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!"
