CHAPTER XVIII
BY WAY OF THE CONVOY-STATIONS—A CLUMSY OFFICER—THE VAGABOND—A MAN-HUNT
The real hardships of the journey now began for the “politicals.” From Moscow to Tomsk, over three thousand miles, the conditions of travelling had been more or less European; but henceforward we were to go entirely by road, crawling from one halting-station to another by short stages. In the terrible Siberian cold, in the glowing heat of summer, in all weathers, without regard to the fitness or unfitness of the road, parties of a hundred prisoners are despatched from Tomsk regularly on fixed days of the week, parties which consist alternately of men only, and of families—men, women, and children. The day’s march is a stage of from sixteen to twenty miles, and every third day is a rest. At this tortoise-like pace—on an average about thirteen miles a day—the long wandering lasts for many weeks and months, under the most wretched conditions of life.
In the damp rooms of the convoy-stations, the air of which is loaded with every evil odour imaginable, the convicts lie squeezed together on the bare boards of the two sloping wooden shelves, one above the other, which do duty for bed-places. These invariably swarm with myriads of parasites; sleep is probably impossible for half the night, and early in the morning the prisoners are driven forth to begin afresh the weary march. Long before sunrise the criminal contingent will be standing drawn up in the yard, to wait there in the cold until the roll is called, and at last the signal to start is given. At the head of the procession march the older criminals, seasoned rascals most of them, the “Ivans.” The majority of them have trodden this path more than once already, and know every brook and copse on the way. They go at a quick pace, in serried ranks, and easily do their four miles an hour, or even more. Behind them the other criminals straggle painfully along in irregular groups separated by long stretches of road. Then come carts with the sick and exhausted and the baggage; and lastly, the “politicals” in the rear, two or three together in each one-horse cart, under the charge of their special escort.
IN A SIBERIAN PRISON
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This strange procession extends itself along the road for about three-quarters of a mile, and raises clouds of dust, from which we in the rearguard have most to suffer. To add to our woes there is the special scourge of those regions, the Siberian midge. Swarms of those terrible little creatures kept us company, not only attacking our hands and faces, and getting into mouth, nose, ears, and eyes, but inserting themselves beneath our clothing, and inflicting tortures of irritation. The only—and even these inefficient—means of protection are nets of horsehair, with which we had taken care to provide ourselves.
After the first ten miles or so there is a halt in some woodland clearing, or by a spring or stream. The criminals here break their fast, usually only on dry bread, and perhaps some of them have not even that. Their feeding is managed in this way: each man receives daily five to twelve kopecks,[[60]] according to the locality through which they are passing (where prices depend on the result of the last harvest), and also according to the “rank” of the prisoner, for even here there are class distinctions and privileges. This allowance is only under the most favourable circumstances sufficient to satisfy hunger; it covers, at a pinch, the cost of bread, tea, and a few vegetables. But gambling is so deeply rooted a passion among the criminal prisoners that they will stake their last coin, and he who loses everything has to go hungry. His only resource then is to beg; and whenever we passed through a village some of the most destitute always went begging, under the soldiers’ supervision. They would station themselves before a hut and start a pitiful song, when the Siberian women would throw out pieces of bread to them. Travellers, too, whom we met would give them alms, and these gifts were shared among the whole party, for the criminals too had their artèl, or union.
After the short rest the party would set out again in the same marching order, and try to reach the halting-station before the noonday heat began. As soon as they arrived at the station the advance party would crowd round the door, ready to rush in directly it was opened; and then would begin the battle for the best sleeping-places, the weaker being thrust aside or trampled down by the stronger. At our first sight of this mad fighting and struggling among some hundred men in a narrow space we thought they would kill each other, but generally the wild tumult of blows, kicks, and curses did not result in anything serious. Of course the “Ivans” came off triumphant, having secured the best places for themselves, while the old and weak had to be content with the worst corners. The crowding, dirt, stench, and noise made these prisons veritable hells on earth.
The halting-stations were usually tumbledown, one-storied buildings made of rough-hewn tree-trunks, and were divided inside by passages into two, three, or four rooms. Near this prison building would be a house for the officer in command and another for the soldiers, the whole enclosed by a stockade of posts about fifteen feet high, closely fitted together, and pointed at their upper ends. There are two classes of halting-stations:—larger ones, where the days of rest are spent, and where an officer is always in residence, and smaller ones, which are only used as lodging for one night.