Also we travelled by sea, from Hull to Riga, taking the gear along with us; which in itself minimized the chance of detection.
We were to travel by rail from Riga to Wilna, via Dunaburg; and the rest of the journey, rather over than under a hundred and twenty miles, must be by road, riding or driving. From Wilna the goods we were taking would follow us under a military escort.
“How’s that?” I asked, when Mishka told me of this. “Who’s going to steal a couple of wagon-loads of farm things?”
His reply was enigmatic.
“You think you know something of Russia, because you’ve seen Petersburg and Moscow, and have never been more than ten miles from a railroad. Well, you are going to know something more now; not much, perhaps, but it may teach you that those who keep to the railroad see only the froth of a seething pot. We know what is in the pot, but you, and others like you, do not; therefore you wonder that the froth is what it is.”
A seething pot. The time soon came when I remembered his simile, and acknowledged its truth; and I knew then that that pot was filled with hell-broth!