VII
“When we reached the Amúr shore, the Ghiláks said to us: ‘Saltánof … head … water. …’ The natives are shrewd; the magpies so to speak, carry news on their tails. No matter what happens, they are sure to hear of it at once. We met several of them by the shore, fishing, who nodded laughingly at us. Evidently, they too were pleased; but we thought to ourselves. It is very well for you to laugh, you imps, while we have to suffer for it. That head may cost us our own! They gave us fish, and, after inquiring about the way, we started on, walking as though we were treading on eggs, every sound startling us. All the time we were on the lookout, avoiding dwellings and the Russian huts, and concealing our tracks as we went on.
“We travelled by night, resting all day in the woods. At dawn we reached Tarkhánof’s place. A new house stood in the field; it was fenced in, and the gates were closed. Judging from the description that it was the one Burán had told us about, we approached and knocked softly. Someone was starting a fire inside. ‘Who is there, and whence do you come?’ a man’s voice called out.
“ ‘We are vagrants,’ we replied. ‘Burán sends his regards to Stakhéy Mítritch.’
“Stakhéy Mítritch, Tarkhánof’s head clerk, happened to be away at this time, and in his absence had left his assistant in charge, telling him, in case any vagrants should arrive from Saghálin, to provide them with boots and sheepskin coats, and to give them five rubles apiece. Furthermore, to furnish them with as much linen and provisions as they required. ‘No matter how many there may be, provide enough for all. Get your workmen together as witnesses, so that your accounts will be in proper shape.’
“The news of Saltánof’s fate had reached here also, and the clerk was frightened when he saw us.
“ ‘Are you the men who killed Saltánof?’ he said. ‘You will have to look out for yourselves.’
“ ‘Whether we did or not, that is not the subject we wish to discuss. What we would like to know is whether we can expect any assistance from you. We are requested to convey Burán’s regards to Stakhéy Mítritch.’
“ ‘And where is Burán himself? Did he return to the island?’
“ ‘Yes, he returned to the island, and he wishes you a long life.’
“ ‘May he inherit the kingdom of heaven! … He was a worthy vagrant, although perhaps not very shrewd. Stakhéy Mítritch often spoke of him. I dare say, he will have his name put down for prayers. What was his Christian name? Do you know, boys?’
“ ‘No, we do not. He was always called Burán. Most likely, he had forgotten it himself; of what use is a name to a vagrant?’
“ ‘Now you see the result of such a life as yours! Is it not sad that when the priest wishes to pray for you he cannot utter your name. … The old man may have had relations in his native land, … brothers and sisters, or perhaps even children. …’
“ ‘Very likely. Though a vagrant discards his name, he is born into the world like the rest of humanity. …’
“ ‘A hard life, indeed!’
“ ‘None worse. We beg the food that we eat and wear clothes discarded like our own names. Nor is every vagrant fortunate enough to be buried. If he should happen to die in the wilderness, his body would become a prey for birds or beasts. … Even his bones are liable to be scattered by the wolves. What could be harder!’
“Such talk made us sad, … and, though we had said all these things chiefly to touch the sympathy of the clerk—since the more pitiful the story, the more the Siberian is likely to give you—we knew very well that we had given a true and unvarnished account of ourselves. We could not help thinking how this man, after hearing our sad story, would make the sign of the cross and go to bed … in warmth and comfort, he had no one to fear! … Whereas we should have to wander in the woods at dead of night, and, like swamp-imps, hide from all Christians at the first crowing of the cock.
“ ‘Well, boys,’ the clerk said at last, ‘it is time for me to go to bed. I will give you twenty kopeks extra; take it and go your way. I shall not wake all the workmen, but I will call three of my most reliable ones as witnesses. I suspect I shall get myself into trouble on your account.
“ ‘Now, look out. I advise you to avoid Nikoláevsk. I was there not long ago; the isprávnik is an energetic man, and has issued orders to detain all travellers, no matter where they happen to be found. He is reported to have said: “I will not let a magpie fly by nor a rabbit pass nor a beast escape me! much less will I suffer those Saghálinian fellows to slip through my fingers.” You will be lucky if you manage to elude him; and be sure on no account to enter the town.’
