“Why should I, Michael? We are thinking together!” the young girl
would reply, and contrived that her voice should not betray her extreme
fatigue.
But sometimes, as if her heart had ceased to beat for an instant, her
limbs tottered, her steps flagged, her arms fell to her sides, she
dropped behind. Michael then stopped, he fixed his eyes on the poor
girl, as though he would try to pierce the gloom which surrounded him;
his breast heaved; then, supporting his companion more than before, he
started on afresh.
However, amidst these continual miseries, a fortunate circumstance on
that day occurred which it appeared likely would considerably ease
their fatigue. They had been walking from Semilowskoe for two hours when
Michael stopped.
“Is there no one on the road?”
“Not a single soul,” replied Nadia.
“Do you not hear some noise behind us? If they are Tartars we must hide.
Keep a good look-out!”
“Wait, Michael!” replied Nadia, going back a few steps to where the road
turned to the right.
Michael Strogoff waited alone for a minute, listening attentively.
Nadia returned almost immediately and said, “It is a cart. A young man
is leading it.”
“Is he alone?”
“Alone.”
Michael hesitated an instant. Should he hide? or should he, on the
contrary, try to find a place in the vehicle, if not for himself, at
least for her? For himself, he would be quite content to lay one hand
on the cart, to push it if necessary, for his legs showed no sign of
failing him; but he felt sure that Nadia, compelled to walk ever since
they crossed the Obi, that is, for eight days, must be almost exhausted.
He waited.
The cart was soon at the corner of the road. It was a very dilapidated
vehicle, known in the country as a kibitka, just capable of holding
three persons. Usually the kibitka is drawn by three horses, but this
had but one, a beast with long hair and a very long tail. It was of the
Mongol breed, known for strength and courage.
A young man was leading it, with a dog beside him. Nadia saw at once
that the young man was Russian; his face was phlegmatic, but pleasant,
and at once inspired confidence. He did not appear to be in the
slightest hurry; he was not walking fast that he might spare his
horse, and, to look at him, it would not have been believed that he was
following a road which might at any instant be swarming with Tartars.
Nadia, holding Michael by the hand, made way for the vehicle. The
kibitka stopped, and the driver smilingly looked at the young girl.
“And where are you going to in this fashion?” he asked, opening wide his
great honest eyes.
At the sound of his voice, Michael said to himself that he had heard it
before. And it was satisfactory to him to recognize the man for his brow
at once cleared.
“Well, where are you going?” repeated the young man, addressing himself
more directly to Michael.
“We are going to Irkutsk,” he replied.
“Oh! little father, you do not know that there are still versts and
versts between you and Irkutsk?”
“I know it.”
“And you are going on foot?”
“On foot.”
“You, well! but the young lady?”
“She is my sister,” said Michael, who judged it prudent to give again
this name to Nadia.
“Yes, your sister, little father! But, believe me, she will never be
able to get to Irkutsk!”
“Friend,” returned Michael, approaching him, “the Tartars have robbed
us of everything, and I have not a copeck to offer you; but if you will
take my sister with you, I will follow your cart on foot; I will run
when necessary, I will not delay you an hour!”
“Brother,” exclaimed Nadia, “I will not! I will not! Sir, my brother is
blind!”
“Blind!” repeated the young man, much moved.
“The Tartars have burnt out his eyes!” replied Nadia, extending her
hands, as if imploring pity.
“Burnt out his eyes! Oh! poor little father! I am going to Krasnoiarsk.
Well, why should not you and your sister mount in the kibitka? By
sitting a little close, it will hold us all three. Besides, my dog will
not refuse to go on foot; only I don’t go fast, I spare my horse.”
“Friend, what is your name?” asked Michael.
“My name is Nicholas Pigassof.”
“It is a name that I will never forget,” said Michael.
“Well, jump up, little blind father. Your sister will be beside you, in
the bottom of the cart; I sit in front to drive. There is plenty of good
birch bark and straw in the bottom; it’s like a nest. Serko, make room!”
The dog jumped down without more telling. He was an animal of the
Siberian race, gray hair, of medium size, with an honest big head,
just made to pat, and he, moreover, appeared to be much attached to his
master.
In a moment more, Michael and Nadia were seated in the kibitka. Michael
held out his hands as if to feel for those of Pigassof. “You wish to
shake my hands!” said Nicholas. “There they are, little father! shake
them as long as it will give you any pleasure.”
The kibitka moved on; the horse, which Nicholas never touched with the
whip, ambled along. Though Michael did not gain any in speed, at least
some fatigue was spared to Nadia.
Such was the exhaustion of the young girl, that, rocked by the
monotonous movement of the kibitka, she soon fell into a sleep, its
soundness proving her complete prostration. Michael and Nicholas laid
her on the straw as comfortably as possible. The compassionate young man
was greatly moved, and if a tear did not escape from Michael’s eyes, it
was because the red-hot iron had dried up the last!
“She is very pretty,” said Nicholas.
“Yes,” replied Michael.
“They try to be strong, little father, they are brave, but they are weak
after all, these dear little things! Have you come from far.”
“Very far.”
“Poor young people! It must have hurt you very much when they burnt your
eyes!”
