The House of the Dead or Prison Life in Siberia Part 25

The error was with the authorities who had sent him to us, without specifying for what reason it was thought necessary to have him come into the hospital--which was unpardonable negligence.

However, two days later the unhappy creature was taken out to be scourged. We understood that he was dumbfounded by finding, contrary to his fixed expectation, that he really was to have the punishment. To the last moment he thought he would be pardoned, and when conducted to the front of the battalion, he began to cry for help.

As there was no room or bedding-place now in our apartment they sent him to the infirmary. I heard that for eight entire days he did not utter a single word, and remained in stupid and misery-stricken mental confusion. When his back was cured they took him off. I never heard a single further word about him.

As to the treatment of the sick and the remedies prescribed, those who were but slightly indisposed paid no attention whatever to the directions of the doctors, and never took their medicines; while, speaking generally, those really ill were very careful in following the doctor's orders; they took their mixtures and powders; they took all the possible care they could of themselves; but they preferred external to internal remedies.

Cupping-gla.s.ses, leeches, cataplasms, blood-lettings--in all which things the populace has so blind a confidence--were held in high honour in our hospital. Inflictions of that sort were regarded with satisfaction.

There was one thing quite strange, and to me interesting. Fellows, who stood without a murmur the frightful tortures caused by the rods and scourges, howled, and grinned, and moaned for the least little ailment.

Whether it was all pretence or not, I really cannot say.

We had cuppings of a quite peculiar kind. The machine with which instantaneous incisions in the skin are produced, was all out of order, so they had to use the lancet.

For a cupping, twelve incisions are necessary; with a machine these are not painful at all, for it makes them instantaneously; with the lancet it is a different affair altogether--that cuts slowly, and makes the patient suffer. If you have to make ten openings there will be about one hundred and twenty p.r.i.c.ks, and these very painful. I had to undergo it myself; besides the pain itself, it caused great nervous irritation; but the suffering was not so great that one could not contain himself from groaning if he tried.

It was laughable to see great, hulking fellows wriggling and howling.

One couldn't help comparing them to some men, firm and calm enough in really serious circ.u.mstances, but all ill-temper or caprice in the bosom of their families for nothing at all; if dinner is late or the like, then they'll scold and swear; everything puts them out; they go wrong with everybody; the more comfortable they really are, the more troublesome are they to other people. Characters of this sort, common enough among the lower orders, were but too numerous in our prison, by reason of our company being forced on one another.

Sometimes the prisoners chaffed or insulted the thin-skins I speak of, and then they would leave off complaining directly; as if they only wanted to be insulted to make them hold their tongues.

Oustiantsef was no friend of grimacings of this kind, and never let slip an opportunity of bringing that sort of delinquent to his bearings.

Besides, he was fond of scolding; it was a sort of necessity with him, engendered by illness and also his stupidity. He would first fix his gaze upon you for some time, and then treat you to a long speech of threatening and warning, and a tone of calm and impartial conviction. It looked as though he thought his function in this world was to watch over order and morality in general.

"He must poke his nose into everything," the prisoners with a laugh used to say; for they pitied, and did what they could to avoid conflicts with him.

"Has he chattered enough? Three waggons wouldn't be too much to carry away all his talk."

"Why need you put your oar in? One is not going to put himself about for a mere idiot. What's there to cry out about at a mere touch of a lancet?"

"What harm in the world do you fancy _that_ is going to do you?"

"No, comrades," a prisoner strikes in, "the cuppings are a mere nothing.

I know the taste of them. But the most horrid thing is when they pull your ears for a long time together. That just shuts you up."

All the prisoners burst out laughing.

"Have you had them pulled?"

"By Jove, yes, I should think he had."

"That's why they stick upright, like hop-poles."

This convict, Chapkin by name, really had long and quite erect ears. He had long led a vagabond life, was still quite young, intelligent, and quiet, and used to talk with a dry sort of humour with much seriousness on the surface, which made his stories very comical.

"How in the world was I to know you had had your ears pulled and lengthened, brainless idiot?" began Oustiantsef, once more wrathfully addressing Chapkin, who, however, vouchsafed no attention to his companion's obliging apostrophe.

"Well, who did pull your ears for you?" some one asked.

"Why, the police superintendent, by Jove, comrades! Our offence was wandering about without fixed place of abode. We had just got into K----, I and another tramp, Eptinie; he had no family name, that fellow.

On the way we had fixed ourselves up a little in the hamlet of Tolmina; yes, there is a hamlet that's got just that name--Tolmina. Well, we get to the town, and are just looking about us a little to see if there's a good stroke of tramp-business to do, after which we mean to flit. You know, out in the open country you're as free as air; but it's not exactly the same thing in the town. First thing, we go into a public-house; as we open the door we give a sharp look all round. What's there? A sunburnt fellow in a German coat all out at elbows, walks right up to us. One thing and another comes up, when he says to us:

"'Pray excuse me for asking if you have any papers [pa.s.sport] with you?'

"'No, we haven't.'

"'Nor have we either. I have two comrades besides these with me who are in the service of General Cuckoo [forest tramps, _i.e._, who hear the birds sing]. We have been seeing life a bit, and just now haven't a penny to bless ourselves with. May I take the liberty of requesting you to be so obliging as to order a quart of brandy?'

"'With the greatest pleasure,' that's what we say to him. So we drink together. Then they tell us of a place where there's a real good stroke of business to be done--a house at the end of the town belonging to a wealthy merchant fellow; lots of good things there, so we make up our minds to try the job during the night; five of us, and the very moment we are going at it they pounce on us, take us to the station-house, and then before the head of the police. He says, 'I shall examine them myself.' Out he goes with his pipe, and they bring in for him a cup of tea; a st.u.r.dy fellow it was, with whiskers. Besides us five, there were three other tramps, just brought in. You know, comrades, that there's nothing in this world more funny than a tramp, because he always forgets everything he's done. You may thump his head till you're tired with a cudgel; all the same, you'll get but one answer, that he has forgotten all about everything.

"The police superintendent then turns to me and asks me squarely,

"'Who may you be?'

"I answer just like all the rest of them:

"'I've forgotten all about it, your worship.'

"'Just you wait; I've a word or two more to say to you. I know your phiz.'

"Then he gives me a good long stare. But I hadn't seen him anywhere before, that's a fact.

"Then he asks another of them, 'Who are you?'

"'Mizzle-and-scud, your worship.'

"'They call you Mizzle-and-scud?'

"'Precisely that, your worship.'

"'Well and good, you're Mizzle-and-scud! And you?' to a third.

"'Along-of-him, your worship.'

"'But what's your name--your name?'

"'Me? I'm called Along-of-him, your worship.'

"'Who gave you that name, hound?'

"'Very worthy people, your worship. There are lots of worthy people about; n.o.body knows that better than your worship.'

"'And who may these "worthy people" be?'

"'Oh, Lord, it has slipped my memory, your worship. Do be so kind and gracious as to overlook it.'

"'So you've forgotten them, all of them, these "worthy people"?'

"'Every mother's son of them, your worship.'