NIZHNAYA-KARA—NEW LIFE—STOLEN GOLD
Nizhnaya-Kara, where the penal settlement was situated, had an
appearance quite peculiar to itself. The dwelling-houses were at some
minutes’ distance from the prison, on a hill-slope descending to the
banks of the River Kara, whose bed contains gold-dust and in summer
becomes almost completely dry. The place had nothing of the Russian
village about it, either in the style of its buildings or its
inhabitants. The latter were mostly convicts, both men and women;
besides whom there were a few peasants, descendants of former convicts,
or of the crown colonists who had been settled here as drudges in the
gold-workings. Then there was an infantry battalion of Cossacks
stationed here for the purpose of keeping guard over the prison; and
finally there were numerous prison officials and Cossack officers.
The mixed nature of the population was evidenced by the variety of their
dwellings. Ordinary criminals who were unmarried lived in barracks,
where the Cossacks also were housed; the officers and prison officials
inhabited neat little houses belonging to the State; and the
“politicals” and married criminals lived in wretched tumbledown hovels.
Besides the classes already enumerated, there were three tradesmen in
Kara, each of whom kept a small general shop.
[Illustration:
THE PENAL SETTLEMENT, KARA
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]
At first we had great difficulty in finding accommodation; for of course
it was not possible at once to run up habitations for twenty men, all
let out of prison at the same time, and we were obliged to put up with
lodgings where a number of persons were crowded into each single room.
In other ways too there was much inconvenience and discomfort during
those early days of freedom; but on the whole our change was distinctly
for the better. Merely to have got rid of the detested turnkeys was a
joy; we rejoiced also at being free from the barbarous head-shaving, and
we might once more wear our own clothes. We were permitted to take up
some handicraft, but the exercise of the so-called “liberal professions”
was forbidden us. The regulations as to our correspondence were also
less severe; we could write letters to our relations, and a number of
newspapers that were prohibited in prison were allowed here. But above
all, we might now go about freely at all hours, and wander in the
neighbourhood of the village to our heart’s content.
On our exit from prison we were placed under the supervision of the
staff controlling the ordinary convicts, and shortly after the
gendarmerie disappeared from Kara for good. Every morning a prison
inspector made the rounds of the settlement with his book, which we had
to sign, so that the authorities might be satisfied that none of us were
missing. We were not allowed to go beyond ten versts from the village
without a special permission from the superintendent—that same Pohorukov
whom Fomitchov had assailed.
Our material condition was considerably more comfortable now than it had
been in prison. Besides the means of livelihood that had hitherto been
available—rations from the State and money sent from home—many of us
could now earn something by private exertion. We still preserved our
organisation as when in prison, with certain modifications rendered
necessary by our new circumstances; we still formed an _artèl_ and
elected a _stàrosta_ to arrange the details of our common life. Of
course, our domestic economy had considerably extended its sphere; we
had now much to think of that had not entered into our consideration
before.
Autumn brought a good deal of heavy labour for all able-bodied men.
Trees had to be felled and carted to serve as winter fuel, and then the
wood had to be chopped small for use. In the winter the hay needed for
our cattle had to be brought in, for we possessed six cows and four
horses. In the spring we looked after our gardens, and in the summer we
made hay in the meadows. Cooking was still managed in common, groups of
us carrying it out in turn. There was always plenty for all hands to do,
and the work was often very hard. I myself found the labour of the
winter season extremely severe. It meant rising at three or four o’clock
in the morning to harness the horses—a task difficult and disagreeable
enough always in the Siberian cold, and a perfect misery in the small
hours of the morning—and then driving the sledge ten or twelve versts,
loading it with hay, and finishing our job so as to return home by
nightfall. Two of us at a time had to load and fetch home four great
waggon-loads of hay. Naturally we were very clumsy over the unaccustomed
labour, and it happened often enough that ropes would break and the hay
get scattered, or that the horses would stray away. In our heavy
sheepskins and felt boots we had each as much as we could manage in
conducting two heavy waggons on the homeward journey; and despite the
extreme cold we used often to be bathed in perspiration.
Yet the hard physical work had a charm of its own. It gave one a quite
peculiar sensation to be driving along in the dark over the smooth,
white surface of the snow, on and on into the depths of the forest. The
profoundest silence reigned everywhere, broken by the crackling of the
snow under the horses’ hoofs and the runners of the sledge, and
sometimes by the distant howling of a wolf. Myriads of stars sparkled in
the firmament, and not a trace of man’s existence was anywhere to be
seen. But the cruel cold, increasing in severity towards dawn, would
soon drive away all poetical ideas. The frost penetrated our sheepskins,
and we felt as if we were being pricked all over our bodies with sharp
needles. Often the brandy in our flasks would freeze, and although we
took all possible precautions, the glass would split and the spirit be
left in a frozen lump.
[Illustration:
COTTAGE SHARED BY “POLITICALS” IN THE KARA PENAL SETTLEMENT
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]
These expeditions, fortunately, were not of very frequent occurrence,
the turn of each man coming only about three or four times in the course
of the winter. The fetching of wood, on the other hand, was continually
necessary; but although this, too, entailed considerable exertion, it
was not nearly so serious an undertaking.
