QUIET DAYS ON THE KYRA--CAPTAIN VARDE'S HAPPY HOME--FRED FREEMAN'S
RUSTIC RUSSIAN--THE CAPTAIN TELLS A TALE OF ADVENTURE.
The captain of the Danish barque, who had brought our three heroes
safely into Russian waters, was one of those individuals who are never
so happy as when ministering to the comfort and pleasure of others.
"Having landed you in Europe," he said, on the very last day they dined
together on board, "I dare say I ought to let you go, but I assure you,
gentlemen, I am not tired of you, and if you will accept of a few weeks
of the kind of rude hospitality I can offer you, at my little country
home on the banks of the Kyra, I shall be delighted."
"Stop," he continued, smilingly, holding up his hand as Chisholm was
about to speak, "I know everything you would say, so there is no
occasion to say anything. I have been kind to you, and you feel so much
indebted to me already, that you are unwilling to trespass further on my
goodness. That is what you would say; but, dear gentlemen, if you do
feel under an obligation to me, you can amply repay me, and even confer
a favour on me, by giving me a few weeks of your company."
"What say you, Fred?" asked Chisholm.
"Oh!" Fred replied, "I am delighted at finding such a pleasant `new way
of paying old debts.' Let us go by all means."
"As for me, my friends," said Captain Anderson, "I must leave you
to-morrow. Although the loss of my ship was no fault of mine, it was a
terrible misfortune, and one which it will be long ere I can forget, and
longer still ere it will be forgotten against me."
"We need not tell you," said Chisholm, "how truly sorry we are to part
with you. We will live in the hopes of meeting you some day in England,
and renewing our acquaintance with one in whose ship we sailed so long
and spent so many happy hours."
So next day the captain of the lost brig _Grampus_ and our friends
parted. They stayed just one week in Cronstadt, communicating by
telegraph with those at home, then, in company with their new friend,
started for his cottage on the Kyra. They were not sorry when, three
days after leaving Saint Petersburg, they found themselves down in the
very heart of the cool green country, and in a spot which, but for the
different dress and language of the people they met, they could easily
have fancied was a part of England itself. If they were delighted with
the country, they were not less so with the house and home itself of
Captain Varde, their kindly host. Half buried in trees, it was
approached by a broad and beautiful avenue, which led through well-kept
lawns to what you would have been bound to have styled the hall door, or
front entrance, but the truth is Captain Varde's house had no front, or,
in other words, it had two; for the spacious hall led you straight
through to the wide terraced lawn and flower garden, that skirted the
lovely river.
"When we go down to the village," said Varde, "which is situated about
three miles from here, we sometimes go by boat, and sometimes with the
horses in the conveyance I have landed you in to-day. But here comes my
wife and daughter, the only two beings I love on earth."
The first greetings betwixt himself and family being ended, Captain
Varde introduced our heroes, who were very kindly welcomed, and made to
feel perfectly at home; so much so that before the first day of their
visit had come to an end, they seemed to have known this family all
their lives.
When, after dinner, the ladies had retired, and the gentlemen lingered
over the walnuts and wine,--
"Captain Varde," said Fred Freeman, "I cannot tell you how much
astonished I and my comrades feel at all we see around us in this pretty
home of yours. It is so different from anything we could have expected
to meet with in Russia."
"It is, indeed," added Chisholm, "there is an air of refinement
everywhere, and, if you will excuse me for saying so, captain, the
English spoken by Mrs and Miss Varde, with the exception of a slight
foreign accent, which, in my opinion, adds a charm to it, is as perfect
as any you will hear in London."
"We have travelled a good deal, even in your country," said the Danish
captain, with a smile.
"Yes, but," said Fred, "you would travel a very long way in England
without meeting with a family who could talk the Russian language. As
linguists, the people of this country undoubtedly beat us. Now, my idea
of a Russian peasant, or small farmer, was somewhat as follows--shall I
offend you if I describe my beau-ideal rustic Russian?"
"Certainly not; though my wife and child are Russians by birth, I myself
am a Dane."
"Well, then," said Fred, "the rustic Russian that I had on the brain,
and whose prototype I look for here in vain, was indeed a sorry lout--a
short, stout, rough, and unkempt fellow, with less appearance of good
breeding about him than a Nottingham cowherd, and less manners than a
Newcastle navvy, with a good deal of reverence about him for the
aristocracy, and an extraordinary relish for rum. He was guiltless of
anything resembling ablution; dressed in sheep's skins, with the hairy
side next the skin; slept in this same jacket, and never changed it from
one year's end to another, except for the purpose of taking a bath,
which operation he performed by getting inside the stove and raking the
hot ashes all about him; his principal diet was the blackest of bread,
and the greatest treat you could give him a basin of train-oil and a
horn spoon."
