Alexis was greatly moved, yet his curiosity was excited, and he began to look around to ascertain what all this might mean. He now, for the first time, recollected his fall from the tree. He perceived that he was in a lofty cavern, in which he saw a bed made of skins, a gun, and various other trappings belonging to a hunter. He justly concluded that he had been rescued by the stranger; and when he returned, as he did in a few minutes, he poured out his grateful thanks to him for saving his life.
The two now fell into conversation: and Alexis heard the details of his own rescue, as well as the story of the hunter. He was a Polish nobleman, who had taken part in the struggle for liberty, and who had also shared in the doom of those patriots who survived the issue. While they were conversing, they thought they heard sounds without, and going to the mouth of the cave, they perceived voices in the glen. Alexis soon recognised the piercing tones of Linsk, and immediately answered him. The old hunter, with his two sons, soon came up, and there was a hearty shaking of hands all round. The whole story was soon told, and the hunters were invited by the stranger into the cave.
The evening was now approaching, and Linsk, with his party, being pressed to spend the night at the cave, cheerfully accepted the request. A fire was soon kindled, a haunch of fat bear’s meat was roasted, and the company sat down to their meal. There was for a time a good deal of hilarity; for, even in comfortless situations, a sense of deliverance from peril breaks into the heart, scattering with its brief sunshine the gloom that is around. So it was with the hunters, in the bosom of that dark cavern, and in that scene and season of winter; the laugh, the joke, and the story passed from one to the other. Even the stern and stony brow of the stranger relaxed at some of the droll remarks and odd phrases of Linsk, and unconsciously he became interested in the passing scene.
When Linsk had done ample justice to the meal, he hitched back a little from the circle which sat around, and, wiping his greasy lips and hands, using the sleeve of his wolf-skin coat instead of a pocket-handkerchief, he said, “Well, master Alexis, this jump of yours, from the top of a mountain into the middle of a valley, beats all the capers of that kind which I ever heard of; but as to your going eight feet into the snow, that’s nothing. I once knew a fellow who spent a winter at Kamschatka, and he says that the snow falls there to such a depth as sometimes to cover up houses. He told one thumping story of what happened to himself.”
“What was it?—tell it,” was uttered by several voices. Thus invited, Linsk proceeded to relate the following tale.
“The man I spoke of was one of your short, tough little runts, and very like a weasel—hard to catch, hard to kill, and worth very little when you’ve got him. I forget now what it was led him off to such a wild place as Kamschatka; but I believe it was because he was of a restless make, and so, being always moving, he finally got to the end of the world. Nor was this restlessness his only peculiarity—he was one of those people to whom something odd is always happening; for you know that there are folks to whom ill-luck sticks just as natural as a burr to a bear’s jacket.
“Well, Nurly Nutt—for that was the young fellow’s name—found himself one winter at Kamschatka. It was far to the north, where the sun goes down for six months at a time, and brandy freezes as hard as a stone. However, the people find a way to melt the brandy; and, by the rays of the moon, or the northern lights, which make it almost as light as day, they have their frolics, as well as other people.
“It chanced to be a hard winter, and the snow was very deep. However, the people tackled up their dogs, hitched them to their sledges, and cantered away over the snow like so many witches. Nurly was a great hand at a frolic, especially if the girls were of the mess; and he went on at such a rate as to become quite a favorite with the softer sex. But it so happened, that, just as the girls became eager to catch Nurly, he wouldn’t be caught, you know—a thing that’s very disobliging, though it’s very much the way of the world.
“There was one black-eyed girl that particularly liked our little hero; and he liked her well enough, but still he wouldn’t come to the point of making her an offer of his heart. Well, they went on flirting and frolicking for some time, and a great many moonlight rides they had over the snow-crust. Well, one night they were out with a party, skimming over the vast plain, when they came to a steep ridge, and the leader of the train of sledges must needs go over it. It was hard work for the dogs, but they scrabbled up one after another.
“Now Nurly and his little lass were behind all the rest, and, for some reason of their own, they were a good deal behind. However, they ascended the hill; but, as luck would have it, just as they got to the top, the sledge slipped aside, and tipped the pair over. The sledge went on, and all the more swiftly that the dogs had a lighter load; but down the hillside went Nurly and the girl, her arms around him, as if she had been a bear and he a cub. At last they came to the bottom with a terrible thump, the crust broke through, and in a moment they were precipitated down some five and twenty feet! Both were stunned; but soon recovering, they looked around. What was their amazement to find themselves in a street, and before a little church! Just by their side was an image of the Virgin!