Part 27 (2/2)
A murmur of approval greeted this. Ian went on:
”But I don't want you to be guided by what I and the Lady Countess are doing. You know what is going on as well as I do.”
”Ay. All the devils have taken the Muscovites,” said a voice.
”Thousands of peasants, once rich, like yourselves, pa.s.s on their way to Warsaw,” said Ian.
”Please, my lord Count,” put in the _soltys_, ”it's Siberia and not Warsaw they are going to. The Cossacks down in the village are talking a lot about it. The Russian government is offering the fugitives land in Siberia and work in the mines. It's not fair. This has been our land for centuries, long before the Russians came here at all. And I, for one, and my three young sons, are for stopping here. They can but burn our crops and cottages. Haven't the Cossacks done that?”
A low growl of anger filled the room. The old man went on:
”But when they've burnt the crops and our huts and stacks they've done their worst. They can't take away the land, even if they bring all the carts they've got. The land remains. And I remain. For I'd rather starve through another winter on my own soil than have the biggest farm they can give me in Siberia.”
They talked a lot, arguing and disputing, as peasants do. But you cannot hurry them, so Ian and the priest waited for them in the chapel.
After an hour, when each had had his say, Baranski came out.
”Well, what have you decided?” Ian asked with secret anxiety. It is no joke to be left in a big place like Ruvno without any peasants.
”Sir,” answered the _soltys_, who had followed Baranski, ”we have decided that each man may take his choice, and that the man who takes his family from Ruvno, to join that poor starving mob on the road outside, is stupid and a fool. If G.o.d wills that we shall die, we can die here. We have two months yet of warm weather, and the crops, thank G.o.d, are not so bad, considering the trenches we've had put upon us. We can mend up our cottages and prepare for the winter. The Muscovites are retreating as hard as they can. So I don't see that there'll be any more battles in this part for some time. We can plow and sow in the autumn as usual. That's how most of us think. The others can go, if they like.”
Next day Ian heard that the majority had decided to stop. The sight of those refugees haunted them.
XIV
On the day when the peasants decided to stop in Ruvno Ian had a visitor.
It was none other than the narrow-eyed Colonel who was in the same house at the beginning of the war, when Rennenkampf came and Roman with him; when Father Constantine had vainly interceded that Roman might not be obliged to shoot his own brother.
The family, even to the Countess, was busy in field and barn. For the first time in her life she had taken to manual labor. But the peasant proprietors were hurrying to get in their own crops; Ian's men had been sadly thinned and he was therefore short-handed. One idea possessed them all: to gather in what they could before some enraged soldiers pa.s.sed and took next year's food from them.
Well, the Colonel drove up to the house, made a great noise with his motor and was finally answered by Father Constantine, who appeared on the scene, rake in hand.
”I want to see the Count,” said the Russian, saluting.
”He is with the others, at the home-farm. If you will go there.” He recognized the man, but saw that his memory was better than the visitor's.
”I must see him alone. Please tell him so.”
In due course Ian arrived. He was in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves and had on an old pair of white flannel trousers, formerly worn for tennis. He had been stacking hay. Father Constantine very much afraid that Roman's name would come up, had followed. The Colonel came to the point without delay.
”The sooner you and your peasants leave this the better,” he said gruffly. ”We can't hold it any longer. The enemy may be here at any moment.”
”The peasants have made up their minds to stay,” said Ian.
”And you?”
”I never thought of leaving.”
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