The Great White Army

by Max Pemberton

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 assassins—for such I must now call them—led Petrovka towards a beech tree by the roadside, and clamoured loudly for a rope. Such a lust 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 God, 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 God 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 passed between the captain and herself were those which commanded our safety. A proud little lady she was in that moment, God knows! The laughter had come back to her eyes.