The rain and bad weather, which had continued without interruption for several days, had kept the inhabitants of the hut, 'Talaki,'[14] prisoners indoors, and condemned them to idleness. They constantly went out of the room to gaze long and sadly at the weeping sky, for the hay was rotting in the fields;—but alas! a grey film of rain hung over all the surrounding country, and in vain their eyes sought longingly for the smallest chink of blue in the heavy, dark clouds.

To add to the misfortune, the rain, not content with the holes left in the roof from the year before, made a number of fresh ones. It thus poured into the room from all sides on to people's heads and shoulders, and formed quite a deep and ever-growing pool underfoot. Various forms of filth, remains of food, refuse of fish and game, the dung in the corner where the calves were kept, which had been trodden down and had dried in the course of the year, became moist, and filled the interior of the 'yurta'[15] with an unbearable smell. It was therefore stuffy, cold, and damp there. The fire, burning rather slowly, was choked by balls of grey smoke, which went across the room.

The hut was tiny; it occupied no more than twenty-four square yards of the solitude surrounding it. The slanting walls, made of barked larch trees placed perpendicularly, and narrowing towards the top, diminished its size still more. The flat roof was built of rafters of the same wood, and came down so close to the inhabitants' heads that one of them, Michawio, a big lad, while unwinding a bundle of nets at the little window, hit his curly shock head against it.

A plank partition, hewn out with a hatchet, ran through the centre of the room, and divided it into equal parts, the right being for the men, the left for the women. By a post at the end of the room, with his face turned towards the fire, his hands on his right knee, and smoking a pipe, sat my host, Kyrsa,[16] a Yakut. Still hale, though no longer young, he was the wealthy and independent master of field labourers, and the owner of the house, of many nets, animals, and implements, as well as of three women:—a wife, and two daughters. The youngest was sold already, but she was living with her father, as the sum agreed upon for her had not yet been paid in full by the buyer.

There was deep silence in the room,—a rather unusual thing in a place where several Yakut people are together. The fire roared and hissed in the chimney, and behind the partition the girls made a squeaking sound as they rubbed the skins together. I had a foreboding that this silence would end badly; indeed, the storm soon broke out. The lad nicknamed 'Shmata' brought it on by his incompetence. After wandering from corner to corner all day, he now upset a bucket and spilt the water. This was the last straw. All eyes flashed, and faces grew pale.

The frightened Shmata tried to lay the blame on Michawio, who had been stooping down near him to look for a strap. Michawio in revenge reminded Shmata of what had happened about the rake the year before. The quarrel had begun in earnest. Their tongues, moving with the speed of a windmill, and throwing out invectives and sneers, formed an accompaniment to the host's threatening shouts, which rang out like the trump of the Archangel. Nor did our hostess fail to leave her seclusion to take part in the skirmish with the excitement peculiar to women all the world over. The yurta suddenly became like a disturbed beehive. The host affirmed, the hostess denied, the labourers hurled abuses at one another, the girls uttered war cries, the baby woke up and screamed in its cradle, and the calves lowed in answer to the loud mooing of the cows, whom evening had driven near the house door. This last occurence had a perceptible influence in diminishing the noise, for it caused the female element to withdraw from the fight; in fact, the disturbance might have been conjured away completely, if the happy thought of adding something at the very moment when everyone else was quieting down, had not entered our host's head.

This remark burst out unexpectedly, like a belated bomb after a battle, and produced such a din that the cows and calves were silent, the wind abated in fright, the clouds fled, and I became aware of a golden sunbeam penetrating the holes in the bladder at the window, and falling suddenly into the interior of our dark, dirty, noisy hovel. Merrily and brightly it rested in a shining circle on the closely cropped grey head of my host, before whose nose his wife's large closed fist was hovering at that moment. 'That's for you! Take that! Go on!' Kuimis cried, still beautiful in her anger. The fist came closer and closer to the unfortunate man's mouth.

What happened further? Did Kyrsa avenge himself like a man for that greatest of all insults possible to a Yakut from a woman? Or did he show himself to be the 'wife of his wife,' an old woman and a simpleton, as the neighbours called him, and refrain from knocking out the teeth or breaking the ribs of the active woman by whose work he lived and had grown rich? I do not know, because, foreseeing the overthrow of my friend, in whom love for his wife was always struggling against a sense of duty, and not wishing to be a witness of his defeat, I shouldered my gun and went out of the cottage.

