Bab Bab 29 · IRKUTSK

, since they knew that the Russians could

not expect any help from the south of the province. Besides this, before

long Nature would herself establish a barrier, by cementing with frost

the blocks of ice accumulated between the two banks.

Perfect silence now reigned on board the raft. The voices of the

pilgrims were no longer heard. They still prayed, but their prayer was

but a murmur, which could not reach as far as either bank. The fugitives

lay flat on the platform, so that the raft was scarcely above the level

of the water. The old boatman crouched down forward among his men,

solely occupied in keeping off the ice blocks, a maneuver which was

performed without noise.

The drifting of the ice was a favorable circumstance so long as it did

not offer an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the raft. If that

object had been alone on the water, it would have run a risk of being

seen, even in the darkness, but, as it was, it was confounded with these

moving masses, of all shapes and sizes, and the tumult caused by

the crashing of the blocks against each other concealed likewise any

suspicious noises.

There was a sharp frost. The fugitives suffered cruelly, having no

other shelter than a few branches of birch. They cowered down together,

endeavoring to keep each other warm, the temperature being now ten

degrees below freezing point. The wind, though slight, having passed

over the snow-clad mountains of the east, pierced them through and

through.

Michael and Nadia, lying in the afterpart of the raft, bore this

increase of suffering without complaint. Jolivet and Blount, placed near

them, stood these first assaults of the Siberian winter as well as they

could. No one now spoke, even in a low voice. Their situation entirely

absorbed them. At any moment an incident might occur, which they could

not escape unscathed.

For a man who hoped soon to accomplish his mission, Michael was

singularly calm. Even in the gravest conjunctures, his energy had

never abandoned him. He already saw the moment when he would be at

last allowed to think of his mother, of Nadia, of himself! He now only

dreaded one final unhappy chance; this was, that the raft might be

completely barred by ice before reaching Irkutsk. He thought but of

this, determined beforehand, if necessary, to attempt some bold stroke.

Restored by a few hours’ rest, Nadia had regained the physical energy

which misery had sometimes overcome, although without ever having shaken

her moral energy. She thought, too, that if Michael had to make any

fresh effort to attain his end, she must be there to guide him. But in

proportion as she drew nearer to Irkutsk, the image of her father rose

more and more clearly before her mind. She saw him in the invested town,

far from those he loved, but, as she never doubted, struggling against

the invaders with all the spirit of his patriotism. In a few hours, if

Heaven favored them, she would be in his arms, giving him her mother’s

last words, and nothing should ever separate them again. If the term of

Wassili Fedor’s exile should never come to an end, his daughter would

remain exiled with him. Then, by a natural transition, she came back

to him who would have enabled her to see her father once more, to that

generous companion, that “brother,” who, the Tartars driven back, would

retake the road to Moscow, whom she would perhaps never meet again!

As to Alcide Jolivet and Harry Blount, they had one and the same

thought, which was, that the situation was extremely dramatic, and that,

well worked up, it would furnish a most deeply interesting article.

The Englishman thought of the readers of the _Daily Telegraph_, and the

Frenchman of those of his Cousin Madeleine. At heart, both were not

without feeling some emotion.

“Well, so much the better!” thought Alcide Jolivet, “to move others, one

must be moved one’s self! I believe there is some celebrated verse

on the subject, but hang me if I can recollect it!” And with his

well-practiced eyes he endeavored to pierce the gloom of the river.

Every now and then a burst of light dispelling the darkness for a time,

exhibited the banks under some fantastic aspect--either a forest

on fire, or a still burning village. The Angara was occasionally

illuminated from one bank to the other. The blocks of ice formed so many

mirrors, which, reflecting the flames on every point and in every

color, were whirled along by the caprice of the current. The raft passed

unperceived in the midst of these floating masses.

The danger was not at these points.

