important chain which separates Russia from Siberia was still at a great
distance, and they could not hope to reach it until the end of the day.
The passage of the mountains must necessarily be performed during
the next night. The sky was cloudy all day, and the temperature was
therefore more bearable, but the weather was very threatening.
It would perhaps have been more prudent not to have ascended the
mountains during the night, and Michael would not have done so, had he
been permitted to wait; but when, at the last stage, the iemschik drew
his attention to a peal of thunder reverberating among the rocks, he
merely said:
“Is a telga still before us?”
“Yes.”
“How long is it in advance?”
“Nearly an hour.”
“Forward, and a triple tip if we are at Ekaterenburg to-morrow morning.”
CHAPTER X A STORM IN THE URAL MOUNTAINS
THE Ural Mountains extend in a length of over two thousand miles between
Europe and Asia. Whether they are called the Urals, which is the Tartar,
or the Poyas, which is the Russian name, they are correctly so termed;
for these names signify “belt” in both languages. Rising on the shores
of the Arctic Sea, they reach the borders of the Caspian. This was the
barrier to be crossed by Michael Strogoff before he could enter Siberian
Russia. The mountains could be crossed in one night, if no accident
happened. Unfortunately, thunder muttering in the distance announced
that a storm was at hand. The electric tension was such that it could
not be dispersed without a tremendous explosion, which in the peculiar
state of the atmosphere would be very terrible.
Michael took care that his young companion should be as well protected
as possible. The hood, which might have been easily blown away, was
fastened more securely with ropes, crossed above and at the back. The
traces were doubled, and, as an additional precaution, the nave-boxes
were stuffed with straw, as much to increase the strength of the wheels
as to lessen the jolting, unavoidable on a dark night. Lastly, the
fore and hinder parts, connected simply by the axles to the body of the
tarantass, were joined one to the other by a crossbar, fixed by means of
pins and screws.
Nadia resumed her place in the cart, and Michael took his seat beside
her. Before the lowered hood hung two leathern curtains, which would in
some degree protect the travelers against the wind and rain. Two great
lanterns, suspended from the iemschik’s seat, threw a pale glimmer
scarcely sufficient to light the way, but serving as warning lights to
prevent any other carriage from running into them.
It was well that all these precautions were taken, in expectation of a
rough night. The road led them up towards dense masses of clouds, and
should the clouds not soon resolve into rain, the fog would be such that
the tarantass would be unable to advance without danger of falling over
some precipice.
The Ural chain does not attain any very great height, the highest summit
not being more than five thousand feet. Eternal snow is there unknown,
and what is piled up by the Siberian winter is soon melted by the summer
sun. Shrubs and trees grow to a considerable height. The iron and copper
mines, as well as those of precious stones, draw a considerable number
of workmen to that region. Also, those villages termed “gavody” are
there met with pretty frequently, and the road through the great passes
is easily practicable for post-carriages.
But what is easy enough in fine weather and broad daylight, offers
difficulties and perils when the elements are engaged in fierce warfare,
and the traveler is in the midst of it. Michael Strogoff knew from
former experience what a storm in the mountains was, and perhaps this
would be as terrible as the snowstorms which burst forth with such
vehemence in the winter.
Rain was not yet falling, so Michael raised the leathern curtains which
protected the interior of the tarantass and looked out, watching
the sides of the road, peopled with fantastic shadows, caused by the
wavering light of the lanterns. Nadia, motionless, her arms folded,
gazed forth also, though without leaning forward, whilst her companion,
his body half out of the carriage, examined both sky and earth.
The calmness of the atmosphere was very threatening, the air being
perfectly still. It was just as if Nature were half stifled, and could
no longer breathe; her lungs, that is to say those gloomy, dense clouds,
not being able to perform their functions. The silence would have been
complete but for the grindings of the wheels of the tarantass over the
road, the creaking of the axles, the snorting of the horses, and the
clattering of their iron hoofs among the pebbles, sparks flying out on
every side.
The road was perfectly deserted. The tarantass encountered neither
pedestrians nor horsemen, nor a vehicle of any description, in the
narrow defiles of the Ural, on this threatening night. Not even the
fire of a charcoal-burner was visible in the woods, not an encampment of
miners near the mines, not a hut among the brushwood.
Under these peculiar circumstances it might have been allowable to
postpone the journey till the morning. Michael Strogoff, however, had
not hesitated, he had no right to stop, but then--and it began to cause
him some anxiety--what possible reason could those travelers in the
telga ahead have for being so imprudent?
Michael remained thus on the look-out for some time. About eleven
o’clock lightning began to blaze continuously in the sky. The shadows of
huge pines appeared and disappeared in the rapid light. Sometimes when
the tarantass neared the side of the road, deep gulfs, lit up by the
flashes, could be seen yawning beneath them. From time to time, on
their vehicle giving a worse lurch than usual, they knew that they were
crossing a bridge of roughly-hewn planks thrown over some chasm, thunder
appearing actually to be rumbling below them. Besides this, a booming
sound filled the air, which increased as they mounted higher. With these
different noises rose the shouts of the iemschik, sometimes scolding,
sometimes coaxing his poor beasts, who were suffering more from the
oppression of the air than the roughness of the roads. Even the bells on
the shafts could no longer rouse them, and they stumbled every instant.
