"Well, now," said McShane, after he had been informed by O'Donahue of
what had passed between him and the countess,--"this is all very pretty,
and looks very well; but tell me, are we to trust that fellow Dimitri?
Can we do without him? I should say not when it comes to the finale;
and is it not dangerous to keep him out of our confidence, being such a
sharp, keen-witted fellow? Nay, more, as he has stated his wish to
serve you in any way, it is only treating him fairly. He knows the
little dwarf who has been here so often; indeed, they were
fellow-servants in the Czartorinski family, for he told me so. I would
trust him."
"I think so, too; but we must not tell him all."
"No, that we certainly need not, for he will find it out without
telling."
"Well, McShane, do as you please; but on second thoughts, I will speak
to the countess to-morrow."
O'Donahue did so, the countess called upon the princess at the palace,
and the next morning O'Donahue received a note stating that Dimitri was
to be trusted. O'Donahue then sent for the courier, and told him that
he was about to put confidence in him on a promise of his fidelity.
"I understand you, sir, and all you intend to do; there is no occasion
to say anything more to me, until you want my assistance. I will not,
in the meantime, neglect your interest, for I hope to remain with you,
and that is the only reward I ask for any services I may perform. I
have only one remark to make now, which is, that it will be necessary, a
few days before you leave Petersburg, to let me know, that I may
advertise it."
"Advertise it!"
"Yes, sir, you must advertise your departure, that you may not run away
in debt. Such is the custom; and without three notices being put in the
_Gazette_, the police will not give you your passport."
"I am glad that you mentioned it. Of course you are aware that I am
paying attention to the Countess Erhausen, and shall leave Petersburg
with her, I trust, as my wife?"
"I understand sir, and shall take care that your intimacy there shall be
known to everybody."
So saying, Dimitri left the room.
The winter now set in with unusual severity. The river was one mass of
ice, the floating bridges had been removed, the Montagnes-Russes became
the amusement of the day, and the sledges were galloping about in every
direction. For more than a month O'Donahue continued his pretended
addresses to the fair cousin of the princess, and during that time he
did not once see the real object of his attachment: indeed, the dwarf
never made his appearance, and all communication, except an occasional
note from her to the countess, was, from prudence, given up. The widow
was rich, and had often been pressed to renew her bonds, but had
preferred her liberty. O'Donahue, therefore, was looked upon as a
fortunate man, and congratulated upon his success. Nor did the widow
deny the projected union, except in a manner so as to induce people to
believe in the certainty of its being arranged. O'Donahue's equipage
was always at her door, and it was expected that the marriage would
immediately take place, when O'Donahue attended a levee given by the
emperor on the Feast of Saint Nicholas. The emperor, who had been very
civil to O'Donahue, as he walked past him, said, "Well, Captain
O'Donahue, so I understand that you intend to run away with one of our
fairest and prettiest ladies--one of the greatest ornaments of my
court?"
"I trust that I have your Majesty's permission so to do," replied
O'Donahue, bowing low.
"Oh, certainly you have; and, moreover, our best wishes for your
happiness."
"I humbly thank your Majesty," replied O'Donahue; "still I trust your
Majesty does not think that I wish to transplant her to my own country
altogether, and that I shall be permitted to reside, for the major part
of the year, in your Majesty's dominions."
"Nothing will give me greater pleasure; and it will be a satisfaction to
feel that I shall gain instead of losing by the intended marriage."
"By the powers! but I will remind him of this, some day or another,"
thought O'Donahue. "Haven't I his permission to the marriage, and to
remain in the country?"
Everything was now ripe for the execution of the plot. The countess
gave out that she was going to her country-seat, about ten miles from
Saint Petersburg; and it was naturally supposed that she was desirous
that the marriage should be private, and that she intended to retire
there to have the ceremony performed; and O'Donahue advertised his
departure in the _Gazette_.
The Princess Czartorinski produced a letter from the countess,
requesting her, as a favour, to obtain leave from the empress to pass
two or three days with her in the country; and the empress, as the
countess was first-cousin to the princess, did not withhold her consent;
on the contrary, when the princess left the palace, she put a case of
jewels in her hand, saying, "These are for the bride, with the good
wishes and protection of the empress, as long as she remains in this
country." One hour afterwards O'Donahue was rewarded for all his long
forbearance by clasping his fair one in his arms. A priest had been
provided, and was sent forward to the country chateau, and at ten in the
morning all the parties were ready. The princess and her cousin set off
in the carriage, followed by O'Donahue, with McShane and his suite.
