True unto Death: a story of Russian life and the Crimean War

Front matter

'"YOU MUST ALL DISPERSE,' HE S^ID,, SPEAKIXG QUICKLY." [p. TRUE IfflTO DEATH a Ston. of IRussian %iic ant» tbe Crimean Mar by- ELIZA F. POLLARD AUTHOR OF "AVICE," "ROGER THE RANGER," "NOT WANTED," ETC. t; I am young, happy, and free ! I can devote myself ; I have a life To give." Bkowning. LONDON S. W. PARTKIDGE AND CO. 8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW. CONTENTS. PAGE I. DISCONTENTED 7 II. HER OWN WAY 1 , ) III. A NEW COUNTRY ...... 2.5 iv. Moscow 38 V. A RUSSIAN HOME 4.3 VI. A REVELATION. 53 VII. MISSED . . . . . . . BO VIII. SERF-LAND G7 IX. THE EASTERN QUESTION . . . .74 X. THE SILVER STAR 86 XI. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER . . 93 XII. BANISHMENT 102 XIII. WAR OR NO WAR Ill XIV. CONGENIAL SPIRITS 121 XV. THE VOLUNTEER 128 XVI. TO THE FORE 135 XVII. THE ARAB TABIA Contents. VI PAGE XVIII, BRAVE HEARTS AND HANDS. . . .151 XIX.

ALMA 159 XX. TWO HEROES 170 XXI. THE COLONEL OF SAPPERS . . . .179 XXII. THE LIGHT BRIGADE 186 XXIII. THE SANDBAG . . . . . .198 XXIV. AT HOME AND ABROAD . . . .210 XXV. JIM 224 XXVI. ACROSS THE STEPPES .... 235 XXVII. A SURPRISE 243 XXVIII. GOOD NEWS 252 XXIX. VIERA . 200 XXX. THE TZAR NICHOLAS" 271 XXXI. ON THE ROAD TO EXILE .... 280 XXXII. FLIGHT 289 XXXIII. SEBASTOPOL ...... 297 XXXIV. HOME 303 XXXV. THE RIFT IN THE CLOUD . . . . 312 XXXVI. CONCLUSION

Chapter I. Discontented

" TWTHER, can yon spare me a few minutes ? I have Ja request to make." " What is it, Cicely ? " said the vicar of Barrow Dene, putting down his pen, and looking at his daughter as she stood on the hearth-rug in his study. There was a strong likeness between them. There was no mistaking that they were father and daughter ; the same deep grey eyes, the same dark, curly hair, though the vicar's was fast turning grey. His un usual height accounted for Cicely's tall, wavy figure. The great difference between them lay in the sadness of the father's face, and the brilliancy of his child's. Her colouring was marvellous, soft and rich as a peach's bloom, her chin marked, and her red lips firm. " I want to go abroad, father," said Cicely. " Go abroad, Cicely ! Where do you want to go ? " And he leant back in his chair.

" I'm not quite sure, but I think to Russia. Margaret knows people there; she could get me introductions," answered Cicely. " Has Miss Wallace been putting this idea into your head ? " asked her father. " No," said Cicely. " I may say I have had it for years, but 1 have waited until I thought yon would consider me old enough. I was twenty yesterday. I tliink you can trust me, father." " Why do 3'ou want to go ? You are my eldest daughter ; 3-011 ought to stay at home." " Certainly, if I were of any use," answered Cicely; " but I am not. There are more parish workers than are wanted," and, holding up her hand, she counted on her fingers. " Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Wallace, Miss Wallace, Frances, and half a dozen others. We literally tumble over each other. At home, nurse looks after the house, and knows everything much better than I do ; her consulting me is a mere matter of form.

