In a wooden hut at the end of the villag_Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, Greek, Belgian, Hungarian

woman washing her children in a tub near the fire. Being old and very

deaf, she did not hear them enter. Two men took the tub and carried it

away, and the stupefied woman followed with the clothes in which she

was about to dress the children. But when she saw traces of blood

everywhere in the village, swords in the orchards, cradles overturned

in the street, women on their knees, others who wrung their hands over

the dead, she began to scream and beat the soldiers, who put down the

tub to defend themselves. The cure hastened up also, and with hands

clasped over his chasuble, entreated the Spaniards before the naked

little ones howling in the water. Some soldiers came up, tied the mad

peasant to a tree, and carried off the children.

The butcher, who had hidden his little girl, leaned against his shop,

and looked on callously. A lancer and one of the men in armor entered

the house and found the child in a copper boiler. Then the butcher in

despair took one of his knives and rushed after them into the street,

but soldiers who were passing disarmed him and hanged him by the hands

to the hooks in the wall--there, among the flayed animals, he kicked

and struggled, blaspheming, until the evening.

Near the churchyard, there was a great gathering before a long, low

house, painted green. The owner, standing on his threshold, shed bitter

tears; as he was very fat and jovial looking, he excited the pity of

some soldiers who were seated in the sun against the wall, patting a

dog. The one, too, who dragged away his child by the hand, gesticulated

as if to say: "What can I do? It's not my fault!"

A peasant who was pursued, jumped into a boat, moored near the stone

bridge, and with his wife and children moved away across the unfrozen

part of the narrow lagoon. Not daring to follow, the soldiers strode

furiously through the reeds. They climbed up into the willows on the

banks to try to reach the fugitives with their lances--as they did not

succeed, they continued for a long time to threaten the terrified

family adrift upon the black water.

The orchard was still full of people, for it was there, in front of the

white-bearded man who directed the massacre, that most of the children

were killed. Little dots who could just walk alone stood side by side

munching their slices of bread and jam, and stared curiously at the

slaying of their helpless playmates, or collected round the village

fool who played his flute on the grass.

Then suddenly there was a uniform movement in the village. The peasants

ran towards the castle which stood on the brown rising ground, at the

end of the street. They had seen their seigneur leaning on the

battlements of his tower and watching the massacre. Men, women, old

people, with hands outstretched, supplicated to him, in his velvet

mantle and his gold cap, as to a king in heaven. But he raised his arms

and shrugged his shoulders to show his helplessness, and when they

implored him more and more persistently, kneeling in the snow, with

bared heads, and uttering piteous cries, he turned slowly into the

tower and the peasants' last hope was gone.

When all the children were slain, the tired soldiers wiped their swords

on the grass, and supped under the pear trees. Then they mounted one

behind the other, and rode out of Nazareth across the stone bridge, by

which they had come.

The setting of the sun behind the forest made the woods aflame, and

dyed the village blood-red. Exhausted with running and entreating, the

cure had thrown himself upon the snow, in front of the church, and his

servant stood near him. They stared upon the street and the orchard,

both thronged with the peasants in their best clothes. Before many

thresholds, parents with dead children on their knees bewailed with

ever fresh amaze their bitter grief. Others still lamented over the

children where they had died, near a barrel, under a barrow, or at the

edge of a pool. Others carried away the dead in silence. There were

some who began to wash the benches, the stools, the tables, the

blood-stained shifts, and to pick up the cradles which had been thrown

into the street. Mother by mother moaned under the trees over the dead

bodies which lay upon the grass, little mutilated bodies which they

recognized by their woollen frocks. Those who were childless moved

aimlessly through the square, stopping at times in front of the

bereaved, who wailed and sobbed in their sorrow. The men, who no longer

wept, sullenly pursued their strayed animals, around which the barking

dogs coursed; or, in silence, repaired so far their broken windows and

rifled roofs. As the moon solemnly rose through the quietudes of the

sky, deep silence as of sleep descended upon the village, where now not

the shadow of a living thing stirred.

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE

CAMILLE LEMONNIER

From "The Massacre of the Innocents and other Tales by Belgian

Writers." Translated by Edith Wingate Rinder. Published by Stone &

Kimball.

"This is the finest day of the year, Nelle," exclaimed a big stalwart

man of about sixty, with a bright smile, to a fresh clean-looking

woman, who at that moment came down the ladder of the boat with

shavings in her hand.

"Yes, Tobias," replied the woman, "it is indeed the day of days for

boatmen."

"Do you remember the first feast of St. Nicholas, which we kept

together, after we were married?"

"Yes, Tobias, it will soon be forty years ago."

"Hendrik Shippe, our master, came on to the boat and said to me:

'Tobias, my lad, you must keep the festival of our blessed saint in a

proper way, now that you have brought a wife to your boat.' With that,

he put a five-franc piece into my hand. 'Mynheer Shippe,' I replied, 'I

am more pleased with your five-franc piece than if I had been crowned.'

I went out without saying anything to my dear Nelle, crossed the plank,

and ran into the village to buy cream, eggs, flour, apples, and coffee.

Who was glad when I came back with all the good things and laid them

side by side on the table, while the fire burned brightly in the stove?

Who was glad? Tell me, my Nelle."

"Ah, Tobias! We sat hand in hand that evening till ten o'clock as we

had sat together in the moonlight on the banks of the Scheldt before we

were married. But we did other things, too, on that day, lots of other

things. What did we do? Do you remember, Tobias?"

"Oh! oh! we made golden apple pancakes; I can smell them now. I wanted

you to teach me how to toss them, but I tossed two into the fire, and

the third fell into the cat's mouth. Yes, yes, Nelle, I remember."

"Now, my man, we must make apple pancakes again in memory of that happy

evening; I have brought shavings to light the fire. One day, Riekje and

Dolf will recall the good festival of Saint Nicholas as we now recall

it."

It was thus that the boatman, Tobias Jeffers, spoke to his wife Nelle,

on board the Guldenvisch.

The Guldenvisch, which had been thus named from the pretty gold-fish

which shone afore and aft on her prows, was Hendrik Shippe's best boat,

and he had entrusted it to the care of Tobias Jeffers, his ablest

boatman. There was not a smarter looking craft in Termonde, nor one

better fitted for hard work. It was a pleasure to watch her glide

along, her waist well under water, laden with corn, wood, straw, or

provisions; to see, too, her big brown hull set off with red and blue

lines, her prows ornamented with the long smooth-scaled gold-fish, her

shining bridge and her little cloud of smoke curling out of the black

painted funnel.

That day, the Guldenvisch, like all the other boats on the Scheldt, had

stopped work. She was anchored to a strong rope, and toward seven in

the evening there was nothing to be seen but the light on the top of

the funnel, and the port-holes, round and bright as cod's eyes.

Preparations for the feast of St. Nicholas were in full swing in the

little room under the bridge; two candles burned in the brass

candle-sticks, and the stove roared like water which rushes from a lock

when the gates are opened.

The good Nelle pushed the door and Tobias went in quietly, thinking of

the happy days which he had just recalled.

"Maman Nelle," said a young voice, "I can see the round windows

lighting up everywhere one after the other on the dark water."

"Yes, Riekje," Nelle replied, "but it is not to see the windows lighted

up on the water that you stay near the window, but to see if that fine

lad, Dolf, is not coming back to the boat."

Riekje laughed.

"Maman Nelle sees straight into my heart," said she, sitting down near

the fire, and stitching away at a baby's cap, which she held in her

hand.

"Who could not see straight into the heart of a woman who is in love

with her husband, Riekje?" asked old Nelle.

As she spoke she took off the top of the stove and put the pot on the

fire, much to its delight, for it began to hiss like the rocket sent

off from the market-place the day before in honor of the election of a

new mayor. Then Nelle wetted her finger and snuffed the candles, and

the flame which had been flickering unsteadily at the end of the black

wick burned brightly again and lit up the little room with a beautiful

quiet light.

The room was very small and was something like a big cask cut in half,

with its curved wooden ceiling, and its stave-like wooden panels. A

coating of shiny, brown tar covered the walls; in places, especially

over the stove, it was black as ebony. The furniture consisted of a

table, two chairs, a chest which served as a bed, and near the chest a

white wooden box with two shelves. On these two shelves lay linen,

caps, handkerchiefs, women's dresses, and men's jackets, all smelling

somewhat of fish. In one corner hung the nets, together with tarred

capes, boots, oilskin hats, and enormous sheepskin gloves. Strings of

onions encircled a picture of the Virgin, and some twenty dried

herrings with shining bellies were strung by their gills on a thread

under an enameled clock.

All this could be seen by the light of the two candles, whose flicker

made the shadows dance on the ceiling; but the fairest thing to see was

beautiful dark Riekje sitting near the fire. She had broad shoulders, a

plump neck, and strong arms; her cheeks were round and sunburnt, her

eyes of a dusky brown, her lips full and red; and as for her black

hair, which was coiled six times round her head, the coils were heavy

as the towing ropes used on the banks of the river. Though so gentle

and quiet, she was often lost in sombre fancies; but when Dolf was

near, her face lit up with smiles and her teeth were bright as a wet

oar's blade shining in the sun. Then she no longer gloomed; the cloud

which veiled sad memories was lifted, bright hopes irradiated her face,

every line in which sparkled like whitebait in the meshes of a net.

Then it was that she would turn to her "beau garcon" and clap her

hands. The flame which escaped through the stove door caught her cheeks

at that moment, and they were red as salmon; the dark eyes fixed on her

work were bright as living coal. Yet two other things shone like her

eyes; the pendant hanging to the gold ring in her ear, and the silver

ring which she wore on her finger.

"Are you comfortable, Riekje?" asked Nelle, from time to time. "Do your

straw-lined sabots keep your feet warm?"

"Yes, maman Nelle, I am as happy as a queen," she answered, smiling.

"As a queen, you say," replied Nelle. "You will be like a queen, soon,

my girl, for you are going to eat some of my apple keikebakken. There

comes Dolf over the planks, bringing us flour, eggs, and cream; you

will have something to say about my pancakes, Riekje."

She opened the door, for a heavy step could be heard on the bridge of

the boat.

II.

As a broad-shouldered man, with a frank, smiling face, stepped into the

cheerful light of the room, his head almost touched the ceiling.

"There you are, mother!" he cried.

He threw his hat into a corner and began to empty his pockets with

great care, placing the paper bags on the table.

"Dolf, I was sure you'd do it; you've forgotten the pint of milk,"

cried maman Nelle when everything was spread out.

Dolf drew back, and made a grimace as if he really would have to go

back to the shop. But, at the same time, he winked to Riekje to let her

know that it was a joke. Nelle, who had not seen this, struck the palm

of her left hand with her right fist, complaining bitterly.

"What are we to do without milk, Dolf? I must go to town myself. These

big lads think of nothing but their love, Tobias."