“Very much,” answered Michael, turning towards Nicholas as if he could
see him.
“Did you not weep?”
“Yes.”
“I should have wept too. To think that one could never again see
those one loves. But they can see you, however; that’s perhaps some
consolation!”
“Yes, perhaps. Tell me, my friend,” continued Michael, “have you never
seen me anywhere before?”
“You, little father? No, never.”
“The sound of your voice is not unknown to me.”
“Why!” returned Nicholas, smiling, “he knows the sound of my voice!
Perhaps you ask me that to find out where I come from. I come from
Kolyvan.”
“From Kolyvan?” repeated Michael. “Then it was there I met you; you were
in the telegraph office?”
“That may be,” replied Nicholas. “I was stationed there. I was the clerk
in charge of the messages.”
“And you stayed at your post up to the last moment?”
“Why, it’s at that moment one ought to be there!”
“It was the day when an Englishman and a Frenchman were disputing,
roubles in hand, for the place at your wicket, and the Englishman
telegraphed some poetry.”
“That is possible, but I do not remember it.”
“What! you do not remember it?”
“I never read the dispatches I send. My duty being to forget them, the
shortest way is not to know them.”
This reply showed Nicholas Pigassof’s character. In the meanwhile the
kibitka pursued its way, at a pace which Michael longed to render
more rapid. But Nicholas and his horse were accustomed to a pace which
neither of them would like to alter. The horse went for two hours and
rested one--so on, day and night. During the halts the horse grazed,
the travelers ate in company with the faithful Serko. The kibitka was
provisioned for at least twenty persons, and Nicholas generously placed
his supplies at the disposal of his two guests, whom he believed to be
brother and sister.
After a day’s rest, Nadia recovered some strength. Nicholas took the
best possible care of her. The journey was being made under tolerable
circumstances, slowly certainly, but surely. It sometimes happened that
during the night, Nicholas, although driving, fell asleep, and snored
with a clearness which showed the calmness of his conscience. Perhaps
then, by looking close, Michael’s hand might have been seen feeling
for the reins, and giving the horse a more rapid pace, to the great
astonishment of Serko, who, however, said nothing. The trot was
exchanged for the amble as soon as Nicholas awoke, but the kibitka had
not the less gained some versts.
Thus they passed the river Ichirnsk, the villages of Ichisnokoe,
Berikylokoe, Kuskoe, the river Marunsk, the village of the same name,
Bogostowskoe, and, lastly, the Ichoula, a little stream which divides
Western from Eastern Siberia. The road now lay sometimes across wide
moors, which extended as far as the eye could reach, sometimes through
thick forests of firs, of which they thought they should never get to
the end. Everywhere was a desert; the villages were almost entirely
abandoned. The peasants had fled beyond the Yenisei, hoping that this
wide river would perhaps stop the Tartars.
On the 22d of August, the kibitka entered the town of Atchinsk, two
hundred and fifty miles from Tomsk. Eighty miles still lay between them
and Krasnoiarsk.
No incident had marked the journey. For the six days during which they
had been together, Nicholas, Michael, and Nadia had remained the same,
the one in his unchange-able calm, the other two, uneasy, and thinking
of the time when their companion would leave them.
Michael saw the country through which they traveled with the eyes of
Nicholas and the young girl. In turns, they each described to him the
scenes they passed. He knew whether he was in a forest or on a plain,
whether a hut was on the steppe, or whether any Siberian was in sight.
Nicholas was never silent, he loved to talk, and, from his peculiar way
of viewing things, his friends were amused by his conversation. One day,
Michael asked him what sort of weather it was.
“Fine enough, little father,” he answered, “but soon we shall feel the
first winter frosts. Perhaps the Tartars will go into winter quarters
during the bad season.”
Michael Strogoff shook his head with a doubtful air.
“You do not think so, little father?” resumed Nicholas. “You think that
they will march on to Irkutsk?”
“I fear so,” replied Michael.
“Yes... you are right; they have with them a bad man, who will not let
them loiter on the way. You have heard speak of Ivan Ogareff?”
“Yes.”
“You know that it is not right to betray one’s country!”
“No... it is not right...” answered Michael, who wished to remain
unmoved.
“Little father,” continued Nicholas, “it seems to me that you are not
half indignant enough when Ivan Ogareff is spoken of. Your Russian heart
ought to leap when his name is uttered.”
“Believe me, my friend, I hate him more than you can ever hate him,”
said Michael.
“It is not possible,” replied Nicholas; “no, it is not possible! When
I think of Ivan Ogareff, of the harm which he is doing to our sacred
Russia, I get into such a rage that if I could get hold of him--”
“If you could get hold of him, friend?”
“I think I should kill him.”
“And I, I am sure of it,” returned Michael quietly.
CHAPTER VII THE PASSAGE OF THE YENISEI
AT nightfall, on the 25th of August, the kibitka came in sight of
Krasnoiarsk. The journey from Tomsk had taken eight days. If it had not
been accomplished as rapidly as it might, it was because Nicholas had
slept little. Consequently, it was impossible to increase his horse’s
pace, though in other hands, the journey would not have taken sixty
hours.