“He gave us the usual quantity of provision, including fish, also the twenty kopeks which he had promised. Then he made the sign of the cross, went into the house, and locked the door. The fire went out, and the men went to bed. It was but a short time before dawn when, with heavy hearts, we started once more on our journey.
“How often have we felt thus! On dark nights, in deep forests, drenched by the rain, buffeted by the wind, with no spot on earth where we could seek refuge or shelter! … Still, one longs to see one’s mother-country. And yet, if ever a man reaches it—where every dog knows him to be a vagrant, and where officials are vigilant and numerous—how long do you suppose he would remain at large in his own native place? … The prison awaits him! … At times even the thought of a prison was a comfort, and that’s a fact! So it was on that night as we walked along.
“ ‘I wonder what our folks are doing now, boys!’ suddenly exclaimed Volóydka.
“ ‘Whom do you mean?’ I asked.
“ ‘I mean the Saghálinians, our comrades of barrack No. 7. I suppose they are sleeping just now, free from care! And here are we poor wretches. … We ought not to have started. …’
“ ‘Don’t be like an old woman,’ I replied, pretending to be angry. ‘It would have been better if you had remained there, since you are so short-breathed, for you only distress us with your whining.’
“Yet I felt very much the same myself. We were weary, and dozed as we trudged along. A vagrant acquires the habit of taking naps when on his feet, and whenever I dozed I invariably dreamt of the barracks. … It seemed to me as if the moon were shining, and I saw the walls glittering in its light; I dreamed, too, that I saw the barred windows, and, behind them, the convicts sleeping in their rows of bunks. Then, again, I dreamed that I also was lying there, and stretching myself … but when I made the motion, the dream vanished.
“What is more painful for the vagrant than to dream of his father and mother? In my dream, it was as if nothing had ever happened to me, as though neither prison nor Saghálin had ever existed; it seemed as if I were lying in my parents’ house, and my mother, softly humming, were combing and smoothing my hair. A candle stood on the table, and my father, with spectacles on his nose, was reading an ancient book … he was a bookkeeper. …
“Arousing from my doze, I felt as if I could have stabbed myself then and there. Instead of home, I saw a narrow forest-path; Makárof was walking ahead, and we were following him in single file.
“Fitful gusts of wind rose every now and then, swaying the branches, and, again subsiding, left everything silent as before. Through the trees, in the distance, we caught glimpses of the sea, and above it a bit of the sky, showing the first faint vestige of dawn, a warning for us to hide in some ravine. The sea is never, never silent; you may have noticed that yourself. It always seems to be talking, or singing, or murmuring something. … It was this that made me dream ever of songs. The sea always made us feel homesick … because we were not used to it, I suppose. As we approached Nikoláevsk, the country grew more thickly settled, and our danger increased; but we still pushed slowly along. We travelled by night, and by day hid in thickets, so dense that beast or bird could hardly have penetrated, far less a human being. We ought to have avoided the city of Nikoláevsk; but we were exhausted, wandering in the wilderness, and our provisions were nearly out. One evening, toward night, we reached the river, and perceived some people on the banks. As we drew near, we recognized them to be the ‘Free Company.’ They were seining. We approached in an easy, self-composed manner.
“ ‘How do you do, gentlemen of the Free Company!’
“ ‘How do you do!’ they replied. ‘Where do you hail from?’
“By degrees we entered into conversation with them. Their stárosta, after looking at us attentively, called me aside and said:—
“ ‘Are you not the men from Saghálin? Is it you who have “covered” Saltánof?’
“I must confess I was in doubt whether it would be wise to tell him the truth; for, though he was a fellow-convict, yet, in a matter such as this, I hesitated to confide in anyone. If one stops to consider, a Free Company is a very different matter from an ordinary convict artel; for, should any of them wish to curry favor with the officials, he could secretly report us—for was he not a ‘free man’? Inside the prison-walls, we were acquainted with all the spies; whenever we were betrayed, we knew at once whom to suspect. Here we were at the mercy of all.
“Noticing my hesitation, he added: ‘Have no fear; I would not betray a comrade! Moreover, it is none of my business; I take your word for it. Only, as I had heard that a crime had been committed on Saghálin, and as there are eleven of you, I suspected it. This is a dangerous business, boys; it was a bold deed, and our isprávnik is a shrewd one, I assure you. But, then, that’s your own lookout. You will be lucky if you succeed in getting away. Now, let me offer you some provisions belonging to the artel, which were left over; you are welcome to them, as we are to return tonight. You can also have what bread there is left, and some fish. Don’t you need a kettle?’
