 Book 2 Chapter 8 of Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Tsar. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Michael Strogoff by Jules Verne. Book 2 Chapter 8. A Hair 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 Ymir's soldiers should arrive at Krasnoyarsk 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 Ogarev at Omsk, the Courier of the Tsar 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 Krasnoyarsk and Irkutsk is considered the best in the whole journey. Fewer jolts for travellers, large trees to shade them from the heat of the sun, sometimes forests of pines or cedars covering an extent of a hundred verts. It was no longer the wide step 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 Tsar. 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 forty-two degrees below zero, and that twenty degrees below zero is considered an unsupportable temperature. The weather favoured our travellers. 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 Pigasov, 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 quick in 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 pastureage 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. Korpinoff 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 Biriusa, the Kibitka reached Biriusinsk on the morning of the Fourth of September. There, very fortunately, for Nicholas saw that his provisions were becoming exhausted, he found in an oven a dozen pogachas, 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 kumis with which the Kibitka had been stored at Krasnoyarsk. 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. Unleaving Biriusinsk, 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 sixth of September, the Kibitka halted in the village of Alsalavok, 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 hair 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 Krasnoyarsk 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 Nizhny Udinsk, 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 horses' 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 high road to Irkutsk, with what new enemies was the Tsar'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 Kabitka 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 eighth of September, the Kabitka 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 Kabitka. The body was that of a muzhik, 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 a 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 Kabitka 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 high road, he would have had enough to do. As they approached Nizhny Udinsk, they were found by twenty's, 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 Nizhny Udinsk. Thick vapours 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 manoeuvre the Tartars occupied it they must at every cost avoid the place. Advanced cautiously, said Michael Strogoff, but advance. Aversed was soon traversed. Those are not clouds that is smoke, exclaimed Nadia. Brother, they are burning the town. It was indeed only two plain. Flashes of light appeared in the midst of the vapour. 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 Tsar determined that from Krasnoyarsk, from the Yenisei, not a town, not a village, should offer a refuge to the Amir'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 Kabitka fell dead, shot through the head. A dozen horsemen dashed forward, and the Kabitka was surrounded. Before they knew where they were, Michael, Nadia, and Nicholas were prisoners and were being dragged rapidly towards Nizhni Udinsk. 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, Michael learned 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 Khanates of Kokkland and Kunduz, with which Fyofar's army was to affect a junction in the neighborhood of Irkutsk. By Ogarev'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 Krasnoyarsk by order of the Tsar, and to facilitate the passage of the river to the Emir's troops, this column had launched a flotilla of boats which would enable Fyofar 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. Nizhny Udinsk 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 Nizhny Udinsk. 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 travelling 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 rung 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. So 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 kind 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 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 Tartar's 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 Kissov had spoken to the Tsar. The next day, the 11th of September, the detachment passed through the village of Chibaolinsko. 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, nod 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. End of Book 2, Chapter 8. Michael Strogoff and Nadia were once more as free as they had been in the journey from Perm to the banks of the Eartish. 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 at the tartar's 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 high road? Yes, Nadia. Michael was still the same man who had sworn whatever happened to accomplish his object. To follow the high road was certainly to go the shortest way. If the vanguard of Pheophark 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 thirteenth of September, twenty bursts further, they made a short halt in the village of Djulunovsko. 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 sucaris, pieces of bread which, dried by evaporation, preserved 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 affluence 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 fortable, 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 step 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 Emirs army, commanded by Ivan Ogarev, 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 signaled the approach of a troop of horse. When 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 Tomsk, 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 Korpinov. 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 suckering 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 your kutsk? 