Called Back

by Hugh Conway

  ‘Is he a dear friend of yours?’

  ‘Rather, an enemy, your Majesty; but my happiness and my wife’s happiness are at stake.’

  He smiled at my explanation. ‘You English are good to your wives. Very well, Mr Vaughan, it shall be as you wish. The Minister of the Interior will provide you with the fullest passports and authorities. Bon voyage.’

  Thus dismissed, I bowed myself out, praying mentally that no red-tapism or bureaucracy might delay the transmission of the promised documents.

  In three days I received them. The passport authorized me to travel to the end of the Czar’s Asiatic dominions if I thought fit, and was worded in such a way that it obviated the necessity of obtaining a fresh passport whenever a fresh government district was to be traversed. It was not until I found the trouble, annoyance and delay I was saved by this magic strip of paper, that I fully realized how much favour had been shown me. Those few words of writing, unintelligible to me, were a magic spell, the potency of which none dared to resist.

  But now, armed with power to travel, the question was, where must I go? To ascertain this, I was taken to one of the heads of the police. To him I explained my case. I described Ceneri, gave him what I supposed was about the date of his crime and trial, and begged for information as to the best means to adopt to find him in the place of his banishment.

  I was most civilly treated. Indeed, for courtesy commend me to the Russian official when you are properly and powerfully accredited. Ceneri was at once identified, and his right name and secret history given to me. I recognized the name at once.

  There is no need to make it public. There are many men in Europe who believe in the disinterested character and noble aims of the unfortunate convict; men who mourn him as a martyr. Perhaps in the cause of liberty he was single-hearted and noble-minded. Why should I distress his followers by revealing any dark secrets of his private life? Let him be, so far as I am concerned, Dr Ceneri to the end.

  I learned from the suave, obliging Russian chief of police that a few weeks after I had seen him in Geneva, Ceneri had been arrested in St Petersburg. A deeply laid plot, involving the assassination of the Czar and several members of the government, had been revealed through the treachery of a confederate. The police, fully cognizant of everything, had waited until the pear was nearly ripe, and then struck with dire results to the plotters. Scarcely one of the principals escaped, and Ceneri, one of the most deeply implicated, was shown scant mercy. He certainly had few claims on their consideration. He was no Russian groaning under oppression and despotic government. Although he called himself Italian, he was, in truth, cosmopolitan. One of those restless spirits who wish to overturn all forms of government, save that of republican. He had plotted and schemed—even fought like a man—for Italian freedom. He had been one of Garibaldi’s most trusted workmen; but had turned fiercely against his master when he found Italy was to be a kingdom, not the ideal republic of his dreams. Latterly he had directed his attention to Russia, and the plot he was engaged in having been betrayed, his career, in all human probability, was ended. After lying many months in the fortress of St Peter and St Paul, he was tried and condemned to twenty years’ hard labour in Siberia. Some months ago he had been despatched to his destination, and, my informant added, was considered to have been dealt with most leniently.

  Where was he now? That could not be said for certain. He might be at the Kara gold washings, at the Ustkutsk salt-works, at Troitsk, at Nertschinsk. All convicts were first sent to Tobolsk, which was a kind of general rendezvous; thence they were drafted off, at the pleasure of the Governor-General, to various places and various occupations.

  If I wished, the Governor of Tobolsk should be telegraphed or written to; but, as I was bound any way to go to that town, it would be just as well if I made my inquiries in person. To this I quite agreed, mistrusting the speed of the Russian post or the newly-opened telegraph. I was ready to start tomorrow.

  So, after getting all the hints and information I could, I thanked the chief for his courtesy, and with my precious papers in my pocket, went to complete my preparations for my journey; a journey which might be a thousand or two thousand miles longer or shorter, according to where it had pleased the Governor of Tobolsk to bestow the wretched Ceneri.