Happily, there was no longer any fear of Tartars. Not a scout had
appeared on the road over which the kibitka had just traveled. This
was strange enough, and evidently some serious cause had prevented the
Emir’s troops from marching without delay upon Irkutsk. Something had
occurred. A new Russian corps, hastily raised in the government of
Yeniseisk, had marched to Tomsk to endeavor to retake the town. But,
being too weak to withstand the Emir’s troops, now concentrated there,
they had been forced to effect a retreat. Feofar-Khan, including his own
soldiers, and those of the Khanats of Khokhand and Koun-douze, had
now under his command two hundred and fifty thousand men, to which
the Russian government could not as yet oppose a sufficient force. The
invasion could not, therefore, be immediately stopped, and the whole
Tartar army might at once march upon Irkutsk. The battle of Tomsk was on
the 22nd of August, though this Michael did not know, but it explained
why the vanguard of the Emir’s army had not appeared at Krasnoiarsk by
the 25th.
However, though Michael Strogoff could not know the events which had
occurred since his departure, he at least knew that he was several days
in advance of the Tartars, and that he need not despair of reaching
before them the town of Irkutsk, still six hundred miles distant.
Besides, at Krasnoiarsk, of which the population is about twelve
thousand souls, he depended upon obtaining some means of transport.
Since Nicholas Pigassof was to stop in that town, it would be necessary
to replace him by a guide, and to change the kibitka for another more
rapid vehicle. Michael, after having addressed himself to the governor
of the town, and established his identity and quality as Courier of the
Czar--which would be easy--doubted not that he would be enabled to
get to Irkutsk in the shortest possible time. He would thank the good
Nicholas Pigassof, and set out immediately with Nadia, for he did not
wish to leave her until he had placed her in her father’s arms. Though
Nicholas had resolved to stop at Krasnoiarsk, it was only as he said,
“on condition of finding employment there.” In fact, this model clerk,
after having stayed to the last minute at his post in Kolyvan, was
endeavoring to place himself again at the disposal of the government.
“Why should I receive a salary which I have not earned?” he would say.
In the event of his services not being required at Krasnoiarsk, which it
was expected would be still in telegraphic communication with Irkutsk,
he proposed to go to Oudinsk, or even to the capital of Siberia itself.
In the latter case, he would continue to travel with the brother and
sister; and where would they find a surer guide, or a more devoted
friend?
The kibitka was now only half a verst from Krasnoiarsk. The numerous
wooden crosses which are erected at the approaches to the town, could be
seen to the right and left of the road. It was seven in the evening; the
outline of the churches and of the houses built on the high bank of the
Yenisei were clearly defined against the evening sky, and the waters of
the river reflected them in the twilight.
“Where are we, sister?” asked Michael.
“Half a verst from the first houses,” replied Nadia.
“Can the town be asleep?” observed Michael. “Not a sound strikes my
ear.”
“And I cannot see the slightest light, nor even smoke mounting into the
air,” added Nadia.
“What a queer town!” said Nicholas. “They make no noise in it, and go to
bed uncommonly early!”
A presentiment of impending misfortune passed across Michael’s heart. He
had not said to Nadia that he had placed all his hopes on Krasnoiarsk,
where he expected to find the means of safely finishing his journey. He
much feared that his anticipations would again be disappointed.
But Nadia had guessed his thoughts, although she could not understand
why her companion should be so anxious to reach Irkutsk, now that the
Imperial letter was gone. She one day said something of the sort to him.
“I have sworn to go to Irkutsk,” he replied.
But to accomplish his mission, it was necessary that at Krasnoiarsk he
should find some more rapid mode of locomotion. “Well, friend,” said he
to Nicholas, “why are we not going on?”
“Because I am afraid of waking up the inhabitants of the town with the
noise of my carriage!” And with a light fleck of the whip, Nicholas put
his horse in motion.
Ten minutes after they entered the High Street. Krasnoiarsk was
deserted; there was no longer an Athenian in this “Northern Athens,” as
Madame de Bourboulon has called it. Not one of their dashing equipages
swept through the wide, clean streets. Not a pedestrian enlivened the
footpaths raised at the bases of the magnificent wooden houses, of
monumental aspect! Not a Siberian belle, dressed in the last French
fashion, promenaded the beautiful park, cleared in a forest of birch
trees, which stretches away to the banks of the Yenisei! The great bell
of the cathedral was dumb; the chimes of the churches were silent. Here
was complete desolation. There was no longer a living being in this
town, lately so lively!
The last telegram sent from the Czar’s cabinet, before the rupture
of the wire, had ordered the governor, the garrison, the inhabitants,
whoever they might be, to leave Krasnoiarsk, to carry with them any
articles of value, or which might be of use to the Tartars, and to take
refuge at Irkutsk. The same injunction was given to all the villages of
the province. It was the intention of the Muscovite government to lay
the country desert before the invaders. No one thought for an instant of
disputing these orders. They were executed, and this was the reason why
not a single human being remained in Krasnoiarsk.
Michael Strogoff, Nadia, and Nicholas passed silently through the
streets of the town. They felt half-stupefied. They themselves made the
only sound to be heard in this dead city. Michael allowed nothing of
what he felt to appear, but he inwardly raged against the bad luck which
pursued him, his hopes being again disappointed.