Captain Varde laughed. "Anyhow," he said, "I am glad you have already
found yourselves undeceived, and I do not doubt but that, in your
intercourse with the people of this country, you will find many of them
brave, generous, and gentlemanly fellows, and quite worthy of being
reckoned among the number of your friends."
And Captain Varde was right.
The first two or three months of their life at the house of their
newly-found friend was quite idyllic in its simplicity. Much of their
time was spent in fishing and shooting, or in climbing the hills to
obtain a view of the wild but beautiful country around them; but in
whatever way the day had been passed, the afternoon always found them
gathered around the hospitable board of their worthy host. Then the
evening would be spent in pleasant conversation, with music and
story-telling, the stories nearly all coming from the captain himself.
He had spent a great deal of his life at sea, and had come through
innumerable adventures both on the ocean and on land.
"Old sailors," said Varde, once, "are sometimes accused of spinning
yarns, with less of facts about them than there might be; but, for my
own part, I think that a man who has knocked about the world for about
twenty years has little occasion to draw upon his imagination."
"I fought a bear one time," he continued, "single-handed, face to face--
ay, and I may say breast to breast."
"No easy task that, I should say," remarked Chisholm, "if he were of any
size."
"He was a monster," said Varde, "of Herculean strength; yonder is his
skin on the couch. You may be sure though that I did not court the
struggle, nor am I ever likely to forget it, for two reasons--the first
is that in my right leg I still carry the marks of the brute's talons;
the other reason is a far dearer one."
Captain Varde paused, and took his wife's hand in his, gazing at her
with a look of inexpressible tenderness.
"But for that bear adventure I never should have met with my wife. How
my Adeline's father came to settle down for life in the wild unpeopled
district where I first made his acquaintance and hers, I can hardly
tell. In his youth he had been a merchant and a dweller in cities; in
his old age he built himself a house many many versts even from a
village of any pretensions, on the confines of a great gloomy forest,
and close by a lake that people say is far deeper than the great hills
around it are high. Here he lived the life of a recluse and a bookworm.
"In the summer of 1845, myself and a few friends had encamped in the
neighbourhood of this lake, chiefly to enjoy the excellent fishing there
to be obtained. Not that we did not find work for our guns as well, for
there was abundance of both fur and feather; but my chief delight lay in
the gentler art. One of my friends, Satiesky by name, could do enough
gunning for the whole camp, so I at least was content, and the time was
spent most pleasantly until it set in for settled wet weather.
"At last after several days' rain it was evident the weather was broken,
and the summer gone; so, very reluctantly, we prepared to pack our
horses and trudge back again to the distant city. Packing did not take
us long, and, having packed, we started. A march of six or eight versts
brought us to the little village or hamlet of Odstok. We had just
reached its first house--a small outlying farm built on a wooded
eminence. It was well for us we had, for in less than ten minutes the
low land that we had just passed was completely covered with water.
What had been fields before was now an inland sea. Swollen by the
mountain torrents, the river had burst its bounds and swept down the
valley with terrible force, carrying before it fences and trees, and
even the scattered houses which stood in its way, and drowning oxen,
horses, sheep, and alas! human beings as well.
"For three whole weeks we were in a state of siege. Not that we wanted
food, however; Jerikoff the farmer's larder was well stored, and he was
very good to us indeed. He found his old boat, in which he used to
paddle about in a little canal before the floods, very handy now. I
shouldn't have cared to risk my life in the ricketty tub; but Jerikoff
did, and used to make voyages to a distant shop, and return laden with
many a little Russian dainty. Once he brought in a haul of hares and
rabbits from the flood. They had doubtless taken refuge on a tree as an
extemporised island; but when that island itself became flooded, down
the stream, _nolens volens_, they had to float. It is an ill wind that
blows nobody good, and Jerikoff set out in great glee to reap this rich
harvest of living fur. His face was a study while so engaged. `Oh! my
pretty dears,' he said, addressing his victims; `I couldn't think of
seeing you drown before my very face. Come into my boat; there is room
for you all.' But when the old man, before landing, began to knock them
on the head, I daresay the little mariners thought they had got out of
the frying pan into the fire.
"But about my bear, gentlemen. Well, I am coming to that."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE CAPTAIN'S TALE CONTINUED--WINTER BRINGS THE BEARS FROM THE
MOUNTAINS--THE TRAGEDY IN THE FOREST--BEARS AT BAY--BREAST TO BREAST
WITH BRUIN--FRED FREEMAN FALLS IN LOVE!