"If I produced the milk from under Riekje's chair, would you kiss me,

mother?" Dolf broke in, heartily laughing, and throwing one arm round

his mother's neck, while he held the other hidden behind his back.

"Be quiet, bad boy," said Nelle, half in anger, half jokingly; "how can

there be any milk under Riekje's chair?"

"Will you kiss me?" he replied blithely. "Once--twice---"

Nelle turned quickly to Riekje:

"Get up, my girl, so that I may see whether I am to kiss your

good-for-nothing husband."

Dolf bent over Riekje and looked under her chair, pretending not to

find anything at first; finally he held the jug of milk triumphantly

out at arm's length. He laughed gayly, his hand on his thigh:

"Ah! who'll be kissed now, mother? Who'll be kissed?"

They all roared with laughter at the good joke.

"Dolf, kiss Riekje; bees like honey," cried Nelle.

Her lover made a ceremonious bow to Riekje, placed one foot behind the

other, pressed his hand to his heart, as the quality do, and, with a

solemn air, exclaimed:

"Soul of my soul, may I embrace one so fair as you?"

Then, without waiting for a reply, Dolf threw his arm round Riekje's

waist, raised her from her chair, and pressed his young lips upon her

neck. But Riekje half turned her head, and they kissed one another

warmly on the lips.

"Riekje," said Dolf, licking his lips in a greedy fashion, "a kiss like

that is better than ryspap."

"Nelle, let us do the same thing," said Tobias. "I delight to see them

so happy."

"Willingly," said Nelle. "Were we not the same in our own kissing days?"

"Ah! Nelle, they are always kissing days when there are two, and when

there is some little spot on earth where they can make a peaceful home."

Tobias kissed his wife's cheeks; then, in her turn, Nelle gave him two

big kisses which resounded like the snapping of dry firewood.

"Riekje," Dolf whispered, "I shall always love you."

"Dolf," replied Riekje, "I shall love you till death."

"I am two years older than you are, Riekje. When you were ten I was

twelve, and I think I loved you then, but not so much as now."

"No, dear, you have only known me since last May. All the rest is not

true. Tell me, Dolf, that all the rest is not true. I must hear it,

that I may love you without any feeling of shame." As Riekje leaned

against her husband's breast, she threw herself back a little, and it

was evident that she would soon be a mother.

"Come, children," cried maman Nelle, "it's time now to make the batter."

She reached down an iron pan, lined with shining white enamel, poured

in the flour, the eggs, and the milk. After turning up her sleeves over

her brown arms, she whipped all vigorously together. When she had

beaten the batter well, she placed the pan on a chair near the fire and

covered it with a cloth that it might rise. Tobias took down the

frying-pan, greased it with a little lard, and put it on the stove for

a moment to warm, so that the batter might brown all over equally.

Riekje and Dolf, sitting side by side on the same bench, took some

apples from a basket, cored, and afterwards sliced them. Then Nelle

went slyly to fetch a second saucepan from the cupboard and placed it

on the fire; she poured in some warm water, adding flour, thyme, and

laurel leaves. Dolf noticed that the saucepan contained something else,

but Nelle covered it up so quickly that he could not tell whether it

were meat or cabbage. He was puzzled and tried to guess.

Gradually the contents began to boil, and a thin, brown smoke escaped

from the lid which bubbled up and down. Dolf stretched his nose towards

the stove and opened his nostrils wide enough for a nut to rest in

each, but still he could not define the smell.

When maman Nelle went to lift the lid to see if the contents were

cooking properly, he stood on tip-toe behind her back, making himself,

for the fun of the thing, first quite short, and then quite tall.

Riekje laughed quietly as she looked out of the corner of her eye.

Suddenly Dolf gave a cry to surprise his mother, but Nelle had seen him

come up, and just at the moment when he thought to look into the pot

she put down the lid and nodded to him:

"Who's caught now, Dolf?" But he cried out, laughing; "I saw that time,

mother. It's Slipper's old cat that you have put into the stew-pan,

with some candle-grease."

"Yes," replied Nelle, "and next time I shall fry mice. Go and set the

table, and leave me alone you bad fellow."

Dolf went quietly into the closet, leading from the cabin. Choosing a

very white and well-starched shirt he put it on over his clothes and

came back flapping the tails.

When Nelle saw him she put her hands to her hips and laughed till the

tears streamed down her face; Riekje clapped her hands and laughed too.

Tobias remained serious, and, while Dolf walked up and down the room,

asking Nelle if she would not have him for a cook, he took the plates

out of the cupboard and began to rub them on a corner of the shirt.

Then the good Nelle fell into a chair and slapped her knee with her

hand as she rocked herself backwards and forwards. At last the table

was spread; the plates shone round and bright as the moon in water,

while the pewter forks beside them were bright as silver.

Nelle opened the saucepan for the last time, tasted the gravy, and

raising the big tin spoon, in command, cried:

"Come to table. Now you can enjoy yourselves."

They moved the big chest up to the table, for there were two chairs

only, and Dolf sat on it near Riekje. Tobias took a chair, placed

another beside him for Nelle, stretched out his legs and crossed his

hands over his stomach. Then a cloud of smoke rose up to the wooden

roof and the saucepan appeared on the table, making a sound like the

melting of snow in the sun.

"It's Slipper's cat, I knew it was," cried Dolf, when Nelle had taken

off the lid.

Each held out his plate and Nelle, looking into the pot, produced some

brown meat, cut into pieces, which she poured on to the plates with

plenty of gravy. Dolf looked carefully at the pieces which Nelle gave

him, smelt them, and after a moment's pause, brought his fist down on

the table and cried:

"God forgive me, Riekje, it's scheisels."

It was indeed ox tripe prepared in the Flemish manner, with liver,

heart and lungs. Dolf put his fork into the biggest pieces first, and

as he swallowed them, rubbed his hands over his stomach to show his

approval.

"Nelle is a capital cook," said Tobias. "I know King Leopold eats

scheisels cooked in wine, but Nelle makes them just as good with water."

"This is indeed a fine Saint Nicholas we are keeping," said Dolf to his

wife, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "We shall

always remember eating tripe on St. Nicholas day this year."

Nelle now got up and pushed the frying-pan on the fire. She took care

first to rake out the ashes and to put some fagots of wood on the

flames. When the stove began to roar again Nelle became serious and

uncovered her batter.

It had risen to the top of the pan, and was rich, thick, and fragrant,

with here and there little bubbles on its surface. Nelle plunged a big

spoon into the beautiful, deep mass, and when she drew it out long

threads hung from it on all sides. The frying-pan hissed and bubbled as

the batter was poured on to the brown butter around the slices of apple

which Nelle had carefully laid in first. When the pancake began to

brown at the edges it was tossed into the air by a clever twist of the

arm. Dolf and Tobias clapped their hands and Riekje admired Nelle's

dexterity.

"A plate, quick!" The first koekebakke was spread out, golden and

juicy, the color of a fried sole. Who would have this first one? It

should be for Tobias; Tobias passed it on to Riekje, and the young girl

cut it in pieces and shared it with Dolf.

Tobias watched them both eat it with pleasure, then said to Nelle: "Ah!

my wife, I see that the koekebakken are as good as when you made them

for me the first time."

In gratitude for these kindly words a big juicy pancake, round as a

quoit, fell on to his plate. "The sun shines on my plate just as I see

it shine on the water from the bridge," he cried out.

More batter was quickly poured into the frying-pan, the butter bubbled,

the fire roared, and round pancakes fell on the table as tench.

"Now it's my turn, mother," cried Dolf, when the bowl was almost empty.

Nelle sat down near Tobias and ate the two pancakes which she had kept

for herself, because they were not quite so perfect as the others. Dolf

poured the batter into the frying-pan, but not in a ring, as Nelle did,

for his idea was to make a mannikin such as are to be seen in the

bakers' shop windows on the eve of St. Nicholas. The body and head were

soon visible; then came the arms and legs. Dolf, leaning over his work,

carefully guided the spoon, for fear of pouring the mixture too quickly

or too slowly. Suddenly he uttered a proud cry and slid the absurd

figure on to Riekje's plate, but no sooner did it touch the earthenware

than it broke in two, and ran into an indistinguishable mass. He tried

again and again, until the mannikin could stand on its legs. Then he

gave him a slice of apple for a head, to make him look more natural.

"My lad," Tobias said to his son, "in the corner among the shavings you

will find an old bottle of schiedam which I brought from Holland, along

with three others; they have been drunk, there is only this one left.

Bring it here."

Dolf obeyed, and Nelle took out some small glasses. Tobias uncorked the

bottle, and filled two of them, one for himself and one for Dolf.

Anyone could see that it was good old schiedam, for Tobias and his son

nodded their heads and smacked their lips with pleasure.

"Ah! my daughter," said Nelle, "it will be a happy day for us all in

two years' time, when a little sabot stands in the hearth filled with

carrots and turnips."

"Yes, Riekje, it will be a happy day for us all," said Dolf, closing

his big hands over hers.

Riekje raised her eyes, in which stood a tear, and said softly:

"Dolf, it's a good heart you have."

He sat down beside her and threw his arm round her waist:

"I am neither good nor bad, my Riekje, but I love you with all my

heart."

Riekje kissed him.

"Dolf dear, when I think of the past I hardly know how I can still care

for life."

"The past is past, my beloved Riekje," replied Dolf.

"Ah! Dolf, dear Dolf, there are times when I think it would almost be

better to be up there now, so that I might tell the good Virgin all you

have done for me."

"Riekje, I am sad when you are sad: you do not wish to make me unhappy

about you this evening?"

"No, Dolf dear, I would give my life to save you one moment's pain."

"Then show me your beautiful white teeth, Riekje, and turn round and

smile at me."

"As you will, my Dolf, for all my joys and sorrows are yours. I have

only you in the world."

"Since that is so, Riekje, I wish to be everything to you; your father,

your husband, and your child. Tell me, Riekje, I am your baby, am I

not? There will be two of us to love our mother."

Riekje took Dolf's head in her hands, and kissed his cheeks; she paused

from time to time as one pauses when drinking sweet liqueur to enjoy

the flavor, and then drinks again. Then she put her lips to his ear and

whispered:

"Dolf, my darling Dolf, will you love it?"

Dolf raised his hand solemnly.

"I call God to witness, Riekje, I shall love it as if it were my own

flesh and blood."

"Our lad has been lucky," said Nelle to her husband. "Riekje is a dear

lass. She brought joy with her when she entered our house, Tobias."

"We are very poor, Nelle," he replied, "but old parents like ourselves

can have no greater happiness than to see their children sitting round

their fire in love with one another."

"They love one another as we loved, Tobias."

"You were then a pretty, fresh girl from Deurne, Nelle, with cheeks as

red as a cherry and a nose like a pretty little seashell. When you went

to church on Sunday with your fine winged cape and your big metal star,

which all young girls wear, every man turned to look at you."

"But I did not look at them, for Tobias was my sweetheart; a fine lad

he was, with black hair and a pointed beard, a green velvet jacket,

bright eyes and big brown cheeks."

