Chapter Fifteen.
A Runaway and a Hard Pursuit.
“Well, now,” said McShane, after he had been informed by O’Donahue of what had passed between him and the countess,—“this is all very pretty, and looks very well; but tell me, are we to trust that fellow Dimitri? Can we do without him? I should say not when it comes to the finale; and is it not dangerous to keep him out of our confidence, being such a sharp, keen-witted fellow? Nay, more, as he has stated his wish to serve you in any way, it is only treating him fairly. He knows the little dwarf who has been here so often; indeed, they were fellow-servants in the Czartorinski family, for he told me so. I would trust him.”
“I think so, too; but we must not tell him all.”
“No, that we certainly need not, for he will find it out without telling.”
“Well, McShane, do as you please; but on second thoughts, I will speak to the countess to-morrow.”
O’Donahue did so, the countess called upon the princess at the palace, and the next morning O’Donahue received a note stating that Dimitri was to be trusted. O’Donahue then sent for the courier, and told him that he was about to put confidence in him on a promise of his fidelity.
“I understand you, sir, and all you intend to do; there is no occasion to say anything more to me, until you want my assistance. I will not, in the meantime, neglect your interest, for I hope to remain with you, and that is the only reward I ask for any services I may perform. I have only one remark to make now, which is, that it will be necessary, a few days before you leave Petersburg, to let me know, that I may advertise it.”
“Advertise it!”
“Yes, sir, you must advertise your departure, that you may not run away in debt. Such is the custom; and without three notices being put in the Gazette, the police will not give you your passport.”
“I am glad that you mentioned it. Of course you are aware that I am paying attention to the Countess Erhausen, and shall leave Petersburg with her, I trust, as my wife?”
“I understand sir, and shall take care that your intimacy there shall be known to everybody.”
So saying, Dimitri left the room.
The winter now set in with unusual severity. The river was one mass of ice, the floating bridges had been removed, the Montagnes-Russes became the amusement of the day, and the sledges were galloping about in every direction. For more than a month O’Donahue continued his pretended addresses to the fair cousin of the princess, and during that time he did not once see the real object of his attachment: indeed, the dwarf never made his appearance, and all communication, except an occasional note from her to the countess, was, from prudence, given up. The widow was rich, and had often been pressed to renew her bonds, but had preferred her liberty. O’Donahue, therefore, was looked upon as a fortunate man, and congratulated upon his success. Nor did the widow deny the projected union, except in a manner so as to induce people to believe in the certainty of its being arranged. O’Donahue’s equipage was always at her door, and it was expected that the marriage would immediately take place, when O’Donahue attended a levee given by the emperor on the Feast of Saint Nicholas. The emperor, who had been very civil to O’Donahue, as he walked past him, said, “Well, Captain O’Donahue, so I understand that you intend to run away with one of our fairest and prettiest ladies—one of the greatest ornaments of my court?”
“I trust that I have your Majesty’s permission so to do,” replied O’Donahue, bowing low.
“Oh, certainly you have; and, moreover, our best wishes for your happiness.”
“I humbly thank your Majesty,” replied O’Donahue; “still I trust your Majesty does not think that I wish to transplant her to my own country altogether, and that I shall be permitted to reside, for the major part of the year, in your Majesty’s dominions.”
“Nothing will give me greater pleasure; and it will be a satisfaction to feel that I shall gain instead of losing by the intended marriage.”
“By the powers! but I will remind him of this, some day or another,” thought O’Donahue. “Haven’t I his permission to the marriage, and to remain in the country?”
Everything was now ripe for the execution of the plot. The countess gave out that she was going to her country-seat, about ten miles from Saint Petersburg; and it was naturally supposed that she was desirous that the marriage should be private, and that she intended to retire there to have the ceremony performed; and O’Donahue advertised his departure in the Gazette.
