Kéraban gave the order to go on. So the men obeyed him. The consequence was that towards evening the carriage became embedded in the slough, and the horses were quite unable to extricate it.
"The roads are not properly attended to in this country," said Van Mitten.
"They are as they are," replied Kéraban, "and just what you might expect under such a government!"
"We should do better if we retraced our steps and endeavoured to find another way," said Van Mitten.
"On the contrary—we shall do better by continuing our journey and not changing our route at all"
"But how are we to get on—?"
"Get on? By sending for some more horses to the nearest village. It makes little difference whether we sleep in the carriage or in an inn, does it?"
There was nothing to be said to such an argument as this. The postillion and Nizib were despatched for extra horses to the next village, which was not so very far away. They could not be expected to return, however, much before sunrise. So Kéraban, Van Mitten, and Bruno had to reconcile themselves to the fact of passing the night in that vast plain, as desolate a "steppe" as the deserts of Central Australia. Fortunately the carriage, already embedded to the axles, gave no signs of sinking any deeper in the quagmire.
The night was very dark. Great clouds came down very near the earth, chased by the winds from the Black Sea. Though there was no actual rain, a thick mist from the saturated ground arose like an Arctic fog. Nothing could be seen at a greater distance than ten paces, and the lamps of the carriage threw only a perplexing gleam through the mist, so that it would have been better, perhaps, to have extinguished them. It was possible that the light might attract some undesirable visitor; but when Van Mitten said so, the obstinate Kéraban argued the point to such a length that it was quite lost. The Dutchman was right nevertheless, and had he been sharp enough to suggest their being left lighted, Kéraban would no doubt have had them extinguished.
