Alex Auswaks - Sherlock Holmes in Russia

The sentry boxes of the railway security detail flashed past, one after another. And now, at last, the semaphore winked. The drunken engine driver began to slow down and slammed the brakes so abruptly several carriages nearly crashed into one another.

Half an hour passed.

‘Dammit! This is some halt!’ Holmes said indignantly. ‘My dear Watson, let’s ask when the train will move on?’

We headed for the station. The noise of revelry came through one of the windows, drunken singing, loud shouts.

‘Will the train be departing soon?’ Holmes asked some guard.

‘The engine driver and his assistant have to dine first and then it’ll go,’ came the answer.

‘What do you mean, dine!’ asked Holmes, beside himself with rage. ‘He’s eaten more than enough at the last station!’

‘Evidently not enough,’ was the phlegmatic rejoinder.

‘Phooey!’ Holmes spat out and moved back to the train.

‘I say, wouldn’t it be better to get off this train for another, whose driver isn’t so partial to dining out?’ I advised.

‘Hmmm … I’m beginning to think the same myself,’ muttered Holmes. But since no other train was available, we sat on the steps of our carriage and awaited developments.

On this occasion, the engine driver and his assistant took an hour and a half over dinner.

Dawn began to break. At last they appeared. But their appearance! The engine driver had dined so well, he couldn’t go under his own steam. Hence such a glorious procession. Two guards hauled the driver, his heels dragging along the ground. His assistant followed, just about managing to place one foot in front of the other, while singing a rollicking Russian melody.

Holmes gave me a little nudge. ‘My dear Watson, what do you think will happen to the train if this driver and his assistant decide to have another dinner. We may assume we won’t make it to another station after that!’

I simply gestured dismissively with my hand.

‘In any case, let’s have a look whether one of the rear carriages has a platform. It’d be much safer if the train crashes,’ said Holmes.

And so, while the driver and his assistant just about managed to get into the locomotive, Holmes and I got on the platform of the third carriage from the rear.

‘Now, then, Watson—’

Before Sherlock Holmes could finish the sentence, the train gave an incredible jerk and we grabbed at the handrail.

‘This is it!’ I said in horror.

But to our astonishment, we remained in the same place without moving. Holmes poked his head out to see what was going on and suddenly said in amazement, ‘My dear Watson, our train is gone!’

‘How?’ I asked in wonder.

‘Very simply! The driver fell asleep and his assistant gave such a sudden start to the train that the four rear carriages broke off and remained standing with us on one of them, while the train went on.’

Pandemonium broke out at the station. It is likely that a conductor on the train noticed what had happened because, as soon as the train got to the semaphore, it stopped and began to reverse back to the station.

The now inoperative fourth carriage from the rear, with its connecting links broken, was taken out of commission. Two more mighty jerks, which nearly knocked us off our feet, finally exhausted Holmes’s patience. He jumped off the train shouting, ‘Get off, my dear Watson, get off quickly, before our ribs are smashed and our necks are snapped.’

I have to admit that I willingly followed his advice.

The train departed and we remained on an empty station where everyone and everything seemed fast asleep.

Later, we were not to regret letting that train go without us. Exactly three quarters of an hour later, it went off the rails at full speed. It had sped too quickly round one of the turnings. The guard told us that twelve carriages became debris. Several broke up and only the last five carriages survived. The train staff suffered considerable injuries. The driver and his assistant died in the accident; the stoker was badly hurt. Two conductors also died and three were severely injured.

When we heard this news, we adjourned to the cargo platform and, getting out the food we had prepared in advance, satisfied our hunger pangs, which were finally beginning to appear.

Then Holmes brought out his notebook and began to write something in it. ‘I am making a note of those who, in England, would be considered criminals,’ he said.

‘Many?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid that by the end of our travels, my notebook won’t suffice,’ answered Holmes and shook his head.

Some four hours later, the next goods train pulled into the station. One of the rear carriages being empty, the conductors let the public into it, pocketing the fares for themselves. This was probably common practice, because none of the station higher-ups paid any attention.

I was in total agreement with Holmes, when he said, ‘It seems all Siberian railways are made by the Russian government, not for the population but for the engineers and railroad staff.’

On this second train we passed through several stations, stopping the length of time determined by the driver, though this one didn’t take as long over his meals. This was a great consolation to us.

Unnoticeably, evening crept over us again. It became completely dark. Our train left some station or other and covered about six or seven miles. Suddenly, the engine began to emit alarming whistles. One after another the whistles followed turning into a frenzied wail, while the brakes pressed hard against the wheels. At last the train halted.

We jumped off the platform to see what was going on ahead. Shouts, yells and the most angry swearing came from there, and some sort of light flickered.

‘What’s happened?’ asked an alarmed Holmes of a conductor returning from the locomotive with a torch.

‘We nearly ran into an open freight wagon,’ the man answered and swore.

Soon the train moved again. In fact, as we moved forward, we saw about ten such wagons uncoupled by the side of the track. Piled sleepers lay beside them. Beside the uncoupled wagons, people with torches stood and cursed for all they were worth.

When our train had moved past this scene and picked up speed, Holmes smirked and said, ‘I’m prepared to bet there’s something illegal going on here, too.’

‘Namely,’ I prompted.

‘First of all, why move sleepers by night? Next, why are ten freight cars being hauled by people when all the sleepers could be hauled on a flat-bed wagon by a locomotive?’

‘Perhaps there wasn’t a locomotive available!’ I said.

‘Now that I gravely doubt,’ said Holmes with a laugh.

Mile after mile flashed by and, at last, the train stopped at a station.

Holmes suggested a break. We got off the train and stretched out on benches for first-and second-class passengers and slept soundly.

Exhausted by the events of the two previous nights, we slept till about eight in the morning. We breakfasted at the station buffet and then explored the station and the area around.

There were earthen huts for building workers not far off.

It was a holiday, and the workers sat in circles by their huts, drinking tea or vodka. We strolled past responding with bows to theirs. One of the groups attracted our attention.

A man, evidently drunk, stood in their midst, addressing the others, ‘I know enough to spill things on him,’ he yelled. ‘I don’t care if he’s an engineer. I’ll make him sorry.’

‘Fired you?’ someone asked.

‘You’re kidding!’ said the first. ‘The section head told me to clear out, so I went to his superior. This is how it is, I tell him. He steals sleepers by the thousand and fires me for taking just a couple of hundred. I’ll send a report to Mr Yugovitch and a copy to the Minister of Transport Communication.’