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. Must I think, Michael, that the wish alone to place me in my father's hands draws you toward your kutsk? 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 your kutsk, 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 hundredfold 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 your kutsk. 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 your kutsk? Because I must be there before Ivan Ogarev, exclaimed Michael, even now, even now, and I will be there, too. When 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 fifteenth of September, three days later, the two reached the village of Kutuntsko. 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 east. 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 Krasnoyarsk? 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 eighteenth of September, at ten in the evening, Miltesco 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 bursts 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 step. 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 burst from the river. A second bark was heard, but, although more feeble, it was certainly nearer. Nadia stopped. Yes, said Michael, it is Zirco 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 Zirco. Nicholas could not be far off. He alone could have murmured the name of Michael. Where was he? Nadia had no strength to call him. Michael, crawling on the ground, felt about with his hands. Suddenly Zirco uttered a fresh bark and darted towards a gigantic bird which had swooped down. It was a vulture. When Zirco 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 Zirco 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 step 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 circo was laid by his master. At that moment a noise was heard on the road, about half a versed 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 Amir'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 south-west 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 second of October, at six o'clock in the evening, a wide sheet of water lay at Michael Strogoff's feet. It was lake by cowl. End of Book Two, Chapter Nine. Book Two, Chapter Ten, of Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Tsar. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Michael Strogoff by Jules Verne. Book Two, Chapter Ten. By Kahl and Angara. Lake by Kahl is situated seventeen hundred feet above the level of the sea. Its length is about six hundred miles, its bread seventy. Its depth is not known. Madame de Bourbon states that according to the boatman it likes to be spoken of as Madame Sea. If it is called Sir Lake, it immediately lashes itself into fury. However, it is reported and believed by the Siberians that a Russian is never drowned in it. This immense basin of fresh water, fed by more than three hundred rivers, is surrounded by magnificent volcanic mountains. It has no other outlet than the Angara, which after passing Irkutsk throws itself into the Yenisei, a little above the town of Yeniseisk. As to the mountains which encase it, they form a branch of the Tunguzis, and are derived from the vast system of the Altai. In this territory, subject to peculiar climatical conditions, the autumn appears to be absorbed in the precocious winter. It was now the beginning of October, the sun set at five o'clock in the evening, and during the long nights the temperature fell to zero. The first snows, which would last till summer, already whitened the summits of the neighboring hills. During the Siberian winter this inland sea is frozen over to a thickness of several feet, and is crossed by the slays of caravans. Either because there are people who are so wanting in politeness as to call it Sir Lake, or for some more meteorological reason, Lake Baikal is subject to violent tempests. Its waves, short like those of all inland seas, are much feared by the rafts, prams, and steamboats which furrow it during the summer. It was the southwest point of the lake which Michael had now reached, carrying Nadia, whose whole life, so to speak, was concentrated in her eyes. But what could these two expect in this wild region if it was not to die of exhaustion and famine, and yet what remained of the long journey of four thousand miles for the Tsar's courier to reach his end? Nothing but forty miles on the shore of the lake up to the mouth of the Angara, and sixty miles from the mouth of the Angara to Irkutsk, in all, a hundred miles, or three days' journey for a strong man even on foot. Could Michael Strogov still be that man? Heaven no doubt did not wish to put him to this trial. The fatality which had hitherto pursued his steps seemed for a time to spare him. This end of the Baikal, this part of the step which he believed to be a desert, which it usually is, was not so now. About fifty people were collected at the angle formed by the end of the lake. Nadia immediately caught sight of this group when Michael, carrying her in his arms, issued from the mountain pass. The girl feared for a moment that it was a tartar detachment sent to beat the shores of the Baikal, in which case flight would have been impossible to them both. But Nadia was soon reassured. Russians, she exclaimed, and with this last effort her eyes closed and her head fell on Michael's breast. But they had been seen and some of these Russians running to them led the blind man and the girl to a little point at which was moored a raft. The raft was just going to start. These Russians were fugitives of different conditions whom the same interest had united at Lake Baikal. Driven back by the tartar scouts they hoped to obtain a refuge at Irkutsk, but not being able to get there by land, the invaders having occupied both banks of the Angara, they hoped to reach it by descending the river which flows through the town. Their plan made Michael's heart leap. A last chance was before him, but he had strength to conceal this, wishing to keep his incognito more strictly than ever. The fugitive's plan was very simple. A current in the lake runs along by the upper bank to the mouth of the Angara. This current they hoped to utilize and with its assistance to reach the outlet of Lake Baikal. From