Michael Strogoff; Or, The Courier of the Czar

by Jules Verne

  CHAPTER XIV MOTHER AND SON

  OMSK is the official capital of Western Siberia. It is not the mostimportant city of the government of that name, for Tomsk has moreinhabitants and is larger. But it is at Omsk that the Governor-Generalof this the first half of Asiatic Russia resides. Omsk, properly socalled, is composed of two distinct towns: one which is exclusivelyinhabited by the authorities and officials; the other more especiallydevoted to the Siberian merchants, although, indeed, the trade of thetown is of small importance.

  This city has about 12,000 to 13,000 inhabitants. It is defended bywalls, but these are merely of earth, and could afford only insufficientprotection. The Tartars, who were well aware of this fact, consequentlytried at this period to carry it by main force, and in this theysucceeded, after an investment of a few days.

  The garrison of Omsk, reduced to two thousand men, resisted valiantly.But driven back, little by little, from the mercantile portion of theplace, they were compelled to take refuge in the upper town.

  It was there that the Governor-General, his officers, and soldiers hadentrenched themselves. They had made the upper quarter of Omsk a kind ofcitadel, and hitherto they held out well in this species of improvised"kreml," but without much hope of the promised succor. The Tartartroops, who were descending the Irtych, received every day freshreinforcements, and, what was more serious, they were led by an officer,a traitor to his country, but a man of much note, and of an audacityequal to any emergency. This man was Colonel Ivan Ogareff.

  Ivan Ogareff, terrible as any of the most savage Tartar chieftains,was an educated soldier. Possessing on his mother's side some Mongolianblood, he delighted in deceptive strategy and ambuscades, stopping shortof nothing when he desired to fathom some secret or to set some trap.Deceitful by nature, he willingly had recourse to the vilest trickery;lying when occasion demanded, excelling in the adoption of all disguisesand in every species of deception. Further, he was cruel, and had evenacted as an executioner. Feofar-Khan possessed in him a lieutenant wellcapable of seconding his designs in this savage war.

  When Michael Strogoff arrived on the banks of the Irtych, Ivan Ogareffwas already master of Omsk, and was pressing the siege of the upperquarter of the town all the more eagerly because he must hasten toTomsk, where the main body of the Tartar army was concentrated.

  Tomsk, in fact, had been taken by Feofar-Khan some days previously, andit was thence that the invaders, masters of Central Siberia, were tomarch upon Irkutsk.

  Irkutsk was the real object of Ivan Ogareff. The plan of the traitor wasto reach the Grand Duke under a false name, to gain his confidence, andto deliver into Tartar hands the town and the Grand Duke himself. Withsuch a town, and such a hostage, all Asiatic Siberia must necessarilyfall into the hands of the invaders. Now it was known that the Czarwas acquainted with this conspiracy, and that it was for the purposeof baffling it that a courier had been intrusted with the importantwarning. Hence, therefore, the very stringent instructions which hadbeen given to the young courier to pass incognito through the invadeddistrict.

  This mission he had so far faithfully performed, but now could he carryit to a successful completion?

  The blow which had struck Michael Strogoff was not mortal. By swimmingin a manner by which he had effectually concealed himself, he hadreached the right bank, where he fell exhausted among the bushes.

  When he recovered his senses, he found himself in the cabin of a mujik,who had picked him up and cared for him. For how long a time had he beenthe guest of this brave Siberian? He could not guess. But when heopened his eyes he saw the handsome bearded face bending over him, andregarding him with pitying eyes. "Do not speak, little father," said themujik, "Do not speak! Thou art still too weak. I will tell thee wherethou art and everything that has passed."

  And the mujik related to Michael Strogoff the different incidents of thestruggle which he had witnessed--the attack upon the ferry by the Tartarboats, the pillage of the tarantass, and the massacre of the boatmen.

  But Michael Strogoff listened no longer, and slipping his hand underhis garment he felt the imperial letter still secured in his breast. Hebreathed a sigh of relief.

  But that was not all. "A young girl accompanied me," said he.

