My driver, without waiting for the last troïka to pass, began awkwardly
to turn around; and the thills hit the horses attached behind. One of
the troïka teams shied, tore away the reins, and galloped off.
"Hey there, you squint-eyed devil! Don't you see where you are turning?
Running people down, you devil!" in a hoarse, discordant voice scolded
one of the drivers, a short, little old man, as I judged by his voice
and expression. He sprang hastily out of the hindmost sledge where he
had been sitting, and started to run after the horses, still continuing
roughly and violently to vilify my yamshchík.
But the horses did not come back. The driver ran after them, and in one
instant both horses and driver were lost from sight in the white mist
of the storm.
"Vasi-i-i-li! bring the _bay_ horse here. Can't ketch him, so-o-o,"
echoed his voice in the distance.
One of the drivers, a very tall fellow, got out of his sledge, silently
unhitched his troïka, mounted one of the horses by the breeching, and
crunching over the snow in a clumsy gallop, disappeared in the same
direction.
Our own troïka, with the two others, followed on over the steppe,
behind the courier's which dashed ahead in full trot, jingling its bell.
"How is it? He'll get 'em?" said my driver, referring to the one who
had gone to catch the horses. "If that mare didn't find the horses she
wouldn't be good for much, you know: she'd wander off, so that--she'd
get lost."
From the moment that my driver had the company of other teams he became
more hilarious and talkative; and, as I had no desire to sleep, I did
not fail, as a matter of course, to make the most of it. I took pains
to ask him about his home and his family, and soon learned that he was
a fellow-countryman of mine from Tula,--a peasant, belonging to a noble
family from the village of Kirpitchnoé; that they had very little land,
and the grain had entirely ceased to grow, owing to the cholera; that
he and one of his brothers had staid at home, and a third had gone as
a soldier; that since Christmas they had lacked bread, and had been
obliged to work out; that his younger brother had kept the farm because
he was married, but that he himself was a widower; that his villagers
every year came here to exercise the trade of yamshchík, or driver;
that, though he had not come as a regular driver, yet he was in the
postal-service, so as to help his brother; that he earned there, thanks
to God, a hundred and twenty paper rubles a year, of which he sent
a hundred to his family; and that it would be good living, "but the
cou_l_iers were very wild beasts, and the people here were impudent."
"Now, what was that driver scolding about? Great heavens![4] did I mean
to lose his horses for him? Did I treat him in a mean way? And why did
he go galloping off after 'em? They'd have come in of their own accord.
Anyway, 'twould be better for the horses to freeze to death than for
him to get lost," said the pious muzhík.
"What is that black thing I see coming?" I asked, pointing to some dark
object in front of us.
"That's a baggage-train. Splendid wheeling!" he added, as he came up
with the huge mat-covered vans on wheels, following one after the
other. "See, not a soul to be seen--all asleep. The wise horse knows:
you won't drive her from the road, never.... We've driven in that same
way--so we know," he added.
It was indeed strange to see the huge vans covered with snow from the
matted tops to the wheels, moving along, absolutely alone. Only the
front corner of the snow-covered mat would be lifted by two fingers;
and, for a moment, a cap would peer out as our bells jingled past the
train. A great piebald horse, stretching out his neck, and straining
his back, walked with measured pace over the drifted road, monotonously
shaking his shaggy head under the whitened bell-bow,[5] and pricking up
one snow-covered ear as we went by.
After we had gone still another, half-hour, the driver once more turned
to me,--
"Well, what do you think, bárin? Are we getting along well?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Before, the wind blew in our faces, but now we go right along with it.
No, we sha'n't get there: we are off the track," he said in conclusion,
with perfect equanimity.
It was evident, that, though he was very timid, yet, as "death in
company with others is pleasant," he was perfectly content to die now
that there were a number of us, and he was not obliged to take the
lead, and be responsible. He coolly made observations on the mistakes
of the head driver, as though it were not of the least consequence
to himself. In fact, I had noticed that sometimes the front troïka
appeared on my right, and again on my left. It seemed to me, too, that
we were making a circle in very small space. However, it might be that
it was an ocular deception, just as sometimes it seemed as if the front
troïka were climbing up a mountain or were going along a slope or down
a mountain, even when the steppe was everywhere perfectly level.
After we had gone on a little while longer, I saw, as it seemed to me,
at a distance, on the very horizon, a long black, moving line; but it
quickly became plain to me that it was the same baggage-train which
we had passed. In exactly the same way, the snow covered the creaking
wheels, several of which did not turn; in exactly the same way, the men
were sleeping under the matted tops; and likewise the piebald leader,
swelling out his nostrils, snuffed out the road, and pricked back his
ears.
"See, we've gone round in a circle; we've gone round in a circle!
Here's the same baggage-train again!" exclaimed my driver in a
discontented tone. "The cou_l_ier's horses are good ones, so it makes
no difference to him, even if he does go on a wild-goose chase. But
ours will get tired out if we have to spend the whole night here."
He had an attack of coughing.
"Should we go back, bárin, owing to the mistake?"
"No! Why? We shall come out somewhere."
"Come out where? We shall have to spend the night in the steppe. How
it's snowing!... Great heavens!"[6]
Although it was clear to me that the head driver had lost both the
road and the direction, and yet was not hunting for the road, but was
singing at the top of his voice, and letting his horses take their own
speed; and so I did not like to part company from them.
"Follow them," said I.
The yamshchík drove on, but followed them less willingly than before,
and no longer had any thing to say to me.
[Footnote 4: _gospodi-bátiushka._]
[Footnote 5: _dugá,_ the distinctive part of the Russian harness,
rising high above the horse, and carrying the bells.]
[Footnote 6: _gospodi-bátiushka._]