We reached the riverbank. The old barge which we had to break up was frozen into the ice below us. On the further side of the river the steppes stretched blue into the distance, it was a gloomy and desert view. I expected that everyone would rush at the work, but they had no idea of doing so. Some sat down on the logs that lay about on the bank; almost all of them brought out of their boots bags of local tobacco which was sold at three farthings a pound in the market, and short willow pipes of home manufacture. They lighted their pipes; the soldiers formed a cordon round us and proceeded to guard us with a bored expression.

“Whose notion was it to break up this barge?” one observed as it were to himself, not addressing anyone. “Are they in want of chips?”

“He wasn’t afraid of our anger, whoever it was,” observed another.