  "They have not killed her," replied the mujik, anticipating the anxietywhich he read in the eyes of his guest. "They have carried her off intheir boat, and have continued the descent of Irtych. It is only oneprisoner more to join the many they are taking to Tomsk!"

  Michael Strogoff was unable to reply. He pressed his hand upon his heartto restrain its beating. But, notwithstanding these many trials, thesentiment of duty mastered his whole soul. "Where am I?" asked he.

  "Upon the right bank of the Irtych, only five versts from Omsk," repliedthe mujik.

  "What wound can I have received which could have thus prostrated me? Itwas not a gunshot wound?"

  "No; a lance-thrust in the head, now healing," replied the mujik. "Aftera few days' rest, little father, thou wilt be able to proceed. Thoudidst fall into the river; but the Tartars neither touched nor searchedthee; and thy purse is still in thy pocket."

  Michael Strogoff gripped the mujik's hand. Then, recovering himself witha sudden effort, "Friend," said he, "how long have I been in thy hut?"

  "Three days."

  "Three days lost!"

  "Three days hast thou lain unconscious."

  "Hast thou a horse to sell me?"

  "Thou wishest to go?"

  "At once."

  "I have neither horse nor carriage, little father. Where the Tartar haspassed there remains nothing!"

  "Well, I will go on foot to Omsk to find a horse."

  "A few more hours of rest, and thou wilt be in a better condition topursue thy journey."

  "Not an hour!"

  "Come now," replied the mujik, recognizing the fact that it was uselessto struggle against the will of his guest, "I will guide thee myself.Besides," he added, "the Russians are still in great force at Omsk, andthou couldst, perhaps, pass unperceived."

  "Friend," replied Michael Strogoff, "Heaven reward thee for all thouhast done for me!"

  "Only fools expect reward on earth," replied the mujik.

  Michael Strogoff went out of the hut. When he tried to walk he wasseized with such faintness that, without the assistance of the mujik, hewould have fallen; but the fresh air quickly revived him. He then feltthe wound in his head, the violence of which his fur cap had lessened.With the energy which he possessed, he was not a man to succumb undersuch a trifle. Before his eyes lay a single goal--far-distant Irkutsk.He must reach it! But he must pass through Omsk without stopping there.

  "God protect my mother and Nadia!" he murmured. "I have no longer theright to think of them!"

  Michael Strogoff and the mujik soon arrived in the mercantile quarterof the lower town. The surrounding earthwork had been destroyed in manyplaces, and there were the breaches through which the marauders whofollowed the armies of Feofar-Khan had penetrated. Within Omsk, in itsstreets and squares, the Tartar soldiers swarmed like ants; but it waseasy to see that a hand of iron imposed upon them a discipline to whichthey were little accustomed. They walked nowhere alone, but in armedgroups, to defend themselves against surprise.

  In the chief square, transformed into a camp, guarded by many sentries,2,000 Tartars bivouacked. The horses, picketed but still saddled,were ready to start at the first order. Omsk could only be a temporaryhalting-place for this Tartar cavalry, which preferred the richplains of Eastern Siberia, where the towns were more wealthy, and,consequently, pillage more profitable.

  Above the mercantile town rose the upper quarter, which Ivan Ogareff,notwithstanding several assaults vigorously made but bravely repelled,had not yet been able to reduce. Upon its embattled walls floated thenational colors of Russia.

  It was not without a legitimate pride that Michael Strogoff and hisguide, vowing fidelity, saluted them.

  Michael Strogoff was perfectly acquainted with the town of Omsk, and hetook car
e to avoid those streets which were much frequented. This wasnot from any fear of being recognized. In the town his old mother onlycould have called him by name, but he had sworn not to see her, and hedid not. Besides--and he wished it with his whole heart--she might havefled into some quiet portion of the steppe.

  The mujik very fortunately knew a postmaster who, if well paid, wouldnot refuse at his request either to let or to sell a carriage or horses.There remained the difficulty of leaving the town, but the breaches inthe fortifications would, of course, facilitate his departure.

  The mujik was accordingly conducting his guest straight to theposting-house, when, in a narrow street, Michael Strogoff, coming to asudden stop sprang behind a jutting wall.

