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Title: The Boy Scouts In Russia
Author: Blaine John
Illustrator: E. A. Furman
Release Date: August 18, 2005 note 1
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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Produced by Greg Weeks, Audrey Longhurst, Paul Ereaut and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE BOY SCOUTS IN RUSSIA
by CAPTAIN JOHN BLAINE
Illustrated by E.A. FURMAN
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Chicago AKRON, OHIO New York
Copyright, 1916 by Saalfield Publishing Company
CONTENTS Chapter Page
II Under Arrest 25
III A Strange Meeting 37
IV Cousins 49
V The Germans 61
VI The Tunnel 73
VII A Daring Ruse 85
VIII Within the Enemy's Lines 99
IX "There's Many a Slip-" 111
X Sentenced 125
XI The Cossacks 137
XII The Trick 151
XIII The Escape 165
XIV Altered Plans 179
XV A Dash Through the Night 193
XVI Between the Grindstones 205
XVII An Old Enemy 217
XVIII The Great White Czar 229
In Russian Trenches CHAPTER I
A train had just come to a stop in the border station of Virballen. Half of the platform of that station is in Russia; half of it in East Prussia, the easternmost province of the German empire. All trains that pass from one country to the other stop there. There are customs men, soldiers, policemen, Prussian and Russian, who form a gauntlet all travelers must run. Here passports must be shown, trunks opened. Getting in or out of Russia is not a simple business, even in the twentieth century. All sorts of people can't come in while a good many who try to get out are turned back, and may have to make a long journey to Siberia if they cannot account for themselves properly.
This train had stopped in the dead of night. But, dark and late as it was, there was the usual bustle and stir. Everyone had to wake up and submit to the questioning of police and customs men. About the only people who can escape such inquisition at Virballen or any other Russian border station are royalties and ambassadors. Most of the passengers, however, didn't have to come out on the platform. In this case, indeed, only two descended. One of these was treated by the police officials with marked respect. He was the sort of man to inspire both respect and fear. Very tall, he was heavily bearded, but not so heavily as to prevent the flashing of his teeth in a grim and unpleasant smile. Nor were his eyes hidden as the rays of the station lights fell upon them.
He was called "Excellency" by the policemen who spoke to him, but he ignored these men, save for a short, quick nod with which he acknowledged their respectful greetings. His whole attention was devoted to the boy by his side, who was looking up at him defiantly. This boy won a tribute of curious looks from all who saw him, and some glances of admiration when it became increasingly plain that he did not share the universal feeling of awe for the man by his side. This was accounted for, partly at least, it might be supposed, by the fact that he wasn't a Russian. The Americans in the train, had they been out on the platform, would have recognized him at once for he was sturdily and obviously American.
The train began to move. With a shrill shriek from the engine, and the banging of doors, it glided out of the station. Soon its tail lights were swinging out of sight. But the Russian and the American boy remained, while the train, with its load of free and cheerful passengers, went on toward Berlin.
"You wouldn't let me take the train. Well, what are you going to do with me now?" asked the boy.
His tone was as defiant as his look and if he was afraid, he didn't show it. He wasn't afraid, as a matter of fact. He was angry.
The Russian considered him for a moment, saying not a word. Then he called in a low, hushed tone, and three or four policemen came running up.
"You see this boy?" he asked.
"Yes, excellency."
"It has pleased His Majesty the Czar, acting through the administration of the police of St. Petersburg, to expel him from his dominions. He is honored by my personal attention. I in person am executing the order of His Majesty. I shall now conduct him to the exact border line and see to it that he is placed on German soil. His name is Frederick Waring. On no pretext is he to be allowed to return to Russian soil. Should he succeed in doing so, he is to be arrested, denied the privilege of communication with any friend, or with the consul or ambassador of any foreign nation, and delivered to me in Petersburg. You will receive this order in due form to-night. Understood?"
"Yes, excellency."
"Photographs will be attached to the official order." He turned again to the boy, and for just a moment the expressionless mask was swept from his eyes by a look of fierce hatred. "Now, then, step forward! As soon as you have passed the line on the platform you will be on German territory, subject to German law. I give you a word of good advice. Do not offend against the German authorities. You will find them less merciful than I."
