Kitabı oku: «Wild Adventures in Wild Places», sayfa 4
Chapter Seven
Part III – The Russian Steppes
Quiet days on the Kyra – Captain Varde’s happy Home – Fred Freeman’s Rustic Russian – The Captain tells a tale of Adventure
The captain of the Danish barque, who had brought our three heroes safely into Russian waters, was one of those individuals who are never so happy as when ministering to the comfort and pleasure of others.
“Having landed you in Europe,” he said, on the very last day they dined together on board, “I dare say I ought to let you go, but I assure you, gentlemen, I am not tired of you, and if you will accept of a few weeks of the kind of rude hospitality I can offer you, at my little country home on the banks of the Kyra, I shall be delighted.”
“Stop,” he continued, smilingly, holding up his hand as Chisholm was about to speak, “I know everything you would say, so there is no occasion to say anything. I have been kind to you, and you feel so much indebted to me already, that you are unwilling to trespass further on my goodness. That is what you would say; but, dear gentlemen, if you do feel under an obligation to me, you can amply repay me, and even confer a favour on me, by giving me a few weeks of your company.”
“What say you, Fred?” asked Chisholm.
“Oh!” Fred replied, “I am delighted at finding such a pleasant ‘new way of paying old debts.’ Let us go by all means.”
“As for me, my friends,” said Captain Anderson, “I must leave you to-morrow. Although the loss of my ship was no fault of mine, it was a terrible misfortune, and one which it will be long ere I can forget, and longer still ere it will be forgotten against me.”
“We need not tell you,” said Chisholm, “how truly sorry we are to part with you. We will live in the hopes of meeting you some day in England, and renewing our acquaintance with one in whose ship we sailed so long and spent so many happy hours.”
So next day the captain of the lost brig Grampus and our friends parted. They stayed just one week in Cronstadt, communicating by telegraph with those at home, then, in company with their new friend, started for his cottage on the Kyra. They were not sorry when, three days after leaving Saint Petersburg, they found themselves down in the very heart of the cool green country, and in a spot which, but for the different dress and language of the people they met, they could easily have fancied was a part of England itself. If they were delighted with the country, they were not less so with the house and home itself of Captain Varde, their kindly host. Half buried in trees, it was approached by a broad and beautiful avenue, which led through well-kept lawns to what you would have been bound to have styled the hall door, or front entrance, but the truth is Captain Varde’s house had no front, or, in other words, it had two; for the spacious hall led you straight through to the wide terraced lawn and flower garden, that skirted the lovely river.
“When we go down to the village,” said Varde, “which is situated about three miles from here, we sometimes go by boat, and sometimes with the horses in the conveyance I have landed you in to-day. But here comes my wife and daughter, the only two beings I love on earth.”
The first greetings betwixt himself and family being ended, Captain Varde introduced our heroes, who were very kindly welcomed, and made to feel perfectly at home; so much so that before the first day of their visit had come to an end, they seemed to have known this family all their lives.
When, after dinner, the ladies had retired, and the gentlemen lingered over the walnuts and wine, —
“Captain Varde,” said Fred Freeman, “I cannot tell you how much astonished I and my comrades feel at all we see around us in this pretty home of yours. It is so different from anything we could have expected to meet with in Russia.”
“It is, indeed,” added Chisholm, “there is an air of refinement everywhere, and, if you will excuse me for saying so, captain, the English spoken by Mrs and Miss Varde, with the exception of a slight foreign accent, which, in my opinion, adds a charm to it, is as perfect as any you will hear in London.”
“We have travelled a good deal, even in your country,” said the Danish captain, with a smile.
“Yes, but,” said Fred, “you would travel a very long way in England without meeting with a family who could talk the Russian language. As linguists, the people of this country undoubtedly beat us. Now, my idea of a Russian peasant, or small farmer, was somewhat as follows – shall I offend you if I describe my beau-ideal rustic Russian?”
“Certainly not; though my wife and child are Russians by birth, I myself am a Dane.”
“Well, then,” said Fred, “the rustic Russian that I had on the brain, and whose prototype I look for here in vain, was indeed a sorry lout – a short, stout, rough, and unkempt fellow, with less appearance of good breeding about him than a Nottingham cowherd, and less manners than a Newcastle navvy, with a good deal of reverence about him for the aristocracy, and an extraordinary relish for rum. He was guiltless of anything resembling ablution; dressed in sheep’s skins, with the hairy side next the skin; slept in this same jacket, and never changed it from one year’s end to another, except for the purpose of taking a bath, which operation he performed by getting inside the stove and raking the hot ashes all about him; his principal diet was the blackest of bread, and the greatest treat you could give him a basin of train-oil and a horn spoon.”