  "What is the matter?" asked the astonished mujik.

  "Silence!" replied Michael, with his finger on his lips. At this momenta detachment debouched from the principal square into the street whichMichael Strogoff and his companion had just been following.

  At the head of the detachment, composed of twenty horsemen, was anofficer dressed in a very simple uniform. Although he glanced rapidlyfrom one side to the other he could not have seen Michael Strogoff,owing to his precipitous retreat.

  The detachment went at full trot into the narrow street. Neither theofficer nor his escort concerned themselves about the inhabitants.Several unlucky ones had scarcely time to make way for their passage.There were a few half-stifled cries, to which thrusts of the lance gavean instant reply, and the street was immediately cleared.

  When the escort had disappeared, "Who is that officer?" asked MichaelStrogoff. And while putting the question his face was pale as that of acorpse.

  "It is Ivan Ogareff," replied the Siberian, in a deep voice whichbreathed hatred.

  "He!" cried Michael Strogoff, from whom the word escaped with a fury hecould not conquer. He had just recognized in this officer the travelerwho had struck him at the posting-house of Ichim. And, although he hadonly caught a glimpse of him, it burst upon his mind, at the same time,that this traveler was the old Zingari whose words he had overheard inthe market place of Nijni-Novgorod.

  Michael Strogoff was not mistaken. The two men were one and the same.It was under the garb of a Zingari, mingling with the band of Sangarre,that Ivan Ogareff had been able to leave the town of Nijni-Novgorod,where he had gone to seek his confidants. Sangarre and her Zingari, wellpaid spies, were absolutely devoted to him. It was he who, during thenight, on the fair-ground had uttered that singular sentence, whichMichael Strogoff could not understand; it was he who was voyaging onboard the Caucasus, with the whole of the Bohemian band; it was he who,by this other route, from Kasan to Ichim, across the Urals, had reachedOmsk, where now he held supreme authority.

  Ivan Ogareff had been barely three days at Omsk, and had it not been fortheir fatal meeting at Ichim, and for the event which had detainedhim three days on the banks of the Irtych, Michael Strogoff would haveevidently beaten him on the way to Irkutsk.

  And who knows how many misfortunes would have been avoided in thefuture! In any case--and now more than ever--Michael Strogoff mustavoid Ivan Ogareff, and contrive not to be seen. When the moment ofencountering him face to face should arrive, he knew how to meet it,even should the traitor be master of the whole of Siberia.

  The mujik and Michael resumed their way and arrived at theposting-house. To leave Omsk by one of the breaches would not bedifficult after nightfall. As for purchasing a carriage to replace thetarantass, that was impossible. There were none to be let or sold. Butwhat want had Michael Strogoff now for a carriage? Was he not alone,alas? A horse would suffice him; and, very fortunately, a horse couldbe had. It was an animal of strength and mettle, and Michael Strogoff,accomplished horseman as he was, could make good use of it.

  It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Michael Strogoff, compelledto wait till nightfall, in order to pass the fortifications, but notdesiring to show himself, remained in the posting-house, and therepartook of food.

  There was a great crowd in the public room. They were talking of theexpected arrival of a corps of Muscovite troops, not at Omsk, but atTomsk--a corps intended to recapture that town from the Tartars ofFeofar-Khan.

  Michael Strogoff lent an attentive ear, but took no part in theconversation. Suddenly a cry made him tremble, a cry which penetratedto the depths of his soul, and these two words rushed into his ear: "Myson!"

  His mother, the old woman Marfa, was before him! Trembling, she smiledupon him. She stretched forth her arms to him. Michael Strogoff arose.He was about to throw himself--

  The thought of duty, the serious danger for his mother and himself inthis unfortunate meeting, suddenly stopped him, and such was his commandover himself that not a muscle of his face moved. There were twentypeople in the public room. Among them were, perhaps, spies, and was itnot known in the town that the son of Marfa Strogoff belonged to thecorps of the couriers of the Czar?

  Michael Strogoff did not move.

  "Michael!" cried his mother.

