THE VAGRANT 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 BY 
 
 VLADfMIR KOROLENKO 
 
 Cranslateti from tjje Russian 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. ALINE DELANO 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
 No. 13 AsTOR Place 
 
Preservation 
 copy added 
 original to be 
 retained 
 
 NOV 21 1994 
 
 Copyright, 1887, by 
 Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 
 
 fSk^ 
 
 / 
 
 Electrotyped by 
 C. J. Peters and Son, Boston. 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Biographical Note 1 
 
 The Old Bell-Ringeb: A Spring Idyl .... T 
 
 The Forest Soughs: A Forest Legend, .... 19 
 
 Easter Night 65 
 
 A Saghalinian: The Tale of a Vagrant .... 78 
 Sketches of a Siberian Tourist: — 
 
 I. The Cormorants 174 
 
 II. " The Hollow Below the Devil's 
 
 Finger" . 180 
 
 III. "The Slayer" 191 
 
 IV. A Voltairian of Siberia ...... 232 
 
 V. The Exterminator 247 
 
 VI. Yevseyitch 257 
 
 VII. The Inspector 264 
 
 VIII. Ivan, Aged Thirty-Eight Years ... 269 
 
 IX. The Investigation Continued. . . . 279 
 
 m 
 
 iiaess 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 Vladimir Korolenko was born July, 1853, 
 at Jit6mir, in the government of Volynia. His 
 father, a goverment ofScial, served first as 
 judge, then as district attorney, and later as 
 district judge in the cities of Dubno and 
 R6vno in the same government, where he died 
 toward the end of the sixties, while Korolenko 
 was still in the Gymnasium. 
 
 His mother, a Pole, the daughter of a well- 
 to-do landed proprietor, had died while he was 
 still quite young, leaving six children — four 
 boys and two girls. On the death of the 
 father, the family was left without any means 
 of support, for the judge, a man of high prin- 
 ciple, had ever resisted all attempts at bribery, 
 so prevalent in the Russian courts of the 
 period, and had lived strictly on his salary. 
 
 In 1870, Korolenko, after having finished his 
 1 
 
2 BIOGRAPUICAL NOTE, 
 
 course in the R6vno Gymnasium, graduated 
 with honor, and entered the Institute of Tech- 
 nology in St. Petersburg. On arriving at the 
 capital, he had just seventeen rubles in his 
 pocket, and for two years he struggled with 
 want and poverty, spending his leisure mo- 
 ments in the fatiguing and unreraunerative 
 employment of coloring botanical maps. 
 
 During the third year of his course, he 
 removed to Moscow, and entered the Petr6vsk 
 Agricultural Academy. In the year 1875, the 
 third year of the course in the academy, he 
 was banished to the government of Vologda, 
 for participating in a joint address presented 
 by the students of the academy to the fac- 
 ulty; but, on his way thither, he received 
 orders to proceed at once to Kronstadt, where 
 his family resided, and to place himself under 
 the surveillance of the police. When, at the 
 end_ of a year, this surveillance ceased, he was 
 allowe^ to remove, with his family, to St. 
 Petersburg, where he remained till 1879. In 
 February of that year, after a twice repeated 
 domiciliary search, Korol^nko was arrested, 
 and, together with his brother, his cousin, and 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 3 
 
 his brotlier-in-law, banished to Gldzof, in the 
 government of Vyatka; thence further north, 
 to Vj'shne Volotsk, wliere he was confined in a 
 prison for political convicts. 
 
 No explanations whatever were vouchsafed 
 him concerning the proceedings; he simply- 
 learned that he was shortly to go to Siberia, 
 probably to a place such as even "Makdr 
 never drove his calves to," as the Russian 
 proverb aptly expresses it. It is only recently 
 that he chanced to discover the fact that these 
 punishments were awarded for an escape from 
 prison, which was attributed to him, but which, 
 in reality, he had never attempted. 
 
 In 1880, during Korolenko's confinement in 
 the Vyshne-Vol6tsk prison, L6ris-Melikof sent 
 Prince Im^ritinsky to investigate the condition 
 of the political prisoners, and to report to him 
 the causes and circumstances of their incarcera- 
 tion ; and when, in the following August, Koro- 
 lenko had already started with a party for 
 Siberia, his sentence of exile to Yakutsk was 
 rescinded, probably as a result of this investi- 
 gation, and he was allowed to return to^Perm, 
 where he began his literary career. • / ^ 
 
4 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 In 1881, on the coronation of the Emperor 
 Alexander III., he refused to take the oath of 
 allegiance, and, as a consequence of his refusal, 
 was banished to the Yakut district in Siberia ; 
 and this time he did not fail to reach his desti- 
 nation. He arrived at Amgee, and there, 
 settling with some of his former comrades, 
 remained three years, occupying himself with 
 agriculture. At the expiration of his term of 
 exile, he returned to Novgorod, where most of 
 the members of his family had assembled, and 
 where he lives at the present time. 
 
 His first literary sketches had appeared in 
 1879, and, although his exile somewhat inter- 
 fered with his work, he still continued to write, 
 as his family, deprived of all its bread-winners, 
 sadly needed the money he could thus earn. 
 Many of his earlier sketches, written at this 
 period, failed to make a lasting impression — 
 a fact which discouraged him, and for a time 
 induced him to abandon further attempts. 
 Yet the scenes through which he had passed 
 during his exile haunted and distressed him, 
 and he often found relief in jotting them down 
 on paper. Some of these were printed in 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE, 5 
 
 1885, and at once won for liim a place in the 
 ranks of popular Russian authors. 
 
 "Makar's Dream," "Sketclies of a Siberian 
 Tourist," and ''A Saghalinian" are pictures of 
 Siberian life ; " In Bad Society " contains a 
 description of South-west Russia, including the 
 city where Korol^nko completed his studies. 
 "The Forest Soughs " is a weird and romantic 
 legend of Little Russia, and in "The Blind 
 Musician " he pictures the deep pathos of a 
 blind man's life. Confining himself strictly to 
 the mental sufferings that arise from blindness, 
 he does not allow these to be enhanced by 
 untoward fortune ; therefore he places his hero 
 in exceptionally favorable circumstances. 
 
 In his tales Korolenko often carries his read- 
 ers to distant and unknown countries, and de- 
 scribes strange and unfamiliar types ; but in his 
 last sketches, of "Prokhor and the Student" 
 and "In the Factory," he leaves his beloved 
 Little Russia and Siberia, and transports us 
 into Central Russia, to the commonplace atmos- 
 phere of Moscow. 
 
 Korol^nko's chief merit is his artistic sim- 
 plicity. Whether he describes a Siberian 
 
6 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 yourt, a prison-cell, or the vagrant Bagylai, 
 one feels that it is the result of liis personal 
 observations, and that his heart goes out in 
 sympathy toward the "unfortunates," with 
 whom it was his fate to spend several years. 
 
THE OLD BELL-RINGER. 
 
 A SPRING IDYL. 
 
 It was growing dark ; over the horizon line, 
 where the tree-tops met the sky, the full moon 
 was rising, giving as yet but little light. . . . 
 The small village nestling beside the distant 
 river was shrouded in the half-light peculiar to 
 spring nights, when the veiled moon hangs 
 pensively above the horizon, and the fog rising 
 from the ground deepens the long shadows in 
 the woods and fills the open spaces with a 
 silvery blue twilight. . . . All was still, pen- 
 sive, and sad . . . while the village quietly 
 slumbered. 
 
 The outlines of the wretched huts were 
 barely visible; a few lights glimmered here 
 and there ; at times a gate creaked, or a watch- 
 ful dog gave an occasional bark. Once in a 
 while the form of some traveller, pedestrian or 
 horseman, would appear against the dark back- 
 ground of the faintly murmuring forest, or a 
 7 
 
8 THE BELL-RINGER. 
 
 cart go creaking along. These were the dwell- 
 ers of the distant wood-lots hastening to their 
 church for tlie spring holiday. The church 
 stood on a hillock in tlie centre of the village. 
 Its windows were brightly lighted, while its 
 tall belfry, ancient and dark, was lost in the 
 depths of the blue sky. 
 
 One could hear a creaking on the stairs . . . 
 it was the old bell-ringer Mikheyitch mount- 
 ing to the belfry, and presently his lantern, 
 like a falling star, seemed to be suspended in 
 space. . . . 
 
 It was with difficulty that the old man 
 climbed the steep stairs. His feet refused to 
 serve him ; he was worn out, and his eyesight 
 was dim. . . . He ought to have been at rest 
 long ago, but death had passed him by. He 
 had buried his sons and his grandsons, had 
 seen both the old and the young go to their 
 graves, and still he lived on. It was sad to 
 see him. . . . Year after year he had seen the 
 spring holiday, and could not remember the 
 number of times he had waited for the solemn 
 hour in this very belfry. And now once more 
 
THE BELL-BINGEB. Q 
 
 it was God's will that he should be there. . . . 
 He went up to the opening in the wall, and 
 leaned on the railing. Around the church, in 
 the darkness below, lay the graves of the vil- 
 lage burying-ground, — the old crosses extend- 
 ing their arms above them with an air of 
 protection; a few leafless birches leaned over 
 them, and a fragrant odor of young buds 
 reached Mikh^yitch, bringing with it a sense of 
 the calm melancholy of eternal re^t. • . . 
 
 In a year hence where will he be ? Will he 
 ever climb again to this height, beneath the 
 brass bells, and wake the slumbering night with 
 an echoing peal? or will he lie in some dark 
 corner of the graveyard, under a cross ? God 
 knows ! . . . He was ready, and, in the mean- 
 time, God had granted him once more the hap- 
 piness of seeing the holiday. 
 
 Lifting his eyes to the star-lit sky as he 
 crossed himself, his old lips whispered the 
 familiar formula, " God be praised ! " 
 
 "Mikh^yitch ! — I say, Mikh^yitch!" an old 
 man's voice called out from below ; and the 
 hoary-headed subdeacon gazed up at the belfry, 
 
 AR y^ 
 
 -HZ 
 
10 THE BELL-RINGER. 
 
 shielding his blinking eyes with his hand, 
 striving in vain to see Mikh^yitch. 
 
 " What is it ? Here I am," replied the bell- 
 ringer, looking down. " Can't you see me ? " * 
 
 " No, I can't. ... I think it must be time to 
 begin. What do you say ? . . ." 
 
 Both turned their eyes upward to the stars. 
 Myriads of God's lights twinkled on high. The 
 fiery Wagoner was already far above the hori- 
 zon, and Mikheyitch meditated. 
 
 " No, wait a little. ... I know when to be- 
 gin. . . ." 
 
 Truly he knew, without a clock to guide 
 him ; God's stars were his timepiece. . . . The 
 heavens, the earth, the white clouds flitting 
 slowly through the air, the dark forest yonder, 
 with its indistinct murmur, and the rippling of 
 the river shrouded in the darkness, — all was 
 familiar to him. . . . He had not spent his life 
 in vain, . . . The remote past came up before 
 him. . . . He remembered when, with his father, 
 he climbed to this belfry for the first time. . . , 
 Heavens ! how long ago that was, and yet how 
 recent it seemed ! . . . He remembered himself 
 a fair-haired lad : his eyes sparkled ; the wind 
 
THE BELL-RINGER, H 
 
 — not the wind that raises the dust in the 
 streets, but a peculiar kind, that fans the earth 
 with its noiseless wings — tossed his hair. . . • 
 Below, far, far away, he saw tiny human 
 beings walking about, and the village houses 
 too looked dwarfish ; the forest seemed to 
 have receded into the distance, and the oval- 
 shaped meadow, where the village stood, ex- 
 tended, apparently, as far as the eye could 
 reach. ... 
 
 "And can it be no larger than this ! " ex- 
 claimed the old man, with a smile, as he gazed 
 at the little meadow. It was like his own life. 
 • . . When he was young, he could hardly real- 
 ize its end . . . And now, behold ! it lay, so to 
 speak, in his palm, from the beginning to yon- 
 der grave, which he had chosen. . . . Well, 
 thank God ! It was time for him to rest. He 
 had honestly borne the burden of the day, and 
 the moist, cool earth seemed like a mother to 
 him. . . . Soon, very soon ! . . . 
 
 But now the hour has come ! Glancing once 
 more at the stars, Mikheyitch rose, took off his 
 hat, made the sign of the cross, and gathered 
 
12 TUE BELL-BINGEIi. 
 
 up the bell-ropes. ... A minute later and the 
 night air quivered with the first stroke of the 
 resonant bells. Swiftly-they came, stroke after 
 stroke, filling the expectant night with their 
 deep, harmonious voices. 
 
 The ringing ceased. Services had begun in 
 church. It had always been his habit to go 
 down and take up his place in the corner, 
 by the door, where he would pray and listen 
 to the singing; but now he remained up- 
 stairs. It was not so easy for him to walk as 
 once it was, and he felt a certain weariness. 
 He seated himself on the bench, and, listening 
 to the low vibrations of the music, he fell into 
 a reverie. Wiiat was he thinking of? He 
 could hardly have answered the question. . . . 
 The feeble light of his lantern fell on the 
 belfry spire, where the still vibrating bells 
 were lost in the darkness ; he could hear the 
 chant from the church below, and the night 
 air gently stirred the ropes that hung from the 
 iron tongues of the bells. The old man's head 
 drooped upon his breast; his brain was alive 
 with confused and wandering fancies. "Now 
 
THE BELL-RINGEB. 13 
 
 they are singing the sequence," he thought, 
 and imagined liimself in church, where a score 
 of children's voices were singing in the choir; 
 and old Father Nahum, long since dead, intoned 
 the pra3^ers with his quavering voice ; hundreds 
 of voices rose and fell, like ripened stalks of 
 grain blown by the wind. . . . The peasants 
 crossed themselves. . . . All these persons 
 were familiar to him, and yet they were all 
 the faces of the departed. . . . Here he beheld 
 the severe outlines of his father's face ; there 
 was his older brother standing beside him, 
 earnestly praying and heaving many a sigh. 
 And he himself stood there in the bloom of 
 vigor and strength, filled with vague longings 
 for the happiness and the delights of lifco . . . 
 And where was that happiness now? . . . The 
 old man's thoughts were like a flickering flame, 
 illuminating by flashes all the by-ways of his 
 past life. . . . Hard labor, sorrow, care . . . 
 where was the happiness? A hard lot will 
 trace furrows even on a young face, will 
 bow the sturdy frame, and teach a lesson 
 in sighing, even as it had taught the older 
 brother. 
 
14 THE BELL-RINGER. 
 
 There on the left, among the peasant women, 
 humbly bowing her head, lo ! there stood his 
 sweetheart. A good woman, may she inherit 
 the kingdom of Heaven ! Poor creature, she 
 had suffered much ! . . . Poverty, hard work, 
 and the never ending sorrows of a woman's 
 ^ life will wither her beauty, and dim the lustre 
 of her eyes ; the proud grace of a maiden suc- 
 cumbs to the unexpected strokes of misfortune, 
 and a look of mute apprehension settles on her 
 face. . . . Again the question, where was her 
 happiness? . . . They had one son, their hope 
 and their joy ; but he proved too frail to resist 
 temptation. ... 
 
 And behold his old enemy as, with genuflec- 
 tions, he prayed to be forgiven for the many 
 tears he had brought to orphans' eyes ; just 
 then he made a hasty sign of the cross, and, 
 falling on his knees, touched his forehead to the 
 ground . . , while Mikheyitch's heart boiled 
 within him, and the dark faces of the iko7is 
 looked sternly from the wall on human grief 
 and human wickedness. . . . 
 
 All this is past and left behind. . . . Now 
 his world is bounded by this gloomy watch- 
 
THE BELL-BINGEB, 15 
 
 tower, where the Aviiid whistles in the dark- 
 ness as it stirs the ropes. ..." May God be 
 your judge ! " whispered the old man, and 
 dropped his gray head, while the tears slowly 
 trickled down his cheeks. . . . 
 
 " Mikhdyitch ! — I say, Mikheyitch ! — are 
 you asleep?" called out a voice from below. 
 
 " What is wanted? " answered the old man, 
 rising quickly. Heavens ! could he have fall- 
 en asleep ! — That would have been shame- 
 ful ! Never before had a thing like that hap- 
 pened to him ; and with a swift and practised 
 hand he seized the ropes. 
 
 The moving mass of peasants, seen from above, 
 looked like a swarming ant-hill. The gold bro- 
 cade of the church banners sparkled as the}^ flut- 
 tered in the air. . . . The procession had made 
 the circuit of the church, and when Mikheyitch 
 heard the joyous call, " Christ is arisen from the 
 dead!" it found fervent response in the heart 
 of the old man. ... It seemed to him as if 
 the tapers were burning brighter, and as if the 
 crowd were moving more swiftly ; the ban- 
 ners fluttered, and the rising wind wafted 
 the sound of the music up to the heights 
 
16 THE BELL-lilNGEB. 
 
 beyond, where it blended with the loud, 
 solemn pealing of the bells. 
 
 Never before had old Mikh^yitch rung like 
 this ! It seemed as though the old man's heart 
 had entered into the inanimate metal, and the 
 voices of the bells alternately sang and 
 laughed and cried, blending in a magnificent 
 concord, that rose to the sky, where the stars 
 shone more and more brilliantly, and then fell 
 trembling through the air, and clung at last to 
 the earth with a loving embrace. . . . 
 
 The deep, powerful tones of the bass bell 
 united with the high and joyful tenors pro- 
 claiming to Heaven and Earth, '' Christ is 
 arisen ! " 
 
 And the two small soprani, as if in fear of 
 being outstripped, crowded in among the 
 stronger voices, singing like little children, in 
 hurried, gleeful tones, " Christ is arisen ! " 
 
 And the old belfry seemed to quiver and 
 shake, and the wind waved its mighty wings, 
 repeating, " Christ is arisen ! " The aged heart 
 forgot its life, so full of care and sorrow. . . . 
 The old bell-ringer no longer remembered that 
 
THE BELL-BINGER, 17 
 
 for him the scene of life was bounded by a 
 dreary and narrow belfry, that he was alone in 
 the world, like an old stump, broken by the 
 storm. . . . He listened to these sounds of 
 song and praise, that mounted up to heaven 
 and embraced the sorrowful earth, and it 
 seemed to him that he was surrounded by 
 sons and grandsons, that these voices were all 
 his own, both young and old, blending into a 
 single choir, and singing to him of the joy and 
 happiness which he had not tasted in his life. 
 . . . He pulled the ropes, and the tears ran 
 down his cheeks, and his heart beat violently 
 with this dream of happiness. . . . 
 
 The people below, as they listened, said one 
 to the other, " Never before has old Mikheyitch 
 rung so well." . . . 
 
 Suddenly the big bell gave forth an uncer- 
 tain sound, and ceased. ... The smaller ones, 
 as though abashed, rang one unfinished tone, 
 and they too stopped, and seemed to listen to 
 the mournful echo of the prolonged note 
 which trembled in the air until it died 
 away. . . . The old bell-ringer fell back on 
 
18 THE BELL-RINGER. 
 
 the bench, and the last two tears slowly 
 rolled down his white cheeks. . . . 
 
 Ho, there ! Send up a substitute ! The old 
 bell-ringer has rung his last stroke. . . . 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 A FOREST LEGEND. 
 
 " In the days of old Lang Syne ! " 
 
 The forest soughed. . . . 
 
 The forest always soughed, now with a 
 murmur cahn and prolonged, like the echo of 
 distant ringing, and again soft and gentle, like 
 a song without words or a dim memory of the 
 past. It always soughed, for it was an old 
 and mighty forest, still untouched by the saw 
 or the axe of woodman or trader. The tall, 
 centennial pines, with their vast trunks, stood 
 like threatening warriors, and their green tops 
 formed a massive wall. Everything below was 
 still ; the air was filled with an odor of resin. 
 Ferns of vivid hues pushed their way through 
 the carpet of pine-needles with which the 
 ground was strewn, expanding luxuriantly 
 and resting thereon, like a soft fringe, without 
 stirring a leaf. In the damp corners the green 
 19 
 
20 TUE FOBEST SOUGHS. 
 
 grass shot up its tall and slender stems, and 
 the white clover, heavy with bloom, drooped 
 its languid head; while over all soughed the 
 forest, w4th long-drawn, indistinguishable sighs. 
 
 Now the sighs were growing deeper and 
 louder ; and as I rode along the forest path, 
 although I could not see the sky, I judged by 
 the moaning of the trees that heavy clouds 
 were slowly rising above it. It was late in 
 the afternoon. Here and there a sunbeam 
 made its way, but in the dense woods the 
 twilight was spreading rapidly. Evidently a 
 storm was brewing. 
 
 All plans for hunting must be given up for 
 to-day. The storm might overtake me before 
 I could find shelter for the night. My horse 
 snorted and pricked up his ears, when, striking 
 his hoofs against the naked roots, he heard the 
 sharp sound of the forest echo, and he quick- 
 ened his pace as he drew near a familiar hut. 
 
 A dog barked, and whitewashed walls glim- 
 mered through the trees. A bluish ribbon of 
 smoke curled above the overhanging foliage ; 
 and the crooked hut, with its shaggy roof, came 
 in sight, nestling against the trunks of the 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 21 
 
 trees. It seemed as though it grew out of the 
 earth, while the tall, sleuder pines tossed their 
 heads above it ; beyond, in the middle of the 
 clearing, rose a clump of young oaks, clustering 
 togetlier. 
 
 Here lived the constant companions of my 
 hunting expeditions, the forest guards, Maxim 
 and Zakhar, who were evidently not at home, 
 since the barking of the large shepherd dog 
 brought no one to meet me. The grandfather, 
 with his bald head and long beard, sat alone 
 on the bench making bast shoes. His beard 
 reached almost to his waist, and his eyes 
 looked dim, as though he were vainly trying 
 to recollect something. 
 
 " Hallo, grandfather ! Is any one at home ? " 
 
 " Eh^ I " * muttered the old man, shaking his 
 Iiead ; " neither Zakhar nor Maxim is in, and 
 M6trya has also gone into the woods to fetch 
 the cow ... for she has strayed away . . . 
 may be the bears have got her. . . . So, you 
 see, no one is at home." 
 
 "Never mind; I will wait and keep you 
 company." 
 
 * An exclamation common in Little Russia. 
 
22 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 " That's right," he replied, nodding, and, as 
 I fastened my horse to an oak branch, he 
 peered at me with his bleared e3^es. The old 
 man was getting feeble. He could scarcely 
 see, and his hands shook. 
 
 " And who may you be, my lad ? " he asked, 
 when I joined him on the bench. 
 
 He asked the same question every time I 
 came. 
 
 " Eh6 ! I know now," he said, as he resumed 
 his work. " My head is like an ol d sieve ; it 
 h olds nothi ng. Those who are long since' dead 
 I remember very well, — but I forget the 
 younger people. . . . The fact is, I have lived 
 too long." 
 
 " And how long have you lived in this forest, 
 grandfather ? " 
 
 " A long time ! I was living here when the 
 Frenchman invaded the land of the Tsar." 
 
 " You must have seen a good deal in your 
 lifetime ; you could relate many a tale." 
 
 The old man looked up in surprise. 
 
 " What could I see, my lad ? The forest. 
 • . . The forest soughs night and day, summer 
 and winter, and I, like that tree yonder, have 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 23 
 
 spent my life in these woods, and have never 
 had a chance to see. ... It is time to die, and 
 sometimes, when I try to think, I cannot un- 
 derstand clearly whether or no I have lived in 
 this world. . . . Ehd ! So it goes ! It may be 
 that I have not lived. . . ." 
 
 The edge of the dark cloud appeared 
 above the high tree-tops of the clearing. The 
 branches of the pines which encircled it 
 swayed, as they were blown by the wind, and 
 a prolonged murmur passed like a crescendo 
 chord. The grandfather raised his head and 
 listened. 
 
 " The storm is coming nearer," he remarked 
 a moment later. " I know it. What a battle 
 there will be to-night ! It will break down 
 the pines and uproot them. . . . The Spirit of 
 the Forest will have full sway, . . •" he added, 
 in an undertone. 
 
 " What makes you think so, grandfather ? " 
 
 " Eh^ ! I am sure of it ! I know the lan- 
 guage of the trees. . . . They too are afraid, 
 my lad. . . . The aspen is a cursed tree ; 
 always whispering ; it shakes when there is 
 no wind. When the day is fair, the pine 
 
24 THE fouest soughs. 
 
 sings at its play ; let the wind rise, and it 
 beo^ins to souHi and moan. But this is noth- 
 ing. Hark ! Though my eyes are dim, my 
 ears are still good. I can hear the oaks stir- 
 ring on the clearing. . . . That is a sign of a 
 storm." 
 
 And, in fact, the group of sturdy oaks stand- 
 ing in the middle of the meadow, protected by 
 the woods as by a wall, waved their strong 
 branches, rustling loudly, with a sound unlike 
 the murmuring of the pines. 
 
 "Eh^ ! Don't you hear it, my lad?" said 
 the grandfather, smiling in his innocent, child- 
 like way. "I know what it means when the 
 oaks rustle. The Master of the Forest will come 
 at night and make sad havoc. . . . But even he 
 cannot break them ! The oak is a strong tree ; 
 the Master himself cannot break it. . . . That 
 is the truth ! " 
 
 "What do you mean by the Master, grand- 
 father? You said, just now, it was the storm 
 that broke them." 
 
 The old man nodded with a knowing air. 
 
 "Eh^ ! I know something. . . . The world 
 is full of people nowadays who believe in noth- 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 25 
 
 ing. That is the trouble. But I have seen 
 him as I see you now, and perhaps even better; 
 for now my eyes are dim, but in my young 
 days, I tell you, they were keen ! " 
 
 " I wish you would tell me how you saw him, 
 grandfather." 
 
 "It was a day very like this: the pines 
 began to moan. . . . Generally they murmur, 
 but before a storm they always moan . . . ooo 
 . . . 000 . . . then silence for a while . . . 
 and then again the moaning, faster and faster 
 and more pitiful. Eh^ ! That's because they 
 know the Master means to lay many of them 
 low in the night. Later the oaks begin to 
 murmur, louder and louder, and by night 
 comes the havoc ; the Master runs to and 
 fro, laughs and cries, whirls and dances, trying 
 to uproot the oaks. . . . Once, in the autumn, 
 I spied him from the window. That angered 
 him ; running up to the window, he gave it a 
 blow with a branch, that came very near disfig- 
 uring me, may the Evil One take him ! But I 
 am not a fool ; I jumped back ! Ehe, my lad, 
 he is a cross one ! " 
 
 ''What does he look like ?" 
 
26 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 "He looks like an old, dried-up willow in 
 the swamp. Very much like one ! . . . His 
 hair is like the mistletoe, that grows on trees, 
 and his beard the same . . . his nose is like a 
 big twig . . . and his face is covered with pim- 
 ples. Fa! what a fright he is I Heaven pre- 
 serve any Christian from looking like him, to 
 be sure ! Another time I was very near him in 
 the swamp. ... If you come here in ^yinter, 
 you may see him yourself. Go up that hill, 
 the wooded one, and climb to the top of the 
 highest tree. You may see him from there 
 some day. . . . He soars like a white cloud 
 above the trees, whirling as he descends from 
 the hill into the woods. . . . He travels rapidly 
 and vanishes in the forest ! Eh^ ! And wher- 
 ever he passes he leaves a white trail. If you 
 don't believe me, you may see for yourself 
 some time." 
 
 The old man had grown garrulous. It 
 seemed as though the restless murmur of the 
 forest and the impending storm had stirred his 
 old blood. He nodded, smiling and blinking 
 at me with his faded eyes. 
 
 But suddenly a shadow darkened his high, 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 27 
 
 wrinkled forehead, and, nudging me with his 
 elbow, he said in a mysterious way : — 
 
 "I tell you what, my lad ! ... to be sure, 
 the Master of the Forest is an uncanny creat- 
 ure, and a Christian had better keep out of 
 his sight, — but it must be acknowledged 
 he does no great harm. . . . lie may play a 
 prank or two, but he will not really hurt a 
 body." 
 
 "I thought you said just now, grandfather, 
 that he was about to strike you with a 
 branch?" 
 
 "Well, he did intend to! But what of 
 that? He was angry then, because I was 
 looking at him ; that was the trouble. But 
 if a body minds his own business, he will 
 not harm him. That is the nature of the 
 Forest Spirit!" 
 
 The grandfather hung his head in silence. 
 But when he looked up, a spark of awakening 
 memory seemed to gleam in his dim eyes. 
 
 "I will tell you a true story about our forest, 
 my lad. . . . Something happened here, on this 
 very spot, a long time ago. ... I remember it 
 mostly as a dream . . . but when the forest 
 
28 THE FOBEST SOUGUS. 
 
 soiiglis it comes back to me distinctly. 
 Shall I tell it to you?" 
 
 " Pray, do so ! " 
 
 "Very well, then. Listen." 
 
 II. 
 
 "My father and mother died when I was 
 but a young lad . . . leaving me alone in the 
 world. That's how I fared! So the village 
 society had to consider the business, ' What 
 is to be done with the boy ? ' Our master also 
 thought the matter over. . . . Just then the 
 forester Romdn, who happened to come from 
 the woods, said to the society : ' Give this lad 
 to me ... I will take care of him. It will 
 make it more cheerful for me, and I will bear 
 the burden of his support.' That is what he 
 said, and the society gave its consent. So he 
 took me, and I have lived in the forest ever 
 since. And so Roman brought me up. What 
 an imposing man he was. Heaven save us ! 
 Tall, black-eyed, and black-haired, and a gloomy 
 soul seemed to look out from his eyes . . . 
 for lie had lived all his life alone in the woods : 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 29 
 
 it was said of bim that the bear was his brother 
 and the wolf his nephew. He knew all the 
 beasts, and feared none; but he kept shy of 
 people, and rarely looked at them. . . . He was 
 that kind of a man. Whenever he glanced at 
 me, I felt the cold shivers running up my back. 
 Yet he was a kind man, I must say, and he fed 
 me well. There was always plenty of lard in 
 his buckwheat gruel, and when he happened to 
 kill a duck we ate it. I must admit he fed me 
 well. . . . 
 
 ''And so we lived on together. Whenever 
 Roman went into the woods, he used to lock 
 me up in the hut, that the wild beasts might 
 not get me. And after a while he took a wife, 
 Oxanua. 
 
 "The master gave him his wife. One day 
 he summoned him and said : ' You must marry, 
 Koman ! ' But Romdn said to him : ' What 
 the deuce should I want to marry for? What 
 shall I do with a woman in the woods? I don't 
 want to marry.' He was not used to women, 
 you see. But the master was a cunning one. 
 ... As I think of him now, my lad, I must 
 acknowledge there are none such at present. 
 
30 THE FOREST SOUGHS, 
 
 . . . they have all died out. . . . Now, I have 
 been told that you are a nobleman. . . . That 
 may be, and yet there is something you lack. 
 . . . You look like any ordinary lad. . . . 
 
 "But he was a genuine one, after the old 
 fashion. It often happens in this world that 
 thousands of people stand in awe of a single 
 man . . . deeply in awe. Look at the vulture 
 and the chicken as they come out of the shell. 
 The vulture at once tries to soar; and when 
 he utters his cry, not only chickens but old 
 roosters are frightened. ... So one might say 
 that the vulture was a noble bird, and the hen 
 a low-born one. . . . 
 
 "I remember, when I was a small boy, I used 
 to see the peasants carting heavy timber, may- 
 be some thirty of them. And the master per- 
 haps riding out alone, on horseback, twirling 
 his whiskers as he rode along ; his horse caper- 
 ing, and he gazing around. And when the 
 peasants caught sight of him, such a rush as 
 there would be ! The horses turned out mto 
 the snow, and all hats came off. Then, after 
 he had passed, what hard work it was to pull 
 the timber out ! — while he would go galloping 
 
THE FOBEST SOUGHS, 31 
 
 along, as though the road were too narrow even 
 for him alone ! If he frowned, the peasants 
 trembled ; if he laughed, they brightened up ; 
 when he seemed sad, they felt depressed ; and 
 I never heard of any one daring to contradict 
 him. 
 
 "But, of course, Romdn had grown up in the 
 woods, and had no fine manners, and the master 
 made allowance for that. 'I want you to 
 marry,' he said ; ' and as to the reason, that is 
 my business. You must marry Oxanna.' 
 
 " ' I don't want her,' replied Romdn ; ' I will 
 not have even Oxanna ! Let the devil marry 
 her ! I will not ! • . . ' That's the way he 
 talked. 
 
 "The master ordered them to bring the 
 knout. They stretched Romdn out, and then 
 the master asked him once more : — 
 
 " ' Will you marry, Romdn ? ' 
 
 " ' No, I will not,' he said. 
 
 "'Let him have it, then,' says the master; 
 'as many lashes as he can stand.' 
 
 "So they gave it to him; and although 
 Romdn was a robust fellow, soon he had 
 enough. 
 
32 THE FOBEST SOUGHS. 
 
 " ' That will do,' he said at last, ' that will 
 do ! May all the devils take her before I will 
 suffer so for a woman. Bring her here, and I 
 will marry her ! ' 
 
 "A huntsman, Opands Shyidld by name, was 
 then living at the master's house. He had just 
 returned from the fields at the time when they 
 were persuading Roradn to marry. When he 
 was told about Roman's trials, he dropped on 
 his knees before the master, embracing his 
 feet. . . . 
 
 "'If you will allow me, gracious master, I 
 will gladly marry Oxanna, and you need no 
 longer punish this man.' That's the way it 
 was ; he was willing to marry Oxanna. . . . 
 That's the kind of a man he w^as ! 
 
 " So Romdn cheered up ; and, as he rose to 
 his feet, he said : ' That's a good idea ; only, 
 why couldn't you have made your appearance 
 sooner? And the master, T must say ... he 
 is always hasty. Instead of finding out who 
 would like to marry Oxanna, he got hold of 
 me, and I had to be the scape-goat! I don't 
 call that Christian-like.' You see, sometimes, 
 he did not even spare the master himself. He 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 33 
 
 was that kind of a man ! When he was angry, 
 it was better for everybody to keep out of his 
 way, even for the master himself. But the 
 master was a 'cute one ! He had something 
 else in his mind, and again he ordered Romdn 
 to be laid upon the grass. 
 
 "'I wish your happiness, you fool,' he said, 
 'and you are turning up your nose at it. Now 
 you live alone, like a bear in his den, and it is 
 not cheering to call on you. Let him have it, 
 the fool, until he cries, " Enough." And you, 
 Opanfc, go to the deuce ; — you were not called 
 to dinner,' he said, ' so don't sit down to the 
 table uninvited ! You see how Romdn is far- 
 ing? you had better look out lest you get 
 the same.' 
 
 " Now Romdn was becoming angry in good 
 earnest. He was whipped soundly, for in those 
 times the servants knew how to peel the skin 
 off with the knout, — yet there he lay and 
 would not cry, 'Enough.' He bore it for a 
 long time ; finally, when he could endure it no 
 longer : — 
 
 " 'Enough!' he cried, — 'her father shall not 
 have the satisfaction of knowing that a Christian 
 
34 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 was thus whipped for a womairs sake ! They 
 don't even count the blows ! May your hands 
 dry up, you rascally serfs ! The devil must 
 have taught you this business ! But I am not 
 a sheep, to be thus flayed ! If that is the way 
 I am to be treated, I will marry her to spite 
 all!' . . . 
 
 " The master laughed. . . . 
 
 " ' That's all right ! Now, although you will 
 be unable to sit at the wedding, you can dance 
 all the more ! ' 
 
 " He was a jolly man, our master. But after- 
 wards a mischance befell him, that I would not 
 wish for any Christian. That's a fact ! — I 
 would not wish it even for a Jew ! 
 
 "So Roman was married. He brought his 
 young wife to his hut, and at first did nothing 
 but scold and upbraid her for the whij)ping he 
 had received. 
 
 " ' You are not worthy that a man should be 
 thus tormented for your sake,' he said. 
 
 "As soon as he returned from the woods, he 
 would drive her out of the hut, saying : — 
 
 " ' Get out ! I don't want any woman in my 
 hut ! And never let me see you again. I do 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 85 
 
 not like to have a woman sleeping in my hut. 
 It poisons the air ! ' 
 
 " But after a while lie became reconciled, for 
 Oxanna cleaned the hut, put things in order, 
 polished the kitchen utensils, and gave a cheer- 
 ful air to everything. And Romdn saw that 
 she was an industrious woman, and by degrees 
 he grew used to her presence. And not only 
 did he become used to her, but he loved her, — 
 that is the truth of the matter. And when this 
 came to pass, he said : ' Thanks to the. master 
 for having taught me where my happiness lay. 
 I was not a wise man, to take so many lashes, 
 for now I see that marrying is not bad ; on the 
 contrary, it is a good thing ! ' 
 
 " One evening, some time after this, I cannot 
 tell exactly how long, Oxanna was taken ill, 
 and when I woke up the next morning, I heard 
 some one squealing. 
 
 " ' Eh^ ! ' I thought to myself, ' it must be that 
 a child is born'; and so it was. 
 
 " But it did not live long, — only from morn- 
 ing till night, when it stopped squealing. 
 Oxanna cried, and Romdn said : ' Now that 
 the child is dead, there is no longer any need 
 
36 THE FOREST SOUGHS, 
 
 to call the priest. We will bury it under a 
 pine-tree.' 
 
 " So saying, he dug the grave and buried the 
 child. Yonder, where the old stump stands 
 that was struck by lightning . . . that is the 
 identical pine under which Romdn buried the 
 child. And what is more, I will tell you, my 
 lad, sometimes after sunset, and when the^stars 
 are shining, a little bird flies overhead and 
 cries, — so pitifully it cries, it grieves one to 
 the heart. That is the unbaptized soul begging 
 for baptism. If a man were clever enough and 
 had book- wisdom, he, they say, could conse- 
 crate it, and it would fly no more. . . . But we 
 here in the woods, we know nothing. It flies 
 and beseeches, and we only say, 'We cannot help 
 thee, poor soul.' So it keeps on crying, some- 
 times flying away and returning again. I pity 
 the poor soul, my lad. 
 
