ON THE FACE OF THE FLOOD

By

MARY E. ROPES

Author of "Karl Jansen's Find," "Caroline Street," etc.

LONDON

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. THE RING THAT ROLLED AWAY

II. MATVEY'S PLAN

III. A DREAD AWAKENING—KIDNAPPED

IV. AN ORDEAL

V. EYES SHINING IN THE DARK

VI. OUT OF EVIL GOOD

VII. THE RESCUE

VIII. SERGEY MEETS HIS AUNT

IX. A MEETING AND A WARNING

X. TRAPPED

XI. LOOSING THE BONDS

XII. HOMEWARD BOUND

ON THE FACE OF THE FLOOD

CHAPTER I

The Ring that Rolled Away

"MY little son, Sergey, what means this? Thou hast a face on thee as long as my axe-handle! Is there any fresh trouble, child?"

"Ach, yes, Matvey Philipitch, and a very strange trouble it is, God knows! And with a secret to it, too, worse luck; for methinks there is danger for me, whether I find it out or no."

"A secret, my boy? A new trouble? And surely thou hadst enough before. But tell it out to me, so shalt thou rid thy poor little heart of a part, at least, of its burden."

"Have you time, little father, to listen now? I would fain tell my story at once, for I think I cannot bear it any longer alone."

"Yes, I have time," replied Matvey. "But here in the wood is no place for confidences, where thine Uncle Abram might be hiding, and spying, and listening, as his wont is, behind the pines. Come back with me to my home, and my good wife and I will consult with thee how best to help thee in thy trouble."

Sergey followed Matvey farther into the forest, and came, after five minutes' walk, to a solidly built house. It was made of whole pine-tree trunks, the cracks being filled up with tarred tow.

The hut was one of a number scattered about among the trees, for this was a village of wood cutters and raftsmen. But Matvey was the foreman and paymaster, and in virtue of this, his cottage contained two rooms instead of only the solitary apartment which was kitchen, bedroom, and sitting-room, all in one, in the other dwellings.

Matvey was a man in the prime of life, and far better educated, and more intelligent, than the ordinary peasants. Sensible, honest, and reliable, he had the full confidence of his employer, and managed the wood-cutting in the winter, and the raft-making and launching in the spring, when the rivers opened their icy eyelids, and the snows, melting, swelled the flow and quickened the sluggish currents.

Matvey Philipitch Strogoff could not only read and write and keep correct accounts for his master, but he had learned to love his Bible, and daily he studied it, poring thoughtfully over its precious truths, till they bore fruit in his humble, consistent, upright, Christian life, and he became an influence for good in the wild forest where his work lay.

His wife, Christina Ivanovna, was his true helpmeet. And now, as Matvey and the boy Sergey entered the hut, Christina welcomed her young visitor very kindly. For well she knew what a miserable life he led with his uncle, Abram Kapoostin, ever since his parents' death from cholera two years ago.

Of late, too, Abram's conduct had been so strange, and he had neglected his duty so often, disappearing no one knew how, or whither, for twenty-four hours at a time, that the foreman had almost made up his mind to dismiss him. So Christina was not altogether unprepared for a crisis in the affairs of Sergey and his uncle, and was not surprised when her husband said—

"Christina, little dove mine, this poor child is in trouble again, and is come to tell us all about it. Now, Sergey, sit down here and tell thy story, keeping nothing back, so shall we know how to advise and help thee."

So the boy began his tale as follows, while Matvey and his wife listened intently—

"As you well know, kind friends, things have grown worse of late. You have seen that my uncle's heart was not in his work, and often he slipped away, and no one knew where he went or what he did. Nor know I even now. But a strange thing happened last night. My uncle came home drunk, and I awoke with the noise he made, and turning over, I watched him.

"Presently I saw him take from his big boot a little leather bag, and lay it on the table. Then there was a chink! chink! a ring of metal, a flash, and a sparkle, and something rolled off the table, and away into a dark corner at the foot of my bed. But Uncle Abram was too drunk to notice this. He sat there muttering to himself, and lifting a lot of bright things in his hands, and letting them drop, as though he liked the look and the sound of the golden shower. But after a short time he seemed to grow sleepy, and putting the jewels back into the bag, and the bag into his belt, he threw himself, just as he was, upon his bed, and in two minutes was snoring hard.

"But this morning, while we were drinking tea, he suddenly said to me, 'Sergey, did I wake thee when I came in last night?'"

