth and threw it violently to the ground. With the aid of Eskiwin he pinned it, and then proceeded to gag it.

All this Dobri Petroff observed with much interest, not unmingled with concern, for he perceived that the new-comers were Turks, and did not like the idea of seeing a man murdered before his eyes. But the thought of his friend Petko Borronow, and what he had at stake, restrained him from action. He was however at once relieved by observing that, while the short Turk kneeled on the prisoner's chest and kept his mouth covered, so as to prevent his crying out, the tall Turk quickly tied his legs and hands. It was thus clear that immediate death was not intended.

The scout's interest, to say nothing of surprise, was increased by what followed. When the short Turk, pointing a revolver at the prisoner's head, removed his hand so as to admit of speech, that prisoner's first utterance was an exclamation of astonishment in tones which were familiar to Petroff's ear. This was followed by exclamations of recognition from the Turks, and the short man seizing one of victim's tied hands shook it warmly.

At that moment the scout's eyes were opened still wider with amazement, for the unfortunate Sergeant Gotsuchakoff--who, as I have said, had been laid down a few yards from him, and whom he had almost forgotten--began to recover consciousness and growled something in an undertone about its being "far too soon to turn out."

Petroff recognised the well-known growl of the sergeant. In an instant he glided to his side, laid his hand on his mouth, and whispered--

"Gotsuchakoff, be still for your life! I am Dobri Petroff. Do you understand?"

He looked close to the sergeant's eyes, and saw that he was understood.

At once he removed his hand, and untied the belt which fastened the sergeant's feet.

Gotsuchakoff was too well used to war's alarms to give way to unreasonable curiosity. He instantly perceived that the scout required of him the utmost circ.u.mspection for some reason or other, and, in the spirit of a true soldier, awaited orders in total silence, ready for prompt action.

This was well, because there was little time to spare. When Petroff directed the sergeant's attention to the Turks they were busy undoing the bonds of their prisoner.

Without saying another word, the scout glided swiftly forward. He was promptly followed by the sergeant. Next moment both men leaped on the Turks and had them by their throats.

Eskiwin was no match for Gotsuchakoff, who bore him back and held him like a vice. As for Ali Bobo, strong though he was, he felt himself to be a perfect baby in the grasp of the scout. The two men submitted at once, and while Petroff ordered them in a low tone to keep silence, enforcing the order with the touch of a revolver's muzzle, the sergeant quickly bound their arms behind them.

The scout turned to the prisoner, who was sitting on the ground with eyes dilated to the uttermost, and mouth wide open. He sat perfectly speechless.

There was just light enough to make darkness visible. Petroff looked close in to the face of the man whom he had been about to stalk.

"Lancey!" he exclaimed.

"Dobri Peterhuff," gasped the other.

"Why, where _did_ you come from?" asked the scout in Turkish, which he was aware Lancey had been attempting to learn.

"Dobri, my friend," replied the other solemnly, in English, "if this is a dream, it is the most houtrageous dream that I've 'ad since I was a babby. But I'm used to 'em now--only I do wish it was morning."

The scout smiled, not because of what was said, which of course he did not understand, but because of the Englishman's expression. But time pressed; too much had already been lost. He therefore contented himself by giving Lancey a friendly slap on the shoulder and turned to the sergeant.

"Gotsuchakoff," said he, "I'm out on special service, and have already been delayed too long. This man," pointing to Lancey, "is an Englishman and a friend--remember that. The others are Turks. You know what to do with them. I cannot help you, but you won't need help."

"Just so," replied Gotsuchakoff, with an intelligent nod, "only lend a hand to tie them together and then be off about your business."

"Lancey," said Ali Bobo, while the operation was being performed, "zat big Bulgar beast he say you's his friend."

"Big he is, a beast he's not, and a friend he was," replied Lancey, with a dazed look.

Further conversation was cut short by the sergeant ordering the trio to move on. He led them towards the Russian lines by a cord pa.s.sed round Bobo's neck, and carried a revolver in his right hand. Dobri Petroff immediately disappeared in the opposite direction.

At a later hour that night he entered the cottage of young Borronow.

Giuana, Petko's sister, reclined on a rude but comfortable couch. She was singularly pretty and innocent-looking, but very delicate and young.

Her friends called her Formosa Giuana or Pretty Jane. Petko had been seated beside her, talking about the war, when his friend entered with a quick stealthy motion and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Dobri!" exclaimed the youth.

"Petko, there is danger at hand. Mischief is in the air. Time is precious. I may not say what it is, but you know me--I am not easily alarmed. You must promise me to quit this village with your sister within one hour."

"But, Dobri, why?--what?--"

"Petko, no questions. More than that, no remarks," interrupted the scout earnestly and firmly. "Another time I will explain. At present I ask you to trust, believe, and obey your friend. If you would save your life and that of Giuana leave this village within an hour. Go where you will, but leave it."