 " After Oxanna had recovered, she went often 
 to the grave, and would sit and cry so loud that 
 one could hear her in the woods. She was 
 mourning for her child ; but Romdn was not 
 sorry for the child, — he pitied Oxanna. When 
 he came from the woods, he would stand beside 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS, 37 
 
 her and say : ' Keep quiet, you foolish woman ! 
 As if you had any cause for crying ! If this 
 child is dead, we may have another, for this one 
 may not have been mine! — how can I tell?' 
 Oxanna did not like to hear him speak thus. 
 She stopped crying and began to scold him ; 
 but Roman was never angry with her. 
 
 " ' And why do you scold me ? ' he would say ; 
 *I have not accused you. I only said I did 
 not know. It is true I do not know, for you 
 were not always mine, and did not live in the 
 woods, but in the world, among people. How 
 am I to know? Now you are living in the 
 woods, and that's well. But you had better 
 ^top crying, or else I shall get angry, and may 
 give you a beating.' 
 
 '^ Then Oxanna would stop. For, although 
 she sometimes scolded him, and even struck 
 him on his back, yet, when Roman himself 
 began to get angry, she subsided. . . . For she 
 was afraid of him. She would caress and kiss 
 him and gaze into his eyes. . . . And thus she 
 pacified him. Because, don't you know, my 
 lad . . . perhaps you don't know, but I, who 
 am an old man and was never married, I have 
 
38 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 seen much in my life, and I can tell you a 
 young woman's kiss is very sweet, and she can 
 get the better of any man, no matter how cross 
 he may be. I know what these women are. 
 And Oxanna was a fine-looking woman ; I 
 don't see any like her in these days. No, my 
 lad, the women are not what they used to be in 
 my time. 
 
 "One day the horn sounded through the 
 woods, ra-ta-ta-ta-ta ... it rang cheerful and 
 clear. I was then only a small boy, and did 
 not know what it was. I saw the birds rise, 
 flapping their wings and screaming as they 
 flew, and a rabbit here and there, with ears 
 laid back, running with all his might. Where 
 upon I thought, ' It may be some unknown 
 animal that makes this strange sound.' It 
 proved, however, to be no animal, but the mas- 
 ter himself, on horseback, riding through the 
 woods, blowing the horn ; and following him 
 rode his huntsmen, leading the dogs in leash. 
 And the handsomest of all was Opands Shvidki, 
 who rode close to the master, in a blue coat, 
 and a hat with a gilt crown ; his steed pranced 
 and capered, his rifle shone, and he wore a ban- 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 39 
 
 dura * slung across his shoulder. The master 
 liked Opanas because he could play and sing 
 well. And a fine-looking man he was indeed. 
 The master made but a poor figure by his side, 
 for he was growing bald and had a red nose ; 
 and though his eyes were still bright, they 
 were not to be compared to those of Opanas. 
 When Opands glanced at me, small lad as I 
 was, I smiled with delight, and I was not a 
 woman. It was rumored that his ancestors 
 were Zaporog Cossacks, who had been great 
 warriors, and were always renowned for their 
 beauty and vigor. 
 
 ''And you may imagine flying like a bird 
 on horseback, armed with a spear, is quite a 
 different matter from felling trees with an axe! 
 ... As I ran out, behold! our master, with 
 his huntsmen, rode up, and stopped in front of 
 the hut. Roman came out, and, bowing, held 
 the stirrup for him to dismount. 
 
 " 'How do you do, Romdn? ' said the master. 
 
 " ' I am very well, thank you ; what should 
 ail me ? And how are you ? ' 
 
 " You see, Romdn did not even know how to 
 * A musical instrument resembling a lute. — Tk. 
 
40 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 answer respectfully. His reply made them all 
 laugh ; even the master himself could not help 
 smiling. 
 
 " ' Thank Heaven that you are well,' he re- 
 joined. ' And where is your wife ? ' 
 
 " ' Where should she be but in the hut, to 
 be sure . . . ? ' 
 
 " ' Then, we will go in there, also,' said the 
 master; 'and you boys, meanwhile, spread a 
 rug on the grass, and prepare things for us 
 wherewith to congratulate the ne^ly married 
 couple.' 
 
 " So they entered the hut, the master and 
 Roman, followed by Opanas, with his hat off, 
 and Bogddn, an old hunter and faithful ser- 
 vant. And here I will say that such ser- 
 vants are no longer to be found. He was an 
 old man, very strict with the other servants, 
 and as faithful to the master as that dog. 
 Bogdan had no relations whatever. It was 
 said that when his father and mother died he 
 wanted to become a laboring peasant, and to 
 marry. But the old master would not give his 
 consent. He placed him in charge of his young 
 son : ' There is your father, your mother, and 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS, 41 
 
 your wife,' he said ; and so Bogddn began his 
 life's work, taught the boy to ride a horse and to 
 handle a musket. And when the lad grew up, 
 and became master himself, old Bogdan still 
 followed him about like a dog. If truth must 
 be told, Bogdan was often cursed ; many a tear 
 had been shed for which he was responsible, 
 and all on account of the master. For he was 
 capable of destroying his own father at a word 
 from his master. 
 
 "And I too, small lad as I was, followed 
 them into the hut. Of course, I was curious; 
 and wherever the master went I followed him. 
 I found him standing in the middle of the 
 room, stroking his moustache ; and Roman was 
 there too. 
 
 " And as he stood there, smiling and strok-' 
 ing his moustache, Romdn, also, stood fumbling 
 with his cap and shuffling his feet, while poor 
 Opanas was leaning against the wall, looking 
 as gloomy as a- young oak in a tempest. All 
 three were gazing at Oxanna. Old Bogdan, 
 alone, was seated in the corner, on a bench, 
 with bowed head, waiting for the master's next 
 order, while Oxanna stood in the corner, with 
 
42 ' THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 downcast eyes, looking as flushed as yonder 
 poppy in the oats. She could not help feeling 
 that some harm would come to pass, and on her 
 account. And mark my words, lad, whenever 
 three men are in love with the same woman, 
 mischief will surely be the outcome. I know 
 it is so, for I have seen it many a time. 
 
 " ' Well, Roman,' cried tlie master, in a jok- 
 ing way, ' haven't I given you a nice wife ? ' 
 
 "' Well,' replied Roman, 'a woman, like any 
 other. She'll do.' Opanas shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and, glancing at Oxanna, said, in an 
 undertone : — 
 
 " ' A woman, indeed ! She might have 
 fallen to the lot of a wiser man.' 
 
 " Roman, overhearing these words, turned 
 to Opands, and said: — 
 
 " ' What is it that makes you think me un- 
 wise, master Opanas?' 
 
 " ' Because you do not know how to protect 
 your wife ; that's why you are unwise.' 
 
 " And that was Opands' reply. Whereupon 
 the master stamped his foot, and Bogddn shook 
 his head. Romdn, having reflected awhile, 
 looked up at the master, and as he did so he 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 43 
 
 said to Opanas, without, however, removing 
 his eyes from the former : — 
 
 " ' Against what am I to protect her ? We 
 see no one here but wild beasts, unless it may 
 be that the gracious master looks in upon us 
 occasionally. Who is there to guard against? 
 You had better not irritate me, you unfriendly 
 Cossack ; if you do, I shall quarrel with you.' 
 
 " And he might have carried out his threat 
 had not the master interfered. He stamped his 
 foot, and both subsided. 
 
 " ' Keep quiet ! We have not come here to 
 witness a brawl ! We must congratulate the 
 newly married couple, and then, towards night, 
 we will start on our hunt. Follow me ! ' and, 
 turning, he left the hut. 
 
 " Meanwhile the hunters had spread a lunch 
 under the trees. Bogdan followed his master, 
 but in the entry Opanas held Romdn, and said 
 to him : — 
 
 " ' Bear me no ill-will, my dear fellow, but 
 think seriously of what Opanas tells you. It 
 is true you saw me on my knees before him, 
 kissing his boots, and begging him to let Ox- 
 anna marry me ; but peace be with you, man. 
 
44 TUE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 . . . You were married to her, and such is fate ! 
 Yet I cannot remain passive, and see the evil 
 one insult you both. Ah, no one knows how I 
 feel! ... I had better send him to mother 
 earth with my rifle ! ' 
 
 " Roman looked at the Cossack, and said, — 
 
 " * Are you sane ? ' 
 
 " I could not hear what reply Opanas made ; 
 I only heard Roman slap him on the shoulder, 
 exclaiming : — 
 
 " 'Ah, Opanas, what wicked, cunning people 
 there are in this world ! And, living in the 
 forest as I do, I knew nothing about them. 
 Well, master, matters may go ill with you ! ' 
 
 " ' Go your way now, and, above all, don't 
 let Bogddn get wind of anything. He is a sly 
 dog, and you are far from shrewd. Beware of 
 drinking much of the master's liquor ; and, if 
 he sends you with the hunters into the swamps, 
 and orders you to remain there, lead them to 
 the old oak and show them the road that 
 skirts the swamp, telling them, meanwhile, 
 that you will take the short cut tlirough the 
 woods. . . . Then return here as quickly as 
 you can.' 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 45 
 
 "'All right,' replied Romdii ; 'I will make 
 ready for the hunt, and I will load my gun, 
 not with grape-shot, but with a good-sized 
 bullet, as if I were going on a bear-hunt. . . / 
 
 " Thus they parted. Meanwhile, the master, 
 seating himself on a rug, ordered a flask and 
 a cup to be brought to him, and, having poured 
 some liquor into the cup, he offered it to 
 Romdn. The master's flask and cup were 
 fine, but his liquor was still finer. The first 
 cup made you feel comfortable, at the second 
 your heart began to throb, and, if a man 
 chanced to be unused to liquor, after the third 
 he might be found under the settle, unless his 
 wife took care to help him on to it. 
 
 " The master was a cunning fellow, I can 
 tell you. He wanted to fill Romdn with liquor 
 and intoxicate him, but no liquor was ever 
 made that could get the better of Romdn. He 
 drank the three cups to which the master 
 treated him, one after the other, but his eyes 
 merely sparkled, like those of a wolf, and his 
 black whiskers twitched. At last the master 
 grew provoked with him. 
 
 " ' See the amount of liquor this rascal can 
 
46 THE FOBEST SOUGHS, 
 
 swallow and not show it in the least. Another 
 one in his place would have been shedding 
 tears long ago, and just look at him, my good 
 people ! — he only smiles ! ' 
 
 " For the master, fiend that he was, knew 
 very well that when a man begins to weep from 
 the effects of liquor, he will shortly collapse en- 
 tirely. But he had the wrong man this time. 
 
 " ' And why should I shed tears ? ' replied 
 Romd.n. * That would be quite unsuitable, 
 for has not the gracious master come to con- 
 gratulate me ? And why should I cry like a 
 woman ? Thank Heaven, I have no reason to 
 cry. Leave that to my enemies. . . .' 
 
 " ' Then, you are pleased ? ' asked the master. 
 
 " ' And why should I be displeased ? ' 
 
 " * Have you forgotten that we celebrated 
 your betrothal by whipping you ? ' 
 
 " ' Certainly not. That's why I say that I 
 was not a wise man, nor did I know the differ- 
 ence between bitter and sweet. Bitter the 
 lash, but I preferred it to a woman. But now 
 I am grateful to you, gracious master, that you 
 gave me, simpleton that I was, a taste for 
 honey.' 
 
THE FOBEST SOUGHS. 47 
 
 "'You are most welcome,' said the master, 
 'and now it is your turn to do me a favor; 
 when you go with the hunters into the field, 
 shoot as many birds as you can, and be sure 
 and get me a woodcock.' 
 
 " ' And when is the master going to send us 
 into the swamp ? ' asked Romdn. 
 
 " ' We will start just as soon as we have 
 taken another drink and Opands has given us 
 a song.' 
 
 " Romdn looked up at the sky and said : — 
 
 " ' That will be rather a difficult matter, for 
 it is growing late and the swamp is far away ; — 
 besides, the wind is rising, and forbodes a storm 
 during the night. As to the woodcock, how 
 can such a shy bird be killed ? ' 
 
 " But the master was already under the influ- 
 ence of the liquor, and in that condition he 
 was apt to be cross. His men were whispering 
 among themselves, and when he overheard 
 them say, ' Romdn is right, a storm is brew- 
 ing,' he grew angry. With flashing eyes, he 
 set his cup down with a crash, and all became 
 silent. 
 
 '' Opands alone was not frightened. At the 
 
48 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 word of command he stepped forward, pre- 
 pared to accompany his song on a bandura, 
 and, while tuning it, he looked askance at the 
 master, saying : — 
 
 " ' You had better change your mind, gra- 
 cious master ! Who ever heard of sending 
 people out in the night, when a storm was 
 coming on, to hunt birds in the woods.' 
 
 " Opands was a bold man. The others, being 
 serfs, were afraid of the master ; but he was a 
 free man, a Gossack by birth. An old bandura 
 player from the Ukraina, himself a Cossack, 
 had brought him here. There had been a 
 revolt, and the old man, having had his eyes 
 put out and his ears chopped, was allowed to 
 escape, and, wandering through cities and vil- 
 lages, finally came our way with Opands, who 
 was then a lad and was travelling with him. 
 The old master, fond of good singing, took 
 him into his house, and, after his death, Opanas 
 continued to live there until he grew to be a 
 man. The young master was also fond of him, 
 and bore from him many a speech that would 
 have cost another man his life. 
 
 " ' Ah ! you are a clever fellow, Opands, but 
 
TUE FOREST SOUGHS. 49 
 
 you seem not to know that when a man puts 
 his nose into the crack of a door it runs the 
 risk of being hurt.' 
 
 " Tliat's the conundrum he gave to Opanas. 
 But the Cossack guessed it at once, and an- 
 swered the master with a song, which, had it 
 been as readily understood, would have spared 
 his lady many a tear. 
 
 "'Thank you, master, for the information,' 
 replied Opanas, ' and now I will sing you a 
 song. Hearken ! ' 
 
 "And he struck his bandura. 
 
 "Lifting his head, he glanced at the sky, where 
 the eagle soars and the wind drives the clouds; 
 straining his eyes, he seemed to listen to the 
 rustle of the tall pines. . . . 
 
 "And then once more he struck his bandura. 
 
 " It is a pity, my lad, that you never heard 
 Opaiids Shvidki play ! Now he is no longer to 
 be heard ! What a simple thing a bandura is, 
 to be sure, and yet how well it can talk when 
 touched by a skilful player. He used to strike 
 a few chords, and they seemed to tell him many 
 things : how the dark forest groans at night ; 
 how the wind whistles on the steppes, through 
 
50 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 the tall grass; and how a withered blade of 
 grass whispers over a Cossack grave. 
 
 " No, my lad, you will never hear genuine 
 playing ! There are plenty of wandering musi- 
 cians, and some among them have visited other 
 countries beside Russia, and have travelled 
 throughout the Ukraina ; and also in Tchighirin, 
 Poltava, Kiev, and Tcherkassy. They say that 
 bandura-players are growing scarce ; that they 
 are no longer to be found at fairs. I have an 
 old bandura hanging up on the wall in the hut. 
 Opanas taught me to play on it, but there is no 
 one to play it after me ; and when I die, and 
 that may be soon, perhaps nowhere in the wide 
 world will one be found to play the bandura. 
 That's the way things are I Opanas had a rich, 
 melancholy voice, whose soft tones touched the 
 heart. And as for the song, my lad, he must have 
 composed it for this special occasion ; for when, 
 in after years, I used to tease him to sing it, he 
 always refused . . . and I never heard it again. 
 
 " ' The man for whom I sang that song is no 
 longer living,' he would say. 
 
 " In the song he prophesied, as it were, telling 
 the master what was to befall him ; who, though 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS, 61 
 
 the tears trickled down his moustache, seemed 
 not to understand his meaning. I am sorry I 
 can only remember a few lines of it. The Cos- 
 sack sang about one master Ivan : — 
 
 ** * Beware, O master Ivan! 
 Wise art thou, master, and great is thy wisdom ! 
 Thou knowest that the vultiu*e sails through the sky and 
 triumphs over the raven. 
 
 " * Beware, O master Ivan! 
 Thou takest no heed that often it chances 
 In this world 
 
 That the raven who defends the nest may triumph over 
 the vulture. . . . ' 
 
 " I seem still to hear that song and to see the 
 people : the Cossack with his bandura ; the 
 master seated on the rug, his head bowed down, 
 sobbing, — the servants around him, making 
 signs to one another ; and old Bogdan shaking 
 his head . . . and the forest soughing as it does 
 now ; gently and sadly sounded the bandura as 
 the Cossack sang of the Lady mourning over 
 her Lord, master Ivan. 
 
 " * The Lady weeps, 
 
 While the black raven is croaking over master Ivan.' 
 
 "But the master saw no meaning for himself 
 in the song ; wiping his eyes, he exclaimed : — 
 
52 THE FOREST SOVGIIS. 
 
 " ' Now, get ready, Romdn ! Mount your 
 horses, boys ! And you, Opands, go with them ; 
 I have had enough of your songs ! ... It was 
 a good one, only the things which happen in 
 your songs don't come to pass in this 
 world. . . . ' 
 
 " But the Cossack's heart had grown pitiful, 
 and tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 "'Ah, master,' said Opanas, 'I have heard 
 old people say : there is truth both in song- and 
 tale. Only in the tale, truth is like unto iron : 
 passed from hand to hand until it has grown 
 rusty. . . . Whereas in the song it is like gold, 
 which rust cannot corrode. . . . That's what I 
 have heard old people say I ' 
 
 " The master waved his hand. 
 
 " ' That may be true in your country ; with us 
 it is different. . . . Go, Opanas; I have had 
 enough of you.' 
 
 '" The Cossack, pausing, suddenly fell on his 
 knees at the master's feet. 
 
 " ' Listen to me, master, I entreat you. Ride 
 straightway home to your lady ! My heart for- 
 bodes evil ! ' 
 
 "Then the master grew angry in good 
 
TEE FOBEST SOUGHS. 53 
 
 earnest, and, kicking Opands, as though he were 
 a dog : — 
 
 " ' Leave me,' he cried ; 'you are more like a 
 woman than a Cossack ! Take yourself off out 
 of my sight, else it will be the worse for you ! 
 And what are you gaping at, you tribe of Ham ? 
 Am I no longer your master ? I will teach you 
 better manners, after a fashion such as my 
 fathers never used with yours. . . .' 
 
 " Opands rose to his feet, looking like a dark 
 cloud ; and he and Romdn glanced at each 
 other significantly. The latter was standing 
 aloof, leaning on his rifle, apparently quite un- 
 concerned. 
 
 " Then the Cossack hurled his bandura against 
 a tree ; it flew in pieces, while a moaning sound 
 issued from it, echoing through the forest. 
 
 " ' Let the devil teach such a man in the next 
 world, since he will not listen to wisdom. . . . 
 It seems you no longer need a faithful servant.' 
 
 " Giving the master no time to reply, Opands 
 threw himself into liis saddle and rode away. 
 The hunters mounted ; and Romdn, shouldering 
 his rifle, also started along. As he passed the 
 hut, he called out to Oxanna : — 
 
54 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 " ' Put the boy to bed, Oxanna ! It is time 
 he were sleeping ; and prepare a bed for the 
 master too.' 
 
 "Soon after, they all left, taking yonder 
 road ; the master went into the hut, and his 
 horse alone remained fastened to a tree. It 
 was growing dark, the forest was soughing, and 
 it had begun to rain, just as it does now. . . . 
 Oxanna put me to bed in the hay-loft, and as 
 she blessed me I could hear her crying. 
 
 "Well, I was a small chap then, and did not 
 understand what was going on around me. I 
 curled up on the hay, listening to the moaning 
 of the storm in the woods, and was just on the 
 point of dropping off to sleep when, ekh ! 
 suddenly I heard footsteps near the hut. . . . 
 Some one came up to the tree and unfastened 
 the master's horse. I heard him snort as he 
 made for the woods, and in a few moments the 
 clatter of his hoofs died away in the distance. 
 . . . Then I heard some one come galloping 
 along the road, and ride up to the hut. Reach- 
 ing it, he dismounted and ran up close to the 
 window. 
 
 " ' Master ! master ! ' called out Bogdan's 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 65 
 
 voice, ' open the door quickly ! The fiendish 
 Cossack has plotted against you. He has let 
 your horse loose in the woods ! ' 
 
 "Hardly were the words out of the old 
 man's mouth when somebody seized him from 
 behind. I was scared when I heard the sound 
 of one falling. . . . 
 
 "When the master opened the door, and 
 rushed out with his rifle, Romdn seized him in 
 the vestibule, and threw him on the ground. 
 . . . Realizing his danger, he cried : — 
 
 " ' Let me go, Roman ! Is that the way you 
 remember my kindness ? ' 
 
 " And Romdn replied : — 
 
 " ' I do remember your kindness, fiend 
 that you are, both toward myself and my 
 wife, and you are going to get your pay for 
 it now ! . . .' 
 
 "And I heard the master's voice saying : — 
 
 "'Defend me, Opands, my faithful servant. 
 Haven't I loved you like my own son ? . . .' 
 
 "And Opanas replying: — 
 
 "'You spurned your faithful servant as you 
 would a dog. You loved me with the love a 
 stick feels for the back, and now you love 
 
56 THE FOREST SOUGHS, 
 
 me as tlie back loves the stick. ... I have 
 implored and entreated you, but you would 
 not listen to me. . . .' 
 
 " Then the master turned to Oxanna. 
 
 " ' Intercede for me, Oxanna ; you have a 
 kind heart.' 
 
 "Oxanna ran out of the hut, throwing up 
 her hands as she cried : — 
 
 " ' I entreated you on my knees to have pity 
 on my innocence, and not disgrace me as a 
 wife, and you refused ; now you ask me . . . 
 I am a poor, unhappy woman ; what can I do ! ' 
 
 " 'Let me go,' cried the master; 'you will all 
 be sent to Siberia for this business ! . . .' 
 
 "'Don't trouble yourself on our account, 
 master,' replied Opands ; ' Roman will be in 
 the swamp before your men get there, and as 
 for myself, I am alone in this world, thanks to 
 you, and I do not care what becomes of me. I 
 shall shoulder my rifle and take to the woods. 
 ... I shall gather a band of active followers, 
 and we will enjoy life. . . . Sometimes we may 
 leave the forest and appear on the highway by 
 night, and whenever we come to a village we 
 shall always aim for the owner's mansion. 
 
THE FOREST SOUGHS. 67 
 
 Here, Romdii, lend a hand, and let us carry 
 our gracious master out into the rain.' 
 
 "In vain the master struggled and cried 
 aloud ; Romdn only muttered, while the Cos- 
 sack jeered at him. And thus they left the 
 hut. 
 
 "I was much frightened, and ran back to 
 Oxanna. I found her, as white as a sheet, 
 sitting on the bench. . . . 
 
 "Meanwhile, the storm had burst forth in 
 the woods in real earnest. The uproar was 
 like the shouting of a thousand voices; — the 
 wind howled, the thunder crashed. As Oxanna 
 and I sat on the Li/ezhdnka* we suddenly 
 heard some one moan in the forest. And such 
 a pitiful sound as it was ! It makes my heart 
 heavy whenever I think of it, in spite of the 
 years that have passed. . . . 
 
 " ' Oxanna, darling,' I said, ' who is it moan- 
 ing in the woods ? ' 
 
 " She took me in her arms and rocked me. 
 
 " ' Go to sleep, my boy, it is nothing. . . . 
 It is the forest soughing. . , .' 
 
 "And, truly, the forest did sough ; oh, how 
 
 * The low part of the stove, built out to lie upon. — Tii. 
 
58 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 it soughed ! Thus we sat for some time, when 
 I heard the report of a shot. 
 
 " ' Oxanna, darling,' I said, ' who is it 
 shooting ? ' 
 
 "But she, poor thing, went on rocking me, 
 repeating : — 
 
 "'Keep quiet, my boy! ... it is thundering 
 in the woods. . . .' 
 
 " She was crying, as she hugged and rocked 
 me : — 
 
 " ' The forest soughs, the forest soughs, my 
 boy....' 
 
 "And I dropped to sleep in her arms. . . . 
 
 "In the morning, when I woke, my lad, and 
 saw the sun shining, and Oxanna sleeping alone 
 in the hut, with her clothes on, I recollected 
 the events of the previous day, and thought it 
 must have been a dream. 
 
 " It had been no dream, however, but reality. 
 I ran out of the hut, into the wood, where the 
 birds were singing and the dew glittering on 
 the leaves ; and when I reached the bushes, I 
 saw the master and his servant lying side by 
 side, — the master calm and pale, and the gray- 
 haired servant looking as stern as though he 
 
THE FOBEST SOUGHS. 69 
 
 were alive. Their breasts were stained with 
 blood. . . ." 
 
 " And what became of the others ? " I asked, 
 when the grandfather, having ceased to speak, 
 sat with drooping head. 
 
 '' Eh^ ! Everything happened as the Cos- 
 sack Opands had promised. For many years 
 he lived in the forest, infesting the highways 
 with his band. That was his destiny : his 
 ancestors had been highwaymen, and it came 
 natural to him to follow their calling. He 
 often came to ns, into this very hut, but for 
 the most part at times when Romdn was 
 away. He would come and sing a song and 
 play on the bandura. Sometimes he brought 
 his comrades — and Oxanna and Romdn al- 
 ways welcomed him. I must admit, my lad, 
 that things were not as they should be. 
 When Maxim and Zakhdr return from the 
 woods, take a look at them. I have never 
 given them a hint, but whoever knew Roman 
 and Opands could see at once which of the 
 two each of them resembles, although they are 
 not the children, but only grandchildren, of 
 those men. . . . And now you know what I 
 
60 THE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 have seen in the forest in my lifetime, my 
 lad. . . . 
 
 " Hark ! how the forest soughs ; . . . the 
 storm is drawing nearer. . . •" 
 
 III. 
 
 The old man's voice sounded tired as he 
 finished his story. The excitement ended, his 
 fatigue became evident ; his speech grew indis- 
 tinct, his voice shook, and his eyes watered. 
 
 The shades of night had enveloped the earth, 
 and the forest looked dark. The trees sur- 
 rounding the hut swayed to and fro, heaving 
 like the billows of an angry sea ; their dark 
 summits might well be likened to the waves 
 in a storm. The joyful bark of the dog 
 announced the return of his masters. The 
 woodmen hurriedly drew near, closely followed 
 by the panting M6trya, who had found the 
 missing cow. Our company was complete. 
 
 Some minutes later we were all seated in the 
 hut, where a bright fire was burning, while 
 M6trya prepared the supper. Although I had 
 often seen Zakhdr and Maxim, I looked at them 
 
TUE FOREST SOUGUS. 61 
 
 now with a new interest. Zakhar's skin was 
 dark ; his eyebrows met beneath a low fore- 
 head ; his eyes looked stern, although one could 
 discern in his expression a certain good-nature, 
 the not uncommon adjunct of great strength. 
 Maxim, on the contrary, showed an open coun- 
 tenance, with caressing gray eyes. He had a 
 trick of shaking his curls, and the sound of his 
 laughter was irresistibly contagious. 
 
 " I suppose the old man has been telling you 
 his favorite story about our grandfather," said 
 Maxim. 
 
 *' Yes ; he has," I replied. • 
 
 " That's what he always does ! Whenever 
 the forest soughs louder than usual, his mind 
 goes back to the past, and now, I suppose, he 
 will lie awake all night long." 
 
 " He is just like a child," remarked Motrya, 
 as she poured some shchi * for the grandfather. 
 
 The old man seemed not at all to realize 
 that we were speaking about him. He had 
 subsided completely, smiling once in a while, 
 and nodding. Only, when a gust of wind 
 struck the hut, he grew nervous, with the air 
 ♦ Cabbage-broth. — Tr. 
 
62 THE FOREST SOUGHS, 
 
 of one who, being startled, listens to some 
 distant sound. 
 
 Presently all became still in the hnt. Only 
 the last glimmer of the tallow-light shone 
 feebly, and the cricket chirped his shrill, 
 monotonous song. . . . From the forest came 
 thousands of strong but muffled voices, calling 
 to each other in the gloom. It seemed as 
 though invisible powers were holding a stormy 
 conclave in the darkness, combining a simul- 
 taneous attack upon the humble dwelling. 
 From time to time, the indistinct murmur, 
 growing louder, sounded close at hand ; then 
 the door shook, as though some one with an 
 angry hissing voice were forcing it from out- 
 side, and the wind whistled in the chimney 
 with a mournful wailing. Sometimes the 
 storm-gusts would die away, followed by an 
 oppressive stillness even more appalling to a 
 timid spirit, and then again the tumult would 
 return, and the old pines labored and groaned, 
 as though striving to uproot themselves and 
 fly away into space on the wings of the 
 hurricane. 
 
 For a few brief moments I had lost myself. 
 
THE FOREST SOUGUS. 63 
 
 When I woke, the storm was still howling in 
 the forest, in various keys. A flickering light 
 illumined the hut. The old man still sat on 
 the bench, putting out his hands once in a 
 while, as though hoping to find some one beside 
 him. An expression of alarm and childish 
 helplessness was visible on his poor old face. 
 
 " Oxanna, darling, who is it moaning in the 
 woods ? " — I could distinguish his plaintive 
 whisper. 
 
 His hands groped helplessly around as he 
 seemed to listen. '' Ekh ! " he murmured 
 again, " no one is moaning. ... It is only the 
 storm raging, . . . that's all. . . . The forest 
 is soughing. . . ." 
 
 Several minutes went by in silence. Streaks 
 of bluish lightning flashed in at the small 
 windows, revealing the fantastic outlines of the 
 tall trees outside, which were straightway lost 
 again in the murky gloom. 
 
 Suddenly the faint glimmer of the light 
 within the room was eclipsed by a brighter 
 flash of lightning, followed by a crashing peal 
 of thunder that echoed through the woods. 
 The old man moved uneasily on his bench. 
 
64 TnE FOREST SOUGHS. 
 
 " Oxanna, darling, who is it shooting in the 
 woods ? " 
 
 " Go to sleep, grandpa," said Motiya's quiet 
 voice from the Lyezhdnha, "- He is always like 
 that in a storm ; it makes him talk about Ox- 
 anna. He forgets that she died long ago. . . ." 
 
 M6trya yawned, whispered a prayer, and 
 stillness once more resumed its reign, inter- 
 rupted only by the soughing forest and the 
 feverish mutterings of the old man. 
 
 " The forest soughs, ... it soughs, . . . my 
 darling Oxanna, my dove. . . ." 
 
 Shortly after, a heavy shower began, drown- 
 ing with its torrents both the outbursts of the 
 wind and the groans of the pine-forest. . . . 
 
EASTER NIGHT. 
 
 It was Holy Saturday in 188- ... 
 
 Evening had long since enfolded the silent 
 earth. The ground, warmed during the day 
 by the rays of the sun, was now cooling be- 
 neath the invigorating influence of the night- 
 frost. It seemed like one sighing, while its 
 breath, forming a silvery mist, rose glistening 
 in the rays of the starlit sky, like clouds of 
 incense, to greet the approaching holiday. 
 
 All was still. In the cool night-breeze the 
 small provincial town of N. stood silent, wait- 
 ing to hear the first stroke of the bell from the 
 high cathedral-tower. But the town was not 
 sleeping; a spirit af expectancy brooded be- 
 neath the veil of darkness, breathing through 
 the shadows of the silent and deserted streets. 
 Now and then a belated workman, who had but 
 just escaped from his servile task ere the holi- 
 day began, passed, hurrying on his way ; once 
 05 
 
66 FASTER NIGHT. 
 
 in a while a drosky rattled by, leaving silence 
 behind it. Life had fled indoors and hidden 
 itself, in palace and hovel, from whose windows 
 the lights shone far out upon the street, while 
 over the city and the fields hovered the spirit 
 of Resurrection. 
 
 Although the moon stood high above the 
 horizon, the town still rested in the broad, deep 
 shadow of a hill, crowned by a gloomy and 
 massive edifice, whose peculiarly straight and 
 severe outlines were sharply defined in the 
 golden ether. The sombre gates were hardly 
 to be distinguished amid the gloom of its 
 deeply shadowed walls, while the towers on 
 the four corners stood out boldly against the 
 azure sky, and gradually over all the moon 
 poured its flood of liquid gold. 
 
 Suddenly on the sensitive air of the expect- 
 ant night came the first stroke from the high 
 cathedral-belfry ; then another, and still an- 
 other. A minute later and the whole air 
 throbbed and swelled, as the countless bells 
 rang out, uniting in one harmonious peal. 
 From the gloomy building overshadowing the 
 town there came a faint, broken harmony, that 
 
EASTER NIGHT. 67 
 
 seemed to flutter helplessly in the air, and 
 thence to rise into the ethereal light, and join 
 the miglity chord. The singing ceased, the 
 sounds dissolved in air, and the silence of the 
 night gradually resumed its sway ; a faint echo 
 seemed to hover for a while, like the vibration 
 of an invisible harp-string. Now the fires were 
 gradually extinguished, the church-windows 
 shone forth brightly, and the earth seemed 
 ready to proclaim once more the old tidings of 
 peace, love, and good-will. 
 
 The bolts of the dark gates in the gloomy 
 building creaked, and a band of soldiers, with 
 clanking arms, sallied forth to relieve the night- 
 sentinels; on approaching the corners, they 
 would lialt, and a dark form, with measured 
 steps, would detach itself from the rest, while 
 the former sentinel took his place in the ranks, 
 and the soldiers went on their way, skirting the 
 high prison-wall, that glistened in the moon- 
 beams. 
 
 As they reached its western side, a young 
 recruit stepped forward from the ranks to 
 relieve the sentry who was posted there ; a 
 rustic awkwardness still showed itself in his 
 
68 EASTER NIGHT. 
 
 inovements, and his young face betrayed the 
 absorbed attention of a novice who was to 
 occupy for the first time a responsible post. 
 He faced the wall, presented arms, made two 
 steps forward, and, shouldering his musket, 
 stood beside the sentry he was to replace. The 
 latter, turning slightly towards him, repeated 
 the usual formula, in the sing-song tone of dis- 
 cipline. 
 
 " From corner to corner. . . . Lookout! . . . 
 Do not sleep or doze ! " He spoke rapidly, 
 while the recruit listened with close attention, 
 and a peculiar expression of anxiety and sad- 
 ness in his gray eyes. 
 
 "You understand?" asked his superior. 
 
 "Yes, sir!" 
 
 " Then, look out ! " he added, sharply ; but, 
 suddenly changing his tone, he said, good- 
 naturedly: — 
 
 "Don't be afraid, Faddeyef ; yon are not a 
 woman! I hope you are not afraid of the 
 Ly^shy ! " * 
 
 " Why should I be afraid of him ? " replied 
 Faddeyef. Then he added, " But I tell you, 
 
 * The Spirit of the Woods. — Tb. 
 
EASTER NIGHT. 59 
 
 my good fellows, I liave a misgiving/' This 
 simple and almost cliildisli confession made the 
 soldiers laugh. 
 
 "There's simplicity for you!" exclaimed 
 the leader, in tones of contempt. Then giving 
 the order, " Shoulder arms ! march ! " the sen- 
 tries, with measured tread, disappeared around 
 the corner, and the sound of their footsteps 
 was soon lost in the distance. The sentinel 
 shouldered his musket, and began to pace along 
 the wall. 
 
 Inside the prison, at the first stroke of the 
 bell, all was in motion. It was long since the 
 sad and gloomy prison-night had witnessed so 
 much life. It seemed as if the church-bells had 
 really brought tidings of liberty ; for the grimy 
 doors of the cells opened in turn, and their 
 occupants, clad in long gray garments, the 
 fatal patches on their backs, filed in rows 
 along the corridors, oh their way to the brill- 
 iantly lighted prison-church. They came from 
 all directions, — from right and left, descend- 
 ing and ascending the stairway, — and amid the 
 echoing footsteps rang the sound of arms and 
 the clanking of chains. On entering the 
 
70 EASTER NIGHT, 
 
 church, this gray mass of humanity poured 
 into the space allotted to them, behind the 
 railing, and stood there in silence. The win- 
 dows of the church were protected by strong 
 iron bars. . . . 
 
 The prison was empty, except in the four 
 towers, where, in small, strongly bolted cells, 
 four men, in solitary confinement, were rest- 
 lessly pacing to and fro, stopping once in a 
 while to listen at the key-hole to the snatches 
 of church-singing that reached their ears. . . . 
 
 And, beside these, in one of the ordinary 
 cells, in a bunk, lay a sick man. The overseer, 
 to whom this sudden illness had been reported, 
 went into his cell as they were escorting the 
 prisoners to church, and, leaning over him, 
 looked into his eyes, that were gazing fixedly 
 before him, and in which shone a peculiar 
 light. 
 
 " Ivanof ! Ivanof ! " he called out to the 
 invalid. 
 
 The convict never turned his head, but con- 
 tinued muttering something unintelligible, mov- 
 ing his parched lips with difficulty. 
 
 " Carry him to the hospital to-morrow ! " 
 
EASTEE NIGHT. 71 
 
 said the overseer, as he left the cell, appointing 
 a sentry to guard the door. The latter, after a 
 close examination of the delirious patient, shook 
 his head, saying as he did so, " A vagrant ! 
 Poor fellow ! you are not likely to tramp any 
 more ! " The overseer continued his way along 
 the corridor, and entered the church, taking up 
 his post by the door, where, with frequent gen- 
 uflections, he listened devotedly to the service. 
 Meanwhile the mutterings of the unconscious 
 man filled the empty cell. 
 