But a peril of another nature menaced the fugitives. One that they

could not foresee, and, above all, one that they could not avoid. Chance

discovered it to Alcide Jolivet in this way:--Lying at the right side

of the raft, he let his hand hang over into the water. Suddenly he was

surprised by the impression made on it by the current. It seemed to be

of a slimy consistency, as if it had been made of mineral oil. Alcide,

aiding his touch by his sense of smell, could not be mistaken. It was

really a layer of liquid naphtha, floating on the surface of the river!

Was the raft really floating on this substance, which is in the highest

degree combustible? Where had this naphtha come from? Was it a natural

phenomenon taking place on the surface of the Angara, or was it to serve

as an engine of destruction, put in motion by the Tartars? Did they

intend to carry conflagration into Irkutsk?

Such were the questions which Alcide asked himself, but he thought it

best to make this incident known only to Harry Blount, and they both

agreed in not alarming their companions by revealing to them this new

danger.

It is known that the soil of Central Asia is like a sponge impregnated

with liquid hydrogen. At the port of Bakou, on the Persian frontier,

on the Caspian Sea, in Asia Minor, in China, on the Yuen-Kiang, in the

Burman Empire, springs of mineral oil rise in thousands to the surface

of the ground. It is an “oil country,” similar to the one which bears

this name in North America.

During certain religious festivals, principally at the port of Bakou,

the natives, who are fire-worshipers, throw liquid naphtha on the

surface of the sea, which buoys it up, its density being inferior to

that of water. Then at nightfall, when a layer of mineral oil is thus

spread over the Caspian, they light it, and exhibit the matchless

spectacle of an ocean of fire undulating and breaking into waves under

the breeze.

But what is only a sign of rejoicing at Bakou, might prove a fearful

disaster on the waters of the Angara. Whether it was set on fire by

malevolence or imprudence, in the twinkling of an eye a conflagration

might spread beyond Irkutsk. On board the raft no imprudence was to be

feared; but everything was to be dreaded from the conflagrations on both

banks of the Angara, for should a lighted straw or even a spark blow

into the water, it would inevitably set the whole current of naphtha in

a blaze.

The apprehensions of Jolivet and Blount may be better understood than

described. Would it not be prudent, in face of this new danger, to

land on one of the banks and wait there? “At any rate,” said Alcide,

“whatever the danger may be, I know some one who will not land!”

He alluded to Michael Strogoff.

In the meantime, on glided the raft among the masses of ice which were

gradually getting closer and closer together. Up till then, no Tartar

detachment had been seen, which showed that the raft was not abreast of

the outposts. At about ten o’clock, however, Harry Blount caught sight

of a number of black objects moving on the ice blocks. Springing from

one to the other, they rapidly approached.

“Tartars!” he thought. And creeping up to the old boatman, he pointed

out to him the suspicious objects.

The old man looked attentively. “They are only wolves!” said he. “I

like them better than Tartars. But we must defend ourselves, and without

noise!”

The fugitives would indeed have to defend themselves against these

ferocious beasts, whom hunger and cold had sent roaming through the

province. They had smelt out the raft, and would soon attack it. The

fugitives must struggle without using firearms, for they could not now

be far from the Tartar posts. The women and children were collected in

the middle of the raft, and the men, some armed with poles, others with

their knives, stood prepared to repulse their assailants. They did not

make a sound, but the howls of the wolves filled the air.

Michael did not wish to remain inactive. He lay down at the side

attacked by the savage pack. He drew his knife, and every time that a

wolf passed within his reach, his hand found out the way to plunge his

weapon into its throat. Neither were Jolivet and Blount idle, but fought

bravely with the brutes. Their companions gallantly seconded them.

The battle was carried on in silence, although many of the fugitives

received severe bites.

The struggle did not appear as if it would soon terminate. The pack was

being continually reinforced from the right bank of the Angara. “This

will never be finished!” said Alcide, brandishing his dagger, red with

blood.

In fact, half an hour after the commencement of the attack, the wolves

were still coming in hundreds across the ice. The exhausted fugitives

were getting weaker. The fight was going against them. At that moment, a

group of ten huge wolves, raging with hunger, their eyes glowing in the

darkness like red coals, sprang onto the raft. Jolivet and his companion

threw themselves into the midst of the fierce beasts, and Michael was

finding his way towards them, when a sudden change took place.

