“That depends. If you like, we can arrange a ‘swop.’”[[59]]
I understood what he meant. In 1879 some political exiles—Vladimir Debagòrio-Makrièvitch, Paul Orlov, and V. Isbitsky—exchanged identities with three ordinary criminals, and got away. When this had become known, however, the authorities had at once taken stringent precautions against a repetition of the affair. The papers of political prisoners were most carefully made out and photographs attached; they were sent by special convoy if moved from one place to another; and besides this, each one was confided to the personal charge of one of the soldiers. But when I set all this before the man he was not in the least abashed.
“Nonsense! We can do it in spite of all their paraphernalia!”
I knew already from books and from the tales of comrades that a peculiar organisation exists among the convicted criminals in Siberia, the principle of which is in a manner oligarchic. A small band of the more strong-willed and energetic gaol-birds governs the rest. They are called the “Ivans”; they decide all matters relating to their “party,” both in prison and en route, and institute their own rules quite independently of the recognised authorities. The rank and file yield them slavish obedience, however unjust and terrible their orders may be. I saw at once that I had one of these tyrants before me.
“I don’t see how it could be done,” said I; and indeed, the difficulties appeared to me quite insurmountable.
“Do you see that brook?” said the “Ivan.” “Well, in the course of every year one or two corpses are found in that brook. We arrange a ‘swop’; one of us changes with you, and the chief person concerned disappears down there. Do you understand?”
I could not quite see what he meant, and was horror-struck when he explained his plan, which was as follows:—I was to make the exchange before the warders got to know us “politicals” individually, and the man with whom I exchanged must be as like me as possible. Of course, when the “politicals” were to be sent on, their identity would first be inquired into; but then it would only appear that Deutsch was missing. To accomplish this the “Ivan” would simply murder his companion who had taken my place, and throw his corpse into the stream. I should not be found; or if my unfortunate substitute’s body eventually came to light, it would be taken for granted that it was mine, and that I had committed suicide or been murdered. I myself, in the meantime, should be sent to the dead man’s destination as an ordinary criminal, and could afterwards escape thence—not a difficult matter for that class of prisoner. For perpetrating this villainy the man only asked a mere trifle—twenty or thirty roubles—which blood-money he would have had to share with quite a number of accomplices. He assured me that such enterprises were by no means uncommon, and always succeeded.
I listened to him with the fascination of horror and astonishment. He treated the subject with perfect calm and indifference, as if discussing the simplest piece of business in the world, and seemed to find my rejection of his proposal most incomprehensible. Afterwards, when I had come to know the country better, I realised that this was a typical example of the manners and customs of the ordinary criminals, and nothing out of the common. As I have said, henceforward we were to have these gentry for travelling companions, and it may be imagined what that meant.
Another batch of our comrades took leave of us at Tomsk, and we were now only fourteen in number, including Maria Kalyùshnaya, Barbara Shtchulèpnikòva, and Liubov Tchemodànova. We learned that the authorities proposed to separate these ladies from us here, and send them on for the remainder of their journey with a party of married convicts of the ordinary class. As, however, we heard from those who knew that in such a party, surrounded by the unruly band of criminals, they would have endless disagreeables and hardships to put up with, we sent a petition to Petersburg, with the consent of the governor, and obtained permission for our women comrades to remain in our detachment.