From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

Fig. 77.—Types of Siberian Convicts—“Condemned to the Mines”.

Not every criminal, however, thus submits to his fate. Full of resentment against it and against all mankind, discontented with everything and everyone, tired of work, perhaps also tortured by home-sickness, or at least pining for freedom, one finds out another in similar mood, and both, or several, resolve on flight. For weeks and months, perhaps for years, they watch for a favourable opportunity; one relates to the other over and over again the story of his life, describes to him in the most minute detail his native village, the locality and the house in which he spent his childhood, teaches him the names of his relations, of the people in the village, of the neighbouring villages and the nearest towns, omitting nothing, and impressing it all deeply on the mind of his comrade, who does the same to him, for they intend to exchange names and histories to render identification less easy in case of capture. A smith is bribed, won, persuaded to flight, and a tool to break the fetters is found, or, if need be, stolen. Spring has become a reality, the day of flight has come, and escaping without much probability of being missed for a few hours is very easy under the present system in the mines. If the fugitives reach the forests they are safe from recapture, but by no means from other dangers. For a wandering native Yakoot or Tungus hunting in the forest may be tempted by the sight of a fur-coat better than his own, and for its sake his sure bullet remorselessly ends a human life. Apart from such misadventures, the fugitive meets with scarcely any hindrance. For every Siberian, from innate good-nature, or compassion wrongly bestowed, perhaps also from fear or laziness, is more ready to help a fugitive than to hinder his flight. In all, or at any rate in many of the villages on the route, the villagers place a can of milk, a large piece of bread, and perhaps even a piece of meat behind an open window to furnish the fugitive who may pass through their village by night with food, and thus to prevent his stealing. So long as the fugitive takes only what is freely offered to him, so long as he begs for what he needs, refrains from seizing things forcibly, and neither steals nor robs, even the district-governor shuts an eye when unknown people travel by night through his village, appropriate the food intended for unfortunates, and seek and find a night’s rest in the baths, which are always warm, and always stand apart from the other buildings. And though an “unfortunate” should beg in broad daylight, no one will betray him; should the same “unfortunate” beg for a bridle, no one will refuse it who has one to spare. What he wants the bridle for they know well enough. Outside of the village the horses are grazing, untended by anyone notwithstanding wolves and bears. The fugitive walks up to the herd, throws the bridle over the head of a capable stallion, swings himself up on its broad back, and trots comfortably away.

“Nikolai Alexandrovitch,” someone announces to the owner of the horse, “an unfortunate has just seized hold of your best black horse, and ridden away towards Romanowskaja; shall we follow him?”

“Nitschewo,” answers Nikolai, “the little horse will come back; it is probably an unfortunate. Let him ride.”

And the little horse does come back; for in the meadow behind Romanowskaja the “unfortunate” had exchanged it for a fresh one on which to continue his journey, while the black horse trots complacently home along the familiar road.

Fig. 78.—Flight of an Exile in Siberia.

Thus aided and abetted, ninety out of a hundred fugitive exiles reach Tjumen, Perm, and even Kasan. If they were more experienced in travel, or had some idea of geography, if they did not always keep to the same routes by which they travelled from Russia, very many, if not most of them, would reach their goal in safety. But in Tjumen, Perm, or Kasan nearly all are recaptured. And even if those who have exchanged names do not forget their rôle; or if others answer only “I don’t know” to every question, neither exchange of name nor obstinate ignorance will save them ultimately from the sentence to return to Siberia, nor from the strokes of the rod which are meted out to every recaptured fugitive. The captive has to traverse a second time the penal route, possibly only to make another attempt at escape shortly after his arrival. I am told that many exiles have travelled thus four, five, even six times through the greater part of Siberia.

Fugitives who yield to the temptation to steal or commit some other crime on the way, come to an untimely end. In such cases the good-nature of the peasant-villagers is transformed into revengeful anger. If he is taken, nothing will save him from an agonizing death. Then a corpse is found on which no marks of violence are noticed. The body is buried, and the finding and burial are duly notified to the magistrates, who inform the governor, and he, in his turn, communicates with the governor-general, but the unhappy victim of popular fury has rotted in his grave before the government medical officer could reach the spot, even if he wished to do so. Upon whom this vengeance has fallen no one knows. In this way, but not by order of the government, an exile may disappear, and no one can tell what has befallen him, no authorities are able to give any information. But every exile who is sent to Siberia knows what awaits him if he should steal or commit any crime when a fugitive. And for this reason it is possible to live here, in the midst of thousands of criminals, as securely as anywhere else, perhaps more securely than in our great towns which contain the scum of humanity.

I have attempted to give a faithful picture of the conditions which hold now, or which held in 1876.[87] It has not been my intention to soften or embellish. Banishment to Siberia is in all cases a severe punishment. It is more severe in proportion to the culture of the person on whom it falls, and in the eyes of an educated man it must always seem terrible. But banishment to Siberia was never meant to be other than a punishment, and it was meant to fall more heavily on the educated than on the uneducated. The justice of such a principle may be disputed, but it cannot be entirely denied. It is only possible, however, to form a fair idea of the lot of exiles in Siberia when we compare it with that of our own criminals.