The polite behaviour of most officers towards us may possibly have been due to an amusingly mistaken notion, of which by chance we discovered symptoms. On entering one of the halting-stations we found in the room to which we were shown a plainly dressed man with handcuffs on his wrists. He turned out to be a political exile named Stephen Agàpov,[62] a factory hand, who was now being removed from Eastern to Western Siberia as a mitigation of his punishment, in accordance with the coronation manifesto of 1883. His wife, a Siberian peasant, accompanied him. Agàpov explained to us that when our party was expected the officer had ordered him to quit that room, because a party of “politicals” was coming, composed entirely of counts and princes, and that these noble personages would never put up with having a common workman in the room with them. Agàpov and his wife thought this no reason why they should be turned out of the room intended for political prisoners like themselves, and they refused to obey, which led to a violent scene, and Agàpov was put in irons. Worse still, the irate officer had another punishment in store for him. The pair had with them all their belongings—the fruits of hard work in Eastern Siberia—making a weight of luggage beyond what was permitted by the regulations. The officer immediately ordered everything above the prescribed weight to be sold by auction to the people of the place—a pure piece of malice, as even the ordinary exiles were always allowed excess luggage, and still more those who were benefiting by the act of grace. Footnote 62: Agàpov was sentenced in the case of fifty Propagandists, in 1887, to three years and eight months’ penal servitude. In 1880 he was released from prison and interned as a “colonist” in Eastern Siberia. This tyrannical performance incensed us highly, and our good head-man went at once to the officer with an appeal for the release of our comrade from his fetters, which was granted without much ado. The comic part of the affair was that we ourselves should figure as princes and counts! In reality there was not one among us of such rank, but the legend had probably arisen from the addresses of letters sent by members of our party to Prince Volhònsky, Count Leo Tolstoi, and other well-known people of title. The affair had further consequences for the poor Agàpovs, as the officer reported them for disobedience, violence, etc., and they were sent to one of those “towns” to the north of Tobolsk that I have previously described—a far worse locality than that from which they were being brought as an act of clemency. CHAPTER XX FROM KRASNOYARSK TO IRKUTSK—MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND DISPUTES—THE WOMEN IN IRKUTSK PRISON