NINE days after the operation I found out, quite accidentally, that after two days I would be sent back to Akatúi. I was too weak to stand the journey which awaited me—marching with a batch of prisoners from one town to another until we reached our destination. Consequently, it was necessary to make up my mind to escape. The thought “two days, two days” did not leave me for a moment. And I resolved to make an attempt to escape. I knew what would follow. But could the most terrible death compare with being buried alive in that grave in which my best years had been spent, with no hope of ever getting out into the light of day? I thought: “Has cruel fate released me from that dungeon, only to throw me back into it? I cannot; I haven’t the strength to go away from the living sounds of the city.”
I felt hatred toward the people about me. They made me lie. They all thought that I was going back to hard labor. They washed my things and were getting everything in readiness for the journey. I was watched closely. The least misstep on my part, and all would have been lost. My comrades who were at liberty had planned to liberate me by means of a tunnel that had been dug from outside, but the authorities discovered the plot, arrested the people, and confiscated the money which had been kept for me. I was placed in a solitary cell, from which I was let out only for a few minutes during the day.
In my pillow I had a man’s outfit hidden; only shoes were missing. I decided to wear my own. I made up my mind to escape by crawling through under the gate.[34] The board could easily be removed. At first I could not believe myself. “Is it possible,” I thought, “that in this prison, where every crack is so carefully filled, the board under the gate could be removed, thus leaving an opening large enough for a grown person to crawl through?” But I convinced myself that it was so. The gate was located in the middle of the wall, and was always guarded by a soldier. Besides, the wall itself was guarded by two more soldiers.
I sent a note to my friends in town, asking that a carriage might be waiting for me on Saturday from nine to ten in the morning, the hour when I was let out for a walk in the prison yard. “But will it be there? Have my friends received my note which was entrusted to not very faithful hands?” were questions that I asked myself over and over again. But I was going to escape; I was determined. I knew that success depended upon my self-control. The problem before me was very simple, but the least error might prove fatal. It was necessary to act with mathematical precision. I paced my cell up and down, rehearsing under my breath: “I have to remove the board noiselessly, and crawl through without making a sound. I have to do all this before the guard has time to turn his face to me. Then I have to walk ten steps in a straight line, and turn to the right. I must walk slowly.” But deep down in my heart there was a creeping sensation, and a stealthy thought, “_Will_ you do it? will you have the courage to put your head at the very feet of the sentry?” lurked in my mind. And I had a feeling as if somebody were trying to choke me....
Thus passing from hope to despair I spent Thursday and Friday. The evening roll-call was over, and I was locked up for the night. Only at night I was alone, in the daytime a guard was always with me. Oh, how I loved the night! At night I felt free. I did not see the dreary walls or the guards. In my dreams I soared into space, I dwelt in the skies, I performed miracles. The walls of the prison crumbled under my touch, bullets did not strike me, and I could defeat all the czar’s legions. But the first glimmer of day scattered my dreams, and I, chained, was again in the hands of my enemies.
It was midnight. Everything was asleep and quiet, only the measured steps of the sentry under my window could be heard. Quietly, without rising from my cot, I ripped my pillow open and took out my masculine garb. I was afraid to move, because the soldier peeped into my window every minute. With trembling hands I cut my long tresses. I put a kerchief on my head, and on the top of my masculine attire I donned the prisoner’s gray coat. And thus, fully dressed, I lay. I could not sleep, and I did not want to sleep. There were only a few hours left for me to live, I thought, and I was willing to fall from the soldier’s bullet outside the prison wall rather than go back to Akatúi. At six o’clock I got up. The sun was rising over my window, bright and smiling as ever, but in my heart there was no response to its smiles, no reflection of its rays—only darkness and uncertainty were there. Minutes and hours passed. My heart was growing cold, and at times almost ceased beating. When I came out into the yard for my last walk the regular strokes of a hammer reached my ear. Through crevices in the wall I could see two prisoners at work; they were building a staircase to the watchman’s tower. They were guarded by a soldier. All grew dark before me. There was no more hope. Another soldier at the gate!
The clock struck ten. I stood near the wall where the sounds came from, and it seemed to me that with every stroke of the hammer they nailed down the cover of my coffin. But a sudden thought flashed through my mind. I asked the guard who watched me to fetch my book in the cell, and he went on this errand. I knocked on the wall. The strokes of the hammer ceased.
