บทที่ บทที่ 25 · A HARE CROSSES THE ROAD

. A HARE CROSSES THE ROAD

MICHAEL STROGOFF might at last hope that the road to Irkutsk was clear.

He had distanced the Tartars, now detained at Tomsk, and when the Emir’s

soldiers should arrive at Krasnoiarsk they would find only a deserted

town. There being no communication between the two banks of the Yenisei,

a delay of some days would be caused until a bridge of boats could be

established, and to accomplish this would be a difficult undertaking.

For the first time since the encounter with Ivan Ogareff at Omsk, the

courier of the Czar felt less uneasy, and began to hope that no fresh

obstacle would delay his progress.

The road was good, for that part of it which extends between Krasnoiarsk

and Irkutsk is considered the best in the whole journey; fewer jolts for

travelers, large trees to shade them from the heat of the sun, sometimes

forests of pines or cedars covering an extent of a hundred versts.

It was no longer the wide steppe with limitless horizon; but the rich

country was empty. Everywhere they came upon deserted villages. The

Siberian peasantry had vanished. It was a desert, but a desert by order

of the Czar.

The weather was fine, but the air, which cooled during the night, took

some time to get warm again. Indeed it was now near September, and in

this high region the days were sensibly shortening. Autumn here lasts

but a very little while, although this part of Siberian territory is

not situated above the fifty-fifth parallel, that of Edinburgh and

Copenhagen. However, winter succeeds summer almost unexpectedly. These

winters of Asiatic Russia may be said to be precocious, considering that

during them the thermometer falls until the mercury is frozen nearly

42 degrees below zero, and that 20 degrees below zero is considered an

unsupportable temperature.

The weather favored our travelers. It was neither stormy nor rainy. The

health of Nadia and Michael was good, and since leaving Tomsk they had

gradually recovered from their past fatigues.

As to Nicholas Pigassof, he had never been better in his life. To him

this journey was a trip, an agreeable excursion in which he employed his

enforced holiday.

“Decidedly,” said he, “this is pleasanter than sitting twelve hours a

day, perched on a stool, working the manipulator!”

Michael had managed to get Nicholas to make his horse quicken his pace.

To obtain this result, he had confided to Nicholas that Nadia and he

were on their way to join their father, exiled at Irkutsk, and that they

were very anxious to get there. Certainly, it would not do to overwork

the horse, for very probably they would not be able to exchange him

for another; but by giving him frequent rests--every ten miles, for

instance--forty miles in twenty-four hours could easily be accomplished.

Besides, the animal was strong, and of a race calculated to endure great

fatigue. He was in no want of rich pasturage along the road, the grass

being thick and abundant. Therefore, it was possible to demand an

increase of work from him.

Nicholas gave in to all these reasons. He was much moved at the

situation of these two young people, going to share their father’s

exile. Nothing had ever appeared so touching to him. With what a smile

he said to Nadia: “Divine goodness! what joy will Mr. Korpanoff feel,

when his eyes behold you, when his arms open to receive you! If I go to

Irkutsk--and that appears very probable now--will you permit me to be

present at that interview! You will, will you not?” Then, striking his

forehead: “But, I forgot, what grief too when he sees that his poor son

is blind! Ah! everything is mingled in this world!”

However, the result of all this was the kibitka went faster, and,

according to Michael’s calculations, now made almost eight miles an

hour.

After crossing the little river Biriousa, the kibitka reached

Biriousensk on the morning of the 4th of September. There, very

fortunately, for Nicholas saw that his provisions were becoming

exhausted, he found in an oven a dozen “pogatchas,” a kind of cake

prepared with sheep’s fat and a large supply of plain boiled rice. This

increase was very opportune, for something would soon have been needed

to replace the koumyss with which the kibitka had been stored at

Krasnoiarsk.

After a halt, the journey was continued in the afternoon. The distance

to Irkutsk was not now much over three hundred miles. There was not

a sign of the Tartar vanguard. Michael Strogoff had some grounds for

hoping that his journey would not be again delayed, and that in eight

days, or at most ten, he would be in the presence of the Grand Duke.