 He did not seem old ; on the contrary, he 
 looked strong and muscular. He was delirious, 
 apparently re-living his recent past, while a look . 
 of distress disfigured his face. Fate had played 
 him a sorry trick. He had tramped thousands 
 of versts through the Siberian forests and 
 mountains, had suffered countless dangers and 
 privations, always urged onward by a consum- 
 ing homesickness, and sustained by one hope 
 — that he might live to see his native place, 
 and be once more with his own people, if it 
 were but for a month, or even a week. Then 
 he would be resigned, even if he had to go 
 back again. But it chanced that when only a 
 
72 EASTER NIGHT, 
 
 few hundred versts from his native village he 
 had been recaptured, and confined in this 
 prison. Suddenly his mutterings ceased. His 
 eyes dilated, and his breathing became more 
 even. . . . Brighter dreams flitted across his 
 fevered brain. . . . The forest soughs. . . . He 
 knows it well, that soughing ; monotonous, 
 musical, and powerful. . . . He can distinguish 
 its various tones ; the language of each tree — 
 the majestic pine, dusky green, rustling high 
 overhead, . . . the whispering cedars, . . . the 
 bright, merry birch, tossing its flexible branches, 
 . . . the trembling aspen, fluttering its timid, 
 sensitive leaves. . . . The free birds sing ; the 
 stream rushes across the stony chasm; and a 
 swarm of gibbering magpies, detectives of the 
 forest, are soaring in the air over the path fol- 
 lowed by the vagrant through this almost im- 
 penetrable thicket. 
 
 It seemed as if a breeze from the free forest 
 were wafted through the prison-cell. The 
 invalid sat up and drew a long breath, gazing 
 intently before him, while a sudden gleam of 
 consciousness flashed into his eyes. . . . The 
 vagrant, the habitual fugitive, beheld before 
 
EASTER NIGHT. 73 
 
 him an unaccustomed sight, ... an open 
 door! . . . 
 
 In his frame, enfeebled by disease, a powerful 
 instinct sprang to life. His delirium either dis- 
 appeared, or centred itself on one idea, which, 
 like a ray of sunlight, illumined the chaos of 
 his thoughts. Aloue ! and with an open door ! 
 In a moment he was on his feet. It seemed as 
 if the fever had left his braiu, and was only 
 perceptible in his eyes, which had a fixed and 
 menacing expression. 
 
 Some one had just come out from the church, 
 leaving the door ajar. 
 
 The strains of the harmonious singing, sub- 
 dued by the distance, reached the ear of the 
 vagrant, and then died away. His face soft- 
 ened, his eyes grew dim, and his imagination 
 reproduced a long cherished scene : A mild 
 night, the whisper of the pines, their branches 
 swaying above the old church of his native 
 village ; . . . a throng of countrymen ; the 
 lights reflected in the river, and this same 
 chant. . . . He must make haste with his jour- 
 ney, that he may hear this at home, with his 
 family ! . . . 
 
74 EASTEB NIGHT. 
 
 All this time, in the corridor, near the church- 
 door, the overseer prayed devoutly, kneeling, 
 and touching his forehead to the ground. . . . 
 
 Meanwhile, the young recruit paced to and 
 fro on his beat along the prison wall, which 
 glowed with a phosphorescent light. A broad, 
 level field, recently freed from snow, lay before 
 him. 
 
 A light wind rustled through the tall grass, 
 inclining him to a sad and pensive mood. 
 
 The moon hung high above the horizon ; the 
 expression of anxiety had vanished from Fad- 
 deyef s face. He stopped by the wall, and, set- 
 ting his musket on the ground, rested his hand 
 on the muzzle, on which he leaned his head, 
 falling into a deep reverie. He could not yet 
 wholly grasp the idea of his presence in this 
 place, on this solemn Easter night, beside the 
 wall, with a musket in his hand, and opposite 
 the vacant field. He had by no means ceased 
 to be a peasant ; many things clear to a soldier 
 were to him incomprehensible ; and he was 
 often teased by being called " a rustic." But a 
 short time ago he was a free man, had the care 
 of a household, owned a field, and was at 
 
EASTER NIGHT. 75 
 
 liberty to labor when and where he pleased. 
 Now, an indefinite, inexplicable fear beset his 
 every step and movement, forcing the awk- 
 ward young rustic into the groove of strict dis- 
 cipline. At this moment he was alone . . . the 
 bleak landscape before him, and the wind 
 whistling through the dry grass, made him 
 dreamy ; and memories of familiar scenes passed 
 through his mind. He seemed to see his native 
 village ! The same moon shone above it, the 
 same breeze blew over it ; he saw the lighted 
 church, and the dark pines tossing their green 
 heads. . . . 
 
 Suddenly he became conscious of his pres- 
 ent surroundings, and surprise kindled his blue 
 eyes, as though he were questioning: "What 
 are these? this field, this wall and musket?'' 
 For an instant he realized where he was, but in 
 another moment the whistling breeze wafted 
 him back to familiar scenes ; and again the 
 soldier dreamt, leaning on his musket. . . . 
 
 All at once, close beside him, appeared a 
 head over the top of the wall . . . the eyes 
 glimmering like two coals. . . . The vagrant 
 peered into the open field, and beyond it to the 
 
76 EASTER NIGHT, 
 
 shadowy line of the distant forest ... his 
 chest expanded as he greedily inhaled the re- 
 freshing breath of " motlier night." He let 
 himself down by his hands, gently gliding along 
 the wall. 
 
 The joyful ringing had awakened the slum- 
 bering night. The door of the prison-church 
 was opened, and the procession moved into the 
 yard. * In waves of melody the singing poured 
 forth from the church. The soldier started, 
 lifted his cap, and was about to make the sign 
 of the cross . . . when he suddenly stopped, 
 with his hand raised in the act of prayer, wliile 
 the vagrant, having reached the ground, 
 swiftly started on a run towards the tall grass. 
 
 " Stop, pray, stop, my dearest fellow ! " ex- 
 claimed the soldier, in a terrified voice, as he 
 raised his musket. At the sight of this gray 
 figure fleeing from pursuit, all his shapeless and 
 terrible fears took a definite form. "Duty — 
 responsibility ! " flashed across his mind, and, 
 
 * On Easter night a part of the ceremony of the Greek 
 Church consists in the carrying of crosses and banners by 
 the clergy around the outside of the church, in commemora- 
 tion of the seeking of the body of Christ by Joseph of 
 Arimathea. — Tk. ' 
 
EASTER NIGHT, 77 
 
 raising his musket, he aimed at the fugitive. 
 But before pulling the trigger he pitifully shut 
 his eyes. ... 
 
 Meanwhile, above the town there rose, 
 hovering in the ether, a harmonious and pro- 
 longed chime, marred only by the prison-bell, 
 that trembled and fluttered like a wounded 
 bird ; and from beyond the wall the sounds of 
 the joyous chant, "Christ is arisen," reached far 
 into the field. Suddenly, above all other sounds, 
 came the report of a musket, followed by a 
 faint, helpless groan, like a plaintive and dying 
 protest. Then for a moment all was still ; a^id 
 only the distant echoes of the vacant field re- 
 peated with a sad murmur the last reverbera- 
 tion of the shot amid the silence of the terror- 
 stricken night. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 THE TALE OF A VAGRANT. 
 
 My comrade had gone, and I was to spend 
 the night alone in our yourt.* 
 
 Not feeling in the mood for working, I did 
 not light the fire, and, as I reclined on my bed, 
 I fell by degrees under the dismal spell of the 
 gathering gloom and silence, while the waning 
 daylight merged itself into the cold night-mist. 
 Little by little, the last rays of light disap- 
 peared from th^ ice windows, and profound 
 darkness crept out from the corners, veiling 
 the sloping walls of the yourt, wliiuh seemed 
 gradually contracting more and more over my 
 head. For a while, the outlines of the fire- 
 place remained dimly visible, like some ugly 
 Pen ate of a Yakut dwelling, who, with out- 
 stretched arms, meets the invading darkness, 
 
 * Siberian hut. Many of the Russian exiles adopt the 
 winter expedients of the Yakuts or inhabitants of Yakutsk. 
 — Te. 
 
 78 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 79 
 
 as if invoking it in silent prayer. But at last 
 even these faint outlines were Lost in the utter 
 darkness. Only in three spots shone a soft 
 phosphorescent light like a gleam from the 
 dark eyes of the Yakut Frost peering in at 
 the windows. Minutes and hours passed in 
 silence, and I was not aware how impercep- 
 tibly had crept upon me that fatal hour when 
 a longing for home fully takes possession of 
 one's soul, — the hour when, conjured up by 
 a fevered imagination, all those hills, forests, 
 and interminable steppes that lie between 
 one's self and all that life holds dear rise 
 threateningly in their measureless and un con- 
 quered distance. All so far away and so 
 utterly lost, now beckoning, now seeming to 
 fade from sight, and flickering in the dim 
 distance like the glimmer of a dying hope. 
 The suppressed yet ever present grief, buried 
 deeply in the recesses of one's heart, now 
 boldly raises its ill-omened head, and, amid 
 the universal stillness and darkness, plainly 
 whispers the terrible words : " Forever in this 
 grave, . . . forever ! " 
 
 A gentle whining, coming from the flat roof, 
 
80 ^ SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 through the chimney, reached my ears, and 
 roused me from my stupor. 
 
 It was my intelligent friend, my faithful 
 dog, who, chilled at his post, was asking what 
 troubled me, and why, when the cold was so 
 severe, I did not light the fire. I rose, con- 
 scious that I was playing a losing game in this 
 struggle with silence and darkness, and decided 
 to have recourse to the means at hand, — the 
 Spirit of the yourt — Fire. 
 
 In winter the Yakut never allows his fire to 
 go out, and has, therefore, no Avay of closing 
 the chimney. We had contrived some rude 
 appliances so that our chimney could be closed 
 from the outside ; but, in order to do so, it was 
 necessary to climb up on the flat roof of the 
 yourt. 
 
 I went up on to the roof by means of 
 steps which had been cut in the snow that 
 protected the yourt. Our dwelling stood on 
 the outer edge of the settlement. 
 
 Generally, from the roof we could see the 
 narrow valley and the hills that enclosed it, 
 as well as the fires of the yourts of exiled 
 Tartars and of those occupied by the descend- 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 81 
 
 ants of Russian settlers, who in the course of 
 years had become Yakut. Now, all was envel- 
 oped in a cold, gray, impenetrable mist, which 
 hung immovable, condensed by a cold of forty 
 degrees, and pressing the silent earth with 
 increasing weight. 
 
 Ever^^where, a dull gray expanse of fog met 
 the eye, save where, high overhead, twinkled 
 a solitary star, piercing the cold shroud with 
 its sharp rays. 
 
 Around all was still. . . . The high bank of 
 the river, the miserable yourts of the settle- 
 ment, the small church, the smooth and snowy 
 valley, the dark strip of forest, — all became 
 merged in this shoreless sea of fog. The roof 
 of the yourt, with its rude clay chimney, 
 where I was standing, with the dog crouching 
 at my feet, seemed like an island in an illim- 
 itable gray ocean. 
 
 All was cold, bleak, and still. The night 
 was the embodiment of terror, — constrained 
 and watchful, — like one who strives to hide 
 himself. The dog whined gently and pitifully, 
 evidently in terror of the benumbing frost. 
 Crouching at my feet, and plaintively stretch- 
 
82 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 lug out his sharp nose and pricking up his 
 ears, he gazed intently into the thick, gathering 
 dusk. 
 
 Suddenly he growled. I listened. At first, 
 I could distinguish nothing; then, in that 
 strained silence, a sound was heard, another 
 and still another, — as of a horse galloping far 
 away on the meadows. Thinking of the lonely 
 rider, who, judging by the sound, was as yet 
 some two or three miles away from the hamlet, 
 I hastily ran down from the roof and entered 
 the yourt. An unprotected face, exposed to 
 the air, might result in a frost-bitten nose or 
 cheek. The dog, giving one loud and hasty 
 bark in the direction of the galloping, fol- 
 lowed me. 
 
 Soon in the wide, open mouth of the fire- 
 place, in the middle of the yourt, a bright fire 
 of chips was liglited. I added to it some dry 
 logs of pitchy birch, and in a few moments my 
 dwelling was totally changed. Now the silent 
 yourt was filled with noise and talking. The 
 fire, with a hundred tongues, played among 
 the logs, enveloping them, jumping, snarling, 
 hissing, and snapping. Something bright and 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN, 83 
 
 living, wide-awake and talkative, filled the 
 yourt, peeping into all its nooks and corners. 
 When, at times, the crackling of the flames 
 ceased, I could hear the hot sparks fly up the 
 short, straight chimBrey, snapping in the frosty 
 air. But soon the fire renewed its play with 
 redoubled energy, while frequent and loud 
 reports, like pistol-shots, echoed through the 
 yourt. 
 
 Now that all around me was moving, talking, 
 bustling, and dancing, I did not feel as lonely 
 as before. The ice windows, through which, 
 but one moment before, the frosty night had 
 peered, now sparkled like gems, reflecting the 
 flames. I comforted myself by thinkiijg that 
 my yourt alone, like a small volcano in the 
 midst of this cold, dreary night, was pouring 
 out a torrent of fiery sparks, flickering spas- 
 modically in the air, amidst volumes of white 
 smoke. 
 
 Motionless as a statue, the dog sat gazing at 
 the fire. From time to time he turned his head, 
 and in his intelligent eyes I could read the ex- 
 pression of love and gratitude. A heavy tramp 
 was heard outside ; yet he did not stir, content- 
 
84 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 ing himself with a complacent whine. He 
 knew that these were only our horses, that had 
 been standing somewhere under a fence, and 
 now had come to the yourt, and were watching 
 the sparks fly merrily upward, and the broad 
 ribbon of warm smoke. Suddenly the dog 
 reluctantly turned from the fire, and growled, 
 and the next moment bounded to the door. I 
 let him out, and, from his accustomed post on 
 the roof, he began barking furiously. I looked 
 out of the door-way; apparently, the lonely 
 traveller whose approach I had previously 
 heard through the sensitive silence of the frosty 
 night had been attracted by my cheerful fire. 
 He had taken down the bars of the gate, so as 
 to make a passageway for his heavily laden 
 horse. 
 
 I was not expecting any one of my acquaint- 
 ances. A native would hardly have come so 
 late ; and if he had, he would have known 
 where his friends lived, and would not have 
 turned in at the first fire. "Therefore," I said 
 to myself, "this can only be some settler." 
 Generally, we were not anxious to see such 
 company ; but now any man was welcome. I 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 85 
 
 knew tliat shortly the bright light of the fire 
 would grow dim, the flames indolently and 
 slowly enveloping the charred logs ; that still 
 later only a heap of coals would remain, with 
 the whispering fiery snakes gliding amongst 
 them, more and more slowly, and finally silence 
 and darkness would reign supreme in the yourt, 
 and again would my heart" be filled with sorrow. 
 The faint spark in the ashes would glimmer like 
 a half-closed eye, peering out once or twice, and 
 then dropping to sleep. And once more I 
 should remain alone ; . . . alone in the long, 
 endless, and dreary night. 
 
 The thought of spending the night under the 
 same roof with a man whose past might possi- 
 bly be stained with blood did not enter my 
 head. Siberia teaches one to find the man inj 
 the murderer; and although a more intimate 
 acquaintance saves one from idealizing " the 
 unfortunate " who has broken locks, stolen 
 horses, or crushed his neighbor's skull on a 
 dark night, still, such an acquaintance gives 
 one a chance to study the complicated springs 
 of human motives. 
 
 One learns what to expect of a man. A 
 
86 ^ SAGUALINIAN. 
 
 murderer is not always employed in murder- 
 ing. He lives and feels like other men, and 
 like them he is grateful to those who shelter 
 him from frost and storm. But whenever I 
 chanced to make a new acquaintance among 
 these folk, particularly if he happened to be the 
 owner of a saddle-horse, with well lilled saddle- 
 bags hanging on either side, then the question 
 concerning the ownership of the horse, as well 
 as that of the contents of the bags, called forth 
 certain suspicions, and aroused speculation as 
 to the means and w^ays of their acquirement. 
 
 The heavy horse-hair-covered door of the 
 yourt opened towards the inclined wall, a wave 
 of steam followed, and a stranger entered, and 
 approached the fireplace. He was a tall man, 
 broad-shouldered and well built. One could 
 perceive, at the first glance, that he was not a 
 Yakut, although he was dressed like one. 
 
 He wore soft boots, made of pure white horse- 
 hide ; the wide sleeves of his Yakut fur coat 
 rose in folds over his ears ; his head and neck 
 were protected by a large shawl, the ends of 
 which were tied around his waist. This, as 
 well as his Yakut hat, the top of which alone 
 
A SAGUALINIAN. 87 
 
 was visible, was thickly covered with frozen 
 snow-flakes. 
 
 The stranger went up to the fire, and with 
 his benumbed fingers untied the shawl and the 
 leather straps of his hat. When he had thrown 
 them back, I saw the fresh, young face of a man 
 of thirty. His large features were stamped 
 with that peculiar expression that I have often 
 noticed on the faces of the stdrostas * of con- 
 vict artels, as well as on those of all men 
 whose authority is recognized in their sphere, 
 but who still feel obliged to be on their guard 
 with strangers. His expressive, glancing, black 
 eyes and his protruding jaw betrayed a passion- 
 ate nature. The vagrant f (for I judged, from 
 a certain slight, but unmistakable sign, that my 
 guest belonged to this class) was well used to 
 controlling his passions. Only a slight nervous 
 tremor of the lower lip, and the twitching of the 
 muscles of the face at times, betrayed the inten- 
 sity of some inward struggle. 
 
 * Elder of convict unions. 
 
 t *' Vagrant," or *' vagabond/' is the name given to es- 
 caped convicts who "tramp" their way through Siberia 
 back to Europe. 
 
8.8 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 Fatigue, the frosty night, and perhaps an in- 
 definable sadness which the traveller felt as he 
 rode through this impenetrable fog, had some- 
 what softened the sharp outlines of his face and 
 stamped their impress on his brow and in his 
 dark eyes so full of pathos. His aspect was in 
 harmony with my present feelings, and awa- 
 kened in me an unaccountable sympathy. With- 
 out further divesting himself of his wraps, he 
 leaned against the chimney and took a pipe 
 out of his pocket. 
 
 " How do you do, sir ! '* he said, knocking 
 his pipe on the corner of the hearth, and at 
 the same time scanning me with a swift yet 
 searching glance. 
 
 " How do you do ! " I replied, also looking at 
 him with curiosity. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, for intruding thus. 
 I only want to warm myself a little and to 
 smoke my pipe ; then I will go, for I have 
 friends here who are glad to see me at any 
 time. They live two miles away." 
 
 His tones were reserved, like those of a man 
 who was evidently unwilling to appear intru- 
 sive. Again he gave me a quick and scruti- 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 89* 
 
 nizing glance, as though awaiting my reply in 
 order to form a plan of action in accordance 
 therewith. " I will treat you as you treat me," 
 his cool and steady glances seemed to say. At 
 all events, the manners of my guest formed a 
 pleasing contrast to the ordinary importunity 
 of the Yakut settlers ; though, evidently, had 
 he not calculated on spending the night with 
 me, he would not have led his horse into the 
 yard, but would have fastened him to the 
 fence outside. 
 
 " Who are you ? What is your name ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " My name ? I am called Bagylai. In Rus- 
 sian my name is Vasili. Perhaps you may 
 have heard about me ? I live in the Bayang- 
 atd'i District." 
 
 " A native of the UraL? A vagrant ? " 
 
 An imperceptible smile of satisfaction flitted 
 across the lips of the stranger. 
 
 " So you have heard about me ? " 
 
 "N. has spoken to me of you. You were 
 neighbors." 
 
 " Precisely ! Mr. N. knows me well." 
 
 " I am happy to welcome you ! You will 
 
90 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 spend the night with me, will you not ? I am 
 all alone, and we will start the samovar." 
 
 The vagrant eagerly accepted my invitation. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ! Since you ask me, I will 
 stay. But I must take off my bags from the 
 saddle, and bring them in ; — my horse is fast- 
 ened in the yard ; still, it would be safer. The 
 people in your settlement are sharpers, espe- 
 cially the Tartars." 
 
 He went out, and a moment after returned, 
 bringing in the two saddle-bags. Unfastening 
 the straps, he took out the provisions which he 
 carried with him ; pats of frozen milk and 
 butter, several dozens of eggs, etc. The eggs 
 he put on my shelves ; and the rest he carried 
 out into the entry, so that they would not melt. 
 Then he took off his shawl, his fur coat, and 
 his caftdn, keeping on only his Turkey-red 
 shirt and velveteen trousers, and seated him- 
 self before the fireplace. 
 
 " Well, sir," he said, looking up and smiling, 
 " I may as well tell you the truth ; as I was 
 nearing your gate, I thought to mj^self, ' I 
 wonder if the owner will allow me to spend 
 the night with him ? ' Of course, I understand 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 91 
 
 very well that there are all sorts of characters 
 among us, some of whom it would be impos- 
 sible to ask to stay over night ; but I am not 
 of that class, I tell you frankly. Did you say 
 that you had heard about me ? " 
 
 " i have." 
 
 " Well, I am glad of it. I can say without 
 boasting that I make an honest living. I own 
 a cow, a three-year-old ox, and a horse. ... I 
 cultivate my land, and have a vegetable-garden 
 besides." 
 
 The vagrant said all this in a constrained 
 voice, his eyes fixed on one spot, gesticulating 
 as he spoke, as though he were wondering at 
 himself. His manner seemed to asseverate, 
 " All that I tell you is true." 
 
 " Yes," he went on, in the same tone of 
 voice, " I work, as God wishes us to do. I 
 consider it better than stealing or highway 
 robbery. ... As I ride' along the road, I see a 
 fire, and I stop at your house. . . . You start 
 the samovdr and entertain me. I cannot fail to 
 appreciate all this. Do I not speak the truth?" 
 
 '' Certainly," I replied. 
 
 While making these statements, the vagrant 
 
92 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 appeared to be soliloquizing, as if trying to 
 convince himself of the advantages of his 
 present life. 
 
 I had heard about Vasili from my friends. 
 Formerly a vagrant, he had later become 
 a settler, and now for two years had been 
 living in his own house, in the midst of a 
 forest, near a lake, in one of the great Yakut 
 districts. Among the reckless and God-for- 
 saken crowd of settlers, who live from hand 
 to mouth, often stealing and plundering, he 
 was one of the few who preferred to labor, 
 a mode of life which here offered an easy 
 chance to improve one'& condition. Generally 
 speaking, the Yakut are a very good-natured 
 people, and in many districts it is customary to 
 offer the newly arrived settlers substantial help. 
 
 Were it not for such help, a man whom 
 circumstances have placed in the rigorous and 
 to him unknown conditions of this country 
 would either soon perish of cold and hunger 
 or take to highway robbery. In a general way- 
 such help was more willingly given in the 
 form of " travelling expenses," by means of 
 which the Yakut commune often endeavors 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 93 
 
 to rid itself of a settler, sending liini away to 
 the mines, whence the majority of these un- 
 comfortable citizens never return ; yet in 
 most cases where a man shows a willingness 
 to work in good earnest, help is freely prof- 
 fered. The commune gave Vasili a hut and 
 an ox, and the first year planted for him six 
 poods * of wheat. 
 
 The harvest was good ; and, in addition to 
 this, he hired himself out advantageously to the 
 Yakut as a mower, and also traded in tobacco, 
 — so that in two years his affairs were flour- 
 ishing. The Yakut treated him with defer- 
 ence, the settlers called him '' Vasili Ivan- 
 itch " to his face, modifying it to " Vaska " 
 only behind his back. The priests, on their 
 way to visit their parishioners, liked to stop at 
 his house, and, whenever he chanced to call 
 upon them, invited him to take a seat at their 
 table. He was also acquainted with some of 
 the educated class whose lot had been cast in 
 this distant country. It did seem now as 
 though he could live well. Marriage alone 
 remained to be accomplished. Of course, this 
 
 * A pood, or pud, is thirty-six pounds avoirdupois. 
 
94 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 might be a more difficult task, as vagrants are 
 usually forbidden to marry ; but even this 
 could be arranged for a small sum of money, a 
 calf, or a good colt. 
 
 Still, as I examined the young vagrant's en- 
 ergetic face, I could guess that he was some- 
 what eccentric. After a while, this face 
 attracted me less than at first, though still it 
 was a pleasant one. The expression of his 
 dark eyes was thoughtful and intelligent ; his 
 features were strong, his manners easy, and in 
 his voice one could distinguish the satisfied 
 ambition of a proud nature. Only, at times, the 
 lower part of his face twitched nervously, and 
 his eyes grew dim. It seemed to require an 
 effort to preserve this calm tone, beneath which 
 a certain sadness, controlled by his will alone, 
 made itself manifest in spite of him. 
 
 At first I could not account for it ; but later 
 I understood all. The habitual vagrant was 
 deceived when he declared himself contented 
 with his life, his house, his cow, his three-year- 
 old ox, and the respect that was shown him. 
 In his inmost soul, he was perfectly sure, 
 although he tried to suppress the conviction, 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 95 
 
 that this commonplace life, in a strange and 
 unloved land, was not to his taste. From the 
 depths of his heart arose a longing for the 
 forest life — that unknown, fascinating, and 
 delusive vista already beckoning him. It was 
 thus that I afterwards understood him. 
 
 At the moment, I only saw that, in spite of 
 his outward calmness, something was torment- 
 ing and troubling him, and a longing was 
 penned up in his soul that demanded an outlet. 
 While I was busy with the samovd,r, Vasili 
 remained before the fireplace, thoughtfully 
 gazing at the flames. When all was ready, I 
 called him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," he said, rising. " I am 
 much obliged for your kind hospitality. Ah ! " 
 he exclaimed, passionately, turning abruptly 
 toward me, " would you believe me that when 
 I saw your fire, my heart leaped, I assure 
 you. I knew it was the fire of a Russian. 
 
 " It was cold and dark wliile I was riding 
 through the fields ; and whenever my horse saw 
 the smoke of a yourt, he was inclined to turn 
 in ; — of course, he is a Yakut beast, and does 
 not know any better. But, for my part, I did 
 
96 ^ SAGIIALINIAN, 
 
 not care to enter at hap-hazard, even though it 
 were a comfortable yourt. To be sure, I could 
 have warmed myself, and even have found 
 some brandy, — but I did not care to do it. 
 When I saw your fire, I thought to myself, This 
 is the place where I should like to rest, if the 
 master will but grant me leave. Thank you 
 for allowing me to remain; and if you ever 
 happen to come our way, do me the favor to 
 call on me. I shall have the wherewithal 
 to entertain you, and you will be most wel- 
 come." 
 
 II. 
 
 Having finished his tea, Vasili seated him- 
 self before the fire. He could not go to bed as 
 yet, for he had to wait for his horse to cool 
 before he could feed it. The Yakut horse is 
 not particularly heavy, but it has great powers 
 of endurance. The natives use these horses to 
 carry butter and other products to the remote 
 mines, to the woods where the Tungus live, 
 and to the distant Oochur,* riding hundreds 
 * A tributary of the Lena. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 97 
 
 of versts through places where to obtain hay is 
 out of the question. When they wish to canip, 
 they sliovel away the snow, make a fire, and drive 
 the horses into the woods, wliere the intelligent 
 creatures provide for themselves, nibbling last 
 year's grass from under the snow, and in the 
 morning are again ready for another long 
 expedition. The animal has, however, one 
 peculiarity. It cannot be fed immediately on 
 arriving from a journey or just before starting, 
 and frequently a well fed horse goes without 
 food for twenty hours or more before starting 
 on a journey. 
 
 Vasili had to wait three hours, and, as I did 
 not feel inclined to go to bed myself, we sat 
 chatting at intervals. Vasili — or Bagylai, as he 
 was in the habit of calling himself — now and 
 then added wood to the fire. This was a habit 
 of his, which he had acquired during the long 
 evenings of the Yakut Winter. 
 
 " Far away," he suddenly exclaimed, after a 
 prolonged silence, as if in answer to his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 "What is far?" I asked. 
 
 " Our country, Russia. . . . Everything is so 
 
98 ^ SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 different here, wliicliever way you tui'n. Take, 
 for instance, tlie cattle, or a horse. Our horses, 
 after a long journey, are fed without delay ; but 
 if this one were to be fed now, it would die. 
 Look at the people ! — They live in the woods, 
 feed on horse-flesh and raw meat ; even carrion 
 is not despised ! It is shocking ! They have 
 no delicacy. — If you open a tobacco-pouch in a 
 yourt, immediately all stretch out their hands, 
 like beggars, and you are obliged to share with 
 them." 
 
 "Well, that is their custom," I replied. 
 "They also give in their turn. They have 
 helped to set you up. ..." 
 
 " Yes. That is true." 
 
 " Do you really feel satisfied with your life ? " 
 I asked, watching him closely. 
 
 He smiled enigmatically. 
 
 " With life ..." he echoed, tossing an- 
 other log into the fire. The flames lighted his 
 face ; his eyes looked dim. 
 
 "Well, sir, if I should begin to tell you! 
 ... I have seen very little good in my life, 
 and little do I see now. Until my eighteenth 
 year it was fairly pleasant, and I lived happily 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 99 
 
 as long as I obeyed my parents. When I 
 ceased obeying thein, my life ended. Since 
 that time, I cannot call it a life — only a vain 
 struggle." 
 
 Shadows flitted across his face, and his lower 
 lip trembled convulsively, like that of a child ; 
 he seemed to be living in imagination in the 
 time when he " obeyed his parents." He had 
 become a child again, and, childlike, was ready 
 to weep over his own ruined life. 
 
 Noticing that I was looking at him intently, 
 he shook his head. 
 
 " It is of no use talking about it ! Wouldn't 
 you like to hear how we escaped from the 
 island of Saglidlin ? " 
 
 Of course, I eagerly assented ; and all night, 
 until the break of day, I listened to the va- 
 grant's tale. 
 
 III. 
 
 On a summer night of 187-, the steamer 
 Nlzhni-N6vgorod was crossing the waters of 
 the Sea of Japan, trailing behtnd it, against 
 the blue sky, a long ribbon of black smoke. 
 
100 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 The steep shore of the Marine Province was 
 visible on the left, through the hazy light of the 
 silvery fog. On the right, the ripples of the 
 Straits of La P^rouse were lost in the distance. 
 The steamer was shaping its course for Sa- 
 ghalin, but the rocky shores of that island were 
 not yet in sight. All on board was quiet and 
 peaceful. On the top of the house might be 
 seen the moonlit figures of the boatswain and 
 the officers on duty, while the flickering lights 
 of the cabins were reflected from the dark sur- 
 face of the ocean. 
 
 The Nizhni-Novgorod was "freighted with 
 convicts " for SaghS,lin. Naval laws are always 
 strict, and on board a ship with such a freight 
 they are still more stringent. During the day- 
 time the convicts, closely guarded, exercised in 
 turn. The rest of the time they remained in 
 their cabin, under deck. There were more con- 
 victs than sentries ; but, to make amends for 
 this inequality, every step and movement of 
 the gray crowd was controlled by a firm hand, 
 a well disciplined crew strictly guarding against 
 the possibility of a mutiny. Indeed, every 
 chance here was taken into consideration, even 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 101 
 
 the improbable : supposing a wild beast were 
 to make its appearance in the midst of this 
 crowd, and, in its despair, defy all danger ; if 
 sliots fired through the grating had no effect, 
 and the ragfino: animal threatened to break down 
 its iron cage, even in such a case the captain 
 would still have a powerful remedy at his com- 
 mand. 
 
 He would only have to call out to the en- 
 gineer's department these words : — 
 " Have lever so and so . . . opened ! " 
 "Aye, aye, sir I" and, instantly, scalding 
 steam would be poured into the convict's quar- 
 ter, as if it were but a hole filled with cock- 
 roaches. This unique and powerful remedy 
 prevented every possibility of a general out- 
 break such as might have been feared from the 
 gray population of the hold. They occupied a 
 large cabin with a low ceiling. In the day- 
 time the light came through small dead-lights, 
 standing out in the dark background like two 
 rows of buttons — decreasing, and finally disap- 
 pearing, on the rounded sides of the steamer's 
 hull. Along the middle of the hold ran a nar- 
 row passage, shaped like a corridor. Iron grat- 
 
102 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 iiigs separated tins passageway from the bunks 
 of the convicts. Here, leaning on muskets, the 
 sentries were posted. Lanterns, in a funereal 
 line, shed a dim light througli this passage in 
 the evening. 
 
 Not a movement of the gray passengers be- 
 hind these bars escaped the eye. Whether a 
 burning tropical sun stood overhead; or the 
 wind whistled through the bending and creak- 
 ing rigging ; or high waves washed the decks 
 in a raging gale, and the steamer groaned 
 under the lashing of the storm, — it was all 
 the same to them — to these hundreds of men, 
 who had no concern with what was going on 
 overhead, or whither their floating prison was 
 steering. 
 
 Meanwhile, under the pressure of this strict 
 regime, the gray population behind the iron 
 bars lived its usual life, and on a certain night 
 — when the steamer was leisurely flapping its 
 wheels, and the glow of its fires was reflected 
 from the undulating surface of the deep ; when 
 the sentries, leaning on their muskets, dozed in 
 the corridors of the hold, and the lanterns, 
 slightly jarred by the sleepless engine, shed 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 103 
 
 their dim and mournful light along the iron- 
 bound passageway, — behind the bars, where 
 the sleeping forms of the convicts rested in 
 motionless rows, there, behind these very- 
 bars, a silent tragedy was enacted. The gray 
 society in shackles executed its own cul- 
 prits. . . . 
 
 The following morning, at the time of the 
 roll-call, three convicts remained in their 
 bunks, unheeding the stern calls of the guards. 
 When the latter went behind the bars and 
 lifted their coverings, it was plainly to be seen 
 that these three would never again answer to 
 the roll-call. 
 
 In every convict artel all the most impor- 
 tant affairs are controlled by an influential and 
 united group, while to the mass — the gray, 
 impersonal crowd — such events are often quite 
 unexpected. Terrified by the ghastly tragedy 
 of the night, the population of the hold was at 
 first hushed. An awkward silence prevailed. 
 Outside, one could hear nothing but the splash- 
 ing of the sea, the noise of the murmuring 
 waves cleft by the steamer's hull and hurrying 
 along in her wake, the panting breath of the 
 
104 ^ SAGnALINIAN. 
 
 engine, and the monotonous strokes of the 
 piston. 
 
 Soon, however, the consequences of the 
 event began to be discussed among the con- 
 victs. The officers did not intend to overlook 
 this unpleasant episode, or to ascribe these 
 deaths to an accident or illness. The proofs 
 of the murder were evident. An investigation 
 was instituted, but the convicts unanimously 
 denied all knowledge of the affair. Perhaps 
 at some other time it would not have been 
 difficult to find several persons among them 
 who, through fear or bribes, could be induced 
 to disclose all they knew ; now, however, apart 
 from the feeling of comradeship, all tongues, 
 were held by fear. No matter how dreaded 
 might be the officials, or how stern their com- 
 mands, the artel was more dreaded still. Un- 
 doubtedly, some must have been awake that 
 night. Certain ears must have heard the stifled 
 sounds of the struggle "under the cover,"* 
 
 * To ^*make a cover" means, in the convict dialect, to 
 kiU a man inside the prison-walls. A long, loose coat worn 
 by the convicts is generally thrown over the head of the vic- 
 tim, in order to deaden his cries. This is called *' making a 
 cover." — Author'' s note. 
 
A 8AGHALINIAN. 105 
 
 the death-rattle, and the panting breath so 
 unlike that of sleeping men ; yet no one, 
 by even a syllable, denounced the perpetra- 
 tors of this terrible crime. The officials were 
 obliged to lay the responsibility upon the 
 acknowledged superintendents of the art^l, 
 the starosta and his assistant. On the same 
 day, they were handcuffed and put in irons. 
 Vasili, who at that time was known by another 
 name, was the assistant. 
 
 Two more days passed, and the affair had 
 been fully discussed by the convicts. It was 
 supposed at first that all traces were con- 
 cealed ; that it would be impossible to dis- 
 cover the culprits ; and that the lawful repre- 
 sentatives of the artdl would only be subjected 
 to a slight disciplinary punishment. To all 
 questions put to them, the convicts had but one 
 straightforward, and plausible answer: "We 
 were asleep." But oil closer investigation the 
 suspicion fell on Vasili. It is true that in 
 such cases as this the art^l always acts in 
 such a way as to prove, conclusively, the inno- 
 cence of the accused parties, and by adopting 
 such a course Vasili could easily have shown 
 
106 ^ SAGIIALINIAN. 
 
 that lie took no part whatever m the tragedy. 
 Nevertheless, while discussing the affairs of 
 the stdrosta's assistant, the experienced con- 
 victs, who had been through fire and water, 
 shook their heads dubiously. 
 
 " I say, my boy," said an old, weather-beaten 
 vagrant, one day, to Vasili, "as soon as we 
 arrive on Saghalin, you had better have your 
 leg3 in readiness. It is a bad business, that 
 affair of yours ! — very bad ! " 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because ... is it the first, or the second 
 time that you have been convicted ? " 
 
 " The second." 
 
 " That's the trouble. And do you remember 
 whom the dead Feydka reported? Was it not 
 you? He was the cause of your being hand- 
 cuffed for a week, was he not ? " 
 
 "You are right." 
 
 "And what did you say to him at the time ? 
 The soldiers heard it ! . Was it not something 
 like a threat ? " - 
 
 Vasili and the others understood the full 
 significance of this remark. 
 
 "Now, my advice to you is to think the 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN, 107 
 
 matter over, and make up your mind to be 
 shot." 
 
 A general murmur followed this speech. 
 
 "Don't talk like an idiot, Buran!" said the 
 convicts, angrily. 
 
 "The old man does not know what he is 
 saying." 
 
 " He is losing his mind from old age. It is 
 a poor joke to talk like that." 
 
 " I am not losing my mind ! " exclaimed the 
 old man, indignantly. " Much you greenhorns 
 know ! You act as though you were in Russia ! 
 — I know the local laws ! I tell you, Vasili, 
 w^hen the report is sent to the governor-gen- 
 eral of the Amur province, you may expect to 
 be shot. Even if, as a great mercy, they whip 
 you with knouts, instead of putting you to 
 death, that will be still worse. You will not 
 survive. You must remember, my dear fellow, 
 that you are on board ship, and that naval laws 
 are twice as strict as land laws. However," he 
 added, feebly, evidently fatigued with such a 
 long discourse, "I don't care what becomes of 
 you all." 
 
 The dim eyes of the old man, with whom life 
 
108 -^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 had dealt so unkindly, had long been used to 
 look at things through a medium of mingled 
 gloom and indifference. He waved his hand 
 despairingly, and walked away. 
 
