The Akatúi prison is located in the little village of Akatúi, in the Trans-Baikal, near the Mongolian border. It is famous in the history of the revolutionary movement in Russia. Yet the Decembrists[24] were confined in it. Chained to wheelbarrows they worked in the mines guarded by soldiers with fixed bayonets. One of them, Lunin, died there a hard-labor convict, and his lonely grave is the only evidence of generations of political prisoners who were slowly tortured there to death by the Russian czars. The Polish insurgents of 1863 were sent there. The prison had been abandoned, but again rebuilt in 1889 and has since held within its dreary walls a great number of political offenders.

When we were brought to Akatúi the régime there was not very strict. The wave of reaction which swept Russia soon after the October manifesto had not yet reached this God-forsaken place, and the local administration still believed that a new political era had dawned in Russia. We were treated fairly well: we were permitted to wear our own clothing, to receive books, and enjoyed similar little privileges. When out for the daily walk we freely conversed with other prisoners, and argued about affairs in far-away Russia. But month passed after month, and news from there reached us less and less frequently, and what did reach us was far from hopeful. The country was being crushed by the triumphant reaction, and the chains of autocracy were becoming heavier and heavier. Our prison régime grew worse and worse, until, by the end of 1906, we were deprived of all the privileges and treated like ordinary hard-labor convicts.

Our position in this living grave was intolerable. We were young, and the fire of struggle was still burning in our breasts. We no longer hoped for the speedy liberation of Russia, and could not reconcile ourselves to a life of idleness and degradation. And we began to cast about for a way to escape. A group of comrades commenced to dig a tunnel. The digging had continued for over a month and the outer wall had already been reached when the authorities discovered it. Within several months five tunnels were begun, and each time it was discovered when near completion. In the end we had to give up the thought of gaining freedom in this way. Seeing that escape in a body was impossible, the group of Socialist-Revolutionists headed by Grigóri Gershuni[25] decided to find a way to escape singly. Gershuni, as the more useful and capable member of our party, was chosen to go first.

For many years it was the custom among the prisoners at Akatúi to make sauerkraut for the winter. The cabbage was brought into the prison, the convicts cleaned and cut it, after which it was put in a barrel and taken to the cellar, outside the prison gate. It occurred to Gershuni to escape in this barrel, and we set about executing the plan. We punched two little holes in the bottom, and inserted long pieces of thin rubber pipe: these Gershuni was to hold in his mouth, and they were his only source of air. He sat down in the barrel, bending almost double, as it was not large enough for such a tall, stout man. On his head we laid a metallic plate to protect it from the bayonet of the sentry at the gate who always thrust it into the barrel to ascertain that no contraband was being taken out of the prison. We stretched a cloth over him and nailed it to the walls of the barrel. On the top we threw cabbage, and fastened the cover.

At eleven o’clock in the morning everything was ready. The comrades who had to cart the barrel to the cellar announced to the head-keeper that the cabbage was done, and he gave the order to open the gate. Breathless we stood and watched how the sentry stuck his bayonet into the barrel in which our most respected and beloved comrade lay. At last it was without the gate, and the comrades with the help of the soldiers lowered it into the cellar. A tunnel leading into an open field had already been dug from there, and horses were waiting in the forest near by.

To conceal his absence for a day or two and thus give him an opportunity of getting away as far as possible from Akatúi, we made a dummy, dressed in Gershuni’s clothes, and put it on his cot. Its head was made of Holland cheese specially imported from Chitá and painted by one of our comrades, an artist. When the keepers came in the evening to count the prisoners a comrade spoke to the dummy, and they went away satisfied that Gershuni was in his place.

When the keepers came into our cell and we saw their calm faces we knew that everything was well. Our joy was indescribable. We already pictured to ourselves the triumph of the Party, and warmly discussed the question where Gershuni would be by the morning count. But scarcely an hour had passed when we heard a noise in the yard. A number of keepers ran excitedly into our cell and began to look under the beds. We understood that some of the prisoners must have reported Gershuni’s absence, as the authorities could not have found it out themselves before the morning count.

