The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1871-10-12
THE THREE MASKED MEN.
From Chambers Journal.

;, From Chambers Journal
O "Yonder's the village, Barin," says m
4 driver, pointing to a few spots of light tina
: twinkle along the darkening skyline; ''an
y we'll be there in another quarter of a
0 hour, if it please Heaven. Lucky for U
0 that it not winter-time, for we'd have tn
E 'gray-coats (wolyes) at our heels befor
a We got in
Are there many of them about here il
y winter ?" ask |.
'Many of them? A great Geal to-
: many. Why. it was only last winter" h
goes on, with genuinely Russian love O
frightening himself and other people, "tha
sledgc came into the village which hat
been attacked by wolves close to where W,
are now, on dark windy evening Just lik,
this one; and they gobbled up the driver
and everything but the sledge itself, ant
that was good deal scratched
''But if they ate up the horses how die
the sledge get to the village p
'Ah, BARN y answers the old rogue
with a chuckle, chats not my affair."
Our days work has been a long and
hard one, as may be seen by the smoking
tanks and quiyering nostrils of our horses,
and the country through which we have
passed is not such as one loves to lingcr
over. Picturesqucncgs, in the ordinary
sense Of the word, is sadly wanting to Rus
sia proper. All her best scenery is to be
found in regions lately wrested from other
powers-Finland, the Caucasus, the Cri-
mea. Nor is Che monotony of her bound
less plain diversified by that abundance of
! life which relieves the fatness Of Holland
and the Netherlands. Siberia is peoplcd
at the rate of one inhabitant to three
square miles The vast praires Of Central
Russia are little if at all more populous.
The new railway from kiev to Balta
runs for at least half its length through
chaos Of uucleared forest The banks OF
the Nolga, for leagues together, are silent
and desolate as those Of the Amazon.
Along the whole course Of the Lower Don,
from kalatch to within a few hours sail of
RoStov, there is not single toWn-hardly
even village worth calling such-to
break the monotony of the voiccless soil
tudes through which it flows. And even
upon the famous "black soil, every spade
ful Of which is worth a kings ransom, one
may travel for days without seeing a hu-
man habitation except Il stray liquor-shop,
or meeting human being except an occa-
sioual robbcr.
And yet, to those who can appreciate it, |
few sights are more impressive than what
the Russians expressively call the bad !
stcppe "a limitess waste of desolate |
gray moOrIand, without warmth, without |
coloring, without life, like the corpse of ma
turc in her winding sheet. Nothing which
imagination has conceived can equal the
weird loneliness of this everlasting desert.
The sea is of one color, but it has boundless
life and motion. The great plain of the
Dnieper, though lacking life and motion,
has all the glories of earthly coloring in its
wealth of flowers. The very
deserts Of Arabia, grim and barren though
they be, have a kind of dclusivc animation
in the dizzy Walpurgisdancc of their wind
tossed sands.
But i'll the dreary wastes of Eastern
Russia all these are wholly wanting The
bad stcppe has no dimpling surface, no
varied colorlng, no waving grass, no tossing
sands to break the endless lcvel-nothin-
but tremendous passivity, eloquent in IFS
terrible silence, against whose gigantic in
lctlon att the energies of man are nothing;
| gray amending waste, wrapped in siniS-
CT and deadly stiffness, like some forgotten
world blasted by the fire of heaven ere time {
''san, and still bearing, through endless
lcsoIation.
|, is, therefore, not without a feeling of
.atrrll relief, that | turn my back upon
he great waste that darkens slowly around
i, and with the lights of the village COM
ny nearer and nearer, till at length We
currv into the single street which 1t pos !
,cs>cS, ~(almost deserted at this hour,
through fear of the "Domovoi) } and halt
II front of a low, substantial-lookin cot
abode of the ''starosta, or head !
nan of the village, with whom we propose
% take up our quarters for the night.
There is no lack of hospitality about tho
Russian peasant; and almost before my l
lriycr can explain who we are, ] find my
self seized by both hands and dragged into I
the house, my dusty coat and boots pulled
,ff, and myself seated in place of honor
beside the great stove, with Il brimming {
umbler Of tea in front of me; while the
lriver, a little further off, lights his pipe
with complacent air, as if he took to him
elf some credit for my being there at all.
While slipping my tea, and munching the
black bread whcrcwith my hosts wife, a {
stout, freSh-loOking woman of tve-and-thlr-
", supplies me Gb libitum, | glance round
the room, which is merely an enlarged and (
copy of what | have seen in
,very hamlet on my road. The heavy {
,roSs-beams of the roof, the rough-hewn
chairs and tables, the huge tea-urn-the
gilt-cdged picture of a saint in the lar cor
ncr,with a small lamp burning before 1.-THE
enormous stove, on the broad fiat top of
which my entertainers are wont to sleep in
broad clumsy bed with its
patchwork covcrlet, are all there. And
there, too, on the opposite side OF the room,
is the huge painted chest, barred and
banded with iron, which is the Russian
pride and glory, in which he
keeps his Sunday clothes, and whatever
he may possess, and upon the
painting and decorating of which he OF
ten cxpcnds n sum which it must have cost
him many hard days work and many
night to raise.
But even in their first haSty survey of
the surroundings, my eyes have time to
remark one object, which is the very last
that one would expect to find under the
roof of Russian peasant, whose sole woa-
pom is usually the short AK with which he
chops his tirewood, puts together his tly-
niture, builds his lor hut, and occasionally
splits the head of his wife, or father.
just opposite where | sit, hanging upon a
nail in the wall, is a large pistol, evidently
unsued for a considerable time, to judge
by the rust which covers it. Our friend, |
the staroska, following the direction Of my
glance, gives a significant chuckle.
'.There's something to look at Barin, |
says he, nodding in the direction of the |
weapon. You don't often see those toys |
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