“ ‘An extra one might come handy.’
“ ‘Take the one that belongs to our artel. I will bring you more things in the night, for I always feel it my duty to help a comrade.’
“We were much relieved. I took off my hat and bowed to this kindhearted man. My comrades also thanked him. … We were glad to receive the provisions, but still better pleased to hear a kind word. Until now we had held aloof from all, being well aware that death was the only thing we could expect from any man; and these men pitied us. In our joy, we nearly got ourselves into trouble.
“After they had left us, our boys grew more cheerful, and Volóydka even began to dance. We forgot our anxiety, and, on entering a deep valley, near the riverbank, called Dickman’s Valley, after a German steamship-owner by the name of Dickman, who built his steamers there, we made a fire, and hung the two kettles over it. In one we made tea, and in the other fish-chowder. By that time it was nearly night, and soon after it grew quite dark, and rain began to fall; but as we were sitting by the fire, drinking tea, it did not trouble us much.
“There we sat chatting, as snug and comfortable as one could wish, not dreaming that, since we could distinguish the city lights, our fire also might be visible to the inhabitants. That shows how careless we sometimes become. When we travelled in the woods and mountains, we feared every noise, and here, in sight of the city itself, we had built a fire, and sat around it, chatting as unconcernedly as possible.
“Luckily for us, an old officer, who for many years had been superintendent of one of the Siberian prisons, was then living in the city. The prison was a large one, and many men had been confined there at different times, every one of whom spoke well of this old gentleman. Everybody in Siberia knew Samárof; and when I heard, not long ago, that he was dead, I took pains to go to the priest, and paid him fifty kopeks to have his name mentioned in the prayers for the dead. He was a good old man! May he inherit the kingdom of heaven! … Only, he would use the most abusive language. Such a spitfire as he was! He would storm and rage, stamping, and shaking his fists; but nobody feared him. All tried to please him, for he was a just man. It cannot be said that he ever abused or imposed on anyone, or that he ever took a kopek of the artel’s money, except what was freely given him for his kindness. For, as he had a large family, the convicts always remembered him, … and from them he derived a good income. At the time of which I am speaking, he was already on the retired list, and lived quietly in Nikoláevsk, in a house of his own. Still, for old memory’s sake, he took an interest in us, and that evening, while sitting on the porch of his house, smoking a pipe, he saw a fire in Dickman’s Valley.
“ ‘I wonder who started that fire?’ he thought to himself.
“Just then three men belonging to the Free Company happened to be passing by. Hailing them, he said:—
“ ‘Where did your company fish today? Can it be that they are in Dickman’s Valley?’
“ ‘No, your honor,’ they replied. ‘They must be farther up. Besides, they are expected to return tonight.’
“ ‘So I thought. … Do you see that fire beyond the river?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“ ‘Who do you suppose it can be?’
“ ‘We couldn’t tell, Stepán Savélyitch. Vagrants perhaps.’
“ ‘Vagrants, … do you say! … and you have not the sense to take thought for your comrades. … It is I who must think for all. … Haven’t you heard what the isprávnik said the other day about the Saghálinians—that they had been seen not very far off. … I wonder if the fools could have built that fire?’
“ ‘Very likely, Stepán Savélyitch. It would not surprise us if it were they.’
“ ‘If that is so, they had better look out. The idea of doing such a thing as that, the rascals! I wonder if the isprávnik is in town. If he has not returned, he will be here shortly. When he sees their fire, he will send out a company at once. What is to be done? I pity those rascals; their heads will surely pay the price for Saltánof’s. Get the boat ready, boys!’
“Meanwhile we sat by the fire, waiting for the chowder to be ready, for it was a long time since we had tasted any hot food. It was a dark night. Clouds rose seaward. It rained, and the forest moaned; but we were happy. … The dark night is a kind mother to the like of us vagrants. The cloudier the sky, the easier we feel.
“Suddenly one of the Tartars pricked up his ears. Those Tartars are ever on the alert, like cats. I listened also, and distinguished the sound of oars. Going up to the shore, I saw a boat stealthily creeping along under the steep bank. I could see the men who were rowing it, and the faint glimmer of a cockade on the hat of the one at the rudder.