  Before I started I received a letter from Priscilla—one of those laboured and rather misty epistles usually written by people of her station in life. It told me that Pauline was well; that she was willing to be guided by Priscilla’s advice, and to remain with her until the return of her unknown relation or friend. ‘But, Master Gilbert,’ the letter went on, ‘I am sorry to say I believe she is not quite right at times. The poor young lady talks wildly about an awful crime; but she says she is content to wait for justice to be done, as someone she has seen in her dreams during her illness is working for her. She doesn’t know who it is, but it is someone who knows everything.’

  This intelligence made me feel easier. Not only did it show me that Pauline would wait quietly until my return, but also that some glimmering of the immediate past might be dawning upon her. The closing lines of Priscilla’s letter made my heart beat with hope.

  ‘This afternoon, Master Gilbert, she seemed to discover for the first time that she had a wedding ring on her finger. She asked me how it came there. I told her I could not say. Then she sat for hours and hours twisting it round and round, thinking and thinking. I asked her, at last, what she was thinking of. “Dreams I am trying to remember,” said she, with that pretty quiet smile of hers. I was dying to tell the dear young lady that she was my own master’s lawful wife. I was afraid she would take the ring off, but she didn’t, thank God!’

  Yes, thank God, she did not! As I read Priscilla’s letter I yearned to turn homeward and fly back to my wife. But I conquered the inclination, although I felt more and more certain that my meeting with Ceneri would be a happy one for me; that I should return, and, if necessary, once more place that ring on her finger and claim her as my own, knowing that she was purer than the gold of which that shining circlet was made.

  Pauline! my beautiful Pauline! my wife, my love, we shall be happy yet!

  The next day I started for Siberia.

  CHAPTER XI

  A HELL UPON EARTH

  IT was midsummer when I left St Petersburg. The heat was oppressive and quite disturbed my idea of the Russian climate. I went by rail to Moscow, by the iron road which runs straight as a line from the one large city to the other. The Czar ordered it to be so made, without curves or deviations. When the engineers asked him what populous places they should take on their way, his Imperial Majesty took a ruler and on the map ruled a straight line from St Petersburg to Moscow. ‘Make it so,’ were his commands, and so it was made, as rigid and careless of the convenience of other persons as his own despotism—a railway for some four hundred miles running simply to its destination, not daring, however much tempted, to swerve aside and disobey the autocrat’s commands.

  At Moscow the colossal I lingered a couple of days. It was there I had settled to engage a guide and interpreter. As I spoke two or three languages besides my own, I was able to pick and choose, and at last selected a pleasant mannered, sharp-looking young fellow who averred that he knew every inch of the great post road to the east. Then bidding farewell to the mighty Kremlin with its churches, watch-towers, and battlements, I started with my new companion for Nijnei Novgorod; at which place we must bid adieu to the railway.

  We passed the old picturesque but decaying town of Vladimir, and after duly admiring its five-domed cathedral I found nothing more to distract my attention until we reached Nijnei. My companion was very anxious that we should linger for a day or two at this city. The great fair was on, and he assured me it was a sight not to be missed. I had not come to Russia to look at fairs or festivities, so commanded him to make instant preparations for continuing the journey.

  We now changed our mode of conveyance. Being summer the rivers were open and navigation practicable. We took
the steamer and went down the broad Volga till we passed Kasan and reached the river Kama. Up this tortuous stream we went until we landed at the large important town of Perm.

  We were five days on the water—I think the five longest days I ever spent. The winding river, the slow-going steamer, made me long for the land again; there one seemed to be making progress. The road there was straight, not running into a hundred bends. We were now nearly at the end of Europe. A hundred miles further and we shall cross the Ural Mountains and be in Asiatic Russia.

  At Perm we made our final preparations. From now we must depend on post-horses. Ivan, my guide, after the proper amount of haggling, bought a tarantass—a sort of phaeton. The luggage was stowed into it; we took our seats; our first relay of horses were engaged three in number and harnessed in the peculiar Russian fashion—the yemschik started them with the words of encouragement and endearment which in Russia are supposed to be more efficacious than the thong, and away we went on our long, long drive.