In a few moments the wolves had deserted not only the raft, but also

the ice on the river. All the black bodies dispersed, and it was soon

certain that they had in all haste regained the shore. Wolves, like

other beasts of prey, require darkness for their proceedings, and at

that moment a bright light illuminated the entire river.

It was the blaze of an immense fire. The whole of the small town of

Poshkavsk was burning. The Tartars were indeed there, finishing their

work. From this point, they occupied both banks beyond Irkutsk. The

fugitives had by this time reached the dangerous part of their voyage,

and they were still twenty miles from the capital.

It was now half past eleven. The raft continued to glide on amongst the

ice, with which it was quite mingled, but gleams of light sometimes

fell upon it. The fugitives stretched on the platform did not permit

themselves to make a movement by which they might be betrayed.

The conflagration was going on with frightful rapidity. The houses,

built of fir-wood, blazed like torches--a hundred and fifty flaming

at once. With the crackling of the fire was mingled the yells of the

Tartars. The old boatman, getting a foothold on a near piece of ice,

managed to shove the raft towards the right bank, by doing which a

distance of from three to four hundred feet divided it from the flames

of Poshkavsk.

Nevertheless, the fugitives, lighted every now and then by the glare,

would have been undoubtedly perceived had not the incendiaries been too

much occupied in their work of destruction.

It may be imagined what were the apprehensions of Jolivet and Blount,

when they thought of the combustible liquid on which the raft floated.

Sparks flew in millions from the houses, which resembled so many glowing

furnaces. They rose among the volumes of smoke to a height of five or

six hundred feet. On the right bank, the trees and cliffs exposed to

the fire looked as if they likewise were burning. A spark falling on the

surface of the Angara would be sufficient to spread the flames along the

current, and to carry disaster from one bank to the other. The result

of this would be in a short time the destruction of the raft and of all

those which it carried.

But, happily, the breeze did not blow from that side. It came from the

east, and drove the flames towards the left. It was just possible that

the fugitives would escape this danger. The blazing town was at last

passed. Little by little the glare grew dimmer, the crackling became

fainter, and the flames at last disappeared behind the high cliffs which

arose at an abrupt turn of the river.

By this time it was nearly midnight. The deep gloom again threw its

protecting shadows over the raft. The Tartars were there, going to and

fro near the river. They could not be seen, but they could be heard. The

fires of the outposts burned brightly.

In the meantime it had become necessary to steer more carefully among

the blocks of ice. The old boatman stood up, and the moujiks resumed

their poles. They had plenty of work, the management of the raft

becoming more and more difficult as the river was further obstructed.

Michael had crept forward; Jolivet followed; both listened to what the

old boatman and his men were saying.

“Look out on the right!”

“There are blocks drifting on to us on the left!”

“Fend! fend off with your boat-hook!”

“Before an hour is past we shall be stopped!”

“If it is God’s will!” answered the old man. “Against His will there is

nothing to be done.”

“You hear them,” said Alcide.

“Yes,” replied Michael, “but God is with us!”

The situation became more and more serious. Should the raft be stopped,

not only would the fugitives not reach Irkutsk, but they would be

obliged to leave their floating platform, for it would be very soon

smashed to pieces in the ice. The osier ropes would break, the fir

trunks torn asunder would drift under the hard crust, and the unhappy

people would have no refuge but the ice blocks themselves. Then, when

day came, they would be seen by the Tartars, and massacred without

mercy!

Michael returned to the spot where Nadia was waiting for him. He

approached the girl, took her hand, and put to her the invariable

question: “Nadia, are you ready?” to which she replied as usual, “I am

ready!”

For a few versts more the raft continued to drift amongst the floating

ice. Should the river narrow, it would soon form an impassable barrier.

