HOW THE TCHEKISTS LIVE
_Luxurious Proletarians — Merry Gatherings at Kem — A Revolting Orgy —
"Holding the Banner of Communism Aloft" — How Criminals are Released._
The concentration camp on Solovetsky Island is guarded by the 3rd Escort
Regiment of the Gpu troops (300 rifles strong), and that on Popoff
Island by the 95th Division of the Gpu troops (150 strong). In spite of
the good food they receive, scurvy rages among the Red soldiers, as does
also syphilis. The soldiers, with the exception of those on duty
guarding the camps, live in private quarters.
The Solovky guards, drawn from the criminal _canaille_ which, after the
October Revolution, suddenly discovered its "class consciousness" and
joined the Communist Party in tens of thousands, spend all their time in
card-playing, debauchery, swilling home-distilled spirits and drunken
orgies.
In this they follow the example of the higher officials. The life led by
the Solovky authorities is far from proletarian. Nogteff, Eichmans,
Vasko, Kirilovsky, Popoff and the rest deny themselves nothing. Having
earned piles of money at the expense of the prisoners, the
"administrators" lead a thoroughly non-Communistic life. Liquor,
clothes, and other things are always arriving for them in truck-loads
from Moscow, Petrograd and Kem. I myself took part in the unloading of
two of these trucks. They contained different kinds of vodka, Russian
and foreign wines, including champagne, liqueurs, all kinds of _hors
d'œuvres_, expensive clothes, both men's and women's — the latter for
the harems — comfortable furniture, and so on.
The "administrators" are notorious for their orgies not only in the
Solovky, but much further afield — all over Northern Russia. The scene
of the debauches is usually Kem, where the Tchekists from the monastery
and from Popoff Island assemble to make merry.
On Popoff Island itself they take place in the quarters of Kirilovsky,
the commandant of the "Kemperraspredpunkt," who not long ago had the
reputation of being a decently conducted man. They nearly always end in
brawls.
For example, in August, 1924, a drinking-bout of the usual kind was held
in Kirilovsky's quarters. Guests and host drank so heavily that
Kirilovsky felt ill, and they took him out into the fresh air. When he
returned to the house, the guests, as drunk as pigs, were vomiting over
the table, and his wife was lying on a sofa in Popoff's arms in a
shameless posture.
Infuriated, Kirilovsky dragged Popoff from the sofa and flung him away
so violently that his head went through the door. Popoff, however,
managed to give him a blow in the face, smashing his glasses. Shots were
fired. Popoff was dragged out of Kirilovsky's quarters and taken home,
where he broke all the windows with his fists and, shedding bitter
tears, began to bellow so that all the camp could hear him:
"They've killed me! They've killed me!"
It would appear that such a manner of life is ideal Communism, for in
November, 1924, at the time of the anniversary of the October
Revolution, the Natchuslon received a letter of thanks from the Moscow
Gpu, in which the latter expressed its gratitude to Nogteff and his
colleagues for "holding the banner of Communism aloft."
In the time which their alcoholic occupations leave at their disposal,
the "administrators" of the Solovetsky Islands amuse themselves by
amnestying prisoners of the _shpana_ category. Every day, after
navigation has begun, some five hundred prisoners are released.
The procedure is as follows. The ordinary criminals, male and female,
are stripped of their last rags ("State clothing"), are given railway
tickets to the towns where they live, and a supply of bread in
accordance with the length of their journey. Then they are put into
freight trucks _stark naked_, and sent off to Kem station! Naturally
half the _shpana_ rob somebody to get clothes directly they arrive at
Kem station, and return to the camp to undergo an extra year's
imprisonment. The rest go away naked.
None of the "K.R.'s" are ever liberated. From time to time it is
rumoured that the politicals are to be released or transferred to a
prison on the mainland of Russia. These rumours usually remain rumours;
if politicals leave the Solovky it is only for another place of exile.
PART III
OUR ESCAPE
CHAPTER I
THE ONLY WAY OUT
_Bolshevist Hypocrisy — Prisoners for Life — The Student Nikolaeff's
Escape — Failure of other Attempts._
The foreign workmen who come to Moscow in batches are given to
understand by the Soviet Government that it, of course, is against the
Solovky; it is willing to admit that the Solovky are a discredit to the
"humane" rule of the workers and peasants. But, it asks, what is to be
done? —— the counter-revolutionaries continue their struggle with the
Soviet power, and so the Gpu insists on the maintenance of the
concentration camps. The Gpu, for its part, puts the blame on the
Council of People's Commissaries.
