Michael Strogoff; Or the Courier of the Czar: A Literary Classic Read online

  “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-travellers 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 a perfectly indifferent tone he remarked:

  “Do you know, with any degree of 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, they have been descending the course of 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 gipsy!” asked Blount

  “As a gipsy!” 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,” drily 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 gipsy 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. As he was trying to recollect all the details, 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, a report had certainly reached him.

  Suddenly a dreadful growling was heard, and then another report from close to the slope.

  “A bear;” cried Michael, who could not mistake the growling. “Nadia; Nadia!”

  And then, 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 which bristle on the Ural slopes, 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 endeavour 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 Harry.

  “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 determined air, his foot placed firmly on the huge carcase, he was indeed worth looking at.

  “A formidable fellow,” said Alcide to himself.

  Then advancing respectfully, his hat in his hand, he saluted the young girl.

  Nadia bowed slightly.

  Alcide turning towards his companion:

  “The sister worthy of the brother!” said he. “Now, were I a bear, I should not meddle with a couple at the same time 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 travellers’ situation, and his intention of putting one of the horses at their disposal.

  “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, now decreasing no longer, swept with terrific violence across the defile. The remainder of the ascent was rapidly performed.

  When the first streaks of daybreak appeared the tarantass had reached the telga, which was still conscientiously imbedded as far as the centre of the wheels. Such being the case, it can be easily understood how a sudden jerk would separate the front from the hinder part. One of the side horses of the tarantass was harnessed by means of cords to the remains of the telga, the reporters to
ok their place on the seat of this singular equipage, and the two carriages started off at the same moment. 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, without the slightest hesitation, he smilingly approached the travellers, and, holding out his hand, in a quiet tone he demanded the usual “pour-boire.”

  This very cool request roused Harry 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 him all his claims 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 for 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 favour 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 note-book, 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 centre 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, driven from those provinces already overrun by the hordes of Feofar-Khan and the Kirgis country, which extends to the south-west of the Irtych as far as the frontiers of Turkestan.

  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 travellers 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 Ekater-enburg. 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-Ziamskoë, this road has slight inclines, which gentle undulations are the first signs of the slopes of the Ural Mountains. But after Novo-Zaimskoë begins the immense steppe which extends almost as far as Krasnoiarsk, over a space of seventeen hundred versts (about 1122 miles).

  At Ichim, as we have said, the reporters intended to stop, that is at about six hundred and thirty versts 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 as nearly as possible like Michael’s, and in which he and his companion at once seated themselves.

  Michael and Nadia once more took their places in their 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 travelling 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. There were, too, plenty of busy factories, but very few farms. How can hands be found to cultivate the land, sow the seed, and reap the harvest, 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 Baïkal, 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 his 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 beauti
ful 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 long and 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, and, as Alcide said, in “Russian eagles.”*

  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.