this point to Irkutsk the rapid waters of the river would bear them along at a rate of eight miles an hour, in a day and a half they might hope to be in sight of the town. No kind of boat was to be found. They had been obliged to make one. A raft, or rather a float of wood, similar to those which are usually drifted down Siberian rivers, was constructed. A forest of furs growing on the bank had supplied the necessary materials. The trunks, fastened together with osears, made a platform on which a hundred people could have easily found room. On board this raft Michael and Nadia were taken. The girl had returned to herself. Some food was given to her as well as to her companion. Then, lying on a bed of leaves, she soon fell into a deep sleep. To those who questioned him Michael Strogov said nothing of what had taken place at Tomsk. He gave himself out as an inhabitant of Krasnoyarsk, who had not been able to get to Irkutsk before the emirs troops arrived on the left bank of the Dinka, and he added that, very probably, the bulk of the Tartar forces had taken up a position before the Siberian capital. There was not a moment to be lost. Besides, the cold was becoming more and more severe. During the night the temperature fell below zero. Ice was already forming on the surface of the Baikal. Although the raft managed to pass easily over the lake, it might not be so easy between the banks of the Angara, should pieces of ice be found to block up its course. At eight in the evening the moorings were cast off, and the raft drifted in the current along the shore. It was steered by means of long poles under the management of several muscular moujiks. An old Baikal boatman took command of the raft. He was a man of sixty-five browned by the sun and lake breezes. A thick white beard flowed over his chest. A fur cap covered his head. His aspect was grave and austere. His large greatcoat fastened in at the waist, reached down to his heels. This taciturn old fellow was seated in the stern, and issued his commands by gestures. Thus the chief work consisted in keeping the raft in the current, which ran along the shore without drifting out into the open. It has been already said that Russians of all conditions had found a place on the raft. Indeed, to the poor moujiks, the women, old men, and children were joined two or three pilgrims surprised on their journey by the invasion, a few monks and a priest. The pilgrims carried a staff, a gourd hung at the belt, and they chanted psalms in a plaintive voice. One came from the Ukraine, another from the Yellow Sea, and a third from the Finland provinces. This last, who was an aged man, carried at his waist a little padlocked collecting-box, as if it had been hung at a church door. Of all that he collected during his long and fatiguing pilgrimage, nothing was for himself. He did not even possess the key of the box, which would only be opened on his return. The monks came from the north of the empire. Three months before they had left the town of Archangel. They had visited the sacred islands near the coast of Karelia, the convent of Solovsk, the convent of Troitsa, those of St. Antony and St. Theodosia, at Kiev, that of Kazan, as well as the church of the old believers, and they were now on their way to Irkutsk, wearing the robe, the cowl, and the clothes of Serge. As to the papa or priest, he was a plain village pastor, one of the six hundred thousand popular pastors which the Russian Empire contains. He was clothed as miserably as the Muzhiks, not being above them in social position, in fact laboring like a peasant on his plot of ground, baptizing, marrying, burying. He had been able to protect his wife and children from the brutality of the Tartars by sending them away into the northern provinces. He himself had stayed in his parish up to the last moment, then he was obliged to fly, and the Irkutsk road being stopped had come to Lake Baikal. These priests, grouped in the forward part of the raft, prayed at regular intervals, raising their voices in the silent night, and at the end of each sentence of their prayer, the Slava Bogu Glory to God issued from their lips. No incident took place during the night. Nadia remained in a sort of stupor, and Michael watched beside her, sleep only overtook him at long intervals, and even then his brain did not rest. At break of day the raft, delayed by a strong breeze, which counteracted the course of the current, was still forty bursts from the mouth of the Angara. It seemed probable that the fugitives could not reach it before three or four o'clock in the evening. This did not trouble them, on the contrary, for they would then descend the river during the night, and the darkness would also favour their entrance into Irkutsk. The only anxiety exhibited at times by the old boatman was concerning the formation of ice on the surface of the water. The night had been excessively cold. Pieces of ice could be seen drifting towards the west. Nothing was to be dreaded from these, since they could not drift into the Angara, having already passed the mouth, but pieces from the eastern end of the lake might be drawn by the current between the banks of the river. This would cause difficulty, possibly delay, and perhaps even an insurmountable obstacle which would stop the raft. Michael therefore took immense interest in ascertaining what was the state of the lake, and whether any large number of ice blocks appeared. Nadia being now awake he questioned her often, and she gave him an account of all that was going on. Whilst the blocks were thus drifting curious phenomena were taking place on the surface of the Baikal. Magnificent jets from springs of boiling water shot up from some of those artesian wells which nature has bored in the very bed of the lake. These jets rose to a great height and spread out in vapor, which was illuminated by the solar rays and almost immediately condensed by the cold. This curious sight would have assuredly amazed a tourist traveling in peaceful times on this Siberian sea. At four in the evening the mouth of the Angara was signaled by the old boatman between the high granite rocks of the shore. On the right bank could be seen the little port of Livinichneya and its few houses