SAGHALIEN AND THE CONVICT STATION AT KORSAKOVSK
Departure of the expedition--Arrival at
Korsakovsk--Condition of convict station--Freedom allowed
prisoners, most of whom are murderers--Wreck of the steamer
and loss of outfit--Gold lace and life-preservers--Return to
Korsakovsk--Russian table manners--The Russian's naïve
attitude toward bathing--Some results of the intermarriage
of criminals--How Yankee shrewdness saved some confiscated
photographs--Pleasant sensations on being shaved by a
murderer--Predominance of American goods.
At six o'clock in the afternoon of July 22, 1898, the Governor-general
with his wife and suite, resplendent in gold lace and buttons, came
aboard in the rain. The anchor was heaved up and we pointed southward
toward the open sea, which is reached by way of a passage from half a
mile to three miles wide and twelve miles long. The shore on either
side bristles with armaments which, together with the narrowness of
the passage, make Vladivostok entirely impregnable from the sea.
There is a story, however, which the Russians never like to hear. One
morning, after a night of dense fog, as the sun cleared away the mist,
four big British men-of-war were found anchored within two hundred
yards of the city, and could have blown it skyward without a shot from
the batteries, being safe from the line of fire. Since then big guns
have been mounted to cover the inner harbor. Reaching open water, we
turned to the northeast and set our course toward the southern point
of the island of Saghalien, for the Governor-general was to inspect
the convict station of Korsakovsk.
Three days of uneventful steaming at ten knots an hour brought the
shores of Saghalien above the horizon. We saw a long, curved beach
backed by low-lying hills covered with fields and woodland. As the
place could boast no harbor, we dropped anchor in the open roadstead a
mile from shore. Our whistle had long since waked to life an asthmatic
little steam-launch, which soon came alongside. We forthwith invaded
her stuffy little cabin and she waddled shoreward.
As we approached the rough stone quay, we had our first glimpse of
Russian convict life. A gang of prisoners were at work mending the
seawall. Some of them wore heavy iron balls at their ankles, which
they had to lift and carry as they walked, else they dragged
ponderously along the ground. These balls would weigh about a hundred
pounds apiece. The convicts seemed to be well fed, but were
excessively dirty and unkempt. They appeared to be men of the very
lowest grade of mental development. It must be remembered that no
political convicts are confined on the island of Saghalien. They are
kept in the far interior of Siberia, where the chances of escape are
much less, and where there is no possibility of contact with others
than their own jailers. The convicts on Saghalien are almost all
desperate criminals. As there is no such thing as capital punishment
in Siberia, Saghalien is the terrestrial Valhalla of these doomed men,
a sort of ante-mortem purgatory.
We stepped out upon the quay and walked up into the town. The street
was about fifty feet wide, with a neat plank walk on either side. The
houses were all log structures, but not the kind we are accustomed to
associate with that name. The Russian makes the best log house in the
world. The logs are squared and carefully fitted together. The windows
are mostly double, and the houses, all of one story, are warm enough
to be habitable. The streets are lined with small shops and stores.
The entire population outside of the officials consists of convicts,
most of whom enjoy almost complete freedom within the limits of the
town. It gives one a queer feeling to walk through the streets of a
town and know that all the storekeepers, carpenters, blacksmiths,
clerks, butchers, and bakers are or have been desperate criminals.
This town of Korsakovsk contains about two thousand people, of whom
nine tenths are convicts.
I asked if I might inspect the prison, expecting a prompt refusal, and
was surprised when informed that I could go wherever I pleased.
Approaching the main entrance to the prison, I found the two heavy
gates off their hinges and the convicts coming and going at their own
pleasure. A sleepy Cossack was on guard, and he did not even challenge
me. The prison buildings were arranged around a large quadrangle. The
prisoners were talking, lying about at their ease, with a few at work
on little wood carvings.
I was astonished to see no prison bars anywhere, but after I had
looked about at my leisure, one of the officers took me in charge and
led me into another part of the grounds, where we found a sentry on
guard, armed only with a revolver. This guard took us in hand and
conducted us to a small building which appeared to be heavily barred.