Already they seemed to drift slower. Every moment they encountered

severe shocks or were compelled to make detours; now, to avoid running

foul of a block, there to enter a channel, of which it was necessary

to take advantage. At length the stoppages became still more alarming.

There were only a few more hours of night. Could the fugitives not reach

Irkutsk by five o’clock in the morning, they must lose all hope of ever

getting there at all.

At half-past one, notwithstanding all efforts, the raft came up against

a thick barrier and stuck fast. The ice, which was drifting down behind

it, pressed it still closer, and kept it motionless, as though it had

been stranded.

At this spot the Angara narrowed, it being half its usual breadth.

This was the cause of the accumulation of ice, which became gradually

soldered together, under the double influence of the increased pressure

and of the cold. Five hundred feet beyond, the river widened again, and

the blocks, gradually detaching themselves from the floe, continued to

drift towards Irkutsk. It was probable that had the banks not narrowed,

the barrier would not have formed. But the misfortune was irreparable,

and the fugitives must give up all hope of attaining their object.

Had they possessed the tools usually employed by whalers to cut channels

through the ice-fields--had they been able to get through to where the

river widened--they might have been saved. But they had nothing which

could make the least incision in the ice, hard as granite in the

excessive frost. What were they to do?

At that moment several shots on the right bank startled the unhappy

fugitives. A shower of balls fell on the raft. The devoted passengers

had been seen. Immediately afterwards shots were heard fired from the

left bank. The fugitives, taken between two fires, became the mark of

the Tartar sharpshooters. Several were wounded, although in the darkness

it was only by chance that they were hit.

“Come, Nadia,” whispered Michael in the girl’s ear.

Without making a single remark, “ready for anything,” Nadia took

Michael’s hand.

“We must cross the barrier,” he said in a low tone. “Guide me, but let

no one see us leave the raft.”

Nadia obeyed. Michael and she glided rapidly over the floe in the

obscurity, only broken now and again by the flashes from the muskets.

Nadia crept along in front of Michael. The shot fell around them like a

tempest of hail, and pattered on the ice. Their hands were soon covered

with blood from the sharp and rugged ice over which they clambered, but

still on they went.

In ten minutes, the other side of the barrier was reached. There

the waters of the Angara again flowed freely. Several pieces of ice,

detached gradually from the floe, were swept along in the current down

towards the town. Nadia guessed what Michael wished to attempt. One of

the blocks was only held on by a narrow strip.

“Come,” said Nadia. And the two crouched on the piece of ice, which

their weight detached from the floe.

It began to drift. The river widened, the way was open. Michael and

Nadia heard the shots, the cries of distress, the yells of the Tartars.

Then, little by little, the sounds of agony and of ferocious joy grew

faint in the distance.

“Our poor companions!” murmured Nadia.

For half an hour the current hurried along the block of ice which bore

Michael and Nadia. They feared every moment that it would give

way beneath them. Swept along in the middle of the current, it was

unnecessary to give it an oblique direction until they drew near the

quays of Irkutsk. Michael, his teeth tight set, his ear on the strain,

did not utter a word. Never had he been so near his object. He felt that

he was about to attain it!

Towards two in the morning a double row of lights glittered on the dark

horizon in which were confounded the two banks of the Angara. On the

right hand were the lights of Irkutsk; on the left, the fires of the

Tartar camp.

Michael Strogoff was not more than half a verst from the town. “At

last!” he murmured.

But suddenly Nadia uttered a cry.

At the cry Michael stood up on the ice, which was wavering. His hand

was extended up the Angara. His face, on which a bluish light cast a

peculiar hue, became almost fearful to look at, and then, as if his eyes

had been opened to the bright blaze spreading across the river, “Ah!” he

exclaimed, “then Heaven itself is against us!”

Chapter 29. IRKUTSK

IRKUTSK, the capital of Eastern Siberia, is a populous town, containing,

in ordinary times, thirty thousand inhabitants. On the right side of

the Angara rises a hill, on which are built numerous churches, a lofty

cathedral, and dwellings disposed in picturesque disorder.

