The
coureur handed the paper to the officer of the guards. Not a man of
the Cossacks could read German. What the papers were the terrified
exiles knew. If word of the plot reached the Pacific, they might
expect knouting, perhaps mutilation, or lifelong, hopeless servitude in
the chain-gangs of the mines.
One chance of frustrating detection remained--the Cossack officer
looked to the exiles for protection against his men. For a week the
cavalcade moved sullenly on, the soldiers jeering in open revolt at the
officer, the officer in terror for his life, the exiles quaking with
fear. The road led to a swift, somewhat {112} dangerous river. The
Cossacks were ordered to swim the elk teams across. The officer went
on the raft to guard the prisoners, on whose safe delivery his own life
depended. With hoots of laughter, that could not be reported as
disobedience, the Cossacks hustled the snorting elk teams against the
raft. A deft hoist from the pole of some unseen diver below, and the
raft load was turned helter-skelter upside down in the middle of the
river, the commander going under heels up! When officer and exiles
came scrambling up the bank wet as water-rats, they were welcomed with
shouts by the Cossacks.
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