On the second morning we stopped at Tulemsk to deliver several boxes
that encumbered the sleighs. The servants have a way of putting small
articles, and sometimes large ones, in the forward end of the vehicle.
They are no special annoyance to a person of short stature, but in my
own case I was not reconciled to the practice. A Russian sleigh is
shaped somewhat like a laundry smoothing-iron, much narrower forward
than aft, so that a traveler does not usually find the space beneath
the driver a world too wide for his shrunk shanks.
We thawed out over a steaming samovar with plenty of hot tea. The lady
of the house brought a bottle of nalifka of such curious though
agreeable flavor that I asked of what fruit it was made. “Nothing but
orange peel,” was the reply. Every Siberian housewife considers it her
duty to prepare a goodly supply of nalifka during the autumn. A glass
jar holding two or three gallons is filled to the neck with any kind
of fruit or berries, currants and gooseberries being oftenest used.
The jar is then filled with native whisky, and placed in a southern
window where it is exposed to the sunlight and the heat of the room
for ten days. The whisky is then poured off, mixed with an equal
quantity of water, placed in a kettle with a pound of sugar to each
gallon, and boiled for a few minutes. When cooled and strained it is
bottled and goes to the cellar. Many Siberians prefer nalifka to
foreign wines, and a former governor-general attempted to make it
fashionable. He eschewed imported wine and substituted nalifka, but
his example was not imitated to the extent he desired.
Our halt consumed three or four hours. After we started an unfortunate
pig was found entangled in the framework of my sleigh, and before we
could let him out he was pretty well bruised and shaken up. How he
came there we were puzzled to know, but I do not believe he ever
willingly troubled a sleigh again.
We encountered many caravans of sleds laden with merchandise. They
were made up much like the trains I described between Kiachta and Lake
Baikal, there being four or five sleds to each man. The horses
generally guided themselves, and followed their leaders with great
fidelity. While we were stopping to make some repairs near the foot of
a hill, I was interested in the display of equine intelligence. As a
caravan reached the top of the hill each horse stopped till the one
preceding him had descended. Holding back as if restrained by reins he
walked half down the descent, and then finished the hill and crossed
the hollow below it at a trot. One after another passed in this manner
without guidance, exactly as if controlled by a driver.
I noticed that the horses were quite skillful in selecting the best
parts of the road. I have occasionally seen a horse pause when there
were three or four tracks through the snow, and make his choice with
apparent deliberation. I recollect a school boy composition that
declared in its first sentence, ‘the horse is a noble animal,’ but I
never knew until I traveled in Siberia how much he is entitled to a
patent of nobility.
In the daytime we had little trouble with these caravans, as they
generally gave us the road on hearing our bells. If the way was wide
the horses usually turned aside of their own accord; where it was
narrow they were unwilling to step in the snow, and did not until
directed by their drivers. If the latter were dilatory our yemshicks
turned aside and revenged themselves by lashing some of the sled
horses and all the drivers they could reach. In the night we found
more difficulty as the caravan horses desired to keep the road, and
their drivers were generally asleep. We were bumped against
innumerable sleds in the hours of darkness. The outriggers alone
prevented our sleighs going to pieces. The trains going eastward
carried assorted cargoes of merchandise for Siberia and China. Those
traveling westward were generally loaded with tea in chests, covered
with cowhide. The amount of traffic over the principal road through
Siberia is very large.
When we halted for dinner I brought a bottle of champagne from, my
sleigh. It was the best of the ‘Cliquot’ brand and frozen as solid as
a block of ice. It stood half an hour in a warm room before thawing
enough to drip slowly into our glasses and was the most perfect
_champagne frappé_ I ever saw. A bottle of cognac was a great deal
colder than ordinary ice, and when we brought it into the station the
moisture in the warm room congealed upon it to the thickness of
card-board. After this display I doubted the existence of latent heat
in alcohol.
Just as we finished dinner the post with five vehicles was announced.
We hastened to put on our furs and sprang into the sleighs with the
least possible delay. There was no fear that we should lose the first
and second set of horses, but the last one might be taken for the post
as the ladies had only a third-class padaroshnia. The yemshicks were
as anxious to escape as ourselves, as the business of carrying the
mail does not produce navodka. The post between Irkutsk and
Krasnoyarsk passes twice a week each way, and we frequently
encountered it. Where it had just passed a station there was
occasionally a scarcity of horses that delayed us till village teams
were brought.
