Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1871-07-28
THE PEASANT HERO.
BY ID. KERR.

| VINO are not ABOVE pam living, tOr neither
hotel nor refreshment room has ever been
heard of there. The whole place is sim.
ply one of those quaint little clusters of
rough-hewn log huts, clinging like limpets
| to either side OF the high road, which are
nowhere seen to such perfection as in Swe.
den or Russia. Some few of the houses
are of grander sort actually two stories
high, with brightly painted roofs and
whitewashed balconies in front, that make
them look as if they had white ties on.
These are the "swell mansions" of the
place, and look down upon the poor little
shanties around them as a fOotman looks
at beggar but, for the most part, our
village is made up of little cabins of the
regular Russian type, built with no tool
but short axe-one storied, matched with
straw, containing two or at most three
rooms, and topped by the cooked hat
! "Tckerdak or grret in which the Rus
sian peasant slows his hay, piles his wood,
stores his provisions, dries his clean linen
| (When he has any, and, III word, bestows
| everything that he cannot cram into the
! little kennel below stairs, where he, his
wife, his children, and very often likewise
his OK and his ass, his pig and his poultry,
aud everything that is his, eat, drink, sleep
| and vegetate The beams of Mr.. VANS
house tit into each other at the ends like
the corners of slate-frame, and his door
| is fastened by strong wooden pegs beside
his big stove hangs the rudely daubed PIC
ture of some Russian saint, with candle
| burning in front of it, and in the corner of
the room stands a huge soondook " or
wooden chest, painted red, and clamped
with iron bands. This chest is the peas
ants greatest pride he keeps his Sunday
clothes in it-he and his friends sit upon
| it like sofa; and whenever he charges
from place to place, he always drags this
great heavy sentry box of a thing along
with him.
ButI doubt whether any of you would
| like to live ia Russian cottage. The roof
is just mixtore of saplings and spiders :;
the walls a mish-mash of wood, earth and
earwigs; the floor a paste of straw and
clay, uotted with black beetles, like the
| plums in Christmas puddingl
The hut l lived in had only Just been
built, so that had nothing TO disturb me
worse than a regiment of black ants
marching every now and then out of the
cracks in window sill, or a swarm of mos
quitoes coming ping pinging" through
my open window. And, what's more, |
had little round table fixed in the ground
in font of the cottage, and low bench
put beside it, and there l used to have my
breakfast and tea in the open air; and /
can tell you that when was sitting there
about seven o'clock on glorious summer
morning, fresh from my early walk, with
my cozy little tea-urn steaming in front of
me, fresh roll on one side, a couple of
new.laid eggs on the other and the soft,
dreamy, sunny uplands stretching before
me for miles, edged here and there with
dark patches of of forostlike fur trim
miGgS upon velvet robe--1 WAS rs happy
as could be. One may be comfortable in
Russia as well as anywhere else; and when
you come to travel there, YOU soon find
out that it's not the cold, dark prison, full
of spies, wolves, and frost .biies thag we
used to imag n it; that there are other
things to cat there beside soap and candles,
and other things to do beside sitting all
day close to a stove with wooden com
torter round your neck.
While the heat of the day lasts you don't
see much of our villagers. Here and there
you may fall in with stray one creeping
along the highway, or struggling about the
fields; but, as rule, the bulk of the pop.
ulatiOn don't show up till to wards evening.
Then, as if by magic, the whole place sud.
denly becomes alive with all kinds of queer
figures; bearded laborers in greasy red
shirts, with bsggy troWsers stuffed into
their high boots; shouting children, shag-
gy as bears, and brown as haZelnuts, with
nothing on but pancake colored night
gown well lined with dirt; short skirted
women, with scarlet handkerchiefs ryund
their heads, and round, flat, wide
mouthed faces that look like a penny
with hole in it; men with black
hair, and an earthly, unwashed look
about them, ogling the brown checked,
bare-footed lasses VINO come tripling by
with their pals offspring water; and spruce
village policemen dotted With brass but
tons, looking on with an air OF fatherly
superiority But it is beside the rickety
pump in front of the village "shOp of all
sorts" that the great assembly is held.
There fathers discuss things in general,
with their mouths full of black bread and
salted cucumber; there mothers compare
notes on family matters, or drive hard bar
gains among themselves; and there chill
dren OF every age amuse themselves with
the national sports OF rolling in the gutter
and throwing dirt in each others eyes
varied by an occasional bout at knuckled
bones, by way of variety.
But in winter a sad change comes over
Bogorodskoe. Instead of the charming
little village, full of life and enjoyment
you see nothing but cluster of silent
huts, half buried in snow, peering above
the great white desert that extend on
every side. All around, the bare, desolate
fields stretch the ghostly wastes to the
horizon, while here and there a solitary
raven, disturbed by your approach, flaps
heavily away with dismal scream, like
some Delated spectre returning to its grave.
The few PEASANTS who still linger about
mutll d in their thick sheepskin frocks,
survey you with an air of disdainful a.
tonishment as if wondering what business
you have here at all q; the leafless trees stand
up gaunt and grim against the cold, grey
sky, like an army of skeletons and over
all broods dead, dreary, ghostly silence,
broken only by the distant barking of
dog, or the moan of the wind through the
distant forest. Aud, worse still, if you
happen to stroll beyond the village after
dark, you will see pale spots of light, like
the flame of a half.quenched coal, fitting
among the trees-and hear long, melan.
choly howl, like the wall of the wind on
gusty winter night going drearily up
through the still, frosty air-and suddenly
lind yourself face to face with a huge,
gaunt, grey wolf, as savage and blood
thirsty as hunger can make him.
Well, it was on bitter January even.
ing, the winter before last. that six men
were assembled in one of the huts which
1 have described. 1t was q room of the
common sort-a big bed, with patch
work coverlet, filling up one side, the
Usual huge chest in one corner, picture
OF the Emperor on one wall, picture of
the bombardment of Sevastopol on the
other, and the portrait of saiut as usual
beside the stove, several clumsy wooden
chairs, and low table, on which stood
samovar," or Russian tea-urn, with tea
pot perched on the top Of it, while around
it stood half.a-dozen tumblers, full or
empty; for in Russia, you know, it's the
way to drin6 tea out of tumblers instead
OF cups,--a fashion which burns ones
fingers shockingly, if it does nothing else.
Beside the tea-uTn stood q small lamp
(gurgling and sputtering as fit had bad
cold), which threw pale circle Of light