In great trepidation we awaited Gershuni’s capture. But as the days passed our fears were set at rest. We knew that if he had not been caught on the first day of his escape the authorities had small chances of getting him. He possessed wit and courage, and had money enough to pay his way to the nearest seaport and cross to Japan.

Gershuni’s escape led to still further restrictions. But as it was impossible to maintain a severe discipline in the overcrowded prison—it was built for 80, but there were 150—the authorities transferred 50 prisoners to Gorni Zerentúi, about 128 miles away.

We were the only women in Akatúi. We were sent here because in the whole Nertchinsk mining district there was not a decent prison for women. But in order to subject us to the full rigors of the hard-labor régime the higher administration decided to remove us from Akatúi. The government again felt its power over the bleeding country, and the first on whom it avenged itself were its political captives.

In February, 1907, the chief of _kátorga_,[26] Mehtus, telegraphed to the governor of the Akatúi prison, Zubkovski, that the women politicals must be immediately transferred to the Maltzev prison, about 130 miles from Akatúi. Marie Spiridonova, who had not yet recovered from the effects of the tortures to which she was subjected at the time of her arrest, was not well. I, too, was sick, having contracted inflammation of the lungs. For us to undertake a midwinter journey over the frozen mountains of Akatúi was to court death. The étapes which were built in the thirties of last century were in ruins, and to spend a night in them was just like sleeping in the street. We knew it all, but it was utterly useless to struggle against the decision. There, within the walls of the dreary prison, thousands of miles away from Russia, they could do with us whatever they chose. It must be noted here that had the authorities waited another month our lives would not have been put to such a risk: in March the frosts are not so severe, and there happens even warm days.

When the comrades learned the intention of the administration to transfer us immediately their indignation knew no bounds. Even the governor and the prison doctor were unwilling to send us. Zubkovski telegraphed to Mehtus that the two of us were sick and that the doctor thought our lives would be endangered if we should have to travel by étape at this time of the year. Several days later, on February 12th, the governor ordered four of us, Bitzenko, Izmailovitch, Yezerskaya, and Fialka, to get ready. With a heavy heart we bade them good-by. It was a sad parting, as we did not expect to see them any more.

Alone in our deserted cell we lay thinking of our friends. It was late at night, but we did not sleep. Spiridonova felt very bad after the day’s excitement. Soon she began to toss about and talk in a delirium, and I went over to her cot. With great difficulty I succeeded in rousing her.

“Dear, dear, look at me! There is nobody here but myself.”

She sat up on her cot, and embraced me.

“Do not sleep, my dear, do not sleep,” I begged her, fearing that the terrible fit would again seize her if she should fall asleep.

In a close embrace, clinging to each other, we sat in silence, seized with the consciousness of our utter loneliness and defenselessness. The prison clock struck two.

“Oh, how long it is yet till dawn!” sighed Marie. Suddenly she began to listen.

“Do you hear?” she asked me.

“No, I don’t hear anything. It is the wind roaring in the mountains,” I tried to quiet her.

But soon footsteps were heard outside, and our gate was opened.

“Oh, they are coming!” I cried involuntarily.

We heard the door of our corridor open. We covered ourselves with our blankets, embraced each other still closer, and waited. Heavy footsteps filled the corridor. They kept coming and coming, and it seemed there would be no end to them. Several people approached our door. We held our breath. The door was violently opened, and an officer with a paper in his hand stood near our bed.

“I am the governor of Algatchí prison, Borodulin. Have been sent here by the chief of kátorga, Mehtus, to transfer you immediately to the Maltzev prison. I will do that even if I have to take you naked and to shoot down the whole prison. At the least resistance on your part I will employ force,” and he pointed in the direction of the corridor where armed soldiers stood in readiness.

I looked at his ferocious face, at his white gloves, and a tremor passed through my whole body. Marie closed her eyes, and I thought that she would again become delirious.

“Very well,” I said to Borodulin. “Let us dress ourselves, and when we are dressed you will be able to do your business.”