“Alack, alack!” cried Nicholas, “I shall never get any employment in
this desert!”
“Friend,” said Nadia, “you must go on with us.”
“I must indeed!” replied Nicholas. “The wire is no doubt still working
between Oudinsk and Irkutsk, and there--Shall we start, little father?”
“Let us wait till to-morrow,” answered Michael.
“You are right,” said Nicholas. “We have the Yenisei to cross, and need
light to see our way there!”
“To see!” murmured Nadia, thinking of her blind companion.
Nicholas heard her, and turning to Michael, “Forgive me, little father,”
said he. “Alas! night and day, it is true, are all the same to you!”
“Do not reproach yourself, friend,” replied Michael, pressing his hand
over his eyes. “With you for a guide I can still act. Take a few hours’
repose. Nadia must rest too. To-morrow we will recommence our journey!”
Michael and his friends had not to search long for a place of rest. The
first house, the door of which they pushed open, was empty, as well as
all the others. Nothing could be found within but a few heaps of leaves.
For want of better fodder the horse had to content himself with
this scanty nourishment. The provisions of the kibitka were not yet
exhausted, so each had a share. Then, after having knelt before a small
picture of the Panaghia, hung on the wall, and still lighted up by a
flickering lamp, Nicholas and the young girl slept, whilst Michael, over
whom sleep had no influence, watched.
Before daybreak the next morning, the 26th of August, the horse was
drawing the kibitka through the forests of birch trees towards the banks
of the Yenisei. Michael was in much anxiety. How was he to cross the
river, if, as was probable, all boats had been destroyed to retard the
Tartars’ march? He knew the Yenisei, its width was considerable, its
currents strong. Ordinarily by means of boats specially built for the
conveyance of travelers, carriages, and horses, the passage of the
Yenisei takes about three hours, and then it is with extreme difficulty
that the boats reach the opposite bank. Now, in the absence of any
ferry, how was the kibitka to get from one bank to the other?
Day was breaking when the kibitka reached the left bank, where one of
the wide alleys of the park ended. They were about a hundred feet above
the Yenisei, and could therefore survey the whole of its wide course.
“Do you see a boat?” asked Michael, casting his eyes eagerly about from
one side to the other, mechanically, no doubt, as if he could really
see.
“It is scarcely light yet, brother,” replied Nadia. “The fog is still
thick, and we cannot see the water.”
“But I hear it roaring,” said Michael.
Indeed, from the fog issued a dull roaring sound. The waters being high
rushed down with tumultuous violence. All three waited until the misty
curtain should rise. The sun would not be long in dispersing the vapors.
“Well?” asked Michael.
“The fog is beginning to roll away, brother,” replied Nadia, “and it
will soon be clear.”
“Then you do not see the surface of the water yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Have patience, little father,” said Nicholas. “All this will soon
disappear. Look! here comes the breeze! It is driving away the fog.
The trees on the opposite hills are already appearing. It is sweeping,
flying away. The kindly rays of the sun have condensed all that mass of
mist. Ah! how beautiful it is, my poor fellow, and how unfortunate that
you cannot see such a lovely sight!”
“Do you see a boat?” asked Michael.
“I see nothing of the sort,” answered Nicholas.
“Look well, friend, on this and the opposite bank, as far as your eye
can reach. A raft, even a canoe?”
Nicholas and Nadia, grasping the bushes on the edge of the cliff, bent
over the water. The view they thus obtained was extensive. At this place
the Yenisei is not less than a mile in width, and forms two arms, of
unequal size, through which the waters flow swiftly. Between these arms
lie several islands, covered with alders, willows, and poplars, looking
like verdant ships, anchored in the river. Beyond rise the high hills of
the Eastern shore, crowned with forests, whose tops were then empurpled
with light. The Yenisei stretched on either side as far as the eye could
reach. The beautiful panorama lay before them for a distance of fifty
versts.
But not a boat was to be seen. All had been taken away or destroyed,
according to order. Unless the Tartars should bring with them materials
for building a bridge of boats, their march towards Irkutsk would
certainly be stopped for some time by this barrier, the Yenisei.
“I remember,” said Michael, “that higher up, on the outskirts of
Krasnoiarsk, there is a little quay. There the boats touch. Friend, let
us go up the river, and see if some boat has not been forgotten on the
bank.”
Nadia seized Michael’s hand and started off at a rapid pace in the
direction indicated. If only a boat or a barge large enough to hold the
kibitka could be found, or even one that would carry just themselves,
Michael would not hesitate to attempt the passage! Twenty minutes after,
all three had reached the little quay, with houses on each side quite
down to the water’s edge. It was like a village standing beyond the town
of Krasnoiarsk.
But not a boat was on the shore, not a barge at the little wharf,
nothing even of which a raft could be made large enough to carry three
people. Michael questioned Nicholas, who made the discouraging reply
that the crossing appeared to him absolutely impracticable.
“We shall cross!” answered Michael.