A postillion accompanies each convoy, and is responsible for its
security. Travelers sometimes purchase tickets and have their vehicles
accompany the post, but in so doing their patience is pretty severely
taxed. The postillion is a soldier or other government employé, and
must be armed to repel robbers. One of these conductors was a boy of
fourteen who appeared under heavy responsibility. I watched him
loading a pistol at a station and was amused at his ostentatious
manner. When the operation was completed he fixed the weapon in his
belt and swaggered out with the air of the heavy tragedian at the Old
Bowery. Another postillion stuck around with pistols and knives looked
like a military museum on its travels.
[Illustration: THE CONDUCTOR.]
From our dining station we left the main road, and traveled several
versts along the frozen surface of the Birusa river. The snow lay in
ridges, and as we drove rapidly over them we were tossed like a yawl
in a hopping sea. It was a foretaste of what was in store for me at
later periods of my journey. The Birusa is rich in gold deposits, and
the government formerly maintained extensive mining establishments in
its valley.
About nine o’clock in the evening we voted to take tea. On entering
the station I found the floor covered with a dormant mass, exhaling an
odor not altogether spicy. I bumped my head against a sort of wide
shelf suspended eighteen or twenty inches from the ceiling, and
sustaining several sleepers.
“Here” said Paul, “is another _chambre á coucher_” as he attempted to
pull aside a curtain at the top of the brick stove. A female head and
shoulders were exposed for an instant, until a stout hand grasped and
retained the curtain. The suspended shelf or false ceiling is quite
common in the peasant houses, and especially at the stations. The
yemshicks and other attachés of the concern are lodged here and on the
floor, beds being a luxury they rarely obtain. Frequently a small
house would be as densely packed as the steerage of a passenger ship,
and I never desired to linger in these crowded apartments. A Russian
house has little or no ventilation, and the effect of a score of
sleepers on the air of a room is ‘better imagined than described.’
On the road west of Irkutsk the rules require each smotretal to keep
ten teams or thirty horses, ready for use. Many of them have more than
that number, and the villages can supply any ordinary demand after the
regular force is exhausted. Fourteen yemshicks are kept at every
station, and always ready for service. They are boarded at the expense
of the smotretal, and receive about five roubles each per month, with
as much drink-money as they can obtain. Frequently they make two
journeys a day to the next station, returning without loads. They
appeared on the most amiable terms with each other, and I saw no
quarreling over their work.
On our first and second nights from Irkutsk the weather was cold, the
thermometer standing at fifteen or twenty degrees below zero. On the
third day the temperature rose quite rapidly, and by noon it was just
below the freezing point. Our furs designed for cold weather became
uncomfortably warm, and I threw off my outer garments and rode in my
sheepskin coat. In the evening we experienced a feeling of suffocation
on closing the sleigh, and were glad to open it again. We rode all
night with the wind beating pleasantly against our faces, and from
time to time lost our consciousness in sleep. For nearly two days the
warm weather continued, and subjected us to inconveniences. We did not
travel as rapidly as in the colder days, the road being less
favorable, and the horses diminishing their energy with the increased
warmth. Some of our provisions were in danger of spoiling as they were
designed for transportation only in a frozen state.
Between Nijne Udinsk and Kansk the snow was scanty, and the road
occasionally bad. The country preserved its slightly undulating
character, and presented no features of interest. Where we found
sufficient snow we proceeded rapidly, sometimes leaving the summer
road and taking to the open ground, and forests on either side. We
pitched into a great many _oukhabas_, analagous to American “hog
wallows” or “cradle holes.” To dash into one of these at full speed
gives a shock like a boat’s thumping on the shore. It is only with
pillows, furs, and hay that a traveler can escape contusions. In mild
doses _oukhabas_ are an excellent tonic, but the traveler who takes
them in excess may easily imagine himself enjoying a field-day at
Donnybrook Fair.
[Illustration: JUMPING CRADLE HOLES.]