The Princess Czartorinski produced a letter from the countess, requesting her, as a favour, to obtain leave from the empress to pass two or three days with her in the country; and the empress, as the countess was first-cousin to the princess, did not withhold her consent; on the contrary, when the princess left the palace, she put a case of jewels in her hand, saying, “These are for the bride, with the good wishes and protection of the empress, as long as she remains in this country.” One hour afterwards O’Donahue was rewarded for all his long forbearance by clasping his fair one in his arms. A priest had been provided, and was sent forward to the country château, and at ten in the morning all the parties were ready. The princess and her cousin set off in the carriage, followed by O’Donahue, with McShane and his suite. Everything was en règle. The passports had been made out for Germany, to which country it was reported the countess would proceed a few days after the marriage, and the princess was to return to the palace. As soon as they arrived at the château the ceremony was performed, and O’Donahue obtained his prize; and to guard against any mishap, it was decided that they should leave the next morning, on their way to the frontier. Dimitri had been of the greatest use, had prepared against every difficulty, and had fully proved his fidelity. The parting between the countess and her cousin was tender. “How much do I owe, dear friend!” said the princess. “What risk do you incur for me! How will you brave the anger of the emperor?”
“I care little for his anger. I am a woman, and not a subject of his; but, before you go, you must both write a letter—your husband to the emperor, reminding him of his having given his consent to the marriage, and his wish that he should remain in his dominions; and let him add his sincere wish, if permitted, to be employed in his Majesty’s service. You, my dear cousin, must write to the empress, reminding her of her promise of protection, and soliciting her good offices with the emperor. I shall play my own game; but, depend upon it, it will all end in a laugh.”
O’Donahue and his wife both wrote their letters, and O’Donahue also wrote one to the English ambassador, informing him of what had taken place, and requesting his kind offices. As soon as they were finished, the countess bade them farewell, saying, “I shall not send these letters until you are well out of reach, depend upon it;” and, with many thanks for her kindness, O’Donahue and his bride bade her adieu, and set off on their long journey.
The carriage procured for their journey was what is called a German bâtarde, which is very similar to an English chariot with coach-box, fixed upon a sleigh. Inside were O’Donahue and his young bride, McShane preferring to ride outside on the box with Joey, that he might not be in the way, as a third person invariably is, with a newly married couple. The snow was many feet deep on the ground; but the air was dry, and the sun shone bright. The bride was handed in, enveloped in a rich mantle of sable; O’Donahue followed, equally protected against the cold; while McShane and Joey fixed themselves on the box, so covered up in robes of wolf-skins, and wrappers of bear-skins for their feet, that you could see but the tips of their noses. On the front of the sleigh, below the box of the carriage, were seated the driver and the courier; four fiery young horses were pawing with impatience; the signal was given, and off they went at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.
“Where’s the guns, Joey, and the pistols, and the ammunition?” inquired McShane; “we’re going through a wild sort of country, I expect.”
“I have put them in myself, and I can lay my hands on them immediately, sir,” replied Joey; “the guns are behind us, and your pistols and the ammunition are at my feet; the captain’s are in the carriage.”
“That’s all right, then; I like to know where to lay my hands upon my tools. Just have the goodness to look at my nose now and then, Joey; and if you see a white spot on the tip of it, you’ll be pleased to tell me, and I’ll do the same for you. Mrs McShane would be anything but pleased if I came home with only half a handle to my face.”
The journey was continued at the same rapid pace until the close of the day, when they arrived at the post-house; there they stopped, McShane and Joey, with the assistance of the courier, preparing their supper from the stores which they brought with them. After supper they retired, O’Donahue and his wife sleeping in the carriage, which was arranged so as to form a bed if required; while McShane and Joey made it out how they could upon the cloaks and what little straw they could procure, on the floor of the post-house, where, as McShane said the next morning, they “had more bed-fellows than were agreeable, although he contrived to get a few hours’ sleep in spite of the jumping vagabonds.” When they rose the next morning, they found that the snow had just begun to fall fast. As soon as they had breakfasted they set out, nevertheless, and proceeded at the same pace. McShane telling Joey, who was, as well as himself, almost embedded in it before the day was half over, that it was “better than rain, at all events;” to be sure that was cold comfort, but any comfort is better than none. O’Donahue’s request for McShane to come inside was disregarded; he was as tough as little Joey, at all events, and it would be a pity to interrupt the conversation. About four o’clock they had changed their horses at a small village, and were about three miles on their last stage, for that day’s journey, when they passed through a pine-forest.
“There’s a nice place for an ambuscade, Joey, if there were any robbers about here,” observed McShane. “Murder and Irish! what’s those chaps running among the trees so fast, and keeping pace with us? I say, Dimitri,” continued McShane, pointing to them, “what are those?”
The courier looked in the direction pointed out, and as soon as he had done so, spoke to the driver, who, casting his eyes hastily in the direction, applied the lash to his horses, and set off with double speed.
