George Donnington; or, In the Bear's grip

Front matter

OB IN THE BEARS GRIP. BY CHARLES H. EDEN. AUTHOR OF "AUSTRALIA'S 1IE11UES," "FROZEN AMA." EK. ETC. " Now, afore Heaven, tis shame sro ■ borne."— Richard IL IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON— CHAPMAN and HALL LIMITED. 1885. [All Rights reserved. ] WESTMINSTER : PRINTED BY NICHOLS AND SONS. 25, PARLIAMENT STREET. CONTENTS. VOLUME III. CHAP. PAGE I. — The Fugitives ...... 1 II. — Alone .25 III.— Saved 49 IV.— Dorynka 77 V. — The Pedler 102 VI. — A Summons 130 VII. — The Return ....... 152 VIII. — Alarming Rumours ..... 17o IX. — Betrayed 202 X.— Outwitted ....... 221 XL— The Riot 250 XII. — Re-united ....... 270 Conclusion .......

Chapter I. The Fugitives

The day is over — the brief winter day of Siberia, wherein the sun visits the earth but for a few hours, shedding rays that lighten the snow-covered landscape with indescribable beauty, but fail to bring a particle of moisture to the smallest frost-crystal, or tree, or herbage. The cold is intense, so intense that we Englishmen can form no notion of its power — a numb ing, deadening cold, that seems to strike at the life of everything animated in nature, sealing up the run ning brook, turning to ice the tumbling cascade, VOL. III. rifting the hard earth, changing the human breath into steam, making the very act of inspiration a painful process. Two men — George Donnington and Louka Petro vitch — are crouched over a small fire, holding their hands to the feeble blaze, and exchanging a few words from time to time in low apathetic tones.

The frost seems to have penetrated their bodies and rusted the articulations of the jaws, so slowly and painfully do the words come forth. " The last of the fuel will be used to-night," remarks Louka, " and more must be got, otherwise we shall perish." " Listen to them ! " murmurs George, with a shudder, as a long howl is heard, and immediately fifty throats swell the demoniac chorus. " Listen to them ! They are in greater force than ever ! " His companion makes no reply, and both men sit for some twenty minutes, during which the fierce serenade of the wolves continues, now distant and hardly audible, but oftener so close that a stranger might be pardoned for thinking these wild visitors were in the chamber itself. But whether far or near seems of little moment to the wanderers, whose ears have been nightly habituated to this lullaby for three long months.

Louka is the first to break the silence. Rising to his feet he lays his hand on his companion's shoulder, and says : " Let us smoke a pipe together, friend, and then to bed. Who knows what to-morrow may bring forth ? " George is surprised at the Pole's manifestation of good feeling, for generally Louka Petrovitch is as chilling as an iceberg, and at once responds by seizing his hand with a hearty grip, after possessing himself of the tobacco-pouch extended towards him. The pipes are lit, and both the men reassume the same crouching attitude over the embers ; but suddenly the Pole arises, and, withdrawing for a moment, returns with an armful of fuel, which he throws upon the fire, and fans until a flame bursts forth and illuminates the interior of their retreat. Then he seats himself again, but, on this occasion, closer to George.

" No use economising any more," he mutters, " as there is not enough for to-morrow in any case." b2 "We are most unfortunate in the spring being so late," replies George; "but we may always hope, for it comes without any warning, you say." The conclusion of the sentence was almost interro gative in tone. Again and again had the Pole de scribed to his companion the sudden advent of the Siberian summer ; but it was a tale of which he never tired, for it whispered of hope, and cheered. " Without any warning ? " queries Louka. " You may well say that, friend. You go to bed as we do to-night, cold and imprisoned by ice. In the morning you find the surface of the snow moist, and the whole atmosphere misty beneath the sun. Then your heart swells, for you know the glad summer is upon you, not heralded by a capricious spring, but with one mighty bound.

