he cried out that he saw the road he ought to
have followed. From that moment he made
every effort to make up for the time we had lost,
and we soon arrived at the nextpost-house, where,
after I had had some tea, I bargained for fresh
horses and continued my journey. In this
manner I got on chiefly, until late at night I
arrived at the village of Soldatsakaia, where I
became the victim of an audacious and distressing
robbery. I had no change to pay the
driver, and and entered with him into a small
inn where there were a number of drunken
people. I had taken some notes out of my
waistcoat for the inn-keeper to change them,
when, by a rash of the drunken crowd, either
on purpose or by accident, I was thrust from
the table where my money was spread out,
and some quick hand immediately seized it. In
vain I cried out, I could not discover the
robber, and as to calling for the police, I took
care not to do that. My stock was thus reduced
by forty roubles, but worse than, this was the loss
of two precious papers, taken at the same seizure.
One of them was a note I had carefully made of all
the towns and villages which I had to pass
through until I reached Archangel; the other
was my stamped passport, my principal
safeguard, my great resource for disarming suspicion.
My despair was agonising, but it was useless
to give way to it. I could not abandon my
enterprise: as well be captured in one place as
another, and every step forward was nearer
Archangel. Sol continued my journey, and
getting shortly upon the high road to Irbit, fell in
with innumerable sledges, all bound for, or
returning from, the fair. This raised my spirits,
and I mingled with the vast cortege, consoling
myself with the belief that it would be next to
impossible to distinguish a political criminal in
the midst of such a host. There is no country
in which travelling on the high road is so rapid
as in Siberia, and in proof of this I may state
that at the close of the third day after my
evasion, and notwithstanding the time lost in the
forest of Tara, I found myself at the gates of
Irbit, six hundred miles from Ekaterininski-
Zavod. "Halt, and show your passport!" cried
a sentinel: adding, luckily, in an under-tone,
"Give me twenty copecks and get on with you."
I slipped the money into his hand, and presently
stopped at an hotel, where, at first, they would
not receive me, saying there was no room. At
last they consented to let me in, on my declaring
that I only meant to stay one night: my master,
with whom I should lodge, being in the town.
I entered, but went out again directly,pretending
to go to the police office, and when returned
I said I had left my passport there. The izba
(common room) was full of yamstchiks
(wagoners), and the smell of tar nearly made me sick,
talked a good deal about my principal and our
affairs, and did my best to eat heartily of a
Siberian supper of beet-root soup, dried fish,
gruel prepared with oil, and pickled cabbage.
The meal ended, each paid his score, and we lay
down to rest some stretched near the stove,
some on straw, some upon the benches, and some
under them; all the rest appeared to sleep
soundly, but I never closed my eyes. At
daybreak I took care to say my prayers like my
companions, making the three necessary salutations
(poklony) before the sacred images which
are to be found in every Russian interior, and
then shouldering my bag, went out under the
pretext of looking for my master. Early as it
was, the place was all alive with the fair, but
I looked at nothing, only stopping to buy
some bread and salt, which I put into my bag.
Hurrying through the town, I went out on the
opposite side to that at which I had entered,
and passed the sentinel at the gate unquestioned.
Counting my money, I found I had only seventy-
five roubles left, and to reach Prance with such
a sum was impossible, unless I travelled all the
way on foot. This, or as long as my strength
lasted, I determined to do.

The winter of 1846 was one of the severest ever
recollected in Siberia. The snow fell heavily as
I left Irbit, and the difficulty I experienced in
walking was excessive. I did not, however,
lose my way, and about midday it cleared up and
I got on better. I generally avoided the
villages, and when I was obliged to pass through
one, walked straight on as if I knew the place,
never asking my way when in doubt till I came
to the last house. When hungry I took out
of my bag a morsel of frozen bread, and ate it
as I walked, or sitting down at the foot of a
tree in a remote part of the forest. To quench
my thirst I sought for the holes which the
peasants make in the ice, for their cattle, but was
often obliged to content myself with melting
snow in my mouth—a very poor substitute for
drinking. What added to my fatigue was the
weight of the clothes I was obliged to wear;
my first day's journey from Irbite was a very
distressing one.

At nightfall I plunged into the forest to make
my bed. I knew the practice of the Ostiaks to
shelter themselves while they sleep. They simply
make a deep excavation in a mass of snow,
and find a hard but perfectly warm couch. I
did the same, and soon slumbered. But in the
morning, when I awoke, I felt very uncomfortable
my feet were frozen. The reason was
this: I had imprudently covered myself with my
pelisse, the fur within instead of the reverse, and
the warmth of my body had thawed the snow,
and left my feet exposed to the low external
temperature. I resolved to profit by this
experience in future; and in the mean time, by dint
of walking very fast, I succeeded in restoring
the circulation. Unfortunately, about midday,
a high wind got up—the dry, icy wind of Siberia
—which, meeting you in the face, completely
blinds you, and sweeps before it heaps of snow
that soon cover the most beaten tracks. The
inhabitants, at the beginning of winter, always mark
the roads with branches of fir, placed very near
each other; but the drifts were so heavy this
year, that in many places they were quite
covered.

After a time I perceived that I had lost
my way. I kept sinking up to my waist in the