built on the bank, but the serious thing was that the ice blocks from the east were already drifting between the banks of the Angara, and consequently were descending towards Irkutsk. However, their number was not yet great enough to obstruct the course of the raft, nor the cold great enough to increase their number. The raft arrived at the little port and there stopped. The old boatman wished to put into harbor for an hour in order to make some repairs. The trunks threatened to separate, and it was important to fasten them more securely together to resist the rapid current of the Angara. The old boatman did not expect to receive any fresh fugitives at Livinichneya, and yet the moment the raft touched, two passengers issuing from a deserted house ran as fast as they could towards the beach. Nadia seated on the raft was abstractedly gazing at the shore. A cry was about to escape her. She seized Michael's hand, who at that moment raised his head. What is the matter, Nadia? He asked. How two travelling companions, Michael, the Frenchman and the Englishman whom we met in the defiles of the Oral? Yes. Michael started, for the strict incognito which he wished to keep ran a risk of being betrayed. Indeed, it was no longer as Nicholas Korpanov that Jolivet and Blount would now see him, but as the true Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Tsar. The two correspondents had already met him twice since their separation at the Icheem Post-House, the first time at the Zabidiero camp, when he laid open Ivan Ogarev's face with the naut, the second time at Tomsk when he was condemned by the emir. They therefore knew who he was and what depended on him. Michael Strogoff rapidly made up his mind. Nadia! said he, when they step on board, ask them to come to me. It was, in fact, Blount and Jolivet, whom the course of events had brought to the port of Livignychnaya, as it had brought Michael Strogoff. As we know, after having been present at the entry of the Tartars into Tomsk, they had departed before the savage execution which terminated the fate. They had therefore never suspected that their former traveling companion had not been put to death but blinded by order of the emir. Having procured horses, they had left Tomsk the same evening, with the fixed determination of henceforward dating their letters from the Russian camp of eastern Siberia. They proceeded by forced marches towards Irkutsk, they hoped to distance Fyofar Khan, and would certainly have done so had it not been for the unexpected apparition of the third column come from the south up the valley of the Yenisei. They had been cut off, as had been Michael, before being able even to reach the Dinka, and had been obliged to go back to Lake Baikal. They had been in the place for three days in much perplexity when the raft arrived. The fugitive's plan was explained to them. There was certainly a chance that they might be able to pass under cover of the night and penetrate into Irkutsk. They resolved to make the attempt. Alcide directly communicated with the old boatman, and asked a passage for himself and his companion, offering to pay anything he demanded, whatever it might be. No one pays here, replied the old man gravely. Everyone risks his life, that is all. The two correspondents came on board, and Nadia saw them take their places in the four part of the raft. Harry Blount was still the reserved Englishman, who had scarcely addressed a word to her during the whole passage over the Yoral Mountains. Asid Jolivay seemed to be rather more grave than usual, and it may be acknowledged that his gravity was justified by the circumstances. Jolivay had, as has been said, taken his seat on the raft when he felt a hand laid on his arm. Turning, he recognized Nadia, the sister of the man who was no longer Nicholas Korpanov, but Michael Strogov, courier of the Tsar. He was about to make an exclamation of surprise when he saw the young girl lay her finger on her lips. Come, said Nadia, and with a careless air, Asid rose and followed her, making a sign to Blount to accompany him. But if the surprise of the correspondents had been great at meeting Nadia on the raft, it was boundless when they perceived Michael Strogov whom they had believed to be no longer living. Michael had not moved at their approach. Jolivay turned towards the girl. He does not see you, gentlemen, said Nadia. The Tartars have burnt out his eyes. My poor brother is blind. A feeling of lively compassion exhibited itself on the faces of Blount and his companion. In a moment they were seated beside Michael, pressing his hand and waiting until he spoke to them. Gentlemen, said Michael in a low voice, you ought not to know who I am, nor what I am come to do in Siberia. I ask you to keep my secret. Will you promise me to do so? In my honor," answered Jolivay, or my word as a gentleman, added Blount. Good gentlemen, can we be of any use to you, as Terry Blount could not help you to accomplish your task? I prefer to act alone, replied Michael. But those blackards have destroyed your sight, said Asid. I have Nadia, and her eyes are enough for me. In half an hour the raft left the little port of Livinichneia and entered the river. It was five in the evening and getting dusk. The night promised to be dark and very cold also, for the temperature was already below zero. Asid and Blount, though they had promised to keep Michael's secret, did not leave him. They talked in a low voice, and the blind man, adding what they told him to what he already knew, was able to form an exact idea of the state of things. It was certain that the Tartars had actually invested their kutsk, and that the three columns had effected a junction. There was no doubt that the emir and Yvon Ogarev were before the capital. But why did the Tsar's courier exhibit such haste to get there, now that the imperial letter could no longer be given by him to the Grand Duke, and when he did not even know the contents of it? Asid Jolivet and Blount could not understand it any more than Nadia had done. No one spoke of the past, except when Jolivet thought it his duty to say to Michael, We owe you some apology for not shaking hands with you when we separated at Ishim. No, you had reason to thank me