"Kind and all as our host Jerikoff was," continued the captain, "none of
us were sorry when the floods began to abate and finally disappeared.
But hardly had they gone when yet another change came over the
landscape; for hard frost set in, then small powdery snow began to fall,
followed shortly by great flakes, and before twenty-four hours were over
our heads the whole country was locked in the embrace of an early
winter. We weren't altogether sorry for this, for we could now prolong
our stay with prospects of good duck and wild-goose shooting, for both
these and many other kinds of game would visit the running streams. We
would also have an opportunity of doing old Jerikoff a favour by filling
his larder for him. Your Russian rustic, Mr Freeman, is oftentimes as
proud as a prince. Jerikoff was, at all events; and we dared not insult
him by the offer of a single rouble.
"Our host used to do a little shooting himself. One day he met a young
peasant leading his horse from the forest, where he had been for wood.
The little lad's eyes were as round and apparently as big as
saucers--_he had seen a bear_. Jerikoff made haste home to tell us, and
we determined to go in search of Mr Bruin. Hardly had we made up our
minds and got ready our guns when another report, and that a very
singular one indeed--although we had no reason to doubt the truth of
it--reached us.
"A farmer's sledge drawn by three horses, and on its way to the very
hamlet in which we now dwelt, had been attacked by a bear of monstrous
size and terrible ferocity. It was not the horses, however, but human
flesh on which this brute made up his mind to regale himself. He had
sprung from an ambush, alighting in the very centre of the sledge. The
poor kyoorshik's struggles I trust were brief, but very dreadful
nevertheless; his screams were heard by more than one individual--
powerless, however, to render aught of assistance--as the terrified
horses plunged madly through the forest, a tragedy being acted behind
them which it makes one's blood run cold even to think of. The poor
beasts pulled up at last with the shattered remains of the sledge, and
the mutilated body of the unhappy driver, at the very door of the little
village inn; but of the bear there were no signs save the ghastly work
he had accomplished.
"News like this only served to stimulate our desire for revenge on this
bold and ferocious bear, and we set out in all haste to seek him in the
forest. There were four of us, all told, with two moudjiks in two
sledges drawn by six horses. We were all armed to the teeth, but this
did not prevent us from taking proper precautions to avoid a sudden
surprise. Farther than the confines of the great forest it was
impractical to take our sledges; but the horses were unlimbered, and
accompanied us until we came upon the trail of our first bear. They
were then fastened to trees, and left in the charge of the moudjiks.
"`Now,' said Satiesky, one of my friends, `these tracks are very recent.
Mr Bruin cannot therefore be very far away, and as it will be unsafe
to go a long distance from our horses, let us try the effects of a
little ruse. I have come all prepared to carry it out.'
"To build a fire, camp-fashion, was with Satiesky the work of but a few
minutes. He piled it in an open space or glade in the forest, so that
the heat should not bring down the snow from the pines over it. Having
got it well alight, he hung from the tripod above a three-pound piece of
ham, which was soon frizzling away in fine style, and making us all
hungry with its fragrance.
"`Let us get under cover, now,' said Satiesky; `if a bear is any where
within six versts, you'll soon see him prowl round, licking his chops,
and looking for dinner, which pray Providence we will serve up to him
hot.'
"We took up a position, as he spoke, as well screened as possible by the
snow-laden branches, and waited. Half-an-hour went wearily past, and
after that every minute seemed interminable. We were rewarded at last,
though, but in a way we little expected. Some of us know, to our cost,
the terrible bull-like bellow which a bear emits from his stentorian
lungs, when he is suddenly disturbed and means mischief. This is
intended, no doubt, to startle and paralyse the victim on which he means
to spring. Be this as it may, such was now the sound we heard, yet not
anywhere near the fire, but close in the rear of our position. It was
an immense bear, probably the very same that had attacked and killed the
poor sledge-driver; for, as Satiesky afterwards said, having once tasted
human flesh, he would prefer it to the best bit of bacon that ever was
frizzled.
"He gave us little time now for consideration. But Satiesky was quick;
he discharged his rifle almost point-blank at the charging beast. Down
rolled Bruin, not dead, but so dreadfully wounded that it was an easy
enough matter for us to dispatch him with our pikes.
"Hardly had he ceased to writhe, when down the wind came the sharp ring
of another rifle.
"`Hark!' cried Satiesky, springing out into the open; `that sound comes
not from the direction where we left our horses. There is another party
in the forest as well as ourselves.'
