The monks came from the North of the Empire. Three months before they

had left the town of Archangel. They had visited the sacred islands near

the coast of Carelia, the convent of Solovetsk, the convent of Troitsa,

those of Saint Antony and Saint Theodosia, at Kiev, that of Kazan, as

well as the church of the Old Believers, and they were now on their way

to Irkutsk, wearing the robe, the cowl, and the clothes of serge.

As to the papa, or priest, he was a plain village pastor, one of the six

hundred thousand popular pastors which the Russian Empire contains. He

was clothed as miserably as the moujiks, not being above them in social

position; in fact, laboring like a peasant on his plot of ground;

baptising, marrying, burying. He had been able to protect his wife and

children from the brutality of the Tartars by sending them away into the

Northern provinces. He himself had stayed in his parish up to the last

moment; then he was obliged to fly, and, the Irkutsk road being stopped,

had come to Lake Baikal.

These priests, grouped in the forward part of the raft, prayed at

regular intervals, raising their voices in the silent night, and at the

end of each sentence of their prayer, the “Slava Bogu,” Glory to God!

issued from their lips.

No incident took place during the night. Nadia remained in a sort of

stupor, and Michael watched beside her; sleep only overtook him at long

intervals, and even then his brain did not rest. At break of day, the

raft, delayed by a strong breeze, which counteracted the course of the

current, was still forty versts from the mouth of the Angara. It seemed

probable that the fugitives could not reach it before three or four

o’clock in the evening. This did not trouble them; on the contrary, for

they would then descend the river during the night, and the darkness

would also favor their entrance into Irkutsk.

The only anxiety exhibited at times by the old boatman was concerning

the formation of ice on the surface of the water. The night had been

excessively cold; pieces of ice could be seen drifting towards the West.

Nothing was to be dreaded from these, since they could not drift into

the Angara, having already passed the mouth; but pieces from the Eastern

end of the lake might be drawn by the current between the banks of the

river; this would cause difficulty, possibly delay, and perhaps even an

insurmountable obstacle which would stop the raft.

Michael therefore took immense interest in ascertaining what was the

state of the lake, and whether any large number of ice blocks appeared.

Nadia being now awake, he questioned her often, and she gave him an

account of all that was going on.

Whilst the blocks were thus drifting, curious phenomena were taking

place on the surface of the Baikal. Magnificent jets, from springs of

boiling water, shot up from some of those artesian wells which Nature

has bored in the very bed of the lake. These jets rose to a great height

and spread out in vapor, which was illuminated by the solar rays, and

almost immediately condensed by the cold. This curious sight would have

assuredly amazed a tourist traveling in peaceful times on this Siberian

sea.

At four in the evening, the mouth of the Angara was signaled by the old

boatman, between the high granite rocks of the shore. On the right bank

could be seen the little port of Livenitchnaia, its church, and its few

houses built on the bank. But the serious thing was that the ice blocks

from the East were already drifting between the banks of the Angara, and

consequently were descending towards Irkutsk. However, their number was

not yet great enough to obstruct the course of the raft, nor the cold

great enough to increase their number.

The raft arrived at the little port and there stopped. The old boatman

wished to put into harbor for an hour, in order to make some repairs.

The trunks threatened to separate, and it was important to fasten them

more securely together to resist the rapid current of the Angara.

The old boatman did not expect to receive any fresh fugitives at

Livenitchnaia, and yet, the moment the raft touched, two passengers,

issuing from a deserted house, ran as fast as they could towards the

beach.

Nadia seated on the raft, was abstractedly gazing at the shore. A cry

was about to escape her. She seized Michael’s hand, who at that moment

raised his head.

“What is the matter, Nadia?” he asked.

“Our two traveling companions, Michael.”

“The Frenchman and the Englishman whom we met in the defiles of the

Ural?”

“Yes.”

Michael started, for the strict incognito which he wished to keep ran a

risk of being betrayed. Indeed, it was no longer as Nicholas Korpanoff

that Jolivet and Blount would now see him, but as the true Michael

Strogoff, Courier of the Czar. The two correspondents had already met

him twice since their separation at the Ichim post-house--the first time

at the Zabediero camp, when he laid open Ivan Ogareff’s face with the

knout; the second time at Tomsk, when he was condemned by the Emir. They

therefore knew who he was and what depended on him.

Michael Strogoff rapidly made up his mind. “Nadia,” said he, “when they

step on board, ask them to come to me!”

It was, in fact, Blount and Jolivet, whom the course of events had

brought to the port of Livenitchnaia, as it had brought Michael

Strogoff. As we know, after having been present at the entry of the

Tartars into Tomsk, they had departed before the savage execution which

terminated the fête. They had therefore never suspected that their

former traveling companion had not been put to death, but blinded by

order of the Emir.

Having procured horses they had left Tomsk the same evening, with

the fixed determination of henceforward dating their letters from

the Russian camp of Eastern Siberia. They proceeded by forced marches

towards Irkutsk. They hoped to distance Feofar-Khan, and would certainly

have done so, had it not been for the unexpected apparition of the third

column, come from the South, up the valley of the Yenisei. They had been

cut off, as had been Michael, before being able even to reach the Dinka,

and had been obliged to go back to Lake Baikal.

They had been in the place for three days in much perplexity, when

the raft arrived. The fugitives’ plan was explained to them. There was

certainly a chance that they might be able to pass under cover of the

night, and penetrate into Irkutsk. They resolved to make the attempt.

Alcide directly communicated with the old boatman, and asked a passage

for himself and his companion, offering to pay anything he demanded,

whatever it might be.

“No one pays here,” replied the old man gravely; “every one risks his

life, that is all!”

The two correspondents came on board, and Nadia saw them take their

places in the forepart of the raft. Harry Blount was still the reserved

Englishman, who had scarcely addressed a word to her during the whole

passage over the Ural Mountains. Alcide Jolivet seemed to be rather

more grave than usual, and it may be acknowledged that his gravity was

justified by the circumstances.

Jolivet had, as has been said, taken his seat on the raft, when he felt

a hand laid on his arm. Turning, he recognized Nadia, the sister of the

man who was no longer Nicholas Korpanoff, but Michael Strogoff, Courier

of the Czar. He was about to make an exclamation of surprise when he saw

the young girl lay her finger on her lips.

“Come,” said Nadia. And with a careless air, Alcide rose and followed

her, making a sign to Blount to accompany him.

But if the surprise of the correspondents had been great at meeting

Nadia on the raft it was boundless when they perceived Michael Strogoff,

whom they had believed to be no longer living.

Michael had not moved at their approach. Jolivet turned towards the

girl. “He does not see you, gentlemen,” said Nadia. “The Tartars have

burnt out his eyes! My poor brother is blind!”

A feeling of lively compassion exhibited itself on the faces of Blount

and his companion. In a moment they were seated beside Michael, pressing

his hand and waiting until he spoke to them.

“Gentlemen,” said Michael, in a low voice, “you ought not to know who

I am, nor what I am come to do in Siberia. I ask you to keep my secret.

Will you promise me to do so?”

“On my honor,” answered Jolivet.

“On my word as a gentleman,” added Blount.

“Good, gentlemen.”

“Can we be of any use to you?” asked Harry Blount. “Could we not help

you to accomplish your task?”

“I prefer to act alone,” replied Michael.

“But those blackguards have destroyed your sight,” said Alcide.

“I have Nadia, and her eyes are enough for me!”

In half an hour the raft left the little port of Livenitchnaia, and

entered the river. It was five in the evening and getting dusk. The

night promised to be dark and very cold also, for the temperature was

already below zero.

Alcide and Blount, though they had promised to keep Michael’s secret,

did not leave him. They talked in a low voice, and the blind man, adding

what they told him to what he already knew, was able to form an exact

idea of the state of things. It was certain that the Tartars had

actually invested Irkutsk, and that the three columns had effected a

junction. There was no doubt that the Emir and Ivan Ogareff were before

the capital.

But why did the Czar’s courier exhibit such haste to get there, now that

the Imperial letter could no longer be given by him to the Grand Duke,

and when he did not even know the contents of it? Alcide Jolivet and

Blount could not understand it any more than Nadia had done.

No one spoke of the past, except when Jolivet thought it his duty to say

to Michael, “We owe you some apology for not shaking hands with you when

we separated at Ichim.”

“No, you had reason to think me a coward!”

“At any rate,” added the Frenchman, “you knouted the face of that

villain finely, and he will carry the mark of it for a long time!”

“No, not a long time!” replied Michael quietly.

Half an hour after leaving Livenitchnaia, Blount and his companion were

acquainted with the cruel trials through which Michael and his companion

had successively passed. They could not but heartily admire his energy,

which was only equaled by the young girl’s devotion. Their opinion of

Michael was exactly what the Czar had expressed at Moscow: “Indeed, this

is a Man!”

The raft swiftly threaded its way among the blocks of ice which were

carried along in the current of the Angara. A moving panorama was

displayed on both sides of the river, and, by an optical illusion, it

appeared as if it was the raft which was motionless before a succession

of picturesque scenes. Here were high granite cliffs, there wild gorges,

down which rushed a torrent; sometimes appeared a clearing with a still

smoking village, then thick pine forests blazing. But though the Tartars

had left their traces on all sides, they themselves were not to be

seen as yet, for they were more especially massed at the approaches to

Irkutsk.

All this time the pilgrims were repeating their prayers aloud, and the

old boatman, shoving away the blocks of ice which pressed too near them,

imperturbably steered the raft in the middle of the rapid current of the

Angara.

CHAPTER XI BETWEEN TWO BANKS

BY eight in the evening, the country, as the state of the sky had

foretold, was enveloped in complete darkness. The moon being new had not

yet risen. From the middle of the river the banks were invisible. The

cliffs were confounded with the heavy, low-hanging clouds. At intervals

a puff of wind came from the east, but it soon died away in the narrow

valley of the Angara.

