Chương Chương 26 · IN THE STEPPE

. IN THE STEPPE

MICHAEL STROGOFF and Nadia were once more as free as they had been in

the journey from Perm to the banks of the Irtych. But how the conditions

under which they traveled were altered! Then, a comfortable tarantass,

fresh horses, well-kept post-horses assured the rapidity of their

journey. Now they were on foot; it was utterly impossible to procure any

other means of locomotion, they were without resources, not knowing how

to obtain even food, and they had still nearly three hundred miles to

go! Moreover, Michael could now only see with Nadia’s eyes.

As to the friend whom chance had given them, they had just lost him,

and fearful might be his fate. Michael had thrown himself down under the

brushwood at the side of the road. Nadia stood beside him, waiting for

the word from him to continue the march.

It was ten o’clock. The sun had more than three hours before disappeared

below the horizon. There was not a house in sight. The last of the

Tartars was lost in the distance. Michael and Nadia were quite alone.

“What will they do with our friend?” exclaimed the girl. “Poor Nicholas!

Our meeting will have been fatal to him!” Michael made no response.

“Michael,” continued Nadia, “do you not know that he defended you when

you were the Tartars’ sport; that he risked his life for me?”

Michael was still silent. Motionless, his face buried in his hands;

of what was he thinking? Perhaps, although he did not answer, he heard

Nadia speak.

Yes! he heard her, for when the young girl added, “Where shall I lead

you, Michael?”

“To Irkutsk!” he replied.

“By the highroad?”

“Yes, Nadia.”

Michael was still the same man who had sworn, whatever happened, to

accomplish his object. To follow the highroad, was certainly to go the

shortest way. If the vanguard of Feofar-Khan’s troops appeared, it would

then be time to strike across the country.

Nadia took Michael’s hand, and they started.

The next morning, the 13th of September, twenty versts further, they

made a short halt in the village of Joulounov-skoë. It was burnt and

deserted. All night Nadia had tried to see if the body of Nicholas had

not been left on the road, but it was in vain that she looked among

the ruins, and searched among the dead. Was he reserved for some cruel

torture at Irkutsk?

Nadia, exhausted with hunger, was fortunate enough to find in one of the

houses a quantity of dried meat and “soukharis,” pieces of bread,

which, dried by evaporation, preserve their nutritive qualities for an

indefinite time.

Michael and the girl loaded themselves with as much as they could carry.

They had thus a supply of food for several days, and as to water, there

would be no want of that in a district rendered fertile by the numerous

little affluents of the Angara.

They continued their journey. Michael walked with a firm step, and

only slackened his pace for his companion’s sake. Nadia, not wishing to

retard him, obliged herself to walk. Happily, he could not see to what a

miserable state fatigue had reduced her.

However, Michael guessed it. “You are quite done up, poor child,” he

said sometimes.

“No,” she would reply.

“When you can no longer walk, I will carry you.”

“Yes, Michael.”

During this day they came to the little river Oka, but it was fordable,

and they had no difficulty in crossing. The sky was cloudy and the

temperature moderate. There was some fear that the rain might come on,

which would much have increased their misery. A few showers fell, but

they did not last.

They went on as before, hand in hand, speaking little, Nadia looking

about on every side; twice a day they halted. Six hours of the night

were given to sleep. In a few huts Nadia again found a little mutton;

but, contrary to Michael’s hopes, there was not a single beast of burden

in the country; horses, camels--all had been either killed or carried

off. They must still continue to plod on across this weary steppe on

foot.

The third Tartar column, on its way to Irkutsk, had left plain traces:

here a dead horse, there an abandoned cart. The bodies of unfortunate

Siberians lay along the road, principally at the entrances to villages.

Nadia, overcoming her repugnance, looked at all these corpses!

The chief danger lay, not before, but behind. The advance guard of the

Emir’s army, commanded by Ivan Ogareff, might at any moment appear.

The boats sent down the lower Yenisei must by this time have reached

Krasnoiarsk and been made use of. The road was therefore open to the

invaders. No Russian force could be opposed to them between Krasnoiarsk

and Lake Baikal, Michael therefore expected before long the appearance

of the Tartar scouts.

At each halt, Nadia climbed some hill and looked anxiously to the

Westward, but as yet no cloud of dust had signaled the approach of a

troop of horse.

Then the march was resumed; and when Michael felt that he was dragging

poor Nadia forward too rapidly, he went at a slower pace. They spoke

little, and only of Nicholas. The young girl recalled all that this

companion of a few days had done for them.

In answering, Michael tried to give Nadia some hope of which he did not

feel a spark himself, for he well knew that the unfortunate fellow would

not escape death.

One day Michael said to the girl, “You never speak to me of my mother,

Nadia.”

His mother! Nadia had never wished to do so. Why renew his grief? Was

not the old Siberian dead? Had not her son given the last kiss to her

corpse stretched on the plain of Tomsk?

“Speak to me of her, Nadia,” said Michael. “Speak--you will please me.”

