"If on the basis of this particular section I submit a request to the department ..." and so on.
Or he sat with his son and labored over more petti- fogging statements.
It was unbearably hot in the street. They were com- plaining about the drought, and the officers were walking about in their single-breasted jackets. But this was not true of every summer. The traffic on the streets was much greater than in our provincial towns. This could be ex- plained by the preparations for welcoming the Governor- General, and also by the preponderance of people of work- ing age, who spent most of the day out of doors. The prison, with over i,ooo inhabitants, and the barracks, with 500 soldiers, were grouped together in a very small area. Workmen were rapidly building a bridge over the Dukya, they were constructing archways, cleaning, painting, sweep- ing, marching. Troikas and two-horsed carriages with bells were driving along the streets; these horses were being made ready for the Governor-General. They were all in such a hurry to be ready that they were even working on holidays.
Along the street a group of Gilyaks, the native aborig- ines, were being taken to the police station. They were being angrily barked at by the meek Sakhalin mongrels, who for some reason only bark at the Gilyaks. And there was another group: fettered prisoners, some wearing hats, some bareheaded, clanging their chains, dragging a heavy barrow filled with sand. Little boys latched on to the back of che barrow; sweaty, red-faced guards strode along with rifles on their shoulders. After pouring out the sand on the little square in from of the general's residence, the convicts recurned along the same road, the clang of chains never stopping. A prisoner in overalls, with diamond- shaped markings on the back to indicate that he was a convict, wem from courtyard to courtyard selling blue- berries. When you go down the street, everyone who is sitting stands up and everyone you meet doffs his hat.
The prisoners and the exiles, with some exceptions, walk the streets freely, without chains and without guards; you meet them in groups and singly every step of the way. They are everywhere, in the streets and in the houses. They serve as drivers, watchmen, chefs, cooks and nurse- maids. I was not accustomed to seeing so many convicts, and at first their proximity was disturbing and perplexing. You walk past a construction site and you see convicts with axes, saws and hammers. "Well," you think, "they are going to haul off and murder me!" Or else you are visiting an acquaintance and, not finding him at home, you sit down to write a note, while his convict servant stands waiting behind you, holding the knife with which he has been peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Or it may happen hat at about four o'clock in the morning you will wake ip and hear a rustling sound, and you look and see a con- rict approaching the bed on tiptoe, scarcely breathing.
"What's the matter? What do you want?"
"To clean your shoes, your worship."
Soon I became accustomed to this. Everyone becomes Lccustomed to it, even women and children. The local adies think nothing of permitting their children to go out ind play in the care of nursemaids sentenced to exile for ife.
One correspondent writes that at first he was terrified »f every bush, and groped for the revolver under his coat it every encounter with a prisoner on the roads and path- vays. Later he calmed down, having come to the conclusion hat "the prisoners are generally nothing more than a herd »f sheep, cowardly, lazy, half-starved and servile." To be- ieve that Russian prisoners do not murder and rob a >asserby merely out of cowardice and laziness, one must be :ither a very poor judge of men or not know them at all.
The Governor-General of the Amur region, Baron (orf, arrived on Sakhalin on July 19 on the warship 3obr. He was formally received in the square which lies >etween the commandant's house and the church. There vas an honor guard, many officials and a crowd of exiles nd prisoners. The same band played which I described a ittle while ago. A handsome old man, Potemkin by name, . former convict who had grown rich on Sakhalin, pre- ented bread and salt on a silver platter of local workman- hip. My doctor host was present. He wore a black swallow- ail coat and a cap, and held a petition in his hand. Here I aw the Sakhalin crowd for the first time, and its mournful haracter made a deep impression on me. There were men md women of working age, old folks and children, but here were absolutely no young people. It seemed that here was no^^y on Sakhalin between thirteen and twenty ears of age. And I reluctantly asked myself, "Doesn't this nean that when the young people are old enough they eave the island at the first opportunity?"
The day following his arrival, the Governor-General began to inspect the prisons and the settlements of the exiles. Everywhere the exiles, who had awaited him with the greatest impatience, presented him with petitions and made oral requests. Everyone spoke for himself or one spoke for the entire settlement. Since oratorical art flour- ishes on Sakhalin, there were not a few speeches. At Derbinsk, the settler Maslov several times in his speech re- ferred to the officials as "our most gracious governors." Unfortunately, almost none of those who approached Baron Korf made sensible requests. Here, as in similar situations in Russia, the intolerable ignorance of the peasants was revealed. They did not ask for schools, or justice, or wages. Instead they asked for trifles. Some asked for more rations, some asked that their children be adopted; in other words, they presented petitions which could have been granted by the local authorities. Baron Korf listened to their peti- tions with complete attention and goodwill. Deeply moved by their poverty-stricken circumstances, he made promises and raised their hopes for a better life.2
When the assistant superintendent at the Arkovo prison reported that all was well in the Arkovo settlement, the baron mentioned the winter and summer grain yields and said, "All is well except there is no bread in Arkovo."
In honor of his arrival the Alexandrovsk prison in- mates were fed fresh meat and even venison. He visited all the cells, accepted petitions and ordered the chains re- moved from many of the convicts.
On July 22, after the Te Deum and a parade (it was a holiday), the superintendent hastened to my lodging and announced that the Governor-General wished to see me. I went to meet him. Baron Korf received me most gra- ciously and spoke with me for about half an hour. Our conversation took place in the presence of General Konon- ovich. Incidentally, he asked whether I had some sort of official assignment. I said, "No!"
"Do you not at least have an assignment from some scientific society or newspaper?" the baron asked.
I had a correspondent's card in my pocket, but since I had no intention of printing anything about Sakhalin in the press and did not wish to delude the persons dealing with me, I naturally answered with complete honesty,
"I permit you to visit anywhere and anyone you wish,"' the baron said. "We have nothing to hide. You can ex- amine everything. You will be given free access to all the prisons and settlements, you may make use of any docu- ments needed for your work. In other words, all doors will be open to you everywhere. There is but one permission which I cannot gram. I have no right to allow you to have any communication whatsoever with political prisoners."
In dismissing me, the baron said:
"We will talk again tomorrow. Bring some writing paper."
On the same day I attended a gala dinner at the home of the island commandant. I met almost the entire Sakhalin administrative staff. Music was played during dinner, and there were speeches. When they toasted his good health, Baron Korf made a short speech, the words of which I still recall.