The darkness could not fail to favor in a considerable degree the plans

of the fugitives. Indeed, although the Tartar outposts must have

been drawn up on both banks, the raft had a good chance of passing

unperceived. It was not likely either that the besiegers would have

barred the river above Irkutsk, since they knew that the Russians could

not expect any help from the south of the province. Besides this, before

long Nature would herself establish a barrier, by cementing with frost

the blocks of ice accumulated between the two banks.

Perfect silence now reigned on board the raft. The voices of the

pilgrims were no longer heard. They still prayed, but their prayer was

but a murmur, which could not reach as far as either bank. The fugitives

lay flat on the platform, so that the raft was scarcely above the level

of the water. The old boatman crouched down forward among his men,

solely occupied in keeping off the ice blocks, a maneuver which was

performed without noise.

The drifting of the ice was a favorable circumstance so long as it did

not offer an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the raft. If that

object had been alone on the water, it would have run a risk of being

seen, even in the darkness, but, as it was, it was confounded with these

moving masses, of all shapes and sizes, and the tumult caused by

the crashing of the blocks against each other concealed likewise any

suspicious noises.

There was a sharp frost. The fugitives suffered cruelly, having no

other shelter than a few branches of birch. They cowered down together,

endeavoring to keep each other warm, the temperature being now ten

degrees below freezing point. The wind, though slight, having passed

over the snow-clad mountains of the east, pierced them through and

through.

Michael and Nadia, lying in the afterpart of the raft, bore this

increase of suffering without complaint. Jolivet and Blount, placed near

them, stood these first assaults of the Siberian winter as well as they

could. No one now spoke, even in a low voice. Their situation entirely

absorbed them. At any moment an incident might occur, which they could

not escape unscathed.

For a man who hoped soon to accomplish his mission, Michael was

singularly calm. Even in the gravest conjunctures, his energy had

never abandoned him. He already saw the moment when he would be at

last allowed to think of his mother, of Nadia, of himself! He now only

dreaded one final unhappy chance; this was, that the raft might be

completely barred by ice before reaching Irkutsk. He thought but of

this, determined beforehand, if necessary, to attempt some bold stroke.

Restored by a few hours’ rest, Nadia had regained the physical energy

which misery had sometimes overcome, although without ever having shaken

her moral energy. She thought, too, that if Michael had to make any

fresh effort to attain his end, she must be there to guide him. But in

proportion as she drew nearer to Irkutsk, the image of her father rose

more and more clearly before her mind. She saw him in the invested town,

far from those he loved, but, as she never doubted, struggling against

the invaders with all the spirit of his patriotism. In a few hours, if

Heaven favored them, she would be in his arms, giving him her mother’s

last words, and nothing should ever separate them again. If the term of

Wassili Fedor’s exile should never come to an end, his daughter would

remain exiled with him. Then, by a natural transition, she came back

to him who would have enabled her to see her father once more, to that

generous companion, that “brother,” who, the Tartars driven back, would

retake the road to Moscow, whom she would perhaps never meet again!

As to Alcide Jolivet and Harry Blount, they had one and the same

thought, which was, that the situation was extremely dramatic, and that,

well worked up, it would furnish a most deeply interesting article.

The Englishman thought of the readers of the _Daily Telegraph_, and the

Frenchman of those of his Cousin Madeleine. At heart, both were not

without feeling some emotion.

“Well, so much the better!” thought Alcide Jolivet, “to move others, one

must be moved one’s self! I believe there is some celebrated verse

on the subject, but hang me if I can recollect it!” And with his

well-practiced eyes he endeavored to pierce the gloom of the river.

Every now and then a burst of light dispelling the darkness for a time,

exhibited the banks under some fantastic aspect--either a forest

on fire, or a still burning village. The Angara was occasionally

illuminated from one bank to the other. The blocks of ice formed so many

mirrors, which, reflecting the flames on every point and in every

color, were whirled along by the caprice of the current. The raft passed

unperceived in the midst of these floating masses.

The danger was not at these points.

But a peril of another nature menaced the fugitives. One that they

could not foresee, and, above all, one that they could not avoid. Chance

discovered it to Alcide Jolivet in this way:--Lying at the right side

of the raft, he let his hand hang over into the water. Suddenly he was

surprised by the impression made on it by the current. It seemed to be

of a slimy consistency, as if it had been made of mineral oil. Alcide,

aiding his touch by his sense of smell, could not be mistaken. It was

really a layer of liquid naphtha, floating on the surface of the river!

Was the raft really floating on this substance, which is in the highest

degree combustible? Where had this naphtha come from? Was it a natural

phenomenon taking place on the surface of the Angara, or was it to serve

as an engine of destruction, put in motion by the Tartars? Did they

intend to carry conflagration into Irkutsk?

Such were the questions which Alcide asked himself, but he thought it

best to make this incident known only to Harry Blount, and they both

agreed in not alarming their companions by revealing to them this new

danger.

It is known that the soil of Central Asia is like a sponge impregnated

with liquid hydrogen. At the port of Bakou, on the Persian frontier,

on the Caspian Sea, in Asia Minor, in China, on the Yuen-Kiang, in the

Burman Empire, springs of mineral oil rise in thousands to the surface

of the ground. It is an “oil country,” similar to the one which bears

this name in North America.

During certain religious festivals, principally at the port of Bakou,

the natives, who are fire-worshipers, throw liquid naphtha on the

surface of the sea, which buoys it up, its density being inferior to

that of water. Then at nightfall, when a layer of mineral oil is thus

spread over the Caspian, they light it, and exhibit the matchless

spectacle of an ocean of fire undulating and breaking into waves under

the breeze.

But what is only a sign of rejoicing at Bakou, might prove a fearful

disaster on the waters of the Angara. Whether it was set on fire by

malevolence or imprudence, in the twinkling of an eye a conflagration

might spread beyond Irkutsk. On board the raft no imprudence was to be

feared; but everything was to be dreaded from the conflagrations on both

banks of the Angara, for should a lighted straw or even a spark blow

into the water, it would inevitably set the whole current of naphtha in

a blaze.

The apprehensions of Jolivet and Blount may be better understood than

described. Would it not be prudent, in face of this new danger, to

land on one of the banks and wait there? “At any rate,” said Alcide,

“whatever the danger may be, I know some one who will not land!”

He alluded to Michael Strogoff.

In the meantime, on glided the raft among the masses of ice which were

gradually getting closer and closer together. Up till then, no Tartar

detachment had been seen, which showed that the raft was not abreast of

the outposts. At about ten o’clock, however, Harry Blount caught sight

of a number of black objects moving on the ice blocks. Springing from

one to the other, they rapidly approached.

“Tartars!” he thought. And creeping up to the old boatman, he pointed

out to him the suspicious objects.

The old man looked attentively. “They are only wolves!” said he. “I

like them better than Tartars. But we must defend ourselves, and without

noise!”

The fugitives would indeed have to defend themselves against these

ferocious beasts, whom hunger and cold had sent roaming through the

province. They had smelt out the raft, and would soon attack it. The

fugitives must struggle without using firearms, for they could not now

be far from the Tartar posts. The women and children were collected in

the middle of the raft, and the men, some armed with poles, others with

their knives, stood prepared to repulse their assailants. They did not

make a sound, but the howls of the wolves filled the air.

Michael did not wish to remain inactive. He lay down at the side

attacked by the savage pack. He drew his knife, and every time that a

wolf passed within his reach, his hand found out the way to plunge his

weapon into its throat. Neither were Jolivet and Blount idle, but fought

bravely with the brutes. Their companions gallantly seconded them.

The battle was carried on in silence, although many of the fugitives

received severe bites.

The struggle did not appear as if it would soon terminate. The pack was

being continually reinforced from the right bank of the Angara. “This

will never be finished!” said Alcide, brandishing his dagger, red with

blood.

In fact, half an hour after the commencement of the attack, the wolves

were still coming in hundreds across the ice. The exhausted fugitives

were getting weaker. The fight was going against them. At that moment, a

group of ten huge wolves, raging with hunger, their eyes glowing in the

darkness like red coals, sprang onto the raft. Jolivet and his companion

threw themselves into the midst of the fierce beasts, and Michael was

finding his way towards them, when a sudden change took place.

In a few moments the wolves had deserted not only the raft, but also

the ice on the river. All the black bodies dispersed, and it was soon

certain that they had in all haste regained the shore. Wolves, like

other beasts of prey, require darkness for their proceedings, and at

that moment a bright light illuminated the entire river.

It was the blaze of an immense fire. The whole of the small town of

Poshkavsk was burning. The Tartars were indeed there, finishing their

work. From this point, they occupied both banks beyond Irkutsk. The

fugitives had by this time reached the dangerous part of their voyage,

and they were still twenty miles from the capital.

It was now half past eleven. The raft continued to glide on amongst the

ice, with which it was quite mingled, but gleams of light sometimes

fell upon it. The fugitives stretched on the platform did not permit

themselves to make a movement by which they might be betrayed.

The conflagration was going on with frightful rapidity. The houses,

built of fir-wood, blazed like torches--a hundred and fifty flaming

at once. With the crackling of the fire was mingled the yells of the

Tartars. The old boatman, getting a foothold on a near piece of ice,

managed to shove the raft towards the right bank, by doing which a

distance of from three to four hundred feet divided it from the flames

of Poshkavsk.

Nevertheless, the fugitives, lighted every now and then by the glare,

would have been undoubtedly perceived had not the incendiaries been too

much occupied in their work of destruction.

It may be imagined what were the apprehensions of Jolivet and Blount,

when they thought of the combustible liquid on which the raft floated.

Sparks flew in millions from the houses, which resembled so many glowing

furnaces. They rose among the volumes of smoke to a height of five or

six hundred feet. On the right bank, the trees and cliffs exposed to

the fire looked as if they likewise were burning. A spark falling on the

surface of the Angara would be sufficient to spread the flames along the

current, and to carry disaster from one bank to the other. The result

of this would be in a short time the destruction of the raft and of all

those which it carried.