a coward. At any rate, added the Frenchman, You knotted the face of that villain finally, and he will carry the mark of it for a long time. No, not a long time, replied Michael quietly. Half an hour after leaving Livenich Nea, Blount and his companion were acquainted with the cruel trials through which Michael and his companion had successively passed. They could not but heartily admire his energy which was only equaled by the young girl's devotion. Their opinion of Michael was exactly what the Tsar had expressed at Moscow. Indeed, this is a man. The raft swiftly threaded its way among the blocks of ice which were carried along in the current of the Angara. A moving panorama was displayed on both sides of the river, and by an optical illusion it appeared as if it was the raft which was motionless before a succession of picturesque scenes. Here were high granite cliffs, their wild gorges, down which rushed a torrent. Sometimes appeared a clearing with a still-smoking village, then thick pine forests blazing. But though the Tartars had left their traces on all sides, they themselves were not to be seen as yet, for they were more especially masked at the approaches to Irkutsk. All this time the pilgrims were repeating their prayers aloud, and the old boatmen shoving away the blocks of ice which pressed too near them imperturbably steered the raft in the middle of the rapid current of the Angara. CHAPTER X By eight in the evening the country, as the state of the sky had foretold, was enveloped in complete darkness. The moon being new had not yet risen. From the middle of the river the banks were invisible, the cliffs were confounded with the heavy low-hanging clouds. At intervals a puff of wind came from the east, but it soon died away in the narrow valley of the Angara. The darkness could not fail to favour in a considerable degree the plans of the fugitives. Indeed although the Tartar outposts must have been drawn up on both banks, the raft had a good chance of passing unperceived. It was not likely either that the besiegers would have barred the river above 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 manoeuvre which was performed without noise. The drifting of the ice was a favourable 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, endeavouring 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 after-part of the raft, bore this increase of suffering without complaint. Jolivet and Blaute, 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 your kutsk. 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 your kutsk, 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 Vasili 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 oneself. I believe there is some celebrated verse on this 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 raft. 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 Baku on the Persian frontier, on the Caspian Sea, in Asia Minor, in China, on the Yun Qiang, in the Berman 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 Baku, 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 underlating and breaking into waves under the breeze. But what is only a sign of rejoicing at Baku 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 Jolievet and Blount may be better understood than described. Would it not be prudent, in the 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 someone 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 attack 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 on against them. At that moment a group of ten huge wolves, raging with hunger, their eyes glowing in the darkness like red coals sprang on to 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 Pushkovsk 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 boatmen, 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 Pushkovsk. 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 Jolievet 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 Yangara 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 drew 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 boatmen stood up, and the moujiks resumed their polls. 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'll 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 your kutsk, but they would be obliged to leave their floating platform, for it would be very soon smashed to pieces in the ice. The oseer ropes would break, the fur 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 bursts 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 their coots 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 flow, 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, and let no one see us leave the raft. Nadia obeyed. Michael and she glided rapidly over the flow 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 flow 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 flow. 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 a 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's stroke off was not more than half a burst 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! End of Book 2, Chapter 11. Book 2, Chapter 12, 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 bursts off along the Siberian high road, 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 dissimilarity vanishes as the traveller 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 brohems 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 Tsar 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 a militaire rather than on prince, without any parade accompanied by his officers and escorted by a regiment of Cossacks, arrived in the trans-by-calcine provinces. Nikolaevsk, the last Russian town situated on the shore of the Sea of Okutsk, 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 Bukhara 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 Ogarev, 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 Ladder River. Two wooden drawbridges built on piles connected the town with its suburbs on the left bank. On this side, defense 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, earthworks had been raised. A faussy, flooded by the waters of the Angara, was dug between the Scarp and Counterscarp. The town could not 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 