...of a river

What was going on? I was lying in the wagon as before, but all around the wagon - and not more than half an arm's length below its floor - there was a smooth, moonlit, watery expanse, trembling and breaking up into small, distinct ripples. I looked in front: on the driver's seat, hanging his head and slouching forward, Filofey was sitting as motionless as a stuffed dummy, and a little further away, above the murmuring water, lay the curved shaft-bow and the backs and heads of the horses. And everything was as still, as silent, as if we were in a magic realm, as if it were all a dream, a fabulous dream. What on earth was going on? I looked behind, from under the hood at the rear of the wagon. Why, we were in the very middle of the river, a good thirty paces from either bank!

[The Knocking, Turgenev, I. S.]