Chapter Chapter 15 · THE MARSHES OF THE BARABA

. THE MARSHES OF THE BARABA

IT was fortunate that Michael Strogoff had left the posting-house so

promptly. The orders of Ivan Ogareff had been immediately transmitted to

all the approaches of the city, and a full description of Michael sent

to all the various commandants, in order to prevent his departure from

Omsk. But he had already passed through one of the breaches in the wall;

his horse was galloping over the steppe, and the chances of escape were

in his favor.

It was on the 29th of July, at eight o’clock in the evening, that

Michael Strogoff had left Omsk. This town is situated about halfway

between Moscow and Irkutsk, where it was necessary that he should arrive

within ten days if he wished to get ahead of the Tartar columns. It was

evident that the unlucky chance which had brought him into the presence

of his mother had betrayed his incognito. Ivan Ogareff was no longer

ignorant of the fact that a courier of the Czar had just passed Omsk,

taking the direction of Irkutsk. The dispatches which this courier bore

must have been of immense importance. Michael Strogoff knew, therefore,

that every effort would be made to capture him.

But what he did not know, and could not know, was that Marfa Strogoff

was in the hands of Ivan Ogareff, and that she was about to atone,

perhaps with her life, for that natural exhibition of her feelings which

she had been unable to restrain when she suddenly found herself in the

presence of her son. And it was fortunate that he was ignorant of it.

Could he have withstood this fresh trial?

Michael Strogoff urged on his horse, imbuing him with all his own

feverish impatience, requiring of him one thing only, namely, to bear

him rapidly to the next posting-house, where he could be exchanged for a

quicker conveyance.

At midnight he had cleared fifty miles, and halted at the station of

Koulikovo. But there, as he had feared, he found neither horses nor

carriages. Several Tartar detachments had passed along the highway of

the steppe. Everything had been stolen or requisitioned both in the

villages and in the posting-houses. It was with difficulty that Michael

Strogoff was even able to obtain some refreshment for his horse and

himself.

It was of great importance, therefore, to spare his horse, for he could

not tell when or how he might be able to replace it. Desiring, however,

to put the greatest possible distance between himself and the horsemen

who had no doubt been dispatched in pursuit, he resolved to push on.

After one hour’s rest he resumed his course across the steppe.

Hitherto the weather had been propitious for his journey. The

temperature was endurable. The nights at this time of the year are very

short, and as they are lighted by the moon, the route over the steppe is

practicable. Michael Strogoff, moreover, was a man certain of his

road and devoid of doubt or hesitation, and in spite of the melancholy

thoughts which possessed him he had preserved his clearness of mind, and

made for his destined point as though it were visible upon the horizon.

When he did halt for a moment at some turn in the road it was to breathe

his horse. Now he would dismount to ease his steed for a moment, and

again he would place his ear to the ground to listen for the sound of

galloping horses upon the steppe. Nothing arousing his suspicions, he

resumed his way.

On the 30th of July, at nine o’clock in the morning, Michael Strogoff

passed through the station of Touroumoff and entered the swampy district

of the Baraba.

There, for a distance of three hundred versts, the natural obstacles

would be extremely great. He knew this, but he also knew that he would

certainly surmount them.

These vast marshes of the Baraba, form the reservoir to all the

rain-water which finds no outlet either towards the Obi or towards the

Irtych. The soil of this vast depression is entirely argillaceous, and

therefore impermeable, so that the waters remain there and make of it

a region very difficult to cross during the hot season. There, however,

lies the way to Irkutsk, and it is in the midst of ponds, pools, lakes,

and swamps, from which the sun draws poisonous exhalations, that the

road winds, and entails upon the traveler the greatest fatigue and

danger.

Michael Strogoff spurred his horse into the midst of a grassy prairie,

differing greatly from the close-cropped sod of the steppe, where feed

the immense Siberian herds. The grass here was five or six feet in

height, and had made room for swamp-plants, to which the dampness of

the place, assisted by the heat of summer, had given giant proportions.

These were principally canes and rushes, which formed a tangled network,

an impenetrable undergrowth, sprinkled everywhere with a thousand

flowers remarkable for the brightness of their color.

Michael Strogoff, galloping amongst this undergrowth of cane, was no

longer visible from the swamps which bordered the road. The tall grass

rose above him, and his track was indicated only by the flight of

innumerable aquatic birds, which rose from the side of the road and

dispersed into the air in screaming flocks.

The way, however, was clearly traceable. Now it would lie straight

between the dense thicket of marsh-plants; again it would follow the

winding shores of vast pools, some of which, several versts in length

and breadth, deserve the name of lakes. In other localities the stagnant

waters through which the road lay had been avoided, not by bridges, but

by tottering platforms ballasted with thick layers of clay, whose

joists shook like a too weak plank thrown across an abyss. Some of these

platforms extended over three hundred feet, and travelers by tarantass,

when crossing them have experienced a nausea like sea-sickness.