“Brother, hello, brother!”
“What do ye want?” asked a gruff voice.
“Where is the soldier that is watching you?”
“He went away for a minute. He isn’t afraid of us—we shan’t run away. We have got only three days more to serve.”
PETER KARPOVITCH
Assassinated minister Bogolyepov, sentenced to solitary confinement in Shlússelburg fortress in 1906, sent to Akatúi, escaped ]
My heart fairly leaped with joy. With one jump I was near the gate. I threw down my prisoner’s coat. I removed the board from under the gate without making the slightest sound, and crawled through. I rose from the ground, and at that moment the soldier on guard, having come to the end of his beat, turned his face to me. I saw the carriage standing on the corner. I knew that I had to make just ten steps. But seconds seemed eternities to me, and the short distance between me and the carriage turned into interminable space. It seemed to me that I was not moving at all, but standing as if chained to the spot by the bewildered look of the sentry. Suddenly a shot rang out, and the bullet whizzed over my head. But before the smoke had cleared away I was already in the carriage. Bullets were falling about us in a shower. I shot aimlessly into the air, to scare off our pursuers. Soon we were lost from the view of the pursuing soldiers in a thoroughfare of Irkutsk. A feeling of utter happiness, the happiness of freedom, filled my whole being. I inhaled the dusty air of the street, and it seemed to me to be permeated with the odor of roses and violets. I saw no more the prison walls, and the narrow thoroughfare appeared to me a limitless expanse. My carriage was going at a terrific speed, and carrying me farther and farther away from the prison. I was ready to die right then, being happy with the thought that I saw the streets and the people on them not through the gray walls of my prison, but face to face, a free being. My head was like in a whirl. I saw as through a mist the faces of passers-by, and it seemed to me that they were smiling to me and celebrating with me my great victory over the walls of the dreary prison.
Our carriage stopped in front of a sumptuous residence, which was shaded by a row of trees. I jumped out and rang the bell. An old lackey opened the door. To my question, “Is so-and-so at home?” he replied that all had departed and would not be back before evening. My carriage was gone, and I knew that I could not lose a moment’s time, because the soldiers who were pursuing me would find me there. I did not know the city, and besides I could not appear in the streets in my attire without arousing suspicion. “I _must_ enter this house,” I thought, “otherwise I am lost.” I looked at the lifeless face of the old lackey who stood before me at the door and kept on repeating that nobody was at home.
“Listen,” I began in a feminine voice, “I _must_ get in here, I _cannot_ go away from this house in this attire. And you _must_ help me.”
I stepped into the hall, closed the door, and took his hands. “We must hurry, because the police and the soldiers may come here at any minute.”
The old lackey stared at me in utter bewilderment and did not say a word. I thought that he had lost his power of speech from fright. He led me through the rooms, opened the bureaus and closets, and burned my masculine garb. Suddenly the door-bell rang. I understood that the police must have come after me.
“Dear, good man,” I said to the lackey, “you must take me out by the back door, and not say a word about what has taken place here, otherwise it will be all over with you.” And I ran in the direction he pointed without breaking his silence.
Here I was in the street, walking with none too firm steps and trying to remember the plan of the city. After about an hour’s search I found a house the address of which I had with me. I was admitted by a man of thirty or thirty-five. I told him my name. He grasped my hands, squeezed them hard, and kept on repeating like a madman: “Oh, what a miracle! what a miracle! In the middle of the day, before the very eyes of all the guards!” I had never seen this man, but his voice was firm, and I was beginning to hope that he would help me.
It was twelve o’clock then, only two hours having passed from the moment of my escape. Mr. N—— locked me in his cabinet and went out to see what was going on in the street. Only then I clearly saw what a problem I had before me. When I was in prison my only thought was, how to get out of it. I could not bring myself to think of the difficulties which would confront me when once out of it, and at liberty. “How shall I hide, where shall I go?” were questions that demanded immediate answer. I knew that all my comrades would be arrested immediately, and that to accept their aid would be giving myself into the hands of the gendarmes.
Mr. N—— came back and brought me new dresses.
