The Crimson Tide Part 5

That night they discovered vodka--not much--enough to set them singing first, then dancing. The troopers danced together in the fire-glare--clumsily, in their boots, with interims of the _pas seul_ savouring of the capers of those ancient Mongol hors.e.m.e.n in the _Hezars_ of Genghis Khan.

But no dancing, no singing, no clumsy capers were enough to satisfy these riders of the Wild Division, now made boisterous by vodka and horse-meat. Gossip crackled in every group; jests flew; they shouted at the peasants; they roared at their own jokes.

"Comrade novice!--Pretty boy with a shorn head!" they bawled.

"Harangue us once more on law and love."

She stood with legs apart and thumbs hooked in her belt, laughing at them across the fire. And all around crowded the wretched _mujiks_, peering at her through s.h.a.ggy hair, out of little wolfish eyes.

A Cossack shouted: "My law first! Land for all! That is what we have, we Cossacks! Land for the people, one and all--land for the _mujik_; land for the bourgeois; land for the aristocrat! That law solves all, clears all questions, satisfies all. It is the Law of Peace!"

A Cossack shoved a soldier-deserter forward into the firelight. He wore a patch of red on his sleeve.

"Answer, comrade! Is that the true law? Or have you and your comrades made a better one in Petrograd?"

The deserter, a little frightened, tried to grin: "A good law is, kill all generals," he said huskily. "Afterward we shall have peace."

A roar of laughter greeted him; these dark, thickset Cossacks with slanting eyes were from the Urals. What did they care how many generals were killed? Besides, their hetman had already killed himself.

Their officer moved out into the firelight--a reckless rider but a dull brain--and stood lashing at his snow-crusted boots with the silver-mounted quirt.

"Like gendarmes," he said, "we Cossacks are forever doing the dirty work of other people. Why? It begins to sicken me. Why are we forever executing the law! What law? Who made it? The Tzar. And he is dead, and what is the good of the law he made?

"Why should free Cossacks be policemen any more when there is no law?

"We played gendarme for the Monarchists. We answered the distress call of the Cadets and the bourgeoisie! Where are they? Where is the law they made?"

He stood switching his dirty boots and swinging his heavy head right and left with the stupid, lowering menace of a bull.

"Then came the Mensheviki with their law," he bellowed suddenly.

"Again we became policemen, galloping to their whistle. Where are they? Where is their law?"

He spat on the snow, twirled his quirt.

"There is only one law to govern the land," he roared. "It is the law of hands off and mind your business! It's a good law."

"A good law for those who already have something," cried a high, thin voice from the throng of peasants.

The Cossacks, who all possessed their portion of land, yelled with laughter. One of them called out to the Swedish girl for her opinion, and the fair young giantess strode gracefully out into the fire-ring, her cap in her hand and the thick blond ringlets shining like gold on her beautiful head.

"Listen! Listen to this soldier of the Death Battalion!" shouted the Cossacks in great glee. "She will tell us what the law should be!"

She laughed: "We fought for it--we women soldiers," she said. "And the law we fought for was made when the first tyrant fell.

"This is the law: Freedom of mind; liberty of choice; an equal chance for all; no violence; only orderly debate to determine the will of the land."

A Cossack said loudly: "_Da volna!_ Those who have nothing would take, then, from those who have!"

"I think not!" cried another,"--not in the Urals!"

Thunderous laughter from their comrades and cries of, "Palla! Let us hear our pretty boy, who has made for the whole world a law."

Palla Dumont, her slender hands thrust deep in her great coat sleeves, and standing like a nun lost in mystic revery, looked up with gay audacity--not like a nun at all, now, save for the virginal allure that seemed a part of the girl.

"There is only one law, Tavarishi," she said, turning slightly from her hips as she spoke, to include those behind her in the circle: "and that law was not made by man. That law was born, already made, when the first man was born. It has never changed. It comprehends everything; includes everything and everybody; it solves all perplexity, clears all doubts, decides all questions.

"It is a living law; it exists; it is the key to every problem; and it is all ready for you."

The girl's face had altered; the half mischievous audacity in defiance of her situation--the gay, impudent confidence in herself and in these wild comrades of hers, had given place to something more serious, more ardent--the youthful intensity that smiles through the flaming enchantment of suddenly discovered knowledge.

"It is the oldest of all laws," she said. "It was born perfect. It is yours if you accept it. And this law is the Law of Love."

A peasant muttered: "One gives where one loves."

The girl turned swiftly: "That is the soul of the Law!" she cried, "to give! Is there any other happiness, Tavarishi? Is there any other peace? Is there need of any other law?

"I tell you that the Law of Love slays greed! And when greed dies, war dies. And hunger, and misery die, too!

"Of what use is any government and its lesser laws and customs, unless it is itself governed by that paramount Law?

"Of what avail are your religions, your churches, your priests, your saints, relics, ikons--all your candles and observances--unless dominated by that Law?

"Of what use is your G.o.d unless that Law of Love also governs Him?"

She stood gazing at the firelit faces, the virginal half-smile on her lips.

A peasant broke the silence: "Is she a new saint, then?" he said distinctly.

A Cossack nodded to her, grinning respectfully:

"We always like your sermons, little novice," he said. And, to the others: "n.o.body wishes to deny what she says is quite true"--he scratched his head, still grinning--"only--while there are Kurds in the world----"

"And Bolsheviki!" shouted another.

"True! And Turks! G.o.d bless us, Tavarishi," he added with a wry face, "it takes a stronger stomach to love these beasts than is mine----"

In the sudden shout of laughter the girl, Palla, looked around at her comrade, Ilse.

"Until each accepts the Law of Love," said the Swedish girl-soldier, laughing, "it can not be a law."

"I have accepted it," said Palla gaily; but her childishly lovely mouth was working, and she clenched her hands in her sleeves to control the tremor.

Silent, the smile still stamped on her tremulous lips, she stood for a few moments, fighting back the deep emotions enveloping her in surging fire--the same ardent and mystic emotions which once had consumed her at the altar's foot, where she had knelt, a novice, dreaming of beat.i.tudes ineffable.

If that vision, for her, was ended--its substance but the shadow of a dream--the pa.s.sion that created it, the fire that purified it, the ardent heart that needed love--love sacred, love unalloyed--needed love still, burned for it, yearning to give.

As she lifted her head and looked around her with dark eyes still a little dazed, there was a sudden commotion among the _mujiks_; a Cossack called out something in a sharp voice; their officer walked hastily out into the darkness; a shadowy rider spurred ahead of him.