Tales by Polish Authors Part 41

"That is true. In his native country a man is more inclined to listen to the voice of G.o.d, and a hard disposition is softened there more easily. For virtue is immanent in everyone's soul, but the way into the soul is often dark and crooked and difficult to find. People often need a pretext to bring them on to the highroad to good and salvation."

Father Pantelay talked at great length on the difficulties of such a task, and, as Jzef was an attentive listener and did not argue with him, they soon became great friends. Meanwhile Stefan gradually made preparations for the journey by buying up the best dogs.

At length they started on their long missionary journey.

It seemed like a waking dream to the two friends when, surrounded by a crowd of inhabitants, they shouted to the dogs and were borne away at full speed along the track. Excitedly they looked back at the little town for the last time. The caravan consisted of three sledges, each with fifteen dogs. Buza drove in front with the provisions. Father Pantelay followed with his luggage and presents--tea, tobacco, and other valuables; Stefan and Jzef came behind. Jzef had no idea how to manage the dogs, and was of no use whatever on the journey. Father Pantelay kept looking round at them and smiling in a friendly way. He was glad that he had taken them with him, for he was setting out for an unknown country, and although G.o.d is everywhere, and always has us under His protection, yet it is pleasant to be surrounded by courageous and friendly people with whom a refres.h.i.+ng and instructive conversation is possible.

"I have never been farther in this direction than the edge of the tundra; the Spirit of G.o.d alone hovers over the waste beyond. Buza has been there; he has travelled to the world's end. Hey, Buza! what is it like farther on? Shall we be able to drink tea soon?"

"Where we stop we shall drink tea," the Cossack answered gravely.

He was immensely impressed by his own dignity as head of the expedition. He sat on the cask of vodka as if it were a throne, watching over it with a jealous eye.

"When we have pa.s.sed the edge of the forest there will be no more houses or people to be seen. After that vodka will be all-powerful, and will have to answer every purpose; even our lives depend on it.

Those cursed Chukchee drink it like fishes, and are wild to get it.

When they've had a little, they are ready to give up everything for it; you've only to ask, and you can get anything from them. Yet we shall have nothing with us when we come back, for we shall have eaten our provisions and given away the presents. The sledges will be empty, and there won't be any means of reloading them; and as the dogs will have grown fat through resting and eating reindeer paunch at Otowaka's, there'll be no holding them, and we shall tear back. Ha, ha! Hey!" He alternately reflected, shouted, or sang a local song in a thin voice:

"O Sidorek, O Sidorek, The light breath of warm breezes Blows over land and sea!

Now go and fetch your sleigh; Harness the dogs without delay.

Out to the rocks let them swiftly take you, Out to the rocks by the sh.o.r.e of the sea, O Sidorek, O Sidorek!"

"Buza, Buza, curb your frivolity!" Father Pantelay admonished him from a distance, as, in the silence of that frozen waste, his voice reached the other travellers through the clear, cold air.

The March sun made the snowdrifts appear so bright and smooth that by contrast the smallest bush seemed like a wood, and the slightest unevenness a hill. Soon, however, the summits of distant mountains showed on the horizon, with their white line sharply defined against the blue sky. The travellers turned towards these, and spent the night in a lonely fis.h.i.+ng hut, the last human habitation, on the very outskirts of the dwindling forest. Henceforward they had only snow, rocks, and sky round them; the only trees to be seen were those washed down by the sea or by river floods, and the only people those in Otowaka's encampment.

The strong, well-fed dogs went at a brisk pace. After a day's journey the travellers unexpectedly found themselves at the brink of a steep chasm. Below it a snowy expanse showed as far as the eye could reach.

"The sea!" Buza cried.

They had guessed in time, and stopped the dogs.

"Do you see those specks s.h.i.+ning in the distance, as if they were bits of sun? Those are ice-packs. But farther away--under that cloud on the horizon--is the open sea which never freezes. They say there is land beyond it; but no one has ever been there, for whoever goes doesn't come back."

