Michael Strogoff; Or, The Courier of the Czar

  CHAPTER XVII THE RIVALS

  MICHAEL was in comparative safety, though his situation was stillterrible. Now that the faithful animal who had so bravely borne him hadmet his death in the waters of the river, how was he to continue hisjourney?

  He was on foot, without provisions, in a country devastated by theinvasion, overrun by the Emir's scouts, and still at a considerabledistance from the place he was striving to reach. "By Heaven, I will getthere!" he exclaimed, in reply to all the reasons for faltering. "Godwill protect our sacred Russia."

  Michael was out of reach of the Usbeck horsemen. They had not dared topursue him through the river.

  Once more on solid ground Michael stopped to consider what he shoulddo next. He wished to avoid Tomsk, now occupied by the Tartar troops.Nevertheless, he must reach some town, or at least a post-house, wherehe could procure a horse. A horse once found, he would throw himself outof the beaten track, and not again take to the Irkutsk road until in theneighborhood of Krasnoiarsk. From that place, if he were quick, hehoped to find the way still open, and he intended to go through the LakeBaikal provinces in a southeasterly direction.

  Michael began by going eastward. By following the course of the Obi twoversts further, he reached a picturesque little town lying on a smallhill. A few churches, with Byzantine cupolas colored green and gold,stood up against the gray sky. This is Kolyvan, where the officers andpeople employed at Kamsk and other towns take refuge during the summerfrom the unhealthy climate of the Baraba. According to the latest newsobtained by the Czar's courier, Kolyvan could not be yet in the hands ofthe invaders. The Tartar troops, divided into two columns, had marchedto the left on Omsk, to the right on Tomsk, neglecting the intermediatecountry.

  Michael Strogoff's plan was simply this--to reach Kolyvan before thearrival of the Usbeck horsemen, who would ascend the other bank of theObi to the ferry. There he would procure clothes and a horse, and resumethe road to Irkutsk across the southern steppe.

  It was now three o'clock in the morning. The neighborhood of Kolyvanwas very still, and appeared to have been totally abandoned. The countrypopulation had evidently fled to the northwards, to the province ofYeniseisk, dreading the invasion, which they could not resist.

  Michael was walking at a rapid pace towards Kolyvan when distant firingstruck his ear. He stopped, and clearly distinguished the dull roar ofartillery, and above it a crisp rattle which could not be mistaken.

  "It is cannon and musketry!" said he. "The little Russian body isengaged with the Tartar army! Pray Heaven that I may arrive at Kolyvanbefore them!"

  The firing became gradually louder, and soon to the left of Kolyvana mist collected--not smoke, but those great white clouds produced bydischarges of artillery.

  The Usbeck horsemen stopped on the left of the Obi, to await the resultof the battle. From them Michael had nothing to fear as he hastenedtowards the town.

  In the meanwhile the firing increased, and became sensibly nearer. Itwas no longer a confused roar, but distinct reports. At the same timethe smoke partially cleared, and it became evident that the combatantswere rapidly moving southwards. It appeared that Kolyvan was to beattacked on the north side. But were the Russians defending it or theTartars? It being impossible to decide this, Michael became greatlyperplexed.

  He was not more than half a verst from Kolyvan when he observed flamesshooting up among the houses of the town, and the steeple of a churchfell in the midst of clouds of smoke and fire. Was the struggle, then,in Kolyvan? Michael was compelled to think so. It was evident thatRussians and Tartars were fighting in the streets of the town. Was thisa time to seek refuge there? Would he not run a risk of being takenprisoner? Should he succeed in escaping from Kolyvan, as he had escapedfrom Omsk? He hesitated and stopped a moment. Would it not be better totry, even on foot, to reach some small town, and there procure a horseat any price? This was the only thing to be done; and Michael, leavingthe Obi, went forward to the right of Kolyvan.

  The firing had now increased in violence. Flames soon sprang up on theleft of the town. Fire was devouring one entire quarter of Kolyvan.

  Michael was running across the steppe endeavoring to gain the covert ofsome trees when a detachment of Tartar cavalry appeared on the right. Hedared not continue in that direction. The horsemen advanced rapidly, andit would have been difficult to escape them.

