Peasant Tales of Russia Part 7

Night hangs over him and covers him with her black veil. Any one who watched him just now would be struck with the sudden change in his expression. His features betray astonishment and terror. He tries to rise, to shake off the heavy chains of sleep, but night holds him in her grasp. She has placed her hand on his chest. He sees a thing so strange and extravagant that his blood turns to ice in his veins. The quiet rooms of his home seem to be filled with a strange murmur. The children rise in their beds and fix their eyes, dilated with terror, on a black menacing cloud which hovers slowly above their heads. The father looks at it. What is there in the cloud which so alarms his children? His heart beats violently.

The cloud continues to descend. The children jump down from their beds.

The little boy who was sleeping in the next room runs. .h.i.ther. They call their nurse--she has disappeared; there is nothing but a heap of old rags in the place where she was lying. The children call to their mother, but the black cloud hides her from their eyes. There they are alone, face to face with it. It sinks slowly on the ground as though it were descending into the waves of the ocean. Its vague fluctuating outlines a.s.sume distinctness. The Major and his children at last perceive what it contained. What they see is a body of enormous length stretched out; round it are standing four little children with great black eyes full of anguish and distress. The children weep bitterly, and their tears fall on the corpse which they surround. The Major's children approach them and begin to examine the body whose grey head, with its large nose, the scar on the forehead, and the grey bristling moustaches, leave no doubt in the Major's mind as to its ident.i.ty. The body is that of Mahmoud Bey. Everything is there--the fresh wound on the shoulder, the clotted blood on the ragged cloak, the stiffened feet wrapped in rags.

"But who ... who has done that?" asks the Major's little girl, a moment before flushed with sleep, becoming suddenly pale.

"Who has killed him?" asks the little boy of six with the black eye. The youngest of the children is holding him by the shirt-sleeve.

The Turk's children, the black-eyed brats of a tawny tint, turn towards the Major and point at him.

"It is he who has killed our father. Yes, it is he. He has cast us on the street and reduced us to poverty and helplessness."

The Major tries to speak or cry. His heart is nearly bursting with agony; his tongue feels paralysed; his voice is choked in his throat.

This father sees his children turn from him with horror. The youngest even lifts her little hand as though to shield herself. He tries to approach her, but she runs away, her features convulsed with terror. She points to his hands and cries, "Blood! Blood!"

The Major looks at his hands; the little girl is right; they are covered with blood. Then he tries to speak, but he cannot articulate a word; he feels as though some one had seized him by the throat, and were trying to choke him. He struggles desperately, makes a final effort and ... awakes.

Throwing away the cloak which covers him, he rises. The Turk was not asleep; he was sitting at table with the Colonel.

"Well, Major, it seems to me that you have had a good sleep for the New Year."

"Yes ... and I have had a dream."

"You too?" said the Colonel in an embarra.s.sed tone.

"Why do you say, 'You too'?"

"Yes. You can't imagine what absurd dreams I have been having. I had never believed myself so sentimental."

"Had your dream anything to do with the prisoner?"

"Naturally. You remember my Volodia?"

"A curious question, as I am his G.o.dfather."

"Indeed you are right. My head is decidedly queer. Well, I have had that rascal at my heels the whole night. He insisted obstinately that I should give the Turk up to him. 'Why?' I asked. And he answered, 'He also has little Volodia's, and I will let him free to go and find them.' Yet, my friend, I don't think we drank more than usual last night."

"Certainly not." The Major looked fixedly at the Colonel.

"But think what I have dreamt; it is much more serious."

"Not really."

"Yes, indeed."

The Major related his dream.

"We are becoming superst.i.tious," said the Colonel. "Come what will, we must make up our minds. I will send this Turk to the General as quickly as possible. May G.o.d look after him! The General must decide his fate.

If we keep him here, we shall end by going mad."

"In that case I have a favour to ask of you."

"What is it?"

"I wish to go myself to the General."

"You?"

"Yes; allow me to conduct Mahmoud Bey to him."

The Colonel gave a side-glance in order to preserve a serious expression, and finally said, without looking at the Major:

"There is nothing against it. But you will need a horse."

"It is easy to find one. Have we not taken enough from the Turks?"

"True. Very well, there is no obstacle. Hand the prisoner over to the General," added the Colonel, in the tone of a superior officer giving an order.

Walking slowly and accompanied by Mahmoud Bey, who looked as melancholy as ever, the Major arrived at the Russian advance-posts.

A Cossack on horseback emerged from the fog. It was a sentinel. Two other Cossacks lay stretched on the ground. Their horses, attached to pickets, munched a bundle of hay. At the sight of the officer, the Cossacks rose quickly.

"Where does this trench lead, my good fellows?" asked the Major, pointing to a very deep one close to where they stood.

"Straight to the enemy, Major."

"Has any one seen the Turks to-day?"

"Not one has shown himself. They are quieter this morning. Yesterday they raged like madmen, but thank G.o.d, they are giving us a respite now."

"They have understood that they were wasting ammunition."

The Major signed to the prisoner to follow him and descended into the trench. A moment after, one of the Cossacks was at his side.

"What do you want?"

"One must take precautions, Major. We never know what may happen. The Turks are not very far away, you know."

"It is unnecessary."

"But, Major, your prisoner may escape."

"No, he won't; he has even promised to point me out the Turkish positions. Return to your post."

The Cossack went back. The two others rode in silence for half an hour.

Finally the Major halted.

"Listen to me, Mahmoud Bey. The Turkish army is not very far from here.

Escape, and go to Adrianople to find your children. You understand me? I have children also. Well, what are you waiting for? Go, escape, and be quick. There is no time to lose. I might change my mind," he added, half-smiling.