On leaving Biriousinsk, a hare ran across the road, in front of the

kibitka. “Ah!” exclaimed Nicholas.

“What is the matter, friend?” asked Michael quickly, like a blind man

whom the least sound arouses.

“Did you not see?” said Nicholas, whose bright face had become suddenly

clouded. Then he added, “Ah! no! you could not see, and it’s lucky for

you, little father!”

“But I saw nothing,” said Nadia.

“So much the better! So much the better! But I--I saw!”

“What was it then?” asked Michael.

“A hare crossing our road!” answered Nicholas.

In Russia, when a hare crosses the path, the popular belief is that

it is the sign of approaching evil. Nicholas, superstitious like the

greater number of Russians, stopped the kibitka.

Michael understood his companion’s hesitation, without sharing his

credulity, and endeavored to reassure him, “There is nothing to fear,

friend,” said he.

“Nothing for you, nor for her, I know, little father,” answered

Nicholas, “but for me!”

“It is my fate,” he continued. And he put his horse in motion again.

However, in spite of these forebodings the day passed without any

accident.

At twelve o’clock the next day, the 6th of September, the kibitka halted

in the village of Alsalevok, which was as deserted as the surrounding

country. There, on a doorstep, Nadia found two of those strong-bladed

knives used by Siberian hunters. She gave one to Michael, who concealed

it among his clothes, and kept the other herself.

Nicholas had not recovered his usual spirits. The ill-omen had affected

him more than could have been believed, and he who formerly was never

half an hour without speaking, now fell into long reveries from which

Nadia found it difficult to arouse him. The kibitka rolled swiftly along

the road. Yes, swiftly! Nicholas no longer thought of being so careful

of his horse, and was as anxious to arrive at his journey’s end as

Michael himself. Notwithstanding his fatalism, and though resigned, he

would not believe himself in safety until within the walls of Irkutsk.

Many Russians would have thought as he did, and more than one would have

turned his horse and gone back again, after a hare had crossed his path.

Some observations made by him, the justice of which was proved by Nadia

transmitting them to Michael, made them fear that their trials were not

yet over. Though the land from Krasnoiarsk had been respected in its

natural productions, its forests now bore trace of fire and steel; and

it was evident that some large body of men had passed that way.

Twenty miles before Nijni-Oudinsk, the indications of recent devastation

could not be mistaken, and it was impossible to attribute them to others

than the Tartars. It was not only that the fields were trampled by

horse’s feet, and that trees were cut down. The few houses scattered

along the road were not only empty, some had been partly demolished,

others half burnt down. The marks of bullets could be seen on their

walls.

Michael’s anxiety may be imagined. He could no longer doubt that a party

of Tartars had recently passed that way, and yet it was impossible

that they could be the Emir’s soldiers, for they could not have passed

without being seen. But then, who were these new invaders, and by what

out-of-the-way path across the steppe had they been able to join the

highroad to Irkutsk? With what new enemies was the Czar’s courier now to

meet?

He did not communicate his apprehensions either to Nicholas or Nadia,

not wishing to make them uneasy. Besides, he had resolved to continue

his way, as long as no insurmountable obstacle stopped him. Later, he

would see what it was best to do. During the ensuing day, the recent

passage of a large body of foot and horse became more and more apparent.

Smoke was seen above the horizon. The kibitka advanced cautiously.

Several houses in deserted villages still burned, and could not have

been set on fire more than four and twenty hours before.

At last, during the day, on the 8th of September, the kibitka stopped

suddenly. The horse refused to advance. Serko barked furiously.

“What is the matter?” asked Michael.

“A corpse!” replied Nicholas, who had leapt out of the kibitka. The body

was that of a moujik, horribly mutilated, and already cold. Nicholas

crossed himself. Then, aided by Michael, he carried the body to the side

of the road. He would have liked to give it decent burial, that the

wild beasts of the steppe might not feast on the miserable remains, but

Michael could not allow him the time.