Inside were rows of clean, dry, whitewashed cells, half a dozen of
which were occupied by convicts who had recently committed murder on
the island, and were about to be sent north to the dreaded coal-mines,
where they would be chained to wheelbarrows. These would be their
constant companions for seven years, night and day, summer and winter.
In the workshops the convicts seemed to be trying to do as little as
possible. They were making tools, hinges, horse-shoes, farming-implements,
and other simple ironwork. In another portion of the shops they were
making wagons and carts. Very many of the convicts are farmers, and
they seemed to be cultivating the surrounding fields with success. In
the main offices I found a dozen clerks smoking and drinking tea. They
were all convicts, most of them having dark crimes to their discredit.
Leaving the prison, we walked down the street and soon came to a
little stand, where bread and milk were being sold by a nice-looking
Russian girl. I asked on what charge she had been brought to
Saghalien. The officer interpreted my question. The girl laughed and
said that she had murdered her husband. She was twenty-three years
old.
We had arrived at ten in the morning, and, as we left at four in the
afternoon, my inspection of the town was necessarily brief, but enough
had been seen to give impetus to even a very ordinary imagination.
When we had all embarked again and the bell in the engine-room gave
the signal for starting, we were enveloped in a thick mist; but as we
had open sea before us and nothing, apparently, to fear, we drove
ahead at full speed through the dense fog, pointing southeast in order
to round the southern point of the island and make our way up the
eastern coast. We might have been more cautious had not the
Governor-general been in haste. As it turned out, we would have done
better to proceed more slowly; for shortly after eight o'clock, as I
was sitting at dinner with the captain and the first officer, we heard
the second mate on the bridge call loudly: "Hard aport! Ice ahead!"
The captain rushed to the bridge, and I made my way to the prow of the
boat. Peering through the fog in the failing light, I descried a low,
white line that looked like ice, behind which a great dark mass rose
high in the air. We had not begun to slow down yet, and almost
instantly we struck with terrific force, which threw me to my knees. I
scrambled to my feet and peered over the rail. I saw that the white
line was not ice, but surf, and the dark object behind it was a cliff
which towered hundreds of feet in the air.
[Illustration: Market-place, Korsakovsk, Saghalien Island.]
The utmost confusion prevailed among the Chinese crew and the Korean
stevedores. It looked as if there would be serious trouble. I made my
way as rapidly as possible to my state-room and buckled on my
revolvers, tore my valise open and stuffed a package of money into my
pocket, and hurried on deck to help put down any rush that the
Asiatics might make for the boats. The first officer was sounding the
forward well, and water was already coming into the engine-room. The
steamer, evidently, was making water very fast. As there were so few
foreign officers, and as the Russians were of no use, the captain
ordered me to get out the boats. Amid such confusion this was no easy
task, but by means of the most sanguinary threats and the show of my
revolver, I got enough men together to swing a boat over the side.
Fortunately, there was no sea running at the time, and affairs began
to assume a more hopeful aspect when it was found that we lay on a
shelving beach and could not sink. We hurriedly supplied the boats
with casks of water and bags of biscuits; but as there was no
immediate danger of sinking, the captain asked me to take one of the
boats and explore the shore for a suitable landing-place. With a
strong headlight in the prow, we pushed off in the fog; and within an
hour we were back with the news that half a mile up the shore there
was a good landing-place. The Governor-general and his wife and staff
were, of course, the first to be sent ashore. The lady seemed to take
it very coolly, even more so than some of the staff. The latter, as
soon as the alarm sounded, had hastened to their state-rooms and put
on their swellest regimentals. Their gold lace, glittering swords,
and patent-leather boots seemed curiously out of place on board the
wreck. It reminded me of the ancient Persian custom of going into
battle in full regalia. These Russians left everything but their fine
clothes.