"That was a hard question, little son," commented Matvey. "How didst thou answer?"

"I knew it was a sin to lie," replied the boy; "you have taught me that the children of God must be true in all things. So I took my poor little courage in both hands, and looking my uncle in the face, I said:

"'Yes, you waked me.'

"Then his face grew black with rage, and he shouted, 'And if awake, what didst thou see or hear?'

"'And pray,' said I, 'what should I see or hear?'

"And it was given me to speak quietly and almost carelessly, though my heart beat like your big clock, Matvey Philipitch.

"And I added, 'You know, uncle, you were very drunk, as you often are.'

"'Yes, yes, as I often am!' he cried, his anger seeming to calm down suddenly. 'That is nothing; that is no secret, is it?' And again he looked at me as if he would read my thoughts.

"'No,' I answered, 'certainly it is no secret that you are often drunk. The whole village knows that.'

"Then he got up to go out, but turned at the door. 'I like not thy face, nor thy manner this morning, Sergey,' he said. 'See that thou change both, or I will make thee rue it.' And with that he was gone.

"And then I ran to the corner whither the bright thing had rolled, and there, in the dark and the dust, I found, shining like a little red lamp, this!"

And opening his hand, he showed in the hollow of the palm, a broad, massive gold ring, in which was set one great ruby, with a wonderful light deep down in its heart.

Matvey took it up, and read, engraved on the inner side:

"'Yevgen to Elena.'"

"Strange!" said Matvey. "How came thine uncle, I wonder, by such a jewel as this? It must be of great value."

"I know not," replied the boy, "but therein, I am sure, lies a wicked secret, and the thought makes me unhappy. Moreover, he is sure to miss it when he comes to look over the rest of the trinkets, and he will question me, and I must speak the truth, and then he will kill me."

"Kill thee, child? No, that shall he not," exclaimed Matvey. "But if thou fear to go home to-night, thou canst stay here, and to-morrow I will make a plan to rescue thee, little son, from the fear and the thrall of this ungodly man. And as for this red stone ring, shall I keep it for the present and lock it up?"

"Yes, please do, Matvey Philipitch, and so one day we may learn to whom it belongs."

CHAPTER II

Matvey's Plan

AS the good foreman and his wife, with their young guest, sat round the table next morning, drinking their tea out of tumblers, in true Russian fashion, the door was rudely pushed open, and Abram Kapoostin stood there, glowering at the cosy little group beside the warm stove.

"Pray, what is the reason of this?" he said, his thick voice rough with anger. "I have been seeking my scoundrel of a nephew all through the wood, and now, forsooth, I find him here. What business have you, Matvey Philipitch, to entice away Sergey from his uncle and guardian?"

"He did not entice me," Sergey began to say, but the foreman silenced him with a gesture, and answered Abram himself.

"There has been—there could be—no enticing. The boy was frightened and unhappy, and so came to us, his friends, for comfort and protection; aye, and he shall have both, in spite of thee, Abram Kapoostin."

The man made no reply, but glared at Sergey from under frowning brows. The foreman went on—

"Some time ago, Abram, I said plainly to thee that I could not suffer thy frequent absences from work, and that if I had to speak again, I should feel it my duty to dismiss thee."

"Me? Dismiss me?" growled Abram. "Dismiss the best axe in the gang?"

"It is true thou art the best axe—the best workman when thou dost so choose," replied Matvey quietly. "But more often thou dost not choose. And no one knows what business other than the woodcraft claims thy time, and keeps thee from thy duty. And moreover, Abram, thou canst not deny that even when thou art here, the village kabak (dram-shop) is haunted by thee, and most of thy wage is spent on that devil's-fire drink that we call vodki. Idle, surly, drunken, unfaithful to God and to the master, an influence for evil in the gang, a bad example to all the younger men, a terror to this boy, whose guardian thou didst promise to be—what hast thou to say for thyself?"

Apparently the man had nothing to say in self-defence; the accusation was all too true.

Matvey continued: "I have warned thee more than once, but thou hast not heeded. Now the time is past; I warn thee no more, but dismiss thee. Here, take thy wages and begone, and see that thy hut is empty and clean by to-morrow, when a better man shall come to live there. This afternoon Sergey and I shall go over and fetch his things, but he returns to thee no more. Now go!"

At this stern dismissal, Abram's bloodshot eyes fixed themselves threateningly upon Sergey.