 Often among such bands of convicts are to 
 be found men fully conversant with the law; 
 and when, after a careful consideration of an 
 affair like the present one, a definite opinion is 
 formed, it is generally confirmed by coming 
 events. In the present case, all the authorities 
 agreeing with Buran, it was decided that Va- 
 sili must escape ; and as it seemed likely that 
 he was to be held responsible for the art^l, the 
 latter considered itself in duty bound to help 
 him. All remnants of biscuits and rusks were 
 made over to Vasili, and he began to "form a 
 party " of such as wished to participate in the 
 attempt to escape. 
 
 As Buran had already twice escaped from 
 Saghdlin, he was naturally among the first who 
 were asked to join. The old man decided with- 
 out hesitating a moment. 
 
 "I am doomed to die in the forest," he 
 said, " and I don't know but that such a 
 death is more becoming for a vagrant. Only, 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 109 
 
 my age is against me ; for I am getting worn 
 out." 
 
 The old man blinked a moment, then, — 
 
 " Go ahead and collect your party," he added. 
 '' It would be useless for two or three to make 
 such an attempt ; the road is too rough. When 
 ten of us are ready, we can start. You may 
 depend on me ; I will walk till my feet refuse to 
 carry me. If it were only my lot to die any- 
 where but on this cursed island ! " 
 
 Bur^n winked rapidly, and tears ran down 
 his weather-beaten face. 
 
 "The old man must be getting feeble," 
 thought Vasili, as he started off to make up 
 the party. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Rounding the precipitous cape, the steamer 
 entered the bay. The convicts gathered about 
 the hatchways, and with feverish curiosity 
 watched the high shores of the island, looming 
 up before them through the evening twilight. 
 
 At nightfall they entered the port. The out- 
 lines of the island had the effect of drawing 
 
110 A SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 nearer as they approaclied, and stood out more 
 clearly defined in their black grandeur. The 
 boat stopped. The sailors formed in line, and 
 the convicts were led out. 
 
 On shore, in the darkness, a few lights were 
 visible ; the water splashed against the beach, 
 the sky was overcast, and a sympathetic cloud 
 of sadness weighed on all hearts. "This is 
 Fort Doue," said Burdn, in an undertone. 
 "Here we shall have to live in barracks at 
 first." 
 
 After roll-call the party was conducted on 
 shore, in the presence of the local officials. 
 Having lived several months continuously on 
 board ship, now the convicts once more walked 
 on solid ground. The steamer on which they 
 had spent so long a time rocked gently in the 
 dusk, softly sighing amid clouds of white 
 steam. 
 
 Lights were moving ahead, and voices were 
 heard. 
 
 "Is this the party?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " Show them the way to barrack No. 7." 
 
 The convicts followed the light. They were 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, HI 
 
 walking in a disorderly line, and were surprised 
 to have no one beside them, urging them on 
 with musket-butts. 
 
 " Say, fellows, there is no escort with us ! " 
 several exclaimed in astonishment. 
 
 " Keep still ! " angrily growled Burdn. 
 " What need is there for an escort ! There is 
 no danger that you will run away, even if you 
 are not guarded. The island is large, and sur- 
 rounded by water. You might die of hunger 
 anywhere. Don't you hear the moaning of 
 the sea ? " 
 
 A heavy wind was rising. The lantern- 
 lights flickered unsteadily under its gusts, and 
 the roar of the sea as it beat on the shore 
 sounded like the raging of an awakened wild 
 beast. 
 
 "Don't you hear it roar?" said Burdn, ad- 
 dressing Vasili. "Look at it," he continued, 
 "'Water all around us, and trouble ahead.' '^ 
 You will have to cross the water ; and think of 
 the distance before you come to the crossing ! 
 ... a desert ! . . . woods and military out- 
 posts ! . . . I have a foreboding that this at- 
 
 * A Russian proverb. — Tr. 
 
112 A SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 tempt will not end well ; — the sea gives us 
 warning. I fear that I shall not escape from 
 Saghdlin ; indeed, I do ! Twice already have 
 I escaped. The first time, I was caught in 
 Blagovestchinsk, and the second time in Rus- 
 sia .. . and I was brought here again. It 
 must be my fate to die on this island." 
 
 "All may turn out well," replied Vasili, 
 encouragingly. 
 
 "You are a young man, and I am worn out. 
 How angrily and mournfully the sea roars ! " 
 
 • The convicts who had occupied barrack No. 
 7 were removed, and the newly arrived party, 
 temporarily guarded, was installed in their 
 place. 
 
 Accustomed to strong bolts and to the con- 
 finement of prison-life, they would have ram- 
 bled over the island like sheep let loose from 
 their enclosures, had they not been thus guarded 
 at first. The old convicts, who had already 
 been living there for some time, were not locked 
 up; for, becoming gradually familiar with the 
 conditions of their exile, they had reached the 
 conclusion that an attempt to escape is a dan- 
 gerous undertaking, and usually means certain 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 113 
 
 death to those who attempt it; for only the 
 most resolute and determined characters, after 
 long and careful preparations, try this experi- 
 ment — and such as they might be shut in by 
 ten locks and yet would try to escape either 
 from prison or from out-of-door labor. 
 
 "Now, Bur^n, you must advise us," said 
 Vasili to him, on the •third day after their 
 arrival. " You are our leader, and you will liave 
 to go ahead ; so give us our orders. I suppose 
 we ouglit to be getting ready." 
 
 " Wliat can I advise ! " replied the old man, 
 reluctantly. " It is not an easy undertaking, 
 and I am growing old. Well," after a pause, 
 " about three days hence, the sentries will be 
 witlidrawn, and we shall be sent out to work. 
 Besides, we are free to come and go at any 
 time ; only, one is not allowed to carry any 
 bag. That is all there is to it." 
 
 " Do advise us, Buran, my good fellow ; you 
 know what is best." 
 
 Buran looked gloomy and careworn. He 
 rarely spoke to any one, but muttered inces- 
 santly to himself. It seemed as if this old va- 
 grant, who for the third time had been brought 
 
114 A SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 back to the same place, was now losing his 
 energy. 
 
 However, Vasili had in the meantime suc- 
 ceeded in securing ten more able-bodied men, 
 and was teasing Buran, in the hope of rousing 
 him and of awakening his ardor. In this he 
 sometimes succeeded, but eventually the old 
 man always reverted to the difficulties of the 
 road and bad omens. "I shall never escape 
 from this island," he said, repeatedly, a sentence 
 which expressed the depression of the unsuc- 
 cessful vagrant. Nevertheless, in his brighter 
 moods, the recollection of former attempts 
 cheered him, and in the evening, when lying 
 in his bunk beside Vasili, he would talk to him 
 about the island and the roads that they in- 
 tended to follow. 
 
 Fort Done lies on the western side of the 
 island, facing the Asiatic shore. The Tartar 
 Straits at this place are about three hundred 
 versts in width ; to attempt to cross in an open 
 boat would be out of the question, and the 
 vagrants naturally follow either this or the 
 opposite shore of the island. 
 
 " If you are anxious to die, you can go any- 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 115 
 
 where you like," Buran was in the habit of 
 saying ; " tlie island is large, a wilderness and 
 a forest. Even the native Ghil4ks, who are 
 well used to it, find few places where they can 
 settle. If you go east, you run the risk of 
 losing your way among the rocks, or of being 
 pecked to death by hungry birds, or, if you 
 live, you will probably go back of your own 
 accord, when winter comes. If you go south, 
 you will reach the end of the island and come 
 to the ocean, which can only be crossed in a 
 ship. There is but one road for us to follow, 
 and that is to the north, skirting the shore for 
 the entire distance. The sea will be our guide. 
 After travelling some three hundred versts, 
 we shall come to narrow straits, and it is there 
 that we must cross in boats to the Amur shore. 
 Only, let me tell you, my boy," here Burdn fell 
 into his usual doleful strain, " we shall have 
 trouble in passing the military outposts. The 
 first one is called Varki, the second Panghi, 
 and the last one P6ghib,* called so because it 
 is usually here that we perish. And dear me ! 
 how cunningly these outposts are placed! 
 
 ♦Peril.— Tb. 
 
116 A SAGIIALINIAN. 
 
 Wherever a hillock rises, behind it you find an 
 outpost. You are marching along, and stumble 
 upon it without warning. The Lord have 
 mercy on us ! " 
 
 "But you have already been twice over the 
 ground! " 
 
 "That is true." And the dull eyes of the 
 old man kindled. " Listen to what I say, and 
 do as I bid you. Shortly they will call on 
 those who wish to volunteer as workmen in 
 the mill. Have your names put down on the 
 list; and when they are sending the provisions 
 thither, put your rusks and biscuits in the cart. 
 Peter, a former convict, has charge of the mill. 
 Then will be the time for you to escape, — I 
 mean, when you get to the mill. You will not 
 be missed for three days. That is the way 
 things are managed here. You can miss the 
 roll-call for three days before any notice is 
 taken of it. The doctor objects to corporal 
 punishment, because the hospital is in such a 
 wretched condition. If any one gets tired out 
 and becomes ill from working, he goes into the 
 woods instead of going to the hospital, and 
 often recovers in the open air. But if he does 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 117 
 
 not put in an appearance on the third day, he 
 is considered missing; and were he to come 
 back of his own accord, it would make no - 
 difference — he might as well make up liis mind, 
 at once, to be flogged." 
 
 "At any rate, I hope we shall escape the flog- 
 ging," replied Vasili ; "if we succeed in getting 
 away, we will not return of our own accord." 
 
 "And if you don't," growled Buran, "it 
 will be all the same ; it will end in the crows 
 devouring your carcass, as it lies not far from 
 one of the outposts. The soldiers have no 
 time to fool away for your sake; they won't 
 escort you back hundreds of versts. Wher- 
 ever they see you, they will shoot you down, 
 and there is the end of it." 
 
 " Stop croaking, you old raven ! Remember, 
 we start to-morrow. Tell Bobr6f what we 
 need, and tlie art^l will supply us." 
 
 The old man mumbled some reply, and left 
 him with downcast head, while Vasili went to 
 his comrades and bade them get ready. He 
 had given up the duties of starosta's assistant 
 some time before, and another man had been 
 chosen in his place. The fugitives packed their 
 
118 A SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 bags, exchanged their clothes for the strongest 
 that could be found, and the next day volun- 
 teered to work on the mill. That very day 
 they all left work, and lud themselves in the 
 woods. Burdn alone was not among them. 
 
 It was a well selected party. Among Vasili's 
 comrades were a personal friend of his, called 
 Voloydka Makdrof, a strong and agile man, 
 who had already escaped twice from Kara ; two 
 Circassians, determined fellows, and invaluable 
 as faithful comrades ; and a Tartar, a great 
 rogue, but skilful and ingenious. The rest 
 were also vagrants, who had more than once 
 wandered through Siberia. 
 
 Already the fugitives had been one day in 
 the woods; . . . the night had passed, and the 
 greater part of the following day; still no 
 Burdn. The Tartar was sent to the barracks 
 to look him up. On arriving, he secretly called 
 out an old convict, Bobiof, a friend of Vasili's, 
 a man who had great influence among his com- 
 rades. The next morning, Bobrof came to the 
 spot where the fugitives were concealed. 
 
 "Well, comrades, how can I help you? " 
 
 " Send Burdn to us at once. We cannot 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN. 119 
 
 start without hiin ; and if lie is waiting because 
 lie needs something, help him to get it. We 
 are all waiting for him." 
 
 When Bobr6f returned to the barracks, he 
 saw that Buran had made no preparations 
 whatever for starting. He found him walking 
 restlessly about the barracks, talking to himself, 
 and gesticulating wildly. 
 
 "What are you about, Burdn?" he called 
 out to him. 
 
 " Why, what is that to you ? " 
 
 " How, what is that to me ? Why are you 
 not getting ready ? " 
 
 " I am getting ready for my grave ; that is 
 what I am getting ready for." 
 
 This answer provoked Bobr6f. 
 
 "What do you mean? Don't you know 
 that the boys have already been three days 
 in the bushes? Do you want to get them 
 whipped? And you- call yourself an old 
 vagrant I " 
 
 These reproaches touched the old man to 
 the quick. 
 
 " My time has gone by. I shall never escape 
 from this island. ... I am worn out!" 
 
120 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 " Whether you are worn out or not, that 4s 
 your own affair. Supposing you do not reach 
 the end of your journey in safety, supposing 
 you die on the way, you will not be blamed for 
 that; but what if through any fault of yours 
 eleven men were to be whipped? You see, the 
 responsibility resting on you obliges you to go. 
 If I should report this to the artel, what do 
 you think they would do to you ? " 
 
 " I know it all," replied Buran ; " they would 
 'cover' me, and I should deserve it. It is 
 not becoming for an old vagrant to die 
 such a death. It seems as though it were 
 my fate to go. Only, I have made no prepa- 
 rations." 
 
 " We will get you ready at once. What do 
 you want ? " 
 
 "Well, in the first place, I want twelve good 
 new coats." 
 
 " But every man has a coat of his own ! " 
 
 "You mind what I say!" replied Buran, with 
 a show of temper. "I know that they have 
 one apiece ; but they need two. Each one will 
 have to give the Ghilaks a coat for ferrjdng 
 him across. Besides, I want twelve good 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN, 121 
 
 knives, about three-quarters of an arshin* 
 long, two hatchets, and three kettles." 
 
 Bobr6f called a meeting of the artel, and 
 stated the case. Whoever had a good coat 
 gave it to the vagrants. Every convict has an 
 instinctive sympathy with each daring attempt 
 to escape from their four prison-walls. Knives 
 and kettles were furnished, some being bought, 
 and some given by the convict settlers. In two 
 days everything was ready. Thirteen days had 
 already passed since the arrival of the party on 
 the island, and the following morning Bobr6f 
 accompanied Burdn to the hiding-place of the 
 convicts, assisting him to carry the provisions. 
 
 In accordance with an old convict regulation, 
 the men "stood up for prayers," something 
 like a Te Deum was read for the occasion, and, 
 bidding good-by to Bobrof, they started on 
 their journey. 
 
 " How you must have enjoyed starting ! " I 
 exclaimed, observing the animated expression 
 and the cheerful voice of the narrator. 
 * About three-quarters of a yard. 
 
122 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 " Indeed, we did ! As we left the bushes 
 and entered the woods, it seemed as though we 
 had been born anew. We were very happy^ 
 Buran, alone, with downcast head, was march- 
 ing in advance, muttering something to him- 
 self. He did not start in a cheerful mood ; he 
 may have felt that he had not far to go. We 
 soon perceived that our leader was not to be 
 relied on, although he was an experienced 
 vagrant, having twice escaped from Sagh41in, 
 and was familiar with the road, walking along 
 without hesitation like a dog following a trail, 
 still my friend Voloydka and myself mistrusted 
 him. 
 
 "'Look out,' he said to me, 'lest we get into 
 trouble with Burdn. Can't you see that he 
 does not act like himself ! ' 
 
 " ' What makes you think so ? ' I said. 
 
 " ' Something must be the matter with him. 
 He talks to himself, shaking his head now and 
 then, and has given us no orders. We ought 
 to have halted long before this ; but on he 
 walks, regardless of us. I tell you he is not as 
 he should be.' 
 
 " Feeling sure that something was wrong, we 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 123 
 
 made haste to overtake him, exclaiming as we 
 came up : — 
 
 "'Uncle! — I say, uncle! Why don't we 
 halt ? Isn't it time to rest awhile ? ' 
 
 *'He turned, looked at us, then went on 
 again. 
 
 " ' Don't be in such a hurry to rest ; the 
 bullets will give you time for that at Vdrki 
 or at Poghib, and it will be a thorough rest 
 too.' 
 
 " ' The deuce take you ! ' we thought to our- 
 selves ; but we did not venture to oppose him, 
 for he was an old vagrant, and it Avas very pos- 
 sible that we were in the wrong. It would per- 
 haps be wiser to travel as far as we could the 
 first day. 
 
 "After walking for some time, Vol6ydka 
 nudged me again. 
 
 " ' I say, Vasili, we had better be on the look- 
 out!' 
 
 " ' Why, what's the matter now ? ' 
 
 " ' When we started, we were twenty versts 
 from Vdrki ; we have surely travelled eighteen, 
 and we must take care not to stumble on an 
 outpost.' 
 
124 -4 SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 " ' Burdn ! — I say, Buraii ! uncle ! ' he called 
 out. 
 
 '' ' What do you want ? ' 
 
 "^Varki can't be far off.' 
 
 " ' We are nowhere near it,' replied Burd-n, 
 and off he started again. 
 
 " A catastrophe was close at hand, but, luckily 
 for us, we spied a small boat moored in the 
 river, close to the shore. As soon as we saw 
 it, we all stopped. Mak^rof had to hold Burdn 
 by main force. If a boat were there, surely 
 there must be a dwelling not far away. ' Halt, 
 boys, and hide in the bushes ! ' 
 
 " Following the course of the stream, we en- 
 tered the woods. Hills covered with birches 
 rose on either side. 
 
 " From early spring the island is veiled 
 in fog, and on this day, as usual, a thick 
 mist enveloped it. As we climbed the hill, 
 a breeze sprang up and drove the fog into 
 the sea. 
 
 " Suddenly, at the foot of the hill, we dis- 
 covered the outpost, almost directly at our feet. 
 Dogs were sleeping in the yard, and soldiers 
 walking about. We were indeed dismayed, for 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN, 125 
 
 we had barely escaped the very jaws of the 
 wolf. 
 
 " ' How is this, uncle Burdn ! ' we said ; ' see 
 the outpost down there ? ' 
 
 '*'Sure enough, it is! this is Varki,' he re- 
 plied. 
 
 " ' See here, uncle I ' we said, ' you mustn't be 
 vexed, but we have come to the conclusion 
 that, even tliough you are our senior, we must 
 look out for ourselves ; we fear we may get 
 into trouble if we follow your directions.' 
 
 " The old man wepL 
 
 u 4 Forgive me, comrades, for Christ's sake ! — 
 I am old,' he said. ' Forty years I have been 
 on the tramp, and am worn out ; my memory 
 fails me. I remember some things, and I for- 
 get others. Don't be too hard on me ! We 
 must make haste and leave this place as soon as 
 possible, for if somebody from the outpost hap- 
 pened to go berrying, or the dogs were to get 
 on our scent, all would be lost ! ' 
 
 " We started forward, discussing this matter 
 as we went along, and decided to watch Bur4n. 
 I was chosen leader, to determine the time and 
 place for halting and to make all necessary ar- 
 
126 ^ SAGUALINIAN, 
 
 rangements. Buraii was still to walk ahead, 
 for he alone knew the way. His feet were 
 tough ; faint as he often grew with fatigue, they 
 never failed him, as he went waddling along. 
 And thus he walked till he drew his last 
 breath. 
 
 " We followed the highlands, a safer although 
 more difficult course. On the hills the woods 
 rustled and the streams ran playfully over their 
 rocky beds. The Ghilak aborigines live in the 
 valleys, by the river-banks, or by the sea-side, 
 because they feed on fish, of which there is so 
 great a quantity that one who has not seen for 
 himself could hardly believe the accounts — we 
 used to catch them with our hands. 
 
 " Thus we cautiously advanced, sniffing the 
 air as we walked along. Wherever we deemed 
 it safe, we came down to the sea-shore or to the 
 bank of some river ; but if there was the slight- 
 est suspicion of danger, we ascended to the 
 highlands at once, carefully avoiding the out- 
 posts, which are stationed at irregular intervals. 
 In some places they are posted fifteen and in 
 others perhaps fifty versts apart. So irregular 
 were the intervals, it was impossible to divine 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 127 
 
 their location. But the Lord was merciful to 
 us ; and we escaped all of them, until we came 
 to the very last one." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here the narrator frowned, and relapsed into 
 silence. After a while he rose. 
 
 " But how did it end ? " I inquired. 
 
 " It seems to me that my horse must be dry 
 by this time. ... I must unfasten him." 
 
 We went out into the yard. The frost had 
 diminished, and the fog was lifted. The vagrant 
 looked at the sky. 
 
 " It must be after midnight," he said, gazing 
 at the stars. Divested of the veil of fog, tlie 
 yourts of the neighboring settlement had now 
 become plainly visible. The village was sleep- 
 ing. White columns of smoke rose leisurely 
 and indolently into the air ; only now and then 
 from some chimney a shower of sparks sud- 
 denly flew up, madly leaping in the frosty air. 
 The Yakuts keep their fires going all night, for 
 the heat escapes quickly from their short, open 
 chimneys, and it is the habit of each person 
 
128 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 who cliaiices to wake, made restless perhaps ly 
 the cold, to throw on fresh logs. 
 
 The vagrant remained silent for some time, 
 gazing at the village. 
 
 " This reminds me of our villages," he said, 
 with a sigh. " It is a long time since I have 
 seen one. The Yakuts in their districts live 
 apart, like wild beasts. ... I wish I could 
 move to this part of the country. I might 
 perhaps endure life here." 
 
 " Can't you endure it in your own district ? 
 You have a farm there, I think. You said, just 
 now, that you were satisfied with your life." 
 
 For some time he made no reply. 
 
 " I cannot bear it ! I wish I might never 
 see this country again ! " 
 
 He went up to his horse, felt of his neck, 
 and patted him. The intelligent animal turned 
 his head and neighed. 
 
 " All right, all right ! " said Vasili, caress- 
 ingly ; " you may go now. ... I intend racing 
 with the Tartars," he continued ; " he is a good 
 horse. I have trained him so that he can 
 compete with any of them. He goes like the 
 wind." 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 129 
 
 He took off the bridle, and the horse trotted 
 off to the hay. We returned to the yourt. 
 
 Vasili's face was still gloomy. He seemed to 
 have forgotten or perhaps was unwilling to 
 continue his story ; but I reminded him 
 of it, saying that I was anxious to hear the 
 end. 
 
 " There is not much to tell," he replied, 
 reluctantly, " and what is the use ? It is a 
 sad story ; but, as I began it, I suppose I may 
 as- well finish it. . . . We travelled in this way 
 twelve days longer, and still we had not 
 reached the end of Saghalin, whereas we ought 
 to have crossed to the Amur by the eighth 
 day, and all this was due to lack of confidence 
 in our leader. Instead of going by the easier 
 way wherever it were possible, we travelled 
 across the highlands, sometimes through 
 ravines, sometimes plunging into the depths 
 of forests, now crossing barren spots, now 
 forcing our way through thickets. ._,/ . It was 
 slow work. Our provisions were nearly ex- 
 hausted, for we had only taken food enough 
 to last twelve days. . . . We had to cut down 
 our rations. The supply of biscuits grew short, 
 
130 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 and every one had in a measure to provide for 
 himself. Berries, however, were plenty, and 
 finally we reached an estuary of the sea. The 
 water was naturally salt; but when, at times, 
 the flow of the Amur rushed in greater volume 
 than usual, it became fresh. Well, now we had 
 to think of providing boats to cross to the 
 Amur side. We were anxiously talking over 
 our plans, and wanted Bur4n to advise us. 
 The old man had weakened perceptibly ; . . . 
 his eyes had grown dim, day by day he lost 
 flesh, and we could get no advice from him, 
 ' Get the boats from the Ghil4ks,' he said ; but 
 where to find the Ghildks, or how to obtain the 
 boats, he seemed unable to tell. So Vol6ydka 
 and I said to the boys : ' You had better 
 remain here, and we will follow the shore, and 
 may possibly chance to fall in with some of the 
 natives and to obtain one or two boats. In the 
 meantime, be on your guard, for there must be 
 an outpost somewhere near by.' 
 
 "Most of the boys remained behind, while 
 three of us, following the shore, went on. 
 After a while we came out upon a cliff that 
 overhung the river, on the banks of which we 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 131 
 
 saw a Ghildk mending his sails. God must 
 have sent Orkun to us." 
 
 " What djpes ' Orkun ' mean ? Was that his 
 name ? " I inquired. 
 
 "I am sure, I don't know," replied Vasfli. 
 " It may have been his name, but I think that 
 in the Ghildk language it means *starosta' — I 
 am not positive. I only know that, as we 
 approached him cautiously lest he might run 
 away, he pointed to himself, repeating : ' Orkun, 
 Orktin ' ; but what ' Orkun ' meant, we did not 
 understand. However, we spoke to him. 
 Voldydka took a stick and drew a boat on the 
 sand, as much as to say, 'This is what we need.' 
 The Ghildk understood him at once; he 
 nodded, and raised his fingers — two at first, 
 then five, then the whole ten. For a long time 
 we could not understand what he meant ; but 
 at last Makd,rof guessed. 
 
 '' ' He wants to know how many there are of 
 us, and what kind of boat we need ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, yes ! of course, that is what he 
 means ! ' and we made signs to the Ghildk that 
 there were twelve of us. He nodded again, so 
 as to let us know that he understood that also. 
 
 ■'\ Q R A F? 7^ 
 ^ E 
 
 SITY 
 
132 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 Then he asked us to take him to the rest of 
 our party. We hesitated ; — and yet what was 
 there to be done ? We could not cross the sea 
 on foot, so we carried him back with us. 
 
 " Our comrades blamed us. ' Why did you 
 bring this Ghildk here? Do you want to 
 betray us ? ' But what could we have done ? 
 'Keep still!' we replied; 'we are managing this 
 business ! ' Meanwhile, the Ghildk was walking 
 calmly about, examining our coats. We gave 
 him all the extra ones, which he strapped up, 
 and, shouldering them, started on his way, and 
 we, as a matter of course, followed him. A 
 few Ghilak yourts stood below, forming a sort 
 of settlement. 
 
 "'What are we to do now, boys? He has 
 gone to the village to call out the inhabitants.' 
 
 '"What of that ! ' we said. ' There are but 
 four yourts in all ; how many people can there 
 be, do you suppose ! There are twelve of us, 
 and our knives are three-quarters of an arshm 
 long . . . besides, the Ghilaks are not equal to 
 Russians in strength. Tliey live on fish, and 
 we live on bread. How much strength can any 
 one gain living on such food ! They are not 
 
A SAGUALINIAN, 133 
 
 to be compared with us ! ' But, to tell the 
 truth, I too was somewhat alarmed lest misfor- 
 tune should befall us. I thought to myself, 'We 
 have reached the end of Saghalin ; will it ever 
 be our luck to cross to the Amur side, looming 
 up with its blue mountains in the distance? If 
 only it were possible to become a bird and fly 
 across ! But " though the elbow is near, one 
 cannot bite it.'" * 
 
 "After we had waited for some time, we saw 
 a party of Ghilaks coming toward us, with 
 Orkun at the head; all were armed with spears. 
 'You see,' said the boys, 'the Ghil4ks are com- 
 ing to fight.' — 'Well, let them come. Get 
 your knives ready, boys, and don't let your- 
 selves be taken without a struggle. Stand on 
 your guard ! Not a man must be taken alive ! 
 If one is to be killed, it cannot be helped, — • 
 that's his fate ; but stand up and defend your- 
 selves as long as you have breath in your body ! 
 Let us escape or perish together ! Make a bold 
 stand, boys ! ' 
 
 "We suspected the Ghilaks without any 
 cause. When Orkun saw that we were pre- 
 
 * Russian proverb. — Tn. 
 
134 ^ SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 paring to defend ourselves against an attack, 
 he disarmed his people, giving all the spears 
 to one man, and thus approached us. When 
 we became convinced that the Ghilaks were 
 dealing honorably with us, we went with them 
 to the spot where their boats were hauled up, 
 ready for us. There were two of them, of dif- 
 ferent sizes. The larger boat would hold eight, 
 and the rest of the party were to go in a small 
 one. 
 
 "The boats were ours; but we could not 
 cross at present, for the wind had sprung up 
 from the direction of the Amur, and large 
 waves were dashing on our shore. In rough 
 weather it would be impossible to cross in such 
 boats, and we therefore were obliged to remain 
 on shore two days longer. 
 
 "Meanwhile, the provisions gave out, and, 
 beside the fish that Orkiin had kindly given us, 
 we had nothing but berries to keep us alive. 
 This lasted us four days. A worthy and honest 
 Ghilak was Orktin ; I often think of him now, 
 God bless him ! 
 
 "Another day passed, and still the wind pre- 
 vented us from starting. It was a great disap- 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 135 
 
 pointment. The night wore away, and yet the 
 wind had not abated ; it was hard to bear ! 
 During these four windy days the Amur shore 
 stood out clearer than ever, for the fog had 
 entirely disappeared. All this time, Burdu 
 remained seated on a rock, his eyes fixed on 
 the opposite shore. He neither spoke nor did 
 he, like the others, go in search of berries. 
 Whenever one of us, taking pity on him, 
 brought him berries, he ate them, but would 
 not take the trouble to get them for himself. 
 It may have been that the heart of the old 
 man was sick with longing, or perhaps he was 
 conscious of the approach of death. 
 
 "Finally, our patience was exhausted, and 
 we made up our minds that when night came 
 on we would start. Not daring to run the 
 risk in the daytime, lest the soldiers from 
 the outpost should perceive us, we thought 
 we might venture by night with less risk 
 of detection, hoping, by God's help, to cross 
 in safety. 
 
 "In the straits, the wind blew as hard as 
 ever ; white-caps danced here and there, and 
 the sea-gulls shrieked like evil spirits. The 
 
136 ^ SAGIIALINIAN. 
 
 rocky shore groaned as the sea dashed madly 
 against it. 
 
 "•'Let us lie down and sleep, boys,' I said; 
 ' the moon rises at midnight, and then, by God's 
 help, we will start ; that will be no time to rest, 
 and we shall need all our strength for the 
 journey.' 
 
 " They heeded my advice, and all threw 
 themselves on the ground. We had selected 
 a place on the shore, near the cliffs, where we 
 could not be seen from below, — trees conceal- 
 ing us. Buran alone did not fall asleep, — he 
 sat watching the west. When we lay down 
 the sun was still high above the horizon, and 
 it was quite early in the evening. 
 
 " I made the sign of the cross, listened for a 
 whrle to the wind whistling through the forest, 
 then dropped asleep. We were off our guard, 
 unconscious that misfortune was about to be- 
 fall us. 
 
 "How long we slept, I cannot say. All at 
 once I heard Buran calling me. I awoke and 
 saw that the sun was about to set, and that 
 the sea had grown calm. Burdn, with widely 
 dilated eyes, was standing beside me. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 137 
 
 " ' Get up ; they have come after our souls 
 already . . .' he exclaimed, pointing to the 
 bushes. 
 
 " I started, and in the direction towards 
 which he was pointing I saw the soldiers, the 
 nearest one aiming at us, another following 
 him ; while three more were running down the 
 hill, pointing their guns at us. I was wide- 
 awake in a moment, and called to the boys. 
 They too woke, and sprang instantly to their 
 feet. The nearest soldier was the only one 
 who had time to fire before we were upon 
 them." 
 
 A suppressed emotion choked Vasili's voice ; 
 he hung his head. A partial darkness envel- 
 oped the yourt, for he had forgotten to throw 
 in fresh logs. 
 
 ''I ought not to have told this story," he 
 said. 
 
 "Why not? But you must finish it, now 
 that you have begun ! " 
 
 " Well, there is not much to tell ; you can 
 easily guess the rest. There were but five 
 of them, and we were twelve. Besides, they 
 expected to catch us asleep, and shoot us down 
 
138 ^ SAGIIALINIAN, 
 
 like woodcocks ; instead of that, we hardly 
 gave them time to combine their forces or to 
 decide what they ought to do. . . . Yon know, 
 we had long knives. . . . They fired one hasty 
 volley, and missed. . . . Then, as they had 
 started down the hill, they were unable to 
 stop. Would you believe it ! " he continued, in 
 a mournful voice, lifting his sad eyes, "they 
 did not even know how to defend themselves 
 — beating the air with their bayonets, as if 
 defending themselves from a pack of hounds, 
 while we beset them like a pack of wolves ! 
 ... One soldier grazed my leg with his bayo- 
 net ; I stumbled and fell, and he over me, 
 Makdrof falling on us both. We got up, — 
 Makdrof and I, — but the soldier remained 
 where he fell. 
 
 "As I rose, I saw that the last two men had 
 run up the hill. Their officer, Saltdnof, was 
 a brave and fearless fellow, whose fame had 
 spread far and wide. Even the Ghilaks feared 
 him as they did the Evil Spirit, and many con- 
 victs had been killed by his hand. 
 
 " There were two Circassians among us — 
 daring fellows, and as agile as cats. One of 
 
A SAGUALINIAN. 139 
 
 them threw himself on Saltauof. They had 
 met half-way up the hill. Saltauof fired his re- 
 volver at him ; the Circassian ducked, and both 
 fell to the ground. The other Circassian, 
 thinking that his friend had been killed, threw 
 himself on Saltdnof, and we had not time to 
 breathe before, in the twinkling of an eye, he 
 had severed Saltan of s head with his knife. 
 
 " He jumped on his feet, . . . grinned, . . . 
 and held the head in the air. . . . We were 
 struck dumb. . . . Shrieking something in his 
 own language, he swung the head around, and 
 tossed it up. ... It flew high above the trees, 
 and disappeared behind the cliff. . . . We 
 were awe-stricken. . . . We heard the splash 
 as it fell into the sea. 
 
 " The last soldier had paused on the hill ; we 
 saw him throwing away his musket, and cover- 
 ing his face with his hands as he ran away. 
 We did not pursue' him, thinking, 'Escape, 
 poor soul, if you can.' He was the only sur- 
 viving man on the outpost. There had been 
 twenty of them, but thirteen had gone over to 
 the Amur side, where the high wind had de- 
 tained them ; and the remaining six were killed. 
 
140 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 " All was over, and yet we were frightened. 
 Glancing at each other, we could not at once 
 realize whether it had been a dream or a real- 
 ity. Just then we heard some one groaning 
 behind us, and under the trees, on the very 
 spot where we had been sleeping, sat Baran, 
 moaning. He had been shot by the first 
 soldier, but did not die till the sun had 
 set behind the hill. We were inexpressibly 
 grieved. 
 
 "We went to him and found him sitting 
 under a cedar-tree; his eyes were filled with 
 tears, and, pressing his hands to his chest, he 
 beckoned to me. 
 
 "'Let the boys dig a grave for me,' he said. 
 'You cannot start before night, at any rate, on 
 account of the danger of meeting the rest of 
 the soldiers in the straits. Bury me here, for 
 Christ's sake ! ' 
 
 " ' Hush, hush, uncle Burdn ! God bless 
 you ! ' I said. ' How can we dig a grave for a 
 living man ? We will take you across to the 
 Amur, and then carry you in our arms.' 
 
 " 'No, my boy ; it is useless to contend with 
 fate, and I am sure it is my fate to remain on 
 
A SAGTIALINIAN. 141 
 
 tliis island. So you liad better do as I say, for 
 I have long felt that this was going to happen. 
 All my life 1 have tried to escape from Siberia 
 into Russia ; I wish I could, at least, die on 
 Siberian soil, and not on this cursed island.' 
 
 "I confess that Burdn took me entirely by 
 surprise ; for now he spoke sensibly, quite like 
 a different being, and seemed fully conscious. 
 His eyes looked bright ; his voice only sounded 
 weak. He gathered us about him and gave us 
 the following instructions : — 
 
 " ' Listen to me, boys, and remember what I 
 tell you ; you will not have me with you when 
 you travel through Siberia, since it is my fate 
 to remain here. It will be dangerous business 
 for you, the more so for having killed Saltdnof. 
 The report of this deed will travel far. It will 
 be known not only in Irkutsk but throughout 
 Russia ; and in Nikoldevsk they will be on the 
 watch for you. Be on your guard, boys ; travel 
 cautiously ; rather suffer cold and hunger than 
 run. the risk of capture; avoid cities and vil- 
 lages as much as possible. Do not fear the 
 Ghilaks ; they will not harm you. And remem- 
 ber what I am going to tell you about the road 
 
142 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 on the Amur side ; a little beyond the town of 
 Nikoldevsk lives our benefactor, the clerk of 
 Merchant Tarkhanof. He traded formerly with 
 the Ghildks on the island of Saghalin, and once 
 while travelling with his merchandise he lost 
 his way in the mountains. He was not then on 
 good terms with the Ghilaks. Overtaking him 
 in an unfrequented spot in the ravine, they 
 nearly killed him. 
 
 "*We happened to be tramping about the 
 same time. ... I was escaping for the first 
 time. . . . Hearing the cries of a Russian in 
 the woods, we hurried to his rescue, and, by 
 delivering him from the hands of the Ghildks, 
 won his lasting gratitude. 
 
 " * " I must take care of the Saghalinian boys 
 to my dying day," he said, and, indeed, he has 
 helped us a great deal. Find him, and he will 
 be sure to assist you in every Avay he can.' 
 Then he told us of the different roads, giving 
 us all the necessary directions, and finally 
 said : — 
 
 "'Now, boys, you had better lose no time. 
 This spot suits me ; dig my grave here, Vasili, 
 that the wind from the Amur shore may blow 
 
A SAGUALINIAN. 143 
 
 over my grave, and that my spirit may hear the 
 sound of the sea dashing against the rocks. 
 Don't tarry, boys, but make haste and go to 
 work.' 
 
 " We obeyed him. 
 
 " There, under the cedar-tree, sat the old man 
 while we were digging his grave with our 
 knives ; after we had finished, a prayer was 
 read. In the meantime, Bur^n had become 
 silent, only nodding his head, while tears ran 
 down his cheeks. He died at sunset, and 
 shortly after dark we buried him. 
 
 "The moon had risen as we reached the 
 middle of the straits, and it was quite light. 
 We looked back and took off our caps. . . . 
 Behind us rose the island of Saghdlin, with its 
 hills, and we saw the cedar-tree by Burdn's 
 grave. 
 
 VIT. 
 
 "When we reached the Amur shore, the 
 Ghildks said to us : ' Saltdnof . . . head . . . 
 water. . . .' The natives are shrewd ; the mag- 
 ^-*'^p. so to speak, carry news on their tails. 
 
