snow, and now and then up to my neck, and
began to fear I should perish either from cold
or hunger. Nevertheless I struggled on, and
before it got dark succeeded in hitting the right
path, which led me to a hamlet, where I saw a
young woman standing at a cottage door. The
hope of finding a place of rest overcame all
hesitation. She made no difficulty of admitting
me, and I entered the izba where her mother
was sitting. I made the usual salutation, and
in reply to the question whence I came, said
I belonged to the Government of Tobolsk,
and that I was going to the iron foundries of
Bohotole (to the north of Verkhoutourié in the
Ural) in search of work. While the women
were getting something ready for supper, I
spread out my clothes and linen to dry; and,
having appeased my hunger, lay down on a
bench with an indescribable sense of enjoyment.
I thought I had neglected no precaution, having
said my prayers and ostentatiously performed
the poklony; but I was mistaken. I had
awakened the suspicions of these two women by
allowing them to see that I had four shirts.
Just as I was dropping off to sleep I heard some
whispering, which disturbed me, and three
peasants came in, one of whom asked in an undertone
where I was. The young woman pointed
to me, and one of the men, roughly shaking me,
asked if I had a passport? Obliged to answer,
I asked by what right he asked for it; was he
a golova (a person charged with the local
police)? No, none of them were; only inhabitants
of the place. Then they had no business
to act in that manner; but, to satisfy them
my name was Lavrenti Konzmine, I was going
to Bohotole, and it was not the first time
I had passed that way. I finished by showing
my pass; and as it bore a stamp, the
peasants, who could not distinguish it from a
passport, made their excuses, saying they
thought I might have been a convict, as many
passed that way. They then asked me news of
the fair of Irbit, with many other questions, and
at last took leave. The remainder of the night
passed quietly, and in the morning I bade adieu
to the women whose curiosity had so nearly been
fatal to me.

The incident just related convinced me that
henceforward I could no more rely upon the
shelter of a house, that I must sleep after the
Ostiak fashion, and that I should be obliged to
do this throughout the whole of my journey to
Veliki Oustioug: that is to say, from the middle
of February to the beginning of April. Three
or four times only did I venture to demand
hospitality for the night in an isolated hut, worn
out by fifteen or twenty days passed in the
forest, and scarcely knowing what I did. On
all other occasions I made a hole in the snow
to sleep in, and practice made me skilful in
this kind of work. I had remarked that in the
thickest forests the snow does not form close to
the foot of the tree, but leaves a space which
soon becomes a deep hollow. Into this I used
to glide as into a well, and afterwards block up
the entrance with snow by means of my stick,
thus making a kind of vault which sheltered me
completely. Very often, however, the snow was
too soft for my purpose, and sometimes the vault
fell in; then, I passed the night sleeping as well
as I could with my back to the tree. If the
cold were too severe and my limbs became
numbed, I rose and walked on, taking my chance
of the road. But this sort of life was terrible:
no human dwelling, no dressed food, nothing but
frozen bread, and that frequently failing. These
necessities set constantly before my eyes the
prospect of dying of cold or famine. I dreaded,
too, the sensation of drowsiness, well knowing
how fatal it is to give way to it, and I
resisted its approaches with all my might: even
stronger was the temptation to stop at some hut
and ask for something warm to eat, but this
desire also I was forced to subdue.

After passing Verkhotourié, the last town on
the eastern slope of the Ural, and where I took
care not to stop, I met with six young Russians
from whom I learnt a great deal of the country
I was making for. By their dress and accent I
knew they were not Siberians, and in answer to
my questions they said they came from the
district of Mezen on the borders of the White sea,
and were going to Tobolsk to seek employment
as farriers. Their own country, they said, was
a miserable one; nothing grew there; neither
wheat, oats, nor barley; the inhabitants lived
entirely by fishing, and got their bread even from
Archangel. I gave them all the information I
could in return, and, fortified by the knowledge
I had acquired, advanced with renewed courage.
On one occasion, while crossing the mountains,
hospitality was offered me at a place called
Paouda by a peasant and his wife, who gave me
a supper, which, meagre as it was, seemed quite
a sumptuous banquet. I slept in their hut,
and cannot tell the delight it gave me to take
off my clothes. My kind hosts gave me some
breakfast next morning, would accept of no
payment, and told me that a little further on I should
fall in with a military outpost, where I could
learn all I wanted to know respecting my onward
route. But this outpost was the very thing I
was desirous of avoiding, and I gave it a wide
berth till I felt sure I had left it far behind.
Thus I went on, occasionally stopping at an
izbouchka to buy bread, but then only when
driven by hunger. The izbouchka is a rude
construction built for the convenience of
travellers, at long intervals on the road from the
Ural to Veliki Oustioug. Bread, dried fish,
roots, cabbages and kvass (a sort of cider) are to
be obtained there, but brandy very seldom; in
some of the largest, hay and straw are
provided for horses. These inns are usually kept by
solitary old men, or a wretched couple, but people
are willing to keep them, for they find them
profitable.

It was the beginning of March, when, having
effected a passage across the Ural, I arrived
at Solikamsk, on the western slope. Without
stopping there "I pursued my way across the
steppe of Petehora, moving upon Veliki-
Oustioug by Tcherdin, Kali, Lalsk, and Rochel.