Borodulin turned to the wall.

“Dress yourself.”

“No,” I answered, “this is absolutely impossible. We cannot dress when you are in our room.”

He thought for a moment, and went out, closing the door after him. We dressed hastily, and opened the door. Borodulin entered.

“Are you ready? I will not wait any longer.”

At this moment there came a knock on the wall. Our comrades had heard Borodulin’s loud voice, and were uneasy. The whole prison was awake. The knock was repeated.

“Wait!” I knocked to them.

“Listen,” Marie suddenly turned to Borodulin, “they will not let us go, and you will have to shoot down the whole prison. But if you will permit us to explain to them the situation they will agree for our sake.”

“This is against the law, and I cannot do it,” Borodulin answered.

“Then call our governor,” I suggested.

Zubkovski, who was in the yard at that time, was called in.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. He knew what a tragedy would inevitably follow Borodulin’s attempt to take us by force.

“Induce Borodulin to allow us an interview with Sazonov and Karpovitch.[27] They are the only people here who can prevail upon the comrades not to raise a riot.”

Borodulin stood right there when I spoke to Zubkovski and calmly examined his white gloves.

“Come,” said Zubkovski to him, and they went out. A few minutes later Sazonov and Karpovitch were led into our cell. Sazonov was pale as a ghost, and could not utter a word. He seized Marie’s hands, and held them, looking at the soldiers all the time. Karpovitch was all in a tremble.

“You shall not go, you shall not go,” he repeated, grinding his teeth and shaking his powerful fists. His eyes were bloodshot, his face assumed a bluish hue, and his whole body trembled with excitement. For a moment I thought that he would attack Borodulin who retreated a few steps, seeing him in such a terrible state.

“Leave them for a minute,” said Zubkovski to Borodulin, and they went into the corridor.

When we were left alone Marie said to them:

“You must let us go, otherwise we shall not live it through. We shall not be able to bear the thought that you will perish and that we shall be the cause of it. What will be with us if the whole prison will be shot down?”

They remained silent. Borodulin and Zubkovski entered, and Borodulin announced to us in much milder tones that he would take a _féldsher_[28] along and that we would not stop in the étapes. Zubkovski looked questioningly at our comrades.

“We are ready,” said Spiridonova. Sazonov took Karpovitch by the arm, and they went towards the door. Before going out they turned back and looked at us, evidently still unwilling to leave us in the hands of the heartless Borodulin.

It was about four o’clock when we, dressed in heavy sheepskin coats and supported by the soldiers, went out into the prison yard. The frost was so severe that we could hardly catch our breath. Sleighs were standing at the gate, and we started, accompanied by Borodulin, a féldsher, and several soldiers.

MARIE SPIRIDONOVA

Assassinated General Minn, the famous torturer of revolutionists ]

It was twelve miles to the first étape, the Aleksándrovski Zavód.[29] Borodulin stopped a couple of times on the road, came over to our sleigh, and asked ironically:

“Well, are you not yet frozen?”

Early in the morning we arrived at the Aleksándrovski prison. In the semi-dark barrack where we were led in lay our friends, muffled up in their khaláts. A look of terror came into their eyes when they saw us. They were sure that we had been spared this dreadful journey. In a few words we related to them the events of the previous night, and told them that Borodulin had come with us.

We passed the whole day in this cold, unheated barrack without seeing any one of the authorities. During the evening roll-call the governor of the prison announced to us that Borodulin had gone back to Akatúi and that he had left orders to send us early in the morning by the regular étape. All protests were of no avail. At six o’clock in the morning we started out, accompanied by twelve soldiers. The féldsher did not go with us.

We traveled seven days, stopping for the night in the hideous holes called Siberian étapes. Marie Spiridonova was so weak that she had to be carried to and from the sleigh. Although the cracks in the walls admitted air freely the atmosphere in them was unspeakably foul, poisoned by the filth and the _parásha_ which had evidently not been washed for years. When we at last reached the Maltzev prison we were more dead than alive....