And while they are saying this, the Council of People's Commissaries and
the Gpu are fettering their prisoners to the Solovky and its
"continuations" _for their whole lives_ — by sending them on to other
more or less remote places. Since the autumn of 1924, by a special order
of the Gpu — submitted to and confirmed by the Vtsik — every prisoner
who has served his term in the Solovky is sent for three years to a
"free settlement" in the Narym region, then to the Petchersk region for
three years more, then to the Turukhansk and Zyriansk regions — that is
to say, for twelve years in all. For those who somehow or other contrive
not to die during these twelve years, a final reward is reserved — exile
to a permanent settlement in Eastern Siberia.
Thus, whatever "offence" you have been found guilty of, however you have
conducted yourself in the Solovky, you will _never_ be released. Every
person transported by the Soviet Government is doomed to die on his
journeyings from prison to prison, from one place of forced exile to
another.
The terrible knowledge that one is a convict for life, that, after the
Solovky, one will be driven off to new torments, be given a new Nogteff,
a new Kirilovsky, a new ration, be compelled to do more hard labour, get
into other "sacks," rot in another Sekirka, makes the prisoner realise
that this endless, hopeless pilgrimage of pain must be cut short once
and for all — by escape.
But a successful escape from the Solovky is a miracle, a fabulous piece
of good fortune, granted to a few out of scores of thousands.
During the time that I spent in the Solovky I heard of only one case in
which a prisoner had escaped from the Solovky — and he did not escape
abroad, but into the interior of Russia. He was a medical student named
Nikolaeff — a "K.R." He succeeded by some means or other in getting
himself employed as a clerk in the camp commandant's office, and winning
the confidence of the Tchekists by pretended hatred of "K.R.'s." He came
to manage the whole business of the camp, had all the forms and papers
at his disposal, and occasionally even went to Kem — without a guard! —
on business connected with the commandant's office. He forged all the
necessary documents for himself — in an assumed name: a railway pass,
even a certificate of membership of the Communist Party. Then he went to
Kem, allegedly on business — and never came back. Many weeks later we
got a letter saying that Nikolaeff was in Moscow, sent us his kind
remembrances, and wished us a speedy departure southward.
Every other attempt to escape had invariably ended in the fugitives
being captured and put to a torturing death. It was so with the
Finlander who tried to escape in March, 1925, and with Captain
Skhyrtladze's party. Six "K.R.'s," headed by Captain Skhyrtladze,
escaped from the Solovetsky Monastery in a boat which they had got hold
of after killing a sentry. For five days they were tossed about in a
rough sea, trying to make the shore near Kem. They had no food, their
strength gave out, and several times the idea of committing suicide by
upsetting the boat presented itself to them. At last one of the unhappy
Columbuses cried "Land!" They came to the shore and landed at night.
They were so weak and exhausted that, having lit a fire in the woods,
they forgot everything else and fell down beside it half dead. A patrol
from the Solovky found them there. The Tchekists flung bombs at the
fire. Four of the fugitives were killed on the spot; the two others, one
of whom was Captain Skhyrtladze, were recaptured. Skhyrtladze had one
hand blown off and both legs broken. They were taken to hospital, given
some treatment, and then, after cruel tortures, were shot.
Only a miracle, a direct act of God, could make the impossible possible.
But we — I and my four comrades — believed in miracles, and prayed to
God for one. And He led us for thirty-five days through the marshes of
Karelia and the forests of the border region, and on the thirty-sixth
day brought us to Kuusamo, in Finland.
CHAPTER II
LAYING OUR PLANS
_Cautious Reconnaissance Work — Bezsonoff's Arrival — Our Party Made Up
— Elaborate Contrivance Necessary — A Critical Moment._
The thought of escape was always in my mind, even in the Caucasus, in
the prisons of the Extraordinary Commissions of Batoum, Tiflis,
Vladikavkaz and Grozny. On my arrival in the Solovky, I first began to
sound the possibilities in this direction. In the concentration camps of
the north, inquiries of this kind have to be made with extreme caution;
the greatest delicacy must be employed in asking questions and
reconnoitring the ground. You cannot tell which of the prisoners are
secret agents of the Gpu and which are people who feel as you yourself
do. There have been many cases in which educated prisoners, at first
sight most charming fellows, have betrayed their companions.
