Chapter Chapter 9 · DAY AND NIGHT IN A TARANTASS
. DAY AND NIGHT IN A TARANTASS
THE next day, the 19th of July, the Caucasus reached Perm, the last
place at which she touched on the Kama.
The government of which Perm is the capital is one of the largest in the
Russian Empire, and, extending over the Ural Mountains, encroaches on
Siberian territory. Marble quarries, mines of salt, platina, gold, and
coal are worked here on a large scale. Although Perm, by its situation,
has become an important town, it is by no means attractive, being
extremely dirty, and without resources. This want of comfort is of
no consequence to those going to Siberia, for they come from the more
civilized districts, and are supplied with all necessaries.
At Perm travelers from Siberia resell their vehicles, more or less
damaged by the long journey across the plains. There, too, those passing
from Europe to Asia purchase carriages, or sleighs in the winter season.
Michael Strogoff had already sketched out his programme. A vehicle
carrying the mail usually runs across the Ural Mountains, but this, of
course, was discontinued. Even if it had not been so, he would not have
taken it, as he wished to travel as fast as possible, without depending
on anyone. He wisely preferred to buy a carriage, and journey by stages,
stimulating the zeal of the postillions by well-applied “na vodkou,” or
tips.
Unfortunately, in consequence of the measures taken against foreigners
of Asiatic origin, a large number of travelers had already left Perm,
and therefore conveyances were extremely rare. Michael was obliged to
content himself with what had been rejected by others. As to horses,
as long as the Czar’s courier was not in Siberia, he could exhibit his
podorojna, and the postmasters would give him the preference. But, once
out of Europe, he had to depend alone on the power of his roubles.
But to what sort of a vehicle should he harness his horses? To a telga
or to a tarantass? The telga is nothing but an open four-wheeled cart,
made entirely of wood, the pieces fastened together by means of
strong rope. Nothing could be more primitive, nothing could be less
comfortable; but, on the other hand, should any accident happen on the
way, nothing could be more easily repaired. There is no want of firs on
the Russian frontier, and axle-trees grow naturally in forests. The post
extraordinary, known by the name of “perck-ladnoi,” is carried by the
telga, as any road is good enough for it. It must be confessed that
sometimes the ropes which fasten the concern together break, and whilst
the hinder part remains stuck in some bog, the fore-part arrives at
the post-house on two wheels; but this result is considered quite
satisfactory.
Michael Strogoff would have been obliged to employ a telga, if he had
not been lucky enough to discover a tarantass. It is to be hoped that
the invention of Russian coach-builders will devise some improvement
in this last-named vehicle. Springs are wanting in it as well as in the
telga; in the absence of iron, wood is not spared; but its four wheels,
with eight or nine feet between them, assure a certain equilibrium over
the jolting rough roads. A splash-board protects the travelers from
the mud, and a strong leathern hood, which may be pulled quite over the
occupiers, shelters them from the great heat and violent storms of the
summer. The tarantass is as solid and as easy to repair as the telga,
and is, moreover, less addicted to leaving its hinder part in the middle
of the road.
It was not without careful search that Michael managed to discover this
tarantass, and there was probably not a second to be found in all Perm.
He haggled long about the price, for form’s sake, to act up to his part
as Nicholas Korpanoff, a plain merchant of Irkutsk.
Nadia had followed her companion in his search after a suitable vehicle.
Although the object of each was different, both were equally anxious to
arrive at their goal. One would have said the same will animated them
both.
“Sister,” said Michael, “I wish I could have found a more comfortable
conveyance for you.”
“Do you say that to me, brother, when I would have gone on foot, if need
were, to rejoin my father?”
“I do not doubt your courage, Nadia, but there are physical fatigues a
woman may be unable to endure.”
“I shall endure them, whatever they be,” replied the girl. “If you ever
hear a complaint from me you may leave me in the road, and continue your
journey alone.”
Half an hour later, the podorojna being presented by Michael, three
post-horses were harnessed to the tarantass. These animals, covered
with long hair, were very like long-legged bears. They were small
but spirited, being of Siberian breed. The way in which the iemschik
harnessed them was thus: one, the largest, was secured between two long
shafts, on whose farther end was a hoop carrying tassels and bells; the
two others were simply fastened by ropes to the steps of the tarantass.
