“Well, grandmother, one head is not much; I will go, whatever God gives.”
“Ah! Ivan Tsarevich, better turn back; thou art still a green youth, hast never been in places of danger, hast not seen great terror.”
“No,” said Ivan; “if thou seizest the rope, don’t say thou art not strong.” He took farewell of Baba-Yaga and went farther.
He rode a day, a second, and a third, and came to the first ferry: the ferrymen were sleeping on the opposite bank. “What is to be done?” thought Ivan. “If I shout, they’ll be deaf for the rest of their lives; if I whistle, I shall sink the ferry-boat.” He whistled a half whistle. The ferrymen sprang up that minute and ferried him across the river.
“What is the price of your work, brothers?”
“Give us thy right hand.”
“Oh, I want that for myself!” Then Ivan Tsarevich struck with his sword on the right, and on the left. He cut down all the ferrymen, mounted his horse, and galloped ahead. At the two other ferries he got away in the same fashion. He was drawing near the thirtieth kingdom. On the boundary stood a wild man, in stature tall as a forest, in thickness the equal of a great stack of hay; he held in his hands an enormous oak-tree.
“Oh, worm!” said the giant to Ivan Tsarevich, “whither art thou riding?”
“I am going to the thirtieth kingdom; I want to see the beautiful maiden from whose hands and feet healing water flows.”
“How couldst thou, little pigmy, go there? I am a hundred years guarding her kingdom, great, mighty heroes came here,—not the like of thee,—and they fell from my strong hand. What art thou? Just a little worm!”