Like magic the ice disappears before the beams of the sun, the streams are unsealed, the snow vanishes, the plain becomes clad with tender verdure, a myriad insects hum merrily, and countless birds people the wilderness." " Perhaps this very night it may set in," cries George; "and then the wolves will raise the siege." " Yes, they will be off at the first sign of thaw," replies Louka, " and we shall be free to wander forth as we will. But let us to bed now, I am tired ! " and without further leave-taking he rolls into his bunk, and pulling the skins over him is soon sound asleep George sits by the fire still, warming himself at the unwonted blaze and thinking over the past. Many months have elapsed since we left him in the secret passage of the deserted mine with Louka Petrovitch. Aided by Valerien Pugatchin they had easily escaped from the neighbourhood of Nertchinsk, and had struck south and east, hoping to make their escape by way of the Amoor.

Well provided with horses, arms, and every necessary, they had gained the basin of the great river before winter overtook them, and another fortnight would have enabled them to disentangle themselves from the ravines of the range and to reach the open. Then they could have camped comfortably until the spring, or have pursued their way on sledges ; but winter surprised them in the heart of the rugged spurs, and they were brought to an abrupt halt. Louka, an experienced hunter, made the best of what he saw was a very awkward situation. Food they had in sufficiency, and melted snow or ice would serve the place of water; what they chiefly needed was a shelter. At one end of the steep ravine wherein they were weather-bound the Pole fortunately discovered a dry and spacious cave. At the entrance to this retreat they threw up a semi-circular barricade of snow, some fourteen feet in height, and upon this they poured water, which freezing immediately rendered the wall insurmountable from the exterior by man or beast.

George thought it a terrible waste of time and labour ; but Louka knew what he was about and worked doggedly on without replying to his companion's expostulations. When the wall was finished, a rude sleigh was constructed, upon which the wanderers collected load after load of fuel, and then Louka drove the horses forth to shift for themselves. " We have no forage for them," he explained, "and they will only attract the wolves." So the animals were set at liberty, and the men proceeded to make the cave habitable, fitting wooden bunks to the walls and smoothing the floor. George thought his companion crazed on the subject of wolves; but one day, whilst down near the mouth of the ravine, he heard a rushino* noise and saw a terrified horse come galloping towards him, with heaving flanks and distended nostrils, lashing out furiously at the coward pack snarling at his heels.

A tree afforded the young man a place of safety ; but from his perch he beheld such a sight as taught him the wisdom of the Pole's precautions. In ten minutes naught remained of the gallant steed but its skeleton, and then the savage pack formed in a circle round the foot of the tree, glaring up at its inmate with lurid eyes. From this predicament Louka rescued him, and he now recognised fully the utility of the wall of snow. On the following morning George had gone out alone, but his return was speedy, for the grim sentinels en compassed the cavern retreat on every side. Since that day both men had remained prisoners, hemmed in by the cordon of wolves surrounding the mouth of their cave. Who can imagine anything more dispiriting than such a sojourn in the frozen wilderness ? Daily the cold grew more intense, daily the savage pack became more audacious as hunger pressed them, and frequent were the attempts they made to surmount the barricade, but the smooth ice afforded no foothold, and they rolled back on the snow beneath baffled.

Many were shot by the runaways for the sake of their skins, but this proved no deterrent to the survivors, who still kept up the siege with unrelaxing vigilance. Their fierce but melancholy chorus was ever audible to the imprisoned men, and added to the horrors of their situation. Only with the warmth of spring and the melting of the snow would the famished band disperse. As a companion Louka Petrovitch was not one to be desired, for he was by nature morose and sullen, although full of resource and possessed of undaunted courage. When two men are placed in such a position as to be entirely dependent on each other they com monly become either close friends or bitter enemies, but Louka's temperament admitted of neither of these extremes. Nothing could break through the impenetrable barrier of his reserve ; never did he expand and open his heart even when misery and privation drew the two men closest together.

