I was led back to my cell, and what I suffered in mind during the next few days I need not describe; the reader can well imagine it. It was clear to me that all hope of release was gone; yet I could not resign myself to the thought, and my brain was always busy with plans of rescue. I counted on the time that must necessarily be absorbed in making out the terms of my extradition, and concocted a long letter of conspiracy to my friends, hoping to forward it through Professor Thun. Two or three days went by before I could get it finished; and meanwhile I was again called before the Public Prosecutor, although the day was Sunday. Evidently things were being hurried on.

“The Government have decided to deliver you up to Russia,” he began, “but on this condition: that you shall be brought before a regular tribunal, and only prosecuted on the count of the Gorinòvitch case.[[20]] Your request for an interview with your lawyer and the interpreter is refused.”

After he had read me the decision of the Baden Government, Herr von Berg informed me that I was to start for Russia that very day. As I left him I remarked that I should certainly be sent before a special court and judged by martial law.

“That is quite impossible,” was his rejoinder; “it would be a contravention of the treaty and contrary to international law.”

Once alone in my cell, I began preparations for my journey. These were not so simple as might be supposed. Notwithstanding the excessive care with which everything sent me by my friends was inspected, I had become possessed of an English file for cutting through iron gratings, a pair of scissors to cut my hair and beard in case of need, and also money in German and Russian banknotes. I had to dispose of these things somehow. The file I decided to part with, as it was now hardly likely to be of any use, and would be hard to conceal; so I broke it in two and threw it down the waste-pipe of the closet. The other things I managed to secrete in such a manner that I should be able to avail myself of them if I had occasion on the journey. The warder at the cell-door never let me out of his sight; yet I managed to hide them in my clothes so that there was a chance of their escaping the searchers. All this was like the drowning man’s clutch at a straw. I did not deceive myself as to the strict watch to which I should be subjected, and the futility of any hope of speedy rescue. But in such circumstances even useless precautions serve at least to distract one’s thoughts, and my thoughts were not of the pleasantest. I knew what was before me, and pictured my future. Long, long years of prison! It was almost more bearable to think of death than of that living grave.

“Of what use would my life be?” I asked myself; and the answer was devoid of consolation.

CHAPTER V
THE JOURNEY TO RUSSIA—IN THE CATTLE-TRUCK—THE FRANKFORT AND BERLIN PRISONS—THE FRONTIER-STATION—THROUGH WARSAW TO PETERSBURG

When evening came I was sent off in a closed carriage, accompanied by two policemen in plain clothes, who had been enjoined to use all possible vigilance. The carriage was stopped at a branch of the railway line some distance from the station, and here my companions and I were put into an ordinary cattle-truck. As this truck was brought into the station, where it was attached to a passenger train, I observed an unusual commotion on the platform, and my guards, who noticed it too, whispered together excitedly. From chance words that I caught I gathered that an arrest was being made, and wondered if it could have anything to do with me. Years afterwards I learned that it was indeed two of my comrades who were seized on the platform at Freiburg, they having hoped to travel by my train and be at hand to assist me if I could attempt an escape. But this was another fiasco. My two friends were kept some days in prison in Freiburg, and then sent back to Switzerland.

Towards morning we arrived at Frankfurt-am-Main, where for some reason or other I was again put in prison. The governor of this gaol made a great show of kindness and consideration towards me, but had his own reasons for such tactics, as will subsequently appear. When I asked if I might write a post card to my friends in Switzerland, he assured me most obligingly that it should be forwarded at once, and furnished me with writing materials. (Later I found that he had handed over the card to my guards, who sent it to the Russian authorities; but, of course, it only contained a few words of greeting.)

The cell to which he conducted me was very comfortable, and looked out on a lively street; but he posted two policemen in the room to keep watch over me. He then provided me with an excellent luncheon—or at least it seemed very good to me, as during the last day or two excitement had kept me from eating. Seeing that the journey threatened to be tedious, I wanted to get some books, and the obliging governor offered to buy them for me at a second-hand shop, where they would be cheap. I remember choosing a few German and French classics, which he procured for me at what I thought a reasonable price. Finally, he invited me to go for a walk in the yard with him.