“ ‘Boys, we are lost,’ I said; ‘it’s the isprávnik!’
“The men sprang to their feet, upsetting the kettles, and ran for the woods. … I bade the boys keep together, and wait for the result. Perhaps we might have a chance to get the upper hand if there were but few of them. We hid behind the trees, and waited to see what would come next. The boat landed, and five men stepped on shore. One of them exclaimed, laughing:—
“ ‘Why did you run away, you fools? I know a word that will bring you all out; I must say you are brave fellows, to run like rabbits.’
“Dáryin, who was sitting beside me, under a cedar-tree, whispered:—
“ ‘I say, Vasíli, this is strange! The isprávnik’s voice seems very familiar to me.’
“ ‘Keep still,’ I said; ‘let us see what they will do next. There are only a few of them.’
“One of the oarsmen, stepping out, asked:—
“ ‘Here, don’t be afraid of us! Do you know anyone in this prison?’
“We held our breath and made no reply. ‘What the deuce is the matter with you?’ the same voice called out again. ‘Answer, do you know anyone in this prison? Perhaps you may recognize some of us.’
“I replied: ‘Whether we know each other or not is of no consequence. Perhaps it would be better had we never met, for we are not to be taken alive.’
“I meant this for a signal to my comrades to be ready.
“As to numbers we had the advantage, since there were but five of them; but we feared that as soon as they began to fire, the shots would be heard in town. However, it made no difference; we were determined not to be taken without a struggle.
“Again the old man spoke: ‘Boys,’ he said, ‘is it possible that none of you know Samárof?’
“Dáryin nudged me. ‘Sure enough, it is the superintendent of the N⸺ prison! Your honor,’ he said, ‘do you remember Dáryin?’
“ ‘To be sure, I do; he used to be my stárosta in N⸺. I think his name was Fedót.’
“ ‘That’s me, your honor. Come out, boys; this is our father.’
“Whereupon we all came forth.
“ ‘Can it be possible that your honor has come to arrest us? We can’t believe it.’
“ ‘I pitied you, for being such fools. How very clever, to build a fire directly opposite the town!’
“ ‘We were wet, your honor; it rained.’
“ ‘R-a-i-n-e-d! And yet you pretend to call yourselves vagrants. You’ll not melt. You may thank your stars that I came out on the porch to smoke my pipe before the isprávnik returned. If he had seen your fire, he would have found a dry place for you! you are not very shrewd, boys, even if you did get the better of Saltánof, rascals that you are! Now, make haste, put out the fire and get away from here, into the valley; you may build ten fires there if you like, you scoundrels!’
“So the old gentleman scolded, while we stood around him, listening smilingly. Finally he stopped, and said:—
“ ‘Now, listen to what I have to tell you. I have brought you some bread and three bricks of tea, and all I ask of you is to remember old Samárof kindly; and if you are lucky enough to escape, one of you may chance to go to Tobólsk—if so, put a candle before my patron saint in the cathedral. I shall probably die here—it is my home, and, besides, I am getting old; but still I often think of my own country. Well, goodbye; and take another piece of advice—divide yourselves into small parties. How many are there of you?’
“ ‘Eleven,’ we replied.
“ ‘Who could help calling you fools! Probably by this time they have heard all about you at Irkútsk, and yet you still travel in a body!’
“After the old gentleman got into the boat and left us, we moved farther away into the valley, boiled our tea, made the chowder, and, taking the old man’s advice, we divided the provisions and separated.
“Dáryin and I kept together, Makárof went with the Circassians, the Tartar joined the two vagrants, and the remaining three formed another party. From this time forth we never met again. I do not know whether my former comrades are dead or alive. I have heard that the Tartar was sent here, but I don’t know whether it is true.
“That same night, just before dawn, Dáryin and I crept past Nikoláevsk. Only one dog barked, from a house in the outskirts.
“By sunrise, having travelled ten versts through the woods, we drew near the road, and, hearing the jingling of a bell, crouched behind the bushes, and saw the isprávnik driven by in a post-cart. He was wrapped in a greatcoat, and was dozing. Dáryin and I made the sign of the cross. What a mercy that he was out of town the previous night! He may have gone out in pursuit of us.”