“At what time shall we reach the top of the ridge?” asked Michael of the
iemschik.
“At one o’clock in the morning if we ever get there at all,” replied he,
with a shake of his head.
“Why, my friend, this will not be your first storm in the mountains,
will it?”
“No, and pray God it may not be my last!”
“Are you afraid?”
“No, I’m not afraid, but I repeat that I think you were wrong in
starting.”
“I should have been still more wrong had I stayed.”
“Hold up, my pigeons!” cried the iemschik; it was his business to obey,
not to question.
Just then a distant noise was heard, shrill whistling through the
atmosphere, so calm a minute before. By the light of a dazzling flash,
almost immediately followed by a tremendous clap of thunder, Michael
could see huge pines on a high peak, bending before the blast. The
wind was unchained, but as yet it was the upper air alone which was
disturbed. Successive crashes showed that many of the trees had been
unable to resist the burst of the hurricane. An avalanche of shattered
trunks swept across the road and dashed over the precipice on the left,
two hundred feet in front of the tarantass.
The horses stopped short.
“Get up, my pretty doves!” cried the iemschik, adding the cracking of
his whip to the rumbling of the thunder.
Michael took Nadia’s hand. “Are you asleep, sister?”
“No, brother.”
“Be ready for anything; here comes the storm!”
“I am ready.”
Michael Strogoff had only just time to draw the leathern curtains, when
the storm was upon them.
The iemschik leapt from his seat and seized the horses’ heads, for
terrible danger threatened the whole party.
The tarantass was at a standstill at a turning of the road, down which
swept the hurricane; it was absolutely necessary to hold the animals’
heads to the wind, for if the carriage was taken broadside it must
infallibly capsize and be dashed over the precipice. The frightened
horses reared, and their driver could not manage to quiet them. His
friendly expressions had been succeeded by the most insulting epithets.
Nothing was of any use. The unfortunate animals, blinded by the
lightning, terrified by the incessant peals of thunder, threatened every
instant to break their traces and flee. The iemschik had no longer any
control over his team.
At that moment Michael Strogoff threw himself from the tarantass and
rushed to his assistance. Endowed with more than common strength, he
managed, though not without difficulty, to master the horses.
The storm now raged with redoubled fury. A perfect avalanche of stones
and trunks of trees began to roll down the slope above them.
“We cannot stop here,” said Michael.
“We cannot stop anywhere,” returned the iemschik, all his energies
apparently overcome by terror. “The storm will soon send us to the
bottom of the mountain, and that by the shortest way.”
“Take you that horse, coward,” returned Michael, “I’ll look after this
one.”
A fresh burst of the storm interrupted him. The driver and he were
obliged to crouch upon the ground to avoid being blown down. The
carriage, notwithstanding their efforts and those of the horses, was
gradually blown back, and had it not been stopped by the trunk of a
tree, it would have gone over the edge of the precipice.
“Do not be afraid, Nadia!” cried Michael Strogoff.
“I’m not afraid,” replied the young Livonian, her voice not betraying
the slightest emotion.
The rumbling of the thunder ceased for an instant, the terrible blast
had swept past into the gorge below.
“Will you go back?” said the iemschik.
“No, we must go on! Once past this turning, we shall have the shelter of
the slope.”
“But the horses won’t move!”
“Do as I do, and drag them on.”
“The storm will come back!”
“Do you mean to obey?”
“Do you order it?”
“The Father orders it!” answered Michael, for the first time invoking
the all-powerful name of the Emperor.
“Forward, my swallows!” cried the iemschik, seizing one horse, while
Michael did the same to the other.
Thus urged, the horses began to struggle onward. They could no longer
rear, and the middle horse not being hampered by the others, could keep
in the center of the road. It was with the greatest difficulty that
either man or beasts could stand against the wind, and for every three
steps they took in advance, they lost one, and even two, by being forced
backwards. They slipped, they fell, they got up again. The vehicle ran a
great risk of being smashed. If the hood had not been securely fastened,
it would have been blown away long before. Michael Strogoff and the
iemschik took more than two hours in getting up this bit of road, only
half a verst in length, so directly exposed was it to the lashing of the
storm. The danger was not only from the wind which battered against the
travelers, but from the avalanche of stones and broken trunks which were
hurtling through the air.
Suddenly, during a flash of lightning, one of these masses was seen
crashing and rolling down the mountain towards the tarantass. The
iemschik uttered a cry.
Michael Strogoff in vain brought his whip down on the team, they refused
to move.
