The house of the dead or, Prison life in Siberia
mentioned his suspicions. That officer was frightened, and at first
could not believe there was anything in it all. Chilkin had, in fact,
expressed no more than a vague misgiving that all was not as it should
be. The sergeant-major ran to the Major, who in his turn ran to the
Governor. In a quarter-of-an-hour all necessary measures were taken. The
Governor-General was communicated with. As the convicts in question were
persons of importance, it might be expected that the matter would be
seriously viewed at St. Petersburg. A--v was classed among political
prisoners, by a somewhat random official proceeding, it would seem;
Koulikoff was a convict of the “special section,” that is to say, as a
criminal of the blackest dye, and, what was worse, was an ex-soldier. It
was then brought to notice that according to the regulations each
convict of the “special section” ought to have two soldiers assigned as
escort when he went to work; the regulations had not been observed as
to this, so that everybody was exposed to serious trouble. Expresses
were sent off to all the district offices of the municipality, and all
the little neighbouring towns, to warn the authorities of the escape of
the two convicts, and a full description furnished of their persons.
Cossacks were sent out to hunt them up, letters sent to the authorities
of all adjoining Governmental districts. And everybody was frightened to
death.
The excitement was quite as great all through the prison; as the
convicts returned from work, they heard the tremendous news, which
spread rapidly from man to man; all received it with deep, though secret
satisfaction. Their emotion was as natural as it was great. The affair
broke the monotony of their lives, and gave them something to think of;
but, above all, it was an escape, and as such, something to sympathise
with deeply, and stirred fibres in the poor fellows which had long been
without any exciting stimulus; something like hope and a disposition to
confront their fate set their hearts beating, for the incident seemed to
show that their hard lot was not hopelessly unchangeable.
“Well, you see they’ve got off in spite of them! Why shouldn’t we?”
The thought came into every man’s mind, and made him stiffen his back
and look at his neighbours in a defiant sort of way. All the convicts
seemed to grow an inch taller on the strength of it, and to look down a
bit upon the sub-officers. The heads of the place soon came running up,
as you may imagine. The Governor now arrived in person. We fellows
looked at them all with some assurance, with a touch of contempt, and
with a very set expression of face, as though to say: “Well, you there?
We can get out of your clutches when we’ve a mind to.”
All the men were quite sure there would be a general searching of
everything and everybody; so everything that was at all contraband was
carefully hidden; for the authorities would want to show that precious
wisdom of theirs which may be reckoned on after the event. The
expectation was verified; there was a mighty turning of everything
upside down and topsy-turvy, a general rummage, with the discovery of
exactly nothing, as they might have known.
When the time came for going out to work after dinner the usual escorts
were doubled. When night came, the officers and sub-officers on service
came pouncing on us at every moment to see if we were off our guard, and
if anything could be got out of us; the lists were gone over once more
than the usual number of times, which extra mustering only gave more
trouble for nothing; we were hunted out of the court-yard that our names
might be gone through again. Then, when in barrack, they reckoned us up
another time, as if they never could be done with the exercise.
The convicts were not at all disturbed by all this bustling absurdity.
They put on a very unconcerned demeanour, and, as is always the case in
such a conjuncture, behaved in the prettiest manner all that evening and
night. “We won’t give them any handle anyhow,” was the general feeling.
The question with the authorities was whether some among us were not in
complicity with those who had got away, so a careful watch was kept over
our doings, and a careful ear for our conversations; but nothing came of
it.
“Not such fools, those fellows, as to leave anybody behind who was in
the secret!”
“When you go at that sort of thing you lie low and play low!”
“Koulikoff and A--v know enough to have covered up their tracks. They’ve
done the trick in first-rate style, keeping things to themselves;
they’ve mizzled, the rascals; clever chaps, those, they could get
through shut doors!”
The glory of Koulikoff and A--v had grown a hundred cubits higher than
it was. Everybody was proud of them. Their exploit, it was felt, would
be handed down to the most distant posterity, and outlive the jail
itself.
“Rattling fellows, those!” said one.
“Can’t get away from here, eh? _That’s_ their notion, is it? Just look
at those chaps!”
“Yes,” said a third, looking very superior, “but who _is_ it that has
got away? Tip-top fellows. _You_ can’t hold a candle to them.”
At any other time the man to whom anything of that sort was said would
have replied angrily enough, and defended himself; now the observation
was met with modest silence.
“True enough,” was said. “Everybody’s not a Koulikoff or an A--v, you’ve
got to show what you’re made of before you’ve a right to speak.”
“I say, pals, after all, why do we remain in the place?” struck in a
prisoner seated by the kitchen window; he spoke drawlingly, but the man,
you could see, enjoyed it all; he slowly rubbed his cheek with the palm
of his hand. “Why do we stop? It’s no life at all, we’ve been buried,
though we’re alive and kicking. Now _isn’t_ it so?”
“Oh, curse it, you can’t get out of prison as easy as shaking off an old
boot. I tell you it sticks to your calves. What’s the good of pulling a
long face over it?”
“But, look here; there is Koulikoff now,” began one of the most eager, a
mere lad.
“Koulikoff!” exclaimed another, looking askance at the young fellow.
