The Price of Power Part 34

But before we went outside General Vorontzoff took the list from the Captain's hand and scrawled his signature--the signature which sent two hundred and seven men and women to the coldest region in the world--that frozen bourne whence none ever returned.

Outside in the dark snowy night the wretched gang, in rough, grey, snow-covered clothes, were a.s.sembled, a dismal gathering of the most hopeless and dejected wretches in the world, all of them educated, and the majority being members of the professional cla.s.ses. Yet all had, by that single stroke of the Governor's pen, been consigned to a terrible fate, existence in the filthy yaurtas or huts of the half-civilised Yakuts--an unwashed race who live in the same stable as their cows, and whose habits are incredibly disgusting.

That huddled, shivering crowd had already trudged over four thousand miles on foot and survived, though how many had died on the way would never be told. They stood there like driven cattle, inert, silent and broken. Hardly a word was spoken, save by the mounted Cossack guards, who smoked or joked, several of them having been drinking vodka freely before leaving.

The Governor, standing at my side, glanced around them, mere shadows on the snow. Then he exclaimed with a low laugh, as though amused:

"Even this fate is too good for such vermin! Let's go inside."

I followed him in without a word. My heart bled for those poor unfortunate creatures, who at that moment, at a loud word of command from the Cossack captain, moved away into the bleak and stormy night.

In the cosy warmth of his own room General Vorontzoff threw himself into a deep armchair and declared that I must leave the "Guestnitsa" and become his guest, an invitation which I had no inclination to accept.

He offered me champagne, which I was compelled out of courtesy to drink, and we sat smoking until presently the young Cossack officer reappeared, bearing a bundle of official papers.

"Well, where are they?" inquired the Governor quickly. "How slow you are!" he added emphatically.

"The two prisoners in question are still here in Yakutsk," was the officer's reply. "They have not yet been sent on to Parotovsk."

"Then I must go to them at once," I cried in eagerness, starting up quickly from my chair. "I must speak with them without delay. I demand to do so--in the Tzar's name."

The officer bent and whispered some low words into His Excellency's ear; whereupon the Governor, turning to me with a strange expression upon his coa.r.s.e countenance, said in a quiet voice:

"I much regret, Mr Trewinnard, but I fear that is impossible--quite impossible!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

LUBA MAKES A STATEMENT.

"Impossible!" I echoed, staring at the all-powerful official. "Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, slowly flicked the ash from his cigarette and glanced at the paper which the officer had handed to him.

I saw that beneath the candle-light his heavy features had changed. The diamond upon his finger flashed evilly.

"My pen and writing-pad," he said, addressing his aide-de-camp.

The latter went to the writing-table and handed what he required.

His Excellency rapidly scribbled a few words, then tearing off the sheet of paper handed it to me, saying:

"As you so particularly wish to see them, I suppose your request must be granted. Here is an order to the prison governor."

I took it with a word of thanks, and without delay put on my heavy fur shuba and accompanied the aide-de-camp out into the darkness. He carried a big, old-fashioned lantern to guide my footsteps, though the walk through the steadily-falling snow was not a long one.

Presently we came to a series of long, wood-built houses, windowless save for some small apertures high near the roof, standing behind a high stockade before which Cossack sentries, huddled in their greatcoats, were pacing, white, snowy figures in the gloom.

My guide uttered some pa.s.sword, which brought two sentries at the door to the salute, and then the great gates opened and we entered a big, open s.p.a.ce which we crossed to the bureau, a large, low room, lit by a single evil-smelling petroleum lamp. Here I met a narrow-jawed, deep-eyed man in uniform--the prison governor, to whom I presented my permit.

He called a Cossack gaoler, a big, fur-clad man with a jingling bunch of keys at his waist, and I followed him out across the courtyard to one of the long wooden sheds, the door of which he with difficulty unlocked, unbolted, and threw open.

A hot, stifling breath of crowded humanity met me upon the threshold, a foetid odour of dirt, for the place was unventilated, and then by the single lamp high in the roof I saw that along each side of the shed were inclined plank benches crowded by sleeping or reclining women still in their prison clothes, huddled side by side with their heads against the wall, their feet to the narrow gangway.

"Prisoners!" shouted the gaoler in Russian. "Attention! Where is one four nine five seven?"

There was a silence as I stood upon the threshold.

"Come," cried the man petulantly. "I want her here."

A weak, thin voice, low and trembling, responded, and from the gloom slowly emerged a female figure in thick, ill-fitting clothes of grey cloth, unkempt and ragged.

"Move quickly," snapped the gaoler. "Here is someone to see you!"

"To see me!" repeated the weak voice slowly. Next moment, the light of the lantern revealed my face, I suppose, for she dashed forward, crying in English: "Why--you, Mr Trewinnard! Ah! save me! Oh! save me! I beg of you."

And she clung to me, trembling with fear.

It was the girl Luba de Rosen! Alas! so altered was she, so pale, haggard and prematurely-aged that I scarcely recognised her. Her appearance was dejected, ragged, horrible! Her fair hair that used to be so much admired was now tangled over her eyes, and her fine figure hidden by her rough, ill-fitting prison gown, which was old, dirty and tattered. I stared at her, speechless in horror.

She was only nineteen. In that smart set in which her mother moved her beauty had been much admired. Madame de Rosen was the widow of a wealthy Jew banker, and on account of her late husband's loans to certain high officials to cover their gambling debts, all doors had been open to her. I recollected when I had last seen Luba, the night before her arrest. She had worn a pretty, Paris-made gown of carnation chiffon, and was waltzing with a good-looking young officer of the Kazan Dragoons. Alas! what a different picture she now presented.

"Luba!" I said quietly in English, taking her hand as she clung to me.

"Come outside. I am here to speak with you. I want to talk with you alone."

The gaoler, who had had his orders from the Governor, relocked and bolted the door, and taking his lantern, withdrew a respectable distance while I stood with Luba under the wooden wall of the prison wherein she had been confined.

"I have followed you here," I said, opening my capacious fur coat and throwing it around the poor shivering girl. "I only arrived to-night.

Where is your mother? I must see her at once."

She was silent. In the darkness I saw that her white face was downcast.

I felt her sobbing as I held her, weak and tearful, in my arms. She seemed, poor girl, too overcome at meeting me to be able to speak. She tried to articulate some words, but they became choked by stifled sobs.

"Your mother has been very ill, I hear, Luba," I said. "Is she better?"

But the girl only drew a long sigh and slowly shook her head.

"I--I can't tell you--Mr Trewinnard!" she managed to exclaim. "It is all too terrible--horrible! My poor mother! Poor darling! She--she died this morning!"

"Dead!" I gasped. My heart sank within me. The iron entered my soul.

"Yes. Alas!" responded the unfortunate girl. "And I am left alone--all alone in this awful place! Ah! Mr Trewinnard, you do not know--you can never dream how much we have suffered since we left Petersburg. I would have preferred death a thousand times to this. And my poor mother. She is dead--at last she now has peace. The Cossacks cannot beat her with their whips any more."

"Where did she die?" I asked blankly.

"In here--in this prison, upon the bench beside where I slept. Ah!" she cried, "I feel now as though I shall go mad. I lived only for her take--to wait upon her and try to alleviate her sufferings. Now that she has been taken from me I have no other object for which to live in this dreary waste of ice and snow. In a week I shall be sent on to Parotovsk with the others. But I hope before reaching there that G.o.d will be merciful and allow me to die."

"No, no!" I exclaimed, my hand placed tenderly upon the poor girl's shoulder. "Banish such thoughts. You may be released yet. I am here, striving towards that end."