"Ah! Nelle, how happy we were in those days when we could clasp hands

behind a hedge, and sometimes, too, I stole a kiss when your head was

turned away."

"That's true, Tobias, but afterwards, I did not turn my head away and

you kissed me all the same."

"There is no greater happiness on earth, my Dolf," said Riekje, "than

to grow old loving one another; the years don't then gloom as life

lengthens, and when one dies, the other soon follows."

"It is so, Riekje. If my old father dies first, I shall say to the

gravedigger, 'Dig a big hole, sexton, for my mother will lie there

too.'"

"Ah! heart of me!" cried Riekje, clasping her husband in her arms, "I

shall say the same thing to the sexton if you die first, my Dolf."

The fire roared in the stove, and the candles, which were nearly burned

down, gave a flickering light. Nelle had forgotten to snuff the wicks

and the thieves which fell into the tallow made it drop in big yellow

tears. In the ruddy light, which widened in circles like water where a

stone has fallen, the little narrow cabin seemed a paradise because of

the happy hearts which were in it.

The rough head of the old man, with his prominent cheek-bones, his gray

beard, his shaven lips, and ears pierced with gold rings, stood out the

color of smoked salmon, against the brown wall. Near him sat Nelle. Her

back was turned to the candles, and now and again, when she moved her

head, a bright light caught her brow, the gold rings sparkled in her

ears, the tip of her nose shone, and the wings of her cap stood out in

the shadow like the wings of a bird. She wore a coarse woollen skirt,

over which hung the full basque of her flowered jacket, but as Tobias'

arm was round her waist the stiff pleats were not in such perfect order

as usual.

Riekje and Dolf sat hand in hand on the other side of the room; they

had drawn as idea little that they might look at one another unbeknown

to the others, and their faces were close together. When they moved,

the candlelight struck Dolf's shaven chin, Riekje's red lips, their

necks or their pierced ears, as the sun strikes the belly of a fish

below the water. Kettles, saucepans, and pots shone on the shelves and

the shadows in the corners were soft as velvet.

"What is the matter, Riekje?" cried Dolf suddenly, "you are as white as

those plates in the cupboard, and your eyes are closed. My Riekje, what

is the matter with you?"

"Ah! Dolf," replied Riekje, "if it were to happen to-day! I have been

in pain all the afternoon, and now I feel worse. My child! If I die,

you will love it, Dolf, dear?"

"Mother! Mother!" cried Dolf, "I am sick at heart."

Then he hid his face in his big hands and began to sob, without knowing

the reason.

"Come, Dolf, be brave," said Tobias, tapping him on the shoulder. "We

have all gone through this!"

"Riekje, Riekje, my heart!" said Nelle in tears, "no greater happiness

could come to us on Saint Nicholas day. Poor folk rejoice more over a

child that is born to them, than over all the treasures in the world,

but the child whom God sends on Easter Day or St. Nicholas day is above

all welcome."

"Dolf, you can run better than I can," said Tobias. "Run and fetch

Madame Puzzel; we will look after Riekje."

Then Dolf pressed Riekje once more to his heart, and ran up the ladder.

The plank which connected the boat with the shore shook as he crossed

it.

"He is already a long way off," said Tobias.

III.

The night hung over the town like a great bird, but it had snowed on

the preceding days, and through the darkness Dolf could see the

blanched face of the earth, white as the face of the dead. He ran full

speed along the river bank as one pursued by the tide, though, even

then, his footfall was not so rapid as the beating of his heart. The

distant lights through the fog seemed to him like a procession of

taper-bearers at a funeral; he did not know how this idea arose, but it

terrified him, for behind it again he saw death. Then he came upon

silent figures hastening mysteriously along.

"Doubtless, they have been suddenly called to the bedside of the

dying," he muttered.

It was now he remembered that it is customary in Flanders on that night

to replace the hay, carrots, and turnips which the little ones put on

the hearth to feed Saint Nicholas' ass, by big dolls, wooden horses,

musical instruments, violins, or simply by mannikins in spikelaus,

according as each can afford.

"Ah," he said to himself, comforted, "they are fathers and mothers

going to the shops." But now the gloomy lights which resembled the

taper-bearers seemed to be chasing one another along the quays; their

little flames ran in every direction, crossed one another, and looked

like big fireflies. "I must see double," he said, "the fireflies can be

in my brain only."

Suddenly he heard voices, calling, crying out, lamenting.

Torches moved to and fro on the river bank, their red tongues of flame

blown by the wind amid clouds of smoke. In the uncertain light he could

at last distinguish figures rushing about, others leaning over the

river, black as well. This explained everything: the lamps had not

moved, but he had been misled by the flitting torches.

"Let us fetch Dolf Jeffers," cried two men. "No one else will be able

to do it."

"Here is Dolf Jeffers," cried the good fellow at that moment, "what do

you want?"

He recognized the men; they were his friends, his fellow-workers,

boatmen, like himself. All surrounded him, gesticulating. An old man,

wizened as a dried plaice, tapped him on the shoulder, and said:

"Dolf, for God's sake! A fellow-creature is being drowned. Help!

Perhaps it's already too late. Strip off your clothes, Dolf."

Dolf looked at the water, the lanterns, the night above him, and the

men who urged him on.

"Comrades," he cried, "before God, I cannot. Riekje is in labor and my

life is not my own."

"Dolf! Help!" cried the old man again, as with trembling hands he

pointed to his dripping clothes. "I have three children, Dolf, yet I

have been in twice. I have no strength left."

Dolf turned to the pale faces which stood in a circle round him.

"Cowards," he cried. "Is there not one among you who will save a

drowning man?"

The greater number bent their heads and shrugged their shoulders,

feeling that they had deserved the reproach.

"Dolf," the old man cried, "as sure's death's death, I shall try again,

if you do not go."

"God! God! There he is!" cried the men at that moment, who were moving

the torches over the water. "We saw his head and feet. Help!"

Dolf threw off his coat and said to the boatmen coldly: "I will go."

Then he spoke again: "One of you run to Madame Puzzel and take her back

to the Guldenvisch at once."

He made the sign of the cross and muttered between his teeth: "Jesus

Christ, who died on the cross to save sinners, have mercy on me."

He went down the bank, with bared breast, and the crowd who followed

him trembled for his life. He looked for a moment at the traitorous

river, on which the torches dripped tears of blood, as if he saw death

before him. The flood gurgled, as when a great fish strikes the water

with its tail.

"There he is," the same voices cried.

Then the abyss was opened.

"Riekje!" cried Dolf.

The cold river closed about him like a prison. Increasing circles were

all that ruffled that black surface, which seemed blacker than ever by

the light of the torches.

Absolute silence reigned among the men who looked on from the bank.

Some stood up to their waist in water, feeling about with long poles;

others unfastened ropes, which they sent adrift; three men slipped into

a boat and rowed noiselessly, moving their lanterns carefully over the

surface of the water. Beneath all was the gentle murmur of the cruel

Scheldt as, lapping the banks, it flowed eternally onward.

Twice Dolf came to the surface and twice he disappeared again. They

could see his arms move and his face seemed paler in the darkness. Once

more he clove the icy gulf and plunged still deeper. Suddenly his legs

became motionless, as if entangled in the treacherous sea-weed by the

spiteful water-spirits. The drowning man had seized him, and Dolf

realized that if he could not get free, both would be lost. His limbs

were more tightly pressed than in a vice. Then there was a terrible

struggle, and the men both sank to the mud of the river-bed. In the

drowning darkness they fought, bit, tore one another, like mortal

enemies. Dolf at last gained the upper hand; the paralyzing arms ceased

to strangle him, and he felt an inert mass floating upon him. A

terrible lassitude as of a sleep overcame him, his head fell forward,

the water entered his mouth. But the light of the torches penetrated

the dark water; he gathered up his strength and dragged after him the

prey which he had robbed from the hungry eels. Then at last he breathed

pure air again.

With that there was a great outburst from the bank.

"Courage, Dolf," cried the breathless crowd, stretching out over the

river. One or two boat-men had piled some wood and set light to it. The

flames rose spirally and lit up the sky for some distance.

"This way, Dolf! Courage, Dolf! A brave heart, courage!" yelled the

crowd.

Dolf was just about to reach the bank: he parted the water with all his

remaining strength and pushed the limp body before him. The red light

from the wood-fire spread over his hands and face like burning oil, and

suddenly it caught the face of the drowning man, by his side.

No sooner did he see that pale face than, uttering a cry of rage, he

pushed it to the bottom of the water. He had recognized the man who had

dishonored Riekje. Dolf, a right loyal fellow, had had pity on the poor

lonely fisher lass and had made her his wife before God and man. He

pushed him from him, but the drowning man, who felt the water close

once more about him, clung to his saviour with an iron grasp. Then both

disappeared in the darkness of death.

Dolf heard a voice say within himself:

"Die, Jacques Karnavash; there is not room in the world for you and

Riekje's child."

To this another voice replied:

"Live, Jacques Karnavash, for it would be better to strike your mother

dead."

IV.

"There's Dolf bringing Madame Puzzel back with him," said Nelle, after

about an hour.

The gangway swung under the weight of two people and sabots sounded on

the bridge, while a voice cried:

"Tobias! Tobias! get the lantern and light Madame Puzzel."

Tobias took one of the candles and carefully sheltered it with his hand

as he opened the door.

"This way," he cried, holding it ajar. "This way!"

The midwife stepped down the ladder, and a man followed her.

"Ah! Madame Puzzel, Riekje will be pleased to see you. Come in," said

Tobias. "Good-evening, lad. Oh! it's Lucas."

"Good evening, Tobias," said the young man. "Dolf has stayed behind

with his comrades, so I brought Madame Puzzel."

"Come and have a drink, my son, then you can go back to Dolf."

Nelle now came forward.

"Good-evening, Madame Puzzel, how are you? Here is a chair. Sit down

and warm yourself."

"Good-evening to you all," replied the fat little old woman. "So we are

going to have christening sugar on board the Guldenvisch this evening.

It's your first, is it not, Riekje? Come, Nelle, make me some coffee

and give me some supper."

"Riekje," said the young boatman, "I brought Madame Puzzel because Dolf

was dragged off by his comrades. He must not see you suffer. It is

better not, so the others have carried him off to have a drink to give

him courage."

"I shall be braver, too, if he is not here," replied Riekje, raising

her eyes full of tears.

"Yes," said Nelle, in her turn, "it's better for every one that Dolf

should not be here."

Tobias then poured out a glass of gin and gave it to the man, saying:

"There's something for your trouble, Lucas. When you have drunk that,

your legs will lengthen like a pair of oars, and you'll get back to

your friends in no time."

Lucas drank it off at two gulps. As he drank the first he said to the

company:

"Here's to every one's health."

He drank the second, saying to himself:

"To Dolf's health, if he is still alive."

