and to subsist during that time on chocolate and black bread, frozen to
the consistency of iron.[26] But luckily the weather was, on the whole,
favourable. Most of the nights were clear, and at first there was a
bright moon, which was also an advantage, although at times our way lay
through forests so deep and dark that it became necessary to use lights.
We left Paris supplied with an elaborate electric outfit, which now, and
in after-days, would have been a godsend, but the lamps and cumbersome
batteries had to be abandoned with our other stores at Moscow. Probably
the cold would have rendered the wires useless, at any rate I consoled
myself by thinking so.

[Footnote 26: On such occasions Christy's "Kola Chocolate" is
invaluable.]

Two days' hard travelling brought us to Tandinskaya. This is the best
_stancia_ on the road, and we therefore seized the opportunity to make a
good, substantial meal and snatch a few hours' sleep before proceeding
to the next rest-house, which was nearly a hundred miles distant. At
Tandinskaya we changed teams, successfully resenting the extortionate
charges made by the postmaster. All the _stancias_ on this road are
leased by the Government to Yakute peasants, who are legally entitled to
receive three kopeks a verst for every pair of deer. This sum includes
post-house accommodation, such as it is; but as we always added a rouble
or two for the use of these filthy hovels, Stepan was the more incensed
at this postmaster's rascality. The latter claimed payment for about
fifty versts more than we had actually covered, so Stepan averred,
although the distances north of Yakutsk are very vague, and the Cossack
was probably wrong. It was amusing to compare the mileage as given in
the only post-book of this road (compiled in the reign of the Empress
Catherine) with the real distances, which were invariably twice as long.
The officials of those days probably reflected that, if three kopeks
must be paid for a verst, the latter had better be a long one. And the
Yakute, knowing no better, suffered in silence.

On leaving Tandinskaya, we travelled some miles along the river Aldan, a
tributary of the Lena, which is dangerous in winter on account of
numerous overflows. Our drivers, therefore, proceeded with caution,
walking some distance ahead of the sleds, and frequently sounding the
ice with their long poles. It was bitterly cold, for a breeze was
blowing in our faces, and the deer, as usual, slipped