This was the complete harness, with mere strings for reins.
Neither Michael Strogoff nor the young Livonian girl had any baggage.
The rapidity with which one wished to make the journey, and the more
than modest resources of the other, prevented them from embarrassing
themselves with packages. It was a fortunate thing, under the
circumstances, for the tarantass could not have carried both baggage
and travelers. It was only made for two persons, without counting the
iemschik, who kept his equilibrium on his narrow seat in a marvelous
manner.
The iemschik is changed at every relay. The man who drove the tarantass
during the first stage was, like his horses, a Siberian, and no less
shaggy than they; long hair, cut square on the forehead, hat with a
turned-up brim, red belt, coat with crossed facings and buttons stamped
with the imperial cipher. The iemschik, on coming up with his team,
threw an inquisitive glance at the passengers of the tarantass. No
luggage!--and had there been, where in the world could he have stowed
it? Rather shabby in appearance too. He looked contemptuous.
“Crows,” said he, without caring whether he was overheard or not;
“crows, at six copecks a verst!”
“No, eagles!” said Michael, who understood the iemschik’s slang
perfectly; “eagles, do you hear, at nine copecks a verst, and a tip
besides.”
He was answered by a merry crack of the whip.
In the language of the Russian postillions the “crow” is the stingy or
poor traveler, who at the post-houses only pays two or three copecks
a verst for the horses. The “eagle” is the traveler who does not mind
expense, to say nothing of liberal tips. Therefore the crow could not
claim to fly as rapidly as the imperial bird.
Nadia and Michael immediately took their places in the tarantass. A
small store of provisions was put in the box, in case at any time they
were delayed in reaching the post-houses, which are very comfortably
provided under direction of the State. The hood was pulled up, as it was
insupportably hot, and at twelve o’clock the tarantass left Perm in a
cloud of dust.
The way in which the iemschik kept up the pace of his team would
have certainly astonished travelers who, being neither Russians nor
Siberians, were not accustomed to this sort of thing. The leader, rather
larger than the others, kept to a steady long trot, perfectly regular,
whether up or down hill. The two other horses seemed to know no other
pace than the gallop, though they performed many an eccentric curvette
as they went along. The iemschik, however, never touched them, only
urging them on by startling cracks of his whip. But what epithets he
lavished on them, including the names of all the saints in the calendar,
when they behaved like docile and conscientious animals! The string
which served as reins would have had no influence on the spirited
beasts, but the words “na pravo,” to the right, “na levo,” to the left,
pronounced in a guttural tone, were more effectual than either bridle or
snaffle.
And what amiable expressions! “Go on, my doves!” the iemschik would say.
“Go on, pretty swallows! Fly, my little pigeons! Hold up, my cousin on
the left! Gee up, my little father on the right!”
But when the pace slackened, what insulting expressions, instantly
understood by the sensitive animals! “Go on, you wretched snail!
Confound you, you slug! I’ll roast you alive, you tortoise, you!”
Whether or not it was from this way of driving, which requires the
iemschiks to possess strong throats more than muscular arms, the
tarantass flew along at a rate of from twelve to fourteen miles an hour.
Michael Strogoff was accustomed both to the sort of vehicle and the mode
of traveling. Neither jerks nor jolts incommoded him. He knew that a
Russian driver never even tries to avoid either stones, ruts, bogs,
fallen trees, or trenches, which may happen to be in the road. He was
used to all that. His companion ran a risk of being hurt by the violent
jolts of the tarantass, but she would not complain.
For a little while Nadia did not speak. Then possessed with the one
thought, that of reaching her journey’s end, “I have calculated that
there are three hundred versts between Perm and Ekaterenburg, brother,”
said she. “Am I right?”
“You are quite right, Nadia,” answered Michael; “and when we have
reached Ekaterenburg, we shall be at the foot of the Ural Mountains on
the opposite side.”
“How long will it take to get across the mountains?”
“Forty-eight hours, for we shall travel day and night. I say day and
night, Nadia,” added he, “for I cannot stop even for a moment; I go on
without rest to Irkutsk.”
“I shall not delay you, brother; no, not even for an hour, and we will
travel day and night.”
“Well then, Nadia, if the Tartar invasion has only left the road open,
we shall arrive in twenty days.”