Yenise 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 Fyofar Khan. The passage of the Angara in front of Irkutsk having been regarded by Ogarev as impracticable, a strong body of troops crossed several bursts 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. Khan Ogarev, 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 earthworks 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 Bolchaya Street, two versed slung, on the banks of the Angara, but the Cossacks, the police, the citizens, united in so fiercer resistance that the Tartars were driven out. Ivan Ogarev then thought of obtaining by strategy 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 Tsar. The Tsigane Tsengar, 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 Yakutsk. They had concentrated along the upper course of the Laina. In six days they would arrive. Therefore, before six days had passed, Yakutsk must be betrayed. Ogarev hesitated no longer. One evening, the second 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 Bolchaya 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 Voranzov, 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 Yakutsk may be relied on, said General Voranzov. 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 think 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 Kiselyev are advancing by forced marches. Two days ago they were on the banks of the Lena at Kerinsk, and now neither frost nor snow will keep them back. Fifty thousand good men taking the tarters 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 Voranzov, tomorrow, 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 tarters might perhaps cross. Do 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 tarters 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 Tsar in their patriotism, had armed them, and they had thoroughly proved their bravery. What do the exiles ask, said the Grand Duke. They asked 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 wished 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 Vasily Fedor. This exile was not his father. Vasily 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. Vasily 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 Voranzov, Vasily 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 bursts 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 tenth of July. The invasion had begun on the fifteenth 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. Vasily Fedor entered the presence of the Grand Duke, bowed and waited to be questioned. Vasily 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. Aye, 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 Tsar had granted a pardon to all Fedor's companions in exile. Now his companions in arms, Vasily Fedor rung with emotion the hand which the Grand Duke held out to him, and retired. The latter turned to his officers, the Tsar 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 aid to camp appeared, and advanced rapidly towards the Grand Duke. Your Highness, said he, a courier from the Tsar! End of Book II, CHAPTER XII. All the members of the council simultaneously started forward. A courier from the Tsar arrived in Irkutsk, had these officers for a moment considered the improbability of this fact, they would certainly not have credited what they heard. The Grand Duke advanced quickly to his aid to camp. This courier, he exclaimed. A man entered. He appeared exhausted with fatigue. He wore the dress of a Siberian peasant, worn into tatters, and exhibiting several shot holes. A Muscovite cap was on his head. His face was disfigured by a recently healed scar. The man had evidently had a long and painful journey, his shoes being in a state which showed that he had been obliged to make part of it on foot. His Highness the Grand Duke, he asked. The Grand Duke went up to him. You are a courier from the Tsar, he asked. Yes, Your Highness, you come from Moscow. You left Moscow on the fifteenth of July. Your name? Michael Strogoff. It was Ivan Ogarev. He had taken the designation of the man whom he believed that he had rendered powerless. Neither the Grand Duke nor any one knew him in Irkutsk, and he had not even to disguise his features. As he was in a position to prove his pretended identity, no one could have any reason for doubting him. He came, therefore, sustained by his iron will to hasten by treason and assassination the great object of the invasion. After Ogarev had replied, the Grand Duke signed to all his officers to withdraw. He and the false Michael Strogoff remained alone in the saloon. The Grand Duke looked at Ivan Ogarev for some moments with extreme attention. Then he said, On the fifteenth of July you were at Moscow. Yes, Your Highness, and on the night of the fourteenth I saw His Majesty the Tsar at the new palace. Have you a letter from the Tsar? Here it is. And Ivan Ogarev handed to the Grand Duke the imperial letter crumpled to almost microscopic size. Was the letter given you in this state? No, Your Highness, but I was obliged to tear the envelope, the better to hide it from the emir's soldiers. Were you taken prisoner by the Tartars? Yes, Your Highness, I was their prisoner for several days, answered Ogarev. That is the reason that, having left Moscow on the fifteenth of July as the date of that letter shows, I only reached Irkutsk on the second of October, after traveling seventy-nine days. The Grand Duke took the letter. He unfolded it and recognized the Tsar's signature preceded by the decisive formula written by his brother's hand. There was no possible doubt of the authenticity of this letter nor of the identity of the courier. Though Ogarev's countenance had at first inspired the Grand Duke with some distrust, he let nothing of it appear, and it soon vanished. The Grand Duke remained for a few minutes without speaking. He read the letter slowly, so as to take in its meaning fully. Michael strogoff, do you know the contents of this letter? He asked, Yes, Your Highness, I might have been obliged to destroy it to prevent its falling into the hands of the Tartars, and should such have been the case, I wish to be able to bring the contents of it to Your Highness. You know that this letter enjoins