An Escape From The Mines Of Siberia

The name Siberia calls up to our minds the vision of a stupendous

prison, a vast open penitentiary larger than the whole United States, a

continental place of captivity which for three centuries past has been

the seat of more wretchedness and misery than any other land inhabited

by the human race. To that far, frozen land a stream of the best and

worst of the people of Russia has steadily flowed, including prisoners

of state, religious dissenters, rebels, Polish patriots, convicts,

vagabonds, and all others who in any way gave offence to the authorities

or stood in the way of persons in power.



Not freedom of action alone, but even freedom of thought, is a crime in

Russia. It is a land of innumerable spies, of secret arrest and rapid

condemnation, in which the captive may find himself on the road to

Siberia without knowing with what crime he is charged, while his

friends, even his wife and family, may remain in ignorance of his fate.

Every year a convoy of some twenty thousand wretched prisoners is sent

off to that dismal land, including the ignorant and the educated, the

debased and the refined, men and women, young and old, the horror of

exile being added to indescribably by this mingling of delicate and

refined men and women with the rudest and most brutal of the convict

class, all under the charge of mounted Cossacks, well armed, and bearing

long whips as their most effective arguments of control.



It may be said here that the misery of this long journey on foot has

been somewhat mitigated since the introduction of railroads and

steamboats, and will very likely be done away with when the

Trans-siberian Railway is finished; but for centuries the horrors of the

convict train have piteously appealed to the charity of the world, while

the sufferings and brutalities which the exiles have had to endure stand

almost without parallel in the story of convict life.



The exiles are divided into two classes, those who lose all and those

who lose part of their rights. Of a convict of the former class neither

the word nor the bond has any value: his wife is released from all duty

to him, he cannot possess any property or hold any office. In prison he

wears convict clothes, has his head half shaved, and may be cruelly

flogged at the will of the officials, or murdered almost with impunity.

Those deprived of partial rights are usually sent to Western Siberia;

those deprived of total rights are sent to Eastern Siberia, where their

life, as workers in the mines, is so miserable and monotonous that death

is far more of a relief than something to be feared.






Many of the exiles escape,--some from the districts where they live

free, with privilege of getting a living in any manner available, others

from the prisons or mines. The mere feat of running away is in many

cases not difficult, but to get out of the country is a very different

matter. The officers do not make any serious efforts to prevent escapes,

and can be easily bribed to allow them, since they are enabled then to

turn in the name of the prisoner as still on hand and charge the

government for his support. In the gold-mines the convicts work in

gangs, and here one will lie in a ditch and be covered with rubbish by

his comrades. When his absence is discovered he is not to be found, and

at nightfall he slips from the trench and makes for the forest.



To spend the summer in the woods is the joy of many convicts. They have

no hope of getting out of the country, which is of such vast extent that

winter is sure to descend upon them before they can approach the border,

but the freedom of life in the woods has for them an undefinable charm.

Then as the frigid season approaches they permit themselves to be

caught, and go back to their labor or confinement with hearts lightened

by the enjoyment of their vagrant summer wanderings. There is in some

cases another advantage to be gained. A twenty years' convict who has

escaped and lets himself be caught again may give a false name, and

avoid all incriminating answers through a convenient failure of memory.

If not detected, he may in this way get off with a five years' sentence

as a vagrant. But if detected his last lot is worse than his first,

since the time he has already served goes for nothing.



There is another peril to which escaping prisoners are exposed. The

native tribes are apt to look upon them as game and shoot them down at

sight. It is said that they receive three roubles for each convict they

bring to the police, dead or alive. "If you shoot a squirrel," they say,

"you get only his skin; but if you shoot a varnak [convict] you get

his skin and his clothing too."



Atkinson, the Siberian traveller, tells a remarkable story of an escape

of prisoners, which may be given in illustration of the above remarks.

