SAGHALIEN AND THE CONVICT STATION AT KORSAKOVSK
Departure of the expedition—Arrival at Korsakovsk—Condition of convict station—Freedom allowed prisoners, most of whom are murderers—Wreck of the steamer and loss of outfit—Gold lace and life-preservers—Return to Korsakovsk—Russian table manners—The Russian's naïve attitude toward bathing—Some results of the intermarriage of criminals—How Yankee shrewdness saved some confiscated photographs—Pleasant sensations on being shaved by a murderer—Predominance of American goods.
At six o'clock in the afternoon of July 22, 1898, the Governor-general with his wife and suite, resplendent in gold lace and buttons, came aboard in the rain. The anchor was heaved up and we pointed southward toward the open sea, which is reached by way of a passage from half a mile to three miles wide and twelve miles long. The shore on either side bristles with armaments which, together with the narrowness of the passage, make Vladivostok entirely impregnable from the sea.
There is a story, however, which the Russians never like to hear. One morning, after a night of dense fog, as the sun cleared away the mist, four big British men-of-war were found anchored within two hundred yards of the city, and could have blown it skyward without a shot from the batteries, being safe from the line of fire. Since then big guns have been mounted to cover the inner harbor. Reaching open water, we turned to the northeast and set our course toward the southern point of the island of Saghalien, for the Governor-general was to inspect the convict station of Korsakovsk.
Three days of uneventful steaming at ten knots an hour brought the shores of Saghalien above the horizon. We saw a long, curved beach backed by low-lying hills covered with fields and woodland. As the place could boast no harbor, we dropped anchor in the open roadstead a mile from shore. Our whistle had long since waked to life an asthmatic little steam-launch, which soon came alongside. We forthwith invaded her stuffy little cabin and she waddled shoreward.
As we approached the rough stone quay, we had our first glimpse of Russian convict life. A gang of prisoners were at work mending the seawall. Some of them wore heavy iron balls at their ankles, which they had to lift and carry as they walked, else they dragged ponderously along the ground. These balls would weigh about a hundred pounds apiece. The convicts seemed to be well fed, but were excessively dirty and unkempt. They appeared to be men of the very lowest grade of mental development. It must be remembered that no political convicts are confined on the island of Saghalien. They are kept in the far interior of Siberia, where the chances of escape are much less, and where there is no possibility of contact with others than their own jailers. The convicts on Saghalien are almost all desperate criminals. As there is no such thing as capital punishment in Siberia, Saghalien is the terrestrial Valhalla of these doomed men, a sort of ante-mortem purgatory.
We stepped out upon the quay and walked up into the town. The street was about fifty feet wide, with a neat plank walk on either side. The houses were all log structures, but not the kind we are accustomed to associate with that name. The Russian makes the best log house in the world. The logs are squared and carefully fitted together. The windows are mostly double, and the houses, all of one story, are warm enough to be habitable. The streets are lined with small shops and stores. The entire population outside of the officials consists of convicts, most of whom enjoy almost complete freedom within the limits of the town. It gives one a queer feeling to walk through the streets of a town and know that all the storekeepers, carpenters, blacksmiths, clerks, butchers, and bakers are or have been desperate criminals. This town of Korsakovsk contains about two thousand people, of whom nine tenths are convicts.
I asked if I might inspect the prison, expecting a prompt refusal, and was surprised when informed that I could go wherever I pleased. Approaching the main entrance to the prison, I found the two heavy gates off their hinges and the convicts coming and going at their own pleasure. A sleepy Cossack was on guard, and he did not even challenge me. The prison buildings were arranged around a large quadrangle. The prisoners were talking, lying about at their ease, with a few at work on little wood carvings.
I was astonished to see no prison bars anywhere, but after I had looked about at my leisure, one of the officers took me in charge and led me into another part of the grounds, where we found a sentry on guard, armed only with a revolver. This guard took us in hand and conducted us to a small building which appeared to be heavily barred. Inside were rows of clean, dry, whitewashed cells, half a dozen of which were occupied by convicts who had recently committed murder on the island, and were about to be sent north to the dreaded coal-mines, where they would be chained to wheelbarrows. These would be their constant companions for seven years, night and day, summer and winter.
In the workshops the convicts seemed to be trying to do as little as possible. They were making tools, hinges, horse-shoes, farming-implements, and other simple ironwork. In another portion of the shops they were making wagons and carts. Very many of the convicts are farmers, and they seemed to be cultivating the surrounding fields with success. In the main offices I found a dozen clerks smoking and drinking tea. They were all convicts, most of them having dark crimes to their discredit.
Leaving the prison, we walked down the street and soon came to a little stand, where bread and milk were being sold by a nice-looking Russian girl. I asked on what charge she had been brought to Saghalien. The officer interpreted my question. The girl laughed and said that she had murdered her husband. She was twenty-three years old.
We had arrived at ten in the morning, and, as we left at four in the afternoon, my inspection of the town was necessarily brief, but enough had been seen to give impetus to even a very ordinary imagination.
When we had all embarked again and the bell in the engine-room gave the signal for starting, we were enveloped in a thick mist; but as we had open sea before us and nothing, apparently, to fear, we drove ahead at full speed through the dense fog, pointing southeast in order to round the southern point of the island and make our way up the eastern coast. We might have been more cautious had not the Governor-general been in haste. As it turned out, we would have done better to proceed more slowly; for shortly after eight o'clock, as I was sitting at dinner with the captain and the first officer, we heard the second mate on the bridge call loudly: "Hard aport! Ice ahead!" The captain rushed to the bridge, and I made my way to the prow of the boat. Peering through the fog in the failing light, I descried a low, white line that looked like ice, behind which a great dark mass rose high in the air. We had not begun to slow down yet, and almost instantly we struck with terrific force, which threw me to my knees. I scrambled to my feet and peered over the rail. I saw that the white line was not ice, but surf, and the dark object behind it was a cliff which towered hundreds of feet in the air.
Market-place, Korsakovsk, Saghalien Island.
The utmost confusion prevailed among the Chinese crew and the Korean stevedores. It looked as if there would be serious trouble. I made my way as rapidly as possible to my state-room and buckled on my revolvers, tore my valise open and stuffed a package of money into my pocket, and hurried on deck to help put down any rush that the Asiatics might make for the boats. The first officer was sounding the forward well, and water was already coming into the engine-room. The steamer, evidently, was making water very fast. As there were so few foreign officers, and as the Russians were of no use, the captain ordered me to get out the boats. Amid such confusion this was no easy task, but by means of the most sanguinary threats and the show of my revolver, I got enough men together to swing a boat over the side.
Fortunately, there was no sea running at the time, and affairs began to assume a more hopeful aspect when it was found that we lay on a shelving beach and could not sink. We hurriedly supplied the boats with casks of water and bags of biscuits; but as there was no immediate danger of sinking, the captain asked me to take one of the boats and explore the shore for a suitable landing-place. With a strong headlight in the prow, we pushed off in the fog; and within an hour we were back with the news that half a mile up the shore there was a good landing-place. The Governor-general and his wife and staff were, of course, the first to be sent ashore. The lady seemed to take it very coolly, even more so than some of the staff. The latter, as soon as the alarm sounded, had hastened to their state-rooms and put on their swellest regimentals. Their gold lace, glittering swords, and patent-leather boots seemed curiously out of place on board the wreck. It reminded me of the ancient Persian custom of going into battle in full regalia. These Russians left everything but their fine clothes.
In due time they were landed, and then we came back and took off the crew. It was growing light and the sea was rising. The steamer began to pound on the reef, and it was evident that she would not hold together long. The captain said he was going to stay on her till she broke up. As I was an enthusiastic knight of the camera, I thought this would be a good opportunity to secure a picture of a ship going to pieces, so I determined to stay with the captain as long as possible. We remained on board all that day and the next two, taking watch, by turns, six hours at a time. We determined to rig a block and tackle over the after hatch, and although this was under water, we managed to get hold of the big Russian mail-bags and haul them out. Among other things, they held fifteen thousand roubles in notes.
During the second day of our detention we sighted the British gunboat Archer passing us to the southeast on her way to Kamchatka. We tried desperately to attract her attention with bombs, but did not succeed. Meanwhile, the chief officer had taken the long-boat and part of the crew and sailed back to Korsakovsk with a fair wind, to secure help. Three days later, he returned with the steam-launch and two lighters, one of which was filled with convicts who had been brought to help in getting the steamer off the rocks, if possible. If not, they were to save what cargo they could. They were put into the forward hold and a few cases were gotten out, but all my provisions and outfit were lost except my tent, which had been sent ashore for the Governor-general's wife. This, together with my valise, camera, guns, and ammunition, was all that I had to show for the careful preparation I had made.
My Russian friends had not enjoyed their stay on shore under the trying conditions. We threw overboard for their use all the ducks and geese, which, after disporting themselves a few minutes in honor of their new-found liberty, made their way to the shore, where they were speedily despatched with axes by the gentlemen in patent-leather boots and gold lace. We also consigned a pig to the vasty deep and it nobly struggled ashore only to meet the common fate of succulent pork. Through the glass I could see the Governor-general in his swell regimentals with a row of medals across his breast lugging an armful of driftwood along the shore to the fire.