“Koulikoff! They don’t turn out Koulikoffs by the dozen.”
“And A--v, pals, there’s a lad for you!”
“Aye, aye, he’ll get Koulikoff just where he wants him, as often as he
wants him. He’s up to everything, he is.”
“I wonder how far they’ve got; that’s what _I_ want to know,” said one.
Then the talk went off into details: Had they got far from the town?
What direction did they go off in? _Which_ gave them the best chance?
Then they discussed distances, and as there were convicts who knew the
neighbourhood well, these were attentively listened to.
Next, they talked over the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages, of
whom they seemed to think as badly as possible. There was nobody in the
neighbourhood, the convicts believed, who would hesitate at all as to
the course to be pursued; nothing would induce them to help the
runaways; quite the other way, these people would hunt them down.
“If you only knew what bad fellows these peasants are! Rascally brutes!”
“Peasants, indeed! Worthless scamps!”
“These Siberians are as bad as bad can be. They think nothing of killing
a man.”
“Oh, well, our fellows----”
“Yes, that’s it, they may come off second best. Our fellows are as
plucky as plucky can be.”
“Well, if we live long enough, we shall hear something about them soon.”
“Well, now, what do you _think_? Do you think they really will get clean
away?”
“I am sure, as I live, that they’ll never be caught,” said one of the
most excited, giving the table a great blow with his fist.
“Hm! That’s as things turn out.”
“I’ll tell you what, friends,” said Skouratof, “if I once got out, I’d
stake my life they’d never get me again.”
“_You?_”
Everybody burst out laughing. They would hardly condescend to listen to
him; but Skouratof was not to be put down.
“I tell you I’d stake my life on it!” with great energy. “Why, I made my
mind up to _that_ long ago. I’d find means of going through a key-hole
rather than let them lay hands on me.”
“Oh, don’t you fear, when your belly got empty you’d just go creeping
to a peasant and ask him for a morsel of something.”
Fresh laughter.
“I ask him for victuals? You’re a liar!”
“Hold your jaw, can’t you? We know what you were sent here for. You and
your Uncle Vacia killed some peasant for bewitching your cattle.”[12]
More laughter. The more serious among them seemed very angry and
indignant.
“You’re a liar,” cried Skouratof; “it’s Mikitka who told you that; I
wasn’t in that at all, it was Uncle Vacia; don’t you mix my name up in
it. I’m a Moscow man, and I’ve been on the tramp ever since I was a very
small thing. Look here, when the priest taught me to read the liturgy,
he used to pinch my ears, and say, ‘Repeat this after me: Have pity on
me, Lord, out of Thy great goodness;’ and he used to make me say with
him, ‘They’ve taken me up and brought me to the police-station out of
Thy great goodness,’ and the like. I tell you that went on when I was
quite a little fellow.”
All laughed heartily again; that was what Skouratof wanted; he liked
playing clown. Soon the talk became serious again, especially among the
older men and those who knew a good deal about escapes. Those among the
younger convicts who could keep themselves quiet enough to listen,
seemed highly delighted. A great crowd was assembled in and about the
kitchen. There were none of the warders about; so everybody could give
vent to his feelings in talk or otherwise. One man I noticed who was
particularly enjoying himself, a Tartar, a little fellow with high
cheek-bones, and a remarkably droll face. His name was Mametka, he could
scarcely speak Russian at all, but it was odd to see the way he craned
his neck forward into the crowd, and the childish delight he showed.
“Well, Mametka, my lad, _iakchi_.”
“_Iakchi, ouk, iakchi!_” said Mametka as well as he could, shaking his
grotesque head. “_Iakchi._”
“They’ll never catch them, eh? _Iok._”
“_Iok, iok!_” and Mametka waggled his head and threw his arms about.
“You’re a liar, then, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey!”
“That’s it, that’s it, _iakchi_!” answered poor Mametka.
“All right, good, _iakchi_ it is!”
Skouratof gave him a thump on the head, which sent his cap down over his
eyes, and went out in high glee, and Mametka was quite chapfallen.
For a week or so a very tight hand was kept on everybody in the jail,
and the whole neighbourhood was repeatedly and carefully searched. How
they managed it I cannot tell, but the prisoners always seemed to know
all about the measures taken by the authorities for recovering the
runaways. For some days, according to all we heard, things went very
favourably for them; no traces whatever of them could be found. Our
convicts made very light of all the authorities were about, and were
quite at their ease about their friends, and kept saying that nothing
would ever be found out about them.
All the peasants round about were roused, we were told, and watching all
the likely places, woods, ravines, etc.
“Stuff and nonsense!” said our fellows, who had a grin on their faces
most of the time, “they’re hidden at somebody’s place who’s a friend.”
“That’s certain; they’re not the fellows to chance things, they’ve made
all sure.”
The general idea was, in fact, that they were still concealed in the
suburbs of the town, in a cellar, waiting till the hue and cry was over,
and for their hair to grow; that they would remain there perhaps six
months at least, and then quietly go off. All the prisoners were in the
most fanciful and romantic state of mind about the things. Suddenly,
eight days after the escape, a rumour spread that the authorities were