The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1888-02-29
SENT TO SIBERIA.
A RUSSIAN POLITICAL PRISON
ER'S DRAMATIC STORY.
Scenes Connected With the Depart
ure of the Condemned Men
For Siberian Mines-The
Convoy On the Train.

taken from advance sheets of Mr.. George
Remnants paper on "Russian State Pris-
oners," written for the Century. The
exile, describing his departure in COM
pany with other prisoners from the Home
of Preliminary Detention for the far-off
mines of Siberia, said:
About o'clock in the morning an
overseer unlocked and opened the door
of my cell and said to me: "Come" l
followed him to the Office of the prison,
where the commander of the convoy made
careful examination of my person, noted
my features and physical characteristics
as set forth in a description which he
held in his hand, compared my face with
that of photograph taken soon after
my arrest, and at last, being apparently
satisfied as to my identity, received me
formally from the prison authorities. 1
was then taken down flight of stairs to
the corps de garde, large room on the
ground floor, at the door of which stood
an armed sentry. The spacious but low
and gloomy hall was dimly lighted by a
few tlaring lamps and candles, and in
the middle of it, at two long bare
tables, sat ten or fifteen men and
women, in coarse gray convict overcoats
drinking tea. The heads of the men
were half shaven, they all were chains
and leg-fetters, and on the back of every
prisoner, between the shoulders, ap-
pearcd the two black diamonds which
signify that the criminal so marked is a
hard labor convict Near the door, in a
little group, stood six or eight uni
formed gendarmes and officers of the de-
tective police, who watched the prison
ers intently, whispering now and then
among themselves as if communicating
to one another the results OF their obser-
vations. The stiffness of the room was
unbroken save by the faint Kissing of
two or three brass samovars on the
tables, and an occasional jingle of
chains as one of the convicts moved his
feet. There was no conversation, and a
chance observer would never have i'm
agined that the gray coated figures sit
ting silently side by side at the tables
were near friends, and in some cases rel
atlves, who had long been buried in the
classmates of the fortress, and who were
looking into one another's faces for the
first time in years.
As I entered the room one of the pris-
oners, whose face I did not ut first recog-
nize but who prove to be an old friend,
rushed forward to meet me, and as he
threw his arms around me whispered in
my ear: "Don't recognize anybody but
me-the gendarmes are watching u.s."
understood the warning. The police
really knew very little about the history
and the revolutionary records of some of
the political convlcts who were present,
and it was important that they should
not be able to get clue to sny ones
identity or past history by noting recog-
nitions as prisoner after prisoner was
brought in. The incautious manifesto
ton of emotion by one convict as he
met another might result in the return of
both to the classmates of the fortress and
their detention there until their mutual
relations could lie investigated. This was
the reason for the silence which prevailed
throughout the gloomy hall and for the
seeming Indifference with which the
prisoners regarded one another They
were apparently strangers, but in reality
they were bound together by innumer-
able ties of friendship and memories of
the past; and as they looked into one
another's faces, and noted the changes
that time and suffering had wrought,
they maintained their composure only by
the most heroic effort On one side of
the table sat an old comrade of whom we
had heard nothing in years and whom we
had all supposed to be dead. On the
other side were a young man and his
betrothed, who for FIVE years had not seen
each other, and who, when thus reunited
under the eyes of the gendarmes, did not
dare to speak. Near them sat pale, thin
woman about twenty-seven years of age,
who held in her arms a sickly baby born
in q casemate of the fortress, and. who
looked anxiously at the door every time
it opened with the hope of seeing her
husband brought in to join the party.
Most of US knew that her husband was
dead, but no one dared to tell her that
she watched the door in vain.
Nothing could have been more dramatic
than the scene in that gloomy hall at
ha!f.past four o'clock in the morning,
when the last of the condemned prisoners
had been brought in. The strange and
unnatural stiffness in room filled with
people the contrast between the blue and
silver uniforms of the gendarmes and the
coarse gray overcoats, chains, and leg
fetters of the prisoners; the furtive
whisperings of the detective police; and
the silence and assumed stolidity of the
pale, emaciated, shaven-headed convicts
would have made the scene striking and
impressive even to chance spectator.
To one, however, who could look be-
meath the surface of things; who could
appreciate the tragic significance of the
situation: and who could see with spirit
ual insight the hot tides Of ha red, agony,
sympathy, and pity which surged under
those gray overcoats, the scene was not
merely striking and impressive, but ter
rible and heart.rending.
At five o'clock we were taken In closed
carriages to the station of the st. Peters
burg and Moscow railway, were put into
convict cars with grated windows, and
began our long and cventful journey to
Siberia. could not describe, if I would,
the scenes that witnessed in that train,
when we were at last freed from the
espionage of the gendarmes; when we
could greet and embrace one another
openly without fear; and could relate to
one another the histories of our lies
during the long years OF our enforced
separation. The experiences Of ell were
essentially alike, and the stories were an
endless epopee of suffering. We talked
all day, and should perhaps have talked
all night had not the over strained nerves
of the weaker members of the party