by Jules Verne
The Tartars did not wait to be attacked. Not daring to run the risk of a battle under the walls of Irkutsk, they immediately broke up the Angara camp.
Irkutsk was at last relieved.
With the first Russian soldiers, two of Michael’s friends entered the city. They were the inseparable Blount and Jolivet. On gaining the right bank of the Angara by means of the icy barrier, they had escaped, as had the other fugitives, before the flames had reached their raft This had been noted by Alcide Jolivet in his book in this way:—
“Ran a narrow chance of being finished up like a lemon in a bowl of punch!”
Their joy was great on finding Nadia and Michael safe and sound; above all, when they learnt that their brave companion was not blind. Harry Blount inscribed this observation:—
“Red-hot iron is insufficient in some cases to destroy the sensibility of the optic nerve.”
Then the two correspondents, settled for a time in Irkutsk, busied themselves in putting the notes and impressions of their journey in order. Thence were sent to London and Paris two interesting articles relative to the Tartar invasion, and which—a rare thing—did not contradict each other even on the least important points.
The remainder of the campaign was unfortunate to the Emir and his allies. This invasion, futile as all which attack the Russian Colossus must be, was very fatal to them. They soon found themselves cut off by the Czar’s troops, who retook in succession all the conquered towns. Besides this, the winter was terrible, and, decimated by the cold, only a small part of these hordes returned to the steppes of Tartary.
The Irkutsk road, by way of the Ural Mountains, was now open. The Grand Duke was anxious to return to Moscow, but he delayed his journey to be present at a touching ceremony, which took place a few days after the entry of the Russian troops.
Michael Strogoff sought Nadia, and in her father’s presence said to her—
“Nadia, my sister still, when you left Riga to come to Irkutsk, did you leave it with any other regret than that for your mother?”
“No,” replied Nadia, “none of any sort whatever.”
“Then, nothing of your heart remains there?”
“Nothing, brother.”
“Then, Nadia,” said Michael, “I think that God, in allowing us to meet, and to go through so many severe trials together, must have meant us to be united forever.”
“Ah!” said Nadia, falling into Michael’s arms. Then turning towards Wassili Fedor—
“My father,” said she, blushing.
“Nadia,” said Captain Fedor, “it will be my joy to call you both my children!”
The marriage ceremony took place in Irkutsk cathedral. Though simple in its detail, it was unusually brilliant in consequence of the presence of the whole civil and military population, who wished to show their deep gratitude to the two young people, whose Odyssey had already become legendary.
Jolivet and Blount very naturally assisted at this marriage, of which they wished to give an account to their readers.
“And doesn’t it make you wish to imitate them?” asked Alcide of his friend.
“Pooh!” said Blount. “Now if I had a cousin like you——”
“My cousin isn’t to be married!” answered Alcide, laughing.
“So much the better,” returned Blount, “for they speak of difficulties arising between London and Pekin. Have you no wish to go and see what is going on there?”
“By Jove, my dear Blount!” exclaimed Alcide Jolivet, “I was just going to make the same proposal to you.”
And that was how the two inseparables set off for China.
A few days after the ceremony, Michael and Nadia Strogoff, accompanied by Wassili Fedor, took the route to Europe. The road so full of suffering when going, was a road of joy in returning. They travelled swiftly, in one of those sleighs which glide like an express train across the frozen steppes of Siberia.
However, when they reached the banks of the Dinka, just before Birskoë, they stopped for a while.
Michael found the place where he had buried poor Nicholas. A cross was erected there, and Nadia prayed a last time on the grave of the humble and heroic friend, whom neither of them would ever forget.
At Omsk, old Marfa awaited them in the little house of the Strogoffs. She clasped passionately in her arms the girl whom in her heart she had already a hundred times called “daughter.” The brave old Siberian, on that day, had the right to recognize her son and say she was proud of him.
After a few days passed at Omsk, Michael and Nadia entered Europe, and, Wassili Fedor settling down in St. Petersburg, neither his son nor his daughter had any occasion to leave him, except to go and see their old mother.
The young courier was received by the Czar, who attached him specially to his own person, and gave him the Cross of St. George.
In the course of time, Michael Strogoff reached a high station in the Empire. But it is not the history of his success, but the history of his trials, which deserves to be related.