“I think,” he said, “that it is best for you to leave this house. The house in which you have just been hiding is surrounded by the police, and we cannot depend upon the lackey. He may tell everything. I have a very good plan, but the road over which we shall have to go leads past the prison. Can you make up your mind to pass there?”
“And you,” I asked,—“Do you know what awaits you if you should be arrested with me?”
I knew that N—— sympathized with the revolution, but I also knew that he had never taken an active part in it, and besides he had a wife and two children.
“Don’t think of that,” he answered.
“All right, we will go.”
I dressed all in white, and put on a blond wig. The day was fine, and the sun again smiled to me. We neared the prison, and I could see the hospital, the cot on which I had lain eight months. There was the operating table. I recalled the faces of the doctors, who were the only people dear to me, _dear_ because they were from the outside world, were free men. Even the prison guards then looked at me with a soft expression in their eyes, because they were sure that I would not survive the operation. I recalled the hard labor-prison where I had spent five years, five terrible years. My friends were still there, in that living grave. And I swore by all that was sacred to me that I would not forget them, and would devote my life to them. The carriage passed the prison, and in a minute left it far behind. But I could not free myself from the thought of that prison. I felt that all that I had lived through in those six years had tied me to that place where thousands of lives were chained. I was free, but it was only an external freedom, for I never could free myself from the thought of those people who were left within those dark walls.
We arrived at the house. It stood on the outskirts of the city and was surrounded by a large park. The family that occupied it was of very noble descent and immensely rich. With the revolutionary movement they had no connection whatever, but the mother of the family was a highly intelligent and progressive woman, and always regarded with extreme disapproval the treatment which the government accorded its political prisoners. My identity was to be kept secret from all the members of the family, except the lady of the house, who alone knew who I was. I was to be hired as a chambermaid, and thus allay all suspicion and avoid any possible questions. I hoped that the rôle of a chambermaid would render it possible for me to remain in that house for a time. I put on a servant’s dress and assumed the duties of my position.
The sun sank below the horizon, and it grew dark. The skies were wrapped in the mysterious covers of night. Stars began to twinkle here and there. I stood absorbed in the sight of the approaching night. Six years I had not been under the open sky in the evening. But there was no joy in my heart, only fear. I was afraid to move. Something unknown was in the darkness of the night, and it threatened me on all sides. Suddenly soft arms embraced me and some one began to kiss me. I felt hot tears falling on my hands. It was the lady of the house. This woman, a total stranger to me, tried to comfort me like my own mother, and relieve the burning anguish of my heart.
At eight o’clock in the evening the whole family and a number of guests, most of whom were high government officials, went into the dining-room and took their seats. I brought the soup. The son of my hostess, a student at St. Petersburg University, who was home on his vacation, was reading an evening newspaper. When I handed him his plate he looked at me and exclaimed, “Mama! Mama! Our maid resembles—” He did not finish the sentence, for he noticed that his mother had turned ghastly pale. All the guests began to examine the picture reproduced in the newspaper and compare it with me. There could be no doubt of my identity as there were several photographs of me printed in different positions. Besides my features were described in detail, and there was even a photographic reproduction of my hands. I, without showing the least concern, continued to serve the soup, which the hostess passed to me with trembling hands. Her eyes looked at me with maternal tenderness, but she was helpless to defend me. I was recognized. Nobody asked me any questions. But a dead silence reigned in the room during the whole dinner. At last the torture ended, and I, thoroughly exhausted, went to my room.
It was twelve o’clock. The guests had departed. I was sitting in my room with my hostess and awaiting the return of her son, who had gone to town to look for a place for me to hide. He came and brought terrible news; the neighboring house was surrounded by the police, who had a bloodhound with them. He had found a room, but if we should leave the house right then we would surely be stopped by the police. It was necessary to act quickly, for I did not want those good, innocent people to suffer with me. I decided to leave the house. It was one o’clock at night. I dressed myself in black, and wanted to go to a near-by wood which was at a distance of about two miles from Irkutsk. It could be reached by walking over a field and thus avoiding the streets.
“But, mama,” said the student, “can a man, no matter what his political opinions are, turn a woman out into the street at night? _I_ cannot do that! _I_ will go with her.”
