The Price of Power Part 30

The poor young lady, filled with sweet sympathy and expectation, hoping to find him in Irkutsk, arrived there a fortnight too late. Imagine her anguish when, having travelled over four thousand miles of the worst country on the fact; of the world, she learned the cruel news. Still three thousand miles distant! But she set out to find him. Alas!

however, it was too much for her. She lost her reason, raved for a little while under restraint and died at the roadside.

Is it any wonder that there were in Russia real revolutionists, revolting not against their Tzar, but against the inhuman system of the camarilla?

Petrakoff and I spent a sleepless night in that rat-eaten post-house where the food was bad, and our beds consisted only of a wooden bench.

We had as companions half a dozen drivers, who had come with a big tea-caravan from China, ragged, unwashed, uncouth fellows in evil-smelling furs.

Indeed the air was so thick and intolerable that at two o'clock in the morning I took my sleeping-bag outside and lay in the sled, in preference to staying in that vermin-infested hut.

Next morning, the twenty-second of January, I signed the postmaster's book as soon as it grew light, and with three fresh horses approved of by Vasilli, we were away, leaving the Great Post Road and striking north along the Lena.

From that moment we entered an uninhabited country, the snowy dreariness of which was indescribable, and as day succeeded day and we pushed further north the climate became more rigorous, until it was no unusual thing to have great icicles hanging from one's moustache.

One day, a week after leaving Tulunovsk, we pa.s.sed through an entirely deserted village of low-built huts. I asked Vasilli the reason that no one lived there.

"This is a bad place, Excellency," was the fellow's reply. "All the people died of smallpox six months ago."

And so we went on and on, and ever onward. Sometimes we would travel the whole twenty-four hours rather than rest in those horrible post-houses, and on such journeys we often covered one hundred and twenty to one hundred and forty versts, changing horses every twenty to thirty versts.

We covered seven hundred and fifty miles to Dubrovsk in sixteen days, and here, at the post-house, we met a party of Cossacks coming south after taking a convoy of prisoners to Olekminsk--half-way between Dubrovsk and Yakutsk--and handing them over to the guard sent south to meet them.

While taking our evening tea I chatted with the Cossack captain, a big, muscular giant in knee-boots who sat with his legs outstretched on the dirty floor, leaning his back against the high brick stove.

I was making inquiries regarding the prisoners he had recently brought up, whereupon he said:

"They were a batch of politicals from Tomsk. Poor devils, they've been sent to Parotovsk--and there's smallpox there. I suppose General Tschernaieff has sent them there on purpose that they shall become infected and die. Politicals are often sent into an infected settlement."

"To Parotovsk!" I gasped, for it suddenly occurred to me that the woman of whom I was in search might be of that party!

And then I breathlessly inquired if Madame de Rosen, Political Number 14956, had been with them.

"She and her daughter were ill, and were allowed a sled," I added.

"There were two ladies, Excellency, mother and daughter. One was about forty, and the other about eighteen. They came from Petersburg, and were, I believe, well connected and moved in the best society."

"You do not know their names?" I asked anxiously.

"Unfortunately, no," was his reply. "Only the numbers. I believe the lady's number was that which you mentioned. She was registered, however, as a dangerous person."

"No doubt the same!" I cried. "How is she?"

"When they left Olekminsk she was very weak and ill," he replied.

"Indeed, I recollect remarking to my lieutenant that I feared she would never reach Yakutsk."

"How far are they ahead of us?" I inquired eagerly. The bearded man reflected for some minutes, making mental calculations. "They left Olekminsk a fortnight ago, therefore by this they should be nearing Yakutsk."

"And how long will it take me to reach Yakutsk?" I asked.

He again made a calculation and at last replied:

"By travelling hard, Excellency, you should reach Yakutsk, I think, in twenty-five to twenty-seven days. It would be impossible before, I fear, owing to the heavy snowdrifts and the bad state of the roads."

"Twenty-seven days!" I echoed. "And before I can reach there the ladies will already be inmates of that infected settlement of Parotovsk--the place to which they have been sent to sicken and die!"

"She was marked as `dangerous,' Excellency. She would therefore be sent north at once, without a doubt. Persons marked as `dangerous' are never permitted to remain in Yakutsk."