The wind had dropped, the covering of clouds was torn open, and bits of pale blue sky were unveiled here and there. The sun peeped out suddenly through one of these little gaps, and the landscape, which had been dreary and joyless a moment before, brightened into a golden splendour. A light shadow, half cheerful, half sombre, fell across its faded autumn foliage, and in this half smile it resembled a forsaken woman, to whom the caprice of a lover, who has already grown cold, offers a moment of tenderness and happiness again. Drops of rain glistened like brilliants on the dark branches of the trees and bushes; the sky was coloured in shades of carmine, and the pearly tears of the passing storm trembled on the willows, still swaying from it.

Before me, between two high promontories overgrown by woods which ran in opposite directions, sparkled the surface of the lake. In proportion as it stretched into the distance, its bank became more winding, lower, and mistier, until it disappeared at the outlet of a gorge. Owing to the distance, the tall, thin larches, the thick willows, bushes, and grass growing there looked quite small, but the rays of the sunset, falling on them from behind, produced a wonderful lace-work of dark branches and leaves against a pale-rose sky. Grey clouds hung above them, heavily embroidered with gold and purple. The waves sported and chased one another below on the foam-splashed banks of the lake, which was painted with colours from the sky.

I walked towards the gorge, by the footpath leading through a meadow which was now turning yellow.

That 'demons' forest'[17] looked dark and horrible close at hand. The flat hills, uniformly covered with soft moss of a dirty green, and with cranberry leaves, undulated gently westwards towards the sinking sun. The wood covering these hills was sparse and stunted, and disfigured them rather than otherwise, for single trees stood out here and there like the remaining hair on a bald man's head. Silence, and the gloom of oncoming night already filled the interior of the forest. Only here and there a forgotten ray of sunshine was burning itself out above in the bare, wind-twisted summits of the larches.

I stood for a moment, looking at that wild spot, which no native would have dared to approach. A deep stillness lay upon it; the waves beat more and more gently and noiselessly; the sunset was fading away, and only where the network of bushes was less close a transient gleam lighted the surface of some lakes, which had hitherto been unknown to me. I walked on towards them, impelled by curiosity and a feeling of longing.

The way proved more difficult than I had expected. At every moment I was obliged to jump or climb over bushes and avoid the deep, narrow wells, boarded round with tree-trunks felled a hundred years before and perfidiously concealed by the mosses and plants overgrowing them. As these wells were full of water, with bottoms as slippery as ice, an unwary pedestrian could easily break his neck or fracture a leg by falling into them. In many places swampy streams trickled along undefined channels, and though their banks were shallow, they were boggy and difficult to cross on account of the trunks and branches lying in them. The wood was full of trees with projecting, mud-covered roots, which now, when everything was assuming an indefinite shape in the twilight, looked twisted and monstrous. The white patches of lichen shining in the darkness at the foot of the trees like the immense shreds of a pall, emphasized and doubled their weird appearance. It is, therefore, no wonder that in the purple light of dawn, or in the moonlight, the natives should here see the tall wood-demon's pale face,—the Slav hunter who came from the South and now roams near the Yakut cottages, injuring cattle.

Woe to the district where his shadow passes! Often from fifty to two hundred beasts fall dead at one shot from those terrible Southern arms.

That evening, however, I met none of these inhabitants of the wood. I also did not see the 'demons,'—the dry Tungus corpses. At one time they were to be found here quite frequently, and the forest takes its name from them. Shrivelled and horrible, they usually sit somewhere under a tree or cleft in a rock, gazing eastwards with eye-sockets pecked by the birds. On their knees they hold a wooden bow, or a rifle, at their feet lies a hatchet with a broken handle, and at their belt, inlaid with silver and beads, hangs a broken knife in its sheath,—also broken, in order to prevent the dead man from doing any mischief after death. A little to one side lie scattered the bones of the reindeer, killed on his grave, the harness, and the small Tungus sledge. No one ever dares to possess himself of any of these considerably valuable articles, for punishment threatens the foolhardy, inasmuch as he loses his way all day long until he returns to the same place and restores the stolen object. Until they give ample satisfaction, and atone to the angered owner by a gift, obstinate people return some thirty, even a hundred times without being able to escape from the magic circle. It is dangerous even to touch any of the things belonging to the dead man, since that evokes a storm, or, at best, a high wind. Although the kindly natives had advised me to avoid meeting with the 'demon,' since it brings early, and sometimes immediate death, I was very sorry not to have seized him red-handed that evening. However, I came to be severely punished for this sinful wish.

