_THE ALEXANDREFFSKY CENTRAL PRISON._
Prison wards.--Punishment cells.--Communication with
friends.--Nationalities of prisoners.--Their
work.--Food.--Distribution of books.--Our
reception.--Lunch.--Departure.--Runaway horses.--An
accident.--Left alone.--Return to post-house.
We found the prison a huge building, which had been originally erected
for a brandy distillery. Hence it was, and sometimes still is, called
the Alexandreffsky _zavod_, or factory. It contained 57 rooms, in each
of which, according to size, were placed from 25 to 100 prisoners. We
went into several of the ordinary wards, and found them lofty, but
overcrowded. Also, in some of the oblong rooms, the inclined platforms
for sleeping occupied so much space that only a narrow passage was left
for walking about between them. When we entered such wards, therefore,
the order was given that the men should mount the opposite edges of the
platforms, and thus we passed to the end of the room and back. Further
on we came to some small cells, over the doors of which was written
the word “Secret”; and here I thought we might perhaps see something
horrible. But the thing that struck me as worst about them was their
smallness; for I should judge they could not have measured more than
8 ft. by 6 ft., though they were probably more than 12 ft. high.
These were “punishment” cells; but were far more endurable than cells
known by that name in some of our English gaols, where the prisoner
is sometimes below the level of the ground, and in a state of total
darkness, with all sound shut out save the rumbling of carriage-wheels
in the street. In the Alexandreffsky cells there was abundance of
light; there was a Russian _petchka_, or stove, just outside the door,
and it was not difficult to imagine that some prisoners might prefer
solitude under such circumstances to the society of the motley crew
packed into the larger wards.
There is a room in the building in which prisoners are allowed to see
their friends, who may come on every _maznik_, or fête day, Sundays
included, to converse for five minutes, and then make way for others.
If a prisoner has friends, they may bring him food any day between
11 and 12 o’clock. So, too, a prisoner may write to friends when he
pleases, and receive from them money up to a rouble a week.
The total number of prisoners in (and I suppose about) this place
was stated as 1,589; and as they were gathered from all parts of the
Russian empire, the walking through the wards was nothing short of an
ethnographical study.
Besides the ordinary Slavs of Russia in Europe, there were Finns,
Poles, Tatars of Kasan, Tatars of the Crimea, and Tatars of the
Caucasus and Steppes. There were Bashkirs from the province of
Orenburg, where they are breeders of cattle; and the pastoral Kirghese,
who roam over the steppes north of Persia. Tatars were known by their
shaved heads and skullcaps, and Buriats by their unmistakable Mongolian
features. I counted half-a-dozen different nationalities in a single
room.
One of the worst features in this huge prison I judged to be lack of
work; for, as we went from room to room, we found convicts twirling
their thumbs, and literally begging for employment. All of them,
however, were under “hard-labour” sentences, some to the mines for
twelve years, some to factory-work for eight and ten years, and others
to _zavod_ work for two and six years.
We were taken, at length, to see such of them as were occupied. We
entered a good-sized room, in which there might have been 50 men
making papers for cigarettes, of which they turned out 100,000 a week.
Prisoners were glad to do this, as they earn a little money thereby.
A man could manipulate 5,000 unfinished cases in a day; and three
men working together very hard could earn 30 kopecks a day, but 20
kopecks was a fairer average. For a man, however, to earn 2½_d._ a
day necessitated his sitting at work so closely as to make his chest
ache. I am not clear whether the machinery and materials for making
these cigarette-papers belonged to the prisoners, or to a merchant in
Irkutsk who bought the papers. We visited a room or two filled with
shoemakers, and gold-seekers’ top-boots were shown us of their work.
These were for sale at 14 shillings the pair. Outside the prison a
small company of men were seen returning from making bricks, which are
manufactured for the Government, and not for ordinary sale. Each man
makes on an average about 100 a day. Fifty men, they told us, turn out
5,000, between 6 and 11 in the morning and 2 and 6.30 in the afternoon,
for which they get about 10_s._ There seemed, however, to be barely a
tenth of the prisoners employed, at which we expressed astonishment.
The authorities explained it by saying that they had no work to give
them. This comparatively idle life of Siberian prisoners recalled what
had been told me in Russia, that the Government now keep in European
prisons many whom, but for the scarcity of suitable employment, they
would send to Siberia; and I ought, perhaps, to add that a number of
the convicts at Alexandreffsky were there, and had been there a long
time, awaiting the decision of various committees who were considering
how the Government could best dispose of them, so many of the Siberian
mines having passed out of Imperial hands.
Whether our visit was too early in the day, or whether the prisoners
were kept in their rooms for our inspection, I know not; but we saw
none of them lounging in the yards, as in other places. The time
allowed them for exercise is an hour a day. The number we saw wearing
chains was comparatively small. If the convicts behave well, they
are not usually kept in fetters, I heard, more than 18 months; and I
certainly observed that, the further east I went, the fewer were the
men in irons. We were next conducted to the kitchen, where was to be
seen, in course of preparation for dinner, the uncooked meat, of which
each man was said to have ½ lb. a day, including bone, and a daily
allowance of 2¾ lbs. of bread. Near the prison is a garden, where some
of the prisoners can work, and where they grow cucumbers, water-melons,
and potatoes. A few acres of arable land, cultivated by convicts, were
pointed out to us; and there was a hospital at a short distance, clean
and airy, having 8 rooms, in which we found 73 patients, many of whom
were suffering from _scorbutus_.
