GRAVEYARD OF POLITICAL PRISONERS AT KARA

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CHAPTER XXIX
DISQUIETING REPORTS—VISIT OF THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL—RELEASE FROM PRISON

The suicide of our two comrades brought visits from various officials to the prison; first came the Public Prosecutor, then the Colonel of Gendarmerie, finally the Governor of the district. We, however, absolutely declined to enter into conversation with them, not even answering direct questions; and they left without eliciting a syllable from any of us.

No special measures were taken; everything remained as of old. Only we ourselves were as though transformed by the tragic events that had taken place; a heavy weight seemed to oppress us, our songs were hushed, jesting was at an end, we had forgotten how to laugh; games too were stopped, even chess found no devotee. Most of us still suffered acutely from shaken nerves.

So passed the winter of 1889-1890. The silence of the higher authorities was a bad sign, and we felt certain that in one way or another reprisals would be taken for the past events in Kara. The order rendering us liable to the punishment of flogging still held good, spite of the six martyrs who had gone to their death. Some of our number were terribly agitated about this during the early part of the year, and again two of our comrades determined to take their own lives in order to demonstrate to the Government that the political prisoners had not abandoned their protest against the threat. But the rest of us persuaded them to forego their intention until the commandant (Masyukov still held this post) should have made some reply to our demands. This reply was to the effect that fresh orders had been received whereby corporal punishment for women was entirely done away with; and men were only liable to it if they did not belong to the privileged classes, and had not been educated in a gymnasium. The sacrifices had been in so far vain that the system remained; but it could be reckoned on with comparative certainty that the authorities would not again resort to such measures. So far as we were concerned we were now aware that the rules for our treatment were in any case about to be changed, and as a matter of fact this was soon the case.

For some years a report had been current that a new prison was to be built at Akatoui—a place distant some three-hundred versts from Kara,—and that the Kara prisoners would all be transported thither. It was also rumoured that in this new prison a system was to be instituted such as had never hitherto obtained in Russia.

Meanwhile our numbers had been gradually diminishing. A good many of my companions had in course of time been allowed to leave, and were living in the penal settlement; and the number of those who had begged for pardon, and who in consequence had been liberated as “colonists,” was not small. Among others my friend Jacob Stefanòvitch should have been released in the spring of 1890, when his term in prison ended; but he preferred to remain with us until the question of our removal to Akatoui was settled, and found various pretexts for getting his release deferred.

During the last year we had had no new arrivals from Russia; because since the end of the eighties the Government had brought no revolutionists to trial, so that no sentences of penal servitude had been passed. Instead, a system had been introduced of sending political offenders for many years of banishment to Siberia, or to the island of Saghalien, by “administrative methods.” By the summer of 1890 most of us who still remained in our prison were already formally entitled to leave for the penal settlement, and were only unjustly detained because the number of political settlers there was limited to fifteen. I myself should have obtained release in the course of that year, but I had never expected that this would really be. From my first arrival in Kara I had resigned myself to the thought of spending my entire term of punishment in the prison; in my dreams of the future I never thought about the penal settlement, but only looked forward to the distant date when, at the expiration of my sentence, I should be allowed to live somewhere as a Siberian exile.[[105]] That life was depicted for me in anything but rosy colours by the letters of comrades; nevertheless[nevertheless] I awaited with impatience the far-off day of release. Like the hero of Dostoiëvsky’s Memoirs from the Dead-house, I often counted up how many years, months, weeks, hours, I had still to spend in prison. How wearily the time passed! The fewer grew the remaining years, the slower went the days, and freedom seemed further off than ever.