or offences which, in any country but Russia, would scarcely
have subjected them to a fine, and yet they never in my hearing showed
vindictiveness towards those who had sent them into exile. And it is a
significant fact that, although the higher officials of State were
sometimes execrated, I never once heard a member of the Imperial family
spoken of with the slightest animosity, or even disrespect. A reason for
this is perhaps to be found in the following incident: Upon one
occasion I expressed my surprise to an exile that his Majesty the Tsar,
a ruler renowned for his humanity and tolerance, should sanction the
existence of such a place of exile as Sredni-Kolymsk.

"The Emperor!" was the answer with a bitter laugh; "you may be quite
sure that the Emperor does not know what goes on, or we should not be
here for a day longer."

Although the expedition remained here for only ten days, it seemed, on
the day of our departure, as though as many months had elapsed since our
arrival. Each day seemed an eternity, for my visit to the huts of the
exiles always took place, for obvious reasons, after dark. During the
hours of daylight there was absolutely nothing to do but to stare
moodily out of the window at the wintry scene as cheerless as a lunar
landscape. Outdoor exercise is undesirable in a place where you cannot
walk three hundred yards in any direction without floundering into a
snow-drift up to your waist. So during the interminable afternoons I
usually found my way to the tiny hut known as the Library. It contained
seven or eight hundred books on dull and dreary subjects which, however,
had been read and reread until most of the volumes were torn and
coverless. Amongst the numerous photographs of exiles past and present
that were nailed to the log wall one object daily excited my curiosity.
This was a funeral wreath composed of faded wild flowers secured by a
black silk ribbon, and bearing the golden inscription "Auf Wiedersehen"
in German characters. One evening at the house of an official I happened
to mention this withered garland, and learned that it had been laid
upon the coffin of a young exile by his comrades only a few weeks
previously. The sad circumstances under which this youth met his death,
and the startling _denouement_ which followed the latter, form one of
the darkest tragedies that has occurred of recent years in the annals of
Siberian exile. I give the story word for word as it was related to me
by the