Many were barefoot. All, officers and men alike,
were in rags. It was a piteous sight; for half of these men were no
longer human. Some were gnawing at their own limbs. Many were
blind, others had lost their speech or hearing. Nearly all were
marred by some disfigurement--some terrible sore, the result of a
frozen wound, of frostbite, of scurvy, of gangrene.
The Cossacks, half civilized as they were, wild with the excitement
of killing and the chase of a human quarry, stood aghast in the
streets of Vilna.
When the Emperor arrived, he set to work to clear the streets first,
to get these piteous men indoors. There was no question yet of
succouring them. It was not even possible to feed them all. The
only thought was to find them some protection against the ruthless
cold.
The first thought was, of course, directed to the hospitals. They
looked in and saw a storehouse of the dead. The dead could wait;
but the living must be housed.
So the dead waited, and it was their turn now at the St. Basile
Hospital, where Louis presented himself at dawn.
"Looking for some one?" asked a man in uniform, who must have been
inside the hospital, for he hurried down the steps with a set mouth
and quailing eyes.
"Yes."
"Then don't go in--wait here."
Louis looked in and took the doctor's advice. The dead were stored
in the passages, one on the top of the other, like bales of goods in
a warehouse.
Some attempt seemed to have been made to clear the wards, but those
whose task it had been had not had time to do more than drag the
dead out into the passage.
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