AT nightfall, on the 25th of August, the kibitka came in sight
of Krasnoiarsk. The journey from Tomsk had taken eight days.
If it had not been accomplished as rapidly as it might,
it was because Nicholas had slept little. Consequently, it was
impossible to increase his horse's pace, though in other hands,
the journey would not have taken sixty hours.
Happily, there was no longer any fear of Tartars. Not a scout
had appeared on the road over which the kibitka had just traveled.
This was strange enough, and evidently some serious cause
had prevented the Emir's troops from marching without delay
upon Irkutsk. Something had occurred. A new Russian corps,
hastily raised in the government of Yeniseisk, had marched to Tomsk
to endeavor to retake the town. But, being too weak to withstand
the Emir's troops, now concentrated there, they had been forced
to effect a retreat. Feofar-Khan, including his own soldiers,
and those of the Khanats of Khokhand and Koun-douze, had now
under his command two hundred and fifty thousand men, to which
the Russian government could not as yet oppose a sufficient force.
The invasion could not, therefore, be immediately stopped,
and the whole Tartar army might at once march upon Irkutsk. The battle
of Tomsk was on the 22nd of August, though this Michael did not know,
but it explained why the vanguard of the Emir's army had not
appeared at Krasnoiarsk by the 25th.
However, though Michael Strogoff could not know the events
which had occurred since his departure, he at least knew that
he was several days in advance of the Tartars, and that he need
not despair of reaching before them the town of Irkutsk,
still six hundred miles distant.
Besides, at Krasnoiarsk, of which the population is about twelve
thousand souls, he depended upon obtaining some means of transport.
Since Nicholas Pigassof was to stop in that town, it would be
necessary to replace him by a guide, and to change the kibitka
for another more rapid vehicle. Michael, after having addressed
himself to the governor of the town, and established his identity
and quality as Courier of the Czar--which would be easy--
doubted not that he would be enabled to get to Irkutsk in the shortest
possible time. He would thank the good Nicholas Pigassof,
and set out immediately with Nadia, for he did not wish
to leave her until he had placed her in her father's arms.
Though Nicholas had resolved to stop at Krasnoiarsk, it was
only as he said, "on condition of finding employment there."
In fact, this model clerk, after having stayed to the last
minute at his post in Kolyvan, was endeavoring to place
himself again at the disposal of the government.
"Why should I receive a salary which I have not earned?"
he would say.
In the event of his services not being required at Krasnoiarsk,
which it was expected would be still in telegraphic communication
with Irkutsk, he proposed to go to Oudinsk, or even to the capital
of Siberia itself. In the latter case, he would continue to travel
with the brother and sister; and where would they find a surer guide,
or a more devoted friend?
The kibitka was now only half a verst from Krasnoiarsk. The numerous
wooden crosses which are erected at the approaches to the town, could be
seen to the right and left of the road. It was seven in the evening;
the outline of the churches and of the houses built on the high
bank of the Yenisei were clearly defined against the evening sky,
and the waters of the river reflected them in the twilight.
"Where are we, sister?" asked Michael.
"Half a verst from the first houses," replied Nadia.
"Can the town be asleep?" observed Michael. "Not a sound
strikes my ear."
"And I cannot see the slightest light, nor even smoke mounting
into the air," added Nadia.
"What a queer town!" said Nicholas. "They make no noise in it,
and go to bed uncommonly early!"
A presentiment of impending misfortune passed across Michael's heart.
He had not said to Nadia that he had placed all his hopes on Krasnoiarsk,
where he expected to find the means of safely finishing his journey.
He much feared that his anticipations would again be disappointed.
But Nadia had guessed his thoughts, although she could not understand why
her companion should be so anxious to reach Irkutsk, now that the Imperial
letter was gone. She one day said something of the sort to him.
"I have sworn to go to Irkutsk," he replied.
But to accomplish his mission, it was necessary that at
Krasnoiarsk he should find some more rapid mode of locomotion.
"Well, friend," said he to Nicholas, "why are we not going on?"