It was futile to argue with this man the risk he took in accompanying me, for he was firm in his determination to share my fate with me. We started out, walked a great distance over fields, and entered the city from the opposite side. I was so exhausted that I could not walk any more, and he carried me in his arms into a house where we were expected. Two days I lay in a semi-conscious condition. I remember only one thing: whenever I opened my eyes, I saw the face of a student. I tried to recall who he was, but in vain. His face would grow bigger and bigger and resolve itself into many faces of the prison doctors and guards, and I would again fall into a stupor. The people at that house did not know who I was; they only knew that I had to be in hiding. They were plain townspeople, greedy for money, and knowing that the man who brought me to their house was of a rich family, expected to get a large sum for keeping me.
On the third day I felt much better, and got out of bed. My hosts were still ignorant of my identity. I was beginning to hope that all had quieted down. But at noon my aristocratic friend came to see me. She was greatly excited. She told me that the city was in a state of terror; that the police had searched all the houses in some streets and had arrested absolutely innocent people; that the authorities had released a number of criminals who knew my face—some of them had yet to serve eight months of their sentences—and sent all over town to look for me; that the government had announced a large reward for my capture, and even the prison administration offered 1,000 rubles for any information that would lead to my arrest. She was not sure that she was not being shadowed by the secret police and therefore thought that the best thing for her to do was to leave town for some time. She gave me money and bade me good-by with tears in her eyes.
On the fourth day of my stay with those people, I noticed that they looked worried. They began to suspect that I was the woman about whom the newspapers printed all sorts of sensational stories. Those miserable newspapers almost led to my being discovered again. Without saying anything to me, my landlord, in the simplicity of his heart, solved the matter in a very simple and rather unexpected way. He invented a fictitious name, and, having entered it in his housebook as that of his boarder, went to the police station to register me. By this means he hoped to avert all suspicion from himself. I was sitting in my room and did not suspect anything. Suddenly my landlady rushed in and told me in very excited tones what her husband had done. My first impulse was to flee. But where? There was no time to deliberate, because I did not at all know what sort of man my landlord was, and the landlady was in such great trepidation that she could not be depended upon. I dressed myself, and was going down the stairs when I met the landlord.
“Where are you going?” he asked in a very calm voice.
“Well, did you register me?” I inquired.
“No, there wasn’t anybody in the station. It is a holiday.”
That was great luck. I went back into my room. But scarcely half an hour passed when the door-bell rang and my landlady, pale as a ghost, ran in to me, shouting: “Police, police, flee!” I ran to the kitchen and into the back yard and hid in the building where firewood was kept. I stood breathless in a corner, with my revolver ready in my hand. A feeling of shame and humiliation filled my heart in that filthy place. A voice within me whispered: “Ah, you wanted freedom! You wanted to escape from life-imprisonment! But have you the strength to do it? Why don’t you shoot yourself?” And my long-formed resolution to die rather than fall into the hands of the gendarmes came to me. I nervously clutched the pistol in my hand and opened the trigger guard. Many times during my revolutionary life have I experienced the proximity of death, and every time, at those moments, pictures of my whole life flashed through my mind like lightning. And what I can’t understand is, that those pictures always looked so attractive and so cheerful! There was no trace of sufferings and persecution, no memory of the terrible years of my imprisonment.
The door of the building opened and my landlord’s aged mother entered.
“The gorodovoi[35] is gone, thank the Lord. He came to find out what my son wanted in the police station and we didn’t tell him anything about you.”
It was plain to me that I could not remain any longer with these people. They could betray my presence in their house through sheer stupidity and fear. But where was I to go?
In an apartment at the same house several men were playing cards at that time. My landlord, in the excitement caused by the visit of the policemen, told those people that, to his mind, the woman who had escaped from prison was hiding in his house. His story excited the curiosity of the company, and they came down to have a look at me. One of them, a man of about forty, expressed his willingness to help me.
“Don’t worry,” he said; “I am an honest man, although I lead a disreputable life. Nobody will ever suspect that you are hiding in my home. I live with my boy, and often bring women to my house.”
I told this man frankly what awaited him if I was arrested in his house. But he insisted that there was no danger. When it grew dark I went with this man, who was a total stranger to me. We climbed up several flights of filthy, slippery, and badly lighted stairs and knocked. The door was opened by a boy of about 15, who had a very pleasant face.
