From that day and through twenty-two other dark, weary days of the black
frosts of mid-winter, we travelled onward, ever onward. Sometimes we
crossed the limitless snow-covered tundra, sometimes we went down into
the deep valley of the frozen Lena river, changing horses every thirty
versts and signing the post-horse keeper's greasy road-book.
At every stage I produced my Imperial permit, and at almost every
station the ignorant peasant who kept it fell upon his knees in deep
obeisance to the guest of the great Tzar.
We were now, however, off the main road, for this highway to the far-off
Arctic settlements, used almost solely by the convict convoys, ran for a
thousand miles through a practically uninhabited country, the only sign
of civilisation being the never-ending telegraph-line which we followed,
and the lonely post-stations half-buried in the snow.
Ah! those long, anxious days of icy blasts and whirling snow blizzards.
My companion and I, wrapped to our eyes in furs, sat side by side often
dozing for hours, our ears tired of that irritating jingle of the
sled-bells, our limbs cramped and benumbed, and often ravenously hungry,
for the rough fare at the post-house was very frequently uneatable.
For six dark days we met not a single soul upon the road, save a party
of Cossacks coming south. But from them I could obtain no news of the
last batch of "politicals" who had travelled north, and whom we were
following in such hot haste.
Again I telegraphed to Hartwig in Brighton, telling him of my
whereabouts, and obtaining a reply from him that Her Highness was still
well and sent me her best wishes.
That in itself was reassuring.
Hard travel and bad food told, I think, upon both of us. Petrakoff
dearly wished himself back in his beloved Petersburg again. Yet our
one-eyed half-Tartar driver seemed quite unconscious of either cold or
fatigue. The strain of driving so continuously--sometimes for twenty
hours out of the twenty-four--must have been terrible. But he was ever
imperious in his dealings at post-stations, ever loud in his commands to
the cringing owners of those log-built huts to bring out their best trio
of horses, ever yelling to the fur-clad grooms not to keep His
Excellency waiting on pain of terrible punishment.
Thus through those short, dark winter days, and often through the long,
steely nights, ever following those countless telegraph-poles, we went
on--ever onward--until we found ourselves in a small wretched little
place of log-built houses called Olekminsk. Upon my travelling map, as
indeed upon every map of Siberia, it is represented in capitals as an
important place. So I expected to find at least a town--perhaps even a
hotel. Instead, I discovered it to be a mere wretched hamlet, with a
post-house, and a wood-built prison for the reception of "politicals."
We arrived at midnight. In the common room of the post-house, around
which earth and snow had been banked to keep out the cold, was a high
brick stove, and around the walls benches whereon a dozen wayfarers like
ourselves were wrapped in their evil-smelling furs, and sleeping. The
odour as I entered the place was foetid; the dirt indescribable. One
shaggy peasant, in heavy top-boots and fur coat, had imbibed too much
vodka, and had become hilarious, whereat one of the sleepers, suddenly
awakened, threw a top-boot at him across the room, narrowly missing my
head.
The post-house keeper, as soon as he saw my permit, sent a man to the
local chief of police, a stout, middle-aged man, who appeared on the
scene in his hastily-donned uniform and who invited me to his house
close by. There I questioned him regarding the political prisoners,
"Numbers 14956 and 14957."
Having read my permits--at which he was visibly impressed when he saw
the signature of the Emperor himself--he hastened to obtain his
register. Presently he said:
"The two ladies you mention have passed through this prison, Excellency.
I see a note that both are dangerous `politicals,' and that the elder
lady was rather weak. Judging from the time when they left, they are, I
should say, already in Yakutsk--or even beyond."
"From what is she suffering?" I asked eagerly.
"Ah! Excellency, I cannot tell that," was his reply. "All I know is
that the captain of Cossacks who came down from Yakutsk to meet the
convoy considered that being a dangerous political, she was sufficiently
well to walk with the others. So she has gone on foot the remainder of
the journey. She arrived her in a sled."
"On foot!" I echoed. "But she is ill--dying, I was told."
The chief of police shrugged his shoulders and said with a sigh:
"I fear. Excellency, that the lady was somewhat unfortunate. That
particular captain is not a very humane person--particularly where a
dangerous prisoner is concerned."
"Then to be marked as `dangerous' means that the prisoner is to be
treated with brutality--eh?" I cried. "Is that Russian justice?"
"We do not administer justice here in Siberia, Excellency," was the
man's quiet reply. "They do that in Petersburg."