Captain Varde laughed. “Anyhow,” he said, “I am glad you have already found yourselves undeceived, and I do not doubt but that, in your intercourse with the people of this country, you will find many of them brave, generous, and gentlemanly fellows, and quite worthy of being reckoned among the number of your friends.”
And Captain Varde was right.
The first two or three months of their life at the house of their newly-found friend was quite idyllic in its simplicity. Much of their time was spent in fishing and shooting, or in climbing the hills to obtain a view of the wild but beautiful country around them; but in whatever way the day had been passed, the afternoon always found them gathered around the hospitable board of their worthy host. Then the evening would be spent in pleasant conversation, with music and story-telling, the stories nearly all coming from the captain himself. He had spent a great deal of his life at sea, and had come through innumerable adventures both on the ocean and on land.
“Old sailors,” said Varde, once, “are sometimes accused of spinning yarns, with less of facts about them than there might be; but, for my own part, I think that a man who has knocked about the world for about twenty years has little occasion to draw upon his imagination.”
“I fought a bear one time,” he continued, “single-handed, face to face – ay, and I may say breast to breast.”
“No easy task that, I should say,” remarked Chisholm, “if he were of any size.”
“He was a monster,” said Varde, “of Herculean strength; yonder is his skin on the couch. You may be sure though that I did not court the struggle, nor am I ever likely to forget it, for two reasons – the first is that in my right leg I still carry the marks of the brute’s talons; the other reason is a far dearer one.”
Captain Varde paused, and took his wife’s hand in his, gazing at her with a look of inexpressible tenderness.
“But for that bear adventure I never should have met with my wife. How my Adeline’s father came to settle down for life in the wild unpeopled district where I first made his acquaintance and hers, I can hardly tell. In his youth he had been a merchant and a dweller in cities; in his old age he built himself a house many many versts even from a village of any pretensions, on the confines of a great gloomy forest, and close by a lake that people say is far deeper than the great hills around it are high. Here he lived the life of a recluse and a bookworm.
“In the summer of 1845, myself and a few friends had encamped in the neighbourhood of this lake, chiefly to enjoy the excellent fishing there to be obtained. Not that we did not find work for our guns as well, for there was abundance of both fur and feather; but my chief delight lay in the gentler art. One of my friends, Satiesky by name, could do enough gunning for the whole camp, so I at least was content, and the time was spent most pleasantly until it set in for settled wet weather.
“At last after several days’ rain it was evident the weather was broken, and the summer gone; so, very reluctantly, we prepared to pack our horses and trudge back again to the distant city. Packing did not take us long, and, having packed, we started. A march of six or eight versts brought us to the little village or hamlet of Odstok. We had just reached its first house – a small outlying farm built on a wooded eminence. It was well for us we had, for in less than ten minutes the low land that we had just passed was completely covered with water. What had been fields before was now an inland sea. Swollen by the mountain torrents, the river had burst its bounds and swept down the valley with terrible force, carrying before it fences and trees, and even the scattered houses which stood in its way, and drowning oxen, horses, sheep, and alas! human beings as well.
“For three whole weeks we were in a state of siege. Not that we wanted food, however; Jerikoff the farmer’s larder was well stored, and he was very good to us indeed. He found his old boat, in which he used to paddle about in a little canal before the floods, very handy now. I shouldn’t have cared to risk my life in the ricketty tub; but Jerikoff did, and used to make voyages to a distant shop, and return laden with many a little Russian dainty. Once he brought in a haul of hares and rabbits from the flood. They had doubtless taken refuge on a tree as an extemporised island; but when that island itself became flooded, down the stream, nolens volens, they had to float. It is an ill wind that blows nobody good, and Jerikoff set out in great glee to reap this rich harvest of living fur. His face was a study while so engaged. ‘Oh! my pretty dears,’ he said, addressing his victims; ‘I couldn’t think of seeing you drown before my very face. Come into my boat; there is room for you all.’ But when the old man, before landing, began to knock them on the head, I daresay the little mariners thought they had got out of the frying pan into the fire.
