After an incessant journey, lasting two months, I arrived at Sredne Kolmysk, a small town of log huts situate at a point far beyond the Arctic circle, where the deep river Ankudine flows into the Kolyma. The houses, scattered about in disorder, are inhabited by Cossacks, Mieshchany, Yakouts, and exiles. The highest erection is a log church, and the only curiosity a small wooden tower, crooked with age, which stands within the church enclosure, and was built by the conquerors of the country as a protection from raids of hostile tribes. The condition of the unfortunate exiles there was terrible, even for Siberia. In that land, where winter commences in August and lasts till May, and where the temperature varies from nine degrees above freezing-point to thirteen degrees below, man is utterly powerless. Only a handful of wretched savages inhabit the fearful region, having been driven to outer darkness by the tribes with more vitality and energy.
It takes about eighteen months to reach this extremity of the habitable globe, and by introducing, as a part of the penal system, exile to the Arctic zone, the Russian Government has overstepped even its broad allowance of iniquity. This hamlet is a penitentiary colony for political exiles, whose punishment is purposely aggravated by physical suffering, and who are compelled to exist in a perpetual state of famine in dwellings that are simply wretched huts built of upright beams, with rafters laid across and covered with layers of earth. From the Government store musty rye flour is eked out to them at intervals, and for the rest, they subsist upon what fish they can catch in the river.
I was not long in discovering General Okoulow’s residence, and, acting as Imperial messenger, delivered the dispatches in as ceremonious a manner as I could. As I had anticipated, they contained several pardons, and when this became known in the little colony I was fêted and treated with every courtesy and kindness. Although such a reception was pleasant after the wearying monotony of the Verkho-yansk Desert, yet I was anxious for an opportunity to shake the snow of Siberia from my feet. Having waited several days while the Governor was preparing his reports for Petersburg, I one morning made a request—not without trepidation, I admit—that he should endorse my passport so as to enable me to go on a brief visit to a brother in Petropaulovsk before returning to Russia. To my joy, the accommodating Governor saw no objection to this course, and with a light heart I set out at dawn on the following day towards the Stanovoi mountains.
Crossing them, I rode onwards for four weeks through the wild grey mountains until my jaded horse sank and died of sheer exhaustion. Being compelled to perform the remainder of the terrible journey on foot, I walked by slow, weary stages across the great lone land, where nothing marked my route except the sun, and the country being totally uninhabited I had to eat grass and willow-leaves for sustenance. Suddenly, however, at the close of a dull, stormy day, I had the satisfaction of seeing, for the first time, the broad, grey waters of the Pacific stretching away to a limitless horizon.
Even when I had arrived at Petropaulovsk I had by no means eluded the police. The journey to Kolymsk I had undertaken because I recognised how extremely dangerous it would have been to travel to the coast with a passport which distinctly stated my route and destination. The police at Siberian ports are ever-watchful for escaping convicts, but in my eagerness for freedom it never occurred to me that information would be telegraphed to that extreme corner of the empire of the theft of the dead man’s papers. This carelessness nearly resulted in disaster.
It was late one afternoon when I descended the hill at the entrance to the town, and passed along the quay. In doing so I noticed a ship anchored about a mile distant. Of a fisherman I casually inquired what the vessel was, and when she would sail. He replied that it was a Canadian sealer, and that it would sail on the morrow. During the remainder of the day I wandered about the dirty, wretched town in search of some means of escape. I had only twenty roubles left, but with these I intended to bribe some foreign sailor to let me embark as a stowaway.
When it had grown dark and I was looking about for lodging for the night, I discovered, to my dismay, that I was being closely watched by a police spy. In order to allay suspicion, I sought the police bureau, and entering boldly, presented my passport. The ispravnik chanced to be there, and when he glanced at it a curious smile passed over his features.
“The Imperial courier, Ivan Drukovitch, is dead,” he said, looking at me searchingly. “Consider yourself arrested!”
I waited for no more. Ere he had uttered the last sentence I had dashed out of the door and down the street. Half-a-dozen policemen were instantly in full cry after me, but in desperation I was determined not to be apprehended just as I was within an ace of securing my freedom. Exerting every muscle, I ran up and down the narrow streets until I suddenly found myself upon the quay. In the glimmering starlight my eyes caught sight of a moored boat. Without a moment’s hesitation I jumped into it and cut the cord that held it. Before my pursuers could gain the water-side the swift current had taken the boat down beside some great piles and I was effectually hidden in the darkness.