IT was fortunate that Michael Strogoff had left the posting-house
so promptly. The orders of Ivan Ogareff had been immediately
transmitted to all the approaches of the city, and a full
description of Michael sent to all the various commandants,
in order to prevent his departure from Omsk. But he had
already passed through one of the breaches in the wall;
his horse was galloping over the steppe, and the chances
of escape were in his favor.
It was on the 29th of July, at eight o'clock in the evening,
that Michael Strogoff had left Omsk. This town is situated about halfway
between Moscow and Irkutsk, where it was necessary that he should arrive
within ten days if he wished to get ahead of the Tartar columns.
It was evident that the unlucky chance which had brought him
into the presence of his mother had betrayed his incognito.
Ivan Ogareff was no longer ignorant of the fact that a courier of the Czar
had just passed Omsk, taking the direction of Irkutsk. The dispatches
which this courier bore must have been of immense importance.
Michael Strogoff knew, therefore, that every effort would be made
to capture him.
But what he did not know, and could not know, was that Marfa Strogoff
was in the hands of Ivan Ogareff, and that she was about to atone,
perhaps with her life, for that natural exhibition of her feelings which
she had been unable to restrain when she suddenly found herself in the
presence of her son. And it was fortunate that he was ignorant of it.
Could he have withstood this fresh trial?
Michael Strogoff urged on his horse, imbuing him with all his own
feverish impatience, requiring of him one thing only, namely, to bear
him rapidly to the next posting-house, where he could be exchanged
for a quicker conveyance.
At midnight he had cleared fifty miles, and halted at the station
of Koulikovo. But there, as he had feared, he found neither
horses nor carriages. Several Tartar detachments had passed
along the highway of the steppe. Everything had been stolen
or requisitioned both in the villages and in the posting-houses.
It was with difficulty that Michael Strogoff was even able
to obtain some refreshment for his horse and himself.
It was of great importance, therefore, to spare his horse, for he could
not tell when or how he might be able to replace it. Desiring, however,
to put the greatest possible distance between himself and the horsemen
who had no doubt been dispatched in pursuit, he resolved to push on.
After one hour's rest he resumed his course across the steppe.
Hitherto the weather had been propitious for his journey.
The temperature was endurable. The nights at this time of the year
are very short, and as they are lighted by the moon, the route
over the steppe is practicable. Michael Strogoff, moreover,
was a man certain of his road and devoid of doubt or hesitation,
and in spite of the melancholy thoughts which possessed him
he had preserved his clearness of mind, and made for his
destined point as though it were visible upon the horizon.
When he did halt for a moment at some turn in the road it was
to breathe his horse. Now he would dismount to ease his steed
for a moment, and again he would place his ear to the ground
to listen for the sound of galloping horses upon the steppe.
Nothing arousing his suspicions, he resumed his way.
On the 30th of July, at nine o'clock in the morning, Michael Strogoff
passed through the station of Touroumoff and entered the swampy district
of the Baraba.
There, for a distance of three hundred versts, the natural obstacles
would be extremely great. He knew this, but he also knew that he would
certainly surmount them.
These vast marshes of the Baraba, form the reservoir to all
the rain-water which finds no outlet either towards the Obi
or towards the Irtych. The soil of this vast depression is
entirely argillaceous, and therefore impermeable, so that the waters
remain there and make of it a region very difficult to cross
during the hot season. There, however, lies the way to Irkutsk,
and it is in the midst of ponds, pools, lakes, and swamps,
from which the sun draws poisonous exhalations, that the road winds,
and entails upon the traveler the greatest fatigue and danger.
Michael Strogoff spurred his horse into the midst of a grassy prairie,
differing greatly from the close-cropped sod of the steppe, where feed the
immense Siberian herds. The grass here was five or six feet in height,
and had made room for swamp-plants, to which the dampness of the place,
assisted by the heat of summer, had given giant proportions.
These were principally canes and rushes, which formed a tangled network,
an impenetrable undergrowth, sprinkled everywhere with a thousand
flowers remarkable for the brightness of their color.
Michael Strogoff, galloping amongst this undergrowth of cane,
was no longer visible from the swamps which bordered the road.
The tall grass rose above him, and his track was indicated only
by the flight of innumerable aquatic birds, which rose from the side
of the road and dispersed into the air in screaming flocks.
The way, however, was clearly traceable. Now it would lie
straight between the dense thicket of marsh-plants; again it
would follow the winding shores of vast pools, some of which,
several versts in length and breadth, deserve the name of lakes.
In other localities the stagnant waters through which the road
lay had been avoided, not by bridges, but by tottering
platforms ballasted with thick layers of clay, whose joists
shook like a too weak plank thrown across an abyss.
