A “swop” is carried out in the following way. A convict under heavy sentence—of so many years’ penal servitude, _e.g._—takes an opportunity of exchanging personalities, so to speak, with one of the ordinary criminals who is simply being deported. A member of this class will undertake the business for a ridiculously small compensation. Then at the first station whence the exiles are to be despatched to their separate destination the supposed exile escapes, to wander about in Siberia, and, if lucky, find his way back to European Russia. The other who has taken his place reveals after a time his true character, and confesses that he exchanged with So-and-so at such and such a place. The matter is investigated, and the culprit receives a hundred lashes and a year’s hard labour. It is generally the very lowest class of criminals who offer themselves as merchandise in these cases—wretched outcasts, who only receive a trifle—a few roubles, perhaps—as their share of the reward. The organisers of the traffic, the leaders of their _artèl_ (union), see to it that when once a prisoner undertakes a “swop” he sticks to his part. If he dare attempt to betray them he is simply murdered. I understood what he meant. In 1879 some political exiles—Vladimir Debagòrio-Makrièvitch, Paul Orlov, and V. Isbitsky—exchanged identities with three ordinary criminals, and got away. When this had become known, however, the authorities had at once taken stringent precautions against a repetition of the affair. The papers of political prisoners were most carefully made out and photographs attached; they were sent by special convoy if moved from one place to another; and besides this, each one was confided to the personal charge of one of the soldiers. But when I set all this before the man he was not in the least abashed. “Nonsense! We can do it in spite of all their paraphernalia!” I knew already from books and from the tales of comrades that a peculiar organisation exists among the convicted criminals in Siberia, the principle of which is in a manner oligarchic. A small band of the more strong-willed and energetic gaol-birds governs the rest. They are called the “Ivans”; they decide all matters relating to their “party,” both in prison and _en route_, and institute their own rules quite independently of the recognised authorities. The rank and file yield them slavish obedience, however unjust and terrible their orders may be. I saw at once that I had one of these tyrants before me. “I don’t see how it could be done,” said I; and indeed, the difficulties appeared to me quite insurmountable. “Do you see that brook?” said the “Ivan.” “Well, in the course of every year one or two corpses are found in that brook. We arrange a ‘swop’; one of us changes with you, and the chief person concerned disappears down there. Do you understand?”