The twilight deepened. The last purple resplendance had already faded from the sunset, when tired and tattered, I at last succeeded in pushing my way through the bushes of the 'demon's forest.' The sky was dark, and twinkling with myriads of stars. My expedition had failed in every respect. To complete the misfortune, the white mists hung like muslin over the valley, and entirely prevented me from satisfying my curiosity. I was therefore only able to take pleasure in the play of the moonlight.

It was really a beautiful view, although rather wild and gloomy. Nearly the whole of the broad valley, to the very edge of the wood where the dark, bare tree-tops projected beyond the border of mist, was filled by white balls of vapour; the moon was moving slowly above them. Looking for a moment into the depths of the valley, she drew aside the floating veil, and touched the sleeping lake below with her silvery kiss. I stood a long while to gaze and to rest. The deep silence, the stillness which always reigns in these woods, the knowledge that no one but myself was to be found in that solitude for twenty versts round, filled me with a strange feeling of anxiety and longing. I roused myself in order to dispel this. It was unfortunately time to think of returning;—no easy matter, however, for in making my way through the wood, I had lost a clear conception of the right track. At last I hit on a small footpath, and decided to follow it in the hope that it would lead me to some inhabited spot. I had scarcely gone twenty steps before becoming persuaded that I was not walking on a path, but on one of the numerous tracks made in the wood by water or animals. It was therefore necessary to return to the place from which I had started, for only thence could I more or less trace the way leading in a bee-line through the wood. But the place had disappeared; the night had shrouded it in new and different shadows, and the mist had drawn its silver web across it. I walked for some time, searching in vain, and haunted by the thought of forest madness. I had seen people brought home from the 'taiga'[18] no longer in possession of their faculties, pale and miserable, and with the traces of terror and madness in their eyes. These unhappy men had often lost their way quite near houses, without seeing them or being able to recognize the points of the compass, although the sun was shining, and they had wandered about, crying and howling like wild animals. After recovering, they said that they had seen the demon. One of the causes of this illness is the fatigue brought on by the strain of the vain search. So I sat down on a felled trunk, resolving to wait for daybreak.

The air was cool. My clothes were wet with the mist and rain, besides being too thin for spending the night in the wood, so that I soon began to suffer from the cold. I tried to light a fire, but the matches were damp, and the only one which burnt could not set fire to the moist brushwood and logs. Having, therefore, gathered some grass, I hid my feet in it, as they were suffering the most from the cold; I examined my gun, and loaded it, and then, crouching against a tree, I tried to go to sleep.

In a situation of this kind every sense is rapidly dulled,—touch, smell, even sight; hearing alone becomes exceedingly acute. After only a few minutes I could hear my heart beating, the blood pouring through my veins, the whisper of the trees, the rustle of the mist, so that the dead silence of the wood was broken in upon by sounds, which, though scarcely audible, continued to increase. Suddenly a very real sound rang out amid these fancied ones, and forced me to open my eyes. It came from the further end of the lake, and was like the measured strokes of an oar. I fixed my eyes on the spot whence it seemed to come. The veil of mist was trembling slightly, and beyond it, in the distance, something indistinct appeared low on the water. After a moment a small Yakut pirogue emerged from the shadows, and sped along the lake. I could perfectly well see the rower squatting in the bottom of the boat, and striking first with one, then with the other blade of his long oar, from the ends of which the water poured in a shining stream, like molten silver.

He soon approached the bank, and drew the boat to land. I crept towards him, hiding in order that he should not see me too soon, and run away, as I knew he would. He was engaged in taking something out of the boat.

'What news?' I greeted him, according to the local custom, coming slowly out of the bushes.

He started and exclaimed, but did not run away, for he recognized me, and I him. He was a poor Yakut, who lived about five versts from me.

'I know nothing! I have heard nothing! Oh, how you did frighten me,—but it's all right!' he said hastily, giving me his hand.

'What did you think it was?'