"But surely it is a scandal to put a sick woman on the road and compel
her to walk four hundred miles in this weather," I cried angrily.
"Alas! That is not my affair," replied the man. "I am merely chief of
police of this district and governor of the _etape_. The captain of
Cossacks has entire charge of the prisoners on their journey."
What he had told me maddened me. In all that I heard I could plainly
detect the sinister hand of General Markoff.
Indeed, when I carefully questioned this official, I felt convinced that
the captain in question had received instructions direct from Petersburg
regarding Madame de Rosen. The chief of police admitted to me that to
the papers concerning the prisoners there had been attached a special
memorandum from Petersburg concerning Madame and her daughter.
I smoked a cigarette with him and drank a cup of tea--China tea served
with lemon. Then I was shown to a rather poorly-furnished but clean
bedroom on the ground floor, where I turned in.
But no sleep came to my eyes. Such hard travelling through all those
weeks had shattered my nerves.
While the bright northern moon streamed in through the uncurtained
window, I lay on my back, pondering. I reflected upon all the past, the
terrible fate of Madame and her daughter, the strange secret she
evidently held, and the peril of the Emperor himself, so helpless in the
hands of that circle of unscrupulous sycophants, and, further, of my
little madcap friend, so prone to flirtation, the irrepressible Grand
Duchess Natalia.
I reviewed all the exciting events of those many months which had
elapsed since the last Court ball of the season at Petersburg--events
which I have attempted to set down in the foregoing pages--and I was
held in fear that my long journey might be in vain--that ere I could
catch up with the poor wretched woman who, though ill, had been
compelled to perform that last and most arduous stage of the journey
through the snow, she would, alas! be no longer alive. The vengeance of
her enemy Markoff would have fallen upon her.
A sense of indescribable oppression, combined with the hot closeness of
the room, stifled me. For hours I lay awake, the moonlight falling full
upon my head. At last, however, I must have dropped off to sleep,
fagged out after twenty hours of those jingling bells and hissing of the
sled-runners over the frozen snow.
A sense of coldness awakened me, and opening my eyes I saw, to my
surprise, though the room was practically in darkness with only the
reflected light of the snow, that the small treble window stood open.
It had certainly been tightly closed when I had entered there.
I raised my eyes to peer into the darkness for the atmosphere, which
when I had gone to sleep was stifling on account of the iron stove, was
now at zero. Suddenly I caught sight of a dark figure moving
noiselessly near where I lay. A thief had entered by the window! He
seemed to be searching the pockets of my coat, which I had flung
carelessly upon a chair. Surely he was a daring thief to thus enter the
house of the chief of police! But in Siberia there are many escaped
convicts roaming about the woods. They are called "cuckoos," on account
of their increase in the spring and their return to the prisons when
starved out in winter.
A "cuckoo" is always a criminal and always desperate. He must have
money and food, and he dare not go near a village, as there is a price
on his head. Therefore, he will not hesitate to murder a lonely
traveller if by so doing he thinks he can secure a passport which will
permit him to leave Siberia and re-enter European Russia, back to
freedom. Some Siberian roads are in summer infested with such gentry,
but winter always drives them back to the towns, and consequently into
prison again. Only a very few manage to survive the rigours of the
black frosts of the Siberian winter.
Rather more amused than alarmed, I lay watching the dark figure engaged
in rifling my pockets. I was contemplating the best method by which to
secure him and hand him over to the mercies of my host. A sudden
thought struck me. Unfortunately, being guest in the house of the chief
of police I had left my revolver in the sled. I never slept at a
post-house without it. But that night I was unarmed.
Those moments of watching seemed hours. The man, whoever he was, was
tall and slim, though of course I could not see his face. I held my
breath. He was securing my papers and my money! Yet he did it all so
very leisurely that I could not help admiring his pluck and confounded
coolness.
I hesitated a few seconds and then at last I summoned courage to act. I
resolved to suddenly spring up and throw myself upon him, so that he
would be prevented from jumping out of the window with my property.
But while I was thus making up my mind how to act, the mysterious man
suddenly left the chair where my coat had been lying, and turning, came
straight towards me, advancing slowly on tip-toe. Apparently he was not
desirous of rousing me.
Once again I waited my opportunity to spring upon him, for he
fortunately was not yet aware that I was awake and watching him.
I held my breath, lying perfectly motionless, for, advancing to me, he
bent over as though to make absolutely certain that I slept. I tried to
distinguish his face, but in the shadow that was impossible.