"All this trouble must be of thy doing, thou sly fox, thou thankless little beast!" he roared, frantic with rage. "Ach, well! I will be even with thee yet. I never forget, I never forgive! Thou hast compassed my ruin, and it shall go hard with me but I will compass thine. Be sure—very sure—of that, thou backbiting serpent!"

"Any more of this, and I give thee in charge of the forest police!" cried Matvey sternly. "Get out of my place, ere I lose all patience, and give thee what thou hast richly earned."

There was a tone in the foreman's ringing voice which even the burly, blustering Abram could not afford to ignore and disobey. One last baleful gaze he fastened upon the boy's troubled face, then he was gone.

"He is furious at the loss of the ring," Sergey said, when the unwelcome visitor had gone, "and I am in worse danger than ever. I dare not even work in the forest, for fear of meeting him. Oh, little father and mother, what can I do?"

"Listen, my son," said Matvey. "Last night the strong south wind and heavy rain made the river ice cracked and rotten, and in some places there is already open water. To-night or to-morrow the remaining ice will break up and float down the current, melting as it goes. Our Number 1 raft, the 'Swan,' is nearly ready to start, and thou shalt go on her as cook-boy and helper. What sayest thou, child?"

"Say—Matvey Philipitch? What can I say but a thousand grateful thanks? I shall grieve to leave you and dear, kind mother Christina, but I should never have a moment's peace or safety here, after those awful threats of uncle's. For even though you have dismissed him, Matvey Philipitch, he may be lurking about in the forest, watching and lying in wait for me. No, it is best every way that I go on the 'Swan,' as you say."

"If thou shouldst prefer to wait awhile longer under our protection, child, the second raft—the 'Wild Goose'—will be going later."

"No, father Matvey, I thank you—but no! I am anxious to be far away as soon as may be. But tell me, are all the rafts to be birds this year?"

"Yes, we shall have the 'Swan,' 'Wild Goose,' 'Duck,' 'Sea Gull,' and others. Last year we had flowers, such as the 'Water Lily,' 'Sunflower,' and so forth. The men take a pride in their rafts, and like them to have names. And I have known some of them grow so fond of their queer, unwieldy craft during the long voyage, that they have wept when they reached their port, and saw the timbers of the raft taken asunder, and the little cabin house, where the raftsmen had cooked, and eaten, and slept, hewn up for firewood."

"Perhaps I shall come to love the 'Swan' thus," said the boy. "But I shall be very lonely without you and mother Christina."

"I have friends in three of the towns through which thou wilt pass," said Matvey, "and to them I will give thee letters in case thou shouldst be sick or in any difficulty. For the rest, Ivan, the skipper of the 'Swan,' and his three sons are good, honest fellows, and they will be kind to thee. About passports there will be no trouble. My master, the Count, pays for a yearly 'permit,' which includes all his raftsmen, and Ivan has the certificate of a raft skipper, who knows all the shoals, the currents, the rocks, rapids, and other dangers. The voyage will take the whole summer, but thou canst return with the men by one of the steam cargo boats, working thy passage homeward, and tramping from whatever spot the steamer sets thee and thy companions down."

That afternoon Matvey and Sergey, according to their arrangement, went over to Abram's hut to get the boy's things. They found him clearing up the place, and packing his possessions. He looked round as his unwelcome callers appeared, and his surly face darkened.

"Sorry to trouble thee, Abram," said the foreman pleasantly, "but we need not do so for long. May Sergey pack away his things in this bag that I have brought?"

"Yes, yes! Take them and begone!" growled Abram. "I'm glad to be going myself to-morrow. A woodman's life is too dull for me, and I have friends with whom I can earn more in a night than I could do with my axe in a year. Ha! Ha! Sir Foreman, what say you to that?"

"Nothing, save that thou and thy fine friends will most assuredly come to a bad end sooner or later."

"Have done with your warnings, Matvey Philipitch. From this day I go my own way, and none shall hinder me."

"Until God hinder thee once for all, thou stubborn will! And hinder thee He shall, when the measure of thy sins is full!" said Matvey solemnly. "Come, Sergey, I see thou hast thy goods ready. Say farewell to thine uncle. It is not likely that thou and he shall meet again."

Abram laughed an evil, sneering laugh. "Nay," said he, "I am sure to see my dutiful nephew again. You see, Matvey Philipitch, I have a small account to settle with him, and this I would not forego, if I could."

"Well," said the foreman, "here he is! Settle it now!"