An hour before reaching Kansk one of our horses fell dead and brought
us to a sudden halt. The yemshick tried various expedients to discover
signs of life but to no purpose. Paul and I formed a board of survey,
and sat upon the beast; the other sleighs passed us during our
consultation, and were very soon out of sight. When satisfied that the
animal, as a horse, was of no further use, the yemshick pulled him to
the roadside, stripped off his harness, and proceeded with our reduced
team. I asked who was responsible for the loss, and was told it was no
affair of ours. The government pays for horses killed in the service
of couriers, as these gentlemen compel very high speed. On a second or
third rate padaroshnian the death of a horse is the loss of its owner.
Horses are not expensive in this region, an ordinary roadster being
worth from fifteen to twenty roubles.
Within a mile of Kansk the road was bare of snow, and as we had but
two horses to our sleigh I proposed walking into town. We passed a
long train of sleds on their way to market with loads of wood and
hay. Tea was ready for us when we arrived at the station, and we were
equally ready for it. After my fifth cup I walked through the public
square as it was market day, and the people were in the midst of
traffic. Fish, meat, hay, wood, and a great quantity of miscellaneous
articles were offered for sale. In general terms the market was a sort
of pocket edition of the one at Irkutsk. I practiced my knowledge of
Russian in purchasing a quantity of rope to use in case of accidents.
Foreigners were not often seen there if I may judge of the curiosity
with which I was regarded.
Kansk is a town of about three thousand inhabitants, and stands on the
Kan, a tributary of the Yenesei. We were told there was little snow to
the first station, and were advised to take five horses to each
sleigh. We found the road a combination of thin snow and bare ground,
the latter predominating. We proceeded very well, the yemshicks
maintaining sublime indifference to the character of the track. They
plied their whips vigorously in the probable expectation of
drink-money. The one on my sleigh regaled us with an account of the
perfectly awful condition of the road to Krasnoyarsk.
About sunset we changed horses, thirty versts from Kansk, and found no
cheering prospect ahead. We drowned our sorrows in the flowing
tea-cup, and fortified ourselves with a large amount of heat. Tea was
the sovereign remedy for all our ills, and we used it most liberally.
We set out with misgivings and promised liberal rewards to the
yemshicks, if they took us well and safely. The road was undeniably
bad, with here and there a redeeming streak of goodness.
Notwithstanding the jolts I slept pretty well during the night. In the
morning we took tea fifty versts from Krasnoyarsk, and learned there
was absolutely no snow for the last thirty versts before reaching the
city. There was fortunately a good snow road to the intervening
village where we must change to wheels. Curiously enough the snow
extended up to the very door of the last station, and utterly
disappeared three feet beyond. Looking one way we saw bare earth,
while in the other direction there was a good road for sleighing.
At this point we arranged our programme over the inevitable cakes and
tea. The ladies were to leave their vashok until their return to
Irkutsk ten or twelve days later. The remaining sleighs were unladen
and mounted upon wheels. We piled our baggage into telyagas with the
exception of a few articles that remained in the sleighs. The ladies
with their maid took one wagon, while Paul and myself rode in another,
the man servant conveying the sleighs. The whole arrangement was
promptly effected; the villagers scented a job on our arrival, and
were ready for proposals. My sleigh was lifted and fastened into a
wagon about as quickly as a hackman would arrange a trunk. _Place aux
dames toujours._ We sent away the ladies half an hour in advance of
the rest of the party.
Our telyaga was a rickety affair, not half so roomy as the sleigh, but
as the ride was short the discomfort was of little consequence. We had
four ill conditioned steeds, but before we had gone twenty rods one of
the brutes persistently faced about and attempted to come inside the
vehicle, though he did not succeed. After vain efforts to set him
right, the yemshick turned him loose, and he bolted homeward
contentedly.
We climbed and descended a long hill near the village, and then found
a level country quite free from snow, and furnishing a fine road. I
was told that very little snow falls within twenty miles of
Krasnoyarsk, and that it is generally necessary to use wheels there in
the winter months. The reason was not explained to me, but probably
the general configuration of the country is much like that near
Chetah. Krasnoyarsk lies on the Yenesei which has a northerly course
into the Arctic Ocean. The mountains bounding the valley are not
lofty, but sufficiently high to wring the moisture from the snow
clouds. Both above and below Krasnoyarsk, there is but little snow
even in severe seasons.
Our animals were superbly atrocious, and made good speed only on
descending grades. We were four hours going thirty versts, and for
three-fourths that distance our route was equal to the Bloomingdale
Road. Occasionally we saw farm houses with a dejected appearance as if
the winter had come upon them unawares. From the quantity of ground
enclosed by fences I judged the land was fertile, and well cultivated.
