VERKHOYANSK
Loyal Russians call Verkhoyansk the heart of Siberia. Political exiles
have another name for the place also commencing with the letter H, which
I leave to the reader's imagination. Suffice it to say that it applies
to a locality where the climate is presumably warmer than here. Anyway
the simile is probably incorrect, as there are many worse places of
banishment than Verkhoyansk, although, indeed, the latter is bad enough.
For if prosperous villages near the borders of Europe impress the
untrammelled Briton with a sense of unbearable loneliness, conceive the
feelings of a Russian exile upon first beholding the squalid Arctic home
and repulsive natives amongst whom he is destined, perhaps, to end his
days. Forty or fifty mud-plastered log huts in various stages of decay
and half buried in snow-drifts over which ice windows peer mournfully, a
wooden church pushed by time and climate out of the perpendicular, with
broken spire and golden crosses mouldering with rust--on the one hand, a
dismal plain of snow fringed on the horizon by a dark pine forest; on
the other, the frozen river Yana, across which an icy breeze moans
mournfully--such is Verkhoyansk as we saw it on the morning of February
28, 1902. I thought that a more gloomy, God-forsaken spot than this
could not exist on the face of the earth. But I had not seen
Sredni-Kolymsk. And yet, if we were here forty-eight hours and it seemed
a lifetime, what must an enforced sojourn of five or six years mean to
the unhappy exiles, some of whom had been here for a quarter of a
century. Let the reader imagine, if possible, the blank despair of
existence under such conditions; day after day, year after year, nothing
to do or look at of interest, tortured by heat and mosquitoes in summer,
perished by cold and hunger in the dark, cruel winter, and cut off as
completely as a corpse from all that makes life worth living. An exile
here told me that the church was his only link with humanity, for it
recalled other sacred buildings in which loved ones were worshipping,
far away in the busy world of freedom. One could imagine a man entirely
losing his identity after a few years here and forgetting that he was
ever a human being. In truth Yakutsk was bad enough; but Yakutsk,
compared to Verkhoyansk, is a little Paris. And yet, I repeat, this is
by no means the worst place of banishment in North-Eastern Siberia.
The _ispravnik_ received us in the official grey and scarlet, reminding
me that even in this remote corner of the Empire a traveller is well
within reach of Petersburg and the secret police. But we found in
Monsieur Katcherofsky a gentleman and not a jailer, like too many of his
class, whose kindness and hospitality to the miserable survivors of the
Arctic exploring ship _Jeannette_, some years ago, was suitably rewarded
by the President of the United States.[27] Katcherofsky's invaluable
services for twenty years past might also have met, by now, with some
substantial recognition at the hands of the Russian Government, for a
more honest, conscientious and universally popular official is not to be
found throughout the dominions of the Tsar.
[Footnote 27: The U.S. Arctic exploring steamer _Jeannette_ was crushed
in the ice and sank on June 12, 1881, in the Arctic Ocean, some hundreds
of miles N.-E. of the mouth of the Lena river. Captain de Long and his
party, in three ship's boats, made their way over and through the ice
towards the Lena delta, but one of the boats (under Lieut. Chipp)
foundered with all hands. Another one, commanded by Chief Engineer (now
Admiral) Melville, reached the Siberian coast and found the natives and
salvation, but Captain de Long and his crew landed on the Lena delta,
and being unable to find a settlement or procure food, his entire party,
consisting of twelve persons, perished, after horrible sufferings, of
exposure and starvation. The bodies were eventually found by Melville,
and conveyed to America for interment.]
The _ispravnik's_ house, or rather hut, was no better, within or
without, than others in Verkhoyansk, which consists of one street, or
rather straggling avenue of mud hovels with ice windows and the usual
low entrance guarded by a felt-covered door. The entire population does
not exceed four hundred souls, of whom, perhaps, half were Yakutes and
the remainder officials, Russian settlers and political exiles. Talking
of exiles, I have found that, as a rule, very erroneous impressions
exist in England as to the conditions under which they are sent to
Siberia, a country which has often been greatly maligned by the English
Press. For this great prison-land is not always one of dungeons and
lifelong incarceration. The latter certainly awaits the active
revolutionist, but, on the other hand, an erring journalist may, for an
"imprudent" paragraph, be sent to vegetate for only a couple of months
within sight of the Urals. As Gilbert's "Mikado" would say, "the
punishment fits the crime." And in the towns of Western Siberia I have
frequently met men originally banished for a short term who, rather than
return to Russia, have elected to remain in a land where living is
cheaper, and money more easily gained than at home. Olenin, of Yakutsk,
was a case in point.