“Wolves, sir,” replied the courier, who then pulled out his pistols, and commenced loading them.
“Wolves!” said McShane, “and hungry enough, I’ll warrant; but they don’t hope to make a meal of us, do they? At all events we will give them a little fight for it. Come, Joey, I see that Dimitri don’t like it, so we must shake off the snow, and get our ammunition ready.”
This was soon done; the guns were unstrapped from the back of the coach-box, the pistols got from beneath their feet, and all were soon ready, loaded and primed.
“It’s lucky there’s such a mist on the windows of the carriage, that the lady can’t see what we’re after, or she’d be frightened, perhaps,” said Joey.
The rapid pace at which the driver had put his horses had for a time left the wolves in the rear; but now they were seen following the carriage at about a quarter of a mile distant, having quitted the forest and taken to the road.
“Here they come, the devils! one, two, three—there are seven of them. I suppose this is what they call a covey in these parts. Were you ever wolf-hunting before, Joey?”
“I don’t call this wolf-hunting,” replied Joey; “I think the wolves are hunting us.”
“It’s all the same, my little poacher—it’s a hunt, at all events. They are gaining on us fast; we shall soon come to an explanation.”
The courier now climbed up to the coach-box to reconnoitre, and he shook his head, telling them in very plain English that he did not like it; that he had heard that the wolves were out in consequence of the extreme severity of the weather, and that he feared that these seven were only the advance of a whole pack; that they had many versts to go, for the stage was a long one, and it would be dark before they were at the end of it.
“Have you ever been chased by them before?” said Joey.
“Yes,” replied the courier, “more than once; it’s the horses that they are so anxious to get hold of. Three of our horses are very good, but the fourth is not very well, the driver says, and he is fearful that he will not hold out; however, we must keep them off as long as we can; we must not shoot at them till the last moment.”
“Why not?” inquired McShane.
“Because the whole pack would scent the blood at miles, and redouble their efforts to come up with us. There is an empty bottle by you, sir; throw it on the road behind the carriage; that will stop them for a time.”
“An empty bottle stop them! well, that’s queer: it may stop a man drinking, because he can get no mote out of it. However, as you please, gentlemen; here’s to drink my health, bad manners to you,” said McShane, throwing the bottle over the carriage.
The courier was right: at the sight of the bottle in the road, the wolves, who are of a most suspicious nature, and think that there is a trap laid for them in everything, stopped short, and gathered round it cautiously; the carriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the animals were nearly out of sight.
“Well, that bothers me entirely,” said McShane; “an empty bottle is as good to them as a charged gun.”
“But look, sir, they are coming on again,” said Joey, “and faster than ever. I suppose they were satisfied that there was nothing in it.”
The courier mounted again to the box where Joey and McShane were standing. “I think you had a ball of twine,” said he to Joey, “when you were tying down the baskets; where is it?”
“It is here under the cushion,” replied Joey, searching for the twine and producing it.
“What shall we find to tie to it?” said the courier; “something not too heavy—a bottle won’t do.”
“What’s it for?” inquired McShane.
“To trail, sir,” replied the courier.
“To trail! I think they’re fast enough upon our trail already; but if you want to help them, a red herring’s the thing.”
“No, sir, a piece of red cloth would do better,” replied the courier.
“Red cloth! One would think you were fishing for mackerel,” replied McShane.
“Will this piece of black cloth do, which was round the lock of the gun?” said Joey.
“Yes, I think it will,” replied the courier.
The courier made fast the cloth to the end of the twine, and throwing it clear of the carriage, let the ball run out, until he had little more than the bare end in his hand, and the cloth was about forty yards behind the carriage, dragging over the snow.
“They will not pass the cloth, sir,” said the courier; “they think that it’s a trap.”
Sure enough the wolves, which had been gaining fast on the carriage, now retreated again; and although they continued the pursuit, it was at a great distance.
“We have an hour and a half more to go before we arrive, and it will be dark, I’m afraid,” said the courier; “all depends upon the horse holding out; I’m sure the pack is not far behind.”
“And how many are there in a pack?” inquired McShane.
The courier shrugged up his shoulders. “Perhaps two or three hundred.”
“Oh! the devil! Don’t I wish I was at home with Mrs McShane.”
For half an hour they continued their rapid pace, when the horse referred to showed symptoms of weakness. Still the wolves had not advanced beyond the piece of black cloth which trailed behind the carriage.