One night in September, 1850, the people of Barnaoul, a town in Western

Siberia, were roused from their slumbers by the clatter of a party of

mounted Cossacks galloping up the quiet street. The story they brought

was an alarming one. Siberia had been invaded by three thousand Tartars

of the desert, who were marching towards the town. Nearly all the gold

from the Siberian gold-mines lay in Barnaoul, waiting to be smelted into

bars and sent to St. Petersburg. There was much silver also, with

abundance of other valuable government stores. All this would form a

rich booty for an army of nomad plunderers, could they obtain it, and

the news filled the town with excitement and alarm.



As the night passed and the day came on, other Cossacks arrived with

still more alarming news. The three thousand had grown to seven

thousand, many of them armed with rifles, who were burning the Kalmuck

villages as they advanced, and murdering every man, woman, and child who

fell into their hands. Some thought that the wild hordes of Asia were

breaking loose again, as in the time of Genghis Khan, and the terror of

many of the people grew intense.



By noon the enemy had increased to ten thousand, and the people

everywhere were flying before their advance. Hasty steps were taken for

defence and for the safety of the gold and silver, while orders were

despatched in all directions to gather a force to meet them on their

way. But as the days passed on the alarm began to subside. The number of

the invaders declined almost as rapidly as it had grown. They were not

advancing upon the town. No army was needed to oppose them, and Cossacks

were sent to stop the march of the troops. In the course of two days

more the truth was sifted from the mass of wild rumors and reports. The

ten thousand invaders dwindled to forty Circassian prisoners who had

escaped from the gold-mines on the Birioussa.



These fugitives had not a thought of invading the Russian dominions.

They were prisoners of war who, with heartless cruelty, had been

condemned to the mines of Siberia for the crime of a patriotic effort to

save their country, and their sole purpose was to return to their

far-distant homes.



By the aid of small quantities of gold, which they had managed to hide

from their guards, they succeeded in purchasing a sufficient supply of

rifles and ammunition from the neighboring tribesmen, which they hid in

a mountain cavern about seven miles away. There was no fear of the

Tartars betraying them, as they had received for the arms ten times

their value, and would have been severely punished if found with gold in

their possession.



On a Saturday afternoon near the end of July, 1850, after completing the

day's labors, the Circassians left the mine in small parties, going in

different directions. This excited no suspicion, as they were free to

hunt or otherwise amuse themselves after their work. They gradually came

together in a mountain ravine about six miles south of the mines. Not

far from this locality a stud of spare horses were kept at pasture, and

hither some of the fugitives made their way, reaching the spot just as

the animals were being driven into the enclosure for the night. The

three horse-keepers suddenly found themselves covered with rifles and

forced to yield themselves prisoners, while their captors began to

select the best horses from the herd.



The Circassians deemed it necessary to take the herdsmen with them to

prevent them from giving the alarm. Two of these also were skilful

hunters and well acquainted with the surrounding mountain regions, and

were likely to prove useful as guides. In all fifty-five horses were

chosen, out of the three or four hundred in the herd. The remainder were

turned out of the enclosure and driven into the forest, as if they had

broken loose and their keepers were absent in search of them. This done,

the captors sought their friends in the glen, by whom they were received

with cheers, and before midnight, the moon having risen, the fugitives

began their long and dangerous journey.



Sunrise found them on a high summit, which commanded a view of the

gold-mine they had left, marked by the curling smoke which rose from

fires kept constantly alive to drive away the mosquitoes, the pests of

the region. Taking a last look at their place of exile, they moved on

into a grassy valley, where they breakfasted and fed their horses. On

they went, keeping a sharp watch upon their guides, day by day, until

the evening of the fourth day found them past the crest of the range and

descending into a narrow valley, where they decided to spend the night.



Thus far all had gone well. They were now beyond the Russian frontier

and in Chinese territory, and as their guides knew the country no

farther, they were set free and their rifles restored to them. Venison

had been obtained plentifully on the march, and fugitives and captives

alike passed the evening in feasting and enjoyment. With daybreak the

Siberians left to return to the mine and the Circassians resumed their

route.



From this time onward difficulties confronted them. They were in a

region of mountains, precipices, ravines, and torrents. One dangerous

river they swam, but, instead of keeping on due south, the difficulties

of the way induced them to change their course to the west, alarmed,

probably, by the vast snowy peaks of the Tangnou Mountains in the

distance, though if they had passed these all danger from Siberia would

have been at an end. As it was, after more than three weeks of

wandering, the nature of the country forced them towards the northwest,

until they came upon the eastern shore of the Altin-Kool Lake.



