The Playground of Satan

by Beatrice C. Baskerville

Two days later, the stream of humanity still passed by. Many halted to beg for food, water. Ian gave both, though he could only afford the water, for his generosity of the last few days diminished the stores in an alarming way. So he had to harden his heart and give far less. The country for versts round was being laid waste. Every group of refugees told the same tale of destruction and ruin. On this particular morning passed some peasants of Stara Viesz. They told a ghastly story. They were cutting the crops when the Cossacks came up and began firing the grain as it stood in the fields. The reapers turned upon them with their scythes; a fierce fight followed. The Cossacks, having spent all their ammunition on the Germans, had but their spears left--and the peasants got the best of it, beating off the destroying sotnia, who left dead and wounded amongst the corn. But much of the grain was burnt and some of the cottages caught fire, for a strong east wind was blowing. The villagers who now passed had nothing left. Those lucky enough to save field or hut remained behind.

"If we can only reach Warsaw we shall be saved," said their spokesman. They had one cart left, for four families. Three had been abandoned because the horses dropped dead upon the road.

They all looked to Warsaw as a haven of rest and plenty. And an officer told Ian the Grand Duke had decided not to defend that city, but to evacuate it and leave it to the Prussians. This news was so bad that he had not the courage to tell it them. After all, they would not go back to their ruined homes. Ian and the priest used all their eloquence in trying to persuade them to it. But they refused. Terror was upon them. Perhaps they were right; why go back to starvation?

"Why don't the Russians give us food? They made us leave our homes," was the cry on everybody's lips. Ian could not answer them. So helpless did he feel that the temptation came to shut himself up in the top story rather than see suffering which he could not relieve. And he, too, asked himself why the Russians drove these peasants from their homes. What was the good of it? Those who did not die on the road would only swell the beggar population of Moscow and Petrograd; for they were destitute, though war found them prosperous men, with land and savings, too. These sad, ragged, homeless crowds would only stir up discontent in Russia. And the farms and holdings they had been forced to leave would give the Prussians room to put their own colonists. He was relieved to see that very few priests were among the refugees. When he or Father Constantine asked a panic-stricken group where their priest was the answer always came:

"He would not leave those who stopped behind."

Again anxiety haunted the House. There was Joseph. He had given no sign for a month. He had been so emphatic in his last letters about sending word when Vanda ought to leave that they almost gave him up as dead. But though there was no longer any doubt that the Germans would be in Ruvno before long she refused to leave. Neither Ian nor the Countess insisted. The retreat had come so unexpectedly that they found themselves cut off from Warsaw, the only road to Russia left open, without a day's notice. There were no trains but for the army, and few enough for that. Ian had not a pair of horses left capable of taking her twelve versts, let alone to Warsaw; and he doubted if she could get away from there. Minnie was kept by the same reasons, that is, devotion to Ruvno and fear of sharing the fate of those fugitives they saw pass night and day. Then there was Roman. So many Cossacks went by but Ian vainly sought his face amongst them. Some remembered Roman well; but they had not seen him for months, they said. One thought he had been taken prisoner in Masuria; another, who seemed to have known him better than the rest, said he was reported missing as far back as last October. Ian questioned Father Constantine when he heard this, asking exactly what happened that night when Joseph escaped to the chapel. The old man repeated his story and said:

"Ian, I can tell you no more. Our little family is broken up. God knows when it will be reunited. Perhaps not till death binds us together."

Then, perhaps more pressing than all, was anxiety about the crops. It was quite possible the Cossacks would fire them before they left. Some were cut; but most of them still stood, not ready for harvest. And Ian, watching the Cossacks' lack of fodder for their horses, trembled for the fate of his haystacks and barns, where there was hay. The retreating army grew fiercer, more and more antagonistic towards the civil population of the country it had to abandon. The officers could keep in their men when they liked; but the officers themselves were often at little pains to hide their hostility, though the majority treated Ian and his property with consideration. But a retreating army is rougher and more turbulent than an advancing, or entrenched army. God forgive them! They knew all the wretchedness of failure. Rage and disappointment had hold of them. Some Cossacks stopped in Ruvno; they were those who remembered Roman Skarbek. They kept mostly to the village, but Ian wished they would go. One night their commander told him that the Prussians would be there very soon, and it was time to make up his mind as to what he was going to do. Ian told him he had long ago made up his mind to stay. But he called up the chief men from the village, a deputation chosen by the rest. The message he sent was for service in the chapel; though he did have the service, the real purpose was to discuss the situation; but the Cossacks looked askance at him when they heard he had decided to stay in Ruvno, so he had to be careful. They kept watch day and night from the church tower in the village, either to direct the Russian fire on the Prussians or else to watch for their coming. Several times they warned the villagers to leave before their homes were razed to the ground. Some peasants were for taking their advice and going to Warsaw. Hence the meeting.

"The time has come for you to make up your minds," he said when he had them all in the little sacristy. "Are you going to leave your land and follow the retreating army, or to stop here and stick to your fields?"

"What is the House going to do?" asked the soltys, or head of the village community.