Toward sunset we saw the domes of Krasnoyarsk rising beyond the frozen
Yenesei. We crossed the river on the ice, and passed near several
women engaged in rinsing clothes.
A laundress does her washing at the house, but rinses her linen at the
river. In summer this may be well enough, but it seemed to me that the
winter exercise of standing in a keen wind with the thermometer below
zero, and rinsing clothes in a hole cut through the ice was anything
but agreeable. It was a cold day, and I was well wrapped in furs, but
these women were in ordinary clothing, and some had bare legs. They
stood at the edges of circular holes in the ice, and after ‘swashing’
the linen a short time in the water, wrung it with their purple hands.
How they escaped frost bites I cannot imagine.
The Yenesei is a magnificent river, one of the largest in Siberia. It
is difficult to estimate with accuracy any distance upon ice, and I
may be far from correct in considering the Yenesei a thousand yards
wide at Krasnoyarsk. The telegraph wires are supported on tall masts
as at the crossing of the Missouri near Kansas City. In summer there
are two steamboats navigating the river from Yeneseisk to the Arctic
Ocean. Rapids and shoals below Krasnoyarsk prevent their ascending to
the latter town. The tributaries of the Yenesei are quite rich in gold
deposits, and support a mining business of considerable extent.
Krasnoyarsk derives its name from the red hills in its vicinity, and
the color of the soil where it stands. It is on the left bank of the
Yenesei, and has about ten thousand inhabitants. It was nearly night
when we climbed the sloping road in the hillside, and reached the
level of the plateau. The ladies insisted that we should occupy their
house during our stay, and utterly forbade our going to the hotel.
While walking up the hill the captain hailed a washerwoman, and asked
for the residence of Madame Rodstvenny. Her reply was so voluminous,
and so rapidly given that my friend was utterly bewildered, and
comprehended nothing. To his astonishment I told him that I understood
the direction.
“_C’est impossible_,” he declared.
“By no means,” I replied. “The madame lives in a stone house to the
left of the gastinni dvor. The washerwoman said so.”
Following my advice we found the house. As we entered the courtyard,
the captain begged to know by what possibility I understood in his own
language what he could not.
I explained that while the woman spoke so glibly I caught the words
“_doma, kamen, na leva, gastinni dvor_.” I understood only the
essential part of her instruction, and was not confused by the rest.
I was somewhat reluctant to convert a private house into a hotel as I
expected to remain four or five days. But Siberian hospitality does
not stop at trifles, and my objections were promptly overruled. After
toilet and dinner, Paul and I were parboiled in the bath house of the
establishment. An able-bodied moujik scrubbed me so thoroughly as to
suggest the possibility of removing the cuticle.
In the morning I went to the bank to change some large bills into
one-rouble notes for use on the road. Horses must be paid for at every
station, and it is therefore desirable to carry the smallest notes
with abundance of silver and copper to make change. The bank was much
like institutions of its class elsewhere, and transacted my business
promptly. The banks in Siberia are branches of the Imperial Bank at
St. Petersburg. They receive deposits, and negotiate exchanges and
remittances just like private banks, but do not undertake risky
business. The officers are servants of the government, and receive
their instructions from the parent bank.
My finances arranged, I went to the telegraph office to send a message
to a friend. My despatch was written in Russian, and I paid for
message and response. A receipt was given me stating the day, hour,
and minute of filing the despatch, its destination, address, length,
and amount paid. When I received the response I found a statement of
the exact time it was filed for transmission, and also of its
reception at Krasnoyarsk. This is the ordinary routine of the Russian
telegraph system. I commend it to the notice of interested persons in
America.
There is no free telegraphing on the government lines, every despatch
over the wires being paid for by somebody. If on government business
the sender pays the regular tariff and is reimbursed from the
treasury. I was told that the officers of the telegraph paid for their
own family messages, but had the privilege of conversing on the lines
free of charge. High position does not confer immunity. When the
Czarevitch was married, General Korsackoff sent his congratulations by
telegraph, and received a response from the Emperor. Both messages
were paid for by the sender without reduction or trust.
I found the general features of Krasnoyarsk much like those of
Irkutsk. Official and civilian inhabitants dressed, lived, walked,
breathed, drank, and gambled like their kindred nearer the east. It
happened to be market day, and the public square was densely crowded.
