The Story of a Siberian Exile; Followed by a Narrative of Recent Events in PolandPiotrowski, Rufin
History
The Story of a Siberian Exile; Followed by a Narrative of Recent Events in Poland
Piotrowski, Rufin
Exiles -- Russia (Federation) -- Siberia; Polish question; Prisons -- Russia (Federation) -- Siberia
One thing above all others was I believe the main cause of the success
of the perilous task of my evasion, compelling me to persevere in
spite of all obstacles and mistakes, and obliging me to take courage
in spite of myself--this was the manifest impossibility of abandoning
my undertaking. Having once fled from Ekaterinski-Zavod, I should
certainly incur the same fate, whether captured at Tara or among
the Oural Mountains, among the steppes of Petchora or in the port of
Archangel, while every step I took brought me nearer to safety and
deliverance. Thus no room was left for hesitation or regret, and, in
spite of the irreparable loss which I had just sustained, I held on
my way, and soon, striking into the high road to Irbite, I found, in
the sudden animation of the landscape, a sight calculated to distract
my eyes, and to inspire my mind with a certain degree of confidence.
All over that vast and snow-covered plain, to the left of which ever
since I passed Tioumen the wooded slopes of the Oural chain began to
be defined, swarmed an innumerable mass of sledges, either going or
returning from the fair. They were full of goods and _yamstchiks_ (or
peasants who undertake to carry merchandise), and were whirled along by
those Siberian horses whose pace is only to be equalled by the skill
of their drivers. The month of February is a harvest time for the
dwellers in these districts, who make, by the hire of their horses and
sledges at the time of the fair at Irbite, the largest of their yearly
gains. They display then all the good humour and the noisy gaiety which
can animate an active population at the end of the dead season of the
year. I mingled my voice with the sharp cries and piercing calls of the
_yamstchiks_; I greeted every passenger, regarding each in the bottom
of my heart as an involuntary auxiliary of my flight, for the more the
number of men, horses, and sledges increased, the more I took courage.
How, I asked myself, could they distinguish in this vast crowd of
merchants, bagmen, clerks and peasants one solitary political criminal
who seeks his liberty by flight? how pursue me through this moving and
ever-changing Babel? It would be about as likely and as useful to try
(as we say in our proverb of the Ukraine) ‘to follow and catch the wind
upon the steppes.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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