Chapter XX
FROM KRASNOIARSK TO ALEXANDREFFSKY.
Situation of Krasnoiarsk.--Our hotel.--Dr. Peacock.--Visit to prison, hospital, and madhouse.--Cathedral.--Drive in “Rotten Row.”--Shoeing horses.--Bible affairs at Krasnoiarsk.--Consignment to Governor for provinces of Yeneseisk and Yakutsk.--Departure from Krasnoiarsk.--Change of scenery.--Kansk Okrug.--Our arrival anticipated.--Visit to Ispravnik.--Statistics of crime.--The Protopope of Kansk.--Parochial information.--Demand for Scriptures.--A travelling companion.--Further posting help.--Butterflies and mosquitoes.--Nijni Udinsk.--Telma factory.--A détour.--Alexandreffsky.
Siberia, immense as it is, has only 17 towns with a population of more than 5,000 inhabitants, and of these large towns Krasnoiarsk, with a population of 13,000, is a fair specimen. It derives its name from the Russian words krasnoi, red, and yar, a cliff, in allusion to the red-coloured marl of the banks on which the town is situated; its houses being built on the tongue of land at the confluence of the Yenesei and the Kacha. On the south the plain stretches away for nine versts, and on the south-west a range of blue hills is descried, which betray their rocky character by sharp and picturesque outlines. The opposite bank, too, of the Yenesei has, amidst forest scenery, some fine rocks, one of which, of curious formation, called the Tokmak, rises to the dignity of a mount. The Siberians, therefore, are justified, to a considerable degree, in claiming for Krasnoiarsk that it is picturesquely situated. It was certainly the prettiest spot we had thus far seen; and since we made there some pleasant acquaintances, and received much kindness from the people, it naturally lingers in the memory as one of the bright spots of our journey.[1]
Having arrived early on the morning of the 24th June, we drove to what is called an hotel, kept by one “Shlyaktin,” where we engaged the best room in the house for two shillings a day, with two bedsteads, for which, as usual in Russia, we provided our own pillows and linen. Other things were proportionately cheap: turkeys 3_s._ a pair; a whole calf, nine months old, from 3_s._ to 4_s._; geese from 1_s._ 8_d._ to 2_s._ 6_d._ a couple; but pheasants, brought hundreds of miles from Tashkend, cost 6_s._ a brace.
We had not entered many minutes before several beggars came to the window to solicit alms, which seemed to be their method of honouring all newcomers; and if they received anything they crossed themselves, and no doubt blessed us.[2]
Krasnoiarsk boasts of a Lutheran chapel, though it is without a resident pastor. We made it our business to go there first, thinking to find a catechist, Mr. Adamson, for whom we had a letter. He was away, however, and was represented by an old German woman. Whether she recognized in us kindred spirits, I know not, but she cried as she shook our hands and bade us God-speed.
We then accompanied Dr. Peacock, who took us first to see the prison,[3] and afterwards the large hospital, through which pass annually about 2,500 patients. A part of it serves as a madhouse, in which were 48 inmates, 42 of whom were exiles, 28 being pronounced incurable. From inquiries I made, I did not gather that medical opinion went so far as to say that banishment drove people mad; but it seemed that many so afflicted were exiled as prisoners who ought rather to have been in lunatic asylums as idiots; such, for instance, was the case of one man who had been sent to Siberia for setting houses on fire, and who, on arriving, repeated his offence, saying that he did it “for fun.”[4]
The hospital building had been originally erected as a private residence by a rich gold-seeker.[5] How far, in its altered condition, the house suits the purpose of a hospital, I could not judge; for in Russia they have a habit, in summer, of turning the patients out under temporary sheds and tents whilst the buildings are being repaired for the winter; and this was the state of affairs at Krasnoiarsk during our inspection. But I am afraid the building is not all that could be desired. At Tomsk we had seen a summer tent-hospital for 20 men with typhus fever.
Krasnoiarsk has a cathedral, presided over by the Bishop of Yeneseisk, and four or five churches, one of which was built at a cost of £70,000 by a rich gold-seeker, by name, I think, Kusnitzoff, which, be it known to English readers, means “Smith.” We made the acquaintance of two of his daughters during our voyage on the Obi. They had been spending the winter in Petersburg, and were then travelling a distance of 3,000 miles to spend the summer in Siberia. This was their usual practice. One of these ladies had travelled to England, had even crossed the Atlantic to America, and we were glad to renew our acquaintance at Krasnoiarsk. Theirs was one of the best of the private houses, on entering which a broad flight of steps led to the upper storey, where was a drawing-room, or rather a ball-room, containing two grand pianos, the walls being hung with European oil-paintings, and where, among other curiosities, we were shown three nuggets of gold, each of which must have weighed several pounds, but serving no purpose but to be looked at, save that a natural indentation in one had been used on certain grand occasions as a cigar-boat. In front of the house was an enclosure, full of shrubs, dahlias, and flowers; but it was manifest that horticultural operations were carried on with difficulty. The Siberians do more with flowers in their rooms, thus adding much to their beauty.
We dined at this house, and afterwards were taken for a drive. The plain running south of the town is the “Rotten Row” of Krasnoiarsk; and here we saw a fair Amazon, of good position, and the mother, by-the-bye, of three children, with hair cut short behind, sitting astride her horse, in knickerbockers and high boots. It was the only instance we saw of this, however; and further east, on the Amur, I met with a lady in a riding-habit that would have been becoming enough even in Hyde Park.
We drove some distance up the bank of the Yenesei, intending to visit a monastery a few miles distant, but were stopped by the unusual height of the floods, and returned to pass through the two handsome squares in the middle of the town, and the smaller streets which cross the principal roads at right angles. We passed a public garden, also given by Mr. Kusnitzoff to the town. We walked there in the evening, leaving the carriages at the gates, as did several fashionables, and found inside a place for refreshments, rooms for cards, and a promenade. As we strolled about among the trees and shrubs I asked how long they had been there, and found they were self-planted, and that the garden was an adaptation from nature. Close at hand were blacksmiths’ forges, where they were shoeing horses in a curious manner.[6]
Before leaving our lady friends, their hospitality took a very practical turn, as Siberian hospitality generally does, for they gave us some excellent fresh butter and a jar of marmalade. Both these were of great value, and I was particularly thankful to get the latter. In order to prevent the possibility of being reduced to black bread between Krasnoiarsk and Irkutsk, we ordered to be baked a pile, three feet high, of large, flat, white loaves, with a little butter added to prevent their getting dry; and these lasted us for 600 miles.
I was anxious to open at Krasnoiarsk a depôt or an agency for the sale of the Scriptures, and, with that intent, presented an introduction at the shop of one of the principal tradesmen. We found a large store full of all manner of wares, among which, however, it was difficult to see anything small that was particularly Siberian, though I bought a string of beads, worn round the neck by Russian peasant girls, called a gaitan. Unfortunately the merchant was away, and I could not hear of another house of business suitable for what I wanted. Dr. Peacock, however, seemed to feel so strongly the importance of making the most of an opportunity to get the Scriptures circulated in the neighbourhood that he purchased 250 copies, intending to dispense them far and near. I gave him also a supply of reading matter for his hospital patients.[7]
Having thus spent four agreeable days at the capital of the Yeneseisk province, we left on the evening of the 27th June, with a journey before us of 600 miles to Irkutsk.[8] We met with an early adventure on reaching the opposite bank of the river; for we had omitted to get a special note from the post-master, without which the post-boys, waiting with their horses, would not take us on. Mr. Interpreter, therefore, at a cost of 8_s._, and not without danger, had to spend half the night in recrossing the river and returning, whilst I “camped out” alone in the tarantass on the river’s bank. I was so stiff and tired, however, with the previous night’s journey to the gold-mine, that I slept soundly till, at early dawn, horses were procured, and we jogged onwards.
We had now entered a land of valleys and hills instead of a country of marshes or plains, and the scenery improved vastly. Not so, however, the roadside fare; for milk was less abundant, and consequently we could not so easily get curds or such diet, nor even milk to drink. But we were so anxious to get forward that we became somewhat impatient of the long time spent in heating the samovar and preparing for a meal. The consequence was that if, on arriving at a station, horses were to be had at once, we did as best we could about food, eating in the tarantass as we went along, and sometimes not having more than one “square meal” a day.
For a time we travelled well. We continued to go up and down hills, some of which we estimated at about 500 feet in height; and though there was usually a sufficiency of horses, yet for the first two stages they failed us. We paid a little more than post fares, and hired private steeds instead. The peasants sometimes took advantage of the occasion, when post-horses failed, to ask double fares; but as this exorbitant demand amounted to only about 2_d._ a mile for each horse, it seemed better to do this for a stage than to be detained, perhaps for several hours, and then to get tired animals.
Having left Krasnoiarsk late on Friday night, we reached Kansk in good time on Sunday morning, where we spent the rest of the day, considerably fatigued with the combined effect of the recent horse-riding, tarantass driving, and insufficient rest and food. Kansk is the chief town of an okrug, or district, and the residence of an intelligent Ispravnik; and, as it possessed a small prison and hospital, we washed, dressed in our “Sunday best,” and called upon this dignitary to present our letters. He told us, to our surprise, that he had received a telegram the day before from the acting Governor-General of Irkutsk, directing him to help us forward as much as possible; and consequently he had sent east and west to all the stations in his district--a distance of nearly 200 miles--telling them to let us have horses quickly. We were rather at a loss to account for such unexpected kindness, and the more so as the Ispravnik thought the instructions had originally been sent from Petersburg. It served, however, to remind us that we were not lost sight of at head-quarters. The Ispravnik accompanied us to the prison, in which were 146 prisoners in 29 rooms, which had a Sunday look about them. Things were brushed up and “settled,” as a housekeeper would say, and we distributed papers to the prisoners to read. We also gave the Ispravnik some copies of the New Testament and other reading material for the prison, for the town hospital, and for the schools of the neighbourhood; after which he invited us to his house to drink tea.
His wife was a German, which accounted for certain foreign tastes visible about the room, and for some of the pictures. We learned that the Ispravnik holds a similar position in his district or okrug, or circle, that a Governor does in his province,--the pay of an Ispravnik being from £100 to £150 per annum; that of a Governor from £600 to £1,000 per annum; and of a Governor-General about £3,000, the latter two having also furnished houses. The okrug of Kansk was 200 miles in diameter, and had a population of 40,000, with upwards of 900 miles of roads. These were kept in order by 9,000 men, each of whom was responsible for 90 fathoms of way; and it is only fair to say that we found the roads of Yeneseisk the best in Siberia. Nearly all the crime in the district, we were told, is traceable to drink; and that which ended in murder commonly arose from love affairs.[9]
Prisoners of all sorts were allowed to hold correspondence with their friends; but the prison chief, or the Ispravnik, might object to any part of what was written, and send it back to the writer, though even then the latter might appeal to the Governor-General. Letters usually came, we found, by every post, so that the prisoners evidently availed themselves to a considerable extent of their privilege.
After leaving the Ispravnik, we called on the Protopope, or head priest of the place. His house had a superior look about it, and so had the Protopope himself. He gave us a hearty reception, and we asked a few questions concerning his parish. It appeared that he had 2,000 parishioners, living in Kansk and four surrounding villages. He thought about 100 could read, and for these he very readily accepted papers and tracts. He had an elementary boys’ school, which was supported by the community, the scholars paying nothing. I asked about his congregations, and found that from 300 to 400 usually came to church on Sundays, but that on festivals the number rose to 1,000 or 1,500, and of these about 300 or 400 in the course of the year received the Communion.[10]
This chief pastor of the place told us he had often bestowed books on the prisoners, but that the books had disappeared. He gave us some idea of the desire there is for the Scriptures in remote parts of Siberia, by saying that on one occasion he bought 200 New Testaments and took them to Minusinsk, where he sold them in a single day at a rouble each.[11]
In further illustration of the demand for Scriptures in this part of the country, I may mention that, on the way from Tomsk, I made it a practice to go into the post-stations; and whilst my companion was arranging about the horses, I took some pamphlets and Scriptures, and, having nailed up an illustration of the “Prodigal Son,” I next distributed some tracts, saying, as I did so, “darom,” which means “gratis”; and then, showing a New Testament, I said “dvatzat-piat kopeck,” which means 25 kopecks; or I showed a copy of the Gospels, and said “dve-natzat kopeck,” or 12 kopecks. Usually this offer was jumped at; sometimes three or four were bought by one person; and it not unfrequently happened that the first purchaser would run off to tell others of his good fortune, and bid them lose no time in following his example. This was usually done whilst the horses were being changed; but if we stopped for a meal, and it was noised abroad in the village that tracts were being given away, we were taken by storm, and sometimes could hardly eat in peace for the numbers who came to ask for our gifts.
We had barely reached the post-station, after seeing the priest, before he came driving close on our heels for his return visit. He wore the violet velvet hat of a protopope, was dressed in a black silk cassock, with a gold chain and crucifix about his neck, and with a loose white overcoat to protect him from the dust of the road. He cordially wished us success in our work, and asked us to call again on our homeward journey. We then went to the evening service in his church, after which the Ispravnik and his wife came to return our call, bringing with them their son, a boy of 13 years of age, who was to go to a military school at Irkutsk. The father said that he did not like to send him with just any one, but that he should be thankful to be allowed to place the boy under my care, offering at the same time to pay the cost of one horse to Irkutsk, which amounted to 25 roubles.
It is a common thing in Siberian travel, when one person does not wish to occupy the whole of his vehicle, to share the expense with a fellow-passenger. I therefore consented, and stowed the boy away among the tracts and books in the second tarantass, where he seemed happy enough. His joining us was rather a help, for his father gave us an open letter to all the post-masters of his district, requesting them, if there were not a sufficiency of post-horses, to hire some immediately from the peasants. He also added a blanco letter, which enabled us, in case of need, to take those reserved at the post-stations for the use of the Ispravnik or his police. This is called, I believe, “Zemski” post, applying only to Siberia, and the horses of which, when not wanted, are sometimes lent to private travellers.
The combined result of these letters was that we got on famously, and occasionally made 200 versts in the 24 hours. This for summer travelling is good--so good, in fact, that we hardly wished to do better, as it had now become very hot, and the dust of the way rendered the journey very fatiguing.
We were still passing through an undulating country, with delightful weather; on either side of the way grass, and in it grew a large yellow flower, similar in form to our common white garden lily. On passing the frontier from the Yeneseisk to the Irkutsk governments, it soon became apparent that our new roads were not so good as those we had left behind. We crossed many rivers, on the banks of one of which we drove through an extraordinary swarm of white butterflies. The shrubs in the neighbourhood were evidently eaten bare by their larvæ, the imagines, or perfect insects, being assembled in troops on the ground. We were now drawing near a district famous for a small kind of mosquito, the bite of which is very virulent, and is so dreaded by the people that the men working at the roadside protect themselves about the head with horsehair veils. Another place in Siberia famous for these insects is the Barabinsky steppe, where horses persecuted by them sometimes break loose, and do so to certain death. We, however, were not incommoded by them.
On the 1st of July the weather was hotter than we had hitherto experienced it, and very oppressive, though at night it became chilly. The greatest heat registered in the province of Irkutsk in 1877 was during the month of August, when it rose to 90·3, the greatest cold registered being in January, and descending to 40·2 below zero.
On the second day after leaving Kansk we were somewhat hindered by a superabundance of fellow-travellers, with whom it was very pleasant to chat over a cup of tea in the post-house, though matters were not quite so smooth when it was discovered that less than the required number of horses were forthcoming, and the question arose as to who should be first served. At one station we had to stay five hours, yet it is only fair to add that, thanks to our excellent recommendations, this was the longest delay of the kind that fell to our lot. Travellers are sometimes obliged to wait a whole day.
