Michael Strogoff; Or, The Courier of the Czar

  CHAPTER XVI A FINAL EFFORT

  MICHAEL'S fear of meeting the Tartars in the plains beyond the Barabawas by no means ungrounded. The fields, trodden down by horses' hoofs,afforded but too clear evidence that their hordes had passed that way;the same, indeed, might be said of these barbarians as of the Turks:"Where the Turk goes, no grass grows."

  Michael saw at once that in traversing this country the greatest cautionwas necessary. Wreaths of smoke curling upwards on the horizon showedthat huts and hamlets were still burning. Had these been fired bythe advance guard, or had the Emir's army already advanced beyond theboundaries of the province? Was Feofar-Khan himself in the governmentof Yeniseisk? Michael could settle on no line of action until thesequestions were answered. Was the country so deserted that he could notdiscover a single Siberian to enlighten him?

  Michael rode on for two versts without meeting a human being. He lookedcarefully for some house which had not been deserted. Every one wastenantless.

  One hut, however, which he could just see between the trees, was stillsmoking. As he approached he perceived, at some yards from the ruins ofthe building, an old man surrounded by weeping children. A woman stillyoung, evidently his daughter and the mother of the poor children,kneeling on the ground, was gazing on the scene of desolation. She hadat her breast a baby but a few months old; shortly she would have noteven that nourishment to give it. Ruin and desolation were all around!

  Michael approached the old man.

  "Will you answer me a few questions?" he asked.

  "Speak," replied the old man.

  "Have the Tartars passed this way?"

  "Yes, for my house is in flames."

  "Was it an army or a detachment?"

  "An army, for, as far as eye can reach, our fields are laid waste."

  "Commanded by the Emir?"

  "By the Emir; for the Obi's waters are red."

  "Has Feofar-Khan entered Tomsk?"

  "He has."

  "Do you know if his men have entered Kolyvan?"

  "No; for Kolyvan does not yet burn."

  "Thanks, friend. Can I aid you and yours?"

  "No."

  "Good-by."

  "Farewell."

  And Michael, having presented five and twenty roubles to the unfortunatewoman, who had not even strength to thank him, put spurs to his horseonce more.

  One thing he knew; he must not pass through Tomsk. To go to Kolyvan,which the Tartars had not yet reached, was possible. Yes, that is whathe must do; there he must prepare himself for another long stage. Therewas nothing for it but, having crossed the Obi, to take the Irkutsk roadand avoid Tomsk.

  This new route decided on, Michael must not delay an instant. Nordid he, but, putting his horse into a steady gallop, he took the roadtowards the left bank of the Obi, which was still forty versts distant.Would there be a ferry boat there, or should he, finding that theTartars had destroyed all the boats, be obliged to swim across?

  As to his horse, it was by this time pretty well worn out, and Michaelintended to make it perform this stage only, and then to exchange it fora fresh one at Kolyvan. Kolyvan would be like a fresh starting point,for on leaving that town his journey would take a new form. So long ashe traversed a devastated country the difficulties must be very great;but if, having avoided Tomsk, he could resume the road to Irkutsk acrossthe province of Yeniseisk, which was not yet laid waste, he would finishhis journey in a few days.

  Night came on, bringing with it refreshing coolness after the heat ofthe day. At midnight the steppe was profoundly dark. The sound of thehorses's hoofs alone was heard on the road, except when, every now andthen, its master spoke a few encouraging words. In such darkness asthis great care was necessary lest he should leave the road, bordered bypools and streams, tributaries of the Obi. Michael therefore advancedas quickly as was consistent with safety. He trusted no less tothe excellence of his eyes, which penetrated the gloom, than to thewell-proved sagacity of his horse.

  Just as Michael dismounted to discover the exact direction of the road,he heard a confused murmuring sound from the west. It was like thenoise of horses' hoofs at some distance on the parched ground. Michaellistened attentively, putting his ear to the ground.

