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Boy Scouts in Russia

<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> THE GREAT WHITE CZAR There was a moment of absolute, chilling silence; the sort of silence that, in the old phrase, can be felt. For just an instant it was plain that Mikail Suvaroff did not recognize the nephew he hated. But then he knew him, and a flash of cold, malignant hatred lit up his eyes, while his lips curved in a curious, sneering smile. "So—it is you?" he said. "I thought I had not seen the last of you on the platform at Virballen! Lieutenant, you may leave us." "Yes, general," said the lieutenant who had rescued Fred. He was plainly puzzled and confused. "I did not tell your kinsman that you were in command here. I thought he would be delightfully surprised by being confronted with you suddenly. But—" "Exactly! You were quite right, lieutenant. And now you may leave us!" The lieutenant flushed at the rebuke, saluted stiffly, and left the room. Fred was alone with his uncle. "You are brave, at least," said Mikail, presently. "That will, perhaps, be a comfort to you later. Yet you were not well advised to serve the Germans as a spy. They have not been able to save you from me this time, you see. It is not a case this time of the station at Virballen, with the superiority of numbers on their side for the moment." "It is your Cossacks who saved me from the Germans," said Fred. "I have been a spy—but it has been in the interest of Russia. General Alexander Suvaroff and his son can tell you that." "Perhaps," said Mikail, his eyes and mouth fixed, so that no one could have guessed what was in his mind. "It is strange that you feel forced to call upon those who cannot say anything for or against you—since they are in the hands of the Germans." Inspiration came suddenly to Fred, and he said nothing. He gave his uncle stare for stare. "Well, what have you to say?" said Mikail, at last. "What defence have you, spy?" Still Fred said nothing, and he saw the veins in Mikail's hands swelling with anger. "So?" he said, when he understood that Fred would not speak. "Well, there will be a way to make you talk, doubtless. I might have you shot now—or hung. But you are my nephew. You shall have the fairest of trials, for it must not be said that I did not see that you were well treated!" He chuckled ominously. Then he raised his voice. In answer to his call two officers came in. "You will be held personally responsible for this prisoner," he said. "He is to be sent at once to Grodno for trial as a spy. I will dictate the process accusing him. Let him be dispatched in the morning, under heavy guard." The officers saluted. Then soldiers were called and Fred was led away. From the first he realized the utter hopelessness of any attempt to escape. He was in the midst of a great army. He could not hope, no matter what happened, to get more than a few yards in any direction. Yet even the thought of his peril did not keep him awake. No sooner was he put in the guard room, where half a dozen soldiers were with him, than he sank into a heavy sleep. He was too tired, in fact, to realize to the full how serious the matter was. But in the morning, when he was roused to partake of a meal, the full and dreadful peril of his situation came over him. There was something appalling about the way in which his guards looked at him. Most of all, there was a terrible quality in the sympathy of the young lieutenant who paid him a hurried visit. "I did not know, of course," he said, quickly. "I should have had to take you to him, just as I did, but I should have prepared you for what was coming. I have heard something of the story. You have aroused the general's hatred—and there are terrible stories of his power. Tell me, is there anyone who can speak for you? It may be that I can get some word to them—though it would cost me dear if Prince Mikail discovered that I had done it." "Boris Suvaroff and his father would help me," said Fred. "But Boris is a prisoner, and so is Prince Alexander, if my uncle tells the truth! And the American ambassador—though I suppose he could do nothing." "I will do what I can. And remember that Dmitri Sazonoff is your friend, and will believe always that you are a true friend of Russia. Good-bye! You go to Grodno. There, unless there has been a change, are the headquarters of the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholavitch, who is in supreme command of all our armies. You will be tried there by court-martial. I wish it meant more—but count upon me for all that I can do." It was still comparatively early when Fred began his journey to Grodno, which was, as he knew, one of the concentration points of the Russian army. The trip was begun in a great motor truck, empty now, which had been used to bring food and ammunition to the front. It was one of a long train of similar vehicles, and in it he rode to the border, where he was transferred to a military train. He was able on the trip to see what was going on, since no attempt was made to keep him from doing so. And everything he saw served only to impress him more and more with the utter hopelessness of his position. The roads were choked with dense masses of advancing Russians. Troops, horse and foot, hospital trains, ammunition and provision trains, guns—all were moving up; evidently in preparation for the striking of a heavy blow at the German power in East Prussia on a new line of attack. For the first time Fred saw a country that was really in the grip of a modern army. The swift movements of the German army around the Suvaroff house had not given this impression. There were not so many Germans, relatively speaking at least, and their movements were made with less confusion and greater speed, owing to their possession of railways that had been built with an especial view to their being used in time of war. Here the railways had all