Part 15

"Very well," she said, putting her arm in his. "If only I could see the Grand Duke, he'd send us to Warsaw by hook or by crook. War changes many things, but it doesn't kill the convenience of having powerful friends."

"Will he go with us?" asked Vanda, meaning the Cossack.

"I hope not," whispered her aunt.

"They are wild people at the best," said the Father, speaking English. "If he joins us he'll see your jewels taken from the earth."

"Besides," said Ian, "if the Prussians catch us alone they may give us a pass to Warsaw--God knows, we're harmless beggars, even to them. But to have an escaped prisoner--only--how to tell him?"

"Well--are we going to start?" asked the Cossack. Nobody answered.

He was no fool, for he guessed the reasons why they greeted his proposal in stony silence. I suppose he thought a woman would be soft-hearted, so addressed himself to the Countess, giving one of his awkward bows.

"Madam," he said, "I know you think me a savage Cossack, given to pilfering and all sorts of wildness. But I am a good Cossack, of the Don Troop, coming of many atamans. My name is Ostap Hovodsky; my mother is an Efremov. We serve the Tsar with our own horses, uniforms and arms; we are warriors and farmers, but neither Huns nor Prussians. You need not fear for any treasure you may have about you for your journey. As to this"--he threw down his pistol--"it has been in the water and I have had no ammunition for a week. And this," he tore off his ragged coat and threw it into the ditch. "I spit upon it. I always meant to change it the moment I could find a dead man to pilfer. This is no place for Cossack uniforms. I'll walk in my shirt, or without it, rather than make you anxious. If you want my company you will not regret it. From your looks I see you are not used to make your way through deserted battlefields. You will find me useful, and I shall be glad to know the nearest way to report myself to Nicolai Nicolaievitch."

"I will take you with pleasure," said Ian, who felt confidence in him after this little speech. "But there are others."

"I, too," agreed Minnie, who naturally did not share the Polish aversion to Cossacks.

"I believe you'll be our friend," said Vanda.

"I have known good Cossacks," said Father Constantine, "and I think you are one of them."

The Countess said no more, so it was settled that Ostap, as he insisted on their calling him, should go with them. He thanked them, and then, of a sudden, took the initiative, and became their leader.

"You have no pick?" he asked.

They looked at each other in consternation. It was true. In his haste to leave the house Ian had forgotten to bring a spade, to dig up the jewels.

"Where do the Prussians lie now?" he asked again. Ian took him up the bank by the windmill site and showed him, so far as he knew, where they had occupied Ruvno soil.

"Very well. I'll go for a pick, or a shovel."

"You'll be captured if you do," said Father Constantine. "They have sentries."

"Never mind. We must have a few things. Do you all wait here and I'll be back very soon. If you hear a very long whistle you'll know I am taken and then you must fend for yourselves. Otherwise, wait."

"I'll come, too--" said Ian.

"Can you walk on your belly?"

"I can try."

"That's no good. You learn it early or not at all. And you cannot take a pannikin or water-bottle from a sleeping man's side without waking him. Even the Prussians can't do that. I'm safer alone."

And he disappeared, after taking up the bridle which had been on Sietch--the only harness he had.

The moon had waned and darkness was upon them. To save time they moved to the spot where Ian and the Father had buried half of the jewels last summer. They put the rest in the lane which ran to the east of the house. During the momentary lulls when safe from prying eyes, Ian had been in the habit of going to see if they were safe and none the worse for lying underground. When the windmill was destroyed they were anxious about them. But on clearing away the debris he found them safe and sound in kind Mother Earth, who never deserts men, if only they know how to tend and love her as she requires. He and his mother thought more and more about them as their forests were ruined and fields ceased to bear; for with them they could not only live, had they to bolt, till the war would be over; but later on they hoped to come back and repair some at least of the damage done to Ruvno.

But in all their talks of the dim future they had never dreamed of such utter ruin as now faced them. For the Russians appeared to do well after driving foes from the very gates of Warsaw, and everybody was full of hope till a couple of weeks back.

