Chapter Twenty Three.
Woe to the “Auburn Hair!” After the Battle—Prowling Villains Punished.
When the white flag was seen a loud shout went up from the Russian army. Then a party of officers rode forward, and two Turkish horsemen were seen advancing. They stated that Osman himself was coming to treat with the Russians.
The spot on which they stood was covered with the grim relics of battle. The earth had been uptorn by exploding shells. Here lay a horse groaning and struggling in its agony. Close to it lay an ox, silently bleeding to death, his great, round, patient eyes looking mournfully at the scene around him. Close by, was a cart with a dead horse lying in the yoke as he had fallen, and a Turkish soldier, stretched alongside, whose head had been carried away by a cannon shot. Under the wagon was a wounded man, and close to him four others, who, drained of nearly all their life-blood, lay crouched together in helplessness, with the hoods of their ragged grey overcoats drawn down on their faces. These latter gazed at the murky sky in listless indifference, or at what was going on in a sort of weary surprise. Among them was Nicholas Naranovitsch.
Russian surgeons were already moving about the field of battle, doing what they could, but their efforts were trifling compared with the vast necessity.
At last there was a shout of “Osman!” “He comes!”
“We will give him a respectful reception,” exclaimed one Russian officer, in what is supposed by some to be the “gallant spirit of true chivalry.”
“That we will,” cried another; “we must all salute him, and the soldiers must present arms.”
“He is a great soldier,” exclaimed a third, “and has made a heroic defence.”
Even Skobeleff himself seems to have been carried away by the feeling of the moment, if we may credit report, for he is said to have exclaimed—