The search was continued. They examined the houses on the shore,
abandoned like all the rest of Krasnoiarsk. They had merely to push open
the doors and enter. The cottages were evidently those of poor people,
and quite empty. Nicholas visited one, Nadia entered another, and even
Michael went here and there and felt about, hoping to light upon some
article that might be useful.
Nicholas and the girl had each fruitlessly rummaged these cottages and
were about to give up the search, when they heard themselves called.
Both ran to the bank and saw Michael standing on the threshold of a
door.
“Come!” he exclaimed. Nicholas and Nadia went towards him and followed
him into the cottage.
“What are these?” asked Michael, touching several objects piled up in a
corner.
“They are leathern bottles,” answered Nicholas.
“Are they full?”
“Yes, full of koumyss. We have found them very opportunely to renew our
provisions!”
“Koumyss” is a drink made of mare’s or camel’s milk, and is very
sustaining, and even intoxicating; so that Nicholas and his companions
could not but congratulate themselves on the discovery.
“Save one,” said Michael, “but empty the others.”
“Directly, little father.”
“These will help us to cross the Yenisei.”
“And the raft?”
“Will be the kibitka itself, which is light enough to float. Besides, we
will sustain it, as well as the horse, with these bottles.”
“Well thought of, little father,” exclaimed Nicholas, “and by God’s help
we will get safely over... though perhaps not in a straight line, for
the current is very rapid!”
“What does that matter?” replied Michael. “Let us get across first,
and we shall soon find out the road to Irkutsk on the other side of the
river.”
“To work, then,” said Nicholas, beginning to empty the bottles.
One full of koumyss was reserved, and the rest, with the air carefully
fastened in, were used to form a floating apparatus. Two bottles were
fastened to the horse’s sides to support it in the water. Two others
were attached to the shafts to keep them on a level with the body of the
machine, thus transformed into a raft. This work was soon finished.
“You will not be afraid, Nadia?” asked Michael.
“No, brother,” answered the girl.
“And you, friend?”
“I?” cried Nicholas. “I am now going to have one of my dreams
realized--that of sailing in a cart.”
At the spot where they were now standing, the bank sloped, and was
suitable for the launching of the kibitka. The horse drew it into the
water, and they were soon both floating. As to Serko, he was swimming
bravely.
The three passengers, seated in the vehicle, had with due precaution
taken off their shoes and stockings; but, thanks to the bottles, the
water did not even come over their ankles. Michael held the reins, and,
according to Nicholas’s directions, guided the animal obliquely, but
cautiously, so as not to exhaust him by struggling against the current.
So long as the kibitka went with the current all was easy, and in a few
minutes it had passed the quays of Krasnoiarsk. It drifted northwards,
and it was soon evident that it would only reach the opposite bank far
below the town. But that mattered little. The crossing would have been
made without great difficulty, even on this imperfect apparatus, had
the current been regular; but, unfortunately, there were whirlpools in
numbers, and soon the kibitka, notwithstanding all Michael’s efforts,
was irresistibly drawn into one of these.
There the danger was great. The kibitka no longer drifted, but spun
rapidly round, inclining towards the center of the eddy, like a rider in
a circus. The horse could scarcely keep his head above water, and ran a
great risk of being suffocated. Serko had been obliged to take refuge in
the carriage.
Michael knew what was happening. He felt himself drawn round in a
gradually narrowing line, from which they could not get free. How he
longed to see, to be better able to avoid this peril, but that was no
longer possible. Nadia was silent, her hands clinging to the sides
of the cart, which was inclining more and more towards the center of
depression.
And Nicholas, did he not understand the gravity of the situation? Was it
with him phlegm or contempt of danger, courage or indifference? Was his
life valueless in his eyes, and, according to the Eastern expression,
“an hotel for five days,” which, whether one is willing or not, must be
left the sixth? At any rate, the smile on his rosy face never faded for
an instant.
The kibitka was thus in the whirlpool, and the horse was nearly
exhausted, when, all at once, Michael, throwing off such of his garments
as might impede him, jumped into the water; then, seizing with a strong
hand the bridle of the terrified horse, he gave him such an impulse that
he managed to struggle out of the circle, and getting again into the
current, the kibitka drifted along anew.
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Nicholas.
Two hours after leaving the wharf, the kibitka had crossed the widest
arm of the river, and had landed on an island more than six versts below
the starting point.
There the horse drew the cart onto the bank, and an hour’s rest was
given to the courageous animal; then the island having been crossed
under the shade of its magnificent birches, the kibitka found itself on
the shore of the smaller arm of the Yenisei.
This passage was much easier; no whirlpools broke the course of the
river in this second bed; but the current was so rapid that the kibitka
only reached the opposite side five versts below. They had drifted
eleven versts in all.
These great Siberian rivers across which no bridges have as yet been
thrown, are serious obstacles to the facility of communication. All had
been more or less unfortunate to Michael Strogoff. On the Irtych, the
boat which carried him and Nadia had been attacked by Tartars. On the
Obi, after his horse had been struck by a bullet, he had only by a
miracle escaped from the horsemen who were pursuing him. In fact, this
passage of the Yenisei had been performed the least disastrously.
“That would not have been so amusing,” exclaimed Nicholas, rubbing his
hands, as they disembarked on the right bank of the river, “if it had
not been so difficult.”