us all to die rather than give up the town? I know it. You know also that it informs me of the movements of the troops which have combined to stop the invasion? Yes, Your Highness, but the movements have failed. What do you mean? I mean that Ichim, Omsk, Tomsk, to speak only of the more important towns of the two Siberias, have been successively occupied by the soldiers of Fyofar Khan. But there has been fighting? Have not our Cossacks met the Tartars several times, Your Highness, and they were repulsed? They were not in sufficient force to oppose the enemy. Where did the encounters take place? At Kolevan, at Tomsk. Until now Ogarev had only spoken the truth, but in the hope of troubling the defenders of Irkutsk by exaggerating the defeats, he added, and a third time, before Krasnoyarsk. And what of this last engagement? asked the Grand Duke, through whose compressed lips the words could scarcely pass. It was more than an engagement, Your Highness, answered Ogarev. It was a battle. A battle? Twenty thousand Russians from the frontier provinces and the government of Tobosk engaged with a hundred and fifty thousand Tartars, and notwithstanding their courage were overwhelmed. You lie, exclaimed the Grand Duke, endeavouring in vain to curb his passion. I speak the truth, Your Highness, replied Ivan Ogarev coldly. I was present at the Battle of Krasnoyarsk, and it was there I was made prisoner. The Grand Duke grew calmer, and by a significant gesture he gave Ogarev to understand that he did not doubt his veracity. What day did this Battle of Krasnoyarsk take place? He asked, on the second of September, and now all the Tartar troops are concentrated here? All. And you estimate them at about four hundred thousand men. Another exaggeration of Ogarev's in the estimate of the Tartar army, with the same object as before. And I must not expect any help from the West provinces, asked the Grand Duke. None, Your Highness, at any rate before the end of the winter. Well, hear this, Michael Strogoff. Though I must expect no help, either from the East or from the West, even were these barbarians six hundred thousand strong, I will never give up Arkotsk. Ogarev's evil eye slightly contracted. The traitor thought to himself that the brother of the Tsar did not reckon the result of treason. The Grand Duke, who was of a nervous temperament, had great difficulty in keeping calm whilst hearing this disastrous news. He walked to and fro in the room under the gaze of Ogarev, who eyed him as a victim reserved for vengeance. He stopped at the windows, he looked forth at the fires in the Tartar camp, he listened to the noise of the ice-blocks drifting down the Angara. A quarter of an hour passed without his putting any more questions. Then, taking up the letter, he re-read a passage and said, You know that in this letter I am warned of a traitor, of whom I must beware? Yes, Your Highness, he will try to enter Arkotsk in disguise, gain my confidence, and betray the town to the Tartars. I know all that, Your Highness, and I know also that Ivan Ogarev has sworn to revenge himself personally on the Tsar's brother. Why? It is said that the officer in question was condemned by the Grand Duke to a humiliating degradation. Yes, I remember, but it is a proof that the villain, who could afterwards serve against his country and had an invasion of barbarians, deserved it. His Majesty the Tsar, said Ogarev was particularly anxious that you should be warned of the criminal projects of Ivan Ogarev against your person. Yes, of that the letter informs me, and his Majesty himself spoke to me of it, telling me I was above all things to beware of the traitor. Did you meet with him? Yes, Your Highness, after the Battle of Krasnoyarsk. If he had only guessed that I was the bearer of a letter addressed to Your Highness, in which his plans were revealed, I should not have got off so easily. No, you would have been lost, replied the Grand Duke, and how did you manage to escape by throwing myself into the air-tich? And how did you enter Irkutsk? Under cover of a sortie, which was made this evening to repulse a tartar detachment, I mingled with the defenders of the town, made myself known, and was immediately conducted before Your Highness. Good, Michael Strogoff, answered the Grand Duke, you have shown courage and zeal in your difficult mission. I will not forget you. Have you any favor to ask? None, unless it is to be allowed to fight at the side of Your Highness, replied Ogarev. So be it, Strogoff, I attach you from today to my person, and you shall be lodged in the palace, and if according to his intention Ivan Ogarev should present himself to Your Highness under a false name, we will unmask him thanks to you, who know him, and I will make him die under the knout. Go!" Ogarev gave a military salute, not forgetting that he was a captain of the couriers of the Tsar, and retired. Ogarev had so far played his unworthy part with success. The Grand Duke's entire confidence had been accorded him. He could now betray it whenever it suited him. He would inhabit the very palace. He would be in the secret of all the operations for the defense of the town. He thus held the situation in his hand as it were. No one in Irkutsk knew him. No one could snatch off his mask. He resolved, therefore, to set to work without delay. Indeed, time pressed. The town must be captured before the arrival of the Russians from the north and east, and that was only a question of a few days. The Tartars once masters of Irkutsk, it would not be easy to take it again from them. At any rate, even if they were obliged to abandon it later, they would not do so before they had utterly destroyed it, and before the head of the Grand Duke had rolled at the feet of Fyofar Khan. Ivan Ogarev, having every facility for seeing, observing, and acting, occupied himself the next day with visiting the Ramparts. He was everywhere received with cordial congratulations from officers, soldiers, and citizens. To them this courier from the Tsar was a link which connected them with the Empire. Ogarev recounted, with an assurance which never failed, numerous fictitious events of his journey. Then, with the cunning for which he was noted, without dwelling too much