Jack Archer: A Tale of the CrimeaHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
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Jack Archer: A Tale of the Crimea
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Crimean War, 1853-1856 -- Juvenile fiction
"You hear, Paul," his master said, sternly looking at him; "you have
been found guilty, and must die. Alexis, you restrained yourself for
my sake from taking the life of this wretch when you heard him
plotting against me; you will now act as executioner."
"Right willingly," the man replied, taking down a huge axe which hung
by the wall.
The wretched prisoner, who had hitherto maintained an absolute
silence, now burst into an agony of cries, prayers for mercy, and
curses. Seeing in the unmoved countenances of his judges that nothing
would avail, and that Alexis was approaching him; he screamed out a
demand for a priest before he died.
"That is reasonable," the count said. "Go into the house, Demetri, and
ask Papa Ivanovitch to come hither"--for in the family of every
Russian noble a priest resides, as a matter of course.
Presently the priest arrived with the steward.
"Papa Ivanovitch," the count said, "you are, I know, devoted to the
family in which your father and grandfather were priests before you.
You can, therefore, be trusted with our secret, a secret which will
never go beyond those present. You are here to shrive a man about to
die."
Then the count related the incidents of the discovery of the treachery
of the prisoner, and the priest, who shared with the serfs their
veneration and affection for their lord, could scarcely overcome his
repugnance and horror of the prisoner so far as to approach and listen
to him.
For five minutes all present withdrew from the stable, leaving the
priest and the prisoner alone together. Then the door opened and the
priest came out.
"It is finished," he said. "May God pardon the sinner!" and he moved
away rapidly towards the house.
Alexis spoke a word to his fellow-servants, and these lifted a heavy
log from the wood-pile in the courtyard, and carried it into the
stable. Then they seized Paul, and in spite of his screams and
struggles laid him with his head across the log. Alexis raised the
heavy axe in the air; it flashed in the light of the lantern; there
was a dull, heavy thud, and the head of the traitor rolled on the
ground.
"Now," the count said, unmoved, "put a horse into a cart, take picks
and shovels, and carry the body of this traitor out to the forest and
bury it there. Dig a hole deeply, that the wolves may not bring it to
light. Demetri will give each of you to-morrow fifty roubles for your
share in this night's work, and beware that you never let a syllable
concerning it pass your lips, even when you are together and alone.
Alexis, on you I bestow your freedom, if you care to have it, and
also, as a gift to yourself and your heirs after you, the little farm
that was vacant by the death of Nouvakeff last week."
So saying, followed by the two midshipmen who had been awed, but not
disapproving spectators of the tragedy, he returned to the house, and
led the way back to his study.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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