Then he said good-evening. As the lad left the cabin, the kettle was

singing on the fire and there was a good smell of coffee in the room,

for Nelle with the mill on her lap was crushing the black berries,

which snapped cheerily.

Madame Puzzel had unfastened the metal clasp of her big black-hooded

cloak and taken her spectacle case and knitting from her basket. She

put on her spectacles, took up her knitting, sat down by the fire and

began to knit. She wore a woollen flowered jacket under a black shawl,

and a skirt of linsey-woolsey. From time to time she looked over her

spectacles without raising her head and glanced at Riekje walking up

and down the room groaning. When the pain became worse, Madame Puzzel

tapped her on the cheek, and said:

"Be brave, Riekje. You cannot think what a joy it is to hear the little

one cry for the first time. It is like eating vanilla cream in Paradise

listening to beautiful violin music."

Tobias, having put back the big chest which served as a bed against the

wall, went to fetch two sea-weed mattresses from his own bed, and, as

he laid them on the chest, there was a healthy salt smell in the room.

Then Nelle covered the mattresses with spotless coarse linen sheets,

and smoothed them with the palm of her hand to take out the creases and

make it as soft as a feather-bed. Towards midnight, Madame Puzzel

folded up her knitting, placed her spectacles on the table, crossed her

arms and looked into the fire; then she began to prepare the linen,

made a hole in the pillows and looked at the time by the big silver

watch which she wore under her jacket. Finally, she yawned six

consecutive times and went to sleep with one eye open.

Riekje wrung her hands and cried out:

"Mamae Puzzel! Mamae Puzzel!"

"Mama Puzzel can do nothing for you, Riekje," replied the midwife. "You

must be patient."

Within the room, the kettle sang on the fire; without, the water lapped

against the boat. Voices died away along the banks, and doors were shut.

"It is midnight," said Tobias, "those are the people leaving the inn."

"Ah! Dolf! dear Dolf!" cried Riekje, each time. "Why does he not come

back?"

"I see the lamps in the houses and boats being put out one by one. Dolf

will be in directly," said Nelle to quiet her. But Dolf did not return.

Two hours after midnight Riekje was in such pain that she had to go to

bed. Madame Puzzel sat beside her and Nelle told her beads. Two hours

passed thus.

"Dolf! Dolf!" Riekje cried incessantly. "Why does he stay away so long

when his Riekje is dying?"

Tobias went up the ladder now and again to see if Dolf were not coming

back. The little port-hole of the Guldenvisch reflected its red light

on the dark water; there was no other window alight in the town. In the

distance a church clock rang out the quarters, the chimes falling

through the night like a flight of birds escaped from a cage. Tobias

listened to the notes of the music which spoke of the son whom he

awaited. Gradually the lights were relit one after another in the

houses, and lamps twinkled like stars along the water's edge. A fresh

cold dawn broke over the town. Then a little child began to cry in the

boat, and it seemed to those who heard it sweet as the bleating of a

lambkin.

"Riekje! Riekje!"

A distant voice called Riekje. It was Dolf who sprang over the bridge

and rushed into the room. Riekje, who was asleep, opened her eyes and

saw her loving lad kneeling beside her. Tobias threw his cap up in the

air, and Nelle, laughing, pinched the face of the new-born babe whom

Madame Puzzel swaddled on her knee. When the baby was well wrapped up,

Madame Puzzel placed it in Dolf's arms and he kissed it cautiously with

little smacks.

Riekje called Dolf to her side, took his head in her hand, and fell

asleep until morning. Dolf put his head beside her on the pillow, and

their breath and their hearts were as one during that sleep.

Dolf went off into the town one morning.

Funeral bells were tolling, and their knell echoed through the air like

the hoarse cry of gulls and petrels above the shipwrecked.

A long procession disappeared through the church porch, and the altar

draped in black shone with its many wax lights, which glistened as the

tears in a widow's eyes.

"Who has died in the town?" Dolf asked of an old beggar sitting at the

threshold of the church, his chin on his knees. "The son of a rich

family, a man of property, Jacques Karnavash. Give a trifle for the

repose of his soul."

Dolf took off his hat and entered the church.

He hid himself behind a pillar and saw the silver-nailed coffin

disappear beneath the black catafalque.

"Lord God," he said, "may Thy will be done. Forgive him as I have

forgiven him."

When the crowd made their taper-offering, he took a wax light from the

chorister and followed those who walked round the branch candlesticks

mighty as trees, which burned at the four corners of the pall.

Then he knelt down in the dark corner, far from the men and women who

had come out of respect for the dead, and these words were mingled with

his prayer:

"God, Father of men, forgive me also; I saved this man from drowning,

but my courage failed when I first saw that it was my Riekje's seducer,

and I desired vengeance. Then I pushed from me the man who had a

mother, and whom I was to restore to that mother; I thrust him back

under the water, before I saved him. Forgive me, O Lord, and if I must

be punished for this, punish me only."

Then he left the church and thought deep down in his heart:

"Now there is no one living who can say that Riekje's child is not my

child."

"Hey! Dolf," voices called to him from the quay.

He recognized those who had seen him bring Jacques Karnavash to the

bank.

Their rude hearts had trembled for him like women's hearts; they had

clung to him and said:

"Dolf, you are worth all of us put together."

Suddenly he had fallen on the pavement, but they had carried him near

the kitchen fire of an inn, had revived him with gin and looked after

him until he felt strong enough to run back to his beloved Riekje.

"Dolf," they now cried.

And when Dolf turned, the old boatman clasped him in his arms and said:

"My dear son, I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood."

The others pressed his hand heartily, saying:

"Dolf, we shall at least have known one really brave fellow before we

die."

"As for me, comrades," said Dolf, laughing, "I shall not die before I

drink a glass with you to the health of the fine little chap Riekje

gave me the other night."

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA

MAURICE JOKAI

From "In Love with the Czarina and other Stories." Translated by Louis

Felbermann. Published by Frederick Warne & Co.

In the time of the Czar Peter III. a secret society existed at St.

Petersburg which bore the title of "The Nameless." Its members used to

assemble in the house of a Russian nobleman, Jelagin by name, who alone

knew the personality of each visitor, they being, for the most part,

unknown to one another. Distinguished men, princes, ladies of the

court, officers of the Guard, Cossack soldiers, young commercial men,

musicians, street-singers, actors and actresses, scientific men,

clergymen and statesmen, used to meet here. Beauty and talent were

alone qualifications for entry into the Society, the members of which

were selected by Jelagin. Every one addressed the other as "thee" and

"thou," and they only made use of Christian names such as Anne,

Alexandra. Katharine, Olga, Peter, Alexis, and Ivan. And for what

purpose did they assemble here? To amuse themselves at their ease.

Those who, by the prejudices of caste and rank, were utterly severed,

and who occupied the mutual position of master and slave, tore the

chains of their barriers asunder, and all met here. It is quite

possible that he with whom the grenadier-private is now playing chess

is the very same general who might order him a hundred lashes

to-morrow, should he take a step on parade without his command! And now

he contends with him to make a queen out of a pawn!

It is also probable that the pretty woman who is singing sportive

French songs to the accompaniment of the instrument she strikes with

her left hand is one of the Court ladies of the Czarina, who, as a

rule, throws half-roubles out of her carriage to the street-musicians!

Perhaps she is a Princess? possibly the wife of the Lord Chamberlain?

or even higher in grade than this? Russian society, both high and low,

flower and root, met in Jelagin's castle, and while there enjoyed

equality in the widest sense of the word. Strange phenomenon! That this

should take place in Russia, where so much is thought of aristocratic

rank, official garb, and exterior pomp; where an inferior is bound to

dismount from his horse upon meeting a superior, where sub-officers

take off their coats in token of salute when they meet those of higher

rank, and where generals kiss the priest's hands and the highest

aristocrats fall on their faces before the Czar! Here they sing and

dance and joke together, make fun of the Government, and tell anecdotes

of the High Priests, utterly fearless, and dispensing with salutations!

Can this be done for love of novelty? The existence of this secret

society was repeatedly divulged to the police, and these cannot be

reproached for not having taken the necessary steps to denounce it; but

proceedings once begun usually evaporated into thin air, and led to no

results. The investigating officer either never discovered suspicious

facts, or, if he did, matters were adjourned. Those who were arrested

in connection with the affair were in some way set at liberty in peace

and quietness; every document relating to the matter was either burned

or vanished, and whole sealed cases of writings were turned into plain

white paper. When an influential officer took energetically in hand the

prosecution of "The Nameless," he was generally sent to a foreign

country on an important mission, from which he did not return for a

considerable period. "The Nameless Society" must have had very powerful

protectors. At the conclusion of one of these free and easy

entertainments, a young Cossack hetman remained behind the crowd of

departing guests, and when quite alone with the host he said to him:

"Jelagin, did you see the pretty woman with whom I danced the mazurka

to-night?"

"Yes, I saw her. Are you smitten with her, as others have been?"

"That woman I must make my wife."

Jelagin gave the Cossack a blow on the shoulder and looked into his

eyes.

"That you will not do! You will not take her as your wife, friend

Jemeljan."

"I shall marry her--I have resolved to do so."

"You will not marry her, for she will not go to you."

"If she does not come I will carry her off against her will."

"You can't marry her, because she has a husband."

"If she has a husband I will carry her off in company with him!"

"You can't carry her off, for she lives in a palace--she is guarded by

many soldiers, and accompanied in her carriage by many outriders."

"I will take her away with her palace, her soldiers, and her carriage.

I swear it by St. Gregory!"

Jelagin laughed mockingly.

"Good Jemeljan, go home and sleep out your love--that pretty woman is

the Czarina!"

The hetman became pale for a moment, his breath stopped; but the next

instant, with sparkling eyes, he said to Jelagin:

"In spite of this, what I have said I have said."

Jelagin showed the door to his guest. But, improbable as it may seem,

Jemeljan was really not intoxicated, unless it were with the eyes of

the pretty woman.

A few years elapsed. The Society of "The Nameless" was dissolved, or

changed into one of another form. Katharine had her husband, the Czar,

killed, and wore the crown herself. Many people said she had him

killed, others took her part. It was urged that she knew what was going

to happen, but could not prevent it--that she was compelled to act as

she did, and to affect, after a great struggle with her generous heart,

complete ignorance of poison being administered to her husband. It was

said that she had acted rightly, and that the Czar's fate was a just

one, for he was a wicked man; and finally, it was asserted that the

whole statement was untrue, and that no one had killed Czar Peter, who

died from intense inflammation of the stomach. He drank too much

brandy. The immortal Voltaire is responsible for this last assertion.

Whatever may have happened, Czar Peter was buried, and the Czarina

Katharine now saw that her late husband belonged to those dead who do

not sleep quietly. They rise--rise from their graves--stretch out their

hands from their shrouds, and touch with them those who have forgotten

them. They turn over in their last resting-place, and the whole earth

seems to tremble under the feet of those who walk above them!

