§10
On the second day of our journey, heavy rain began at dawn and went on all day without stopping, as it often does in wooded country; at two o’clock we came to a miserable village of natives. There was no post-house; the native Votyaks, who could neither read nor write, opened my passport and ascertained whether there were two seals or one, shouted out “All right!” and harnessed the fresh horses. A Russian post-master would have kept us twice as long. On getting near this village, I had proposed to my keeper that we should rest there two hours: I wished to get dry and warm and have something to eat. But when I entered the smoky, stifling hut and found that no food was procurable, and that there was not even a public-house within five versts, I repented of my purpose and intended to go on.
While I was still hesitating, a soldier came in and brought me an invitation to drink a cup of tea from an officer on detachment.
“With all my heart. Where is your officer?”
“In a hut close by, Your Honour”—and the soldier made a left turn and disappeared. I followed him.