It was now three o'clock in the morning. The neighborhood of Kolyvan
was very still, and appeared to have been totally abandoned.
The country population had evidently fled to the northwards,
to the province of Yeniseisk, dreading the invasion, which they
could not resist.
Michael was walking at a rapid pace towards Kolyvan when distant firing
struck his ear. He stopped, and clearly distinguished the dull roar
of artillery, and above it a crisp rattle which could not be mistaken.
"It is cannon and musketry!" said he. "The little Russian body
is engaged with the Tartar army! Pray Heaven that I may arrive
at Kolyvan before them!"
The firing became gradually louder, and soon to the left of Kolyvan
a mist collected--not smoke, but those great white clouds produced
by discharges of artillery.
The Usbeck horsemen stopped on the left of the Obi, to await the result
of the battle. From them Michael had nothing to fear as he hastened
towards the town.
In the meanwhile the firing increased, and became sensibly nearer.
It was no longer a confused roar, but distinct reports.
At the same time the smoke partially cleared, and it became
evident that the combatants were rapidly moving southwards.
It appeared that Kolyvan was to be attacked on the north side.
But were the Russians defending it or the Tartars? It being
impossible to decide this, Michael became greatly perplexed.
He was not more than half a verst from Kolyvan when he observed
flames shooting up among the houses of the town, and the steeple
of a church fell in the midst of clouds of smoke and fire.
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