Part 42 (2/2)
”Do you remember a Polish squire who asked for a commission at the beginning of the war?”
”No,” he grunted, drying himself as best he might with a bandana handkerchief he pulled out of his wide trouser-leg. But it was a hopeless business so he gave it up, walking about and waving his arms.
”You said I was too fat.”
”You don't look it.”
”And too old.”
”Older, better men than you are strewing the fields to-night.”
”Do you want volunteers now?”
At this the Cossack turned upon him, rage, mortification and sorrow choking his voice, so that it came harsh and thick.
”Want!” he cried. ”I want guns, gun-fodder, batteries, honesty. I want to sweep out all those German-sp.a.w.ned traitors at Petrograd. I want to clean out the ministries, put honest soldiers there instead of the breed of thieves and liars. Want, indeed! Russia wants everything.
Everything! Where are my men? Where to G.o.d are the three thousand Cossacks I led from the Don? There! There!” He thrust his bare, muscular arms towards the west. ”Carrion,” he cried, with a half-stifled sob. ”Not killed in fair fight. Never a one of them. But murdered; yes, murdered by a horde of thieves in Petrograd, who sent me promises for guns, empty words for muskets, champagne for shrapnel! Oh, think of it! The flower of the Don Troop, crying for the wherewithal to fight, beating off the Germans with sticks we tore from the trees, with never a musket, never a gas-mask, nothing but corruption and treachery, bought with German gold. Oh, my heart bursts with the burden of it! All my good Cossacks flung into the cannon's mouth, belching forth fire, whilst we had nothing, nothing!”
He broke off, tore up and down, muttering like a wounded lion.
”And they died like dogs! For this!” His arms swept the desolate landscape. ”For rapine and retreat! For burning corn and ruined farmsteads! To leave the Lakes of Masuria; to leave the Vistula, the Dneiper, the Niemen and G.o.d knows what besides!”
He stopped, overcome with his emotion, strode back to the pump, let a stream of water flow over his grizzled head, gave a gigantic sigh and relapsed into silence. And thus they stayed together for some time. Ian did not even try to comfort him; what solace could he offer when he knew that those bitter words were all too true? The Cossack spoke first.
”A cigarette,” he demanded.
Ian handed him the packet which Healy had brought up to the train. He took a couple, threw back the rest, and asked for matches. It was now almost dark and in the light of the little flame he scanned Ian's face.
”I remember you,” he said when his cigarette was half smoked through.
”You talked of shooting quail on the wing and wanted to shoot me.”
”Not quite. But I was sore because you wouldn't have me.”
”It was all so different then. Eh, G.o.d! What a fool I was to believe in that lying, thieving horde at Petrograd! Petrograd forsooth! They might as well have kept it Petersburg, for all the Germans that are in it still. Phew! I spit on these politicians!” And he did so.
”Russia is wide,” said Ian.
”Wide and bungling! With a little order, a little honesty we should have been in Berlin long ago. G.o.d! How they ran from the Lakes of Masuria! How they scuttled like geese before our Cossack spears! And then our supplies gave out, and none were forthcoming, Oh, the Empire is a prey to a horde of thieves. Many defeats await us yet. By the way, you spoke of your country house and your lady mother and your forests, when in Warsaw. What of them?”
Briefly Ian told him.
”Ay. The same story everywhere. And I thought I'd be coming to you with German booty,” he remarked sadly. ”It made my heart bleed to see the fugitives. But you may be glad your womenfolk got safely away. And what will you do now?”
”Fight. Won't you take me in your regiment?”
”Regiment!” the other echoed bitterly, beating his chest ”I am the regiment.”
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