SENTENCED TO SIBERIA.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XVIII, Issue 1213, 13 January 1886, Page 6

SENTENCED TO SIBERIA.

I am ft Lancashire man, and I rose from the tanks, I began life much as , other mill Bands do ; but my head was set the right way on my shoulders, and I got to be an overlooker. Fife and twenty, years ago, when s great English firm, whose operations extend otot many parts, of Eussia, started a cotton mill at Ekaterinburg, I was offered a post as manager. Ekaterinburg is on the Siberian side of the Ural > mountains, and in the heart of the Government mining districts. A man thinks twice before he transports himself and his family to such a place, but I had made up my mind to get on, and this was a good chance to one in my position. I was not disappointed. I looked after the mill and it prospered. We north-country operatives are a thrifty folk, and like luring in a plain way. I saved money, and as it walp the policy of the firm to keep, me in my post, and to give me a personal interest in the undertaking, I was allowed to invest my. few hundred of roubles in the mill. One evening, late in our short Busman summer, when the long days were fast drawing in, we were in our family sitting room— l engaged with some of the mill accounts, and my wife with her sewing — when Lottie, our eldest daughter, rushed in, and, without a word, fainted right away on the floor. This did not more frighten my wife and myself than it surprised us, for Lottie was a sensible girl, and had never given way to any hysterical fancies before. We knew that it must have taken a good deal to upset her in that way, and as soon as we had contrived to bring her round, we made her tell us what had. been the matter. It seems that she had been alone in her room, when, turning suddenly towards the window, she became aware of a face pressed closely against the glass and glaring at her. What the face was like she was unable to describe, but it appeared too ugly and horrible for a human being. If it could have been called that of a man or woman, she said, she should not have been so frightened. I went out and looked around the house., but nothing was to be seen. After a time my wife left the room to see about our supper, but came back in a minute or two and beckoned me to the door. She was calm enough, but I could see by her face that something was wrong. She would not say what she had to say before the girl, for fear of frightening her again ; so she whispered to me outside : " Lottie must have been right ; there is something about. When I opened the door of the kladovoy (the larder), I heard something at the window. Whatever it may have been it took alarm, and did not let me see it ; but it has left its marks on the lattice." I followed her quietly to the JeUdovoy. All was now quiet there. I examined the fortochka — as in Bussia we call the little window of such a place. In summer time its glass casement was removed, and it was now only protected by a lattice of crossed strips of firewood. These strips were slightly displaced,aß if someone had tried to force them out, and thus to gain entrance. Theforfochka was about large enough to have admitted the body of a man. i Nothing was to be seen by looking ; for though a reasonable amount of twilight, still it was only enough to show things with any distinctness in the open, and I had sheltered the back of our house by planting a number of young fir trees. I whispered to my wife that she should go back to Lottie and that I would stay where I was for a bit, and see whether the robber — if it was a robber — would come again. ■ Down I sat to watch, close by the door of the kladovoy. I chose a dark corner, and one where in the dusk, it would have been a hard matter to see me, but I had a full view of the lattice. I waited till my patience was beginning to wear out, and then fancied £ heard tome slight sound outside under the fortochka. It was so slight that at first I was not sure whether it might not be fancy, but after a little pause I heard it again, louder and more distinctly. I sat still as a mouse, and kept a sharp look-out. Slowly and gradually something raised itself before the opening. It was a head, but in the uncertain light I could not say whether it was a human head or that of some brute creature. Beside the head came two bunches of long claws which wrenched at the wooden lattice to tear it down. But they were too weak. The strips held fast. And then the thins fell to with its teeth to gnaw a way through. While the creature was thus engaged I contrived to slip quietly away from my .dark corner by the door, and catching up a big stick, went out at the back of the noose, I stole round as noiselessly as I could toward the wifldow. When I got to within a few yards, I saw that the man— for the creature was a man— was still hard at work trying to force a way in. rl dropped my stick and made a rush at him, and had him before he knew anything about it. But he did not give up quietly. He struggled hard—desperately, I may say. But, bless you, he'd not the ghost of a show with me. The poor wretch had no sort of condition about him— ks was mere skin and bones—no muscle at all All that, he gained by his struggles was & good shaking, for I gave him one that made every tooth in bis head chatter, and then I laid him flat on bis back. I had been long enough in the country,to gajn some knowledge of Bussian Sol could make my prisoner understand me. "Now, then, my friend," I laid to him, " you needn't take the trouble to show any more fight. You see it won't par. So just, get up and