A few feet farther on, and the mass would pass behind them! Michael saw
the tarantass struck, his companion crushed; he saw there was no time to
drag her from the vehicle.
Then, possessed in this hour of peril with superhuman strength, he threw
himself behind it, and planting his feet on the ground, by main force
placed it out of danger.
The enormous mass as it passed grazed his chest, taking away his breath
as though it had been a cannon-ball, then crushing to powder the flints
on the road, it bounded into the abyss below.
“Oh, brother!” cried Nadia, who had seen it all by the light of the
flashes.
“Nadia!” replied Michael, “fear nothing!”
“It is not on my own account that I fear!”
“God is with us, sister!”
“With me truly, brother, since He has sent thee in my way!” murmured the
young girl.
The impetus the tarantass had received was not to be lost, and the tired
horses once more moved forward. Dragged, so to speak, by Michael and the
iemschik, they toiled on towards a narrow pass, lying north and south,
where they would be protected from the direct sweep of the tempest. At
one end a huge rock jutted out, round the summit of which whirled an
eddy. Behind the shelter of the rock there was a comparative calm; yet
once within the circumference of the cyclone, neither man nor beast
could resist its power.
Indeed, some firs which towered above this protection were in a trice
shorn of their tops, as though a gigantic scythe had swept across them.
The storm was now at its height. The lightning filled the defile, and
the thunderclaps had become one continued peal. The ground, struck by
the concussion, trembled as though the whole Ural chain was shaken to
its foundations.
Happily, the tarantass could be so placed that the storm might strike it
obliquely. But the counter-currents, directed towards it by the slope,
could not be so well avoided, and so violent were they that every
instant it seemed as though it would be dashed to pieces.
Nadia was obliged to leave her seat, and Michael, by the light of one
of the lanterns, discovered an excavation bearing the marks of a miner’s
pick, where the young girl could rest in safety until they could once
more start.
Just then--it was one o’clock in the morning--the rain began to fall in
torrents, and this in addition to the wind and lightning, made the
storm truly frightful. To continue the journey at present was utterly
impossible. Besides, having reached this pass, they had only to descend
the slopes of the Ural Mountains, and to descend now, with the road torn
up by a thousand mountain torrents, in these eddies of wind and rain,
was utter madness.
“To wait is indeed serious,” said Michael, “but it must certainly be
done, to avoid still longer detentions. The very violence of the storm
makes me hope that it will not last long. About three o’clock the day
will begin to break, and the descent, which we cannot risk in the dark,
we shall be able, if not with ease, at least without such danger, to
attempt after sunrise.”
“Let us wait, brother,” replied Nadia; “but if you delay, let it not be
to spare me fatigue or danger.”
“Nadia, I know that you are ready to brave everything, but, in exposing
both of us, I risk more than my life, more than yours, I am not
fulfilling my task, that duty which before everything else I must
accomplish.”
“A duty!” murmured Nadia.
Just then a bright flash lit up the sky; a loud clap followed. The air
was filled with sulphurous suffocating vapor, and a clump of huge pines,
struck by the electric fluid, scarcely twenty feet from the tarantass,
flared up like a gigantic torch.
The iemschik was struck to the ground by a counter-shock, but, regaining
his feet, found himself happily unhurt.
Just as the last growlings of the thunder were lost in the recesses of
the mountain, Michael felt Nadia’s hand pressing his, and he heard her
whisper these words in his ear: “Cries, brother! Listen!”
CHAPTER XI TRAVELERS IN DISTRESS
DURING the momentary lull which followed, shouts could be distinctly
heard from farther on, at no great distance from the tarantass. It was
an earnest appeal, evidently from some traveler in distress.
Michael listened attentively. The iemschik also listened, but shook his
head, as though it was impossible to help.
“They are travelers calling for aid,” cried Nadia.
“They can expect nothing,” replied the iemschik.
“Why not?” cried Michael. “Ought not we do for them what they would for
us under similar circumstances?”
“Surely you will not risk the carriage and horses!”
“I will go on foot,” replied Michael, interrupting the iemschik.
“I will go, too, brother,” said the young girl.
“No, remain here, Nadia. The iemschik will stay with you. I do not wish
to leave him alone.”
“I will stay,” replied Nadia.
“Whatever happens, do not leave this spot.”
“You will find me where I now am.”
Michael pressed her hand, and, turning the corner of the slope,
disappeared in the darkness.
“Your brother is wrong,” said the iemschik.
“He is right,” replied Nadia simply.
Meanwhile Strogoff strode rapidly on. If he was in a great hurry to aid
the travelers, he was also very anxious to know who it was that had not
been hindered from starting by the storm; for he had no doubt that the
cries came from the telga, which had so long preceded him.
The rain had stopped, but the storm was raging with redoubled fury. The
shouts, borne on the air, became more distinct. Nothing was to be seen
of the pass in which Nadia remained. The road wound along, and the
squalls, checked by the corners, formed eddies highly dangerous, to pass
which, without being taken off his legs, Michael had to use his utmost
strength.