They had all learnt by heart how many paces north and west of the windmill was the hole, so did not foresee much trouble in finding it. It seemed hours before Ostap came back, and they began to fear he had been captured and could not even whistle to warn them. At last, however, a faint whistle came from the road below. Ian went to meet him.

He always knew the Cossacks for pilferers, but never thought the night would come when he and his family would be glad to share a Cossack's booty. Ostap had lived up to the traditions of his people, which includes a genius for finding the thing they want and making the most of an awkward situation. He struggled under the weight of many things, slung on his back by means of Sietch's bridle. He had a pick, which he handed to Ian.

"Do you dig," he said. "And I will divide these things among us."

He had found what remained of the Prussians' feast, so rudely interrupted by shells from Kosczielna. He had three huge loaves of rye bread, brandy, which the Countess insisted on Father Constantine's having some of, three tins of preserved food (it was too dark to read the labels) and cheese. He had boots for himself, taken, he said, from a dead trooper, and a jersey from the same source. The women shuddered at the thought of wearing clothes stripped from a corpse, but he was quite pleased with them. Then he had a water-bottle, three nose-bags and two horse-cloths. These were a good deal torn, but Vanda and Minnie, in light frocks, were very glad of them.

"Only three loaves," he said regretfully. "But I ate the other on the spot. I heard you say you had had supper and I had touched no food for twenty-four hours. These nose-bags will do to carry the food in, one for the priest and one each for us men."

Quickly he distributed his booty in the three nosebags.

"There," he said when it was done. "We shall not have a feast, but at least something to put in our stomachs. Mine was empty before I went over to them. They are all sleeping like the dead they lie by, except the wounded, who groan and yell." He turned to the Countess. "And where can I fill this water-bottle without getting poisoned, my Lady?"

"We shall pass a spring soon after we start for Sohaczev."

"My God, but I've a thirst. Is there nothing nearer?"

"Only the House supply," she answered sadly. "And that must be under the ruins."

Meanwhile, Ian and the two girls were working their hardest, Ian loosening the earth with the pick and helping to shovel it up. This they did with their hands, having nothing else. The Countess helped, too, but they all insisted on the Father resting before his long tramp. His seventy-odd years could ill withstand the experiences of the past twelve months. His rheumatism had grown worse, and the wound he took in the winter, during the kitchen fight, never properly healed. A surgeon Ian had called in said it would take years before the skin hardened over the bone. They did manage to get a kind of cap, of aluminum, to protect the skull. But whereas a quiet life and comfort would have done him good, all they could give him that year was worry and hardship.

Ostap looked on but did not offer to help dig up the "treasure" as he called it. He did say how sorry he was not to have found a spade as well as a pick; but that was all. He did not want them to suspect of a desire to pilfer their jewels.

The three worked hard for some time, then Vanda got up to stretch her legs, cramped by the posture.

"We haven't hit the right spot," she said.

"I believe you're right," agreed Ian. "We've not struck cement even."

"If only we had another pick," sighed Minnie. "We'd get on quicker."

"What are they saying?" Ostap asked the priest.

"They are short of a pick."

Despite protests he disappeared; whilst Ian was still measuring the paces, he came back, not with a pick but a spade. Ian, seeing the girls were exhausted with work and anxiety, asked him to use it.

"Ah--you trust me," said the Cossack. "I'll help with pleasure."

They set to work again; silence holding the little group. Even the talkative Ostap did not speak.

"Cement!" Ian said suddenly.

He had said it so many times only to find stones that the others took no notice. However, he and Ostap plodded on--and at last Ian held up a small object.

"The thermos bottle," he said, giving it to his mother.

In the dark she and the girls opened it, counting the black pearls. They were intact.

"Work carefully now," Ian warned Ostap. "The rest are in waterproof packets--we shall miss them."

"It's so dark," complained the priest. "Can't we use my electric torch?"

"Not if you want to be alive to-morrow," said Ostap bluntly. "Their sentries are watching."

