Another way of passing time was to invent riddles and act charades, which was especially fashionable in our “Sanhedrin.” And when some new-comers brought with them a few packs of cards, the game of whist—then just coming into vogue in Russia—so carried away some of our party that they were at it literally day and night. On the whole, however, card-playing did not find much favour among us.
Physical exercise would have been most welcome to many of us, but as long as the “tom-cat” ruled the roast it was possible only in a very restricted measure; all he would consent to was that in winter we should make a sledge-track in a part of the yard where the ground sloped slightly, and we there disported ourselves on little sledges made by ourselves.
YARD OF KARA PRISON FOR “POLITICALS”
YARD OF KARA PRISON FOR “POLITICALS”
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One of Nikolin’s successors saw no objection to our laying out a garden, and during the next spring we were extremely busy over this. Some of our number, great lovers of nature, exhibited quite passionate energy in this pursuit; they worked at their beds with most industrious care, watered, manured, and weeded untiringly, and tended each plant as though it were a beloved child. All sorts of different plants and flowers were cultivated. I myself had a special affection for sunflowers, which reminded me of my South Russian home; wherever possible I sowed their seeds, and in summer my fosterlings shot up magnificently, their thick stems standing erect along our “boulevard,” as we called the path by the stockade, whence, by looking through the chinks, we could see the road and the commandant’s house. When the tall plants hung down their heads, it seemed as though they looked down on us poor captives and wondered at the cruelty of man to man. “So many young men wasting their best years, half their lives, here in prison, only because they strove for the welfare of their country as they understood it!” And when the sunflowers straightened themselves and held aloft their golden crowns, they might be saying, “Do not lose courage, poor convicts! The time will come when you too with proudly lifted heads shall return to your beloved home.”
Nikolin’s successor, Captain Yakovlov, exerted himself to mitigate the severity of our prison régime, which the “tom-cat” had administered so tyrannically. He seemed to be a compassionate and humane man, who—while keeping to the prescribed regulations—was not concerned to aggravate our hard lot by superfluous restrictions and unnecessary harshness. Perhaps his conduct was partly influenced by the knowledge that he was only filling the position temporarily, as a stop-gap for Colonel Masyukov of the gendarmerie, who was shortly to be sent from Petersburg; probably also he wanted to have as little squabbling with us as possible. He belonged to a class of men to be found in great numbers both in Russia and in Siberia, who have one overwhelming weakness—love of drink. His devotion to the bottle was most assiduous, and he often had evidently had more than was good for him; but for all that, we breathed more freely under his rule, and regarded with anxiety the advent of the new commandant.