“That which has only been difficult to us, friend,” answered Michael
Strogoff, “will, perhaps, be impossible to the Tartars.”
CHAPTER VIII A HARE CROSSES THE ROAD
MICHAEL STROGOFF might at last hope that the road to Irkutsk was clear.
He had distanced the Tartars, now detained at Tomsk, and when the Emir’s
soldiers should arrive at Krasnoiarsk they would find only a deserted
town. There being no communication between the two banks of the Yenisei,
a delay of some days would be caused until a bridge of boats could be
established, and to accomplish this would be a difficult undertaking.
For the first time since the encounter with Ivan Ogareff at Omsk, the
courier of the Czar felt less uneasy, and began to hope that no fresh
obstacle would delay his progress.
The road was good, for that part of it which extends between Krasnoiarsk
and Irkutsk is considered the best in the whole journey; fewer jolts for
travelers, large trees to shade them from the heat of the sun, sometimes
forests of pines or cedars covering an extent of a hundred versts.
It was no longer the wide steppe with limitless horizon; but the rich
country was empty. Everywhere they came upon deserted villages. The
Siberian peasantry had vanished. It was a desert, but a desert by order
of the Czar.
The weather was fine, but the air, which cooled during the night, took
some time to get warm again. Indeed it was now near September, and in
this high region the days were sensibly shortening. Autumn here lasts
but a very little while, although this part of Siberian territory is
not situated above the fifty-fifth parallel, that of Edinburgh and
Copenhagen. However, winter succeeds summer almost unexpectedly. These
winters of Asiatic Russia may be said to be precocious, considering that
during them the thermometer falls until the mercury is frozen nearly
42 degrees below zero, and that 20 degrees below zero is considered an
unsupportable temperature.
The weather favored our travelers. It was neither stormy nor rainy. The
health of Nadia and Michael was good, and since leaving Tomsk they had
gradually recovered from their past fatigues.
As to Nicholas Pigassof, he had never been better in his life. To him
this journey was a trip, an agreeable excursion in which he employed his
enforced holiday.
“Decidedly,” said he, “this is pleasanter than sitting twelve hours a
day, perched on a stool, working the manip-ulator!”
Michael had managed to get Nicholas to make his horse quicken his pace.
To obtain this result, he had confided to Nicholas that Nadia and he
were on their way to join their father, exiled at Irkutsk, and that they
were very anxious to get there. Certainly, it would not do to overwork
the horse, for very probably they would not be able to exchange him
for another; but by giving him frequent rests--every ten miles, for
instance--forty miles in twenty-four hours could easily be accomplished.
Besides, the animal was strong, and of a race calculated to endure great
fatigue. He was in no want of rich pasturage along the road, the grass
being thick and abundant. Therefore, it was possible to demand an
increase of work from him.
Nicholas gave in to all these reasons. He was much moved at the
situation of these two young people, going to share their father’s
exile. Nothing had ever appeared so touching to him. With what a smile
he said to Nadia: “Divine goodness! what joy will Mr. Korpanoff feel,
when his eyes behold you, when his arms open to receive you! If I go to
Irkutsk--and that appears very probable now--will you permit me to be
present at that interview! You will, will you not?” Then, striking his
forehead: “But, I forgot, what grief too when he sees that his poor son
is blind! Ah! everything is mingled in this world!”
However, the result of all this was the kibitka went faster, and,
according to Michael’s calculations, now made almost eight miles an
hour.
After crossing the little river Biriousa, the kibitka reached
Biriousensk on the morning of the 4th of September. There, very
fortunately, for Nicholas saw that his provisions were becoming
exhausted, he found in an oven a dozen “pogatchas,” a kind of cake
prepared with sheep’s fat and a large supply of plain boiled rice. This
increase was very opportune, for something would soon have been needed
to replace the koumyss with which the kibitka had been stored at
Krasnoiarsk.
After a halt, the journey was continued in the afternoon. The distance
to Irkutsk was not now much over three hundred miles. There was not
a sign of the Tartar vanguard. Michael Strogoff had some grounds for
hoping that his journey would not be again delayed, and that in eight
days, or at most ten, he would be in the presence of the Grand Duke.
On leaving Biriousinsk, a hare ran across the road, in front of the
kibitka. “Ah!” exclaimed Nicholas.
“What is the matter, friend?” asked Michael quickly, like a blind man
whom the least sound arouses.
“Did you not see?” said Nicholas, whose bright face had become suddenly
clouded. Then he added, “Ah! no! you could not see, and it’s lucky for
you, little father!”
“But I saw nothing,” said Nadia.
“So much the better! So much the better! But I--I saw!”
“What was it then?” asked Michael.
“A hare crossing our road!” answered Nicholas.
In Russia, when a hare crosses the path, the popular belief is that
it is the sign of approaching evil. Nicholas, superstitious like the
greater number of Russians, stopped the kibitka.
Michael understood his companion’s hesitation, without sharing his
credulity, and endeavored to reassure him, “There is nothing to fear,
friend,” said he.
“Nothing for you, nor for her, I know, little father,” answered
Nicholas, “but for me!”