been destroyed by the Germans who had retreated before the advancing Russians. In many places, too, fields had been burned over, that the standing crops might not fall into the hands of the invaders. Fred almost laughed at the irony of the whole sight. It was because of him that this movement was being made. At great risk to himself he had obtained the information that had led to the sudden change in the Russian plans, of which the great movement he saw was a part. He should be receiving thanks and honors instead of being on his way to headquarters as a prisoner of war, condemned, as he well knew, in advance. For Fred had no illusions. He knew the power of Mikail Suvaroff, who was so plainly an important member of the high Russian command. Against so great a man his word would be valueless. "This Russian army is like a steam roller," Fred thought to himself. "It may be stopped here or there, but not for long. It will roll over this whole country sooner or later. Well—I'm glad! Even if I've got to suffer because my uncle hates me, it's not Russia's fault. I want Russia to win." His guards treated Fred well enough. He had an idea that he owed the consideration he received to Lieutenant Sazonoff. He was quite sure that General Mikail Suvaroff had nothing to do with it! And his journey, which might have been one of acute discomfort, was made more than tolerable. It was late when the train in which he rode after the border was reached arrived in Grodno. Here the army was in complete possession. Men in uniform were everywhere; the civilian population seemed almost to have disappeared. The din was constant. For hours, after he had been taken to a cell in the central police station, he lay awake and listened. Guns rumbled through the streets, motor cars chugged all through the night. He was aroused in the morning by sounds of frantic, steady cheering, and when the guard brought him his breakfast, he asked what that meant. The man's eyes lighted up. "The Little Father has come to be with his soldiers!" he said. "He has come to give us his blessing and bid us fight for him and Holy Russia! How can we lose now?" "The Czar himself?" said Fred. He smiled. He had hoped, when he left America, to see the Czar before his return. There was small chance of that now, even though they were in the same town. The Russians delayed as little as had the Germans in bringing him to trial. And here in Grodno there was even less ceremony than there had been in the dining-room of the East Prussian parsonage. A young officer was assigned to defend him, but he took the task as a joke. "You'll be condemned, of course," he said. "Prince Mikail knows you are a spy. I think you're very lucky that he didn't hang you outside of his own headquarters! Better plead guilty. It will save time for everyone." But Fred refused. Hopeless as the case was, he was still determined to take every chance there was, and to fight for every minute of delay. But the proceedings were soon over. The charge against him was read so quickly that he could scarcely follow it. He was allowed to speak for himself, but none of the officers of the court paid any attention to him. The verdict was quickly found. And the president of the court was just about to pronounce sentence when there was an interruption. Into the room strode a man at whose entrance every officer started to his feet, saluting. The newcomer jerked his hand to his forehead, answering the salute, and then stood staring about. Fred, had never seen such a figure. The man was a giant. He wore a khaki uniform. He was nearly seven feet tall, but he was so magnificently formed that it was only the way he towered over even the tall Russian officers about him that his great height was apparent. Fred knew him at once. It was the Grand Duke Nicholas. "The court is dissolved!" he said, in a harsh, rasping voice. "I will take charge myself of the prisoner. Boy, come with me!" Utterly amazed, Fred obeyed. The Grand Duke seized his arm in a vise-like grip and half pushed, half dragged him along with him. Fred was too amazed even to wonder what had happened or what was to happen next. He found himself being led into a room that was filled with officers. They were grouped about one end of the room, where, near a window, there stood a short man in a brilliant uniform. Fred gasped as he recognized him. At the same moment the grip on his arm was loosened, and the Grand Duke Nicholas swept off his cap. "Your Majesty," he said, "this is the American boy of whom we have heard. One who has done such things as he is charged with must hear his fate from your own lips. He is charged by Mikail Suvaroff with being a spy and a traitor. On the other hand—" The Czar smiled. "Thanks to our good Alexander, we know the truth," he said. "By your kinship to the great family of Suvaroff, Frederick Waring, you are of our kin. Were you a Russian, there would be another reward that we might give you. But you own your father's nationality, though you have proved that there is good Russian blood in your veins. It is our pleasure to confer on you the order of St. Stanislas, with the crossed swords, given for bravery only! Now you may go to the cousin who came here in time to save you." Dazed, Fred backed away, knowing only that he had not done the right thing. A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up into the eyes of Boris's father. "Boris is waiting for you," he said. "The mystery of Mikail's hatred for you has been solved. He is quite mad—he has been relieved of his command. I have long suspected this madness and now the whole world knows it! Your trials are over, my American cousin!" "But how was Boris rescued?" "Your friend Lieutenant Sazonoff managed that. He got permission from his brigadier to attack the railway. I shall see that he is promoted." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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