The exile of State offenders to Siberia is generally carried out by what
is called the "Administrative Process," or, in other words, by a secret
tribunal composed of civil and military members. There are no Press
reports of the trial, which is held strictly _in camera_, and, as a
rule, a political "suspect" vanishes as completely from the face of the
earth as a pebble cast into the sea. Usually the blow falls
unexpectedly. A man may be seated quietly at home with his family, in
his office, or at some place of public entertainment when the fatal
touch on the shoulder summonses him away, perhaps for ever. The sentence
once passed, there is no appeal to a higher court, nor can a prisoner
hold any communication whatever with the outer world. An exile's
relatives, therefore, when ignorant of his fate, frequently ascribe his
absence to voluntary motives, and years sometimes elapse before the
truth is known. In some cases it never reaches his family, and the
harassing thought that he is, perhaps, regarded by the latter as a
heartless deserter has driven many a victim of the "Administrative
Process" to self-destruction.
A term of imprisonment varying from six months to two years in a
European fortress invariably precedes a term of exile, and this rule
applies to both sexes. There are hundreds of towns and villages
throughout Siberia where men and women are domiciled for various periods
of their existence, but as we are now dealing only with the remoter
settlements within the Arctic Circle we will follow the footsteps of a
political exile deported to, say, Verkhoyansk. From the forwarding
prison at Moscow to the city of Irkutsk in Eastern Siberia, politicals
not sent by rail travel with a criminal gang, wear prison dress, and
live practically the same as ordinary convicts. At night time, however,
in the _etapes_[28] a separate cell is set apart for their use. On
arrival at Irkutsk prison-dress is discarded, and an exile may wear his
own clothes, although he remains under lock and key and in close charge
of the Cossack who is responsible for his safe delivery. In summer-time
the two-thousand-miles' journey to the first stage northwards, Yakutsk,
is made by river-steamer, but during the winter months this weary
journey must be accomplished in uncovered sleighs, and is one of great
severity and privation, especially for women. At Yakutsk reindeer-sledge
conveys the ill-assorted pair ever northwards for another six hundred
miles to Verkhoyansk. The reader has seen the difficulties which we
experienced crossing the mountains, where delicate women on their way to
exile are compelled to clamber unassisted over giddy places that would
try the nerves of an experienced mountaineer. I should add that women
never travel alone with a Cossack, but are always accompanied on the
journey by another exile, either a man or one of their own sex. In the
former case, an acquaintance is occasionally made which ends in a
life-long _liaison_, if not marriage. Every year from three to six
"politicals" arrive in each of the settlements north of Yakutsk.
[Footnote 28: Rest-houses for convict gangs along the great post-road.]
An empty hut was set apart for our use: a tumble-down _yurta_ of mud
with the usual ice-windows, which necessitated the use of candles even
on the brightest day. But it contained two rooms and a kitchen, and was
weather-proof, so we lived in comparative luxury. Meals were provided
for us at Katcherofsky's hospitable board, and on the evening of our
arrival we sat down to a supper to which the kind-hearted old
_ispravnik_ had invited several "politicals." And here, for the second
time, I witnessed the incongruous sight of a Chief of Police amicably
hobnobbing with the exiles in his custody. And when one of the latter
remarked at table, "I can always feel cheerful in Katcherofsky's house,
_even in Verkhoyansk_," I could well believe that our genial and
good-natured host was looked upon more in the light of a friend than a
guardian by both men and women of the free command. It was a strange but
enjoyable evening, and the _menu_ of delicious _sterlet_ brought from
the Lena, roast venison, and ice-cream, accompanied by a very fair
champagne, was hardly one which you would expect to find in these frozen
wastes. Coffee and _nalivka_, a liquor made of the wild raspberries
which grow freely around here, concluded the last decent repast we were
likely to enjoy for some months to come. Only one displeasing memory do
I retain of that otherwise pleasant supper-party: I smoked my last
cigar!
There were under a dozen exiles in all here, of whom two were women. One
of the latter was my neighbour at supper;--Madame Abramovitch, a fragile
little woman, whom delicate features and dark, expressive eyes would
have rendered beautiful, had not years of mental and physical suffering
aged and hardened the almost girlish face. Abramovitch, her husband, a
tall, fine-looking man of Jewish type, was only thirty-two years old,
but his life since the age of twenty-one had been passed in captivity
either in Russian prisons or as an exile in Siberia. Abramovitch and his
wife were shortly to be released, and it was pathetic to hear them
babble like children about their approaching freedom, and of how they
would revel in the sight of Warsaw, and enjoy its restaurants and
theatres, and even a ride in the electric cars! I visited them next day
in their dark and miserable home, which, however, was scrupulously
clean, and we drank tea and discussed people and events in distant
Europe far into the night. And Madame sang Polish love-songs in a sweet,
pathetic voice, and I recounted one or two American yarns in Yankee
vernacular which excited inordinate gaiety, so easily amused were these
poor souls with minds dulled by long years of lethargy and despair. And
I wondered, as I glanced around the squalid room, how many years had
elapsed since its mud-walls had last echoed to the sounds of genuine
laughter!
