[Sidenote: 1881.]
They were talking about the Nihilists, and being exiled to Siberia.
Some of the children had been at the theatre two years ago, and had
seen the Exiles of Siberia, with white paper snow, and real oxen to
draw the sledge.
Bertha asked, with a shudder, whether anybody ever came back to tell
the story.
“Why, Bertha, Uncle Fritz himself built a telegraph across the Lake of
Baikal.”
Then they all looked at Uncle Fritz. But he would not go into any
detail of his Siberian adventures. It is a subject on which he is
always shy. But the boys got out “The Ingham Papers,” and began looking
for “Nofpo Ston” on the map.
“If you will go to the fountain of all knowledge,” said Will Withers,
“that is, to Robinson Crusoe, you will have a good travelling knowledge
of Siberia.”
“Siberia!” cried Alice. “It is not a year since you all said that
Robinson Crusoe lived in the Oronooko.[27] I was disgraced. I thought
he lived in Juan Fernandez before. And now I am told that he raised
his melons under the shade of an avalanche, and that the savages were
clothed in bear-skins, and skated across to his island. I am in
despair.”
“My dear Alice,” said Will, who is very fond of her, “if he had never
come back from the ‘great river Oronooko,’ we should never have known
anything about him.”
“All the same,” the girl persisted, “he came home to England. The fact
of his coming home does not prove that the book told about Siberia. Now
see here,--here is dear Uncle Fritz’s table copy.”
As has been said already, Robinson Crusoe is one of seven books always
at Uncle Fritz’s side. Sure enough, there was not a word about Siberia
on the titlepage.
But Will was not to be defeated. “Why do you read me the titlepage to
the first volume?” he said. Then he turned to the title of the second
volume, “The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.”
“You see he went to Nanquin, where your famous Capt. Cleveland could
not go. A Chinese exclusiveness had not been settled on then. He went
to the great city of Peking, and here he sold opium, among other
things.”
“Just as he had sold slaves before,” said Alice, and she pretended to
shudder. “A famous hero, indeed!”
“My dear Alice, it was the error of his time. That is what you must
always say.” And the boy rapidly turned the pages. “See! ‘Robinson
joins a caravan proceeding to Moscow,’ and here, ‘I could not but
discover an infinite satisfaction that I was so soon arrived in a
Christian country.’”
“But here,” persisted Alice, “they are burning an idol.”
“I cannot help that,” said poor Will, who was no match for her in
changing his ground and hopping from point to point. “All the same,
it was Siberia”; and as he turned he read in triumph, “I came to
Tobolski, the capital city of Siberia, where I continued some time.”
“I should think he would,” said Uncle Fritz. “There is a very decent
hotel there now. I stayed there a good while. I saw the annual
gathering of the convicts before they were scattered to the villages.
Tobolsk is the place where they meet.”
“Uncle Fritz, you should write your travels in Siberia. If no one has
been there since poor Robinson Crusoe, and nobody but Will Withers
knows that, you should make a book.”
The old gentleman smiled grimly. But he said that plenty of people had
gone to Kamchatka and to Siberia also. And he sent Alice for Peter
Dobell’s travels. “That’s a very good book, and you may read me to
sleep by hunting up my marks in it. I read that book as I was floating
down the Obi River on a timber raft.”
“I had a great deal rather read your book, Uncle Fritz,” said the girl,
with admiration.
“For that, my dear child, you must wait till it is written.” So Alice
began:--