"You said he was a civilian in Tartar disguise," said the
general,--for such was the officer's rank,--turning to one of his
staff and seeming rather staggered at McKay's announcement. He spoke
in Russian.
"Take care, Excellency; the prisoner speaks Russian."
"Is that so?" said the general to McKay. "An unusual accomplishment
that, in English officers, I expect."
"Yes, I am acquainted with Russian," said McKay. Why should he deny
it? They had heard him use that language at the time of his capture.
"How and when did you learn it?"
"I do not choose to say. What can that matter?"
Again the staff-officer interposed and whispered something in the
general's ear.
"Of course; I had forgotten." Then, turning to McKay, he went on:
"What is your name?"
"McKay."
"Your Christian names in full?"
"Stanislas Anastasius Wilders McKay."
"Exactly. Stanislas Alexandrovich McKay. I knew your father when he
was a captain in the Polish Lancers; was he not?"
"I cannot deny it."
"He was a Russian, in the service of our holy Czar, and you, his son,
are a Russian too."
"It is false! I am an Englishman. I have never yielded allegiance to
the Czar."
"You will find it hard to evade your responsibility. It is not to be
put on or off like a coat. You were born a Russian subject, and a
Russian subject you remain!"
"I bear a commission in the army of the British Queen.
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