He soon perceived that the travelers whose shouts he had heard were at
no great distance. Even then, on account of the darkness, Michael could
not see them, yet he heard distinctly their words.
This is what he heard, and what caused him some surprise: “Are you
coming back, blockhead?”
“You shall have a taste of the knout at the next stage.”
“Do you hear, you devil’s postillion! Hullo! Below!”
“This is how a carriage takes you in this country!”
“Yes, this is what you call a telga!”
“Oh, that abominable driver! He goes on and does not appear to have
discovered that he has left us behind!”
“To deceive me, too! Me, an honorable Englishman! I will make a
complaint at the chancellor’s office and have the fellow hanged.”
This was said in a very angry tone, but was suddenly interrupted by a
burst of laughter from his companion, who exclaimed, “Well! this is a
good joke, I must say.”
“You venture to laugh!” said the Briton angrily.
“Certainly, my dear confrere, and that most heartily. ‘Pon my word I
never saw anything to come up to it.”
Just then a crashing clap of thunder re-echoed through the defile, and
then died away among the distant peaks. When the sound of the last growl
had ceased, the merry voice went on: “Yes, it undoubtedly is a good
joke. This machine certainly never came from France.”
“Nor from England,” replied the other.
On the road, by the light of the flashes, Michael saw, twenty yards from
him, two travelers, seated side by side in a most peculiar vehicle, the
wheels of which were deeply imbedded in the ruts formed in the road.
He approached them, the one grinning from ear to ear, and the other
gloomily contemplating his situation, and recognized them as the two
reporters who had been his companions on board the Caucasus.
“Good-morning to you, sir,” cried the Frenchman. “Delighted to see you
here. Let me introduce you to my intimate enemy, Mr. Blount.”
The English reporter bowed, and was about to introduce in his turn his
companion, Alcide Jolivet, in accordance with the rules of society, when
Michael interrupted him.
“Perfectly unnecessary, sir; we already know each other, for we traveled
together on the Volga.”
“Ah, yes! exactly so! Mr.--”
“Nicholas Korpanoff, merchant, of Irkutsk. But may I know what has
happened which, though a misfortune to your companion, amuses you so
much?”
“Certainly, Mr. Korpanoff,” replied Alcide. “Fancy! our driver has gone
off with the front part of this confounded carriage, and left us quietly
seated in the back part! So here we are in the worse half of a telga; no
driver, no horses. Is it not a joke?”
“No joke at all,” said the Englishman.
“Indeed it is, my dear fellow. You do not know how to look at the bright
side of things.”
“How, pray, are we to go on?” asked Blount.
“That is the easiest thing in the world,” replied Alcide. “Go and
harness yourself to what remains of our cart; I will take the reins, and
call you my little pigeon, like a true iemschik, and you will trot off
like a real post-horse.”
“Mr. Jolivet,” replied the Englishman, “this joking is going too far, it
passes all limits and--”
“Now do be quiet, my dear sir. When you are done up, I will take your
place; and call me a broken-winded snail and faint-hearted tortoise if I
don’t take you over the ground at a rattling pace.”
Alcide said all this with such perfect good-humor that Michael could not
help smiling. “Gentlemen,” said he, “here is a better plan. We have now
reached the highest ridge of the Ural chain, and thus have merely to
descend the slopes of the mountain. My carriage is close by, only two
hundred yards behind. I will lend you one of my horses, harness it to
the remains of the telga, and to-mor-how, if no accident befalls us, we
will arrive together at Ekaterenburg.”
“That, Mr. Korpanoff,” said Alcide, “is indeed a generous proposal.”
“Indeed, sir,” replied Michael, “I would willingly offer you places in
my tarantass, but it will only hold two, and my sister and I already
fill it.”
“Really, sir,” answered Alcide, “with your horse and our demi-telga we
will go to the world’s end.”
“Sir,” said Harry Blount, “we most willingly accept your kind offer.
And, as to that iemschik--”
“Oh! I assure you that you are not the first travelers who have met with
a similar misfortune,” replied Michael.
“But why should not our driver come back? He knows perfectly well that
he has left us behind, wretch that he is!”
“He! He never suspected such a thing.”
“What! the fellow not know that he was leaving the better half of his
telga behind?”
“Not a bit, and in all good faith is driving the fore part into
Ekaterenburg.”
“Did I not tell you that it was a good joke, confrere?” cried Alcide.
“Then, gentlemen, if you will follow me,” said Michael, “we will return
to my carriage, and--”
“But the telga,” observed the Englishman.
“There is not the slightest fear that it will fly away, my dear Blount!”
exclaimed Alcide; “it has taken such good root in the ground, that if it
were left here until next spring it would begin to bud.”
“Come then, gentlemen,” said Michael Strogoff, “and we will bring up the
tarantass.”
