“All at once my eyes fell on an announcement in large letters placed near the mast of one of the steamers, to the effect that this ship was to leave for Riga the next day. I saw a man walking on the deck with his red shirt worn over his trousers, _à la Russe_, but not daring to speak to him, I remained satisfied with devouring him with my eyes. In the meantime the sun went down; it was already seven in the evening, when suddenly the man with the red shirt raised his head, and called to me:--
“‘Do you happen to want to go to Riga? If you do, come here.’
“‘I do certainly want to go; but what means has a poor man like me of taking the steamboat? It must cost a great deal, and is not for such as I am.’
“‘And why not come? We won’t ask much from a _moujik_ like you.’
“He mentioned some price which I do not quite remember now, but which astonished me--it was so small.
“‘Well, does that suit you? Why do you still hesitate?’
“‘Why, I have only just arrived to-day, and I must have my passport looked to by the police.’
“‘Oh, your police will detain you three days, and the boat starts to-morrow morning.’
“‘Why, start without having it looked at.’
“‘Yes; and if some misfortune happened to me?’
“‘Fool! you, a _moujik_, teach me what I have to do! Have you got your passport with you? Show it.’
“I pulled from my pocket my pass-ticket, carefully wrapped in a silk handkerchief, after the fashion of all the Russian peasants; but he spared himself the trouble looking at it, and said,--
“‘Come to-morrow morning at seven; and if you don’t see me, wait for me. Now, be off with you.’
“I joyfully returned home, and the next morning was punctual at the rendezvous. The man soon perceived me, but only said, ‘Give me the money!’ He went off, but immediately returned, bringing me a yellow ticket, which of course I pretended not to know anything about: a circumstance which occasioned another gracious observation,--‘Hold your tongue _moujik_, and don’t trouble yourself.’ The bell rang three times, the passengers crowded together, a rough blow from my companion drove me after them, and the ship was in full motion. I thought I was in a dream.”
From Riga, M. Piotrowski, still travelling on foot, soon reached the frontier without difficulty. He had slightly modified his costume, but still kept the distinct garment of a Russian--the little bornous of sheepskin. He called himself a pork merchant, which allowed of his asking on the road all necessary information. Having once ascertained all the obstacles he could possibly encounter on his way from Russia to Prussia, he succeeded in crossing the frontier in open daylight, in spite of the shots fired at him; and taking refuge in a wood, where he cut off his beard, and transformed his costume, leaving behind him all the signs of a Russian peasant, he arrived at last at Kœnigsberg. But when he thought himself all but saved, a circumstance occurred that nearly proved his ruin. He had resolved on journeying by steamer to Elbing, and towards evening he sat down on some ruins, thinking of going at nightfall in the fields to sleep on some hay, while waiting the time for departure; but, quite tired out, he fell asleep, and was woke by a night guard, who, not satisfied with his answers, took him to the first police-station. He at once volunteered the statement that he was a French workman, who had lost his passport, but he was put in prison. A month afterwards he was called again before the police, his statements were proved to be false, and he was clearly allowed to see that the grossest suspicions were afloat concerning him. Tired of concealment, and especially irritated at being taken for a malefactor in hiding, he at last declared himself. A recent treaty between Prussia and Russia obliged these two countries mutually to give up their fugitives. The Prussian authorities on hearing the declaration of M. Piotrowski, were mute with consternation; thinking it quite impossible to elude the convention. But steps were taken by the principal inhabitants of Kœnigsberg, and by many persons of high rank, which Government itself evidently shrank from opposing. M. Piotrowski soon after was informed that an order had come from Berlin, enjoining his being given up to the Russians, but that time would be allowed him to escape at his own risk; and by the help of his generous friends, he was next day on his road to Dantzic.