And you, father, are half the day shut up here with your writing, and your books; and the rest of the time you are in Durham, or in the parish; and 1 loiter about and make work for myself. I read, and work, and practise, and visit the poor, who don't want me, there are so many who do the same. Let me go. I want to see the world." And she tossed back her head like a young colt longing for a gallop across the downs. Her father looked at her, and a faint smile played round his thin, ascetic lips. " It is not usual for young girls of your age and position to leave their homes, Cicely," he said. " That is no reason why I should not do so, father," she answered. " I have never been beyond County Durham, and I want to travel. Margaret has taught me French and German, as well as one can learn it Discontented. 9 in a schoolroom, and with books !

I am almost tired of reading ; I want to see the world, to live in it, to feel it. Let me go, father." " You ought to have been a boy ! " said Mr. Curtis. " Indeed, I wish I had been," answered Cicely. " The fact of my girlhood has been a trouble to me ever since I can remember. Well, father, will von grant my request ? " " Not at a moment's notice," answered Mr. Curtis. " Perhaps you would not object to telling me how you propose travelling about the world by yourself. Also, you will take into consideration that I am not a rich man." s» " I have no wish to be any expense to you, father," said Cicely. " Margaret has often told me that in Russia an English governess commands a good salary. If you would let her write to her friends, she might hear of something for me." " Very well, Cicely. You must go now.

I will tliink it over, and speak to Mrs. Moore and Miss Wallace. I do not suppose Mrs. Moore will approve." " Of course she won't," said Cicely. " But I shall never be a model of propriety like Frauces. People seem to think that girls must all be cut out on the same pattern. Dear Frances ! she's a thousand times better than I am — contented and happy from morning to night ; she never wonders what lies beyond County Durham ! " " And you do ? " said her father. " Yes ; twenty times a day, and whenever I wake up in the night, which fortunately is not often ! " answered Cicely, laughing ; such a rich, musical laugh, so full of life. " Very well," said her father. " Now, go." Cicely obeyed. In the hall she took her garden hat off the stand, and went out, crossing the lawn and the road which separated the vicarage from the priory, and was walking slowly along the shrubbery when she was accosted by a young man of four or five-and-twenty.

" Well, Cicely, you look very determined. What mischief are you brewing ? " asked Cuthbert Moore. " None ; it's brewed," she answered, with a merry twinkle in her eye. " I've broken the news to my father that I do not find Barrow Dene a sufficiently wide field of action for so many female workers, and that, as my tastes are inclined to vagrancy, I should like to absent myself for a short time." " You've no heart, Cicely ! " exclaimed Cuthbert. " I do not believe you care for any one." The girl stopped and looked at him steadily, and after a second answered him. " That's all you know about me, Cuthbert. I did not tell my father that one of my reasons for wishing to leave Barrow Dene was because a young fellow he is very fond of would not be satisfied with a simple < No.' " " Oh, if you are going on my account !

" began Cuthbert. "Not at all. I said that was one of my reasons," interrupted Cicely. " Besides, I'm not gone yet." " And I hope your father will in his turn say ' No.' It will serve you right, Cicely." " Thank you," she answered. " You'll be very Discontented. 11 much obliged to me some day, Cuthbert, for not saying ' Yes.' We've known each other, and liked each other, all our lives. We've never done anything but quarrel and make it up again ; it would be ridiculous for us to marry." " I don't see it. I'm awfully fond of yon," said Cuthbert. " And I'm awfully fond of yon," answered the girl ; " but I won't be your wife, and there's an end of it, and — let us shake hands." " You're horribly provoking, Cicely — yon always have been ! Go to Russia, and see how you like it. I'll wait till you come back again."

" At your own peril ! " said Cicely. And she ran away down the gravel walk, up a flight of steps, leading into the house, paused on the topmost one, turned round, nodded saucily at the young man, and disappeared. "Witch ! " muttered Cuthbert. And turning towards the stables, he called, " Tom, saddle Vixen. I'll have a gallop before dinner." " Oh, take me, Cuthbert, take me ! " And a little creature of about twelve years old came bounding towards him, her golden hair flying in the wind. "You, Ena! Why, you ought to be at lessons! Where's your habit ? " said Cuthbert. " I'll borrow Lilian's, Cuthbert. We're let loose half an hour earlier. Cecy wanted to talk to Miss Wallace." " Very well ; get a skirt, and I'll have the pony saddled," said Cuthbert good-naturedly. And Ena Curtis, delighted, dashed back into the house.

