At last the day--or rather night--arrived, when the gates of the Citadel
opened, allowing myself with thirty other prisoners to pass out upon the
first stage of the weary two months' tramp to that bourne whence few
convicts ever return.
We were a sorry, smileless band of criminals of all classes, each
dressed alike and bearing a number, our hands fastened behind our backs,
and chained together in single file.
Slowly we passed through the great iron gates, and turning, crossed the
Troitskoi Bridge, our escort of mounted Cossacks cracking their long
whips, and with lanterns tied to their lance-points examining the road
continually, in search of any letters which might be dropped. It was a
weird, dismal procession, as we trudged on through the streets made
sloppy by the melting snow, and the clanking of chains, the cracking of
whips, the shouts of the soldiers, and the rumbling of the springless
carts in the rear for those who might fall ill by the way, awoke the
echoes of the silent thoroughfares.
A few belated pleasure-seekers, some in fancy dress, who were evidently
returning from a ball, stopped to watch us pass, but no one was allowed
to come near us, for the Cossacks warned them off.
In this way we passed across the slumbering city and out upon the broad,
bleak highway on our journey eastward to the Ourals. It commenced to
rain in torrents, and soon all of us were wet and uncomfortable, but
through the long night we marched onward in dogged silence.
Conversation was forbidden, and those who had spoken had felt the thong
of the escort's whip about his shoulders.
The convict to whom I was chained I recognised as the guide who had
conducted me over the Winter Palace. What was his crime I knew not, but
he plodded on, with a settled look of terror on his face, and the sighs
that frequently escaped him plainly showed what were his feelings at
being exiled from his native land.
His was not the face of a criminal, but rather that of one who had been
unjustly condemned, as I had been.
Our wet clothes clung to us as we walked, our feet splashed through
great pools at every step, and the icy wind that blew across the wide
level highway chilled our very bones, greatly adding to our discomfort.
We must have walked six hours, for as the day dawned, cloudy and grey,
we saw in the distance the wooden houses of Jjora, and half an hour
later were drawn up in a line in the open space before the little
church.
Here our fetters were removed; but in the meantime the news had spread
through the village that a convict convoy was on the march, and the
inhabitants, taking compassion upon us, crowded round with steaming
tureens of _tschi_, piles of new bread, and jugs of _vodki_. They were
not allowed to approach us, however, and were compelled to set their
offerings at the roadside and retire.
The pity felt for Siberian exiles is universal, and even the Cossacks
seemed to have some sympathy for us poor wretches, as they allowed us to
partake freely of what the kind-hearted peasants offered.
I was almost exhausted by the long tramp, and ate ravenously. As soon
as we had appeased our hunger, we were marched inside the church to
attend a parting mass and hear a brief sermon.
As we knelt, the priest went through the ritual, afterwards giving us an
address, urging submission and penitence, as well as extolling the
Czar's clemency most likely; but as I was unable to understand a word, I
was spared this canting hypocrisy, and was glad when the grim farce was
over and we had left the sacred building.
Soon we were upon our way again, and through out the day trudged wearily
onward. With a thick pine forest on each side of the road, the journey
resembled a sea voyage, one spot so much like another that we always
seemed to remain in the same place.
We had no chains to trouble us now; but though permission had been given
to talk, all desire for conversation had gone out of us, so jaded and
weary were we. Without a halt, we pushed on until long after daylight
had faded, and when at last a rest was made we prepared to bivouac in
the forest.
A large fire was lit, some biscuits and salt beef served out, and then,
with nothing further to protect us from the frost than our greatcoats
and rugs, we flung ourselves upon the ground and sought repose.
I was exhausted and soon fell asleep. I must have continued so for
several hours, when suddenly I felt a hand upon my cheek, and in the
fitful light thrown by the dying embers of the fire, saw a Cossack
bending over me.
All was quiet, save for the shadowy forms of the sentries, who paced
quietly to and fro among the surrounding trees.