On the evening of the same day, at dusk, we reached Nijni Udinsk, and, as there was a small prison in the place, I was anxious to give a few books to the Ispravnik, and pass on without stopping; the latter, however, was away, so we went to his assistant. After knocking pretty lustily at his door, a servant appeared, who informed us that his master was asleep; and to awaken a man out of sleep is in Russia no venial sin. An Anglo-Russian friend informs me that she has frequently been told, on asking for a servant, that he was asleep, and could not be waked, because a sleeping man’s soul is before his God! We told this servant, however, that we had a letter from Petersburg; and before we left the town a messenger came to the post-house, giving me the particulars I desired, and took back a sufficiency of books for the 98 prisoners under detention.
We then started off about midnight, and on the afternoon of the following day reached a station called Telma, which in previous years has been famous as possessing a factory in which cloth, paper, glass, and soap were made, besides which they produced rough linen woven from Yeneseisk hemp, and dark unbleached cloth, spun from the wool of the Buriat sheep. The peasants generally make a rough cloth of this last material. Manufactures do not flourish in Siberia, as the raw material is grown at enormous distances from the establishments, and, when manufactured, must often be taken enormous distances to be sold; so it is found cheaper to buy the goods imported from other countries. A suit of tweed clothes costs, I heard, £6 at Krasnoiarsk, and on the Amur I met with a gentleman ordering his clothes from Petersburg, and having them sent by post to Blagovestchensk, a distance of 5,000 miles. The factory at Telma is still standing, and is not absolutely idle, but I gathered that it is not in a flourishing condition.[12]
We were now only about 50 versts from Irkutsk, which, under ordinary circumstances, we ought to have reached late the same night. Another project had, however, entered into my mind. About 70 versts north of Irkutsk is the largest prison in Eastern Siberia, called the Alexandreffsky Central Prison, the normal way of visiting which would have been for us to proceed to Irkutsk, present our letters, and so drive out and return, making a journey of 90 miles. Hearing at Telma that we could reach the place from thence in two hours by going across country, spend two hours inspecting the prison, and another two hours in returning to Telma, I calculated we should get back to the main road about midnight, and so reach Irkutsk on Saturday afternoon, and be ready for a quiet Sunday. The first difficulty in the way was that the law permitted no post-horses to be employed off the high-roads; but, thanks to the obliging post-master at Telma, this obstacle was overcome by his providing others, and I determined accordingly to try and save time by taking the prison on my way. How much was involved in that decision I little thought at the moment, but it proved afterwards highly important.
The first object of interest we passed was a large salt-factory, which, like that at Telma, had in years gone by been worked by convicts under the management of the State. This kind of labour is no longer enforced there, and free workmen are employed instead. These were the only salt-works we heard of in Siberia, but we were told of some about 40 miles from Orenburg, in the Urals. Leaving the factory behind, we struck off through the woods, and were enjoying the drive thoroughly when it occurred to our yemstchik that he had taken the wrong direction. Accordingly, he went a long way back, but had to retrace his steps. This caused considerable delay, as did the crossing of the river Angara. At length, through a forest of pine, we reached the summit of a hill, and were able to take in at a glance the surroundings of the large prison, which we reached at dusk. On the road we met some Polish ladies, wives of officials, to whom I explained in French our object in coming. The Director, however, was gone to Irkutsk, and his deputy said it was too late that night, but that we might inspect the prison as early as we chose in the morning. I therefore named the hour of seven, and went to the post-house to sleep.
The keepers of the post-house in this out-of-the-way place appeared somewhat perturbed at the arrival of visitors who wished to spend the night under their roof. However, in this matter Siberian post-masters have no choice, for they are bound to find accommodation for travellers, and may not charge them for it; their profits are the small sums paid for the use of the samovar, and for such refreshments as may be provided. Our quarters were better and more comfortable than usual, as also was our supper, and we lay down for a quiet night. Early in the morning the officer in charge of the prison came to say that when he had made us the promise on the previous evening he had intended to telegraph to Irkutsk for permission, but that there was a fire in Irkutsk, and telegraphic communication was stopped. He must therefore ask us to wait until the return of the chief, who was expected hourly. Accordingly, on his arrival we were conducted to the house of the Director; and though he had been travelling all night he received us at once, accorded us a hearty reception, and introduced us to his wife and friends. He was a Pole--by name Pavolo Schwekofsky--and his house was elegantly furnished, all his servants, however, being convicts. There was an appearance of comfort, not to say of luxury, about the place; and he had in a side room a turning-lathe and English tools. To this we called attention. “Ah, yes,” said he, “we could not do without the English.” And then, after drinking a glass of tea, we started to see the prison.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Owing to the formation of the hills about the town, Krasnoiarsk is more than ordinarily favoured with abundance of wind, which in winter blows the snow off the ground and stops sledging. One night during our stay it rained, and the streets were in a condition next morning such as I have never seen before or since. To speak of “puddles” would be a mockery, and “ponds” is barely the word to use; whilst to cross the street was to run imminent risk of losing one’s boots. Fortunately, however, there were droshkies at hand, and in these we waded through water nearly up to the horses’ knees.
[2] We saw beggars here and at Tomsk, but I do not recollect that they were numerous or particularly importunate. The Russians are, however, in this sense, very charitable. It is customary not only to give a few kopecks to such as these, but also to the old men posted at the entrances of the villages, who have charge of the gates placed across the roads to keep cattle from straying in or out.
[3] It was one of the perisylnie character, having 46 wards, and a hospital with sixteen rooms. There were 26 murderers in the place, and the number of persons committing this crime yearly in the district seemed to me, from the round numbers they gave, to be very high. The sentences of murderers, they said, varied from five or six to 20 years’ hard labour, after which time they were free as exiles. The general arrangements of the prison appeared to be fairly good. I thought it clean and well ordered; and we were struck, in the bake-house, with the enormous size of their loaves of bread, some of them weighing from 40 to 50 lbs.
[4] In the Tomsk hospital we had seen two persons mad from the effects of alcoholic drink; and I was sorry to hear it asserted afterwards, by a Russian medical man, that the proportion of those in Siberia who went mad from delirium tremens was greater than in England; and he further remarked of his countrymen, that though for a long time they indulge in no intoxicating liquor, yet when they once drink they do so furiously. A friend of mine had more than one man-servant who acted in this manner. They did not drink for months, and then all of a sudden did so without ceasing, and would be mad drunk for a week or ten days. At last, exhausted, they slept for a day or two, and woke up abashed, promising to do so no more; but, alas! it was only till the next time.
[5] It is the same, I suspect, as that mentioned by Mr. Hill in his “Travels in Siberia,” 30 years ago, the dimensions of which he gives as 131 feet long by 98 broad and 52 high. It is of two storeys, and in Mr. Hill’s time was furnished after the most elegant mode of Petersburg. The articles brought from that capital alone cost its owner from £6,000 to £7,000.
[6] Outside the smithy stood four stout posts, fixed in the ground at the four corners, as it were, of an oblong figure, which posts were connected at the top by cross-pieces. Into the midst of these the horse was led. Girths were then put under him by which he could be all but lifted off the ground, suspended to the cross-beams. To prevent his kicking unadvisedly, two of his legs were bound with rope to the nearest of the posts; and thus rendered helpless, and standing on tiptoe with his remaining legs he was shod. They said that Siberian horses are too wild to allow of their being treated in English fashion, and it may be so, but the animals seemed to be equally averse to the other plan.
[7] The Governor was away, but the Vice-Governor informed us that there were six prisons in the province, for which we left him upwards of 200 New Testaments and Scripture portions, and about the same number of tracts, papers, and broad-sheets. We subsequently saw the Governor at Irkutsk, and I have since heard from him that these Scriptures, etc., have been distributed as I wished, as also a further quantity I left with him to be forwarded to the prisons and hospitals of the immense province of Yakutsk.
[8] Since this chapter was written, Krasnoiarsk has been almost entirely destroyed by fire.
[9] The statistics of crime in the okrug, in the year 1878, revealed that, of 182 criminals, not one was less than 17 years of age; 26 men and 5 women were between 17 and 21; but the greatest number of criminals--63 men and 20 women.--were of ages ranging from 21 to 33; after which the numbers of men became fewer as they grew older, but there was not a similar decrease in the number of older women. Below the ages of 45 and 70 there were more women criminals than men. It appeared, too, that there were 129 married criminals as against 53 unmarried. Again, 112 were of the Russian Church, 19 of other Christian denominations, 34 were Jews, and 17 of other non-Christian religions. Further, 157 were criminals for the first offence, 22 for the same offence once repeated, and 3 for the same offence twice repeated. This last fact compares favourably with our English criminal statistics, which show many who go in and out of prison a hundred times. I have spoken elsewhere of the long-period prisoners having sometimes to wait in durance for their trial. This may often be avoided by furnishing bail. In 1878 there were in Kansk 415 on bail as against 96 under detention. Of these, 88 were found innocent, 93 were dismissed as “not proven,” and 147 sent elsewhere for trial; whilst of those found guilty, 7 only were condemned to the mines, 26 to hard labour in prison, and the remaining 149 to a “house of detention.”
[10] A lady on the Obi told me that all were bound to confess and receive the Communion once a year. If any special reason required it, they might receive oftener, always confessing, however, beforehand, in a standing posture at the side of the priest, and then kneeling at the absolution. The priest said that 200 times in the year, at Kansk, children were participants in the sacred rite; and in connection with this remark he made a curious statement, to the effect that, there being few doctors in the district, it was common for mothers, when their babies were ill, to bring them to receive the Sacrament, under the impression that it did them physical as well as spiritual good. He said, too, that mothers thought it their duty to bring their children frequently to Communion till they were seven years of age, after which period they came with them once a year for confession, communion, and instruction.
[11] This compared favourably with the sales at the Bible Society’s depôt at Tomsk, which is the only one in Siberia, though I had hoped to be able to establish others at Tobolsk, Omsk, Krasnoiarsk, and especially Irkutsk. The depôt at Tomsk had been opened about three years, the annual sales having amounted to about 300 Bibles, 200 New Testaments, and 500 copies of the four Gospels in Sclavonic and Russian. They had also sold a few Hebrew Bibles and the Psalms, the latter chiefly in Sclavonic. The Protopope said he would gladly become a depositary for the Bible Society; and would purchase at once 50 copies from me of the New Testament, but Kansk had not been mentioned as one of the places at which a depôt was desired. Moreover, I had been instructed, in opening a depôt, to require the depositary to sign an agreement to abide by certain terms, after which I might take an order to the value of £30. But I did not gather that our friend wished altogether to turn merchant; and therefore I thought it better to let him have the 50 copies out of hand, rather than to put him into more complicated mercantile transactions with Petersburg.
[12] Manufacturing industry, properly speaking, has no real importance in Siberia, except in distilling from grain and potatoes the alcohol which is sold in numberless taverns. Reckoning factories and distilleries together, there were, in 1876, according to Réclus, 1,100 factories and 4,000 workmen, which produced manufactures to the value of £800,000.
Chapter XXI
THE ALEXANDREFFSKY CENTRAL PRISON.
Prison wards.--Punishment cells.--Communication with friends.--Nationalities of prisoners.--Their work.--Food.--Distribution of books.--Our reception.--Lunch.--Departure.--Runaway horses.--An accident.--Left alone.--Return to post-house.
We found the prison a huge building, which had been originally erected for a brandy distillery. Hence it was, and sometimes still is, called the Alexandreffsky zavod, or factory. It contained 57 rooms, in each of which, according to size, were placed from 25 to 100 prisoners. We went into several of the ordinary wards, and found them lofty, but overcrowded. Also, in some of the oblong rooms, the inclined platforms for sleeping occupied so much space that only a narrow passage was left for walking about between them. When we entered such wards, therefore, the order was given that the men should mount the opposite edges of the platforms, and thus we passed to the end of the room and back. Further on we came to some small cells, over the doors of which was written the word “Secret”; and here I thought we might perhaps see something horrible. But the thing that struck me as worst about them was their smallness; for I should judge they could not have measured more than 8 ft. by 6 ft., though they were probably more than 12 ft. high. These were “punishment” cells; but were far more endurable than cells known by that name in some of our English gaols, where the prisoner is sometimes below the level of the ground, and in a state of total darkness, with all sound shut out save the rumbling of carriage-wheels in the street. In the Alexandreffsky cells there was abundance of light; there was a Russian petchka, or stove, just outside the door, and it was not difficult to imagine that some prisoners might prefer solitude under such circumstances to the society of the motley crew packed into the larger wards.
There is a room in the building in which prisoners are allowed to see their friends, who may come on every maznik, or fête day, Sundays included, to converse for five minutes, and then make way for others. If a prisoner has friends, they may bring him food any day between 11 and 12 o’clock. So, too, a prisoner may write to friends when he pleases, and receive from them money up to a rouble a week.
The total number of prisoners in (and I suppose about) this place was stated as 1,589; and as they were gathered from all parts of the Russian empire, the walking through the wards was nothing short of an ethnographical study.
Besides the ordinary Slavs of Russia in Europe, there were Finns, Poles, Tatars of Kasan, Tatars of the Crimea, and Tatars of the Caucasus and Steppes. There were Bashkirs from the province of Orenburg, where they are breeders of cattle; and the pastoral Kirghese, who roam over the steppes north of Persia. Tatars were known by their shaved heads and skullcaps, and Buriats by their unmistakable Mongolian features. I counted half-a-dozen different nationalities in a single room.
One of the worst features in this huge prison I judged to be lack of work; for, as we went from room to room, we found convicts twirling their thumbs, and literally begging for employment. All of them, however, were under “hard-labour” sentences, some to the mines for twelve years, some to factory-work for eight and ten years, and others to zavod work for two and six years.
We were taken, at length, to see such of them as were occupied. We entered a good-sized room, in which there might have been 50 men making papers for cigarettes, of which they turned out 100,000 a week. Prisoners were glad to do this, as they earn a little money thereby. A man could manipulate 5,000 unfinished cases in a day; and three men working together very hard could earn 30 kopecks a day, but 20 kopecks was a fairer average. For a man, however, to earn 2½_d._ a day necessitated his sitting at work so closely as to make his chest ache. I am not clear whether the machinery and materials for making these cigarette-papers belonged to the prisoners, or to a merchant in Irkutsk who bought the papers. We visited a room or two filled with shoemakers, and gold-seekers’ top-boots were shown us of their work. These were for sale at 14 shillings the pair. Outside the prison a small company of men were seen returning from making bricks, which are manufactured for the Government, and not for ordinary sale. Each man makes on an average about 100 a day. Fifty men, they told us, turn out 5,000, between 6 and 11 in the morning and 2 and 6.30 in the afternoon, for which they get about 10_s._ There seemed, however, to be barely a tenth of the prisoners employed, at which we expressed astonishment. The authorities explained it by saying that they had no work to give them. This comparatively idle life of Siberian prisoners recalled what had been told me in Russia, that the Government now keep in European prisons many whom, but for the scarcity of suitable employment, they would send to Siberia; and I ought, perhaps, to add that a number of the convicts at Alexandreffsky were there, and had been there a long time, awaiting the decision of various committees who were considering how the Government could best dispose of them, so many of the Siberian mines having passed out of Imperial hands.
