Fears for old Sidor's Safety--Continues Journey--Encounter with young
Horse-drovers--Superstitions of Russia--Young Vacia--Sleeps in a Tree.
"I awoke much refreshed. A glimmer of light still came into the cave,
so I knew that night had not yet set in. My chief anxiety was now to
learn what had become of Sidor. I arose, and took some of the food I
found in the cupboard. It consisted of bread and cheese and dried fish,
with a pitcher of water. The food, though very dry, was free from
mould. It was sufficient to sustain nature; more could not be required.
Much strengthened, I resolved before proceeding on my way to go back to
Sidor's hut as soon as darkness would allow me to approach it without
risk of being seized by my enemies. I therefore crawled out of the
hole, and, placing the brambles over the entrance as before, stood
upright in the pathway leading to it through the thicket. I walked
along cautiously, listening as I went; I heard no sound, so, removing
the bushes at the entrance, I looked out. The sun had just set, and
darkness was rapidly coming on. I looked around in every direction; I
could see no one. It was, however, safer to wait till it was so dark
that I could not be distinguished at a distance, should any of my
enemies be prowling about. I went back, and sat down on the ground.
When night came on I sallied forth from my hiding-place, and walked
towards Sidor's hut. No light gleamed through the window or open
doorway as I approached. This foreboded ill, I thought. I reached the
hut; all was silent. I looked in at the window; I could see no one, nor
could I hear a sound. I entered the hut; it was empty. By the glimmer
of light which yet remained I discovered that even the scanty furniture,
the old man's only property, had been removed. There was nothing to
tell me what had become of my kind friend, but my fears suggested that
by the cruel hand of the law he had been carried off, and would probably
ere long be dragging his weary feet over the burning steppes, or the
wide expanses of snow in Siberia, probably to sink down and die ere half
the journey was performed. As I thought of the suffering I had brought
on the kind old man, I threw myself on the ground, and for the first
time for many a long year gave way to a bitter flood of tears. It was
wrong, I know. It was mistrusting Providence; but human nature is weak.
I remembered this, and prayed for strength. It came. I arose, and
sinking on my knees, earnestly prayed that the old man's sufferings
might be lightened as much as was for his good. I knew on whom he would
trust, and had no more fears for him.
"Calling my thoughts to the necessity of taking steps for my own safety,
I hurried on my way. It was important that before the morning dawned I
should have placed many versts between my pursuers and me. They were
not men, I guessed, to venture through the forest at night, and I
calculated that, after having chased me as they supposed for an hour or
two, and not finding me, they would give up the pursuit and return home.
All night I walked on; the fresh cool air revived my strength and
spirits; when morning came I felt much less fatigue than I expected, for
the chief portion of the night I had been in the open country. At dawn
I again made for a wood for the purpose of concealment, and as day
advanced, and people were likely to be about, I climbed up as usual into
a tree to sleep. I used to fasten myself on to a bough with my sash, so
that I had no fear of falling off. In the evening, having surveyed the
country carefully, to see that there was no one apparently pursuing me,
I came down and continued my journey. For several days I met with no
adventure. I was daily gaining strength; and as I approached my
father's village, and expected so soon to meet him and my mother, and
her I loved, my hopes grew stronger, and my spirits rose. Yet I had
still a wide extent of country to traverse. I went on for days together
without even seeing a human being. On the high road I should have met
them, but the country itself is so thinly inhabited, that often for
thirty or forty versts together not a hut is to be found. My provisions
were now again running short; how to replenish my stock I scarcely knew.
I had reached the brow of a hill one morning, when I saw below me an
encampment. On looking closer I saw that it was composed of young lads
who were tending a drove of horses feeding in the plain below. They had
kindled a large fire, and were busily cooking their morning meal.
"I had no fears of their intentionally betraying me, and the fact of
their cooking arrangements made me suspect that they were some way from
home, so that they would not speak of me thoughtlessly, and thus get me
into trouble. I was very soon among them.
"`My dear boys,' said I, `I am a wayfarer, hungry and weary; can you
spare me some of your food?'
"They all looked at me earnestly for a minute before one of them spoke,
as if they would learn if I was telling the truth. Then, satisfied
apparently, they all found their tongues together.
"`Gladly, gladly, stranger, whoever you are. Come and sit down and
rest--you are welcome.'