I was interested in observing the character and abundance of the fish
offered for sale. Among those with a familiar appearance were the
sturgeon, perch, and pike, and a small fish resembling our alewife.
There was a fish unknown to me, with a long snout like a duck’s bill,
and a body on the extreme clipper model. All these fish are from the
Yenesei, some dwelling there permanently while others ascend annually
from the Arctic Ocean. All in the market were frozen solid, and the
larger ones were piled up like cord-wood.
From the bank overlooking the river there is a fine view of the valley
of the Yenesei. There are several islands in the vicinity, and I was
told that in the season of floods the stream has a very swift current.
It is no easy work to ferry across it, and the boats generally descend
a mile or two while paddling over. A few years ago a resident of
Krasnoyarsk made a remarkable voyage on this river. He had been
attending a wedding several miles away on the other bank, and started
to return late at night so as to reach the ferry about daybreak. His
equipage was a wooden telyaga drawn by two powerful horses. Having
partaken of the cup that inebriates, the man fell asleep and allowed
his horses to take their own course. Knowing the way perfectly they
came without accident to the ferry landing, their owner still wrapped
in his drunken slumber.
[Illustration: VALLEY OF THE YENESEI.]
The boat was on the other side, and the horses, no doubt hungry and
impatient, plunged in to swim across. The telyaga filled with water,
but had sufficient buoyancy not to sink. The cold bath waked and
sobered the involuntary voyager when about half way over the river. He
had the good sense, aided by fright, to remain perfectly still, and
was landed in safety. Those who saw him coming in the early dawn were
struck with astonishment, and one, at least, imagined that he beheld
Neptune in his marine chariot breasting the waters of the Yenesei. My
informant vouched for the correctness of the story, and gave it as an
illustration of the courage and endurance of Siberian horses.
According to the statement of the condition of the river, the beasts
could have as easily crossed the Mississippi at Memphis in an ordinary
stage of water.
Wolves are abundant in the valley of the Yenesei, though they are not
generally dangerous to men. An officer whom I met there told me they
were less troublesome than in Poland, and he related his experience
with them in the latter country while on a visit to the family of a
young lady to whom he was betrothed. I give his story as nearly as
possible in his own words.
“One day my friend Rasloff proposed a wolf hunt. We selected the best
horses from his stable; fine, quick, surefooted beasts, with a driver
who was unsurpassed in all that region for his skill and dash. The
sleigh was a large one, and we fitted it with a good supply of robes
and straw, and put a healthy young pig in it to serve as a decoy. We
each had a gun, and carried a couple of spare guns, with plenty of
ammunition, so that we could kill as many wolves as presented
themselves.
“Just as we were preparing to start, Christina asked to accompany us.
I suggested the coldness of the night, and Rasloff hinted that the
sleigh was too small for three. But Christina protested that the air,
though sharp, was clear and still, and she could wrap herself warmly;
a ride of a few hours would do her more good than harm. The sleigh,
she insisted, was a large one, and afforded ample room. ‘Besides,’ she
added, ‘I will sit directly behind the driver, and out of your way,
and I want to see a wolf-hunt very much indeed.’
“So we consented. Christina arrayed herself in a few moments, and we
started on our excursion.
“The servants were instructed to hang out a light in front of the
entrance to the courtyard. It was about sunset when we left the
chateau and drove out upon the plain, covered here and there with
patches of forest. The road we followed was well trodden by the many
peasants on their way to the fair at the town, twenty-five miles away.
We traveled slowly, not wishing to tire our horses, and, as we left
the half dozen villages that clustered around the chateau, we had the
road entirely to ourselves. The moon rose soon after sunset, and as it
was at the full, it lighted up the plain very clearly, and seemed to
stand out quite distinct from the deep blue sky and the bright stars
that sparkled everywhere above the horizon. We chatted gayly as we
rode along. The time passed so rapidly that I was half surprised, when
Rasloff told me to get ready to hunt wolves.
“The pig had been lying very comfortably in the bottom, of the sleigh,
and protested quite loudly as we brought him out. The rope had been
made ready before we started from home, and so the most we had to do
was to turn the horses around, get our guns ready, and throw the pig
upon the ground. He set up a piercing shriek as the rope dragged him
along, and completely drowned our voices. Paul had hard work to keep
the horses from breaking into a run, but he succeeded, and we
maintained a very slow trot. Christina nestled in the place she had
agreed to occupy, and Rasloff and I prepared to shoot the wolves.