  "It is a detachment of cavalry coming by the road from Omsk," he said tohimself. "They are marching very quickly, for the noise is increasing.Are they Russians or Tartars?"

  Michael again listened. "Yes," said he, "they are at a sharp trot. Myhorse cannot outstrip them. If they are Russians I will join them; ifTartars I must avoid them. But how? Where can I hide in this steppe?"

  He gave a look around, and, through the darkness, discovered a confusedmass at a hundred paces before him on the left of the road. "There is acopse!" he exclaimed. "To take refuge there is to run the risk of beingcaught, if they are in search of me; but I have no choice."

  In a few moments Michael, dragging his horse by the bridle, reacheda little larch wood, through which the road lay. Beyond this it wasdestitute of trees, and wound among bogs and pools, separated bydwarfed bushes, whins, and heather. The ground on either side was quiteimpracticable, and the detachment must necessarily pass through thewood. They were pursuing the high road to Irkutsk. Plunging in aboutforty feet, he was stopped by a stream running under the brushwood. Butthe shadow was so deep that Michael ran no risk of being seen, unlessthe wood should be carefully searched. He therefore led his horse to thestream and fastened him to a tree, returning to the edge of the road tolisten and ascertain with what sort of people he had to do.

  Michael had scarcely taken up his position behind a group of larcheswhen a confused light appeared, above which glared brighter lightswaving about in the shadow.

  "Torches!" said he to himself. And he drew quickly back, gliding like asavage into the thickest underwood.

  As they approached the wood the horses' pace was slackened. The horsemenwere probably lighting up the road with the intention of examining everyturn.

  Michael feared this, and instinctively drew near to the bank of thestream, ready to plunge in if necessary.

  Arrived at the top of the wood, the detachment halted. The horsemendismounted. There were about fifty. A dozen of them carried torches,lighting up the road.

  By watching their preparations Michael found to his joy that thedetachment were not thinking of visiting the copse, but only bivouackingnear, to rest their horses and allow the men to take some refreshment.The horses were soon unsaddled, and began to graze on the thick grasswhich carpeted the ground. The men meantime stretched themselves by theside of the road, and partook of the provisions they produced from theirknapsacks.

  Michael's self-possession had never deserted him, and creeping amongstthe high grass he endeavored not only to examine the new-comers, but tohear what they said. It was a detachment from Omsk, composed of Usbeckhorsemen, a race of the Mongolian type. These men, well built, abovethe medium height, rough, and wild-featured, wore on their heads the"talpak," or black sheep-skin cap, and on their feet yellow high-heeledboots with turned-up toes, like the shoes of the Middle Ages. Theirtunics were close-fitting, and confined at the waist by a leathernbelt braided with red. They were armed defensively with a shield, andoffensively with a curved sword, and a flintlock musket slung at thesaddle-bow. From their shoulders hung gay-colored cloaks.

  The horses, which were feeding at liberty at the edge of the wood, were,like their masters, of the Usbeck race. These animals are rather smallerthan the Turcomanian horses, but are possessed of remarkable strength,and know no other pace than the gallop.

  This detachment was commanded by a "pendja-baschi"; that is to say,a commander of fifty men, having under him a "deh-baschi," or simplecommander of ten men. These two officers wore helmets and halfcoats-of-mail; little trumpets fastened to their saddle-bows were thedistinctive signs of their rank.

  The pendja-baschi had been obliged to let his men rest, fatigued witha long stage. He and the second officer, smoking "beng," the leaf whichforms the base of the "has-chisch," strolled
up and down the wood, sothat Michael Strogoff without being seen, could catch and understandtheir conversation, which was spoken in the Tartar language.

  Michael's attention was singularly excited by their very first words. Itwas of him they were speaking.

  "This courier cannot be much in advance of us," said the pendja-baschi;"and, on the other hand, it is absolutely impossible that he can havefollowed any other route than that of the Baraba."