In due time they were landed, and then we came back and took off the
crew. It was growing light and the sea was rising. The steamer began
to pound on the reef, and it was evident that she would not hold
together long. The captain said he was going to stay on her till she
broke up. As I was an enthusiastic knight of the camera, I thought
this would be a good opportunity to secure a picture of a ship going
to pieces, so I determined to stay with the captain as long as
possible. We remained on board all that day and the next two, taking
watch, by turns, six hours at a time. We determined to rig a block and
tackle over the after hatch, and although this was under water, we
managed to get hold of the big Russian mail-bags and haul them out.
Among other things, they held fifteen thousand roubles in notes.
During the second day of our detention we sighted the British gunboat
_Archer_ passing us to the southeast on her way to Kamchatka. We tried
desperately to attract her attention with bombs, but did not succeed.
Meanwhile, the chief officer had taken the long-boat and part of the
crew and sailed back to Korsakovsk with a fair wind, to secure help.
Three days later, he returned with the steam-launch and two lighters,
one of which was filled with convicts who had been brought to help in
getting the steamer off the rocks, if possible. If not, they were to
save what cargo they could. They were put into the forward hold and a
few cases were gotten out, but all my provisions and outfit were lost
except my tent, which had been sent ashore for the Governor-general's
wife. This, together with my valise, camera, guns, and ammunition, was
all that I had to show for the careful preparation I had made.
My Russian friends had not enjoyed their stay on shore under the
trying conditions. We threw overboard for their use all the ducks and
geese, which, after disporting themselves a few minutes in honor of
their new-found liberty, made their way to the shore, where they were
speedily despatched with axes by the gentlemen in patent-leather boots
and gold lace. We also consigned a pig to the vasty deep and it nobly
struggled ashore only to meet the common fate of succulent pork.
Through the glass I could see the Governor-general in his swell
regimentals with a row of medals across his breast lugging an armful
of driftwood along the shore to the fire.
And so we made our way back to Korsakovsk, a very discouraged and
bedraggled company. The Governor-general took me to the house of the
chief magistrate, where I was given a comfortable room, and could once
more sit down to a good table. That night I ate my first genuine
Russian dinner. Each person as he enters a dining-room, faces the icon
which hangs in the corner, and bows and crosses himself. The table was
loaded with tinned preserves, pâté de foie gras, caviar, salted
salmon, herrings pickled, and raw fish, sardines, cheese, sliced raw
onions, cold sausages, raw cabbage, and huge piles of black and white
bread. There was also the usual large carafe of pure white vodka, a
powerful distilled liquor made from rye. Before eating, every glass is
filled and the host's health is drunk to the accompaniment of "Butches
sd rovia," which means, "Your good health."
In eating, you must reach for what you want. It is very seldom that
anything is passed during this first stage of the meal. You would
never suggest to your neighbor on the right to pass you the cheese;
but you would rise in your place and, with a firm grasp on your knife,
reach over his plate and impale the tempting morsel. If this is not
possible, you leave your place and go around the table and secure your
loot. There is only one thing that they will readily pass, and that is
the vodka. The general aspect of things is that of a well-patronized
free-lunch counter when the train is to start in five minutes. It must
be confessed that Russian table manners are not fashioned on ordinary
European models. They closely resemble the Korean method of eating at
a public feast, when all the food is put on the table at once.
It is a mistake to suppose this terminates a Russian dinner. It has
only begun. By this time the uninitiated is full to repletion unless
he has been forewarned, but to the Russian this is but the
ante-prandial overture. Everything is now cleared off the table except
the vodka, which is never out of sight, and the dinner proper begins
with soup. I must say that this soup is the heaviest and richest it
has ever been my fortune to taste. Alone, it would form a full meal
for any one less robust than the ordinary Russian. Each guest adds to
his soup two or three heaping spoonfuls of sour whipped cream.
Their method of eating soup appeals as much to the ear as to the eye.
Perhaps they go on the principle that soup must be eaten as audibly as
possible, for this means that it is so good you cannot wait for it to
cool.
My Russian naturalist, Alek, was a fair sample of an educated Russian,
and he turned to me and said:
"I see that you eat with a fork."
"Yes," said I; "and I see that you do not."