Could I reach her in time? Could I save her?

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

IN THE NIGHT.

From that day and through twenty-two other dark, weary days of the black frosts of mid-winter, we travelled onward, ever onward. Sometimes we crossed the limitless snow-covered tundra, sometimes we went down into the deep valley of the frozen Lena river, changing horses every thirty versts and signing the post-horse keeper's greasy road-book.

At every stage I produced my Imperial permit, and at almost every station the ignorant peasant who kept it fell upon his knees in deep obeisance to the guest of the great Tzar.

We were now, however, off the main road, for this highway to the far-off Arctic settlements, used almost solely by the convict convoys, ran for a thousand miles through a practically uninhabited country, the only sign of civilisation being the never-ending telegraph-line which we followed, and the lonely post-stations half-buried in the snow.

Ah! those long, anxious days of icy blasts and whirling snow blizzards.

My companion and I, wrapped to our eyes in furs, sat side by side often dozing for hours, our ears tired of that irritating jingle of the sled-bells, our limbs cramped and benumbed, and often ravenously hungry, for the rough fare at the post-house was very frequently uneatable.

For six dark days we met not a single soul upon the road, save a party of Cossacks coming south. But from them I could obtain no news of the last batch of "politicals" who had travelled north, and whom we were following in such hot haste.

Again I telegraphed to Hartwig in Brighton, telling him of my whereabouts, and obtaining a reply from him that Her Highness was still well and sent me her best wishes.

That in itself was rea.s.suring.

Hard travel and bad food told, I think, upon both of us. Petrakoff dearly wished himself back in his beloved Petersburg again. Yet our one-eyed half-Tartar driver seemed quite unconscious of either cold or fatigue. The strain of driving so continuously--sometimes for twenty hours out of the twenty-four--must have been terrible. But he was ever imperious in his dealings at post-stations, ever loud in his commands to the cringing owners of those log-built huts to bring out their best trio of horses, ever yelling to the fur-clad grooms not to keep His Excellency waiting on pain of terrible punishment.

Thus through those short, dark winter days, and often through the long, steely nights, ever following those countless telegraph-poles, we went on--ever onward--until we found ourselves in a small wretched little place of log-built houses called Olekminsk. Upon my travelling map, as indeed upon every map of Siberia, it is represented in capitals as an important place. So I expected to find at least a town--perhaps even a hotel. Instead, I discovered it to be a mere wretched hamlet, with a post-house, and a wood-built prison for the reception of "politicals."

We arrived at midnight. In the common room of the post-house, around which earth and snow had been banked to keep out the cold, was a high brick stove, and around the walls benches whereon a dozen wayfarers like ourselves were wrapped in their evil-smelling furs, and sleeping. The odour as I entered the place was foetid; the dirt indescribable. One s.h.a.ggy peasant, in heavy top-boots and fur coat, had imbibed too much vodka, and had become hilarious, whereat one of the sleepers, suddenly awakened, threw a top-boot at him across the room, narrowly missing my head.

The post-house keeper, as soon as he saw my permit, sent a man to the local chief of police, a stout, middle-aged man, who appeared on the scene in his hastily-donned uniform and who invited me to his house close by. There I questioned him regarding the political prisoners, "Numbers 14956 and 14957."

Having read my permits--at which he was visibly impressed when he saw the signature of the Emperor himself--he hastened to obtain his register. Presently he said:

"The two ladies you mention have pa.s.sed through this prison, Excellency.

I see a note that both are dangerous `politicals,' and that the elder lady was rather weak. Judging from the time when they left, they are, I should say, already in Yakutsk--or even beyond."

"From what is she suffering?" I asked eagerly.

"Ah! Excellency, I cannot tell that," was his reply. "All I know is that the captain of Cossacks who came down from Yakutsk to meet the convoy considered that being a dangerous political, she was sufficiently well to walk with the others. So she has gone on foot the remainder of the journey. She arrived her in a sled."

"On foot!" I echoed. "But she is ill--dying, I was told."

The chief of police shrugged his shoulders and said with a sigh:

"I fear. Excellency, that the lady was somewhat unfortunate. That particular captain is not a very humane person--particularly where a dangerous prisoner is concerned."