A little before seven o’clock the following morning we were en route for Saratoff. As on the previous day, we had two horses, and a wagon without seats. Our driver proved to be an out-and-out revolutionist. He freely damned the army, the police, and every representative of the government. He even rebelled at sharing his seat with our guard, and tried to make him walk. He sympathized with all who fell under the finger of the authorities, whether for political or criminal offenses. Such recklessness of speech is unusual and is accounted for by the fact that this uncouth lout felt physically superior to the guard, and had little terror of his authority. A few versts out of the town he held his horses to a slow walk. “Why don’t you go faster?” we asked.
“You’ll soon enough be under lock and key,” he answered cheerfully. “Make the most of the sunshine while you have it. God knows when you’ll get more of it.”
Midway my interpreter suddenly remembered a letter in his pocket-book which contained the names and addresses of several prominent revolutionists. His tardy recollection of this document startled us both, for there seemed to be no way of disposing of it, our guard was so painfully watchful. We succeeded in transferring it under our coats from his hand to mine, and I slowly and patiently tore it to small bits, and, as often as seemed possible, dropped one bit at a time out of the wagon. This was a long and delicate business, for if we had been discovered it would have added one more embarrassing charge against us. From the point where we effected the transfer of the paper from his hands to mine to the point where the last scrap was dropped was twelve versts.
The long, dusty ride to Saratoff came to an end early in the afternoon. At the edge of the town we asked our guard to permit us to stop at a fruit-store and purchase oranges, but this he curtly refused. We found a sweet revenge for this in a moment. The axle of our wagon suddenly broke and threw us all out into the street. When it was found that it would be impossible to immediately repair the damage our guard ordered us to pick up our luggage and march on. This we politely declined to do. Go with him we would—there was no alternative. But carry our luggage we certainly would not. We also reminded him that he was responsible for it, as well as ourselves, whereupon he gathered our bags and blankets under his arm and struggled on with them, sweating like a stevedore, his gun and saber very much in the way. That we made an unusual spectacle was evident from the attention bestowed upon us by the townspeople.
First we were marched to the office of the priestoff, but he was out of town. Then to the office of the Espravnik, and he was out of town. “Then you must go somewhere,” said our guard.
“Do you mean to prison?”
“Yes. Until the priestoff comes.”
Again we made an effort to communicate with friends.
“Take the dogs away—don’t stand there talking.”
We turned at these words and looked upon the watchman. He, at least, had not been impressed with our importance from our appearance. The prison to which we were conducted was near by, and a messenger had evidently announced our coming, for we were led immediately and without ceremony to a cell about ten feet long by five feet broad, one of a row, each one just like the next. The face of an old man with gray beard was pressed against the peep-hole of the adjoining cell. We entered the one to which we were assigned—both of us in one—and the heavy timber door banged shut behind us.