The local prison authorities took us into their custody on the barge, when our identity had been established by a careful comparison of our appearance with the photographs in our record-books. We were then marched through the town to the prison. On the way two young girls, scarcely over school-age, suddenly broke through our escort of soldiers, and rushed upon us. The surprised soldiers tried to catch hold of the intruders and send them off, but that was not so easy. The girls ran like squirrels through our midst, announced themselves as the two sisters P., gave each of us a hasty kiss, and paid no attention to the calls of the officers and soldiers. Not till they had attained their end did they quit our ranks, and then they walked beside the procession, keeping us company to the prison gates. We stayed a week in Tomsk, and during that time made acquaintance with all the exiles there, as they were allowed to visit us in the prison. This prison in which we were lodged was composed of a few wooden buildings and some barracks. Every room was filled to overflowing, for there were about a thousand prisoners of all classes, but mostly criminals—young and old together. Like ourselves (for we were left fairly free here), they spent the whole day in the spacious yard. Until now we “politicals” had been entirely separate from the ordinary criminals, but henceforward the convoy was composed of both classes, and I now learned to know the criminal world from personal observation. One day as I strolled about the yard one of these men spoke to me. He was a powerful-looking fellow of about thirty, red-haired, and with well-marked features. He was evidently a dandy among the convicts. Beneath the long grey coat, which he wore thrown loosely over his shoulders, could be seen a white linen shirt adorned at the throat with a gay tie; round his waist was wound a brightly coloured scarf, and to this his chains were cunningly attached, so that they made no noise whatever in walking. The leather protections beneath the ankle-rings were artistically fastened to look like the tops of his boots. A round cap pushed carelessly back on the side of his head was the crowning touch to his elegance, which the moustache, curling upward, finally completed. Everything denoted an aristocrat of criminal society. “How many years have you got?” he asked after a polite greeting. And on my reply he continued, “And you mean to stay it out?” “I can hardly do otherwise,” I said. “That depends. If you like, we can arrange a ‘swop.’”[59] Footnote 59: