SOME DETAILS OF THE PRISON’S HISTORY—THE “TOM-CAT”—THE “SANHEDRIN’S ROOM”—MY FIRST SIBERIAN SPRING

In conversation with those who had been imprisoned at Kara for some time one often heard the expressions: “That was before the May days,” or, “That happened after the 11th of May.” This mode of reckoning time had become current among us; everybody knew the story of the “May days,” which had been an epoch in the prison life of Kara, just as the “February days” had been a turning-point in French history. All that lay behind the “May days” was a sort of golden age, and after them came a time of storm and stress, years of gloom and misery. I will briefly narrate the story of these events.

The Kara prison for political offenders dates from the year 1880. Before that time “politicals” were not confined in a special gaol, but in one among a great number of such prisons in this penal district, where along the River Kara are many gold-washing settlements, the private property of the Tsar—or “property of His Majesty’s Cabinet,” as it is officially termed. The “politicals,” like the ordinary prisoners, had to wash gold for the Lord of All the Russias; but the work was not hard, and they rather enjoyed it. It was at any rate pleasanter and more wholesome to work for a few hours in the fresh air than to vegetate in prison. At that time the “politicals” enjoyed 234the same privileges as the ordinary convicts; e.g. they had better rations than were subsequently given them, they might correspond with their relations, and at the expiration of their appointed sentences they were allowed to settle in the “free colony” outside the prison. The “politicals” were not dissatisfied with this state of things; but in December, 1880, the then Minister of the Interior, Count Loris Melikov, ordered that they should no longer be allowed in the penal colony. Shortly after this was made known one of the prisoners, a graduate of the Petersburg University, named Semyanovsky, took his own life, leaving a letter to his father, in which he declared that the idea of being permanently shut up in prison had driven him to commit suicide.

This cruel decree came at a time when the political movement was particularly strong, and we were believed to be on the eve of a great upheaval; news of revolutionary doings, though much delayed, reached the ears of the prisoners in distant Kara, and naturally made the yearning for liberty more fervent than ever. Some of those who still had a long term of punishment to suffer resolved on flight; but not till May, 1882, was it found possible to execute their plans, and the work at the mines to which they were daily led furnished them with the opportunity. It was arranged that two men were to escape each night; and by common consent the first to go was Myshkin,[89] a well-known revolutionist, who chose as his companion one of the most able of his comrades, a working-man named Nicholas Hrùstchov.[90] These two got away successfully, and to conceal their disappearance their comrades made dummies which they laid in their places on the bed-shelves when the roll was called. Galkin-Vrassky, the head of the 235Prisons Department, was just at that time visiting the prisons of Kara, accompanied by the Governor, Iliashèvitch; but nothing was discovered, though the fugitives were already well on their eastern journey, nearing the shore of the Pacific. After a few days a second couple escaped in the same manner, and as successfully, and then a third pair. But as the last man of a fourth pair was making off, the sentry fired and alarmed the watch; the shot missed, but the absence of eight prisoners was discovered. That was on May 11th, 1882; Galkin-Vrassky and Iliashèvitch were still in Kara, and the presence of their chiefs fired the local authorities to special exertions in following up the fugitives; six were soon captured,[91] only the first two remaining at large.

Reprisals were at once taken against the other political prisoners; some were conveyed in small parties to different prisons, and treated with terrible severity on the way; the Kara prison was rebuilt, the large common rooms being each converted into three cells so small that one could scarcely turn round in them; while within a special enclosure a building was erected with narrow cells for solitary confinement, wherein some of the revolutionists were incarcerated. All books and other possessions were taken from the “politicals”; they were allowed no food except that provided by the State; and were subjected to so many hardships and privations that they unanimously resolved to put an end to their lives by refusing to eat; and only when they were at death’s door were some concessions made by the authorities.

Myshkin and Hrùstchov were for some time lucky in evading detection. They got as far as Vladivostock, and were in the act of seeking safety on board a foreign vessel when they were recognised as the long-sought fugitives, and captured. All sacrifices had been vain, and the 236prisoners of the mighty Tsar were once more secured in the Kara prison, which had meanwhile undergone further changes. The “politicals” were separated from the ordinary convicts, and the male and female divisions of the political prison placed under the control of the gendarmerie. Koros, a staff officer of gendarmes, was sent from Petersburg and installed as commandant; and a number of inferior officers of gendarmerie were made warders. The whole system was at the same time completely altered; the workshops were removed, and the prisoners forced to remain idle; they were not allowed to leave the precincts of the gaol, and correspondence with their friends was forbidden. Moreover, as has been said elsewhere, thirteen of their number were despatched to the Fortress of Peter and Paul and thence to Schlüsselburg, where now (1902) only one of them survives.