But, happily, the breeze did not blow from that side. It came from the

east, and drove the flames towards the left. It was just possible that

the fugitives would escape this danger. The blazing town was at last

passed. Little by little the glare grew dimmer, the crackling became

fainter, and the flames at last disappeared behind the high cliffs which

arose at an abrupt turn of the river.

By this time it was nearly midnight. The deep gloom again threw its

protecting shadows over the raft. The Tartars were there, going to and

fro near the river. They could not be seen, but they could be heard. The

fires of the outposts burned brightly.

In the meantime it had become necessary to steer more carefully among

the blocks of ice. The old boatman stood up, and the moujiks resumed

their poles. They had plenty of work, the management of the raft

becoming more and more difficult as the river was further obstructed.

Michael had crept forward; Jolivet followed; both listened to what the

old boatman and his men were saying.

“Look out on the right!”

“There are blocks drifting on to us on the left!”

“Fend! fend off with your boat-hook!”

“Before an hour is past we shall be stopped!”

“If it is God’s will!” answered the old man. “Against His will there is

nothing to be done.”

“You hear them,” said Alcide.

“Yes,” replied Michael, “but God is with us!”

The situation became more and more serious. Should the raft be stopped,

not only would the fugitives not reach Irkutsk, but they would be

obliged to leave their floating platform, for it would be very soon

smashed to pieces in the ice. The osier ropes would break, the fir

trunks torn asunder would drift under the hard crust, and the unhappy

people would have no refuge but the ice blocks themselves. Then, when

day came, they would be seen by the Tartars, and massacred without

mercy!

Michael returned to the spot where Nadia was waiting for him. He

approached the girl, took her hand, and put to her the invariable

question: “Nadia, are you ready?” to which she replied as usual, “I am

ready!”

For a few versts more the raft continued to drift amongst the floating

ice. Should the river narrow, it would soon form an impassable barrier.

Already they seemed to drift slower. Every moment they encountered

severe shocks or were compelled to make detours; now, to avoid running

foul of a block, there to enter a channel, of which it was necessary

to take advantage. At length the stoppages became still more alarming.

There were only a few more hours of night. Could the fugitives not reach

Irkutsk by five o’clock in the morning, they must lose all hope of ever

getting there at all.

At half-past one, notwithstanding all efforts, the raft came up against

a thick barrier and stuck fast. The ice, which was drifting down behind

it, pressed it still closer, and kept it motionless, as though it had

been stranded.

At this spot the Angara narrowed, it being half its usual breadth.

This was the cause of the accumulation of ice, which became gradually

soldered together, under the double influence of the increased pressure

and of the cold. Five hundred feet beyond, the river widened again, and

the blocks, gradually detaching themselves from the floe, continued to

drift towards Irkutsk. It was probable that had the banks not narrowed,

the barrier would not have formed. But the misfortune was irreparable,

and the fugitives must give up all hope of attaining their object.

Had they possessed the tools usually employed by whalers to cut channels

through the ice-fields--had they been able to get through to where the

river widened--they might have been saved. But they had nothing which

could make the least incision in the ice, hard as granite in the

excessive frost. What were they to do?

At that moment several shots on the right bank startled the unhappy

fugitives. A shower of balls fell on the raft. The devoted passengers

had been seen. Immediately afterwards shots were heard fired from the

left bank. The fugitives, taken between two fires, became the mark of

the Tartar sharpshooters. Several were wounded, although in the darkness

it was only by chance that they were hit.

“Come, Nadia,” whispered Michael in the girl’s ear.

Without making a single remark, “ready for anything,” Nadia took

Michael’s hand.

“We must cross the barrier,” he said in a low tone. “Guide me, but let

no one see us leave the raft.”

Nadia obeyed. Michael and she glided rapidly over the floe in the

obscurity, only broken now and again by the flashes from the muskets.

Nadia crept along in front of Michael. The shot fell around them like a

tempest of hail, and pattered on the ice. Their hands were soon covered

with blood from the sharp and rugged ice over which they clambered, but

still on they went.

In ten minutes, the other side of the barrier was reached. There

the waters of the Angara again flowed freely. Several pieces of ice,

detached gradually from the floe, were swept along in the current down

towards the town. Nadia guessed what Michael wished to attempt. One of

the blocks was only held on by a narrow strip.

“Come,” said Nadia. And the two crouched on the piece of ice, which

their weight detached from the floe.

It began to drift. The river widened, the way was open. Michael and

Nadia heard the shots, the cries of distress, the yells of the Tartars.

Then, little by little, the sounds of agony and of ferocious joy grew

faint in the distance.

“Our poor companions!” murmured Nadia.

For half an hour the current hurried along the block of ice which bore

Michael and Nadia. They feared every moment that it would give

way beneath them. Swept along in the middle of the current, it was

unnecessary to give it an oblique direction until they drew near the

quays of Irkutsk. Michael, his teeth tight set, his ear on the strain,

did not utter a word. Never had he been so near his object. He felt that

he was about to attain it!

Towards two in the morning a double row of lights glittered on the dark

horizon in which were confounded the two banks of the Angara. On the

right hand were the lights of Irkutsk; on the left, the fires of the

Tartar camp.

Michael Strogoff was not more than half a verst from the town. “At

last!” he murmured.

But suddenly Nadia uttered a cry.

At the cry Michael stood up on the ice, which was wavering. His hand

was extended up the Angara. His face, on which a bluish light cast a

peculiar hue, became almost fearful to look at, and then, as if his eyes

had been opened to the bright blaze spreading across the river, “Ah!” he

exclaimed, “then Heaven itself is against us!”

CHAPTER XII IRKUTSK

IRKUTSK, the capital of Eastern Siberia, is a populous town, containing,

in ordinary times, thirty thousand inhabitants. On the right side of

the Angara rises a hill, on which are built numerous churches, a lofty

cathedral, and dwellings disposed in picturesque disorder.

Seen at a distance, from the top of the mountain which rises at about

twenty versts off along the Siberian highroad, this town, with its

cupolas, its bell-towers, its steeples slender as minarets, its domes

like pot-bellied Chinese jars, presents something of an oriental aspect.

But this similarity vanishes as the traveler enters.

The town, half Byzantine, half Chinese, becomes European as soon as

he sees its macadamized roads, bordered with pavements, traversed by

canals, planted with gigantic birches, its houses of brick and wood,

some of which have several stories, the numerous equipages which drive

along, not only tarantasses but broughams and coaches; lastly, its

numerous inhabitants far advanced in civilization, to whom the latest

Paris fashions are not unknown.

Being the refuge for all the Siberians of the province, Irkutsk was

at this time very full. Stores of every kind had been collected

in abundance. Irkutsk is the emporium of the innumerable kinds of

merchandise which are exchanged between China, Central Asia, and Europe.

The authorities had therefore no fear with regard to admitting the

peasants of the valley of the Angara, and leaving a desert between the

invaders and the town.

Irkutsk is the residence of the governor-general of Eastern Siberia.

Below him acts a civil governor, in whose hands is the administration

of the province; a head of police, who has much to do in a town where

exiles abound; and, lastly, a mayor, chief of the merchants, and a

person of some importance, from his immense fortune and the influence

which he exercises over the people.

The garrison of Irkutsk was at that time composed of an infantry

regiment of Cossacks, consisting of two thousand men, and a body of

police wearing helmets and blue uniforms laced with silver. Besides,

as has been said, in consequence of the events which had occurred, the

brother of the Czar had been shut up in the town since the beginning of

the invasion.

A journey of political importance had taken the Grand Duke to these

distant provinces of Central Asia. After passing through the principal

Siberian cities, the Grand Duke, who traveled _en militaire_ rather than

_en prince_, without any parade, accompanied by his officers, and escorted

by a regiment of Cossacks, arrived in the Trans-Baikalcine provinces.

Nikolaevsk, the last Russian town situated on the shore of the Sea of

Okhotsk, had been honored by a visit from him. Arrived on the confines

of the immense Muscovite Empire, the Grand Duke was returning towards

Irkutsk, from which place he intended to retake the road to Moscow,

when, sudden as a thunder clap, came the news of the invasion.

He hastened to the capital, but only reached it just before

communication with Russia had been interrupted. There was time to

receive only a few telegrams from St. Petersburg and Moscow, and with

difficulty to answer them before the wire was cut. Irkutsk was isolated

from the rest of the world.

The Grand Duke had now only to prepare for resistance, and this he

did with that determination and coolness of which, under other

circumstances, he had given incontestable proofs. The news of the

taking of Ichim, Omsk, and Tomsk, successively reached Irkutsk. It was

necessary at any price to save the capital of Siberia. Reinforcements

could not be expected for some time. The few troops scattered about in

the provinces of Siberia could not arrive in sufficiently large numbers

to arrest the progress of the Tartar columns. Since therefore it was

impossible for Irkutsk to escape attack, the most important thing to be

done was to put the town in a state to sustain a siege of some duration.

The preparations were begun on the day Tomsk fell into the hands of the

Tartars. At the same time with this last news, the Grand Duke heard that

the Emir of Bokhara and the allied Khans were directing the invasion

in person, but what he did not know was, that the lieutenant of these

barbarous chiefs was Ivan Ogareff, a Russian officer whom he had himself

reduced to the ranks, but with whose person he was not acquainted.

First of all, as we have seen, the inhabitants of the province of

Irkutsk were compelled to abandon the towns and villages. Those who

did not take refuge in the capital had to retire beyond Lake Baikal, a

district to which the invasion would probably not extend its ravages.

The harvests of corn and fodder were collected and stored up in the

town, and Irkutsk, the last bulwark of the Muscovite power in the

Far East, was put in a condition to resist the enemy for a lengthened

period.

