were open to him--all long, and each beset with its own perils. He
decided to go northward, recross the Uralian Mountains, and make his
way to Archangel, nearly a thousand miles off, where, among the
hundreds of foreign ships constantly in the docks, he trusted to find
one which would bring him to America. Nobody knew his secret: he had
vowed to perish rather than ever again involve others in his fate. He
reckoned on getting over the first danger of pursuit by mingling with
the crowds of people then traveling from every quarter to the annual
fair at Irbite at the foot of the Urals.

[Illustration: VAIN ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE.]

Finally, in February, 1846, he set out on foot. His costume consisted
of three shirts--a colored one uppermost, worn, Russian fashion,
outside his trousers, which were of heavy cloth, like his
waistcoat--and a small sheepskin burnous, heavy high boots, a bright
woolen sash, a red cap with a fur border--the dress of a well-to-do
peasant or commercial traveler. In a small bag he carried a change of
clothing and his provisions: his money and passports were hidden about
his person; he was armed with a dagger and a bludgeon. He had scarcely
crossed the frozen Irtish when the sound of a sleigh behind him
brought his heart to his mouth: he held his ground and was hailed by a
peasant, who wanted to drive a bargain with him for a lift. After a
little politic chaffering he got in, and was carried to a village
about eight miles off at a gallop. There the peasant set him down,
and, knocking at the first house, he asked for horses to the fair at
Irbite. More bargaining, but they were soon on the road. Erelong,
however, it began to snow; the track disappeared, the driver lost his
way; they wandered about for some time, and were forced to stop all
night in a forest--a night of agony. They were not twelve miles from