Here was their final chance. Had they followed the lake southerly they

might still have reached a place of safety. But ill fortune brought them

upon it at a point where it seemed easiest to round it on the north,

and they passed on, hoping soon to reach its western shores. But the

Bea, the impassable torrent that flows from the lake, forced them again

many miles northward in search of a ford, and into a locality from which

their chance of escape was greatly reduced.



More than two months had passed since they left the mines, and the poor

wanderers were still in the vast Siberian prison, from which, if they

had known the country, they might now have been far away. The region

they had reached was thinly inhabited by Kalmuck Tartars, and they

finally entered a village of this people, with whose inhabitants they

unluckily got into a broil, ending in a battle, in which several

Kalmucks were killed and the village burned.



To this event was due the terrifying news that reached Barnaoul, the

alarm being carried to a Cossack fort whose commandant was drunk at the

time and sent out a series of exaggerated reports. As for the fugitives,

they had in effect signed their death-warrant by their conflict with the

Kalmucks. The news spread from tribe to tribe, and when the real number

of the fugitives was learned the tribesmen entered savagely into

pursuit, determined to obtain revenge for their slain kinsmen. The

Circassians were wandering in an unknown country. The Kalmucks knew

every inch of the ground. Scouts followed the fugitives, and after them

came well-mounted hunters, who rapidly closed upon the trail, being on

the evening of the third day but three miles away.



The Circassians had crossed the Bea and turned to the south, but here

they found themselves in an almost impassable group of snow-clad

mountains. On they pushed, deeper and deeper into the chain, still

closely pursued, the Kalmucks so managing the pursuit as to drive them

into a pathless region of the hills. This accomplished, they came on

leisurely, knowing that they had their prey safe.



At length the hungry and weary warriors were driven into a mountain

pass, where the pursuers, who had hitherto saved their bullets, began a

savage attack, rifle-balls dropping fast into the glen. The fugitives

sought shelter behind some fallen rocks, and returned the fire with

effect. But they were at a serious disadvantage, the hunters, who far

outnumbered them, and knew every crag in the ravines, picking them off

in safety from behind places of shelter. From point to point the

Circassians fell back, defending their successive stations desperately,

answering every call to surrender with shouts of defiance, and holding

each spot until the fall of their comrades warned them that the place

was no longer tenable.



Night fell during the struggle, and under its cover the remaining

fifteen of the brave fugitives made their way on foot deeper into the

mountains, abandoning their horses to the merciless foe. At daybreak

they resumed their march, scaling the rocky heights in front. Here,

scanning the country in search of their pursuers, not one of whom was to

be seen, they turned to the west, a range of snow-clad peaks closing the

way in front. A forest of cedars before them seemed to present their

only chance of escape, and they hurried towards it, but when within two

hundred yards of the wood a puff of white smoke rose from a thicket, and

one of the fugitives fell. The hunters had ambushed them on this spot,

and as they rushed for the shelter of some rocks near by five more fell

before the bullets of their foes.



The fire was returned with some effect, and then a last desperate rush

was made for the forest shelter. Only four of the poor fellows reached

it, and of these some were wounded. The thick underwood now screened

them from the volley that whistled after them, and they were soon safe

from the effects of rifle-shots in the tangled forest depths.



Meanwhile the clouds had been gathering black and dense, and soon rain

and sleet began to fall, accompanied by a fierce gale. Two small parties

of Kalmucks were sent in pursuit, while the others began to prepare an

encampment under the cedars. The storm rapidly grew into a hurricane,

snow falling thick and whirling into eddies, while the pursuers were

soon forced to return without having seen the small remnant of the

gallant band. For three days the storm continued, and then was followed

by a sharp frost. The winter had set in.



No further pursuit was attempted. It was not needed. Nothing more was

ever seen of the four Circassians, nor any trace of them found. They

undoubtedly found their last resting-place under the snows of that

mountain storm.