Irkutsk, founded in 1611, is situated at the confluence of the Irkut

and the Angara, on the right bank of the latter river. Two wooden

draw-bridges, built on piles, connected the town with its suburbs on the

left bank. On this side, defence was easy. The suburbs were abandoned,

the bridges destroyed. The Angara being here very wide, it would not be

possible to pass it under the fire of the besieged.

But the river might be crossed both above and below the town, and

consequently, Irkutsk ran a risk of being attacked on its east side, on

which there was no wall to protect it.

The whole population were immediately set to work on the fortifications.

They labored day and night. The Grand Duke observed with satisfaction

the zeal exhibited by the people in the work, whom ere long he would

find equally courageous in the defense. Soldiers, merchants, exiles,

peasants, all devoted themselves to the common safety. A week before the

Tartars appeared on the Angara, earth-works had been raised. A fosse,

flooded by the waters of the Angara, was dug between the scarp and

counterscarp. The town could not now be taken by a coup de main. It must

be invested and besieged.

The third Tartar column--the one which came up the valley of the Yenisei

on the 24th of September--appeared in sight of Irkutsk. It immediately

occupied the deserted suburbs, every building in which had been

destroyed so as not to impede the fire of the Grand Duke’s guns,

unfortunately but few in number and of small caliber. The Tartar troops

as they arrived organized a camp on the bank of the Angara, whilst

waiting the arrival of the two other columns, commanded by the Emir and

his allies.

The junction of these different bodies was effected on the 25th of

September, in the Angara camp, and the whole of the invading army,

except the garrisons left in the principal conquered towns, was

concentrated under the command of Feofar-Khan.

The passage of the Angara in front of Irkutsk having been regarded

by Ogareff as impracticable, a strong body of troops crossed, several

versts up the river, by means of bridges formed with boats. The Grand

Duke did not attempt to oppose the enemy in their passage. He could only

impede, not prevent it, having no field-artillery at his disposal, and

he therefore remained in Irkutsk.

The Tartars now occupied the right bank of the river; then, advancing

towards the town, they burnt, in passing, the summer-house of the

governor-general, and at last having entirely invested Irkutsk, took up

their positions for the siege.

Ivan Ogareff, who was a clever engineer, was perfectly competent

to direct a regular siege; but he did not possess the materials for

operating rapidly. He was disappointed too in the chief object of all

his efforts--the surprise of Irkutsk. Things had not turned out as he

hoped. First, the march of the Tartar army was delayed by the battle of

Tomsk; and secondly, the preparations for the defense were made far more

rapidly than he had supposed possible; these two things had balked his

plans. He was now under the necessity of instituting a regular siege of

the town.

However, by his suggestion, the Emir twice attempted the capture of the

place, at the cost of a large sacrifice of men. He threw soldiers on the

earth-works which presented any weak point; but these two assaults were

repulsed with the greatest courage. The Grand Duke and his officers did

not spare themselves on this occasion. They appeared in person; they

led the civil population to the ramparts. Citizens and peasants both did

their duty.

At the second attack, the Tartars managed to force one of the gates. A

fight took place at the head of Bolchaia Street, two versts long, on the

banks of the Angara. But the Cossacks, the police, the citizens, united

in so fierce a resistance that the Tartars were driven out.

Ivan Ogareff then thought of obtaining by stratagem what he could not

gain by force. We have said that his plan was to penetrate into the

town, make his way to the Grand Duke, gain his confidence, and, when the

time came, give up the gates to the besiegers; and, that done, wreak

his vengeance on the brother of the Czar. The Tsigane Sangarre, who had

accompanied him to the Angara, urged him to put this plan in execution.

Indeed, it was necessary to act without delay. The Russian troops from

the government of Yakutsk were advancing towards Irkutsk. They had

concentrated along the upper course of the Lena. In six days they would

arrive. Therefore, before six days had passed, Irkutsk must be betrayed.

Ogareff hesitated no longer.

One evening, the 2d of October, a council of war was held in the grand

saloon of the palace of the governor-general. This palace, standing at

the end of Bolchaia Street, overlooked the river. From its windows could

be seen the camp of the Tartars, and had the invaders possessed guns of

wider range, they would have rendered the palace uninhabitable.

The Grand Duke, General Voranzoff, the governor of the town, and

the chief of the merchants, with several officers, had collected to

determine upon various proposals.

“Gentlemen,” said the Grand Duke, “you know our situation exactly. I

have the firm hope that we shall be able to hold out until the arrival

of the Yakutsk troops. We shall then be able to drive off these

barbarian hordes, and it will not be my fault if they do not pay dearly

for this invasion of the Muscovite territory.”

“Your Highness knows that all the population of Irkutsk may be relied

on,” said General Voranzoff.

“Yes, general,” replied the Grand Duke, “and I do justice to their

patriotism. Thanks to God, they have not yet been subjected to the

horrors of epidemic and famine, and I have reason to hope that they will

escape them; but I cannot admire their courage on the ramparts enough.

You hear my words, Sir Merchant, and I beg you to repeat such to them.”

“I thank your Highness in the name of the town,” answered the merchant

chief. “May I ask you what is the most distant date when we may expect

the relieving army?”

“Six days at most, sir,” replied the Grand Duke. “A brave and clever

messenger managed this morning to get into the town, and he told me that

fifty thousand Russians under General Kisselef, are advancing by forced

marches. Two days ago, they were on the banks of the Lena, at Kirensk,

and now, neither frost nor snow will keep them back. Fifty thousand good

men, taking the Tartars on the flank, will soon set us free.”

“I will add,” said the chief of the merchants, “that we shall be

ready to execute your orders, any day that your Highness may command a

sortie.”

“Good, sir,” replied the Grand Duke. “Wait till the heads of the

relieving columns appear on the heights, and we will speedily crush

these invaders.”

Then turning to General Voranzoff, “To-morrow,” said he, “we will visit

the works on the right bank. Ice is drifting down the Angara, which

will not be long in freezing, and in that case the Tartars might perhaps

cross.”

“Will your Highness allow me to make an observation?” said the chief of

the merchants.

“Do so, sir.”

“I have more than once seen the temperature fall to thirty and forty

degrees below zero, and the Angara has still carried down drifting ice

without entirely freezing. This is no doubt owing to the swiftness of

its current. If therefore the Tartars have no other means of crossing

the river, I can assure your Highness that they will not enter Irkutsk

in that way.”

The governor-general confirmed this assertion.

“It is a fortunate circumstance,” responded the Grand Duke.

“Nevertheless, we must hold ourselves ready for any emergency.”

He then, turning towards the head of the police, asked, “Have you

nothing to say to me, sir?”

“I have your Highness,” answered the head of police, “a petition which

is addressed to you through me.”

“Addressed by whom?”

“By the Siberian exiles, whom, as your Highness knows, are in the town

to the number of five hundred.”

The political exiles, distributed over the province, had been collected

in Irkutsk, from the beginning of the invasion. They had obeyed the

order to rally in the town, and leave the villages where they exercised

their different professions, some doctors, some professors, either

at the Gymnasium, or at the Japanese School, or at the School of

Navigation. The Grand Duke, trusting like the Czar in their patriotism,

had armed them, and they had thoroughly proved their bravery.

“What do the exiles ask?” said the Grand Duke.

“They ask the consent of your Highness,” answered the head of police,

“to their forming a special corps and being placed in the front of the

first sortie.”

“Yes,” replied the Grand Duke with an emotion which he did not seek to

hide, “these exiles are Russians, and it is their right to fight for

their country!”

“I believe I may assure your Highness,” said the governor-general, “you

will have no better soldiers.”

“But they must have a chief,” said the Grand Duke, “who will he be?”

“They wish to recommend to your Highness,” said the head of police, “one

of their number, who has distinguished himself on several occasions.”

“Is he a Russian?”

“Yes, a Russian from the Baltic provinces.”

“His name?”

“Is Wassili Fedor.”

This exile was Nadia’s father. Wassili Fedor, as we have already said,

followed his profession of a medical man in Irkutsk. He was clever and

charitable, and also possessed the greatest courage and most sincere

patriotism. All the time which he did not devote to the sick he employed

in organizing the defense. It was he who had united his companions

in exile in the common cause. The exiles, till then mingled with the

population, had behaved in such a way as to draw on themselves the

attention of the Grand Duke. In several sorties, they had paid with

their blood their debt to holy Russia--holy as they believe, and adored

by her children! Wassili Fedor had behaved heroically; his name had been

mentioned several times, but he never asked either thanks or favors, and

when the exiles of Irkutsk thought of forming themselves into a special

corps, he was ignorant of their intention of choosing him for their

captain.

When the head of police mentioned this name, the Grand Duke answered

that it was not unknown to him.

“Indeed,” remarked General Voranzoff, “Wassili Fedor is a man of worth

and courage. His influence over his companions has always been very

great.”

“How long has he been at Irkutsk?” asked the Duke.

“For two years.”

“And his conduct?”

“His conduct,” answered the head of police, “is that of a man obedient

to the special laws which govern him.”

“General,” said the Grand Duke, “General, be good enough to present him

to me immediately.”

The orders of the Grand Duke were obeyed, and before half an hour had

passed, Fedor was introduced into his presence. He was a man over forty,

tall, of a stern and sad countenance. One felt that his whole life was

summed up in a single word--strife--he had striven and suffered. His

features bore a marked resemblance to those of his daughter, Nadia

Fedor.

This Tartar invasion had severely wounded him in his tenderest

affections, and ruined the hope of the father, exiled eight thousand

versts from his native town. A letter had apprised him of the death of

his wife, and at the same time of the departure of his daughter, who had

obtained from the government an authorization to join him at Irkutsk.

Nadia must have left Riga on the 10th of July. The invasion had begun

on the 15th of July; if at that time Nadia had passed the frontier, what

could have become of her in the midst of the invaders? The anxiety

of the unhappy father may be supposed when, from that time, he had no

further news of his daughter.

