It stopped him struggling for the reins, at any rate; I felt him go limp beside me, and then he was sobbing like a man in torment, feebly beating with his fist against his temple.
'Oh, my God! How could you—oh, little Valla! I'd have gone—gladly! Oh, she'll die—freezing in that horrible waste!'
'Stop that damned babbling!' says I, stern duty personified. 'Do you think I wouldn't have gone myself? And if I had, and some accident had then happened to you, where would our mission have been? While we're both free we double our hope of success.' I snapped the reins, blinking against the driving snow as we sped along, and then stole a glance behind—nothing but whirling snow over the empty causeway; our pursuers were lost in the distance, but they'd still be there; we daren't check for an instant.
East was clinging to the box as we rocked along, a man stricken. He kept repeating Valla's name over and over again, and groaning. 'Oh, it's too much! Too high a price—God, have you no pity, Flashman? Are you made of stone?'
'Where my duty's concerned—aye!' cries I, in a fine patriotic fever. 'You may thank God for it! If you'd had your way, we'd have died with Pencherjevsky, or be getting sabred to bits back yonder—and would that have served our country?' I decided a little manly rave would do no harm—not that I gave a damn what East thought, but it would keep him quiet, and stop him doing anything rash even now. 'My God, East! Have you any notion what this night's work has cost me? D'you think it won't haunt me forever? D'you think I … I have no heart?' I dashed my knuckles across my eyes in a fine gesture. 'Anyway, it's odds she'll be all right—they're her people, after all, and they'll wrap her up nice as ninepence.'
He heaved a great shuddering breath. 'Oh, I pray to God it may be so! But the horror of that moment—it's no good, Flashman—I'm not like you! I have not the iron will—I am not of your mettle!'
You're right there, boy, thinks I, turning again to look back. Still nothing, and then through the dimness ahead there was a faint glimmer of light, growing to a cluster, and the causeway was narrowing to nothing more than a dyke, so that I had to slow the sled for fear we should pitch down the banks to the frozen sea. There was a big square fort looming up on our right, and a straggle of buildings on the left, whence the lights came; between, the road ran clear on to broad snowfields.
I snapped the whip, calling to the horses, and, we drove through, never heeding a voice that called to us from the fort wall overhead. The horsemen might well have closed on us with our slowing down for the dyke, and there wasn't a second to spare. We scudded across the snowfield, casting anxious glances behind; the ground was becoming broken ahead, with little mounds and valleys, and stunted undergrowth—once into that, with the light snow still falling to blot out our tracks, we could twist away and lose them for certain.
'Bravo!' cries I, 'we're almost there!' Behind us, Arabat and its fort were fading into the dark; the glimmer of the lights was diminishing as we breasted the first gentle slope and made for a broad gully in the rising ground. We sped silently into it, the sled rocking on the uneven surface; I reined in gently as we went down the reverse slope—and then the lead horse stumbled, whinnying, and came slithering down, the near-side beast swerved sharply, wrenching the reins from my hands, the sled slewed horribly, struck something with a fearful jar, East went flying over the side, and I was hurled headlong forward. I went somersaulting through the air, roaring, felt my back strike the rump of the near-side horse, and then I was plunging into the snow. I landed on my back, and there above me was the sled, hanging poised: I screamed and flung up my hands to save my head. The sled came lumbering over, slowly almost, on top of me, a fiery pain shot through my left side, a crushing weight was across my chest; I shrieked again, and then it settled, pinning me in the snow like a beetle on a card.
I beat at it with my fists, and tried to heave up, but its weight and the agony in my side stopped me—there was a rib gone for sure, if nothing worse. One of the horses was floundering about in the snow, neighing madly, and then I heard East's voice:
'Flashman! Flashman, are you all right?'
'I'm pinned!' I cried. 'The sled—get the damned thing off me! Ah, God, my back's broken!'
He came blundering through the snow, and knelt beside me. He put his shoulder to the sled, heaving for all he was worth, but he might as well have tried to shift St Paul's. It didn't give so much as an inch.
'Get it off!' I groaned. 'It's killing me—oh, Christ! Push, damn you—are you made of jelly?'
'I can't!' he whispered, straining away. 'It won't … budge. Ah!' And he fell back, panting.