“But about my bear, gentlemen. Well, I am coming to that.”
Chapter Eight
The Captain’s tale continued – Winter brings the Bears from the Mountains – The Tragedy in the Forest – Bears at Bay – Breast to breast with Bruin – Fred Freeman falls in love!
“Kind and all as our host Jerikoff was,” continued the captain, “none of us were sorry when the floods began to abate and finally disappeared. But hardly had they gone when yet another change came over the landscape; for hard frost set in, then small powdery snow began to fall, followed shortly by great flakes, and before twenty-four hours were over our heads the whole country was locked in the embrace of an early winter. We weren’t altogether sorry for this, for we could now prolong our stay with prospects of good duck and wild-goose shooting, for both these and many other kinds of game would visit the running streams. We would also have an opportunity of doing old Jerikoff a favour by filling his larder for him. Your Russian rustic, Mr Freeman, is oftentimes as proud as a prince. Jerikoff was, at all events; and we dared not insult him by the offer of a single rouble.
“Our host used to do a little shooting himself. One day he met a young peasant leading his horse from the forest, where he had been for wood. The little lad’s eyes were as round and apparently as big as saucers —he had seen a bear. Jerikoff made haste home to tell us, and we determined to go in search of Mr Bruin. Hardly had we made up our minds and got ready our guns when another report, and that a very singular one indeed – although we had no reason to doubt the truth of it – reached us.
“A farmer’s sledge drawn by three horses, and on its way to the very hamlet in which we now dwelt, had been attacked by a bear of monstrous size and terrible ferocity. It was not the horses, however, but human flesh on which this brute made up his mind to regale himself. He had sprung from an ambush, alighting in the very centre of the sledge. The poor kyoorshik’s struggles I trust were brief, but very dreadful nevertheless; his screams were heard by more than one individual – powerless, however, to render aught of assistance – as the terrified horses plunged madly through the forest, a tragedy being acted behind them which it makes one’s blood run cold even to think of. The poor beasts pulled up at last with the shattered remains of the sledge, and the mutilated body of the unhappy driver, at the very door of the little village inn; but of the bear there were no signs save the ghastly work he had accomplished.
“News like this only served to stimulate our desire for revenge on this bold and ferocious bear, and we set out in all haste to seek him in the forest. There were four of us, all told, with two moudjiks in two sledges drawn by six horses. We were all armed to the teeth, but this did not prevent us from taking proper precautions to avoid a sudden surprise. Farther than the confines of the great forest it was impractical to take our sledges; but the horses were unlimbered, and accompanied us until we came upon the trail of our first bear. They were then fastened to trees, and left in the charge of the moudjiks.
“‘Now,’ said Satiesky, one of my friends, ‘these tracks are very recent. Mr Bruin cannot therefore be very far away, and as it will be unsafe to go a long distance from our horses, let us try the effects of a little ruse. I have come all prepared to carry it out.’
“To build a fire, camp-fashion, was with Satiesky the work of but a few minutes. He piled it in an open space or glade in the forest, so that the heat should not bring down the snow from the pines over it. Having got it well alight, he hung from the tripod above a three-pound piece of ham, which was soon frizzling away in fine style, and making us all hungry with its fragrance.
“‘Let us get under cover, now,’ said Satiesky; ‘if a bear is any where within six versts, you’ll soon see him prowl round, licking his chops, and looking for dinner, which pray Providence we will serve up to him hot.’
“We took up a position, as he spoke, as well screened as possible by the snow-laden branches, and waited. Half-an-hour went wearily past, and after that every minute seemed interminable. We were rewarded at last, though, but in a way we little expected. Some of us know, to our cost, the terrible bull-like bellow which a bear emits from his stentorian lungs, when he is suddenly disturbed and means mischief. This is intended, no doubt, to startle and paralyse the victim on which he means to spring. Be this as it may, such was now the sound we heard, yet not anywhere near the fire, but close in the rear of our position. It was an immense bear, probably the very same that had attacked and killed the poor sledge-driver; for, as Satiesky afterwards said, having once tasted human flesh, he would prefer it to the best bit of bacon that ever was frizzled.
“He gave us little time now for consideration. But Satiesky was quick; he discharged his rifle almost point-blank at the charging beast. Down rolled Bruin, not dead, but so dreadfully wounded that it was an easy enough matter for us to dispatch him with our pikes.
