Through Russian Snows (34 page)

In half an hour Julian felt a movement on the part of his little burden,
whose hands he had been chafing with his own unoccupied one. Presently
something was said in Russian. He did not reply, and then there was a
little struggle, and the voice said in French: "Nurse, where am I? Where
are you taking me? Where is the carriage?"

"Do not fret, little one," Julian replied in the same language. "I am a
friend, and will take care of you. Your carriage broke down, and so I am
carrying you until we can get you another. Are you warm?"

"Yes," the child said. "I am quite warm, but I want my nurse."

"Nurse can't come to you now, my dear; but I will try to be a good nurse
to you."

"I want to see what you are like."

"You shall see presently," he said. "It would be very cold if you were
to put your head outside. The best thing that you can do is to try to
get to sleep."

The warmth doubtless did more than Julian's exhortation, for the child
said no more, and Julian felt certain after a short time that she had
gone off to sleep. He was now in his place with his company again, and
joined in the song that they were singing, softly at first, but, as he
felt no movement, louder and louder until, as usual, his voice rose high
above the chorus. Nevertheless, his thoughts were with the child. What
was he to do with her? how was she to be fed? He could only hope for the
best. So far Providence had assuredly made him the means of preserving
her life, and to Providence he must leave the rest. It might be all for
the best. The weight was little to him, and there was a sense of warmth
and comfort in the little body that lay so close to his back. What
troubled him most was the thought of what he should do with her when he
was engaged with the Russians. He decided that she must stay then in one
of the carts that carried the spare ammunition of the regiment, and
accompanied it everywhere. "At any rate, if I should fall," he said,
"and she be left behind, she has only to speak in Russian when the enemy
come up, and no doubt they will take care of her. Her father must be a
man of some importance. The carriage was a very handsome one. If she can
make them understand who she is, there is no doubt they will restore
her to her parents."

There was but little fighting that day, and when the regiment fell out,
fortunately halting again in a wood, Julian waited until the fires were
lighted, and then unloosened the straps and shifted the child round in
front of him. She opened her eyes as he did so.

"Well, little one, here we are at our journey's end," he said
cheerfully. "You have had a nice sleep, and you look as warm as a
toast."

She was indeed changed. A rosy flush had taken the place of the
bluish-gray tint on her cheeks; her eyes were bright, and she looked
round at the strange scene with a face devoid of all fear.

"Are you my new nurse?" she asked.

"Yes, dear."

"You look nice," she said calmly, "but I should like Claire, too."

"She can't come at present, little one, so you must put up with me."

"Are you one of those wicked Frenchmen?" she asked.

"I am an Englishman. Some of them are Frenchmen, but all Frenchmen are
not wicked. You will see that all my friends here will be very kind to
you, and will do everything they can to make you comfortable, till we
can send you to your friends again."

The child was silent for some time.

"There was a great noise," she said gravely, "and guns fired, and the
coachman fell off the box, and then nurse called out and opened the door
and jumped out, and then the horses plunged and the carriage fell over,
and I don't know any more."

"There was an accident," Julian said. "Don't think about that now. I
will tell you about it some day."

"I am hungry," the child said imperiously. "Get me something to eat."

"We are going to cook our suppers directly, dear. Now let us go and sit
by that fire. I am afraid you won't find the supper very nice, but it is
the best we have got. What is your name?"

"I am the Countess Stephanie Woronski," the little maid said; "and what
is your name?"

"My name is Julian Wyatt."

"It is a funny name," the child said; "but I think I like it."

Julian carried her to the fire, and seated her with her feet before it.

"Where is my cloak," she asked, as on setting her down she perceived the
deficiency; "and what are those ugly things?" and she looked at the
swathing round her arms and legs.

"Some bad men took your cloak," he said; "none of these men here did it;
and you were very cold when I found you, so I put some of the stuffing
from the cushions round you to keep you warm, and you must wear them
till I can get you another cloak. Comrades," he went on, to the soldiers
who had gathered round to look at the little figure, "this is the
Countess Stephanie Woronski, and I have told her that you will all be
very kind to her and make her as comfortable as you can as long as she
is with us."

There was a general hum of assent, and when the child went gravely among
them, shaking hands with each, many an eye was moistened, as the men's
thoughts went back to their own homes, and to little sisters or nieces
whom they had played with there. Soon afterwards the colonel came by,
and Julian, stepping forward, saluted him and said:

"I have picked up a little girl to-day, Colonel."

"So I have been told, Sergeant. I think it was a mistake, but that is
your business. Everyone is getting weaker, and you are not likely to be
able to carry her for long. However, of course, you can take her if you
like, and as long as there are horses to drag the ammunition carts you
can put her in them when you choose."

"It is only when we are fighting that I should want to stow her away.
She does not weigh more than a knapsack, Colonel."

"Well; just as you like, Sergeant. If you wanted to take along ten
children I could not say no to you. She is a pretty little thing," he
added, as he went nearer to her.

"Yes, Colonel. She says that she is a countess."

"Poor little countess!" the colonel said tenderly. "She will want
something warmer than she has got on now."

"We will manage that, Colonel. She will be warm enough as long as she is
on the march with me; but as, even before that fire, she has not enough
on her, we will contrive something. In the first broken-down
baggage-waggon that we come across, we are pretty sure to find something
that we can fit her out in."

