"He writes full reports to St. Petersburg of everything we do," said one officer to me; "but," he added, "let him write. I'm not afraid of him. We have had four or five gendarme officers in charge of the political prison here in the last three years, and he's the worst of the whole lot."
This information with regard to Nikólin and his relations to Pótulof greatly complicated the situation. Suppose I should succeed in making the acquaintance of the political convicts of the free command; Nikólin would almost certainly hear of it, and would probably find out that I had brought the convicts letters. He would at once report the facts to St. Petersburg, and would make them the basis of an accusation against his enemy Pótulof by saying: "These American travelers are Pótulof's guests. They have visited the political convicts secretly at night, and have even committed a penal offense by carrying letters. They would hardly have dared to do this without Pótulof's knowledge and consent; consequently Pótulof has been accessory to a violation of law, and has interfered with the discharge of my duties. I cannot consent to be held responsible for the political convicts if Major Pótulof is going to aid foreign travelers in getting interviews with them and carrying letters to and from them."
The result of this would be that I, while receiving Major Pótulof's hospitality, should be betraying him to his enemies and getting him into trouble — a thing that went terribly against all my instincts of honor. But even this was not all. Captain Nikólin, as I subsequently learned, was strongly opposed to the ticket-of-leave organization known as the free command, and had repeatedly recommended its abolition. My visit to the political convicts — should I make one — would furnish him with the strongest kind of argument in support of his assertion that the free command was a dangerous innovation. He would write or telegraph to the Minister of the Interior: "I understand that it is the intention of the Government to keep the more
