Condemned as a Nihilist: A Story of Escape from SiberiaHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
Condemned as a Nihilist: A Story of Escape from Siberia
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Escapes -- Fiction; Russia -- History -- Alexander II, 1855-1881 -- Fiction; Siberia (Russia) -- Fiction
The civilians all knew each other, but the new-comers were introduced to
the Russian colonel and his five officers.
"Have you had any luck, colonel?" Mr. Robson asked.
"Wonderful," the latter replied with a laugh. "A stag came along and
every one of us had a shot at it, and each and every one is ready to
take oath that he hit it, so that every one is satisfied. Don't you call
that luck?"
Mr. Robson laughed. "But where is the stag?" he asked, looking round.
"That is more than any one can tell you. He went straight on, and
carried off our twelve bullets. Captain Fomitch here, and in fact all my
officers, are ready to swear that the deer is enchanted, and they have
all been crossing themselves against the evil omen. Such a thing was
never heard of before, for being such crack shots, all of us, of course
there can be no doubt about our each having hit the stag when it was not
more than a hundred yards away at the outside; but come in, the soup
smells too good to wait, and the sight of that enchanted beast has
sharpened my appetite wonderfully."
Godfrey entered with the rest. Large as the farm-house was, the greater
portion of the ground-floor was occupied by the room they entered. It
was entirely constructed of wood blackened with smoke and age. A great
fire burned on the hearth, and the farmer's wife and two maids were
occupied with several large pots, some suspended over the fire, others
standing among the brands. The window was low, but extended half across
one side of the room, and was filled with small lattice panes. From the
roof hung hams, sides of bacon, potatoes in network bags, bunches of
herbs, and several joints of meat. A table extended the length of the
room covered with plates and dishes that from their appearance had
evidently been brought out from the town, and differed widely from the
rough earthenware standing on a great dresser of darkened wood extending
down one side of the room. At one end the great pot was placed, the
cloth having been pushed back for the purpose, and the colonel, seizing
the ladle, began to fill the earthenware bowls which were used instead
of soup plates.
"Each man come for his ration before he sits down," he said. "It would
be better if you did not sit down at all, for I know well enough that
when my countrymen sit down to a meal it is a long time before they get
up again, and we have to be in the forest again in three-quarters of an
hour."
"Quite right, colonel," one of the hosts said; "this evening you may sit
as long as you like, but if we are to have another drive to-day we must
waste no time. A basin of soup and a plate of stew are all you will get
now, with a cup of coffee afterwards to arm you against the cold, and a
glass of vodka or kuemmil to top up with. No, colonel, not any punch just
now. Punch in the evening; but if we were to begin with that now, I know
that there would be no shooting this afternoon."
"What are the beaters doing?" Mr. Robson asked as they hastily ate their
dinner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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