"Because I am afraid of waking up the inhabitants of the town
with the noise of my carriage!" And with a light fleck of the whip,
Nicholas put his horse in motion.
Ten minutes after they entered the High Street. Krasnoiarsk was deserted;
there was no longer an Athenian in this "Northern Athens,"
as Madame de Bourboulon has called it. Not one of their
dashing equipages swept through the wide, clean streets.
Not a pedestrian enlivened the footpaths raised at the bases
of the magnificent wooden houses, of monumental aspect!
Not a Siberian belle, dressed in the last French fashion,
promenaded the beautiful park, cleared in a forest of birch trees,
which stretches away to the banks of the Yenisei! The great bell
of the cathedral was dumb; the chimes of the churches were silent.
Here was complete desolation. There was no longer a living being
in this town, lately so lively!
The last telegram sent from the Czar's cabinet, before the rupture
of the wire, had ordered the governor, the garrison, the inhabitants,
whoever they might be, to leave Krasnoiarsk, to carry with them
any articles of value, or which might be of use to the Tartars,
and to take refuge at Irkutsk. The same injunction was given to all
the villages of the province. It was the intention of the Muscovite
government to lay the country desert before the invaders.
No one thought for an instant of disputing these orders.
They were executed, and this was the reason why not a single human
being remained in Krasnoiarsk.
Michael Strogoff, Nadia, and Nicholas passed silently through
the streets of the town. They felt half-stupefied. They
themselves made the only sound to be heard in this dead city.
Michael allowed nothing of what he felt to appear,
but he inwardly raged against the bad luck which pursued him,
his hopes being again disappointed.
"Alack, alack!" cried Nicholas, "I shall never get any employment
in this desert!"
"Friend," said Nadia, "you must go on with us."
"I must indeed!" replied Nicholas. "The wire is no doubt
still working between Oudinsk and Irkutsk, and there--
Shall we start, little father?"
"Let us wait till to-morrow," answered Michael.
"You are right," said Nicholas. "We have the Yenisei to cross,
and need light to see our way there!"
"To see!" murmured Nadia, thinking of her blind companion.
Nicholas heard her, and turning to Michael, "Forgive me, little father,"
said he. "Alas! night and day, it is true, are all the same to you!"
"Do not reproach yourself, friend," replied Michael, pressing his
hand over his eyes. "With you for a guide I can still act.
Take a few hours' repose. Nadia must rest too. To-morrow we
will recommence our journey!"
Michael and his friends had not to search long for a place of rest.
The first house, the door of which they pushed open, was empty,
as well as all the others. Nothing could be found within but a
few heaps of leaves. For want of better fodder the horse had
to content himself with this scanty nourishment. The provisions
of the kibitka were not yet exhausted, so each had a share.
Then, after having knelt before a small picture of the Panaghia,
hung on the wall, and still lighted up by a flickering lamp,
Nicholas and the young girl slept, whilst Michael, over whom
sleep had no influence, watched.
Before daybreak the next morning, the 26th of August, the horse
was drawing the kibitka through the forests of birch trees
towards the banks of the Yenisei. Michael was in much anxiety.
How was he to cross the river, if, as was probable, all boats
had been destroyed to retard the Tartars' march? He knew
the Yenisei, its width was considerable, its currents strong.
Ordinarily by means of boats specially built for the conveyance
of travelers, carriages, and horses, the passage of the Yenisei
takes about three hours, and then it is with extreme difficulty
that the boats reach the opposite bank. Now, in the absence
of any ferry, how was the kibitka to get from one bank
to the other?
Day was breaking when the kibitka reached the left bank,
where one of the wide alleys of the park ended.
They were about a hundred feet above the Yenisei, and could
therefore survey the whole of its wide course.
"Do you see a boat?" asked Michael, casting his eyes eagerly
about from one side to the other, mechanically, no doubt,
as if he could really see.
"It is scarcely light yet, brother," replied Nadia. "The fog
is still thick, and we cannot see the water."
"But I hear it roaring," said Michael.