In the winter of 1924-25 I became intimate with the medical student
Nikolaeff. He told me that he was making preparations to escape. We did
not agree, however, as to what should be done in the next stage.
Nikolaeff insisted that we should escape into the interior of Russia,
with correct papers, which he promised to forge. As described in the
last chapter, he did this successfully on his own behalf. I, on the
contrary, was for escaping abroad, for two reasons, viz.: (1) even if we
succeeded in escaping, the Tchekists would probably find us very soon if
we stayed in Russia; (2) my destination, the Caucasus, was too distant
from the Solovky for me to be sure of getting there. So, while Nikolaeff
succeeded in making his escape to Moscow _via_ Kem and Petrograd, I
stayed in the Solovky to wait for a more favourable opportunity.
One Saturday in February, 1925, a new convoy of "K.R.'s" arrived in the
Solovky. Among the prisoners was a former captain in the Life Guards
Dragoon Regiment named Bezsonoff. He had not been two days in the camp
before he asked me:
"What do you think about escaping? I mean to clear off from here pretty
soon."
As I had every reason to believe that I was dealing with a Gpu spy, I
replied:
"I don't mean to try to escape. I'm all right here."
But soon I got to know Bezsonoff better. He had been transported to
Tobolsk for "counter-revolution" and repeated attempts to escape from
captivity. He managed to escape from Tobolsk and got to Petrograd, where
he lived in freedom for six months. Then he again fell into the hands of
the Gpu, which sentenced him to be shot, but his sentence was commuted
to five years in the Solovky, to be followed by a period of exile in the
Narym region. In the camp he bore himself with an independent air,
openly abused the Tchekists, and did not obey the orders of the
_personnel_.
We decided to escape into Finland. Each of us sought for companions in
the adventure among our fellow-prisoners. Bezsonoff came to an
understanding with two Poles named Malbrodsky and Sazonoff. Malbrodsky
was a particularly valuable comrade because he had a compass. While in
the Tcheka prison at Minsk, he had hidden his compass in a cake of soap,
and had brought it, thus concealed, to the Solovky. Of course we had no
maps of any kind. Our marching orders were simply — westward! Here the
compass would play a decisive part.
Only prisoners engaged in outside labour had a chance of flight. Of late
I had had the duty of making out the lists of prisoners detailed for
various kinds of work outside the camp. I myself, however, was not
allowed by the Tchekists to go outside the wire fence, as they had
suspected me for a long time past of intending to make a bolt. I was
faced with the difficult task of making out a list of workers consisting
only of men useful to us, and getting my own name on to the list in
addition.
As a rule, parties from five to twelve strong are detailed for work
outside the camp. Too large a party was no use to us. It was
indispensable that a party of five should be made up consisting of the
four already mentioned — Bezsonoff, Malbrodsky, Sazonoff and myself —
and a reliable "K.R." I managed to add a Kuban Cossack to the list. He
was not warned in advance.
We had still one obstacle to overcome. Each party was, as a rule,
composed of prisoners belonging to the same labour company. Bezsonoff
belonged to the 5th company, but Sazonoff, for example, to the 7th.
Although I was continually in danger of ruining the whole laboriously
contrived scheme, I nevertheless managed to get all our men into one
party.
Early in the morning of May 18th, 1925, two parties, among others, were
taken to work outside the camp. A party from the 6th company was taken
to cut wood on the shore near Kem, and another — ours — to clean out the
Red soldiers' barracks, on Popoff Island itself. This threatened to ruin
the whole plan — it was impossible to get away from Popoff Island.
All this time a Tchekist named Myasnikoff had been keeping a
particularly watchful eye on me. He sometimes said he had been a hussar,
sometimes a sailor, sometimes a colleague of Dzerzhinsky; in the camp he
was deputy-commander of a labour regiment. I had, under his eyes, to
invent some reason for sending our party to the woods, and not the
other. After a minute's thought, I went up to the party from the 6th
company and said:
"You fellows'll be simply frozen in the woods with such rags on, and
only bast shoes. You'd better go to the barracks."
Our men had specially mended their clothes and boots for the occasion.
Luckily for us, just at this moment Myasnikoff was called away for some
reason or other. I led our party up to the guards, and said:
"Now, comrades, take us off to work in the woods."
Never has my heart beaten as it did in that minute. They gave us an
escort of two Red soldiers, and took us off to work.