Some extraordiaary mystery seemed to envelope the Pole. George had ascertained that he was not really a convict, but had only personated one, and more than suspected that this act of self-sacrifice had been undertaken on his account ; but all questions — all tokens of gratitude — were coldly parried or repelled by Louka ; and at the time of which we now write, when they had been shut up together for months, George knew little more of his strange com panion than when we left them in the secret chamber of the deserted mine. Well might a man's faculties become numbed in such a climate, with such a com panion and with such surroundings. At an early date they had found themselves unpro vided with sufficient fuel. Only by the exercise of rigid economy could their stock be made to last out until the spring, so the horrors of cold were added to their other troubles.

Every duty was performed by Louka, who grew so angry if George attempted to assist that the Englishman found it best to let him have his own way. Louka it was who chopped the fuel for the day's consumption, melted the snow, prepared the food, and cooked the coarse cakes on the glowing embers ; it was with difficulty that George could obtain exercise enough to keep his joints from rusting. His work finished, the Pole would sit for hours silent and brooding, or replying only in mono syllables to his companion's queries. Donnington ex hausted himself in the attempt to discover a single topic which might awaken some spark of interest m his strange associate. All the circumstances of George s arrest, and the terrible treason that had been practised by Bodiskoff, drew forth no comment from the Pole ; the political wrongs of his own countrymen failed to stir him.

With religion it was the same. He made no sign of approval or disapproval when the Englishman proposed marking the seventh day by a few words of prayer, and by abstaining from cards. Simply shrugging his shoulders he listened to the thanks giving offered up by his companion, conceding to his whim in so much that he laid aside his pipe whilst service was in progress, but never opening his lips even to utter the word " Amen ! " That George would not play cards on Sunday astonished him, for he eyed his companion curiously, and a slight smile of derision passed over his sallow features ; but he retired to his bunk without a word, and either slept or pretended to do so, for no syllable passed his lips. Such was his invariable routine on Sunday, and, as a necessary con sequence, that day was one of exceeding melancholy to Donnington, for, except at meals, not a word was ex changed between the men.

On week-days cards served to pass away the time, and of this occupation the Pole never tired. As long as the light served to distinguish the pips he played on and on, continuing the game with an imaginary antagonist after George had retired, and when darkness fell he stiU sat on brooding and silent. A weird companion in truth ! Small wonder that the Englishman felt surprise when this strange associate laid a hand upon shoulder, for it was the first demonstration of feeling which the young man had ever known him manifest. George Donnington slept long and soundly, and on opening his eyes cast a glance, as was his wont, towards the fire, where Louka was usually busied in the pre pation of their morning meal. Only the grey embers lay upon the hearth — no pot or pan stood beside them. With a feeling of uneasiness the young man sprang out of bed, calling his companion's name aloud ; but no reply reached his ears, only the long howl of a distant wolf.

" Good God ! " exclaimed George, " what can have become of him ? Surely he has not been mad enough to venture forth amongst that ravenous host alone ? Why, what is this ? — a letter." It was a sheet of paper roughly folded up and laid in such a position that it must catch Donnington's eye. He hastily caught it up, and read — " My friend, I go forth to get more fuel, for without fire we cannot survive. I have purposely stolen away, for I do not wish you to be associated in a work which has much danger. Do not attempt to follow me — you would do no good, and would only sacrifice your life uselessly ; but on waking mount the parapet with the rifles and ammunition to aid me if I am pursued. Should I fall a prey to the wolves, eke out your exist ence as best you can until the spring — it can only be a few days distant — sets you free ; then strike southward for the Amoor, and keep along its bank until you fall in with some of the natives.

