6 The mill and the locksmith shop are housed in one building and the machinery is driven by a single steam engine. The mill contains four sets of millstones with a production of 1,500 poods of grist a day. An old steam engine brought here by Prince Shakhovskoy is in operation in the lumberyard. It is fired by sawdust. The blacksmith shop works night and day; six forges operate in two shifts. A total of 105 workers are employed in the shop. Convicts in Alexandrovsk also work in the coal mines, but it is doubtful whether this undertaking will ever be success- ful. The coal from local mines is far worse than the coal in Due. It looks dirtier and is mixed with slate. It is not inexpensive since a permanent staff of miners works the mine under the supervision of a mining engineer. The local mines are scarcely necessary, since Due is not far away and excellent coal can be obtained from there at any time. However, the local mines were opened up with the beneficent aim of providing jobs for future settlers.
Yegor's Story
the doctor with whom I had been lodging left for the mainland soon after being retired from service, and I took lodgings with a young and very decent official. He had only one servant, an old Ukrainian woman, and once a day a convict named Yegor came by. He hauled the fire- wood, but was not considered to be the official's servant; he brought the wood "out of respect," removed the kitchen slops and did all the chores which were too difficult for the old woman. Sometimes when I was reading or writing something, I suddenly heard a rustling and panting noise, and felt something heavy moving under the table at my feet. It was Yegor, barefoot, picking up scraps of news- paper from the floor or dusting it.
He was about forty years old, a clumsy, doltish fellow, with a simple and at first glance stupid face, and with a mouth as wide as an eelpout's. His hair was red, his beard scanty, his eyes small. He did not answer questions imme- diately, but first squinted at you sideways and said, "What?" or "Who do you want?" He called me "your worship," and addressed me in the second person singular. He could not sit still for a minute without doing something, and he always found work to do. He would be talking to you, and all the time his eyes would be wandering around looking for something to clean or tidy up. He took catnaps two or three {imes a day, because he never had time for sleep. On holidays he usually stood on a street corner, wearing a jacket over a red shirt, his stomach pushed out, his feet wide apart. He called this "having a good time."
Here, in penal servitude, he built his own cabin, made buckets, tables and crude cupboards. He could make all sorts of furniture, but only "for his own pleasure," that is, for his own use. He was never in a fight and had never been thrashed except in his childhood when his father punished him because he let the rooster into the pea patch when he was supposed to be guarding it.
One day I had the following conversation with him:
"Why were you sent here?" I asked him.
"What's that, your worship?"
"Why were you sent to Sakhalin?"
"For murder!"
"Tell me what happened, from the very beginning."
Yegor leaned against the doorjamb, hands behind his back, and began:
"We worked for Baron Vladimir Mikhailich as wood- cutters, and we sawed the wood and delivered it to the station. Good. We finished and went home. We hadn't gone far from the village when they sent me to the office to witness the paper. I was on horseback. On the way to the office Andryukha turned me back: there was a flood, it was impossible to get through. He said, 'Tomorrow I shall be riding to the office about my lease rent and I will have the paper witnessed.' Good. Then we went on together, I on horseback and the others on foot. We reached Para- khino. The muzhiks went to the tavern for a smoke and Andryukha and I lagged behind on the sidewalk nearby. Then he says, Say, my friend, you wouldn't have a five- kopeck piece on you, would you? I'd like a drink.' And I said, 'Well, friend, you're the kind of man who will go in for a five-kopeck drink and come out drunk.' And he answered, 'No, I won't get drunk; I'll have my drink and go home.' We went to the crowd, agreed on a quart, col- lected enough money all round, went to the tavern and bought a quart of vodka. We all sat down at a table to drink."
"Make ic shorter," I said.
"Wait a minute, don't interrupt, your worship. So then we drank the vodka and he, that's Andryukha, bought a half-pint of pepper brandy. He poured a glass for himself and for me. We drank the glass together. Then all the people left the tavern and went home, and we left, follow- ing them. I got tired of riding horseback, got off, and sat down near the riverbank. I sang songs and told jokes. There were no disagreements between us. Then we got up and left."