CHAPTER III
OUR FLIGHT: THE FIRST STAGE
_An Initial Success — Covering our Tracks — Bezsonoff as Dictator —
Traces of our Pursuers — A Trap._
We cut wood till 8 a.m. At that hour a goods train came from Popoff
Island to Kem; it would have been dangerous to try to escape before
then. When the train had disappeared, Bezsonoff gave the signal arranged
long before — he turned up his collar. We flung ourselves on the
soldiers from behind. We succeeded in disarming one of them immediately.
The other pushed away Malbrodsky and Sazonoff, whose business it was to
disarm him, and began to yell. Luckily we were nearly three miles from
the camp. I gave the Red soldier a blow in the side, and he fell.
I was for shooting the two soldiers; they were both Communists and
belonged to the Gpu troops. But Bezsonoff persuaded me not to do so,
arguing that an act of vengeance at such a moment was useless, and that
no one would gain anything by it.
At that moment the Kuban Cossack, who had flung himself on the ground in
surprise, stretched out his hands to us, and cried:
"Little brothers, don't kill me!"
We calmed him.
"What are you making all this noise about, you fool? Nobody's going to
kill you. The freedom you had in the Solovky Kalinin gave you, we give
you the freedom you have now. Do as you like. If you go back to the camp
you'll be shot. If you come with us, there's a risk there too. Or, if
you like, go south on your own, to the Kuban. We can do without you. Do
as you like."
The Cossack came with us. His name, by the way, was Pribludin.
We had decided long before to cover our tracks in every possible way.
Our real objective being the frontier between Russia and Finland, which
lay to westward, we went due north for twenty miles along the railway
embankment, taking the two Red soldiers with us. After covering nine
miles, we sent one of the soldiers off in a westerly direction, and the
second when we had gone eleven miles, first taking off their boots. We
reckoned that even if they found the way back they would not reach the
camp before the following morning.
We came to a railwayman's hut. We asked the pointsman to sell us bread
(we had six tchervontsy, which we had saved while we were preparing to
escape), but the man, apparently a Communist, refused. We had to take
the food by force. We loaded up Pribludin, Sazonoff and Malbrodsky with
the provisions and went on for three miles in a northerly direction,
then turned east, then south, and came back almost to the same place
from which we had started northward two days before. We crossed the
railway embankment and steered due west.
During these first days we walked without a break, either by day or by,
night. The "rests" mentioned in Bezsonoff's diary, which he kept on the
inside of the cover of his Bible, were halts of a few minutes only for
food. Our weariness soon began to make itself felt. There were no roads;
our route lay over damp ground, covered with thick undergrowth, and
endless marshes. Bezsonoff, who had constituted himself an inexorable
dictator to the rest of us, brandished a rifle under the nose of anyone
who stopped even for a minute, and threatened to kill him on the spot.
At the time we thought him cruel, but I know now that the merciless
insistence of our "dictator" contributed in a high degree to the success
of our flight.
We changed direction sharply once again and marched southward, towards
the river Kem. A snowstorm overtook us. The violence of the tempest blew
us off our legs. My boots got burnt through at a fire; luckily I had an
old pair of goloshes with me, and put them on, winding strips of rag
round my legs. It is possible that the fearful blizzard, which caused us
such hardships, benefited us at the same time, for the snow covered our
tracks.
Our bread was all finished. We had thirty bits of sugar left. We had
introduced a "starvation ration," and were sharing out every crumb, when
we came to the hamlet Poddiujnoe.
[Illustration: Rough Map Showing our Route]
Near the hamlet we found the footmarks of Tchekists. As Bezsonoff had on
a pair of Government boots, taken from one of the Red soldiers, we were
able to compare the tracks and ascertain that the footmarks were those
of soldiers belonging to the Gpu troops. We also found the footmarks of
police dogs. So we knew that we were being hunted with dogs.
We decided to go on westward along the bank of the river Kem, without
making any detour. My feet were so badly frost-bitten that the pain
sometimes brought tears into my eyes, but there was nothing for it but
to go on and on. About ten miles from Poddiujnoe we met two Karelians.
On seeing us they were filled with horror at our convict-like
appearance, and at our situation. They told us that all Karelia had been
informed by telephone that five men had escaped from the Solovky, and
ten poods of flour promised for each fugitive handed over. They had seen
ten Tchekists with dogs. Moreover, a motor launch from Kem, with six men
on board, was patrolling the river.
