On their side, however, the people of Siberia are often guilty of great brutality towards the convict-tramps, sometimes shooting them down like beasts of the chase simply in order to steal their clothes, boots, and the products of their begging. I have been told, for instance, by people whose evidence is to be trusted, that the following is a typical instance.
A tramp had hired himself out to a peasant for the winter. When spring laid the road open, he received the whole sum due to him, and took his departure. His wages amounted to the veriest trifle, for the peasants drive hard bargains with the poor rascals; but his master grudged parting with even this miserable pittance, and after his departure took his gun and went on the chase. Siberians are keen huntsmen and dead shots; they are as much at home in the forest as the wild animals. This man soon got on the convict’s trail, caught him up, shot him down ruthlessly, and left the body to the beasts of prey, while he went home with the spoils.
Throughout our journey we constantly heard tales of unrecognised corpses found, and shocking crimes never unravelled. Siberia was then a wild, forsaken land, untraversed by roads save for the one great Moscow highway. The government of the country districts, entirely in the hands of the police, was corrupt from top to bottom. What wonder if events that chill one’s blood with horror take place there without exciting more than a passing comment? The life of a human being is not valued highly in itself anywhere throughout the Tsar’s dominions; but in Siberia it counts for absolutely nothing, as my own eyes often testified. Even now, when distinct progress has been made in many respects, and the administration of justice greatly reformed (since 1897), this state of things is little changed.
CHAPTER XIX
THE FOREST—UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS AT ESCAPE—THE PEOPLE WE MET—THE CRIMINAL WORLD—THE CONVOY OFFICERS
Our journey was for the most part accomplished during the Siberian summer. The forest, through which the highway runs for thousands of versts, is then in fullest beauty; and from the many different species of trees is wafted an indescribably delicious perfume. Countless birds flit among the branches, and fill the air with song. Life seems everywhere the more ebullient for its long winter sleep, and throughout all nature the tide of energy is at its highest. A riot of joy was visible everywhere, and we alone seemed to strike a discordant note, as we wandered on towards the prison that awaited us. Yet even we felt born anew; our open-air life worked wonders, following on our long imprisonment. Many who had left Moscow weak and ill became robust in health during the journey.
The Moscow high-road is, as I have said, the only means of transit, nevertheless it is kept in an incredibly bad condition. It has never been properly made, and during the damp weather of early spring, or after a downpour in summer, vehicles are often axle-deep in mud. Along the road, at intervals of fifteen to twenty versts, there are villages, or sometimes small towns. To the north and south no traces of human dwellings are to be found; the eternal forest extends for thousands of versts, and only a few nomad tribes of half-savage hunters or herdsmen roam through its depths. Whilst our party rested, or even during the march, we “politicals” would often leave the road, and accompanied by a guard would dive into the woods to gather flowers and berries. A strange feeling would steal over one. A dozen steps into the thicket, and one is absolutely alone, not a soul to be seen. One dreams of being free and one’s own master; but the rattle of fetters, or the glitter of a bayonet brings back grim reality, and soon we are recalled by the soldiers, for the party must not be kept waiting.
The officers make no difficulty about these little excursions, although they are forbidden by the regulations. At first this surprised me; but I soon saw it was simply because everyone was convinced that escape was quite impracticable. For although at first sight it may appear an easy thing to hide in the undergrowth and get away, as a matter of fact very few “politicals” have ever even attempted it, and only one—Dzvonkyèvitch—when actually on the march. He had been condemned to penal servitude for life, and ran away from his escort into the forest; but the soldiers caught and frightfully maltreated him. If the officers had not come up he would have been murdered out of hand. He was taken half dead to the hospital in Krasnoyarsk, where—thanks to his strong constitution—he recovered from his severe wounds, though he will bear traces of them for the rest of his life. This had taken place just a year before our arrival at Krasnoyarsk.
Several attempts have also been made to escape from the halting-stations, but with no greater success. It must be remembered that Siberia is so sparsely populated that every traveller on the road is an object of universal attention, and the authorities are therefore soon made aware of the whereabouts of a runaway, if he be a “political” whom they are anxious to capture. Besides, the fugitives are often forced to come in of themselves. They do not know the paths through the forest, so familiar to the ordinary criminals, but wander helplessly about, and are thankful at last if they chance to hit the high-road once more, and—half famished—seek the nearest village. In such cases the peasants are eager to assist the authorities and thereby earn a reward; and as soon as they discover a political runaway they unfailingly deliver him up to the police.
AN ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE