The Price of Power Part 33

We were now fast approaching the dreaded Arctic penal settlements, of which the town of Yakutsk was the centre, distant over four thousand miles from the Russian frontier, every inch of which we had traversed by road.

Hour by hour, day by day, onward we went, with those irritating bells ever jingling in our ears. Petrakoff slept, his head sunk wearily upon his breast, but my mind was much too agitated for sleep. I had, by good fortune, escaped the a.s.sa.s.sin who had followed me hot-foot across Asia, and now I must soon overtake the unfortunate woman from whose lips I would seek permission for Her Highness to speak.

Pakrovskoe, a mere handful of huts, came in sight one day just as the grey light faded. It was the last village before our goal--Yakutsk. We changed horses and ate some dried fish and rye bread, washed down by a cup of weak tea. Then, after half an hour's rest, again we went forward into the grey gloom of the snow, where on our left at the edge of the plain showed the pale yellow streak of the winter afterglow.

Through that long, interminable night we toiled on and ever on in deep snowdrifts. Vasilli ever and anon uttering curses in his beard, for the horses we had obtained at Pakrovskoe were terrible screws.

At length, however, just as the first grey of dawn appeared on the horizon our driver pointed with his whip, crying excitedly:

"Yakutsk! Excellency! Yakutsk! G.o.d be thanked for a safe journey!"

At first I could see nothing, but presently, straining my eyes straight before me, I discerned at the far edge of the snow-covered plain several low towers with bulgy spires, and a long line of house roofs silhouetted against the faint horizon.

Petrakoff gazed forth sleepily, and then with a low, half-conscious grunt lapsed again into inert slumber.

But no longer could I close my eyes. I drew my furs more closely round me, and sat with eyes fixed upon my longed-for goal.

Would success crown my efforts, or had, alas! poor Marya de Rosen succ.u.mbed to the brutal treatment meted out to her by the Cossack captain.

After three eager, breathless hours, which seemed weeks to me, we at last drove into the long wide thoroughfare which is the princ.i.p.al street of that northerly town--a road lined by small, square wooden houses, with sloping roofs, each surrounded by its little stockade. The town seemed practically deserted, a dreary, dismal, silent place, of which half the inhabitants were exiles or the free children of exiles. The remainder were, as I afterwards discovered, free Russians--merchants who had emigrated there for the advantage of trade, together with a host of Government officials--Cossack, civil, police, revenue, church, etc.

Without much difficulty we found the Guestnitsa Hotel, a wretched place, verminous and dirty, like every other hotel in all Siberia was before the enlightening days of the great railroad. Here I established myself, and sent Petrakoff with a note to the Governor-General, asking for audience without delay.

Scarcely had I washed, shaved and made myself a trifle presentable-- though I fear my unshorn hair presented a somewhat s.h.a.ggy appearance-- when the agent of police returned with a note from His Excellency General Vorontzoff, Governor-General of the province, expressing his regret that owing to being compelled to make a military inspection during that day he was unable to receive me until five o'clock in the evening.

Thus was I compelled to await His Excellency's pleasure.

The fame of Alexander Vorontzoff was well-known in Petersburg. He was a hard, hide-bound bureaucrat, without a spark of pity or of human feeling. And for that reason the camarilla surrounding His Majesty the Emperor had managed to obtain his appointment as Governor-General of Yakutsk. He was the catspaw of that half-dozen astute Ministers who terrorised the Emperor and his Court, and by so doing feathered their own nests. "Politicals" committed by Markoff to his tender mercies were shown little consideration, for was not his appointment as Governor-General mainly on account of his brutal treatment of offenders during his term of office at Tomsk?

Hartwig, had, more than once, mentioned this man as the most cruel, inhuman official in all Siberia. Therefore, being forewarned, I was ready to meet him on his own ground.

Many a man, and many a delicate woman, transported there from Russia, although quite as innocent of revolutionary ideas as my friend Madame de Rosen, had lived but a few short days on their arrival at the prison at Yakutsk, horrible tales of which had even filtered through back to Petersburg and Moscow.

One fact well-known was that, two years before, when smallpox had broken out at the prison, this brutal official caused a whole batch of prisoners to be placed in a room where a dozen other prisoners were lying in the last stages of that fatal disease, with the result that over two hundred exiles became infected, and of them one hundred and eighty died without receiving the least medical attention.

Such an action stood to his credit in the bureau of the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg! He had saved the Empire the keep of a hundred and eighty prisoners--mostly the victims of Markoff and the camarilla!

