Michael Strogoff; Or, The Courier of the CzarVerne, Jules
History
Michael Strogoff; Or, The Courier of the Czar
Verne, Jules
Heroes -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Russia -- History -- Alexander II, 1855-1881 -- Fiction; Tatars -- Fiction
It was by the orders of Ivan Ogareff that the torrents of mineral oil
had been thrown on the surface of the Angara! There are numerous
naphtha springs above Irkutsk, on the right bank, between the suburb
of Poshkavsk and the town. Ogareff had resolved to employ this terrible
means to carry fire into Irkutsk. He therefore took possession of the
immense reservoirs which contained the combustible liquid. It was only
necessary to demolish a piece of wall in order to allow it to flow out
in a vast stream.
This had been done that night, a few hours previously, and this was the
reason that the raft which carried the true Courier of the Czar, Nadia,
and the fugitives, floated on a current of mineral oil. Through the
breaches in these reservoirs of enormous dimensions rushed the naphtha
in torrents, and, following the inclination of the ground, it spread
over the surface of the river, where its density allowed it to float.
This was the way Ivan Ogareff carried on warfare! Allied with Tartars,
he acted like a Tartar, and against his own countrymen!
The tow had been thrown on the waters of the Angara. In an instant, with
electrical rapidity, as if the current had been of alcohol, the whole
river was in a blaze above and below the town. Columns of blue flames
ran between the two banks. Volumes of vapor curled up above. The few
pieces of ice which still drifted were seized by the burning liquid, and
melted like wax on the top of a furnace, the evaporated water escaping
in shrill hisses.
At the same moment, firing broke out on the North and South of the town.
The enemy’s batteries discharged their guns at random. Several thousand
Tartars rushed to the assault of the earth-works. The houses on the
bank, built of wood, took fire in every direction. A bright light
dissipated the darkness of the night.
“At last!” said Ivan Ogareff.
He had good reason for congratulating himself. The diversion which he
had planned was terrible. The defenders of Irkutsk found themselves
between the attack of the Tartars and the fearful effects of fire. The
bells rang, and all the able-bodied of the population ran, some towards
the points attacked, and others towards the houses in the grasp of the
flames, which it seemed too probable would ere long envelop the whole
town.
The Gate of Bolchaia was nearly free. Only a very small guard had been
left there. And by the traitor’s suggestion, and in order that the event
might be explained apart from him, as if by political hate, this small
guard had been chosen from the little band of exiles.
Ogareff re-entered his room, now brilliantly lighted by the flames from
the Angara; then he made ready to go out. But scarcely had he opened the
door, when a woman rushed into the room, her clothes drenched, her hair
in disorder.
“Sangarre!” exclaimed Ogareff, in the first moment of surprise, and not
supposing that it could be any other woman than the gypsy.
It was not Sangarre; it was Nadia!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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