“It is my fate,” he continued. And he put his horse in motion again.
However, in spite of these forebodings the day passed without any
accident.
At twelve o’clock the next day, the 6th of September, the kibitka halted
in the village of Alsalevok, which was as deserted as the surrounding
country. There, on a doorstep, Nadia found two of those strong-bladed
knives used by Siberian hunters. She gave one to Michael, who concealed
it among his clothes, and kept the other herself.
Nicholas had not recovered his usual spirits. The ill-omen had affected
him more than could have been believed, and he who formerly was never
half an hour without speaking, now fell into long reveries from which
Nadia found it difficult to arouse him. The kibitka rolled swiftly along
the road. Yes, swiftly! Nicholas no longer thought of being so careful
of his horse, and was as anxious to arrive at his journey’s end as
Michael himself. Notwithstanding his fatalism, and though resigned, he
would not believe himself in safety until within the walls of Irkutsk.
Many Russians would have thought as he did, and more than one would have
turned his horse and gone back again, after a hare had crossed his path.
Some observations made by him, the justice of which was proved by Nadia
transmitting them to Michael, made them fear that their trials were not
yet over. Though the land from Krasnoiarsk had been respected in its
natural productions, its forests now bore trace of fire and steel; and
it was evident that some large body of men had passed that way.
Twenty miles before Nijni-Oudinsk, the indications of recent devastation
could not be mistaken, and it was impossible to attribute them to others
than the Tartars. It was not only that the fields were trampled by
horse’s feet, and that trees were cut down. The few houses scattered
along the road were not only empty, some had been partly demolished,
others half burnt down. The marks of bullets could be seen on their
walls.
Michael’s anxiety may be imagined. He could no longer doubt that a party
of Tartars had recently passed that way, and yet it was impossible
that they could be the Emir’s soldiers, for they could not have passed
without being seen. But then, who were these new invaders, and by what
out-of-the-way path across the steppe had they been able to join the
highroad to Irkutsk? With what new enemies was the Czar’s courier now to
meet?
He did not communicate his apprehensions either to Nicholas or Nadia,
not wishing to make them uneasy. Besides, he had resolved to continue
his way, as long as no insurmountable obstacle stopped him. Later, he
would see what it was best to do. During the ensuing day, the recent
passage of a large body of foot and horse became more and more apparent.
Smoke was seen above the horizon. The kibitka advanced cautiously.
Several houses in deserted villages still burned, and could not have
been set on fire more than four and twenty hours before.
At last, during the day, on the 8th of September, the kibitka stopped
suddenly. The horse refused to advance. Serko barked furiously.
“What is the matter?” asked Michael.
“A corpse!” replied Nicholas, who had leapt out of the kibitka. The body
was that of a moujik, horribly mutilated, and already cold. Nicholas
crossed himself. Then, aided by Michael, he carried the body to the side
of the road. He would have liked to give it decent burial, that the
wild beasts of the steppe might not feast on the miserable remains, but
Michael could not allow him the time.
“Come, friend, come!” he exclaimed, “we must not delay, even for an
hour!” And the kibitka was driven on.
Besides, if Nicholas had wished to render the last duties to all the
dead bodies they were now to meet with on the Siberian highroad, he
would have had enough to do! As they approached Nijni-Oudinsk, they were
found by twenties, stretched on the ground.
It was, however, necessary to follow this road until it was manifestly
impossible to do so longer without falling into the hands of the
invaders. The road they were following could not be abandoned, and yet
the signs of devastation and ruin increased at every village they
passed through. The blood of the victims was not yet dry. As to gaining
information about what had occurred, that was impossible. There was not
a living being left to tell the tale.
About four o’clock in the afternoon of this day, Nicholas caught sight
of the tall steeples of the churches of Nijni-Oudinsk. Thick vapors,
which could not have been clouds, were floating around them.
Nicholas and Nadia looked, and communicated the result of their
observations to Michael. They must make up their minds what to do. If
the town was abandoned, they could pass through without risk, but if, by
some inexplicable maneuver, the Tartars occupied it, they must at every
cost avoid the place.
“Advance cautiously,” said Michael Strogoff, “but advance!”
A verst was soon traversed.
“Those are not clouds, that is smoke!” exclaimed Nadia. “Brother, they
are burning the town!”
It was, indeed, only too plain. Flashes of light appeared in the midst
of the vapor. It became thicker and thicker as it mounted upwards. But
were they Tartars who had done this? They might be Russians, obeying the
orders of the Grand Duke. Had the government of the Czar determined that
from Krasnoiarsk, from the Yenisei, not a town, not a village should
offer a refuge to the Emir’s soldiers? What was Michael to do?
He was undecided. However, having weighed the pros and cons, he thought
that whatever might be the difficulties of a journey across the steppe
without a beaten path, he ought not to risk capture a second time by
the Tartars. He was just proposing to Nicholas to leave the road, when
a shot was heard on their right. A ball whistled, and the horse of the
kibitka fell dead, shot through the head.
A dozen horsemen dashed forward, and the kibitka was surrounded. Before
they knew where they were, Michael, Nadia, and Nicholas were prisoners,
and were being dragged rapidly towards Nijni-Oudinsk.
