On arriving at Irkutsk, I was indisposed, in consequence of the fatigue from so long a journey in a sledge. During these long, gloomy days,—for nothing is more depressing and painful than illness far away from home and in loneliness,—I frequently had a visit from a Polish exile, who, having formerly lived in France, was delighted to come and chat away an hour about the places where he had passed his youth, and the happy days he had known during his eventful and troublous life. His name was Bohdanovitch. Our long conversations were a great solace, and an effective means of dispelling ennui. Among all those of his nation exiled in Siberia, he was the only one who seemed doomed to suffer perpetually from the bare exile itself. He spoke of the prison with the utmost indifference; he repeated many times that he would willingly give all his fortune to see France again, especially Poitou, where he had lived a long while, and whence he had set out to join in the Polish insurrection to please his father, who urged it against his son’s will.
As soon as he was free in Irkutsk, such a man could not resist the temptation to regain France. He gave me an interesting narrative of this attempt, which I will reproduce in his own words:
BURIAT MAN AND WOMAN. ([p. 246].)
“Two of my countrymen and myself had resolved, in the month of April, 1871, to reach China through the forests. We succeeded in procuring rifles, though it was forbidden by the regulations to carry arms.[13] We obtained also some enormous knives, and having everything in readiness, we attempted, at the end of May, to put our project into execution. At this time of the year, unfortunately, the thaw that has set in is still too recent, and the land consequently too swampy, to enable any one to accomplish forced marches. We were therefore compelled to return to Irkutsk, hiding our rifles under our clothes, fearing every moment to be suspected and searched.
“Our absence did not escape observation, but, since our project of fleeing from exile was not for a moment suspected, one so rash being here regarded as impracticable, we were simply reprimanded. After this time a numerous patrol was moving all over the country, and so discouraged us, that we thought many times of abandoning the enterprise. Our courage, however, in the end prevailed over our apprehensions, and during one fine night in June, we slipped out of the town unobserved.
“All the provisions we had with us were contained in wallets, which we had to throw over our shoulders; for the thick, obstructed woods of Siberia, untrodden by the foot of man, are not, except by wild beasts easy to penetrate. We easily crossed the Angara, making the ferrymen believe we had come from Yakutsk, and were on a pilgrimage to the convent of St. Innocent.[14] Hardly had we landed on the opposite bank when we left the road and plunged into the depth of the forest and, as soon as we thought ourselves sufficiently advanced to be safe from any possible pursuit, we made a halt, to pour out our pent-up feelings on the exciting and momentous event. Tears of joy were trickling down our cheeks; we believed ourselves free at last!
“Never shall I forget,” he here passionately exclaimed with all the bitterness of the recollection, “this moment of enthusiastic joy, which, alas! was followed by such bitter grief! We made vows to each other of mutual aid and protection till death, and continued our forced march towards the south.