Through Siberia

Geographical description.—Meteorology.—Flora and fauna.—Population.—Cultivation.—Mineral products.—Coal-mine at Dui and penal settlement.—Prison statistics.—Flogging.—Desperate criminals.—Complaints of prison food.—Prison labour.—Difficulties of escape.—Prison executive and alleged abuses.—General opinion on Siberian prisons.—Comparison of Siberian and English convicts.

Sakhalin (or Saghalien), an island nearly as large as Portugal, was not generally known to be an island until a century ago.⁠[1] A gloomy interest now attaches to it, because of late years the Russians have been deporting thither a large proportion of their criminal convicts, so that it promises to be the Siberian prison of the future.

As Sakhalin extends over eight degrees of latitude, the climate varies considerably; but at the best, in Aniva Bay, it cannot be called other than severe, for while the latitude is the same as that of Lombardy, the average temperature is that of Archangel. Besides this low temperature, the climate is one of great humidity. At Kusunai, in the south of the island, 250 days in the year are foggy or rainy, and the east coast is worse.

The vegetation of the island resembles that of the neighbouring Manchu mainland, with the addition of some of the species common to the Japanese archipelago, and among them a sort of bamboo, which, attaining to the height of a man, covers whole mountains. Certain American species also mingle with the Asiatic flora, so that out of 700 kinds of phanerogamous plants, not more than 20 belong specially to Sakhalin. The plants on the lowest grounds resemble those of the opposite continent. The mountain slopes to the height of 500 yards are clothed with conifers, and higher are birches and willows, above which are the thick dark branches of creeping shrubs. The animals found on the island resemble those of the continent, and the tiger at times crosses the ice on the Mamia Strait to the northern portions; though no specimen has been seen in the south, nor did the Aïnos at the advent of the Russians know that animal even by name.

The population of the island is reckoned at 15,000. To the north are about 2,000 Gilyaks. In the centre are the Oroks, or Orochi—Tunguses of the same stock as the Manguns and Orochons of the Lower Amur; and in the south are the Aïnos. These last are thought to have been the aboriginal population, not only of Sakhalin and of the Kuriles, but of the Japanese islands also. They have been driven to their present locality by the Gilyaks and Oroks from the north, and by the Japanese from the south, and the slavery to which the Japanese fishermen have reduced them has contributed alike to their diminution and their moral degradation.⁠[2]

Judging from a photograph I chanced to procure of an Aïno, they have large and wide cheeks, a narrow forehead, and eyes not so elongated as with the Chinese races, and their appearance is more European. The Aïno’s ample beard and moustache are worthy of a Russian. The Japanese, representing, with the Russians, the “upper classes” in Sakhalin, have established fishing-stations along the southern coast of the island, managed by a population who live there for the season without their families. On the south-eastern shore live 700 Chinese, engaged in gathering trepangs and sea-cabbage. Réclus mentions a trade in this last from the Bay of Paseat, in the south of the province, of £400 in 1864, £13,500 in 1865, £40,000 in 1866. The natives subsist on fish, and eat no bread. I was told at Khabarofka that the Aïnos contrive to make an intoxicating drink called sakhe—probably that described by Miss Bird as obtained from the root of a tree—which, to attain their highest notion of happiness, they drink to beastly intoxication. As for the Russians in Sakhalin, nearly all are in the military or prison service, and are supplied with provisions by the Government, the resources of the island being utterly inadequate. I heard that a large proportion of the convicts are employed in farming on a considerable scale, but the cultivation of cereals and vegetables, and the raising of cattle, have not yet, I think, made much progress. Whether they can ever thrive in more than a certain number of sheltered valleys is doubtful.

The Russian military posts are all by the sea. Dui is the principal, situated about the middle of the western coast. On the shores of Aniva Bay are the Korsakoff barracks, with a garrison of 500 soldiers. Muravieff, near this, is a military post, and its port is perhaps the best, or rather the least bad, in the island; for along a coast of 1,200 miles Sakhalin has not a single harbour where vessels can anchor in real safety.

The island was held for a time jointly by Russia and Japan, and the latter was not altogether disposed to give up her portion; but the importation of convicts soon brought the Japanese to terms, and the Russians are now sole masters. I am not aware that it has any metals, though I heard of a surface iron-mine on the opposite coast near to Nikolaefsk, belonging to Mr. Boutyn of Nertchinsk, which it was said might be worked for scores of years without exhaustion, the mine being similar in character to that which I saw in the Urals. The one mineral production of Sakhalin is coal, of which 70,000 tons were raised in 1878. I heard the coal spoken of as good, but small. Recently it has been described as “dusty nut-coal, suitable for smithy work, but not for steaming.” Coal at Sakhalin costs more than in Japan or Australia. The mines are let out by the Government to a company, which from the first has seen small prosperity.⁠[3]

