The vólost scribe was an intelligent and kind man, and he openly showed his sympathy with me. I made up my mind to ask him to get from the uryádnik permission for me to go to Kansk. I hoped to find there comrades who would help me with money and a passport.

“Yes,” said the scribe in answer to my request, “I can get for you the desired permission. But if you should run away the responsibility would fall upon me, because I am sure the uryádnik will prove in some way or other that I conspired with you. You know that I am the father of four children,” he went on, “but if you give me your word of honor that you will return, I will persuade the uryádnik to let you go to Kansk for a few days.”

THE ENTRANCE TO THE AKATÚI PRISON ]

His proposal was difficult for me to accept. If I should give him my word of honor I would have to return, and my only aim in asking for leave was to escape. For two days I went about trying to find a way out of the difficulty, but finally decided to agree to his condition. It was absolutely necessary to go to Kansk and procure money and a passport, without which I could not even think of escaping.

We went to the uryádnik, and after considerable questioning he consented to let me go to Kansk for a few days.

On the first of February, 1905, I left the village, riding in the cart of a peasant who was going to town on business. I had no addresses, and did not even know if there were any political exiles in Kansk. The peasants of Aleksandrovskoye had assured me that there were many “nobles” there. As I found later, the politicals were known there as “nobles.”

After two days’ travel we reached Kansk. For the sum of two kopecks a ragged boy drove me to the blacksmith’s shop. A tall man in a blue blouse, his hands and face covered with soot, greeted me with a cordial smile. I told him my name, and he led me to his house. There I was met by a pale, frail-looking young woman who held a sickly baby wrapped in rags. Having overcome the feeling of embarrassment I experienced at the sight of their wretched poverty, I told them the object of my visit.

“I am very sorry,” said Mr. M——, the blacksmith, “but I don’t think you will get anything in this town. There are only six politicals here, and they are all starving. The only thing we can do for you is to give you letters of recommendation to our Irkutsk people. There are a great many of them there, and they will surely help you.”

A few hours later the whole exile colony of Kansk gathered at the house of Mr. M——. They held a consultation and decided that I must go directly to Irkutsk. They bought me a railroad ticket to that city out of their last money, and that very evening I boarded a train, carrying in my pocket a letter of recommendation. As I was dressed in a mixture of civil and convict garb, the passengers stared at me, and I did not feel quite at ease.

After two days’ travel I came to Irkutsk. When the cab stopped in front of a rich house on the main street of the city I hesitated for a few seconds. “What if they will not let me in?” I rang the bell. A beautiful young girl opened the door. I handed her the letter of recommendation, and she invited me to sit in the waiting-room. Directly an old man of short stature entered. He asked me who I was and what I wanted. Having convinced himself that I really was the person I claimed to be, he shook my hand and invited me to meet his wife and children.

This man, Mr. K——, was an old revolutionist, exiled to Irkutsk many years before. But notwithstanding his “past” he now held a high Government position. That same day he handed me a hundred rubles and a passport on which he wrote in his own hand that I was a “merchant’s daughter.” Such a passport was as good as a real one in Siberia, because the príestavs and the uryádniks who endorse them are so ignorant that they can hardly read Russian. Mrs. K—— helped me put on her daughter’s clothes, and presented a watch to me. In short, I was made unrecognizable.

It was necessary to return to Aleksandrovskoye. I knew that the scribe would feel uneasy about my long absence. I did not want to think how I would escape after my return: the difficulties seemed insurmountable, but I had given my word of honor, and had to return.

With sorrow in my heart I bade good-by to those kind people. One of Mr. K——’s sons went with me to Kansk, as they were afraid that I might be arrested on the road.

In the railway compartment—we traveled in the second-class—were two army officers. They made friends with my companion and treated him to vódka and cigars. There was nothing in their appearance to arouse our suspicions.

When night came I lay down on my cot. I could not sleep. The thought that I was going back to that lonely village would not let me rest. Suddenly I felt that somebody was tugging at the chain which supported my watch. I opened my eyes, and to my great terror saw the same officer who had been so amiable with me several hours before. In one hand he held my bag which contained the hundred rubles and the passport. I emitted a terrible shriek. The officer seized me by the throat, and began to choke me. I became unconscious....

When I had regained consciousness my first thought was that the money and passport were gone. I heard people talking near me, but had no desire to look at them.

“Why didn’t they let me die?” I thought. “What will I do without the money and the passport?”

I could not move my head, and the fingers still seemed to be choking me.

At the first station I was carried into the gendarme office. The two officers were already there. They turned out to be escaped Sakhalien convicts masquerading as army officers.

“Why did you want to kill me?” I asked my assailant. “Didn’t you see that I am not rich?”

“Why did you cry out?” was his reply. “I had to save myself. After all I did not choke you to death.”

The bag with the money and the passport was returned to me. I owed my life to Mr. K——’s son, who was the first to reach my side when the robber choked me.

After an absence of ten days I returned to Aleksandrovskoye. The scribe and the uryádnik were delighted to see me.

“And we already thought that you would not come back,” said the uryádnik, smiling.