True Stories of the Great War, Volume 4 (of 6): Tales of Adventure--Heroic Deeds--Exploits Told by the Soldiers, Officers, Nurses, Diplomats, Eye Witnesses
History
True Stories of the Great War, Volume 4 (of 6): Tales of Adventure--Heroic Deeds--Exploits Told by the Soldiers, Officers, Nurses, Diplomats, Eye Witnesses
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
That bit of dry land, as it happened, was the commencement of a low
ridge of hard ground on the border of the morass. The exhausted horse
stood beside his master, with legs extended and heaving flanks, turning
his nose to the wind as he panted for breath. The treacherous marshes
stretched away for miles on every side, and the panic-terror ran
through the animal like an electric shock. Behind him in the bogs the
tragedy wore on to its climax. Maddened horses broke away, men were
knocked down and rendered helpless, and animals and humans were sucked
down to a dreadful death. The columns in the rear had hardly left the
firm road before the darkness of night hid the inferno in front, and
only a few stragglers escaped to tell the tale of what befell that day.
When the sun was once more high in the heavens, the survivors marched
back from that dreadful place with leaden feet, shoulders huddled
forward, and red-rimmed eyes; they were thinking of the fearful fate of
their comrades.
As they trudged along the dusty road, the weary men stepping slowly
under the weight of their packs, they saw a little Cossack horse a
short distance from the highway, with drooping head and tired eyes,
standing under the shade of an overhanging tree beside a motionless
bundle covered with caked mud. The horse whinnied as they drew near,
and lifted his odd-shaped burden with his teeth. For a few yards he
struggled on with it; then he laid it down from sheer exhaustion.
"It looks like a man; see if he lives," ordered an officer. A sergeant
came forward and found that the helpless Cossack was still breathing.
How long he had lain there he never knew, for his faithful horse had
carried him by his belt little by little, yard by yard, from the place
where he had fallen--five weary versts away, they told him--till he
reached the shelter of those trees by the roadside. He had never left
his master save for a short time to crop the herbage or drink from a
pool during that long night and the day that followed. And now, when he
could do no more, help had come.
When Mooska Zarden's senses returned to him he seemed to remember lying
in the moonlight during that long night, with nothing but the stars
above him, and feeling the soft nose of the faithful animal touch his
hand; and he would feebly move it to show that he was alive. Then his
belt would tighten and he would be dragged on gently for a few yards
and laid down again, still only semi-conscious. Now the soldiers were
giving him restoratives, but he felt little except the throbbing of his
head. He opened his eyes feebly at last, but could not speak or think.
When he was placed on a stretcher the horse broke away from the man who
was leading him and took his place beside the bearers, every now and
then putting his nose against the shoulder of the prostrate figure.
"Let him be till we fall in with a Cossack regiment or some stragglers
of his own corps," said the colonel. "He saved the trooper's life."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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