heir place.

There can be no doubt that, for monotony, this journey is unequalled.
After a few days surrounding objects seemed to float by in a vague
dream. Only the "scroop" of the runners and jingle of the sleigh-bells
seemed to be hammered into the brain, for all eternity. And yet, even
the bells in their own way were a godsend, for they were changed (with
the yoke) at every station, and I liked to think that every one of the
hundred and twenty-two stages were accompanied by a different tune!
There were other drawbacks to complete enjoyment. On the whole, the
weather was still and clear, but occasionally the sky would darken, down
would come the snow, and we would flounder about, sometimes for hours,
lost in the drifts. Logs frozen into the river, fissures in the ice, and
other causes rendered upsets of almost daily occurrence, but it was
generally soft falling. I remarked that as we proceeded further north
the post-horses became wilder and more unmanageable, and it was often
more than the drivers could do to hold them. Twice our sleigh was run
away with, and once de Clinchamp and myself were thrown with unpleasant
force on to hard black ice. On another occasion the _troika_ started off
while the driver was altering the harness, and went like the wind before
we could clamber on to the box, seize the reins, and stop them. The
unfortunate _yemstchik_[8] was dragged with them, and I expected to find
the poor fellow a mangled corpse, but we pulled him out from under his
team badly cut and bruised, but otherwise little the worse for the
accident. He had clung like grim death to the pole, or the heavy sleigh
must have crushed him.

[Footnote 8: Driver.]

During daylight we could afford to laugh at such trifles, but at night
time it was a different matter. To tear through the darkness at a
breakneck pace at the mercy of three wild, unbroken horses required some
nerve, especially when lying under the _koshma_ as helpless as a sardine
in a soldered tin. For the first few days overflows were a constant
menace, especially at night when sleep under the apron was out of the
question, for any moment might mean a plunge through the ice into the
cold dark waters of the Lena. I generally had a clasp-knife ready to
slash asunder, at a moment's notice, the ropes which secured the apron
to the sleigh. After a time I could lie in the dark and tell with
unerring precision whether the sleigh was gliding over the river or the
land, and w