The priory of Barrow Dene belonged to Mr. Thomas Moore, one of the largest and wealthiest colliery owners in County Durham. Every one knew that he was a self-made man, that he had begun life as a trapper boy, then a pitman, then manager, and at last master. His perseverance and keen intelligence had stood him in good stead. He had begun on the lowest rung of the ladder, and had mounted step by step. He had married, late in life, a young Scotchwoman somewhat above him in the social scale, but thoroughly able to appreciate her husband's good qualities. In stead of being ashamed of his origin, and his rough and-ready ways, she was proud of him, and honestly believed him to be the finest man in the world. They had four children, Cuthbert and William, Frances and Lilian ; and with them the vicar's two motherless girls, Cicely and Ena, had been educated.

They were as much at home at the priory as at the vicarage — indeed, rather more so. To carry out this four-fold education, Mrs. Moore had fortunately come across Margaret Wallace, when Frances and Cicely were only twelve years old, and she was with them still, doing for Lilian and Ena what she had done for the two elder girls. Margaret Wallace was no ordinary woman, and Mrs. Moore esteemed herself fortunate in obtaining her services. She had come to Snnderland, with her mother, at the age of two-and-twenty, having lived fifteen years abroad, in France, Germany, aud Russia. She was a perfect linguist, and in every way highly accomplished. Her father had been foreign agent Discontented. 13 for a large Scotch firm, and had died almost suddenly from acute bronchitis, one winter on a journey from Archangel to St. Petersburg.

He left his widow and daughter comfortably provided for; and Mrs. Wallace returned at once to settle in her native town of Snnderland. After the first few months, Margaret had felt the necessity of doing something ; the monotony of a small county town after the life she had been accustomed to was intolerable. She was a handsome, fine-looking young woman, full of energy aud taleut, and not at all inclined, as she said, to let her acquirements grow rusty, which in Snnderland was pretty sure to happen if she did nut exert herself ; and so she persuaded her mother to let her seek au engagement as governess. " If I do not like it I can always come home, mother, and I promise you I will not go far ; not out of the county of Durham." And so her mother gave her consent ; understanding that a girl like Margaret must take up some work in life.

She had not earned the right to fold her hands and rest ; she felt no need for so doing — it would have been irksome to her. When it became known that Miss Wallace intended to go out as a teacher, there was some astonishment ; but every one was unanimous in saying she was right — that such talents ought not to be hidden under a bushel, and that she was a canny Scotch girl, deter-. mined to make money while the sun shone. Indeed, Margaret Wallace was not long before she had several good engagements offered her from noble families in the neighbourhood ; but she had her idea,- and she waited. Suddenly, to every one's surprise, it became known that she had settled to go and live at the priory of Barrow Dene with Mrs. Thomas Moore. It happened in this wise. When Mrs. Moore heard that Margaret Wallace intended going out as governess, she went to her and said, — " My dear, I don't want a governess ; I don't want a dependent.

I want a friend, who'll do for my children what neither I nor my husband can do. They'll be rich, very rich, and they must be educated accordingly, and taught the value of that wealth ; and, what is more, the value of the bodies and souls of those who earn it for them. They belong to the people, and in raising themselves they will raise them. AVill you come and help me do this ? " " It is what I should wish— just what I have waited for," answered Margaret. " If you will have me, I will come." And so it was settled. A small cottage was taken for Mrs. Wallace in the village, and Margaret entered upon her self-imposed task. When our story opens she had been eight years at the priory. Cicely and Frances had ceased to be in the schoolroom ; Ena and Lilian had taken their place. Cuthbert Moore, the eldest son, had entered the army in the Engineers, having passed brilliantly through Woolwich.