144 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 No matter what happens, they are sure to hear 
 of it at once. We met several of them by the 
 shore, fishing, who nodded -laughingly at us. 
 Evidently, they too were pleased ; but we 
 thought to ourselves. It is very well for you 
 to laugh, you imps, while we have to suffer for 
 it. That head may cost us our own ! They 
 gave us fish, and, after inquiring about the 
 way, we started on, walking as though we 
 were treading on eggs, every sound startling 
 us. All the time we were on the lookout, 
 avoiding dwellings and the Russian huts, and 
 concealing our tracks as we went on. 
 
 " We travelled by night, resting all day in 
 the woods. At dawn we reached Tarkhanof's 
 place. A new house stood in the field ; it was 
 fenced in, and the gates were closed. Judging 
 from the description that it was the one Buran 
 had told us about, we approached and knocked 
 softly. Some one was starting a fire inside. 
 ' Who is there, and whence do you come ? ' a 
 man's voice called out. 
 
 " ' We are vagrants,' we replied. ' Bur^u 
 sends his regards to Stakhey Mitritch.' 
 
 " Stakhey Mitritch, Tarkhanof's head clerk, 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 145 
 
 happened to be away at this time, and in his 
 absence had left his assistant in charge, tell- 
 ing him, in case any vagrants should arrive 
 from Saghdlin, to provide them with boots and 
 sheepskin coats, and to give them five rubles 
 apiece. Furthermore, to furnish them with 
 as much linen and provisions as they required. 
 ' No matter how many there may be, provide 
 enough for all. Get your workmen together 
 as witnesses, so that your accounts will be in 
 proper shape.' 
 
 " The news of Saltanof s fate had reached 
 here also, and the clerk was frightened when 
 he saw us. 
 
 "'Are you the men who killed Saltanof?' 
 he said. ' You will have to look out for your- 
 selves.' 
 
 " ' Whether we did or not, that is not 
 the subject we wish to discuss. What we 
 would like to know -is whether we can ex- 
 pect any assistance from you. We are re- 
 quested to convey Burdn's regards to Stakhey 
 Mitritch.' 
 
 "'And where is Burdn himself? Did he 
 return to the island ? ' 
 
146 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 " ' Yes, he returned to the island, and he 
 wishes you a long life.' * 
 
 " ' May he inherit the kingdom of heaven ! 
 . . . He was a worthy vagrant, although per- 
 haps not very shrewd. Stakhdy Mitritch 
 often spoke of him. I dare say, he will have 
 his name put down for prayers. What was his 
 Christian name ? Do you know, boys ? ' 
 
 " ' No, we do not. He was always called 
 Bur^n. Most likely, he had forgotten it him- 
 self; of what use is a name to a vagrant ? ' 
 
 " ' Now you see the result of such a life as 
 yours ! Is it not sad that when the priest 
 wishes to pray for you he cannot utter your 
 name. . . . The old man may have had rela- 
 tions in his native land, . . . brothers and 
 sisters, or perhaps even children. . . .' 
 
 "• ' Very likely. Though a vagrant discards 
 his name, he is born into the world like the 
 rest of humanity. . . .' 
 
 " ' A hard life, indeed ! ' 
 
 " ' None worse. We beg the food that we 
 eat and wear clothes discarded like our own 
 
 * To wish one a long life means that the person from 
 whom the wish is supposed to come is dead. — Tb. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 147 
 
 names. Nor is every vagrant fortunate enough 
 to be buried. If he should happen to die in the 
 wilderness, his body would become a prey for 
 birds or beasts. . . . Even his bones are liable 
 to be scattered by the wolves. What could be 
 harder ! ' 
 
 " Such talk made us sad, . . . and, though 
 we had said all these things chiefly to touch 
 the sympathy of the clerk, — since the more 
 pitiful the story, the more the Siberian is likely 
 to give you, — we knew very well that we had 
 given a true and unvarnished account of our- 
 selves. We could not help thinking how this 
 man, after hearing our sad story, would make 
 the sign of the cross and go to bed ... in 
 warmth and comfort, he had no one to fear ! 
 • . . Whereas we should have to wander in the 
 woods at dead of night, and, like swamp-imps, 
 hide from all Christians at the first crowing of 
 the cock. 
 
 " ' Well, boys,' the clerk said at last, ' it is 
 time for me to go to bed. I will give you 
 twenty kopeks extra ; take it and go your way. 
 I shall not wake all the workmen, but I will 
 call three of my most reliable ones as witnesses. 
 
148 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 I suspect I shall get myself into trouble on 
 your account. 
 
 " ' Now, look out. I advise you to avoid 
 NikoMevsk. I was there not long ago ; the 
 isprdvnik * is an energetic man, and has issued 
 orders to detain all travellers, no -matter where 
 they happen to be found. He is reported to 
 have said : " I will not let a magpie fly by nor 
 a rabbit pass nor a beast escape me ! much less 
 will I suffer those Saghalinian fellows to slip 
 through my fingers." You will be lucky if you 
 manage to elude him ; and be sure on no 
 account to enter the town.' 
 
 " He gave us the usual quantity of provis- 
 ion, including fish, also the twenty kopeks 
 wliich he had promised. Then he made the 
 sign of the cross, went into the house, and 
 locked the door. The fire went out, and the 
 men went to bed. It was but a short time 
 before dawn when, with heavy hearts, we 
 started once more on our journey. 
 
 "How often have we felt thus! On dark 
 nights, in deep forests, drenched by the rain, 
 buffeted by the wind, with no spot on earth 
 
 * The district chief of police. — Tjb. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 149 
 
 where we could seek refuge or shelter ! . . . 
 Still, one longs to see one's mother-country. 
 And yet, if ever a man reaches it, — where 
 every dog knows him to be a vagrant, and 
 where officials are vigilant and numerous, — 
 how long do you suppose he would remain at 
 large in his own native place ? . . . The prison 
 awaits him ! ... At times even the thought of 
 a prison was a comfort, and that's a fact ! So 
 it was on that night as we walked along. 
 
 "'I wonder what our folks are doing now, 
 boys!' suddenly exclaimed Vol6ydka. 
 
 " ' Whom do you mean ? ' I asked. 
 
 " * I mean the Saghalinians, our comrades of 
 barrack No. 7. I suppose they are sleeping 
 just now, free from care ! And here are we 
 poor wretches. . . . We ought not to have 
 started. . . .' 
 
 "'Don't be like an old woman,' I replied, 
 pretending to be angry. ' It would have been 
 better if you had remained there, since you are 
 so short-breathed, for you only distress us with 
 your whining.' 
 
 " Yet I felt very much the same myself. 
 We were weary, and dozed as we trudged along. 
 
150 ^ 8AGHALINIAN. 
 
 A vagrant acquires the habit of taking naps 
 when on his feet, and whenever I dozed I 
 invariably dreamt of the barracks. ... It 
 seemed to me as if the moon were shining, and 
 I saw the walls glittering in its liglit ; I 
 dreamed, too, that I saw the barred windows, 
 and, behind them, the convicts sleeping in 
 their rows of bunks. Then, again, I dreamed 
 that I also was lying there, and stretching 
 myself . . . but when I made the motion, the 
 dream vanished. 
 
 " What is more painful for the vagrant than 
 to dream of his father and mother? In my 
 dream, it was as if nothing had ev^er happened 
 to me, as though neither prison nor Saghdlin 
 had ever existed ; it seemed as if I were lying 
 in my parents' house, and my mother, softly 
 humming, were combing and smoothing my 
 hair. A candle stood on the table, and my 
 father, with spectacles on his nose, was read- 
 ing an ancient book ... he was a book- 
 keeper. . . . 
 
 " Arousing from my doze, I felt as if I could 
 have stabbed myself then and there. Instead 
 of home, I saw a narrow forest-path ; Makarof 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN. 151 
 
 was walking ahead, and we were following him 
 in single file. 
 
 " Fitful gusts of wind rose every now and 
 then, swaying the branches, and, again subsid- 
 ing, left everything silent as before. Through 
 the trees, in the distance, we caught glimpses of 
 the sea, and above it a bit of the sky, showing 
 the first faint vestige of dawn, a warning for 
 us to hide in some ravine. The sea is never, 
 never silent ; you may have noticed that 
 yourself. It always seems to be talking, or 
 singing, or murmuring something. ... It was 
 this that made me dream ever of songs. The 
 sea always made us feel homesick . . . because 
 we were not used to it, I suppose. As we 
 approached Nikoldevsk, the country grew more 
 thickly settled, and our danger increased ; but 
 we still pushed slowly along. We travelled 
 by night, and b}'' day hid in thickets, so dense 
 that beast or bird could hardly have penetrated, 
 far less a human being. We ought to have 
 avoided the city of Nikoldevsk; but we were 
 exhausted, wandering in the wilderness, and 
 our provisions were nearly out. One evening, 
 toward night, we reached the river, and per- 
 
152 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 ceived some people on the banks. As we drew 
 near, we recognized them to be the ' Free 
 Company.' * They were seining. We ap- 
 proached in an easy, self-composed manner. 
 
 " ' How do you do, gentlemen of the Free 
 Company ! ' 
 
 "'How do you do!' they replied. * Where 
 do you hail from ? ' 
 
 "By degrees we entered into conversation 
 with them. Their st^rosta, after looking at 
 us attentively, called me aside and said : — 
 
 "'Are you not the men from Saghalin? 
 Is it you who have " covered " Saltanof ? ' 
 
 " I must confess I was in doubt whether it 
 would be wise to tell him the truth ; for, 
 though he was a fellow-convict, yet, in a matter 
 such as this, I hesitated to confide in any one. 
 If one stops to consider, a Free Company is a 
 very different matter from an ordinary con- 
 vict artdl ; for, should any of them wish to 
 curry favor with the officials, he could secretly 
 
 * A " Free Company '^ is composed of convicts who have 
 served their sentence. They no longer hve in prison, but 
 are quartered in the town, though both their labor and their 
 persons are still under a certain control, and they are sub- 
 jected to rules and regulations. — Autliofs note. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 153 
 
 report us, — for was he not a ' free man ' ? 
 Inside the prison-walls, we were acquainted 
 with all the spies ; whenever we were be- 
 trayed, we knew at once whom to suspect. 
 Here we were at the mercy of all. 
 
 " Noticing my hesitation, he added : ' Have 
 no fear; I would not betray a comrade ! More- 
 over, it is none of my business ; I take your 
 word for it. Only, as I had heard that a crime 
 had been committed on Saghdlin, and as there 
 are eleven of you, I suspected it. This is a 
 dangerous business, boys ; it was a bold deed, 
 and our ispravnik is a shrewd one, I assure 
 you. But, then, that's your own lookout. You 
 will be lucky if you succeed in getting away. 
 Now, let me offer you some provisions belong- 
 ing to the artdl, which were left over ; you are 
 welcome to them, as we are to return to-night. 
 You can also have what bread there is left, and 
 some fish. Don't you need a kettle ? ' 
 
 "'An extra one might come handy.' 
 
 " ' Take the one that belongs to our artel. I 
 will bring you more things in the night, for I 
 always feel it my duty to help a comrade.' 
 
 " We were much relieved. I took off my hat 
 
154 ^ SAGUALINIAN, 
 
 and bowed to this kind-hearted man. My com- 
 rades also thanked him. . . . We were glad to 
 receive the provisions, but still better pleased 
 to hear a kind word. Until now we had held 
 aloof from all, being well aware that death was 
 the only thing we could expect from any man ; 
 and these men pitied us. In our joy, we nearly 
 got ourselves into trouble. 
 
 "After they had left us, our boys grew more 
 cheerful, and Vol6ydka even began to dance. 
 We foigot our anxiety, and, on entering a deep 
 valley, near the river-bank, called Dickman's 
 Valley, after a German steamship-owner by the 
 name of Dickman, who built his steamers there, 
 we made a fire, and hung the two kettles 
 over it. In one we made tea, and in the other 
 fish-chowder. By that time it was nearly night, 
 and soon after it grew quite dark, and rain 
 began to fall; but as we were sitting by the 
 fire, drinking tea, it did not trouble us much. 
 
 " There we sat chatting, as snug and comfort- 
 able as one could wish, not dreaming that, since 
 we could distinguish the city lights, our fire also 
 might be visible to the inhabitants. That 
 shows how careless we sometimes become. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 155 
 
 When we travelled in the woods and mountains, 
 we feared every noise, and here, in sight of the 
 city itself, we had built a fire, and sat around it, 
 chatting as unconcernedly as possible. 
 
 '' Luckily for us, an old officer, who for many 
 years had been superintendent of one of the 
 Siberian prisons, was then living in the city. 
 The prison was a large one, and many men had 
 been confined there at different times, every 
 one of whom spoke well of this old gentleman. 
 Everybody in Siberia knew Samd-rof ; and when 
 I heard, not long ago, that he was dead, I took 
 pains to go to the priest, and paid him fifty 
 kopeks to have his name mentioned in the 
 prayers for the dead. He was a good old man ! 
 May he inherit the kingdom of heaven ! . . . 
 Only, he would use the most abusive language. 
 Such a spitfire as he was ! He would storm 
 and rage, stamping, and shaking his fists; but 
 nobody feared him. All tried to please him, 
 for he was a just man. It cannot be said that 
 he ever abused or imposed on any one, or that 
 he ever took a kopek of the artel's money, 
 except what was freely given him for his kind- 
 ness. For, as he had a large family, the con- 
 
156 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 victs always remembered liim, . . . and from 
 them he derived a good income. At the time 
 of which I am speaking, he was already on the 
 retired list, and lived quietly in Nikolaevsk, in 
 a house of his own. Still, for old memory's 
 sake, he took an interest in us, and that evening, 
 while sitting on the porch of his house, smok- 
 ing a pipe, he saw a fire in Dickman's Valley. 
 
 " ' I wonder who started that fire ? ' he 
 thought to himself. 
 
 " Just then three men belonging to the Free 
 Company happened to be passing by. Hailing 
 them, he said : — 
 
 " ' Where did your company fish to-day ? 
 Can it be that they are in Dickman's Valley ?' 
 
 " ' No, your honor,' they replied. ' They 
 must be farther up. Besides, they are expected 
 to return to-night.' 
 
 " ' So I thought. . . . Do you see that fire 
 beyond the river ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " * Who do you suppose it can be ? ' 
 
 " ' We couldn't tell, Stepan Savelyitch. Va- 
 grants perhaps.' 
 
 " ' Vagrants, ... do you say ! . . . and you 
 
A SAGUALINIAN, • 157 
 
 have not the sense to take thought for your 
 comrades. ... It is I who must think for all. 
 . . . Haven't you heard what the isprdvnik said 
 the other day about the Saghalinians — that 
 they had been seen not very far off. ... I 
 wonder if the fools could have built that fire ? ' 
 
 "'Very likely, Stepan Sav^lyitch. It would 
 not surprise us if it were they.' 
 
 "'If that is so, they had better look out. 
 The idea of doing such a thing as that, the ras- 
 cals ! I wonder if the ispr^vnik is in town. If 
 he has not returned, he will be here shortly. 
 When he sees their fire, he will send out a 
 company at once. What is to be done? I pity 
 those rascals; their heads will surely pay the 
 price for Saltd>nof's. Get the boat ready, 
 boys!' 
 
 " Meanwhile we sat by the fire, waiting for 
 the chowder to be ready, for it was a long time 
 since we had tasted any hot food. It was a 
 dark night. Clouds rose seaward. It rained, 
 and the forest moaned ; but we were happy. 
 . . . The dark night is a kind mother to the 
 like of us vagrants. The cloudier the sky, the 
 easier we feel. 
 
158 ' ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 " Suddenly one of the Tartars pricked up his 
 ears. Those Tartars are ever on the alert, like 
 cats. I listened also, and distinguished the 
 sound of oars. Going up to the shore, I saw a 
 boat stealthily creeping along under the steep 
 bank. I could see the men who were rowing it, 
 and the faint glimmer of a cockade on the hat 
 of the one at the rudder. 
 
 " ' Boys, we are lost,' I said ; ' it's the isprdv- 
 nik ! ' 
 
 " The men sprang to their feet, upsetting the 
 kettles, and ran for the woods. ... I bade the 
 boys keep together, and wait for the result. 
 Perhaps we might have a chance to get the 
 upper hand if there were but few of them. We 
 hid beliind the trees, and waited to see what 
 would come next. The boat landed, and five 
 men stepped on shore. One of them exclaimed, 
 laughing : — 
 
 " ' Why did you run away, you fools ? I 
 know a word that will bring you all out ; I 
 must say you are brave fellows, to run like 
 rabbits.' 
 
 " Daryin, who was sitting beside me, under a 
 cedar-tree, whispered : — 
 
A SAGIIALINIAN. 159 
 
 " ' I say, Vasili, this is strange ! The isprdv- 
 nik's voice seems very familiar to me.' 
 
 " ' Keep still,' I said ; ' let us see what they 
 will do next. There are only a few of 
 them.' 
 
 " One of the oarsmen, stepping out, asked : — 
 
 " ' Here, don't be afraid of us ! Do you 
 know any one in this prison '( ' 
 
 " We held our breath and made no reply. 
 ' What the deuce is the matter with you ? ' the 
 same voice called out again. ' Answer, do you 
 know any one in this prison? Perhaps you 
 may recognize some of us.' 
 
 " I replied : ' Whether we know each other 
 or not is of no consequence. Perhaps it would 
 be better had we never met, for we are not to 
 be taken alive.' 
 
 " I meant this for a signal to my comrades to 
 be ready. 
 
 " As to numbers we had the advantage, since 
 there were but five of them ; but we feared 
 that as soon as they began to fire, the shots 
 would be heard in town. However, it made no 
 difference ; we were determined not to be taken 
 without a struggle. 
 
IGO ^ SAGIIALINJAN, 
 
 " Again the old man spoke : ' Boys,' he 
 said, 'is it possible that none of you know 
 Samdrof ?' 
 
 " Ddryin nudged me. ' Sure enough, it is 
 the superintendent of the N. prison ! Your 
 honor,' he said, ' do you remember Daryin ? ' 
 
 " -' To be sure, I do ; he used to be 
 my stdrosta in N. I think his name was 
 Fed6t.' 
 
 " ' That's me, your honor. Come out, boys ; 
 this is our father.' 
 
 "Whereupon we all came forth. 
 
 "'Can it be possible that your honor has 
 come to arrest us? We can't believe it.' 
 
 " ' I pitied you, for being such fools. How 
 very clever, to build a fire directly opposite the 
 town ! ' 
 
 " ' We were wet, your honor ; it rained.' 
 
 " ' R-a-i-n-e-d ! And yet you pretend to call 
 yourselves vagrants. You'll not melt. You . 
 may thank your stars that I came out on the 
 porch. to smoke my pipe before the isprdvnik 
 returned. If he had seen your fire, he would 
 have found a dry place for you ! you are not 
 very shrewd, boys, even if you did get the bet- 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 161 
 
 ter of Saltdnof, rascals that you are ! Now, 
 make haste, put out the fire aud get away from 
 here, into the valley ; you may build ten fires 
 there if you like, you scoundrels ! ' 
 
 " So the old gentleman scolded, while we 
 stood around him, listening smilingly. Finally 
 he stopped, and said : — 
 
 " ' Now, listen to what I have to tell you. I 
 have brought you some bread and three bricks 
 of tea, and all I ask of you is to remember old 
 Sam arof kindly; and if you are lucky enough 
 to escape, one of you may chance to go to 
 Tob61sk — if so, put a candle before my patron 
 saint in the cathedral. I shall probably die 
 here — it is my home, and, besides, I am getting 
 old ; but still I often think of my own coun- 
 try. Well, good-by ; and take another piece of 
 advice — divide yourselves into small parties. 
 How many are there of you ? ' 
 
 " ' Eleven,' we replied. 
 
 " ' Who could help calling you fools ! Prob- 
 ably by this time they have heard all about 
 you at Irkutsk, and yet you still travel in a 
 body ! ' 
 
 " After the old gentleman got into the boat 
 
162 -4 SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 and left us, we moved farther away into the 
 valley, boiled our tea, made the chowder, and, 
 taking the old man's advice, we divided the 
 provisions and separated. 
 
 " Ddryin and I kept together, Makarof went 
 with the Circassians, the Tartar joined the two 
 vagrants, and the remaining three formed an- 
 other party. From this time forth we never 
 met again. I do not know whether my former 
 comrades are dead or alive. I have heard that 
 the Tartar was sent here, but I don't know 
 whether it is true. 
 
 " That same night, just before dawn, Daryin 
 and I crept past Nikoldevsk. Only one dog 
 barked, from a house in the outskirts. 
 
 " By sunrise, having travelled ten versts 
 through the woods, we drew near the road, and, 
 hearing the jingling of a bell, crouched behind 
 the bushes, and saw the isprdvnik driven by in 
 a post-cart. He was wrapped in a great-coat, 
 and was dozing. Daryin and I made the sign 
 of the cross. What a mercy that he was out of 
 town the previous night ! He may have gone 
 out in pursuit of us." 
 
A SAGUALINIAN. 163 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The fire on the hearth had died out ; but the 
 yourt was still as warm as an oven. The ice 
 on the windows was melting, and we came to 
 the conclusion that it must be growing warmer 
 outside, for in severe frosts the ice does not 
 melt even from the inside, no matter how warm 
 the yourt may be. Hence we did not replenish 
 the fire, and I went out to close the chimney. 
 
 I found that the fog had disappeared and the 
 air had grown softer. In the north, over the 
 brow of the dark, heavily wooded hills, rose 
 faint, fleecy clouds, hurrying swiftly across the 
 sky. One might imagine an invisible giant 
 gently sighing in the dark, cold night ; his broad 
 chest pouring forth its steaming breath, to be 
 wafted across the sky and vanish at last in the 
 blue ether. There was a faint playing of the 
 Northern Lights. 
 
 Yielding to its melancholy witchery, I stood 
 pensively upon the roof, watching the ever 
 changing rays. The night showed forth in all 
 its cold and dreary beauty. Overhead, the 
 
164 ^ SAGHALINIAN. 
 
 stars were glimmering, while the snowy shroud 
 below gradually faded away in the dim dis- 
 tance. The forest looked like a long black 
 comb, and the distant hills took on a pale blue 
 tinge. This cold and silent picture filled my 
 soul with a gentle sadness, and through the air, 
 in soft vibrations, the words, "Far! so far!" 
 seemed echoing in a minor chord. 
 
 When I returned into the hut, I could tell 
 by the steady, regular breathing of the vagrant 
 that he was asleep. I also tried to sleep, but 
 could not, owing to the effect his exciting tale 
 had produced upon me. At times, when sleep 
 nearly overtook me, it would seem as if he 
 purposely tossed and rolled, softly muttering 
 in his sleep. His deep chest-tones dispelled 
 my drowsiness, and in my fevered imagination 
 arose the panorama of his Odyssey. Then, 
 again, forgetting where I was, it seemed as 
 though the boughs of the larch and the cedar 
 waved overhead. I fancied myself gazing from 
 a high cliff, and saw, in the ravine below, the 
 white houses of the outposts, over which a 
 mountain-eagle soared majestically. In fancy 
 I wandered farther and farther from the hope- 
 
A SAGUALINIAN, 165 
 
 less gloom of my small yourt. A fresh breeze 
 seemed to fan my brow, and in my ears echoed 
 the faint murmur of the ocean. The sun was 
 setting, and in the gathering darkness my boat 
 rocked gently on the rippling straits. I was 
 deeply excited by the story of the young 
 vagrant. 
 
 What an impression .this vagrant epic must 
 make when told in the stifling atmosphere that 
 fills the four walls of convict prison barracks. 
 And what was there in this story, I asked 
 myself, t£at made such an impression upon 
 my whole being? It was not the difficulties 
 overcome on the way, nor the sufferings en- 
 dured, nor that " vagrant homesickness " ; but 
 it was the incomparable poetry of liberty. 
 And why was it that I heard only the voice of 
 freedom as expressed in the measureless ex- 
 panse, in the woods, in the steppes, and in the 
 ocean ? If this so strongly appealed to me, 
 how much more so to the vagrant, who had 
 already tasted the poisoned cup of unsatisfied 
 desire. He was still sleeping, while my excited 
 imagination allowed me no rest. I cared noth- 
 ing for the cause of his banishment, for his 
 
166 -4 SAGUALINIAN. 
 
 past life, or for his deeds since he ceased "to 
 obey his parents." In him I saw only a young 
 life, full of strength, of energy, and of a pas- 
 sionate longing for freedom. . . . Whither, 
 yes, whither? 
 
 In his scarce audible mutterings, I fancied I 
 heard sighs. I forgot myself under the press- 
 ure of the unsolved question, and gloomy 
 dreams hovered around me. . . . The evening 
 sun had set, and all the sad, infinite world 
 seemed plunged in gloomy thought. Heavy 
 clouds hung overhead. . . . The horizon alone 
 was illuminated by the last vestiges of the 
 dying day, and somewhere, far, far away, under 
 the shadow of the purple hills, flickered a 
 light. What was it? — the familiar flame on 
 the hearth of the long-forsaken home, or a 
 will-o'-the-wisp dancing over the darkness of a 
 grave ? 
 
 It was very late when at last I fell asleep. 
 
 IX. 
 
 When I awoke it must have been about 
 eleven o'clock. The rays of the sun streamed 
 
A SAGHALINIAN, 167 
 
 through the windows of the yourt, playing on 
 the floor. The vagrant had departed. Having 
 to go to the village on business, I harnessed my 
 horse, and started in my little sleigh along the 
 village street. It was a bright and compara- 
 tively warm day. The mercury may have 
 stood at twenty degrees.* But . . . everything 
 in this world is relative ; such weather as is 
 usual in midwinter in other lands is regarded 
 here as the first sign of spring. The clouds of 
 smoke rising simultaneously from the chim- 
 neys did not remain stationary in immovable 
 columns, as they do in severe frosts, but in- 
 clined to the west, and an east wind was blow- 
 ing, bringing with it a warmer breeze from the 
 Pacific Ocean. 
 
 The village was settled principally by ban- 
 ished Tartars, and, as it was a holiday, the 
 streets presented an animated appearance. 
 Gates creaked, sleighs issued forth, and tipsy 
 riders were a common sight. The worshippers 
 of Mahomet are not rigid observers of the 
 laws of the Koran, and both riders and pedes- 
 
 * By the Keaumur thermometer, used throughout Rus- 
 sia. — Tb. 
 
168 ^ SAGIIALINIAN. 
 
 trians at times described the most fantastic 
 curves. Occasionally a startled horse would 
 make a sudden leap, upsetting the sleigh, and 
 tearing along the village street, while the 
 owner, clinging obstinately to the reins, was 
 dragged behind, raising a perfect cloud of snow. 
 It might happen to any one to lose control 
 over a horse, or to fall out of the sleigh, but 
 even in such critical circumstances it was con- 
 sidered a disgrace for a " true Tartar " to loose 
 his hold of the reins. 
 
 A moment later, the straight, arrow-like 
 street assumed an unusually bustling appear- 
 ance. The riders kept close to the fences, the 
 pedestrians fell back, and the gayly dressed 
 women in their bright cTiadrys * hurried their 
 children into the houses. Interested specta- 
 tors crowded the streets, and all eyes were 
 turned in one direction. At the further end 
 of the narrow street a group of riders appeared, 
 and for the first time I saw the races, of which 
 both Tartars and Yakuts are so fond. There 
 were about five riders, galloping like the wind ; 
 and, as the group approached, I saw Bagyldi's 
 * A Tartar head-dress. — Author'' s note. 
 
A SAGUALINIAN, 1G9 
 
 gray horse. With every stroke of his lioofs 
 he increased the distance that separated him 
 from the rest. A moment later, they had all 
 passed me like a whirlwind. 
 
 The eyes of the Tartars glistened with 
 fiendish excitement. As they rode by, they 
 shonted, waving tlieir hands and leaning back- 
 wards, sitting well back on their horses'. 
 Vasili alone rode Russian fashion, bending 
 closely to his horse's neck, and occasionally 
 giving a short, shrill whistle, that sounded like 
 the lash of a whip. His gray horse was strain- 
 ing every nerve, cutting the air like a flying 
 bird. 
 
 The sympathy of the crowd was, as usual, 
 with the victor. 
 
 " Well done ! " cried the delighted specta- 
 tors ; and the old horse-thieves, passionate 
 lovers of such sport, bobbed up and down, 
 clappiiig their hands on their knees, as they 
 beat time to the galloping of the liorses. 
 
 As Vasili returned on his foam-flecked horse, 
 he overtook me half-way up the street. His 
 outstripped rivals were far behind. 
 
 The vagrant's face looked pale, but his eyes 
 
170 ^ SAGHALINIAN, 
 
 glowed with excitement; it was evident that 
 he had been drinking. 
 
 " I'm on a spree," he shouted, waving his hat 
 as he bowed. 
 
 " That's no affair of mine." 
 
 " Well, don't get angry. I can drink and 
 yet keep my wits about me. By the way, do 
 not give up my saddle-bags under any pretext 
 whatsoever — not even to me, if I should ask 
 for them. — You understand ? " 
 
 " I understand," I coolly replied. " Only, 
 please don't visit me when you are drunk." 
 
 " You need have no fear ; I shall not come," 
 he said, as he gave his horse a cut with the end 
 of the rein. The horse snorted, reared, and 
 sprang forward a few yards. Vasili curbed 
 him, exclaiming : — 
 
 " Look at my horse ! He is worth his weight 
 in gold. I bet on him ! Did you see him go ? 
 Now the Tartars will give me whatever I ask 
 for him, without doubt, because they passion- 
 ately adore a good horse." 
 
 " Why do you sell him ? What will you 
 have to work with ? " 
 
 "I can't help it; it's fate ! " 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 171 
 
 Again he lashed the horse and curbed 
 him in. 
 
 " To tell the truth, 'tis because I have met 
 a comrade here ; I will give up everything. 
 Look, my dear fellow, do you see that Tartar 
 on the roan horse, coming this way ? Here ! " 
 he called out to the Tartar, " Akhm^tka, come 
 here ! " 
 
 The roan horse, arching his neck and pranc- 
 ing, trotted up to my sleigh ; the rider took off 
 his hat and bowed, smiling. I looked at him 
 with curiosity. 
 
 Akhm^tka's mischievous face was wreathed 
 in a broad smile ; his small eyes sparkled 
 merrily, as he gazed on Vasili with roguish 
 familiarity, a glance that seemed to say to 
 every one, "We understand each other. I'm 
 a rogue, to be sure, but a sharp one." His inter- 
 locutor, looking at his face with its high cheek- 
 bones, its merry wrinkles about the eyes, the 
 large, thin ears that stood out so comically, 
 involuntarily smiled also. Then Akhm^tka, 
 concluding that matters were amicable, nodded 
 his head with a satisfied look, as much as to 
 say, " Now we understand each other." 
 
172 ^ SAGIIALINIAN. 
 
 " A comrade," he said, nodding towards 
 Vasili ; " we tramped together." 
 
 " Where do you live ? " I inquired. " I 
 never saw you before in the village." 
 
 " I've come for my papers. I've been carry- 
 ing wine to the gold-mines." * 
 
 I looked at Vasili ; he dropped his eyes and 
 gathered up the reins. Then, raising his head, 
 he gazed at me defiantly. His lips were 
 tightly compressed, but the lower one trem- 
 bled perceptibly. 
 
 " I will go with him into the forest ! Why 
 do you look at me so strangely? I'm a 
 vagrant ! a vagrant ! " 
 
 He was already on the gallop even as he 
 uttered the last words. For one moment a 
 
 * Liquor traffic is strictly forbidden at the gold-mines 
 or in their immediate vicinity; consequently, about the 
 tributaries of the Lena, where the mines are situated, an 
 unlawful business has sprung up, that of carrying spirits to 
 the miners, who exchange for it gold. This is dangerous 
 traffic, for, if caught, one is sentenced to hard labor, and, 
 in this locality, it is carried on under many and great diffi- 
 culties. Some carriers perish in the forest from privations, 
 some are shot down by Cossacks, others die by the hands of 
 their own comrades; but, to compensate for all this, the 
 profit is enormous, much more than a man could make by 
 mining. — Author^ s note. 
 
A SAGHALINIAN. 173 
 
 cloud of frosty dust was visible in the street, 
 then nothing was to be seen or heard but the 
 clatter of the horse's hoofs. 
 
 A year later Akhm^tka again returned to 
 the settlement for the " papers," but Vasili 
 was seen no more. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 THE CORMORANTS. 
 
 As I reached the ferry in my post-horse 
 tr6ika,* it was already growing dark. A brisk 
 and piercing wind rippled the surface of the 
 broad and turbid river, splashing its waves 
 against the steep banks. As the distant sound 
 of the tinkling post-bells reached the ears of 
 the ferry-men, they stopped the ferry-boat and 
 waited for us. Brakes were put on the wheels, 
 the tely^ga f was driven down-hill, and the 
 cable unfastened. The waves dashed against 
 the boarded sides of the ferry-boat, the pilot 
 sharply turned the wheel, and the shore grad- 
 ually receded from us, as though yielding to 
 the pressure of the waves. 
 
 There were two telyegas on the ferry-boat, 
 beside ours. In one of them sat an elderly, 
 
 * A team with three horses harnessed abreast. — Tb. 
 t A long, open cart without springs. — Tb. 
 174 
 
-SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST, 175 
 
 quiet-looking man, apparently belonging to the 
 merchant class ; the other was occupied by 
 three fellows, unmistakably bourgeois. The 
 merchant sat motionless, protecting himself by 
 his collar from the piercing autumnal wind, 
 and heedless of his travelling companions. 
 The bourgeois, on the contrary, were jolly and 
 talkative. One of them-, a cross-eyed fellow, 
 with a torn nostril, played the balaldika* in- 
 cessantly, singing wild melodies in a harsh 
 voice. But the wind soon dispersed these 
 sharp tones, carrying them hither and thither 
 along the swift and turbid stream. Another, 
 with a brandy-flask and tumbler in his hand, 
 was treating my driver; while the third, a 
 man possibly thirty years of age, a healthy, 
 handsome, and powerfully built fellow, was 
 stretched out in the tely^ga, with his hand 
 under his head, pensively watching the gray 
 clouds as they flitted across the sky. In the 
 course of my two days' journey from the city 
 of N., I had frequently encountered the same 
 familiar faces. I was travelling on urgent 
 business, speeding with the utmost haste; but 
 * An instrument resembling a three-stringed lute. — Tb. 
 
176 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST, 
 
 'both the merchant, who drove a plump mare, 
 harnessed into a two-wheeled kibitka,* and the 
 bourgeois, with their lean hacks, constantly- 
 kept up with me, and after each stopping-place 
 I met them, either on the way or at some ferry. 
 
 "Who are these men?'' I inquired of my 
 driver, as he approached my tely^ga. 
 
 "Kostiushkaf and his friends," he replied, 
 with an air of reserve. 
 
 " And who are they ? " I asked once more, 
 for the name sounded unfamiliar to me. 
 
 The driver evidently felt unwilling to give 
 me further particulars, lest our conversation 
 might be overheard by the men. Glancing at 
 them, he hastily pointed with his whip toward 
 the river. 
 
 Looking in that direction, I saw that its 
 broad expanse was here and there darkened by 
 the tossilig of the turbid waters, and overhead 
 large white birds like gulls soared in widening 
 circles, now and then plunging below the 
 waves, and rising again with a shrill and plain- 
 tive cry. 
 
 * A covered vehicle used in Siberia. — Tu. 
 t A diminutive of Constantine. — Tk. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. I77 
 
 " Cormorants ! " the driver remarked, by way ' 
 of explanation, as soon as the ferry had landed 
 us on the shore, and we had reached the top of 
 the hill. 
 
 " Those men are like cormorants," he con- 
 tinued. "They have neither home nor prop- 
 erty, for I have heard that they have sold even 
 the land they owned, and now they are scour- 
 ing the country like wolves. They give us no 
 peace." 
 
 '' What do you mean ? Are they robbers ? " 
 
 " They are up to all sorts of mischief ; cut- 
 ting off a traveller's valise, or stealing chests 
 of tea from a transport, is their favorite amuse- 
 ment. . . . And if they are hard up, they will 
 not hesitate to steal a horse from us drivers, 
 when we are on our return trip. It often hap- 
 pens that one of us may fall asleep,. — every 
 one is liable to that, you know, — and they are 
 always on the lookout. It was a driver who 
 tore this very Kostiushka's nostril with his 
 whip, and that's a fact ! Mark my words, this 
 same K&yska is the biggest scoundrel ! . . . 
 He has no mate now . • . since the transport- 
 drivers killed him. . . ." 
 
178 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 " They caught him, then ? " 
 
 "Yes, they did, in the very act, and they 
 made him pay for his fun. The transport- 
 drivers had their turn, and he gave them plenty 
 of sport." • 
 
 The speaker chuckled to himself. 
 
 " In the first place, they chopped off his fin- 
 gers, then they singed him, and finally they 
 disembowelled him with a stick. . . . He died, 
 the dog ! . . . " 
 
 " How comes it that you are acquainted with 
 them ? Why did you let them treat you with 
 brandy ? " 
 
 " I cannot help being acquainted," he re- 
 plied, gloomily. " I have often had to treat 
 them myself, because I stand in fear of them 
 all the time. . . . Mark my words ! Kostiushka 
 has not come out without a purpose. He would 
 not have driven the horses so far without some 
 object. ... I can tell you that he scents prey 
 from afar, the devil ! I am sure of it ! And 
 that merchant, I was just thinking about him," 
 he added thoughtfully, after a short pause ; 
 "I wonder if he can be their object? ... I 
 can hardly believe it ; however, they have a 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST. 179 
 
 new man with them, whom I never saw be- 
 fore." 
 
 '* The one who lay stretched out in the tel- 
 y^ga?" 
 
 " The very one. . . . He must be an expert 
 ... a healthy-looking devil ! . . . 
 
 " Take my advice, sir," he said, suddenly 
 turning toward me ; " be on your guard . . • 
 do not travel by night. They may be follow- 
 ing you, for all you know, those wretches ! . . . " 
 
 " Do you know me ? " I asked. 
 
 He turned away, and affected to play with 
 the reins. 
 
 " We are supposed to know nothing," he re- 
 plied, evasively. "It was rumored that Khoo- 
 din's clerk, from the city, was soon to pass this 
 way. ... But this is no business of ours." 
 