"No; but I had a sister who studied at an English convent in Japan for
a year or so. When she came back she ate with a fork, but we soon
laughed her out of it."
The end of the Russian knife is broader than the portion next the
handle, and it is used both as a knife and as a spoon. They complain
that the American knives do not "hold" enough.
After the soup came fowls, roast meats, vegetables, and two or three
more dishes made of whipped cream. These last one grows to like. Their
favorite form of dessert is this same sour cream, sprinkled generously
with sugar and ground cinnamon. When all is seemingly over the table
is again cleared, and the samovar is placed steaming upon the table.
Every one takes four or five glasses of hot tea, flavored with sliced
lemon. Some of the Russian tea is very fine. It is well known that
they drink the costliest as well as the cheapest grades. It is more
than likely that not a pound of the very best tea grown in China ever
gets farther west than Russia.
Meanwhile every one is smoking cigarettes, men and women alike; not
only after dinner but between the courses.
My use of the fork was not the only thing that distinguished me while
in the country of the White Czar. Wherever I went, the Russians were
highly amused at my use of the tooth-brush, which they consider a
peculiarly feminine utensil. I was everywhere embarrassed by the total
absence of the wash-bowl. Such things seem to be unknown. A sort of
can or ewer of water, with a valve in the bottom, lets out a little
stream of water on the hands; or, oftener still, a mouthful of water
is taken from a glass and spurted over the hands--a much more sanitary
method than the American, since the Russian does not wash in any
vessel which has been used by others. The Russian objects to any bath
excepting the elaborate Russian bath, and as this can be obtained only
in the centers of population, the result is not edifying. Even on the
steamer, where hot and cold baths could be had for the asking, the
bath-room was not patronized. The Russians say of the English and
Americans that they bathe so much that they emit an offensive odor,
which turns the tables on us somewhat surprisingly and casts some
doubt upon the truth of the proverb that virtue is its own reward. As
black, the most somber of all colors, is in truth a lack of all color,
so perhaps the lack of any distinctive odor in the well-tubbed
Englishman strikes the Russian as unpleasant.
One of the waiters in attendance was a young and handsome man of
twenty-five, convicted of murder. He was dressed in the picturesque
costume of the Cossack, and, strangely, wore a dagger at his side.
The woman who brought in the samovar had killed an entire family: her
husband, father-in-law, mother-in-law, and her own child. She had been
married to the waiter a year since arriving at Saghalien. The
intermarriage of criminals raises a delicate penological question,
considering what the fruit of such unions is likely to be.
After dinner, I suggested to one of the Governor's aides that we take
a stroll, but the local magistrate vetoed this, saying that on no
account must we go out on the street after six o'clock in the evening.
Our lives would be in immediate danger, as murders among the convicts
averaged one a day on Saghalien. Hundreds have broken away and escaped
into the interior of the island, living on game, roots, and berries.
Some roam the streets at night, looking for plunder, especially when a
steamship is in harbor.
The following day we passed a building which seemed to be full of
women. They were convicts recently landed. On stated days, those male
convicts whose conduct has been uniformly good are taken to this
building where the women are lined up and the men are allowed to
choose wives for themselves. The women are quite willing to be chosen,
but if they refuse they are not compelled to marry. Marriage means
that they get away from the confinement of the workshops and gain a
snug little home among the neighboring hills, with nothing to suggest
penal conditions except an occasional inspection. If they consent to
marry, they go immediately to the little cathedral and are married by
the priest. A plot of land is allotted to the couple, to clear and
cultivate. Possibly a horse, a cow, and a few chickens are given them,
as well as the inevitable samovar. Our saying, "What is home without a
mother?" might well be rendered in Russian, "What is home without a
samovar?" All the money that they can make by raising produce is their
own, and will be turned over to them upon the expiration of their
sentences. But most of the convicts on Saghalien have sentences which
terminate only at death.
The women in the prisons are kept busy making clothes for such
convicts as have not been let out on good behavior.
