The Great White Army Part 20

In the end we beat this in, and an aperture was made. Through that we dragged some thirty men and carried them quickly to the farm. Poor fellows, they were terribly burned, and their flesh fell from their bones as we lifted them. What lay beyond in that holocaust I did not dare to inquire. The barn was now but a roaring furnace; the cries had ceased; the moaning of the fire and the night wind alone remained.

V

I have told you that we laid our stricken comrades in the farmhouse and there did what we could for them. So great was their need that the immediate necessity of relieving it put everything else into the shade, and it was not until we had dressed their wounds and done our best to make them comfortable that I so much as remembered the woman Petrovka.

Perhaps I should not have thought of her even then but for the fact that a sudden clamour discovered her in the room, and, turning about, I witnessed a violent altercation between her and one of the sick, who raised himself up from the mattress where they had laid him, and cried out that she had fired the barn.

"The she-devil!" he yelled in his frenzy. "I saw her do it, comrades; I swear she was the woman!"

Such an accusation naturally arrested the attention of everyone in the room. Leon himself had gone out again with others to prevent the fire from spreading to the neighbouring buildings, and there was no one there but myself who knew anything of Petrovka. The effect of the accusation upon the sick and the hale was almost magical. They did not ask for the man's proof, nor seek to question him, but, seizing the girl by the arm, they would have struck her down there and then had I not intervened.

"Come, come," said I; "we must do nothing in haste," for though I had been willing enough an hour ago to have acted upon an impulse, the heat of pa.s.sion had pa.s.sed and a sense of justice prevailed.

If this girl had indeed fired the barn, I would not lift a hand to save her; but we had only the cha.s.seur's word for it, and he was already far gone in delirium. So it seemed to me that we owed her at least the formality of a trial, and, rushing in before those who held her, I commanded them to hear me.

"Gentlemen," said I, "this woman is a Russian and well born. It is difficult to believe that she would have done so foul a thing. If she be guilty she must pay the penalty, but let us hear her first. You will all admit the justice of that. Let her be tried and put to the proof, but do not do anything of which you may repent to-morrow."

They heard me with impatience. The child herself clung to me, frantic with terror, her eyes imploring me and her body trembling with fear.

Her words were almost incoherent, but nevertheless they denied the truth of the charge vehemently and implored me for G.o.d's sake to save her. So much I do not believe I could have done but for Leon, who entered the room at the moment, and, perceiving the situation, leaped towards her, drawing his sword as he did so.

"By the G.o.d in heaven," cried he, "I will cut down any man who lays a finger on her." And it needed but a glance at him to see that he meant every word of it.

Such determination was not without its effect. There were both officers and troopers in the room, but I was the senior in command, and I never lost sight of the fact for a moment.

"Gentlemen," said I, "name three of you to act with me as judges in this matter, and I promise you satisfaction. If the woman be guilty she shall be hanged. Come now--is not this a proper course to take?

Some of you will have daughters of your own. Do not forget them at such a moment as this."

They a.s.sented to the proposition, though I could see that they were far from being appeased. There was a hurried consultation among them, and then the intimation that they had chosen Captains Legard and Fournier, of the fusiliers, and Major Duhesne, of the _cha.s.seurs a cheval_, to act with my nephew and myself. The major stood as spokesman for the others, and first addressed the company.

"It must be here in this room, gentlemen," he said; "the witness cannot be moved; we will try the woman here." And that was a claim none could contest.

I shall never forget the scene which now ensued, nor the grim drama we played in that mean farmhouse during the next ten minutes. All about us were the tumbled mattresses and the stricken forms of the men who had been scorched by the flames. Common rushlights and miserable lanterns afforded the only illumination that we had. The trial was held about the stove, whereby there lay the sick man who had denounced Petrovka. She herself was set in a circle amid her judges, while the man was commanded by me to repeat the accusation he had made. He did so with a restraint which astonished me when I remembered his sufferings. Raising himself up in bed, he turned his haggard eyes upon the woman and told us what he knew.

"I was asleep in the little loft of the barn," he said; "then I heard a sound of someone moving in the straw about me. Thinking it was one of our men, I asked him what he did there; but there was no answer, and for a little while n.o.body stirred. Presently I heard a crackling sound and smelt fire, and at that I looked up and saw the thatch was ablaze.

Then there came light in the place, and I saw the woman. She was creeping down the ladder, but I recognised her all the same. She stands there, messieurs, and she knows that it is true."

A deep cry of anger escaped the auditors when the man had done.

Obviously he did not lie, and his evidence staggered even me. Petrovka herself heard him with a wonder no art could have aped, and her very att.i.tude was an appeal to reason where I was concerned.

Upon my comrades its effect was far otherwise. There were shouts of "a mort!" from every quarter of the room. Some said, "Let her speak!"

others were for not hearing her at all. My loud word of command alone saved her from the imminence of death.

"Gentlemen," said I, "this story is all very well, but it is possible that this man may be mistaken. What confirmation have you of the story? Let the girl speak for herself; I see she is ready."

I turned to Petrovka, and was astonished at her new demeanour. She appeared to have recovered her composure altogether. Her face was pale but wonderfully beautiful. She had removed her cap, and her almost golden hair fell upon her shoulders in a disorder pretty to see.