"Ah! The candour and heartiness of youth before bitter experience has
taught it to mistrust the world is very delightful. They were boiling
potatoes. They had a large can of milk with them. The potatoes were
just cooked. One of the lads plunged his long knife into the cauldron,
and drew out a potato at the point. He presented it to me, with some
salt, in a dish. There were eight lads in all, fine intelligent
fellows, not serfs, but sons of freemen, small farmers and others: The
occupation in which they were engaged is looked upon as honourable. It
is highly exciting and interesting. Their herds were feeding together
near them. The moment one was seen to stray, one or two lads threw
themselves on their own steeds, which they kept tethered near, and
galloped off in pursuit of the straggler. They had, too, to defend
their cattle from the wolves--often hazardous work. They offered me
some milk, and then each lad helped himself to some potatoes; they had
an abundance cooked, so that I was not depriving them of their food.
They were all light-hearted and communicative. They told me how they
had been startled in the night by unearthly sounds, and whence they
proceeded they could not tell.
"`Not tell!' said one, looking up from his dish of potatoes. `We did
not see what it was, but we can tell well enough. It was the _Vodainoi_
calling to us from the neighbouring river, trying to tempt us to come
near, that she might draw us into the water. She has drowned many
people in that way. Why she does it I do not know. Perhaps she wants
their souls to destroy them; perhaps their bodies, to eat them. She is
very beautiful, all clothed in green garments, glittering with jewels.
She is never seen in the daytime--very seldom at night. No one would
wish to see her, for she is certain to deceive all she meets. The only
chance of escaping is to clasp the cross, and pray to our patron saint;
even then she will try to tempt the unwary to let go the cross, and
cease praying. Oh! She is very vile, with all her loveliness.'
"`What you say is very true, I doubt not,' said another lad, `but the
sounds we heard last night were as likely to have come from the wood as
from the water. Now, to my mind, it was the _Leechie_ calling to us
from the forest. He is as bad as the _Vodainoi_, and ugly instead of
handsome. Anybody seeing him is frightened, and runs away; so far he
can do much less harm. He is a great brown monster, the colour of the
bark of a tree; he never appears in the day, and at night always keeps
out of the moonlight, as if he was afraid of anything bright. He does
not shriek out like some other spirits, but goes moaning and groaning
about the forest as if he was in pain. So it will be to the end of the
world; he never sleeps and never dies. Some time ago little Koulik, the
cobbler of our village, was returning home at night from his brother's
cottage, three versts off, where he had been to the wedding of a niece,
when just as he came to the wood by the side of the hill he saw a
_Leechie_ looking out at him from among the trees. He did not cry out,
for he is a brave fellow, but tried to pass this evil spirit as fast as
he could. He did not think of his cross, though, and he did not say his
prayers, so the _Leechie_ caught hold of him, and kept knocking him
about, against the trunks of the trees and over the fallen branches and
roots, till he had scarcely a whole bone left in his body. The
_Leechie_ did not say a word, but only went _clack, clack, clack_, and
chuckled with pleasure. Poor Koulik was almost dead with terror and
pain, but still he never thought of his cross. Had the _Leechie_ once
got him well inside the forest, I do not know what would have become of
him. He would probably never have been seen again by mortal man. He
had just sense enough to keep outside, and when he was driven in to run
out again, till at length the dawn appeared, and the _Leechie_ left him.
More dead than alive, he had just strength to crawl home and take to
his bed. Next day he went to the priest, and the priest asked him if he
had thought of his cross, and said his prayers. He confessed that he
had not. "Then you only got your deserts," said the priest; "how can
you expect to be protected from evil spirits if you do not pray to the
saints, you infidel? Do you think they would take the trouble of
looking after you if you do not pray to them and bring them offerings to
their shrines?" Frightened out of his wits and deeply penitent, poor
little Koulik promised to buy two dozen wax-tapers at least, as soon as
he could scrape together the money, and to bring them to the shrine of
his patron saint. The priest told him if he did this the _Leechie_
would not dare to attack him for a whole year or more.' The other young
lads seemed deeply interested with this story of their companion, and to
believe it implicitly, so I took the opportunity of explaining to them
the folly, not to say the wickedness, of such a superstition. I told
them that in this instance the appearance of the _Leechie_ was easily
explained. The cobbler Koulik had, without doubt, taken more vodka than
his brain could stand, and that in his tipsy state he had fallen against
the trunks and roots of the trees and hurt himself. The priest ought to
have known this. If not, he was a blind leader of the blind. If he did
guess it, and knew better than to believe in such folly, he was worse,
and designedly imposed on the people. I told them that a belief in
ghosts and goblins and omens, and such like things, was a sin, and
showed a total want of faith in God's guidance and providence. They
were all lies and inventions of the Evil One, and were introduced into
the world by him to deceive and mislead human beings. The lads listened
to me attentively. Much more I said to the same effect. I urged them
to think of what I had said, but not to talk about the matter to
strangers till they were convinced I was right. How I longed to have a
Bible to give them, but I could not spare mine. Some of them could
read, but they had never even heard of the book, and knew not that the
religion they professed was drawn from it. I grieved to part from these
fine lads. I wished them farewell. They did not inquire who I was or
whence I came, but I won their hearts by speaking to them the truth.