Seen at a distance, from the top of the mountain which rises at about

twenty versts off along the Siberian highroad, this town, with its

cupolas, its bell-towers, its steeples slender as minarets, its domes

like pot-bellied Chinese jars, presents something of an oriental aspect.

But this similarity vanishes as the traveler enters.

The town, half Byzantine, half Chinese, becomes European as soon as

he sees its macadamized roads, bordered with pavements, traversed by

canals, planted with gigantic birches, its houses of brick and wood,

some of which have several stories, the numerous equipages which drive

along, not only tarantasses but broughams and coaches; lastly, its

numerous inhabitants far advanced in civilization, to whom the latest

Paris fashions are not unknown.

Being the refuge for all the Siberians of the province, Irkutsk was

at this time very full. Stores of every kind had been collected

in abundance. Irkutsk is the emporium of the innumerable kinds of

merchandise which are exchanged between China, Central Asia, and Europe.

The authorities had therefore no fear with regard to admitting the

peasants of the valley of the Angara, and leaving a desert between the

invaders and the town.

Irkutsk is the residence of the governor-general of Eastern Siberia.

Below him acts a civil governor, in whose hands is the administration

of the province; a head of police, who has much to do in a town where

exiles abound; and, lastly, a mayor, chief of the merchants, and a

person of some importance, from his immense fortune and the influence

which he exercises over the people.

The garrison of Irkutsk was at that time composed of an infantry

regiment of Cossacks, consisting of two thousand men, and a body of

police wearing helmets and blue uniforms laced with silver. Besides,

as has been said, in consequence of the events which had occurred, the

brother of the Czar had been shut up in the town since the beginning of

the invasion.

A journey of political importance had taken the Grand Duke to these

distant provinces of Central Asia. After passing through the principal

Siberian cities, the Grand Duke, who traveled _en militaire_ rather than

_en prince_, without any parade, accompanied by his officers, and escorted

by a regiment of Cossacks, arrived in the Trans-Baikalcine provinces.

Nikolaevsk, the last Russian town situated on the shore of the Sea of

Okhotsk, had been honored by a visit from him. Arrived on the confines

of the immense Muscovite Empire, the Grand Duke was returning towards

Irkutsk, from which place he intended to retake the road to Moscow,

when, sudden as a thunder clap, came the news of the invasion.

He hastened to the capital, but only reached it just before

communication with Russia had been interrupted. There was time to

receive only a few telegrams from St. Petersburg and Moscow, and with

difficulty to answer them before the wire was cut. Irkutsk was isolated

from the rest of the world.

The Grand Duke had now only to prepare for resistance, and this he

did with that determination and coolness of which, under other

circumstances, he had given incontestable proofs. The news of the

taking of Ichim, Omsk, and Tomsk, successively reached Irkutsk. It was

necessary at any price to save the capital of Siberia. Reinforcements

could not be expected for some time. The few troops scattered about in

the provinces of Siberia could not arrive in sufficiently large numbers

to arrest the progress of the Tartar columns. Since therefore it was

impossible for Irkutsk to escape attack, the most important thing to be

done was to put the town in a state to sustain a siege of some duration.

The preparations were begun on the day Tomsk fell into the hands of the

Tartars. At the same time with this last news, the Grand Duke heard that

the Emir of Bokhara and the allied Khans were directing the invasion

in person, but what he did not know was, that the lieutenant of these

barbarous chiefs was Ivan Ogareff, a Russian officer whom he had himself

reduced to the ranks, but with whose person he was not acquainted.

First of all, as we have seen, the inhabitants of the province of

Irkutsk were compelled to abandon the towns and villages. Those who

did not take refuge in the capital had to retire beyond Lake Baikal, a

district to which the invasion would probably not extend its ravages.

The harvests of corn and fodder were collected and stored up in the

town, and Irkutsk, the last bulwark of the Muscovite power in the

Far East, was put in a condition to resist the enemy for a lengthened

period.