“We drove thus for fifteen or twenty minutes. The pig gradually became
exhausted, and reduced his scream to a sort of moan that was very
painful to hear. I began to think we should see no wolves, and return
to the chateau without firing our guns, when suddenly a howl came
faintly along the air, and in a moment, another and another.
“‘There,’ said Rasloff; ‘there comes our game, and we shall have work
enough before long.’
“A few moments later I saw a half dozen dusky forms emerging from the
forest to the right and behind us. They seemed like moving spots on
the snow, and had it not been for their howling I should have failed
to notice them as early as I did. They grew more and more numerous,
and, as they gathered behind us, formed a waving line across the road
that gradually took the shape of a crescent, with the horns pointing
toward our right and left. At first they were timid, and kept a
hundred yards or more behind us, but as the hog renewed his scream,
they took courage, and approached nearer.
“By the time they were within fifty yards there were two or three
hundred of them—possibly half a thousand. I could see every moment
that their numbers were increasing, and it was somewhat impatiently
that I waited Rasloff’s signal to fire. At last he told me to begin,
and I fired at the center of the pack. The wolf I struck gave a howl
of pain, and his companions, roused by the smell of blood, fell upon
and tore him to pieces in a moment. Rasloff fired an instant after me,
and then we kept up our firing as fast as possible. As the wolves
fell, the others sprung upon them, but the pack was so large that they
were not materially detained by stopping to eat up their brethren.
They continued the pursuit, and what alarmed me, they came nearer, and
showed very little fear of our guns.
“We had taken a large quantity of ammunition—more by half than we
thought would possibly be needed—but its quantity diminished so
rapidly as to suggest the probability of exhaustion. The pack steadily
came nearer. We cut away the pig, but it stopped the pursuit only for
a moment. Directly behind us the wolves were not ten yards away; on
each side they were no further from the horses, who were snorting with
fear, and requiring all the efforts of the driver to hold them. We
shot down the beasts as fast as possible, and as I saw our danger I
whispered my thoughts to Rasloff.
“He replied to me in Spanish, which Christina did not understand, that
the situation was really dangerous, and we must prepare to get out of
it. ‘I would stay longer,’ he suggested, ‘though there is a good deal
of risk in it; but we must think of the girl, and not let her suspect
anything wrong, and, above all, must not risk her safety.’
“Turning to the driver, he said, in a cheery tone:
“‘Paul, we have shot till we are tired out. You may let the horses go,
but keep them well in control.’
“While he spoke a huge wolf sprang from the pack and dashed toward
one of the horses. Another followed him, and in twenty seconds the
line was broken and they were upon us. One wolf jumped at the rear of
the sleigh and caught his paws upon it. Rasloff struck him with the
butt of his gun, and at the same instant he delivered the blow, Paul
let the horses have their way. Rasloff fell upon the edge of the
vehicle and over its side. Luckily, his foot caught in one of the
robes and held him for an instant—long enough to enable me to seize
and draw him back. It was the work of a moment, but what a moment!
“Christina had remained silent, suspecting, but not fully
comprehending our danger. As her brother fell she screamed and dropped
senseless to the bottom of the sleigh. I confess that I exerted all my
strength in that effort to save the brother of my affianced, and as I
accomplished it, I sank powerless, though still conscious, at the side
of the girl I loved. Rasloff’s right arm was dislocated by the fall,
and one of the pursuing wolves had struck his teeth into his scalp as
he was dragging over the side, and torn it so that it bled profusely.
How narrow had been his escape!
“‘Faster, faster, Paul!’ he shouted; ‘drive for your life and for
ours.’
“Paul gave the horses free rein, and they needed no urging. They
dashed along the road as horses rarely ever dashed before. In a few
minutes I gained strength enough to raise my head, and saw, to my
unspeakable delight, that the distance between us and the pack was
increasing. We were safe if no accident occurred and the horses could
maintain their pace.
“One horse fell, but, as if knowing his danger, made a tremendous
effort and gained his feet. By-and-by we saw the light at the chateau,
and in a moment dashed into the courtyard, and were safe.”
[Illustration: A WOLF HUNT.]