The mention of the mines, and of those who work them, leads me to speak of the prisons, about which I have official statistics. I obtained information from several military and naval officers; also from a soldier, a prison officer, and a civilian, all of whom had been to Sakhalin, and most of whom spoke as eye-witnesses. At Dui, it would seem, there are four large prisons. I heard of them, from one who had lived in the island, as insufficiently heated in winter, and over-crowded. Another report, sent secretly by a prisoner to my exile informant, corroborated the alleged want of space. They said, however, that additional buildings were in course of erection.⁠[4]

The number of prisoners in the island in 1879 was about 2,600; half were reported to be in prison, the remainder comparatively free. The Sakhalin convicts are for the most part murderers, vagabonds, and runaways, there being no “politicals” among them.⁠[5]

Dui is one of the three places where the authorities may use, in addition to the birch, the troichatka or plète, which I have described (vol. i., p. 92). I have no trustworthy information as to the frequency with which flogging is inflicted. At Tiumen the prison director said that, of 80,000 exiles who had passed through his hands in four years, he had flogged only one. This, perhaps, is an extreme in one direction. An exile, purporting to give information he had received from a prisoner at Dui, and also translating into French what was supposed to be addressed to me by a Russian soldier from Sakhalin, said that Tuesday and Saturday were flogging days at Dui, and that they flogged from 40 to 50 a week. This, I afterwards learned, was very much exaggerated; and I had strong suspicions at the time that my interpreter was making up a story for my note-book, which he saw me writing. It is, in fact, difficult to know what is the truth, as so much exaggeration has been used concerning the flogging of Russian prisoners.⁠[6]

I saw at Nikolaefsk the wooden kobyla, or “mare,” on which the culprit is laid; it is preferable, I should think, to the birching “horse” in the Middlesex prison, Coldbath Fields, though, of course, there can be no comparison between the birch and the plète. The latter is a truly fearful instrument, but it is right to remember that the Russians use it for the more part on such as we should hang outright. Corporal punishment cannot be inflicted in Russia on a free man for a first offence. Only the worst offenders are sent so far east as the localities where the plète exists; and according to the law (Article 808) this punishment is reserved for those who, condemned to hard labour, have committed further crime in Siberia, where it would seem there are not wanting some desperate characters.

When we passed through Ekaterineburg, for instance, a horrible incident had occurred only four days previously. A man had entered brandy-shops, ordered drink, and then presented a revolver to the salesmen if they dared to require payment, and had treated isvostchiks in a similar manner. He was summoned before the court, but through some technicality got off, and subsequently told one of his prosecutors that he would kill the lot of them; whereupon a number of isvostchiks set upon him, and wounded him with 30 stabs. Some four or five were awaiting trial at the time of my visit. Again, a murder took place during my stay at Nikolaefsk, at a small drinking-shop in the town, kept by a man and his wife. Two soldiers were in the habit of going there, and at night one said, “Let us go and kill those two and get what brandy we want.” Accordingly, very early in the morning, they went, knocked at the door, and, on the man opening it, one of the soldiers stabbed him. The other, after some difficulty, killed the wife, and all but cut off her head. A serving woman narrowly escaped stabbing, but rushed out of the window and told the police. The soldiers were called out, and the two men identified, whereupon they both confessed their crime, and were taken to the guard-house to await legal proceedings, which would consign them, not to death, but to hard labour, it was supposed, in Sakhalin, for 15 or 20 years.

I think the worst thing I heard of Dui was about the prisoners’ food. From two or three independent sources I was told that they did not get enough. For some weeks one year they were reduced to a pound and a half of bread a day, in consequence of an insufficient quantity of flour having been sent to the island,—or, rather, by reason of the ice breaking up that season so late that a fresh supply could not be forwarded. Again, a naval officer told me that he had seen the convicts, when bringing coal to his vessel, pick up and eat the scraps which the seamen had thrown away. I should not think much of this, however, for when I was on board a Russian man-of-war I saw fragments of seamen’s biscuit tossed overboard such as any hungry man might well be thankful for, and which, being of superior flour, a convict would naturally relish in preference to his ordinary rye bread.

The soldier who came from Sakhalin told me that the prison fare consisted, on four days a week, of 3 lbs. (Russian) of bread and ¼ lb. of meat, and on three days, of 3 lbs. of bread and 1 lb. of fish, which is the quantity of bread allowed to the soldiers there, and exceeds the weight of bread given to English prisoners. It should be added that one of my informants said the prisoners gambled. Cards, with brandy at an exorbitant price, they manage to smuggle into the prison, and then play for their food. Goryantchikoff draws a vivid picture of this practice carried on at night. When all are supposed to be asleep, a piece of carpet is spread, a candle lighted, and a sentinel posted. The card-playing then begins, and often does not cease till morning; and the prisoners, having no money, stake their food and clothes. It is not matter for surprise, therefore, if some of the prisoners find themselves with insufficient or very bad clothing, the frequent cause of which should be borne in mind in connection with the reckless statements sometimes published respecting the clothing of Russian prisoners.