They have received orders to help you. Shun all Russians. Think kindly of Louka Petrovitch." For a moment George stood petrified at this intelligence, the open sheet in his hand, then seizing his rifle and pistols he rushed out, and, mounting the barricade, anxiously scanned the desolate expanse of snow that carpeted the ravine, and clothed every tree and cra°*. Not a sound was audible — not the hum of an insect, not the twittle of a bird — the awful breath of winter had perished all life; even the wolf that had lately howled was now silent, and George took this to be a favourable sign. Overhead the grim rocks, clad in their white mantle, sparkled beneath the rays of a sun from which all warmth was absent; but no whisper of wind stirred the snow-clogged branches of the pines — all was dazzling, still, silent — painful to the sight, piercing to the brain.

Shading his eyes he gazed anxiously down the valley, where a track in the snow showed the direction in which Louka had dragged the sledge, and then listened intently in the hope of hearing the ring of his com panion's axe ; but no movement met the eye, no sound reached the expectant ear. It was too horrible, this suspense, and the young man found some vent for his feelings by crying aloud his companion's name. " Louka, Louka!" echoed back the overhanging crags, but no other reply. " My God ! I shall go mad ! " he murmured, despair ingly. " The brave fellow is torn to pieces — has sacrificed his life to save mine." But stay — something appears amidst the stems of the rigid pine-trees — some small dark object that is plainly defined on the white surroundings. Another long anxious look convinces the watcher that it is the sledge, and a strange joy and hope reassert themselves in his breast.

Yes, the speck moves — is approaching. His friend will come through the desperate ordeal unscathed, and with abundant fuel they will be happy until spring bursts upon them. It cannot be long absent now, glitteringly chilling as the pale beams still strike upon the frozen surface. Who would have imagined that he could feel thus deeply for one so cold, and who was a companion only in name ! Ten minutes — twenty — half-an-hour elapses, and now the sledge is within three hundred yards of the cave. Not a word has Louka responded in answer to the shouts; he seems to need all his breath to haul the heavy burden which trails behind him. Every now and again the Pole halts and quits the drag-rope waving his arms above his head, but uttering no cry. The space between them is so small that George is now enabled to make out certain grey shadows that flit phantom-like over the surface of the snow ; and the glint of steel meets his eye.

It is the axe wielded by Louka, who is chasing back his enemies, for the gaunt spectres on his trail are ravenous wolves. Face to face with his foes, he will die mute if they charge him, dealing death until life be past. The anxious watcher can appreciate the feeling, and sets his teeth hard as he handles his rifle and measures the distance with his eye. What can he do to help his friend ? Should he sally forth ? Such an act would be in direct contravention of Louka's instructions. Wary even in their ravening hunger the wolves are suspicious of the sleigh with its load of timber; should an ally come forth their desperation would goad them to an immediate attack ; when both men must infallibly be devoured. And the same reasoning holds good of shooting, for the smell of blood would excite them to madness.

He must wait patiently and not fire unless ordered to do so by his adventurous companion. The distance is less than a hundred yards now. All must soon be over for good or evil. He will go down to the entrance and stand there axe in hand ready to receive the assailants. If they make a rush it will be when they see their prey escaping them for ever. He throws the rough door partly open, and stands watching, the perspiration forming on his brow from excitement, and being instantly turned to pellicles of ice. Three times in the last hundred yards has Louka to charge the pack, that now forms a ring around the sleigh and himself, the foremost brutes only reluctantly yielding ground as he advances towards them. Now less than twenty yards separates the Pole from the gate — now ten — now five. "Hurrah!" cries George, starting forth to grasp his friend's hand.

" Hurrah ! Louka, at last you are safe ! " But he speaks prematurely, little knowing the despe rate nature of the famished animals. Conscious that in less than a minute their quarry will be in safety, a howl of rage breaks forth, and the leader of the pack — a huge grey veteran, scarred of hide and yellow of fang — bounds upon the Pole and fastens his long teeth in his shoulder. Louka staggers, and dropping the rope grasps his antagonist by the throat ; but another wolf has seized him, and in a moment he is borne to the ground. With his axe George splits the skull of the last assailant, and placing a pistol to the ear of the other scatters his brains; then stooping down, whilst the pack moment arily recoils at the smell of powder, he lifts the wounded man, and in half-a-dozen strides has placed him in safety and shut the door, outside of which the survivors are fighting over the bodies of their fallen comrades.

