In the Track of the Troops by Robert Michael Ballantyne (fantasy books to read TXT) 📖

undoubtedly, but it would be none the less heroism if it were exercised in the rescue of men and women from shipwreck or from fire. The romance of the bivouac in the dark woods or on the moonlit plains of foreign lands, with the delights of fresh air and life-giving exercise and thrilling adventure, is not the perquisite of the warrior; it is the privilege, quite as much, if not more, of the pioneer in the American backwoods and prairies, and of the hunter in the wilds of Africa. The romance of unexpected meetings with foreign `fair ones' in out-o''-the-way circumstances, with broken bones, perhaps, or gunshot wounds, to lend pathos to the affair, and necessitate nursing, which may lead to love-making,--all that is equally possible to the Alpine climber and the chamois-hunter, to the traveller almost anywhere, who chooses to indulge in reckless sport, regardless of his neck.--Of course," I added, with a smile, for I did not wish to appear too cynical in my friend's eyes, "the soldier has a few advantages in which the civilian does not quite come up to him, such as the glorious brass band, and the red coat, and the glittering lace."

"Jeff," said Nicholas, somewhat gravely, "would you then take all the glory out of war, and reduce soldiers to a set of mere professional and legalised cut-throats, whose duty it is callously to knock over so many thousand men at the command of governments?"

"Bear with me a little," said I, "and hear me out. You misunderstand me. I speak of war, not of warriors. As there is no `romance,' so there is no `glory' in war. Many a glorious deed may be, and often is, done _in connection with_ war. Such a deed is done when a handful of brave men sacrifice their lives at the call of duty, and in defence of country, as at Thermopylae. Such a deed is done when a wounded Prussian soldier, dying of thirst on the battle-field, forgets the accursed custom--war--which has brought him to that pass, and shares the last drops of his water-flask with a so-called French enemy. And such a deed is done, still more gloriously, when a soldier, true to his Queen and country, is true also to his God, and preaches while he practises the principles and gospel of the Prince of Peace, in the presence of those with whom he acts his part in this world's drama. There is indeed much that is glorious in the conduct of many warriors, but there is no glory whatever in war itself. The best that can be said of it is, that sometimes it is a stern yet sad necessity."

We dropped the subject here, having reached the point of the river where our party was to cross to the Turkish shore.

The passage was soon accomplished by means of rafts, and many thousands of Russians having already preceded us we experienced no opposition. It was daylight when we rode into a village on the Bulgarian shore, and I looked up sleepily at the cottages as we passed.

"We halt here," said Nicholas, with a yawn as he drew rein.

The officer in command of our party had already halted his men, who, gladly quitting their saddles, streamed after us into the courtyard of the village.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN.


SHEWS WHAT SOMETIMES HAPPENS IN THE TRACK OF TROOPS.

"Why, Nicholas," I exclaimed, looking round the inn, "I have been here before. It is--it must be--the very place where, on my way up, I saw a famous wrestling-match. Did I ever tell you about it?"

"Never; but come along, I must finish one part of my duty here without delay by paying a visit. You can tell me about the wrestling-match as we walk together."

I described the match with great interest, for my heart warmed towards the chief actor and his family, and as I proceeded with the narration I observed with some satisfaction that the road we were following led in the direction of the cottage of Dobri Petroff. As we drew near to the path that diverged to it I resolved, if possible, to give Nicholas, who was evidently interested in my narrative, a surprise by confronting him unexpectedly with the blacksmith and his family.

"Nicholas," I said, "you see that cottage on the hillside? I have a great desire to pay its inmates a visit. Have you any objection to turn aside just for a few minutes?"

Nicholas gave me a look of surprise and laughed.

"None in the world, Jeff, for it happens that I particularly wish to visit the cottage myself."

"You do? Why--what--"

"Well, finish your question, Jeff; why should it seem strange to you that I want to visit a Bulgarian family?"

"Why, because, Nick, this is the cottage of the very blacksmith about whom I have been speaking, and I wanted to give you a surprise by introducing him to you."

"His name?" asked Nicholas quickly.

"Dobri Petroff."

"The very man. How strange! You have already given me a surprise, Jeff, and will now add a pleasure and a service by introducing me to him, and, perhaps, by using your powers of suasion. It is no breach of confidence to tell you that part of my business here is to secure the services of this man as a guide over the Balkans, with the passes of which we have been told he is intimately acquainted. But it is said that he is a bold independent fellow, who may dislike and refuse the duty."