Making due allowance for exaggeration, however, I am disposed to think that there is real cause for complaint regarding the food at Dui, as to quality, if not quantity.⁠[7] There are certain local circumstances which would render it likely that the prisoners’ food in the Sea-coast province, and especially Sakhalin, would not be so satisfactory as in Western Siberia. The cost of provisions is very much higher in the east, and the Government does not appear to allow proportionately increased payment.⁠[8]

Testimony went in the opposite direction as regards the prisoners’ labour, and all seemed of opinion that they were not overworked. The agricultural convicts, from the great length and severity of the winter, are idle the greater part of the year. The Polish exile said, indeed, that the work was harder than at Kara, and that if the allotted amount of work were unfinished, the miners were flogged; but when the yearly output amounts to only 70,000 tons, it speaks for itself that the getting of this quantity and loading the ships therewith is a mere trifle for 1,000 or 1,500 men; and as in the other penal colonies of Siberia, convicts suffer more, I judge, from inactivity than from overwork. The miners spend 11 hours a day in the mine, from eight to noon and one till eight; and then return to their barracks or houses, not working, a German told me, so hard as English miners. One officer, who had been much in Dui, said that the daily task of a prisoner was not more than he himself could do in a couple of hours of really hard work, and that the men are idle and spin out the work.

Another, in answer to my question, replied that there was no difference perceptible in the general health of the convict miners and farmers; and the traveller I have quoted from the North China Herald goes so far as to say, “The conclusion we arrived at was, that contentment prevailed throughout, even the convicts giving no evidence of discontent.”

To escape from the prisons of Dui has been comparatively easy, but it is almost impossible to get far away, owing to the scarcity of provisions and the nature of the country; and the difficulty will no doubt be increased when the cable is laid⁠[9] from De Castries Bay to Dui. From this spot the runaway must first walk 200 miles along the coast, and this through a country where he can get no provisions. He dare not show himself to the natives, since there is a price on his head, and they receive 6s. for taking him to the police, dead or alive; and even if he should succeed in crossing the six miles of ice to the continent, he is often compelled to give himself up to get food. Thus, out of 100 who were reported to have run away the winter before my journey, 32 were caught by the Gilyaks, and one case of cannibalism was said to have taken place among the starving fugitives. A terrible instance of the difficulty of procuring food in the Amur region occurred in 1856, when a battalion of soldiers was dispatched in September from Nikolaefsk up the river to Shilkinsk Zavod. They were overtaken by winter, and were compelled to draw lots as to who should be eaten. The survivors walked on the ice and arrived in safety. Mr. Emery told me he had more than once seen hungry runaways give themselves up to the authorities. Runaways when caught are flogged; but this does not prevent others from making the attempt to escape. During my stay at Nikolaefsk a rumour spread that a third of the prisoners landed by the Nijni Novgorod had escaped, having in their possession 30 revolvers; and as the small Cossack station on the island opposite the mouth of the Amur had only 15 men, it was feared they would be in a plight. Within a day or two the reported numbers sank to one-half, and I have since learned that 40 was the number—some newly arrived and others older convicts, and that 27 were caught.

With regard to the prison executive, there is a resident priest in Sakhalin; and since my visit a schoolmistress has been sent for the convicts’ children, who are kept in prison. I sent a supply of Scriptures and tracts for the prisoners and soldiers at Dui and Aniva Bay. In the Nijni Novgorod, too, there came out a priest and an assistant bringing with them a number of ecclesiastical books. The assistant and books had been sent, I believe, by the Consistorium, from which the priest at Vladivostock, at the time of my visit, was expecting £40 worth of ecclesiastical literature. To every 100 prisoners in Dui there are one superior and two under officers, all of whom are miserably paid. The usual charges of peculation and using for their own advantage the prisoners’ work are brought against them; but with what amount of truth I cannot say. The most shameful abuse I heard of concerning Sakhalin was that formerly the female prisoners were allowed clandestinely to go on board the ships whilst coaling, and were expected, on their return, to share with the warders their licentious gains. This came from a prison official, but I cannot answer for its truth; though when I asked a Russian doctor if it was at all likely to be true, he thought it not improbable, and said that he had no doubt female prisoners could, by payment to under officers, get release for an occasional promenade. To what depths of rascality some of the prison authorities may descend, I know not; but one officer, of whom I thought highly, told me that he had been sometimes appointed to inspect Siberian prisons, and in one of them, which he named, he found the director had committed such frauds that, could he have hanged him, he would have done so. As it was, he reported him to his chief, and the man was removed. On the sea coast they say the heaven is high and the Tsar is far off; and a bribe goes a long way in diverting the hand of justice. For instance, one merchant declared that released convicts had sometimes stolen his goods, but that he could not get them punished because the offenders bribed the police. At Nikolaefsk they testified that one convict, a murderer, who ought to have been fast in prison, was allowed, for handsome payment, the run of the streets; though, like John Bunyan in Bedford Gaol, he was obliged to be in prison when inspectors came. This may be sufficiently shocking to English readers, but not less so, perhaps, the following from nearer home. When visiting one of the largest and best-managed prisons of England, and pointing to the warders in broadcloth, I said to the gentleman conducting me, “Do you think these men can be reached by a bribe?” To which he replied, “I have not the smallest doubt of it; they bring in tobacco and eatables to the cells, and we are powerless to prevent it. A prisoner, for instance, informs his warder as to the whereabouts of his friends, and perhaps asks him to call. On doing so the warder can inquire, ‘What would you like me to do for your friend who is under my charge? and what will you give me for doing it?’” A simple-minded woman, in her innocence, came one day to the chaplain of a prison I know, complaining that it “cost her so much to get little comforts to her incarcerated husband”; and then came out the story of the warder’s exactions, which at last had exhausted her means and patience!