Michael, in this second attack, had lost none of his presence of
mind. Being unable to see his enemies, he had not thought of defending
himself. Even had he possessed the use of his eyes, he would not have
attempted it. The consequences would have been his death and that of his
companions. But, though he could not see, he could listen and understand
what was said.
From their language he found that these soldiers were Tartars, and from
their words, that they preceded the invading army.
In short, what Michael learnt from the talk at the present moment, as
well as from the scraps of conversation he overheard later, was this.
These men were not under the direct orders of the Emir, who was now
detained beyond the Yenisei. They made part of a third column chiefly
composed of Tartars from the khanats of Khokland and Koondooz, with
which Feofar’s army was to affect a junction in the neighborhood of
Irkutsk.
By Ogareff’s advice, in order to assure the success of the invasion in
the Eastern provinces, this column had skirted the base of the Altai
Mountains. Pillaging and ravaging, it had reached the upper course of
the Yenisei. There, guessing what had been done at Krasnoiarsk by order
of the Czar, and to facilitate the passage of the river to the Emir’s
troops, this column had launched a flotilla of boats, which would enable
Feofar to cross and resume the road to Irkutsk. Having done this, it had
descended the valley of the Yenisei and struck the road on a level with
Alsalevsk. From this little town began the frightful course of ruin
which forms the chief part of Tartar warfare. Nijni-Oudinsk had shared
the common fate, and the Tartars, to the number of fifty thousand, had
now quitted it to take up a position before Irkutsk. Before long, they
would be reinforced by the Emir’s troops.
Such was the state of affairs at this date, most serious for this
isolated part of Eastern Siberia, and for the comparatively few
defenders of its capital.
It can be imagined with what thoughts Michael’s mind was now occupied!
Who could have been astonished had he, in his present situation,
lost all hope and all courage? Nothing of the sort, however; his lips
muttered no other words than these: “I will get there!”
Half an hour after the attack of the Tartar horsemen, Michael Strogoff,
Nadia, and Nicholas entered Nijni-Oudinsk. The faithful dog followed
them, though at a distance. They could not stay in the town, as it
was in flames, and about to be left by the last of the marauders. The
prisoners were therefore thrown on horses and hurried away; Nicholas
resigned as usual, Nadia, her faith in Michael unshaken, and Michael
himself, apparently indifferent, but ready to seize any opportunity of
escaping.
The Tartars were not long in perceiving that one of their prisoners
was blind, and their natural barbarity led them to make game of their
unfortunate victim. They were traveling fast. Michael’s horse, having no
one to guide him, often started aside, and so made confusion among the
ranks. This drew on his rider such abuse and brutality as wrung Nadia’s
heart, and filled Nicholas with indignation. But what could they do?
They could not speak the Tartar language, and their assistance was
mercilessly refused. Soon it occurred to these men, in a refinement
of cruelty, to exchange the horse Michael was riding for one which was
blind. The motive of the change was explained by a remark which Michael
overheard, “Perhaps that Russian can see, after all!”
Michael was placed on this horse, and the reins ironically put into
his hand. Then, by dint of lashing, throwing stones, and shouting,
the animal was urged into a gallop. The horse, not being guided by his
rider, blind as himself, sometimes ran into a tree, sometimes went quite
off the road--in consequence, collisions and falls, which might have
been extremely dangerous.
Michael did not complain. Not a murmur escaped him. When his horse fell,
he waited until it got up. It was, indeed, soon assisted up, and the
cruel fun continued. At sight of this wicked treatment, Nicholas could
not contain himself; he endeavored to go to his friend’s aid. He was
prevented, and treated brutally.
This game would have been prolonged, to the Tartars’ great amusement,
had not a serious accident put an end to it. On the 10th of September
the blind horse ran away, and made straight for a pit, some thirty or
forty feet deep, at the side of the road.
Nicholas tried to go after him. He was held back. The horse, having no
guide, fell with his rider to the bottom. Nicholas and Nadia uttered a
piercing cry! They believed that their unfortunate companion had been
killed.
However, when they went to his assistance, it was found that Michael,
having been able to throw himself out of the saddle, was unhurt, but the
miserable horse had two legs broken, and was quite useless. He was
left there to die without being put out of his suffering, and Michael,
fastened to a Tartar’s saddle, was obliged to follow the detachment on
foot.
Even now, not a protest, not a complaint! He marched with a rapid step,
scarcely drawn by the cord which tied him. He was still “the Man of
Iron,” of whom General Kissoff had spoken to the Czar!
The next day, the 11th of September, the detachment passed through the
village of Chibarlinskoe. Here an incident occurred which had serious
consequences. It was nightfall. The Tartar horsemen, having halted,
were more or less intoxicated. They were about to start. Nadia, who till
then, by a miracle, had been respectfully treated by the soldiers, was
insulted by one of them.
Michael could not see the insult, nor the insulter, but Nicholas saw for
him. Then, quietly, without thinking, without perhaps knowing what
he was doing, Nicholas walked straight up to the man, and, before the
latter could make the least movement to stop him, had seized a pistol
from his holster and discharged it full at his breast.
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