The Frenchman and the Englishman, descending from their seats, no
longer the hinder one, since the front had taken its departure, followed
Michael.
Walking along, Alcide Jolivet chattered away as usual, with his
invariable good-humor. “Faith, Mr. Korpanoff,” said he, “you have indeed
got us out of a bad scrape.”
“I have only done, sir,” replied Michael, “what anyone would have done
in my place.”
“Well, sir, you have done us a good turn, and if you are going farther
we may possibly meet again, and--”
Alcide Jolivet did not put any direct question to Michael as to where
he was going, but the latter, not wishing it to be suspected that he had
anything to conceal, at once replied, “I am bound for Omsk, gentlemen.”
“Mr. Blount and I,” replied Alcide, “go where danger is certainly to be
found, and without doubt news also.”
“To the invaded provinces?” asked Michael with some earnestness.
“Exactly so, Mr. Korpanoff; and we may possibly meet there.”
“Indeed, sir,” replied Michael, “I have little love for cannon-balls
or lance points, and am by nature too great a lover of peace to venture
where fighting is going on.”
“I am sorry, sir, extremely sorry; we must only regret that we shall
separate so soon! But on leaving Ekaterenburg it may be our fortunate
fate to travel together, if only for a few days?”
“Do you go on to Omsk?” asked Michael, after a moment’s reflection.
“We know nothing as yet,” replied Alcide; “but we shall certainly go
as far as Ishim, and once there, our movements must depend on
circumstances.”
“Well then, gentlemen,” said Michael, “we will be fellow-travelers as
far as Ishim.”
Michael would certainly have preferred to travel alone, but he could
not, without appearing at least singular, seek to separate himself from
the two reporters, who were taking the same road that he was. Besides,
since Alcide and his companion intended to make some stay at Ishim, he
thought it rather convenient than otherwise to make that part of the
journey in their company.
Then in an indifferent tone he asked, “Do you know, with any certainty,
where this Tartar invasion is?”
“Indeed, sir,” replied Alcide, “we only know what they said at Perm.
Feofar-Khan’s Tartars have invaded the whole province of Semipolatinsk,
and for some days, by forced marches, have been descending the Irtish.
You must hurry if you wish to get to Omsk before them.”
“Indeed I must,” replied Michael.
“It is reported also that Colonel Ogareff has succeeded in passing the
frontier in disguise, and that he will not be slow in joining the Tartar
chief in the revolted country.”
“But how do they know it?” asked Michael, whom this news, more or less
true, so directly concerned.
“Oh! as these things are always known,” replied Alcide; “it is in the
air.”
“Then have you really reason to think that Colonel Ogareff is in
Siberia?”
“I myself have heard it said that he was to take the road from Kasan to
Ekaterenburg.”
“Ah! you know that, Mr. Jolivet?” said Harry Blount, roused from his
silence.
“I knew it,” replied Alcide.
“And do you know that he went disguised as a gypsy!” asked Blount.
“As a gypsy!” exclaimed Michael, almost involuntarily, and he suddenly
remembered the look of the old Bohemian at Nijni-Novgorod, his voyage on
board the Caucasus, and his disembarking at Kasan.
“Just well enough to make a few remarks on the subject in a letter to my
cousin,” replied Alcide, smiling.
“You lost no time at Kasan,” dryly observed the Englishman.
“No, my dear fellow! and while the Caucasus was laying in her supply of
fuel, I was employed in obtaining a store of information.”
Michael no longer listened to the repartee which Harry Blount and Alcide
exchanged. He was thinking of the gypsy troupe, of the old Tsigane,
whose face he had not been able to see, and of the strange woman who
accompanied him, and then of the peculiar glance which she had cast at
him. Suddenly, close by he heard a pistol-shot.
“Ah! forward, sirs!” cried he.
“Hullo!” said Alcide to himself, “this quiet merchant who always avoids
bullets is in a great hurry to go where they are flying about just now!”
Quickly followed by Harry Blount, who was not a man to be behind in
danger, he dashed after Michael. In another instant the three were
opposite the projecting rock which protected the tarantass at the
turning of the road.
The clump of pines struck by the lightning was still burning. There
was no one to be seen. However, Michael was not mistaken. Suddenly a
dreadful growling was heard, and then another report.
“A bear;” cried Michael, who could not mistake the growling. “Nadia;
Nadia!” And drawing his cutlass from his belt, Michael bounded round the
buttress behind which the young girl had promised to wait.
The pines, completely enveloped in flames, threw a wild glare on the
scene. As Michael reached the tarantass, a huge animal retreated towards
him.
It was a monstrous bear. The tempest had driven it from the woods, and
it had come to seek refuge in this cave, doubtless its habitual retreat,
which Nadia then occupied.
Two of the horses, terrified at the presence of the enormous creature,
breaking their traces, had escaped, and the iemschik, thinking only
of his beasts, leaving Nadia face to face with the bear, had gone in
pursuit of them.