Abramovitch and his wife spoke French fluently, the former also English.
But two-thirds of the political exiles I met throughout the journey
spoke two, and sometimes three, languages besides their own, while
German was universal. In most cases the exiles had taught themselves,
often under the most adverse conditions, in the gloomy cell of some
Polish fortress or the damp and twilit casemates of SS. Peter and Paul.
Most exiles make it a rule on their banishment to take up some subject,
history, chemistry, natural science, &c., otherwise insanity would be
far more prevalent amongst them than it is. At Verkhoyansk books are
occasionally obtainable, but further north their scarcity formed a
serious drawback to study and mental recreation. Even at Verkhoyansk the
censure on literature is very strict, and works on social science and
kindred subjects are strictly tabooed by the authorities. On the other
hand almost any kind of novel in any language may be read, so long as it
does not refer in any way to the Russian Government and its methods. At
the time of our visit "Quo Vadis" was on everybody's lips, and the
solitary copy had been read and re-read into rags, although it had only
been a month in the settlement. Dickens, Thackeray, Zola, and Anthony
Hope were favourite authors, but whole pages were missing from most of
the volumes in the tiny library, and the books were otherwise mutilated,
not by carelessness or ill usage, but by incessant use.
I closely questioned Abramovitch as to the conditions of life at
Verkhoyansk and he said that so far as the treatment of the exiles was
concerned there was nothing to complain of, but the miserable pittance
allowed by the Government for the lodging and maintenance of each exile
was, he justly averred, totally inadequate where even the common
necessaries of life cost fabulous prices. Apparently this allowance
varies in the various districts; thus, at Verkhoyansk it is eighteen
roubles, at Viluisk, south of Yakutsk, only twelve! Fortunately,
deer-meat is fairly cheap here, but all other provisions are
outrageously dear. Flour, for instance, costs twenty-five kopeks or
about 6_d._ per pound, milk (in a frozen condition) five kopeks or about
3_d._ per pound, but the latter is bought from the Yakutes, and is
generally in a filthy and undrinkable condition. Tea and sugar are so
dear that the former is boiled over and over again, but Abramovitch said
that he suffered more from the loss of light than anything else, for
candles (or rather tallow dips) cost a rouble a pound. My friend was
therefore reduced to the dim light shed by the flickering logs of his
fire throughout the dreary winter, when daylight disappears for two
months. And even in summer time there is no way of eking out the slender
sum allowed for existence, which must suffice for lodging and clothes as
well as food. Poultry does not exist, the Yana yields few fish, and the
soil stubbornly refuses to produce vegetables even of the hardiest kind.
By dint of ceaseless care Katcherofsky had contrived to grow a few
watery potatoes, which were served at table with as much ostentation as
early strawberries or asparagus in England; but the experiment was not a
success. The _ispravnik_ had also tried cabbages, with a similar result.
This seems strange, seeing that Yakutsk, only six hundred miles further
south, is a fertile land of plenty, but an exile told me that even in
midsummer the forests around Verkhoyansk appear withered and grey, the
very grass seems colourless, and the daisies and violets scentless
immortelles. This sterility of nature seems to be confined to a radius
of about twenty miles of Verkhoyansk, for beyond this arid circle trees
flourish, grass grows freely as far as the timber line, while beyond it
the _tundra_, from May until August, is gaily carpeted with wild
flowers.
Verkhoyansk is not unhealthy. The worst season of the year is in autumn,
when dense mists from the river Yana often shroud the place for days
together. Bronchitis and rheumatism are then very prevalent, also a kind
of epidemic catarrh, which, however, was not confined to the fall of the
year, but was raging at the time of our visit. Of this fact we had
unpleasant proof, as a couple of days after leaving the place the whole
expedition (except Stepan) were attacked with this troublesome
complaint, which, in my case, was only cured on arrival in America. I
fancy this disease was closely allied to that which attacked Admiral Von
Wrangell's party early in the nineteenth century.[29] But all things
considered, summer is the most trying season here, not only on account
of the heat, which is far greater than that of Yakutsk, but of the
mosquitoes, which make their appearance before the snow is off the
ground and do not disappear until late in the fall. The exiles said that
they were often deprived of sleep for nights together on account of
these pests, which swarm in and out of doors, and inflict a nasty
poisonous bite. Children had died from the fever produced from the
irritation and consequent sleeplessness. This, and continual (and
therefore distressing) daylight, made the advent of winter, even with
all its cold and darkness, a welcome one. For this season also brings
another blessing to these poor outcasts, news from home, which reaches
here once a month by reindeer-sledge, whereas in summer a mail is only
once despatched from Yakutsk, and frequently fails to arrive at its
destination.[30]
[Footnote 29: In 1820 Von Wrangell wrote: "During my stay in Verkhoyansk
a kind of epidemic catarrhal fever prevailed throughout the district;
the symptoms were violent depression of the chest, noise in the ears,
headache, etc.... A Cossack whom I had previously sent forward with my
papers died of the epidemic; every one was more or less ill."]