Whether our visit was too early in the day, or whether the prisoners were kept in their rooms for our inspection, I know not; but we saw none of them lounging in the yards, as in other places. The time allowed them for exercise is an hour a day. The number we saw wearing chains was comparatively small. If the convicts behave well, they are not usually kept in fetters, I heard, more than 18 months; and I certainly observed that, the further east I went, the fewer were the men in irons. We were next conducted to the kitchen, where was to be seen, in course of preparation for dinner, the uncooked meat, of which each man was said to have ½ lb. a day, including bone, and a daily allowance of 2¾ lbs. of bread. Near the prison is a garden, where some of the prisoners can work, and where they grow cucumbers, water-melons, and potatoes. A few acres of arable land, cultivated by convicts, were pointed out to us; and there was a hospital at a short distance, clean and airy, having 8 rooms, in which we found 73 patients, many of whom were suffering from scorbutus.
We now entered the office of the prison, and saw the books, in one of which were entered four categories of punishment, namely, that of mines, hard labour, factory employment, and no work, of which four the last seemed by far the most prevalent, and I think the worst; for not only had the poor fellows nothing to do, but they had nothing to read. To remedy this was, of course, the chief object of our visit; and the director readily entered into my plans concerning the books. The men had been asking for something to read, he said, only a day or two previously. We were glad, therefore, to leave with him 160 New Testaments and other portions of Scripture in half-a-dozen languages, and about 500 tracts and periodicals, so that there might be at least a New Testament placed in every room.
We were now anxious to depart, but this was not so easy; for by this time the officials had begun to realize that we had not come as spies or intruders, but that we had really a benevolent object in view, though they asked sundry questions before they could grasp our motives. What could be our object in coming such a long distance to visit Siberian prisons, and why should I take notes of what we saw? I said something about the luxury of doing good to the poor and unfortunate; and pointed out that, if I did not make notes of what was said, I should forget. “Besides which,” I added, “perchance I may some day write about what I have seen.” “Oh! then you are travelling for literary purposes, that you may bring out a book?” “No,” said I; “but for all that I may perhaps write of my travels”; after which there were given me several good-sized and well-executed photographs of the prison and its surroundings, with the remark, “Who knows? the English do such extraordinary things, we may, perhaps, see some day an engraving from these photographs in the English papers.” But, whatever the motive which had brought us, they said it was very rare for them to receive such a visit, and they were highly gratified at our coming.
The director begged us to favour his wife by staying to dinner; and when for want of time I declined, all sorts of reasonable and unreasonable inducements were urged why I should do so. I remained firm, and we were then invited at least to partake of light refreshment at the house of the secretary of the prison. We there found ourselves in the midst of a family of Poles, with some good-looking daughters. The eldest was dressed in Mala-Russiá, or “Little Russian” costume, consisting of a morning dress of washing material, trimmed with embroidery of variegated colours, and with Russian lace. I admired this, and inquired where such embroidery could be purchased. The mother gave me a small piece as a specimen, and also presented me with a portrait of her daughter photographed in the same costume.
The photograph was taken by Malmberg of Irkutsk, and I mention it because it has won the unqualified admiration of two eminent London photographers, who pronounce that, both technically and artistically, no better could be seen in any part of the world. It is particularly choice, and, as an operator would say, “well built up.” The light is good, and the background well arranged; and as a piece of artistic workmanship it speaks well for the progress of art in Siberia that a photograph from Irkutsk should bear comparison with the best the world can produce.
After this quasi-lunch, and the exchange of sundry little souvenirs, we departed, hoping to regain the high road at Telma in about a couple of hours. We had reached the top of the hill, and begun the descent through the pine-forest; and the horses were going with a run, when one of the reins broke, and the right-wheeler began suddenly to run too wide from the centre horse. Before the yemstchik could stop his team, we came to a pine-tree at the side of the road, which the outer horse allowed to come between him and his fellow. We were going at a furious pace, and the wonder is that the whole concern, including ourselves, was not dashed to pieces. As it was, in rushing by I thought I saw the horse’s head strike the tree, with a force that I expected must have killed it. We ran some distance before the remaining horses could be stopped, and then the yemstchik went back to find, as we feared, another horse dead in our service. To our surprise, however, the creature had run away. The force with which the tarantass was going had broken the remaining rein, had snapped the traces, and so allowed us to escape, by a few inches at most, a terrible accident.
We had first to search for the missing horse, now out of sight; for which purpose the yemstchik mounted one of our remaining steeds, and, subsequently, my interpreter the other, I being left alone. Presently a rough-looking man appeared coming along the road, with an extraordinary wallet slung at his side. He was curiously ornamented with a profusion of brass buttons and decorations, some of which would have served for the dress of a Tunguse shaman. He turned out to be a horse-doctor, and not a robber, though he naïvely said that when he saw us at first he thought we were highwaymen, until the sight of the tarantass reassured him.
At length, after having been left about five hours, the yemstchik and my companion came back, but without the truant horse; so we determined to proceed with the two that remained. We accused our yemstchik of having been drinking, but he denied it. As he went on, however, he grew inconsolable at his loss of the horse, and fairly bellowed, saying that he feared he should be turned out of his place and be sent to prison. He came round gradually, too, to confess that, of the shilling I had given him for fodder, he had spent twopence in drink; and then to the interpreter, who sat on the box to drive, or see that we met with no accident, he expressed the hope that the barin, or gentleman, would “forgive him for being a little drunk.”
And so it came to pass that by nightfall we got back to Telma, and found our friendly post-master about to send in search of us, as he was alarmed at our absence of 30 instead of 6 hours. After a good meal we left at midnight for Irkutsk, which under ordinary circumstances we ought to have reached early on the following morning. At one of the stations, however, there were no horses, and we had to wait four hours, which afterwards proved a mercy, though at the time I am afraid I chafed at the delay; so that we did not come in view of the city till 10 a.m.
Chapter XXII
A CITY ON FIRE.
Approach to Irkutsk.--The city entered.--Remains of a fire.--A second fire.--Our flight.--Crossing of the Angara.--A refuge.--Inhabitants fleeing.--Salvage.--Firemen’s efforts.--Spread of the catastrophe.--Return to lodging.--A chapel saved.--Spectacle of fire at night.--Reflections.
What a vivid recollection I have of the lovely morning of that 7th of July! The sun was bright and warm, but the air was not yet hot. The road lay near the cold and swiftly-flowing Angara, and the plains over which we passed were stocked with cattle. Before us lay Irkutsk. This city, or perhaps Kiakhta, I had thought originally to make the eastward limit of our travels. Many friends had prophesied that we should never get there. Some said that I was undertaking more than I could carry out, and others that I should not be permitted by the Russians to go so far. A subtle feeling of satisfaction, therefore, stole over us as we posted along, and saw how soon these prophecies were to be falsified. The town, built on a tongue of land, formed by the confluence of two rivers, with its dozen churches, domes, and spires pointing to heaven, looked extremely pretty; and on the hills around, handsome villas, nestling among the trees, added not a little to the picturesqueness of the scene. The prospect before us, therefore, the retrospect of what we had done, the pleasant morning, and the repose to which we were looking forward, all combined to raise our spirits, and cause us to hasten onward. Alas! we little knew how speedily the face of things would change.
At the ferry was collected a large number of common vehicles, before which, however, our post-horses took precedence. We speedily crossed, and drove through a triumphal arch, erected at the time of the annexation of the Amur, and situated at the entrance of the town. We did not proceed far before we saw where fire had destroyed two blocks of buildings, the embers of which were still smoking. But it was only similar to what we had seen at Perm and Tagil, so that we were not greatly surprised. Worse was to come. We drove to Decocq’s hotel, and took apartments, paid and dismissed the yemstchiks, moved our belongings from the larger of the tarantasses, and arranged them in our rooms--or, rather, we were doing so, when the alarm was given that another fire had broken out. I clambered to the roof of the stables, and there, plainly enough, were flames mounting upwards, not a dozen houses off, and in the same street, though on the other side of the way.
The waiter said he thought the fire would not come towards the hotel, as the wind blew from the opposite direction; but I was disinclined to wait and see, and so we bundled our things back into the tarantass, and told the yemstchiks, who fortunately had not left the yard, to put to their horses, and in a few minutes we were out in the street, witnesses of a sight that is not easy to describe. Men were running from all directions, not with the idle curiosity of a London crowd at a fire, but with the blanched faces and fear-stricken countenances of those who knew that the devastation might reach to them. They looked terribly in earnest; women screamed and children cried, and it was hard for me in the street to get an answer to any ordinary question.
Meanwhile the yemstchiks asked, Where should they go? I tried to discover where some of the persons to whom I had introductions lived, but people were too excited to tell me; and at last my companion suggested that we should go out of the town across the river. We soon put nearly a mile between us and the flames, and reached the bank of the Angara, where was a swinging ferry. The ferry was all but loaded, and would not take more than one of our two tarantasses. I therefore went with the first, leaving the interpreter to follow. On landing, the yemstchik drove along a bridge, at the end of which he motioned to me as to whether he should turn to the left or the right. To me it was just the same, but I pointed to the left; and that turning proved to be of not a little importance. I could say nothing to the yemstchik, and had therefore to wait till the ferry returned, and then crossed again, which occupied the greater part of an hour.
Meanwhile the increased smoke in the distance showed that the fire was spreading, and the inhabitants of the small suburb called Glasgova, to which I had come, were looking on in front of their houses. Among the people I noticed a well-dressed person, whom I addressed, asking if she spoke English or French. She at once inquired who I was and what I wanted. I replied that I was an English clergyman travelling, that I had just arrived in Irkutsk, had run away from the fire, and was seeking a lodging. She answered that there were no lodgings to be had in any of the few houses on that side of the river; “but,” said she, “pray come into my little house, where you are welcome to remain at least during the day.” I was only too glad to do so; and, seeing that there was a small yard adjoining, I asked permission to put therein our two vehicles, in which we might sleep until some better place could be found. And thus we were a second time landed at Irkutsk, poorly enough, perhaps the reader may think, but in a far better condition, as will presently be seen, than before nightfall were many thousands of the inhabitants.
We soon found that our hostess was of good family, and an exile, though not a political, but a criminal one. On arriving at Irkutsk, the Governor-General had shown her kindness in allowing her to remain in the city, where she partly supported herself by giving lessons, and was living for the summer in this quasi country-house with a young man whom she called her brother, her little girl she had brought from Russia, and a small servant whom she spoke of as “ma petite femme de chambre.” There was one tolerably spacious dwelling-room in the house, and in this were sundry tokens of refinement brought from a better home. On the wall hung a photograph of herself, as a bride leaning on the arm of her husband in officer’s uniform, whilst several other photographs and ornaments spoke also of a better past.
The occasion, however, was not suited to long conversation, for the conflagration in the town was increasing. Whilst dining, we bethought ourselves whether we could be of some service, and the outcome of our deliberations was that I offered to accompany Madame to her friends residing in the town, to see if we could be of use, whilst my interpreter stayed with the tarantasses and the little girl to guard the premises.
Madame and I, therefore, set out, accompanied by her maid. At the ferry we met a crowd of persons fleeing from the city, and carrying with them what was most valuable or most dear--an old woman tottering under a heavy load of valuable furs piled on her head; a poor half-blind nun, hugging an ikon, evidently the most precious of her possessions; a delicate young lady in tears, with her kitten in her arms; and boys tugging along that first requisite of a Russian home, the brazen samovar. Terror was written on all countenances. We pushed on to the principal street, and tried to hire a droshky, but it was in vain to call--they were engaged in removing valuables from burning houses, as were the best vehicles and carriages the town possessed. Even costly sleighs, laden with such things as could be saved from the flames, were dragged over the stones and grit in the streets.
Before long we came to the wide street in which were situated the best shops and warehouses, and where the fire was raging on either side and spreading. Those who were wise were bringing out their furniture, their account-books, and their treasures as fast as possible, and depositing them in the road and on vehicles, to be carried away. A curious medley these articles presented. Here were costly pier-glasses, glass chandeliers, and pictures such as one would hardly have expected to see in Siberia at all; whilst a little further on, perchance, were goods from a grocer’s or provision merchant’s shop, and all sorts of delicacies--such as sweets and tins of preserved fruit, to which they who would helped themselves; and working-men were seen tearing open the tins to taste, for the first time in their lives, slices of West India pine-apples or luscious peaches and apricots. Other prominent articles of salvage were huge family bottles of rye-brandy, some of which people hugged in their arms, as if for their life, whilst other bottles were standing about, or being drunk by those who carried them. The effects of this last proceeding soon became apparent in the grotesque and foolish antics of men in the incipient stage of drunkenness.
It was curious to watch the conduct of some of the tradesmen, who seemed to hope against hope, and kept their shops locked, as if to shut out thieves, and in the hope that the fire would not reach their premises. I noticed one man, a grocer, whose doors were barred till the flames had come within two houses of his own; and then, throwing open the entrance, he called in the crowd to carry out his wares. They entered, and brought out loaves of sugar and similar goods, until one man carried out a glass-case full of bon-bons, at which there was a general onset in the street, every one filling his pockets amid roars of laughter. With this laughter, however, was mingled the crying of women, who wrung their hands as they emptied their houses, and saw the destroying flames only too surely approaching their homes.
In the street were all sorts of people--soldiers, officers, Cossacks, civilians, tradesmen, gentlemen, women and children, rich and poor, young and old--but not gathered in dense crowds; some were making themselves useful to their neighbours, and a few were looking idly on. At every door was placed a jug of clean water for those to drink who were thirsty, and it would have been well if nothing stronger had been taken. The fire brigade arrangements seemed to me in great confusion. There were some English engines in the town,--one of them, of a brilliant red, bore the well-known name of “Merryweather and Sons,”--but the Siberians had not practised their engines in the time of prosperity, and the consequence was that the pipes had become dry and useless, and would not serve them in the day of adversity. The arrangements, too, for bringing water were of the clumsiest description. A river was flowing on either side of the city, but the firemen had no means of conducting the water by hose, but carried it in large barrels on wheels.
Now and then one saw a hand-machine in use, about the size of a garden engine, or a jet such as London tradesmen use to clean their pavements and their windows. Moreover, no one took command. I noticed in one case, as the flames approached the corner of a street, it evidently occurred to some that, if the house at the opposite corner could be pulled down, the fire might stop there for want of anything further to burn. They therefore got to the top of the house, and, with crowbars, unloosed the beams and threw them below; but, before they had gone on long, they changed their minds, and seemed oblivious of the fact that the fire would burn the beams equally well on the ground as when standing in a pile.
It must be confessed, however, that the fire had everything in its favour. Nearly all the houses were of wood--so completely so, that, after the calamity, there was often nothing to mark the spot where a house had stood save the brickwork of the stove in the centre. There was a fresh breeze blowing too, and though the houses were in many cases detached, yet it frequently happened that the intervening spaces were stacked with piles of firewood, which helped to spread the conflagration.
A wooden house burning is of course a spectacle much grander than that of flames coming through the windows of a brick structure, and the heat much more intense. At Irkutsk it was sufficient to set fire to a building on the opposite side of the street, without the contact of sparks. In one case--that of a handsome shop--I noticed that the first things that caught were the outside sunblinds, which were so scorched that they at last ignited, and then set fire to the window-frames, and so to the whole building.
It soon became apparent that Madame could not reach her friends, who lived on the other side of the city, and therefore we made our way back towards the ferry, calling here and there and offering help. One friend asked us to take away her little daughter, which we did, and her husband’s revolver, which I carried, and a bottle of brandy--put into the arms of the femme-de-chambre. Thus laden, we walked towards the river, whilst on all hands men and women were pressing into their service every available worker for the removal of their goods. A religious procession likewise was formed by priests and people with banners, headed by an ikon, in the hope that the fire would be stayed. Had such taken place, the ikon would no doubt have acquired the reputation of having the power, in common with many others, of working miracles. As it was, there was a small chapel or oratory in the centre of the town that escaped the flames, though the houses on either side were burned. I heard this spoken of as something very wonderful, if not miraculous, and I am under the impression that it was so telegraphed to Petersburg; but, on looking at the place after the fire, the preservation of the little sanctuary seemed easily accounted for, by the fact not only that it was itself built of brick, and left no part exposed that could well take fire, but that the houses on either side happened also to be of brick, so that they did not, in burning, give off the same heat they would have done had they been of wood. One rejoiced, of course, that the building was saved; but I could not help suspecting that, half a century hence, the chapel will be pointed out as having been preserved by a miracle from the great fire of 1879.
