At this, the most unhappy time for the Migoúrskis, a Pole named Rosolówski arrived at Urálsk. He had been concerned in a widespread plot organized in Siberia by the exiled Polish priest Sirocínski, to raise an insurrection and escape from exile.
Rosolówski, who, like Migoúrski and thousands of others, was being punished with exile in Siberia for wishing to remain what he had been born—a Pole—had taken part in this plot and had been flogged for it; and he was now sent as a common soldier to serve in Migoúrski’s battalion. Rosolówski, who had been a teacher of mathematics, was a tall, thin, round-shouldered man, with hollow cheeks and wrinkled brows.
On the first evening after his arrival, as he sat at tea with the Migoúrskis, he naturally began to tell them, in his slow quiet bass voice, about the affair for which he had suffered so cruelly.
It was this: Sirocínski had organized a secret society all over Siberia, the aim of which was, by the aid of the Poles serving in the Cossack and line regiments, to incite the soldiers and convicts to mutiny, to get the exiles to rise, to seize the artillery at Omsk, and to liberate everybody.
“Would that have been possible?” asked Migoúrski.
“Certainly it would … everything was ready,” said Rosolówski, frowning gloomily. And slowly and calmly he explained the whole plan of liberation, and all the measures taken to secure success, or, in case of failure, to save the conspirators. If two scoundrels had not betrayed the plan, success was assured. According to Rosolówski, Sirocínski was a man of genius and great spiritual power. He died like a hero and a