บทที่ บทที่ 24 · THE PASSAGE OF THE YENISEI

. 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.”