And they fumbled on. The moon had set long ago, so they worked very slowly. But at last, after feeling every clod of earth near where they found the thermos bottle, they came upon a waterproof packet. It contained Minnie's pearls.

"Only one more, Ostap," said Ian. "It was put near this. We sha'n't be long."

In a few moments he found it; it held half of the famous Ruvno emeralds, worth many thousand roubles. Ostap did not ask what was in the packet, but remarked:

"Oh, God, it's wonderful how little room treasure takes up. Now do you all, ladies, secure them well about your persons; and we must be off."

"Thank God, we have them at last," said the Countess. "We shall be able to keep the wolf from the door." She spoke thus, afraid that he would have an idea of the treasure's real value. For she did not trust him yet. Hastily they put the pearls about their persons, while Ostap strolled a few paces away.

"And now for the lane," said Ian. "We'll find that easier."

They had to make a big detour to reach it, for it was madness to go near the Prussians, as the Countess pointed out. Even as it was they heard the groans as some wounded men very near at hand. Once, Ian stumbled over a softish stiff body, in the darkness. He examined it as well as he could, fearing it might be one of his own household. But the dead man's helmet told its tale. They left it lying there, walking as silently as they could, Ian leading the way, because he knew every inch of the ground. Every now and again some noise from the Prussian camp made them stand still, in terror that they were discovered. But they were all false alarms. Many of von Senborn's men were in their last long sleep, and the rest so tired that it would have taken more noise than these poor waifs made on the grass to awake them. Their horror was great when they finally arrived at the top of the lane where Ian had buried the remainder of the emeralds and his mother's rings. It was blocked with the wreckage of his once prosperous stud farm.

"We're ruined," whispered the Countess. "None of us can get through that."

"I'll get over," said Ostap, when the situation was explained to him. "But you must tell me where the treasure lies."

"I'll come with you," said Vanda.

"Nonsense!" This from Ian. "I'll go."

She put her hand on his arm.

"You're too heavy. You'll bring down a lot of the ruins, wake the sentries and we shall be done."

"It's not safe," he said, squeezing her hand.

"It is," she whispered. "I can climb like a cat. Do let me."

He made no further objection. In silence he watched her climb the ruins. Ostap was wonderful. He made not the faintest noise, reached the top of the ruins, which were like those made by an earthquake, then took Vanda in his arms and stepped as noiselessly down the other side with her. It seemed a long time elapsed after their dark figures disappeared. Then they arrived unexpectedly over the far end of the ruins.

"Well?" asked Ian anxiously.

"Hopeless," she answered.

"The spot where your treasure lies is under twenty feet of brick and rubbish," said Ostap.

"Can't we clear it?"

"Not without waking some Prussians. We heard their snores."

"Oh, Ostap," said the poor Countess, forgetting her suspicion in her anxiety, "you are so clever--surely you can help us. I'll come--and we'll all lift the debris away brick by brick, with our hands, silently."

"I cannot, my lady. Look!" He pointed eastward. "Daylight would overtake us. Besides, the ruins are very heavy. It can't be done without risking your jewels and your lives."

"Yes, he is right, Aunt," said Vanda sadly.

They were all disappointed and loath to give up the search. The Countess wept a little at the thought of leaving so much wealth behind. Ostap, who had been silent about the other jewels, did his best to comfort them now.

"Your treasure is safer here than in a Moscow bank," he said. "The Prussians will not touch it, for who would think to scrape under this horse farm? And when we have come back and cleared the earth of the enemy, you can dig for them in peace, and you will have money with which to build up your home. In Russia, neither bread nor meat is lacking and you can very well live on what you dug up near the high road. Let us go. The night passes, and darkness is now our best friend."

He was right. What good to linger weeping over their misfortunes? With heavy hearts they turned away and set out across the trench-furrowed fields to Sohaczev.