'Rot you, it's crushing my guts out!' I cried. 'Oh, God—I know my spine's gone—I can feel it! I'm -'
'Silence!' he hissed, and I could see he was listening, staring back towards Arabat. 'Oh, no! Flashman— they're coming! I can hear the horsemen on the snow!' He flung himself at the sled, pushing futilely. 'Oh, give me strength, God, please! Please!' He strove, thrusting at the sled, and groaning: 'I can't … I can't shift it! Oh, God, what shall I do?'
'Push, or dig, or anything, curse you!' I cried. 'Get me loose, for God's sake! What are you doing, man? What is it?' For he was standing up now, staring back over the mouth of the gully towards Arabat; for half a minute he stood motionless, while I babbled and pawed at the wreck, and then he looked down at me, and his voice was steady.
'It's no go, old fellow. I know I can't move it. And they're coming. I can just see them, dimly—but they're heading this way.' He dropped on one knee. 'Flashman I'm sorry. I'll have to leave you. I can hide—get away reach Raglan. Oh, my dear comrade—if I could give my life, I would, but -'
'Rot you!' cries I. 'My God, you can't leave me! Push the bloody thing—help me, man! I'm dying!'
'Oh, God!' he said. 'This is agony! First Valla—now you! But I must get the news through—you know I must. You have shown me the way of duty, old chap—depend upon it, I shan't fail! And I'll tell them—when I get home! Tell them how you gave … But I must go!'
'Scud,' says I, babbling, 'for the love of-'
'Hush,' says he, clapping a hand over my lips. 'don't distress yourself- there's no time! I'll get there—one of the horses will serve, and if not—you remember the Big Side run by Brownsover, when we were boys? I finished, you know—I'll finish again, Flash, for your sake! They shan't catch me! Trust an old Rugby hare to distance a Russian pack—I will, and I'll hear you hallooing me on! I'll do it for you, and for Valla—for both your sacrifices!'
'Damn Valla and you, too!' I squealed feebly. 'You can't go! You can't leave me! Anyway, she's a bloody Russian! I'm British, you swine! Help me, Scud!'
But I don't think he so much as heard me. He bent forward, and kissed me on the forehead, and I felt one of his manly bloody tears on my brow. 'Good-bye, dear old fellow,' says he. 'God bless you!'
And then he was ploughing away over the snow, to where the near-side horse was standing; he pulled the traces free of its head, and hurried off, pulling it along into the underbrush, with me bleating after him.
'Scud! For pity's sake, don't desert me! You can't—not your old school-fellow, you callous son-of-a-bitch! Please, stop, come back! I'm dying, damn you! I order you—I'm your superior officer! Scud! Please! Help me!'
But he was gone, and I was pinned, weeping, beneath that appalling weight, with the snow falling on my face, and the cold striking into my vitals. I would die, freezing horribly—unless they found me—oh, God, how would I die then? I struggled feebly, the pain lancing at my side, and then I heard the soft thumping of hooves on the snow, and a shout, and those cursed Russian voices, muffled from the mouth of the gully.
'Paslusha-tyeh!*(*Ah there) Ah, tam*(*'Listen!)—skorah!'* (*quickly!)
The jingle of harness was close now, and the pad of hooves—a horse neighed on the other side of the sled, and I squeezed my eyes shut, moaning. At any moment I expected to feel the agony of a lance-point skewering into my chest; then there was the snorting of a horse almost directly over my face, and I shrieked and opened my eyes. Two horsemen were sitting looking down on me, fur-wrapped figures with those stringy Cossack caps pulled down over their brows; fierce moustached faces peering at me.
'Help!' I croaked. 'Pamagityeh, pajalsta!'*(*'Help, please!)
One of them leaned forward. 'On syer-yaznuh ranyin,'*(*He is badly hurt.) says he, and they both laughed, as at a good joke. Then, to my horror ,the speaker drew his nagaika from his saddle-bow, doubled it back, and leaned down over me.
'Nyeh zashta, '*(*Not at all.) says he, leering. His hand went up, I tried in vain to jerk my head aside, a searing pain seemed to cleave my skull, and then the dark sky rushed in on me.
