Although the raft
managed to pass easily over the lake, it might not be so easy between
the banks of the Angara, should pieces of ice be found to block
up its course.
At eight in the evening the moorings were cast off, and the raft
drifted in the current along the shore. It was steered by means
of long poles, under the management of several muscular moujiks.
An old Baikal boatman took command of the raft.
He was a man of sixty-five, browned by the sun, and lake breezes.
A thick white beard flowed over his chest; a fur cap covered
his head; his aspect was grave and austere. His large
great-coat, fastened in at the waist, reached down to his heels.
This taciturn old fellow was seated in the stern, and issued
his commands by gestures. Besides, the chief work consisted
in keeping the raft in the current, which ran along the shore,
without drifting out into the open.
It has been already said that Russians of all conditions had found
a place on the raft. Indeed, to the poor moujiks, the women,
old men, and children, were joined two or three pilgrims,
surprised on their journey by the invasion; a few monks, and a priest.
The pilgrims carried a staff, a gourd hung at the belt, and they
chanted psalms in a plaintive voice: one came from the Ukraine,
another from the Yellow sea, and a third from the Finland provinces.
This last, who was an aged man, carried at his waist a little
padlocked collecting-box, as if it had been hung at a church door.
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