XVII

Although it was easy to see that the Countess and the chaplain were tired, Ian listened to his mother's entreaties to set out without any rest; for who could sleep within sight of their ruined home? Besides, time was precious, unless they were prepared to remain under the Prussian rule; and they decided that exile, beggary, anything would be better than living in some town to see them every day and every hour of the day.... Their way lay through what had been the home forest, by paths and fields that run south of Kosczielna, thence south-west to Sohaczev. It was already the last day of July and the Prussians at Ruvno had been boasting that they would be in Warsaw for the third of August; and the Kaiser's second son crowned King of Poland, in the old palace, within a month. They were a couple of days late in getting into Warsaw, and Poland's crown is not yet on a Hohenzollern's head.

The fear that the Grand Duke might no longer be in Sohaczev haunted them all. Even as the crow flies, Ruvno was twenty versts from there. By the road, which ran fairly straight, it was thirty. By cutting across country, by the ways which Ian and Vanda knew well, he thought they could save five versts, thus leaving twenty-five to cover. He and Ostap, walking a little ahead, to warn the others of barbed wire and trenches, soon saw what the short cut meant.

"I'm for getting back to the road," said the Cossack.

"But it is much further." Ian explained the distances.

"Eh, God, but we can't do more than a verst an hour if this kind of ground goes on, and I know this part. It's cut up like Hell. We shall be clambering in and out of trenches and dodging wire and dead bodies all the way. We might do three versts an hour by the road. None of you are walkers. Nor I. We Cossacks are more at home on horses' backs than our feet. You walk as if every step hurt you."

"There's something inside me that grates about as I move," admitted Ian.

"Broken ribs. I had them several times. If you tie them up it's all right, but a bit nasty if you let them jog into your flesh."

They stumbled on a bit and avoided some more wire, making a long detour to do it. Ian noticed that, whereas his mother and the two girls kept up better than he thought they could, the Father showed signs of exhaustion, though he did his bravest to hide it.

"The priest," whispered Ostap. "We shall be carrying him soon. Another reason for going to the road."

Ian said nothing, knowing he was right. In fact, he soon doubted if any of them could keep up this kind of exercise very long. The ground was intersected with trenches, and full of pitfalls in the way of tree-stumps. They had all been working since daybreak, even the Father, who was fit only for bed. Ostap was a worse walker than Ian himself, bruised and shaken by the shell which buried him near the church and led to their worst troubles. Ostap said he had no sleep for two nights, being afraid to doze on Sietch's back for fear of getting entrapped. Father Constantine almost fought to keep his knapsack; but they managed to get that from him.

"Even if we do three versts an hour, it will take ten hours to Sohaczev," remarked Ostap, when they had struggled thus for some time without much progress. "... Walking all the time. That's an impossibility. What hour is it now?"

Ian took out his watch. It had stopped. The glass was smashed, too. Ostap studied the summer sky with some attention.

"It is one o'clock," he said after a moment. "In two hours or so it will be the dawn. We can perhaps cover six versts by then, by the road. Then we must rest for an hour, or we shall be dead."

"This will be hard on the Father," Ian whispered.

"Yes. And listen. By three we may cover six versts on the road. That leaves twenty-four. We start again at four, a good hour to walk, for it is fresh. We go on till six. That leaves us twenty-two versts, for we shall be going slower than three an hour, say two ... where was I?

"Twenty-two versts from Sohaczev."

"We rest an hour, walk three versts more. That makes eight o'clock ... we are yet nineteen versts from our goal."

"There's a village nineteen versts from Sohaczev," Ian put in. "Vulki, it's called."

"We rest a bit. Then we make a great effort, and if we are lucky, by noon we are ten versts from Sohaczev."

"We'll never catch the Grand Duke," said Vanda, who was with the two men.

"Who knows? But at ten versts from Sohaczev there is a large camp. Or there was. If we are lucky we shall find some of the men there, or a place in a train, for there is the railway, unless we have already destroyed it. But we shouldn't do that till the last minute, for we are retreating with as little loss to ourselves as can be. Then we are safe for either headquarters at Sohaczev, or Warsaw. And Warsaw leads to anywhere in Russia. I shall join my troop, and you can rest till the war is over. It must be over sometime, even the Prussians can't help that. And then your mother, who is a brave woman, and a really great lady, can come back and rebuild your house. And you can marry your sisters in the meantime."