Some of these platforms extended over three hundred feet,
and travelers by tarantass, when crossing them have experienced
a nausea like sea-sickness.
Michael Strogoff, whether the soil beneath his feet was solid
or whether it sank under him, galloped on without halt,
leaping the space between the rotten joists; but however
fast they traveled the horse and the horseman were unable
to escape from the sting of the two-winged insects which infest
this marshy country.
Travelers who are obliged to cross the Baraba during the summer
take care to provide themselves with masks of horse-hair,
to which is attached a coat of mail of very fine wire,
which covers their shoulders. Notwithstanding these precautions,
there are few who come out of these marshes without having
their faces, necks, and hands covered with red spots.
The atmosphere there seems to bristle with fine needles,
and one would almost say that a knight's armor would not protect
him against the darts of these dipterals. It is a dreary region,
which man dearly disputes with tipulae, gnats, mosquitos,
horse-flies, and millions of microscopic insects which are not
visible to the naked eye; but, although they are not seen,
they make themselves felt by their intolerable stinging,
to which the most callous Siberian hunters have never been able
to inure themselves.
Michael Strogoff's horse, stung by these venomous insects, sprang forward
as if the rowels of a thousand spurs had pierced his flanks.
Mad with rage, he tore along over verst after verst with the speed
of an express train, lashing his sides with his tail, seeking by
the rapidity of his pace an alleviation of his torture.
It required as good a horseman as Michael Strogoff not to be thrown
by the plungings of his horse, and the sudden stops and bounds
which he made to escape from the stings of his persecutors.
Having become insensible, so to speak, to physical suffering,
possessed only with the one desire to arrive at his destination
at whatever cost, he saw during this mad race only one thing--
that the road flew rapidly behind him.
Who would have thought that this district of the Baraba, so unhealthy
during the summer, could have afforded an asylum for human beings?
Yet it did so. Several Siberian hamlets appeared from time
to time among the giant canes. Men, women, children, and old men,
clad in the skins of beasts, their faces covered with hardened
blisters of skin, pastured their poor herds of sheep.
In order to preserve the animals from the attack of the insects,
they drove them to the leeward of fires of green wood, which were
kept burning night and day, and the pungent smoke of which floated
over the vast swamp.
When Michael Strogoff perceived that his horse, tired out, was on
the point of succumbing, he halted at one of these wretched hamlets,
and there, forgetting his own fatigue, he himself rubbed the wounds
of the poor animal with hot grease according to the Siberian custom;
then he gave him a good feed; and it was only after he had well groomed
and provided for him that he thought of himself, and recruited his
strength by a hasty meal of bread and meat and a glass of kwass.
One hour afterwards, or at the most two, he resumed with all speed
the interminable road to Irkutsk.
On the 30th of July, at four o'clock in the afternoon, Michael Strogoff,
insensible of every fatigue, arrived at Elamsk. There it
became necessary to give a night's rest to his horse.
The brave animal could no longer have continued the journey.
At Elamsk, as indeed elsewhere, there existed no means of transport,--
for the same reasons as at the previous villages, neither carriages
nor horses were to be had.
Michael Strogoff resigned himself therefore to pass the night at Elamsk,
to give his horse twelve hours' rest. He recalled the instructions which
had been given to him at Moscow--to cross Siberia incognito, to arrive
at Irkutsk, but not to sacrifice success to the rapidity of the journey;
and consequently it was necessary that he should husband the sole means
of transport which remained to him.
On the morrow, Michael Strogoff left Elamsk at the moment when
the first Tartar scouts were signaled ten versts behind upon the road
to the Baraba, and he plunged again into the swampy region.
The road was level, which made it easy, but very tortuous,
and therefore long. It was impossible, moreover, to leave it,
and to strike a straight line across that impassable network
of pools and bogs.
On the next day, the 1st of August, eighty miles farther,
Michael Strogoff arrived at midday at the town of Spaskoe,
and at two o'clock he halted at Pokrowskoe. His horse,
jaded since his departure from Elamsk, could not have taken
a single step more.
There Michael Strogoff was again compelled to lose, for necessary rest,
the end of that day and the entire night; but starting again on
the following morning, and still traversing the semi-inundated soil,
on the 2nd of August, at four o'clock in the afternoon, after a stage
of fifty miles he reached Kamsk.
The country had changed. This little village of Kamsk lies,
like an island, habitable and healthy, in the midst of the
uninhabitable district. It is situated in the very center
of the Baraba. The emigration caused by the Tartar invasion had
not yet depopulated this little town of Kamsk. Its inhabitants
probably fancied themselves safe in the center of the Baraba,
whence at least they thought they would have time to flee
if they were directly menaced.