"Tell me about the murder," I interrupted him.
"Wait a minute! At home I went to bed and slept until morning, when they awakened me: 'Get up. Which one of you beat up Andrey?' They had already brought Andrey home, and an official had arrived. The official began ques- tioning everyone; nobody admitted he had done it. But Andrey was still alive and said, 'You, Sergukha, you hit me with a club and I don't remember anything else.' S..rgukha didn't confess. \Y./e all thought it was Sergukha and began to watch him so he would not harm himself. Andrey died the next day.
"Sergey's family, his sister and father-in-law all advised him, 'Don't deny it, Sergey, it doesn't make any difference. Confess, and implicate everyone, anyone who was around. You'll be let off!' As soon as Andrey died, all of us went to the village elder and denounced Sergey. We interrogated him, but he wouldn't admit anything. Later they let him go home for the night. Some men stood guard so he wouldn't harm himself. He owned a gun. It wasn't safe.
"In the morning they discovered he was gone. \Y./e made up a search party; we searched the village and ran around the fields looking for him. Then someone came from the police station and said Sergey was already there. They be- gan to pull us in at the station. Sergey threw himself on his knees before the district police officer and the constable and began to inform against us, saying the Yefremov boys had been planning to beat up Andryukha for the past three years. 'We were walking along the road together, the three of us, Ivan, Yegor and I, and we all of us agreed to beat him up.' He said, 'I hit him with a stick and then Ivan and Yegor started beating him.' And then he said, 'I got frightened and ran back to join the rest.' After that they took us to jail in the town—Ivan, Kirsha, Sergey and me."
"And who are Ivan and Kirsha?"
"My own brothers. Pyotr Mikhailich, the merchant, came to the jail and went bail for us. We stayed with him on bail until the Feast of Our Lady of Perpetual Succor. We lived well, safe and sound. On the second day of the Feast we were tried in the town. Kirsha had witnesses—the men who had brought up the rear testified for him. As for me, my friend, I really got it. I told the court exactly what I just told you, but rhe court didn't believe me. Everyone says they're innocent and they cross their hearts, but it's all lies.' So they sentenced us and scm us to jail. \X'c lived under lock and key in jail, but I was in charge of the chamber pot, swept the cells and served thc dinners. For this service each prisoner gave me a portion of bread a month. It was about three pounds per person. When we heard we were about to leave, we sent a telegram home. It was just before the Feast of St. Nicholas. My wife and my brother Kirsha came to visit us and brought some clothing and other things. My wife howled, but nothing could be done. Whcn she left I gave her two portions of bread as a gift. Wc cried and sent our greetings to thc children and to all Christian people.
"On the way we were handcuffed together. \Y/e walked two by two. I walked with Ivan. In Novgorod they took our pictures, put us in irons and shaved our heads. Then on to Moscow. While we were in prison in Moscow we kept sending out petitions for a pardon. I don't remember how we gat to Odessa. The trip was uneventful. In Odessa we were taken to a doctor, stripped bare and examined. Later they got us togcthcr and herded us on a ship. Cossacks and soldiers accompanied us up the gangway and put us below. We sat down on rhe bunks and that was that. Each person had his own place. Five of us sat on thc tap bunk. At first we didn't understand, and then they said, 'We've started, we've started!' We sailed on and on and then it began to roll. The heat was so intense, the people stripped off their dothing. Some vomited, othcrs were quiet. Naturally, al- most everyone was lying down. It was a real storm. It threw us in all directions. We sailed and sailed and then we struck something. Something banged into us. The day was foggy. It turned dark. \X'hen we were hit, the ship stopped and rolled on the rocks. We thought a big fish was rolling under us, turning the boat over.1 The engines jerked forward, and kept jerking, but it wouldn't move. Then they tried mov- ing backward. Then they jerked backward and there was a hole in the ship's bottom. They tried to stuff the hole with sailcloth; they stuffed and stuffed, but it was useless. The water rose up to the floor of the hold where the people were sitting, and then it came through the ship's plates.