We were within fourteen days of Irkoutsk before I succeeded in
effecting an exchange of identities with a convict condemned to simple
exile. Many others followed my example. Of the 170 men who composed the
convoy, not more than fifty were under sentence of penal servitude, and
at least twenty of them obtained substitutes. So far as the prisoners
were concerned, this was done quite openly; concealment, in fact, would
have been impossible, even if it had been necessary—and it was not
necessary; for so long as the convoy held together, and the communistic
organisation endured, betrayal was not to be feared. The traitor would
have died within a few hours of his treason by the hand of one of his
comrades—and this all knew.
My substitute, a peasant by origin and a burglar by profession, agreed
to the exchange of identities in consideration of a sum of sixteen
shillings in coin, a pair of boots and a flannel blouse. Two days
before our arrival at the _étape_, where it was arranged to carry the
agreement into effect, I pretended to have a bad toothache, bound up
my face with a pocket-handkerchief, and at the half-way halting-place
remained all the time on the bench that served for a bed, as if I were
distracted with pain. This I did to hide my features from the soldiers
of the escort, one of whom, sharper than his fellows, might otherwise
possibly discover the stratagem. The risk was too great, my longing for
liberty too intense, to permit me to neglect a single precaution.
Exchanges were most easily effected at the principal halting-places
because the escort was changed there. Among the common prisoners
the transaction was conducted in the simplest way imaginable. At
the roll-call the contracting parties answered respectively to each
other's name, took each other's places, and the thing was done. In
the case of a political prisoner under special surveillance, just
then very stringent, the operation entailed greater risk and demanded
more care. I arranged with my substitute that the moment we arrived at
the _étape_ in question, he should follow me to an obscure corner of
the barrack-yard—to speak plainly, to the latrine. The plan succeeded
to admiration. In a few minutes we had exchanged dresses. Pavlov,
my burglar friend, was transformed into a political prisoner of the
nobility, and I became a common malefactor in irons. Though in face as
unlike as possible, we were about the same height and build, and, at a
distance, might easily be mistaken one for another.
The delivery of the gang to the new escort went off without difficulty.
Pavlov lay on a bench with his face bound up. Nobody took any notice
either of him or of me, and when the old escort marched away, we knew
we were safe. The moment they were gone, I went into the common room
and got myself shaved and my hair cut close to my head, so that my
coiffure might resemble that of my new comrades.
I wondered then, and I have often wondered since, at the ease with
which my custodians were deceived in the matter of this substitution.
On the register I was set down as a former medical student. I had,
therefore, been a member of a university; Pavlov, on the other hand,
was almost wholly illiterate. He could hardly open his mouth without
betraying his origin and showing his ignorance. His appearance,
moreover, was little in harmony with his new character. I, as a
noble, had worn my hair and beard long, while his head was closely
cropped, and he wore no beard at all. How could all this fail to excite
suspicion? For three weeks, he acted as my substitute, and it never
seems to have occurred either to the officers of the escort or the
authorities of Irkoutsk that the _soi-disant_ Debagorio Mokrievitch
was _not_ the real Simon Pure. But for the denunciation—of which I
shall speak presently—I do not believe the secret ever would have been
discovered, always supposing that Pavlov kept the compact, and he
really behaved very well. One day an officer of the escort, seeing
by the register that I was a medical student, consulted my substitute
touching some ailment he had, and Pavlov, with an impudence that
bordered on the sublime, gave him the benefit of his advice. He was
fortunately not called upon to put his prescription in writing.
It may be asked why I did not profit by the laxity of the escort
during the first part of the journey to escape before we reached
our destination. Because I should have been missed at the first
halting-place, and by means of the telegraph and an active pursuit,
immediately recaptured; I could have had only a few hours' start, and I
wanted, at the least, several days.
After the substitution, I marched as a common felon on foot, carrying
my irons; my allowance was reduced to twopence a-day, while Pavlov had
threepence, and could vary the monotony of the way by riding in one of
the carriages provided for the political prisoners.
About October 20, 1879, we reached Irkoutsk, where we were to be
received and inspected by the higher authorities. Towards eight o'clock
in the evening, we entered the central prison and were taken into
a large room with three doors and two exits. One of these was open
and led into an adjoining room, where the inspection took place. Our
starosta standing on the doorstep, called the prisoners one by one,
and each, as he was summoned, went into the room, carrying with him
his poor belongings, in order that it might be ascertained if he still
possessed the articles given him by the Crown. This done, he passed on
into a further apartment, where the prisoners were to be quartered for
the night.
At length came my turn.
“Pavlov!” shouts the starosta.
“Here,” I answered, and, taking up my bag, I enter the audience
chamber, and find myself in the presence of several important-looking
functionaries, sitting at a big table covered with registers.
“Paul Pavlov?” says the presiding councillor, and then, after favoring
me with a fugitive glance, he bends once more over his books.
“Yes, your nobleness,” I reply, doing my best to speak and look like a
peasant prisoner.
“For what crime were you judged?”
“For burglary, your nobleness.”
“Are the effects given you by the Government all in order?”
“They are, your nobleness.”
“Two shirts, two pairs of drawers, woollen trousers, great coat,
pelisse, a pair of boots, leg irons?” enumerated the councillor, in a
rapid, monotonous voice.
As each article is named, I say, “It is here,” and during the
interrogation an obscure personage fumbles in my bag to verify my
statement.
This concluded the inspection, and after surrendering my fetters, which
I removed without the help of a blacksmith, I passed into the apartment
where I was to remain as a prisoner until they took me to the village
where I had to be interned as a settler.
I had not long to wait. The fifth day after our arrival, the remaining
vagabonds of the gang were sent further east, and there remained only
the ordinary exiles and prisoners under sentence of penal servitude. An
important consequence of the departure of the vagabonds—old offenders
who formed the bulk of the convoy—was the break-up of our communistic
organisation, and the subsequent revelation of my secret.
On the following day the involuntary colonists, of whom I was now one,
started for our final destination, a village some forty miles from
Irkoutsk, and on November 1st, we arrived at Talminsky, the end of our
long journey. For the last time we were paraded and counted in the
court of the _volost_. Then, after our effects had been again examined,
we received our registers and were handed over to the clerk of the
village, who had orders to find us quarters.
The escort went one way, we went another, and we walked through the
streets of the great village free men—within the limits assigned to us.