The sledge is still in the open, but that is of little consequence, for later on the wolves will withdraw to a distance, and then it can be dragged in. The first thing is to see where Louka is hurt. It seemed but a moment that the brute was upon him — surely it can be little more than a scratch from which he suffers ? But see, the blood oozes through the holes in the fur jerkin, forming a dull clot of crimson ice upon the hair ; and his eyes are closed and his cheeks blanched, whilst his teeth grind together as though to suppress a cry of pain. It must be more than skin-deep this, to take such effect upon the iron Louka Petrovitch. George lays the wounded man on his bunk and then replenishes the fire without stint ; for the fur-robe must be stripped to examine the injury. He pours a few drops of brandy down his comrade's throat and then VOL. III.

C goes to work, quietly assisted by his patient, whom the spirit has revived. Only a scratch? Why there is a gaping jagged wound in the neck and shoulder that would try the skill of the College of Surgeons ! George is no doctor ; but even to his inexperienced eye it is apparent that terrible damage has been done, and that it will be weeks before his companion recovers, if he ever sets foot on ground again. Louka recognises it too, but is cheerful — more so it strikes George than when he was whole and sound — and gives his nurse many hints as to what he should do, so that in half-an-hour the process of bandaging is at an end, and the wounded man dozing in his bunk, and from time to time uttering faint cries, as though in his sleep he again felt the sharp fangs buried in his flesh, and forcing from him these little signs of weakness to which in his waking moments he would have scorned to yield.

All that night George sat up watching over Louka's broken slumber ; and only when the latter had drunk a strong bowl of tea and dropped off into a sound sleep did he light his pipe and ascend the parapet to view the scene of yesterday's strife. He placed his foot on an icy step — it slipped ! He touched the wall of snow — his fingers were wet ! He looked aloft, the sun shone down, but not through a clear glassy atmo sphere; his rays now were blurred by a veil of mist that arose everywhere as the ice-king yielded to his ardent kisses ! The wanderer's heart swelled within him as he saw that spring had set in, and then a great sorrow fell upon him as he thought of the events of yesterday, and reflected what pain and trouble would have been spared to Louka had he remained quiet for a few hours longer.

In a week's time the snow in the valley had vanished, and only large discoloured patches hung overhead on the heights of the mountains; the brown surface of the soil became visible for a space, and then a tender green carpet covered every foot of earth, the pines and larches sprouted forth, the plains became clothed with brightly-coloured flowers, the streams tore along turbid and swollen, birds twittered on every bough, and each blade of grass seemed the home of some happy insect. And amidst this scene of enchantment George's spirits rose. The wolves had now entirely disappeared, and it was possible to walk about safely in every direcc tion; with his rifle the young man easily secured an abundance of nutritious food for his wounded com panion, and another fortnight would see Louka sufficiently recovered to set out on the tedious journey that still lay before them.

Since his encounter with the wolves the Pole's demeanour had aitered wonderfully for the better. Perhaps he was touched by the tender solicitude which George manifested in nursing him ; perhaps he recognised the sterling unselfish character of his com panion; I know not the cause, but he cast aside much of his previous studied reserve, and often spoke freely of the future and of the means by which he hoped to accomplish their escape. They were now without horses, but the great river afforded a highway by which they could advance towards the ocean without much fatigue and with little clanger. Louka advocated their taking only their arms and ammunition and striking for the banks of the Amoor. Three weeks would enable them to reach the river, and with the guns it would be easy to support life on the way.

