purpose of murdering the Czar. These Poles, whether real or suppositious, had applied for passports in London; but (to make the case against me blacker) being well known to the Russian agents, and having thus been foiled in their attempts, they were expected to proceed to some intermediate foreign port—such as Hamburgh or Copenhagen—and try to procure some passports there. My case seemed to tally with this description so completely, that the reader will at once perceive my danger. Only a week before we arrived at Cronstadt, a man had come by steamer from Hamburgh, and had been taken up on suspicion; being unable to clear himself, he was thrown into prison; and, after describing his case to me, the old president subsequently added, very significantly and mysteriously, “and where he is now—God knows.”
When I entered the saloon for examination, I found the Board engaged in a learned discussion on my name. I have the misfortune to possess a very long and uncommon family designation, which, as far as I know, is shared by only two other families in England; and the unfamiliar sound at once increased the suspicions and provoked the criticisms of my scrutineers. Happily, the debate was in Russ; and I inwardly chuckled over the advantage which my knowledge of that language gave me.
“Who ever heard of such a name in England?” said one of the Board, who evidently prided himself on his supposed knowledge of the English. “If it had been ‘Shmeed,’ or ‘Veeliams,’—but ‘!’” and he repeated my name, torturing it most abominably in the pronunciation.
“Have any of you, gentlemen, ever heard of an English name like that?” asked the old president.
“No!” was the universal response.
“Mr. Interpreter,” continued the president, addressing an Englishman, or pseudo-Englishman, beside him, “ask the captain of the steamer” (who was standing behind) “if he knows any other Englishman of that name; but mind you put the question in a whisper, that the man may not overhear you.”
The mysterious whisper took place, while I had considerable difficulty in maintaining due control over my risible faculties; and at length the interpreter said aloud, in Russ, that the captain knew no other Englishman of that name, and had never heard it before he saw me on board.
“It can’t be an English name,” said one.
“It must be an assumed name,” added another.
“You mean because he wished to conceal his real name,” said the English scholar.
“Now gentlemen,” resumed the president, “look at the man himself; does he look like an Englishman?”
“No!” shouted the commissioners in a chorus.
“Look at him well: what does he look like?”
“A Pole!” cried all, at once.
“Woe is me!” thought I: “this is becoming serious.”
“Mr. Interpreter, ask the captain aloud if he has any Poles on board; and, while he is asking the question, you, gentlemen, fix your eyes upon the man, and see if he blenches.”
Thus kindly forewarned, I screwed up my nerves, not to refrain from starting, but to keep my countenance. The question was asked; some half-a-dozen pairs of eyes were sternly fixed on me; I am not sure, but I believe, that I looked tolerably unconcerned.
“He does not blench,” said one.
“Mr. Interpreter,” continued the president, “ask the man if he has ever been in Poland.”
“Yes, I have,” was my answer.
“Does he speak Polish?”
“No.”
“Does he speak Russ?” would, I thought, be the next question: but the wiseacres never thought of that question which might have perilled my position.
After several other questions had been asked and answered, the Board began to deliberate on my case; and, as they never dreamt that I knew Russ, they suffered me to remain and overhear a debate so interesting and important to myself. They were unanimous in thinking, that it was a very suspicious case indeed; but, when they came to consider what they should do to me, they fortunately differed in their opinions. The majority seemed inclined to adopt the severest measures, and send me off to prison, as they had sent the Pole the week before: and, in that case, my fate might have resembled his; and I might never have returned to this country to record my adventures. But there was a minority who thought that course too premature and harsh, and wished to transfer me to the Minister of the Secret Police at Saint Petersburg. Seeing that the violent party were likely to win the day, and not being ambitious to share the Pole’s fate, I thought it high time to make myself heard. I took advantage of a seasonable moment to ask Mr. Interpreter, if the Board wanted my presence any longer.
“I don’t know that they will let you off at all,” he replied, with all the pomp and importance he could assume.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Why, it seems that yours is a very suspicious case; and the majority of the examiners think of ordering you to prison,” he replied, seeming to take a petty delight in trying to frighten me.
“Indeed!” I said: “then will you be good enough to interpret what I say to the Board; word for word, mind you.”
The Interpreter at once saw the false position in which he had placed himself, and wished to shuffle out of it. But I held him to his duty, and persisted in my demand to address the Board. By this time, their attention was drawn toward us; and I proceeded:—
“Gentlemen, the Interpreter tells me, that you think of sending me to prison.”
My words were not faithfully rendered; they were modified so as to soften the guilt of the Interpreter’s presumption and imprudence. Still, as he gave the substance of what I had said, I took no notice of his gloss, and proceeded to draw their attention to the fact, that my passport was in the English ambassador’s own handwriting. Perceiving that this seemingly insignificant circumstance had (as, from my knowledge of Russian nature, I had anticipated) made a deep impression on them,