  Suddenly, in a thick clump of trees, he saw an isolated house, whichit would be possible to reach before he was perceived. Michael hadno choice but to run there, hide himself and ask or take something torecruit his strength, for he was exhausted with hunger and fatigue.

  He accordingly ran on towards this house, still about half a verstdistant. As he approached, he could see that it was a telegraph office.Two wires left it in westerly and easterly directions, and a third wenttowards Kolyvan.

  It was to be supposed that under the circumstances this station wasabandoned; but even if it was, Michael could take refuge there, and waittill nightfall, if necessary, to again set out across the steppe coveredwith Tartar scouts.

  He ran up to the door and pushed it open.

  A single person was in the room whence the telegraphic messages weredispatched. This was a clerk, calm, phlegmatic, indifferent to all thatwas passing outside. Faithful to his post, he waited behind his littlewicket until the public claimed his services.

  Michael ran up to him, and in a voice broken by fatigue, "What do youknow?" he asked.

  "Nothing," answered the clerk, smiling.

  "Are the Russians and Tartars engaged?"

  "They say so."

  "But who are the victors?"

  "I don't know."

  Such calmness, such indifference, in the midst of these terrible events,was scarcely credible.

  "And is not the wire cut?" said Michael.

  "It is cut between Kolyvan and Krasnoiarsk, but it is still workingbetween Kolyvan and the Russian frontier."

  "For the government?"

  "For the government, when it thinks proper. For the public, when theypay. Ten copecks a word, whenever you like, sir!"

  Michael was about to reply to this strange clerk that he had no messageto send, that he only implored a little bread and water, when the doorof the house was again thrown open.

  Thinking that it was invaded by Tartars, Michael made ready to leap outof the window, when two men only entered the room who had nothing ofthe Tartar soldier about them. One of them held a dispatch, written inpencil, in his hand, and, passing the other, he hurried up to the wicketof the imperturbable clerk.

  In these two men Michael recognized with astonishment, which everyonewill understand, two personages of whom he was not thinking at all, andwhom he had never expected to see again. They were the two reporters,Harry Blount and Alcide Jolivet, no longer traveling companions, butrivals, enemies, now that they were working on the field of battle.

  They had left Ichim only a few hours after the departure of MichaelStrogoff, and they had arrived at Kolyvan before him, by following thesame road, in consequence of his losing three days on the banks of theIrtych. And now, after being both present at the engagement between theRussians and Tartars before the town, they had left just as the strugglebroke out in the streets, and ran to the telegraph office, so as to sendoff their rival dispatches to Europe, and forestall each other in theirreport of events.

  Michael stood aside in the shadow, and without being seen himself hecould see and hear all that was going on. He would now hear interestingnews, and would find out whether or not he could enter Kolyvan.

  Blount, having distanced his companion, took possession of the wicket,whilst Alcide Jolivet, contrary to his usual habit, stamped withimpatience.

  "Ten copecks a word," said the clerk.

  Blount deposited a pile of roubles on the shelf, whilst his rival lookedon with a sort of stupefaction.

  "Good," said the clerk. And with the greatest coolness in the world hebegan to telegraph the following dispatch: "Daily Telegraph, London.

  "From Koly
van, Government of Omsk, Siberia, 6th August.

  "Engagement between Russian and Tartar troops."

  The reading was in a distinct voice, so that Michael heard all that theEnglish correspondent was sending to his paper.

  "Russians repulsed with great loss. Tartars entered Kolyvan to-day."These words ended the dispatch.

  "My turn now," cried Alcide Jolivet, anxious to send off his dispatch,addressed to his cousin.

  But that was not Blount's idea, who did not intend to give up thewicket, but have it in his power to send off the news just as the eventsoccurred. He would therefore not make way for his companion.

  "But you have finished!" exclaimed Jolivet.

  "I have not finished," returned Harry Blount quietly.

  And he proceeded to write some sentences, which he handed in to theclerk, who read out in his calm voice: "John Gilpin was a citizen ofcredit and renown; a train-band captain eke was he of famous Londontown."