"Satiesky's surmise was right, as he knew a moment afterwards to his
sorrow. The strange hunting party had wounded a bear, and were
following him up, and, in his desperation, he charged our companion. He
had no power or time for defence, and next moment we saw him laid
senseless on the snow; while over him stood his terrible antagonist, his
eyes flashing fire, his jaws dripping blood.
"I will not attempt to describe to you, gentlemen, the wild _melee_ that
followed. Bar a shot at close quarters with a revolver, there was no
time for using fire-arms. With pikes and axes and rifles clubbed, we
fought the giant beast until strength succumbed to skill, and he lay
dead beside Satiesky. With the exception of a few scratches, nobody was
any the worse, and we found, to our delight, that our fallen companion
was merely stunned.
"You should have seen the spread that Jerikoff placed before us that
evening, on our return. Jerikoff excelled himself for once; and it
needed but little wine-drinking, I can tell you, to make the feast pass
merrily by.
"Jerikoff would have bear hams all the winter. That was the reason he
was so pleased; that was the reason he invited a pair of inseparable
companions, in the shape of an old fiddler and a dancing bear, to
minister to our amusement after dinner was over.
"Next day we bagged three more bears. We had, however, no adventure to
speak of; they succumbed to their fate with a kind of sleepy dignity,
after they had been pitted by some peasants hired for the occasion.
"On this particular day I had wandered some distance away from my
companions. I had got clear out of the forest, and had climbed an
eminence, where I could see well about me, accompanied by an armed
servant; but certainly apprehending no danger, for the coast all around
seemed well clear. I had reckoned without my host, however. My host on
this occasion was an enormous bear, who had probably been asleep in the
sun behind a boulder, and a very disagreeable entertainment he had
provided for me."
"He wasn't very hospitable, then?" said Chisholm, smiling.
"Rather much so, I might say," said the captain; "indeed, he received me
with open arms. He was too affectionate altogether, and even now I
think I hear the roar of delight he gave vent to as he commenced the
fearful hug. I tried to prick him under the ribs with my knife. It
broke on a bone, which caused the brute to increase rather than diminish
the pressure. I could feel my bones crack, and my breath was squeezed
out of me. Why at this awful moment my scared moudjik should hand me
his knife, instead of using it himself, I never could tell; but God gave
me strength to handle it, gentlemen. I had one hand free, and with that
I plunged the weapon into the animal's chest, and we both rolled down
together.
"That evening two sledges in particular left the forest, going in
different directions. One dashed along as fast as three horses could
carry it, towards the house of my dear Adeline's father. It was the
nearest house to the forest; therefore thither was I borne, all but
lifeless from loss of blood. The other sledge went more slowly, of
course, towards the village we had that morning left so merrily
together. That sledge brought Bruin home. Gentlemen," said the
captain, concluding his narrative, and once more taking his wife's hand,
"I need not tell you how kind the old merchant was to me. Here is a
proof of it.
"The house where he and Adeline used to reside is now tenanted by some
relations of ours, for my father-in-law has long since crossed the
bourne whence no traveller ever returns; but we often visit the dear old
home by the lake, and spend a few weeks there. We hope to do so this
Christmas, and if you will but prolong your stay till then and accompany
us, I think I can show you some nice sport."
What could our heroes reply to so kind an invitation, but that they
would be delighted to do so? One of them, indeed, was much more
delighted than either of the other two; and that was Fred Freeman.
Would you know the reason why, reader? You may learn it, then, from the
following fragment of a conversation which took place between the trio
one evening when they were alone together:--
"Chisholm O'Grahame," said Fred, "we used to laugh at poor Frank for
being so deeply in love with his beautiful Eenie Lyell. You must laugh
alone now, my boy, for I can feel for him."
"What!" cried Chisholm, delightedly, "Are you too in for it?"
"I fear it's a fact," said Fred; "and so you two can leave me here to my
fate, if you choose, and go on with your adventures by yourselves--that
is, if Miss Varde will look kindly on me."
"Ridiculous!" said Chisholm. "No, no, Fred, my lad, engage yourself if
you like, and return some other day for this charming girl; but round
the world with us you come, and, indeed, I think the sooner we start the
better."
"Heigho!" sighed Fred, and Frank felt for him if Chisholm did not.
CHAPTER NINE.
THE RUSSIAN STEPPES (CONCLUDED).
PLEASANT TIMES--A GLORIOUS HIDE--A HAPPY CHRISTMAS--BOAR-HUNTING--
ATTACKED BY WOLVES.