“Make yourself at home,” said my host. “You see, the rooms here have not been cleaned these last four months. There was a woman here last week, but she only brought more filth.”
He slept with his boy in one room, and gave me his bedroom, in which the whole furniture consisted of a broken couch. In the morning he told me to be quiet, so that my footsteps should not be heard by the tenants of the apartment below. I could stay there three or four days, and no one would know that there was a woman in the house. He went away, having locked the door of my room from the outside, and I was left alone. In the evening he came back drunk, but he talked sensibly, and did not forget his rôle. He began to tell me about himself:
“I am a civil engineer and a good mechanic, and have ‘golden hands,’ but one must bow one’s head and obey superiors, and I just can’t do that. It is already a year since I have been out of a job. I have sold everything there was in the house. The rent has not been paid, and my boy wears tatters and cannot go to school. I have two more children in the village, and the old woman who boards them threatens to send them back because I have long stopped paying their board-bill.”
While telling me his story, he kept on drinking, now beer, now vódka from a large glass, and at about twelve o’clock became violent, and began to hit the boy. He ordered him to say some nonsensical words, and when the boy hesitated, he beat him mercilessly. I was in agony, and tried to shield the unfortunate child with my own body. Suddenly the thought of the drunken man turned on me.
“Do you see,” he cried to his son, “this woman is a saint; she is not like those you have seen here before. And if you will ever think of betraying her, you will answer me with your own head.” And he made the boy swear to something.
At two o’clock I succeeded in putting him to sleep. I lay awake the whole night. On the following morning he apologized to me, and in the evening the same story was repeated. I knew I had to leave that house, that I could not remain under such conditions; but I knew of no place where I could go.
On the third day my host went away and locked me in as usual. At twelve o’clock I got up from the couch, intending to make some tea. I moved about the room with great caution, as I was afraid the neighbors might hear there was somebody in the locked apartment. On the floor near the window, over which a curtain hung, stood a spirit-lamp and a bottle of alcohol. While striking a match, I overturned the bottle with my elbow, and the alcohol momentarily flamed up. I hardly had time to jump aside. The curtain caught fire, and the red flames could be seen from the street. The room filled with smoke, and the door of my room was locked. For a moment it seemed to me that my end was near; for I thought that if people came before I was burned to death, I should be recognized, and in that case I was going to die by my own hand. But suddenly remembering, I began to throw on the fire everything I could get in my room, and by a supreme effort I managed to extinguish the flames. My fear that the people down-stairs may have heard the noise of my struggle was great, and I waited in extreme suspense. At last the boy came, and I decided to send him with a message to my friends. The idea to enlist his services had long occurred to me; but it was a terrible risk to intrust my life into the hands of a child. Besides, it was imperative that I should leave the house without his father knowing my destination, as I felt I could no more rely upon the drunkard. But before I had time to despatch the boy, his father came. He was so drunk that he could scarcely stand on his feet. He did not even notice the traces of the fire. He went to the window, opened it, and began to shout to the people in the street, accompanying his words with most dreadful oaths: “I know who you are. You are spies—spies, all of you.”
GENERAL VIEW OF THE MALTZEV HARD-LABOR PRISON ]
I dragged him away from the window. Then he sat down close to me, and I felt his hot breath on my cheek. His eyes were bloodshot. I saw that the man was quite out of his senses. I got up, he seized my hands, and began to kiss them. I tried to free myself, and there began a struggle with a drunken man. I was not afraid. I knew that I had only to free one hand for a second, and pick up my revolver, which lay right near under the touch. The noise of the scuffle was heard in the other room, and the boy ran in. His sudden appearance surprised the drunkard, who released his hold upon me and began to beat the boy. It was a horrible spectacle, and all my efforts to tear the boy away from his father’s grasp were in vain. At last, exhausted by his exertion, the drunkard fell to the floor and was soon asleep, to the great relief of myself and the poor boy. I did not sleep the whole night, and at sunrise I awakened the boy. He looked at me with an expression of childish pride in his eyes. He understood the seriousness of the mission he was to take upon himself. Before departing on his errand, he looked at his sleeping father, and with downcast eyes asked me, “Are you not afraid to remain here alone?”