We now entered the office of the prison, and saw the books, in one
of which were entered four categories of punishment, namely, that of
mines, hard labour, factory employment, and no work, of which four
the last seemed by far the most prevalent, and I think the worst; for
not only had the poor fellows nothing to do, but they had nothing to
read. To remedy this was, of course, the chief object of our visit;
and the director readily entered into my plans concerning the books.
The men had been asking for something to read, he said, only a day or
two previously. We were glad, therefore, to leave with him 160 New
Testaments and other portions of Scripture in half-a-dozen languages,
and about 500 tracts and periodicals, so that there might be at least a
New Testament placed in every room.
We were now anxious to depart, but this was not so easy; for by
this time the officials had begun to realize that we had not come
as spies or intruders, but that we had really a benevolent object
in view, though they asked sundry questions before they could grasp
our motives. What could be our object in coming such a long distance
to visit Siberian prisons, and why should I take notes of what we
saw? I said something about the luxury of doing good to the poor and
unfortunate; and pointed out that, if I did not make notes of what
was said, I should forget. “Besides which,” I added, “perchance I may
some day write about what I have seen.” “Oh! then you are travelling
for literary purposes, that you may bring out a book?” “No,” said I;
“but for all that I may perhaps write of my travels”; after which
there were given me several good-sized and well-executed photographs
of the prison and its surroundings, with the remark, “Who knows? the
English do such extraordinary things, we may, perhaps, see some day an
engraving from these photographs in the English papers.” But, whatever
the motive which had brought us, they said it was very rare for them to
receive such a visit, and they were highly gratified at our coming.
The director begged us to favour his wife by staying to dinner;
and when for want of time I declined, all sorts of reasonable and
unreasonable inducements were urged why I should do so. I remained
firm, and we were then invited at least to partake of light refreshment
at the house of the secretary of the prison. We there found ourselves
in the midst of a family of Poles, with some good-looking daughters.
The eldest was dressed in _Mala-Russiá_, or “Little Russian” costume,
consisting of a morning dress of washing material, trimmed with
embroidery of variegated colours, and with Russian lace. I admired
this, and inquired where such embroidery could be purchased. The mother
gave me a small piece as a specimen, and also presented me with a
portrait of her daughter photographed in the same costume.
The photograph was taken by Malmberg of Irkutsk, and I mention it
because it has won the unqualified admiration of two eminent London
photographers, who pronounce that, both technically and artistically,
no better could be seen in any part of the world. It is particularly
choice, and, as an operator would say, “well built up.” The light is
good, and the background well arranged; and as a piece of artistic
workmanship it speaks well for the progress of art in Siberia that a
photograph from Irkutsk should bear comparison with the best the world
can produce.
After this quasi-lunch, and the exchange of sundry little souvenirs,
we departed, hoping to regain the high road at Telma in about a couple
of hours. We had reached the top of the hill, and begun the descent
through the pine-forest; and the horses were going with a run, when one
of the reins broke, and the right-wheeler began suddenly to run too
wide from the centre horse. Before the yemstchik could stop his team,
we came to a pine-tree at the side of the road, which the outer horse
allowed to come between him and his fellow. We were going at a furious
pace, and the wonder is that the whole concern, including ourselves,
was not dashed to pieces. As it was, in rushing by I thought I saw
the horse’s head strike the tree, with a force that I expected must
have killed it. We ran some distance before the remaining horses could
be stopped, and then the yemstchik went back to find, as we feared,
another horse dead in our service. To our surprise, however, the
creature had run away. The force with which the tarantass was going had
broken the remaining rein, had snapped the traces, and so allowed us to
escape, by a few inches at most, a terrible accident.
We had first to search for the missing horse, now out of sight; for
which purpose the yemstchik mounted one of our remaining steeds, and,
subsequently, my interpreter the other, I being left alone. Presently a
rough-looking man appeared coming along the road, with an extraordinary
wallet slung at his side. He was curiously ornamented with a profusion
of brass buttons and decorations, some of which would have served for
the dress of a Tunguse _shaman_. He turned out to be a horse-doctor,
and not a robber, though he naïvely said that when he saw us at first
he thought _we_ were highwaymen, until the sight of the tarantass
reassured him.
At length, after having been left about five hours, the yemstchik and
my companion came back, but without the truant horse; so we determined
to proceed with the two that remained. We accused our yemstchik of
having been drinking, but he denied it. As he went on, however, he grew
inconsolable at his loss of the horse, and fairly bellowed, saying that
he feared he should be turned out of his place and be sent to prison.
He came round gradually, too, to confess that, of the shilling I had
given him for fodder, he had spent twopence in drink; and then to the
interpreter, who sat on the box to drive, or see that we met with no
accident, he expressed the hope that the _barin_, or gentleman, would
“forgive him for being a _little_ drunk.”
And so it came to pass that by nightfall we got back to Telma, and
found our friendly post-master about to send in search of us, as he
was alarmed at our absence of 30 instead of 6 hours. After a good meal
we left at midnight for Irkutsk, which under ordinary circumstances
we ought to have reached early on the following morning. At one of
the stations, however, there were no horses, and we had to wait four
hours, which afterwards proved a mercy, though at the time I am afraid
I chafed at the delay; so that we did not come in view of the city till
10 a.m.