“Come, friend, come!” he exclaimed, “we must not delay, even for an

hour!” And the kibitka was driven on.

Besides, if Nicholas had wished to render the last duties to all the

dead bodies they were now to meet with on the Siberian highroad, he

would have had enough to do! As they approached Nijni-Oudinsk, they were

found by twenties, stretched on the ground.

It was, however, necessary to follow this road until it was manifestly

impossible to do so longer without falling into the hands of the

invaders. The road they were following could not be abandoned, and yet

the signs of devastation and ruin increased at every village they

passed through. The blood of the victims was not yet dry. As to gaining

information about what had occurred, that was impossible. There was not

a living being left to tell the tale.

About four o’clock in the afternoon of this day, Nicholas caught sight

of the tall steeples of the churches of Nijni-Oudinsk. Thick vapors,

which could not have been clouds, were floating around them.

Nicholas and Nadia looked, and communicated the result of their

observations to Michael. They must make up their minds what to do. If

the town was abandoned, they could pass through without risk, but if, by

some inexplicable maneuver, the Tartars occupied it, they must at every

cost avoid the place.

“Advance cautiously,” said Michael Strogoff, “but advance!”

A verst was soon traversed.

“Those are not clouds, that is smoke!” exclaimed Nadia. “Brother, they

are burning the town!”

It was, indeed, only too plain. Flashes of light appeared in the midst

of the vapor. It became thicker and thicker as it mounted upwards. But

were they Tartars who had done this? They might be Russians, obeying the

orders of the Grand Duke. Had the government of the Czar determined that

from Krasnoiarsk, from the Yenisei, not a town, not a village should

offer a refuge to the Emir’s soldiers? What was Michael to do?

He was undecided. However, having weighed the pros and cons, he thought

that whatever might be the difficulties of a journey across the steppe

without a beaten path, he ought not to risk capture a second time by

the Tartars. He was just proposing to Nicholas to leave the road, when

a shot was heard on their right. A ball whistled, and the horse of the

kibitka fell dead, shot through the head.

A dozen horsemen dashed forward, and the kibitka was surrounded. Before

they knew where they were, Michael, Nadia, and Nicholas were prisoners,

and were being dragged rapidly towards Nijni-Oudinsk.

Michael, in this second attack, had lost none of his presence of

mind. Being unable to see his enemies, he had not thought of defending

himself. Even had he possessed the use of his eyes, he would not have

attempted it. The consequences would have been his death and that of his

companions. But, though he could not see, he could listen and understand

what was said.

From their language he found that these soldiers were Tartars, and from

their words, that they preceded the invading army.

In short, what Michael learnt from the talk at the present moment, as

well as from the scraps of conversation he overheard later, was this.

These men were not under the direct orders of the Emir, who was now

detained beyond the Yenisei. They made part of a third column chiefly

composed of Tartars from the khanats of Khokland and Koondooz, with

which Feofar’s army was to affect a junction in the neighborhood of

Irkutsk.

By Ogareff’s advice, in order to assure the success of the invasion in

the Eastern provinces, this column had skirted the base of the Altai

Mountains. Pillaging and ravaging, it had reached the upper course of

the Yenisei. There, guessing what had been done at Krasnoiarsk by order

of the Czar, and to facilitate the passage of the river to the Emir’s

troops, this column had launched a flotilla of boats, which would enable

Feofar to cross and resume the road to Irkutsk. Having done this, it had

descended the valley of the Yenisei and struck the road on a level with

Alsalevsk. From this little town began the frightful course of ruin

which forms the chief part of Tartar warfare. Nijni-Oudinsk had shared

the common fate, and the Tartars, to the number of fifty thousand, had

now quitted it to take up a position before Irkutsk. Before long, they

would be reinforced by the Emir’s troops.