They were ready to do anything for me, and one of them insisted on
lending me his horse and accompanying me part of my way. This was a
great help to me, because I got over the ground three times as fast as I
could otherwise have done, and could besides venture to travel during
the daytime, as a person on horseback with an attendant would be less
suspected than a poor wayworn traveller on foot. Thankful for the
assistance so unexpectedly afforded me, I set off with my young
companion. He was one of the most intelligent of the lads, and full of
life and spirits. Vacia was his name. He told me he was an orphan: he
lived in the house of a neighbouring proprietor, more as a servant than
as an equal, though his parents were both noble, he believed. He never
knew them. `Ah! I wish that I had some one like you to live with,' he
exclaimed; `I would go with you round the world.' I was pleased with
the lad's warmth. `I am but a poor man myself,' I answered, `very poor,
Vacia; believe me, I could not afford you protection.'--`I care not for
that; I like you much, very much; not for what you appear, but for what
you say. You speak wisdom;--you speak to my heart.' I told him where I
got that wisdom; that I spoke not of myself, but that I spoke from the
Bible, and that all who would go there would get the same. We rode on
talking thus for many versts. I at last reined up my horse and reminded
him that he must return home, that the horses were not his, and that I
had no right to tire them.
"`Oh, the Count would not object to my thus using them,' he answered.
`He is not unkind, understand. I am grateful to him for many things,
but I cannot love him. He has no soul--he cannot talk to me--he never
reads--he has no thought except as to what he will eat and what he will
drink. He esteems his cook more than his wife--more than any one. Who
can love such a man?'
"I fully entered into young Vacia's feelings. `I should much like to
have your company,' I replied; `you would make my days far more pleasant
than they now are, and I might instruct you in many things you do not
now know; but, alas! My young friend, this cannot be. My course is
full of difficulties and dangers, and I must not let any one share it
with me.' What I now said only increased the lad's ardour.
Difficulties and dangers he longed to encounter. He scarcely knew,
however, what they signified. The danger was not death, but a
protracted march to Siberia, or the knout, and imprisonment--inflictions
far more trying than wounds or death. `Come, come, my young friend, we
must part,' I exclaimed, throwing myself from my horse. `I am most
grateful to you for your regard and for your kindness, but farther I
will not let you go with me.' I was obliged to be firm. I gave him the
reins of my horse. His was without saddle or bridle. He had guided it
with a rough halter. When he saw that I was firm, he burst into tears.
"`Who shall I have to speak to me? Where shall I again hear such words
as you have uttered?' he exclaimed.
"Again I told him I was but a poor peasant, and that I could not help
him. All I could do was to advise him not to rest till he had found a
copy of that book which had given me such wisdom as I possessed. I knew
not how further to afford him advice.
"`I will, I will!' he exclaimed. `I will find that book before I rest
from the search. When I have found it, I will not cease from studying
it, and I will often think of you who told me of it.'
"This thought seemed to console him. He told me that if I would let him
ride one verst more with me he would then turn back. This I could not
refuse; but he rode very slowly, and made the verst a very long one. At
the end of it I dismounted once more, on the skirts of a wood, when,
embracing my young friend, I charged him to return, while I plunged
hastily among the trees. I hurried on that I might get into the depths
of the forest before I should chance to meet any one who might have
authority to stop me. For several more days I travelled on, across
plains and through forests, till my provisions ran short. I wanted rest
also. A few versts on was a village, but I dared not enter it till the
evening, and I must then depart privately and speedily, before any
inquiries might be made concerning me. I had plenty of money, so that I
could always purchase provisions. I, one morning, had just entered a
forest; I walked on through it till I suddenly found myself on the
farther edge. It was on a slight elevation, and, as I looked down on
the plain surrounding it, I recognised the village I was in search of.
It was scarcely more than fifty versts from my native hamlet. In two
nights more I might be there. I longed to push on, and for the moment I
felt that I could reach the place by the following morning; but I
remembered that by precipitation or carelessness I should make
unavailing all my long-continued toils and exertions. Of course every
day, as I drew nearer home, I ran a greater chance of being recognised.
I retreated, therefore, a little way into the forest, and climbing up
into a tree, secured myself as usual, and fell asleep. Those who have
not toiled on, day after day, can scarcely understand the suddenness
with which I could lose all consciousness in sleep, or the ease with
which I could again awake at the slightest unusual sound. Those placed
in the position I so long have been in, can most fully appreciate the
blessing of sleep."