Irkutsk, founded in 1611, is situated at the confluence of the Irkut

and the Angara, on the right bank of the latter river. Two wooden

draw-bridges, built on piles, connected the town with its suburbs on the

left bank. On this side, defence was easy. The suburbs were abandoned,

the bridges destroyed. The Angara being here very wide, it would not be

possible to pass it under the fire of the besieged.

But the river might be crossed both above and below the town, and

consequently, Irkutsk ran a risk of being attacked on its east side, on

which there was no wall to protect it.

The whole population were immediately set to work on the fortifications.

They labored day and night. The Grand Duke observed with satisfaction

the zeal exhibited by the people in the work, whom ere long he would

find equally courageous in the defense. Soldiers, merchants, exiles,

peasants, all devoted themselves to the common safety. A week before the

Tartars appeared on the Angara, earth-works had been raised. A fosse,

flooded by the waters of the Angara, was dug between the scarp and

counterscarp. The town could not now be taken by a coup de main. It must

be invested and besieged.

The third Tartar column--the one which came up the valley of the Yenisei

on the 24th of September--appeared in sight of Irkutsk. It immediately

occupied the deserted suburbs, every building in which had been

destroyed so as not to impede the fire of the Grand Duke’s guns,

unfortunately but few in number and of small caliber. The Tartar troops

as they arrived organized a camp on the bank of the Angara, whilst

waiting the arrival of the two other columns, commanded by the Emir and

his allies.

The junction of these different bodies was effected on the 25th of

September, in the Angara camp, and the whole of the invading army,

except the garrisons left in the principal conquered towns, was

concentrated under the command of Feofar-Khan.

The passage of the Angara in front of Irkutsk having been regarded

by Ogareff as impracticable, a strong body of troops crossed, several

versts up the river, by means of bridges formed with boats. The Grand

Duke did not attempt to oppose the enemy in their passage. He could only

impede, not prevent it, having no field-artillery at his disposal, and

he therefore remained in Irkutsk.

The Tartars now occupied the right bank of the river; then, advancing

towards the town, they burnt, in passing, the summer-house of the

governor-general, and at last having entirely invested Irkutsk, took up

their positions for the siege.

Ivan Ogareff, who was a clever engineer, was perfectly competent

to direct a regular siege; but he did not possess the materials for

operating rapidly. He was disappointed too in the chief object of all

his efforts--the surprise of Irkutsk. Things had not turned out as he

hoped. First, the march of the Tartar army was delayed by the battle of

Tomsk; and secondly, the preparations for the defense were made far more

rapidly than he had supposed possible; these two things had balked his

plans. He was now under the necessity of instituting a regular siege of

the town.

However, by his suggestion, the Emir twice attempted the capture of the

place, at the cost of a large sacrifice of men. He threw soldiers on the

earth-works which presented any weak point; but these two assaults were

repulsed with the greatest courage. The Grand Duke and his officers did

not spare themselves on this occasion. They appeared in person; they

led the civil population to the ramparts. Citizens and peasants both did

their duty.

At the second attack, the Tartars managed to force one of the gates. A

fight took place at the head of Bolchaia Street, two versts long, on the

banks of the Angara. But the Cossacks, the police, the citizens, united

in so fierce a resistance that the Tartars were driven out.

Ivan Ogareff then thought of obtaining by stratagem what he could not

gain by force. We have said that his plan was to penetrate into the

town, make his way to the Grand Duke, gain his confidence, and, when the

time came, give up the gates to the besiegers; and, that done, wreak

his vengeance on the brother of the Czar. The Tsigane Sangarre, who had

accompanied him to the Angara, urged him to put this plan in execution.

Indeed, it was necessary to act without delay. The Russian troops from

the government of Yakutsk were advancing towards Irkutsk. They had

concentrated along the upper course of the Lena. In six days they would

arrive. Therefore, before six days had passed, Irkutsk must be betrayed.

Ogareff hesitated no longer.