Michael Strogoff, whether the soil beneath his feet was solid or whether

it sank under him, galloped on without halt, leaping the space between

the rotten joists; but however fast they traveled the horse and the

horseman were unable to escape from the sting of the two-winged insects

which infest this marshy country.

Travelers who are obliged to cross the Baraba during the summer take

care to provide themselves with masks of horse-hair, to which is

attached a coat of mail of very fine wire, which covers their shoulders.

Notwithstanding these precautions, there are few who come out of these

marshes without having their faces, necks, and hands covered with red

spots. The atmosphere there seems to bristle with fine needles, and one

would almost say that a knight’s armor would not protect him against

the darts of these dipterals. It is a dreary region, which man dearly

disputes with tipulae, gnats, mosquitos, horse-flies, and millions

of microscopic insects which are not visible to the naked eye;

but, although they are not seen, they make themselves felt by their

intolerable stinging, to which the most callous Siberian hunters have

never been able to inure themselves.

Michael Strogoff’s horse, stung by these venomous insects, sprang

forward as if the rowels of a thousand spurs had pierced his flanks.

Mad with rage, he tore along over verst after verst with the speed of an

express train, lashing his sides with his tail, seeking by the rapidity

of his pace an alleviation of his torture.

It required as good a horseman as Michael Strogoff not to be thrown by

the plungings of his horse, and the sudden stops and bounds which

he made to escape from the stings of his persecutors. Having become

insensible, so to speak, to physical suffering, possessed only with the

one desire to arrive at his destination at whatever cost, he saw during

this mad race only one thing--that the road flew rapidly behind him.

Who would have thought that this district of the Baraba, so unhealthy

during the summer, could have afforded an asylum for human beings? Yet

it did so. Several Siberian hamlets appeared from time to time among

the giant canes. Men, women, children, and old men, clad in the skins

of beasts, their faces covered with hardened blisters of skin, pastured

their poor herds of sheep. In order to preserve the animals from the

attack of the insects, they drove them to the leeward of fires of green

wood, which were kept burning night and day, and the pungent smoke of

which floated over the vast swamp.

When Michael Strogoff perceived that his horse, tired out, was on the

point of succumbing, he halted at one of these wretched hamlets, and

there, forgetting his own fatigue, he himself rubbed the wounds of the

poor animal with hot grease according to the Siberian custom; then he

gave him a good feed; and it was only after he had well groomed and

provided for him that he thought of himself, and recruited his strength

by a hasty meal of bread and meat and a glass of kwass. One hour

afterwards, or at the most two, he resumed with all speed the

interminable road to Irkutsk.

On the 30th of July, at four o’clock in the afternoon, Michael Strogoff,

insensible of every fatigue, arrived at Elamsk. There it became

necessary to give a night’s rest to his horse. The brave animal could no

longer have continued the journey. At Elamsk, as indeed elsewhere, there

existed no means of transport,--for the same reasons as at the previous

villages, neither carriages nor horses were to be had.

Michael Strogoff resigned himself therefore to pass the night at Elamsk,

to give his horse twelve hours’ rest. He recalled the instructions which

had been given to him at Moscow--to cross Siberia incognito, to arrive

at Irkutsk, but not to sacrifice success to the rapidity of the journey;

and consequently it was necessary that he should husband the sole means

of transport which remained to him.

On the morrow, Michael Strogoff left Elamsk at the moment when the

first Tartar scouts were signaled ten versts behind upon the road to the

Baraba, and he plunged again into the swampy region. The road was

level, which made it easy, but very tortuous, and therefore long. It was

impossible, moreover, to leave it, and to strike a straight line across

that impassable network of pools and bogs.

On the next day, the 1st of August, eighty miles farther, Michael

Strogoff arrived at midday at the town of Spaskoe, and at two o’clock he

halted at Pokrowskoe. His horse, jaded since his departure from Elamsk,

could not have taken a single step more.

There Michael Strogoff was again compelled to lose, for necessary rest,

the end of that day and the entire night; but starting again on the

following morning, and still traversing the semi-inundated soil, on the

2nd of August, at four o’clock in the afternoon, after a stage of fifty

miles he reached Kamsk.

The country had changed. This little village of Kamsk lies, like

an island, habitable and healthy, in the midst of the uninhabitable

district. It is situated in the very center of the Baraba. The

emigration caused by the Tartar invasion had not yet depopulated this

little town of Kamsk. Its inhabitants probably fancied themselves safe

in the center of the Baraba, whence at least they thought they would

have time to flee if they were directly menaced.

