I was conscious of figures mysteriously scurrying back and forth to the house. My eyes began to focus better and I could see standing a man who led me to the back of a hay wagon, as if to introduce me to the scheme devised for my escape. He took my hand that I might feel him unlatch a little door, then he pushed my arm through the opening, indicating to me the empty space inside. He guided my hand to the bottom, to the bedding of hay and the blanket, then the arched roof to feel the hoops laid closely above. He directed my fingers to the cloth between the hoops, trying to let me know a covering had been thrown over to keep the hay from falling through. He made me touch the sides of the wagon and the arched top covered with hay. My hiding place was to be this coop, camouflaged as a load of hay. The ingenious plan revealed once more the risk these people were taking. I stood hesitating between fear and appreciation, when suddenly I found myself being lifted feet first through the tiny door. He handed me a bottle of water and without a word hooked the little door. Locked up in my little cage, I listened. Footsteps. It seemed there were many. I was anxious to catch every sound. I could hear nothing. The wagon bent forward as under a heavy weight. A stronger lurch and we were in motion.
Now I felt like a little calf being taken to the market. Yet I had reason to trust these people. Their careful preparation, their discreet silence could be only for my safety. I could not understand them, but I could not mistake their kindness. Perhaps someone would meet me at our destination. The serious, elaborate precautions indicated we were in great danger. This first part of the journey was no doubt the most critical. Through the rear of the wagon I could see a light. It was the sun coming up.
I presume we traveled for hours, the horse moving at a steady and brisk pace. I could tell when we were going up or down. The road was rough and I was badly shaken. These country roads were in poor shape and full of ruts. The dust sifted through the partitioned door and filled my eyes and nostrils. I felt I was suffocating. I could hardly breathe. My dry throat stiffened. I reached for the bottle, found and removed the cork, swallowed some water to wash the dust down, and sponged my face. My cramped coop was long enough to permit me to lie full length, and high enough so I could easily turn over. I could even draw up my knees, though I could not sit up. I rolled on my stomach and pressed my face against the little door to catch any current of air. I hoped they would soon stop, but dared not call out for fear that my voice would betray us. The driver seemed to know the road well, as the cart did not hesitate in making any of the turns. It had no springs and it jolted brutally and ceaselessly. My head was splitting. Would my wounds break open? My face was stiff and plastered with a mixture of dust and sweat. I was miserable. We travelled for a long time. Then light began to penetrate through the door and the wagon took a sudden turn. A plunge down and up again, then slowly along a level road with many bends. It stopped. I listened. Had we been halted for searching? Did someone jump down from the driver’s seat? Some one was coming around the wagon. It was one of the men, pushing the hay from the little door.
Suddenly the door flew open. In came a rush of fresh air. Feeling unsteady I tottered into the arms of the woman. I was glad she had come with us. She smiled, reflecting my pleasure at seeing her. She held me for a moment before I could walk around to loosen my tensed body.
It was most exciting to find myself free in the woods in the daylight. I learned there was no trouble here. We had stopped for a rest and to care for the horse. My eyes squinted and watered painfully, and I could distinguish very little. I bathed my eyes and the woman tied a cloth over them and left me sitting on a log. I lifted the cloth a tiny bit to accustom my eyes to the light. First I saw some green, then the forest, then a winding stream and myriads of bushes screening us from the road—a perfectly secluded spot. Later in the evening we resumed our journey, stopping several times for a rest. At daybreak the light started again to seep into my coop. The way the horse turned indicated we were not here by accident, but had actually stopped according to plan.
It was a beautiful morning; the dew still on the grass made the air superb. I could see some deep orange-colored flowers and some wild asters. I plucked some of those dry seeds from the plants and tossed them into the air, hoping they would fly through the woods in the direction where my family was resting. I knew so little of the cruel facts surrounding my dear ones. If I could only kneel beside their graves for a silent prayer. But even this was denied me. Water rushed down a little stream and humming insects flitted about No prison walls here.
Presently the woman spread the army blanket on the ground, motioning me to sit on it, and opened a lunch basket. She had some hard boiled eggs, one for each of us, fried fish, bread. It was a sumptuous feast, and a glorious feeling there under the shaggy trees, the profusion of pines and birches, under the deep blue sky—a typical Siberian scene. The horse stood still munching. The leaves hung motionless, the birds were quiet; all nature seemed to breath in suspended and sympathetic silence as we ate our lunch hungrily.
The great sacrifice these people were making impressed me once more and I felt appreciative. In no time all three were asleep. In order to make it easy for everybody I had an urge to run away, but because of the effort these people were making, my conscience would not permit it. Also probably at the “little place” they knew of, someone might be waiting for me.
The little brook rumbled on in the quiet of the countryside. It alone defied silence. The trees stood in a colored hush of yellow, red and green. The white birch and the trembling aspen beat their wings. All this indicated it was early fall and nature was ready for its long sleep. After taking these details of the setting, I realized I, too, was exhausted.