Wassili Fedor entered the presence of the Grand Duke, bowed, and waited

to be questioned.

“Wassili Fedor,” said the Grand Duke, “your companions in exile have

asked to be allowed to form a select corps. They are not ignorant that

in this corps they must make up their minds to be killed to the last

man?”

“They are not ignorant of it,” replied Fedor.

“They wish to have you for their captain.”

“I, your Highness?”

“Do you consent to be placed at their head?”

“Yes, if it is for the good of Russia.”

“Captain Fedor,” said the Grand Duke, “you are no longer an exile.”

“Thanks, your Highness, but can I command those who are so still?”

“They are so no longer!” The brother of the Czar had granted a pardon to

all Fedor’s companions in exile, now his companions in arms!

Wassili Fedor wrung, with emotion, the hand which the Grand Duke held

out to him, and retired.

The latter, turned to his officers, “The Czar will not refuse to ratify

that pardon,” said he, smiling; “we need heroes to defend the capital of

Siberia, and I have just made some.”

This pardon, so generously accorded to the exiles of Irkutsk, was indeed

an act of real justice and sound policy.

It was now night. Through the windows of the palace burned the fires of

the Tartar camp, flickering beyond the Angara. Down the river drifted

numerous blocks of ice, some of which stuck on the piles of the old

bridges; others were swept along by the current with great rapidity.

It was evident, as the merchant had observed, that it would be very

difficult for the Angara to freeze all over. The defenders of Irkutsk

had not to dread being attacked on that side. Ten o’clock had just

struck. The Grand Duke was about to dismiss his officers and retire to

his apartments, when a tumult was heard outside the palace.

Almost immediately the door was thrown open, an aide-de-camp appeared,

and advanced rapidly towards the Grand Duke.

“Your Highness,” said he, “a courier from the Czar!”

CHAPTER XIII THE CZAR’S COURIER

ALL the members of the council simultaneously started forward. A courier

from the Czar arrived in Irkutsk! Had these officers for a moment

considered the improbability of this fact, they would certainly not have

credited what they heard.

The Grand Duke advanced quickly to his aide-de-camp. “This courier!” he

exclaimed.

A man entered. He appeared exhausted with fatigue. He wore the dress

of a Siberian peasant, worn into tatters, and exhibiting several

shot-holes. A Muscovite cap was on his head. His face was disfigured

by a recently-healed scar. The man had evidently had a long and painful

journey; his shoes being in a state which showed that he had been

obliged to make part of it on foot.

“His Highness the Grand Duke?” he asked.

The Grand Duke went up to him. “You are a courier from the Czar?” he

asked.

“Yes, your Highness.”

“You come?”

“From Moscow.”

“You left Moscow?”

“On the 15th of July.”

“Your name?”

“Michael Strogoff.”

It was Ivan Ogareff. He had taken the designation of the man whom he

believed that he had rendered powerless. Neither the Grand Duke

nor anyone knew him in Irkutsk, and he had not even to disguise his

features. As he was in a position to prove his pretended identity,

no one could have any reason for doubting him. He came, therefore,

sustained by his iron will, to hasten by treason and assassination the

great object of the invasion.

After Ogareff had replied, the Grand Duke signed to all his officers

to withdraw. He and the false Michael Strogoff remained alone in the

saloon.

The Grand Duke looked at Ivan Ogareff for some moments with extreme

attention. Then he said, “On the 15th of July you were at Moscow?”

“Yes, your Highness; and on the night of the 14th I saw His Majesty the

Czar at the New Palace.”

“Have you a letter from the Czar?”

“Here it is.”

And Ivan Ogareff handed to the Grand Duke the Imperial letter, crumpled

to almost microscopic size.

“Was the letter given you in this state?”

“No, your Highness, but I was obliged to tear the envelope, the better

to hide it from the Emir’s soldiers.”

“Were you taken prisoner by the Tartars?”

“Yes, your Highness, I was their prisoner for several days,” answered

Ogareff. “That is the reason that, having left Moscow on the 15th of

July, as the date of that letter shows, I only reached Irkutsk on the 2d

of October, after traveling seventy-nine days.”

The Grand Duke took the letter. He unfolded it and recognized the Czar’s

signature, preceded by the decisive formula, written by his brother’s

hand. There was no possible doubt of the authenticity of this letter,

nor of the identity of the courier. Though Ogareff’s countenance had at

first inspired the Grand Duke with some distrust, he let nothing of it

appear, and it soon vanished.

The Grand Duke remained for a few minutes without speaking. He read the

letter slowly, so as to take in its meaning fully. “Michael Strogoff, do

you know the contents of this letter?” he asked.

“Yes, your Highness. I might have been obliged to destroy it, to prevent

its falling into the hands of the Tartars, and should such have been the

case, I wished to be able to bring the contents of it to your Highness.”

“You know that this letter enjoins us all to die, rather than give up

the town?”

“I know it.”

“You know also that it informs me of the movements of the troops which

have combined to stop the invasion?”

“Yes, your Highness, but the movements have failed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Ichim, Omsk, Tomsk, to speak only of the more important

towns of the two Siberias, have been successively occupied by the

soldiers of Feofar-Khan.”

“But there has been fighting? Have not our Cossacks met the Tartars?”

“Several times, your Highness.”

“And they were repulsed?”

“They were not in sufficient force to oppose the enemy.”

“Where did the encounters take place?”

“At Kolyvan, at Tomsk.” Until now, Ogareff had only spoken the truth,

but, in the hope of troubling the defenders of Irkutsk by exaggerating

the defeats, he added, “And a third time before Krasnoiarsk.”

“And what of this last engagement?” asked the Grand Duke, through whose

compressed lips the words could scarcely pass.

“It was more than an engagement, your Highness,” answered Ogareff; “it

was a battle.”

“A battle?”

“Twenty thousand Russians, from the frontier provinces and the

government of Tobolsk, engaged with a hundred and fifty thousand

Tartars, and, notwithstanding their courage, were overwhelmed.”

“You lie!” exclaimed the Grand Duke, endeavoring in vain to curb his

passion.

“I speak the truth, your Highness,” replied Ivan Ogareff coldly. “I

was present at the battle of Krasnoiarsk, and it was there I was made

prisoner!”

The Grand Duke grew calmer, and by a significant gesture he gave Ogareff

to understand that he did not doubt his veracity. “What day did this

battle of Krasnoiarsk take place?” he asked.

“On the 2d of September.”

“And now all the Tartar troops are concentrated here?”

“All.”

“And you estimate them?”

“At about four hundred thousand men.”

Another exaggeration of Ogareff’s in the estimate of the Tartar army,

with the same object as before.

“And I must not expect any help from the West provinces?” asked the

Grand Duke.

“None, your Highness, at any rate before the end of the winter.”

“Well, hear this, Michael Strogoff. Though I must expect no help either

from the East or from the West, even were these barbarians six hundred

thousand strong, I will never give up Irkutsk!”

Ogareff’s evil eye slightly contracted. The traitor thought to himself

that the brother of the Czar did not reckon the result of treason.

The Grand Duke, who was of a nervous temperament, had great difficulty

in keeping calm whilst hearing this disastrous news. He walked to and

fro in the room, under the gaze of Ogareff, who eyed him as a victim

reserved for vengeance. He stopped at the windows, he looked forth at

the fires in the Tartar camp, he listened to the noise of the ice-blocks

drifting down the Angara.

A quarter of an hour passed without his putting any more questions. Then

taking up the letter, he re-read a passage and said, “You know that in

this letter I am warned of a traitor, of whom I must beware?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“He will try to enter Irkutsk in disguise; gain my confidence, and

betray the town to the Tartars.”

“I know all that, your Highness, and I know also that Ivan Ogareff has

sworn to revenge himself personally on the Czar’s brother.”

“Why?”

“It is said that the officer in question was condemned by the Grand Duke

to a humiliating degradation.”

“Yes, I remember. But it is a proof that the villain, who could

afterwards serve against his country and head an invasion of barbarians,

deserved it.”

“His Majesty the Czar,” said Ogareff, “was particularly anxious that you

should be warned of the criminal projects of Ivan Ogareff against your

person.”

“Yes; of that the letter informs me.”

“And His Majesty himself spoke to me of it, telling me I was above all

things to beware of the traitor.”

“Did you meet with him?”

“Yes, your Highness, after the battle of Krasnoiarsk. If he had only

guessed that I was the bearer of a letter addressed to your Highness, in

which his plans were revealed, I should not have got off so easily.”

“No; you would have been lost!” replied the Grand Duke. “And how did you

manage to escape?”

“By throwing myself into the Irtych.”

“And how did you enter Irkutsk?”

“Under cover of a sortie, which was made this evening to repulse a

Tartar detachment. I mingled with the defenders of the town, made myself

known, and was immediately conducted before your Highness.”

“Good, Michael Strogoff,” answered the Grand Duke. “You have shown

courage and zeal in your difficult mission. I will not forget you. Have

you any favor to ask?”

“None; unless it is to be allowed to fight at the side of your

Highness,” replied Ogareff.

“So be it, Strogoff. I attach you from to-day to my person, and you

shall be lodged in the palace.”

“And if according to his intention, Ivan Ogareff should present himself

to your Highness under a false name?”

“We will unmask him, thanks to you, who know him, and I will make him

die under the knout. Go!”

Ogareff gave a military salute, not forgetting that he was a captain of

the couriers of the Czar, and retired.

Ogareff had so far played his unworthy part with success. The Grand

Duke’s entire confidence had been accorded him. He could now betray it

whenever it suited him. He would inhabit the very palace. He would be

in the secret of all the operations for the defense of the town. He thus

held the situation in his hand, as it were. No one in Irkutsk knew him,

no one could snatch off his mask. He resolved therefore to set to work

without delay.