It was evening before we reached our temporary lodging, and as the day closed the workers grew tired. Many were drunk, and others gave up in despair. The impression seemed to gain ground that nothing could be done, but that the devouring element must be left to burn itself out. Hope therefore fled, and the flames continued to spread till the darkness showed a line of fire and smoke that was estimated at not less than a mile and a half in length. It seemed as if nothing would escape. Now one large building caught, and then another, the churches not excepted. To add to the vividness of the scene, an alarm of church bells would suddenly clang out, to intimate that help was needed in the vicinity. Perhaps shortly afterwards the flames would be seen playing up the steeple, and fancifully peeping out of the apertures and windows; then reaching the top, and presenting the strange spectacle of a tower on fire, with the flames visible only at the top, middle, and bottom. At last the whole would fall with a crash, and the sky be lit up with sparks and a lurid glare such as cannot be forgotten.
Meanwhile the inhabitants continued to flee by thousands--the swinging ferry near us crossed and recrossed incessantly, bringing each time its sorrowful load, either bearing away their valuables, or going back to fetch others. Many of the people brought such of their goods as they could save to the banks and islands of the two rivers, and there took up their abode for the night in a condition compared with which ours was comfortable.
Towards midnight the town presented a marvellous spectacle. I have already spoken of the enormous length of the line of fire when looked at laterally; but, as the darkness deepened, I walked down to a point on the bank from which could be seen the apex of the triangle, in the form of which the town was built, and where appeared a mass of flames estimated as covering an area of not less than half a square mile.
We were supposed to sleep that night in the tarantass, but I rose continually to watch the progress of the fire, which towards morning abated, but only because it had burnt all that came in its way. About eleven o’clock the last houses standing on the opposite bank caught fire, and thus, in about four-and-twenty hours, three-fourths of the town were consumed.[1]
As for myself, I had watched the fire with mingled feelings, for we had narrowly escaped. And then came the recollection of the previous delays which had contributed to our preservation--the delay in going to the Alexandreffsky prison, the runaway horse in the wood, and our subsequent impatient waiting on the road. All these played an important part in saving us, for, had we arrived ten minutes earlier, our affairs might have gone very differently. Had we reached the town on the previous day, we should, in all probability, have been at church when the fire broke out; and then it is very doubtful whether we could have saved our effects, such was the difficulty of getting assistance. Moreover, the hotel was burnt within a very short time of our leaving it, so that, when looking back upon the chain of mercies by which we had been saved, I could not feel otherwise than deeply thankful.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The numbers of the buildings destroyed were, of stone more than 100, and of wood about 3,500, including 6 churches, 2 synagogues, and 2 Lutheran and Roman chapels, besides 5 bazaars, the custom-house, and the meat market. The destruction of property was estimated at £3,000,000 sterling; and since the town contained about 33,800 inhabitants, upwards of 20,000 of them probably must have been rendered houseless and homeless. From calculations made three months afterwards, it appeared that 8,000 of the inhabitants were in good circumstances; 2,000 were in the military, and 1,000 in Government employ; 6,000 were in reduced circumstances, to whom bread and corn were sold at a very low price. There were 2,500 government employés similarly straitened by the catastrophe, leaving about 14,000 to earn their bread as best they could.
Chapter XXIII
IRKUTSK.
Province of Irkutsk.--The capital.--Its markets.--Telegraph officers.--Visit to the Governor.--Ruins of the city.--Attempt to establish a Bible depôt.--Supposed incendiarism.--Benevolent arrangements of authorities.--Wife-beating.--Servility of Russian peasants.--Visit to a rich merchant.--Ecclesiastical affairs.--Visit to the acting Governor-General.--The prisons.--A prisoner’s view of them.--Prison committee.--Distribution of books.--Visit to inspector of schools.--Change of route.
The city of Irkutsk is the capital of a government of the same name,[1] and was founded in 1680. Its population in 1879 was 33,000. About 4,000 gold-miners spend their winter and their money in the city, often mentioned as a cheerful place of rest for travellers coming from China, or proceeding eastward. It is 1,360 feet above the sea, and has a climate which even in winter is well spoken of, though, in the late autumn, and previous to the freezing of the Angara, the fogs from the river bring rheumatism and diseases of the throat and lungs. Little wind blows, storms are less frequent than at Petersburg or Moscow, and the snows are not superabundant. Whether in winter or summer, the panorama of Irkutsk and its surroundings is one of beauty. Of its 20 churches, several were planned and constructed by two Swedish engineer officers captured at Pultava, and sent into exile by the great Peter.
The markets of Irkutsk are well supplied. Fish and game are plentiful. Beef is abundant and good, and costs about 2_d._ a pound. Pork, veal, and mutton are also cheap, especially in winter, when everything that can be frozen succumbs to the frost. Frozen chickens, partridges, and other game are often thrown together in heaps like bricks or fire-wood. Butchers’ meat defies the knife, and some of the salesmen place their animals in fantastic positions before freezing them. Frozen fish are piled in stacks, and milk is offered for sale in cakes or bricks. A stick or string is generally congealed into a corner of the mass to facilitate carrying, so that a wayfarer can swing a quart of milk at his side, or wrap it in his handkerchief at discretion. Whilst the products of the country are thus cheap, it should be observed that everything brought from beyond the Urals is expensive on account of the long land carriage. Champagne, for example, costs 12_s._ or 14_s._ a bottle, and porter and ale 7_s._ 6_d._; the lowest price of sugar is 8_d._ a pound, while sometimes it costs 1_s._; and as much as 2_s._ 6_d._ may occasionally be given for a lemon.
Much of this, however, I had to learn by report or reading; for, at the time of our visit, the Sunday’s fire had upset everything, and it became a serious question on Monday morning as to what we should do. Many of the telegraph clerks in Siberia are Danes, and speak several languages. We found that we had one of them, Mr. Larsen, for a near neighbour; for the telegraph office had been burnt, and he had come to our side of the river to take shelter in the next house, where, having no electric battery, he had tapped the Verchne Udinsk wire, and was trying in this way, though without success, to communicate intelligence. He had had nothing to eat for 24 hours, and possessed only the clothes in which he stood; so it was quite a charity to take him a glass of tea to his temporary office in the open air, after which he dined with us. Mr. Larsen, to whom we had an introduction, had been a telegraphist in London, and spoke English fluently, so that we were able to discuss our prospects to advantage. It was of prime importance for us that we should see the Governor of the province and the Governor-General of Eastern Siberia as quickly as possible, for it was not hard to perceive that what provisions had escaped the fire would be sold at famine prices; lawlessness, it was rumoured, might get the upper hand; and it seemed better that we should leave the place without much delay. Our adviser feared, however, and reasonably so, that we should be able to get no attention from the higher officials in the present state of excitement, seeing the embers of the city were still smoking, and the authorities would naturally have more important business than ours to attend to. Mr. Larsen, however, kindly offered to accompany me over the river to see if anything could be done. Accordingly we crossed, and, walking along the broad road by the side of the Angara, the ashes of the fire scorched our faces.
We now saw something of the condition of the people who had fled to the bank of the river on the previous day, with such effects as they could save. Here were gentlefolks “camped out” under chests of drawers, tables, and boxes, arranged in the best manner possible in the open air--sheets being used for walls, and curtains for coverings. Ikons from churches were lying about; likewise tables, heaped with philosophical instruments from the high school; and carts filled with movables. The instruments from the telegraph station were standing by a post, to which paper streamers were fastened to intimate that this was the temporary telegraph office. The people’s demeanour, however, was in strange contrast with their pitiable condition; for many, having saved their samovars, were drinking afternoon tea, and on all sides were joking and laughing at their comical situation.
We found many of his friends among those beside the river, and each began good-humouredly to ask what the other lost in the fire, and what had been saved. Nobody seemed inclined to be at all dull over the matter, and the same thing was apparent with the Deputy-Governor Ismailoff, upon whom we called. “What have you lost?” said the General to my companion. He lightly threw open his coat, and intimated that that was all he had saved. At this the General laughed heartily, and said that he was not so well off, for that the very shirt on his back was a borrowed one! Yet the Governor had lost in the fire a brand-new house, upon which he had spent many thousands of roubles.
Contrary to our expectation, it was arranged for us to see the acting Governor-General next morning, and meanwhile we had time to look at the ruins of the city. People had taken refuge with their effects in the large squares, as well as on the banks and islands of the river. Many had fled into the neighbouring villages. The suburbs had escaped the fire, as well as many of the houses standing in spacious grounds. A few of the churches also were untouched. The large hospital was safe, likewise the usine for smelting gold, and the Governor-General’s house, but many of the public buildings had perished; amongst these the museum, in which I expected to find a good ethnographical collection. I should judge about three-fourths of the city were destroyed, and that the best part of the town; and so complete was the wreck that the isvostchiks with their droshkies hardly knew their way about the blackened streets.
We met a few of the higher class of exiles living free in Irkutsk, and, on asking them what they would do, received for reply, “We do not know. We have been earning something by teaching, but now our patrons will leave us. All sorts of provisions will be frightfully dear, and yet we dare not leave. So what is to be done?” The same doubts as to the future pressed heavily upon those tradesmen whose shops were not burnt.[2]
Of course there were various rumours afloat during the excitement of the previous day--one, that the devastation was caused by a wilful act. Similar rumours were afloat at Perm and Tagil, and at Irkutsk more than twenty arrests were reported. But, upon asking the Governor, it proved to be nonsense; for only two men had been arrested, and it was very doubtful whether even they were guilty. The only origin I heard given was that a hay-loft ignited, from which the flames spread.[3]
In Siberian towns the police are represented by the gendarmerie; and in other places are police-masters with their employés. There are, strictly speaking, no policemen, but Cossacks are usually employed in their stead; and at the end of their short service are allowed to go home. They are, however, anything but efficient constables, and I was told that at Irkutsk the authorities do not employ them. To protect whatever might be of value among the ruins, and to keep order after the fire, troops were marched into the city by day, and patrolled the place at night.
Great credit was due to the officials for the prompt manner in which they attempted the relief of distress. The fire was scarcely extinguished before a committee was formed, and some of the merchants laid down handsome sums. Proclamations were posted about the place, saying that officers could be furnished with dinners at the rate of 30 kopecks a plate, that bread might be bought for 2 kopecks--that is, a halfpenny--a pound; and that for the first week the poor might have bread for nothing; further, that all persons burnt out might, on application, receive the sum of 30 kopecks. No serious outbreak of disorder occurred during our stay, though a good deal of drunkenness was visible. With two inebriates we were brought palpably into contact. In the yard we occupied was a small kitchen-house, where lived a woman cook, her husband, and some children. The husband had been to the fire, had been drinking, and came home accompanied by a drunken associate. The companion, referring to the cook, said, “As for that woman, she ought to be hanged”; whereupon her husband fell to beating mercilessly both her and her boy of about ten years old; and the child came to us crying, as if he were half killed. Whereupon we rushed to the rescue, and one of the party, seizing the drunken man, took him from his wife, and gave him a thrashing.[4]
When I got further east, I heard of a third and similar instance of wife-beating, related to me by a merchant in whose house I stayed. His servants were convicts, simply because he could get no others; but he said he was not usually curious to ask for what crimes they had been sent to Siberia. It happened, however, that he had a woman-cook who was particularly well-behaved, and an excellent servant; and he asked her one day why she had been exiled. She said it was for poisoning her husband; upon which my friend opened his eyes, and said,--
“Oh, then, perhaps you will murder me?”
“Oh, no, master; I should not murder you.”
“Yes, but if you would murder your husband, why not, some day, me?”
“Oh, no, master; you would not do as he did, for he beat me every day for two years.”
Thus it was not altogether a meaningless form at a Russian wedding, that anciently the bridegroom took to church a whip, and in one part of the ceremony lightly applied it to the bride’s back, in token that she was to be in subjection.
It should be remembered, however, that the brutal conduct just described belongs to a type well known in a certain part of England; the difference between the two being that the Russian bully beats his wife with a whip, while the English one kicks her to death. The Russian wives take very kindly to a moderate amount of such treatment, and those of the lower class do not murmur or complain, but consider the “master” has a right to chastise them; and when things do not go so far as this, they expect, when they do not please their husbands, to be slapped and corrected accordingly. In fact, the Russian wife among the lower classes does not take what we think her proper position in a house. The husband usually goes to market once a week, and buys all he wants, business of such importance not being entrusted to the wife, who therefore knows nothing even of the cost of her household articles. Among the higher classes, also, the master usually sends his chief servant to market, and pays for all that is consumed in the house.
There came out of this quarrel between man and wife another characteristic of the Russian peasantry, which perhaps is a remnant of serfdom, and betrays their want of manliness in the presence of their superiors. My merchant friend, just referred to, had a convict in the house whilst I was there, whom once before he had dismissed for drunkenness. The man came back entreating that he might be reinstated, but his master said, “No, I have warned you continually, and done everything I could to keep you sober, but in vain.” “Yes, sir,” said the man; “but then, sir, you should have given me a good thrashing.” So with the fighting husband at Irkutsk: after receiving his stripes he went away, but soon after came back, thanking the gentleman for his thrashing, and promising to behave better in future. In the days of serfdom, it was no uncommon thing for a gentleman to box the ears of his droshky driver; but this cannot now be done with impunity. My mercantile friend told me he was one day driving in Petersburg with a Russian gentleman, when the latter struck the isvostchik for doing something that displeased him; whereupon the man turned round and said, “No more of that, sir; those days are gone by, and if you strike me again I shall return it,”--a threat quite unbearable to a blagorodni, or “noble”; and he was about to go on as of old, when my friend said, “Look! you had better not; for if you are summoned, and I am called as a witness, I shall be bound to say that you began it”; whereupon he desisted.
We took an early opportunity after the fire to deliver up to General Khamenoff, its owner, the second tarantass we had borrowed at Tomsk, and in which my companion and I had driven and slept for a thousand miles. Our benefactor was in reality a rich merchant, and had given, if I mistake not, very handsome sums of money for educational purposes in Irkutsk. This patriotic action had gained him the distinction of “General.” His buildings had been saved, and we thus had an opportunity of seeing the house of one well-to-do merchant at Irkutsk.
The General was getting old, and appeared in a long dressing-gown, coming out of his beautiful garden, and seating us in a little secretarial chamber, which had about it sundry marks of foreign influence and taste. Before joining us, however, he bade adieu to a previous visitor, and called his footman to open the door. There was something inexpressibly droll about his manner of doing so, for he simply gave a prolonged grunt--ugh!!--and as the footman did not come at grunt number one, it was repeated, and the servant in passing received from his master a cuff at the back of the head, doing so with a grin and a duck of the noddle, as a schoolboy receives a blow from his mother’s palm, knowing that he shall not be hurt. The old gentleman then heard from us how we had escaped from the hotel, and how we were making a sleeping chamber of his tarantass, which he said we might continue to do until we left the town.