“I think that, considering that they are so hungry, they are amazing shy of the bait,” said McShane. “By all the powers, they’ve stopped again!”
“The string has broke, sir, and they are examining the cloth,” cried Joey.
“Is there much line left?” inquired the courier, with some alarm.
“No, it has broken off by rubbing against the edge of the carriage behind.”
The courier spoke to the driver, who now rose from his seat and lashed his horses furiously; but although three of the horses were still fresh, the fourth could not keep up with them, and there was every prospect of his being dragged down on his knees, as more than once he stumbled and nearly fell. In the meantime the wolves had left the piece of cloth behind them, and were coming up fast with the carriage.
“We must fire on them now, sir,” said the courier, going back to his seat, “or they will tear the flanks of the horses.”
McShane and Joey seized their guns, the headmost wolf was now nearly ahead of the carriage; Joey fired, and the animal rolled over in the snow.
“That’s a good shot, Joey; load again; here’s at another.”
McShane fired, and missed the animal, which rushed forward; the courier’s pistol, however, brought it down, just as he was springing on the hindmost horses.
O’Donahue, astonished at the firing, now lowered down the glass, and inquired the reason. McShane replied, that the wolves were on them, and that he’d better load his pistols in case they were required.
The wolves hung back a little upon the second one falling, but still continued the chase, although at a more respectable distance. The road was now on a descent, but the sick horse could hardly hold on his legs.
“A little half-hour more and we shall be in the town,” said the courier, climbing up to the coach-seat, and looking up the road they had passed; “but Saint Nicholas preserve us!” he exclaimed; and he turned round and spoke in hurried accents to the driver in the Russian language.
Again the driver lashed furiously, but in vain; the poor horse was dead-beat.
“What is the matter now?” inquired McShane.
“Do you see that black mass coming down the hill? it’s the main pack of wolves; I fear we are lost; the horse cannot go on.”
“Then why not cut his traces, and go on with the three others?” cried Joey.
“The boy is right,” replied the man, “and there is no time to lose.” The courier went down on the sleigh, spoke to the driver in Russian, and the horses were pulled up. The courier jumped out with his knife, and commenced cutting the traces of the tired horse, while the other three, who knew that the wolves were upon them, plunged furiously in their harness, that they might proceed. It was a trying moment. The five wolves now came up; the first two were brought down by the guns of McShane and Joey, and O’Donahue killed a third from the carriage windows.
One of the others advanced furiously, and sprang upon the horse which the courier was cutting free. Joey leapt down, and put his pistol to the animal’s head, and blew out his brains, while McShane, who had followed our hero, with the other pistol disabled the only wolf that remained.
But this danger which they had escaped from was nothing compared to that which threatened them; the whole pack now came sweeping like a torrent down the hill, with a simultaneous yell which might well strike terror into the bravest. The horse, which had fallen down when the wolf seized him, was still not clear of the sleigh, and the other three were quite unmanageable. McShane, Joey, and the courier, at last drew him clear from the track; they jumped into their places, and away they started again like the wind, for the horses were maddened with fear. The whole pack of wolves was not one hundred yards from them when they recommenced their speed, and even then McShane considered that there was no hope. But the horse that was left on the road proved their salvation; the starved animals darted upon it, piling themselves one on the other, snarling and tearing each other in their conflict for the feast. It was soon over; in the course of three minutes the carcass had disappeared, and the major portion of the pack renewed their pursuit; but the carriage had proceeded too far ahead of them, and their speed being now uninterrupted, they gained the next village, and O’Donahue had the satisfaction of leading his terrified bride into the chamber of the post-house, where she fainted as soon as she was placed in a chair.
“I’ll tell you what, Joey, I’ve had enough of wolves for all my life,” said McShane; “and Joey, my boy, you’re a good shot in the first place, and a brave little fellow in the next; here’s a handful of roubles, as they call them, for you to buy lollipops with, but I don’t think you’ll find a shop that sells them hereabouts. Never mind, keep your sweet tooth till you get to old England again; and after I tell Mrs McShane what you have done for us this day, she will allow you to walk into a leg of beef, or round a leg of mutton, or dive into a beefsteak pie, as long as you live, whether it be one hundred years more or less. I’ve said it, and don’t you forget it; and now, as the wolves have not made their supper upon us, let us go and see what we can sup upon ourselves.”