And then Nadia did what she had not done before. She told all that had

passed between Marfa and herself since their meeting at Omsk, where they

had seen each other for the first time. She said how an inexplicable

instinct had led her towards the old prisoner without knowing who she

was, and what encouragement she had received in return. At that time

Michael Strogoff had been to her but Nicholas Korpanoff.

“Whom I ought always to have been,” replied Michael, his brow darkening.

Then later he added, “I have broken my oath, Nadia. I had sworn not to

see my mother!”

“But you did not try to see her, Michael,” replied Nadia. “Chance alone

brought you into her presence.”

“I had sworn, whatever might happen, not to betray myself.”

“Michael, Michael! at sight of the lash raised upon Marfa, could you

refrain? No! No oath could prevent a son from succoring his mother!”

“I have broken my oath, Nadia,” returned Michael. “May God and the

Father pardon me!”

“Michael,” resumed the girl, “I have a question to ask you. Do not

answer it if you think you ought not. Nothing from you would vex me!”

“Speak, Nadia.”

“Why, now that the Czar’s letter has been taken from you, are you so

anxious to reach Irkutsk?”

Michael tightly pressed his companion’s hand, but he did not answer.

“Did you know the contents of that letter before you left Moscow?”

“No, I did not know.”

“Must I think, Michael, that the wish alone to place me in my father’s

hands draws you toward Irkutsk?”

“No, Nadia,” replied Michael, gravely. “I should deceive you if I

allowed you to believe that it was so. I go where duty orders me to go.

As to taking you to Irkutsk, is it not you, Nadia, who are now taking me

there? Do I not see with your eyes; and is it not your hand that guides

me? Have you not repaid a hundred-fold the help which I was able to give

you at first? I do not know if fate will cease to go against us; but the

day on which you thank me for having placed you in your father’s hands,

I in my turn will thank you for having led me to Irkutsk.”

“Poor Michael!” answered Nadia, with emotion. “Do not speak so. That

does not answer me. Michael, why, now, are you in such haste to reach

Irkutsk?”

“Because I must be there before Ivan Ogareff,” exclaimed Michael.

“Even now?”

“Even now, and I will be there, too!”

In uttering these words, Michael did not speak solely through hatred to

the traitor. Nadia understood that her companion had not told, or could

not tell, her all.

On the 15th of September, three days later, the two reached the village

of Kouitounskoe. The young girl suffered dreadfully. Her aching feet

could scarcely support her; but she fought, she struggled, against her

weariness, and her only thought was this: “Since he cannot see me, I

will go on till I drop.”

There were no obstacles on this part of the journey, no danger either

since the departure of the Tartars, only much fatigue. For three days

it continued thus. It was plain that the third invading column was

advancing rapidly in the East; that could be seen by the ruins which

they left after them--the cold cinders and the already decomposing

corpses.

There was nothing to be seen in the West; the Emir’s advance-guard had

not yet appeared. Michael began to consider the various reasons which

might have caused this delay. Was a sufficient force of Russians

directly menacing Tomsk or Krasnoiarsk? Did the third column, isolated

from the others, run a risk of being cut off? If this was the case, it

would be easy for the Grand Duke to defend Irkutsk, and any time gained

against an invasion was a step towards repulsing it. Michael

sometimes let his thoughts run on these hopes, but he soon saw their

improbability, and felt that the preservation of the Grand Duke depended

alone on him.

Nadia dragged herself along. Whatever might be her moral energy, her

physical strength would soon fail her. Michael knew it only too well. If

he had not been blind, Nadia would have said to him, “Go, Michael, leave

me in some hut! Reach Irkutsk! Accomplish your mission! See my father!

Tell him where I am! Tell him that I wait for him, and you both will

know where to find me! Start! I am not afraid! I will hide myself from

the Tartars! I will take care of myself for him, for you! Go, Michael! I

can go no farther!”

Many times Nadia was obliged to stop. Michael then took her in his

strong arms and, having no longer to think of her fatigue, walked more

rapidly and with his indefatigable step.

On the 18th of September, at ten in the evening, Kimilteiskoe was at

last entered. From the top of a hill, Nadia saw in the horizon a

long light line. It was the Dinka River. A few lightning flashes were

reflected in the water; summer lightning, without thunder. Nadia led her

companion through the ruined village. The cinders were quite cold. The

last of the Tartars had passed through at least five or six days before.

Beyond the village, Nadia sank down on a stone bench. “Shall we make a

halt?” asked Michael.

“It is night, Michael,” answered Nadia. “Do you not want to rest a few

hours?”

“I would rather have crossed the Dinka,” replied Michael, “I should

like to put that between us and the Emir’s advance-guard. But you can

scarcely drag yourself along, my poor Nadia!”

“Come, Michael,” returned Nadia, seizing her companion’s hand and

drawing him forward.