[Footnote 30: The telegraph wire ceases at Yakutsk.]
In addition to his literary pursuits Mr. Abramovitch had kept a record
of the temperature during his term of exile, and the result of his
careful observations for a period of twelve years was as follows: Mean
temperature for the whole year, 4 deg. below zero Fahrenheit. In hard
winters the thermometer was frequently 75 deg. below zero, and once
touched the almost incredible point of 81 deg. below zero. During our
stay only 65 deg. below zero was registered, but at the first _stancia_,
two hundred miles north of Verkhoyansk, we experienced 78 deg. below
zero, a cold so intense that the breath froze as it left our lips and
fell in a white powder to the ground. And yet, I can assure the reader
that I have suffered more from cold in Piccadilly on a damp, chilly
November day than in the coldest weather in this part of Siberia. For
the atmosphere here is generally dry and does not permeate the frame
like that of our sea-girt, foggy island. Also, during extreme cold there
is never any wind, and this is fortunate, for although 60 deg. or 70
deg. below zero are quite bearable in stillness, 30 deg. or 40 deg.
higher, accompanied by only a moderate gale, would probably kill every
living thing before it. A few weeks later, when we reached the Arctic
Ocean, the approach of a gale was always preceded by a rising
thermometer, and clear, cold weather by a fall of the same.
At Verkhoyansk, as at Yakutsk, nothing met me but difficulties, and the
_ispravnik_ implored me to abandon the journey. Sredni-Kolymsk, he said,
was twelve hundred miles away, and with weak reindeer it might take us a
couple of months to reach the Tsar's remotest settlement. This would
bring us into early May, and about the first week in June the thaw
comes, and travelling is impossible. And even at Sredni-Kolymsk another
two thousand miles of wild and desolate country, almost bereft of
inhabitants, would lie between us and Bering Straits. Not only
Katcherofsky but the exiles begged me to abandon the journey, if not for
my own sake, for that of my companions. It was unfair, they urged, to
drive men to almost certain death. Altogether I don't think I shall ever
forget the hours of anxiety I passed at Verkhoyansk. Should we advance
or should we retreat was a question which I alone had the power to
decide, and one which Providence eventually settled for me with the
happiest results. Nevertheless, even in the dark days which followed,
when lost in the blinding blizzards of Tchaun Bay, or exposed to the
drunken fury of the Tchuktchis on Bering Straits, I have seldom passed a
more unpleasant and harassing period of my existence than those two days
under the care of Ivan Katcherofsky, Chief of Police of Verkhoyansk,
North-Eastern Siberia.
[Illustration: THE CHIEF OF POLICE, VERKHOYANSK.]
But notwithstanding adverse pressure on all sides I resolved to burn my
boats, and push on, although well aware that, Verkhoyansk once left
behind us, there would be no retreat. And it is only fair to add that my
companions were just as keen on an advance as their leader. The
_ispravnik_, seeing that further argument was useless, shrugged his
shoulders and solely occupied himself with cramming the sledges full of
interesting looking baskets and bottles. And on the bright sunlit
morning of March 2 we left Verkhoyansk, our departure being witnessed by
our kindly old host and all the exiles. Our course this time was in a
north-easterly direction towards the shores of the frozen sea. Before
the start a pathetic little incident occurred which is indelibly
photographed on my memory. My small supply of reading matter comprised a
"_Daily Mail_ Year Book," and although very loth to part with this I had
not the heart to take it away from a young exile who had become
engrossed in its contents. For the work contained matters of interest
which are usually blacked out by the censor. "I shall learn it all off,
Mr. de Windt," said the poor fellow, as the Chief of Police for a moment
looked away, and I handed him the tiny encyclopaedia. "When we meet again
I shall know it all by heart!" But twelve long years must elapse before
my unhappy friend bids farewell to Verkhoyansk! Nevertheless, the almost
childish delight with which the trifling gift was received would have
been cheaply bought at the price of a valuable library.