We asked the Karelians for bread and tobacco. They gave us two loaves
and a packet of _makhorka_ (coarse tobacco), for which we paid three
roubles — they had no change. They advised us to make for a dairy farm
twenty miles from Poddiujnoe. We found, in due course, that a regular
trap had been laid for us at this dairy farm. But I do not think the two
Karelians sent us into it intentionally.
As a rule, when we came near a human habitation, we lay on the ground
for two hours, watching to see who went into and came out of the house.
We did so this time, and saw nothing suspicious. Sazonoff, Malbrodsky
and Pribludin remained behind, while Bezsonoff and I went forward. The
house stood apart from the farm buildings. Bezsonoff opened the door. In
the very act of entering he gave a wild yell of "Red soldiers!" On
opening the door, he saw right in front of him three rifles aimed at
him. Being an exceptionally cool-headed man, he did not lose his head,
but instantly slammed the door to and fired through it.
I leapt to the door. The Red soldiers kept quite still. It would have
been stupid to fight them. We decided to retreat to the woods. But we
had to pass the window of the house, and the Tchekists would have shot
us down from the window like partridges. Bezsonoff took up a position
close to the stables, in a place from which he could fire at the window
at any moment if one of the soldiers showed himself at it; I stood on
the other side, also holding my rifle at the ready.
Then, abandoning our posts, we gave ourselves the order, "Quick — bolt!"
and were about to make for the woods when a motor launch, with six
soldiers on board, came up to the bank from the direction of the mouth
of the Shomba, a tributary of the Kem. The Red soldiers in the house
leapt out of the windows on the opposite side, facing the river. I did
not see any use in firing. Bezsonoff, however, fired at the launch. The
Tchekists leapt ashore and flung themselves into the woods. Weeping and
wailing arose from another boat, loaded with women and children, the
families of Karelian fishermen. We retired hastily into the woods.
CHAPTER IV
A TERRIBLE MARCH
_Sazonoff as Raft-builder — A Bitter Disappointment — A Hay-maker's
Larder — We Pillage a Communist's Farm — A Narrow Shave — Sazonoff's
Swimming Achievement._
We recommenced our exhausting journey through the marshes, covered with
thick scrub. We had no food. Despair took the place of hope in our
hearts. Time after time we fell down from exhaustion and weariness. My
frost-bitten feet caused me fearful torment.
We continued to follow the river Kem almost due south, then turned west.
Thus, falling and getting up, and falling into the water again, we
covered twenty-five miles. We came to a big lake, with fishermen's huts
on the shore. The men were not at home. We took a quantity of food and
left a tchervonets on a stone with a note which ran:
"We are sorry, but necessity compels us to steal. We leave you a
tchervonets."
For a long time we did not know how to get across the lake. We tried to
go round, and walked ten miles — still we were confronted by water. Then
Sazonoff, who had grown up in the neighbourhood of water, made some odd
little rafts, fastening planks together with everything we had — rifle
slings, belts, shirts — and brought us over to the other side. This
voyage across the lake, I remember, used up what little energy we still
had. Indeed, when I now recall all that we went through in those
dreadful days, I cannot understand how we endured such a strain, both
physical and mental, and how it was that we did not fall down dead
somewhere in the Karelian mosses. But evidently God thought fit to save
us, to bring us out of the dense, marshy jungle, that we might bear
witness to the whole world of the place of torment into which a
loathsome government has turned the once holy Solovetsky Monastery.
After crossing the lake, we decided to march due west. More marshes in
endless succession, no paths, not a scrap of bread. We usually endured
the pangs of hunger for three days, and on the fourth day went in search
of bread, at the risk of falling into a trap. While in search of
provisions, we came upon a wooden road through the marshes, evidently
laid down by the British. We could see no tracks on it. We held a
council of war, and decided to turn off northward in the hope of coming
to a habitation. We covered twenty miles: not a soul.
Then we came to another lake, and there, on the other side, was a large
village. We could hear voices and the barking of dogs. We dragged
ourselves to the bank. Bezsonoff and Sazonoff stood by the water's edge
for a long time, and shouted:
"Hallo! Hallo!"
At last we made ourselves heard. A boat came over, rowed by a Karelian.
"Can we get any bread? We'll pay for it."
"Yes, you can get bread, you can get anything you like," the honest
fisherman replied. "But there are Tchekists from the Solovky in the
village, searching for you."
Once more we had to plunge into the depths of the scrub. It rained
unceasingly, the days were raw and windy. For four more days we had
nothing to eat. We had only our tobacco.
