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
The horrible inconvenience caused by those inseparable companions is
well illustrated by the difficulty in putting on or taking off clothing,
a rare business, no doubt, for the convicts made few changes and slept
fully clothed, but it must be done at the periodical visit to the public
bath. The chains were fastened to a leather waistbelt by two straps, one
for each leg, and they must be held up in this way, or walking would be
impossible. Each end of the chain was attached to a ring loosely fitting
the leg so that a finger must be inserted between the iron and the
flesh; the straps were necessary to keep the ring in its place, or the
skin would be chafed and broken the very first day. To remove the
trousers or the shirt is quite an art and only slowly acquired.
We get a graphic description of the prison bath as taken in collective
fashion by a hundred convicts at one time, all of them crowded into one
small apartment some twelve feet square. Not a single scrap of space was
unoccupied, they were huddled together on benches tier above tier, so
that the feet of those above trampled on those below and the leg chains
became inextricably entangled and numbers were trampled on or dragged
about the floor. The bath itself was like a drunken orgy; a dense volume
of steam filled the room and deluges of dirty hot water were dashed to
and fro from the pailful carried by every bather. Everyone was naked
save for the rattling chains to which the convicts howled a mad
accompaniment. They were maddened by the excitement, the tropical heat,
the smart of the blows self-administered or struck by the hired rubbers,
for convicts were always to be found who for a kopeck or two were
willing to lay strokes on the heated flesh of the employers with birch
rods of twisted twigs. It must have been a hideous scene, a great mass
of commingled humanity in a state of half intoxication, shouting and
shrieking at the top of their voices. The steam grew thicker and thicker
until all were soaked and saturated with it, and their bodies became
scarlet in the intolerably burning and overheated atmosphere.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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