 Evidently, I was known here. I had been 
 retained in a lawsuit brought by the firm of 
 Koodin against the government, -and had just 
 won it. My patrons were very popular in these 
 places, and in all Western Siberia, and the suit 
 had made a great sensation. Having recently 
 received a very large sum of money, I was hast- 
 ening to the city of N., where I had to meet 
 
180 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 some payments which were clue. I had very- 
 little time to spare, the postal communications 
 were irregular, and therefore I carried the 
 money on my own person. I travelled night 
 and day — sometimes leaving the highway, wheu 
 I could gain time by taking a short cut. In 
 view of the rumors that had spread concerning 
 me, which were calculated to excite myriads of 
 hungry cormorants, I was beginning to feel 
 somewhat anxious. 
 
 As I glanced behind me, in spite of the gath- 
 ering darkness, I could easily distinguish the 
 swiftly galloping troika, followed at some dis- 
 tance by the merchant's wagonette. 
 
 IL 
 
 "THE HOLLOW BELOW THE DEVIL's FINGER." 
 
 At the N. post-station, where I arrived in the 
 evening, there were no horses to be found. 
 
 " Do take my advice, Ivan Sem^novitch ! " 
 the stout and good-natured station-master en- 
 treated me, " and do not travel by night. 
 Never mind your business. One's life is more 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 181 
 
 precious than otlier people's money. For miles 
 around the only subjects talked about are your 
 lawsuit and this large sum of money. No 
 doubt, the cormorants will be on the alert. . . . 
 Do spend the night here ! . . . " 
 
 Of course, I realized all the wisdom of this 
 advice; but, still, I felt that I could not fol- 
 low it. 
 
 " I must go on ! . . . Please send for private 
 horses. ..." 
 
 " You are an obstinate man, I must confess ; 
 but I will give you a trusty ' friend.' * He will 
 carry you to B., to the Molokan. f But you 
 really must spend the night there. You will 
 have to pass the Devil's Hollow. It is a lonely 
 place, and the people are audacious. . . . Bet- 
 ter w^ait till daylight ! . . . " 
 
 Half an hour later I sat on my tely^ga, lis- 
 tening to the advice and good-wishes of my 
 friend. The willing horses started at once ; and 
 the driver, encouraged by the j)romise of a fee, 
 urged them to their utmost speed. We reached 
 B. in a very short time. 
 
 * Name given to drivers of private conveyances in Siberia, 
 t A religious sect of vegetarians. 
 
182 SKETCUES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 "Where will you take me now?" I asked 
 him. 
 
 " To my friend the Molokdn. He is a trust- 
 worthy man." 
 
 Passing several huts in the woods, we stopped 
 at the gate of a respectable house, where we 
 were met by a venerable-looking man, with a 
 long gray beard, holding a lantern in his hand ; 
 raising it above his head, he scrutinized me for 
 a moment, and then remarked, in a quiet way : 
 
 " Ah, Ivan Semenovitch ! . . . Some fellows 
 who passed, just now, bade me look out for 
 Koodin's clerk, from the city, . . . and get the 
 horses ready for him. . . . And I asked them 
 what business it was of theirs. . . . 'Very likely, 
 he may wish to spend the night,' I said. ... It 
 is getting late, you know." 
 
 ''What fellows were they?" interrupted my 
 driver. 
 
 " The Lord only knows ! Cormorants, most 
 likely ! They looked like rascals. ... I suppose 
 they came from the city; but who they are, I 
 cannot say. Who does know anything about 
 them? . . . But will you spend the night, sir ?" 
 
 " No, I cannot; and please get horses for me 
 
8KETCUES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST, 183 
 
 as quickly as possible ! " I said, somewhat un- 
 easy at the rumors that seemed to have pre- 
 ceded me. 
 
 " Walk into the hut ; it will be more comfort- 
 able than to stand here. . . . Really, I have no 
 horses. Yesterday I sent the boy into the city 
 with some goods. What will you do now? 
 You had better sleep here." 
 
 My distress at this fresh disappointment was 
 deepened by the darkness and gloom of the 
 stormy autumn night peculiar to Siberia. The 
 sky was so overcast that one could hardly trace 
 the outlines of tlie heavy clouds, and on the 
 ground a man could not see objects two steps 
 before him. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, 
 and from the woods came a mysterious rustling. 
 
 Still, I felt obliged to continue my journey, in 
 spite of all obstacles. Entering the hut, I 
 asked the proprietor to send at once to one of 
 the neighbors to obtain horses. 
 
 '^I fear you may regret this hurry, my dear 
 sir," said the old man, shaking his gray head. 
 "And such a night as this is! — Egyptian dark- 
 ness, and nothing less ! " 
 
 When my driver came in, he and the old 
 
184 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 man held a prolonged consultation. At last 
 they both addressed themselves to me, entreat- 
 ing me to remain over night. Still I insisted, 
 and then the two began to whisper together, 
 and I could overhear certain names as they 
 discussed the matter. " Very well, then," said 
 the driver, as though reluctantly yielding to 
 the master of the house, " your horses will be 
 ready for you ; I am going now to the clearing." 
 
 "Will not that require a long time? — I wish 
 you could find them nearer home. . . ." 
 
 "It will not take long," replied the driver, 
 and the master added, in an impatient tone of 
 voice : — 
 
 "What's the hurry? You know the saying, 
 * Haste makes waste.' . • . Plenty of time 
 yet. . . ." 
 
 While the driver was making his preparations 
 behind the partition, the master continued his 
 instructions, in the quavering voice of an old 
 man, and I took the chance to doze awhile 
 beside the oven. 
 
 " Well, my lad," I heard the master say to 
 him, outside the door, " tell the ' Slayer ' to make 
 haste. . . . You see, he is in a hurry." 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAJST TOURIST. 185 
 
 Presently the sound of galloping was heard. 
 The last words of the old man had dispelled my 
 sleepiness. I seated myself before the fire, and 
 gave myself up to anxious thoughts. The dark 
 night, the unfamiliar surroundings, the strange 
 faces, the unintelligible conversation, and finally 
 the fatal word. . . . My nerves were evidently 
 unstrung. 
 
 An hour later, the rapid tinkling of a bell was 
 heard, and the tr6ika stopped before the door. 
 I put on my wraps and went out. 
 
 The sky had grown clearer. The clouds 
 swept hurriedly along, as though in haste to 
 reach their goal. It had ceased raining, but 
 now and then a large drop fell from the clouds 
 that scurried along in the rising wind. 
 
 The master came out with a lantern to see 
 us off, and by its light I scrutinized my new 
 driver. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, and 
 powerful man — quite a giant, in fact. The 
 expression of his face was calm and stern 
 — impressed, so to speak, with the stamp of 
 some past sorrow never to be forgotten, and 
 his eyes had a steadfast and obstinate gaze. 
 
 I must admit that for a moment I was ovef- 
 
186 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 come by a strong temptation to dismiss this 
 giant driver, and spend the night in the warm 
 and cheerful chamber of the Molokdn. It 
 lasted, however, but for a moment. Clasp- 
 ing my revolver, I seated mygelf in the cart, 
 while the driver fastened the apron and slowly 
 and deliberately took his seat on the box. 
 
 " Look out, ' Slayer ! ' " was the old man's 
 parting injunction. " Look sharp ! You know 
 how it is likely to be ! . . . " 
 
 " Yes, I know," replied the driver, and we 
 vanished into the gloom of the stormy night. 
 
 As we drove past the huts which were scat- 
 tered at intervals along the road, an occasional 
 light flashed forth, and here and there against 
 the dark background of the woods a grayish 
 smoke, mingled with sparks, curled up into 
 the air, and melted in the darkness. Finally 
 we left the last dwelling behind, and the 
 solitude of the black forest and the gloom 
 of the night deepened around us. 
 
 The horses, trotting evenly and swiftly, car- 
 ried me on toward the fatal hollow ; it was 
 now about five versts away, and there was 
 time enough to brood at leisure over my situ- 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 187 
 
 ation. As often happens in moments of 
 unusual excitement, I had the keenest realiza- 
 tion of it ; and when I recalled the marauder- 
 like figures of the cormorants, the mysterious 
 merchant who accompanied them, aud the unu- 
 sual pertinacity with which they followed me, 
 I came to the conclusion that some sort of an 
 adventure awaited me in the hollow. But the 
 part that my gloomy driver was to play re- 
 mained for me like the riddle of (Edipus. 
 
 However, the solution was near at hand. 
 Presently, the mountain-chain came in sight, 
 outlined against the background of the clear- 
 ing sky. Its summit was covered with a forest 
 growth, and at its base one discerned, through 
 the darkness, a flowing stream, over which 
 hung a projecting rock, known as the " Devil's 
 Finger." 
 
 The road skirted the river at the foot of the 
 hills. Beneath the Devil's Finger it receded 
 from the mountain-chain, and at this point it 
 was entered by a cross-road, leading from the 
 valley. This was the most dangerous spot, 
 famous as the scene of many daring exploits 
 on the part of the knights of the road in 
 
188 SKETCHES OF A SIBEIUAN TOUBIST. 
 
 Siberia. The narrow, rocky road prevented 
 rapid driving, and the bushes might serve to 
 hide an ambush. We were nearing the hol- 
 low. The Devil's Finger began to loom up 
 before us, the darkness adding to its actual 
 size, until the. clouds, as they passed over it, 
 seemed to graze its summit. 
 
 The horses slackened tlieir pace, and the 
 middle horse, as he trotted carefully along, 
 watched the road intently, while the side horses, 
 snorting loudly, pressed more closely against 
 the shafts. The musical sounds of the tinkling 
 bell echoed beyond the river and died away in 
 the sensitive air. 
 
 Suddenly the horses stopped; with one 
 abrupt jerk the bell sent forth a tinkling 
 peal and was silent. I rose in my seat. Be- 
 side the road, the dark bushes were shaken 
 by the movements of some dusky object. 
 
 The driver had reined in his horses just in 
 time to avoid the attack. Still, the situation 
 was critical, for it was impossible either to turn 
 aside or to retreat. I was just about to fire a 
 random shot, when the tall form of the driver, 
 rising from the box, shut from me the road and 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 189 
 
 the bushes. The " SLayer," as he stepped to 
 the ground, quietly handed the reins to me, < 
 saying, as he did so : " Do not fire, but hold 
 the reins." 
 
 His tones were so calm, yet so impressive, 
 that it never occurred to me to do otherwise 
 than as I was bidden ; my suspicions in his 
 regard were dispelled. I took the reins while 
 the solemn giant advanced towards the bushes. 
 The horses slowly and intelligently followed 
 their master, without any further order. 
 
 The rattling of the wheels on the stony road 
 prevented me from hearing what was going 
 on in the bushes. When we came to the 
 place where we had seen the moving object, 
 the " Slayer " stopped. 
 
 Nothing was to be heard except the sound 
 of the rustling and cracking branches at a 
 short distance from the road, in the direction 
 of the mountain. Somebody was evidently 
 pushing his way through, and the man in 
 advance seemed in a hurry. 
 
 " It is that rascal Kostitishka, running 
 ahead," said the " Slayer," listening to the 
 sound. " Bah ! See ! there is one of them 
 left behind, it seems ! " 
 
190 SKETCUES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 Just then, at a short distance from ns, a tall 
 figure darted out of a bush and in again, and 
 now we could hear distinctly the sound of 
 footsteps retreating from the road in four 
 different places. The " Slayer " went up to 
 his horses as quietly as before, arranged the 
 harness, making the bell tinkle as he touched 
 the duga,* and mounted to his seat. 
 
 Suddenly, from the rock below the '' Finger," 
 there came a flash, followed by a report, start- 
 ling the silence of the night. We heard some- 
 thing strike against the carriage and then 
 against the bushes. 
 
 The "Slayer," dashing towards the bushes 
 like an infuriated wild beast, exclaimed, in an 
 agitated voice : — 
 
 "Mind what you do, Koyska! You had 
 better not fool any more, I warn you ! If you 
 had hurt my harmless beasts ... I should have 
 got even with you, were you to travel a hun- 
 dred versts ! . . . Don't fire, sir ! " he added 
 sternly, addressing me. 
 
 " You had better look out for yourself^ 
 
 * A wooden arch that rises over the head of the middle 
 horse, and to which a bell is fastened. — Tjj. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 191 
 
 ' Slayer,' " answered a voice, that was evidently 
 lield in control, and one that did not sound 
 like Kostiuslika's. " Why do you put your 
 nose in other people's business, when you are 
 not wanted ? " 
 
 The speaker seemed to be afraid of being 
 overheard by others beside the one whom he 
 was addressing. 
 
 "I wouldn't threaten if I were you. Your 
 Honor," replied the driver, contemptuously. 
 '' I am not afraid of you, though you have 
 made common cause with the cormorants ! " 
 
 A few minutes later, the hollow beneath the 
 Devil's Finger was left behind, and we were 
 once more following the broad thoroughfare. 
 
 III. 
 
 "THE SI.AYER." 
 
 We drove four versts in utter silence ; I 
 was meditating on what had just happened, 
 while the driver sat playing with the reins, 
 alternately urging and holding in his horses. 
 I was the first to speak. 
 
192 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 "I am greatly obliged to you, my friend! 
 It would have gone ill with me, had it not 
 been for you." 
 
 " You owe me no thanks," he replied. 
 
 " What do you mean ! . . . That was evi- 
 dently a desperate crowd ! . . . " 
 
 " That's true. ..." 
 
 " Do you know those men ? " 
 
 " I know Kostiushka. . . . But, then, I sup- 
 pose every dog knows that rascal ! . . . The 
 merchant, too, I have seen before . . . but 
 the one who was left behind I don't think I 
 ever saw. . . . Yes, I suppose he relied on 
 Kostiushka to do the business. . . . No, sir, 
 Kostiushka is not to be trusted ! He is the 
 first one to run ! . . . But the man I speak 
 of is no coward. ..." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " This has never happened before . . . not 
 this kind of business,". . . he began again, 
 slightly shaking his head. ..." I wonder how 
 Kostiushka got hold of him. . . . He is gather- 
 ing the cormorants together against me, the 
 cursed rascal ! . . . " 
 
 " And why are they afraid of you ? " 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 193 
 
 The driver smiled. 
 
 " Yes, there is no doubt they are afraid of 
 me. I gave one of them his quietus, not far 
 from here. ..." 
 
 He reined in the horses, and, turning 
 towards me, he said : " Look back ; do you see 
 the hollow yonder ! . . . I killed a man there, 
 on that very spot ! " 
 
 It seemed to me that his voice trembled as 
 he uttered these words, and, by the light of the 
 dawn, that was beginning to brighten the 
 eastern sky, I fancied I could detect an ex- 
 pression of deep sadness in his eyes. 
 
 We had reached the top of the hill, where we 
 paused. The road ran towards the west. 
 Behind us, outlined against the brightening 
 sky, stood the bold wooded hill whose rocky 
 summit looked like a giant finger uplifted to 
 the clouds. 
 
 The morning breeze blew fresh on the hill- 
 top, and the chilled horses, snorting im- 
 patiently, pawed the ground. The middle 
 horse was about to start when the driver, 
 checking him, bent over on his box and peered 
 in the direction of the hollow. 
 
194 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 Then, suddenly turning, he gathered up the 
 reins, rose on the box, and shouted aloud. 
 
 Starting on a gallop, we fairly flew from the 
 top of the hill to the bottom. It was a wild 
 ride. With flattened ears, the horses dashed 
 onward, as if beside themselves with fear, while 
 the driver continued to rise from his seat and 
 to wave his right arm. The troika seemed to 
 feel, although it could not see, his motions. . . . 
 The ground vanished beneath the wheels ; the 
 trees and shrubs ran to meet us, and seemed to 
 fall as we passed, as though beaten down by a 
 furious gale. . . . 
 
 When we were again on level ground, the 
 horses were steaming. The middle horse 
 panted heavily, and the side horses trembled, 
 snorted, and moved their ears restlessly to and 
 fro. Little by little, however, their terror left 
 them. The driver slackened the reins, and 
 spoke in soothing tones : " Gently, dearies, 
 gently! . . . Don't be frightened! . . . Isn't 
 it wonderful that a horse, a dumb beast," he 
 said to me, " should understand so well . . . 
 for, every time we reach the top of this hill, it 
 is impossible to hold them. . . . They scent a 
 crime. ..." 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 195 
 
 " That may be so," I said, "but you urged 
 tliem yourself just now." 
 
 "Did I, really? Well, maybe I did! Ah, 
 sir, if you knew what a weight there is on my 
 mind ! . . ." 
 
 " Well, if you tell me, I shall know ! . . ." 
 
 The " Slayer " looked down. 
 
 " Very well," he replied, after a pause, " I 
 will tell you. . . . Go on, my darlings, don't be 
 frightened ! . . ." And the horses started at 
 an easy trot along the soft road. 
 
 " It all took place long ago, . . . and yet not 
 so long ago, either ; but much has happened 
 since, and the great change in my life makes 
 the past seem far away ! I have been deeply 
 wronged by those who were my superiors. And 
 God, also, sent me sorrow; I lost my young 
 wife and my child at one stroke, and, having no 
 parents, I was left quite alone in the world, 
 with neither relatives nor friends; and the 
 priest himself took what little remained to me, 
 to pay for the funeral. Living quite alone, I 
 had more chance for meditation ; and the more 
 I pondered, the less I believed, until my former 
 
196 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 faith was shaken, if not lost, and I found no 
 new one to take its place. It is true I am an 
 ignorant man, — I hardly know how to read, — 
 and I dared not trust too much to my own rea- 
 son, . . . and I felt so heart-sick, so sad, I 
 would gladly have gone out of this world. . . . 
 I gave up my hut and what little land was left 
 me, all that I possessed, took an extra sheep- 
 skin coat, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots, 
 broke off a branch in the forest for a staff, and 
 started. ..." 
 
 " Where were you going ? " 
 
 "Nowhere in particular. Sometimes I stayed 
 in one place, and worked regularly day after 
 day ; then, again, I would wander from place to 
 place, ploughing a field here and there, or lend- 
 ing a hand at harvest-time. In some places I 
 stayed but for a day, or perhaps for a week, in 
 others, for a month ; and all this time I was 
 watching to see how people lived, how they 
 prayed and what they believed. ... In a word, 
 I was looking for upright people." 
 
 " And did you find them ? " 
 
 " How can I tell ? . . . There are all kinds 
 of people ; and each one has his own troubles, 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 197 
 
 of course. Still, it must be admitted that 
 people in our neighborhood devote but little 
 thought to God. . . . Each one thinks only 
 about himself, how to satisfy his own desires ; 
 and can that be called living according to God's 
 laws ! And who can say that the robber who 
 wears the chains is the actual robber, after all! 
 ... Do you not agree with me ? " 
 
 " What you say has some truth, no doubt. 
 . . . Well, and what next ? " 
 
 ** And so I grew more and more gloomy, for 
 I saw there was no chance of improvement. 
 Of course, I know a little better now; but even 
 now. . . . But at that time I was beside myself, 
 and it suddenly occurred to me that I might 
 become a convict." 
 
 " How could you do that ? " 
 
 "Very simply. I called myself a vagrant, 
 and was shut up in consequence. It was a 
 sort of penance that I had imposed upon my- 
 self. . . ." 
 
 " And did you feel better after that ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! It was simple folly. Per- 
 haps you never were in prison, and, if so, you 
 cannot know. But I have found out all I care 
 
198 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 to know about that kind of cloister. People 
 who live an idle life, perfectly useless to the 
 world, are pretty sure to fall into wicked ways, 
 and seldom, if ever, do they think of God or of 
 their own salvation; for, if they do, they are 
 treated to the gibes and mockery of their com- 
 panions. I soon found that my stupidity had 
 brought me into the wrong place ; so I told 
 them who I was, and begged to be set free. 
 But this was not a simple matter. Information 
 had to be obtained, one thing and another 
 investigated. . . . And, moreover, they said to 
 me, 'How did you dare to call yourself what 
 you were not ? ' I don't know how the busi- 
 ness would have ended had it not been for 
 something that came to pass just then, . . . 
 which, although it was not a good thing for me, 
 perhaps saved me from something worse. . . . 
 
 " One day the report spread throughout the 
 prison that the penitent Bezrtiky was to be 
 brought in. I heard the rumor much dis- 
 cussed, some believing it to be true, while 
 others distrusted it. But for me it was a 
 matter of indifference just then. What did I 
 care whether they brought him or not I — it was 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 199 
 
 all one to me ! — Prisoners were arriving every 
 day. But the convicts who had just come 
 from town confirmed the story that they were 
 bringing Bezruky under a strong escort, and 
 that he would be there at night. Prompted by 
 curiosity, our gray population had gathered 
 in the yard. I went with them, not from 
 curiosity, however. . . . When I was uneasy, I 
 often walked up and down in the yard. I was 
 pacing to and fro, and had almost forgotten 
 about Bezruky, when suddenly the gates were 
 opened, and an old man was led in. He was 
 short and thin, and he wore a long white 
 beard ; one arm hung powerless by his side, 
 and he tottered as he walked, like one whose 
 feet refuse to support him. And yet, at this 
 one man, five bayonets were levelled by the 
 guards who escorted him. The sight overcame 
 me. ' Heavens ! ' I thought, ' what does it 
 mean? Can a man be treated like a wild 
 beast ! And no stalwart, brawny fellow, but a 
 feeble, insignificant old man, who looks as if he 
 might not live the week out ! . . . ' 
 
 "And I pitied him from the bottom of my 
 heart ; and the more I looked, the more I pitied 
 
200 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST. 
 
 him. He was led into the office, and a smith 
 was called to shackle his hands and feet. The 
 old man took the fetters, made the sign of the 
 cross over them (after the manner of the Old 
 Faith), and put them on his feet. ' Fasten it,' 
 he said to the smith. Then he made a second 
 sign of the cross over the handcuffs, and, pass- 
 ing his hands through -them, said : ' Suffer me 
 to wear them, O Lord, as a penance ! ' " 
 
 The driver bent his head and relapsed into 
 silence, as though re-living, in his memory, the 
 scene he had been describing. Then, suddenly 
 lifting his head, he resumed : — 
 
 "From that moment he took possession of 
 my heart ! I must confess that he bewitched 
 me, and, even though I afterwards discovered 
 him to be a tempter and a fiend, an incarnate 
 devil, — may the Lord forgive me for saying so! 
 when I recall that praj^er of his, I can hardly 
 believe it, ^so well could he play the saint that 
 he seemed altogether different from the man he 
 really was. 
 
 " And I was not the only one who felt his 
 influence. Even our gray convicts became 
 subdued; they gazed at him in silence. The 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 201 
 
 scoffers grew quiet, and many crossed them- 
 selves. That was the way he affected them, 
 sir! 
 
 " As for me, I yielded myself completely to 
 his influence. For at that time my faith was 
 unsettled, and this man seemed to me like the 
 righteous men of old. I had made no friends in 
 the prison ; indeed, I had hardly spoken to any 
 one, and of the conversation around me I took 
 no more heed than of the buzzing of flies. . . . 
 Whatever my thoughts were, whether good or 
 bad, I kept them to myself, and shared them 
 with no one. I made up my . mind that I 
 would, if possible, make my way into the cell 
 where the old man was kept in solitary confine- 
 ment, and, watching my chance, I gave five 
 kopeks to the guards, who allowed me to pass ; 
 and afterwards they used to let me in without 
 any bribe. 1 looked in at his window, and saw 
 an old man walking to and fro, muttering to 
 himself, his shackles dragging behind him as 
 he went. When he saw me, he turned, and 
 came up to the door. ' What do you want ? ' 
 he asked. — 'Nothing in particukir,' I said; 'I 
 have come to make you a call. I thought you 
 
202 SKETCUES OF A SIBERIAN TOUIIIST, 
 
 might be lonely.' — 'I am not alone here,' he 
 said ; ' I am with God , and one is never lonely 
 who dwells with God. Still, I am glad to see a 
 good man.' — And thus I stood facing him, 
 looking so like a fool that he could not help 
 noticing my expression ; but he said nothing, 
 only gazed at me and shook his head. One day 
 he said to me, ' Draw back a little from the win- 
 dow, my lad; I want to get a better look at 
 you.' I stepped back, and he put his eye to 
 the opening, and, after gazing long at me, he 
 said : ' Tell me something about yourself! ' 
 
 " ' What is there to tell ! ' I said ; ' I amx a 
 ruined man ! ' — ' Can I trust you ? ' he asked, 
 'You will not deceive me?' — 'I have never 
 deceived any one, and surely I would not 
 deceive you. I will do anything for you.' 
 He thought awhile, and then he said : ' I 
 want to send some one outside to-night. Will 
 you go?' — 'How can I get out?' I asked. — 'I 
 will teach you,' he said. And his instructions 
 were so successful that I left the prison that 
 night, as easily as if it had been my own hut. 
 I found the man to whom I was sent, and gave 
 him the message, but, when on my way back 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 203^ 
 
 the next morning, I must admit that, as I was 
 api^roaching the prison, just before daybreak, 
 a sense of excitement came over me. Why 
 should I remain a prisoner of my own accord ? 
 Since I was free, the best thing I could do 
 would be to leave those parts. The prison 
 was in the country, and a broad highway lay 
 before me. The dew glistened on the grass; 
 it was close upon harvest-time. Beyond the 
 river, I could hear the gentle soughing of the 
 forest. ... A lovely picture ! And behind 
 me stood the prison, frowning and blinking 
 like an owl. . . . At night, when all is still, 
 one does not care ; but by daylight ! . . . 
 When I thought of the busy day spinning 
 like a wheel, it seemed as though I could not 
 bear it. My heart leaped within me, and the 
 temptation to follow the road, to regain my 
 lost liberty, and to roam hither and yonder at 
 my own will, was almost too strong for me. . . . 
 But when I remembered the old man, I felt 
 that I could not deceive him. Stretching 
 myself out on the grass, with my face down- 
 ward, I rested awhile ; then rose, and, without 
 once looking back, took the direction of the 
 
204 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 prison. Looking up as I approached, I saw 
 my old man in tlie tower, where our secret 
 cells were, sitting by the window, watching me 
 from behind the bars. 
 
 " During the day, I found a chance to glide 
 into his cell and tell him how I had carried out 
 his orders. He looked more cheerful, as he 
 said to me : ' Thank you, my child ! You have 
 done me a great favor ; I shall never forget it.' 
 And after a pause he added, smiling, ' I sup- 
 pose you are anxious to be free?' — 'Yes, I am 
 anxious, more than words can say.' — 'I thought 
 so. And what brought you here ! ' — ' My own 
 folly ; I have committed no crime.' He shook 
 his head and said : * It makes me sad to see 
 you. God has given you so much strength ; 
 you are no longer a boy, and yet you know 
 very little about life. Here you are locked 
 up. . . . And what is the" good of it ? The 
 world, it is true, is full of sin, and yet it is in 
 the world that you work out your salva- 
 tion. . . .' — ' Yes, I know there is sin in the 
 world,' I replied, ' but there is just as much 
 of it here, where there is nothing to be gained 
 by sinning.' — ' Have you repented of your own 
 sins ? ' he inquired. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 205 
 
 " ' I am disgusted with myself ! ' 
 
 " ' Disgusted, and yet you know not why. 
 This is not true repentance. True repentance 
 is sweet. Listen, and remember what I tell 
 you: God alone is without sin; man is a sin- 
 ner by his very nature, and is saved by repent- 
 ance alone. He must repent of his sins. How 
 is he to repent who has committed no sin? 
 And yet unless he does repent, we are told, 
 he cannot be saved. Do you understand ? ' 
 
 " At the time, I must admit, I understood 
 his words imperfectly ; yet they sounded like 
 good words. I had thought much about my 
 own life : other people seemed to live their 
 lives for some purpose, but not I ; I was like 
 the field-grass or a fox in the woods, — no 
 good to myself or to others. To be sure, if 
 I were living in the world, I should probably 
 be sinning, and here I was only restless. It 
 is true, I did not know how to live ; but why 
 talk of living, when I was still shut up in 
 prison ! ' I can manage that affair,' said the 
 old man. ' I have prayed about you : it has 
 been given to me to lead your soul out of 
 prison. ... If you will promise to obey me, 
 
206 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST, 
 
 I will show you the road to repentance.' — ' I 
 will promise,' I replied. — ' And will you take 
 your oath ? ' — 'I will,' I said. And so I 
 pledged myself, for at that time he had so 
 won my confidence that I was utterly in his 
 power. I would have gone through fire and 
 water for him. ... I trusted that man. One 
 of the conyicts tried to warn me : ' Why are 
 you so intimate with Bezrtiky ? Don't be 
 taken in by his piety ! You know about his 
 hand : a traveller on the highway, whom he 
 was planning to rob, sent a bullet through it.' 
 But I paid no heed to what he said, since 
 he was tipsy at the time, and I cannot abide 
 a drunken man. When I turned away from 
 him he took offence. ' Go to the deuce, fool 
 that you are ! ' I must allow that he was cor- 
 rect, although he was a drunkard. 
 
 "About this time, Bezruky was less strictly 
 guarded. He was brought from his cell into 
 the general prison, but, like myself, he remained 
 almost as solitary as before. Whenever the 
 convicts teased him, or attempted to joke with 
 him, he made no reply in words; but his glance 
 was enough to make the boldest of them quail. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 207 
 
 He had an evil eye. . . . After a while came 
 the time for his release. One summer day, as 
 I was walking in the yard, I saw the superin- 
 te-ndent go into the office, immediately followed 
 by Bezriiky, under escort, and in less than an 
 hour they both came out on the porch, Bez- 
 ruky dressed in his own suit of clothes, ready 
 to leave, and looking quite happy, and the 
 superintendent also smiling. I could not help 
 thinking how strictly he was guarded when 
 they brought him in — an innocent man, as he 
 called himself. I felt sad and lonely at 
 the thought of being left behind. Bezruky 
 glanced around, and, seeing me, made a sign, 
 and I went up to him, pulling off my cap and 
 saluting the chief, while Bezruky said: — 
 
 " ' I say, Your Excellency, could you look out 
 for this lad? He has not done anything.' 
 
 "'What is your name?' asked the superin- 
 tendent. 
 
 "'Feodor Seelin,' I replied. 
 
 " ' Ah, I remember ! We will see about you. 
 No man is to be condemned for his own stu- 
 pidity. This fellow ought to be kicked out, to 
 teach him better than to come where he does 
 
208 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 not belong. That's all there is about it, for I 
 believe the necessary information was re- 
 ceived some time ago. He will certainly be 
 released in the course of a week.' 
 
 " ' That's good,' said Bezruky, ' and you, my 
 lad,' he continued, calling me aside, ' when 
 you are released, go to Kildeyefs and ask for 
 the master, Ivan Zakhdrof. I have spoken to 
 him about you, my boy — and remember your 
 oath.' 
 
 "And then they went away. In a week I 
 too was released, and went at once, according 
 to Bezruky's directions, to the appointed place, 
 wdiere I found Iv4n Zakharof, and when I ex- 
 plained to him that Bezruky had sent me, 'I 
 know ! ' he said ; ' the old man has spoken to 
 me about you. Well, you may work for me 
 for a while, and we will see later what is to be 
 done.' 
 
 " ' And where is Bezruky now ? ' I inquired. 
 
 "'He is away on business,' he answered; 
 ' but we expect him shortly.' 
 
 " And so I remained there ; but not really as 
 a workman, for no duties were assigned to me. 
 The family was a small one — the master, a 
 
SKETCUES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 209 
 
 grown-up son, who was a workman . . . and 
 myself, beside the women -folks, and Bezruky, 
 who was there from time to time. They were 
 Starovier?/* and very pious people, strict fol- 
 lowers of the law ; they never used tobacco or 
 liquor. And as to their workman, Kuzma, he 
 was a racTored, half-witted fellow, as black as an 
 Ethiopian ; as soon as he heard the tinkle of a 
 bell, he used to rush out and hide in the 
 bushes, and, above all, he stood in mortal ter- 
 ror of Bezruky. If he caught sight of him in 
 the distance, he would run for the woods, to 
 hide himself, and always in the very same place. 
 The family might call him again and again — he 
 never would answer a syllable. But let Bez- 
 ruky go after him and speak one word, he 
 would follow like a lamb, and do everything he 
 bade him. 
 
 " Bezruky did not come often, and, when he 
 did come, he hardly ever talked with me. I 
 used to notice that, when talking with the 
 master, he would, at the same time, often look 
 at me, to see how I worked; but if I ap- 
 proached liim, he always told me that he was 
 * Believers of the Old Faith. 
 
210 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 busy. ' Have patience, my lad ! I am coming 
 to live here before long ; then we shall have 
 more time to talk.' I had fallen into a restless 
 state of mind, though I had nothing to com- 
 j)lain of — I was not overworked, and never 
 had a cross word spoken to me ; the food was 
 good, and, though I was a driver, I was but 
 seldom sent out with any traveller. It was 
 generally the master himself who went, or the 
 son with the workman, particularly if it hap- 
 pened to be in the night-time. Yet, when I 
 was idle, I felt more dejected than ever, as 
 might naturally be expected. My thoughts 
 kept my mind uneasy and restless. . . . 
 
 "Returning home from the mill, one evening, 
 some weeks after I was released, I found our 
 hut full of men. I unharnessed the horse, and 
 was just on the point of entering the porch 
 when the master came out and said : ' Don't go 
 in yet ; wait till I call you I Mind what I say ; 
 don't go in yet ! ' — ' What's all this about ! ' I 
 thought to myself; but I turned and went up 
 to the hay-loft, where I stretched myself out 
 on the hay. Finding it impossible to sleep, 
 and remembering that I had left my axe by 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 211 
 
 tlie brook, I decided to go after it, for I 
 thought to myself that those men might dis- 
 cover it on their way home, and carry it off 
 with them. As I passed by the windows, I 
 looked in and saw that the room was full of 
 men; the inspector himself was seated at a 
 table, on which were spread food and brandy, 
 together with paper and pens ... in short, it 
 was plainly to be seen that an investigation 
 was going on; and seated on a bench near 
 the wall I beheld Bezruky himself. Good 
 heavens ! I was completely paralyzed ! His 
 hair was disarranged, his hands bound behind 
 him, his eyes shining like two fiery coals. . . . 
 I can hardly tell you how dreadful he seemed 
 to me. ... 
 
 " I drew back, and stood at a short distance 
 from the window. ... It was autumn ; the 
 night was dark and starry ; I shall never forget 
 it. I heard the splash of the river and the 
 murmur of the forests as if in a dream. Trem- 
 bling, I dropped on the grass by the river-bank. 
 How long I had stayed there I cannot say 
 when I heard some one coming along the forest- 
 path, swinging a cane. He wore a white coat 
 
212 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 and hat, and I recognized the clerk, who lived 
 four versts from there. He crossed the bridge 
 and went straight to the hut, and I could not 
 resist going up to the wdndow to see wliat 
 w^ould happen next. ... He entered, took off 
 his cap, and looked around. Evidently, he 
 did not know why he had been summoned. 
 As he went up to the table, he said, in passing 
 Bezrtiky, ' How do you do, Ivan Alekseyitch ! ' 
 Such a glance as Bezruky gave him! The 
 proprietor pulled him by the sleeve and whis- 
 pered something in his ear that seemed to sur- 
 prise him. He went up to the inspector, who 
 had already been imbibing rather freely, and 
 who, rousing himself, looked up at him with 
 his blurred eyes, and, after exchanging the 
 usual greeting, asked, pointing at Bezrtik}^, 
 'Do you know this man?' — 'No,' he replied, 
 ' I don't remember ever seeing him before.' 
 
 "What could it all mean? The inspector 
 certainly knew him well. He went on with his 
 examination. 
 
 " ' Is this Ivan Alekseyef, who belongs in this 
 neighborhood, and is known under the name 
 of Bezruky ? ' 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 213 
 
 " ' No,' replied the clerk ; ' that is not he.' 
 
 " The inspector picked up his pen, and, after 
 writing something down, he proceeded to read 
 it aloud. And I stood outside, by the window, 
 wondering what it all meant ; for he read from 
 the paper tliat this old man, Iv4n Aleksevef, 
 was not Ivdn Alekseyef ; that neither the clerk 
 nor the neighbors recognized him as such ; and 
 that he called himself Ivan Iv^nof, and showed 
 his passport in proof of it. Wonderful thing ! 
 Of all these people who set their hands to the 
 document, not one of them seemed to know 
 him. It was certain that the witnesses had 
 been carefully chosen for the occasion, for they 
 were all debtors of Iv4n Zakharof — his slaves, 
 in fact. 
 
 "After this business was transacted, the 
 witnesses were allowed to depart. . . . The 
 inspector had previously ordered that Bezruky 
 should be set at liberty, and Ivdn Zakhdrof 
 brought the money and handed it to the inspec- 
 tor, who, after counting it, put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " ' Now, old man, you will have to leave 
 these parts for the next three months ! But if 
 
214 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 you clioose to stay, remember that you are not 
 to blame me. . . . Well, now get my horses 
 ready.' 
 
 " I left the window and went up into the 
 hay-loft, expecting that some one would pres- 
 ently come to fetch the horses, and I did not 
 want to be found lurking under the windows. 
 As I lay on the hay, unable to go to sleep, I 
 felt as if I were in a dream. . . . Somehow, I 
 could not collect my thoughts. I heard the 
 tinkling of the bell as the inspector drove 
 away, saw that the lights were put out, and all 
 became still in the house. I was just falling 
 asleep when again I heard a bell, for it was a 
 very still night, and one could hear sounds a 
 long way off ... it drew nearer and nearer. 
 ., . . Some one was coming towards the hut 
 from the direction of the river. By and by the 
 folks in the hut heard it, and a fire had been 
 kindled by the time the tr6ika drove up into the 
 yard. A driver whom we knew had brought 
 the travellers here, as a friendly return for the 
 customers we had brought him. 
 
 " I thought that they would very likely spend 
 the night here, and, if not, I knew that they 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 215 
 
 seldom sent me out at night, for it was gen- 
 erally the master who drove — or maybe his son, 
 with the workman ; so I was just falling asleep 
 again, when I was roused by the voices of the 
 master and Bezruky, who were conversing in 
 an undertone under the roof of the hay-shed. 
 