But the brave girl had not lost her presence of mind. The animal, which
had not at first seen her, was attacking the remaining horse. Nadia,
leaving the shelter in which she had been crouching, had run to the
carriage, taken one of Michael’s revolvers, and, advancing resolutely
towards the bear, had fired close to it.
The animal, slightly wounded in the shoulder, turned on the girl, who
rushed for protection behind the tarantass, but then, seeing that the
horse was attempting to break its traces, and knowing that if it did so,
and the others were not recovered, their journey could not be continued,
with the most perfect coolness she again approached the bear, and, as it
raised its paws to strike her down, gave it the contents of the second
barrel.
This was the report which Michael had just heard. In an instant he was
on the spot. Another bound and he was between the bear and the girl. His
arm made one movement upwards, and the enormous beast, ripped up by that
terrible knife, fell to the ground a lifeless mass. He had executed in
splendid style the famous blow of the Siberian hunters, who endeavor not
to damage the precious fur of the bear, which fetches a high price.
“You are not wounded, sister?” said Michael, springing to the side of
the young girl.
“No, brother,” replied Nadia.
At that moment the two journalists came up. Alcide seized the horse’s
head, and, in an instant, his strong wrist mastered it. His companion
and he had seen Michael’s rapid stroke. “Bravo!” cried Alcide; “for a
simple merchant, Mr. Korpanoff, you handle the hunter’s knife in a most
masterly fashion.”
“Most masterly, indeed,” added Blount.
“In Siberia,” replied Michael, “we are obliged to do a little of
everything.”
Alcide regarded him attentively. Seen in the bright glare, his knife
dripping with blood, his tall figure, his foot firm on the huge carcass,
he was indeed worth looking at.
“A formidable fellow,” said Alcide to himself. Then advancing
respectfully, he saluted the young girl.
Nadia bowed slightly.
Alcide turned towards his companion. “The sister worthy of the brother!”
said he. “Now, were I a bear, I should not meddle with two so brave and
so charming.”
Harry Blount, perfectly upright, stood, hat in hand, at some distance.
His companion’s easy manners only increased his usual stiffness.
At that moment the iemschik, who had succeeded in recapturing his two
horses, reappeared. He cast a regretful glance at the magnificent animal
lying on the ground, loth to leave it to the birds of prey, and then
proceeded once more to harness his team.
Michael acquainted him with the travelers’ situation, and his intention
of loaning one of the horses.
“As you please,” replied the iemschik. “Only, you know, two carriages
instead of one.”
“All right, my friend,” said Alcide, who understood the insinuation, “we
will pay double.”
“Then gee up, my turtle-doves!” cried the iemschik.
Nadia again took her place in the tarantass. Michael and his companions
followed on foot. It was three o’clock. The storm still swept with
terrific violence across the defile. When the first streaks of
daybreak appeared the tarantass had reached the telga, which was still
conscientiously imbedded as far as the center of the wheel. Such being
the case, it can be easily understood how a sudden jerk would separate
the front from the hinder part. One of the horses was now harnessed by
means of cords to the remains of the telga, the reporters took their
place on the singular equipage, and the two carriages started off. They
had now only to descend the Ural slopes, in doing which there was not
the slightest difficulty.
Six hours afterwards the two vehicles, the tarantass preceding the
telga, arrived at Ekaterenburg, nothing worthy of note having happened
in the descent.
The first person the reporters perceived at the door of the post-house
was their iemschik, who appeared to be waiting for them. This worthy
Russian had a fine open countenance, and he smilingly approached the
travelers, and, holding out his hand, in a quiet tone he demanded the
usual “pour-boire.”
This very cool request roused Blount’s ire to its highest pitch, and had
not the iemschik prudently retreated, a straight-out blow of the fist,
in true British boxing style, would have paid his claim of “na vodkou.”
Alcide Jolivet, at this burst of anger, laughed as he had never laughed
before.
“But the poor devil is quite right!” he cried. “He is perfectly right,
my dear fellow. It is not his fault if we did not know how to follow
him!”
Then drawing several copecks from his pocket, “Here my friend,” said he,
handing them to the iemschik; “take them. If you have not earned them,
that is not your fault.”
This redoubled Mr. Blount’s irritation. He even began to speak of a
lawsuit against the owner of the telga.
“A lawsuit in Russia, my dear fellow!” cried Alcide. “Things must indeed
change should it ever be brought to a conclusion! Did you never hear the
story of the wet-nurse who claimed payment of twelve months’ nursing of
some poor little infant?”
“I never heard it,” replied Harry Blount.
“Then you do not know what that suckling had become by the time judgment
was given in favor of the nurse?”
“What was he, pray?”
“Colonel of the Imperial Guard!”
At this reply all burst into a laugh.
Alcide, enchanted with his own joke, drew out his notebook, and in it
wrote the following memorandum, destined to figure in a forthcoming
French and Russian dictionary: “Telga, a Russian carriage with four
wheels, that is when it starts; with two wheels, when it arrives at its
destination.”
