Among other shrines, there are, to this very day, annual pilgrimages made to the monastery at Solowetski. It is now an easy matter to reach this monastery, for there is a regular service of steam-vessels running between Archangel and the island on which the buildings stand. But in olden times, when the events which are related here took place, the pilgrims often had to wait for a long time before they could secure an opportunity for reaching the island by means of a boat. From Solowetski the more zealous of the pilgrims used to prolong their journeys through Russian Lapland to Kola, and thence to the monastery on the Petschenga River, celebrated both for its far distant situation and its sanctity, and for being the place where the holy Trifon was buried. In this way it happened that at Christmastide in 1589 a band of pilgrims arrived at Kola just before the detachment of Swedish Finns who had destroyed the monastery had been repulsed from Kola, and had retreated along the banks of the river of Tulom. Among the pilgrims there were both men and women, rich and poor. They continued their march from Kola to Petschenga partly on foot, partly with the help of reindeer, which the Lapps either drove themselves, or allowed the pilgrims to use. The pilgrims at that time knew nothing for certain about the destruction of the monastery. Among them was a young woman who was distinguished from the other women by her pale, but unusually handsome face. Sorrow had clearly left its traces on her countenance, and her cheeks lacked their proper fulness. But there flashed a bright spark of animation from her beautiful eyes, and her smile seemed like a benediction for those on whom it was cast. She was dressed as a nun, and was looked upon by the other pilgrims as a saint. She had attached herself to the band at Olonets, and since then had patiently shared their wants and hardships. She nursed the sick, consoled the sorrowful, and was regarded with affection and esteem by the whole of the company. The pilgrims were naturally greatly alarmed, when they crossed the Petschenga River, which was at the time covered with ice, and saw, instead of a splendid monastery, with church, and buildings, and guest-houses for pilgrims, nothing but a heap of blackened ruins, and among them a number of unburied corpses. Some of the monks, who had been away, had returned, as has already been mentioned, and had taken refuge in the bathing house, but as yet they had not had time to remove all the corpses for burial. It was of course a pious work for the pilgrims to assist in. The young woman listened with anxious attention to the names that were mentioned of the monks who had been killed. She drew a sigh of relief when she heard that there was nobody among them named Theodore, but in reply to her inquiry whether any of the monks who were still alive bore that name, she also received a negative reply. ‘Are you looking for some relative?’ asked one of the monks.