The Great White Army

by Max Pemberton

Day was breaking then, and a dim sun seeking to shine. The country itself was the same God-forsaken wilderness that we had trod these many days. No man at the heart of the ocean could have discerned an horizon more hopeless. Everywhere the snow and the whitened pines and the ultimate desolation. Man seemed to have fled the wretched farms we passed. Once upon the horizon we saw a troop of horsemen, but they disappeared from our view immediately. It was not until nightfall approached that we came without warning upon an unspeakable village, and this grim procession halted.

Here we saw the merry old gentleman's sleigh again, but it was now empty and obviously being driven to a stable. We ourselves, lifted by brawny arms, were hurled headlong into the cellar of a filthy inn, and there unbound and left for many hours in darkness. When the door next was opened the sergeant of the troop appeared carrying a lantern and a mess of mutton and potatoes. To our astonishment he greeted us in the German tongue, and seemed to have come upon a mission of reconciliation. Speaking in his master's name he apologised for what had happened to us.

"His Excellency regrets that you have been treated with so little ceremony," he said; "but, meine Herren, he has suffered much at the hands of your countrymen, and is in no mood for civilities. You were lucky to find him in a good humour. Give me your parole that you will make no attempt to escape, and he will carry you to Elbing and leave it with the general in command there to say what shall be done with you. Otherwise, I fear that you will not go to Elbing at all." And he looked at us as one who shall say, "In that case he will deal with you here and now."

"As his Excellency pleases," said I. "If he prefers the Russians at Elbing to settle this affair, we are in his hands. But let him know that I am a surgeon upon His Majesty's staff, and that my nephew here is of the Guard. I think your master will be wise to remember that when the time comes."

The fellow said that our message should be delivered, and leaving the light with us, he withdrew and bolted the trap of the cellar behind him. His intimation that we were to go to Elbing seemed odd, and I could make little of it, nor Léon for that matter.

"With any luck we should find the marshal and the rear-guard there," said I. "On the other hand, if there has been an action and the Russians have taken Elbing, God help us. The old man must have heard something of the kind, or he would never be going there. What do you make of it, nephew? Was I wise to give him the parole, or should we have held our tongues?"

Léon was altogether at a loss.

"I am thinking of Valerie," said he. "Good God, what a thing to happen! All this would have been very different if we had remained with the army, mon oncle. Undoubtedly there has been a battle and Marshal Ney has been beaten. We shall find the Cossacks in Elbing, and God help us, as you say!"

Then he added very solemnly, "There is only one thing to hope, that I may yet meet this merry old gentleman. Let him look to himself if I do, for by the God above me I will kill him like a sheep."

The woman dictated his frenzy, and who could wonder? For myself, I had an extraordinary confidence in the wit of Valerie St. Antoine and was ready to match it against that of any old dotard in Russia. At the same time it was impossible to forget her situation—here in this cursed wilderness, alone amid a troop of savages and with no prospect at the far end of it but that of an unnameable submission. Naturally I said nothing of this to my nephew, nor encouraged his wild notion that we might escape from the cellar. They had caught us in the trap, and nothing but a miracle could get us out. Beyond that we had given our paroles, and well done or ill, the attempt to break them at such an hour would have been madness. So we slept upon it, and were awakened at dawn to be told that the sledges were ready.