The raft arrived at the little port and there stopped.
The old boatman wished to put into harbor for an hour, in order to make some repairs.
The trunks threatened to separate, and it was important to fasten them more securely together to resist the rapid current of the Angara.
During the fine season, the port of Livenitchnaia is a station for the embarkation or disembarkation of voyagers across Lake Baikal, either on their way to Kyakhta, the last town on the Russo-Chinese frontier, or when they are returning.
It is therefore much frequented by the steamboats and all the little coasters of the lake.
But Livenitchnaia was abandoned. Its inhabitants had fled for fear of being exposed to the depredations of the Tartars, who were now overrunning both banks of the Angara. They had sent to Irkutsk the flotilla of boats and barges which usually wintered in their harbor, and, supplied with all that they could carry, they had taken refuge in time in the capital of Eastern Siberia.
The old boatman did not expect to receive any fresh fugitives at Livenitchnaia, and yet, the moment the raft touched, two passengers, issuing from a deserted house, ran as fast as they could towards the beach.
Nadia seated on the raft, was abstractedly gazing at the shore.
A cry was about to escape her. She seized Michael’s hand, who at that moment raised his head.
“What is the matter, Nadia?” he asked.
“Our two traveling companions, Michael.”
“The Frenchman and the Englishman whom we met in the defiles of the Ural?”
“Yes.”
Michael started, for the strict incognito which he wished to keep ran a risk of being betrayed.
Indeed, it was no longer as Nicholas Korpanoff that Jolivet and Blount would now see him, but as the true Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Czar. The two correspondents had already met him twice since their separation at the Ishim post-house—the first time at the Zabediero camp, when he laid open Ivan Ogareff’s face with the knout; the second time at Tomsk, when he was condemned by the Emir. They therefore knew who he was and what depended on him.
Michael Strogoff rapidly made up his mind.
“Nadia,” said he, “when the Frenchman and the Englishman step on board, ask them to come to me!”
It was, in fact, Harry Blount and Alcide Jolivet, whom, not chance, but the course of events had brought to the port of Livenitchnaia, as it had brought Michael Strogoff.
As we know, after having been present at the entry of the Tartars into Tomsk, they had departed before the savage execution which terminated the fête. They had therefore never suspected that their former traveling companion had not been put to death, and they were ignorant that he had been only blinded by order of the Emir.
Having procured horses they had left Tomsk the same evening, with the fixed determination of henceforward dating their letters from the Russian camp of Eastern Siberia.
Jolivet and Blount proceeded by forced marches towards Irkutsk. They hoped to distance Feofar-Khan, and would certainly have done so, had it not been for the unexpected apparition of the third column, come from the South, up the valley of the Yenisey. They had been cut off, as had been Michael, before being able even to reach the Dinka, and had been obliged to go back to Lake Baikal.
When they reached Livenitchnaia, they found the port already deserted. It was impossible on this side either for them to enter Irkutsk, now invested by the Tartar army. They had been in the place for three days in much perplexity, when the raft arrived.
The fugitives’ plan was explained to them.
There was certainly a chance that they might be able to pass under cover of the night, and penetrate into Irkutsk. They resolved to make the attempt.
Alcide directly communicated with the old boatman, and asked a passage for himself and his companion, offering to pay anything he demanded, whatever it might be.
“No one pays here,” replied the old man gravely; “everyone risks his life, that is all!”
The two correspondents came on board, and Nadia saw them take their places in the forepart of the raft.
Harry Blount was still the reserved Englishman, who had scarcely addressed a word to her during the whole passage over the Ural Mountains.
Alcide Jolivet seemed to be rather more grave than usual, and it may be acknowledged that his gravity was justified by the circumstances.
Jolivet had, as has been said, taken his seat on the raft, when he felt a hand laid on his arm.
Turning, he recognized Nadia, the sister of the man who was no longer Nicholas Korpanoff, but Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Czar.
He was about to make an exclamation of surprise when he saw the young girl lay her finger on her lips.
“Come,” said Nadia.
And with a careless air, Alcide rose and followed her, making a sign to Blount to accompany him.
But if the surprise of the correspondents had been great at meeting Nadia on the raft it was boundless when they perceived Michael Strogoff, whom they had believed to be no longer living.
Michael had not moved at their approach. Jolivet turned towards the girl.
“He does not see you, gentlemen,” said Nadia. “The Tartars have burnt out his eyes! My poor brother is blind!”
A feeling of lively compassion exhibited itself on the faces of Blount and his companion.
In a moment they were seated beside Michael, pressing his hand and waiting until he spoke to them.
“Gentlemen,” said Michael, in a low voice, “you ought not to know who I am, nor what I am come to do in Siberia. I ask you to keep my secret. Will you promise me to do so?”
“On my honor,” answered Jolivet.
“On my word as a gentleman,” added Blount.
“Good, gentlemen.”
“Can we be of any use to you?” asked Harry Blount. “Could we not help you to accomplish your task?”
“I prefer to act alone,” replied Michael.
“But those