Amongst the numerous contradictory stories told, one difficult to

believe, but which the people gladly credited, and which caused much

bloodshed before it was wiped out of their memory, was this--that Czar

Peter died neither by his own hand, nor by the hands of others, but

that he still lived. It was said that a common soldier, with

pock-marked face resembling the Czar, was shown in his stead to the

public on the death-couch at St. Petersburg, and that the Czar himself

had escaped from prison in soldier's clothes, and would return to

retake his throne, to vanquish his wife, and behead his enemies! Five

Czar pretenders rose one after the other in the wastes of the Russian

domains. One followed the other with the motto, "Revenge on the

faithless!" The usurpers conquered sometimes a northern, sometimes a

southern province, collected forces, captured towns, drove out all

officials, and put new ones in their places, so that it was necessary

to send forces against them. If one was subjugated and driven away into

the ice deserts, or captured and hung on the next tree, another Czar

Peter would rise up in his place and cause rebellion, alarming the

Court circle whilst they were enjoying themselves; and so things went

on continually and continually. The murdered husband remained unburied,

for to-day he might be put in the earth and to-morrow he would rise

again, one hundred miles off, and exclaim, "I still live!" He might be

killed there, but would pop out his head again from the earth, saying,

"Still I live." He had a hundred lives! When five of these Peter

pretenders went the way of the real Czar a sixth rose, and this one was

the most dreaded and most daring of all, whose name will perpetually be

inscribed in the chronicles of the Russian people as a dreadful example

to all who will not be taught wisdom, and his name is Jemeljan

Pugasceff! He was born as an ordinary Cossack in the Don province, and

took part in the Prussian campaign, at first as a paid soldier of

Prussia, later as an adherent of the Czar. At the bombardment of Bender

he had become a Cossack hetman. His extraordinary physical strength,

his natural common sense and inventive power, had distinguished him

even at this time, but the peace which was concluded barred before him

the gate of progress. He was sent with many discharged officers back to

the Don. Let them go again and look after their field labors!

Pugasceff's head, however, was full of other ideas than that of again

commencing cheese-making, from which occupation he had been called ten

years before. He hated the Czarina, and adored her! He hated the proud

woman who had no right to tread upon the neck of the Russians, and he

adored the beautiful woman who possessed the right to tread upon every

Russian's heart! He became possessed with the mad idea that he would

tear down that woman from her throne, and take her afterwards into his

arms. He had his plans prepared for this. He went along the Volga,

where the Roskolniks live--they who oppose the Russian religion, and

who were the adherents of the persecuted fanatics whose fathers and

grandfathers had been continually extirpated by means of hanging,

either on trees or scaffolds, and this only for the sole reason that

they crossed themselves downwards, and not upwards, as they do in

Moscow!

The Roskolniks were always ready to plot if they had any pretence and

could get a leader. Pugasceff wanted to commence his scheme with these,

but he was soon betrayed, and fell into the hands of the police and was

carried into a Kasan prison and put into chains. He might thus go on

dreaming! Pugasceff dreamed one night that he burst the iron chains

from his legs, cut through the wall of the prison, jumped down from the

inclosure, swam through the surrounding trench whose depth was filled

with sharp spikes, and that he made his way towards the uninhabited

plains of the Ural Sorodok, without a crust of bread or a decent stitch

of clothing! The Jakics Cossacks are the only inhabitants of the plains

of Uralszk--the most dreaded tribe in Russia--living in one of those

border countries only painted in outline on the map, and a people with

whom no other on the plains form acquaintanceship. They change locality

from year to year. One winter a Cossack band will pay a visit to the

land of the Kirghese, and burn down their wooden huts; next year a

Kirgizian band will render the same service to the Cossacks! Fighting

is pleasanter work in the winter. In the summer every one lives under

the sky, and there are no houses to be destroyed! This people belong to

the Roskolnik sect. Just a little while previously they had amused

themselves by slaughtering the Russian Commissioner-General

Traubenberg, with his suite, who came there to regulate how far they

might be allowed to fish in the river Jaik, and with this act they

thought they had clearly proved the Government had nothing to do pike!

Pugasceff had just taken refuge amongst them at the time when they were

dividing the arms of the Russian soldiers, and were scheming as to what

they should further do. One lovely autumn night the escaped convict

after a great deal of wandering in the miserable valley of Jeremina

Kuriza, situated in the wildest part of the Ural Mountains, and in its

yet more miserable town, Jaiczkoi, knocked at the door of the first

Cossack habitation he saw and said that he was a refugee. He was

received with an open heart, and got plenty of kind words and a little

bread. The house-owner was himself poor; the Kirgizians had driven away

his sheep. One of his sons, a priest of the Roskolnik persuasion, had

been carried away from him into a lead-mine; the second had been taken

to serve as a soldier, and had died; the third was hung because he had

been involved in a revolt. Old Kocsenikoff remained at home without

sons or family. Pugasceff listened to the grievances of his host, and

said:

"These can be remedied."

"Who can raise for me my dead sons?" said the old man bitterly.

"The one who rose himself in order to kill."

"Who can that be?"

"The Czar."

"The murdered Czar?" asked the old soldier, with astonishment.

"He has been killed six times, and yet he lives. On my way here,

whenever I met with people, they all asked me, 'Is it true that the

Czar is not dead yet, and that he has escaped from prison?' I replied

to them, 'It is true. He has found his way here, and ere long he will

make his appearance before you.'"

"You say this, but how can the Czar get here?"

"He is already here."

"Where is he?"

"I am he!"

"Very well--very well," replied the old Roskolnik. "I understand what

you want with me. I shall be on the spot if you wish it. All is the

same to me as long as I have any one to lead me. But who will believe

that you are the Czar? Hundreds and hundreds have seen him face to

face. Everybody knows that the visage of the Czar was dreadfully

pockmarked, whilst yours is smooth."

"We can remedy that. Has not some one lately died of black-pox in this

district?"

"Every day this happens. Two days ago my last laborer died."

"Well, I shall lay in his bed, and I shall rise from it like Czar

Peter."

He did what he said. He lay in the infected bed. Two days later he got

the black-pox, and six weeks afterwards he rose with the same wan face

as one had seen on the unfortunate Czar.

Kocsenikoff saw that a man who could play so recklessly with his life

did not come here to idle away his time. This is a country where, out

of ten men, nine have stored away some revenge of their own, for a

future time. Amongst the first ten people to whom Kocsenikoff

communicated his scheme, he found nine who were ready to assist in the

daring undertaking, even at the cost of their lives; but the tenth was

a traitor. He disclosed the desperate plot to Colonel Simonoff, the

commander of Jaiczkoi, and the commander immediately arrested

Kocsenikoff; but Pugasceff escaped on the horse which had been sent out

with the Cossack who came to arrest him, and he even carried off the

Cossack himself! He jumped into the saddle, patted and spurred the

horse, and made his way into the forest.

History records for the benefit of future generations the name of the

Cossack whom Pugasceff carried away with his horse: Csika was the name

of this timid individual! This happened on September 15. Two days

afterwards Pugasceff came back from the forest to the outskirts of the

town Jaiczkoi. Then he had his horse, a scarlet fur-trimmed jacket, and

three hundred brave horsemen. As he approached the town he had trumpets

blown, and demanded that Colonel Simonoff should surrender and should

come and kiss the hand of his rightful master, Czar Peter III.!

Simonoff came with 5,000 horsemen and 800 Russian regular troops

against the rebel, and Pugasceff was in one moment surrounded. At this

instant he took a loosely sealed letter from his breast and read out

his proclamation in a ringing voice to the opposing troops, in which he

appealed to the faithful Cossacks of Peter III. to help him to regain

his throne and to aid him to drive away usurpers, threatening with

death those traitors who should oppose his command. On hearing this the

Cossack troops appeared startled, and the exclamation went from mouth

to month, "The Czar lives! This is the Czar!" The officers tried to

quiet the soldiers, but in vain. They commenced to fight amongst

themselves, and the uproar lasted till late at night, with the result

that it was not Simonoff who captured Pugasceff, but the latter who

captured eleven of his officers; and when he retreated from the field

his three hundred men had increased to eight hundred. It was a matter

of great difficulty to the Colonel to lead back the rest into the town.

Pugasceff set up his camp outside in the garden of a Russian nobleman,

and on his trees he hung up the eleven officers. His opponent was so

much alarmed that he did not dare to attack him, but lay wait for him

in the trenches, at the mouth of the cannon. Our daring friend was not

quite such a lunatic as to go and meet him. He required greater

success, more decisive battles, and more guns. He started against the

small towns which the Government had built along the Jaik. The

Roskolniks received the pseudo-Czar with wild enthusiasm. They believed

that he had risen from the dead to humiliate the power of the Moscow

priests, and that he intended to adopt, instead of the Court religion,

that which had been persecuted. On the third day 1500 men accompanied

him to battle. The stronghold of Ileczka was the first halting-place he

made. It is situated about seventy versts from Jaiczkoi. He was

welcomed with open gates and with acclamation, and the guard of the

place went over to his side. Here he found guns and powder, and with

these he was able to continue his campaign. Next followed the

stronghold of Kazizna. This did not surrender of its own accord, but

commenced heroically to defend itself, and Pugasceff was compelled to

bombard it. In the heat of the siege the rebel Cossacks shouted out to

those in the fort, and they actually turned their guns upon their own

patrols. All who opposed them were strung up, and the Colonel was taken

a prisoner to Pugasceff, who showed no mercy to any one who wore his

hair long, which was the fashion at the time amongst the Russian

officers, and for this reason the pseudo-Czar hung every officer who

fell into his hands. Now, provided with guns, he made his way towards

the fort of Nisnaja Osfernaja, which he also captured after a short

attack. Those whom he did not kill joined him. Now he led 4,000 men,

and therefore he could dare attack the stronghold of Talitseva, which

was defended by two heroes, Bilof and Jelagin. The Russian authorities

took up a firm position in face of the fanatical rebels, and they would

have repulsed Pugasceff, if the hay stores in the fort had not been

burned down. This fire gave assistance to the rebels. Bilof and Jelagin

were driven out of the fort-gates, and were forced out into the plains,

where they were slaughtered. When the pseudo-Czar captured the fort of

Nisnaja Osfernaja, a marvelously beautiful woman came to him in the

market-place and threw herself at his feet. "Mercy, my master!" The

woman was very lovely, and was quite in the power of the conqueror. Her

tears and excitement made her still more enchanting.

"For whom do you want pardon?"

"For my husband, who is wounded in fighting against you."

"What is the name of your husband?"

"Captain Chalof, who commanded this fort."

A noble-hearted hero no doubt would have set at liberty both husband

and wife, let them be happy, and love one another. A base man would

have hung the husband and kept the wife. Pugasceff killed them both! He

knew very well that there were still many living who remembered that

Czar Peter III. was not a man who found pleasure in women's love, and

he remained true to his adopted character even in its worst extremes.

