In the Track of the Troops Part 32

You have to thank Lancey for anything I have done for you. There is, it seems, to be an exchange of prisoners soon, and I have managed that you and Lancey shall be among the number. You must be ready to take the road to-morrow."

I thanked the Pasha heartily, but expressed surprise that one in so exalted a position should have found difficulty in the matter.

"Exalted!" he exclaimed, with a look of scorn, "I'm so exalted as to have very narrowly missed having my head cut off. Bah! there is no grat.i.tude in a Turk--at least in a Turkish grandee."

I ventured to suggest that the Pasha was in his own person a flat--or rather st.u.r.dy--contradiction of his own words, but he only grinned as he bowed, being too much in earnest to smile.

"Do you forget," he continued, "that I am in disgrace? I have served the Turk faithfully all my life, and now I am shelved at the very time my services might be of use, because the Sultan is swayed by a set of rascals who are jealous of me! And is it not the same with better men than myself? Look at Mehemet Ali, our late commander-in-chief, deposed from office by men who had not the power to judge of his capacities--for what? Did he not say with his own lips, to one of your own correspondents, that although he had embraced the religion of Mohammed they never could forget or forgive the fact that he was not born a Turk, but regarded him as a Giaour in disguise; that his elevation to power excited secret discontent among the Pashas, which I know to be true; that another Pasha thwarted instead of aiding him, while yet another was sent to act the spy on him. Is not this shameful jealousy amongst our leaders, at a time when all should have been united for the common weal, well known to have operated disastrously in other cases? Did not Osman Pasha admit as much, when he complained bitterly, after the fall of Plevna, that he had not been properly supported? Our rank and file are lions in the field--though I cannot allow that they are lambs anywhere else--but as for our--Bah! I have said enough. Besides, to tell you the truth, I am tired of the Turks, and hate them."

Here my servant interrupted the Pasha with a coolness and familiarity that amused me much.

"Sandy," said he, with a disapproving shake of the head, "you oughtn't to go an' speak like that of your hadopted nation."

The Pasha's indignation vanished at once. He turned to Lancey with a curious twinkle in his eye.

"But, my good fellow," he said, "it isn't my hadopted nation. When I came here a poor homeless wanderer the Turks adopted _me_, not I _them_, because they found me useful."

"That," returned Lancey, "should 'ave called hout your grat.i.tood."

"So it did, Lancey. Didn't I serve them faithfully from that day to this, to the best of my power, and didn't I shave my head and wear their garb, and pretend to take to their religion all out of grat.i.tude?"

"Worse and worse," retorted Lancey; "that was houtrageous 'ypocrisy.

I'm afraid, Sandy, that you're no better than you used to be w'en you smashed the school-windows an' went about playin' truant on the Scottish 'ills."

"No better indeed," returned the Pasha, with a sudden touch of sadness; "that is true, but how to become better is the difficulty. Islamism fills a land with injustice, robbery, and violence; while, in order that such things may be put right, the same land is desolated, covered with blood, and filled with lamentation, in the name of Christianity."

Here I could not refrain from reminding the Pasha that the professors of religion did not always act in accordance with their profession, and that the principles of the "Prince of Peace," when carried out, even with average sincerity, had an invariable tendency to encourage peace and good-will among men, which was more than could be said of the doctrines of Mohammed.

"It may be so," said the Pasha, with a sigh.

"Meanwhile, to return to our point, you will find everything ready for your journey at an early hour to-morrow."

"But what of little Ivanka Petroff?" I asked. "She must go with us."

The Pasha seemed a little perplexed. "I had not thought of that," he said; "she will be well-cared for here."

"I cannot go without her," said I firmly.

"No more can I," said Lancey.

"Well, that shall also be arranged," returned the Pasha, as he left us.

"Never saw nothink like 'im," observed Lancey; "'e sticks at nothink, believes nothink, cares for nothink, an' can do hanythink."

"_You_ are showing want of grat.i.tude now, Lancey, for it is plain that he cares a good deal for you."

Lancey admitted that he might, perhaps, have been a little harsh in expressing himself, and then went off to prepare for the journey.

"We are going back again to your own country, Ivanka," said I, gently stroking the child's head, as we sat together in the same room, some hours later.

Ivanka raised her large eyes to mine.

"There is no _home_ now," she said, in a mournful voice.

"But we shall find father there, perhaps."

The child dropped her eyes, and shook her head, but made no further remark. I saw that tears were trickling down her cheeks, and, feeling uncertain as to how far she realised her forlorn condition, refrained from further speech, and drew her little head upon my breast, while I sought to comfort her with hopes of soon meeting her father.

Snow lay on the ground when we bade farewell to our kind host.

"Good-bye, Sanda Pasha; I shall hope to see you in England one of these days," said I at parting.

