Occasionally the sutler helped him out, but for a pack of shag Shevchenko had to write out an application for him or make a fair copy of an account, and when there was nothing to write, the sutler did not give him anything on credit.
The days passed by, but no mail arrived.
That year cholera raged throughout Russira, and the bubonic plague, brought from India, swept across the land. Quarantine was enforced everywhere; any parcel coming from the infected areas remained unhandled and the letters were fumed with sulphur smoke. The newly arrived officers told about entire villages dying out,
What if his friends, too, had died of the horrible disease in Ukraine, and he was wailing for a message from them in vain?
The thought about the plague visited the poet again and again, inspiring him
