Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1895-06-15
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS.

1t was q cold, desolate winter, and l
was making an official tour in the So
ciety of the district intendent. We were
driving to the remotest corner of Sibe-
ria, about 900 versts in a straight line
on the ice of the river, over a thick
layer of snow, the rocky formation Of
the shores on both sides glowering down
upon US dark and savage in their arctic
splendor. There was nothing worth
looking at beyond this. The monotony
of the trip served to bring the virtues
of my companion into strong relief.
He was an old man, tall, with large,
strong face, from which nose of solid
formation protruded; hair cut short and
gray, close cropped beard, but despite
his rough exterior one of the best ma
tured of men. He was bachelor, liv-
ing all by himself, who had grown gray
in the service and accepted lapowki
(perquisites) from no matter whom or for
what purpose, and had thus gained the
esteem and friendship of all who came
into contact with him. His three weak
nesses were to kill bears, to sing songs
and to talk about Siberia, the latter
with passionate fondness. Like most Of
the officials there he was Jealous pa
triot, and whenever he discoursed upon
Siberia and its charms he was apt to
lapse into poetry. To offset this he be-
Titled Russia. Although he had never
been on the other side of Urals, he in
sisted that the people there were moth
ing but mixture of Tartars and immi-
grants, devoted to the industry of steal
ing handkerchiefs and purses.
twitted him that Siberia was only
an imitation of Russia; that it had
never produced a song of its own; that
its father and schoolmaster were the
penal colonists. That aroused him, es-
pecially the reflection regarding its
dearth of song music, and to disprove it
he sang in no unpleasant manner, in his
hoarse, age enfeebled basso, sundry old
Russian airs with the Jealous assurance
that they were the purest of Siberian.
BY the way" he suddenly declared,
"I'll tell you story-an actual occur
rence-that will show you the sort Of
songs we sing"
And he began thus:
1T was in the days of my youth, aft
or had taken service in my country be-
hind the Baikal. I was presiding not
far from the Kara region. I knew near
ly every convict by sight, and the affair
happened almost under my very nose.
''There was life convict. I forget
now what he had done, but of course it
was no small affair. He had red hair,
with sprinkling of gray in his beard;
big and bony, with large, disagreeable
eyes. He walked with slight stoop,
seeming to be thinking to himself; was
very serious in his demeanor and lived
apart from the rest. He was never
mixed up in anything, either with the
officials or the convicts. Six years he
had lived on the Kara and should really
soon have gone over to the trusted.
Many wondered why he had not escaped
i'll the many years.
"Well, he had voice! Ihave heard
not few excellent voices and myself
sang not badly in my younger days, but
this was something superior. People
there love songs, and good singers soon
come together, but when Wasi Semio-
nitsch began to sing everything became
so still that ycu could hear fly. Crowd
cd in the door stood overseers, soldiers
and convicts, listening to his favorite
song, My Little Falcon Flies
HE sang rarely. They would gather
around him in vain, for people there
are fond of the convict and vagabond
airs. But one evening he sang of his
own incentive, and all came running
and surrounded him in silence, as if he
had cast spell upon them. He sang a
prison song, long and sad. I cannot
exactly describe his voice to you-half
like a powerful baritone, half tenor of
unusual range and purity. Ifelt riveted
to the spot, listening with breathless in
terest. 1t seemed so tender and simple,
and yet it seemed to penetrate the heart
like a knife. Then suddenly his voice
burst forth like the roll of thunder and
made one tremble. You would bow as
though some subtle power were bending
you to earth, and then all would sound
soft and plaintive, and you breathed
again. Even the commandant stood
there with lowered head, apparently in
a pensive mood.
Zone day they brought in new con-
vict. He was an ugly fellow, not worth
puff of powder, weak, sickly, like a
half grown child. He had beaten his
wife to death. or his mistress, or some
thing of the sort. He used to laugh
much and showed the prisoners various
tricks, like clown. The convicts liked
him because he was good natured, tract
able and awkward, but specially be-
cause he knew great many songs. His
voice was not remarkable-weak and
tremulous, but ineffably sad and tender.
"Well. Wasil Semionitsoh formed
an attachment to this man and he be-
came his accompanist in singing, and
they soon harmonized. The first would
thunder away and the other would join