And so we made our way back to Korsakovsk, a very discouraged and bedraggled company. The Governor-general took me to the house of the chief magistrate, where I was given a comfortable room, and could once more sit down to a good table. That night I ate my first genuine Russian dinner. Each person as he enters a dining-room, faces the icon which hangs in the corner, and bows and crosses himself. The table was loaded with tinned preserves, pâté de foie gras, caviar, salted salmon, herrings pickled, and raw fish, sardines, cheese, sliced raw onions, cold sausages, raw cabbage, and huge piles of black and white bread. There was also the usual large carafe of pure white vodka, a powerful distilled liquor made from rye. Before eating, every glass is filled and the host's health is drunk to the accompaniment of "Butches sd rovia," which means, "Your good health."
In eating, you must reach for what you want. It is very seldom that anything is passed during this first stage of the meal. You would never suggest to your neighbor on the right to pass you the cheese; but you would rise in your place and, with a firm grasp on your knife, reach over his plate and impale the tempting morsel. If this is not possible, you leave your place and go around the table and secure your loot. There is only one thing that they will readily pass, and that is the vodka. The general aspect of things is that of a well-patronized free-lunch counter when the train is to start in five minutes. It must be confessed that Russian table manners are not fashioned on ordinary European models. They closely resemble the Korean method of eating at a public feast, when all the food is put on the table at once.
It is a mistake to suppose this terminates a Russian dinner. It has only begun. By this time the uninitiated is full to repletion unless he has been forewarned, but to the Russian this is but the ante-prandial overture. Everything is now cleared off the table except the vodka, which is never out of sight, and the dinner proper begins with soup. I must say that this soup is the heaviest and richest it has ever been my fortune to taste. Alone, it would form a full meal for any one less robust than the ordinary Russian. Each guest adds to his soup two or three heaping spoonfuls of sour whipped cream.
Their method of eating soup appeals as much to the ear as to the eye. Perhaps they go on the principle that soup must be eaten as audibly as possible, for this means that it is so good you cannot wait for it to cool.
My Russian naturalist, Alek, was a fair sample of an educated Russian, and he turned to me and said:
"I see that you eat with a fork."
"Yes," said I; "and I see that you do not."
"No; but I had a sister who studied at an English convent in Japan for a year or so. When she came back she ate with a fork, but we soon laughed her out of it."
The end of the Russian knife is broader than the portion next the handle, and it is used both as a knife and as a spoon. They complain that the American knives do not "hold" enough.
After the soup came fowls, roast meats, vegetables, and two or three more dishes made of whipped cream. These last one grows to like. Their favorite form of dessert is this same sour cream, sprinkled generously with sugar and ground cinnamon. When all is seemingly over the table is again cleared, and the samovar is placed steaming upon the table. Every one takes four or five glasses of hot tea, flavored with sliced lemon. Some of the Russian tea is very fine. It is well known that they drink the costliest as well as the cheapest grades. It is more than likely that not a pound of the very best tea grown in China ever gets farther west than Russia.
Meanwhile every one is smoking cigarettes, men and women alike; not only after dinner but between the courses.
My use of the fork was not the only thing that distinguished me while in the country of the White Czar. Wherever I went, the Russians were highly amused at my use of the tooth-brush, which they consider a peculiarly feminine utensil. I was everywhere embarrassed by the total absence of the wash-bowl. Such things seem to be unknown. A sort of can or ewer of water, with a valve in the bottom, lets out a little stream of water on the hands; or, oftener still, a mouthful of water is taken from a glass and spurted over the hands—a much more sanitary method than the American, since the Russian does not wash in any vessel which has been used by others. The Russian objects to any bath excepting the elaborate Russian bath, and as this can be obtained only in the centers of population, the result is not edifying. Even on the steamer, where hot and cold baths could be had for the asking, the bath-room was not patronized. The Russians say of the English and Americans that they bathe so much that they emit an offensive odor, which turns the tables on us somewhat surprisingly and casts some doubt upon the truth of the proverb that virtue is its own reward. As black, the most somber of all colors, is in truth a lack of all color, so perhaps the lack of any distinctive odor in the well-tubbed Englishman strikes the Russian as unpleasant.
One of the waiters in attendance was a young and handsome man of twenty-five, convicted of murder. He was dressed in the picturesque costume of the Cossack, and, strangely, wore a dagger at his side. The woman who brought in the samovar had killed an entire family: her husband, father-in-law, mother-in-law, and her own child. She had been married to the waiter a year since arriving at Saghalien. The intermarriage of criminals raises a delicate penological question, considering what the fruit of such unions is likely to be.
After dinner, I suggested to one of the Governor's aides that we take a stroll, but the local magistrate vetoed this, saying that on no account must we go out on the street after six o'clock in the evening. Our lives would be in immediate danger, as murders among the convicts averaged one a day on Saghalien. Hundreds have broken away and escaped into the interior of the island, living on game, roots, and berries. Some roam the streets at night, looking for plunder, especially when a steamship is in harbor.