march quietly off with me to the ouckttack" — ihe oucUtack being equivalent to the police station in English. : But instead of getting up, and doing as he was told, like being, the creature contrived to wriggle itself upon its , knees and to hold up its hands, while it begged of me in the name of the Virgin and all the Saints riot to hand it overto the poliiza. It would rather be killed, outright, and was ready to be beaten as much as I pleased. 14 My ragged friend," I said "you are a queer chap ! Why do you object to the police so strongly ?" The poor wretch made no directanswer, but only reiterated his en* treaties that I would not, give him up. I began to have suspicion of the quality of my guest. " I am inclined to think," I said, " that you are neither more nor less than an escaped convict." Instead of attempting to deny it, he only begged me to pity him as before. I was, beginning to feel downright sorry for that poor dcvil — it was not so much his prayers that fetched me as his looks. " Well," I said, " suppose I don't give you up but let you go. What then?" He would always remember me with gratitude. He would go on his way at once and do no harm to any property. He was no thief. He had only entered this dvor-—th\B yard— to hide himself, but that the sight of food had overcome him ; he was famishing, and he dared not beg. He had walked, but how far, he could not tell, perhaps a thousand versts, and all the way he had dared not to ask for food, scarcely to speak to a living soul. He was trying to reach his own village a thousand verats further. If I would only set him free he would go at once. That was about the. substance of the fellow's answer. His appearance seemed to bear out his statements, and I was inclined to believe him. ** If * sheer nonsense," I said, " for you to talk of setting off for a walk of a thousand versts, if I let you go. You might; as well talk of flying. You have not the strength to walk ten. You would only fall by the roadside, you miserable scarecrow, and die in a ditch. I should be doing the kinder thine; to you if I handed you over to the authorities. If Ido let you go I must give you something to eat first. Gome with me."

The miserable wretch hardly believed that I really meant to feed him, and would hare run away had he dared. I took him into the empty house of which I had the key and fetched him as much food as I thought safe for him to eat.

So there I was with an escaped con* vict on my bands. I kept him in that empty house for several days ; in fact, till he had so recovered his strength as to be fit to go on. Nobody knew about him, not even the members of my own family, for if I was doing a foolish thing I had sense enough to run as little risk over it as possible. Feodor Stepano* vitcb, for that my convict told me was his name, enlightened me on sot»e few points of his personal history. His native village was, he said, in the government of Vladimer, and he had left to get work in the town of Ivanova, where there are factories. According to his showing, the whole source of his trouble had been a difference with an ouvadnik — a police agent. I do not exactly remember the particulars, but of course there was a woman in the business, blows had passed, and the ouvadnik had, by a false charge, procured Feodor's condemnation to Siberia for life. This waß his story. For a Russian, he appeared to be a not unintelligent fellow, and I pointed out to him the difficulties he would find in making his way to Ivanova — a distance of not less than twelve vents from Ekaterinburg, as the crow [ flies ; and advised him as he was used to mill work, to stay and find employment where he was* But the fellow wiii bent on going forward. He was resolved, be said, to see his family again, and he was reiolved to see Basil Makaroff. This Makaroff was, I found, the ouvadnik to whom Feodor attributed his troubles, and it seemed to me that this particular hankering to see this person meant a craving to have his revenge. I ,conf ess that when I had learned this much I felt no desire to detain my friend Feodor longer than waft necessary. I was glad to give him something more decent in the way of clothing that he had brought, and a trifle of money to help him on his fray and to be rid of him. I never expected io see him again, nor wished to do ad, and I was somewhat startled when a few weeks later, when in a gang of convicts which Were being marched by a guard of soldiers out of the town on their way eastward, I recognised Stepanovitch. I wai standing close by when he passed, and was so surprised to see him that I somewhat imprudently, perhaps, spoke to him by name. But, mil you believe it?-— the ungrateful dog stared me in the face and marched sullenly by without a word or sjgn of recognition. "So much," thought L tf tor gratitude!"