Two or three versts further the Dinka flowed across the Irkutsk

road. The young girl wished to attempt this last effort asked by her

companion. She found her way by the light from the flashes. They were

then crossing a boundless desert, in the midst of which was lost the

little river. Not a tree nor a hillock broke the flatness. Not a breath

disturbed the atmosphere, whose calmness would allow the slightest sound

to travel an immense distance.

Suddenly, Michael and Nadia stopped, as if their feet had been fast to

the ground. The barking of a dog came across the steppe. “Do you hear?”

said Nadia.

Then a mournful cry succeeded it--a despairing cry, like the last appeal

of a human being about to die.

“Nicholas! Nicholas!” cried the girl, with a foreboding of evil.

Michael, who was listening, shook his head.

“Come, Michael, come,” said Nadia. And she who just now was dragging

herself with difficulty along, suddenly recovered strength, under

violent excitement.

“We have left the road,” said Michael, feeling that he was treading no

longer on powdery soil but on short grass.

“Yes, we must!” returned Nadia. “It was there, on the right, from which

the cry came!”

In a few minutes they were not more than half a verst from the river.

A second bark was heard, but, although more feeble, it was certainly

nearer. Nadia stopped.

“Yes!” said Michael. “It is Serko barking!... He has followed his

master!”

“Nicholas!” called the girl. Her cry was unanswered.

Michael listened. Nadia gazed over the plain illumined now and again

with electric light, but she saw nothing. And yet a voice was again

raised, this time murmuring in a plaintive tone, “Michael!”

Then a dog, all bloody, bounded up to Nadia.

It was Serko! Nicholas could not be far off! He alone could have

murmured the name of Michael! Where was he? Nadia had no strength to

call again. Michael, crawling on the ground, felt about with his hands.

Suddenly Serko uttered a fresh bark and darted towards a gigantic bird

which had swooped down. It was a vulture. When Serko ran towards it, it

rose, but returning struck at the dog. The latter leapt up at it. A blow

from the formidable beak alighted on his head, and this time Serko fell

back lifeless on the ground.

At the same moment a cry of horror escaped Nadia. “There... there!” she

exclaimed.

A head issued from the ground! She had stumbled against it in the

darkness.

Nadia fell on her knees beside it. Nicholas buried up to his neck,

according to the atrocious Tartar custom, had been left in the steppe to

die of thirst, and perhaps by the teeth of wolves or the beaks of birds

of prey!

Frightful torture for the victim imprisoned in the ground--the earth

pressed down so that he cannot move, his arms bound to his body like

those of a corpse in its coffin! The miserable wretch, living in the

mold of clay from which he is powerless to break out, can only long for

the death which is so slow in coming!

There the Tartars had buried their prisoner three days before! For three

days, Nicholas waited for the help which now came too late! The vultures

had caught sight of the head on a level with the ground, and for some

hours the dog had been defending his master against these ferocious

birds!

Michael dug at the ground with his knife to release his friend! The eyes

of Nicholas, which till then had been closed, opened.

He recognized Michael and Nadia. “Farewell, my friends!” he murmured. “I

am glad to have seen you again! Pray for me!”

Michael continued to dig, though the ground, having been tightly rammed

down, was as hard as stone, and he managed at last to get out the body

of the unhappy man. He listened if his heart was still beating.... It

was still!

He wished to bury him, that he might not be left exposed; and the hole

into which Nicholas had been placed when living, was enlarged, so that

he might be laid in it--dead! The faithful Serko was laid by his master.

At that moment, a noise was heard on the road, about half a verst

distant. Michael Strogoff listened. It was evidently a detachment of

horse advancing towards the Dinka. “Nadia, Nadia!” he said in a low

voice.

Nadia, who was kneeling in prayer, arose. “Look, look!” said he.

“The Tartars!” she whispered.

It was indeed the Emir’s advance-guard, passing rapidly along the road

to Irkutsk.

“They shall not prevent me from burying him!” said Michael. And he

continued his work.

Soon, the body of Nicholas, the hands crossed on the breast, was laid in

the grave. Michael and Nadia, kneeling, prayed a last time for the poor

fellow, inoffensive and good, who had paid for his devotion towards them

with his life.

“And now,” said Michael, as he threw in the earth, “the wolves of the

steppe will not devour him.”

Then he shook his fist at the troop of horsemen who were passing.

“Forward, Nadia!” he said.

Michael could not follow the road, now occupied by the Tartars. He must

cross the steppe and turn to Irkutsk. He had not now to trouble himself

about crossing the Dinka. Nadia could not move, but she could see for

him. He took her in his arms and went on towards the southwest of the

province.

A hundred and forty miles still remained to be traversed. How was the

distance to be performed? Should they not succumb to such fatigue? On

what were they to live on the way? By what superhuman energy were they

to pass the slopes of the Sayansk Mountains? Neither he nor Nadia could

answer this!

And yet, twelve days after, on the 2d of October, at six o’clock in the

evening, a wide sheet of water lay at Michael Strogoff’s feet. It was

Lake Baikal.