Indeed, from the fog issued a dull roaring sound.
The waters being high rushed down with tumultuous violence.
All three waited until the misty curtain should rise.
The sun would not be long in dispersing the vapors.
"Well?" asked Michael.
"The fog is beginning to roll away, brother," replied Nadia,
"and it will soon be clear."
"Then you do not see the surface of the water yet?"
"Not yet."
"Have patience, little father," said Nicholas. "All this
will soon disappear. Look! here comes the breeze!
It is driving away the fog. The trees on the opposite
hills are already appearing. It is sweeping, flying away.
The kindly rays of the sun have condensed all that mass of mist.
Ah! how beautiful it is, my poor fellow, and how unfortunate
that you cannot see such a lovely sight!"
"Do you see a boat?" asked Michael.
"I see nothing of the sort," answered Nicholas.
"Look well, friend, on this and the opposite bank, as far as your eye
can reach. A raft, even a canoe?"
Nicholas and Nadia, grasping the bushes on the edge of the cliff,
bent over the water. The view they thus obtained was extensive.
At this place the Yenisei is not less than a mile in width, and forms
two arms, of unequal size, through which the waters flow swiftly.
Between these arms lie several islands, covered with alders,
willows, and poplars, looking like verdant ships, anchored in
the river. Beyond rise the high hills of the Eastern shore,
crowned with forests, whose tops were then empurpled with light.
The Yenisei stretched on either side as far as the eye could reach.
The beautiful panorama lay before them for a distance of fifty versts.
But not a boat was to be seen. All had been taken away or destroyed,
according to order. Unless the Tartars should bring with them materials
for building a bridge of boats, their march towards Irkutsk would
certainly be stopped for some time by this barrier, the Yenisei.
"I remember," said Michael, "that higher up, on the outskirts
of Krasnoiarsk, there is a little quay. There the boats touch.
Friend, let us go up the river, and see if some boat has not been
forgotten on the bank."
Nadia seized Michael's hand and started off at a rapid pace in
the direction indicated. If only a boat or a barge large enough
to hold the kibitka could be found, or even one that would carry
just themselves, Michael would not hesitate to attempt the passage!
Twenty minutes after, all three had reached the little quay,
with houses on each side quite down to the water's edge.
It was like a village standing beyond the town of Krasnoiarsk.
But not a boat was on the shore, not a barge at the little wharf,
nothing even of which a raft could be made large enough to carry
three people. Michael questioned Nicholas, who made the discouraging
reply that the crossing appeared to him absolutely impracticable.
"We shall cross!" answered Michael.
The search was continued. They examined the houses on the shore,
abandoned like all the rest of Krasnoiarsk. They had merely to push open
the doors and enter. The cottages were evidently those of poor people,
and quite empty. Nicholas visited one, Nadia entered another,
and even Michael went here and there and felt about, hoping to light
upon some article that might be useful.
Nicholas and the girl had each fruitlessly rummaged these cottages
and were about to give up the search, when they heard themselves called.
Both ran to the bank and saw Michael standing on the threshold of a door.
"Come!" he exclaimed. Nicholas and Nadia went towards him and followed
him into the cottage.
"What are these?" asked Michael, touching several objects piled
up in a corner.
"They are leathern bottles," answered Nicholas.
"Are they full?"
"Yes, full of koumyss. We have found them very opportunely
to renew our provisions!"
"Koumyss" is a drink made of mare's or camel's milk, and is
very sustaining, and even intoxicating; so that Nicholas and his
companions could not but congratulate themselves on the discovery.
"Save one," said Michael, "but empty the others."
"Directly, little father."
"These will help us to cross the Yenisei."
"And the raft?"
"Will be the kibitka itself, which is light enough to float.
Besides, we will sustain it, as well as the horse, with these bottles."
"Well thought of, little father," exclaimed Nicholas, "and by God's help
we will get safely over . . . though perhaps not in a straight line,
for the current is very rapid!"