Indeed, time pressed. The town must be captured before the arrival of

the Russians from the North and East, and that was only a question of a

few days. The Tartars once masters of Irkutsk, it would not be easy

to take it again from them. At any rate, even if they were obliged to

abandon it later, they would not do so before they had utterly destroyed

it, and before the head of the Grand Duke had rolled at the feet of

Feofar-Khan.

Ivan Ogareff, having every facility for seeing, observing, and acting,

occupied himself the next day with visiting the ramparts. He was

everywhere received with cordial congratulations from officers,

soldiers, and citizens. To them this courier from the Czar was a link

which connected them with the empire.

Ogareff recounted, with an assurance which never failed, numerous

fictitious events of his journey. Then, with the cunning for which he

was noted, without dwelling too much on it at first, he spoke of the

gravity of the situation, exaggerating the success of the Tartars and

the numbers of the barbarian forces, as he had when speaking to

the Grand Duke. According to him, the expected succors would be

insufficient, if ever they arrived at all, and it was to be feared that

a battle fought under the walls of Irkutsk would be as fatal as the

battles of Kolyvan, Tomsk, and Krasnoiarsk.

Ogareff was not too free in these insinuations. He wished to allow

them to sink gradually into the minds of the defenders of Irkutsk.

He pretended only to answer with reluctance when much pressed with

questions. He always added that they must fight to the last man, and

blow up the town rather than yield!

These false statements would have done more harm had it been possible;

but the garrison and the population of Irkutsk were too patriotic to let

themselves be moved. Of all the soldiers and citizens shut up in this

town, isolated at the extremity of the Asiatic world, not one dreamed of

even speaking of a capitulation. The contempt of the Russians for these

barbarians was boundless.

No one suspected the odious part played by Ivan Ogareff; no one guessed

that the pretended courier of the Czar was a traitor. It occurred very

naturally that on his arrival in Irkutsk, a frequent intercourse was

established between Ogareff and one of the bravest defenders of the

town, Wassili Fedor. We know what anxiety this unhappy father suffered.

If his daughter, Nadia Fedor, had left Russia on the date fixed by the

last letter he had received from Riga, what had become of her? Was she

still trying to cross the invaded provinces, or had she long since been

taken prisoner? The only alleviation to Wassili Fedor’s anxiety was

when he could obtain an opportunity of engaging in battle with the

Tartars--opportunities which came too seldom for his taste. The very

evening the pretended courier arrived, Wassili Fedor went to

the governor-general’s palace and, acquainting Ogareff with the

circumstances under which his daughter must have left European Russia,

told him all his uneasiness about her. Ogareff did not know Nadia,

although he had met her at Ichim on the day she was there with Michael

Strogoff; but then, he had not paid more attention to her than to the

two reporters, who at the same time were in the post-house; he therefore

could give Wassili Fedor no news of his daughter.

“But at what time,” asked Ogareff, “must your daughter have left the

Russian territory?”

“About the same time that you did,” replied Fedor.

“I left Moscow on the 15th of July.”

“Nadia must also have quitted Moscow at that time. Her letter told me so

expressly.”

“She was in Moscow on the 15th of July?”

“Yes, certainly, by that date.”

“Then it was impossible for her--But no, I am mistaken--I was confusing

dates. Unfortunately, it is too probable that your daughter must have

passed the frontier, and you can only have one hope, that she stopped on

learning the news of the Tartar invasion!”

The father’s head fell! He knew Nadia, and he knew too well that

nothing would have prevented her from setting out. Ivan Ogareff had just

committed gratuitously an act of real cruelty. With a word he might

have reassured Fedor. Although Nadia had passed the frontier under

circumstances with which we are acquainted, Fedor, by comparing the date

on which his daughter would have been at Nijni-Novgorod, and the date of

the proclamation which forbade anyone to leave it, would no doubt have

concluded thus: that Nadia had not been exposed to the dangers of the

invasion, and that she was still, in spite of herself, in the European

territory of the Empire.

Ogareff obedient to his nature, a man who was never touched by the

sufferings of others, might have said that word. He did not say it.

Fedor retired with his heart broken. In that interview his last hope was

crushed.

During the two following days, the 3rd and 4th of October, the Grand

Duke often spoke to the pretended Michael Strogoff, and made him

repeat all that he had heard in the Imperial Cabinet of the New Palace.

Ogareff, prepared for all these questions, replied without the least

hesitation. He intentionally did not conceal that the Czar’s government

had been utterly surprised by the invasion, that the insurrection had

been prepared in the greatest possible secrecy, that the Tartars were

already masters of the line of the Obi when the news reached Moscow, and

lastly, that none of the necessary preparations were completed in the

Russian provinces for sending into Siberia the troops requisite for

repulsing the invaders.

Ivan Ogareff, being entirely free in his movements, began to study

Irkutsk, the state of its fortifications, their weak points, so as to

profit subsequently by his observations, in the event of being prevented

from consummating his act of treason. He examined particularly the

Bolchaia Gate, the one he wished to deliver up.

Twice in the evening he came upon the glacis of this gate. He walked

up and down, without fear of being discovered by the besiegers, whose

nearest posts were at least a mile from the ramparts. He fancied that he

was recognized by no one, till he caught sight of a shadow gliding along

outside the earthworks. Sangarre had come at the risk of her life for

the purpose of putting herself in communication with Ivan Ogareff.

For two days the besieged had enjoyed a tranquillity to which

the Tartars had not accustomed them since the commencement of the

investment. This was by Ogareff’s orders. Feofar-Khan’s lieutenant

wished that all attempts to take the town by force should be suspended.

He hoped the watchfulness of the besieged would relax. At any rate,

several thousand Tartars were kept in readiness at the outposts, to

attack the gate, deserted, as Ogareff anticipated that it would be, by

its defenders, whenever he should summon the besiegers to the assault.

This he could not now delay in doing. All must be over by the time

that the Russian troops should come in sight of Irkutsk. Ogareff’s

arrangements were made, and on this evening a note fell from the top of

the earthworks into Sangarre’s hands.

On the next day, that is to say during the hours of darkness from the

5th to the 6th of October, at two o’clock in the morning, Ivan Ogareff

had resolved to deliver up Irkutsk.

CHAPTER XIV THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER

IVAN OGAREFF’S plan had been contrived with the greatest care, and

except for some unforeseen accident he believed that it must succeed.

It was of importance that the Bolchaia Gate should be unguarded or

only feebly held when he gave it up. The attention of the besieged

was therefore to be drawn to another part of the town. A diversion was

agreed upon with the Emir.

This diversion was to be effected both up and down the river, on the

Irkutsk bank. The attack on these two points was to be conducted in

earnest, and at the same time a feigned attempt at crossing the Angara

from the left bank was to be made. The Bolchaia Gate, would be probably

deserted, so much the more because on this side the Tartar outposts

having drawn back, would appear to have broken up.

It was the 5th of October. In four and twenty hours, the capital of

Eastern Siberia would be in the hands of the Emir, and the Grand Duke in

the power of Ivan Ogareff.

During the day, an unusual stir was going on in the Angara camp. From

the windows of the palace important preparations on the opposite shore

could be distinctly seen. Numerous Tartar detachments were converging

towards the camp, and from hour to hour reinforced the Emir’s troops.

These movements, intended to deceive the besieged, were conducted in the

most open manner possible before their eyes.

Ogareff had warned the Grand Duke that an attack was to be feared. He

knew, he said, that an assault was to be made, both above and below

the town, and he counselled the Duke to reinforce the two directly

threatened points. Accordingly, after a council of war had been held in

the palace, orders were issued to concentrate the defense on the bank

of the Angara and at the two ends of the town, where the earthworks

protected the river.

This was exactly what Ogareff wished. He did not expect that the

Bolchaia Gate would be left entirely without defenders, but that there

would only be a small number. Besides, Ogareff meant to give such

importance to the diversion, that the Grand Duke would be obliged to

oppose it with all his available forces. The traitor planned also to

produce so frightful a catastrophe that terror must inevitably overwhelm

the hearts of the besieged.

All day the garrison and population of Irkutsk were on the alert. The

measures to repel an attack on the points hitherto unassailed had

been taken. The Grand Duke and General Voranzoff visited the posts,

strengthened by their orders. Wassili Fedor’s corps occupied the North

of the town, but with orders to throw themselves where the danger was

greatest. The right bank of the Angara had been protected with the few

guns possessed by the defenders. With these measures, taken in time,

thanks to the advice so opportunely given by Ivan Ogareff, there was

good reason to hope that the expected attack would be repulsed. In

that case the Tartars, momentarily discouraged, would no doubt not

make another attempt against the town for several days. Now the troops

expected by the Grand Duke might arrive at any hour. The safety or the

loss of Irkutsk hung only by a thread.

On this day, the sun which had risen at twenty minutes to six, set at

forty minutes past five, having traced its diurnal arc for eleven

hours above the horizon. The twilight would struggle with the night

for another two hours. Then it would be intensely dark, for the sky was

cloudy, and there would be no moon. This gloom would favor the plans of

Ivan Ogareff.

For a few days already a sharp frost had given warning of the

approaching rigor of the Siberian winter, and this evening it was

especially severe. The Russians posted by the bank of the Angara,

obliged to conceal their position, lighted no fires. They suffered

cruelly from the low temperature. A few feet below them, the ice in

large masses drifted down the current. All day these masses had been

seen passing rapidly between the two banks.

This had been considered by the Grand Duke and his officers as

fortunate. Should the channel of the Angara continue to be thus

obstructed, the passage must be impracticable. The Tartars could use

neither rafts nor boats. As to their crossing the river on the ice, that

was not possible. The newly-frozen plain could not bear the weight of an

assaulting column.

This circumstance, as it appeared favorable to the defenders of Irkutsk,

Ogareff might have regretted. He did not do so, however. The traitor

knew well that the Tartars would not try to pass the Angara, and that,

on its side at least, their attempt was only a feint.