“Hardly had he ceased to writhe, when down the wind came the sharp ring of another rifle.
“‘Hark!’ cried Satiesky, springing out into the open; ‘that sound comes not from the direction where we left our horses. There is another party in the forest as well as ourselves.’
“Satiesky’s surmise was right, as he knew a moment afterwards to his sorrow. The strange hunting party had wounded a bear, and were following him up, and, in his desperation, he charged our companion. He had no power or time for defence, and next moment we saw him laid senseless on the snow; while over him stood his terrible antagonist, his eyes flashing fire, his jaws dripping blood.
“I will not attempt to describe to you, gentlemen, the wild melée that followed. Bar a shot at close quarters with a revolver, there was no time for using fire-arms. With pikes and axes and rifles clubbed, we fought the giant beast until strength succumbed to skill, and he lay dead beside Satiesky. With the exception of a few scratches, nobody was any the worse, and we found, to our delight, that our fallen companion was merely stunned.
“You should have seen the spread that Jerikoff placed before us that evening, on our return. Jerikoff excelled himself for once; and it needed but little wine-drinking, I can tell you, to make the feast pass merrily by.
“Jerikoff would have bear hams all the winter. That was the reason he was so pleased; that was the reason he invited a pair of inseparable companions, in the shape of an old fiddler and a dancing bear, to minister to our amusement after dinner was over.
“Next day we bagged three more bears. We had, however, no adventure to speak of; they succumbed to their fate with a kind of sleepy dignity, after they had been pitted by some peasants hired for the occasion.
“On this particular day I had wandered some distance away from my companions. I had got clear out of the forest, and had climbed an eminence, where I could see well about me, accompanied by an armed servant; but certainly apprehending no danger, for the coast all around seemed well clear. I had reckoned without my host, however. My host on this occasion was an enormous bear, who had probably been asleep in the sun behind a boulder, and a very disagreeable entertainment he had provided for me.”
“He wasn’t very hospitable, then?” said Chisholm, smiling.
“Rather much so, I might say,” said the captain; “indeed, he received me with open arms. He was too affectionate altogether, and even now I think I hear the roar of delight he gave vent to as he commenced the fearful hug. I tried to prick him under the ribs with my knife. It broke on a bone, which caused the brute to increase rather than diminish the pressure. I could feel my bones crack, and my breath was squeezed out of me. Why at this awful moment my scared moudjik should hand me his knife, instead of using it himself, I never could tell; but God gave me strength to handle it, gentlemen. I had one hand free, and with that I plunged the weapon into the animal’s chest, and we both rolled down together.
“That evening two sledges in particular left the forest, going in different directions. One dashed along as fast as three horses could carry it, towards the house of my dear Adeline’s father. It was the nearest house to the forest; therefore thither was I borne, all but lifeless from loss of blood. The other sledge went more slowly, of course, towards the village we had that morning left so merrily together. That sledge brought Bruin home. Gentlemen,” said the captain, concluding his narrative, and once more taking his wife’s hand, “I need not tell you how kind the old merchant was to me. Here is a proof of it.
“The house where he and Adeline used to reside is now tenanted by some relations of ours, for my father-in-law has long since crossed the bourne whence no traveller ever returns; but we often visit the dear old home by the lake, and spend a few weeks there. We hope to do so this Christmas, and if you will but prolong your stay till then and accompany us, I think I can show you some nice sport.”
What could our heroes reply to so kind an invitation, but that they would be delighted to do so? One of them, indeed, was much more delighted than either of the other two; and that was Fred Freeman. Would you know the reason why, reader? You may learn it, then, from the following fragment of a conversation which took place between the trio one evening when they were alone together: —
“Chisholm O’Grahame,” said Fred, “we used to laugh at poor Frank for being so deeply in love with his beautiful Eenie Lyell. You must laugh alone now, my boy, for I can feel for him.”
“What!” cried Chisholm, delightedly, “Are you too in for it?”
“I fear it’s a fact,” said Fred; “and so you two can leave me here to my fate, if you choose, and go on with your adventures by yourselves – that is, if Miss Varde will look kindly on me.”
“Ridiculous!” said Chisholm. “No, no, Fred, my lad, engage yourself if you like, and return some other day for this charming girl; but round the world with us you come, and, indeed, I think the sooner we start the better.”
“Heigho!” sighed Fred, and Frank felt for him if Chisholm did not.