The rebels appeared to have wings. After the capture of Talicseva

followed that of Csernojecsinszkaja, where the commander took flight on

the approach of the rebel leader, and entrusted the defense of the fort

to Captain Nilsajeff, who surrendered without firing a shot. Pugasceff,

without saying "Thank you," had him hanged. He did not believe in

officers who went over to the enemy. He only kept the common soldiers,

and he had their hair cut short, so that in the event of their escaping

he should know them again! Next morning the last stronghold in the

country, Precsisztenszka, situated in the vicinity of the capital,

Orenburg, surrendered to the rebels, and in the evening the mock Czar

stood before the walls of Orenburg with thirty cannon and a

well-equipped army! All this happened in fifteen days.

Since the moment when he carried off the Cossack who had been sent to

capture him, and met Kocsenikoff, he had occupied six forts, entirely

annihilated a regiment, and created another, with which he now besieged

the capital of the province.

The towns of the Russian Empire are divided by great distances, and

before things were decided at St. Petersburg, Marquis Pugasceff might

almost have occupied half the country. It was Katharine herself who

nicknamed Pugasceff Marquis, and she laughed very heartily and often in

the Court circles about her extraordinary husband, who was preparing to

reconquer his wife, the Czarina. The nuptial bed awaited him--it was

the scaffold!

On the news of Pugasceff's approach, Reinsburg, the Governor of

Orenburg, sent, under the command of Colonel Bilof, a portion of his

troops to attack the rebel. Bilof started on the chase, but he shared

the fate of many lion-hunters. The pursued animal ate him up, and of

his entire force not one man returned to Orenburg. Instead of this,

Pugasceff's forces appeared before its gates.

Reinsburg did not wish to await the bombardment, and he sent his most

trusted regiment, under the command of Major Naumoff, to attack the

rebels. The mock-Czar allowed it to approach the slopes of the

mountains outside Orenburg, and there, with masked guns, he opened such

a disastrous fire upon them that the Russians were compelled to retire

to their fort utterly demoralized. Pugasceff then descended into the

plains and pitched his camp before the town. The two opponents both

began with the idea of tiring each other out by waiting. Pugasceff was

encamped on the snow-fields. The plains of Russia are no longer green

in October, and instead of tents he had huts made of branches of oak.

The one force was attacked by frost--the other by starvation. Finally,

starvation proved the more powerful. Naumoff sallied from the fort, and

turned his attention towards occupying those heights whence his forces

had been fired upon a short time previously. He succeeded in making an

onslaught with his infantry upon the rebel lines, but Pugasceff, all of

a sudden, changed his plan of battle, and attacked with his Cossacks

the cavalry of his opponent, who took to flight. The victory fell from

the grasp of Naumoff, and he was compelled to fly with his cannon,

breaking his way, sword in hand, through the lines of the Cossacks.

Then Pugasceff attacked in his turn. He had forty-eight guns, with

which he commenced a fierce bombardment of the walls, which continued

until November 9th, when he ordered his troops to storm the town. The

onslaught did not succeed, for the Russians bravely defended

themselves. Pugasceff, therefore, had to make up his mind to starve out

his opponents. The broad plains and valleys were white with snow, the

forests sparkled with icicles, as though made of silver, and during the

long nights the cold reflection of the moon alone brightened the

desolate wastes where the audacious dream of a daring man kept awake

the spirits of his men. The dream was this: That he should be the

husband of the Czarina of All the Russias.

Katharine II. was passionately fond of playing tarok, and she

particularly liked that variety of the game which was later on named,

after a celebrated Russian general, "Paskevics," and required four

players. In addition to the Czarina, Princess Daskoff, Prince Orloff,

and General Karr sat at her table. The latter was a distinguished

leader of troops--in petto--and as a tarok-player without equal. He

rose from the table semper victor! No one ever saw him pay, and for

this reason he was a particular favorite with the Czarina. She said if

she could only once succeed in winning a rouble from Karr she would

have a ring welded to it and wear it suspended from her neck. It is

very likely that the mistakes of his opponents aided General Karr's

continual success. The two noble ladies were too much occupied with

Orloff's fine eyes to be able to fix their attention wholly upon the

game, whilst Orloff was so lucky in love that it would have been the

greatest injustice on earth if he had been equally successful at play.

Once, whilst shuffling the cards, some one casually remarked that it

was a scandalous shame that an escaped Cossack like Pugasceff should be

in a position to conquer a fourth of Russia in Europe, to disgrace the

Russian troops time after time, to condemn the finest Russian officers

to a degrading death, and now even to bombard Orenburg like a real

potentate.

"I know the dandy, I know him very well," said Karr. "During the life

of His Majesty I used to play cards with him at Oranienbaum. He is a

stupid youngster. Whenever I called carreau, he used to give coeur."

"It appears that he plays even worse now," said the Czarina; "now he

throws pique after coeur!"

It was the fashion at this time at the Russian Court to throw in every

now and then a French word, and coeur in French means heart, and piquer

means to sting and prick.

"Yes, because our commanders have been inactive. Were I only there!"

"Won't you have the kindness to go there?" asked Orloff mockingly.

"If Her Majesty commands me, I am ready."

"Ah! this tarok-party would suffer a too great loss in you," said

Katharine, jokingly.

"Well, your Majesty might have hunting-parties at Peterhof," he said,

consolingly, to the Czarina.

This was a pleasant suggestion to Katharine, for at Peterhof she had

spent her brightest days, and there she had made the acquaintance of

Orloff. With a smile full of grace, she nodded to General Karr.

"I don't mind, then; but in two weeks you must be back."

"Ah! what is two weeks?" returned Karr; "if your Majesty commands it, I

will seat myself this very hour upon a sledge, and in three days and

nights I shall be in Bugulminszka. On the fourth day I shall arrange my

cards, and on the fifth I shall send word to this dandy that I am the

challenger. On the sixth day I shall give 'Volat' to the rascal, and

the seventh and eighth days I shall have him as Pagato ultimo, bound in

chains, and bring him to your Majesty's feet!" [Footnote: "Volat" is an

expression used in tarok to denote that no tricks have been made by an

opponent. This is another term in the game, when the player announces

beforehand that he will make the last trick with the Ace of Trumps.]

The Czarina burst out laughing at the funny technical expressions used

by the General, and entrusted Orloff to provide the celebrated

Pagato-catching General with every necessity. The matter was taken

seriously, and Orloff promulgated the imperial ukase, according to

which Karr was entrusted with the control of the South Russian troops,

and at the same time he announced to him what forces he would have at

his command. At Bugulminszka was General Freymann with 20,000 infantry,

2,000 cavalry, and thirty-two guns, and he would be reinforced by

Colonel Csernicseff, the Governor of Szinbirszk, who had at his command

15,000 horsemen and twelve guns; while on his way he would meet Colonel

Naumann with two detachments of the Body Guard. He was in particular to

attach the latter to him, for they were the very flower of the army.

Karr left that night. His chief tactics in campaigning consisted in

speediness, but it seems that he studied this point badly, for his

great predecessors, Alexander the Great, Frederick the Great, Hannibal,

etc., also travelled quickly, but in company with an army, whilst Karr

thought it quite sufficient if he went alone. He judged it impossible

to travel faster than he did, sleighing merrily along to Bugulminszka;

but it was possible. A Cossack horseman, who started the same time as

he did from St. Petersburg, arrived thirty-six hours before him,

informed Pugasceff of the coming of General Karr, and acquainted him as

to the position of his troops. Pugasceff despatched about 2,000

Cossacks to fall upon the rear of the General, and prevent his junction

with the Body Guard.

Karr did not consult any one at Bugulminszka. He pushed aside his

colleague Freymann in order to be left alone to settle the affair. He

said it was not a question of fighting but of chasing. He must be

caught alive--this wild animal. Csernicseff was already on the way with

1,200 horsemen and twelve guns, as he had received instructions from

Karr to cross the river Szakmara and prevent Pugasceff from retreating,

while he himself should, with the pick of the regiment, attack him in

front and thus catch him between two fires. Csernicseff thought he had

to do with clever superiors, and as an ordinary divisional leader he

did not dare to think his General to be so ignorant as to allow him to

be attacked by the magnificent force of his opponent, nor did he think

that Pugasceff would possess such want of tactics as, whilst he saw

before him a strong force, to turn with all his troops to annihilate a

small detachment. Both these things happened. Pugasceff quietly allowed

his opponents to cross over the frozen river. Then he rushed upon them

from both sides. He had the ice broken in their rear, and thus

destroyed the entire force, capturing twelve guns. Csernicseff himself,

with thirty-five officers, was taken prisoner, and Pugasceff had them

all hanged on the trees along the roadway. Then, drunk with victory, he

moved with his entire forces against Karr. He, too, was approaching

hurriedly, and, thirty-six miles from Bugulminszka, the two forces met

in a Cossack village. General Karr was quite astonished to find,

instead of an imagined mob, a disciplined army divided into proper

detachments, and provided with guns. Freymann advised him, as he had

sent away the trusted squadron of Csernicseff, not to commence

operations now with the cavalry, to take the village as the basis of

his operations, and to use his infantry against the rebels. A series of

surprises then befell Karr. He saw the despised rowdy crowd approaching

with drawn sabres, he saw the coolness with which they came on in the

face of the fiercest musketry fire. He saw the headlong desperation

with which they rushed upon his secure position. He recognized that he

had found here heroes instead of thieves. But what annoyed him most was

that this rabble knew so well how to handle their cannon; for in St.

Petersburg, out of precaution, Cossacks are not enlisted in the

artillery, in order that no one should teach them how to serve guns.

And here this ignorant people handled the guns, stolen but yesterday,

as though accustomed to them all their lifetime, and their shells had

already set fire to villages in many different places. The General

ordered his entire line to advance with a rush, while with the reserve

he sharply attacked the enemy in flank, totally defeating them. His

cavalry started with drawn swords towards the fire-spurting space.

Amongst the 1,500 horsemen there were only 300 Cossacks, and in the

heat of battle these deserted to the enemy. Immediately General Karr

saw this, he became so alarmed that he set his soldiers the example of

flight. All discipline at an end, they abandoned their comrades in

front, and escaped as best they could.

Pugasceff's Cossacks pursued the Russians for a distance of thirty

miles, but did not succeed in overtaking the General. Fear lent him

wings. Arrived at Bugulminszka, he learned that Csernicseff's horsemen

had been destroyed, that the Body Guard in his own rear had been taken

prisoners, and that twenty-one guns had fallen into the hands of the

rebels. Upon hearing this bad news he was seized with such a bad attack

of the grippe that they wrapped him up in pillows and sent him home by

sledge to St. Petersburg, where the four-handed card-party awaited him,

and that very night he had the misfortune to lose his XXI. [Footnote:

The card next to the highest in tarok.]; upon which the Czarina made

the bon mot that Karr allowed himself twice to lose his XXI. (referring

to twenty-one guns), which bon mot caused great merriment at the

Russian Court.

