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Updated: June 5, 2025
Have not our Cossacks met the Tartars?" "Several times, your Highness." "And they were repulsed?" "They were not in sufficient force to oppose the enemy." "Where did the encounters take place?" "At Kolyvan, at Tomsk." Until now, Ogareff had only spoken the truth, but, in the hope of troubling the defenders of Irkutsk by exaggerating the defeats, he added, "And a third time before Krasnoiarsk."
"Has Feofar-Khan entered Tomsk?" "He has." "Do you know if his men have entered Kolyvan?" "No; for Kolyvan does not yet burn." "Thanks, friend. Can I aid you and yours?" "No." "Good-by." "Farewell." And Michael, having presented five and twenty roubles to the unfortunate woman, who had not even strength to thank him, put spurs to his horse once more.
He had fancied that he could not hate Ivan Ogareff more, yet a fresh tide of hate now rose in his heart. The wretch who had betrayed his country now threatened to torture his mother. The conversation between the two officers continued, and Michael understood that an engagement was imminent in the neighborhood of Kolyvan, between the Muscovite troops coming from the north and the Tartars.
As to his horse, it was by this time pretty well worn out, and Michael intended to make it perform this stage only, and then to exchange it for a fresh one at Kolyvan. Kolyvan would be like a fresh starting point, for on leaving that town his journey would take a new form.
Though Nicholas had resolved to stop at Krasnoiarsk, it was only as he said, "on condition of finding employment there." In fact, this model clerk, after having stayed to the last minute at his post in Kolyvan, was endeavoring to place himself again at the disposal of the government. "Why should I receive a salary which I have not earned?" he would say.
"From Kolyvan, Government of Omsk, Siberia, 6th August. "Fugitives are escaping from the town. Russians defeated. Fiercely pursued by the Tartar cavalry." And as Harry Blount returned he heard Jolivet completing his telegram by singing in a mocking tone: "II est un petit homme, Tout habille de gris, Dans Paris!" Imitating his rival, Alcide Jolivet had used a merry refrain of Beranger.
This was the only thing to be done; and Michael, leaving the Obi, went forward to the right of Kolyvan. The firing had now increased in violence. Flames soon sprang up on the left of the town. Fire was devouring one entire quarter of Kolyvan. Michael was running across the steppe endeavoring to gain the covert of some trees when a detachment of Tartar cavalry appeared on the right.
The reading was in a distinct voice, so that Michael heard all that the English correspondent was sending to his paper. "Russians repulsed with great loss. Tartars entered Kolyvan to-day." These words ended the dispatch. "My turn now," cried Alcide Jolivet, anxious to send off his dispatch, addressed to his cousin.
Expecting a few more of the same size." Michael Strogoff had no doubt that the Russians were driven out of Kolyvan. His last resource was to set out across the southern steppe. Just then renewed firing broke out close to the telegraph house, and a perfect shower of bullets smashed all the glass in the windows. Harry Blount fell to the ground wounded in the shoulder.
"That's exactly where I have been!" answered Jolivet, with his most amiable smile. "And is it still working to Kolyvan?" "That I don't know, but I can assure you, for instance, that it is working from Kasan to Paris." "You sent a dispatch to your cousin?" "With enthusiasm." "You had learnt then ?"
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