Some months later, when the next summer was getting well advanced, we 'fajad one night an alarm of fire. Many of the newer' mills at iSkatqrinb.urg are of stone, but the main building of dura, being comparatively old, was of wood, It was a thing to blaze up like a bo* at matches. It was not, howerer, in the »naiu b.uUdjng that. the fire, had broken out, but \n &QD?a pheda connected with the majn buildipgby a range of shopping. .Tips, Jasjt , wsi Btone built, but tk ill-luck would hare it, covered with wqodenijiingleg. A good^majay people were, soon got togiether, mpstly^ourQwn hands, and I dir^eW wd enpouraged them as well ** t PVW% & 0 .defile under.

But they were, a stolid, heavy set, of fellows, those Russians, and the war in which they take care not to over' tixert themselves at a fire, is enough to drive an Englishman wild. Yet there Were. some few who worked well, and one fellow in, particular, a ragged fellow, a beggar I took him to be, who . i really worked splendidly, and in a way to have made many of those whose daily bread depended on the existence pf the mill ashamed, of themselves. What between the, apathy of those lazy scoundrels generally, and want of water, it was soon plain, that, the sheds which were on fire could not be saved, and what we had to look to was the mijl itself. The danger of the main building was increasing every moment, for the fire was beginning to make its way along the shingled roof of which X spoke. I could see what had to be done— those shingles had to be stripped off. I had a ladder reared against the building, and called for volunteers to mount it. Not one of those cold blooded rascals who had eaten our bread for years would come forward I stood at the foot of the ladder and told them I was going up myself. I offered twenty roubles—fifty roubles — to any man who would help me. But it was of no use.

Just when I was about to mount alone, the ragged stranger, fellow, whom I had observed working so vigorously, came running up. He looked up to the roof. The delay of those few minutes had given a fearful advantage to the fire. " There is death up there," he said, " is saving this mill so very important to you ?" "If it is burned I am a beggar. Every kopeck lam worth is in it. A hundred roubles if you will help me to save it!"

" We can talk of the reward afterward," he said, as he passed me and up the ladder like a cat?

I was following, too eagerly, perhaps, to be careful, and I am a heavy man. A round broke, and I came down with, a knee so much twisted that I could scarcely stand. It was no longer in my power to climb to the roof. But from where I propped myself against a wall, I could see that ragged fellow, who was up and doing enough for three or four ordinary men. Seen, from below, he seemed at times to be working with fire all around him, but he went on without minding it. I never saw an Englishman — let alone a Eussian — go at it with a better will. I heard the people round me say that he worked more like a fiend than a mortal man — and so he did. He handled the burning wood as though his fingers had been iron instead of bone and flesh, and scarcely seemed to shrink from tbe flames that blazed up round his face. He never appeared to rest or stay for breath till he had succeeded in cutting off the communication between the fire and the mill.

I made the men below set tbe ladder aa handily as they could for him to get down, and he did his best to reach it. But|he must have been quite used up, besides being pretty much blinded and suffocated with the smoke. Anyway, he lost hiß footing, and down he went through the rafters, and crashed among the burning rubbish below. It was an ugly fall.

We got him out as well as we could ; and such a scorched, smoke-blackened, smashed-upcopy of God's image I never wish to see again. But be was still alive, and to the proposal to carry him straight to the hospital I said, " No ; take him into my house." So they took him in.

After we bad got the fire quite under, and made all safe about the mill, I limped to the side of the bed where they had laid the poor fellow, he had come round a bit by that time. He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed to me that the fire and smoke had not left him much power of seeing with them. He spoke, however, more distinctly than might have been exexpected, and his first question was whether the mill was safe.

I told him that owing to his pluck it was. I was surprised to find that he recognised my voice, and still more when he named my name. " You do not know me," he "said — " you do not know me — Feodor Stepanovitch. They caught me and took me back. I knew you when you spoke to me in the street, but dared not answer, lest they should suspect you of having befriended me. I have escaped from them again, and am going home to Ivanova. I must see my wife and that villain Makaroff."

He lay * little and then added : " I am glad I was here to help you tonight. lam glad they did not take me before I got here. Ido not think the politza will take me again." And they did not, for he was dead within an hour of that time.