"No, no," retorted the man rudely. "Such matters are private between relatives. But I only postpone the affair. Some day—or, better still, some night—I will settle up old scores with this young rascal, and if there be anything left of him when I have got through, you are welcome to it, Sir Foreman."

"Come, little son, we have stayed long enough—too long!" said Matvey, shuddering at the malignant words and look of Abram Kapoostin. "Life is not long enough for us to waste time bandying words with a ruffian such as this. Come!"

CHAPTER III

A Dread Awakening—Kidnapped

NEVER had the finishing touches of any raft so keenly interested Sergey, as these of the "Swan." The chief object in the construction was to float in as small a compass as possible, as much timber as could be sent safely down the current.

This, and the care necessary to make it lie evenly and securely upon the water, made the building of the raft far less simple and easy a thing than at first sight it appeared. Upon the raft a little house or cabin was erected, strongly and firmly made, and into it were packed just the bare necessaries for the long slow voyage, though of course additional provisions could be obtained, and certain stores renewed at some of the places passed on the way.

The cabin was small, but it was wonderful how many things it was capable of holding. It contained a little stove which was to answer the treble purpose of warming the people, cooking the food, and drying the clothes.

A few low stools and a rough table formed the furniture. Beds there were none, but two shelves were used as sleeping-places. And if more than two people wished to sleep at the same time, there was always the floor.

By way of food they had a keg of sour cabbage for soup, some herrings in brine, several huge loaves of rye bread, a wooden bucket of Finnish salt butter, and a box of buckwheat grain for porridge. There were an old battered samovar, a broken-nosed teapot, a few tin pots and wooden spoons, and a knife or two, also two or three earthenware bowls. These things, with a pound or so of tea and sugar, just about took up the available space in the little cabin.

The brilliant shining of the sun for a day or two had completed the destruction of the ice begun by the south wind and rain. And now no ice was to be seen. The river was in full flood. And the morning came when Sergey said a grateful farewell to the good foreman and his wife, and joining Ivan and his three stalwart sons on the deck of the "Swan," began his long slow voyage.

With the blue sky and golden sunlight over him, kind people with him, new scenes and possible adventures before him, the lad felt lighter of heart than for years past. For, after all, he was only thirteen, and at that age the future looks very fair.

All day the "Swan" floated at a fair pace down the stream. And as there was a moon that night, and plenty of light by which to navigate the clumsy craft, there was no need to stop and moor the raft.

Right through the peaceful, solemn night they drifted in the cold white light, keeping in mid-stream so as to take full advantage of the strong current which prevails in flood-time. The woods were still white with the remains of unmelted snow, and now and again Sergey caught a fleeting glimpse of some furtive moving thing among the pine stems, and heard old Ivan mutter into his grizzled beard, "Volk!" (wolf), or "Zaitsa" (hare), or "Lysitsa" (fox).

That first night on the river Tihonka was a thing to be remembered for its novelty, its mystery, and its beauty. So much absorbed indeed was the boy that Ivan had to remind him of his duty as cook, and tell him to prepare supper.

All went smoothly enough that night and the whole of the next day, but towards nightfall the weather changed. A great wind rose, the sky was overcast, and the water was lashed to fury wherever there was space enough to be exposed to the gale.

"We must moor the 'Swan' to-night," said Ivan. "It would not be safe to run her through the darkness. And besides, we are reaching a rocky part of the river, and for this we must have light."

So when darkness began to settle down, the raft was moored close in shore, and the men, wrapping themselves in their sheepskins, lay down, two on the sleeping-shelves, two on the floor, and were soon snoring loudly. Sergey snuggled into a corner and tried to sleep too.

But the cabin was close and stuffy, and the boy could not close his eyes. Longing for a whiff of the fresh, pine-scented air, he got up noiselessly, so as not to rouse the sleepers, and stepped out on to the deck of the raft, and thence to a big flat boulder close to which the "Swan" was moored. Here he sat down, and presently, lulled by the soft sounds of the going in the pine tops, and the swirl of the water, he fell into a deep slumber.

Whether he slept for several hours or for only a brief time Sergey never knew. But he regained consciousness under a suffocating sensation, and a sickening sense of misfortune and danger.

As he came gradually to himself, he realised that he was no longer sitting on the rock where he had fallen asleep, but was being carried along in strong arms that seemed to make light of his weight. Some sort of a gag had been forced into his mouth, so that he could not cry out; nor could he loosen his hands and arms, so tightly was his sheepskin rolled about him.