When at five o'clock I was ushered into a big, gloomy room, lit by a hundred candles in bra.s.s sconces, a vulgar, thick-set man in tight-fitting, dark green uniform, his breast glittering with decorations, rose to greet me in a thick, deep voice. I judged him to be nearly sixty, with grey, steely eyes, a bloated face, short-cropped grey beard, and very square shoulders.

He apologised for his absence during the day, and after handing me a cigarette invited me to a chair covered with red plush, himself taking one opposite to me.

"I have been already notified of your coming," he said, speaking through his beard. "They sent me word from Petersburg that you were travelling to Yakutsk. I am very delighted to receive you as guest of my Imperial Master. In what way can I be of service to you?"

I treated him with considerable hauteur, as became one bearing the order of the Tzar.

From my pocket I produced the Imperial instructions to all Governors of the Asiatic provinces to do my bidding. As soon as he saw it his manner changed and he became most humble and submissive.

"I must again apologise for not receiving you--for not calling upon you instantly on your arrival, Mr Trewinnard. But, truth to tell, I had for the moment forgotten that you were the guest of His Imperial Majesty. I had quite overlooked the telegram sent to me months ago," he said; and then he read the other permits I produced. "I hope you have had a safe journey, and not too uncomfortable," he went on. "I travelled once from Moscow in winter, and I must confess I, although a Russian, found it uncommonly cold."

I gave him to understand that I had not travelled over six thousand miles merely to talk of climatic conditions.

But he strode with swagger across the big, well-furnished room, his gay decorations glittering in the candle-light. The treble windows were closed with thick, dark green curtains pulled across them. The armchairs and sofa were leather-covered, and at the farther end of the room was a big, littered writing-table set near the high stove of glazed brick.

He was a bachelor, with the reputation of being a hard drinker and a confirmed gambler. And under the iron hand of this unsympathetic and brutal official ten thousand political exiles, scattered all over the Arctic province, led an existence to which, in many cases, death would have been far preferable.

Upon the dark green walls of that sombre room--a room in which many a wretched "political" had pleaded in vain--was a single picture, a portrait of the Emperor, one of those printed by the thousand and distributed to every Government office throughout the great Empire. His Excellency General Vorontzoff, as representative of the Emperor, lived in considerable state with a large military staff, and Cossack sentries posted at all the doors. He was as unapproachable as the Tzar himself, probably knowing how hated he was among those unfortunates over whom he held the power of life and death. For the ordinary man to obtain audience of him was wellnigh impossible.

The explicit order in His Majesty's own handwriting altered things considerably in my case, and I saw that he was greatly puzzled as to who I really could be, and why his Master had been so solicitous regarding my welfare.

"I have travelled from Petersburg, Your Excellency, in order to have private interviews with two political prisoners who have recently arrived here," I explained at last.

He frowned slightly at mention of the word "political."

"I understand," he said. "They are friends of yours--eh?"

"Yes," I replied. "And I wish to have interviews with the ladies with as little delay as possible."

"Ladies--eh?" he asked, raising his grey eyebrows. "Who are they?"

"Their name is de Rosen," I said, "but their exile numbers are 14956 and 14957."

He bent to his writing-table, near which he was at that moment standing, and scribbled down the numbers. "They arrived recently, you say?"

"Yes. And I may tell you in confidence that a grave injustice has been done in exiling them. His Majesty is about to inst.i.tute full and searching inquiries into the circ.u.mstances."

His bloated face fell. He grew a trifle paler, and regarded me with some concern.

"I suppose they arrived with the last convoy?" he said reflectively.

"We will quickly see."

And he rang a bell, in answer to which a smart young Cossack officer appeared, saluting.

To him he handed the slip of paper with the numbers, saying in that hard, imperious voice of his:

"Report at once to me the whereabouts of these two prisoners. They arrived recently, and I am awaiting information."

The officer again saluted and withdrew. Scarcely had he closed the door when another officer, wearing his heavy greatcoat flecked with snow, entered and, saluting, handed the Governor a paper, saying:

"The prisoners for Kolimsk are ready to start, Excellency."

"How many?"

"Two hundred and seven--one hundred and twenty-six men, and eighty-one women. Your Excellency."

Sredne Kolimsk! That was the most northerly and most dreaded settlement in all the Arctic, still distant nearly one thousand miles--the living tomb of so many of Markoff's victims.

"Are they outside?" asked the Governor. To which the officer in charge replied in the affirmative.

"May I see them?" I asked. Whereupon my request was readily granted.