Yes; whose fault is that?
The next day, at an early hour, before the men were mustered for work, I went through all the barracks to bid the men a last farewell. Many a vigorous, horny hand was held out to me with right good-will. Some grasped and shook my hand as though all their hearts went with the act; but these were the more generous souls. Most of the poor fellows seemed so much to feel that, for them, I was already a man changed by what was coming, that they could feel scarce anything else. They knew that I had friends in the town, that I was going away at once to gentlemen, that I should sit at their table as their equal. This the poor fellows felt; and, although they did their best as they took my hand, that hand could not be the hand of an equal. No; I, too, was a gentleman now. Some turned their backs on me, and made no reply to my parting words. I think, too, that I saw looks of aversion on some faces.
The drum beat; all the convicts went to their work; and I was left to myself. Souchiloff had got up before everybody that morning, and now set himself tremblingly to the task of getting ready for me a last cup of tea. Poor Souchiloff! How he cried[Pg 368] when I gave him my clothes, my shirts, my trouser-straps, and some money.
“’Tain’t that, ’tain’t that,” he said, and he bit his trembling lips, “it’s that I am going to lose you, Alexander Petrovitch! What shall I do without you?”
There was Akim Akimitch, too; him, also, I bade farewell.
“Your turn to go will come soon, I pray,” said I.
“Ah, no! I shall remain here long, long, very long yet,” he just managed to say, as he pressed my hand. I threw myself on his neck; we kissed.
Ten minutes after the convicts had gone out, my companion and myself left the jail for ever. We went to the blacksmith’s shop, where our irons were struck off. We had no armed escort, we went there attended by a single sub-officer. It was convicts who struck off our irons in the engineers’ workshop. I let them do it for my friend first, then went to the anvil myself. The smiths made me turn round, seized my leg, and stretched it on the anvil. Then they went about the business methodically, as though they wanted to make a very neat job of it indeed.
“The rivet, man, turn the rivet first,” I heard the master smith say; “there, so, so. Now, a stroke of the hammer!”
The irons fell. I lifted them up. Some strange impulse made me long to have them in my hands for one last time. I couldn’t realise that, only a moment before, they had been on my limbs.
“Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!” said the convicts in their broken voices; but they seemed pleased as they said it.
Yes, farewell!
Liberty! New life! Resurrection from the dead!
Unspeakable moment!
THE END