  Harry Blount was telegraphing some verses learned in his childhood, inorder to employ the time, and not give up his place to his rival. Itwould perhaps cost his paper some thousands of roubles, but it would bethe first informed. France could wait.

  Jolivet's fury may be imagined, though under any other circumstanceshe would have thought it fair warfare. He even endeavored to force theclerk to take his dispatch in preference to that of his rival.

  "It is that gentleman's right," answered the clerk coolly, pointingto Blount, and smiling in the most amiable manner. And he continuedfaithfully to transmit to the Daily Telegraph the well-known verses ofCowper.

  Whilst he was working Blount walked to the window and, his field glassto his eyes, watched all that was going on in the neighborhood ofKolyvan, so as to complete his information. In a few minutes he resumedhis place at the wicket, and added to his telegram: "Two churches arein flames. The fire appears to gain on the right. 'John Gilpin's spousesaid to her dear, Though wedded we have been these twice ten tediousyears, yet we no holiday have seen.'"

  Alcide Jolivet would have liked to strangle the honorable correspondentof the Daily Telegraph.

  He again interrupted the clerk, who, quite unmoved, merely replied: "Itis his right, sir, it is his right--at ten copecks a word."

  And he telegraphed the following news, just brought him by Blount:"Russian fugitives are escaping from the town. 'Away went Gilpin--whobut he? His fame soon spread around: He carries weight! he rides a race!'Tis for a thousand pound!'" And Blount turned round with a quizzicallook at his rival.

  Alcide Jolivet fumed.

  In the meanwhile Harry Blount had returned to the window, but this timehis attention was diverted by the interest of the scene before him.Therefore, when the clerk had finished telegraphing the last linesdictated by Blount, Alcide Jolivet noiselessly took his place at thewicket, and, just as his rival had done, after quietly depositing arespectable pile of roubles on the shelf, he delivered his dispatch,which the clerk read aloud: "Madeleine Jolivet, 10, Faubourg Montmartre,Paris.

  "From Kolyvan, Government of Omsk, Siberia, 6th August.

  "Fugitives are escaping from the town. Russians defeated. Fiercelypursued by the Tartar cavalry."

  And as Harry Blount returned he heard Jolivet completing his telegram bysinging in a mocking tone:

  "II est un petit homme, Tout habille de gris, Dans Paris!"

  Imitating his rival, Alcide Jolivet had used a merry refrain ofBeranger.

  "Hallo!" said Harry Blount.

  "Just so," answered Jolivet.

  In the meantime the situation at Kolyvan was alarming in the extreme.The battle was raging nearer, and the firing was incessant.

  At that moment the telegraph office shook to its foundations. A shellhad made a hole in the wall, and a cloud of dust filled the office.

  Alcide was just finishing writing his lines; but to stop, dart on theshell, seize it in both hands, throw it out of the window, and return tothe wicket, was only the affair of a moment.

  Five seconds later the shell burst outside. Continuing with the greatestpossible coolness, Alcide wrote: "A six-inch shell has just blown up thewall of the telegraph office. Expecting a few more of the same size."

  Michael Strogoff had no doubt that the Russians were driven out ofKolyvan. His last resource was to set out across the southern steppe.

  Just then renewed firing broke out close to the telegraph house, and aperfect shower of bullets smashed all the glass in the windows. HarryBlount fell to the ground wounded in the shoulder.

  Jolivet even at such a moment, was about to add this postscript tohis dispatch: "Harry Blount, correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, hasfallen at my side struck by--" when the imperturbable clerk said calmly:"Sir, the wire has broken." And, leaving his wicket, he quietly took hishat, brushed it round with his sleeve, and, still smiling, disappearedthrough a little door which Michael had not before perceived.

  The house was surrounded by Tartar soldiers, and neither Michael nor thereporters could effect their retreat.

  Alcide Jolivet, his useless dispatch in his hand, had run to Blount,stretched on the ground, and had bravely lifted him on his shoulders,with the intention of flying with him. He was too late!

  Both were prisoners; and, at the same time, Michael, taken unawaresas he was about to leap from the window, fell into the hands of theTartars!

  END OF BOOK I

  BOOK II