Looking from one to the other of us, she declared her innocence.

"Frenchmen," she said, "I was never in the loft of the barn at all. My father is a Russian n.o.ble--do we stoop to such crimes as this? I am a woman, and I have a woman's heart; why do you accuse me of such wickedness?"

It was a proud defiance, but it availed her nothing. No one believed her, and all in the room, save Leon and myself, desired her death. In vain I put it to them that some other woman from the farm might have done the deed. They would hear nothing, and presently they began to cry "Vote--vote!" and instantly the others held up their hands and proclaimed her guilty.

Now this was a terrible moment for me, and not the less terrible to my nephew. Hurriedly we drew apart and began to ask each other what could be done. It was plain that we had the whole company against us, and at the best we could but hope to temporise. The one thing to do was to save the child from a vengeance which certainly would not be tempered by mercy, and in the hope of this I now addressed myself to the other judges.

"The girl is well born, as you can see," said I; "it is idle to suppose she has done such a thing. Beware that you do not pay heavily for your haste. We shall overtake the army in the morning, and the matter can be referred to head-quarters. You would be much wiser to let it go there. Do you desire the girl's death? I cannot believe it, gentlemen."

It was all unavailing.

"We have judged her," said the major, "and she is plainly guilty. My determination is to hang her without ceremony, and that," he said, turning to his companions, "is the vote of the majority."

Now Leon had listened to this moment without protest, but these words were too much for him. Catching Petrovka suddenly by the arm, he drew her close to him, and whipped his sword from his scabbard as one who would brook no denial.

"By G.o.d," said he, "you shall do nothing of the kind!"

It was a brave deed, and would to G.o.d it could have saved her.

Unhappily such heroism as this is well enough in a story, but of little avail when the realities of life are at stake. There were twenty men atop of my nephew before another word could be uttered, and dragging Petrovka from his arms, they carried her triumphantly from the room.

She did not utter a single cry. I thought there was a smile upon her face, but it was the look of a woman who knows how to suffer.

VI

Dawn was just breaking in a sullen sky at this time. The wind had fallen somewhat, and it was snowing heavily. I remember the scene very well--and, in truth, who could forget it? There to the right were the ruins of the barn; behind us the low buildings of the farm; before us the orchard of the house and the white snow-fields beyond it.

Without a word said, and acting upon a common impulse, the a.s.sa.s.sins--for such I must now call them--led Petrovka towards a beech tree by the roadside, and clamoured loudly for a rope. Such a l.u.s.t for a woman's death is rare among soldiers, and it needed the tragedy of the night to have provoked it.

What could we do? There was still the opportunity of parley, and we did not neglect it. They had not found a rope readily, and while they were still seeking it I addressed myself to Major Duhesne, and again implored him to remember what he was doing.

"The Emperor," said I, "will never forgive you if this woman is proved to be innocent."

I might as well have addressed myself to the wall of the house. His rejoinder was such as I might have expected. The woman had fired the barn, he said; there was evidence of that fact. This was just the kind of deed His Majesty punished without mercy. Why should his officers be less zealous?

All of which was said with the air of a man absolutely set upon a purpose, and acting under a strong sense of duty. The others were not less determined, and, unhappily, they had now found a rope, and carried it triumphantly to the beech tree I have named. The scene at this moment was very terrible to look upon: the figure of the girl pathetic beyond imagination, and the savagery of her enemies indescribable. It was revolting to hear the shouts of anger when the executioners attempted to throw the cord across a branch of the tree and failed to do so. I could not have believed that Frenchmen would have acted so.

Now, for the second time, was this brutal murder delayed while a ladder must be sent for. In this I perceived the hand of G.o.d, and my heart beat fast while the moments of respite were numbered. Would we yet save her? Might we dare to hope? A shout from the woods near by answered me. As G.o.d is my witness, the Cossacks were upon us. They rode from the thicket like a whirlwind; their scimitars whistled through the air with a sound of rushing winds.

What a turn-about that was! No cries of savage exultation now; no talk of justice and penalty--nothing but a mad race for the shelter of the farm and all the hurly-burly of a wild pursuit. There before my very eyes I saw Frenchmen cleaved to the brisket; saw the heads of comrades roll upon the snow, and heard the screams of those whom the glittering steel cut down. The thunder of hoofs upon the hard snow rang out like weird music of an Eastern dawn. The breath of horses and men froze on the still air. The ground was black already with the figures of the dead.

And what of ourselves meanwhile? Incredible, a man would say, that we could stand there, my nephew and I, and escape the swords of these terrible Asiatics. Yet such was the case.

Our very desire to save Petrovka had been the instrument of this miracle. No sooner had the others run for the farm than we were at her side, bidding her be of good cheer and seeking still to protect her.

Of such protection, however, she had now no need. The men who came from the woods were her friends; they knew her. The words which pa.s.sed between the captain and herself were those which commanded our safety.

A proud little lady she was in that moment, G.o.d knows! The laughter had come back to her eyes.

"I never believed that they would kill me," she said to Leon.

Who would have wished to destroy such a fine illusion? Not I, for a truth, when every Frenchman in the farm was now dead or a prisoner of the Tartars, who caroused where yesterday we had made merry.