Still pleasantly passed the time of our heroes away at Captain Varde's
delightful residence. He did all in his power to render them happy and
comfortable; he even invited friends from a distance to visit at the
house, in case they should be dull in the evenings, with no one to talk
to but himself; and very pleasant people they turned out to be. As
autumn wore away, and the days got shorter and colder, they were, of
course, confined a good deal to the house; but, what with whist and
chess, music and dancing, they never thought a day too long.
Fred's "little love affair," as Chisholm somewhat irreverently styled
it, flourished apace. In fact he was engaged to Miss Varde, and the
engagement received the sanction of her parents.
"What a pity it is," said Captain Varde, one day, "that I cannot find a
match for you, Mr O'Grahame."
"You are very kind, I am sure, to think of me," said Chisholm.
"Yes," continued Varde, "for then, you know, there would be no more
occasion for you to leave Russia."
"Ah! but," said Chisholm, "I have that young dog, Frank, to show the
world to. He is in my charge and in Fred's. After we have done the
needful by him, we may return--Fred is bound to--and then there is no
saying what might happen."
One day, when our friends came out to have their usual run before
breakfast, they found the ground all white with snow. This would have
warned them, if nothing else had, that Christmas was on ahead; but they
also found the moudjiks busy at work getting ready the sledges, and
preparations going on everywhere for a long journey.
The morning arrives, and the sledges are brought round, and soon filled
with as happy a party, probably, as ever set out on a long dreary
mid-winter journey in the wilds of Russia. Crack go the whips; the
horses toss their saucy heads and manes in the air; then, with a brave
plunge, forward they flee, and, with a cheer from the servants left
behind, and a shout from onlooking moudjiks, they are off. Paddy, in
the song of "The Groves of Blarney," talks about "the complatest thing
in nature being a coach-and-six or a feather bed;" had he ridden in a
Russian travelling-sledge, I daresay he would have considered it a sort
of combination of the two. Conversation is easy, as there is no
rattling of vile wheels; the air is bracing, and the scenery charming,
though hills and dales, and the great still forests themselves, are
robed in a garment of snow. At noon they stop for rest and refreshment,
then mount and go on again; but in the evening they reach a town of some
importance, and here they stop for the night. Onward again next day,
and onward the next; and at noon of the fourth the country gets wilder;
there is hardly a house to be seen; there are giant trees in the wide,
wild forests they traverse, and giant hills on the horizon. Suddenly,
at a bend of the road, a great lake--frozen hard, and partially
snow-clad--makes its appearance; and not far from its banks, though
almost hidden by trees, a lordly mansion, from many of the chimneys of
which blue smoke is curling upwards, against the white of a hill that
almost overhangs it.
Captain Varde hails the second sledge, and points laughingly towards
this mansion, and they know they are nearing the home of his people.
Half an hour afterwards, everybody is dismounting from the sledges,
greetings are being exchanged, and steaming horses led away to their
stables by smiling retainers.
I am not going to describe the life our heroes led at this mansion,
which might well be termed a castle; nor even to tell you of the many
adventures--some of them wild enough--they had among the hills and in
the forests around.
One evening the sledge containing Captain Varde and Chisholm got behind
the others, and they were attacked by a pack of hungry wolves in fine
form. They had had a good day among the boars--our friends, I mean, not
the wolves--and one was towing astern. This particular "piggie" the
wolves thought would make them an excellent supper; although, for that
matter, being, as they are, hippophagists, they would not have objected
to a bite of horse-flesh. The sun was declining in the west, as the
sledge tore along through the forest; they had still many versts to
ride, and attacked in flank and rear by such a number of these unwelcome
guests--for the woods seemed alive with them--the danger was one not to
be made light of. Happily for them, their horses were hardy and fleet;
they had good guns, and plenty of ammunition, so the slaughter was
immense. Kept at bay for a time, the wolves, being reinforced, rallied
and pressed the sledgemen closely. Chisholm thought of cutting the boar
adrift, but Varde wouldn't hear of it.
"Nay, my boy, nay," he cried, "we will never strike our colours while
we've a single cartridge left unfired."
Chisholm laughed, and peppered away, and with such good effect, that ere
the sun had quite gone down, the enemy drew off and left them, and they
soon after regained their companions.
There was much more of this kind of thing; suffice it to say that they
spent a Christmas of never-to-be-forgotten happiness, and left at last
with the heartfelt farewells of their kind entertainers ringing in their
ears, and promises that, if Providence spared them, this visit would
certainly not be their last.
CHAPTER TEN.