Many initials and names were inscribed on the walls, most of them cut with a knife or other sharp instrument. We settled ourselves as best we could and tried to devise a plan of release. The vermin which always swarm in Russian prisons were not slow in discovering us, and it early became evident that we must sooner or later submit to their persistent attacks. It was, indeed, several weeks before I entirely got rid of the effects of these pestiferous creatures. In due time a keeper came to inform us we might send for any food or drink that we desired. This was an improvement over the gendarmerie where we had passed the previous night, but we were now bent on getting out rather than upon making ourselves permanently comfortable. We put a few questions to the guard, which he answered readily. “What kind of prisoners are usually put into this cell?” “Anybody.” “Civil and criminal prisoners as well as political?” “Yes. Anybody.” “How long are we to remain here?” “Till the priestoff comes.” “Where is he?” “I don’t know.” “When will he be here?” “I don’t know.” “Have you no idea what time he will arrive? Will it be in an hour, or not until night?” “Oh, he is away. He may be back in a week, or he may not be here for a month.” “And we must wait for him--perhaps a month?” “Yes.” We then explained to him at length that we were American citizens, that we should be taken immediately before some authority and given ample satisfaction for such treatment. After much argument he consented to take a message for us to a certain superior officer’s assistant. The answer came back, “The prisoners must wait till the priestoff comes.” We sent a more imperative message, demanding that some one be sent to us without delay. “Nothing’s to be done. Keep still,” was the answer returned. A story had recently been told us of a German subject who had been arrested in that very province and all trace of him lost. The German government had pressed its inquiries, but to no end. The man had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed him. At last, after two years, he was found in a prison like ours. He had been locked up there and forgotten. Our arrest might work out in the same way--a most discouraging [Illustration: A village priest entering a house to bless the bread after the Lenten fast For taking this photograph the author was charged with being “antichrist”] thought. In the first place, the real charges against us might be serious in themselves, and whether they were or not, we were in prison, no one in the world knew of our whereabouts, and we might lie there till we rotted without discovering any means of escape or rescue. It is this absolute uncertainty of the outcome that makes arrest in Russia so distinctly unpleasant. After reflecting upon thoughts like these for a time, my companion and I began to feel a bit desperate.