Everything was _en regle_. The passports had been made out for Germany,
to which country it was reported the countess would proceed a few days
after the marriage, and the princess was to return to the palace. As
soon as they arrived at the chateau the ceremony was performed, and
O'Donahue obtained his prize; and to guard against any mishap, it was
decided that they should leave the next morning, on their way to the
frontier. Dimitri had been of the greatest use, had prepared against
every difficulty, and had fully proved his fidelity. The parting
between the countess and her cousin was tender. "How much do I owe,
dear friend!" said the princess. "What risk do you incur for me! How
will you brave the anger of the emperor?"
"I care little for his anger. I am a woman, and not a subject of his;
but, before you go, you must both write a letter--your husband to the
emperor, reminding him of his having given his consent to the marriage,
and his wish that he should remain in his dominions; and let him add his
sincere wish, if permitted, to be employed in his Majesty's service.
You, my dear cousin, must write to the empress, reminding her of her
promise of protection, and soliciting her good offices with the emperor.
I shall play my own game; but, depend upon it, it will all end in a
laugh."
O'Donahue and his wife both wrote their letters, and O'Donahue also
wrote one to the English ambassador, informing him of what had taken
place, and requesting his kind offices. As soon as they were finished,
the countess bade them farewell, saying, "I shall not send these letters
until you are well out of reach, depend upon it;" and, with many thanks
for her kindness, O'Donahue and his bride bade her adieu, and set off on
their long journey.
The carriage procured for their journey was what is called a German
_batarde_, which is very similar to an English chariot with coach-box,
fixed upon a sleigh. Inside were O'Donahue and his young bride, McShane
preferring to ride outside on the box with Joey, that he might not be in
the way, as a third person invariably is, with a newly married couple.
The snow was many feet deep on the ground; but the air was dry, and the
sun shone bright. The bride was handed in, enveloped in a rich mantle
of sable; O'Donahue followed, equally protected against the cold; while
McShane and Joey fixed themselves on the box, so covered up in robes of
wolf-skins, and wrappers of bear-skins for their feet, that you could
see but the tips of their noses. On the front of the sleigh, below the
box of the carriage, were seated the driver and the courier; four fiery
young horses were pawing with impatience; the signal was given, and off
they went at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.
"Where's the guns, Joey, and the pistols, and the ammunition?" inquired
McShane; "we're going through a wild sort of country, I expect."
"I have put them in myself, and I can lay my hands on them immediately,
sir," replied Joey; "the guns are behind us, and your pistols and the
ammunition are at my feet; the captain's are in the carriage."
"That's all right, then; I like to know where to lay my hands upon my
tools. Just have the goodness to look at my nose now and then, Joey;
and if you see a white spot on the tip of it, you'll be pleased to tell
me, and I'll do the same for you. Mrs McShane would be anything but
pleased if I came home with only half a handle to my face."
The journey was continued at the same rapid pace until the close of the
day, when they arrived at the post-house; there they stopped, McShane
and Joey, with the assistance of the courier, preparing their supper
from the stores which they brought with them. After supper they
retired, O'Donahue and his wife sleeping in the carriage, which was
arranged so as to form a bed if required; while McShane and Joey made it
out how they could upon the cloaks and what little straw they could
procure, on the floor of the post-house, where, as McShane said the next
morning, they "had more bed-fellows than were agreeable, although he
contrived to get a few hours' sleep in spite of the jumping vagabonds."
When they rose the next morning, they found that the snow had just begun
to fall fast. As soon as they had breakfasted they set out,
nevertheless, and proceeded at the same pace. McShane telling Joey, who
was, as well as himself, almost embedded in it before the day was half
over, that it was "better than rain, at all events;" to be sure that was
cold comfort, but any comfort is better than none. O'Donahue's request
for McShane to come inside was disregarded; he was as tough as little
Joey, at all events, and it would be a pity to interrupt the
conversation. About four o'clock they had changed their horses at a
small village, and were about three miles on their last stage, for that
day's journey, when they passed through a pine-forest.
"There's a nice place for an ambuscade, Joey, if there were any robbers
about here," observed McShane. "Murder and Irish! what's those chaps
running among the trees so fast, and keeping pace with us? I say,
Dimitri," continued McShane, pointing to them, "what are those?"
The courier looked in the direction pointed out, and as soon as he had
done so, spoke to the driver, who, casting his eyes hastily in the
direction, applied the lash to his horses, and set off with double
speed.
"Wolves, sir," replied the courier, who then pulled out his pistols, and
commenced loading them.
"Wolves!" said McShane, "and hungry enough, I'll warrant; but they don't
hope to make a meal of us, do they? At all events we will give them a
little fight for it. Come, Joey, I see that Dimitri don't like it, so
we must shake off the snow, and get our ammunition ready."
This was soon done; the guns were unstrapped from the back of the
coach-box, the pistols got from beneath their feet, and all were soon
ready, loaded and primed.
"It's lucky there's such a mist on the windows of the carriage, that the
lady can't see what we're after, or she'd be frightened, perhaps," said
Joey.
The rapid pace at which the driver had put his horses had for a time
left the wolves in the rear; but now they were seen following the
carriage at about a quarter of a mile distant, having quitted the forest
and taken to the road.
"Here they come, the devils! one, two, three--there are seven of them.
I suppose this is what they call a covey in these parts. Were you ever
wolf-hunting before, Joey?"
"I don't call this wolf-hunting," replied Joey; "I think the wolves are
hunting us."
"It's all the same, my little poacher--it's a hunt, at all events. They
are gaining on us fast; we shall soon come to an explanation."
The courier now climbed up to the coach-box to reconnoitre, and he shook
his head, telling them in very plain English that he did not like it;
that he had heard that the wolves were out in consequence of the extreme
severity of the weather, and that he feared that these seven were only
the advance of a whole pack; that they had many versts to go, for the
stage was a long one, and it would be dark before they were at the end
of it.
"Have you ever been chased by them before?" said Joey.
"Yes," replied the courier, "more than once; it's the horses that they
are so anxious to get hold of. Three of our horses are very good, but
the fourth is not very well, the driver says, and he is fearful that he
will not hold out; however, we must keep them off as long as we can; we
must not shoot at them till the last moment."
"Why not?" inquired McShane.
"Because the whole pack would scent the blood at miles, and redouble
their efforts to come up with us. There is an empty bottle by you, sir;
throw it on the road behind the carriage; that will stop them for a
time."
"An empty bottle stop them! well, that's queer: it may stop a man
drinking, because he can get no mote out of it. However, as you please,
gentlemen; here's to drink my health, bad manners to you," said McShane,
throwing the bottle over the carriage.
The courier was right: at the sight of the bottle in the road, the
wolves, who are of a most suspicious nature, and think that there is a
trap laid for them in everything, stopped short, and gathered round it
cautiously; the carriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the animals
were nearly out of sight.
"Well, that bothers me entirely," said McShane; "an empty bottle is as
good to them as a charged gun."
"But look, sir, they are coming on again," said Joey, "and faster than
ever. I suppose they were satisfied that there was nothing in it."
The courier mounted again to the box where Joey and McShane were
standing. "I think you had a ball of twine," said he to Joey, "when you
were tying down the baskets; where is it?"
"It is here under the cushion," replied Joey, searching for the twine
and producing it.
"What shall we find to tie to it?" said the courier; "something not too
heavy--a bottle won't do."
"What's it for?" inquired McShane.
"To trail, sir," replied the courier.
"To trail! I think they're fast enough upon our trail already; but if
you want to help them, a red herring's the thing."
"No, sir, a piece of red cloth would do better," replied the courier.
"Red cloth! One would think you were fishing for mackerel," replied
McShane.
"Will this piece of black cloth do, which was round the lock of the
gun?" said Joey.
"Yes, I think it will," replied the courier.
The courier made fast the cloth to the end of the twine, and throwing it
clear of the carriage, let the ball run out, until he had little more
than the bare end in his hand, and the cloth was about forty yards
behind the carriage, dragging over the snow.
"They will not pass the cloth, sir," said the courier; "they think that
it's a trap."
Sure enough the wolves, which had been gaining fast on the carriage, now
retreated again; and although they continued the pursuit, it was at a
great distance.
"We have an hour and a half more to go before we arrive, and it will be
dark, I'm afraid," said the courier; "all depends upon the horse holding
out; I'm sure the pack is not far behind."
"And how many are there in a pack?" inquired McShane.