186 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEl 



that if I would disembark here, and walk across the 

 island with him, that one of the men at the fishing 

 station would ferry me over the other arm of the 

 river. I sat where I was and repeated that I did 

 not understand Kussian, and wanted to go to Prokop- 

 chuk's. My Charon expostulated and gesticulated for 

 another five minutes. Then, finding me still im- 

 movable, he scratched his head ruefully, and his 

 perplexity was so comic that I could not help laughing, 

 although it seemed too bad to trouble the poor man. 

 While he was standing thus, a woman came out of 

 one of the chooms, and asked what he was doing. 

 He evidently replied that he did not know what to 

 do with this mad Angliski. His better half gave him 

 some tart advice, acting upon which he tried to pull 

 the canoe up the beach with me inside it. However, 

 it was too heavy, and as he could not leave the little 

 boat in the water, he was forced to make the best of 

 a bad job. Shrugging his shoulders resignedly, but 

 quite good-temperedly, he embarked again, and paddled 

 round the island to the hut, where a glass of vino 

 made amends for his trouble in going out of his way. 



Golchika was seen at its best late on those August 

 evenings, when the sun, just dipping to the northern 

 horizon, spread the glamour of sunset and afterglow 

 over the tundra. The low, flat marshes lay in the 

 profound stillness of dew-fall, and along the river- 

 bank, the little chooms, and their attendant stacks of 

 driftwood, were ranged darkly against the sunset. 

 Even the voices of the birds were hushed, except 

 when far away up the valley a diver whistled to its 