The reader will have observed that, in speaking of Sakhalin, I have only given the testimony of others, as I did not go to the island. I entered one prison only after leaving Nikolaefsk—that of Vladivostock, and I may here, therefore, sum up my personal experience of Siberian prisons.

I have met with a deep and almost universal conviction that the prisons of Siberia, compared with those of other countries, are intolerably bad. This I cannot endorse. A proper comparison would be between the Russian sent to Siberia and the English convict as formerly transported to Botany Bay; but, comparing the convicts of the two nations as they now are, and taking the three primary needs of life—clothing, food, and shelter—the Russian convict proves to be fed more abundantly, if not better, than the English convict; and the clothing of the two, having regard to the dress of their respective countries, is very similar. The floors of Siberian cells are not of polished oak, as in Paris, nor are the walls of stone slabs, as in York. Siberian prisons have not fittings of burnished brass, with everything neat and trim, as at Petersburg; but then, neither have the houses of the Siberian people. The average peasant, taken from his izba to prison, need experience no greater shock than does the average English criminal when confined in jail. A convict’s labour in Siberia is certainly lighter than in England; he has more privileges; friends may see him oftener, and bring him food;⁠[10] and he passes his time, not in the seclusion of a cell, nor under imposed silence, but among his fellows, with whom he may lounge, talk, and smoke.

I am now looking at things from a prisoner’s point of view, and referring more especially to his animal requirements. When we look at his intellectual, moral, and religious nature, then it must be allowed my former comparison, as between Russian and English prisons, no longer holds good. The English convict, if unlettered, is compelled to attend school; the Siberian is left in ignorance. In the case of the English prisoner, some attempt, at all events, is made at his moral reformation. When he enters the prison, and on subsequent occasions, it is the chaplain’s duty to see him privately; and having learned, if possible, his moral condition, to point out the cause of his fall, and to show him the way to rise; and these efforts are attended with more success than is known to the general public. Once more, the English prisoner has opportunity of daily religious worship—in some establishments twice a day, religious instruction twice a week or oftener, and this sometimes ends in the happy result that going to prison proves the turning-point of a life.

But I can hardly conceive this happening to a Siberian prisoner. Chaplains, in our sense of the word, are unknown; and even if the criminal be softened at the thought of leaving home or friends, or otherwise, he is turned loose among a herd of sinners more wicked perhaps than himself, with the imminent probability that he will speedily become as abandoned as they. If condemned to hard labour, he is robbed of the Sunday and attendance at church; there is none to point him to higher and better things, and hence he too often becomes a wreck both for this world and the next. Once more, there are in England voluntary agencies meeting the prisoner on his release with an endeavour to minister to his temporal and spiritual good, so that, if he desire to lead a reformed life, he is helped to do so; and there are hundreds of former inhabitants of our prisons who to-day are respectable members of society. But in regard to the spiritual good of the Siberian prisoner, the Russian system is sadly deficient. The exile, it is true, is settled in a village, in possession of land where, if he chooses to work, he may satisfy his wants, and, as regards material things, begin life anew; but he is known as a convict, and too often does not care to retrieve his character. A doctor, holding a high position in Siberia, told me that he thought the convicts, when released, did not as a rule become reformed. They find difficulty, he said, in persuading peasants to give them their daughters in marriage; and if they marry released female convicts, these have almost always been women of bad character, who bear no children. Hence the men, having no home, often work during the week only to supply immediate wants, and to save enough for a drink on Sunday. Such was his testimony, from which it would appear that Siberia furnishes another illustration of the truth that reformation, to be worthy of the name, except on a religious basis, is impossible.