AT a day's march from Kolyvan, several versts beyond
the town of Diachinks, stretches a wide plain, planted here
and there with great trees, principally pines and cedars.
This part of the steppe is usually occupied during the warm
season by Siberian shepherds, and their numerous flocks.
But now it might have been searched in vain for one of its
nomad inhabitants. Not that the plain was deserted.
It presented a most animated appearance.
There stood the Tartar tents; there Feofar-Khan, the terrible
Emir of Bokhara, was encamped; and there on the following day,
the 7th of August, were brought the prisoners taken at Kolyvan
after the annihilation of the Russian force, which had
vainly attempted to oppose the progress of the invaders.
Of the two thousand men who had engaged with the two columns
of the enemy, the bases of which rested on Tomsk and Omsk,
only a few hundred remained. Thus events were going badly,
and the imperial government appeared to have lost its power beyond
the frontiers of the Ural--for a time at least, for the Russians could
not fail eventually to defeat the savage hordes of the invaders.
But in the meantime the invasion had reached the center
of Siberia, and it was spreading through the revolted
country both to the eastern, and the western provinces.
If the troops of the Amoor and the province of Takutsk did not arrive
in time to occupy it, Irkutsk, the capital of Asiatic Russia,
being insufficiently garrisoned, would fall into the hands
of the Tartars, and the Grand Duke, brother of the Emperor,
would be sacrificed to the vengeance of Ivan Ogareff.
What had become of Michael Strogoff? Had he broken down under
the weight of so many trials? Did he consider himself conquered
by the series of disasters which, since the adventure of Ichim,
had increased in magnitude? Did he think his cause lost? that his
mission had failed? that his orders could no longer be obeyed?
Michael was one of those men who never give in while life exists.
He was yet alive; he still had the imperial letter safe; his disguise
had been undiscovered. He was included amongst the numerous
prisoners whom the Tartars were dragging with them like cattle;
but by approaching Tomsk he was at the same time drawing nearer
to Irkutsk. Besides, he was still in front of Ivan Ogareff.
"I will get there!" he repeated to himself.
Since the affair of Kolyvan all the powers of his mind were
concentrated on one object--to become free! How should he escape
from the Emir's soldiers?
Feofar's camp presented a magnificent spectacle.
Numberless tents, of skin, felt, or silk, glistened in the rays
of the sun. The lofty plumes which surmounted their conical
tops waved amidst banners, flags, and pennons of every color.
The richest of these tents belonged to the Seides and Khodjas,
who are the principal personages of the khanat.
A special pavilion, ornamented with a horse's tail issuing
from a sheaf of red and white sticks artistically interlaced,
indicated the high rank of these Tartar chiefs.
Then in the distance rose several thousand of the Turcoman tents,
called "karaoy," which had been carried on the backs of camels.
The camp contained at least a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers,
as many foot as horse soldiers, collected under the name
of Alamanes. Amongst them, and as the principal types
of Turkestan, would have been directly remarked the Tadjiks,
from their regular features, white skin, tall forms, and black
eyes and hair; they formed the bulk of the Tartar army,
and of them the khanats of Khokhand and Koundouge had furnished
a contingent nearly equal to that of Bokhara. With the Tadjiks
were mingled specimens of different races who either reside
in Turkestan or whose native countries border on it.
There were Usbecks, red-bearded, small in stature,
similar to those who had pursued Michael. Here were Kirghiz,
with flat faces like the Kalmucks, dressed in coats of mail:
some carried the lance, bows, and arrows of Asiatic manufacture;
some the saber, a matchlock gun, and the "tschakane," a little
short-handled ax, the wounds from which invariably prove fatal.
There were Mongols--of middle height, with black hair plaited
into pigtails, which hung down their back; round faces,
swarthy complexions, lively deep-set eyes, scanty beards--
dressed in blue nankeen trimmed with black plush, sword-belts of
leather with silver buckles, coats gayly braided, and silk
caps edged with fur and three ribbons fluttering behind.
Brown-skinned Afghans, too, might have been seen.