At last we came to a wooden footpath raised above the water. We went
along it and came to a tiny hut in the middle of the marshes. We
examined the little place carefully, but could find nothing eatable.
While the rest of us were making a fire of brushwood in the rain,
Bezsonoff continued to prospect in the neighbourhood of the hut, and
suddenly returned from his reconnaissance with five loaves of black
bread in his hands. He ate greedily as he walked. I thought at first it
was a hallucination caused by hunger, but no, it was real bread, and
plenty of it!
It was evidently a hut belonging to Karelian hay-makers. They bring
their stores of food to their huts in winter, because in summer it is
impossible to get to them; the marshes are turned into an inland sea.
Not far from our hut Bezsonoff found a wooden shelter like a gigantic
mushroom, with an opening in the middle, and under it exactly a hundred
huge loaves, three bags of groats and a bag of salt. Our joy knew no
bounds. We decided to have a good rest. Happily, the possibility of a
Tchekist ambush in the midst of the marshes — the passage of which was
quite impracticable except by a footpath such as we had found — could be
almost entirely dismissed. We made out of that bread (in fancy) tea,
cooked meat and various kinds of soup! We lived in the hut until each of
us had five cakes of bread left.
Then — westward once again! Water, water, water without end. We marched
for nearly a week on the five cakes per man. We found a path, which led
us to a lonely dairy farm. We hid, kept our ears open, and finally sent
Sazonoff on to get food. When he came back with bread and butter we
noticed that a peasant woman ran out of the cottage and hurried to a
boat which lay by the bank. We had evidently come to a Communist's
house, and the woman had gone to fetch Red soldiers. We fired a few
shots after her; she took fright and went back to the house.
We pillaged those Communists without mercy. We took a tub of butter, a
lot of white bread, and all the fish there was in the house. We had now
so much food that even Bezsonoff and I, who usually walked at the head
of the party in "light marching order," rifle in hand, had each of us to
shoulder a sack.
We were by this time simply in rags. The thorny bushes had torn our
clothes to shreds; our boots had come unstitched. With tangled beards,
incredibly filthy faces, holes at knees and elbows, we looked like
cannibals, or escaped convicts — which, for that matter, was just what
we were.
Going along a narrow path through the woods, we came upon tracks of Red
soldiers' boots and the stump of a _makhorka_ cigarette. As we had no
tobacco left by then, we eagerly seized the stump, and each of us had
two puffs at it. Sazonoff and Malbrodsky insisted that we should leave
the dangerous path. We came to a river. We looked for a ford for over
three hours, but could not find one, and had to go back to the path we
had abandoned.
After we had walked for a long time we came to a place where the marks
of many feet were plainly visible. We knew from this that we were quite
close to the frontier; but we could not say even approximately where the
frontier was. We had no map, and none of us knew how many miles we had
to go to reach Finland. The arrow of the compass showed us where west
lay, and that was all.
We followed the tracks cautiously. We had just gone round a slight
hillock, when from behind a big rock there came a hail of bullets. I was
so taken by surprise that I stopped dead. Fifty or sixty rounds were
fired at us point blank. We saw the flashes from the rock. But not one
of us was touched. Not till then did we perceive that the ambush was
laid on both sides of the path. The woods, particularly dense at that
spot, saved us. We scattered among the undergrowth. The firing went on
for a long time. It may have been the Soviet frontier patrol we had
encountered.
Moving swiftly westward, we came to a halt again at the river. We could
still find no ford. We tried to find a way round; we went a long way and
came back again. We learnt a few days later that this stream was the
frontier between Russia and Finland. It is considered impassable, and
is, therefore, guarded by neither Finlanders nor Russians.
But cross the river we must; it blocked our route westward. Sazonoff
swam to the opposite bank. Malbrodsky plunged into the water and began
to drown. The strong current swept him downstream; I dragged him out
with difficulty. I myself was carried for several yards downstream; I
began to suffocate, but in the nick of time I stuck the muzzle of my
rifle into the river bottom and supported myself on it. We did not know
what to do. We had no strength at all. We jumped recklessly into the
water several times, and every time returned to the bank completely
exhausted. Then Sazonoff gave us another exhibition of his skill in
mastering any current; he carried each of us in turn over to the
opposite bank on his back!
This was at three o'clock on the morning of June 15th.
