"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."
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Boy Scouts In Russia, by Blaine John