not do, and it wasthe prince who prevented him.
He had resolved that the young American should be sent to Siberia, evenknowing that he was guilty of no wrong; and even Tobasco, with all theproofs of the prince's perfidy in his possession, paid no attention toBarnwell, although he knew him to be simply a victim. Liberty or lifewas nothing to him so long as he could make a point with the prefect ofpolice and secure unsuspected game. Such is the Russian sense of rightand justice.
Day after day dragged its slow length along, and all the while PrinceMastowix was in a dreadful state of uncertainty. No trace had been foundof the missing paper; and after preferring a charge of assault againstWilliam Barnwell, who was described as a spy of the Nihilists, a form oftrial was gone through with, as with others who were not allowed to bepresent, and a verdict rendered up against him, condemning him toSiberia during the pleasure of the government.
That is the way the tyrants of Russia serve people, whether guilty orinnocent, if they happen to incur their displeasure in any way.
Is it any wonder that they revolt, or that they resort to secretintrigue, to dynamite, and all other means, however bloody theunthinking world may regard them, to give back some of the terror whichthey have dealt out for centuries? No, it is no wonder at all.
Two weeks William Barnwell languished in the filthy cell of thatBastile, when he was finally marched out into the courtyard one day, incompany with some fifty other wretches who had been sentenced to exile.
And what a change those two weeks had produced in that handsome Americanyouth! Unwashed, unkempt, dazed by the light of day he had been keptfrom so long, his most intimate friends would not have known him.
The detail was ready, and outside of the prison were hundreds of lovingones, waiting to take a last farewell of fathers, brothers, lovers, whomthey would probably never see again. But Barnwell had no one waiting forhim, and it seemed that life, hope, ambition, everything was crushed outof him.
CHAPTER IV.
SWIFT RETRIBUTION.
Retribution does not always go with justice, however, as in this case,notably.
William Barnwell was hurried away to exile, for reasons the reader fullyunderstands; but even then Prince Mastowix felt far from secure. Theunaccountable absence of that correspondence haunted him day and night.
But not for long, however, for that treasonable document was in thehands of General Walisky, prefect of police, and by him presented to theCzar and his ministers, together with all the particulars in the case.
Action was at once taken and search made for the young American who hadinnocently acted as the messenger.
But the spirit of the fiend was soon shown, for Mastowix had destroyedevery trace of the American's individuality, blending it with otherswho, like him, were simply known by numbers.
From the moment a political prisoner is thrown into prison in Russia, heloses his identity, although the authorities keep a secret rollcontaining the names and other particulars regarding the unfortunatewretches, but that roll is never seen by the outside world.
In the fortress-like Bastile over which Prince Mastowix held sway, hehad charge of this fearful secret record; but the better to blot hisexistence out, should inquiries ever be made, he applied a false name tothe "No. 20"; described him as a Russian, a Nihilist, who had beencaught in holding correspondence with Paul Zobriskie, and who had alsoassaulted Prince Mastowix.
But he was arrested and taken before the tribunal, where in the mostdefiant manner, he demanded to know why a person of his distinguishedtitle and record as a servant of the czar was now a prisoner.
"Prince Mastowix," said the president of the tribunal, "it ill becomes atraitor to the State to exhibit such arrogance."
"Who dare say I am a traitor--who dare say it lies in his throat!"hissed Mastowix, although he felt in his heart that something dreadfulwas impending.
"Silence! Here is a document addressed to you from New York, by PaulZobriskie, in which he addresses you in unmistakable terms offraternity, and refers to other correspondence, together with certainother information which he had received, and which could never havereached him save through you. What have you to say?"
It required all the nerve the traitor had to prevent him from falling tothe floor. The members of the tribunal watched him narrowly, and sawthat he grew very pale.
But finally he found strength to speak.
"It is false both in matter and spirit," he said; but the next uppermostquestion in his thoughts was--what spy could have obtained possession ofthe document?