For a while they stood entranced by the extent of the view and by the sun, which threw delicate blue shadows on the long, still, frozen waves. At last Buza reminded them that they must descend the cliffs and drive along the sh.o.r.e. They pa.s.sed dark chasms all day long, for the sea had formed a bay here, and the whole sh.o.r.e was equally steep and defended by rocks.

"The waves beat up to the very top here; they are all 'bulls,'" Buza said, using a Russian expression for the cliffs.

There is indeed something defiant and bull-like in these last natural land defences, lifting their rocky crests to the sky.

The men spent the night under some tree trunks which had been washed down there by a stream.

"Do you know," Jzef said to Stefan, as they lay down to sleep, "I have a superst.i.tious fear that something will stop us, and it grows with every verst we pa.s.s."

Stefan was far too tired to a.n.a.lyze subtle emotions.

The weather continued favourable. It was only on the third day that a light, dry land breeze from the south began to blow the powdery snow from the clefts in the rocks on to their heads. The cold did not trouble them much, however, for the wall of cliffs protected them from the full blast of the wind. All the same, the Cossack shook his head and hurried on the dogs.

"It's not far now, but we must make haste. There are two promontories not far off, jutting out like stone bulls; they are called Pawal and Peweka. We shall have to cut through to the sea between them. Wet or fine, it's always windy there."

They arrived at the foot of Pawal towards the afternoon. The giant rock rose to a great height and ran out a long way into the sea. On both sides the land fell back from it abruptly, as if in fear. On the farther side of the narrow strait appeared a similar dark ma.s.s, though its size was lessened by the distance.

"You can see the encampment from here; it is on Peweka, in a hollow between two crags. Yet it's strange that I don't see any smoke.

Perhaps the wind has blown it away. How it does blow! We shall have a bad time."

"Shall we spend the night here?"

"Spend the night--where there isn't a tree? Besides, who would spend the night here when he can see tents? The natives would lose all their respect for us. Let's go on! It may blow worse to-morrow. We will just feed the dogs, and then be off."

They unpacked the provisions and began to feed the dogs, taking some refreshment themselves. The wind made wild music among the rocks. When at times a more violent blast reached this sheltered place, their hands instantly became numb.

"We shall be frozen in another moment!"

"Please G.o.d, we shan't freeze, only we mustn't stop on the way or let go of the sledges for a moment; and we must tie everything to them, for whatever falls off will be lost. Keep close one behind the other, so as not to have to shout, for it's no use; and be very careful not to scatter snow over one another's sledge. Don't allow the dogs to turn with the wind, but keep them against it sideways; and remember, Father--and you too, sir--to have them well in hand. G.o.d preserve you from going near Peweka, for it's open sea there, and the gale will carry you away to your death. Don't stop by the way, for you will get no rest by stopping. In the Name of the Father and the Son!"

They rushed out impetuously from their sheltered nook. The gale caught them at once, blowing about the dogs' hair and tilting the sledges upwards. The men bent down to meet it, and turned their faces away, but they felt it cutting through them more and more. It beat against them with increasing force, piercing them through until there was no warmth left in their bodies, nothing but a smarting sensation from the snow which completely covered them. Their mouths and their clothes were soon full of these parching flakes; they felt them penetrating their furs to their very skin and melting there, making them shudder all over. Streams of this powdery snow ran above the smooth, s.h.i.+ning surface of the ground, coiling with a hiss like an adder round their feet and bodies, catching the dogs' drooping heads, striking the runners of the sledges, and rolling back in grey b.a.l.l.s which increased as they wound in and out of the caravan.

