Urals!  But there was again disappointment.  He wandered along the piers, but could not find a single vessel bound for France or Germany, and not daring to enter the cafes, where perhaps the captains might have been, he left Archangel in sadness, determined to skirt the coast towards Onega.  He would thus pass the celebrated monastery without the necessity of stopping, and pretend that he was proceeding to Novgorod and Moscow on the same pious pilgrimage.

Through marshes and blighted fir-plantations the weary wayfarer sped, the White Sea rising frequently into storms of the utmost grandeur; but the season was lovely, and the sun warm, so that camping out offered less hardship.  The wolves howled around him, but happily he never saw them.  Many soldiers, who were Poles, were established at different points to take charge of the canals.

Having reached Vytegra, he was accosted on the shore by a peasant, who asked where he was going.  On hearing his story, he said—­“You are the man I want.  I am going to St. Petersburg.  My boat is small, and you can assist me to row.”

The crafty fellow evidently intended to profit by the pilgrim’s arms without wages; but, after long debate, he agreed to supply Piotrowski with food during the transport.  It seemed strange, indeed, to go to the capital—­like running into the jaws of the lion—­but he seized every occasion to pass on, lest his papers should be asked for.  As they coasted down through Lake Ladoga and the Neva, they took in some women as passengers, who were servants, and had been home to see their parents.  One of them, an aged washerwoman, was so teased by the others, that Piotrowski took her part, and in return she offered him some very useful assistance.

“My daughter,” she said, “will come to meet me, and she will find you a suitable lodging.”

It will be guessed with what joy he accepted the proposal; and during all the time spent in the boat, no one came to ask for passports.  The house she took him to was sufficiently miserable; as the Russians say, “It was the bare ground, with the wrist for a pillow.”  He asked his hostess if he must see the police to arrange the business of his passport.  “No,” she said.  “If you only stay a few days, it is useless.  They have become so exacting, that they would require me to accompany you, and my time is too precious.”

As he passed along the quays, looking for a ship, his eyes rested on one to sail for Riga on the following morning.  He could scarcely master his emotion.  The pilot on board called out—­“If you want a place to Riga, come here.”

“I certainly want one; but I am too poor to sail in a steamer.  It would cost too much.”

He named a very small sum, and said—­“Come; why do you hesitate?”

“I only arrived yesterday, and the police have not vise my passport.”

“That will occupy three days.  Go without a vise.  Be here at seven o’clock, and wait for me.”