One evening, the 2d of October, a council of war was held in the grand

saloon of the palace of the governor-general. This palace, standing at

the end of Bolchaia Street, overlooked the river. From its windows could

be seen the camp of the Tartars, and had the invaders possessed guns of

wider range, they would have rendered the palace uninhabitable.

The Grand Duke, General Voranzoff, the governor of the town, and

the chief of the merchants, with several officers, had collected to

determine upon various proposals.

“Gentlemen,” said the Grand Duke, “you know our situation exactly. I

have the firm hope that we shall be able to hold out until the arrival

of the Yakutsk troops. We shall then be able to drive off these

barbarian hordes, and it will not be my fault if they do not pay dearly

for this invasion of the Muscovite territory.”

“Your Highness knows that all the population of Irkutsk may be relied

on,” said General Voranzoff.

“Yes, general,” replied the Grand Duke, “and I do justice to their

patriotism. Thanks to God, they have not yet been subjected to the

horrors of epidemic and famine, and I have reason to hope that they will

escape them; but I cannot admire their courage on the ramparts enough.

You hear my words, Sir Merchant, and I beg you to repeat such to them.”

“I thank your Highness in the name of the town,” answered the merchant

chief. “May I ask you what is the most distant date when we may expect

the relieving army?”

“Six days at most, sir,” replied the Grand Duke. “A brave and clever

messenger managed this morning to get into the town, and he told me that

fifty thousand Russians under General Kisselef, are advancing by forced

marches. Two days ago, they were on the banks of the Lena, at Kirensk,

and now, neither frost nor snow will keep them back. Fifty thousand good

men, taking the Tartars on the flank, will soon set us free.”

“I will add,” said the chief of the merchants, “that we shall be

ready to execute your orders, any day that your Highness may command a

sortie.”

“Good, sir,” replied the Grand Duke. “Wait till the heads of the

relieving columns appear on the heights, and we will speedily crush

these invaders.”

Then turning to General Voranzoff, “To-morrow,” said he, “we will visit

the works on the right bank. Ice is drifting down the Angara, which

will not be long in freezing, and in that case the Tartars might perhaps

cross.”

“Will your Highness allow me to make an observation?” said the chief of

the merchants.

“Do so, sir.”

“I have more than once seen the temperature fall to thirty and forty

degrees below zero, and the Angara has still carried down drifting ice

without entirely freezing. This is no doubt owing to the swiftness of

its current. If therefore the Tartars have no other means of crossing

the river, I can assure your Highness that they will not enter Irkutsk

in that way.”

The governor-general confirmed this assertion.

“It is a fortunate circumstance,” responded the Grand Duke.

“Nevertheless, we must hold ourselves ready for any emergency.”

He then, turning towards the head of the police, asked, “Have you

nothing to say to me, sir?”

“I have your Highness,” answered the head of police, “a petition which

is addressed to you through me.”

“Addressed by whom?”

“By the Siberian exiles, whom, as your Highness knows, are in the town

to the number of five hundred.”

The political exiles, distributed over the province, had been collected

in Irkutsk, from the beginning of the invasion. They had obeyed the

order to rally in the town, and leave the villages where they exercised

their different professions, some doctors, some professors, either

at the Gymnasium, or at the Japanese School, or at the School of

Navigation. The Grand Duke, trusting like the Czar in their patriotism,

had armed them, and they had thoroughly proved their bravery.

“What do the exiles ask?” said the Grand Duke.

“They ask the consent of your Highness,” answered the head of police,

“to their forming a special corps and being placed in the front of the

first sortie.”

“Yes,” replied the Grand Duke with an emotion which he did not seek to

hide, “these exiles are Russians, and it is their right to fight for

their country!”

“I believe I may assure your Highness,” said the governor-general, “you

will have no better soldiers.”

“But they must have a chief,” said the Grand Duke, “who will he be?”

“They wish to recommend to your Highness,” said the head of police, “one

of their number, who has distinguished himself on several occasions.”

“Is he a Russian?”

