[ CHAPTER XVIII.]
HOW WE WERE TRANSPORTED.
It was my intention, as well as that of Whiskerandos, after hearing of the cheerfulness of a Russian winter, and the comfort preserved in the houses, to remain to witness the ice-mountains, the frozen Neva, and, above all, the wonderful market which Wisky had described to us on that night.
Our intentions, however, were frustrated, and our projects of amusement defeated by an incident which suddenly altered the whole course of our affairs.
Whiskerandos, who was of a very bold and independent disposition, cared not to place himself constantly under the guidance of his Russian companion. He made forays by himself into the streets, moon or no moon, it was all one to him. He brought us back accounts of many singular adventures,—how he had been seen by a dog, chased by a cat, and nearly run over by a drosky, the name given to the vehicles which in St. Petersburg take the place of our London cabs.
“Have a care, brother, have a care! Even the brave may dare too much, and the fortunate venture once too often!” with such exclamations as these our courteous Russian rat would listen to the tales of such hair-breadth escapes.
The effect of his words upon me was to render me cautious,—timid perhaps you will call it. The only motives which usually roused me to encounter danger, were hunger, or overpowering curiosity. I liked to see all, hear all, and know all, and picked up scraps of general information with the same relish that I would have picked up scraps of cheese.
Once Whiskerandos came home in high spirits. He had made such a discovery, found such treasures,—been in the very place where of all others a rat might rejoice in boundless content.
Directly behind the Exchange he had found a large open space, fenced round with iron railing, which, while keeping out man, offered everywhere a door of welcome to rats. Here, protected by nothing but tarpaulin, was collected a quantity of goods, both those which had been imported into Russia, and those with which she paid back from her own productions the contributions of the world.
“Oh, the mountains of tallow which I saw there!” exclaimed Whiskerandos, executing a somerset in the air, in the excess of his admiration and delight.
“There may well be mountains, brother,” observed Wisky, “since, besides the quantities which she uses herself, Russia is said to export every year about two hundred and fifty millions of pounds of tallow, of which above one half is shipped from St. Petersburg.”