"And you plead?"
"Not guilty!" he replied, aggressively.
"Call Tobasco," said the president, and a guard soon produced the policespy, and he was sworn.
"Do you recognize that document?" the president asked, handing himZobriskie's letter?
"I do."
"Give us the history of it."
"I first saw it in New York, in the hands of Paul Zobriskie, on boardthe steamer Baltic, then about to sail. I was watching Zobriskie, andsaw him approach a young man and ask him if he was going to St.Petersburg, and on being informed that he was, asked him if he woulddeliver this letter to Prince Mastowix, at the same time enjoining himto be very careful and not let it reach another's hands."
"It is false, vile spy!" roared the prince.
"Silence!" shouted the president. "Proceed!"
"The young American agreed to do as directed, and having had occasion tosuspect that Prince Mastowix was a Nihilist leader in disguise, Iresolved to follow the bearer of the letter, although I could not learnthat he was a Nihilist. I did so, and watched him closely. I saw himvisit the prince, and contrived to follow in the disguise of anattendant. I saw him give him the letter, and for doing so he wasarrested. The boy struggled and finally escaped. During the confusion inthe courtyard the prince ran out to learn what it was about, and I thencontrived to steal the letter, which still lay upon his table, and toescape with it without detection. I took it to the prefect of police."
Mastowix was so completely staggered at this that he sat glaring wildlyat the spy, unable to move or speak.
The members of the tribunal consulted for only a moment.
Finally the president spoke:
"Prince Mastowix that was, Peter Mastowix that is, this document and theevidence has been placed before our imperial master, the Czar, and byhis orders you have been brought here for trial and condemnation. Thetribunal adjudges you guilty of treason to the State, and sentences youto death. Remove the prisoner!"
Bowed and completely broken, the guilty wretch, the petty tyrant who hadheaped wrong, misery and death upon so many others, was taken from theinquisition, crushed and broken.
Three days later he was led out into the yard of the very prison overwhich he had long and cruelly held rule, and shot to death by the guard,the very men whom he commanded oft before.
There is neither justice nor pity among the Russian nobles, and noremorse in the hearts of the peasant soldiery who have been brutalizedfor a thousand years. So this guard shot their late commander as theywould have fired upon a dog; indeed, if there was any feeling in theirbreasts, it was one of revenge for the many brutal wrongs they hadsuffered at his hands.
It was a severe blow to the Nihilists of Russia, this discovery anddeath of Mastowix, but as no cause was assigned for it, they were leftto conjecture, although they feared the worst.
Mastowix was ambitious; he even had the hardihood to look to theextinction of the royal family at the hands of this powerful order, andtrusted to chance to place himself high in power, if not on the verythrone of a new dynasty.
And he was of great service to the Nihilists, for he could keep themwell posted continually. But that fatal letter cut him off, while yethis hope was in the bud, as well as other prominent members of theorder, for eight others whose names were mentioned by Zobriskie werealso arrested and sentenced to exile in the terrible mines of Siberia.
CHAPTER V.
SIBERIA.
A glance at the map
will show the geographical location of far-awaySiberia, but no map, no book will tell you what a hell on earth thisnorthernmost arm of the Russian Empire is.
But little is known of it in Russia itself, not even by the members ofthe autocratic political family, beyond the fact of its being a dreary,frozen land of political exile, a region without light or hope for thebanished.
The people shudder at the mention of it, for they have heard much of itfrom the broken wretches who have been fortunate enough to escape, afteryears of toil and suffering. They know that the innocent as well as theguilty are liable to be sent there; that thousands upon thousands havedied or been murdered there by the autocrat's petty tyrants, placedthere to guard and work them, and that their bones molder or bleach uponthe inhospitable shores, where wolves lay in wait for the bodies ofvictims which are thrown where they can reach them, and thus save thetrouble of burial.
A large portion of the penal colony is honey-combed with mines, whichthe
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