IN TIUMEN—PARTING—ON THE SIBERIAN RIVERS—A STARTLING PROPOSAL
The town of Tiumen was at that time noted for the disputes that were continually arising between the political exiles and the authorities. We dreaded lest our party might be obliged to sustain a battle of this sort, the causes of which were known to us of old from the letters of various comrades; so we had intended to arrange together betimes how we should behave under given circumstances, what we must insist on, and in what manner we should conduct our dealings with the powers above us. But it was so difficult to get any orderly discussion during the journey, that after all we reached Tiumen without having made any definite plan of action.
Tiumen was then the place whence exiles took their several ways according to their ultimate destination. Our party was to separate here, some going south-west, others north-east. Among the latter were the hard-labour prisoners, the judicially banished exiles, and some of the “administratives.” Except us convicts none knew to what town or village they were bound; they did not even know whether they were to go north or south from Tiumen. Now, the difference in climate which this might mean, even if between places in the same province of Siberia could be greater than between Norway and Italy. The anxiety of the “administratives” in awaiting a decision can be imagined, as so much depended for them on the direction in which they were to be taken.
149At the very gates of the prison we were within an ace of a squabble with the officials; they wanted to take our ladies to a female prison far away from ours. We opposed this, because such a separation would have upset all our feeding arrangements, besides being otherwise very unwelcome to us all, and the officials finally yielded to our representations.
We were only to remain for a few days in Tiumen, so our chief subject for anxiety was soon settled; most of the “administratives” were bound for the Steppes Government, and would be sent to the southern part of the province of Tobolsk—a relatively pleasant neighbourhood. But we were informed at the same time that they would travel by way of the etàppuy, or convoy-stations, which would be by no means pleasant. To be taken by that route, i.e. by land, means a journey of some weeks under most uncomfortable conditions, and with all manner of hardships that can perfectly well be avoided by the adoption of the route by water, on either barge or steamboat. The choice of this wearisome route has been a frequent source of trouble with the parties of “politicals.” The officials, therefore, were quite accustomed to protests on the subject; but either on grounds of convenience, or for some other reason not vouchsafed to us, they stuck to their proposed arrangement. Our friends who were to go southward resolved to keep up all possible opposition, and we all agreed to support what we considered their perfectly reasonable attitude. We held heated consultations, and ultimately it was decided to send a telegram to the governor of the province, petitioning him that the journey of the “administratives” should be made by boat.
The appointed day of departure arrived, and the “administratives” were sent for to go singly into the office, but we others would not allow them to leave the prison. If the staff had resorted to force there would undoubtedly have been a serious struggle, but all passed off quietly, as they gave in for the time being; only, however, to lay 150a trap for us later. Instead of answering our telegram by another, the governor appeared in person (of course, he may merely have come over by chance from Tobolsk) and examined into the affair. He then declared himself quite willing that our comrades should travel by boat, according to our request; and this promise, given by the highest available authority, was sufficient for us, our minds were forthwith at rest. But unfortunately, as will appear hereafter, the highest authority had simply lied to us.
Soon after this the parting came; those of us going northward from Tobolsk and those bound for Eastern Siberia received orders to make ready for the start. There was a good deal to do, as a journey of some months was in question; also our common housekeeping had to be wound up, the money and provisions divided among the different parties according to their respective needs and the distance they had to travel. Besides this, small sums were set apart for any “administratives” or other exiles who were unprovided with means, for use in emergency on their first arrival at their destinations.
The parting was no light matter to us. During the next few days small groups and isolated couples would be seen wandering up and down the prison yard, deep in endless and engrossing talk. Most of us had first become acquainted in the Moscow prison or during the journey; but apart from the more intimate friendships that had been formed among us, we had all been drawn very near to each other in the course of our half-year’s sojourn under the same roof. Of course, in view of the separation many resolutions were made of keeping up friendships, and of never forgetting one another, whatever happened. Sad, sad, that external circumstances should too often prove stronger than the firmest resolutions, and even than the heart’s desire! After two or three years, with thousands of miles between, and every possible hindrance put in the way of correspondence, friends are gradually lost sight of, and the thought of them even passes from the mind. 151With how many of those comrades did I share the hope of one day meeting again! Eighteen years have passed since then, and I have only seen one of them again.
As to the subsequent lot of our “administratives,” we learned later that, the party being a large one, the officials had declared themselves unable to carry out the arrangement expressly promised by the governor; and as our comrades refused to go voluntarily by the land route, they were dragged forcibly by soldiers from the prison and packed into the carriages. Much rough usage ensued, but without any really serious result. We had been quieted by lies, because so long as we were all together the authorities had not dared to try conclusions with us by force.
The detachment to which I belonged, which was to travel north-eastwards, consisted of five-and-twenty persons: four condemned to penal servitude—Tchuikòv, Spandoni, Maria Kalyùshnaya, and myself; four judicially exiled—Vasìliev, Dashkièvitch, and two ladies (Tchemodànova and Shtchulèpnikòva); the rest all banished by administrative order—some to the north of Tobolsk Government, some to Eastern Siberia—among these latter being Malyòvany, Rubìnok, and our chief of commissariat, Làzarev, who still fulfilled his old functions, our “housekeeping” arrangements continuing as before.
From Tiumen we had to go by boat to Tomsk, our route being as follows: down the Tura, on whose banks Tiumen is situated, to its junction with the Tobol; by the latter as far as the Irtisch, by which to the Obi; and then up stream to the Tomi, on which Tomsk stands. This made a voyage of about 3,000 versts (about 2,000 miles), lasting at least fifteen days. As on the Volga, we were installed in the two cabins of a prisoners’ barge, and a steamboat took our floating gaol in tow. This journey afforded little of interest. Although we were in mid-June there were as yet no signs of spring. Sometimes we passed masses of drifting ice; the nights were extremely cold, 152and the sunshine gave no great heat by day. The rivers were in flood, and everything looked dead and deserted; for miles round we could often discover no trace of human existence. The deathly stillness, the absence of any sign of growth at this awakening season of the year, the piercing cold, ever increasing as we got further north—all this had an uncanny and depressing effect. “Men and women live in these primeval forests and swamps (tundra),” I thought, with a shiver, and I pictured to myself how, after many years of prison had robbed me of strength and vitality, I should be given the “right” of residing in a similar, or perhaps a drearier locality; even then not enjoying the liberty possessed by the unfortunate natives—Samoyedes and Ostiaks—who wander about these eternal woods and steppes.
Our boat occasionally came to anchor, either to get wood for fuel, or at the two or three halting-stations provided. The Ostiaks would then come on board, paddling up in their wretched boats (yaliks) made of bark, and would offer fish for barter. They hardly seemed to understand the use of money, for when asked the price of a fish, they would only answer with the one word “roup,” meaning “rouble,” and would then gratefully accept a copper coin though a piece of bread or a little tobacco would elicit much more joy. These people had a most pitiable appearance, and were treated with the utmost co............