'Why should one meet a man in the wood at night time?' he answered evasively, eyeing me suspiciously from head to foot. 'You often think it's a man you know, and you talk to him as if you knew him, and then it turns out in the end not to be a man at all.'

'What are you doing here so late?'

'I am going home; it's a holiday to-morrow. I have a long way to go from here to Babylon[19] for fishing,—thirty versts. You know we're poor folk, we live by fishing,—we haven't any horses; so one is always in a boat, always in a boat. As I was dragging it through the wood I cut my foot, so I've got behindhand.'

'You have cut your foot?'

'It isn't much, for I've stopped the bleeding.'

'Then perhaps it was you whistling and calling?' I asked, remembering a strange sound I had heard a moment before.

'I!—No!' He was silent, and I noticed him lean over the boat, and cross himself.

'And what are you doing here?' he asked in his turn.

I hesitated.

'Looking for ducks,' I lied, not wishing to frighten him more.

'Ducks!' he repeated, laughing heartily, and his white teeth shone in the darkness like pearls.

'There have never been any ducks here!'

'Never been any? Why?' I asked, as I helped him to draw the boat along the edge of the wood towards the lake, which could be seen in the distance. The fisherman was limping.

'The lakes are different,' he explained, 'and there are as many lakes in our country as stars in the sky, and the stars are only the reflection of them. The lakes are as different as the stars:—there are large and small ones, and some so deep that you can't reach the bottom; or else they are shallow, or marshy. In one there are fine fish, in another small, in some the water's bad, and makes a man ill, because the cattle go into it, in others again it's as pure as air.'

We halted on the bank, let down the boat into the water, and entered it, the fisherman in front, I behind. Leaning lightly against one another, back to back, we sailed along like a god with two faces of which one was bearded and European, the other flat, clean-shaven, and Mongolian.

The Mongolian face continued its conversation, only interrupting it now and then to give me a warning not to move when the boat rocked too much.

'Everything comes from the water. Even the cow lived in the water until she was taken and tamed by man. There are different kinds of wild beasts and even people living in the water, as there are on land. Now just look!' and he pointed with his oar to the long water-weeds swaying under the passage of the pirogue. 'Isn't that a wood?' It was indeed a wood, dark and mysterious, visited only by fishes and drowned men. Once he had fallen in, no swimmer ever extricated himself from its thickets.

'Old people say,' the Yakut continued, 'that formerly everything was different,—everything was better, because there was more water, and that even the sables used to come up to the farm gates, and there was so much fish that it was enough to shoot an arrow into the lake to draw it back with a good catch. But now there's nothing; the sables have run away, and there isn't much fish. It's only the traders, our fathers, who save us, or we should die. They give the money to pay the taxes, they give tea, tobacco, and cotton. Eh yes! these traders! I'd just like to be a trader!'

The little boat struck the bank. We therefore drew it along to the next lake, and continued the rest of our journey in this manner, this being the sole means of travelling in summer in that country of lakes, marshes, and swampy woods.

After travelling thus for an hour along a narrow stream, overgrown with bulrushes, we ultimately arrived at the last lake. The sparks from a yurta chimney were glittering on its bank in the distance, like tiny red stars.

'I expect you are going to Chachak?' my companion asked, when we stopped on the bank. 'I am spending the night there.'

I took up some of the fisherman's things, and walked towards the yurta. I had known Chachak for some time past already. He was a queer man, who laughed at his own extravagances, and frequently even shocked the feeling of the neighbourhood. 'Chachak has made himself a cap of a whole wolf skin!' I had been told laughingly. 'Chachak has paid the merchants only two roubles for a brick of tea; "they would make too much profit by three roubles," he said!'

'What about the merchants? Did they give it to him?'

'Eh, why, his old woman gave it to them on the sly! Why! You don't know Chachak! He won't give three roubles;—he won't drink, and he won't give that!'