After a few hours of anxious waiting I received word that an officer would come to fetch me. Soon a colonel of the Russian army arrived. I thought it was one of my friends dressed up like an officer, but he turned out to be a real colonel, of the local garrison.
“You see,” he tried to explain, noticing my look of astonishment, “I do not agree with your ideas, but as a man I highly value heroism in people, particularly in women. I am an army officer, and I was in the Japanese War. I saw and took part in most bloody battles. But we are men and soldiers, and you!”
I considered it unnecessary to argue with him that I did not at all think my act was heroic.
“Your bold escape has excited my warmest admiration,” he continued, “and I, as an officer, appreciate it, and wish to help you slip out of this city. I and my comrades found out by chance where you were, and we will all be awfully glad to meet you. You know the police are searching for you very energetically and bending every effort to find you. They even imported the famous bloodhound ‘Rex’ from Kief. In general, there are all sorts of interesting rumors about you in town. They say that on the first day of your escape you were hiding in the governor-general’s house.”
He spoke with great enthusiasm, evidently forgetting what awaited him in case I was found in his company. I went with him, and after several minutes’ walk was at his house. He lived with his man-servant, a soldier of his regiment, who managed all his household affairs. A little later three more officers of his regiment came. Among them I felt like a prisoner; their epaulets, sabers, and clicking spurs reminded me of the gendarmes and the prison officials in whose power I had been for so many years. They joked, laughed, and their manner was free and careless. But I was grieved at the thought that perhaps on the morrow these servants of the czar would blindly obey the command of some half-witted general and shoot down innocent people. It was hard to reconcile what they were doing in my case with their every-day mission. But they were far from having any principles. To them I was only a young woman who was being persecuted, and they did not associate the fact that they were hiding me, a political offender for whose head a large reward had been offered by the Government, with the general conditions of life in Russia. At twelve o’clock at night all went away, leaving the whole house to me.
I spent six uncomfortable days in the society of these officers, stopping now with one, now with another. It was not safe to remain longer with them, because each had a servant, a soldier. These soldiers apparently obeyed their masters, but in reality they did as they pleased. Despite the strict orders not to speak to anybody about the “lady from Vienna” who was stopping at their houses, despite their ever-ready reply, “Yes, sir,” they were not to be trusted; the temptation to share the interesting news with their fellow-soldiers was too great. So the colonel arranged with some musicians from St. Petersburg to give me shelter for two days.
The risk of hiding in Irkutsk was becoming greater and greater. The police and gendarmes kept up the search untiringly. The railway station was watched by dozens of spies. According to rumors, people who knew my face were sent to the Manchurian and Chinese borders. It was necessary to leave the city, but it was impossible to find a free exit.
On the second day of my stay with the musicians the colonel came to see me.
“Did you hear?” said he. “They say that you have already gone to Switzerland.”
He related to me that after I had left his house he had paid a visit to the colonel of gendarmes on the pretext of some fictitious case, and had started a conversation about me.
“How do you explain the fact,” he asked the colonel of gendarmes, “that Miss Sukloff has not been apprehended?”
“For a very simple reason,” replied the colonel of gendarmes. “She is long in Switzerland, and we expect to receive a report about her from our agents abroad.”
Thus the time was ripe for me to leave the city. The colonel found a room for me with an old woman, to whom I was introduced as a university student. At last, by the tenth of September, everything was ready for my departure. Money was collected, a man was found who undertook to accompany me to Manchuria and China, and passports in the name of a “Sister of Mercy” were procured.
I was to go on the eight o’clock train. I dressed like a “Sister of Mercy,” dyed my black hair a golden brown, and from a slim young girl was converted into a stout, middle-aged woman. I arrived at the station a few seconds before the train started, and went straight to my car without looking at the people. The few seconds seemed eternities to me. At last the signal to start was given, and the train rolled past the platform, past the gendarmes and spies who scanned the faces in the car windows, and was soon in the open field. With a sigh of relief I sat down at a window and looked in the direction of the city, which I would see no more.
Footnote 34:
A gate in Russia does not reach to the very ground, and the narrow space left is covered with a board.
Footnote 35:
Policeman.