Siberia and the exile system . irie fire, while the driver lashed themfiercely with his heavy knut to an accompaniment of shrill,wild cries, whoops, whistles, and shouts of Ya-a-a-va!Ay durak! Noo-oo-oo! (with a falling inflection) Heekh-ya-a-a! All that we could do was to shut our eyes, trustin Providence, and hold on. The tdrantds was pelted witha perfect storm of mud from the flying hoofs of four gal-loping horses, and if, putting out my head, I opened mymouth to expostulate with the driver, I ran great risk ofhaving it effectually closed by a teacupful of tenaciousblack mire, thrown like a
Siberia and the exile system . irie fire, while the driver lashed themfiercely with his heavy knut to an accompaniment of shrill,wild cries, whoops, whistles, and shouts of Ya-a-a-va!Ay durak! Noo-oo-oo! (with a falling inflection) Heekh-ya-a-a! All that we could do was to shut our eyes, trustin Providence, and hold on. The tdrantds was pelted witha perfect storm of mud from the flying hoofs of four gal-loping horses, and if, putting out my head, I opened mymouth to expostulate with the driver, I ran great risk ofhaving it effectually closed by a teacupful of tenaciousblack mire, thrown like a semi-liquid ball from the cata-pult of a horses hoof. In a moment we saw, barring theway ahead, a long wattled fence extending for a mile ormore to the right and left, with a narrow gate at the pointwhere it intersected the road. It was the fence which 132 SIBERIA iutlosed the pasture giouud of the village that we wereapproaching. As we dashed, with a wild whoop from ourdriver, through the opeu gateway, we uoticed beside it a. HUTS OF VILLAGE GATE KEEPERS. curious half-underground hut, roofed partly with bushesand partly with sods, out of which, as we passed, came thevillage gate-keeper—a dirty, forlorn-looking old man withinflamed eyes and a long white beard, who reminded meof Rip Van Winkle after his twenty years sleep. While FIKST IMPRESSIONS OF POST TRAVEL 133 he was in the act of bowing and touching the weather-beaten remains of what was once a hat, we whirled pastand lost sight of him, with a feeling of regret that we couldnot stop and take a photograph of such a wild, neglectedpicturesque embodiment of poverty and wretchednessclothed in rags. Just inside the gate stood an unpaintedsign-post, upon the board of which had been neatly in-scribed in black letters the words Village of from St. Petersburg, 2992 from Moscow, 2526 , 42. Male souls, 97. Between the gate and the village there was a grassycommon about half a mile wide
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectsiberiarussiadescrip
