LAKE BAIKAL is situated seventeen hundred feet above the level of
the sea. Its length is about six hundred miles, its breadth seventy.
Its depth is not known. Madame de Bourboulon states that,
according to the boatmen, it likes to be spoken of as "Madam Sea." If it
is called "Sir Lake," it immediately lashes itself into fury.
However, it is reported and believed by the Siberians that a Russian
is never drowned in it.
This immense basin of fresh water, fed by more than three
hundred rivers, is surrounded by magnificent volcanic mountains.
It has no other outlet than the Angara, which after passing
Irkutsk throws itself into the Yenisei, a little above the town
of Yeniseisk. As to the mountains which encase it, they form
a branch of the Toungouzes, and are derived from the vast system
of the Altai.
In this territory, subject to peculiar climatical conditions,
the autumn appears to be absorbed in the precocious winter.
It was now the beginning of October. The sun set at five o'clock in
the evening, and during the long nights the temperature fell to zero.
The first snows, which would last till summer, already whitened
the summits of the neighboring hills. During the Siberian winter
this inland sea is frozen over to a thickness of several feet,
and is crossed by the sleighs of caravans.
Either because there are people who are so wanting in politeness
as to call it "Sir Lake," or for some more meteorological reason,
Lake Baikal is subject to violent tempests. Its waves, short like those
of all inland seas, are much feared by the rafts, prahms, and steamboats,
which furrow it during the summer.
It was the southwest point of the lake which Michael had
now reached, carrying Nadia, whose whole life, so to speak,
was concentrated in her eyes. But what could these two expect,
in this wild region, if it was not to die of exhaustion and famine?
And yet, what remained of the long journey of four thousand miles
for the Czar's courier to reach his end? Nothing but forty
miles on the shore of the lake up to the mouth of the Angara,
and sixty miles from the mouth of the Angara to Irkutsk;
in all, a hundred miles, or three days' journey for a strong man,
even on foot.
Could Michael Strogoff still be that man?
Heaven, no doubt, did not wish to put him to this trial.
The fatality which had hitherto pursued his steps seemed for a time
to spare him. This end of the Baikal, this part of the steppe,
which he believed to be a desert, which it usually is, was not so now.
About fifty people were collected at the angle formed by the end
of the lake.
Nadia immediately caught sight of this group, when Michael,
carrying her in his arms, issued from the mountain pass.
The girl feared for a moment that it was a Tartar detachment,
sent to beat the shores of the Baikal, in which case flight would
have been impossible to them both. But Nadia was soon reassured.
"Russians!" she exclaimed. And with this last effort, her eyes
closed and her head fell on Michael's breast.
But they had been seen, and some of these Russians, running to them,
led the blind man and the girl to a little point at which was
moored a raft.
The raft was just going to start. These Russians were fugitives
of different conditions, whom the same interest had united
at Lake Baikal. Driven back by the Tartar scouts, they hoped
to obtain a refuge at Irkutsk, but not being able to get there
by land, the invaders having occupied both banks of the Angara,
they hoped to reach it by descending the river which flows
through the town.
Their plan made Michael's heart leap; a last chance was before him,
but he had strength to conceal this, wishing to keep his incognito
more strictly than ever.
The fugitives' plan was very simple. A current in the lake runs
along by the upper bank to the mouth of the Angara; this current
they hoped to utilize, and with its assistance to reach the outlet
of Lake Baikal. From this point to Irkutsk, the rapid waters of
the river would bear them along at a rate of eight miles an hour.
In a day and a half they might hope to be in sight of the town.
No kind of boat was to be found; they had been obliged to make one;
a raft, or rather a float of wood, similar to those which usually
are drifted down Siberian rivers, was constructed. A forest of firs,
growing on the bank, had supplied the necessary materials; the trunks,
fastened together with osiers, made a platform on which a hundred
people could have easily found room.
On board this raft Michael and Nadia were taken. The girl had returned
to herself; some food was given to her as well as to her companion.
Then, lying on a bed of leaves, she soon fell into a deep sleep.
To those who questioned him, Michael Strogoff said nothing
of what had taken place at Tomsk. He gave himself out as an
inhabitant of Krasnoiarsk, who had not been able to get to Irkutsk
before the Emir's troops arrived on the left bank of the Dinka,
and he added that, very probably, the bulk of the Tartar forces
had taken up a position before the Siberian capital.
There was not a moment to be lost; besides, the cold was becoming more
and more severe. During the night the temperature fell below zero;
ice was already forming on the surface of the Baikal. Although the raft
managed to pass easily over the lake, it might not be so easy between
the banks of the Angara, should pieces of ice be found to block
up its course.
At eight in the evening the moorings were cast off, and the raft
drifted in the current along the shore. It was steered by means
of long poles, under the management of several muscular moujiks.
An old Baikal boatman took command of the raft.
He was a man of sixty-five, browned by the sun, and lake breezes.
A thick white beard flowed over his chest; a fur cap covered
his head; his aspect was grave and austere. His large
great-coat, fastened in at the waist, reached down to his heels.
This taciturn old fellow was seated in the stern, and issued
his commands by gestures. Besides, the chief work consisted
in keeping the raft in the current, which ran along the shore,
without drifting out into the open.
It has been already said that Russians of all conditions had found
a place on the raft. Indeed, to the poor moujiks, the women,
old men, and children, were joined two or three pilgrims,
surprised on their journey by the invasion; a few monks, and a priest.
The pilgrims carried a staff, a gourd hung at the belt, and they
chanted psalms in a plaintive voice: one came from the Ukraine,
another from the Yellow sea, and a third from the Finland provinces.
This last, who was an aged man, carried at his waist a little
padlocked collecting-box, as if it had been hung at a church door.
Of all that he collected during his long and fatiguing pilgrimage,
nothing was for himself; he did not even possess the key of the box,
which would only be opened on his return.
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; baptis-ing, 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 fete.
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.