Chachak had been famous in his youth as the best hunter in the district, and wonders were related of his prowess and skill. He preferred bear hunting to any other, and set out to it summer and winter with his spear and gun, killing in the open field or lair, just as it happened. He was as ready for such encounters as he was for cards. Only let him hear of a bear, and from that moment he had no peace until he had tracked and killed it. Many a time he had been invited to accompany hunters who had found a den with several bears. But burning with the fever for the chase, he had been unable to wait until morning, and had slipped away in the grey dawn with his faithful dog to hasten to the spot, where he was usually to be found, pale and splashed with the blood of the 'forest lords.' There was nothing left for his companions to do but for each to eat a portion of the hard heart and liver of the vanquished, and to drink a cup of blood, shouting the triumphant 'uch!' three times. All eyes would be upon Chachak, who would try to appear indifferent, although excited and feeling the just pride of a hero. Once, moreover, he had killed a bear with a tail, which, as everyone knows, is not a bear, but a devil. Had he not killed the 'icy demon,' who tracked people, carried off cattle, and whom neither bullet nor spear could touch? Chachak himself never spoke or boasted of his victories; he was always modest and reserved, as befits a man who possibly knows more than others. Since the accident which befell him during his last hunt, however, he had been completely changed. He had given up hunting and playing cards, become poor, and grown morose and strange:—he had lost his influence.

His yurta stood near the bank, so I quickly found myself at its gate. A bright fire was burning within, and voices could be heard talking. So they were not asleep yet! I went up to the door, and peeped through the chink. Chachak was sitting before the fire, with his face towards me, holding a net which he was not winding, for his hand was stretched slightly in front of him while he related something to the listeners gathered round him. At his feet a small naked child played with the brass chain of a knife hanging in a wooden sheath sewn to his leather trousers above the right shin. Chachak was very animated; every now and then he bent forward towards his listeners, and stamped his massive heel on the clay floor of the cottage.

'They have a horror of horseflesh, and eat pigs!' he was saying, 'yet a horse is a very clean and sensible animal.'

'Why, yes!' his listeners assented.

'But pigs!—I have seen them! They're disgusting! They've no hair! They're bare, dirty, stupid, and bad tempered! They've enormous mouths, thin curling tails like snakes, small eyes, and teeth like a dog's. They're spiteful too!—When I was at Yakutsk I had an adventure with the pigs, and they all but ate me. There're lots of them there. I had gone out by myself in the early morning to finish my pipe in the passage; everyone was still asleep, and it had only just begun to dawn. The pigs were going round the courtyard, squealing. I was young, and liked a joke, so when they ran round me I shook my fist at them. They rushed at me like mad!' He broke off with a laugh. 'I ran along the passage, they after me; I jumped on to a bench, and they came grunting round me, while I kept shaking my fist at them. Ha-ha!'

He spat into his hand, and stretched it out before him.

Suddenly the door creaked. The woman exclaimed, the lads jumped up from the floor, the children began to cry.

'Who's coming? A Russian, perhaps, and pigs with him!' Chachak stopped talking, and drew back his outstretched fist.

The entrance, as is usual in a Yakut yurta, was behind the fireplace, the one source of light in the evening; thus a full minute of fear and anxious expectation passed before I entered from the darkness. Yes, it was a 'Russian,' but a well-known one, a friend, and, into the bargain, without pigs!

Their faces brightened, and they stretched out their hands, welcoming me warmly and frankly, as guests are always welcomed in the North. Chachak laughed, made room for me on the bench before the fire, and ordered the kettle to be put on.

'Tell us the news, and what is happening,' they begged me.

I began to relate the local news. They all listened attentively, although, as it turned out, they had already long known it. The companion of my night journey entered, and the conversation became general. The men grouped themselves round the table, on which Chachak's wife had set supper for us; freshly made soup, sour milk, and a large pile of fish, dried and smoked.

Chachak stood at the fire, warming his back, and did not join in the conversation. His daughter, a young and rather pretty girl, placed a few white china tea-cups and saucers on the table, and the usual Yakut entertainment began: tea with milk and cold refreshments, followed later by a hot supper with fish. Although the offer of meat was very tempting, and we were rather hungry, we were not equal to tasting all the dishes set before us. Chachak noticed this at once, and attacked me about it with his wonted brusqueness.

'You aren't eating? You've had enough? What's this new fashion of going to pay visits without being hungry? You Slavs eat like birds when you go to people's houses, but you go home and call out: "Wife, the samovar; put the saucepan on the fire,—I'm hungry." You're disgraceful!'

They all began to laugh, the old man no less than the rest.

A general conversation was started, at first about different countries and customs, but soon reverting to burning local questions.