I was anxious to learn something of the state of ecclesiastical affairs in the province, and to inquire what the Russian Church was doing in her missions to the Buriats. The chief ecclesiastic of the province is one Benjamin, Archbishop of Irkutsk and Nertchinsk, under whom is a suffragan bishop, Meleti of Selenginsk. The Diocese has 347 churches and chapels, 5 monasteries, and one nunnery. One of the monasteries is near Lake Baikal, and here lives, if I mistake not, the Bishop of Selenginsk, who could have given information about the Buriats, but the monastery lay too far out of our way to allow of our visiting it. Nor were we successful with the Archbishop; for on going to the monastery, his official residence, which had narrowly escaped the fire, we found him gone to his country residence in the suburbs. “When will he return?” we asked. “God knows,” said our priest informant; thereby using an expression which I observed to be very common among all classes of Russians.[5]
On the Tuesday morning after the fire we were to be presented, as I have said, to the acting Governor-General of Eastern Siberia. The supreme Governor-General was Baron Friedrichs, to whom I had two private letters of introduction, besides my official documents; also we had made the acquaintance of his son when travelling on the Obi. The Baron, who was in ill-health, was at some mineral springs on the Mongolian frontier, and his place was filled at the time of our visit by M. Lochwitzky, the Governor of Yeneseisk, to whom we were presented by General Ismailoff. We met at the Governor-General’s house, the finest in the city, having been originally built and furnished, regardless of expense, by an enormously rich tea merchant. We found M. Lochwitzky the first of the Siberian Governors (except the Governor-General in the West) who could converse in French. He entered readily into my plans for the distribution of books, thanked me for those I had left at Krasnoiarsk for his province, and promised to do for me what was a great boon, namely, to send some books to the town of Yakutsk, to be distributed throughout that largest province of the country. We were introduced to a Colonel Solovief, whose brother was in London, as Secretary to the Grand Duchess of Edinburgh; and after an assurance from the Governor-General that he would do all he could to further our wishes, we started to see the prisons, under the conduct of the Procureur of the town.
We drove through the ruins of the fire, and then crossed, by a wooden bridge 300 yards long, the Uska-Kofka, by which one side of Irkutsk is bounded. This stream divides the town from the prison and the workshops, where a certain number of convicts are employed.[6] Speaking generally, the prison seemed to me to resemble others I had seen in Siberia, and to call for no special remark. Perhaps, however, I ought to add that before I left the town I had the opportunity of hearing about the establishment from a prisoner’s point of view. Thus I heard that, at six o’clock on the morning of our visit, the prisoners were told to have all in order because some Englishmen were expected, and that certain objectionable things were hidden away. I thought, however, that it did not speak much for my informant’s candour when, on pressing him to say what the objectionable things were, he did not tell me. Again, my informant tried to make it appear that the officers stole the prisoners’ food by giving them short quantity, though he said the quality of the food was good enough. The Procureur said the prisoners did not eat all the food allowed them; and from the quantity of pieces of bread which we so often saw lying about in Russian prisons, I should be disposed to think this true. This seems to be so common, that we were told at Tiumen the prisoners may sell what they do not eat; but at Irkutsk my informant said that they did not receive more than half their allowance, and that a quarter of a pound only of meat was given for 10 men--a quantity so ridiculously small, that one could not but think that here exaggeration must have overshot the mark. Moreover, my informant told me that what he said was not from personal experience, because he was not one of the peasant prisoners whose circumstances he professed to relate.[7]
I was told in the town that to take books to the Irkutsk prison was a work of supererogation; and I confess to a feeling of disappointment when, on asking to see the library, I was taken to a cupboard full of New Testaments and tracts, precisely the same as some of those I was distributing, but all kept so fresh and in such order that evidently no one had used them. The committee was reported to have spent as much as £30 on books for the prison, but the officials had evidently not made the books accessible to those for whom they were intended. Their excuse was that the prisoners did not ask for them; but no doubt the officials were afraid of their being torn, and that trouble would ensue, and so had kept them locked up. It reminded me of what my Finnish friend had written, that when she went to the prison, the officials said, “The books must be arranged in order, in case the inspector should come”; and thus the books were practically kept from the inmates. When the Governor asked me what I thought of the prison, I did not fail to point out the inconsistency of withholding the books; but of this he was ignorant, and he promised to look into the matter. I endeavoured also to make clear, in speech and by writing, that wherever my books or tracts went throughout the province, they were to be placed within reach at all times of the prisoners, and not to be put away in any of the libraries.
Thus we inspected the two prisons, and also saw a school built by the committee for prisoners’ children; in it were 42 scholars. We visited likewise a gentleman named Sokoloff, who was the deputy-inspector of schools for Eastern Siberia. There is also an inspector of schools for Western Siberia, who lives at Omsk. I was surprised to hear of the many schools and scholars in the sparsely-populated and, for scholastic purposes, exceedingly difficult country of Eastern Siberia.[8] Our object in calling upon the inspector was to ask him to distribute throughout the schools copies of my tracts and periodicals, and to that end I began by showing my credentials. But upon hearing my object, he said that was quite sufficient; and he needed to see no papers, but would willingly help. He bought, moreover, on his own account, 200 New Testaments for 40 roubles, to give as prizes to the young schoolmasters on leaving the institution, by which means the books would be scattered widely.[9]
We now considered our next step. My original idea, when leaving England, as already intimated, was to proceed to Irkutsk; and then, after running on to Kiakhta for the gratification of seeing a Chinese town, to return to Europe, and come home by the Caucasus and the Mediterranean. I had been warned before quitting London that I should see nothing of the severities of Siberian exile-life if I did not penetrate the region beyond Lake Baikal; and, travelling on the Obi, this statement was confirmed by a Russian officer in the prison service. I feared, however, I could not do this in a single summer, and that, if I went so far east, I should be unable to return before winter set in. It never occurred to me that there was any available way of reaching the Pacific from Irkutsk other than by crossing the Mongolian desert to China, and this I was not disposed to do.
But when I learned that there was a service of steamers on the Amur, this opened the way for other possibilities; and on June 21st, as we rolled away from Tomsk, there dawned upon my mind a thought, the conception of which seemed at once to promise the birth of great things. What, said I to myself, if I could go right across Asia and leave so many copies of Scripture as would suffice for putting at least a New Testament or a copy of the Gospels in every room of every prison, and in every ward of every hospital, throughout the whole of Siberia! As I look back upon it now as an accomplished fact, the matter seems ordinary enough; but when the thought came into my mind it looked like a consummation far beyond anything I had hoped to accomplish, and a result which, if it might be compassed, would be a cause of thankfulness for the rest of my life.
Accordingly I quietly nursed the idea till we reached Irkutsk, thus far having given a sufficiency of books answerable to the plan for all the provinces behind me; and there yet remained three before me. Several boxes of books were unopened, but these could not be sent forward, because, in the first place, there was no carrier, or, if there were, the fire had confounded all order; and even if some one could be persuaded to take the books, it was very doubtful if they would reach the hands of the prisoners unless I went with them in person and showed my credentials.
I determined, therefore, to journey onward and do my best to carry out the scheme which had taken possession of my mind. But to do this it was necessary to have supplementary documents, for I had asked the Minister of the Interior for letters only as far as Kiakhta. M. Lochwitzky, however, most kindly helped in the matter, and gave me the letters I needed for my extended plans. We were then free to go forward again (which the reader may do at once, if he prefers, by missing the next two chapters); but something must first be said of the routes by which former travellers have proceeded eastwards.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Compared with some of the enormous provinces of Siberia, that of Irkutsk is comparatively small, with an area of 300,000 square miles only; that is, about the size of Sweden and Norway. The surface is mountainous, and through it flow two rivers of importance, namely, the Angara, issuing from Lake Baikal, and the Lena, which rises not far from the capital. The province is divided into five uyezds, and has a population of 380,000, of whom only 10 per cent. are dwellers in towns. Marriages 4,600, and 25,000 births are recorded in the province yearly.
[2] I was specially anxious to open a depôt for the Bible Society in Irkutsk, and to that end called upon a bookseller and printer named Sinitzun, of Harlampi Street, and invited him to become a depositary. He replied that he had the will to do so, but that he must first consult his partners; for it was doubted whether the city would be rebuilt, and whether persons having lost their premises would not, instead of re-erecting them, go and live elsewhere. I have heard, since my return, however, that the town is rising from its ashes even on a grander scale than it formerly possessed.
[3] The Russians have reason, however, for constant suspicion, for they have a revengeful way of “letting loose the red cock” upon a man, which means setting his house on fire; and this is only too common among the peasants of Siberia, as, in fact, generally in all Russia. Thus, of 758 fires which took place in Siberia in 1876, no less than 99, or more than one-eighth, were due to incendiaries, to say nothing of nearly 500 more of which the causes could not be traced. Further particulars relating to these 758 fires are, that 185 were registered as due to “carelessness,” and 10 to lightning, whilst the estimated loss of the whole 758 was reckoned at £82,162. With such a number of fires it is not difficult to understand the dread of destruction in which Siberians live, nor their practice of having a large chest in the house, in which they habitually keep their valuables, to be removed, if necessary, at a moment’s notice.
[4] This assault by the husband was, as far as I know, quite unprovoked on the part of his better half, and it serves as an illustration of the way in which a certain class of the Russians treat their wives. It also serves to confirm what is written of Akoulka’s husband in Dostoyeffsky’s “Buried Alive,” where two prisoners are talking in the night, and one relates: “I had got, somehow or other, in the way of beating her. Some days I would keep at it from morning till night. I did not know what to do with myself when I was not beating her. She used to sit crying, and I could not help feeling sorry for her, and so I beat her.” Subsequently he murdered her. After which relation, the other prisoner acquiesces, and says that “wives must be beaten to be of any service.”
[5] The chief ecclesiastical shrine of Irkutsk is a large church a little way out of the city. In it are the remains, gorgeously entombed, of St. Innokente, said to be preserved as fresh as when he died. This man is regarded as the apostle of Siberia. He was originally a missionary, who, in 1721, was sent to China; but the Chinese Government refusing him admission to their country, he settled six years afterwards at Irkutsk.
[6] There were 270 men in the prison, one room holding 21 murderers, another 28 thieves, a third 20 forgers, a fourth 28 who had been exchanging their names and punishments, and a fifth 39 who were “without passports,” and so on. In one room they were making match-boxes, for which they received for themselves a tenth of their earnings. Other prisoners were making furniture, of which the materials were supplied by the prison officers, and for which, of course, they recouped themselves.
[7] The citizen prisoners, he said, were allowed in money 17½ kopecks a day, which they could spend as they pleased, and with which they could buy a pound of meat (10 kopecks), and 2½ lbs. of bread (7½ kopecks). They have, however, in Irkutsk, a liberal prison committee, who help in the matter of food--the cabbage in the soup, for instance, being provided by them; and my informant, though grumbling about almost everything else, allowed that the dinners given to the sick, which cost 20 kopecks, and all the arrangements about the prison hospital, were exceedingly good. There were even books provided for the patients, but this was through the kindness of the doctor. My non-official informant also alleged that the prison officials took from the pay of the workmen, giving them far less than the value of their labour, and so unrighteously enriched themselves. His tone, however, was so exceedingly bitter, that had he not allowed that there was one good thing in connection with the prison, I should have discredited all he said, especially as he dealt so much in generals, and avoided particulars. As it was, I thought perhaps he might have spoken the truth in some respects. I heard subsequently, from another exile, that the Director of the prison received only £40 a year for salary, whilst from another I heard £120 or £150; and if either of these figures are true, it is not difficult to see that a dishonest official may be strongly tempted to take advantage (as the Russians say) “of his opportunities.” These “opportunities,” however, are not confined to matters of food. I heard of a prison director at Nijni Udinsk who had orders to send 30 prisoners to Nikolaefsk, which for certain reasons is a favourite place with the convicts; whereupon this director made his choice to fall upon those whose wives could pay him 25 roubles, or 50 shillings. This looks a large amount for a prisoner to pay, but my informant had in possession 50 roubles to be transferred for this purpose.
[8] Mr. Sokoloff had under his inspection, in 1878, 13 classical schools, 1 commercial, 1 industrial, 11 inferior, and 211 elementary schools, attended by 6,000 boys and 1,500 girls. These figures, moreover, were exclusive of the Amur district, and parts about the Sea of Okhotsk. There were also under his inspection two training institutions, one of them being the house at which we called--a new building for the training, at one time, of 80 village schoolmasters. Its furniture and fittings were admirable. It had an excellent museum, and a room for tutorial practice; and I was particularly struck with the number of models and apparatus for the teaching of natural science.
[9] Besides these sent to the inspector, we confided to M. Lochwitzky for the government of Yakutsk, and for Eastern Siberia generally, about 170 New Testaments and portions of Scripture, and upwards of 3,000 tracts and periodicals; and with General Ismailoff, for the province of Irkutsk, about the same number of Scriptures, but rather less of other papers. We also left with General Ismailoff 500 Finnish tracts and books for the German pastor, Ratcke; these last I have since heard from the pastor were specially acceptable, inasmuch as when he returned to Irkutsk he found all his books burnt. I have heard, too, since my return, from M. Lochwitzky, that those in his hands have been distributed according to my directions.
Chapter XXIV
THE LENA.
History of Russian invasion.--Former travellers to Okhotsk.--Cochrane, Erman, and Hill.--Down the Lena to Yakutsk.--Prevalence of goitre.--The Upper Lena and its tributaries.--The Lower Lena.--Discoveries of mammoths.--New Siberian islands.--Nordenskiöld’s passage.
When, at the beginning of the 17th century, the Cossack conquerors of Siberia had crossed the Yenesei, and had pushed on as far as Lake Baikal, they were met by the numerous and warlike tribe of the Buriats, who opposed the invaders with considerable force. Not waiting, therefore, for their entire subjection (which took 30 years to accomplish), the Cossacks turned northwards to the basin of the Lena, and descended the river more than half-way to the Arctic Sea, where, coming in 1632 to the principal town of the Yakutes, they built a fort and founded the city of Yakutsk. After this they crossed the Aldan mountains, and, seven years later, reached the Sea of Okhotsk. For two centuries this was the route followed by those who would cross Siberia from the Urals to the Pacific, or vice versâ. In the present day there are two other roads. All must go by the route we travelled from Tomsk to Irkutsk, but from thence the Pacific can be reached either by crossing the Mongolian desert to Peking, or by traversing the Buriat steppe, and so descending the Amur. The second of these routes is now the best, but not briefly to mention the old route would be to omit much interesting information concerning the Lena, with its native population and fossilized remains, as well as to miss the opportunity of hearing a little of some of the most daring and adventurous journeys of previous travellers.[1]
The most remarkable of these was an Englishman named John Dundas Cochrane, a captain in the Royal Navy, who, in 1820, proposed to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty that they should give their sanction and countenance to his undertaking alone a journey into the interior of Africa, with a view to ascertaining the course and determination of the river Niger. This they declined, whereupon he procured two years’ leave of absence, and resolved to attempt “a walking tour” round the globe, as nearly as could be done by land, crossing from Northern Asia to America at Behring’s Straits, his leading object being to trace the shores of the Polar Sea along America by land, as Captain Parry was at the time attempting it by sea. Accordingly he left London with his knapsack, crossed the Channel to Dieppe, and then set out. This gentleman was endowed with an unbounded reliance upon his own individual exertions, and his knowledge of man when unfettered by the frailties and misconduct of others. One man, he said, might go anywhere he chose, fearlessly and alone, and as safely trust himself in the hands of savages as among his own friends. His favourite dictum was that an individual might travel throughout the Russian empire, except in the civilized parts between the capitals, so long as his conduct was becoming, without necessaries failing him. He put his principle rather severely to the test, and it must be allowed that he did so with very general success, for he states that in travelling from Moscow to Irkutsk (4,000 miles by his route) he spent less than a guinea. From Irkutsk he descended the Lena to Yakutsk, from whence, accompanied by a single Cossack, he penetrated in a north-easterly direction almost to the shores of the Ice Sea at Nijni Kolimsk, where, having altered his plans, he turned back by a most difficult route to Okhotsk. From this place he sailed to Kamchatka, and married a native, whom he brought by sea back to Okhotsk, and then in winter crossed the Aldan mountains to Yakutsk, whence the happy pair proceeded to Irkutsk, and at length reached England, where Mrs. Cochrane, as I learn from the daughter of one who knew her, was carefully educated, and passed as a lady in good society. For enterprise and bravery this captain, I take it, easily bears off the palm from all Siberian travellers.[2]
The writer who has added most, perhaps, to our scientific knowledge of the valley of the Lena is M. Adolph Erman, who crossed Siberia in 1828, in conjunction, though not in company, with Professor Hansteen, the first professor at the Magnetic Observatory at Christiania, in Norway, and famous for his researches in terrestrial magnetism. They both travelled for the purpose of making magnetic and other observations; but, on arriving at Irkutsk, Professor Hansteen returned to Europe, whilst Erman continued down the Lena to Yakutsk, crossed to the Sea of Okhotsk, and so continued round the world.[3]
Later on, one more Englishman has reached the Pacific by way of the Lena, namely, Mr. S. S. Hill, who did so in 1848, and it is not unlikely that he may, for some time, be the last of the intrepid travellers who have accomplished this feat, since the Amur is now open to the Russians, and presents a far easier way of crossing the continent.
