The ferryman having once more warned me to keep the boat constantly headed to the southwest, said to us, “Now, with God!” the two improvised oarsmen bent to the oars, and we started.
On the river it was pitch dark. I could barely see the forms of my companions. The boat danced wildly; nevertheless, I was in high spirits—I was advancing. The boat was large and in good condition, as the ferryman had assured me. All fears of capsizing disappeared from my mind, thanks to my bright idea of the ballast, which now lay gently grunting just in the centre of the boat. Besides, I had under my command two men in reserve to relieve the two oarsmen in case of their being exhausted, and we were provided with spare oars.
How long we pulled and struggled with the river I cannot say, for I began to lose all idea of time. Twice already the oarsmen had relieved each other, and in spite of this they began to show signs of exhaustion. It seemed to me we were not advancing at all. Suddenly the boat began to dance violently. From this I concluded that we must be in the middle of the river. To cheer up the crew, I communicated to them my nautical observations, but just at this moment a huge wave raised us high up, and another, as in a fury of jealousy, struck us vehemently. The boat made a terrible lurch. The frightened men raised cries of terror, and—worst of all—the pig began to squeal horribly, and, struggling with its bound legs, began to throw itself hither and thither. I was frightened. I thought the struggling animal would surely upset the boat; and in my turn I howled out, with a voice of which I am sure a captain possessed of the strongest lungs would not be ashamed, “Overboard with the pig!” But this command, instead of ameliorating the situation aggravated it in the most unexpected way. Its owner threw himself flat on the beast to protect it. The pig, taken by surprise, and misjudging the man’s intention, redoubled its tossings, and the man following each of them with his body, put the boat in real danger.
Already I was prepared to give a new command, “Overboard with the two pigs!” but hesitated for one moment.
At that time I had never killed anyone—though I must confess to having afterwards sacrificed the lives of a few stupid Circassians who dared to fight against the White Czar for their beautiful mountains and their liberty—and I was glad that I hesitated. The man proved stronger than the pig, overpowered it with his weight, and both man and pig lay still.
The boat recovering its buoyancy began again to follow the motions of the waves. At the same moment I perceived the lights of Ladoga, but to my horror those lights, instead of vanishing to the right, vanished rapidly towards the left. I jumped on my feet and shouted, “For your lives, men, pull stronger; we are drifting into the lake!”
A new struggle—a struggle for our lives—began. Each of us knew well that once in the lake in such weather and darkness, we were lost. The men threw their sheep-skins off. I did the same with my fur. We did not need them—we were bathed in perspiration.
How long it lasted again I cannot tell. It seemed an eternity, and in spite of our utmost efforts the lights vanished more and more to the left.
Suddenly I felt something strike my head. My cap was snatched off, and instinctively throwing my hand up to catch it, I struck a rope. I seized it frantically, and shouted, “A rope! catch hold!”
The pig’s master was now the first to follow my command, and at the same time I felt that the boat was striking something hard. This proved to be a huge barge. A merciful Providence had guided us just under the rope of her anchor. The rudder and the oars were abandoned; we all, except the pig, clung to the rope, and began to call for help.