CHAPTER V
FREEDOM
_Linguistic Difficulties — Joyful Certainty — Bezsonoff's Diary —
Finnish Peasant's Claim for Damages — A Friend in Need — Free at Last._
We had not a dry thread on us. Our cartridges were soaked. Our fingers
shook with cold, we could not speak to one another. To crown all, our
small supply of bread had run out. Luckily, a couple of days later we
came upon a deer in the woods, and Bezsonoff, who had contrived, unlike
the rest of us, to keep his ammunition dry, shot it. In our joy we ate
half of it at once without bread. We made soup out of a part of it, and
took the cooked meat that was left over along with us. The result of
this feast was that we all fell ill with an acute gastric disorder, and
for several days were so weak that we could hardly walk.
After a long tramp we came, two days after we had crossed the river, to
a cottage. We went in and asked the people to sell us bread and other
food. They could not speak or understand a word of Russian. Supposing
ourselves to be already in Finland,[35] we repeatedly asked:
"Where are we? What is this? Finland? Russians?"
We had recourse to mimicry, to talking on our fingers. It was quite
useless. (On arriving in Finland, by the way, we discovered that the
Finnish name for the country is Suomi.)
We took some food of various kinds, and offered them a tchervonets. They
would not take it. We gave them all our small change, ninety silver
kopeks; they took the silver. We went off, followed by unfriendly looks.
Several more days passed, full of uncertainty. Had we crossed the
frontier or not? Were we in Finland or still in the U.S.S.R.? If we
assumed the former to be the case, did we not risk making our escape a
failure after all the difficulties we had overcome, and falling into the
hands of the Tchekists again?
On June 23rd we came to a big river. There were a crowd of people on the
opposite bank; evidently wood-floating was in preparation. We had
noticed during the past week a certain change in our surroundings, signs
of order and culture; and we had found a cigarette box with an
inscription that was not in Russian. The workmen on the river bank were
much better clothed than Russian workmen are. After long hesitation and
uneasiness we decided that the frontier lay behind us. We called for a
boat to be sent from the other side. The workmen who came across
explained to us, certainly not without difficulty, that the U.S.S.R. lay
far in our rear.
For a moment or two we could not utter a word for mingled joy and
weariness; all our strength seemed suddenly to leave us. Bezsonoff
chronicled that unforgettable moment in his diary in one significant
word: "Finland."
Our "dictator" kept this diary on the inside of the cover, the back of
the table of contents, and the last (440th) page of the "New Testament
of Our Lord Jesus Christ" (Synod edition of 1916). He made short pencil
notes daily. These disconnected entries, which had in truth been through
fire and water, give the clearest possible picture of all the
vicissitudes of our flight. It was thanks to them that we did not lose
count of the days.
I give some typical extracts from Bezsonoff's diary:
May 18th, 1925. — Disarmed escort and escaped. . . . .
" 21st. — Bivouac in woods. Stayed in hut on
account of snowstorm. . . . .
" 24th. — Snow continued. Stopped in evening. . . .
" 26th. — Snow thawing. At 2 p.m. started for
river Kem, at 7 p.m. came to hamlet
Poddiujnoe. 11 p.m., met two peasants.
Got some bread. Night. Going along
river Kem. In good spirits. At
Poddiujnoe ambushes of Red soldiers, who
went off in search of us.
May 27th. — Marched all night and day without rest.
Food quite finished. At 7 p.m. came to
dairy farm 22 miles from Poddiujnoe.
Going into farm fell into ambush of Red
soldiers. After firing Red soldiers cleared
off in boat. We hurried along Kem,
getting food from fishermen. Not much
food. Have to go hungry. Horribly
tired. At 2 a.m. left bank of Kem and
halted for rest at 6 a.m.
" 28th. — Rested all day. Little to eat. All have
legs badly swollen. . . . .
" 29th. — Night march through "impassable"
marshes. Day resting. Pushed on in
evening. Rest. Cloudberries, geese, hare.
Midnight. Malbrodsky unable to march
from exhaustion, rested. . . .
" 30th. — About 11 p.m. successfully crossed r.
Shomba. Relief and joy great. God be
praised. Marched all night. . . . .
June 1st. — In the morning unexpectedly came to
fishermen's hut; they were out fishing.
Took bread from them, leaving 3 roub.
Great help. Going on. Lost our way
among lakes. Made raft. Ferried over.
Creator. Nearly morning. All slept.
God be praised. Help us in the future
also, O God, and save us from our enemies.
And I believe He will help us.