If they fell in with natives, well and good, as the morose Gilyacks had received instructions to befriend them ; if not, they must build a raft and travel by night down the stream, concealing themselves during the day. The whole plan seemed very feasible, and after each conversation George found himself wondering more and more who this strange man could be, to whom the whole of Frozen Asia seemed familiar. Once, when the Pole had been particularly forth coming, he ventured to touch on the subject. Louka had just finished describing the customs of the Gilyacks and giving graphic instances of the impenetrable re serve by which their Muscovite masters were completely baffled. " Where did you learn this ? " asked George, in astonishment. " You say you have never been brought into personal contact with this tribe : how then are you so intimately acquainted with their characters ?

" " I have been taught," replied the Pole. " It was my duty and I learnt rapidly." " Who are you ? " cried the Englishman, carried away by an impulse he was unable to restrain. " Who are you ? For months we have been fellow-wanderers, sharing the same hardships, eating from the same dish and drinking from the same cup. Surely you must know by this time that I am to be trusted ! Tell me then who you are and why you accompany me on this perilous journey." The Pole lifted his grave thoughtful eyes and looked steadily into his companion's face. There was no irri tation in the gaze, it conveyed rather affection and good-will. " Englishman," he said, after a pause, raising his unwounded arm and laying it on George's shoulder ; " Englishman, I love you more than any one on earth except my uncle ! and I would that I might tell you all, but it must not be yet.

Before we part there shall be no secret between us." The young man was deeply touched, and pressed the thin fingers in his own. " Your uncle ? " he murmured, interrogatively. "Yes; Paul Lav Valerien Pugatchin," he added, hastily correcting himself. " Valerien PugaLchin, the owner of the deserted mine ; he is my mother's brother. But patience, George, and you shall know all in time." Then he turned on his side as though wishing to sleep, and Donnington went forth in quest of game, deeply puzzled. One source of perpetual discomfort at this season was the snow-wall, which, melting under the heat, kept the floor of the cavern constantly damp. But at length Louka pronounced himself well enough to move if a more convenient place could be found ; so one morning George strolled towards the entrance of the valley to examine a cave which he had noticed some days pre viously.

The distance was less than two miles, and the heat so great that he left his rifle behind for con venience sake, apprehending no possible danger. Find ing the cavern well adapted to their purpose he was returning slowly when suddenly a dull roar arose at the head of the ravine — a dull prolonged roar as of a falling mountain, and the young man's heart sank within him at the sound. " It was louder than the usual avalanches," he mut tered, whilst hurrying homeward at top speed. " Why, what can this be ? " he cried, coming abruptly to a standstill as a wall of water poured down the valley towards the spot where he stood. To climb to the summit of a huge detached boulder was the work of a few minutes, and then Donnington became conscious of the catastrophe that had happened. He looked towards the mountain stream — it was thrust aside from its old bed and was wandering angrily abroad in search of a new channel ; he looked towards the head of the ravine, wherein lay the cavern containing his companion — it was gone !

A landslip, brought on by the sudden melting of the snow, had utterly obliterated the upper part of the valley; the cavern was buried fifty fathoms beneath the surface ; and a million tons of rock and earth lay between human ken and the mangled corpse of Louka Petrovitch ! George Donnington was alone in the Siberian wilderness — helpless — destitute — unarmed.

Chapter II. Alone

The full extent of the calamity that had happened did not dawn upon Donnington at once. He was unstrung by many months of fearful mental and bodily suffering, followed by a long period of anxious confinement in the cavern, with no companionship save that of Louka, pinched by cold, and with an uncertain outlook before him. All these circumstances had tended to engender a species of mental numbness, and it was some minutes before the full gravity of his present position came home to him. Seated on the summit of the boulder he stared helplessly towards the head of the ravine, now choked with debris and discoloured snow. The land marks with which he was so familiar had disappeared -had utterly vanished. The yellow cascade that, since the coming of spring, had roared down from the crags was now silent, for the place over which it was wont to leap had gone, and the water, oozing from beneath the fallen rubbish, was searching hither and thither in quest of a new channel.