William was to succeed his father, and was studying mining and civil engineering. Altogether, life was prosperous and happy at Barrow Dene. Only Cicely was dis contented ; but then, she had always been difficult to manage. And yet, if Margaret Wallace ever showed any preference, it was certainly for Cicely.

Chapter II. Her Own Way

THE vicar of Barrow Dene was a peculiar man. When he was first installed in his living he had been intensely energetic. He belonged to the new school, eager for clerical reform. His young wife sympathised with him, and together they laboured to arouse their parishioners to a sense of their short comings. Iu the first half of the nineteenth century there was, we may almost call it, a religious revival. Every sect, every denomination, felt the flame which the Wesleys, the Puseys, the Newmans fanned with their enthusiasm. Religion had ebbed so low under the Georges, the Court had been so coarse, setting such a demoralising example to every class aud condition of men, that even the most indifferent felt a revulsion, aud hailed the accession of the young Queen as a new era, welcome to every one.

The great Oxford movement had awakened once more a sense of reverence which, since the Reformation, had almost, if not quite, died out in England. During the first years of his ministry Mr. Curtis was very zealous. He was a clever man ; his sermons were good and to the jioint— indeed, on occasions he could be eloquent, and it was generally considered in the clerical world that he would make a mark for himself. In due time he became Canon of the Cathedral of Durham. But the great passion of his life was his wife. For the first eight years of their married life Cicely was their only child. As soon as she was old enough she had been drafted into Mrs. Moore's schoolroom to share in Frances' studies ; therefore, she was far oftener at the priory than at the vicarage. Even when Cicely was an infant, Mr. Curtis would not allow his wife to become engrossed in the child, as young mothers are wont to be in their firstborn.

She was his companion, his wife" ; he could not spare her. " It's quite dreadful ! " said Mrs. Moore to her husband. " He can hardly bear her out of his sight. It's not right. Supposing she were to die ? " And even so it came to pass. When Cicely was eight years old, a little sister was born, and her mother died. From that hour Mr. Curtis was a changed man. He lost all interest in life ; it was almost as if his soul had gone out of him. His friends did their utmost to rouse him, but he refused to be comforted. The bishop offered him another living. He declined it, — he should never leave Barrow Dene. By degrees he resumed his parochial work ; but he had lost all enthusiasm, all interest. He did his duty so far as it was incumbent upon him, and the rest of his time was spent either in lonely walks across the moors or in the solitude of his study.

He took but little notice of his children — indeed, for the first half-dozen years of her life, Ena saw little or nothing of her father. One day she came suddenly upon him, and he started. The child's extraordinary likeue.ss to her mother moved Her ozvn Way. 17 him. He picked her up in his arms, kissed her pas sionately, and then shut himself up in his study. For a day and a night no one saw him ; he touched no food. When he came forth he asked for Ena to be sent to him, aud from henceforth she was, at times, his companion ; she entered into his life as Cicely had never done. Mrs. Moore had, so to speak, mothered the two motherless girls ; and from the time Margaret Wallace came to the priory, Cicely had attached herself to her. It was fortunate that snch was the case, for her passionate nature needed a strong, loving baud to curb it.

She was far cleverer than Frances, and soon ont-distanced her ; but there was no jealousy between the two girls. It was an accepted fact that Cicely could do everything she chose with the greatest ease. For sometime past Miss Wallace had been aware that a restless spirit had taken possession of the young girl. Virtually, both Cicely and Frances had left the schoolroom for the last two years ; but still, nothing was ever done without first consulting Margaret, as they all called her. The evening after his conversation with Cicely, the vicar came over to the priory, and the elders sat in counsel, as the young people called it. Mrs. Moore was, of course, very much opposed to the idea of Cicely's leaving them. Her husband remarked " that he supposed girls were like boys, not all cut out on the same pattern ; and if the lass wanted to go, better let her have a try.