June 6th. — Rest. The little hut. At the moment I
am morally and physically a happy man.
Nature, sky, beauty. . . . God has wrought
a miracle.
" 8th. — Weather changed. Warm. Water falling.
Eat every 2 hours and thank God. Almost
night. Fire. I cannot sleep. I keep watch.
Situation good. Nothing of note. We
reckon we have covered 18 miles of
"impassable" marshes. . . .
" 11th. — Marched all night. In the morning stopped
for "short halt" to drink hot water.
Went on. Rested at 6 p.m. Little hut
No. 2. Moved on in evening. So much
the nearer our goal. I reckon we are
thirteen miles from frontier. I have two
pieces of bread left, Malbrodsky none at all.
" 12th. — Early this morning drank hot water in little
shed by lake. Paths, lake, rain. Halt in
broken-down hut. Nervy. No food.
Lord help us! Went on in evening.
Marching all night. Rain. Dew. Cold.
Path.
June 13th. — Lake. Red soldiers. Line of patrols? Go
round. Rest without fire. Nearly 6 miles
west and no sign of frontier. According to
my reckoning we crossed the frontier at
12 p.m. Marched all night. Cold. Lit
fire and halted till morning. No food at
all.
" 14th. — River. Retreat. Path. Ambushes. Shots
point blank. God saved us. Praise Him.
Flight. Back to river. Ghastly crossing.
" 15th. — Rest after crossing. Spent day and night
drying ourselves. Shared out food. Quarrel.
Peace made. . . .
" 17th. — Killed deer by lucky shot. . . . Ate nearly
all.
" 18th. — Moved off in morning. Halted for rest at
12 p.m. Stopped all day.
" 19th. — At 7 p.m. crossed a clearing. Rested.
Clearing leads nowhere. Raid on dairy
farm. Rest "with cows." . . . .
" 21st. — Moved off in morning. Exhaustion.
Uncertainty. Reluctance to march.
Clearing. Came to an end. Came out on
clearing. Telephone line. River. Wood-
floating. Finland!
Bezsonoff evidently did not note all the days in his diary, for in
reality our flight came to an end on June 23rd, 1925.
The Finlanders received us very kindly, gave us food in abundance and
sent us to Uleaborg. The Chief of Police of Uleaborg moved us all to
tears by his attentions; he not only brought a quantity of food to the
prison for us, and supplied us with money, but he took me himself to a
doctor to have my frost-bitten feet bound up. I, in outward appearance a
complete bandit, dirty and in rags, felt strange in his smart carriage,
and could read on the faces of the people we met the dubious query: "Who
on earth is that convict in the Chief of Police's trap?"
We were, however, not liberated immediately. It appeared that the owner
of the dairy farm from which we had taken food a few days before, paying
for it with only about a rouble in silver (as the people would not take
our Soviet paper money), had made a complaint against us, demanding
compensation to the amount of 1,000 marks. The newspapers, privately
informed of the occurrence, wrote that "five Bolshevist bandits had
crossed the frontier and made an armed raid on a Finnish dairy farm."
While this affair was being settled, we had to spend several weeks in
prison, first at Uleaborg and then at Helsingfors. But even prison
seemed paradise to us after the Solovky and the Karelian jungles!
When we arrived at Helsingfors, the president of the special committee
for Russian affairs in Finland, A. N. Fenoult, came to see us in prison.
Thanks to his extraordinary energy, and the infinite trouble he took on
our behalf, we were very soon set at liberty, and were able to get
ourselves decent clothes and assume once more a human aspect. It was
significant that Malbrodsky (the other Pole, Sazonoff, being a native of
the former Government of Vilna, was not recognised as being a Polish
subject), who had immediately appealed to the Polish Consul, did not
leave prison until later than we, who had no official diplomatic
protection.
I should like to conclude my simple narrative by expressing our
heartfelt gratitude to all, both Finlanders and Russians, from whom, on
our arrival in Finland, we received so much kindness and sympathy. After
the ferocity shown by man towards man in the concentration camps, after
the devastating egoism, the hardness, the inhuman callousness, with
which the Bolsheviks have inoculated the unhappy Russian people, the
reception we met with in Finland touched us to the bottom of our hearts.
[Footnote 35: Language was not a certain guide, as the peasants on both
sides of the frontier are Finnish-speaking.]
_Made and Printed in Great Britain by C. Tinling & Co. Ltd., Liverpool
and at London and Prescot._