noticed that he had been very taciturn,
and, as I thought, deaf, during our passage—a
white-faced hound! — but that he took to his
victuals and drink very kindly; and this was
his object for coming to Russia. Of course,
a Russian government employé may travel
for his pleasure, like other folks; especially
on a probable salary of about forty pounds
a-year; and this pale functionary may have
been returning from the baths of Spa or
Wildbad; but it was very suspicious. I wonder
how much he paid for his passage!

We did not get our passports back yet—O
no! but each traveller received a card on
which was a big seal, in very coarse red wax,
bearing the impress of the everlasting double
eagle, and this was our passport from
Croustadt to Petersburg town. Very speedily and
gladly we bade a long, long farewell to the
Preussicher Adler and Captain Steffens;
and, giving up our sealing-wax passports,
stepped on board the pyroscaphe. She had
her name in gilt capitals on her paddle-boxes;
but I could not spell Russian then, and so
remained ignorant on that subject. I ought
not to omit stating that Mr. Wright—after
telling us in a jaunty manner, that it was
beautiful weather, beautiful weather, and
that we had had a charming passage, charming
passage—disappeared. He did not remain
in the saloon, and he did not come with us.
Perhaps he returned aloft to resume his
cherub duties, or floated away, or melted
away, or sank away. At all events, he went
right away somewhere, and I saw him no
more.

During the three hours the pyroscaphe had
been lying alongside the Preussischer Adler,
there had been a long plank, neatly carpeted,
sloping from the gangway of one vessel to
that of the other. The sight of this plank,
all ready for walking upon, and yet tabooed to
mortal footsteps, had tantalised and riled us
not a little. On the bulwark of the Adler
there had been laid, at right angles to it but
also sloping downwards, a long, heaviesh beam
of wood painted in alternate black and white
streaks, which was to serve as a hand-rail
for the ladies when they made the descensus
Averni. The opposite extremity of this beam
was held by a Russian man-o'war's man on the
pyroscaphe's deck; a thick-set, moustachioed
lout in white-duck cap, frock, and trowsers.
He held the beam in one hand, and
supported his elbow with the other; and there
and thus I declare he held it during three
mortal hours. It would have been about as
easy for him to stand on one leg during
that period. I lost sight of him occasionally,
as I paced to and fro on the deck; but, when I
returned, he was always in the same position
—stiff, motionless, impassible, with the beam
in his right hand and his elbow in his left.
I do not know what amount of stick would
have fallen to this poor fellow's share if he
had flinched or stumbled; but, when I tried
to picture to myself an English, a French, or
an American sailor in a similar position,
I could not help admitting that Russia is
country where discipline is understood,
not only in theory, but in practice.

The interior of the pyroscaphe did not
belie her exterior. She was appointed throughout
like an English nobleman's yacht. There
was a tiny saloon with rosewood fixings,
distemper paintings in gilt frames, damask hangings,
held up by ormolu Cupids, and mirrors
galore for the fair ladies to admire themselves
in. The little French actress immediately
converted one of them into the prettiest picture-
frame you would desire to see in or out
of Russia; and, leaving Miss Wapps to inspect
her blue-bronzed nose in another, I went on
deck, where there were benches on bronzed
legs and covered with crimson velvet, and
camp-stools with seats worked in Berlin wool.
I have been told that the officers of the
Russian navy have a pretty talent in that genre
of needlework. My Russian friend—who by
this time had utterly forgotten (so it seemed)
my existence—had found a friend of his in the
person of the commander of the steamer, and
the pair had retired to that officer's private
cabin to drink champagne. Always
champagne. I noticed that when they recognised
each other at first, it was (oddly enough) in
the French language that their salutations
were interchanged.

We were yet in the Gulf of Finland, and
the canal of the Neva was still far off, when
Captain Smith—who, it will be remembered,
had gone over to the enemy, or Wapps
faction—came over to me with overtures of peace.
He had somehow managed to save those boots
of his out of the general confiscation wreck,
and carried them now like buckets. He had
his reasons for an armistice, the captain; for
he remarked that we might be of great service
to one another in the Custom House.
"You help me, and I'll help you," said
Captain Smith. This was all very fair and
liberal, and on the live and let live principle,
which I heartily admire; but, when the
captain proffered a suggestion that I should help
him by carrying the abhorred boots with the
sheepskin linings, and proceeded to yoke me
with them, milkman fashion, I resisted, and
told him, like Gregory, that I'd not carry
coals—nay, nor boots either. On this he
went on another tack; and, conveying me to a
secret place under the companion-ladder,
earnestly entreated me to conceal, on his behalf,
underneath my waistcoat, a roll of very
sleezy sky-blue merino, which he assured
me was for a dress for his little daughter Gretchen,
and which he had hitherto concealed in the
mysterious boots. I must say that the sky-
blue merino did not look very valuable: I
don't think, in fact, that it was worth much
more than a "tam;" and I did not relish the
idea of becoming an amateur smuggler on
other merchants' account. But what was I to
do? The captain was a bore, but the father
had a claim to my services. It was pleasant,