Morning  broke  at  last,  but  such  a  morning  as  would
shame  creation,  for  the  rain  still  poured  down,  until  what
wasn't  mud  was  water,  and  what  wasn't  water  was  a  dis-
tillation of  exquisite  melancholy.  Frozen  and  drowned
though  we  were,  there  was  still  enough  aggravation  left
hi  our  natures  to  stimulate  us  to  renewed  endeavors  to
get  out  of  the  woods — or  purgatory,  which  is  a  more
appropriate  term.
So  confused  were  we  by  the  desperate  experience  un-
dergone that  wretched  night  that  it  was  late  in  the  after-
noon before  we  found  the  road  again,  and  when  we  did
tind  it  there  was  nothing  to  make  us  proud  except  the
realization  that  we  still  lived.  Through  mud  up  to  the
axles  we  plodded  along,  hungry,  exhausted,  wet,  mad  and
intensely  miserable,  until  twelve  o'clock  the  following
night  before  reaching  the  next  station.  So  thoroughly
worn  out  was  I  that  upon  entering  the  station  I  threw
myself  upon  a  bench  and  did  not  stir  again  until  morn-
ing, though  the  master  tried  every  way  to  arouse  and
direct  me  to  a  comfortable  bed.  The  opiate  of  exhaus-
tion was  so  powerful,  in  fact,  that  I  no  longer  felt  the
wet  clothes  that  were  on  me,  or  took  time  to  wish  I  was
in  dear  America.
Renewing  our  journey  about  noon,  the  sun  came  out
again,  and  we  gradually  forgot  the  miseries  through
which  we  had  passed  and  began  to  find,  one  by  one,  some
little  pleasures  in  life.  The  roads  also  gradually  became


EXILE  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA.  277

more  tolerable,  while  along  the  highway  we  met  occa-
sional groups  of  Tartars,  and  passed  through  Tartar  vil-
lages which  presented  many  whimsical  characteristics.