To follow the older route, the first portion had to be traversed by post vehicles from Irkutsk, a distance of 160 miles in a north-easterly direction. The road crosses the water-parting of the Lena basin at or near the station Khogotskaya, which is about 90 geographical miles from Irkutsk. The traveller journeys through a hilly country, where there is abundant pasture, and where the land is to some extent cultivated, to the village of Kachugskoe, situated on the banks of the Lena. Here various sorts of merchandise are embarked in large flat-bottomed boats, which are floated down the river. These goods are exchanged with the natives for furs, the boats at the end of the journey being broken up in districts where timber is scarce, and the furs brought back in smaller craft.[4]
The descent of the Upper Lena to Yakutsk by water was undertaken by Mr. Hill in spring, and by Captain Cochrane in autumn, but Mr. Erman accomplished it on the ice in winter, by a 20 days’ sledge journey of nearly 1,900 miles. As he passed along he observed, first in the village of Petrovsk, several of the women largely affected with goitre, and learned with surprise that this malady, which in Europe characterises the valleys of the Alps, is frequent on the Lena. As he proceeded he found goitre in men also, and asking an exile at Turutsk, who appeared the only healthy person in the place, how he had protected himself from goitre, was told that adults arriving from Europe were never attacked by the disease, but that the goitre was born with the children of the district, and grew up with them. Medical men in Switzerland say that goitre proceeds from deposits in chemical combination, washed down by mountain streams that supply the inhabitants of the neighbourhood with drinking water, and that it attacks children on account of their mucous membranes being very tender and easily distended. Mr. Erman inquired carefully, as he went on, respecting the prevalency of goitre, and having made barometrical and other observations along the way, he came at length to the conclusion that the disease was traceable, in part, to the formation and altitude of various places along the valley of the river, where the air, being confined, is, in summer, heated to an extraordinary degree, and loaded with moisture.
With regard to the stream of the Upper Lena, its head waters have their sources spread out for 200 geographical miles along the counter slopes of the hills that form the western bank of Lake Baikal, and the main stream rises within seven miles of the lake.
At Kachugskoe, about 60 geographical miles from the Baikal, and not less than 75 geographical miles in a straight line from its source, the Lena measures about the width of the Thames in London. The water, deep and clear, has in spring a very rapid current, though Captain Cochrane speaks of the rate lower down, in autumn, as only 1½ or 2 knots per hour. The next station after Kachugskoe is Vercholensk, a town of 1,000 inhabitants, the first of that size on the north-east of Irkutsk, and is the chief town of the uyezd. After flowing 500 miles further through a hilly country, with high banks always on one and sometimes on both sides, on which are 35 post-stations and more villages, the river passes Kirensk, which again is the chief town of an uyezd, and has a population of 800.[5] Here cultivation practically ceases, except for vegetables. At this point, too, the river receives on its right the Kirenga, which has run nearly as long a course as the Lena. The stream thus enlarged now flows on for 300 miles more to Vitimsk, where it is joined by its second great tributary, the Vitim, from the mountains east of Lake Baikal. Another stretch of 460 miles, through a country still hilly, but with villages less frequent, brings the traveller to Olekminsk, the capital of another uyezd, a town of 500 inhabitants; there the Lena receives from the south the Olekma, which rises near the Amur river. It then continues for 400 miles through a sparsely-populated district, till it reaches Yakutsk, where it is 4 miles wide in summer, and 2½ in winter, the river being usually frozen about the 1st October, and not free from ice till about May 25th.
Hitherto the course of the river has been to the north-east, but at Yakutsk the stream makes a bend and runs due north, receiving on its right, 100 miles below Yakutsk, one of its largest tributaries, the Aldan, which rises in the Stanovoi range bordering on the Sea of Okhotsk. Yakutsk is only 270 feet above the sea, and the current of the river henceforth is sluggish. About 50 miles further the Lena receives its largest tributary from the left, the Vilui, and then proceeds majestically through a flat country with an enormous body of water to the Arctic Ocean, into which it enters among a delta of islands formed of the débris brought down by the river.
In the region of the Lower Lena, and to the westward, have been found the remains of a huge rhinoceros, and an elephant larger than that now existing--the elephas primigenius, popularly called the mammoth. It is so named from the Russian mamont, or Tatar mamma (the earth), because the Yakutes believed that this animal worked its way in the earth like a mole; and a Chinese story represents the mamentova as a rat of the size of an elephant which always burrowed underground, and died on coming in contact with the outer air. The tusks of the mammoth are remarkable for exhibiting a double curve, first inwards, then outwards, and then inwards again; and Professor Ramsay gives it me as the opinion of several able naturalists that the so-called mammoth is of the same species as the Indian elephant, only much altered by the change of climatic conditions. The Samoyedes say that the mammoth still exists wandering upon the shores of the Frozen Ocean, and subsisting on dead bodies thrown up by the surf. As for the rhinoceros, they say it was a gigantic bird, and that the horns which the ivory-merchants purchase were its talons. Their legends tell of fearful combats between their ancestors and this enormous winged animal.
A trade in mammoth ivory has been carried on for hundreds of years between the tribes of Northern Asia and the Chinese; but it was a long time before European naturalists took a marked interest in the evidence of an extinct order of animals which these remains undeniably recorded. The Siberian mammoth agrees exactly with the specimens unearthed in various parts of England, especially at Ilford in the valley of the Thames, near London, and on the coast of Norfolk; but whereas on European soil there remain but fragments of the skeleton, there have been found in Siberia bones of the rhinoceros and mammoth covered with pieces of flesh and skin. These discoveries date back more than a century.[6]
In 1865 the captain of a Yenesei steamer learnt that some natives had discovered the preserved remains of a mammoth in latitude 67°, about 100 versts west of the river. Intelligence was sent to Petersburg, and Dr. Schmidt was commissioned to go and examine into the matter. Accordingly he proceeded down the Yenesei to Turukhansk, and thence to the landing-place nearest the mammoth deposit, hoping to obtain the animal’s stomach, and, from the character of the leaves within, infer the creature’s habitat, since it is known that the beast lived upon vegetable food, but of what exact character no one has yet determined. Unfortunately the stomach was wanting.
In examining, under the microscope, fragments of vegetable food picked out of the grooves of the molar teeth of the Siberian rhinoceros at Irkutsk, naturalists have recognised fibres of the pitch-pine, larch, birch, and willow, resembling those of trees of the same kind which still grow in Southern Siberia. This seems to confirm the opinion, expressed long ago, that the rhinoceros and other large pachyderms found in the alluvial soil of the north used to inhabit Middle Siberia, south of the extreme northern regions where their skeletons are now found; but Mr. Knox, who travelled for some distance with Schmidt on his return journey, says that the doctor estimated that the beast had been frozen many thousands of years, and that his natural dwelling-place was in the north, at a period when perhaps the Arctic regions were warmer than they now are. Covered with long hair, the animal could certainly resist an Arctic climate; but how on the tundras of the north could the animal have found the foliage of trees necessary for its subsistence? Must we conclude that formerly the country was wooded, or that the mammoth did not live where its skeletons are now found, but further south, whence its carcase has been carried northward by rivers, and frozen into the soil? These are questions debated among geologists, and still awaiting solution.
The fact, however, remains, that mammoth ivory is still an important branch of native commerce, and all travellers bear witness to the quantities of fossil bones found throughout the frozen regions of Siberia.[7]
Each year, in early summer, fishermen’s barques direct their course to the New Siberian group, to the “isles of bones”; and, during winter, caravans drawn by dogs take the same route, and return charged with tusks of the mammoth, each weighing from 150 lbs. to 200 lbs. The fossil ivory thus obtained is imported into China and Europe, and is used for the same purposes as the ordinary ivory of the elephant and hippopotamus.
We cannot leave the Lower Lena and the neighbouring shores of the Arctic Ocean without alluding to the wonderful sight those shores witnessed in 1878, for the first time in the history of the world. It was no less a sight than that of two steam vessels that had ploughed their way from Europe round Cape Cheliuskin. One of them was the Vega, in which was Professor Nordenskiöld, whose intention had been to anchor off the mouth of the Lena, but a favourable wind and an open sea offered so splendid an opportunity of continuing his voyage that he did not neglect it. He sailed away, therefore, on the 28th of August, direct for Fadievskoi, one of the New Siberian islands, where he intended to remain some days, and to examine scientifically the remains of mammoths, rhinoceroses, horses, aurochs, bisons, sheep, etc., with which these islands are said to be covered. The Vega made excellent progress, but though, on the 30th, Liakov Island was reached, the professor was unable to land, owing to the rotten ice which surrounded it, and the danger to which the vessel would have been exposed in case of a storm in such shallow water.
After the Vega, with Nordenskiöld on board, had left its sister ship the Lena, the latter vessel, under the command of Captain Johannesen, started to ascend the river of its own name. A pilot had been engaged to descend the river and await the arrival of the Lena, but as neither he nor his signals were visible, the captain, after considerable difficulty, from the shallowness of the water, made his way through the delta, and on the 7th September reached the main stream, where the navigation was less difficult. Yakutsk was reached on the 21st September, dispatches were sent on to Irkutsk, and from thence it was telegraphed to Europe that the rounding of Cape Cheliuskin and the navigation of the Lena by a steamer from the Atlantic had been accomplished.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] I allude to the accounts of Strahlenberg, De Lesseps, Billings, Ledyard, Dobell, Gordon, Cochrane, Erman, Cotterill, and Hill.
Strahlenberg was a Swedish officer, who, at the beginning of the 18th century, was banished for 13 years to Siberia. He collected a vast amount of information concerning the country generally, and compiled polyglot tables of aboriginal languages, and amongst them that of the Yakutes inhabiting the valley of the Lena, of whose Pagan condition he gives many illustrations.
M. de Lesseps was French Consul and interpreter to Count de la Perouse, the well-known circumnavigator. De Lesseps entered the country at Kamchatka in 1788, and wrote an account of his travels across Siberia and Europe to Paris.
Captain Billings was an Englishman, who, after sailing with the celebrated Captain Cook, was employed by the Empress Katharine II. to make discoveries on the north-east coast of Siberia, and among the islands in the Eastern Ocean stretching to the American coast. For this purpose he proceeded to North-Eastern Siberia in 1785, sailed down the river Kolima, explored a portion of the country eastward, and then returned by way of Yakutsk.
Another of Captain Cook’s officers, John Ledyard, had the most romantic enthusiasm for adventure, perhaps, of any man of his time. He conceived the project of travelling across Europe, Asia, and America as far as possible on foot, and to this end he set out from London with about £50 only in his pocket. He reached Yakutsk, where he met with Captain Billings, and with him was hoping to proceed to America, when, by order of the Russian Court, Ledyard was arrested on suspicion of being a French spy, and was taken off to Moscow.
Another journey across Northern Asia was made after the time of Billings by Peter Dobell, a counsellor of the Court of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Russia. Dobell landed in Kamchatka in 1812, and from thence proceeded overland to Europe.
[2] Another journey from Okhotsk up the Lena to Irkutsk and Kiakhta, and then across Siberia to Europe, was made about 1820 by a merchant named Peter Gordon; but his notes are very short, and appear only in his “Fragment of a Tour through Persia.”
[3] Professor Erman received the Patron’s gold medal of the Royal Geographical Society of London in 1844, for his scientific researches in physical geography, meteorology, and magnetism around the globe in 1828-30. His researches in Northern Asia were of especial value, particularly in Eastern Siberia and Kamchatka.
[4] It was in one of these flat-bottomed boats that Mr. Hill descended the stream, in company with a Russian merchant, accomplishing the journey to Yakutsk in 21 days, with no worse mishaps by water than occasionally being driven on sand or mud banks, or into a forest of trees, all but submerged by the height of the spring floods.
Captain Cochrane chose a more independent course. Being furnished with a Cossack, he drove from Irkutsk to the Lena, and, having procured an open canoe and two men, paddled down the stream. Proceeding day and night, they usually made from 100 to 120 miles a day, finding hospitable villages at intervals of from 15 to 18 miles, as far as Kirensk, and so arrived on the eighth day at Vitimsk. It was now late in the autumn, and the ice began to come down the river, which sometimes compelled the natives to strip, and, up to their waists in water, to track the boat, and this with the thermometer below freezing-point. At length the captain, in consequence of the difficulties of boating, was requested at one of the villages to proceed on horseback, which he did, and, being unable at the next station to get either horses or boat, he had to shoulder his knapsack and walk; and so, by means of walking, riding, and paddling, he reached Olekminsk. From thence to Yakutsk is about 400 miles, which, excepting the two last stages, the captain completed in a canoe, arriving on the 6th October. The weather was cold, snow was falling, and on approaching Yakutsk the canoe was caught in the ice, so that he was compelled to make the remainder of his journey on foot.
[5] The difference of latitude, as pointed out by Mr. Trelawney Saunders, between Verko (or upper) Lensk (54° 8′) and Kirensk (57° 47′) is only 3° 39′, or 219 geographical miles. The latter place is but little east of north from the former, so that the 500 miles must be mainly due to the windings of the stream.
[6] In December, 1771, a party of Yakutes hunting on the Vilui, near its junction with the Lower Lena, discovered an unknown animal half-buried in the sand, but still retaining its flesh, covered with a thick skin. The carcase was too much decomposed to allow of more than the head and two feet being forwarded to Irkutsk; but they were seen by the great traveller and naturalist, Peter Simon Pallas, who pronounced the animal a rhinoceros, not particularly large of its kind, which might perchance have been born in Central Asia.
In the year 1799 a bank of frozen earth near the mouth of the Lena broke away, and revealed to a Tunguse, named Schumachoff, the body of a mammoth. Hair, skin, flesh and all had been preserved by the frost; and seven years later Mr. Adams, of the Petersburg Academy, hearing of the discovery at Yakutsk, visited the spot. He found, however, that the greater part of the flesh had been eaten by wild animals and the dogs of the natives, though the eyes and brains remained. The entire carcase measured 9 ft. 4 in. high, and 16 ft. 4 in. from the point of the nose to the end of the tail, without including the tusks, which were 9 ft. 6 in. in length if measured along the curves. The two tusks weighed 360 lbs., and the head and tusks together 414 lbs. The skin was of such extraordinary weight that ten persons found great difficulty in carrying it. About 40 lbs. of hair, too, were collected, though much more of this was trodden into the sand by the feet of bears which had eaten the flesh. This skeleton is now in the Museum of the Academy at Petersburg.