  "Who knows if he has left Omsk?" replied the deh-baschi. "Perhaps he isstill hidden in the town."

  "That is to be wished, certainly. Colonel Ogareff would have no fearthen that the dispatches he bears should ever reach their destination."

  "They say that he is a native, a Siberian," resumed the deh-baschi. "Ifso, he must be well acquainted with the country, and it is possible thathe has left the Irkutsk road, depending on rejoining it later."

  "But then we should be in advance of him," answered the pendja-baschi;"for we left Omsk within an hour after his departure, and have sincefollowed the shortest road with all the speed of our horses. He haseither remained in Omsk, or we shall arrive at Tomsk before him, so asto cut him off; in either case he will not reach Irkutsk."

  "A rugged woman, that old Siberian, who is evidently his mother," saidthe deh-baschi.

  At this remark Michael's heart beat violently.

  "Yes," answered the pendja-baschi. "She stuck to it well that thepretended merchant was not her son, but it was too late. Colonel Ogareffwas not to be taken in; and, as he said, he will know how to make theold witch speak when the time comes."

  These words were so many dagger-thrusts for Michael. He was known to bea courier of the Czar! A detachment of horsemen on his track could notfail to cut him off. And, worst of all, his mother was in the hands ofthe Tartars, and the cruel Ogareff had undertaken to make her speak whenhe wished!

  Michael well knew that the brave Siberian would sacrifice her life forhim. He had fancied that he could not hate Ivan Ogareff more, yet afresh tide of hate now rose in his heart. The wretch who had betrayedhis country now threatened to torture his mother.

  The conversation between the two officers continued, and Michaelunderstood that an engagement was imminent in the neighborhood ofKolyvan, between the Muscovite troops coming from the north and theTartars. A small Russian force of two thousand men, reported to havereached the lower course of the Obi, were advancing by forced marchestowards Tomsk. If such was the case, this force, which would soonfind itself engaged with the main body of Feofar-Khan's army, wouldbe inevitably overwhelmed, and the Irkutsk road would be in the entirepossession of the invaders.

  As to himself, Michael learnt, by some words from the pendja-baschi,that a price was set on his head, and that orders had been given to takehim, dead or alive.

  It was necessary, therefore, to get the start of the Usbeck horsemen onthe Irkutsk road, and put the Obi between himself and them. But to dothat, he must escape before the camp was broken up.

  His determination taken, Michael prepared to execute it.

  Indeed, the halt would not be prolonged, and the pendja-baschi did notintend to give his men more than an hour's rest, although their horsescould not have been changed for fresh ones since Omsk, and must be asmuch fatigued as that of Michael Strogoff.

  There was not a moment to lose. It was within an hour of morning. Itwas needful to profit by the darkness to leave the little wood and dashalong the road; but although night favored it the success of such aflight appeared to be almost impossible.

  Not wishing to do anything at random, Michael took time for reflection,carefully weighing the chances so as to take the best. From thesituation of the place the result was this--that he could not escapethrough the back of the wood, the stream which bordered it being notonly deep, but very wide and muddy. Beneath this thick water was a slimybog, on which the foot could not rest. There was only one way open, thehigh-road. To endeavor to reach it by creeping round the edge of thewood, without attracting attention, and then to gallop at headlongspeed, required all the remaining strength and energy of his noblesteed. Too probably it would fall dead on reaching the banks of the Obi,when, either by boat or by swimming, he must cross this important river.This was what Michael had before him.

  His energy and courage increased in sight of danger.

  His life, his mission, his country, perhaps the safety of his mother,were at stake. He could not hesitate.

  There was not a moment to be lost. Already there was a slight movementamong the men of the detachment. A few horsemen were strolling up anddown the road in front of the wood. The rest were still lying at thefoot of the trees, but their horses were gradually penetrating towardsthe center of the wood.