“You have made this journey before?” asked Nadia.
“Many times.”
“During winter we should have gone more rapidly and surely, should we
not?”
“Yes, especially with more rapidity, but you would have suffered much
from the frost and snow.”
“What matter! Winter is the friend of Russia.”
“Yes, Nadia, but what a constitution anyone must have to endure such
friendship! I have often seen the temperature in the Siberian steppes
fall to more than forty degrees below freezing point! I have felt,
notwithstanding my reindeer coat, my heart growing chill, my limbs
stiffening, my feet freezing in triple woolen socks; I have seen my
sleigh horses covered with a coating of ice, their breath congealed
at their nostrils. I have seen the brandy in my flask change into hard
stone, on which not even my knife could make an impression. But my
sleigh flew like the wind. Not an obstacle on the plain, white and
level farther than the eye could reach! No rivers to stop one! Hard
ice everywhere, the route open, the road sure! But at the price of what
suffering, Nadia, those alone could say, who have never returned, but
whose bodies have been covered up by the snow storm.”
“However, you have returned, brother,” said Nadia.
“Yes, but I am a Siberian, and, when quite a child, I used to follow my
father to the chase, and so became inured to these hardships. But when
you said to me, Nadia, that winter would not have stopped you, that you
would have gone alone, ready to struggle against the frightful Siberian
climate, I seemed to see you lost in the snow and falling, never to rise
again.”
“How many times have you crossed the steppe in winter?” asked the young
Livonian.
“Three times, Nadia, when I was going to Omsk.”
“And what were you going to do at Omsk?”
“See my mother, who was expecting me.”
“And I am going to Irkutsk, where my father expects me. I am taking him
my mother’s last words. That is as much as to tell you, brother, that
nothing would have prevented me from setting out.”
“You are a brave girl, Nadia,” replied Michael. “God Himself would have
led you.”
All day the tarantass was driven rapidly by the iemschiks, who succeeded
each other at every stage. The eagles of the mountain would not have
found their name dishonored by these “eagles” of the highway. The high
price paid for each horse, and the tips dealt out so freely, recommended
the travelers in a special way. Perhaps the postmasters thought it
singular that, after the publication of the order, a young man and his
sister, evidently both Russians, could travel freely across Siberia,
which was closed to everyone else, but their papers were all en règle
and they had the right to pass.
However, Michael Strogoff and Nadia were not the only travelers on their
way from Perm to Ekaterenburg. At the first stages, the courier of the
Czar had learnt that a carriage preceded them, but, as there was no want
of horses, he did not trouble himself about that.
During the day, halts were made for food alone. At the post-houses could
be found lodging and provision. Besides, if there was not an inn, the
house of the Russian peasant would have been no less hospitable. In
the villages, which are almost all alike, with their white-walled,
green-roofed chapels, the traveler might knock at any door, and it would
be opened to him. The moujik would come out, smiling and extending
his hand to his guest. He would offer him bread and salt, the burning
charcoal would be put into the “samovar,” and he would be made quite at
home. The family would turn out themselves rather than that he should
not have room. The stranger is the relation of all. He is “one sent by
God.”
On arriving that evening Michael instinctively asked the postmaster how
many hours ago the carriage which preceded them had passed that stage.
“Two hours ago, little father,” replied the postmaster.
“Is it a berlin?”
“No, a telga.”
“How many travelers?”
“Two.”
“And they are going fast?”
“Eagles!”
“Let them put the horses to as soon as possible.”
Michael and Nadia, resolved not to stop even for an hour, traveled all
night. The weather continued fine, though the atmosphere was heavy and
becoming charged with electricity. It was to be hoped that a storm would
not burst whilst they were among the mountains, for there it would be
terrible. Being accustomed to read atmospheric signs, Michael Strogoff
knew that a struggle of the elements was approaching.
The night passed without incident. Notwithstanding the jolting of the
tarantass, Nadia was able to sleep for some hours. The hood was
partly raised so as to give as much air as there was in the stifling
atmosphere.
Michael kept awake all night, mistrusting the iemschiks, who are apt to
sleep at their posts. Not an hour was lost at the relays, not an hour on
the road.
The next day, the 20th of July, at about eight o’clock in the morning,
they caught the first glimpse of the Ural Mountains in the east. This
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.”