Again, in 1843, M. Middendorf found a mammoth on the Taz, between the Obi and the Yenesei, with some of the flesh in so perfect a condition that it was found possible to remove the ball of the eye, which is preserved in the Museum at Moscow.
[7] It has been suggested that the abundant supplies of ivory which were at the command of the ancient Greek sculptors came by way of the Black Sea from the Siberian deposits. So far back as the time of Captain Billings, Martin Sauer, his secretary, tells us of one of the Arctic islands near the Siberian mainland, that “it is a mixture of sand and ice, so that when the thaw sets in and its banks begin to fall, many mammoth bones are found, and that all the isle is formed of the bones, of this extraordinary animal.” This account is to some extent corroborated by Figuier, who tells us that New Siberia and the Isle of Liakov are for the most part only an agglomeration of sand, ice, and elephants’ teeth; and at every tempest the sea casts ashore new quantities of mammoths’ tusks. Réclus speaks of an annual find of 15 tons of mammoth ivory, representing about 200 mammoths; and, about 1840, Middendorf estimated the number of mammoths discovered up to that time at 20,000.
Chapter XXV
YAKUTSK.
The province of Yakutsk.--Rivers.--Minerals.--The town of Yakutsk.--Its temperature.--Inhabitants.--The Yukaghirs.--The Yakutes.--Their dwellings.--Food.--Dress.-- Products.--Occupations.--Industries.--Language.--Religion.--Route from Yakutsk to Okhotsk.--Reindeer riding.--Summer journey.--Treatment of horses.
The province of Yakutsk is the largest in Siberia, and covers an area of no less than a million and a half of square miles, and is therefore nearly as large as the whole of Europe, omitting Russia.[1] The total population of this enormous province is 235,000,--that is to say, it has about one-seventh part of an inhabitant to each square mile. The yearly number of marriages is 5,000, and the births 12,000. The Russian town population in 1876 numbered about 2,000, and the country population 5,000; of which there were hereditary nobles, 100; personal nobles, 450; ecclesiastical persons, 600; military, 1,700; and the rest, upwards of 220,000, were natives--that is to say, Tunguses, Yukaghirs, and Yakutes. The natives are divided into communities, under golovahs, or mayors, of their own race, who are, however, subject to the Russian authorities. The province is divided into five uyezds.
The chief mineral product is gold, which has frequently to be procured from frozen ground. The valleys of the Vitim and Olekma especially are rich in this mineral. In the valley of the Vitim, about 200 versts from its mouth, are quarries of mica, from which the whole of Siberia was formerly supplied with a substitute for window-glass. Mr. Erman procured plates of brown mica from one to two feet square. As, however, I saw glass used everywhere, I presume that the demand for mica must have diminished greatly.
In the forests of the Vitim and Olekma are caught the smallest sables, with the finest, blackest, and hence most valuable furs. The squirrels of the district are hunted only in winter, when they are sometimes black and sometimes bright grey, their fur in summer being red, the hair loose, and skin valueless. The black realize the highest price, and are frequently met with south of the river, while north of the Lena none but grey are captured. The hunters think that this difference depends upon the nature of the forest.[2]
The town of Yakutsk, which the natives proudly call “the city of the Yakutes,” presents a curious medley of dwellings; for there are seen not only the Government buildings, and the wooden houses of the Russians, but also the less pretentious winter dwellings of the Yakutes, and even their summer yourts. Oxen here take the place of horses. Women and girls ride them astride; their sledges also are often drawn by them, the driver being mounted on one of the animals. The cathedral is built of stone, and dedicated to St. Nicolas; and there are in the town some half-dozen churches, in which certain parts of the service, if not the whole, are performed in the Yakute language. The chief ecclesiastic is Dionysius, Bishop of Yakutsk and Viluisk, who has in his hyperborean diocese 49 churches and chapels, and one monastery containing 13 monks.
Yakutsk has the credit of being the coldest place upon the face of the earth. The mean temperature of the air is 18·5 Fahrenheit. A degree of cold takes place there every year between the 17th December and 18th February, exceeding 58° below zero. During Mr. Erman’s stay the cold reached even 71·5 below zero. Mercury, therefore, is frozen at Yakutsk for one-sixth of the year. An exceedingly warm summer follows this cold winter, and continues from about the 12th May to the 17th September. The ground is then thawed three feet deep, and though the crops rest on perpetually frozen strata, yet they produce fifteen-fold on an average, and in particular places forty-fold.[3]
Yakutsk has a population of 4,800, some of whom are political exiles, Scoptsi, etc., who live both here and in the villages along the river. It would require no great stretch of the imagination, however, to call all the Russian inhabitants exiles, for they are upwards of 5,000 miles from Petersburg.[4] As we travelled on the Obi we had for fellow-passengers an official with four children and a woman, bound for Yakutsk; and when, outside Tomsk, we saw the party stowed into one tarantass, we pitied them in prospect of the remainder of their 3,000 miles’ journey.
The Russian population of the province is confined almost exclusively to the banks of the Upper Lena, Yakutsk, and its neighbourhood. The Tunguses are found at the extreme east and west of the province, and have been already spoken of in a previous chapter.
Of another race, the Yukaghirs, it may suffice to say that they were computed, in 1876, at only 1,600 in number, and that very little is known of them. They roam over a tract on the shores of the Northern Ocean lying between the Yana and the Kolima. They were once powerful, and on the rivers Yana and Indigirka tumuli and ancient burial-places are pointed out, containing corpses armed with bows, arrows, and spears. With these, too, lies buried the magic drum, well known in Lapland. At one time there were more hearths of the Yukaghirs on the banks of the Kolima than stars in the sky--so their legend says. These people maintain themselves during the whole year on the reindeer they kill in spring and autumn. At such seasons the mosquitoes drive the tormented animals to take refuge in the rivers, and not until winter is coming do they return to the woods, the stags leading the way, followed by the hinds and their young. Posted under cover, the Yukaghirs discover the place where the herd will make the passage of a stream, and conceal their canoes under the banks till the animals take the water. Then they push out, and, having cut the helpless deer off from either shore, proceed to slaughter them, whilst swimming, with long spears, which they use with marvellous skill.
The Yukaghirs are great smokers; their tobacco--the coarse species of the Ukraine--they mix with chips to make it go further; and in smoking not a whiff is allowed to escape into the air, but all is inhaled and swallowed, producing an effect somewhat similar to a mild dose of opium. Tobacco is considered their first and greatest luxury. Women and children all smoke, the latter learning to do so as soon as they are able to toddle. Any funds remaining after the supply of tobacco has been laid in are devoted to the purchase of brandy. A Yukaghir, it is said, never intoxicates himself alone, but calls upon his family to share the drink, even children in arms being supplied with a portion.
In the centre of the Yakutsk province, occupying the valley of the Lena, roam the Yakutes, some of whom I met as far off as Nikolaefsk. They are of middle height, and of a light copper colour, with black hair, which the men cut close. The sharp lines of their faces express indolent and amiable gentleness rather than vigour and passion. They reminded me of North American Indians; and I agree with Erman, who says that their appearance is that of a people who have grown wild rather than of a thoroughly and originally rude race. Those I saw, however, having been long settled among the Russians, had perhaps become somewhat more polished than their wandering brethren. As a race they are good-tempered, orderly, hospitable, and capable of enduring great privation with patience; but in independence of character they contrast unfavourably with their Tunguse neighbours. Lay a finger in anger on one of the Tunguses, and nothing will induce him to forget the insult; whereas with the Yakutes, the more they are thrashed the better they work.[5]
The winter dwellings of the people have doors of raw hides, and log or wicker walls calked with cow-dung, and flanked with banks of earth to the height of the windows. The latter are made of sheets of ice, kept in their place from the outside by a slanting pole, the lower end of which is fixed in the ground. They are rendered air-tight by pouring on water, which quickly freezes round the edges; and the fact that it takes a long time to melt these blocks of ice thus fixed is highly suggestive of what the temperature must be, both without and within. The flat roof is covered with earth, and over the door, facing the east, the boards project, making a covered place in front, like the natives’ houses in the Caucasus. Under the same roof are the winter shelters for the cows and for the people, the former being the larger. The fireplace consists of a wicker frame plastered over with clay, room being left for a man to pass between the fireplace and the wall. The hearth is made of beaten earth, and on it there is at all times a blazing fire, and logs of larch-wood throw up showers of sparks to the roof. Young calves, like children, are often brought into the house to the fire, whilst their mothers cast a contented look through the open door at the back of the fireplace. Behind the fireplace, too, are the sleeping-places of the people, which in the poorer dwellings consist only of a continuation of the straw laid in the cow-house.
In the winter they have but about five hours of daylight, which penetrates as best it can through the icy windows; and in the evening all the party sit round the fire on low stools, men and women smoking. The summer yourts of these people are formed of poles about 20 feet long, which are united at the top into a roomy cone, covered with pieces of bright yellow and perfectly flexible birch bark, which are not merely joined together, but are also handsomely worked along the seams with horsehair thread.
The houses are not overstocked with furniture, and the chief cooking utensil is a large iron pot. At the time of the invasion of the Russians, this article was deemed such a treasure that the price asked for a pot was as many sable-skins as would fill it. They use also in winter a bowl-shaped frame of wicker-work, plastered with frozen cow-dung, in which they pound their porridge. With regard to their food, the Yakutes, if they have their choice, love to eat horse-flesh; and their adage says that to eat much meat, and grow fat upon it, is the highest destiny of man. They are the greatest gluttons. So far back as the days of Strahlenberg, it was said that four Yakutes would eat a horse. They rarely kill their oxen for food; and at a wedding, the favourite dish served up by the bride to her future lord is a boiled horse’s head, with horse-flesh sausages. When, however, horse-flesh or beef is wanting, they are not at all nice as to what they consume, for they eat the animals they take for fur, and woe to the unfortunate horse that becomes seriously injured in travel! It is killed and eaten then and there, the men taking off their girdles to give fair play to their stomachs, which swell after the fashion of a boa-constrictor. Thus earnestly do they aspire to their notion of the highest destiny of man! Milk is in general request among them, whether from cows or mares; and when they are in the neighbourhood of the Russians, and can get flour, they do so; but far away in the forests they make a sort of porridge or bread, not exactly of sawdust, but of the under bark of the spruce, fir, and larch, which they cut in small pieces, or pound in a mortar, mixing it with milk, or with dried fish, or boiling it with glutinous tops of the young sprouts. In spring, when the sap is rising, they gather their bark harvest. They make also fermented beverages of milk; and in the height of summer, when the mares foal, an orgie is held, at which the men drain enormous bowls of this intoxicating liquor; whilst the women, denied the privilege of intoxication, solace themselves by getting as near to it as they can by smoking tobacco. The distillation of sour milk is also practised, producing a coarse spirit known as arigui. They devour likewise enormous quantities of melted butter. This also can be prepared in such a way as to cause intoxication when taken in sufficient quantities.
The dress of the Yakutes resembles in its main features that of the other natives of Siberia, save, perhaps, that they are fonder of ornaments. Both sexes riding a good deal on oxen and horses, a perpendicular slit is made up the back from the bottom of the sanayakh, or upper garment, in order to render the wearer comfortable in the saddle, and some of the women add behind them a cushion or pad, to save them from the rough motion of the animals. During the milder part of the year a robe, made of very pliable leather, stained yellow, is worn, which indoors is frequently laid aside, and males and females sit by the fire, leaving the upper part of the body naked. I bought a pair of women’s Yakute boots of this leather. They fit tight to the leg, and have at the top a flap of black velvet with red cloth trimming, which can be turned down and exposed for show in fair weather, or turned up, bringing the boots to the thighs. On each boot are two broad leather thongs, five or six feet long, to wind round the leg. Waterproof boots are here made, called by the Russians torbasis. These are cut from horse-hide, steeped in sour milk, then smoked, and finally rubbed well with fat and fine soot. They last exceedingly well, and are an inestimable comfort to the wearer, enabling him to tramp through snow, water, and mud without inconvenience.
The Yakute women are clever in making up fur garments. When visiting a Yakute family, I was looking about for a souvenir, and could at first see nothing to buy. In the room hung a curious cradle, very nearly resembling a coal-scuttle, which, when travelling, they suspend at the side of a reindeer; but this was too large for me to bring away. At length the materfamilias drew out a box in which she kept her treasures. Among these were some large pieces of fur, each consisting of an immense number of the small pieces of white skin that are found under the squirrel’s neck. No piece was so large as the palm of the hand, and she had sewn them together with great industry. These I bought, much to the disgust of her daughter, for whom they were to have made a dandy garment. I purchased also of the old lady what I prized more, namely, an “itti,” or large cap, coming down with flaps at the ears. The crown is made of the skins of sables’ feet, and it has a border all round of the fur of sables’ tails. The sight of this, since my return, has often excited the admiration of my lady friends.
The Yakutes who inhabit the inclement region adjacent to the Frozen Ocean have neither horses nor oxen, but breed large numbers of dogs, which draw them to and fro on their fishing excursions. Even those living on the 62nd parallel keep cattle under far greater difficulties than usual, for they have to make long journeys to collect hay, and do not always find enough. The cold prevents their breeding sheep, goats, or poultry. Nevertheless, cattle and hunting are their chief means of subsistence, for they do not in general cultivate the land, though in the gardens at Yakutsk are grown potatoes, cabbages, radishes, and turnips; gherkins, too, are reared in hot-beds.
Some products of Yakutsk industry are purchased by the Russians, particularly floor-cloths of white and coloured felts, which are cut in strips and sewed together like mosaic. From the earliest times they have been able to procure and work for themselves metals.[6]
The language of the Yakutes, which is largely spoken by the Russians who live among them, is one of the principal means by which we are led to assume their Turkish origin, for Latham says their speech is intelligible at Constantinople, and their traditions (for literature they have none) bespeak a southern origin.
Here are some Yakute words compared with Turkish:--
English. Yakute. Turk.
Yes Sittee Evet No Socht Yokh Well Outchigey Peky, Aee Bad Thoosahane Fené Bread Astobitt Ek-mek Water On Soo Beef Augauss Seyir Horse Att Att Road Coll Yol Man Kissi Kissi, Adami Woman Jaiktorr Aorat Tree Marss Rain Samirr Yaghmoor One Bare Bir Two Akee Eekee Three Oose Ootch Four Terte Dort Five Baiss Besh Six Alta Altee Seven Sett Yedee Eight Agaouss Antuz Nine Togouss Tokuz Ten Owni On Eleven Onordoubis On-bir Twelve Okorduchi On-eekee Twenty Surbia Igirme
Strahlenberg calls these people Pagans, but the latest writers call them Christians; and the method of their conversion was, it is said, extraordinary, for the Russian priests not making much headway against their superstitions, an ukase was one day issued setting forth that the good and loyal nation of the Yakutes were thought worthy to enter, and were consequently admitted into, the Russian Church, to become a part of the Tsar’s Christian family, and entitled to all the privileges of the rest of his children. Such was the tenor of this strange proclamation, and success attended the measure. The new Christians showed perfect sincerity in the adoption of their novel faith, and the Russian priests have established their sway over the Yakute race, though amongst the outlying portion a lingering belief in Shamanism still survives, of which travellers from Yakutsk to Okhotsk have been made aware by their Yakute guides leaving them awhile in foggy weather, and stealing off into the forest to perform certain mysterious rites.