 " ' Well, what shall we do now ? ' said the old 
 man ; ' where is Kuzmd ? ' 
 
 " ' That's the trouble ; Ivdn has gone with 
 the inspector, and as soon as Kuzma saw the 
 crowd he ran to the bushes, and he is not to be 
 found.' 
 
 " ' Such a fool ! I believe he is half-witted ! 
 And how about Fe&dor ? ' the old man said — 
 meaning me, you understand. 
 
 "'When Feodor came home from the mill 
 to-night, he wanted to go into the hut, but I 
 would not let him.' 
 
 " ' That's well. He must have gone to sleep. 
 You don't think that he saw anything? ' 
 
 " ' I suppose not, for he went directly to the 
 hay-loft.' 
 
 " ' That is good. We will try him to-night.' 
 
 " ' You had better look out ! Do you dare to 
 trust him ? ' said Zakhdrof. 
 
216 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOUBIST, 
 
 " ' Yes ; although he is a simple-minded lad, 
 he has great strength, and, moreover, he obeys 
 me; I can twist him round my little finger. 
 Besides, you must remember that I am now 
 about to go away for six months, and we must 
 break him in before I go.' 
 
 " ' Yes, but I cannot help distrusting him,' 
 said Zaldiarof; 'I have no faith in him what- 
 ever, although he looks so simple.' 
 
 " ' Well, well, I know him ; he is not a clever 
 lad, to be sure, but that's the kind that best 
 suits us. And we must certainly get rid of 
 Kuzma ; I am afraid lie will get us into some 
 scrape.' 
 
 "Then I heard them call, 'Fe6dor! ' — 'Fed- 
 dor ! ' and I really had not the courage to answer. 
 
 " ' Get up, my good Fe6dor,' said the old man, 
 in his sweetest tones. ' Were you asleep ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 "'Yes,' I replied. . . . 
 
 " ' Get up, my boy, and harness the horses ; 
 you will have to drive the travellers. Do you 
 remember your oath ? ' 
 
 " ' I do ' ; and my teeth chattered as I spoke, 
 and cold chills were running all over me. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 217 
 
 " ' I think the time for keeping your promise 
 to obey all my commands is at hand. And, 
 meanwhile, be lively about harnessing, for the 
 travellers are in haste.' 
 
 "I pulled out the tely^ga from the shed, put 
 the collar on the middle horse, and began to 
 harness. Meanwhile, my heart was throbbing 
 violently, and I felt all the time as if this must 
 be a dream. 
 
 " Bezruky also saddled his own horse, which 
 was docile as a dog ; he could saddle him with 
 one hand. Then he mounted, and, having 
 whispered something into the horse's ear, he 
 rode off. After harnessing the middle horse, I 
 looked out of the gate, and watched him as he 
 started on a trot towards the woods. Although 
 the moon had not yet risen, it was tolerably 
 light ; and after I saw him disappear in the 
 woods, I felt easier. I drove up to the door, 
 and was asked to come in. The traveller was 
 a young woman with three small children, the 
 oldest of whom looked about four, and the young- 
 est girl might have been two years old. ' I 
 wonder where you are going, you poor creature ! ' 
 I thought to myself ; ' and without a husband, 
 
218 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 too ! Such a kind and friendly lady ! ' She 
 made me sit down, and gave me some tea, and 
 asked me what sort of a neighborhood it was, 
 and whether there had been any reports of 
 robberies. 'I have not heard of any,' I replied; 
 and couldn't help thinking: ' Ah, my blessed 
 heart, you are afraid!' and how could she help 
 it, to be sure ! She had a good deal of luggage, 
 and all the signs of wealth, and, above all, there 
 were her children. A mother's heart is an anx- 
 ious one, and I don't suppose she was travelling 
 for pleasure. 
 
 " Well, we started. It was about two hours 
 before daylight. We had reached the higlnvay, 
 and driven on for a verst or so, when sud- 
 denly one of the side horses shied, 'What 
 now!' I thought. I stopped the team, and saw 
 Kuzmd creeping out of the bushes. There he 
 stood, by the roadside, shaking his locks and 
 grinning at me. ' Deuce take you ! ' said I to 
 myself. I was somewhat startled, and the 
 lady sat there more dead than alive. . . . The 
 children were asleep, but she was wide-awake, 
 watching. I knew that she was crying. . . . 
 *I am afraid,' she said. 'I am afraid of you 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 219 
 
 all. . . . ' — 'God bless yon, my dear lady,' I 
 cried, ' I am not a villain. Why didn't you 
 stay at the hnt, where you were ? . . .' — 'I 
 was more frightened there than I am here. My 
 last driver told me that we should come to a 
 village at night; and, instead of that, he brought 
 me to this place in the woods. And the old 
 man liad such a Avicked look ! . . .' she con- 
 tinued. . . . What was I to do with her ! I 
 could see tTiat she felt very wretched. ' What 
 had we better do now?' I asked. 'Will you 
 turn back, or shall we go on ? ' And I walked 
 round the carriage, trying to think of some way 
 to comfort her, for I felt very sorry for her. 
 We were not far from the Hollow, which could 
 only be reached from the by-road ; and we 
 had to pass the 'Stone.' Seeing the quan- 
 dary I was in, she cheered up, and said : 
 'Well, get up on the box, and let us go on. 
 I am not going back, for I am afraid of those 
 men. ... I would rather go on with you ; you 
 look like a kind man.' At that time, sir, I was 
 like a child ; I had not the stamp of Cain on 
 my face. Now men are afraid of me ; they 
 call me ' Slayer.' Then I too cheered up, 
 
220 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 and mounted the box. 'Let us talk,' said the 
 lady. And she began first to ask questions 
 about me, and then she told me about herself: 
 that she was going to join her husband, who 
 was an exile belonging to the wealthy class. 
 ' How long have you been with these people ? ' 
 she asked, ' and are you living with them as a 
 workman, or in what capacity ? ' — 'I came to 
 them very recently, as a workman,' I replied. — 
 * What kind of folk are they ? ' — ' They seem to 
 be fair sort of men ; but who can tell?' I said; 
 'they are strict in their mode of life; they 
 never use either wine or tobacco.' — 'That is 
 not an essential,' she said. — ' And how ought 
 one to live ? ' I asked ; for I saw that she was a 
 sensible woman, and thought that she might 
 tell me sometliing worth knowing. — ' Can you 
 read ? ' she asked. — ' Yes,' I answered, ' a lit- 
 tle.' — ' What is the chief commandment in the 
 Bible ? ' — ' Love,' I replied. — ' You are right. 
 And it says, moreover, there can be no greater 
 love than when a man lays down his life for 
 his brother. That is the substance of the law. 
 Of course, one must use one's reason, too,' she 
 added, ' and discriminate. But such forms as 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 221 
 
 moving the fingers in a certain manner^ in order 
 to make tlie sign of the cross, and abstaining 
 from the use of tobacco, are not essential. . . / 
 — ' You are right,' I replied ; ' still, some forms 
 are needed, to remind a man of his duties.' 
 
 "Thus we talked as we drove leisurely along. 
 We came to a small stream in the woods, which 
 we had to cross. It was a shallow stream, and, 
 during the dry season, all one had to do was to 
 give the ferry-boat a push and it would touch 
 the opposite shore ; there was no need of a 
 ferry-man. The children, waking, opened their 
 eyes, and saw that it was night-time. The 
 soughing of tlie forest, the starlit sky over- 
 head, the moon rising before daybreak, ... all 
 this was a novel sight for them, ... of course, 
 they didn't know much about such things ! 
 
 " When we drove into the woods, I was fairly 
 startled, and my heart almost stopped beating, 
 for what did I see but' a figure on horseback 
 ahead of us ! I could not see distinctly, but I 
 thought I recognized Bezrtiky's gray horse, and 
 I could hear the clatter of his hoofs. My 
 heart sank within me. ' What is going to 
 happen now ? ' I thought. ' Why did the old 
 
222 SKETCHES OF A SIBEUIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 man come out here ? ' Now, it had seemed to 
 me like a foreboding of evil when he reminded 
 me of my oath, just before we started. . . . 
 Until that evening I had thought a good deal 
 of the old man, although I must confess I 
 always stood in awe of him ; but now I began 
 to be really afraid of him — the very thought 
 of his face made me shiver. 
 
 " As I sat there, without moving, my mind 
 seemed paralyzed and I could scarcely hear a 
 sound. The lady spoke now and then, but I 
 was unable to answer her ; at last she gave up 
 trying to talk, and there she sat, the poor 
 creature ! . . . 
 
 *' We had now entered an impenetrable for- 
 est. My spirits were gloomier than the night 
 itself. I was half-unconscious, but the horses, 
 familiar with the road, carried us along with- 
 out my guidance, toward that self-same stone. 
 We reached it, . . . and there, just as I antici- 
 pated^ stood the gray horse across the road, 
 and the eyes of the old man bestriding him 
 gleamed lil^e two coals of fire, so help me God ! 
 . . . The reins fell from my hands, and my 
 horses, coming up to the gray hprse, stopped of 
 their own accord. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 223 
 
 " ' Fe6dor ! ' said the old man, ' get down ! ' 
 I jumped down from the box, and he himself 
 dismounted, having placed his horse directly in 
 front of the tr6ika, which stood perfectly still, 
 as if bewitched; I too seemed to be under a 
 spell. He came up to me, and said something ; 
 then, taking me by the hand, he led me to the 
 carriage, and I discovered that I was holding 
 an axe ! . . . I yielded to him, ... for I had 
 not the courage to resist, villain that he was. 
 'Sin, and j^ou will repent afterwards. . . . ' 
 What else he said I know not. We went up 
 to the carriage. He stood beside me. 'First 
 strike the woman on the head ! ' I looked 
 into the carriage. There sat the lady, like a 
 wounded dove, shielding her children, and 
 gazing at me with all her eyes. My heart 
 quivered. . . . The children were awake ; 
 they looked like birdlings. I cannot tell 
 whether they understood what was going on, 
 or not. . . . 
 
 "Her gaze seemed to rouse me as from a 
 dream. Lifting the axe, I turned my eyes 
 away. ... But my heart was swelling with 
 rage. ... I looked at Bezruky, who quailed 
 
224 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 beneath my glance. . . . Then my wrath grew 
 more furious. I knew that I was about to do 
 a horrible deed ; but I had no pity. Once more 
 I looked at the old man, whose green eyes 
 flashed restlessly. . . . He was frightened, and 
 that made him wriggle like a snake. I raised 
 my arm and struck out, . . . and, before he 
 could groan, I stretched him prostrate at my 
 feet, and then I stamped upon him as he lay 
 there dead, ... for I was like nothing but an 
 infuriated beast, the Lord have mercy on me ! " 
 
 The driver breathed heavily. 
 
 "And what happened then?" I inquired, 
 seeing him thoughtful and silent. 
 
 ''What did you say?" he replied; "you 
 want to know what happened next? Well, as 
 I said, I was stamping on him as he lay there 
 dead, when, behold ! I saw Ivan Za^kharof gal- 
 loping towards us, with a rifle in his hand. I 
 turned just as he reached us, . . . and I should 
 have certainly finished him, as I did Bezruky, 
 only, I am thankful to say, he had the sense to 
 turn back. Just as soon as his eye lighted on 
 me, he turned his horse, dealing him heavy 
 blows with the rifle. The horse actually 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 225 
 
 howled like a human being, and flew like a 
 bird. 
 
 "When, at last, I came to my senses, it 
 seemed to me that I could not look any one in 
 the eye. ... I mounted the box and gave the 
 horses the lash, . . . but they refused to start, 
 . . . and then I saw that the gray horse was 
 still barring the way. I had forgotten that he 
 had been trained to do that. I made the sign 
 of the cross, as it came to my mind that I might 
 have to kill that cursed horse also. I went up 
 to him, but he remained motionless except for 
 the movement of his ears. I pulled him by 
 the rein, but he would not stir. 'You had 
 better get out of the carriage, madam,' I said, 
 'for the horses might become frightened and 
 run, because of this horse, which persists in 
 standing right in front of them.' Obedient as 
 a child, the lady got out, and the children fol- 
 lowed, clinging to their mother. The place 
 itself was dark and gloomy ; that alone fright- 
 ened them, and then to see me in trouble with 
 these devils. 
 
 "I backed my tr6ika, took up the axe once 
 more, and went close to the gray horse. ' Get 
 
226 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST, 
 
 out of the way,' I cried, ' else I will kill you I ' 
 He pricked up his ears, as much as to say, ' I 
 will not budge. . . . The deuce take you ! ' 
 . . . Everything grew blurred before my eyes. 
 My hair seemed to stand on end. . . . Swinging 
 the axe, I struck him on the head with all my 
 might. . , . He uttered a scream, and fell down 
 dead. ... I took him by the legs, dragged him 
 towards his master, and then I put them side by 
 side, near the edge of the road. ' Stay there, 
 will you ! ' 
 
 "'Get in,' I said to the lady. She helped 
 the younger children first, but had not strength 
 enough left to get the oldest one in. ... ' Will 
 you help me?' she said. As I went up to them, 
 the boy put out his arms to me, and I was about 
 to lift him up, when I remembered. . . . ' Take 
 the child away,' I cried ; ' I am stained with 
 blood, and am not fit to touch him ! . . .' 
 
 " Finally they managed in some way to get 
 into the telyega, and I took the reins ; but the 
 horses snorted, and refused to stir. What was 
 I to do ? ' Put the baby on the box, . . .' I 
 said. She placed the child beside me, holding 
 him from behind. I gave the horses a blow 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 227 
 
 with the reins, and they started on the run. . . . 
 just as you saw them a short time ago. They 
 ran to escape the scent of blood. 
 
 ''In the morning I brought the lady to the 
 local police-quarters in the village, and there I 
 told my story. ' Arrest me, for I have killed a 
 man.' The lady told them just how it all hap 
 pened. ' This man saved my life,' she said. 
 They bound me with ropes, and she cried at the 
 sight, poor dear ! ' Why do you bind him ? He 
 did a good deed ; he saved my children from 
 murderers ! . . .' She was a determined one ! 
 Seeing that no one heeded her words, she tried 
 to untie the ropes with her own hands, but I 
 stopped her. 'Don't do that,' I said. 'Don't 
 be anxious about this matter ; it is no longer in 
 the hands of man, but in the care of the Lord. 
 Whether I am guilty or innocent, God and the 
 world will judge. . . .' — 'How can you be 
 guilty ? ' she said. — ' It was my pride,' I replied ; 
 ' my guilt sprang from my pride. I thought I 
 was better and wiser than most men, and I be- 
 came intimate with those wretches because I 
 was too proud to take advice, and through my 
 own self-conceit I have become a murderer. . . .' 
 
228 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 She yielded at last to my remonstrances, and 
 desisted. When she came to bid me good-by, 
 in her compassion, she embraced me. . . . ' My 
 poor fellow ! ' she said, and bade the children 
 kiss me. 'No, no!' I exclaimed; 'don't stain 
 the children ; I am a murderer ! . . .' I feared 
 lest the children might shrink from me. But 
 she lifted the two younger ones in her arms, 
 and the oldest one came of his own accord, and 
 when he put his arms around my neck I broke 
 down, and burst out sobbing. I could not con- 
 trol myself. Oh, what a kind-hearted lady she 
 w^as! . . . Maybe the Lord will forgive me, 
 for her sake. . . . 
 
 " ' If there be any justice in this world,' she 
 said to me, 'we will obtain it for you. I shall 
 not forget you as long as I live ! ' And she was 
 as good as her word. You know what our 
 courts are, . . . continual delays. I should 
 have been in prison up to this day, had it not 
 been for the efforts that she and her husband 
 made to gain my release." 
 
 " Then, you were imprisoned for some 
 time?" 
 
 " Yes, for quite a while. And the want of 
 
SKLTCUES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 229 
 
 money was the cause of it. After a time she 
 sent me half a thousand rubles, and she and her 
 husband wrote me a letter. As soon as it was 
 known that money had come, my case began to 
 move at once. The inspector appeared, and I 
 was called to the office. ' Your case is before 
 me,' he said ; ' now, how much will you give me 
 if I make it all right ? ' 
 
 " ' A fine official you are ! ' I thought to myself; 
 ' and what is it that he wants to be paid for ? 
 Instead of judging me fairly, according to the 
 law, for which I should be truly thankful, he 
 asks for a bribe. . . .' 
 
 " ' I will give you nothing,' I said ; ' judge me 
 according to the law. , . .' 
 
 " He laughed. ' I see that you are a fool ! 
 The law admits of two interpretations ; but 
 that has been shelved, and, meanwhile, I have 
 the authority in my hands. It is in my power 
 to put you wherever I please.' 
 
 " ' How so ? ' 
 
 " ' It is a simple matter. You appear to be a 
 stupid fellow. Listen ! You will say, in your 
 defence, that you saved the lives of this lady 
 and her children.' 
 
230 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said. ' What then ? ' 
 
 "'Very well; and tliis might be attributed 
 to you as an act of virtue, for it is a good deed. 
 That is one view of the case.' 
 
 " ' And what is the other one ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' The other one ? Simply this. Consider 
 your strength, see what a giant you are I The 
 old man was like a child in your hands. 
 When he suggested what you say, you should 
 have politely tied his hands and brought him 
 before the authorities ; but, instead of doing 
 tliis, you dealt him a blow which felled him to 
 the ground. That was a lawless act, and one 
 that you had no right to commit. You under- 
 stand ? ' 
 
 " ' I do,' I said. ' I see that I can find no 
 justice ! But I will give you nothing ! You 
 are not the judge, and this is not impartial 
 judgment ! ' 
 
 He was angry. 
 
 " ' Very well, then ! ' said he. ' You may rot 
 in jail while your suit is going on ! ' 
 
 " ' All right,' I said ; ' but you need not 
 threaten.' 
 
 " And so he had me locked up in jail. But the 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 231 
 
 lady persisted ; she went so far as to intercede 
 for nie with the liigher authorities, and it was 
 not long before a document was received that 
 made it hot for the inspector. One day I was 
 summoned to the office, and, after a great deal 
 of loud talking, was at last released. So, after 
 all, I had no trial . . . and I hardly know . . . 
 I have been told that, nowadays, justice is to 
 be found in our courts, and I sometimes wish 
 I could be tried by a jury and abide by their 
 verdict." 
 
 " And what became of Ivan Zakharof ? " 
 '' Ivdn Zakharof has never been heard from 
 since. It was said that he and Bezruky 
 planned that the former was to follow me at 
 a short distance, and, if I should refuse to 
 commit the murder, Zakharof was to shoot me. 
 But you see it was not the will of the Lord, 
 ... for, when Zakharof arrived upon the 
 scene, everything was all over, and he took 
 fright. I heard that, when he returned, he 
 went directly to work to dig up his money ; 
 and, having done this, he made for the woods, 
 without saying a word to any one. . . . 
 Tow^ards morning the house caught fire. 
 
232 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 Whether he set it on fire acciclentally, or 
 whether it was done by Kuzma, was never 
 known; but one thing is certain — that, by 
 night-fall, nothing was left of it but a bed of 
 coals, and thus the rogues' nest was destroyed. 
 The women are beggars to this day, and the son 
 is a convict, for he had no money to buy him- 
 self off. 
 
 " Ho ! . . . my dearies, we have arrived, 
 thanks be to God ! See, the sun is just 
 rising ! . . ." 
 
 IV. , 
 
 A YOLTAIKIAN OF .SIBERIA. 
 
 A MONTH passed. I had transacted my busi- 
 ness, and was returning to'th^ city of N. by 
 post relays. 
 
 About noon we reached, the station, where 
 the stout postmaster stood on the porch, smok- 
 ing a cigar. 
 
 '' I suppose you want fresh horses ? " he 
 asked, before I had time to utter a greeting. 
 
 " Yes," I replied. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 233 
 
 . " All gone ! " 
 
 " Please, don't say that, Vasili Ivdnovitch ! 
 Cannot I see that . . ." 
 
 For I distinctly saw a partly harnessed troi'ka 
 standing under the shed. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " Truly, I know you are not in haste just 
 now, and I will ask you to wait awhile." 
 
 " For what reason ? Are you expecting the 
 governor ? " 
 
 " Not quite so high a personage as the gov- 
 ernor, I should hope ; no, only a privy coun- 
 cillor, but I should like to accommodate this 
 fellow. . . . Don't get vexed, for I am quite 
 as anxious to accommodate you ; but your 
 need is not urgent, and this is in the interests 
 of justice and humanity in general, so to 
 speak." 
 
 " What have you to do with justice ? What 
 business is it ? " 
 
 " If you will wait I will tell you all about it. 
 But why stand here ? Come into my ' cabin,' 
 will you ? " 
 
 I agreed, and followed Vasili Ivdnovitch into 
 his " cabin," where his wife, a stout, good- 
 
234 SKETCHES OF A SIBEIilAN TOURIST. 
 
 natured person, was waiting for us at the tea- 
 table. 
 
 "You were speaking about justice," began 
 Vasili Ivanovitch ; " have you heard the name 
 of Proskurof ? " 
 
 " No, I have not." 
 
 " How should he ? " interposed Matrona 
 Ivanovna. " He is just such another lawless 
 fellow as my husband ; he even writes for the 
 papers." 
 
 '' You are very much mistaken, Matrona 
 Ivanovna," said Vasili Ivanovitch, warmly; 
 "Proskur6f is a highly respectable man, and in 
 favor with his superiors. You ought to burn a 
 wax taper to my patron saint as a thanks-offer- 
 ing (or your husband's respectable acquaint- 
 ances. If that's your opinion in regard to 
 Proskurof, I should like to ask if you suppose 
 that they would send a good-for-nothing man as 
 examining magistrate on such important busi- 
 ness as this ? " 
 
 /'What are you talking about?" I inquired. 
 " What about an examining magistrate on im- 
 portant business? " 
 
 '' That's what I say ! " said Matrona Ivanovna, 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 235 
 
 encouraged. " I think you are talking nonsense. 
 Do you take me for a fool, pray? Do impor- 
 tant magistrates look like that ? " 
 
 " You have made Matr6na Ivanovna doubt 
 me," said tlie station-master, shaking his head 
 reproachfully, " and without any sufficient 
 knowledge on your part. True, no office like 
 that exists; but if a man is appointed owing to 
 the special confidence that is reposed in him, it 
 is still better. ..." 
 
 ''I am at a loss to understand you," I re- 
 marked. 
 
 " That is just what I complain of; you admit 
 that you don't understand, and yet you don't 
 hesitate to excite doubts in the mind of an in- 
 experienced woman ! Yes, and are you not 
 aware that a stock-company, so to speak, has 
 been organized, that manages all this highway 
 and dark night business? Is it possible that 
 you know nothing about it ! " 
 
 " I have heard such rumors, of course." 
 
 " I thought you must have heard of it. It is 
 a company that embraces every class of society. 
 The business is conducted on a large scale, hav- 
 ing for its motto : ' One hand washes the other.' 
 
236 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 Tliej have no objection to a certain notorietj^ ; 
 and it is a fact that every one knows of the ex- 
 istence of such a company, and even the names 
 of the individuals who are interested in it. I 
 say every one — His Excellency, of course, ex- 
 cepted. Not very long ago, a notorious affair 
 occurred, after which His Excellency conceived 
 a brilliant idea. He had come to the determi- 
 nation that, if it was possible, this evil should be 
 suppressed. Of course, such attempts have 
 been made before. The members of the com- 
 pany, for instance, have suppressed themselves, 
 and all ended well. But this time the idea was 
 particularly brilliant. His Excellency was very 
 much enraged, and empowered his private 
 clerk, Proskur6f, with ample authority to act on 
 every occasion — not only in regard to affairs 
 that have already taken place, but also in all 
 future ones or in such as might have any con- 
 nection with those that had previously oc- 
 curred." 
 
 " What is there so remarkable in that ? " 
 ''Well, sometimes the Lord sees fit to en- 
 lighten even babes. But the wonder is that an 
 honest and energetic man has been found : he 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 237 
 
 lias been engaged in this business of suppres- 
 sion for the past three months, and such a com- 
 motion as he has raised, the Lord help us ! 
 About a dozen horses have been ruined." 
 
 " Well, what good does that do you ? " 
 
 " It was not Proskur6f who ruined the 
 horses. . . . He would not do such a thing. It 
 is the rural police, the men who follow him 
 about on private horses — competition, you 
 know — trying to get ahead of him and to be 
 the first on the spot where a crime has been 
 committed, for the sake of duty, of course. 
 However, they seldom succeed. Proskurof is 
 our Lecocq. Once, to be sure, they succeeded 
 in stealing some evidence from under his very 
 nose. ... He felt much aggrieved at it, poor 
 fellow, so much so that he actually forgot him- 
 self in the official report, and stated ' that, owing 
 to the endeavor of the rural police, all measures 
 had been taken to conceal the evidences of 
 crime ! ' Ha-ha-ha ! " 
 
 " Yes, that's the reason why I say that he is 
 a case — like yourself ! " 
 
 " No, he is all right," rejoined Vasili Ivdno- 
 vitch. " And, supposing he did make a blun- 
 
238 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 der, that is what might happen to the most 
 careful person. He acknowledged his own 
 mistake, when they pressed him, and, to justify 
 himself, he declared that it was a clerical error. 
 ' Guard against such errors in the future,' was 
 the reply, 'lest you be discharged on account 
 of poor health.' He is a funny fellow, I must 
 say ! Ha-ha-ha ! " 
 
 " And what have you to do with all this ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " I lend my co-operation. Ask my wife ; we 
 have a regular compact — a secret treaty. 
 He does the suppressing, and I always keep 
 horses in readiness for him. For instance, 
 to-day a murder was committed somewhere 
 along the highway, and his man was de* 
 spatched to inform him of it, which means 
 that the ' Eradicator ' himself will be here 
 shortly ; so my horses are partly ready, and, 
 moreover, I have sent word to my colleagues to 
 have others in readiness at their stations. So, 
 you see, even though one occupies the humble 
 post of station-master, one may do some good 
 to humanity — yes, sir. ..." 
 
 At the end of this tirade, the jolly station- 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 239 
 
 master dropped his serious tone and began to 
 laugh. 
 
 " Stop laughing," I said to him, "and tell me 
 seriously, do you believe in this policy of 
 eradication yourself, or are you only an 
 observer ? " 
 
 Vasili Ivdnovitch took a long pull at his 
 cigar, and remained silent for a time. 
 
 At last he replied, in an earnest tone, " Well, 
 I don't know that I have asked myself this ques- 
 tion. Let me consider. No, I cannot say that 
 I do ! All this mission is devilish nonsense ! 
 He will soon be discharged ; there is no doubt 
 about that ! But he is a most interesting sub- 
 ject. It is true that, at the bottom of my 
 heart, I have very little faith in his 'success. 
 Sometimes he appears ridiculous to me ; still, I 
 go on helping him, and I dare say my wife is 
 right — very likely I shall irritate my superi- 
 ors against me. And that will do me small 
 good. But am I the only one ? There are 
 many others who sympathize with him. That 
 is what makes him strong, of course. But, 
 strange to say, no one really believes in his 
 success. You have just heard Matr6na 
 
240 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 Ivanovna say that genuine magistrates are not 
 like liim, and that is only the echo of public 
 opinion. Meanwhile, however, while this 
 infant pushes ahead, ' holding high his banner,' 
 as the papers express it, every man with a 
 particle of feeling, every disinterested man, 
 takes tlie trouble to kick stones out of the said 
 infant's path, lest he stumble and fall. Still, 
 this is no remedy. ..." 
 
 "Why not? With the sympathy of a popu* 
 lation, naturally interested in all this?" 
 
 " Ah, but that is just the point ! It is not 
 pure sympathy! You will probably see for 
 yourself what kind of an infant this is! He 
 pushes ahead without discretion, with no defi- 
 nite plan, quite indiiferent to the fact that he 
 will probably be gobbled up in the end. 
 Meanwhile, outsiders look on, and shake their 
 heads, as much as to say, ' That infant will be 
 eaten up sooner or later ! ' Of course, one 
 feels sorry for him. One says, ' Your path shall 
 be smoothed here for a space, but, after all is 
 done, you will certainly be devoured further 
 on.' But he recks nothing of danger. What 
 does sympathy amount to, when faith in the 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 241 
 
 success of one's enterprise is lacking? A 
 genuine magistrate is needed ; a man with the 
 wisdom of a serpent, one who knows the ins and 
 outs, who could overawe men at times, and not 
 disdain to receive a bribe occasionally — for, 
 after all, who can be a true magistrate who 
 refuses that ! In such a man the community 
 would have faith. He is the one to eradi- 
 cate! But, then, the deuce take it! there 
 would be no sympathy, aud the matter would 
 be attributed to the clashing of official interests. 
 ... So there you have it ! . . . Such is 
 our country! . . . We had better drink our 
 tea ! " Vasili Ivanovitch finished abruptly, 
 and shifted uneasily in his chair. 
 
 "Pour the tea, Matrdyntchik," he said, in 
 caressing tones, turning to his wife, who was 
 listening with an air of profound interest to her 
 husband's words. "And don't you think we 
 had better take a glass of something before 
 tea?" 
 
 Vasili Ivdnovitch himself was a very inter- 
 esting character, such as is to be found only in 
 Siberia, for in no other country is one likely to 
 
242 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 encounter a pliilosoplier occupying the position 
 of station-master. Had Vasili Ivanovitch been 
 an exile, this would have been nothing unusual. 
 Fortune's wlieel, in its rotation, has hurled 
 many a man from high position into some 
 remote corner of the world, who, while seeking 
 to rise again, introduces into these lower 
 spheres new methods of education and culture. 
 But with Vasili Ivanovitch it was just the 
 reverse ; in his radicalism he was descending 
 slowly but surely from the upper to the lower 
 stages. He looked upon this state of things 
 with the serenity of a true philosopher. Under 
 some educational influence, not uncommon in 
 this country of exiles, he had in his youth 
 acquired the tastes and inclinations of an 
 intelligent man, and had always prized them 
 above all other advantages of life. Besides, he 
 was something of an artist. When he was in 
 a mood for talking, one could listen to him 
 until one forgot all about one's own business. 
 While he was relating anecdotes and stories, 
 and giving descriptipns, a panorama of the 
 characteristic and local types of the times pre- 
 vious to the reform seemed to pass before the 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 243 
 
 eyes of the listener : all those rapacious and 
 eager inspectors ; and well fed bailiffs, who were 
 beginning to realize the comforts of life ; 
 bailiffs at the top of the ladder, who had reached 
 the height of felicity ; counsellors, senior-coun- 
 sellors, commission employes of all kinds . . . 
 and enthroned above all this world, so familiar 
 to Vasili Ivanovitch in its minutest details, sat 
 the local Jupiters in their good-nature and 
 grandeur, with their demonstrative Pompadour 
 storms, their childlike ignorance of the country, 
 their horizon imported from the St. Petersburg 
 departments, and the sense of power of the 
 mighty satrap. All these elements in the 
 stories of Vasili Ivdnovitch were vivified by the 
 sympathetic touches of the true artist who 
 loves his subject. And for Vasili Ivdnovitch, 
 his country, although he often painted it in 
 such unattractive colors, was a subject of deepest 
 interest. As an intelligent man, he might 
 truly apply to himself the poet's verse : — 
 " I love my country, but with a strange love!'* 
 And his love was sincere, although it 
 brought him to a gradual "degradation," as he 
 expressed it. When, after one of those 
 
244 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 reverses brought upon him by Ins insatiable 
 craving for exposing the truth, he was offered 
 a fair position in Russia, he, after some hesita- 
 tion, replied, "No, sir; I am much obliged to 
 you, but it goes against me. ... I could not 
 do it ! What should I do there ? Everything 
 would be strange to me. Bless you ! I should 
 have no one to abuse ! " 
 
 Whenever I read or hear a comparison be- 
 tween Siberia and Russia as it was before the 
 reform, a subject very mu^h in vogue at one 
 time, it always brings to my mind one very 
 decided difference, which was personified in the 
 stout figure of my humorous friend. * The fact 
 is that Russia before the reform had not the 
 advantage that Siberia possesses, of living in 
 the neighborhood of a Russia reformed. For 
 instance, one often meets in Siberia persons, 
 not particularly intelligent eitlier, who speak 
 of their own country in terms of ironical criti- 
 cism. Our Russian Skvoznik-Dmukhanovsky, 
 in the simplicity of his intellectual directness, 
 supposed that " God had thus ordained it, and 
 the disciples of Voltaire vainly rebelled against 
 it/^ The Siberian Skvoznik witnessed the disap- 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 245 
 
 pearance of his Russian prototype, saw the 
 triumph of the disciples of Voltaire, and his 
 directness has long since vanished. He is 
 always agitating, but has very little faith him- 
 self in his providential mission. When favor- 
 able hifluences prevail, he is cheerful ; but let 
 the wind blow from the wrong quarter, he 
 gnashes his teeth and grows morbid. True, 
 there is always a slender ray of hope shining 
 through his despair — " Perhaps the next time 
 it may succeed"; but, on the other hand, every 
 hope is embittered by the poignant doubt, 
 " Will it endure ? " For, as the proverb says, 
 " Chips fly in Siberia when trees are felled 
 beyond the Ural." And beside him, smiling, 
 stands the native " Voltairian," in his woollen 
 coat, and by his smile he seems to say, " Still 
 alive, my friend ? Is it possible ? " while he 
 clandestinely scribbles his correspondence for 
 unlicensed Russian papers. 
 
 " By the way," said Vasili Tvdnovitch, after 
 tea, when, having lighted our cigars, we still 
 continued our chat, " you have never told me 
 what happened to you that time in the Hol- 
 low?" 
 
246 SKETCHES OF A SIBEIUAN TOURIST, 
 
 And then I told him what the reader already 
 knows. 
 
 Vasili Ivanovitch remained pensive, scruti- 
 nizing the ashes on the end of his cigar. 
 
 " Yes, they are peculiar people, no doubt." 
 
 " Do you know them ? " 
 
 " How shall I say ? Yes ; I have met and 
 talked with them, and have taken tea with 
 them, as I did with you just now. But, as to 
 knowing them — no, I can't say I do. I can see 
 through inspectors, or ispravniks,* probably 
 because we are kindred spirits ; but those peo- 
 ple, I must confess, I do not understand. But 
 of one thing I am confident, and that is that 
 this Seelin will come to an unfortunate end. 
 He will be made way with, sooner or later." 
 
 '' Why do you think so ? " 
 
 "How can it be otherwise ! Your case was 
 not the first. On all such dangerous expedi- 
 tions, when almost every driver refuses, they 
 have recourse to this fellow, and he is always 
 ready. And you must remember that he never 
 takes any weapons. It is true, he overawes 
 them all. Since he killed Bezruky, a wonder- 
 * Chief of police of a district. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 247 
 
 ful prestige has attached itself to him, and he 
 seems to believe in it himself. But this is 
 only an illusion. Already they begin to say 
 tliat a cliarmed bullet will kill the ' Slayer.' 
 I suspect that the persistence with which this 
 Constantine fires at him is explained by the 
 fact that he has a supply of just such charmed 
 bullets." 
 
 THE EXTERMIKATOR. 
 
 While this conversation was going on, 
 Vasili Ivanovitch suddenly pricked up his 
 ears. 
 
 "Wait a moment; I think I heard the belL 
 ... It must be Proskur6f." 
 
 And the sound of the name seemed to re- 
 store Vasili Ivdnovitch to his habitual hilarity. 
 He ran to the window. " Just as I expected ! 
 There comes our Exterminator ! Look at him, 
 will you ! If that isn't a picture ! Ha-ha-ha ! 
 That is the way he always drives. A truly 
 conscientious man ! " I went to the window. 
 The bell sounded nearer and nearer. At first 
 
248 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 I could see only a cloud of dust issuing from 
 the forest and blowing in our direction. But 
 the road that skirted the hill made here a 
 sudden turn towards the station, and, in this 
 place, we could see the team, directly below 
 and very near us. 
 
 The post-horse troika, harnessed to a light 
 tarataika,* was making rapid progress. The 
 fine dust and pebbles already flew from under 
 the hoofs of the galloping horses ; but the 
 driver, leaning forward, urged them with an 
 occasional shout to still greater speed. Behind 
 him appeared a figure clad in a civilian's over- 
 coat and a uniform cap. Although the uneven 
 road pitched the taratdika from side to side, 
 and jolted the gentleman in the hat with the 
 cockade, he did not seem to notice it in the 
 least. He too was standing, bending forward 
 over the box, and appeared to be superintend- 
 ing the horses, in order to make sure that each 
 one was doing his share of the work. At 
 times, he pointed out to the driver the one he 
 thought ought to be urged, occasionally taking 
 the whip from his hands, and using it himself, 
 * A two- wheeled vehicle. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 249 
 
 ill a conscientious but awkward way. From 
 this occupation, which seemed to absorb his 
 entire attention, he would now and then tear 
 himself away, to look at his watch. 
 
 During all this time, while the tr6ika was 
 ascending the hill, Vasili Ivanovitch laughed 
 immoderately; but when, with one final jerk 
 of the bell, it stopped in front of the porch, 
 the station-master sat there on the lounge, 
 smoking his cigar, in apparent oblivion of 
 what was passing. 
 
 At first, we heard nothing but the heavy 
 breathing of the tired horses ; then suddenly 
 the door was thrown open, and the new-comer 
 burst into the room. He was a man possibly 
 thirty-five years of age, rather small in stature, 
 but with an uncommonly large head. His 
 broad face, with its prominent cheek-bones, 
 level brows, slightly turned-up nose, and thiii 
 lips, was almost square, and produced an effect 
 of energy peculiar to itself. His large gray 
 eyes looked straight ahead. In a general way, 
 Proskur6f's face struck one at once by its 
 seriousness — an impression that somehow van- 
 ished after a few seconds. The trim, official- 
 
250 SKETCHES OF A SJBEIilAN TOURIST. 
 
 looking side-whiskers, wliicli framed liis 
 smoothly shaven face, the parting on his 
 chin, and certain abrupt motions peculiar 
 to him, added at once a tinge of comicality 
 to the first impression of this original person. 
 Upon entering the room, Proskurof paused 
 and glanced about him, and as soon as he 
 discovered Vasili Ivanovitch he approached 
 him. "Mr. Station-Master . . . Vasili Ivan- 
 ovitch, my dear fellow, let me have horses I 
 For Heaven's sake, my dear sir, let me have 
 horses, as quickly as possible ! " 
 
 Vasili Ivanovitch, who was stretched out 
 on the lounge, assumed a cold, diplomatic 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 " Impossible," said he ; " besides, I believe 
 you are not entitled to post-horses, and the 
 horses belonging to the zemstvo * will pres- 
 ently be required for the inspector, who may 
 arrive at any moment." 
 
