"If you please: all ready!" shouted Alyoshka from the front sledge.
The storm was so violent that only by violent exertion, leaning far
forward and holding down the folds of my cloak with both hands, was I
able to make my way through the whirling snow, drifting before the wind
under my very feet, over the short distance between me and the sledge.
_My_ former driver was still on his knees in the middle of the empty
sledge; but when he saw me going he took off his big cap, the wind
angrily tossing up his hair, and asked me for a fee. Apparently he did
not expect me to give it to him, because my refusal did not affront him
in the least. He even thanked me, waved his cap, and said, "Well, good
luck to you, sir!"[17] and picking up the reins, and clucking to the
horses, turned from us.
Immediately Ignashka straightened his back, and shouted to his horses.
Again the sound of crunching hoofs, voices, bells, took the place of
the howling wind which was chiefly audible when we stood still. For a
quarter of an hour after my transfer I did not sleep, and I diverted my
mind by contemplating the form of my new driver and horses. Ignashka
was youthful in appearance, was constantly jumping up, cracking his
whip over the horses, shouting out, changing from one leg to the other,
and leaning forward to fix the breeching for the shaft-horse, which
was always slipping to one side. The man was not tall in stature, but
well built as it seemed. Over his unlined sheepskin coat[18] he wore
an ungirdled cloak, the collar of which was turned back, leaving his
neck perfectly bare; his boots were of leather, not felt; and he wore
a small cap which he constantly took off and straightened. In all his
motions was manifest not only energy, but much more, as it seemed to
me, the desire to keep his energy alive. Moreover, the farther we
went, the more frequently he settled himself on his seat, changed
the position of his legs, and addressed himself to Alyoshka and me:
it seemed to me that he was afraid of losing his spirits. And there
was good reason: though the horses were excellent, the road at each
step grew heavier and heavier, and it was noticeable that the horses'
strength was flagging. It was already necessary to use the whip; and
the shaft-horse, a good big, shaggy animal, stumbled once or twice,
though immediately, as if frightened, it sprang forward and tossed
up its shaggy head almost to the bell itself. The right off-horse,
which I could not help watching, had a long leather breeching adorned
with tassels, slipping and sliding to the left, and kept dropping the
traces, and required the whip; but, being naturally a good and even
zealous horse, seemed to be vexed at his own weakness, and angrily
tossed his head, as if asking to be driven. Indeed, it was terrible to
see how, as the storm and cold increased, the horses grew weak, the
road became worse; and we really did not know where we were, or where
we were going, whether to a station or to any shelter whatsoever. And
strange and ridiculous it was to hear the bells jingling so merrily
and carelessly, and Ignatka shouting so energetically and delightfully
as though it were a sunny Christmas noon, and we were hurrying to a
festival along the village street; and stranger than all it was to
think that we were always riding and riding rapidly away from the place
where we had been.
Ignat began to sing some song in a horrible falsetto, but so loud and
with such stops, during which he whistled, that it was weird to listen
to, and made one melancholy.
"Hey-y-y! Why are you splitting your throat, Ignat? Hold on a bit!"
said the voice of the mentor.
"What?"
"Hold o-o-o-o-n!"
Ignat reined up. Again silence only broken by the wailing and whistling
of the wind, while the snow began to pile up, rustling on the sledge.
The mentor drove up to us.
"Well, what is it?"
"Say![19] where are you going?"
"Who knows?"
"Are your feet frozen, that you stamp so?"
"They're frozen off."
"Well, you ought to go this way. The way you were going means
starvation,--not even a Kalmuck there. Get out, and it will warm your
legs."
"All right. Hold the horses--there."
And Ignat stumped off in the direction indicated.
"Have to keep looking all the time, have to get out and hunt; then you
find the way. But this way's a crazy way to go," said the mentor. "See
how tired the horses are."
All the time that Ignat was gone, and it was so long that I actually
began to be afraid that he had lost his way, the mentor kept talking
to me in a self-confident, easy tone, telling me how it was necessary
to behave in a snowstorm; how much better it was to unhitch one of the
horses, and let her go as God Almighty should direct; how sometimes
you can see the stars occasionally; and how, if he had taken the front
place, we should have been at the station long before.
"Well, how is it?" he asked, as Ignat came back, ploughing with
difficulty knee-deep in snow.
"Not so bad. I found a Kalmuck camp," replied the driver, out of
breath. "Still I don't know where we are. It must be that we have been
going toward Prolgovsky forest. We must turn to the left."
"Why worry? It must be the camp just behind our station," replied the
mentor.
"I tell you it isn't."
"Well, I've seen it, and so I know. If it isn't that, then it's
Tamuishevskoé. You must turn to the right; and soon we'll be on the big
bridge,--eight versts."
"Say what you will, 'tain't so. I have seen it," said Ignat angrily.
"Eh! what's that? I am a yamshchík as much as you are."
"Fine yamshchík! you go ahead, then."
"Why should I go ahead? But I know."
Ignat was evidently angry. Without replying, he climbed to his seat,
and drove on.
"You see how cold one's feet get. No way to warm them," said he to
Alyoshka, pounding his feet more and more frequently, and brushing and
shaking off the snow which had got into his boot-legs.