In the Track of the Troops

by R. M. Ballantyne

The first great attack had been made on the redoubts in front of Plevna, and in assaulting one of these poor Dobri Petroff distinguished himself so highly for desperate, reckless courage, that he drew the special attention of General Skobeleff, who sent for him, probably to offer him some appointment, but whatever it might be the scout declined promotion or reward. His object was to seek what he styled honourable death in the front of battle. Strange to say, he led a sort of charmed life, and the more he sought death the more it appeared to avoid him. Somewhat like Skobeleff himself, he stood unhurt, many a time, when balls were whistling round him like hail, and comrades were mown down in ranks and heaps around him.

In all armies there are men who act with heroic valour and desperate daring. Some are urged thereto by calm contempt of danger, coupled with a strong sense of duty. It was something like this, probably, that induced Skobeleff to expose himself so recklessly on almost all occasions. It was simply despair, coupled with natural lion-like courage, that influenced the wretched scout.

Nicholas Naranovitsch had also acquired a name among his fellows for that grand sweeping fervour in attack which we are wont to associate with the heroes and demigods of ancient story. But Nicholas’s motive was a compound of great physical strength, hot-blooded youth, and a burning desire to win distinction in the path of duty.

One consequence of the scout’s return to headquarters was that he frequently met Nicholas, and felt an intense drawing towards him as being one who had shown him sympathy and kindness in that home which was now gone for ever. Deep was the feeling of pity which Nicholas felt when the scout told him, in a few sternly-uttered sentences, what had occurred at Venilik; and when Dobri expressed a desire to attach himself to Nicholas as his servant, the latter was only too glad to agree. Each knew the other well by report, and felt that the connection would be mutually agreeable.

At last one of the greatest events of the war approached. Plevna had been so closely hemmed in by Russian troops, and cut off from supplies, that the garrison was reduced to starvation. In this extremity, as is well known, Osman Pasha resolved on the desperate attempt to cut his way out of the beleaguered position.

Snow had fallen heavily, and the ground was white with it—so were the huts of the Russian soldiers, who, welcoming the snowfall as a familiar reminiscence of home, went about cooking their food and singing joyously. The houses of Plevna, with blue lines of smoke curling above them, were faintly visible through the driving snow. Now and then the sullen boom of a great gun told of the fell work that the forces had assembled there to execute.

“We are ordered to the front to-night, Dobri,” said Nicholas, as he entered his tent hurriedly, unbuckled his sword, and sat down to a hasty meal. “Our spies have brought information that Osman means to play his last card. Our field telegraphs have spread the news. We even know the particular point where the attempt to cut through our lines is to be made. The troops are concentrating. I have obtained leave to join the advance columns. Just see that my revolvers are in order, and look to your own. Come after that and feed. Without food a man can do nothing.”

The scout made no reply. Ever since the terrible calamity that had befallen him he had been a taciturn semi-maniac, but there was a glitter in his black eye that told of latent fires and deadly purpose within.

During the night another spy came in, reporting that Osman was concentrating his men near the bridge over the Vid, and that he had issued three days’ rations to the troops, with a hundred and fifty cartridges and a new pair of sandals to each man. About the same time there came a telegram to the effect that lights were moving about with unwonted activity in Plevna, and something unusual was evidently afoot. Thus the report of the first spy was partly corroborated.

Meanwhile Nicholas and Dobri Petroff, mounting in the dark hours of morning, rode through the snowstorm—which was gradually abating—in the direction of the bridge over the Vid, while Skobeleff himself proceeded towards the Krishina redoubts, which, it was reported, were being abandoned. The report was true; he took possession of these redoubts unopposed, and instantly put them in a state of defence.