Such was the state of affairs at this date, most serious for this

isolated part of Eastern Siberia, and for the comparatively few

defenders of its capital.

It can be imagined with what thoughts Michael’s mind was now occupied!

Who could have been astonished had he, in his present situation,

lost all hope and all courage? Nothing of the sort, however; his lips

muttered no other words than these: “I will get there!”

Half an hour after the attack of the Tartar horsemen, Michael Strogoff,

Nadia, and Nicholas entered Nijni-Oudinsk. The faithful dog followed

them, though at a distance. They could not stay in the town, as it

was in flames, and about to be left by the last of the marauders. The

prisoners were therefore thrown on horses and hurried away; Nicholas

resigned as usual, Nadia, her faith in Michael unshaken, and Michael

himself, apparently indifferent, but ready to seize any opportunity of

escaping.

The Tartars were not long in perceiving that one of their prisoners

was blind, and their natural barbarity led them to make game of their

unfortunate victim. They were traveling fast. Michael’s horse, having no

one to guide him, often started aside, and so made confusion among the

ranks. This drew on his rider such abuse and brutality as wrung Nadia’s

heart, and filled Nicholas with indignation. But what could they do?

They could not speak the Tartar language, and their assistance was

mercilessly refused. Soon it occurred to these men, in a refinement

of cruelty, to exchange the horse Michael was riding for one which was

blind. The motive of the change was explained by a remark which Michael

overheard, “Perhaps that Russian can see, after all!”

Michael was placed on this horse, and the reins ironically put into

his hand. Then, by dint of lashing, throwing stones, and shouting,

the animal was urged into a gallop. The horse, not being guided by his

rider, blind as himself, sometimes ran into a tree, sometimes went quite

off the road--in consequence, collisions and falls, which might have

been extremely dangerous.

Michael did not complain. Not a murmur escaped him. When his horse fell,

he waited until it got up. It was, indeed, soon assisted up, and the

cruel fun continued. At sight of this wicked treatment, Nicholas could

not contain himself; he endeavored to go to his friend’s aid. He was

prevented, and treated brutally.

This game would have been prolonged, to the Tartars’ great amusement,

had not a serious accident put an end to it. On the 10th of September

the blind horse ran away, and made straight for a pit, some thirty or

forty feet deep, at the side of the road.

Nicholas tried to go after him. He was held back. The horse, having no

guide, fell with his rider to the bottom. Nicholas and Nadia uttered a

piercing cry! They believed that their unfortunate companion had been

killed.

However, when they went to his assistance, it was found that Michael,

having been able to throw himself out of the saddle, was unhurt, but the

miserable horse had two legs broken, and was quite useless. He was

left there to die without being put out of his suffering, and Michael,

fastened to a Tartar’s saddle, was obliged to follow the detachment on

foot.

Even now, not a protest, not a complaint! He marched with a rapid step,

scarcely drawn by the cord which tied him. He was still “the Man of

Iron,” of whom General Kissoff had spoken to the Czar!

The next day, the 11th of September, the detachment passed through the

village of Chibarlinskoe. Here an incident occurred which had serious

consequences. It was nightfall. The Tartar horsemen, having halted,

were more or less intoxicated. They were about to start. Nadia, who till

then, by a miracle, had been respectfully treated by the soldiers, was

insulted by one of them.

Michael could not see the insult, nor the insulter, but Nicholas saw for

him. Then, quietly, without thinking, without perhaps knowing what

he was doing, Nicholas walked straight up to the man, and, before the

latter could make the least movement to stop him, had seized a pistol

from his holster and discharged it full at his breast.

The officer in command of the detachment hastened up on hearing the

report. The soldiers would have cut the unfortunate Nicholas to pieces,

but at a sign from their officer, he was bound instead, placed across a

horse, and the detachment galloped off.

The rope which fastened Michael, gnawed through by him, broke by the

sudden start of the horse, and the half-tipsy rider galloped on without

perceiving that his prisoner had escaped.

Michael and Nadia found themselves alone on the road.