"I will both trust and obey you, Dobri," said Petko, returning the squeeze of his friend's hand, which he had not yet let go.

"I said that time pressed, Petko; G.o.d be with you! Farewell."

The scout turned, stooped to kiss Giuana on her pale cheek, and before either could utter another word was gone.

By midnight Dobri Petroff had made his rounds--now as a carter gruffly and clumsily driving a cart and horse of which he had managed to possess himself; anon as a stupid countryman belonging to the village on the height, noisily wanting to know why the Turks had robbed him of the said cart and horse, which he had conveniently tipped over a precipice, and vowing that he would carry his complaint against the army to the Sultan himself; once he was fain to act the part of a drunk man, almost incapable of taking care of himself.

During his perambulations he ran frequent risk of being shot by irascible Bas.h.i.+-Bazouks or wearied Albanians; was more than once looked on with suspicion, and frequently suffered rough treatment, but he acted his part well. Nothing could draw from him a word or look beyond average intelligence.

No indignity could rouse him to more than the warfare of abuse, and the result was that long before dawn he found himself once more close to the front.

But fortune seemed inclined to fail him here. He was creeping cautiously among a heap of rocks when a sentinel of the advanced line of the Turks discovered and challenged him. Petroff knew well that escape by running would be impossible, for he was only six yards distant. He made therefore no reply, but sank on the ground, keeping his eye, however, sharply on the advancing sentinel. His only cause of anxiety was that the Turk might fire at him, in which case his doom would have been sealed. The Turk, however, preferred to advance and thrust his bayonet into him.

Petroff had calculated on and was prepared for this. He caught the bayonet and checked its progress between his ribs. Another moment and the Turk lay on his back with the stock of his own rifle broken over his skull. The scuffle had attracted the next sentry, who ran to his comrade's a.s.sistance. The scout instantly made the best use of his legs. He was as fleet as a mountain deer, but the rifle-ball was fleeter. He felt a sharp pain in his left arm, and almost fell. The alarm was given. Sentries on both sides fired, and another bullet grazed his temple, causing blood to flow freely down his face. Still he ran steadily on, and in a few minutes was safe within the Russian lines.

He was seized, of course, by those who first met him, and, not being known to them, was at once carried before a captain of dragoons, who knew him.

By the captain he was sent to the tent of the General--the younger Skobeleff,--to whom he related the important information which he had obtained at so great risk.

"Thank you, my fine fellow," said the General, when Petroff had finished; "you have done good service--are you badly wounded?"

"No--nothing worth mentioning," replied the scout, but as he spoke a feeling of giddiness oppressed him. He fainted and fell as he left the General's tent, and was carried on a stretcher to the rear.

Before the grey dawn had dissipated the mists of morning, the village on the height was fought for, lost, and won; its dwellings were reduced to ashes, and those of its inhabitants who had escaped ma.s.sacre were scattered like sheep among the gorges of their native hills; but Petko and Giuana Borronow were safe--at least for the time--with a kinsman, among the higher heights of the Balkan range.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

TREATS OF ONE OF OUR GREAT IRONCLADS.

While these stirring events were taking place among the mountains, I had made arrangements to quit the hospitals at Sistova and proceed with a detachment of Russian troops to the front.

The evening before my departure I received a most unexpected and interesting letter from my friend U. Biquitous, the effects of which were so surprising, and I may add unparalleled, that I cannot forbear quoting it. After a few of those sage reflections in which Biquitous is p.r.o.ne to indulge, he went on to say:--

"You will be surprised to hear that there is some probability of my meeting you shortly, as I have become a special correspondent, like yourself. My paper, however, is an ill.u.s.trated one, an Irish weekly of some merit, named the _Evergreen Isle_, which will now, it is expected, advance to the front rank of such periodicals. I purpose using the pencil as well as the pen, and, unlike you, and subject to no restrictions of any kind. I have _carte-blanche_, in fact, to draw what I like, write what I please, go where I feel inclined, stay as long as I may, and quit when I must. Veracity is no object. I am told to keep as many servants and as large a retinue as I find convenient, and to spare no expense. For the duties of this situation I am to receive no salary, but am at liberty to pay my own expenses.

The honour of the thing is deemed more than sufficient compensation.

"In virtue of this appointment I went recently to see and take notes of Her Majesty's famous ironclad turret-s.h.i.+p, the _Thunderer_.

Knowing how much you are interested in the navy of England, I will relate a little of what I saw, premising, how ever, that although strict veracity is not required of me, I am, as you know, a man of principle, and therefore impose it on myself, so that whatever I say in this letter in regard to this splendid man-of-war may be relied on as absolutely true.