“Why, how can you take somebody else’s capital with you?” asked our censor in a surprised tone.
“It is my own,” said Rubìnok, not comprehending.
“Well, if it is your own, of course you can take it,” was the reply, “only you must hand it over to the officer commanding the convoy, who takes charge of all money.”
We, who saw the joke, had great difficulty in repressing our mirth at the idea of Rubìnok’s running off with the apparently unknown Karl Marx’s property!
When the time of departure drew nigh the idea was mooted of giving some substantial testimonial to the worthy old Captain Maltchèvsky, our governor. He learned with pleasure of the project, but begged us not to spend on him any of the little money we possessed, as we should need it on our long journey. I forget whether in the end any present was actually bought or not. At all events, the old gentleman was a great exception among his kind. I have only known one other instance of “politicals” desiring to testify their gratitude to a prison governor in such a manner. Yet an event happened at the last moment which changed our hitherto friendly feeling for Captain Maltchèvsky into resentment and dislike.
During the whole eight months of our sojourn in Moscow we had been on a perfectly amicable footing with the prison staff. Our independent proceeding in discarding our fetters and our revolt against head-shaving had been silently condoned at the time; but it was just these two points that led to a rupture of relations on the day of our departure. We were informed that we must now submit to the head-shaving and chain-riveting processes, because the officer who was to command our convoy insisted on it. We roundly refused to comply; and the “administratives,” who were themselves exempt from the proceeding, declared their intention of supporting us in our resolve.
The hour for mustering the party arrived. We determined to keep together, and on no account to go singly into the office for our enrolment. The staff saw at once that any attempt to use force would lead to a row; so they resolved to outwit us. We were given to understand that the idea of subjecting us to the barbarous proceeding had been thought better of, and we were committed to the charge of the convoy officer. The party was almost ready to start, when we three “hard-labour men” were suddenly told that if we liked we could get a medical certificate from the doctor to excuse us from travelling on foot when we reached Siberia, as those condemned to penal servitude were supposed to do. We said we were quite willing to be examined for this purpose; but scarcely were we separated from our companions than a party of warders hidden behind the door surrounded us. We saw immediately that we had fallen into a trap, and determined to resist to our utmost. We kept close together, and struck out with feet and fists when the warders advanced on us; but, of course, we were ultimately overpowered by their superior numbers. We were dragged away and each held forcibly down on a bench while the barber shaved the half of our heads and the blacksmith riveted on our fetters. Captain Maltchèvsky stood by the while and gave the orders. This performance of his was enough to alter our sentiments towards him, and our parting was distinctly cool.
Our journey began on a beautiful morning in the middle of May when spring had just made its appearance in Moscow. The sunshine was bright and warm, and the scent of spring was in the air. Our mood was by no means in consonance with this aspect of outward things; but most of us elected to go on foot to the station. Our procession must have been an odd sight. Convicts with fettered feet and grey prison garb marched along beside other men and women in ordinary clothes. Most of us were quite young; few had reached middle-age. Of the twelve women in our party three were voluntarily accompanying their husbands to Siberia.