As I awoke, the man at my side placed his finger significantly upon my
lips, whispering in broken English, "Don't utter a word, but listen;
Frank Burgoyne, remember what I am about to tell you. Be brave, and you
may escape."
"Escape!" I ejaculated, rubbing my eyes, half-believing that I must be
dreaming. "How can I?"
"The matter is simple if you follow my directions; but it will require
nerve and firm determination. If you falter you are lost."
"Tell me, how can it be done?" I whispered, eagerly.
He bent so closely that, although his face was unrecognisable in the
darkness, I could feel his breath. Placing his mouth to my ear he said:
"To-morrow afternoon we shall pass through a small village called
Podberesa. A mile after leaving it, we shall come to cross-roads, and
there you will see a two-horse sleigh awaiting you, the driver of which
will have a red ribbon upon his whip. Be on the watch, and when close
to it make a dash between the guards, jump in, and you will be driven to
the coast, where you can get away to England. In the sleigh you will
find the dress of a courier, and a passport which will ensure your
safety."
"But the escort; they will fire!" I exclaimed in amazement.
"There are no `buts.' Time does not permit of reflection. Do as I bid,
and you will not be harmed," he said.
"You are my friend, then?"
"No, scarcely that. My duty is to take you to the mines."
"Then why do you tell me how to escape?"
"There is reason in most things that we do."
"And what is your reason for this?" I asked. "Perhaps you can explain
why I have been kept in that horrible prison without trial, and why I,
an Englishman, should be sent to Siberia for no offence whatever?"
"Yes, yes," he replied, "I am aware of all this. But hush! The guards
are changing. Remember all I have said; make your dash for liberty with
a stout heart, and when you return to London all will be explained.
Adieu, and _bon voyage_."
The man crawled noiselessly away, but as he lifted himself upon his
hands the fire threw out a flicker of light which fell upon his
features. It was only momentarily and then died away, yet in that brief
second I detected a close--even striking--resemblance to some one I had
seen before.
He slipped away without a sound, just as the sentry passed; nevertheless
for a long time I lay awake trying to recollect where I had seen the
soldier's face before.
At last I felt positive the voice was the same as that of the officer
who had visited me in the cell, yet what motive he could have in
planning my escape, I could not guess. Then again I felt sure the face
resembled some one I had known intimately, or had cause to remember.
Suddenly it dawned upon me.
The face was similar to that of the man I had seen leaving the house in
Bedford Place!
The next day passed much as the preceding one, though with considerable
excitement and anxiety I prepared myself for my bold attempt to regain
freedom. It was late in the afternoon that we passed through the
village, and it was fast growing dusk when the object for which I was
straining my eyes came into view--a sleigh, the driver of which had the
reins and whip gathered up in the act of starting.
The critical moment arrived.
Just as we were passing, I slipped out of the ranks, and made a sudden
dash, falling headlong into the vehicle. The fall saved me.
I heard the word of command. A dozen shots rang out. But in a few
seconds we were flying at a furious rate along the smooth highway in an
opposite direction. It was an exciting moment, but I did not lose my
nerve.
"Don't be alarmed," said the driver, in English; "the guards dare not
leave the prisoners, and we shall beat them easily. Dress as quickly as
you can, for by this time to-morrow we must be at Viborg."
I found the clothes, and exchanged my convict's dress for them. In the
pockets were a passport and a purse well filled with roubles. When
dressed, I settled myself to think. With relays of horse at every
post-station, we travelled all that night. Next evening we drove into
Viborg.
I questioned the driver, but he would not tell me by whom he had been
engaged.
"You have been wronged, and reparation must be made," was all he
replied.
By no ingenious questioning could I elicit any particulars as to who was
instrumental in scheming my escape, for to all my inquiries he was dumb,
although he appeared fully cognisant of my adventures since I had been
in Russia.
On arrival at Viborg I lost no time in searching for a ship, and, to my
relief, found one leaving for Hull in a few hours. I exhibited my
passport as an official courier, obtained a berth, and before the next
day dawned had the satisfaction of watching the lights of the Russian
port disappear at the stern.