'What's wrong with Andshay? He's in trouble. There's no trace of his boy.'

'None?'

'A pity! He was a sturdy lad!'

'Have they found nothing?'

'No. All the neighbours have been out to search; they've searched the lakes, they've searched the wood, they've been searching for a whole week. But there's nothing,—nothing.'

'Ah!—sure to be a bear. They say one appeared in the valley; Kecherges saw him,' muttered the fisherman, who had arrived with me.

At the word, 'bear,' Chachak, who was standing by the fire, silently playing with his fingers, suddenly looked up. Everyone stopped talking, and involuntarily turned towards him. His old wife nervously tried to change the subject.

'A bear! Where was he seen?' Chachak asked quickly in a low tone, sitting down on the bench.

'Oh! Who can tell? Perhaps it wasn't one either,' the fisherman answered hesitatingly.

'A bear,—depend upon it!' Chachak said slowly. 'They have found neither flesh nor clothes:—"He" usually buries the remains of his prey in the ground,—"He" even scrapes the blood off. That's just what "He" does. You say Kecherges saw "Him?"' he again asked the fisherman.

'Lies!' the latter answered evasively.

'Oh! "He"'s clever, "He"'s sly and revengeful! Andshay must have done something to "Him" in order to be able to boast of it, or to have something to talk about. "He" remembers insults a long time, that's why "He" has carried the boy off. Although "He" lives far away, "He" hears in the mountains and forest quite well what we are saying here, and understands like a man,—better than a man! Who knows what "He" is? Skin "Him," and you will see how like a woman "He" is. But "He"'s revengeful,—and terribly fierce,' Chachak added, looking down. '"He" doesn't forgive!'

'You Russian,'—he turned to me suddenly,—'be ready for "Him" on the road. Take care! Take care! Though a bear is big, "He" can go as quietly as a shadow when "He" wants to fall upon a man unawares. I advise you to stay the night with us; there's no joking with "Him"! Once I was not afraid either, but now;—there—look!' He undid his shirt sleeve. It was a terrible sight. The left shoulder, which, as I had previously noticed, the old man could make little use of, was shrunk and thin to the elbow, like a mere bone covered with skin, and those veins and muscles which were unscathed, wound round the bone close to the surface. There was a mass of white scars, crossing in different directions.

'I have killed many,—many!' he continued, 'and now I know that they will eat me for it,—eat me because I'm afraid. It happened like this. It was rather later in the season than this; it was freezing. I got ready my spring-gun for elk-shooting, and God gave me one of these big beasts. To have carted its flesh, skin, and inside along a bad road would have needed seven or eight horses. So I decided to build a larder on the spot, and to lay the elk in it for a time, till the road became frozen. I and my boy set out early to work. The lad was lingering a little way behind me, and I was walking quite quietly along the road, and had just passed the willow which grows on the hill not far from here, when "He" came upon me. He ran towards me like a dog, and before I could look round "He" was already standing on his hind-legs. I reached out for my knife, but tried in vain to drag it from the sheath. There was a night frost, and on coming out of the house I had not wiped my knife, as I should, after eating, so it had frozen to the sheath. It was God's hand!—So the "Black One" knocked me down. Finding myself overpowered, I seized him by the throat with my right hand, and laid the left on his jaws, and called to the boy to run for help. The silly boy jumped on him, and—whack!—went his pocket knife into the bear;—he had a little knife that size,' and Chachak measured with his finger. '"You want to eat my father!" he shouted. The Black One was frightened, and jumped into the bushes. But the boy had hit me in the chest with his knife, and I should have been killed, had it been able to pierce the stag's hide. They could scarcely bring me round again.'

'And you see from that time, when "He," sitting on me, looked into my eyes, my mind has been troubled. I am afraid,' he added quietly, 'very much afraid.'

Not long after I took leave of my kind hosts, and went home. The moon was shining brightly, the mist had disappeared, and the well-known foot-path shone white before me. I had gone along it a thousand times without fear or thought of evil, but this time when I neared the place where Chachak had been attacked I involuntarily fingered my knife-handle, and for a moment I seemed to see the monster lying in the shadow of the bushes, its shaggy muzzle on its outstretched paws.

A few years later I heard that Chachak had disappeared without trace in the wood: the 'forest lords' had doubtless accomplished their revenge.