Arabs, having the primitive type of the beautiful Semitic races;
and Turcomans, with eyes which looked as if they had lost
the pupil,--all enrolled under the Emir's flag, the flag
of incendiaries and devastators.
Among these free soldiers were a certain number of slave soldiers,
principally Persians, commanded by officers of the same nation,
and they were certainly not the least esteemed of Feofar-Khan's army.
If to this list are added the Jews, who acted as servants,
their robes confined with a cord, and wearing on their heads instead
of the turban, which is forbidden them, little caps of dark cloth;
if with these groups are mingled some hundreds of "kalenders," a sort
of religious mendicants, clothed in rags, covered by a leopard skin,
some idea may be formed of the enormous agglomerations of different
tribes included under the general denomination of the Tartar army.
Nothing could be more romantic than this picture, in delineating
which the most skillful artist would have exhausted all the colors
of his palette.
Feofar's tent overlooked the others. Draped in large folds
of a brilliant silk looped with golden cords and tassels,
surmounted by tall plumes which waved in the wind like fans,
it occupied the center of a wide clearing, sheltered by a grove
of magnificent birch and pine trees. Before this tent, on a japanned
table inlaid with precious stones, was placed the sacred book of
the Koran, its pages being of thin gold-leaf delicately engraved.
Above floated the Tartar flag, quartered with the Emir's arms.
In a semicircle round the clearing stood the tents of the great
functionaries of Bokhara. There resided the chief of the stables,
who has the right to follow the Emir on horseback even into the court
of his palace; the grand falconer; the "housch-begui," bearer of
the royal seal; the "toptschi-baschi," grand master of the artillery;
the "khodja," chief of the council, who receives the prince's kiss,
and may present himself before him with his girdle untied;
the "scheikh-oul-islam," chief of the Ulemas, representing the priests;
the "cazi-askev," who, in the Emir's absence settles all disputes
raised among the soldiers; and lastly, the chief of the astrologers,
whose great business is to consult the stars every time the Khan
thinks of changing his quarters.
When the prisoners were brought into the camp, the Emir was in his tent.
He did not show himself. This was fortunate, no doubt. A sign,
a word from him might have been the signal for some bloody execution.
But he intrenched himself in that isolation which constitutes
in part the majesty of Eastern kings. He who does not show himself
is admired, and, above all, feared.
As to the prisoners, they were to be penned up in some enclosure,
where, ill-treated, poorly fed, and exposed to all the inclemencies
of the weather, they would await Feofar's pleasure.
The most docile and patient of them all was undoubtedly
Michael Strogoff. He allowed himself to be led, for they were
leading him where he wished to go, and under conditions of safety
which free he could not have found on the road from Kolyvan
to Tomsk. To escape before reaching that town was to risk
again falling into the hands of the scouts, who were scouring
the steppe. The most eastern line occupied by the Tartar
columns was not situated beyond the eighty-fifth meridian,
which passes through Tomsk. This meridian once passed,
Michael considered that he should be beyond the hostile zones,
that he could traverse Genisci without danger, and gain
Krasnoiarsk before Feofar-Khan had invaded the province.
"Once at Tomsk," he repeated to himself, to repress some feelings
of impatience which he could not entirely master, "in a few minutes
I should be beyond the outposts; and twelve hours gained on Feofar,
twelve hours on Ogareff, that surely would be enough to give me
a start of them to Irkutsk."
The thing that Michael dreaded more than everything else was
the presence of Ivan Ogareff in the Tartar camp. Besides the danger
of being recognized, he felt, by a sort of instinct, that this
was the traitor whom it was especially necessary to precede.
He understood, too, that the union of Ogareff's troops with those
of Feofar would complete the invading army, and that the junction
once effected, the army would march en masse on the capital
of Eastern Siberia. All his apprehensions came from this quarter,
and he dreaded every instant to hear some flourish of trumpets,
announcing the arrival of the lieutenant of the Emir.
