22 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



scape would have lost nothing of its clearness. A 

 number of black-throated divers were swimming in front 

 of the steamer, and their melancholy cries seemed quite 

 in keeping with the loneliness of the place. It seemed 

 almost like a sacrilege to drive our noisy, smoky little 

 boat through a scene of such profound peace, and smash 

 the still images of the hills into a thousand ripples in 

 our wake. 



In an hour we left the pass behind, and the river- 

 banks flattened out into their usual monotony. In the 

 small hours of the morning we stopped at a little station 

 in the forest to take in fuel for the engines. The wood 

 was already stacked at the waterside, so that there was 

 no delay, and the crew went to work at once to fill the 

 bunkers. The bank was overgrown with white flower- 

 ing shrubs, and by climbing to the top it was possible 

 to escape from the steamer and step into the peace of 

 the forest. The place had recently been on fire, and 

 little wreaths of smoke hung among the tree-tops. It 

 was still dark, but somewhere a long way off" a thrush 

 praised the dawn that was coming. One of the ship's 

 boys made a pipe from an alder cane, and its plaintive 

 lilt was in harmony with a scene whose spell even the 

 laughter and chatter of the woodcutters could not break. 

 We seemed to stand at the edge of an enchanted land. 