  Michael had at first thought of seizing one of these horses, but herecollected that, of course, they would be as fatigued as his own. Itwas better to trust to his own brave steed, which had already renderedhim such important service. The good animal, hidden behind a thicket,had escaped the sight of the Usbecks. They, besides, had not penetratedso far into the wood.

  Michael crawled up to his horse through the grass, and found him lyingdown. He patted and spoke gently to him, and managed to raise himwithout noise. Fortunately, the torches were entirely consumed, andnow went out, the darkness being still profound under shelter of thelarches. After replacing the bit, Michael looked to his girths andstirrups, and began to lead his horse quietly away. The intelligentanimal followed his master without even making the least neigh.

  A few Usbeck horses raised their heads, and began to wander towards theedge of the wood. Michael held his revolver in his hand, ready to blowout the brains of the first Tartar who should approach him. But happilythe alarm was not given, and he was able to gain the angle made by thewood where it joined the road.

  To avoid being seen, Michael's intention was not to mount until afterturning a corner some two hundred feet from the wood. Unfortunately,just at the moment that he was issuing from the wood, an Usbeck's horse,scenting him, neighed and began to trot along the road. His master ranto catch him, and seeing a shadowy form moving in the dim light, "Lookout!" he shouted.

  At the cry, all the men of the bivouac jumped up, and ran to seize theirhorses. Michael leaped on his steed, and galloped away. The two officersof the detachment urged on their men to follow.

  Michael heard a report, and felt a ball pass through his tunic. Withoutturning his head, without replying, he spurred on, and, clearing thebrushwood with a tremendous bound, he galloped at full speed toward theObi.

  The Usbecks' horses being unsaddled gave him a small start, but in lessthan two minutes he heard the tramp of several horses gradually gainingon him.

  Day was now beginning to break, and objects at some distance werebecoming visible. Michael turned his head, and perceived a horsemanrapidly approaching him. It was the deh-baschi. Being better mounted,this officer had distanced his detachment.

  Without drawing rein, Michael extended his revolver, and took a moment'saim. The Usbeck officer, hit in the breast, rolled on the ground.

  But the other horsemen followed him closely, and without waiting toassist the deh-baschi, exciting each other by their shouts, diggingtheir spurs into their horses' sides, they gradually diminished thedistance between themselves and Michael.

  For half an hour only was the latter able to keep out of range ofthe Tartars, but he well knew that his horse was becoming weaker, anddreaded every instant that he would stumble never to rise again.

  It was now light, although the sun had not yet risen above the horizon.Two versts distant could be seen a pale line bordered by a few trees.

  This was the Obi, which flows from the southwest to the northeast,the surface almost level with the ground, its bed being but the steppeitself.

  Several times shots were fired at Michael, but without hitting him, andseveral times too he discharged his revolver on those of the soldierswho pressed him too closely. Each time an Usbeck rolled on the ground,midst cries of rage from his companions. But this pursuit could
onlyterminate to Michael's disadvantage. His horse was almost exhausted. Hemanaged to reach the bank of the river. The Usbeck detachment was nownot more than fifty paces behind him.

  The Obi was deserted--not a boat of any description which could take himover the water!

  "Courage, my brave horse!" cried Michael. "Come! A last effort!" And heplunged into the river, which here was half a verst in width.

  It would have been difficult to stand against the current--indeed,Michael's horse could get no footing. He must therefore swim across theriver, although it was rapid as a torrent. Even to attempt it showedMichael's marvelous courage. The soldiers reached the bank, buthesitated to plunge in.

  The pendja-baschi seized his musket and took aim at Michael, whom hecould see in the middle of the stream. The shot was fired, and Michael'shorse, struck in the side, was borne away by the current.

  His master, speedily disentangling himself from his stirrups, struck outboldly for the shore. In the midst of a hailstorm of balls he managed toreach the opposite side, and disappeared in the rushes.