"What does that matter?" replied Michael. "Let us get across first,
and we shall soon find out the road to Irkutsk on the other side
of the river."
"To work, then," said Nicholas, beginning to empty the bottles.
One full of koumyss was reserved, and the rest, with the air carefully
fastened in, were used to form a floating apparatus. Two bottles
were fastened to the horse's sides to support it in the water.
Two others were attached to the shafts to keep them on a level
with the body of the machine, thus transformed into a raft.
This work was soon finished.
"You will not be afraid, Nadia?" asked Michael.
"No, brother," answered the girl.
"And you, friend?"
"I?" cried Nicholas. "I am now going to have one of my dreams realized--
that of sailing in a cart."
At the spot where they were now standing, the bank sloped,
and was suitable for the launching of the kibitka.
The horse drew it into the water, and they were soon both floating.
As to Serko, he was swimming bravely.
The three passengers, seated in the vehicle, had with due
precaution taken off their shoes and stockings; but, thanks to
the bottles, the water did not even come over their ankles.
Michael held the reins, and, according to Nicholas's directions,
guided the animal obliquely, but cautiously, so as not to exhaust
him by struggling against the current. So long as the kibitka
went with the current all was easy, and in a few minutes it
had passed the quays of Krasnoiarsk. It drifted northwards,
and it was soon evident that it would only reach the opposite
bank far below the town. But that mattered little.
The crossing would have been made without great difficulty,
even on this imperfect apparatus, had the current been regular;
but, unfortunately, there were whirlpools in numbers,
and soon the kibitka, notwithstanding all Michael's efforts,
was irresistibly drawn into one of these.
There the danger was great. The kibitka no longer drifted,
but spun rapidly round, inclining towards the center of the eddy,
like a rider in a circus. The horse could scarcely keep his
head above water, and ran a great risk of being suffocated.
Serko had been obliged to take refuge in the carriage.
Michael knew what was happening. He felt himself drawn round
in a gradually narrowing line, from which they could not get free.
How he longed to see, to be better able to avoid this peril,
but that was no longer possible. Nadia was silent, her hands
clinging to the sides of the cart, which was inclining more
and more towards the center of depression.
And Nicholas, did he not understand the gravity of the situation?
Was it with him phlegm or contempt of danger, courage or indifference?
Was his life valueless in his eyes, and, according to the Eastern
expression, "an hotel for five days," which, whether one is willing
or not, must be left the sixth? At any rate, the smile on his rosy
face never faded for an instant.
The kibitka was thus in the whirlpool, and the horse was
nearly exhausted, when, all at once, Michael, throwing off
such of his garments as might impede him, jumped into the water;
then, seizing with a strong hand the bridle of the terrified horse,
he gave him such an impulse that he managed to struggle out
of the circle, and getting again into the current, the kibitka
drifted along anew.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Nicholas.
Two hours after leaving the wharf, the kibitka had crossed the widest
arm of the river, and had landed on an island more than six versts
below the starting point.
There the horse drew the cart onto the bank, and an hour's rest
was given to the courageous animal; then the island having been
crossed under the shade of its magnificent birches, the kibitka
found itself on the shore of the smaller arm of the Yenisei.
This passage was much easier; no whirlpools broke the course
of the river in this second bed; but the current was so rapid
that the kibitka only reached the opposite side five versts below.
They had drifted eleven versts in all.
These great Siberian rivers across which no bridges have
as yet been thrown, are serious obstacles to the facility
of communication. All had been more or less unfortunate
to Michael Strogoff. On the Irtych, the boat which carried
him and Nadia had been attacked by Tartars. On the Obi,
after his horse had been struck by a bullet, he had only by
a miracle escaped from the horsemen who were pursuing him.
In fact, this passage of the Yenisei had been performed
the least disastrously.
"That would not have been so amusing," exclaimed Nicholas,
rubbing his hands, as they disembarked on the right bank of the river,
"if it had not been so difficult."
"That which has only been difficult to us, friend,"
answered Michael Strogoff, "will, perhaps, be impossible
to the Tartars."