Michael Strogoff, although exceedingly anxious for news,
could ascertain nothing at this place. It would have been
rather to him that the Governor would have addressed himself
had he known who the pretended merchant of Irkutsk really was.
Kamsk, in fact, by its very situation seemed to be outside
the Siberian world and the grave events which troubled it.
Besides, Michael Strogoff showed himself little, if at all.
To be unperceived was not now enough for him: he would have
wished to be invisible. The experience of the past made him
more and more circumspect in the present and the future.
Therefore he secluded himself, and not caring to traverse
the streets of the village, he would not even leave the inn
at which he had halted.
As for his horse, he did not even think of exchanging him for
another animal. He had become accustomed to this brave creature.
He knew to what extent he could rely upon him. In buying him at Omsk
he had been lucky, and in taking him to the postmaster the generous
mujik had rendered him a great service. Besides, if Michael Strogoff
had already become attached to his horse, the horse himself seemed
to become inured, by degrees, to the fatigue of such a journey,
and provided that he got several hours of repose daily, his rider
might hope that he would carry him beyond the invaded provinces.
So, during the evening and night of the 2nd of August, Michael Strogoff
remained confined to his inn, at the entrance of the town; which was
little frequented and out of the way of the importunate and curious.
Exhausted with fatigue, he went to bed after having seen that his horse
lacked nothing; but his sleep was broken. What he had seen since his
departure from Moscow showed him the importance of his mission.
The rising was an extremely serious one, and the treachery
of Ogareff made it still more formidable. And when his eyes fell
upon the letter bearing upon it the authority of the imperial seal--
the letter which, no doubt, contained the remedy for so many evils,
the safety of all this war-ravaged country--Michael Strogoff felt within
himself a fierce desire to dash on across the steppe, to accomplish
the distance which separated him from Irkutsk as the crow would fly it,
to be an eagle that he might overtop all obstacles, to be a hurricane
that he might sweep through the air at a hundred versts an hour,
and to be at last face to face with the Grand Duke, and to exclaim:
"Your highness, from his Majesty the Czar!"
On the next morning at six o'clock, Michael Strogoff started off again.
Thanks to his extreme prudence this part of the journey was signalized
by no incident whatever. At Oubinsk he gave his horse a whole
night's rest, for he wished on the next day to accomplish the hundred
versts which lie between Oubinsk and Ikoulskoe without halting.
He started therefore at dawn; but unfortunately the Baraba proved
more detestable than ever.
In fact, between Oubinsk and Kamakore the very heavy rains
of some previous weeks were retained by this shallow depression
as in a water-tight bowl. There was, for a long distance, no break
in the succession of swamps, pools, and lakes. One of these lakes--
large enough to warrant its geographical nomenclature--Tchang, Chinese
in name, had to be coasted for more than twenty versts, and this
with the greatest difficulty. Hence certain delays occurred,
which all the impatience of Michael Strogoff could not avoid.
He had been well advised in not taking a carriage at Kamsk,
for his horse passed places which would have been impracticable
for a conveyance on wheels.
In the evening, at nine o'clock, Michael Strogoff arrived
at Ikoulskoe, and halted there over night. In this remote
village of the Baraba news of the war was utterly wanting.
From its situation, this part of the province, lying in the fork
formed by the two Tartar columns which had bifurcated,
one upon Omsk and the other upon Tomsk, had hitherto escaped
the horrors of the invasion.
But the natural obstacles were now about to disappear, for, if he
experienced no delay, Michael Strogoff should on the morrow be free
of the Baraba and arrive at Kolyvan. There he would be within
eighty miles of Tomsk. He would then be guided by circumstances,
and very probably he would decide to go around Tomsk, which, if the news
were true, was occupied by Feofar-Khan.
But if the small towns of Ikoulskoe and Karguinsk, which he
passed on the next day, were comparatively quiet, owing to
their position in the Baraba, was it not to be dreaded that,
upon the right banks of the Obi, Michael Strogoff would have much
more to fear from man? It was probable. However, should it
become necessary, he would not hesitate to abandon the beaten
path to Irkutsk. To journey then across the steppe he would,
no doubt, run the risk of finding himself without supplies.
There would be, in fact, no longer a well-marked road.
Still, there must be no hesitation.
Finally, towards half past three in the afternoon, Michael Strogoff
left the last depressions of the Baraba, and the dry and hard soil
of Siberia rang out once more beneath his horse's hoofs.
He had left Moscow on the 15th of July. Therefore on this day,
the 5th of August, including more than seventy hours lost on the banks
of the Irtych, twenty days had gone by since his departure.
One thousand miles still separated him from Irkutsk.