The following day I was invited to attend, at the Greek Church, a
service of thanksgiving for the escape of the passengers and crew of
our wrecked steamer. The service proved a very impressive one. The
singing, by a choir of convicts, was especially fine. In these Russian
churches seats are not provided, and the audience stands or kneels
during the entire service.
That afternoon I had the temerity to take my camera under my arm and
stroll through the prison grounds. To my great surprise, I was
permitted to take what photographs I pleased. Even the guards lined up
and were "snapped," much to their delight. I also secured a picture of
a convict being knouted for some slight misdemeanor. This is very
common, and is done by tying the offender to a bench, face down, and
inflicting the necessary number of blows on his back.
[Illustration: Russian Murderers in Angle of Prison-House, Korsakovsk.
Saghalien Island.]
As the light began to fail I remembered the magistrate's injunction
about being indoors before dark, and so made my way home to dinner,
during which I sat at the same table with the magistrate. He was a man
of considerable ability, and made good use of the English language.
During the meal he leaned over toward me and said, smiling:
"I understand you have been taking some pictures."
"Yes," I answered penitently.
"Well, of course that is against the law, and I am afraid I shall have
to ask you to turn those plates over to me."
I expostulated mildly, but found that his mind was firmly made up on
the matter. To tell the truth, my mind was also made up on the matter.
"But," said I, "the plates are still in the camera, undeveloped."
"Oh, well, bring your camera along and I will develop them for
you,"--this with a little smile of amusement.
"Shall I go now," said I, pushing my chair back from the table,
although dinner was not half over.
"Don't think of it. To-morrow morning will do just as well."
And to-morrow morning surely did, for that night the camera went to
bed with me, and when the magistrate smilingly drew out the plates
next morning and cracked them, one by one, on the corner of the table,
he was not aware that he was spoiling fresh plates. I tried to look as
sad as the occasion seemed to demand.
I asked him if any of the convicts ever escaped from the island. He
gave a short laugh and said:
"Some of them got away once. I will tell you about it. A Japanese
fishing-schooner put in here under stress of weather and anchored off
the town. That night eight of the convicts swam off to her, murdered
the crew, and sailed away without the slightest knowledge of
navigation. After drifting about aimlessly for several days, they were
picked up by an American whaler and carried to San Francisco. As soon
as the facts became known, the Russian authorities demanded their
extradition, but the American papers took the matter up and made a
great outcry about sending back these innocent political convicts to
the horrors of Siberia, while the ladies of San Francisco heaped
confections and flowers upon them. The United States authorities
declined to give them up, though it should have been well known that
no political suspects are ever sent to Saghalien, only tried and
condemned criminals. But mark the sequel. Within two years all but one
of those eight men were hung for murder, and the remaining one was in
prison for life. We appreciate the kindness of the United States in
relieving us of the support of these criminals, and she can have all
the Russian convicts on the island of Saghalien if she wants them, and
welcome."
Saghalien is Russia's gallows, and the incident given above shows how
philanthropic zeal, if ill-informed and misdirected, may easily work
harm.
Having occasion to interview the barber, I entered a neat shop in
company with a Russian official. It was not till the razor was playing
about my chin that I learned that the barber was a common murderer.
There was no backing out, for I knew not what savage instincts I might
arouse in him by proposing to leave his place half shaved. I generally
manage to get a nice little nap when under the soothing influence of
the barber's hand, but this time I confess that I remained rather
wider awake than usual. The gentle reader can, perhaps, imagine my
feelings as the keen steel rasped across the vicinity of my jugular
vein. Strange to say, the only image that remains in my mind's eye is
a staring advertisement which hung against the wall, and which
expatiated with Yankee modesty upon the merits of a certain American
barber-supply house and the unique opportunity it offered of securing
the best goods at the cheapest price. I was informed later that this
barber combined with his tonsorial occupation that of procurer, which
shows how wide a range of pursuits Russia allows her convicts.
A superficial examination of the various shops which lined the main
street of the town showed that American canned goods, sheetings,
prints, flour and other food-stuffs are most in demand. The hardware
was mostly of cheap German manufacture. I saw no English goods
displayed.