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
Godfrey had not touched the wine at dinner, knowing that he would be
expected to take punch afterwards, and he had only sipped this
occasionally, except the glass he had been condemned to drink; and when
he heard the colonel shout in a stentorian voice "To arms!" he got up
and shook himself, and felt ready for another day's work, although many
of the others were sitting up yawning or abusing the colonel for having
called them so early. However, it was already light. Two great samovars
were steaming, and the cups set in readiness on the table. Godfrey
managed to get hold of a pail of water and indulged in a good wash, as
after a few minutes did all the others; while a cup or two of tea and a
few slices of fried bacon set up even those who were at first least
inclined to rise.
A quarter of an hour later the sledges were at the door, and the party
started. The hunt was even less successful than that of the previous
day. No stag was seen, but some ten hares and five brace of grouse were
shot. At three o'clock the party assembled again at the farm-house and
had another hearty meal, terminating with one glass of punch round; then
they took their places in their sledges and were driven back to the
town; the party for St. Petersburg started by the six-o'clock train, the
rest giving them a hearty cheer as the carriage moved off from the
platform.
"Well, have you enjoyed it, Godfrey?" Mr. Robson asked.
"Immensely, sir. It has been grand fun. The colonel is a wonderful
fellow."
"There are no more pleasant companions than the Russians," Mr. Robson
said. "They more closely resemble the Irish than any people I know. They
have a wonderful fund of spirits, enjoy a practical joke, are fond of
sport, and have too a sympathetic, and one may almost say a melancholy
vein in their disposition, just as the Irish have. They have their
faults, of course--all of us have; and the virtue of temperance has not
as yet made much way here. Society, in fact, is a good deal like that in
England two or three generations back, when it was considered no
disgrace for a man to sit after dinner at the table until he had to be
helped up to bed by the servants. Now, White, you have got the cards, I
think."
Godfrey watched the game for a short time, then his eyes closed, and he
knew nothing more until Mr. Robson shook him and shouted, "Pull yourself
together, Godfrey. Here we are at St. Petersburg."
Three days later, when Ivan Petrovytch came in to breakfast at eleven
o'clock--for the inmates of the house had a cup of coffee or chocolate
and a roll in their rooms at half-past seven, and office work commenced
an hour later--Godfrey saw that he and his wife were both looking very
grave. Nothing was said until the servant, having handed round the
dishes, left the room.
"Has anything happened?" Godfrey asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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