CHAPTER XII PROVOCATION
EKATERENBURG, geographically, is an Asiatic city; for it is situated
beyond the Ural Mountains, on the farthest eastern slopes of the chain.
Nevertheless, it belongs to the government of Perm; and, consequently,
is included in one of the great divisions of European Russia. It is as
though a morsel of Siberia lay in Russian jaws.
Neither Michael nor his companions were likely to experience the
slightest difficulty in obtaining means of continuing their journey in
so large a town as Ekaterenburg. It was founded in 1723, and has since
become a place of considerable size, for in it is the chief mint of the
empire. There also are the headquarters of the officials employed in
the management of the mines. Thus the town is the center of an important
district, abounding in manufactories principally for the working and
refining of gold and platina.
Just now the population of Ekaterenburg had greatly increased; many
Russians and Siberians, menaced by the Tartar invasion, having collected
there. Thus, though it had been so troublesome a matter to find horses
and vehicles when going to Ekaterenburg, there was no difficulty in
leaving it; for under present circumstances few travelers cared to
venture on the Siberian roads.
So it happened that Blount and Alcide had not the slightest trouble in
replacing, by a sound telga, the famous demi-carriage which had managed
to take them to Ekaterenburg. As to Michael, he retained his tarantass,
which was not much the worse for its journey across the Urals; and he
had only to harness three good horses to it to take him swiftly over the
road to Irkutsk.
As far as Tioumen, and even up to Novo-Zaimskoe, this road has slight
inclines, which gentle undulations are the first signs of the slopes of
the Ural Mountains. But after Novo-Zaimskoe begins the immense steppe.
At Ichim, as we have said, the reporters intended to stop, that is
at about four hundred and twenty miles from Ekaterenburg. There they
intended to be guided by circumstances as to their route across the
invaded country, either together or separately, according as their
news-hunting instinct set them on one track or another.
This road from Ekaterenburg to Ichim--which passes through Irkutsk--was
the only one which Michael could take. But, as he did not run after
news, and wished, on the contrary, to avoid the country devastated by
the invaders, he determined to stop nowhere.
“I am very happy to make part of my journey in your company,” said he to
his new companions, “but I must tell you that I am most anxious to reach
Omsk; for my sister and I are going to rejoin our mother. Who can
say whether we shall arrive before the Tartars reach the town! I must
therefore stop at the post-houses only long enough to change horses, and
must travel day and night.”
“That is exactly what we intend doing,” replied Blount.
“Good,” replied Michael; “but do not lose an instant. Buy or hire a
carriage whose--”
“Whose hind wheels,” added Alcide, “are warranted to arrive at the same
time as its front wheels.”
Half an hour afterwards the energetic Frenchman had found a tarantass in
which he and his companion at once seated themselves. Michael and Nadia
once more entered their own carriage, and at twelve o’clock the two
vehicles left the town of Ekaterenburg together.
Nadia was at last in Siberia, on that long road which led to Irkutsk.
What must then have been the thoughts of the young girl? Three strong
swift horses were taking her across that land of exile where her parent
was condemned to live, for how long she knew not, and so far from his
native land. But she scarcely noticed those long steppes over which the
tarantass was rolling, and which at one time she had despaired of ever
seeing, for her eyes were gazing at the horizon, beyond which she knew
her banished father was. She saw nothing of the country across which she
was traveling at the rate of fifteen versts an hour; nothing of these
regions of Western Siberia, so different from those of the east. Here,
indeed, were few cultivated fields; the soil was poor, at least at the
surface, but in its bowels lay hid quantities of iron, copper, platina,
and gold. How can hands be found to cultivate the land, when it pays
better to burrow beneath the earth? The pickaxe is everywhere at work;
the spade nowhere.
However, Nadia’s thoughts sometimes left the provinces of Lake Baikal,
and returned to her present situation. Her father’s image faded away,
and was replaced by that of her generous companion as he first appeared
on the Vladimir railroad. She recalled his attentions during that
journey, his arrival at the police-station, the hearty simplicity with
which he had called her sister, his kindness to her in the descent of
the Volga, and then all that he did for her on that terrible night of
the storm in the Urals, when he saved her life at the peril of his own.
Thus Nadia thought of Michael. She thanked God for having given her such
a gallant protector, a friend so generous and wise. She knew that she
was safe with him, under his protection. No brother could have done
more than he. All obstacles seemed cleared away; the performance of her
journey was but a matter of time.
Michael remained buried in thought. He also thanked God for having
brought about this meeting with Nadia, which at the same time enabled
him to do a good action, and afforded him additional means for
concealing his true character. He delighted in the young girl’s calm
intrepidity. Was she not indeed his sister? His feeling towards his
beautiful and brave companion was rather respect than affection. He felt
that hers was one of those pure and rare hearts which are held by all in
high esteem.