To this was added the thought of his mother, of Nadia,--
the one a prisoner at Omsk; the other dragged on board
the Irtych boats, and no doubt a captive, as Marfa Strogoff was.
He could do nothing for them. Should he ever see them again?
At this question, to which he dared not reply, his heart
sank very low.
At the same time with Michael Strogoff and so many other prisoners
Harry Blount and Alcide Jolivet had also been taken to the Tartar camp.
Their former traveling companion, captured like them at the telegraph
office, knew that they were penned up with him in the enclosure,
guarded by numerous sentinels, but he did not wish to accost them.
It mattered little to him, at this time especially, what they might think
of him since the affair at Ichim. Besides, he desired to be alone,
that he might act alone, if necessary. He therefore held himself aloof
from his former acquaintances.
From the moment that Harry Blount had fallen by his side, Jolivet had
not ceased his attentions to him. During the journey from Kolyvan
to the camp--that is to say, for several hours--Blount, by leaning on his
companion's arm, had been enabled to follow the rest of the prisoners.
He tried to make known that he was a British subject; but it had no effect
on the barbarians, who only replied by prods with a lance or sword.
The correspondent of the Daily Telegraph was, therefore, obliged to submit
to the common lot, resolving to protest later, and obtain satisfaction
for such treatment. But the journey was not the less disagreeable to him,
for his wound caused him much pain, and without Alcide Jolivet's
assistance he might never have reached the camp.
Jolivet, whose practical philosophy never abandoned him, had physically
and morally strengthened his companion by every means in his power.
His first care, when they found themselves definitely established
in the enclosure, was to examine Blount's wound. Having managed
carefully to draw off his coat, he found that the shoulder had been
only grazed by the shot.
"This is nothing," he said. "A mere scratch! After two or three
dressings you will be all to rights."
"But these dressings?" asked Blount.
"I will make them for you myself."
"Then you are something of a doctor?"
"All Frenchmen are something of doctors."
And on this affirmation Alcide, tearing his handkerchief,
made lint of one piece, bandages of the other, took some water
from a well dug in the middle of the enclosure, bathed the wound,
and skillfully placed the wet rag on Harry Blount's shoulder.
"I treat you with water," he said. "This liquid is the most efficacious
sedative known for the treatment of wounds, and is the most employed now.
Doctors have taken six thousand years to discover that! Yes, six thousand
years in round numbers!"
"I thank you, M. Jolivet," answered Harry, stretching himself on a bed
of dry leaves, which his companion had arranged for him in the shade
of a birch tree.
"Bah! it's nothing! You would do as much for me."
"I am not quite so sure," said Blount candidly.
"Nonsense, stupid! All English are generous."
"Doubtless; but the French?"
"Well, the French--they are brutes, if you like!
But what redeems them is that they are French. Say nothing
more about that, or rather, say nothing more at all.
Rest is absolutely necessary for you."
But Harry Blount had no wish to be silent. If the wound, in prudence,
required rest, the correspondent of the Daily Telegraph was not a man
to indulge himself.
"M. Jolivet," he asked, "do you think that our last dispatches
have been able to pass the Russian frontier?"
"Why not?" answered Alcide. "By this time you may be sure
that my beloved cousin knows all about the affair at Kolyvan."
"How many copies does your cousin work off of her dispatches?"
asked Blount, for the first time putting his question direct
to his companion.
"Well," answered Alcide, laughing, "my cousin is a very discreet person,
who does not like to be talked about, and who would be in despair if she
troubled the sleep of which you are in need."
"I don't wish to sleep," replied the Englishman. "What will your cousin
think of the affairs of Russia?"
"That they seem for the time in a bad way. But, bah! the
Muscovite government is powerful; it cannot be really uneasy
at an invasion of barbarians."
"Too much ambition has lost the greatest empires," answered Blount,
who was not exempt from a certain English jealousy with regard
to Russian pretensions in Central Asia.
"Oh, do not let us talk politics," cried Jolivet. "It is forbidden
by the faculty. Nothing can be worse for wounds in the shoulder--
unless it was to put you to sleep."
