The real hardships of the journey now began for the “politicals.” From Moscow to Tomsk, over three thousand miles, the conditions of travelling had been more or less European; but henceforward we were to go entirely by road, crawling from one halting-station to another by short stages. In the terrible Siberian cold, in the glowing heat of summer, in all weathers, without regard to the fitness or unfitness of the road, parties of a hundred prisoners are despatched from Tomsk regularly on fixed days of the week, parties which consist alternately of men only, and of families—men, women, and children. The day’s march is a stage of from sixteen to twenty miles, and every third day is a rest. At this tortoise-like pace—on an average about thirteen miles a day—the long wandering lasts for many weeks and months, under the most wretched conditions of life. In the damp rooms of the convoy-stations, the air of which is loaded with every evil odour imaginable, the convicts lie squeezed together on the bare boards of the two sloping wooden shelves, one above the other, which do duty for bed-places. These invariably swarm with myriads of parasites; sleep is probably impossible for half the night, and early in the morning the prisoners are driven forth to begin afresh the weary march. Long before sunrise the criminal contingent will be standing drawn up in the yard, to wait there in the cold until the roll is called, and at last the signal to start is given. At the head of the procession march the older criminals, seasoned rascals most of them, the “Ivans.” The majority of them have trodden this path more than once already, and know every brook and copse on the way. They go at a quick pace, in serried ranks, and easily do their four miles an hour, or even more. Behind them the other criminals straggle painfully along in irregular groups separated by long stretches of road. Then come carts with the sick and exhausted and the baggage; and lastly, the “politicals” in the rear, two or three together in each one-horse cart, under the charge of their special escort. [Illustration: IN A SIBERIAN PRISON To face page 158 ] This strange procession extends itself along the road for about three-quarters of a mile, and raises clouds of dust, from which we in the rearguard have most to suffer. To add to our woes there is the special scourge of those regions, the Siberian midge. Swarms of those terrible little creatures kept us company, not only attacking our hands and faces, and getting into mouth, nose, ears, and eyes, but inserting themselves beneath our clothing, and inflicting tortures of irritation. The only—and even these inefficient—means of protection are nets of horsehair, with which we had taken care to provide ourselves.