However, Michael’s dangers were now beginning, since he had reached
Siberian ground. If the reporters were not mistaken, if Ivan Ogareff had
really passed the frontier, all his actions must be made with extreme
caution. Things were now altered; Tartar spies swarmed in the Siberian
provinces. His incognito once discovered, his character as courier of
the Czar known, there was an end of his journey, and probably of his
life. Michael felt now more than ever the weight of his responsibility.
While such were the thoughts of those occupying the first carriage, what
was happening in the second? Nothing out of the way. Alcide spoke in
sentences; Blount replied by monosyllables. Each looked at everything
in his own light, and made notes of such incidents as occurred on the
journey--few and but slightly varied--while they crossed the provinces
of Western Siberia.
At each relay the reporters descended from their carriage and found
themselves with Michael. Except when meals were to be taken at the
post-houses, Nadia did not leave the tarantass. When obliged to
breakfast or dine, she sat at table, but was always very reserved, and
seldom joined in conversation.
Alcide, without going beyond the limits of strict propriety, showed that
he was greatly struck by the young girl. He admired the silent energy
which she showed in bearing all the fatigues of so difficult a journey.
The forced stoppages were anything but agreeable to Michael; so he
hastened the departure at each relay, roused the innkeepers, urged on
the iemschiks, and expedited the harnessing of the tarantass. Then the
hurried meal over--always much too hurried to agree with Blount, who was
a methodical eater--they started, and were driven as eagles, for they
paid like princes.
It need scarcely be said that Blount did not trouble himself about the
girl at table. That gentleman was not in the habit of doing two things
at once. She was also one of the few subjects of conversation which he
did not care to discuss with his companion.
Alcide having asked him, on one occasion, how old he thought the girl,
“What girl?” he replied, quite seriously.
“Why, Nicholas Korpanoff’s sister.”
“Is she his sister?”
“No; his grandmother!” replied Alcide, angry at his indifference. “What
age should you consider her?”
“Had I been present at her birth I might have known.”
Very few of the Siberian peasants were to be seen in the fields. These
peasants are remarkable for their pale, grave faces, which a celebrated
traveler has compared to those of the Castilians, without the
haughtiness of the latter. Here and there some villages already deserted
indicated the approach of the Tartar hordes. The inhabitants, having
driven off their flocks of sheep, their camels, and their horses, were
taking refuge in the plains of the north. Some tribes of the wandering
Kirghiz, who remained faithful, had transported their tents beyond the
Irtych, to escape the depredations of the invaders.
Happily, post traveling was as yet uninterrupted; and telegraphic
communication could still be effected between places connected with the
wire. At each relay horses were to be had on the usual conditions. At
each telegraphic station the clerks transmitted messages delivered to
them, delaying for State dispatches alone.
Thus far, then, Michael’s journey had been accomplished satisfactorily.
The courier of the Czar had in no way been impeded; and, if he could
only get on to Krasnoiarsk, which seemed the farthest point attained by
Feofar-Khan’s Tartars, he knew that he could arrive at Irkutsk, before
them. The day after the two carriages had left Ekaterenburg they reached
the small town of Toulouguisk at seven o’clock in the morning, having
covered two hundred and twenty versts, no event worthy of mention having
occurred. The same evening, the 22d of July, they arrived at Tioumen.
Tioumen, whose population is usually ten thousand inhabitants,
then contained double that number. This, the first industrial town
established by the Russians in Siberia, in which may be seen a fine
metal-refining factory and a bell foundry, had never before presented
such an animated appearance. The correspondents immediately went off
after news. That brought by Siberian fugitives from the seat of war was
far from reassuring. They said, amongst other things, that Feofar-Khan’s
army was rapidly approaching the valley of the Ichim, and they confirmed
the report that the Tartar chief was soon to be joined by Colonel
Ogareff, if he had not been so already. Hence the conclusion was
that operations would be pushed in Eastern Siberia with the greatest
activity. However, the loyal Cossacks of the government of Tobolsk were
advancing by forced marches towards Tomsk, in the hope of cutting off
the Tartar columns.
At midnight the town of Novo-Saimsk was reached; and the travelers now
left behind them the country broken by tree-covered hills, the last
remains of the Urals.
Here began the regular Siberian steppe which extends to the neighborhood
of Krasnoiarsk. It is a boundless plain, a vast grassy desert; earth
and sky here form a circle as distinct as that traced by a sweep of the
compasses. The steppe presents nothing to attract notice but the long
line of the telegraph posts, their wires vibrating in the breeze like
the strings of a harp. The road could be distinguished from the rest of
the plain only by the clouds of fine dust which rose under the wheels
of the tarantass. Had it not been for this white riband, which stretched
away as far as the eye could reach, the travelers might have thought
themselves in a desert.
Michael and his companions again pressed rapidly forward. The horses,
urged on by the iemschik, seemed to fly over the ground, for there
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