The Moscow high-road is, as I have said, the only means of transit, nevertheless it is kept in an incredibly bad condition. It has never been properly made, and during the damp weather of early spring, or after a downpour in summer, vehicles are often axle-deep in mud. Along the road, at intervals of fifteen to twenty versts, there are villages, or sometimes small towns. To the north and south no traces of human dwellings are to be found; the eternal forest extends for thousands of versts, and only a few nomad tribes of half-savage hunters or herdsmen roam through its depths. Whilst our party rested, or even during the march, we “politicals” would often leave the road, and accompanied by a guard would dive into the woods to gather flowers and berries. A strange feeling would steal over one. A dozen steps into the thicket, and one is absolutely alone, not a soul to be seen. One dreams of being free and one’s own master; but the rattle of fetters, or the glitter of a bayonet brings back grim reality, and soon we are recalled by the soldiers, for the party must not be kept waiting. The officers make no difficulty about these little excursions, although they are forbidden by the regulations. At first this surprised me; but I soon saw it was simply because everyone was convinced that escape was quite impracticable. For although at first sight it may appear an easy thing to hide in the undergrowth and get away, as a matter of fact very few “politicals” have ever even attempted it, and only one—Dzvonkyèvitch—when actually on the march. He had been condemned to penal servitude for life, and ran away from his escort into the forest; but the soldiers caught and frightfully maltreated him. If the officers had not come up he would have been murdered out of hand. He was taken half dead to the hospital in Krasnoyarsk, where—thanks to his strong constitution—he recovered from his severe wounds, though he will bear traces of them for the rest of his life. This had taken place just a year before our arrival at Krasnoyarsk. Several attempts have also been made to escape from the halting-stations, but with no greater success. It must be remembered that Siberia is so sparsely populated that every traveller on the road is an object of universal attention, and the authorities are therefore soon made aware of the whereabouts of a runaway, if he be a “political” whom they are anxious to capture. Besides, the fugitives are often forced to come in of themselves. They do not know the paths through the forest, so familiar to the ordinary criminals, but wander helplessly about, and are thankful at last if they chance to hit the high-road once more, and—half famished—seek the nearest village. In such cases the peasants are eager to assist the authorities and thereby earn a reward; and as soon as they discover a political runaway they unfailingly deliver him up to the police. [Illustration: AN ATTEMPT AT ESCAPE To face page 170 ]