Russian Prisons: St. Peter and St. Paul; the Schlüsselburg; the Ostrog at Omsk; the story of Siberian exile; Tiumen, Tomsk, SaghalienGriffiths, Arthur
History
Russian Prisons: St. Peter and St. Paul; the Schlüsselburg; the Ostrog at Omsk; the story of Siberian exile; Tiumen, Tomsk, Saghalien
Griffiths, Arthur
Exiles -- Russia (Federation) -- Siberia -- History; Prisons -- Russia -- History
Ameliorations of this life might be secured (for money); recreations
were possible, though they were mostly vicious, and amusements even
might be surreptitiously enjoyed or winked at by the authorities. Human
nature is so constituted that it becomes habituated to anything, and the
inmates of the _ostrog_ learned to endure its worst evils, and, except
for the pain of personal chastisement or the acute sufferings engendered
by disease, they spent their weary, unlovely days with dogged, callous
indifference.
At daybreak every morning a drum beaten near the principal entrance
roused all from the last refreshing sleep obtained in the small hours
when mosquitoes and more loathsome insects had desisted from their
attacks. The convicts rose from their plank beds to the music of
clanking leg irons, their inseparable companions, and, trembling with
cold as the icy air rushed in through the unbarred open gates, gathered
around the water pails, took water into their mouths and washed their
faces with their hands. These pails had been filled the night before by
appointed orderlies. Personal cleanliness is not entirely neglected by
the peasant class in Russia, nor even by convicts, and the periodical
vapour bath was greatly appreciated. The orderlies, like the cooks, were
chosen by the convicts themselves from among their numbers; they did not
work with the rest, but, as elsewhere, attended to the washing of the
floors, the condition of camp bedsteads, and the provision of water for
ablutions and for drinking.
After roll-call, the entire number proceeded to the kitchen, where the
first meal of the day was eaten in common. The convicts, in their
sheepskin overcoats, received their ration of black bread in their
parti-coloured, round, peakless caps, from the cooks who had cut up the
loaves for them with the “rascal,” the prison knife, which was the only
weapon permitted in the place. As many as could find room, sat grouped
around the tables and laughed noisily; some soaked pieces of bread in
the cups of sour tea, _kvas_, in front of them; others drank the tea
they were permitted to provide for themselves. This privilege was
extended to food generally, and the convicts who could pay for it bought
their own, which was cooked in the public kitchen and substituted for
the ordinary prison fare. Osip, one of the prison cooks, or “cook maids”
as they were commonly called, prepared the food, which was purchased in
the town market by the old soldiers who were attached to the prison to
watch over the general discipline and good order of the place. They were
good-natured veterans, always ready to run messages and purvey to the
needs of the prisoners.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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