The following day we passed a building which seemed to be full of women. They were convicts recently landed. On stated days, those male convicts whose conduct has been uniformly good are taken to this building where the women are lined up and the men are allowed to choose wives for themselves. The women are quite willing to be chosen, but if they refuse they are not compelled to marry. Marriage means that they get away from the confinement of the workshops and gain a snug little home among the neighboring hills, with nothing to suggest penal conditions except an occasional inspection. If they consent to marry, they go immediately to the little cathedral and are married by the priest. A plot of land is allotted to the couple, to clear and cultivate. Possibly a horse, a cow, and a few chickens are given them, as well as the inevitable samovar. Our saying, "What is home without a mother?" might well be rendered in Russian, "What is home without a samovar?" All the money that they can make by raising produce is their own, and will be turned over to them upon the expiration of their sentences. But most of the convicts on Saghalien have sentences which terminate only at death.
The women in the prisons are kept busy making clothes for such convicts as have not been let out on good behavior.
The following day I was invited to attend, at the Greek Church, a service of thanksgiving for the escape of the passengers and crew of our wrecked steamer. The service proved a very impressive one. The singing, by a choir of convicts, was especially fine. In these Russian churches seats are not provided, and the audience stands or kneels during the entire service.
That afternoon I had the temerity to take my camera under my arm and stroll through the prison grounds. To my great surprise, I was permitted to take what photographs I pleased. Even the guards lined up and were "snapped," much to their delight. I also secured a picture of a convict being knouted for some slight misdemeanor. This is very common, and is done by tying the offender to a bench, face down, and inflicting the necessary number of blows on his back.
Russian Murderers in Angle of Prison-House, Korsakovsk. Saghalien Island.
As the light began to fail I remembered the magistrate's injunction about being indoors before dark, and so made my way home to dinner, during which I sat at the same table with the magistrate. He was a man of considerable ability, and made good use of the English language. During the meal he leaned over toward me and said, smiling:
"I understand you have been taking some pictures."
"Yes," I answered penitently.
"Well, of course that is against the law, and I am afraid I shall have to ask you to turn those plates over to me."
I expostulated mildly, but found that his mind was firmly made up on the matter. To tell the truth, my mind was also made up on the matter.
"But," said I, "the plates are still in the camera, undeveloped."
"Oh, well, bring your camera along and I will develop them for you,"—this with a little smile of amusement.
"Shall I go now," said I, pushing my chair back from the table, although dinner was not half over.
"Don't think of it. To-morrow morning will do just as well."
And to-morrow morning surely did, for that night the camera went to bed with me, and when the magistrate smilingly drew out the plates next morning and cracked them, one by one, on the corner of the table, he was not aware that he was spoiling fresh plates. I tried to look as sad as the occasion seemed to demand.
I asked him if any of the convicts ever escaped from the island. He gave a short laugh and said:
"Some of them got away once. I will tell you about it. A Japanese fishing-schooner put in here under stress of weather and anchored off the town. That night eight of the convicts swam off to her, murdered the crew, and sailed away without the slightest knowledge of navigation. After drifting about aimlessly for several days, they were picked up by an American whaler and carried to San Francisco. As soon as the facts became known, the Russian authorities demanded their extradition, but the American papers took the matter up and made a great outcry about sending back these innocent political convicts to the horrors of Siberia, while the ladies of San Francisco heaped confections and flowers upon them. The United States authorities declined to give them up, though it should have been well known that no political suspects are ever sent to Saghalien, only tried and condemned criminals. But mark the sequel. Within two years all but one of those eight men were hung for murder, and the remaining one was in prison for life. We appreciate the kindness of the United States in relieving us of the support of these criminals, and she can have all the Russian convicts on the island of Saghalien if she wants them, and welcome."
Saghalien is Russia's gallows, and the incident given above shows how philanthropic zeal, if ill-informed and misdirected, may easily work harm.
Having occasion to interview the barber, I entered a neat shop in company with a Russian official. It was not till the razor was playing about my chin that I learned that the barber was a common murderer. There was no backing out, for I knew not what savage instincts I might arouse in him by proposing to leave his place half shaved. I generally manage to get a nice little nap when under the soothing influence of the barber's hand, but this time I confess that I remained rather wider awake than usual. The gentle reader can, perhaps, imagine my feelings as the keen steel rasped across the vicinity of my jugular vein. Strange to say, the only image that remains in my mind's eye is a staring advertisement which hung against the wall, and which expatiated with Yankee modesty upon the merits of a certain American barber-supply house and the unique opportunity it offered of securing the best goods at the cheapest price. I was informed later that this barber combined with his tonsorial occupation that of procurer, which shows how wide a range of pursuits Russia allows her convicts.
A superficial examination of the various shops which lined the main street of the town showed that American canned goods, sheetings, prints, flour and other food-stuffs are most in demand. The hardware was mostly of cheap German manufacture. I saw no English goods displayed.