"He won't dislike it at all events," said I. "He has no love for the Turks, who have treated him shamefully, just because of that same bold and independent spirit."

"Well, come, we shall see," rejoined my friend.

In a few minutes we had come to a turn in the path which brought the cottage full into view, and I experienced a sudden shock on observing that part of it--that part which had been the forge--was a blackened ruin. I was at the same moment relieved, however, by the sight of Ivanka and little Dobri, who were playing together in front of the uninjured part of the cottage.

Next moment the tall handsome form of the blacksmith appeared stooping under the doorway as he came out to receive us. I noticed that there was an expression of trouble on his countenance, mingled with a look of sternness which was not usual to him. He did not recognise me at first, and evidently eyed Nicholas--as a Russian officer--with no favour.

As we drew near, the stern look vanished, and he sprang forward with a glad smile to seize and shake my hand. At the same moment Ivanka's black eyes seemed to blaze with delight, as she ran towards me, and clasped one of my legs. Little Dobri, bereft of speech, stood with legs and arms apart, and mouth and eyes wide open, gazing at me.

"All well?" I asked anxiously.

"All well," said the blacksmith; then, with a glance at the forge--"except the--; but that's not much after all.--Come in, gentlemen, come in."

We entered, and found Marika as neat and thrifty as ever, though with a touch of care about her pretty face which had not been there when I first met her.

A few words explained the cause of their trouble.

"Sir," said Petroff, addressing me, but evidently speaking at Nicholas, "we unfortunate Bulgarians have hard times of it just now. The Turk has oppressed and robbed and tortured and murdered us in time past, and now the Russian who has come to deliver us is, it seems to me, completing our ruin. What between the two we poor wretches have come to a miserable pass indeed."

He turned full on Nicholas, unable to repress a fierce look.

"Friend," said Nicholas gently, but firmly, "the chances of war are often hard to bear, but you ought to recognise a great difference between the sufferings which are caused by wilful oppression, and those which are the unavoidable consequences of a state of warfare."

"Unavoidable!" retorted the blacksmith bitterly. "Is it not possible for the Russians to carry supplies for their armies, instead of demanding all our cattle for beef and all our harvests for fodder?"

"Do we not pay you for such things?" asked Nicholas, in the tone of a man who wishes to propitiate his questioner.

"Yes, truly, but nothing like the worth of what you take; besides, of what value are a few gold pieces to me? My wife and children cannot eat gold, and there is little or nothing left in the land to buy. But that is not the worst. Your Cossacks receive nothing from your Government for rations, and are allowed to forage as they will. Do you suppose that, when in want of anything, they will stop to inquire whether it belongs to a Bulgarian or not? When the war broke out, and your troops crossed the river, my cattle and grain were bought up, whether I would or no, by your soldiers. They were paid for--underpaid, I say--but that I cared not for, as they left me one milch-cow and fodder enough to keep her. Immediately after that a band of your lawless and unrationed Cossacks came, killed the cow, and took the forage, without paying for either. After that, the Moldavians, who drive your waggon-supplies for you--a lawless set of brigands when there are no troops near to watch them,--cleaned my house of every scrap that was worth carrying away. What could I do? To kill a dozen of them would have been easy, but that would not have been the way to protect my wife and children."

The man laid his great hand tenderly on Ivanka's head, while he was speaking in his deep earnest voice; and Nicholas, who was well aware of the truth of his remarks about the Cossacks and the waggon-drivers of the army, expressed such genuine feeling and regret for the sufferings with which the household had been visited, that Petroff was somewhat appeased.

"But how came your forge to be burned?" I asked, desiring to change the drift of the conversation.

The question called up a look of ferocity on the blacksmith's face, of which I had not believed it capable.

"The Turks did it," he hissed, rather than said, between his teeth. "The men of this village--men whom I have served for years--men by whom I have been robbed for years, and to whose insults I have quietly and tamely submitted until now, for the sake of these," (he pointed to his wife and children)--"became enraged at the outbreak of the war, and burned my workshop. They would have burned my cottage too, but luckily there is a good partition-wall between it and the shop, which stayed the flames. No doubt they would have despoiled my house, as they have done to others, but my door and windows were barricaded, and they knew who was inside. They left me; but that which the Turks spared the Russians have taken. Still, sir," (he turned again full on Nicholas), "I must say that if your Government is honest in its intentions, it is far from wise in its methods."

"You hate the Turks, however, and are willing to serve against them?" asked Nicholas.

The blacksmith shook his shaggy locks as he raised his head.

"Ay, I