Their companions gallantly seconded them.
The battle was carried on in silence, although many of the fugitives
received severe bites.
The struggle did not appear as if it would soon terminate.
The pack was being continually reinforced from the right bank
of the Angara. "This will never be finished!" said Alcide,
brandishing his dagger, red with blood.
In fact, half an hour after the commencement of the attack,
the wolves were still coming in hundreds across the ice. The exhausted
fugitives were getting weaker. The fight was going against them.
At that moment, a group of ten huge wolves, raging with hunger,
their eyes glowing in the darkness like red coals, sprang onto the raft.
Jolivet and his companion threw themselves into the midst of
the fierce beasts, and Michael was finding his way towards them,
when a sudden change took place.
In a few moments the wolves had deserted not only the raft,
but also the ice on the river. All the black bodies dispersed,
and it was soon certain that they had in all haste regained the shore.
Wolves, like other beasts of prey, require darkness for their proceedings,
and at that moment a bright light illuminated the entire river.
It was the blaze of an immense fire. The whole of the small
town of Poshkavsk was burning. The Tartars were indeed there,
finishing their work. From this point, they occupied both
banks beyond Irkutsk. The fugitives had by this time reached
the dangerous part of their voyage, and they were still twenty
miles from the capital.
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