About ten in the evening, the state of the river sensibly improved, to

the great surprise of the besieged and still more to their disadvantage.

The passage till then impracticable, became all at once possible. The

bed of the Angara was clear. The blocks of ice, which had for some days

drifted past in large numbers, disappeared down the current, and five or

six only now occupied the space between the banks. The Russian officers

reported this change in the river to the Grand Duke. They suggested that

it was probably caused by the circumstance that in some narrower part of

the Angara, the blocks had accumulated so as to form a barrier.

We know this was the case. The passage of the Angara was thus open to

the besiegers. There was great reason for the Russians to be on their

guard.

Up to midnight nothing had occurred. On the Eastern side, beyond the

Bolchaia Gate, all was quiet. Not a glimmer was seen in the dense

forest, which appeared confounded on the horizon with the masses of

clouds hanging low down in the sky. Lights flitting to and fro in the

Angara camp, showed that a considerable movement was taking place. From

a verst above and below the point where the scarp met the river’s bank,

came a dull murmur, proving that the Tartars were on foot, expecting

some signal. An hour passed. Nothing new.

The bell of the Irkutsk cathedral was about to strike two o’clock in

the morning, and not a movement amongst the besiegers had yet shown that

they were about to commence the assault. The Grand Duke and his officers

began to suspect that they had been mistaken. Had it really been the

Tartars’ plan to surprise the town? The preceding nights had not been

nearly so quiet--musketry rattling from the outposts, shells whistling

through the air; and this time, nothing. The officers waited, ready to

give their orders, according to circumstances.

We have said that Ogareff occupied a room in the palace. It was a large

chamber on the ground floor, its windows opening on a side terrace.

By taking a few steps along this terrace, a view of the river could be

obtained.

Profound darkness reigned in the room. Ogareff stood by a window,

awaiting the hour to act. The signal, of course, could come from him,

alone. This signal once given, when the greater part of the defenders of

Irkutsk would be summoned to the points openly attacked, his plan was to

leave the palace and hurry to the Bolchaia Gate. If it was unguarded, he

would open it; or at least he would direct the overwhelming mass of its

assailants against the few defenders.

He now crouched in the shadow, like a wild beast ready to spring on

its prey. A few minutes before two o’clock, the Grand Duke desired

that Michael Strogoff--which was the only name they could give to Ivan

Ogareff--should be brought to him. An aide-de-camp came to the room, the

door of which was closed. He called.

Ogareff, motionless near the window, and invisible in the shade did not

answer. The Grand Duke was therefore informed that the Czar’s courier

was not at that moment in the palace.

Two o’clock struck. Now was the time to cause the diversion agreed

upon with the Tartars, waiting for the assault. Ivan Ogareff opened the

window and stationed himself at the North angle of the side terrace.

Below him flowed the roaring waters of the Angara. Ogareff took a match

from his pocket, struck it and lighted a small bunch of tow, impregnated

with priming powder, which he threw into the river.

It was by the orders of Ivan Ogareff that the torrents of mineral oil

had been thrown on the surface of the Angara! There are numerous

naphtha springs above Irkutsk, on the right bank, between the suburb

of Poshkavsk and the town. Ogareff had resolved to employ this terrible

means to carry fire into Irkutsk. He therefore took possession of the

immense reservoirs which contained the combustible liquid. It was only

necessary to demolish a piece of wall in order to allow it to flow out

in a vast stream.

This had been done that night, a few hours previously, and this was the

reason that the raft which carried the true Courier of the Czar, Nadia,

and the fugitives, floated on a current of mineral oil. Through the

breaches in these reservoirs of enormous dimensions rushed the naphtha

in torrents, and, following the inclination of the ground, it spread

over the surface of the river, where its density allowed it to float.

This was the way Ivan Ogareff carried on warfare! Allied with Tartars,

he acted like a Tartar, and against his own countrymen!

The tow had been thrown on the waters of the Angara. In an instant, with

electrical rapidity, as if the current had been of alcohol, the whole

river was in a blaze above and below the town. Columns of blue flames

ran between the two banks. Volumes of vapor curled up above. The few

pieces of ice which still drifted were seized by the burning liquid, and

melted like wax on the top of a furnace, the evaporated water escaping

in shrill hisses.

At the same moment, firing broke out on the North and South of the town.

The enemy’s batteries discharged their guns at random. Several thousand

Tartars rushed to the assault of the earth-works. The houses on the

bank, built of wood, took fire in every direction. A bright light

dissipated the darkness of the night.

“At last!” said Ivan Ogareff.

He had good reason for congratulating himself. The diversion which he

had planned was terrible. The defenders of Irkutsk found themselves

between the attack of the Tartars and the fearful effects of fire. The

bells rang, and all the able-bodied of the population ran, some towards

the points attacked, and others towards the houses in the grasp of the

flames, which it seemed too probable would ere long envelop the whole

town.

The Gate of Bolchaia was nearly free. Only a very small guard had been

left there. And by the traitor’s suggestion, and in order that the event

might be explained apart from him, as if by political hate, this small

guard had been chosen from the little band of exiles.

Ogareff re-entered his room, now brilliantly lighted by the flames from

the Angara; then he made ready to go out. But scarcely had he opened the

door, when a woman rushed into the room, her clothes drenched, her hair

in disorder.

“Sangarre!” exclaimed Ogareff, in the first moment of surprise, and not

supposing that it could be any other woman than the gypsy.

It was not Sangarre; it was Nadia!

At the moment when, floating on the ice, the girl had uttered a cry on

seeing the fire spreading along the current, Michael had seized her in

his arms, and plunged with her into the river itself to seek a refuge

in its depths from the flames. The block which bore them was not thirty

fathoms from the first quay of Irkutsk.

Swimming beneath the water, Michael managed to get a footing with Nadia

on the quay. Michael Strogoff had reached his journey’s end! He was in

Irkutsk!

“To the governor’s palace!” said he to Nadia.

In less than ten minutes, they arrived at the entrance to the palace.

Long tongues of flame from the Angara licked its walls, but were

powerless to set it on fire. Beyond the houses on the bank were in a

blaze.

The palace being open to all, Michael and Nadia entered without

difficulty. In the confusion, no one remarked them, although their

garments were dripping. A crowd of officers coming for orders, and of

soldiers running to execute them, filled the great hall on the ground

floor. There, in a sudden eddy of the confused multitude, Michael and

the young girl were separated from each other.

Nadia ran distracted through the passages, calling her companion, and

asking to be taken to the Grand Duke. A door into a room flooded with

light opened before her. She entered, and found herself suddenly face to

face with the man whom she had met at Ichim, whom she had seen at Tomsk;

face to face with the one whose villainous hand would an instant later

betray the town!

“Ivan Ogareff!” she cried.

On hearing his name pronounced, the wretch started. His real name known,

all his plans would be balked. There was but one thing to be done: to

kill the person who had just uttered it. Ogareff darted at Nadia; but

the girl, a knife in her hand, retreated against the wall, determined to

defend herself.

“Ivan Ogareff!” again cried Nadia, knowing well that so detested a name

would soon bring her help.

“Ah! Be silent!” hissed out the traitor between his clenched teeth.

“Ivan Ogareff!” exclaimed a third time the brave young girl, in a voice

to which hate had added ten-fold strength.

Mad with fury, Ogareff, drawing a dagger from his belt, again rushed at

Nadia and compelled her to retreat into a corner of the room. Her last

hope appeared gone, when the villain, suddenly lifted by an irresistible

force, was dashed to the ground.

“Michael!” cried Nadia.

It was Michael Strogoff. Michael had heard Nadia’s call. Guided by her

voice, he had just in time reached Ivan Ogareff’s room, and entered by

the open door.

“Fear nothing, Nadia,” said he, placing himself between her and Ogareff.

“Ah!” cried the girl, “take care, brother! The traitor is armed! He can

see!”

Ogareff rose, and, thinking he had an immeasurable advantage over the

blind man leaped upon him. But with one hand, the blind man grasped the

arm of his enemy, seized his weapon, and hurled him again to the ground.

Pale with rage and shame, Ogareff remembered that he wore a sword. He

drew it and returned a second time to the charge. A blind man! Ogareff

had only to deal with a blind man! He was more than a match for him!

Nadia, terrified at the danger which threatened her companion ran to the

door calling for help!

“Close the door, Nadia!” said Michael. “Call no one, and leave me alone!

The Czar’s courier has nothing to fear to-day from this villain! Let him

come on, if he dares! I am ready for him.”

In the mean time, Ogareff, gathering himself together like a tiger about

to spring, uttered not a word. The noise of his footsteps, his very

breathing, he endeavored to conceal from the ear of the blind man. His

object was to strike before his opponent was aware of his approach, to

strike him with a deadly blow.

Nadia, terrified and at the same time confident, watched this terrible

scene with involuntary admiration. Michael’s calm bearing seemed to have

inspired her. Michael’s sole weapon was his Siberian knife. He did not

see his adversary armed with a sword, it is true; but Heaven’s support

seemed to be afforded him. How, almost without stirring, did he always

face the point of the sword?

Ivan Ogareff watched his strange adversary with visible anxiety. His

superhuman calm had an effect upon him. In vain, appealing to his

reason, did he tell himself that in so unequal a combat all the

advantages were on his side. The immobility of the blind man froze him.

He had settled on the place where he would strike his victim. He had

fixed upon it! What, then, hindered him from putting an end to his blind

antagonist?

At last, with a spring he drove his sword full at Michael’s breast. An

imperceptible movement of the blind man’s knife turned aside the blow.

Michael had not been touched, and coolly he awaited a second attack.

Cold drops stood on Ogareff’s brow. He drew back a step, then again

leaped forward. But as had the first, this second attempt failed. The

knife had simply parried the blow from the traitor’s useless sword.