"Farewell, Sandy," said my man, grasping the Pasha's hand warmly, and speaking in a deeply impressive tone; "take the advice of a wery old friend, who 'as your welfare at 'art, an' leave off your evil ways, w'ich it's not possible for you to do w'ile you've got fifty wives, more or less, shaves your 'ead like a Turk, and hacts the part of a 'ypocrite. Come back to your own land, my friend, w'ich is the only one I knows on worth livin' in, an' dress yourself like a Christian."

The Pasha laughed, returned the squeeze heartily, and said that it was highly probable he would act upon that advice ere another year had pa.s.sed away.

Half an hour later we were driving over the white plains, on which the sun shone with dazzling light.

I felt unusual exhilaration as we rattled along in the fresh frosty air, and crossed the fields, which, with the silvered trees and bushes, contrasted so pleasantly with the clear blue sky. I began to feel as if the horrible scenes I had lately witnessed were but the effects of a disordered imagination, which had pa.s.sed away with fever and bodily weakness.

Ivanka also appeared to revive under those genial influences with which G.o.d surrounds His creatures, for she prattled a little now and then about things which attracted her attention on the road; but she never referred to the past. Lancey, too, was inspirited to such an extent that he tackled the Turkish driver in his own tongue, and caused the eyes of that taciturn individual occasionally to twinkle, and his moustache to curl upwards.

That night we slept at a small road-side inn. Next day we joined a group of travellers, and thus onward we went until we reached the region where the war raged. Here we were placed under escort, and, with some others, were exchanged and set free.

Immediately I hired a conveyance and proceeded to the Russian rear, where I obtained a horse, and, leaving Ivanka in charge of Lancey at an inn, hastened to headquarters to make inquiries about Nicholas and Petroff.

On the way, however, I halted to telegraph to the _Scottish Bawbee_, and to write a brief account of my recent experiences among the Turks.

I was in the midst of a powerful article--powerful, of course, because of the subject--on one of the war-episodes, when I heard a foot on the staircase. I had placed my revolver on the table, for I was seated in a room in a deserted village. One wall of the room had been shattered by a sh.e.l.l, while most of the furniture was more or less broken by the same missile, and I knew well that those sneak-marauders who infest the rear of an army were in the habit of prowling about such places.

Suddenly I heard a loud shout on the staircase, followed by the clashing of swords. I leaped up, seized the revolver, and ran out. One man stood on the stair defending himself against two Circa.s.sians. I knew the scoundrels instantly by their dress, and not less easily did I recognise a countryman in the grey tweed shooting coat, glengarry cap, and knickerbockers of the other. At the moment of my appearance the Englishman, who was obviously a dexterous swordsman, had inflicted a telling wound on one of his adversaries. I fired at the other, who, leaping nearly his own height into the air, fell with a crash down the staircase. He sprang up, however, instantly, and both men bolted out at the front door and fled.

The Englishman turned to thank me for my timely aid, but, instead of speaking, looked at me with amused surprise.

"Can it be?" I exclaimed; "not possible! _you_, Biquitous?"

"I told you we should probably meet," he replied, sheathing his sword, "but I was not prophetic enough to foretell the exact circ.u.mstances of the meeting."

"Come along, my dear fellow," said I, seizing his arm and dragging him up-stairs; "how glad I am! what an unexpected--oh! never mind the look of the room, it's pretty tight in most places, and I've stuffed my overcoat into the sh.e.l.l-hole."

"Don't apologise for your quarters, Jeff," returned my friend, laying his sword and revolver on the table; "the house is a palace compared with some places I've inhabited of late. The last, for instance, was so filthy that I believe, on my conscience, an irish pig, with an average allowance of self-respect, would have declined to occupy it.--Here it is, you'll find it somewhere near the middle."

He handed me a small sketch-book, and, while I turned over the leaves, busied himself in filling a short meerschaum.

"Why, how busy you must have been!" said I, turning over the well-filled book with interest.

"Slightly so," he replied. "Some of these will look pretty well, I flatter myself, in the _Evergreen Isle_, if they are well engraved; but that is the difficulty. No matter how carefully we correspondents execute our sketches, some of these engravers--I won't say all of them-- make an awful mess of 'em.

"Yes, you may well laugh at that one. It was taken under fire, and I can tell you that a sketch made under fire is apt to turn out defective in drawing. That highly effective and happy accidental touch in the immediate foreground I claim no credit for. It was made by a bullet which first knocked the pencil out of my hand and then terminated the career of my best horse; while that sunny gleam in the middle distance was caused by a piece of yellow clay being driven across it by the splinter of a sh.e.l.l. On the whole, I think the sketch will hardly do for the _Evergreen_, though it is worth keeping as a reminiscence."