  "Who are you, my good lady?" Michael Strogoff stammered, unable to speakin his usual firm tone.

  "Who am I, thou askest! Dost thou no longer know thy mother?"

  "You are mistaken," coldly replied Michael Strogoff. "A resemblancedeceives you."

  The old Marfa went up to him, and, looking straight into his eyes, said,"Thou art not the son of Peter and Marfa Strogoff?"

  Michael Strogoff would have given his life to have locked his mother inhis arms; but if he yielded it was all over with him, with her, withhis mission, with his oath! Completely master of himself, he closed hiseyes, in order not to see the inexpressible anguish which agitated therevered countenance of his mother. He drew back his hands, in order notto touch those trembling hands which sought him. "I do not know in truthwhat it is you say, my good woman," he replied, stepping back.

  "Michael!" again cried his aged mother.

  "My name is not Michael. I never was your son! I am Nicholas Korpanoff,a merchant at Irkutsk."

  And suddenly he left the public room, whilst for the last time the wordsre-echoed, "My son! my son!"

  Michael Strogoff, by a desperate effort, had gone. He did not see hisold mother, who had fallen back almost inanimate upon a bench. But whenthe postmaster hastened to assist her, the aged woman raised herself.Suddenly a thought occurred to her. She denied by her son! It was notpossible. As for being herself deceived, and taking another for him,equally impossible. It was certainly her son whom she had just seen; andif he had not recognized her it was because he would not, it was becausehe ought not, it was because he had some cogent reasons for acting thus!And then, her mother's feelings arising within her, she had only onethought--"Can I, unwittingly, have ruined him?"

  "I am mad," she said to her interrogators. "My eyes have deceived me!This young man is not my child. He had not his voice. Let us think nomore of it; if we do I shall end by finding him everywhere."

  Less than ten minutes afterwards a Tartar officer appeared in theposting-house. "Marfa Strogoff?" he asked.

  "It is I," replied the old woman, in a tone so calm, and with a face sotranquil, that those who had witnessed the meeting with her son wouldnot have known her.

  "Come," said the officer.

  Marfa Strogoff, with firm step, followed the Tartar. Some momentsafterwards she found herself in the chief square in the presence ofIvan Ogareff, to whom all the details of this scene had been immediatelyreported.

  Ogareff, suspecting the truth, interrogated the old Siberian woman. "Thyname?" he asked in a rough voice.

  "Marfa Strogoff."

  "Thou hast a son?"

  "Yes."

  "He is a courier of the Czar?"

  "Yes."

  "Where is he?"

  "At Moscow."

  "Thou hast no news of him?"

  "No news."

  "Since how long?"

  "Since two months."

  "Who, then, was that young man whom thou didst call thy son a fewmoments ago at the posting-house?"

&n
bsp; "A young Siberian whom I took for him," replied Marfa Strogoff. "This isthe tenth man in whom I have thought I recognized my son since the townhas been so full of strangers. I think I see him everywhere."

  "So this young man was not Michael Strogoff?"

  "It was not Michael Strogoff."

  "Dost thou know, old woman, that I can torture thee until thou avowestthe truth?"

  "I have spoken the truth, and torture will not cause me to alter mywords in any way."

  "This Siberian was not Michael Strogoff?" asked a second time IvanOgareff.

  "No, it was not he," replied a second time Marfa Strogoff. "Do you thinkthat for anything in the world I would deny a son whom God has givenme?"

  Ivan Ogareff regarded with an evil eye the old woman who braved him tothe face. He did not doubt but that she had recognized her son in thisyoung Siberian. Now if this son had first renounced his mother, and ifhis mother renounced him in her turn, it could occur only from themost weighty motive. Ogareff had therefore no doubt that the pretendedNicholas Korpanoff was Michael Strogoff, courier of the Czar, seekingconcealment under a false name, and charged with some mission which itwould have been important for him to know. He therefore at once gaveorders for his pursuit. Then "Let this woman be conducted to Tomsk," hesaid.

  While the soldiers brutally dragged her off, he added between his teeth,"When the moment arrives I shall know how to make her speak, this oldsorceress!"