Mad with rage and terror before this living statue, he gazed into the

wide-open eyes of the blind man. Those eyes which seemed to pierce to

the bottom of his soul, and yet which did not, could not, see--exercised

a sort of dreadful fascination over him.

All at once, Ogareff uttered a cry. A sudden light flashed across his

brain. “He sees!” he exclaimed, “he sees!” And like a wild beast trying

to retreat into its den, step by step, terrified, he drew back to the

end of the room.

Then the statue became animated, the blind man walked straight up to

Ivan Ogareff, and placing himself right before him, “Yes, I see!” said

he. “I see the mark of the knout which I gave you, traitor and coward! I

see the place where I am about to strike you! Defend your life! It is a

duel I deign to offer you! My knife against your sword!”

“He sees!” said Nadia. “Gracious Heaven, is it possible!”

Ogareff felt that he was lost. But mustering all his courage, he sprang

forward on his impassible adversary. The two blades crossed, but at a

touch from Michael’s knife, wielded in the hand of the Siberian hunter,

the sword flew in splinters, and the wretch, stabbed to the heart, fell

lifeless on the ground.

At the same moment, the door was thrown open. The Grand Duke,

accompanied by some of his officers, appeared on the threshold. The

Grand Duke advanced. In the body lying on the ground, he recognized the

man whom he believed to be the Czar’s courier.

Then, in a threatening voice, “Who killed that man?” he asked.

“I,” replied Michael.

One of the officers put a pistol to his temple, ready to fire.

“Your name?” asked the Grand Duke, before giving the order for his

brains to be blown out.

“Your Highness,” answered Michael, “ask me rather the name of the man

who lies at your feet!”

“That man, I know him! He is a servant of my brother! He is the Czar’s

courier!”

“That man, your Highness, is not a courier of the Czar! He is Ivan

Ogareff!”

“Ivan Ogareff!” exclaimed the Grand Duke.

“Yes, Ivan the Traitor!”

“But who are you, then?”

“Michael Strogoff!”

CHAPTER XV CONCLUSION

MICHAEL STROGOFF was not, had never been, blind. A purely human

phenomenon, at the same time moral and physical, had neutralized the

action of the incandescent blade which Feofar’s executioner had passed

before his eyes.

It may be remembered, that at the moment of the execution, Marfa

Strogoff was present, stretching out her hands towards her son. Michael

gazed at her as a son would gaze at his mother, when it is for the last

time. The tears, which his pride in vain endeavored to subdue, welling

up from his heart, gathered under his eyelids, and volatilizing on the

cornea, had saved his sight. The vapor formed by his tears interposing

between the glowing saber and his eyeballs, had been sufficient to

annihilate the action of the heat. A similar effect is produced, when a

workman smelter, after dipping his hand in vapor, can with impunity hold

it over a stream of melted iron.

Michael had immediately understood the danger in which he would be

placed should he make known his secret to anyone. He at once saw, on

the other hand, that he might make use of his supposed blindness for

the accomplishment of his designs. Because it was believed that he was

blind, he would be allowed to go free. He must therefore be blind, blind

to all, even to Nadia, blind everywhere, and not a gesture at any moment

must let the truth be suspected. His resolution was taken. He must risk

his life even to afford to all he might meet the proof of his want of

sight. We know how perfectly he acted the part he had determined on.

His mother alone knew the truth, and he had whispered it to her in Tomsk

itself, when bending over her in the dark he covered her with kisses.

When Ogareff had in his cruel irony held the Imperial letter before the

eyes which he believed were destroyed, Michael had been able to read,

and had read the letter which disclosed the odious plans of the traitor.

This was the reason of the wonderful resolution he exhibited during

the second part of his journey. This was the reason of his unalterable

longing to reach Irkutsk, so as to perform his mission by word of mouth.

He knew that the town would be betrayed! He knew that the life of the

Grand Duke was threatened! The safety of the Czar’s brother and of

Siberia was in his hands.

This story was told in a few words to the Grand Duke, and Michael

repeated also--and with what emotion!--the part Nadia had taken in these

events.

“Who is this girl?” asked the Grand Duke.

“The daughter of the exile, Wassili Fedor,” replied Michael.

“The daughter of Captain Fedor,” said the Grand Duke, “has ceased to be

the daughter of an exile. There are no longer exiles in Irkutsk.”

Nadia, less strong in joy than she had been in grief, fell on her knees

before the Grand Duke, who raised her with one hand, while he extended

the other to Michael.

An hour after, Nadia was in her father’s arms. Michael Strogoff, Nadia,

and Wassili Fedor were united. This was the height of happiness to them

all.

The Tartars had been repulsed in their double attack on the town.

Wassili Fedor, with his little band, had driven back the first

assailants who presented themselves at the Bolchaia Gate, expecting to

find it open and which, by an instinctive feeling, often arising from

sound judgment, he had determined to remain at and defend.

At the same time as the Tartars were driven back the besieged had

mastered the fire. The liquid naphtha having rapidly burnt to the

surface of the water, the flames did not go beyond the houses on

the shore, and left the other quarters of the town uninjured. Before

daybreak the troops of Feofar-Khan had retreated into their camp,

leaving a large number of dead on and below the ramparts.

Among the dead was the gypsy Sangarre, who had vainly endeavored to join

Ivan Ogareff.

For two days the besiegers attempted no fresh assault. They were

discouraged by the death of Ogareff. This man was the mainspring of

the invasion, and he alone, by his plots long since contrived, had had

sufficient influence over the khans and their hordes to bring them to

the conquest of Asiatic Russia.

However, the defenders of Irkutsk kept on their guard, and the

investment still continued; but on the 7th of October, at daybreak,

cannon boomed out from the heights around Irkutsk. It was the succoring

army under the command of General Kisselef, and it was thus that he made

known his welcome arrival to the Grand Duke.

The Tartars did not wait to be attacked. Not daring to run the risk of a

battle under the walls of Irkutsk, they immediately broke up the Angara

camp. Irkutsk was at last relieved.

With the first Russian soldiers, two of Michael’s friends entered the

city. They were the inseparable Blount and Jolivet. On gaining the right

bank of the Angara by means of the icy barrier, they had escaped, as had

the other fugitives, before the flames had reached their raft. This

had been noted by Alcide Jolivet in his book in this way: “Ran a narrow

chance of being finished up like a lemon in a bowl of punch!”

Their joy was great on finding Nadia and Michael safe and sound; above

all, when they learnt that their brave companion was not blind. Harry

Blount inscribed this observation: “Red-hot iron is insufficient in some

cases to destroy the sensibility of the optic nerve.”

Then the two correspondents, settled for a time in Irkutsk, busied

themselves in putting the notes and impressions of their journey in

order. Thence were sent to London and Paris two interesting articles

relative to the Tartar invasion, and which--a rare thing--did not

contradict each other even on the least important points.

The remainder of the campaign was unfortunate to the Emir and his

allies. This invasion, futile as all which attack the Russian Colossus

must be, was very fatal to them. They soon found themselves cut off by

the Czar’s troops, who retook in succession all the conquered towns.

Besides this, the winter was terrible, and, decimated by the cold, only

a small part of these hordes returned to the steppes of Tartary.

The Irkutsk road, by way of the Ural Mountains, was now open. The Grand

Duke was anxious to return to Moscow, but he delayed his journey to be

present at a touching ceremony, which took place a few days after the

entry of the Russian troops.

Michael Strogoff sought Nadia, and in her father’s presence said to her,

“Nadia, my sister still, when you left Riga to come to Irkutsk, did you

leave it with any other regret than that for your mother?”

“No,” replied Nadia, “none of any sort whatever.”

“Then, nothing of your heart remains there?”

“Nothing, brother.”

“Then, Nadia,” said Michael, “I think that God, in allowing us to meet,

and to go through so many severe trials together, must have meant us to

be united forever.”

“Ah!” said Nadia, falling into Michael’s arms. Then turning towards

Wassili Fedor, “My father,” said she, blushing.

“Nadia,” said Captain Fedor, “it will be my joy to call you both my

children!”

The marriage ceremony took place in Irkutsk cathedral.

Jolivet and Blount very naturally assisted at this marriage, of which

they wished to give an account to their readers.

“And doesn’t it make you wish to imitate them?” asked Alcide of his

friend.

“Pooh!” said Blount. “Now if I had a cousin like you--”

“My cousin isn’t to be married!” answered Alcide, laughing.

“So much the better,” returned Blount, “for they speak of difficulties

arising between London and Pekin. Have you no wish to go and see what is

going on there?”

“By Jove, my dear Blount!” exclaimed Alcide Jolivet, “I was just going

to make the same proposal to you.”

And that was how the two inseparables set off for China.

A few days after the ceremony, Michael and Nadia Strogoff, accompanied

by Wassili Fedor, took the route to Europe. The road so full of

suffering when going, was a road of joy in returning. They traveled

swiftly, in one of those sleighs which glide like an express train

across the frozen steppes of Siberia.

However, when they reached the banks of the Dinka, just before Birskoe,

they stopped for a while. Michael found the place where he had buried

poor Nicholas. A cross was erected there, and Nadia prayed a last time

on the grave of the humble and heroic friend, whom neither of them would

ever forget.

At Omsk, old Marfa awaited them in the little house of the Strogoffs.

She clasped passionately in her arms the girl whom in her heart she had

already a hundred times called “daughter.” The brave old Siberian, on

that day, had the right to recognize her son and say she was proud of

him.

After a few days passed at Omsk, Michael and Nadia entered Europe, and,

Wassili Fedor settling down in St. Petersburg, neither his son nor his

daughter had any occasion to leave him, except to go and see their old

mother.

The young courier was received by the Czar, who attached him specially

to his own person, and gave him the Cross of St. George. In the course

of time, Michael Strogoff reached a high station in the Empire. But it

is not the history of his success, but the history of his trials, which

deserves to be related.