 Too much surprised for utterance at the first 
 moment, Proskurof suddenly flared up. 
 
 " What do you mean ? . . . Am I not here 
 first ? . . . A fine state of things ! ... In the 
 * The rural authorities. — Te. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 251 
 
 first place, you are mistaken as to my riglits 
 about the post-horses; I have my travelling 
 documents with me, and I can produce them if 
 it is necessary, . . . and, besides, on legal prin- 
 ciples. . . ." 
 
 But Vasili Ivanovitch had already begun to 
 laugh. 
 
 " The deuce take you, you are eternally 
 joking. You know I am in a Iiurry ! " ex- 
 claimed Proskur6f, in a tone of vexation, for 
 he had evidently been caught in the same trap 
 more than once. " Hurry, for goodness sake ! 
 I have business on hand." 
 
 " I know it — a murder case." 
 
 " How do you know ? " inquired the alarmed 
 Proskur6f. 
 
 " How do you know ? " repeated the post- 
 master, mimicking, him. " The inspector 
 knows it already. He told me." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! " replied the beaming 
 Proskur6f. " They have not the least idea of 
 it, — and my people have already arrested the 
 criminal, ... or I ought rather to say . . . 
 the suspected party is in their hands. I tell 
 you this promises to be a famous case ! . . . 
 
252 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 You just wait, and see me make tliem tum- 
 ble!" 
 
 " Indeed ! You had better take care lest 
 you tumble yourself." 
 
 Just then the sound of a bell in the yard 
 startled Proskurof. 
 
 " Vasili Iv4novitch," he said, in a coaxing 
 tone, " I hear them harnessing ! Is that for 
 me?" 
 
 And, seizing the postmaster's hand, he threw 
 an anxious glance in my direction. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; it is for you ! Be calm ! But 
 what business have you on hand, really?" 
 
 "A murder, my good fellow, another mur- 
 der, . . . and such a murder! — with unmis- 
 takable evidence against the famous band ! I 
 hold all the threads. Unless I am on the 
 wrong scent, we shall have a chance to make 
 some important personages squirm. Hurry, 
 for mercy's sake I . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes, in a minute. Where did It 
 happen ? " 
 
 "In that same cursed Hollow, as usual. It 
 ought to be blown up. A driver was 
 killed. ..." 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST. 253 
 
 " What's that ? A mail robbed ? " 
 
 "No, no ! — he wasn't a government driver." 
 
 "The 'Slayer'?" I exclaimed, as a sudden 
 conviction flashed into my mind. 
 
 Proskur6f turned to me, and devoured me 
 with his eyes. 
 
 " Precisely ! — that was the name the de- 
 ceased was known by. May I ask what inter- 
 est you have in this matter ? " 
 
 "Hm! . . ." muttered Vasili Ivd^novitch, and 
 a roguish look danced in his eyes. " Examine 
 hiin — you had better; examine him carefully." 
 
 " I met him once," I said. 
 
 " Just so, . . ." drawled out Vasili Iv4n- 
 ovitch, "you met him. . . . Might one ask if 
 there was any enmity or rivalry between you, 
 or were you, perhaps, expecting some legacy 
 after his death ? " 
 
 "I wish you would stop joking. What an 
 insufferable man you are ! " rejoined Proskurof, 
 pettislily, and then, addressing himself to me, 
 he continued: — 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear sir ! I had no intention 
 of dragging you into this business, but you 
 understand, . . . the interests of justice '• . ." 
 
254 SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOURIST. 
 
 " Of humanity and the safety of mankind," 
 interposed the incorrigible postmaster. 
 
 " In short," continued Proskur6f, giving 
 Vasili Iv4novitch a savage ghince, "I was 
 only about to say that, since it is the duty of 
 every citizen to promote the interests of jus- 
 tice, if you can communicate to me any infor- 
 mation in regard to this matter, you must 
 perceive that you are under the obligation to 
 do so." 
 
 " I don't know," I replied, " how much the 
 information I possess would help the case. I 
 should be very glad if my testimony should 
 prove useful." 
 
 "Good! Such promptness does you credit, 
 my dear sir. May I ask with whom I have the 
 honor ..." 
 
 I told him my name. 
 
 " Afan4sy Iv4novitch Proskurof," he said in 
 his turn. "You have just spoken of your 
 desire to promote justice. Now, I propose that, 
 in order not to do the thing half-way, you 
 would consent, my dear sir, ... in a word, 
 . . . would you be willing to go with me 
 now?" 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 255 
 
 Vasili Ivdiiovitcli laughed. 
 
 "Well, if ever! . . . This beats all! Do 
 you propose to arrest him?" 
 
 I made haste to reassure him, telling him 
 that I never for a moment suspected such a 
 thing. 
 
 "And Vasili Ivdnovitch is only joking," I 
 added. 
 
 " I am glad that you understand me ; my 
 time is precious. We shall make but few 
 changes after this, and you will tell me, on the 
 way, all that you know of the matter; and it 
 so happens that I have no clerk with me." 
 
 There was no reason why I should refuse. 
 
 "I was just on the point myself of asking 
 you to take me along, as I am very much inter- 
 ested in this affair." 
 
 The image of the " Slayer " rose before me : 
 his sombre countenance, the lines of agony on 
 his brow, and the brooding anxiety expressed 
 in his eyes. — "He is bringing the cormorants 
 down upon me, the cursed rascal ! " My heart 
 sank within me as I recalled his gloomy fore- 
 bodings. Now these cormorants circle around 
 him, as with closed eyes he lies in the dark 
 
256 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 Hollow, that once before cast its ominous 
 shadow over his unsullied life. 
 
 " Halloo ! " suddenly exclaimed Vasili Ivdn- 
 ovitch, peering through the window. " Can you 
 tell me, Afandsy Ivanovitch, who that is driv- 
 ing out of the forest?" 
 
 Proskur6f threw one hasty glance, and 
 started instantly for the door. 
 
 " Come, let us hurry, for goodness' sake ! " 
 . he called out to me, seizing his hat from the 
 table; and, as soon as I could get ready, I fol- 
 lowed him, and found our spirited troika just 
 driving up to the entrance. 
 
 Glancing in the direction of the forest, I saw 
 a cart rapidly approaching, whose passenger 
 from time to time sprang to his feet, and the 
 alternate rise and fall of his arms indicated 
 some kind of performance from behind the 
 back of the driver. The slanting rays of the 
 setting sun scintillated here and there on his 
 buttons and shoulder-straps. When Proskurof 
 paid the driver who had brought him, the latter 
 grinned by way of expressing his gratification. 
 
 "Many thanks, Your Excellency ! ..." 
 
 " Have you told your comrade? — that fellow, 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBETtlAN TOURIST, 257 
 
 I mean," said Proskur6f, pointing towards the 
 new driver. 
 
 "Yes, I have been told," replied the man. 
 
 " Then, look out ! " said the examining mag- 
 istrate, as he took his seat in tlie cart. " If you 
 get us there in an hour and a half, you shall 
 have a ruble; but if you are a minute too 
 late, only one minute too late, you under- 
 stand ! . . ." 
 
 The last sentence was not completed ; for at 
 this moment the horses started abruptly, and 
 the words were stifled in Proskurdf's throat. 
 
 VI. 
 
 YEVSEYITCH. 
 
 The city of B. was some twenty versts dis- 
 tant. At first Proskur6f looked at his watch 
 every instant, reckoning the distance already 
 traversed, and once in a while he glanced over 
 his shoulder; but at last, seemingly satisfied 
 with the pace at which the troika was carrying 
 us along, and convinced that no one was fol- 
 lowing us, he turned to me. 
 
258 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 "Well, sir, what do you know about tliis 
 affair?" 
 
 Then I told him about my adventure in the 
 Hollow, and the driver's apprehensions regard- 
 ing a threat uttered by one of the robbers, 
 whom I suspected to have been the merchant. 
 Proskur6f drank it all in. 
 
 "Yes," he said, when I paused, "all this 
 will have its weight. But do you remember 
 the faces of those men ? " 
 
 " Yes, excepting the merchant's." 
 
 Proskurof gave me one reproachful glance. 
 
 " Goodness ! " he exclaimed, and his bitter 
 disappointment revealed itself in his voice. 
 " He of all others ! Of course, you are not to 
 blame ; but he was just the one you ought to 
 have remembered. Too bad ! Too bad ! How- 
 ever, he will not escape the clutches of the 
 law." 
 
 In less than an hour and a half we reached 
 the station. Having given orders to have 
 fresh horses harnessed as soon as possible, 
 Proskurof sent for the sotsky.* 
 
 A small peasant, with a thin beard and 
 * One of the inferior village authorities. — Tk. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 259 
 
 roguish eyes, made liis appearance. The ex- 
 pression of his face betokened a mixture of 
 good-nature and rascality, but the general 
 impression was favorable and attractive. In 
 his well worn smock-frock and shabby clothes 
 there were no signs of affluence. On entering 
 the hut, he bowed, then looked behind the 
 door, as though to assure himself that there 
 were no eavesdroppers present, and finally 
 approached us. He seemed ill-at-ease, as 
 though he felt himself to be in danger in Pros- 
 kur6f s presence. 
 
 " How goes it, Yevseyitch?" was the cordial 
 greeting of the official. ''What news? Your 
 bird hasn't flown ? " 
 
 "How could he fly?" replied Yevsdyitch, 
 shuffling his feet : " he is well guarded." 
 
 '' Have you tried to talk with him ? " 
 
 '' I have ; indeed I have. . . . But he does 
 not seem inclined to talk. I tried politeness, at 
 first; but I must confess I couldn't help threat- 
 ening him, after a while. 'Why do you behave 
 like a statue, you good-for-nothing fellow? Do 
 you realize who I am ? ' — ' And who are you, I 
 should like to know?' — 'An authority, that's 
 
260 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAJST TOURIST. 
 
 who! — a s6tskyl' — 'Such authorities as you 
 we have slapped in the face.' What can you 
 do with such a desperate fellow ? . . . a vil- 
 lain ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes," interrupted Proskur6f, impa- 
 tiently ; " be sure and keep a sharp watch over 
 him. I shall return in a short time." 
 
 "He won't run away. And I must say, 
 Your Excellency, that he is not troublesome. 
 Most of the time he lies down and looks at the 
 ceiling — whether asleep, or only resting, who 
 can tell? . . . Once he got up and said he was 
 hungry, and I gave him something to eat ; then 
 he asked for some tobacco to make a cigarette 
 with, and stretched himself out again." 
 
 " So much the better, my dear fellow. I rely 
 on you, and when the surgeon arrives send him 
 along." 
 
 " I shall not fail to do so. But I was going 
 to ask Your Excellency . . ." 
 
 And once more Yevseyitch went to the door, 
 and looked cautiously around the vestibule. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" asked Proskurdf, who 
 was on the point of leaving. 
 
 " I suppose we understand the matter," began 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 26l 
 
 Yevseyitch, diplomatically, shuffling his feet, 
 and casting side-glances at me ; " if the peasants 
 were to bring some pressure to bear now, it 
 would be all right, would it? . . . the whole 
 mir,* I mean — all our society? . . ." 
 
 "Well?" said Proskurof, inclining his head 
 in order better to grasp the sense of this dis- 
 connected explanation of the peasant. 
 
 "Just consider. Your Excellency, and think 
 how it must be ! We cannot stand this sort of 
 thing much longer. Such trouble ! Think of 
 the power they have in their hands, and how suc- 
 cessful they are ! . . . Now, for instance, take 
 that very same rascal ! . . . What is he? There 
 is no doubt but that he was bribed ; it must 
 have been done for money. . . . And if he 
 had refused, they would have found another 
 man." 
 
 "That's so," said Proskur6f, by way of 
 encouragement, and evidently very much inter- 
 ested. " Go on, my dear fellow ; I see you 
 have a head on your shoulders. Well, what 
 then?" 
 
 " Nothing ; only if we peasants felt that we 
 * Village commune. — Tb. 
 
262 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 had some power behind us, . . . perhaps, then, 
 we might dare to testify against them. . . . 
 Think of their evil doings ! . . . and the mir 
 is influentiah" 
 
 " Well, you must know, if you help justice, 
 justice will help you," remarked Proskur6f, 
 with dignity. 
 
 " To be sure," ejaculated Yevs^yitch, thought- 
 fully ; " but, then, on the other hand, we cannot 
 help thinking that, if Your Excellency should 
 not be able to hold your own with the powers 
 that be, we and our children would be ruined ; 
 for the power is in their hands. . . ." 
 
 Proskur6f shuddered, as though touched by 
 an electric current, and, hurriedly seizing his 
 hat, he rushed out of the room. I followed 
 him, leaving Yevseyitch in the same perplexed 
 attitude. He continued to gesticulate, mutter- 
 ing to himself, while Proskurdf, indignant, took 
 his seat in the cart. 
 
 " That's the way it always is ! " he said ; 
 "nothing but compromises, whichever way one 
 turns ! ... If success is assured to them, then 
 they will consent to uphold justice. . . . What 
 do you say to that state of things ! It is 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 263 
 
 immoral — simply immoral! ... It indicates 
 that the sense of duty is deficient. . . ." 
 
 " If you ask my opinion, I must beg leave to 
 differ from you. It seems to me that they 
 have the right to demand from the authorities a 
 guaranty of protection in all attempts to obtain 
 justice. If this be denied, tlien what is the 
 essence of authority? — what meaning does it 
 convey? . . . Do you not think that, if mob- 
 law is forbidden, that very fact implies the 
 assumption of certain responsibilities ? And if 
 they are not discharged, tlien . . ." 
 
 Proskur6f turned suddenly toward me, and 
 seemed about to make some remark ; but he 
 did not speak, remaining silent, and absorbed 
 in his own thoughts. 
 
 We had travelled nearly six miles, and were 
 now about three miles from the Hollow, when 
 we heard the sound of a bell. "Aha!" said 
 Proskur6f, " he has not changed his horses. 
 So much the better; he has had no time to 
 interview the prisoner. I thought as much." 
 
264 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE INSPECTOE. 
 
 Whek we reached the Hollow, the roseate 
 disk of the sun was just sinking below the 
 horizon line; but, although the deep evening 
 shadows were already overspreading the place, 
 it was yet daylight. All was cool and still. 
 The " Stone " loomed vaguely through the fog, 
 and above it rose the full, pale moon. The dark 
 forest lay wrapped in the profound sleep of 
 enchantment; not a leaf stirred. The silence 
 was broken only by the sound of the bell, which 
 tinkled clearly in the air, repeated by the 
 reverberating echo of the Hollow, and also 
 behind us the sound of ringing could be faintly 
 heard. 
 
 A light smoke rose from the direction of the 
 bushes. The peasant watchers were sitting 
 silently round a fire, and as soon as they saw us 
 they rose, taking off their caps. At a short 
 distance from them, under a linen cover, lay the 
 body. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 265 
 
 " Good-evening, boys ! " said the examiner, 
 in an undertone. 
 
 '' Good-evening, Your Excellency ! " replied 
 the peasants. 
 
 "Nothing has been disturbed?" 
 
 " Nothing, we believe. . . . We were obliged 
 to do sometliing to him. . . . But we have not 
 touched the animal." 
 
 "What animal?" 
 
 " Why, didn't you know the brutes shot the 
 sorrel horse ? . . . The deceased was returning 
 on one of the side horses." We saw the slain 
 animal lying some thirty sazheii * from the 
 road. 
 
 Proskur6f, accompanied by the watchers, 
 went to inspect the locality ; he approached the 
 deceased, and raised the covering from his face. 
 
 The pallor of death overspread his calm fea- 
 tures. His dim eyes, turned upwards toward 
 the evening sky, wore that peculiar expression 
 of bewilderment and inquiry which is some- 
 times stamj^ed upon the face of the dead by the 
 last emotion of departing life. . . . The face 
 was unsullied by blood. 
 
 * A sazlien is about seven feet. — Tu. 
 
266 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, Proskur6f passed 
 me ; he was walking toward the crossing, 
 accompanied by the peasants. The team that 
 we had heard behind us had just arrived. 
 
 A middle-aged man, in police uniform, jumped 
 out, followed by a young person in citizen's 
 dress, who proved to be the surgeon. The 
 inspector seemed much fatigued. His broad 
 chest heaved like a pair of bellows ; his portly 
 person, enveloped in a stylish military cloak, 
 swayed to and fro as he moved, and his long, 
 waxed moustache alternately rose and fell, keep- 
 ing time to his puffing and panting. His long, 
 curling hair, slightly gray, was covered with 
 dust. 
 
 "Ouf!" he exclaimed, gasping. "It's hard 
 work to follow you, Afan4sy Ivdnovitch. How 
 do you do ? " 
 
 "My respects to you," answered Proskur6f. 
 "I am sorry to have hurried you. I could 
 have waited." 
 
 " Oh, no ! . . . Ouf ! . . . Duty above all 
 things. I never want to keep any one wait- 
 ing. That is against my principles." 
 
 The inspector spoke in a hoarse army bass, 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 267 
 
 the sound of which involuntarily brought to 
 mind the idea of rum and Zhukof* tobacco. 
 His small eyes, colorless yet keen, with rest- 
 less scrutiny, peered in all directions, and at 
 last rested on me. 
 
 ''This is Mr. N., a friend of mine, who is 
 temporarily performing the duties of clerk," 
 said Proskurof, as he introduced me. 
 
 " I have the pleasure to have heard of you, 
 and am very happy to make your acquaint- 
 ance. Bezrylof, a retired captain." 
 
 Lifting his hand to his vizor, he clanked his 
 spurs with a good deal of style. 
 
 "Very well! We will begin the investiga* 
 tion, then, while the daylight lasts, and make 
 short work of it, in military fashion. Hey, 
 there! . . ." 
 
 The watchers came toward us, and, together, 
 we drew near the dead body. Bezrylof was 
 the first to reach it, and, with an air of indiffer- 
 ence, instantly pulled off the covering. 
 
 We involuntarily recoiled at the spectacle 
 before us. The entire chest of the deceased 
 displayed gaping wounds, cut and pierced in 
 * A poor quality of Russian tobacco. — Tu. 
 
268 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 different places. An unspeakable horror took 
 possession of the soul at the sight of such 
 traces of beastly rage. Any one of these 
 wounds would have been mortal, but it was 
 evident that the majority of them were dealt 
 after death. 
 
 Even Bezrylof lost his customary self-pos- 
 session, and stood motionless, holding in his 
 hand the end of the covering. His cheeks 
 grew purple, and the ends of his moustache 
 stood out like two spears. 
 
 " The rascals ! " he said at last, and heaved a 
 deep sigh, which may have been an expression 
 of remorse, knowing, as he did, that for him 
 there was no possible retreat from the path of 
 concealment and deception upon which he had 
 entered. Gently replacing the covering, he 
 turned to Proskur6f, who had not once 
 averted his eyes from him. 
 
 " If you are willing, I wish to postpone tho 
 description until the inquest to-morrow," 
 pleaded the inspector, with a dispirited look. 
 ..." And now let us examine the locality, 
 and have the body carried to B." 
 
 "And there the prisoner shall be ques- 
 tioned," replied Proskur6f, harshly. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 269 
 
 A startled expression came into Bezrylofs 
 eyes, such as is seen in those of a hunted ani- 
 mal. 
 
 " The prisoner ? " he exclaimed. " Have you 
 a prisoner, then? . . . How happens it that 
 I have not been . . . how is it that I knew 
 nothing of it?" 
 
 He was almost ludicrous, but he quickly 
 made an effort to recover himself. Casting a 
 reproachful glance at his driver and the peas- 
 ants, he turned again to Proskur6f. 
 
 " Well done ! Matters begin to look alive 
 • . . remarkably so ! . . ." 
 
 vni. 
 
 "lYAK, AGED THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS." 
 
 About midnight, the officials, having rested 
 and taken tea, began the inquest. 
 
 In a large room, at a table covered with 
 writing materials, sat Proskurof. His some- 
 what comical vivacity had given place to a 
 serious and dignified demeanor. Bezrylof, who 
 had now regained his former ease of the bar- 
 
270 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOXlRIST. 
 
 racks, had had time during his brief rest to get 
 a bath, to wax his moustache, and to give an 
 extra touch to his gray hair. On the whole, he 
 was still a hale and rather an elegant man. 
 Sipping strong tea from a tumbler that stood 
 beside him, he glanced at the examiner in a 
 condescending sort of way. I was seated at 
 the opposite end of the table. 
 
 "Will you have the prisoner brought in?" 
 said Proskurof, looking up from the sheet of 
 paper on which he was rapidly writing the 
 form of the interrogatories. ' 
 
 Bezr;^lof nodded, and Yevs^yitch at once 
 rushed out of the hut. 
 
 A moment later, the door opened, and a man 
 of tall stature — the same whom I had seen with 
 Kostiushka at the ferry, gazing at the clouds — 
 made his appearance. 
 
 In entering, he slightly stumbled over the 
 sill, and, after a glanpe at the place, he walked 
 into the middle of the room, and stood still. 
 His step was measured and composed. A 
 broad face, with rather coarse but regular fea- 
 tures, denoted the utmost indifference. The 
 blue eyes were somewhat dull, and gazed 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 271 
 
 vaguely into space, as though not noticing 
 the objects before them. His hair was cut 
 in a circle, and spots of blood were visible 
 on his colored cotton shirt. Proskur6f passed 
 the paper with the written interrogatories to 
 me, and, having pushed the pen and ink in 
 the same direction, began to put the usual 
 questions. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 "Ivdn, aged thirty-eight." 
 
 " Where do you live ? " 
 
 "I have no home. ... I am a vagrant. . . ." 
 
 " Tell me, ' Ivan, aged thirty -eight,' did you 
 murder the driver Ivan Mikh4ilof ?" 
 
 "I did. . . . That's my doing. Your Excel- 
 lency. . . . There's no use trying to hide the 
 fact . . . that's evident. . . ." 
 
 "Well said! . . ." exclaimed Bezrylof, ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 " What is the use ? — Your Excellency is 
 •making unnecessary delays ! . . . There's no 
 denying the truth." 
 
 After the first answers had been written 
 down, tlie examiner continued: — 
 
 " At whose instigation or suggestion did you 
 
272 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 do tins deed, and where did you get the fifty- 
 two rubles and two kopeks which were found 
 on your person ?" 
 
 The vagrant raised his dreamy eyes. 
 
 "What's the use in asking these questions, 
 Your Excellency ? You know your business, 
 and I know mine. I did it out of my own 
 head ; that's all there is to it. . . . Myself, 
 the dark night, and the forest . . . three of 
 us! . . ." 
 
 Bezrylof gave a grunt of satisfaction and 
 drank half a tumbler of tea at one gulp, 
 bestowing, meanwhile, sarcastic glances on 
 Proskurof. Then he gazed at the vagrant, 
 admiring the result of his model prison-train- 
 ing, as a discipline-loving officer admires that 
 of a well trained soldier. 
 
 Proskurof remained impassive. Evidently, 
 he had expected no disclosures from the 
 vagrant. 
 
 " Will you not tell us," he went on with his 
 interrogatory, "why you hacked Feodor Mi- 
 khailof in such a barbarous manner ? Did you 
 have a personal grudge or hatred against the 
 deceased ? " 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 273 
 
 The man looked up at the examiner with 
 astonishment. 
 
 "I don't think I stabbed him more than 
 once or twice ... I believe. . . . Then he 
 fell. . . ." 
 
 " Desydtnik," * said Proskurof to the peas- 
 ant, "hold a candle so that the prisoner can 
 see, and let him take a look in the next room." 
 
 The vagrant, with the same quiet step, 
 moved towards the door, and paused, while 
 the peasant, taking a candle from the table, 
 entered the next room. 
 
 The rascal at first shuddered and drew back, 
 but, instantly making an effort at self-control, 
 he glanced once more in the same direction, 
 and crossed over to the opposite side of the 
 room. 
 
 As we followed the movements of this pow- 
 erful man, now crushed and broken, his own 
 excitement communicated itself to us. 
 
 He was pale, and for some time stood lean- 
 ing against the wall, with his eyes cast down. 
 Presently he lifted his head and looked at us 
 with vague and uncertain gaze. 
 
 * Village policeman. — Tb. 
 
274 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 " Your Excellency ! . . . Orthodox Christians! 
 , . . " he began, in a pleading voice, " this is 
 no work of mine. . . . Upon my conscience, I 
 did not do this ! ... Can it be that in my ter- 
 ror I forgot. . . . No, it's impossible ! . . . " 
 
 Suddenly, his face brightened, and for the 
 first time his eyes sparkled. 
 
 He came towards the table, and, in a resolute 
 voice, exclaimed : — 
 
 "Set this down, Your Excellency. Kos- 
 tiushka did it. . . . Kostinkin with the torn 
 nostril! It must have been he ! . . . No one 
 else would have so mangled a human being. 
 That's his work. . . . Mate or no mate, it's all 
 one to me . . . write it down, Your Excel- 
 lency!" 
 
 At this sudden outburst of candor, Prosku- 
 r6f instantly seized paper and pen, in order to 
 write it himself ; while the vagrant, slowly and 
 with visible effort, related to us the details of 
 this gloomy drama. 
 
 He had escaped from the prison of N., where 
 he had been confined for vagrancy . . . and 
 for some time remained without "business," 
 until he accidentally met Kostitishka and his 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 275 
 
 friends in a certain " establishment." It was 
 there that for the first time he heard them 
 talking of the deceased Mikhd'ilitch. 
 
 "'The Slayer,' " they said, 'is a man who can- 
 not be killed; knife and bullet are powerless 
 against him, because he bears a charmed life.' — 
 * Nonsense, fellows!' I exclaimed; 'that is im- 
 possible ! A blade will finish any man ! ' 
 
 " ' And who are you, may we ask, and where 
 do you belong ? ' 
 
 " ' That's my affair,' I replied ; ' the prison is 
 my father, and the forest my mother ; they are 
 my kith and kin.' 
 
 "Gradually, we grew more sociable, and at 
 last I joined the company. They called for 
 half a measure of wine, and Kostinkin said: 
 ' If you are the kind of man we can trust, 
 wouldn't you like to join us and go shares ? ' 
 — 'I would,' I replied. — ' All right ! ' was the 
 answer. ' We want a man like you. This busi- 
 ness must be done in the Hollow ; it matters 
 not whether it be by day or by night. We 
 have heard that a man is to carry a large sum 
 of money with him from town. But consider ! 
 are you sure you are not boasting ? If the 
 
27G SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST. 
 
 gentleman goes with another driver we will 
 share the spoils . . . but if the " Slayer " 
 should be with him, look out that you don't 
 run away.' — ' No danger,' I said ; ' that will 
 not happen.' — ' All right ! if you feel so confi- 
 dent, you may be in luck ; a large reward has 
 been offered for the " Slayer," and you will 
 stand a chance of getting it.' " 
 
 "A reward ? " repeated Proskur6f ; " by whom, 
 may I ask ? " 
 
 "Look here, sir," replied the vagrant, "you 
 listen to me at present, and keep your ques- 
 tions till by and by. . . . Well, I must ac- 
 knowledge that, the first time we tried it, I did 
 get frightened, and ran away ; the mate was 
 mostly to blame for that. Mikhailitch had 
 nothing but a whip in his hand when he came 
 towards us ; and Kostinkin, with his rifle, was 
 the first to run ... of course, I felt frightened 
 too. . . . But that rascal was the first one to 
 make fun of me. He is very sarcastic — that 
 Kostinkin ! ' Very well,' I said, ' let us try it 
 again. But let me tell you one thing : if you 
 run away this time, I shall kill you too.' For 
 three days we stayed in the Hollow, on the 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOUBIST. 277 
 
 lookout for him. Toward the evening of the 
 third day he passed us — so we felt sure he 
 would have to return that night. We were all 
 ready, lying in wait, when we heard him com- 
 ing ; he was riding one of the side horses. 
 Kostinkin fired and hit the sorrel horse. Mi- 
 khailitch rushed toward the bushes, just at the 
 very spot where I stood. . . . My heart beat 
 fast, I must confess ; for I knew that one of us, 
 either he or I, must fall. ... So I made a 
 plunge forward and struck at him with the 
 knife, but missed him. Then he, seizing my 
 arm, struck the knife out of my hand and 
 threw me to the ground — almost crushing me, 
 in his great strength. But just as he was about 
 to take off his belt, preparing to bind me, I 
 drew from my boot another knife, which I had 
 made ready for just such a crisis as this ; and, 
 bending, I stabbed him under the ribs. ... 
 He gave one groan,, and, turning me face up- 
 wards, looked me in the eyes. . . . ' Ah, my 
 instinct warned me ! . . . Well, go thy way, 
 but don't torture me. Thou hast killed me.' 
 I got up . . . and saw' that he was in agony. 
 . . . He tried to lift himself, but could not. 
 
278 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 ' Forgive me,' I cried. — ' Go thy way, go thy 
 way ! May God forgive thee ... as I do ! ' 
 Then I left him, and I tell you the truth when 
 I say that I did not go near him again. . . . 
 This is Kostinkin's work; probably, after I 
 went away, he fell upon him. ..." 
 
 The vagrant was silent, and threw himself on 
 the bench, while Proskur6f hastened to finish 
 his writing. All was still. 
 
 " Now," continued the examiner, " complete 
 your frank confession. What merchant was 
 with you on the occasion of the first attack, 
 and in whose name did Kostiushka promise 
 you a reward for the murder of Feodor 
 Mikhdilof?" 
 
 Bezrj^lof sat gazing with disappointment at 
 the softened vagrant. But suddenly the latter 
 rose from the bench and resumed his former air 
 of indifference. 
 
 " That will do ! " he said, firmly ; " I shall 
 tell nothing more I . . . Enough ! . . . You 
 have put down all that about Kostiushka, 
 haven't you? It serves him right, and per- 
 haps it will teach him better than to be such 
 a brute in the future ! You may as well order 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOUBIST, 279 
 
 them to take me away, Your Excellency, for I 
 shall say nothing more." 
 
 " Listen, ' Ivdn, aged thirty-eight,' " said the 
 examiner, " I deem it my duty to inform you 
 that the fuller your confession, the more leni- 
 ency you may expect from the hands of justice. 
 You cannot save your mates." 
 
 The va<2^rant shruf^o^ed his shoulders. 
 
 " That is not my lookout. It is all the 
 same to me." 
 
 Evidently,' there was no hope of obtaining 
 any further information from him, and he was 
 removed from the room. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE INVESTIGATION CONTINUED. 
 
 It still remained to examine the witnesses. 
 
 The priest was expected, to administer the 
 oath, and meanwhile they huddled together at 
 the inner wall. The gray crowd, with sombre 
 faces, stood shuffling their feet, in dead silence. 
 Yevs^yitch stood in front. His face was red, 
 his lips drawn tightly together, his forehead 
 
280 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST, 
 
 wrinkled, and, as he gazed gloomily from under 
 his brows, his eyes rested alternately on Bezry- 
 lof and the examiner. It was evident enough 
 that between this crowd and Yevseyitch a de- 
 cision had been reached. 
 
 Bezrylof sat on the bench, with his legs 
 spread apart, snapping his fingers. While the 
 peasants were entering and taking their places, 
 he gazed at them attentively and thoughtfully ; 
 then, after giving them one cold, disdainful 
 glance, he turned to Proskurof, nodded, and, 
 with an almost imperceptible smile, exclaimed : 
 
 " By the way, Afandsy Ivanovitch, I almost 
 forgot to congratulate you ! . . . I have a 
 pleasing bit of news. . . . Excuse me ! . . . 
 With all this business ... it actually slipped 
 my mind. . . ." 
 
 " On what subject ? " inquired Proskurof, 
 still reading over the deposition. 
 
 Bezrylof was beaming. " Can it be possible 
 that you have not heard, and am I to be the 
 first to impart this agreeable intelligence ! . . . 
 I am very, very glad ! . . ." 
 
 The examiner raised his eyes and gazed at 
 the inspector, who thereupon came up to him, 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 281 
 
 clanking his spurs, and smiling in a way meant 
 to be irresistible. " You are temporarily ap- 
 pointed to the place of Treasurer of the City 
 of N. ... Of course, this is merely a form, 
 and there can be no doubt but that your ap- 
 pointment will be confirmed. I congratulate 
 you, my dear fellow," continued Bezrylof, in 
 his most cordial and flattering voice, seizing 
 Proskur6fs hand; ''I congratulate you with 
 all my heart." 
 
 But Proskur6f failed to appreciate these 
 friendly congratulations. Quickly withdraw- 
 ing his hand, he sprang from his seat. 
 
 "Wait, my dear sir, wait!" he hastily ex- 
 claimed, almost stuttering as he spoke. " This 
 is no place for joking ! ... no place what- 
 ever ! . . , Perhaps you think that I do not see 
 through your policy? . . . You are mistaken, 
 my dear sir ! I am no calf ! . . . no, sir ! . . . 
 no calf! . . ." — "God bless you, Afanfey 
 Iv^novitch ! what is the matter ? " exclaimed 
 Bezrylof, in surprise, and, with a deprecatory 
 wave of his hand, he glanced round the room, 
 as if summoning those present to contemplate 
 Proskur6f's ingratitude. "Do you think I 
 
282 SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 
 
 should dare to joke on such a subject . . . 
 an official appointment ! . . . I read it myself 
 ... I assure you ! . . . And, I must say, a 
 very desirable position it is," he continued, 
 changing his tone, and again assuming one of 
 easy familiarity. "You will have no more 
 trouble with unpleasant cases of this kind, 
 while we, luckless mortals that we are, must 
 finish this one without your assistance. I am 
 sorry, of course ! . . . Still, I am delighted for 
 your sake ! It's an easy, comfortable office 
 . . . ha-ha-ha! . . . One that exactly . . . 
 ha-ha-ha! . . . suits your temperament. . • . 
 And, moreover, you are likely to receive . . . 
 from the merchants . . . ha-ha-ha ! . . . sub- 
 stantial tokens of gratitude. ..." 
 
 Bezrylof seemed to have abandoned all 
 reserve, and his stout person was convulsed by 
 excessive laughter. Proskur6f stood before 
 him motionless, grasping the table with both 
 hands. His face, which wore an expression of 
 mingled grief and astonishment, lengthened 
 visibly, and grew fairly livid. 
 
 Alas, for him! At that moment, he really 
 made one think ... of a calf. 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBEBIAN TOUBIST. 283 
 
 I glanced at the peasants. They were 
 craning their necks ; only Yevs^yitch bent his 
 head, as he had the habit of doing, and listened 
 attentively, without losing a syllable. As I 
 felt no further interest in the examination, I 
 went out into the entry, where, on a bench in 
 the corner, sat the prisoner. At a short dis- 
 tance from him stood several of the peasant 
 watchers. As I drew near, and seated myself 
 beside him, he looked up and made room for 
 me. 
 
 " Tell me," I said, " is it true that you 
 really felt no enmity against the deceased 
 Mikhdilof?" 
 
 He raised his calm blue eyes. 
 
 "What did you say!" he asked. "How 
 could I have felt enmity, when I never saw him 
 before ! " 
 
 " Why did you kill him, then ? Surely, it 
 could not have been for the fifty rubles that 
 were found on your person ? " — " No, of course 
 not," ... he replied thoughtfully. "As we 
 live, even ten times that sum hardly lasts a 
 week. I simply wanted to know ... if it 
 was a possible thing that a knife-blade could 
 have no effect." 
 
284 SKETCHES of a Siberian tourist, 
 
 '' You don't mean to say that you have 
 killed a man and made a wreck of your own 
 life out of mere curiosity ! " 
 
 He looked at me with surprise. 
 
 "Life, did you say? . . . My own life, you 
 mean? . . . What is that? To-day it happens 
 that I have killed Mikhailitch, but, if things 
 had turned out differently, he might have put 
 an end to me. ..." 
 
 " Oh, no, he would never have killed you ! " 
 
 " Yes, I think you are right ; had he killed 
 me, he would have been alive to-day." 
 
 The vagrant gave me a look in which 
 animosity was plainly to be seen. 
 
 " Go away ! What do you want ? " he said ; 
 and then added, letting fall his head, " Such is 
 my lot ! . . . " 
 . " What is your lot ? " 
 
 "Such as it is . . . prison life ever since I 
 was a boy." 
 
 " Have you no fear of God ? " 
 
 "God?" ... he repeated, smiling, and 
 tossed his head. "I squared up -my accounts 
 with the Lord a long time ago, and well I 
 might! . . . Considering all my prayers, I 
 
SKETCHES OF A SIBERIAN TOURIST. 285 
 
 shouldn't wonder if He were still my debtor. 
 Look here, sir ! " he said, changing his tone, 
 "those things are not for the like of us. Why 
 do you hound me ? Haven't I told you that 
 such is my lot ! I can talk pleasantly to 
 you here, but if we happened to meet in 
 the forest, or as we did that time in the 
 Hollow, — then, it would be a very different 
 matter. ... It is all fate. . . . Heigh-ho ! " 
 He shook his brown locks, exclaiming : — 
 '^ Won't you give me some tobacco, sir ? 
 I want it badly ! " But the light tone in which 
 he spoke seemed to me forced and artificial. 
 
 I gave him a cigarette, and, leaving him, went 
 out into the vestibule. Away beyond the 
 forest the sun was just rising ; and the night- 
 mist, drifting eastward, rested on the tops 
 of the pines and the cedars. . . . The dew 
 sparkled on the grass, and through the window 
 I could see the yellow flame of the tapers 
 that stood near the head of the corpse. 
 
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