As yet the pressure of hunger had not come severely upon the grenadiers.
In the fights with the Russians some of the horses of their own cavalry
and artillery, and those of the enemy, were daily killed, besides the
animals which dropped from fatigue were at once shot and cut up.
Moreover, a small ration of flour was still served out, and the supper
that night, if rough, was ample. Julian sat facing the fire with his
cloak open and the child nestling up close to him. As soon as supper was
over half a dozen of the soldiers started off.

"We will bring back a fit-out, Jules, never fear. It will be strange if
there is not something to be picked up in the snow between us and the
next corps."

In half an hour they came in again, one of them carrying a bundle. By
this time the child was fast asleep, and, taking off his cloak and
wrapping it round her, Julian went across to them on the other side of
the fire.

"What have you got?"

"A good find, Jules. It was a young officer. He was evidently coming
back with an order, but his horse fell dead under him. The lad had lost
an arm, at Borodino I expect, and was only just strong enough to sit his
horse. We think that the fall on the hard snow stunned him, and the
frost soon finished the work. He had been well fitted out, and some of
his things will do for the little one. He had a fur-lined jacket which
will wrap her up grandly from head to foot. Here are a pair of thick
flannel drawers. If we cut them off at the knee you can tuck all her
little clothes inside it, and they will button up under her arms and
come down over her feet. She will look queer, but it will keep her warm.
This pair of stockings will pull up her arms to her shoulders, and here
is another pair that was in his valise. They are knitted, and one will
pull down over her ears. You see they are blue, and if you cut the foot
off and tie up the hole it will look like a fisherman's cap, and the
other will go over her head and tie up under her chin."

"Splendid, comrade! That is a first-rate fit-out. I am obliged to you
indeed."

"You need not talk of a little thing like that, Sergeant. There is not a
man in the regiment who would not do a good deal more than that for you:
besides we have all taken to the child. She will be quite the pet of the
regiment. Moreover, the lad's valise was well filled. We have tossed up
for choice, and each of us has got something. Henri got the cloak, and a
good one it is. I had the next choice, and I took his blanket, which is
a double one. Jacques had the horse rug, Ferron had another pair of
drawers and his gloves, and Pierre, who has got a small foot, took his
boots. So we have all done well."

As Julian lay down with his hood over his head and the child held
closely in his arms under his cloak, he felt strangely warm and
comfortable, and breathed a prayer that he might be spared to carry the
little waif he had rescued, in safety across the frontier.

"I will keep her with me," he said, "until she gets a bit bigger. By
that time the war may be all over, and I will send her to my aunt, if I
dare not go home myself. She will take care of her, and if she should
have gone, I know Frank will do the best he can for the child, and may
be able, through the Russian embassy, to send her back to her friends."

The cold was so intense in the morning that the child offered no
objection to her novel habiliments. Some inches had to be cut from the
bottom of the jacket to keep it off the ground, and the strip served as
a band to keep it close round her waist.

"It is too big," she said a little fretfully.

"It is large, Stephanie," Julian said, "but then, you see, there is the
advantage that when you like you can slip your arms altogether out of
the sleeves, and keep them as warm as a toast inside. Now you get on my
back and we will fasten you more comfortably than I could do yesterday."

This, with the assistance of a couple of soldiers, was done. Then,
putting on his cloak again, Julian fell in with his comrades, and, as
usual, striking up a merry song, in which the rest at once joined,
continued his march.

Day passed after day. The Russians pressed hotly on the rear, and many
times Ney's corps had to face about and repel their attacks. Sometimes
when the fighting was likely to be serious Julian handed his charge over
to the care of the driver of one of the ammunition carts, but as a rule
he carried her with him, for she objected strongly to leaving him. On
the march she often chose to be carried on his shoulder—a strange
little figure, with the high fur collar of the jacket standing up
level with the top of her head, and a yellow curl or two making its way
through the opening in front. She soon picked up the songs that were
most often sung, and her shrill little voice joined in. She was now a
prime favourite with all the men.

"ON THE MARCH LITTLE STEPHANIE OFTEN CHOSE TO BE CARRIED
ON JULIAN'S SHOULDER."

Food became scarcer every day. The cavalry were now almost wholly
dismounted, the horses still available being taken for the guns. Among
the divisions in front the disorganization was great indeed. It was a
mob rather than an army, and only when attacked did they form up, and
with sullen fury drive off the foe. At other times they tramped along
silently, ragged, and often shoeless, their feet wrapped in rough
bandages. Whenever one fell from weakness, he lay there unnoticed, save
that sometimes a comrade would, in answer to his entreaties to kill him
rather than to leave him to the mercy of the peasants, put his musket to
his head and finish him at once. No one straggled, except to search a
deserted cottage on the line, for all who fell into the hands of the
peasants—who followed the army like wolves after a wounded stag—were
either put to death by atrocious tortures, or stripped and left to
perish by cold. All the sufferings inflicted by the army in its advance
upon the peasantry were now repaid an hundredfold, and the atrocities
perpetrated upon all who fell into their hands were so terrible that Sir
Robert Wilson wrote to the Czar, imploring him for the honour of the
country to put a stop to them. Alexander at once issued a proclamation
offering the reward of a gold piece for every French prisoner brought
in, and so saved the lives of many hundreds of these unfortunates. In
the French army itself all feelings of humanity were also obliterated.
The men fought furiously among themselves for any scrap of food, and a
dead horse was often the centre of a desperate struggle. Those who fell
were at once stripped of their garments, and death came all the sooner
to put an end to their sufferings. The authority of the officers was
altogether unheeded.