  We crossed the Urals, which after all are not so very high. We passed the stone obelisk erected, Ivan told me, in honour of a Cossack chief named Yermak. We read the word ‘Europe’ on the side which first met our eyes, and turning round saw ‘Asia’ written on the back. I spent my first night in Asia at Ekaterineburg and lay awake the best part of it trying to calculate how many miles stretched between Pauline and myself.

  For days and days have passed since I left St Petersburg, and I have travelled at all possible speed; yet the journey seems scarcely begun. Indeed, I cannot even guess at its length until I get to Tobolsk. A trifle of some four hundred miles from Ekaterineburg to Tiumen, another of two hundred from Tiumen to Tobolsk, and I shall await the pleasure of the Governor-General and what information he may choose to give me.

  The carriage and ourselves are ferried across the broad yellow Irtuish—that river, the crossing of which by a Russian officer at once raises him a step in rank: for such is the inducement held out to serve in Siberia; and at the east bank of the Irtuish Siberia proper begins.

  Tobolsk at last! The sight of my passports renders the Governor civility itself. He invited me to dine with him and, as for prudential reasons I thought it better to accept his invitation, treated me royally. His register told me all I wanted to know about Ceneri. He had been sent to the very extreme of the Czar’s dominions, as his was a case which called for special severity. Where he would finish his journey was not settled, but that made little difference to me. As he would travel the greater part of the way on foot, and as there was but one road, I must overtake him, although he left Tobolsk months ago. The escort which accompanied that particular gang of prisoners was under the command of Captain Varlámoff, to whom his Excellency would write a few lines which I should take with me—he would also give me a supplementary passport signed by himself.

  ‘Where do you think I shall overtake the party?’ I asked.

  The Governor made a calculation. ‘Somewhere about Irkutsk,’ he thought.

  And Irkutsk two thousand miles, more or less, from Tobolsk!

  I bade the great man a grateful adieu and spurred on at such speed that even the good-tempered Ivan began to grumble. Man, even a Russian, was but mortal, he said, and I could not expect to find Arab steeds among government post-horses which the postmasters were compelled to furnish at about twopence a mile a horse. I left the yemschik and himself no time for refreshment. Their tea had not grown cool enough to swallow before I was insisting on a fresh start. And as for a proper night’s rest!

  Tea! Until I made that journey I never knew the amount of tea a mortal stomach could hold. One and all they drank it by the gallon. They carried it about compressed into bricks, cemented, I heard with a shudder, by sheep’s or some other animal’s blood. They drank it morn, noon and night. Whenever there was a stoppage and boiling water could be obtained, bucketsful of tea were made and poured down their throats.

  The impressions I retain of that long journey are not very deep. I was not traversing the country for the sake of writing a book of travels, or to observe the manners and customs of the people. My great object was to overtake Ceneri as quickly as possible, and my endeavours were directed to passing from one posting station to another as swiftly as I could. We sped over vast steppes, wild marshes, through forests of birch, tall pines, oak, ash, and other trees; we were ferried over broad rivers. On and on we went as straight to our destination as the great post-road would take us. When nature forced us to rest we had to put up with such pitiful accommodation as we could get. Unless the place at which we stopped was of some importance, inns were unknown. By dint of practice I at last contrived to obtain almost enough sleep, if not to satisfy me, to serve my needs, while jolting along in the tarantass.

  It was a monotonous journey. I turned aside to visit no objects of interest spoken of by travellers. From morn to night, and generally through the greater part of the night, our wheels rolled along the road. And at every posting station I read on the wooden post which stands in front of it the number of miles we were from St Petersburg, until, as the days and weeks passed, I began to feel appalled at the distance I had come and the distance I must return. Should I ever see Pauline again? Who can say what may have happened before I return to England? At times I grew quite dispirited.

  I think what made me realize the length of the journey even more than days or measured miles was to see, as we went on, the country people gradually changing their costume and dialect. The yemschiks who drove us changed in appearance and in nationality; the very breed of the horses varied. But let man or cattle be of what kind they may, we were well and skilfully conducted.