She'd be glad enough to come home again." Margaret Wallace and the vicar were of the same opinion. " If Cicely has a restless fit upon her, she will never settle down," said the former. " Better let her try her wings." And so it was agreed that Miss Wallace should write to friends in Russia, and tell them that, if they happened to know of an extremely nice Russian family requiring a young governess or companion, she would be glad if they would let her know, as a pupil of hers wished very much for such a situation. " It may be months before such a thing turns up," she said to Mrs. Moore ; " but at least Cicely will be satisfied that we have not opposed her wishes. It's no use fretting about it. Cicely is not like other girls ; she has a strong nature, and she needs an outlet. The little incidents of everyday life are not sufficient for her at present ; she expects so much from life."

" Will she ever come home to us again ? " said Mrs. Moore sadly. " That is as God wills," answered Margaret Wallace. " Poor Cuthbert ! I had so hoped ! " said Mrs. Moore. " What would never happen if Cicely remained here," said Margaret. "I am quite sure at present she has nothing more than a sisterly affection for Cuthbert, and a perfect horror at the idea of being tied down. And I really do not believe Cuthbert has more than a brotherly pride and affection for her ; only she's such a splendid girl, he likes to think he's in love with her. By the time she comes back again all this will have changed ; they will have ripened into man and woman. Now they are only boy and girl ! " "We will hope so," said Mrs. Moore. "One thing I do know, Margaret— not a day goes by but Her own Way. 19 what I thank God who gave you to me as my mother's help.

What should we do without )7ou ? I fear nothing so much as your getting married." Margaret laughed. " You need not," she said. " I am much too happy. I'm a confirmed old maid. Do you know I was eight and-twenty my last birthday ? " " You don't look it. You are a very handsome woman, Margaret. Your face is so placid." " I have nothing to make it otherwise," she answered. " I think parting with Cicely will be the greatest grief I have known since my father's death ; and yet I believe it to be the right thing." " We shall all miss her terribly ! " said Mrs. Moore. " Even her father will do so." " Yes," said Margaret. " I do not think he realises how much. If it would only rouse him ! " " Nothing will do that," said Mrs. Moore ; and then they parted. The answer to her letter arrived sooner than Miss Wallace had imagined possible.

Within a fortnight her friend Sophia Engel wrote the following letter : — • " My Dear Margaret, — You are just in time ! I have a splendid opening for your young friend. I was even thinking of writing to you when your letter arrived. The Countess Bogonoff has asked me to find a young English girl who would be willing to come to Russia as companion to her two daughters, aged fifteen and seventeen. You know yourself to what a high family the Bogonoffs belong, and how they are esteemed ! The Countess herself was an heiress, and very highly connected. I hastened to speak of your young friend. I was afraid she might be too young, but the Countess said, 'Not at all, as long as she speaks English well, and is a musician.' Being able to satisfy her on these points, she begged me to write, and asked if she could come at once.

It is now the end of April, and the Russian summer will soon be here. No one remains in St. Petersburg after the middle of May. The Count is desirous of leaving as soon as possible for their estate in South Russia, especially as the eldest daughter is an invalid. Let me have an answer, therefore, by return of post. It is a splendid offer ! The salary is whatever you choose to ask. The Bogouoffs are millionaires, and your friend will be perfectly safe. Do not fail to write at once, and fix an early date. Remember me to your mother. " Your friend, " Sophie Engel." Mrs. Moore and Miss Wallace took this letter to the vicarage. After perusing it Mr. Curtis said, — " If Cicely has not changed her mind, it. seems just the thing. Your friend is, of course, quite reliable, Miss Wallace?" " Quite," answered Margaret.

" Then we will call Cicely," said the vicar. " You really mean to let her go, Mr. Curtis ? " said Mrs. Moore. " I thought the question was decided, if she still wished it, when we heard of anything suitable," answered the vicar. " We will ask her. I think she is at home." Her own Way. 21 He rang the bell, and desired the servant to tell Miss Curtis to come to the study. Cicely obeyed the summons. She guessed news had come. " Cicely, will you read that letter, and give us your answer," said the vicar. Standing beside him, she did as she was bidden. When she had finished she laid it down. " Well ? " said her father. " I will go. I wish to go," she answered, in a low voice. " Very well," said Mr. Curtis. " You are quite sure ? " " Quite," answered Cicely. " Then Mrs. Moore, I must ask you to see that Cicely is provided with everything she ought to have.

