The cell was mostly below the ground. Flush with the ceiling was a small window which looked out level with the ground. At one end of the cell was a bare wooden platform, like a wide shelf. This was the only bed provided. In a corner near to the ceiling was a small icon. Other furniture there was none.
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.”