"Let us, then, talk of what we ought to do," replied Blount.
"M. Jolivet, I have no intention at all of remaining a prisoner
to these Tartars for an indefinite time."
"Nor I, either, by Jove!"
"We will escape on the first opportunity?"
"Yes, if there is no other way of regaining our liberty."
"Do you know of any other?" asked Blount, looking at his companion.
"Certainly. We are not belligerents; we are neutral, and we
will claim our freedom."
"From that brute of a Feofar-Khan?"
"No; he would not understand," answered Jolivet; "but from
his lieutenant, Ivan Ogareff."
"He is a villain."
"No doubt; but the villain is a Russian. He knows that it does not do
to trifle with the rights of men, and he has no interest to retain us;
on the contrary. But to ask a favor of that gentleman does not quite
suit my taste."
"But that gentleman is not in the camp, or at least I have not seen
him here," observed Blount.
"He will come. He will not fail to do that. He must join
the Emir. Siberia is cut in two now, and very certainly Feofar's
army is only waiting for him to advance on Irkutsk."
"And once free, what shall we do?"
"Once free, we will continue our campaign, and follow the Tartars,
until the time comes when we can make our way into the Russian camp.
We must not give up the game. No, indeed; we have only just begun.
You, friend, have already had the honor of being wounded in the service
of the Daily Telegraph, whilst I--I have as yet suffered nothing
in my cousin's service. Well, well! Good," murmured Alcide Jolivet;
"there he is asleep. A few hours' sleep and a few cold water compresses
are all that are required to set an Englishman on his legs again.
These fellows are made of cast iron."
And whilst Harry Blount rested, Alcide watched near him,
after having drawn out his note book, which he loaded with notes,
determined besides to share them with his companion, for the greater
satisfaction of the readers of the Daily Telegraph. Events had
united them one with the other. They were no longer jealous of
each other. So, then, the thing that Michael Strogoff dreaded above
everything was the most lively desire of the two correspondents.
Ivan Ogareff's arrival would evidently be of use to them.
Blount and Jolivet's interest was, therefore, contrary to
that of Michael. The latter well understood the situation,
and it was one reason, added to many others, which prevented
him from approaching his former traveling companions.
He therefore managed so as not to be seen by them.
Four days passed thus without the state of things being in
anywise altered. The prisoners heard no talk of the breaking
up of the Tartar camp. They were strictly guarded.
It would have been impossible for them to pass the cordon
of foot and horse soldiers, which watched them night and day.
As to the food which was given them it was barely sufficient.
Twice in the twenty-four hours they were thrown a piece
of the intestines of goats grilled on the coals, or a few
bits of that cheese called "kroute," made of sour ewe's milk,
and which, soaked in mare's milk, forms the Kirghiz dish,
commonly called "koumyss." And this was all.
It may be added that the weather had become detestable.
There were considerable atmospheric commotions, bringing squalls
mingled with rain. The unfortunate prisoners, destitute
of shelter, had to bear all the inclemencies of the weather,
nor was there the slightest alleviation to their misery.
Several wounded women and children died, and the prisoners were
themselves compelled to dig graves for the bodies of those whom
their jailers would not even take the trouble to bury.
During this trying period Alcide Jolivet and Michael Strogoff worked hard,
each in the portions of the enclosure in which they found themselves.
Healthy and vigorous, they suffered less than so many others,
and could better endure the hardships to which they were exposed.
By their advice, and the assistance they rendered, they were of the
greatest possible use to their suffering and despairing fellow-captives.
Was this state of things to last? Would Feofar-Khan, satisfied
with his first success, wait some time before marching
on Irkutsk? Such, it was to be feared, would be the case.
But it was not so. The event so much wished for by Jolivet
and Blount, so much dreaded by Michael, occurred on the morning
of the 12th of August.
On that day the trumpets sounded, the drums beat, the cannon roared.
A huge cloud of dust swept along the road from Kolyvan. Ivan Ogareff,
followed by several thousand men, made his entry into the Tartar camp.
