The exiles in the Irkutsk prisons were watching eight fellow prisoners
who were being flogged. Suddenly, in the doorway, an official appeared.
It was the Provincial State Attorney. There was a look of great tidings
in his face.
"Russia is a republic," he cried. "You are free."
The news of the revolution had reached across the vast stretches of
Siberia. It was a moment of tense excitement. Bewilderment and then
jubilation beset the exiles. An hour later began one of the strangest
spectacles in modern history--the exodus from Siberia. It is estimated
that a hundred thousand political exiles began their race back to
Russia.
Traveling from the most inaccessible mines and settlements, they
journeyed by sledge or trudged on foot to the nearest point on the
Trans-Siberian railway. It was a race against time. The Spring thaw was
approaching. If the exiles did not reach the railroad within two weeks
the roads would be impassable. The wilderness would become a sea of
mud. Far in the north, in the coldest settlements of the lower Lena, it
would be impossible to move forward until the ice breaks on the river
two months later.
The first large party consisted of one hundred and fifty political
convicts and administrative exiles, including twenty members of the
Jewish revolutionary band. The exiles were traveling in special cars
and had been on the road continuously from March 24, five days after
they first heard of the revolution.
The cars were met by a vast crowd at the railroad-station, which
cheered them tumultuously. The returning exiles returned the cheers,
but they were in a deplorable physical condition--shaggy, uncouth,
unwashed, and extremely emaciated.
Many were crippled with rheumatism, two had lost hands and feet from
frostbites, and one, who attempted flight a week before the revolution,
had been shot in the leg when he was recaptured. He was lying in a
prison-hospital when he learned that he was a free man.
Five days after the triumph of the revolution 6,000 exiles entered
Irkutsk, but the vast majority were unable to proceed west, owing to
the lack of rolling-stock. These encamped about the town and along the
railroad, and at least a month will be needed before they can be sent
home.
The crowds at Tyumen cheered the famous terrorist, Nicolai Anuikhin,
who shot and killed the chief of the Petrograd-Warsaw Railway in 1906.
His victim, General Fuchloff, was about to kidnap 400 railroad strikers
and send them to Siberia.
Anuikhin, who introduced himself as "a released jailbird," is a
gigantic, broad-shouldered, elderly man, with a gray imperial and an
excited manner of speech. He said:
"After one year in European convict prisons I spent ten years in the
Alexandrovsk prison, fifty miles from Irkutsk. This is the biggest
convict jail in Russia and contained 12,000 ordinary criminals and
about 500 political prisoners, mostly sentenced to life _katroga_, the
severest form of Russian punishment short of death.
"I spent the first five years in the so-called probation class, with
hands and feet manacled and chained to a wheelbarrow which I had to
take everywhere. In addition I was repeatedly flogged by order of the
Governor. The Assistant Governor, during the absence of his chief,
ordered daily floggings for his own satisfaction.
"The occupants of the different dormitories communicated by means of
tappings and other systems of signaling. Although we also had means of
communication with the outside world, we knew nothing of the revolution
until the morning of our release.
"After our release we learned that the Assistant Governor, on getting
the news of the revolution, declared that he would give a farewell
flogging, 'in order to prepare my jailbirds for sweet liberty.'"
Among the political prisoners from Tobolsk was Alexander Popoff. He was
sentenced to death for an alleged plot against the Emperor, a charge
which he declares was a fabrication by the police. Popoff, who is a
highly intelligent artizan, was chained by the wrists and ankles for
four years. In describing his release, he says:
"A most remarkable feature of amnesty day in Tobolsk was the sudden
demand for blacksmiths. The prison blacksmith, fearing the vengeance
of the convicts, fled, and private blacksmiths, in the general orgy of
revolutionary triumph, could not be found.
"In the meantime sixty chained men waited for their liberation. The
newly formed committee of public safety, unable to find blacksmiths,
drove the still chained convicts to the dismissed Governor's palace,
where a banquet had been prepared, and we had our first free meal.
Above the din of speeches and cheers for the Russian Republic could be
heard the jangling of our shackles."
The news of the revolution reached the prisoners in Siberia by
various channels, but in all cases the announcement was unexpected
and dramatic. In several places the police were wise enough to tell
the news themselves in order to escape the danger of suddenly finding
themselves in the power of men they had abused with impunity for years.
The exiles rarely rose against their jailers. Basil Muravin, once a
social revolutionist, tells this story:
"When the revolution occurred I was in the small Udinsk
transport-prison awaiting the arrival of other convicts for dispatch
together to the east. I had long lost hope of pardon when I learned
that I was free. The discovery came in a most dramatic way. I was at
the time in chains as a newcomer of unknown character. I heard a sudden
shouting and afterward a terrific rifle-firing. It sounded as if a
million cartridges had exploded in quick succession.
"Next bullets began to fly over the prison-yard. Finally a bullet cut
the halyard of the Russian flag which waved over the prison-building.
The flag dropped on the roof and shortly afterward a crowd stormed the
prison and hoisted there a revolutionary ensign. My last experience of
the old régime was a visit by the former Governor of the jail, who,
fearing retaliation, begged me to sign a statement acquitting him of
ill-treatment. Though his treatment of the convicts had been bad, I
agreed, not desiring to mar Russia's new freedom by acts of petty
vengeance."
In another case the priests announced the revolution in the churches.
Fifty exiles, who were in the congregation, rushed out, determined on
vengeance on the local police-captain, who was a wanton tyrant. They
were met by the policeman's ten-year-old daughter, who stood before her
father and exclaimed, "Kill me first!" The child's action saved the
captain's life.