“Yes, a Russian from the Baltic provinces.”

“His name?”

“Is Wassili Fedor.”

This exile was Nadia’s father. Wassili Fedor, as we have already said,

followed his profession of a medical man in Irkutsk. He was clever and

charitable, and also possessed the greatest courage and most sincere

patriotism. All the time which he did not devote to the sick he employed

in organizing the defense. It was he who had united his companions

in exile in the common cause. The exiles, till then mingled with the

population, had behaved in such a way as to draw on themselves the

attention of the Grand Duke. In several sorties, they had paid with

their blood their debt to holy Russia--holy as they believe, and adored

by her children! Wassili Fedor had behaved heroically; his name had been

mentioned several times, but he never asked either thanks or favors, and

when the exiles of Irkutsk thought of forming themselves into a special

corps, he was ignorant of their intention of choosing him for their

captain.

When the head of police mentioned this name, the Grand Duke answered

that it was not unknown to him.

“Indeed,” remarked General Voranzoff, “Wassili Fedor is a man of worth

and courage. His influence over his companions has always been very

great.”

“How long has he been at Irkutsk?” asked the Duke.

“For two years.”

“And his conduct?”

“His conduct,” answered the head of police, “is that of a man obedient

to the special laws which govern him.”

“General,” said the Grand Duke, “General, be good enough to present him

to me immediately.”

The orders of the Grand Duke were obeyed, and before half an hour had

passed, Fedor was introduced into his presence. He was a man over forty,

tall, of a stern and sad countenance. One felt that his whole life was

summed up in a single word--strife--he had striven and suffered. His

features bore a marked resemblance to those of his daughter, Nadia

Fedor.

This Tartar invasion had severely wounded him in his tenderest

affections, and ruined the hope of the father, exiled eight thousand

versts from his native town. A letter had apprised him of the death of

his wife, and at the same time of the departure of his daughter, who had

obtained from the government an authorization to join him at Irkutsk.

Nadia must have left Riga on the 10th of July. The invasion had begun

on the 15th of July; if at that time Nadia had passed the frontier, what

could have become of her in the midst of the invaders? The anxiety

of the unhappy father may be supposed when, from that time, he had no

further news of his daughter.

Wassili Fedor entered the presence of the Grand Duke, bowed, and waited

to be questioned.

“Wassili Fedor,” said the Grand Duke, “your companions in exile have

asked to be allowed to form a select corps. They are not ignorant that

in this corps they must make up their minds to be killed to the last

man?”

“They are not ignorant of it,” replied Fedor.

“They wish to have you for their captain.”

“I, your Highness?”

“Do you consent to be placed at their head?”

“Yes, if it is for the good of Russia.”

“Captain Fedor,” said the Grand Duke, “you are no longer an exile.”

“Thanks, your Highness, but can I command those who are so still?”

“They are so no longer!” The brother of the Czar had granted a pardon to

all Fedor’s companions in exile, now his companions in arms!

Wassili Fedor wrung, with emotion, the hand which the Grand Duke held

out to him, and retired.

The latter, turned to his officers, “The Czar will not refuse to ratify

that pardon,” said he, smiling; “we need heroes to defend the capital of

Siberia, and I have just made some.”

This pardon, so generously accorded to the exiles of Irkutsk, was indeed

an act of real justice and sound policy.

It was now night. Through the windows of the palace burned the fires of

the Tartar camp, flickering beyond the Angara. Down the river drifted

numerous blocks of ice, some of which stuck on the piles of the old

bridges; others were swept along by the current with great rapidity.

It was evident, as the merchant had observed, that it would be very

difficult for the Angara to freeze all over. The defenders of Irkutsk

had not to dread being attacked on that side. Ten o’clock had just

struck. The Grand Duke was about to dismiss his officers and retire to

his apartments, when a tumult was heard outside the palace.

Almost immediately the door was thrown open, an aide-de-camp appeared,

and advanced rapidly towards the Grand Duke.

“Your Highness,” said he, “a courier from the Czar!”