The men crouched in contorted att.i.tudes, seeking to screen themselves from the biting cold. Their chins almost rested on their knees, and they only glanced ahead now and then to where the rock, which was to be their refuge, was darkening in the distance. The dogs also understood where their safety lay; they used their light s.h.a.ggy paws to the best of their power, and plunged resolutely into the raging wind driving towards the sea. They constantly fell down, for they slipped on the hard surface; their eyes were bloodshot and starting from the sockets, the breast collar choked them, the sledge had suddenly become a great weight on them. The poor animals ran stooping low, and not even daring to open their mouths to take breath, for the cold wind hurt their throat and lungs. The rattle of the sledges, the dogs' whining, the men's curses, were like atoms in the furious, hollow roar of the storm, and fell into s.p.a.ce, as though no one were calling, suffering, or struggling. Stefan never took his eyes off the distance, mentally measuring it all the while; he realized despairingly that his dogs were growing tired and would cease to follow the leader, and that he must stand up to drive them on and turn them back into the track. Jzef clung helplessly to the sledge, s.h.i.+vering as in fever. At last, when they were nearly under the huge crag of Peweka, the wind abated and merely blew in gusts. Stefan looked up with a feeling of almost religious awe at this rock which weathered gales and sea. Buza was waiting for them there.

"Well, we have done more than we could expect! We may congratulate ourselves. Now it will be just as if we were at home. I am only surprised not to see anyone about. It's true the weather's bad. But they ought to have seen us. Perhaps they have been killing reindeer or catching seals, and have eaten too much and are asleep. We must go up the mountain. Hi, s.h.a.ggy-hair! Noch! Noch!"

The dogs, being hungry and in a bad temper, began to bite one another. By the time they had been quieted and the harness set to rights, the sun had hidden behind the high hills and the red glow of evening was spreading over rocks and snow.

They reached the pa.s.s by a narrow and difficult way.

Then Buza, who was going on ahead, suddenly pulled up at a turn of the path, thunderstruck; his dogs immediately lay down. The men rushed up to him, but he neither answered their questions nor took his eyes off something lying hidden under a rock. Empty tents, with the flaps unfastened in a hospitable manner, stood before them in a strange silence. But the Cossack's eyes were fixed on something else.

A Chukchee, dressed in fur and with a spear in his hand, lay face downwards across the pathway. A little farther on a head showed from under a snowdrift, the whites of the eyes s.h.i.+ning and the hair dishevelled by the gale; a hand like a claw, clotted with blood, protruded from lower down the drift. Streaks of blood mingled with the red evening glow.

"What does it mean? What is this?"

"Hus.h.!.+ For the love of G.o.d, be quiet! Let us escape!" the Cossack exclaimed, looking in consternation at the dogs, which suddenly sat up and began to howl. "Let us escape!" he repeated, turning away.

But Stefan and the priest objected.

"We must see if there is anyone left alive. Perhaps we can help them."

"No, I shan't go; I'm afraid. You can go yourselves. I'll lead the dogs down to the valley. G.o.d!... G.o.d! Thy will be done!"

Stefan took a revolver from the holster and went into the dark interior of a tent. He saw a cold hearth, sprinkled with snow, and, hanging above it, a cauldron with meat which had frozen. Having lighted a match, he perceived a Chukchee lying naked to the waist, with a terrible wound in his chest. "Is there anyone here?" he asked in a trembling voice, not daring to enter the inner tent by the low hanging.

Instead of an answer, he only heard the tent skins rubbing together as the wind tore at them, and the missionary's prayers. He therefore bent down and crawled under the hanging; but he instantly drew back. The whole inner tent seemed to be full of contorted human bodies. He mastered himself, however, took the tallow candle from the priest, and crept in. Here he found the naked bodies of murdered women and children. It must all have happened quite recently, for the blood was still red, the bodies had the look of marble, and the cuts were still wide open; but they were all stark and cold as stone. The frost had finished what the knife had left undone.

One of the young women had evidently tried to escape. She had torn the outer tent covering and endeavoured to jump out, but had been caught at the entrance; the child, over whom she was bending with an imploring gesture, must have hampered her movements, and she had been run through the back and nailed to the ground with her baby. Stefan looked at her face and recognized his recent guest, Impynena, the wife of Aimurgin.

"This is frightful! Let us escape!" they all exclaimed with one accord, filled with fear and horror.

"Women and children too! There is not a living soul left!"

"Who is it? What can----?"