After this victory, Pugasceff's star (if a demon may be said to possess

one) attained its meridian. Perhaps it might have risen yet higher had

he remained faithful to his gigantic missions, and had he not forgotten

the two passions which had led him on with such astonishing

rapidity--the one being to make the Czarina his wife, the other, to

crush the Russian aristocracy. Which of these two ideas was the

boldest? He was only separated from their realization by a transparent

film.

After Karr's defeat he had an open road to Moscow, where his appearance

was awaited by 100,000 serfs burning to shake off the yoke of the

aristocracy, and form a new Russian empire. Forty million helots

awaited their liberator the rebel leader. Then, of a sudden, he away

from him the common-sense he had possessed until now-for the sake of a

pair of beautiful eyes!

After the victory of Bugulminszka a large number of envoyes from the

leaders of the Baskirs appeared before him, and brought him, together

with their allegiance, a pretty girl to be his wife.

The name of the maiden was Ulijanka, and she stole the heart of

Pugasceff from the Czarina. At that time the adventurer believed so

fully in his star that he did not behave with his usual severity.

Ulijanka became his favorite, and the adventurous chief appointed

Salavatke, her father, to be the ruling Prince of Baskirk. Then he

commenced to surround himself with Counts and Princes. Out of the booty

of plundered castles he clothed himself in magnificent Court costumes,

and loaded his companions with decorations taken from the heroic

Russian officers. He nominated them Generals, Colonels, Counts, and

Princes. The Cossack, Csika, his first soldier, was appointed

Generalissimus, and to him he entrusted half his army. He also issued

roubles with his portrait under the name of Czar Peter III., and sent

out a circular note with the words, "Redevivus et ultor." As he had no

silver mines, he struck the roubles out of copper, of which there was

plenty about. This good example was also followed by the Russians, who

issued roubles to the amount of millions and millions, and made

payments with them generously. Pugasceff now turned the romance of the

insurrection into the parody of a reign. Instead of advancing against

the unprotected cities of the Russian Empire, he attacked the defended

strongholds, and, in the place of pursuing the fairy picture of his

dreams which had led him thus far, he laid himself down in the mud by

the side of a common woman!

Generalissimus Csika was instructed to occupy the Fort Ufa, with the

troops who were entrusted to his care. The time was January, 1774, and

it was so terribly cold that nothing like it had been recorded in

Russian chronicles. The trees of the forest split with a noise as

though a battle were proceeding, and the wild fowl fell to the ground

along the roads.

To carry on a siege under such circumstances was impossible. The

hardened earth would not permit the digging of trenches, and it was

impossible to camp on the frozen ground.

The two rebel chiefs occupied the neighboring towns, and so cut off all

supplies from the neighboring forests. In Orenburg they had already

eaten up the horses belonging to the garrison, and a certain Kicskoff,

the commissary, invented the idea of boiling the skins of the

slaughtered animals, cutting them into small slices and mixing them

with paste, which food was distributed amongst the soldiers, and gave

rise to the breaking out of a scorbutic disease in the fort which

rendered half the garrison incapable of work. On January the 13th,

Colonel Vallenstierna tried to break his way through the rebel lines

with 2,500 men, but he returned with hardly seventy. The remainder,

about 2,000 men, remained on the field. At any rate, they no longer

asked for food! A few hundred hussars, however, cut their way through

and carried to St. Petersburg the news of what Czar Peter III. (who had

now risen for the seventh time from his grave) was doing! The Czarina

commenced to get tired of her adorer's conquests, so she called

together her faithful generals, and asked which of them thought it

possible to undertake a campaign in the depth of the Russian winter

into the interior of the Russian snow deserts. This did not mean

playing at war, nor a triumphal procession. It meant a battle with a

furious people who, in forty years' time, would trample upon the most

powerful European troops. There were four who replied that in Russia

everything was possible which ought to be done. The names of these four

gentlemen were: Prince Galiczin, General Bibikoff, Colonel Larionoff,

and Michelson, a Swedish officer. Their number, however, was soon

reduced to two at the very commencement. Larionoff returned home after

the first battle of Bozal, where the rebels proved victorious, whilst

Bibikoff died from the hardships of the winter campaign.

Galiczin and Michelson alone remained. The Swede had already gained

fame in the Turkish campaign from his swift and daring deeds, and when

he started from the Fort of Bozal against the rebels his sole troops

consisted of 400 hussars and 600 infantry, with four guns. With this

small force he started to the relief of the Fort of Ufa. Quickly as he

proceeded, Csika's spies were quicker still, and the rebel leader was

informed of the approach of the small body of the enemy. As he expected

that they only intended to reinforce the garrison of Ufa, he merely

sent against them 3,000 men, with nine guns, to occupy the mountain

passes through which they would march on their way to Ufa. But

Michelson did not go to Ufa as was expected. He seated his men on

sledges, and flew along the plains to Csika's splendid camp. So

unexpected, so daring, so little to be credited, was this move of his,

that when he fell on Csika's vanguard at one o'clock one morning nobody

opposed him. The alarmed rebels hurried headlong to the camp, and left

two guns in the hands of Michelson. The Swedish hero knew well enough

that the 3,000 men of the enemy who occupied the mountain pass would at

once appear in answer to the sound of the guns, and that he would thus

be caught between two fires; so he hastily directed his men to entrench

themselves beneath their sledges in the road, and left two hundred

infantry with two guns to defend them, whilst with the remaining troops

he made his way towards the town of Csernakuka, whither Csika's troops

had fled. Michelson saw that he had no time to lose. He placed himself

at the head of his hussars, sounded the charge, and attacked the bulk

of his opponents. For this they were not prepared. The bold attack

caused confusion amongst them, and in a few moments the centre of the

camp was cut through, and the first battery captured. He then

immediately turned his attention to the two wings of the camp. After

this, flight became general, and Csika's troops were dispersed like a

cloud of mosquitos, leaving behind them forty-eight cannon and eight

small guns. The victor now returned with his small body of troops to

the sledges they had left behind, and he then entirely surrounded the

3,000 rebels. Those who were not slaughtered were captured. The

victorious hero sent word to the commander of the Ufa garrison that the

road was clear, and that the cannon taken from his opponents should be

drawn thither. A hundred and twenty versts from Ufa he reached the

flying Csika. The Generalissimus then had only forty-two officers,

whilst his privates had disappeared in every direction of the wind.

Michelson got hold of them all, and if he did not hang them it was only

because on the six days' desert march not a single tree was to be

found. In the meantime, Prince Galiczin, whose troops consisted of

6,000 men, went in pursuit of Pugasceff. On this miserable route he did

not encounter the mock Czar until the beginning of March. Pugasceff

waited for his opponent in the forest of Taticseva. This so-called

stronghold had only wooden walls, a kind of ancient fencing. It was

good enough to protect the sheep from the pillaging Baskirs, but it was

not suitable for war. The genius of the rebel leader did not desert

him, and he was well able to look after himself. Round the fences he

dug trenches, where he piled up the snow, on which he poured water.

This, after being frozen, turned almost into stone, and was, at the

same time, so slippery that no one could climb over it. Here he awaited

Galiczin with a portion of his troops, while the remainder occupied

Orenburg. The Russian general approached the hiding-place of the mock

Czar cautiously. The thick fog was of service to him, and the two

opponents only perceived one another when they were standing at firing

distance. A furious hand-to-hand fight ensued. The best of the rebel

troops were there. Pugasceff was always in the front and where the

danger was greatest, but finally the Russians climbed the ice-bulwarks,

captured his guns, and drove him out of the forest. This victory cost

the life of 1,000 heroic Russians, but it was a complete one! Pugasceff

abandoned the field with 4,000 men and seven guns; but what was a

greater loss still than his army and his guns, was that of the

superstitious glamour which had surrounded him until now. The belief in

his incapability of defeat, that was lost too! The revengeful Czar, who

had but yesterday commenced his campaign, now had to fly to the desert,

which promised him no refuge. It was only then that the real horrors of

the campaign commenced. It was a war such as can be imagined in Russia

only, where in the thousands and thousands of square miles of

borderless desert scantily distributed hordes wander about, all hating

Russian supremacy, and all born gun in hand. Pugasceff took refuge

amongst these people. Once again he turned on Galiczin at Kargozki. He

was again defeated, and lost his last gun. His sweetheart, Ulijanka,

was also taken captive--that is, if she did not betray him! From here

he escaped precipitately with his cavalry across the river Mjaes.

Here Siberia commences, and here Russia has no longer villages, but

only military settlements which are divided from each other by a day's

march, across plains and the ancient forests, along the ranges of the

Ural Mountains--the so-called factories.

The Woszkrezenszki factory, situated one day's walk into the desert, is

divided by uncut forests from the Szimszki factory, in both of which

cinnamon and tin paints are made, and here are to be seen the powder

factory of Usiska and the bomb factory of Szatkin, where the exiled

Russian convicts work. At the meeting of the rivers are the small towns

of Stepnaja, Troiczka Uszt, Magitnaja, Petroluskaja, Kojelga, guarded

by native Cossacks, whilst others are garrisoned by disgraced

battalions. Hither came Pugasceff with the remnants of his army.

Galiczin pursued him for some time, but finally came to the conclusion

that in this uninhabited country, where the solitary road is only

indicated by snow-covered trenches, he could not, with his regular

troops, reach an opponent whose tactics were to run away as far and as

fast as possible.

Pugasceff rallied to him all the tribes along the Ural district, who

deserted their homesteads and followed him.

The winter suddenly disappeared, and those mild, short April days

commenced which one can only realize in Siberia, when at night the

water freezes, while in the daytime the melting snow covers the expanse

of waste, every mountain stream becomes a torrent, and the traveler

finds in the place of every brook a vast sea. The runaway might still

proceed by sledge, but the pursuer would only find before him

fathomless morasses. Only one leader had the courage to pursue

Pugasceff even into this land--this was Michelson. Just as the Siberian

wolf who has tasted the blood of the wild boar does not swerve from the

track, but pursues him even amongst reeds and morasses, so the daring

leader chased his opponent from plain to plain. He never had more than

1,000 men, cavalry, artillery, and gunners, all told. Every one had to

carry provisions for two weeks and 100 cartridges. The cavalry had guns

as well as sabres, so that they might also fight on foot, and the

artillery were supplied with axes, so that, if necessary, they might

serve as carpenters, and all prepared to swim should the necessity

arise. With this small force Michelson followed Pugasceff amid the

horde of insurrectionary tribes, surrounded on every side by people

upon whose mercy he could not count, whose language he did not

understand, and whose motto was death. Yet he went amongst them in cold

blood, as the sailor braves the terrors of the ocean. On the 7th of May

he was attacked by the father of the pretty Ulijanka, near the Szimszki

factory, with 2,000 Baskirs, who were about to join Pugasceff.

Michelson dispersed them, captured their guns, and discovered from the

Baskir captives that Beloborodoff, one of the dukes created by

Pugasceff, was approaching with a large force of renegade Russian

soldiers. Michelson caught up with them near the Jeresen stream, and

drove them into the Szatkin factory. Riding all by himself, so close to

them that his voice could be heard, he commenced by admonishing them to

rejoin the standard of the Czarina. He was fired at more than 2,000

times from the windows of the factory, but when they saw that he was

invulnerable they suddenly threw open the gates and joined his forces.

From them he discovered the whereabouts of the mock Czar, who had at

the time once more recovered himself, had captured three strongholds,

Magitnaja, Stepnaja, and Petroluskaja, and was just then besieging

Troiczka. This place he took before the arrival of Michelson, who found

in lieu of a stronghold nothing but ruins, dead bodies, and Russian

officers hanging from the trees. Pugasceff heard of the approach of his

opponent, and, with savage cunning, laid a snare to capture the daring

pursuer. He dressed his soldiers in the uniform of the dead Russian

soldiers, and sent messengers to Michelson in the name of Colonel Colon

that he should join him beyond Varlamora. Michelson only perceived the

trick when his vanguard was attacked and two of his guns captured.

Although surrounded, he immediately fell upon the flower of Pugasceff's

guard, and cut his way through just where the enemy was strongest. The

net was torn asunder. It was not strong enough. Pugasceff fled before

Michelson, and, with a few hundred followers, escaped into the interior

of Siberia, near the lake of Arga. All of a sudden Michelson found

Szalavatka at his rear with Baskir troops who had already captured the

Szatkin factory, and put to the sword men, women, and children.

Michelson turned back suddenly, and found the Baskir camp strongly

intrenched near the river Aj. The enemy had destroyed the bridges over

the river, and confidently awaited the Imperial troops. At daybreak

Michelson ordered up forty horsemen and placed a rifleman behind the

saddle of each, telling them to swim the river and defend themselves

until the remainder of the troops joined them. His commands were

carried out to the letter, amidst the most furious firing of the enemy,

and the Russians gained the other side of the river without a bridge,

drawing with them their cannon bound to trees. The Baskirs were

dispersed and fled, but whilst Michelson was pursuing them with his

cavalry, he received news that his artillery was attacked by a fresh

force, and he had to return to their aid. Pugasceff himself, who again

was the aggressor, stood with a regular army on the plains. The battle

lasted till late at night in the forest. Finally the rebels retreated,

and Michelson discovered that his opponents meant to take by surprise

the Fort of Ufa. He speedily cut his way through the forest, and when

Pugasceff thought himself a day's distance from his opponent, he found

him face to face outside the Fort of Ufa. Michelson proved again

victorious, but by this time his soldiers had not a decent piece of

clothing left, nor a wearable shoe, and each man had not more than two

charges. He therefore had to retreat to Ufa for fresh ammunition. It

appears that Michelson was just such a dreaded opponent to Pugasceff as

the man not born of a woman was to Macbeth. Immediately he disappeared

from the horizon, he arose anew, and at each encounter with the

pretender beat him right and left. When Michelson drove him away from

Ufa, Pugasceff totally defeated the Russian leaders approaching from

other directions, London, Melgunoff, Duve, and Jacubovics were swept

away before him, and he burned before their very eyes the town of

Birszk. With drawn sword he occupied the stronghold of Ossa, where he

acquired guns, and, advancing with lightning rapidity, he stood before

Kazan, which is one of the most noted towns of the province; it is the

seat of an Archbishop, and there is kept the crown which the Russian

Czars use at their coronation. This crown was required by the mock

Czar. If he could get hold of it, and the Archbishop of Kazan would

place it on his head, who could deny that he was the anointed Czar?

Generals Brand and Banner had but 1,500 musketry for the defense of

Kazan, but the citizens of the town took also to the guns to defend

themselves from within their ancient walls. The day before the

bombardment, General Potemkin, accompanied by General Larionoff,

arrived at Kazan. The Imperialists had as many generals and colonels in

their camp as Pugasceff had corporals who had deserted their colors,

yet the horde led by the rebel stormed the stronghold of the generals.

Pugasceff was the first to scale the wall, standard in hand, upon which

the generals took refuge in the citadel. Larionoff fled, and on his

flight to Nijni Novgorod did not once look back.

Pugasceff captured the town of Kazan, and gave it up to pillage. The

Archbishop of Kazan received him before the cathedral, bestowed upon

him gold to the value of half a million roubles, and promised that he

would place the crown on his head immediately he procured it; it being

in the citadel. Pugasceff set fire to the town in all directions, as he

wanted to effect the surrender of the citadel garrison by that means.

Just at this moment Michelson was on his way. The heroic General hardly

allowed his troops time for rest, but again started in pursuit of

Pugasceff. No news of him was heard, his footsteps alone could be

traced. At Burnova he was attacked by a gang of rebels, whom he

dispersed, but they were not the troops of Pugasceff. At Brajevana he

came upon a detachment, but this also was not the one he was looking

for. He then turned towards the Fort of Ossa, where he found a group of

Baskir horsemen, whom he dispersed, capturing many others, from whom he

learned that Pugasceff had crossed the river Kuma; and he knew that he

would find the rebel at Kazan. He hastened after him, meeting right and

left with camps and troops belonging to his adventurous opponent. He

found no boats on the river Kuma, so he swam it. Two other rivers lay

in his way, but neither of these prevented his progress, and when he

arrived at Arksz he heard firing in the direction of Kazan. Allowing

but one hour's repose to his troops, he marched through the night, and

at daybreak the thick dark smoke on the horizon told him that Kazan was

in flames. Pugasceff's patrols communicated to their leader that

Michelson was again at hand. The mock Czar cursed upon hearing the

news. Was it a devil who was again at his heels, when he believed him

300 miles off? He decided that this must not be known to the garrison,

who had been forced into the citadel. He collected from his troops

those whom he could spare, and stationed them in the town of Taziczin,

seven miles from Kazan, to prevent the advance of the dreaded enemy.

Just as he was proclaiming himself Czar Peter III. in the market-place

of Taziczin, a miserable-looking woman rushed in, and fell at his feet,

embracing him, and covering him with kisses. This woman was Pugasceff's

wife, who thought her husband lost long ago. They had been married very

young, and Pugasceff himself believed her no longer living, but the

poor woman recognized him by his voice. Pugasceff did not lose his

presence of mind, but, gently lifting the woman up, he said to his

officers: "Look after this woman; her husband was a great friend of

mine and I owe him much." But every one knew that the sham Czar was no

other than the husband of Marianka, and no doubt the appearance of the

peasant woman told on the spirits of the insurgent troops. The most

bitter and decisive battle of the insurrection awaited them. The night

divided the two armies, and it was only in the morning that Michelson

could force his way into the town, whence he sent word to the people of

Kazan to come to his assistance. Pugasceff again attacked him with

embittered fury, and as he could not dislodge him he withdrew the

remainder of his troops from Kazan and encamped on the plain. The third

day of the battle, fortune turned to the side of Pugasceff. They fought

for four hours, and Michelson was already surrounded, when the hero put

himself at the head of his small army and made a desperate rush upon

Pugasceff.

The insurrectionary forces were broken asunder. They left 3,000 men on

the battlefield, and 5,000 captives fell into the hands of the victors.

Kazan was free, but the Russian Empire was not so yet.

Pugasceff, trodden a hundred times to the ground, rose once more. After

his defeat at Kazan, he fled, not towards the interior of Siberia, but

straight towards the heart of the Russian Empire--towards Moscow. Out

of his army which was split asunder at Kazan he formed 100 battalions,

and with a small number of these crossed the Volga. Immediately he

appeared on the opposite banks of the river, and the entire province

was enkindled: the peasantry rose in revolt against the aristocracy.

Within a district of 100 miles every castle was destroyed, and one town

after the other opened its gates to the mock Czar. The further he

advanced the more his army increased and the faster his insurrectionary

red flag travelled towards the gates of Moscow. On their way the rebels

occupied forts, pillaged and destroyed the towns, and the troops which

were sent against them were captured. Before the Fort of Zariczin an

Imperial force challenged their advance. In the ensuing battle, every

Russian officer fell, and the entire force was captured. Again

Pugasceff had 25.000 men and a large number of guns, and his road would

have been clear to Moscow if the ubiquitous Michelson had not been at

his back! This wonderful hero did not dread his opponents, however

numerous, and like the panther which drives before him the herd of

buffaloes, so he drove with his small body Pugasceff's tremendous army.

The rebel felt that this man had a magic power over him, and that he

was in league with fate. Finally, he found a convenient place outside

Sarepta, and here he awaited his opponent. It is a height which a steep

mountain footpath divides, and this path is intersected by another.

Pugasceff placed a portion of his best troops on the ascending path,

whilst to the riff-raff he entrusted his two wings. If Michelson had

caught the bull by the horns with his ordinary tactics he ought to have

cut through the little footpath leading to the steep road, and if he

had succeeded then, the troops which were at the point of intersection

would have fallen between two fires, from which they could not have

escaped. But Michelson changed his system of attack. Whilst the

bombardment was going on, he, together with Colonel Melin, rushed upon

the wings of the opposing forces. Pugasceff saw himself fall into the

pit he had dug for others. The rebel army, terror-struck, rushed

towards his camp. The forces that flew to his rescue fell at the mouth

of his guns, and he had to cut his way through his own troops in order

to escape from the trap. This was his last battle. He escaped with

sixty men, crossed the Volga, and hid amongst the bushes of an

uninhabited plain.

The Russian troops surrounded the plain whence Pugasceff and his men

could not escape. And yet he still dreamt of future glory! Amidst the

great desert his old ambition came back to him--he pictured the golden

dome of the Kremlin, and the conquered Czarina. And with these dreams

he suffered the tortures of hunger. For days and days he had no

nourishment but horseflesh roasted on the reeds, which was made

palatable by meadow-grass in place of salt. One night, as he was

sitting over the fire and roasting his meagre dinner on a wooden spit,

one of the three Cossacks who formed his body-guard said to him, "You

have played your comedy long enough, Pugasceff!" The adventurer sprang

up from his place.

"Slave, I am your Czar!" and whilst saying this he slew the speaker.

The two others made a rush at him, struck him to the ground, bound him,

tied him to a horse, and thus took him to Ural Sorodok and delivered

him to General Szuvarof. It was the very same Ural Sorodok whence he

had started upon his bold undertaking. From here he was taken to

Moscow. The sentence passed upon him was that he should be cut up alive

into small pieces. The Czarina confirmed the sentence, though her

beautiful eyes had had great share of responsibility for the sinner's

fate. The hangman was more merciful. It was not specified in the

sentence where he should commence the work of slaughter, so he began at

once with his head, and for this oversight he was sent to Siberia!

Katharine about this time changed her favorite. Instead of Orloff,

Potemkin, a fine fellow, was chosen.

End of Project Gutenberg's Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, by Various

In a wooden hut at the end of the village, another band found a peasant