The men were harnessing the horse and the woman was packing when I awoke. She was waiting to fold my blanket. I was chagrined to have been such a poor sentinel, but no harm had resulted. Now the men were ready. The woman started for the wagon, so I followed, though I could have enjoyed nature in that spot indefinitely. In a few minutes I was back in my coop; the men and the woman were in their places. The wagon bent forward several times and we were on our way again.
We moved steadily and confidently. The way must have been perfectly familiar to our driver. I did not hear any other passing wagons, nor was I conscious of passing through any village. I kept thinking about the beautiful spot in which we had lunched. That day God and nature were fused together. There in that beautiful resting place the family had been with me in spirit guiding me in the very air I breathed, caressing and encouraging me. I imagined I could hear Father’s quieting words. Even now I thought those words might be directing us. The driver seemed so sure of the way I became less alone, less suffocated, less desperate. I could lie quietly. Transcended, I simmered in wishful dreams. This was the second night on the road. The wagon rumbled. Another abrupt turn awakened me. I listened. The horse halted. One of the men was opening the door of the coop. He pulled me out and set me on my feet. We were in the midst of a thicket. The third stop on our journey. It was twilight, the sky still holding its sunset colors. The colors faded into the gathering darkness.
The men worked hurriedly, nervously and anxiously to get through feeding and watering the horse. It was a short stretching period, only long enough to eat from our basket and let the horse finish his feed. Not one word broke the evening silence, not one moment was wasted. Once more I lay in the coop and the horse started out again.
Even in the dark I could feel a certainty of direction. The horse’s feet met the ground as if the way was not strange to him. We went on about the same pace as during daylight. Each moment I was prepared for any difficulty which might arise. So far there had been no trouble. Would we travel all night? I could not sleep in the chilling darkness and I did not suppose any of the others did. Suddenly a lurch to the left, a short run and a halt. No sounds, only poignant stillness. One of the men helped me out of the cage. I found myself standing beside a house. The woman opened the door and walked in. They all seemed to know this house. Though it was dark, they made their way around, and lighted a candle. The woman led me to a bed. After she finished with me, she went out of the room.
It seemed but a moment before the woman was awakening me from my sleep. I was getting used to the inevitable. It was still dark when she came in with a candle in her hand. She guided me to a table where milk and bread was laid out for me. Then she led me outdoors to the wagon which stood ready. I could see clearly by the light of the stars.
To my surprise, we did not stop at the rear of the wagon. We passed to the front where one of the men already sat in the driver’s seat. The second man turned as if to help me up. I looked at the woman, seeking an explanation. She put her lips to my forehead, pressed my hand, then gently pushed me toward the man who helped me to the seat beside the driver. The other man climbed after me. The wagon started, it had two horses this time. We had left the woman behind! I suddenly realized the woman had said good-bye. I was never to see her again. We turned out of the yard, onto the country road. A man on each side of me and the woman gone. I had misgivings. The men sat rigid, gazing at the pre-dawn blackness. They were on the alert. To them, leaving the woman behind was a planned milestone in their hazardous task. Her part was finished, now it was up to them to carry on.
The woman was protection to me, the last remnant of a feminine world. We were still in danger, judging by their alertness. I wondered why I had not returned to the coop. These men were stoical and brave to attempt this journey at all. Their continual watchfulness inspired confidence. One of these men had annoyed me with his questions several days ago. Now he sat beside me.
Each moment took me farther away from the woman. I had taken her protection for granted. My feeling for her had been a mixture of wonder and resentment. I always hoped that some day she would talk to me and tell me what I wanted to know. Now that day was gone forever. But she had done her part faithfully and I must be grateful. That last night at the dugout, when we looked eye to eye, she understood what I wanted most. I would have liked to put it in words. That night I had felt close to her. Now she was far from me, free to return to her accustomed way of life. What was her life? On our way, had we dropped her at her home? This dugout, where I had been so long, was it far from Ekaterinburg?
The men spoke of Uktus and Mramorskaya. Was one of these the location of my dugout? It was an irritating mystery. No part of the mystery was solved and now the woman was gone without telling me a thing.
The men kept peering through the darkness, taking advantage of its unlimited screen to make all possible progress. My inner darkness exceeded the darkness of the night. At length the outer darkness lifted to herald the coming dawn. Soon the majestic sun appeared unchallenged. I was cold and numb until a quick turn of the wagon made me forget my numbness.
The horses halted and the men stood up to stretch. They jumped down and helped me to alight. Then handing me the basket and the army blanket, they began to unharness the horses. This was the beginning of our fourth day on the road. I attended to the food while the men cared for the horses. The basket contained a fresh supply of food—black bread, eggs and a bottle of water. The woman must have baked the bread for us, while we were asleep. I found a sunny spot on which to spread the blanket while we ate.