After a spell of hard work it used to feel luxury indeed to be back in
one’s own house. The little peasant hut in which I dwelt seemed a
perfect palace, and I thought it most comfortable; though any spoilt
child of civilisation would have seen much to be improved in it. Nearly
a third of its space was taken up by a great Russian stove, which
unfortunately often smoked; doors and windows shut very imperfectly; and
in both floor and walls there were great cracks, through which the wind
whistled everlastingly, despite my continual efforts to stop them up.
But all these were petty details that could not detract from the charm
of having a “home” of one’s own. Only those who have themselves
undergone the martyrdom of never being alone for an instant, and of
feeling always conscious that the eyes of others are upon one’s every
action, can properly realise that charm. To have the enjoyment of that
independent solitude it was worth while putting up with a number of
small inconveniences that might to a certain extent have been avoided by
a _ménage-à-deux_. It was only an occasional pair of bosom friends who
chose to live in that fashion. Most of us much preferred to undertake
singly the duties of housekeeping—stoking the stove, carrying water,
cleaning, etc.
My hut, which, when I took possession of it, was in a state of extreme
disrepair, was the property of the State. With my own hands I mended it
up as well as I could. It stood a little apart from the other dwellings,
at the end of the village, on the slope of a hill, and close to the
little cemetery. At first I used to feel some anxiety over the
insecurity of the door; a push from without was sufficient to open it,
and this was hardly agreeable when one knew that round about dwelt all
sorts of criminals—some very queer customers among them. However, I soon
found that I had no cause to fear anything from these people; and when I
returned home late at night by lonely ways and bypaths, I felt as safe
as in the best-policed town.
One of the most notorious criminals in the settlement was a man named
Lissenko. It was reported of him that in one of his robberies he had
killed a whole family—men, women, and children. He was about sixty when
I first knew him, and still had the strength of a giant. He struck me as
being crafty, cunning, and reckless, but not a malicious kind of fellow,
and he was extremely pious withal. No one who knew him personally could
easily believe him to have murdered innocent children. I was curious to
learn from himself how much truth there was in the reports that were
current concerning him, and I found an opportunity one day of
questioning him on the subject.
“Yes, of course it’s true,” said he. “What about it?”
“But how could you have the heart to kill a child?” a friend of mine
asked him.
“Oh, I cried all the time I was doing it, but still I killed them,” was
the answer. “It was just God’s will. If He had not willed it I should
not have been able to commit the murder; I should have been struck down
myself. So it was really God who made me do it.”
My friend (from whom Lissenko seemed to stand a good deal) then asked—
“Well, and would you murder me, if you met me in a safe place?”
“If I knew you had a lot of money about you I should certainly wring
your neck,” said the man, with cheerful frankness. “But there! one
doesn’t kill without some good reason!”
Lissenko was at that time carrying on a very risky illegal trade: he was
a receiver of “stolen gold,” and smuggled spirits. I must explain that
gold could be found in considerable quantities in the neighbourhood and
worked with the greatest ease. Equipped with a shovel and a wooden
vessel for washing, men and women repaired to the River Kara and other
neighbouring streams, and could without difficulty get gold-dust to the
value of one or two roubles in a single day. Though strictly prohibited
by the Government, this private search for gold is practised almost
openly. Those who do not themselves look for gold yet traffic in it; and
practically the entire population, except the political prisoners, is
engaged in the illicit trade. Nobody—one or two really honest officials
perhaps excepted—makes any scruple about infringing the law; thousands
make their livelihood in this way, and many even grow rich. I knew whole
families, some members of which went off as regularly every day on the
quest as though it were the most lawful affair in the world. No one—not
even officials—found anything to protest against in this breaking of the
law; on the contrary, everyone in the place, except those few persons
whose interests were concerned on the other side, looked upon it as
quite natural that the gold-seekers should make the most of their
labour, and take the treasure that the soil offered. No attention was
paid to the arbitrary decree which declared that treasure to be the
Tsar’s private property—or, as it was officially expressed, “the
property of His Majesty’s Cabinet”; and notwithstanding the heavy
expense incurred by the responsible authorities to protect the
gold-fields of the district, far more gold is obtained by unlawful than
by lawful means. The receivers of the stolen treasure, and other
middlemen, can always find a way to convey their merchandise over the
border into China, where it fetches a far higher price than that given
by “the Cabinet of His Majesty.”
Meanwhile all authorities agree that the illicit gold-finders have
conferred immeasurable benefit on the country. They are the true
pioneers, who, wandering about the “Taiga” or virgin forests in all
directions, seeking deposits of precious metals, are to be thanked for
the discovery of numberless gold-fields—among them some of the most
prolific of all. Certainly little enough profit falls to the share of
the pirates themselves; most of them remain poor and needy all their
lives, hardly earning their daily bread; and many of them become slaves
of the middlemen. It would take me too long to describe further the
lives and doings of these gold pirates; suffice it to say that they
inhabit a curiously interesting little world of their own—a state within
the state—with its own strictly administered laws and peculiar customs.