  The weather was glorious, almost too glorious. The cultivated country we passed through looked thriving and productive. Siberia was very different in appearance from what is usually associated with its name. The air when not too warm was simply delicious. Never have I breathed a more invigorating and bracing atmosphere. There were days when the breeze seemed to send new life through every vein.

  The people I thought fairly honest, and whenever I found a need of producing my papers the word civility will scarcely express the treatment I received. How I should have been treated without these potent talismans I cannot say.

  The whole countryside in most places was busy with the hay harvest; a matter of such importance to the community at large that convicts are told off for some six weeks to assist in the work of saving the crops. The wild flowers, many of them very beautiful, grew freely; the people looked well and contented. Altogether my impressions of Siberia in summer were pleasant ones.

  Yet I wished it had been the dead of winter. Then it is that, in spite of the cold, one travels more pleasantly. Ivan assured me that when a good snow road is formed and a tarantass may be exchanged for a sledge, the amount of ground passed over in a day is something marvellous. I am afraid from memory to say how many miles may be covered in twenty-four hours when the smooth-going runners take the place of wheels.

  We had, of course, various small accidents and delays on the road. However strongly built a tarantass may be it is but mortal. Wheels broke, axletrees gave way, shafts snapped, twice we were overturned, but as no evil except delay ensued I need not relate the history of these misfortunes.

  Nor need I enumerate the towns and villages through which we passed, unless l wished to make my story as interesting as a scriptural genealogy—Tara, Kainsk, Koliuvan, Tomsk, Achinsk, Krasnoyarsk, Nijnei Udinsk, may or may not be familiar to the reader, according to the depth of his geographical studies; but most of the others, even if I knew how to spell their names, would be nothing more than vain sounds. Perhaps, when we trace the march of the Russian army destined to invade our Indian Empire we may become better acquainted with the Czar’s Asiatic dominions.

  Yet at the entrance to each of these little towns or villages, the very names of which I have forgotten, so surely as you found the well-appointed posting station, you found also a gloomy square building, varying with the size of the place, surrounded b
y a tall palisade, the gates of which were barred, bolted and sentried—these buildings were the ostrogs, or prisons.

  Here it was that the wretched convicts were housed as they halted on their long march. In these places they were packed like sardines in a box. Prisons built to hold two hundred were often called upon to accommodate at least twice that number of luckless wretches. I was told that when ice was breaking up in the rivers; when the floods were out; when in fact the progress must perforce be delayed, the scenes at these prisons or depots beggared description. Men, sometimes unsexed women with them, huddled into rooms reeking with filth, the floors throwing out poisonous emanations—rooms built to give but scanty space to a small number, crowded to suffocation. The mortality at times was fearful. The trials of the march were as nothing when compared to the horrors of the so-called rest. And it was in one of these ostrogs I should find Ceneri.

  We passed many gangs of convicts plodding along to their fate. Ivan told me that most of them were in chains. This I should not have noticed, as the irons are only on the legs and worn under the trousers. Poor wretched beings, my heart ached for them! Felons though they were, I could never refuse the charity they invariably prayed for. So far as I could see they were not unkindly treated by the soldiers and officers, but terrible tales were told me about their sufferings at the hands of inhuman gaolers and commandants of prisons. There, for the slightest infraction of the rules, the rod, the dark cell, and a variety of other punishments were called into play.

  I always felt relieved when we had passed out of sight of a gang like this. The contrast between my own position and that of such a number of my fellow-men was too painful to contemplate—and yet if Ceneri did not clear away every shadow of doubt from my mind I might retrace my steps a more miserable wretch than either of those foot-sore convicts

  Some week or ten days after leaving Tobolsk I began to make inquiries at every ostrog as to when Captain Varlámoff’s gang passed, and when I might expect to overtake it. The answers I received to the latter question corresponded with that given me by the Governor—all agreed at Irkutsk, or just beyond. Day after day I found we were gaining rapidly upon the party, and when at last we reached the large handsome town of Irkutsk I rightly reckoned that I had reached the end, or nearly the end of my journey.