At seven o'clock in the evening, having taken my tea, I started from a
station, the name of which I have quite forgotten, though I remember
that it was somewhere in the region of the Don Cossacks, not far from
Novocherkask. It was already dark when I took my seat in the sledge
next to Alyoshka, and wrapped myself in my fur coat and the robes.
Back of the station-house it seemed warm and calm. Though it was not
snowing, not a single star was to be seen overhead, and the sky it
seemed remarkably low and black, in contrast with the clear snowy
expanse stretching out before us.
We had scarcely passed by the black forms of the windmills, one of
which was awkwardly waving its huge wings, and had left the station
behind us, when I perceived that the road was growing rougher and more
drifted; the wind began to blow more fiercely on the left, and to toss
the horses' manes and tails to one side, and obstinately to lift and
carry away the snow stirred up by the runners and hoofs. The little
bell rang with a muffled sound; a draught of cold air forced its way
through the opening in my sleeves, to my very back; and the inspector's
advice came into my head, that I had better not go farther, lest I
wander all night, and freeze to death on the road.
"Won't you get us lost?" said I to the driver,[1] but, as I got no
answer, I put the question more explicitly: "Say, shall we reach the
station, driver? We sha'n't lose our way?"
"God knows," was his reply; but he did not turn his head. "You see what
kind of going we have. No road to be seen. Great heavens!"[2]
"Be good enough to tell me, do you hope to reach the station, or not?"
I insisted. "Shall we get there?"
"Must get there," said the driver; and he muttered something else,
which I could not hear for the wind.
I did not wish to turn about, but the idea of wandering all night in
the cold and snow over the perfectly shelterless steppe, which made
up this part of the Don Cossack land, was very unpleasant. Moreover,
notwithstanding the fact that I could not, by reason of the darkness,
see him very well, _my_ driver, somehow, did not please me, "nor
inspire any confidence. He sat exactly in the middle, with his legs in,
and not on one, side; his stature was too great; his voice expressed
indolence; his cap, not like those usually worn by his class, was large
and loose on all sides. Besides, he did not manage his horses in the
proper way, but held the reins in both hands, just like the lackey who
sat on the box behind the coachman; and, chiefly, I did not believe in
him, because he had his ears wrapped up in a handkerchief. In a word,
he did not please me; and it seemed as if that crooked, sinister back
looming before me boded nothing good.
"In my opinion, it would be better to turn about," said Alyoshka to
me: "fine thing it would be to be lost!"
"Great heavens! see what a snowstorm's coming! No road in sight. It
blinds one's eyes. Great heavens!" repeated the driver.
We had not been gone a quarter of an hour when the driver stopped the
horses, handed the reins to Alyoshka, awkwardly liberated his legs from
the seat, and went to search for the road, crunching over the snow in
his great boots.
"What is it? Where are you going? Are we lost?" I asked, but the driver
made no reply, but, turning his face away from the wind, which cut his
eyes, marched off from the sledge.
"Well, how is it?" I repeated, when he returned.
"Nothing at all," said he to me impatiently and with vexation, as
though I were to blame for his missing the road; and again slowly
wrapping up his big legs in the robe, he gathered the reins in his
stiffened mittens.
"What's to be done?" I asked as we started off again.
"What's to be done? We shall go as God leads."
And we drove along in the same dog-trot over what was evidently an
untrodden waste, sometimes sinking in deep, mealy snow, sometimes
gliding over crisp, unbroken crust.
Although it was cold, the snow kept melting quickly on my collar. The
low-flying snow-clouds increased, and occasionally the dry snowflakes
began to fall.
It was clear that we were going out of our way, because, after keeping
on for a quarter of an hour more, we saw no sign of a verst-post.
"Well, what do you think about it now?" I asked of the driver once
more. "Shall we get to the station?"
"Which one? We should go back if we let the horses have their way: they
will take us. But, as for the next one, that's a problem.... Only we
might perish."
"Well, then, let us go back," said I. "And indeed"--
"How is it? Shall we turn about?" repeated the driver.
"Yes, yes: turn back."
The driver shook the reins. The horses started off more rapidly; and,
though I did not notice that we had turned around, the wind changed,
and soon through the snow appeared the windmills. The driver's good
spirits returned, and he began to be communicative.
"Lately," said he, "in just such a snowstorm some people coming from
that same station lost their way. Yes: they spent the night in the
hayricks, and barely managed to get here in the morning. Thanks to the
hayricks, they were rescued. If it had not been for them, they would
have frozen to death, it was so cold. And one froze his foot, and died
three weeks afterwards."
"But now, you see, it's not cold; and it's growing less windy," I said.
"Couldn't we go on?"
"It's warm enough, but it's snowing. Now going back, it seems easier.
But it's snowing hard. Might go on, if you were a courier or something;
but this is for your own sake. What kind of a joke would that be if
a passenger froze to death? How, then, could I be answerable to your
grace?"
[Footnote 1: _yamshchík_.]
[Footnote 2: _gospodi-bátiushka!_ Literally, Lord, little father.]