Chapter 13

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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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." _

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