on it at first, he spoke of the gravity of the situation, exaggerating the success of the Tartars and the numbers of the barbarian forces, as he had when speaking to the Grand Duke. According to him, the expected suckers would be insufficient, if ever they arrived at all, and it was to be feared that a battle fought under the walls of Irkutsk would be as fatal as the battles of Kulivan, Tomsk, and Krasnoyarsk. Ogarev was not too free in these insinuations. He wished to allow them to sink gradually into the minds of the defenders of Irkutsk. He pretended only to answer with reluctance when much pressed with questions. He always added that they must fight to the last man and blow up the town rather than yield. These false statements would have done more harm had it been possible, but the garrison and the population of Irkutsk were too patriotic to let themselves be moved. Of all the soldiers and citizens shut up in this town, isolated at the extremity of the Asiatic world, not one dreamed of even speaking of a capitulation. The contempt of the Russians for these barbarians was boundless. No one suspected the odious part played by Ivan Ogarev. No one guessed that the pretended courier of the Tsar was a traitor. It occurred very naturally that on his arrival at Irkutsk, a frequent intercourse was established between Ogarev and one of the bravest defenders of the town, Vasily Fedor. We know what anxiety this unhappy father suffered. If his daughter, Nadia Fedor, had left Russia on the date fixed by the last letter he had received from Riga, what had become of her? Was she still trying to cross the invaded provinces, or had she long since been taken prisoner? The only alleviation to Vasily Fedor's anxiety was when he could obtain an opportunity of engaging in battle with the Tartars, opportunities which came to seldom for his taste. The very evening the pretended courier arrived, Vasily Fedor went to the Governor-General's palace and, acquainting Ogarev with the circumstances under which his daughter must have left European Russia, told him all his uneasiness about her. Ogarev did not know Nadia, although he had met her in Ichim on the day she was there with Michael Strogoff, but then he had not paid more attention to her than to the two reporters, who at the same time were in the post-house. He therefore could give Vasily Fedor no news of his daughter. But at what time, asked Ogarev, must your daughter have left the Russian territory? About the same time that you did, replied Fedor, I left Moscow on the fifteenth of July. Nadia must also have quitted Moscow at that time. Her letter told me so expressly. She was in Moscow on the fifteenth of July. Yes, certainly by that date. Then it was impossible for her. But no, I am mistaken. I was confusing dates. Unfortunately it is too probable that your daughter must have passed the frontier, and you can only have one hope that she stopped on learning the news of the Tartar invasion. The father's head fell. He knew Nadia, and he knew too well that nothing would have prevented her from setting out. Ivan Ogarev had just committed gratuitously an act of real cruelty. With a word he might have reassured Fedor. Although Nadia had passed the frontier under circumstances with which we are acquainted, Fedor, by comparing the date on which his daughter would have been at Nizhny Novgorod, and the date of the proclamation which forbade anyone to leave it, would no doubt have concluded thus that Nadia had not been exposed to the dangers of the invasion, and that she was still, in spite of herself, in the European territory of the Empire. Ogarev, obedient to his nature, a man who was never touched by the sufferings of others, might have said that word. He did not say it. Fedor retired with his heart broken. In that interview his last hope was crushed. During the two following days, the third and fourth of October, the Grand Duke often spoke to the pretended Michael Strogoth, and made him repeat all that he had heard in the Imperial Cabinet of the New Palace. Ogarev, prepared for all these questions, replied without the least hesitation. He intentionally did not conceal that the Tsar's government had been utterly surprised by the invasion, that the insurrection had been prepared in the greatest possible secrecy, that the Tartars were already masters of the line of the Obi when the news reached Moscow, and lastly, that none of the necessary preparations were completed in the Russian provinces for sending into Siberia the troops requisite for repulsing the invaders. Ivan Ogarev, being entirely free in his movements, began to study Irkutsk, the state of its fortifications, their weak points, so as to profit subsequently by his observations, in the event of being prevented from consummating his act of treason, he examined particularly the Bolchaya Gate, the one he wished to deliver up. Twice in the evening he came upon the glassy of this gate. He walked up and down without fear of being discovered by the besiegers, whose nearest posts were at least a mile from the ramparts. He fancied that he was recognized by no one, till he caught sight of a shadow gliding along outside the earthworks. Hengar had come at the risk of her life for the purpose of putting herself in communication with Ivan Ogarev. For two days the besieged had enjoyed a tranquility to which the Tartars had not accustomed them since the commencement of the investment. This was by Ogarev's orders. Fyofar Khan's lieutenant wished that all attempts to take the town by force should be suspended. He hoped the watchfulness of the besieged would relax. At any rate several thousand Tartars were kept in readiness at the outposts to attack the gate deserted as Ogarev anticipated that it would be, by its defenders, whenever he should summon the besiegers to the assault. This he could not now delay in doing, all must be over by the time that the Russian troops should come in sight of Irkutsk. Ogarev's arrangements were made, and on this evening a note fell from the top of the earthworks into Hengar's hands. On the next day that is to say during the hours of darkness from the fifth to the sixth of October at two o'clock in the morning Ivan Ogarev had resolved to deliver up Irkutsk.