About noon we met a convoy of exiles moving slowly along the snowy road.  The prisoners were walking in double column, but without regularity and not attempting to ‘keep step.’  Two soldiers with muskets and fixed bayonets marched in front and two others brought up the rear.  There were thirty or more prisoners, all clad in sheepskin garments, their heads covered with Russian hoods, and their hands thrust into heavy mittens.  Behind the column there were four or five sleighs containing baggage and foot-sore prisoners, half a dozen soldiers, and two women.  The extreme rear was finished by two soldiers, with muskets and fixed bayonets, riding on an open sledge.  The rate of progress was regulated by the soldiers at the head of the column.  Most of the prisoners eyed us as we drove past, but there were several who did not look up.

At nearly every village there is an ostrog, or prison, for the accommodation of exiles.  It is a building, or several buildings, enclosed with a palisade or other high fence.  Inside its strong gate one cannot easily escape, and I believe the attempt is rarely made.  Generally the rooms or buildings nearest the gate are the residences of the officers and guards, the prisoners being lodged as far as possible from the point of egress.  The distance from one station to the next varies according to the location of the villages, but is usually about twenty versts.  Generally the ostrog is outside the village, but not far away.  The people throughout Siberia display unvarying kindness to exiles on their march.  When a convoy reaches a village the inhabitants bring whatever they can spare, whether of food or money, and either deliver it to the prisoners in the street or carry it to the ostrog.  Many peasants plant little patches of turnips and beets, where runaway prisoners may help themselves at night without danger of interference if discovered by the owner.

In every party of exiles, each man takes his turn for a day in asking and receiving charity, the proceeds being for the common good.  In front of my quarters in Irkutsk a party of prisoners were engaged several days in setting posts.  One of the number accosted every passer by, and when he received any thing the prisoners near him echoed his ‘thank you.’  Many couples were engaged, under guard, in carrying water from the river to the prison.  One man of each couple solicited ‘tobacco money’ for both.  The soldiers make no objection to charity toward prisoners.  I frequently observed that when any person approached with the evident intention of giving something to the water carriers, the guards halted to facilitate the donation.