"They are not my sisters."

"Then the young lady is your bespoken wife."

"My husband is a volunteer in the Cossack army," said Vanda.

Ostap gave a little shout of pleasure. "Oh--good! Which troop?"

"The Kuban troop."

"And the other young lady by your mother?"

"Is English. She has been very good and kind in helping us through our troubles. She has lost one brother in the war."

"And I three. I spit upon my life. And upon money. I want to fight the Prussians and burn down a few of their towns before I am killed by them, or the cholera. For that is almost as sure as their shells."

"Have you no family to keep?" asked the Countess.

"I have. But they have the farm and the wife can look after that when the time comes for my old father to die. Then my two boys will do their service, too, but I want them to go to good schools first."

"But you said you spat upon money."

"I mean for its own sake. There is enough on the farm to keep them at school. We Cossacks are beginning to wake up and have our boys and girls taught things besides fighting and horses. But Tsars have taken away all our autonomy, little by little, and have never given us the free use of all our land, like they promised. Many men in the troop find it a great burden to supply their own horses, guns and uniforms."

He was silent after that and then began again with:

"You, on the other hand, must be a powerful man, for the peasants I used to talk to when we were at Kosczielna spoke about Ruvno and its lord."

Ian told him they were mined, and had nothing but their jewels, half of which they had left behind.

"But they must be worth many farms and horses," he argued. "People like you don't bury treasure for a few roubles. As to what you left under your horse-farm, it is quite safe. The earth is your best friend in war; better than banks."

Ian said nothing. The others, too, listened in silence. There was something attractive about his frank speech and simple outlook of life. But Ian had always noticed that about the Russians. The Poles, with their old civilization, had become as complex as the French.

"I am sorry those rascals have burned you down," he resumed. "The castle was a fine thing. I often saw it from the distance. But I should have liked most of all to see the horses you bred...."

Ian and he talked horses then, and got a little in front of the others, till a muffled cry from the back recalled them. Father Constantine was on the ground.

"He fell," said Vanda. "I am afraid he has fainted."

"No, I haven't," he retorted with a shadow of his old spirit. "I'll be--well--in a moment."

The Countess was for giving him brandy, but Ostap intervened.

"Soak some into this," and he tore off a piece of his rye loaf, which they gave him. It finished their stock of brandy, but revived the priest, who was on his feet in another moment.

"I can walk now," he said bravely.

"No. I'm going to carry you," said Ian. Father Constantine made a step forward, then fainted in earnest.

"Let me look," said Vanda. "I believe his wound has opened."

She bent over him and said:

"Yes. It ought to be bandaged. But how?

"Your handkerchiefs," said Ostap. But they remembered that they were filthy after the digging operations and feared to use one till they could rinse it out. Ian made up his mind that they must go back to the road.

"Yes," said his mother, willing enough now. "We'll never get along on these ghastly battle-fields."

So they started for the road, Ian carrying Father Constantine on his shoulders, regaining the highway by a little shrine, with an image of the Madonna. Many years before the Countess had put it there as a thanksgiving offering, when Ian recovered from an attack of scarlet fever. The peasants of the neighborhood used to say that it had miraculous powers to heal all sick children. So it was very popular with mothers of families.

"Who's there?" cried a familiar voice from the darkness.

"Your own people," answered they.

It was poor old Martin, who had been carried on in the general stampede; but he had grown very tired, and seeing the others were not amongst the mob, had the good sense to await them there, knowing they must pass the shrine on their way to safety. He had fallen asleep to find, on waking, that the moon was set and the night at its darkest.

"The others?" asked Ian. "Where are they?"

"Mother of God, they rushed on. They are mad with fear," he answered sadly. "Some fell and did not get up again. Old Vatsek, and somebody's child. The road is hard, being strewn with rubbish, what the other fugitives and soldiers have left for lack of strength."

"Seen any horses, or carts?" asked Ostap.

"Dead ones, under the moon ... they lie as they dropped, in the shafts."

"Far?"

"A quarter of a verst."