Michael Strogoff, although exceedingly anxious for news, could ascertain

nothing at this place. It would have been rather to him that the

Governor would have addressed himself had he known who the pretended

merchant of Irkutsk really was. Kamsk, in fact, by its very situation

seemed to be outside the Siberian world and the grave events which

troubled it.

Besides, Michael Strogoff showed himself little, if at all. To be

unperceived was not now enough for him: he would have wished to be

invisible. The experience of the past made him more and more circumspect

in the present and the future. Therefore he secluded himself, and not

caring to traverse the streets of the village, he would not even leave

the inn at which he had halted.

As for his horse, he did not even think of exchanging him for another

animal. He had become accustomed to this brave creature. He knew to what

extent he could rely upon him. In buying him at Omsk he had been lucky,

and in taking him to the postmaster the generous mujik had rendered

him a great service. Besides, if Michael Strogoff had already become

attached to his horse, the horse himself seemed to become inured, by

degrees, to the fatigue of such a journey, and provided that he got

several hours of repose daily, his rider might hope that he would carry

him beyond the invaded provinces.

So, during the evening and night of the 2nd of August, Michael Strogoff

remained confined to his inn, at the entrance of the town; which was

little frequented and out of the way of the importunate and curious.

Exhausted with fatigue, he went to bed after having seen that his horse

lacked nothing; but his sleep was broken. What he had seen since his

departure from Moscow showed him the importance of his mission. The

rising was an extremely serious one, and the treachery of Ogareff made

it still more formidable. And when his eyes fell upon the letter bearing

upon it the authority of the imperial seal--the letter which, no

doubt, contained the remedy for so many evils, the safety of all this

war-ravaged country--Michael Strogoff felt within himself a fierce

desire to dash on across the steppe, to accomplish the distance which

separated him from Irkutsk as the crow would fly it, to be an eagle that

he might overtop all obstacles, to be a hurricane that he might sweep

through the air at a hundred versts an hour, and to be at last face

to face with the Grand Duke, and to exclaim: “Your highness, from his

Majesty the Czar!”

On the next morning at six o’clock, Michael Strogoff started off again.

Thanks to his extreme prudence this part of the journey was signalized

by no incident whatever. At Oubinsk he gave his horse a whole night’s

rest, for he wished on the next day to accomplish the hundred versts

which lie between Oubinsk and Ikoulskoe without halting. He started

therefore at dawn; but unfortunately the Baraba proved more detestable

than ever.

In fact, between Oubinsk and Kamakore the very heavy rains of some

previous weeks were retained by this shallow depression as in a

water-tight bowl. There was, for a long distance, no break in the

succession of swamps, pools, and lakes. One of these lakes--large enough

to warrant its geographical nomenclature--Tchang, Chinese in name, had

to be coasted for more than twenty versts, and this with the greatest

difficulty. Hence certain delays occurred, which all the impatience of

Michael Strogoff could not avoid. He had been well advised in not taking

a carriage at Kamsk, for his horse passed places which would have been

impracticable for a conveyance on wheels.

In the evening, at nine o’clock, Michael Strogoff arrived at Ikoulskoe,

and halted there over night. In this remote village of the Baraba news

of the war was utterly wanting. From its situation, this part of the

province, lying in the fork formed by the two Tartar columns which had

bifurcated, one upon Omsk and the other upon Tomsk, had hitherto escaped

the horrors of the invasion.

But the natural obstacles were now about to disappear, for, if he

experienced no delay, Michael Strogoff should on the morrow be free of

the Baraba and arrive at Kolyvan. There he would be within eighty miles

of Tomsk. He would then be guided by circumstances, and very probably

he would decide to go around Tomsk, which, if the news were true, was

occupied by Feofar-Khan.

But if the small towns of Ikoulskoe and Karguinsk, which he passed on

the next day, were comparatively quiet, owing to their position in the

Baraba, was it not to be dreaded that, upon the right banks of the Obi,

Michael Strogoff would have much more to fear from man? It was probable.

However, should it become necessary, he would not hesitate to abandon

the beaten path to Irkutsk. To journey then across the steppe he would,

no doubt, run the risk of finding himself without supplies. There would

be, in fact, no longer a well-marked road. Still, there must be no

hesitation.

Finally, towards half past three in the afternoon, Michael Strogoff left

the last depressions of the Baraba, and the dry and hard soil of Siberia

rang out once more beneath his horse’s hoofs.

He had left Moscow on the 15th of July. Therefore on this day, the 5th

of August, including more than seventy hours lost on the banks of the

Irtych, twenty days had gone by since his departure.

One thousand miles still separated him from Irkutsk.