During the four years that had elapsed since the “May days” there had been four changes of commandant. One of these gentlemen had been superseded and sent to Yakutsk for appropriating to his own private uses one thousand roubles of money sent to the prisoners. Each change of commandant meant some modification of arrangements, and thus by degrees various small improvements were made, among others the breaking down of the partition walls in the rooms; while, in consequence of an appeal made by a prisoner’s influential relations, the Loris Melikov order was finally annulled, and “politicals” were once more allowed to reside in the penal colony when their proportion of years in prison was past. The legal regulations concerning the latter privilege were as follows: in the fulfilment of all hard-labour (or “katorga”) sentences the first one or two years—according to the length of the sentence—are called “probation time”; the remaining years are called “time of alleviation,” and in them every ten months count as a year. In this way, for example, my thirteen years and four months became eleven years and five months; and being sentenced on 237October 12th, 1884, I should finish my term in February, 1896. The entire “probation time” and two or three years of the “time of alleviation” must be spent in prison; but after that the law provided that the prisoner should be allowed to reside in the “colony,” under police supervision, instead of within the prison walls. Such partially freed prisoners might take up their abode in some house assigned to them, or built by themselves; but they were subject to the rules and regulations laid down for the convicts residing there, ordinary and political alike. It was a great matter to be no longer cooped up day and night in a common room of the prison; the “politicals”—people of culture and refinement—appreciated this particularly, and the withdrawal of the privilege had been a terrible deprivation. The greater, therefore, was the rejoicing when, two years after the “May days,” the new commandant, Captain Burlei, who had succeeded the thief Manayev, informed the captives in the political prison of Kara that some time previously a resolution of the senate had rescinded the adverse decree. The dishonest Manayev had suppressed the document proclaiming this, that he might the more easily continue to conceal his malpractices. Captain Burlei immediately proposed to the governor of the district that steps should be taken forthwith for the release from prison and internment in the “colony” of all those who had become entitled to that right. Before this could be arranged, however, the humane commandant was replaced by Nikolin, who would only allow the new rules to come into force under certain restrictions. The senate had made their decision; the law was there, and must be complied with; but by “administrative methods” he continued to limit its operations.

Captain Nikolin was a malicious, small-minded man, always on the look-out for ways of annoying the prisoners; and now, on the pretence that he had not a strong enough force of gendarmes to supervise the “colony,” he asked that instead of releasing all who were entitled to the 238privilege, only fifteen persons at a time should be set free. His excuse was groundless, for under the circumstances the same force of gendarmes could have equally well controlled the greater or smaller number of “colonists”; but of course the wish of the commandant was acceded to, and it thus came about that those who should have obtained the right of living outside the prison had often to wait years until there was a vacancy, and even then there might be a dozen candidates for it, from among whom Nikolin arbitrarily selected a recipient of the favour. Of course this curtailment of their rights earned Nikolin the ardent dislike of the prisoners; and his conduct was such as continually to aggravate that sentiment anew.

I had an opportunity of seeing this man soon after being placed under his charge. He often came into the prison—into the corridor, that is, for he never entered the rooms. He might have been nearly fifty-five, rather big, with an imposing “corporation”; his broad round face, cunning little eyes, and bristling moustache, gave him the look of a fat, spiteful old tom-cat, and he was always designated by that nickname. The expression of his eyes was particularly catlike; he looked as if just ready to pounce on a victim and stick his claws into it. He always spoke in a low voice, this “tom-cat”; but he chattered unceasingly, and kept smacking his lips all the time, his expression being always peevish and discontented. When he visited the prison he generally remained for some time standing by our stàrosta, who would be busy beside his big chest; and Nikolin would talk away, quite regardless whether his conversation were agreeable to the listener or not. During these endless monologues he would brag and boast in the most inflated way. Could we have accepted his own account of his exploits, he would by this time have been at least a general. He had begun his career during the sixties under Mouravièv, the oppressor of Vilna, and he would recount the inestimable services he had rendered at that epoch. Yet he was still only a 239captain! Possibly an excess of zeal had spoiled his prospects; at any rate, he used to relate the following story of what had happened to him in Kara. He had once addressed a communication to the governor of the province, asking this highly important question: “When the floor of a room was being scrubbed, and the prisoners were consequently turned out into the corridor, should the warder take them into another room or not?”

“Imagine!” the “tom-cat” would cry. “The answer I received was this: ‘Arrange the matter for yourself according to Paragraph 13 of the instructions.’” Now the instructions only contained twelve paragraphs, but the irony of the rejoinder never struck Nikolin, and he continued to fuss on every occasion over any sort of trifle. He seemed, too, to think that his position as commandant of the political prisoners did not give him enough scope for grumbling, but poked his nose into everything that went on in the district of Kara. Once, indeed, he did actually succeed in discovering a series of thefts from the coffers of the State. There was a certain Major Pohùlov, governor of the ordinary convicts’ prison (with whom Mr. Kennan stayed during his visit to Kara). One fine day a storehouse under his charge, supposed to contain some thousands of poods of grain for the prisoners’ use, was burnt down. Now grain stored in great heaps does not burn away, but simply gets roasted; yet on this occasion there was no trace of it to be found, the gallant major having had a little deal with the purveyor, and then, with the help of his subordinates, having arranged that the warehouse should be burnt down in the nick of time.

Probably this transaction would have remained in the dark, like many others of the kind, had not our “tom-cat” taken the matter up and by his denunciations forced the Government to appoint a commission of inquiry on which he himself served.

He then revealed the full range of his talents, and brought to the light of day a whole system of robbery and 240fraud. The “hospitable gentleman,” as Kennan described Major Pohùlov (and indeed so he was), had had more than one device for enriching himself at the State’s expense. For instance, hundreds of prisoners figured on his list who had long since either been released or had escaped, and for these “ghosts” he had regularly charged his books with clothing and food allowances, whilst he and the purveyor had fraternally shared the money between them. This man was dismissed from his office, but was never brought to justice, as he had inf............