When we finished they jumped to their feet, folded the blanket and we were off again. I climbed to the driver’s seat, where we sat three abreast. We were a family of peasants driving between work fields. My faded clothes fitted perfectly into the scheme. That day the horses seemed to know the route as well as the driver. They knew all the byways. They must have driven these roads frequently. From a hill I could see a village in the distance. I did not ask their names and the men did not volunteer the information. We did see some people walking on these roads. We also passed a few wagons.
When I noticed that the men were less tense, I assumed we were beyond the danger zone. We were all in a more relaxed mood. We stopped in another spot and laid out the food, but there was very little left. They were so tired, they hardly could eat The meager meal was soon finished and they harnessed the horses. One of them took the blanket and climbed on top of the hay and spread it out. The other man helped me up; here I was to spend my night. How imperturbable these men were, so reassuring when I was most afraid. Their thoughtfulness touched me. Now that the men could not see me, I could shed the tears I had turned back yesterday. I fell asleep until the wagon halted again. I sat up in fright. It was a dark night. The stars were quivering. I heard the straps fall. The whiffle-tree hit the ground. The horses were stepping out of their traces. We were to spend the night here. The men stretched outside beside the wagon.
We had been sleeping for a while when I thought I heard a scream of some kind. I heard it again. Now it was a shriek, the horses neighed with a shrill sound and jerked the wagon to which they were tied. The men sprang to their feet and began to pull some hay off the wagon. They threw it to the ground and lighted a match to make a fire. Soon the horses quieted down. I overheard the men saying there were two wolves.
After this scare it was easy to keep awake. I felt sorry for the men who were up and down several times during the night. At last dawn appeared and I heard them stirring in preparation for a new departure. I combed my hair, using my fingers for a comb and my palm for a brush, trying to make myself as presentable as possible. I knew I did not look well groomed but I did not much care. One of the men helped me down from the wagon, the other brought some water and poured it into my hands. I washed my face without soap. We had spent the night not far from a farmhouse known to my companions.
We emerged from the forests into open fields, then another forest. Judging by the sun I figured we were moving in a southwesterly direction. These inscrutable men stopped at another byway for rest and food. We ate bread and washed it down with water. Not a word was spoken during lunch. Soon we rattled again along the roads and country lanes without any special incident. We met a number of frail men and women, and barefoot children wearing tattered clothes. We got out of one rut only to get into another. The jerks and vibrations were making me ill.
Now the farms were great distances apart. A shortage of seeds in their shacks indicated a harsh struggle to raise food and keep the family warm. The condition of the country was such that it permitted only a bare existence. What went on in the big cities could hardly interest these peasants. Perhaps these people had not even heard of the massacre of the thousands of people, of their Emperor and his family. Surely the chances of meeting with anyone acquainted with the Imperial family must be remote. Who could associate this pathetic, toothless, faded creature between these two men with anything royal? I heard later that all the grain was taken away from the peasants and many died during the winter of 1917-18. Now the men talked freely about their journey. They even joked about their fright. But they exchanged only a few words with me. They did not address me nor use my real name or title.
Late in the evening the wagon halted again. It seemed like an eternity since the woman had left us. The horses were unharnessed and tied to a tree. We rested until dawn broke. Now we had no food.
They seemed eager to reach the destination. All of a sudden, in the mid-afternoon, the horses made a sharp turn and we entered an open stretch with fields and a few trees on a nearby hill. Below, in the distance, we could see a village. The horses were unharnessed, hitched to long ropes so they could graze at will. The men stretched out by the wagon and soon were sound asleep. I had no idea where we were.
In the early evening, the men awakened. They jumped up and shook themselves, saying, “Let us get going.” We were leaving the horses and wagon behind and taking off on foot. They looked back several times to make sure the horses were safe. I had become fond of those horses and hated the thought of leaving them. Soon we were three abreast. We began descending the hill, then went up and down several times until we could see the village more clearly. One of the men gave the other directions and then returned to his horses. The second man and I started down the small hill to the village. As I looked back I saw in the dusk only the figure of our departed companion going up the hill. Now my hostility toward him was lost in the widening distance between us.
How long could I walk in my huge and uncomfortable boots? Would my wounded left leg hold up? In spite of all the care I had received, it continued to pain. The ground we walked on was rough. It was hard to keep my feet from sliding around in my boots. It was dark when we reached the village. Several dogs barked and ran out in the street, and then turned back to their houses. Here and there in the windows flickered an occasional candle or a kerosene lamp. All was quiet in the streets as if the villagers had turned in for the night. We kept walking until we reached a small dimly-lighted house. My companion gave two short knocks on the window and a tall lean man with a cane came to the door. He held the door open for us and said, “I have been expecting you for the last two nights.” I extended my hand to him. He held it in both of his hands, kissed it, and looked into my eyes, without a word. A tear rolled down his cheek. He stood in silence ... overcome with emotion, then said; “My dear, you must be tired and hungry after such a trying trip.” His voice and words were touching and more friendly and warm than I had heard in several months. He drew me to a chair at a table and when I was seated the two men sat on either side of me.