I will inquire about the journey. Or perhaps your husband will ; he understands about that sort of thing better than I do. And when we have decided how soon Cicely can start, I will write to the Countess under cover to Miss Engel. There must be as little delay as possible." If he had been talking of the most ordinary journey, he could not have been apparently more indifferent. Mrs. Moore was indignant. " I will do what I can for Cicely," she said ; " but I do not approve. I cannot think how you can let her go, Mr. Curtis." " My dear lady, Cicely wishes it. Everything seems perfectly satisfactory. I do not consider I am justified in forbidding her to go; she is no longer a child. I am sure you and Miss Wallace have given her your advice. If she does not choose to follow it, she alone is responsible."

" I do wish to go," said Cicely. " Then that settles the matter," said Mr. Curtis. The following day Mr. Curtis wrote to the Countess, accepting the situation of companion for his daughter, and saying he would let her know as soon as arrangements had been made for the journey. " Captain Wiggens is putting off from Snnderland for Cronstadt next Wednesday," said Mr. Moore to his wife that same evening. "If yon could get Cicely ready in time it would be a good opportunity. Mrs. Wiggens always goes with her husband, the lass would be well looked after and made comfortable." " To-day's Thursday. It's very short notice," said Mrs. Moore. " All the better," answered her husband. " I think I'll go over and speak to the vicar about it." He did so, and it was arranged that if the captain would take her, Cicely should go on the following Wednesday.

Mr. Moore was to make all necessary arrangements. How quickly that week passed ! Every one was occupied with Cicely. Mrs. Moore was determined she should lack nothing, and spared no expense in her outfit. " You could not do more if I were going to be married," said Cicely. "We shall see when that day comes," answered Mrs. Moore. Presents came in on every side ; from the par ishioners, who had known her from her childhood, and Her own Way. 23 who were indignant at the vicar allowing his daughter to go to such an outlandish place as Russia ; also gifts from friends in Durham, and from her home circle. To every one Cicely said, " My father is very good to let me go. It is my wish ! " Cuthbert wrote a very pathetic letter. He was with his regiment at York, and could not absent himself, but he sent her a lovely gold bracelet as a remembrance, begging her acceptance of the same, and she wrote back thanking him and saying she needed nothing to remind her of their happy childhood.

And so the last day came, and every one tried to be very brave, and every one broke down ; and Ena clung piteously to her as the carriage drove up to the vicarage gate, sobbing out, " Oh Cecy, why must you go ? Don't leave me ! don't leave me ! " and Cicely almost wondered for a moment what possessed her to thus break all the bonds of love which had encircled her young life. But her father took Ena out of her arms, saying, in his quiet voice, — " It is too late, Ena ; Cicely must go now." And so the fiat went forth, and the carriage drove off, aud through blinding tears she saw iu a mist the friends of her childhood and the outlines of the home where she was born. Her father and Mr. aud Mrs. Moore accompanied her on to the shiji, and stayed with her until the last moment. Then, for the first time, her father spoke.

Drawing her on one side, he put his arm round her, lifted her face to his, and said, — " I am letting you have your own way, Cicely, because I think it right to do so. You have a strong will and a strong nature, and must yourself keep it under subjection. You want to see the world. You are going forth, knowing right from wrong. May God and His angels guide your steps aright ! When you are tired, come home. You will be more contented then than you would be now if I kept you. Good-bye, and God bless our child ! " Cicely just caught the last murmured words, felt her father's kisses, and almost before she was aware of it he was gone. Then Mr. and Mrs. Moore took leave of her, and for the first time in her life she found herself alone. As the ship steamed out to sea and the land seemed to recede, until only a faint coast line could be distinguished, the sense of her solitude overpowered Cicely, and she exclaimed involuntarily, — "What have I done?"