The distance from Yakutsk to Okhotsk is 800 miles and the journey, whether undertaken in summer or winter, is one of the severest. The map gives one the idea that it might almost be accomplished by ascending the river Aldan and one of its affluents to the Stanovoi mountains. The usual plan, however, is to leave Yakutsk on horseback, with all the luggage on pack-saddles. Some estimate may be formed of the traffic once passing on this route from the fact that there were formerly employed in it from 20,000 to 30,000 horses. The postal service is still continued between Irkutsk and the Sea of Okhotsk; but there is no telegraph; hence the fact of Professor Nordenskiöld having been frozen in the ice on the north-east coast of Siberia was brought a long way by courier before it could be made known by telegram to Europe.
One of the difficulties of the winter journey is the insufficient sleeping accommodation on the route. The houses, when they exist, are very bad, and when they fail, travellers sleep in a tent, or else upon furs and wraps in the open air. They usually lie, however, by a roaring fire, and so roast on one side whilst they freeze on the other--changing their position when need requires.
After proceeding for some distance the traveller has to exchange his horse for a novel kind of steed--a reindeer, on which the mere gaining of one’s seat, to say nothing of keeping it, is by no means so easy as might be supposed.[7] Having gained his reindeer seat, the English traveller may keep it--if he can. He will most likely fall off half-a-dozen times in the first quarter of an hour, until he discovers that he must poise himself in such a manner that his body may continually, and with ease, lend itself to a swinging motion.[8] There is a second lesson to be learned by the uninitiated, which is usually imparted in a very impressive manner; for should the cavalier attempt to hold with the knees, and the cushion consequently slip back, the moment the weight is felt on the animal’s back, he bends under his haunches and lets the rider slip to the ground, and that perhaps in ice, snow, or a pool of water.
As the traveller approaches Okhotsk he has again to change his mode of conveyance, to be drawn this time by dogs. All three methods of travel have their delights on this lonely journey, the tedium of which is sometimes relieved by an extemporary hunting scene.[9]
The difficulties of the summer journey are somewhat different in character. A large part of the way lies over swampy ground, on which the causeways are not kept in repair, and where the horses flounder in mud and water, into which they occasionally pitch the rider. It is no uncommon thing for horses to die under the fatigues of the way. The Yakutes, moreover, have a cruel fashion of giving their horses little food whilst journeying. A similar custom obtains farther east, among the Gilyaks, where I found that, though they gave a dog two pieces of fish daily when at home, yet, when travelling, they gave him only one, because the dogs immediately after eating are always lazy and feeble.[10]
These, then, are some of the difficulties of the old route, from Irkutsk to the Pacific, which happily it did not fall to my lot to be obliged to encounter; but I crossed the Baikal instead, and, after making a détour to the Chinese frontier, continued across the Buriat steppe to the Amur.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It is bounded on the north by the Arctic Ocean, on the west by the Yeneseisk, and on the east by the Sea-coast provinces; whilst on its south lie the three provinces of Irkutsk, Trans-Baikal, and the Amur. The northern and western portions of the province are flat, but towards the south and south-east are the Yablonoi and Stanovoi mountain ranges, continuations, in a north-easterly direction, of the mighty Altai chain. The great river of the province is the Lena, whose waters are drained from an area of 800,000 square miles. From the slopes on the western side of Baikal its upper portion runs in a north-easterly direction as far as Yakutsk, after which the Lower Lena runs due north to the Arctic Ocean. The total length of the river is about 2,500 miles, with a fall of 3,000 feet. East of the Lower Lena are the rivers Yana, Indigirka, and Kolima, all of which are navigable and of considerable size, though small by comparison with their gigantic sister.
[2] There are, says M. Réclus, nearly 50 species of fur animals, and millions of specimens killed during the hunting season. The annual export of furs from Siberia, not including those taken from sea animals, represents a gross value of nearly half a million sterling. The fur which regulates the price of all others is that of the sable, which is worth at least from 16_s._ to £1, and sometimes commands, even in Siberia, as much as £6 a skin. Only the back of the animal is used for the best garments, one of which may contain 80 skins, and rise to the value of nearly £500. The fur of the black fox is still more appreciated, and a single skin sometimes fetches £30. Squirrel skins by themselves constitute about a third of the Siberian revenue from furs; ten, twelve, and even fifteen millions of these animals being killed during their migrations in a single year. China receives a considerable number of these skins at Kiakhta, but more find their way to Europe. The furs brought to the fair of Irbit in the Urals in 1876 were as follows:--
Grey squirrels 5,000,000 skins Ermines 215,000 ” Hares 300,000 ” Foxes 82,000 ” Martens of various kinds 750,000 ” Sables 12,000 ” Others 200,000 ”
[3] It is well known that in the northern parts of Siberia the ground is always frost-bound, but to what depth is not so easily determined. During the stay, however, of Mr. Erman at Yakutsk it happened that a resident was digging a well, down which the man of science went, and pronounced that he found the soil frozen to a depth of 50 feet below the surface. So accustomed, however, do the natives become to the cold, that with the thermometer at unheard-of degrees below freezing point, the Yakute women, with bare arms, stand in the open-air markets, chattering and joking as pleasantly as if in genial spring. Inside their houses, in the heated part of the rooms, they get the temperature up to 65° or 75°; but one day, when the thermometer stood at 9°, Mr. Erman found the children of both sexes running about quite naked, not only in the house, but even in the open air. In fact, the great cold is not thought a grievance in Siberia, for a man clothed in furs may sleep at night in an open sledge when the mercury freezes in the thermometer; and, wrapped up in his pelisse, he can lie without inconvenience on the snow under a thin tent when the temperature of the air is 30° below zero.
[4] I was told by a legal authority that some of the political exiles are sent to the province of Yakutsk, but, after the figures just quoted, it would seem that their number cannot be very large; of hereditary nobles in the province there were said to be, in 1876, only 100, and of personal nobles only 450. If, then, there be deducted from these the Governor and his staff, military officers, and tchinovniks of all grades, there would not be left a large margin for the class from which political exiles are thought to come, supposing, that is, that they are included in this return.
[5] Strahlenberg divides them into 10 tribes, and Syboreen’s Almanack for 1876 gives their number at 210,000. They belong to the great Turk family, and hence their Siberian locality is remarkable, because the Turks have ever been the people to displace others, whereas the Yakutes have been themselves displaced, and driven into this inhospitable climate, it is supposed, by the stronger Buriats.
[6] The iron ore of the Vilui was smelted by the Yakutes long before the advent of the Russians, and the other tribes got from them iron axes, awls, and tools for stripping and dressing hides. The Yakutes also make copper ornaments for clothes and harness, and the metal plates which they sew on their girdles. Even now, although they use European guns, they still make for themselves the great knife, or dagger, which is worn at the waist. The Yakutsk steel is more flexible than the Russian, and yet blades made of it will cut copper or pewter as easily as European blades.
[7] To get on the animal’s back, as one would mount a donkey, would probably cripple the deer for life. The saddle is therefore placed on its shoulder close to the neck, and to mount, the rider, holding the bridle, stands at the right side of the animal, with his face turned forwards. He then raises his left foot to the saddle, which he never touches with his hands, and springing with the right leg, and aided also by a pole, which he holds in his right hand, he gains his seat. The native girls and women are as expert in this jumping as the men, and rarely want assistance in mounting.
[8] The practised reindeer riders acquire the habit of striking gently with the heel, alternately right and left, at every step, just behind the animal’s shoulders. This is done, not for the purpose of stimulating the deer, but because the motion described is the surest means of maintaining equilibrium. The staff, too, with which the rider mounts is carried in his hand, and is used for maintaining an equipoise in riding; but any attempt of the rider, in the first critical moment, to support himself by resting the staff on the ground, is sure to end in his being unseated.
[9] Mr. Erman describes the killing, during his journey, of a wild sheep, and the joy of the Yakutes at the prospect of getting fresh meat for supper. One of them cried out characteristically, “I will stay awake the whole night, and eat till we set out.” Whilst the carcase was being prepared, every one cut for himself some thin wooden skewers, on which he spitted a row of little bits of meat. These were only appetizers, to be followed by large pieces boiled in the pot. The hunter, however, who had killed the sheep claimed as his perquisite the animal’s head; the brains, as a special delicacy, he sucked out raw, and cut out the eyes to be dressed for his own exclusive benefit.
[10] It does not appear that the Yakutes are otherwise cruel to their horses, for Erman relates that, on going up to a horse that had carried him many miles, to pat his neck by way of saying adieu, the Yakutes came up and embraced the other horses, putting their arms round their necks and hugging them like children. Mr. Hill, too, discovered in a very practical way the regard of the Yakutes for their horses, when, food having run short, and after a dinner of only cranberries and nuts, he proposed that one of the animals should be killed and eaten, the Yakutes replied that they never killed one of their horses until they had passed five whole days together without any sort of food. It would be a shame, they said, that while they had tea and a morsel of sugar, and the prospect before them of getting other food, one of the poor creatures should be slain. Mr. Hill, therefore, and his merchant friend had to take their guns and hunt for game, with a keenness which they had never known before.
Chapter XXVI
ACROSS LAKE BAIKAL TO TROITZKOSAVSK.
Leaving Irkutsk.--The Angara.--Approach to the Baikal.--Its shores and fish.--Steaming across.--Seizing post-horses.--Arrival at Verchne Udinsk.--Smuggling at the prison.--Arrival at Selenginsk.--English mission to Buriats.--English graves.--Old scholars.--Story of the mission.--Journey to Troitzkosavsk.
We left Irkutsk on Thursday, July 10th, after a stay that could hardly be called enjoyable, though amid the confusion we met with much more consideration than could have been expected. For the first night we slept, as already stated, in our tarantass, and I took my morning bath in the pantry. What a treat, too, was that bath, deliciously cold from the Angara, to a man who had not taken his clothes off for more than a week! During our stay we made the acquaintance of several officers, of whom there is no lack at Irkutsk, as there are usually in barracks about 2,000 troops. It was very difficult to procure provisions. On sending out on the morning of our departure, all the white bread that could be found was one penny loaf, and that somewhat stale. It seemed, therefore, that I should have to come down to rye bread; but some pancakes were made for me, the difficulty was thus surmounted, and by two o’clock we had fairly begun our 300 miles to Kiakhta. Our baggage and remaining books were still too heavy to be taken on the same vehicle, and we therefore stowed away ourselves and our personal effects in the tarantass, and the boxes followed in a post-conveyance, out of which they were changed at every station. We wished to make only 40 miles before night, to Lake Baikal, and then wait till morning at Listvenitznaya for the steamer.
We had not proceeded far before we drove along the banks of the Angara, which is, in some respects, the most remarkable river in Siberia. There are scores of streams and rivulets running into Lake Baikal, of which the more important are the Upper Angara, the Barguzin, and the Selenga; but the Angara is the only one that runs out, and it does so with such impetuosity that the rapid by which the water leaves the lake never freezes even with the temperature of the air at 24° below zero; and though the ice is six feet thick on the lake, yet, all the winter through, ducks float on the bosom of the rapid. I have heard it suggested that there may be hot-springs just there; but whether this is so or not, the waters of the lake and the Angara are particularly cold.[1]
Shortly after leaving Irkutsk the road enters a wooded part of the Angara valley, and as the road winds along it, many points are passed presenting magnificent views. In some parts enormous sandstone cliffs arise out of the water, crowned with dark pines and cedars; in others the thick forest descends to the river’s brink, and the broad sheet of water is seen rushing madly onwards. Afterwards the valley becomes more rugged, with deep ravines running up into the mountains. Beyond this the road has been cut along the edge of a cliff at a considerable height above the river, and, about five miles before reaching the Baikal, a scene is presented that may well cause the traveller to stop. The valley becomes wider, and the mountains rise abruptly to a much greater elevation. The Angara is here more than a mile in width, and this great body of water is seen rolling down a steep incline, forming a rapid nearly four miles in length. At the head of this, and in the centre of the stream, a great mass of rock rises, called the Shaman Kamen, or “Priest,” or “spirit’s stone,” held sacred by the followers of Shamanism, and not to be passed by them without an act of devotion. When Shamanism prevailed in this neighbourhood, human sacrifices were made at the sacred rock, the victim with his hands tied being tossed into the torrent below. Beyond is the broad expanse of the Baikal, extending about 50 miles, to where its waves wash the foot of Amar Daban, whose summit, even in June, is usually covered with snow. The mighty torrent throwing up its jets of spray, the rugged rocks with their fringes of pendent birch overtopped by lofty pines, and the colouring on the mountains, produce a picture of extraordinary beauty and grandeur. A few miles further, and the Baikal is seen spreading out like a sea, and its waves are heard beating on the rocky shore.
The storms on the lake are very severe. They say, at Irkutsk, it is only upon the Baikal in the autumn that a man learns to pray from his heart. The most dangerous wind is the north-west. It is called the mountain wind, whilst that from the south-west is called the “deep sea-breeze.” Formerly, in crossing, it was no uncommon occurrence for a boat or barge to be detained three weeks on a voyage of 40 miles, without being able to land on either shore. This induced an enterprising merchant to have a hull built on the lake, and engines, boiler, and machinery brought 4,000 miles overland from Petersburg; and when the new vessel steamed across in a gale, both Siberians and Mongols looked on with not a little astonishment.[2]
The fish of the Baikal are abundant, and are caught in variety, such as the omullé, somewhat like the herring; the suig, which resembles but is smaller than the sturgeon; the askina, the pike, the carp, the lavaret, and a white fish called the tymain. Travellers also tell of a remarkable fish called the golomain, which is only seen when thrown on shore during a violent tempest, and is of so oily a nature that it melts in the sun, or on the approach of heat, leaving only its skeleton and skin. It is a remarkable fact also that the seal of the ocean is found in the lake. About 2,000 are killed yearly.
The natives call the lake Svyatoe More, the “Holy Sea,” and aver that no one was ever lost in its waters; for when a person is drowned therein, the waves invariably throw his body on shore. It must be a pleasant sensation to cross this lake in winter. The ice is as clear, transparent, and as smooth as glass, so that travellers describe the difficulty of realizing that they are not gliding on water. The journey across is made in a remarkably short time. Mr. Erman travelled thus 7 German miles (or 27 English) in 2¼ hours, which for horse travelling must be allowed to be extraordinary. Formerly there was a winter station on the ice, half-way across, for changing horses; but as the ice on one occasion gave way, and allowed the whole concern to disappear, they now cross the lake at a single stage. There is a road round the south end of the lake, but in summer the crossing by steamer is usually preferred.
We reached the station about six or eight hours after leaving Irkutsk, and, passing the night at a rough hotel, next morning got our tarantass on board, among half-a-dozen others, and steamed across. The steamer was called the General Korsakoff. It made a loud grunting, and out of its tall chimney emitted a cloud of sparks like the tail of a comet. I went below to see the engines, and found them of the most primitive kind--a huge boiler simply laid in a wooden hull. I offered for sale on board some of my books, and gave others away. This soon got me friends, and the engineer honoured me by playing a tune on his concertina. I went also into the captain’s cabin, and he was glad to buy some New Testaments. It was so chilly, however, on deck that I put on my ulster, and stowed myself away in the tarantass; after doing which, on the 11th of July, it was not difficult to believe what I had heard, that pigeons flying across the lake in winter sometimes drop dead from cold.
As we drew near to the shore, we had the enjoyment of a mild piece of something like revenge. I have already observed that the traveller who has a crown podorojna takes precedence; but if two travellers come to a station, both having crown podorojnas, he who arrives first takes the horses. Moreover, “the rule of the road” is that one set of post-horses must not outstrip one that has started before; which rule, however, an extra tip to the yemstchik will sometimes evade. Now, as we came towards Irkutsk, we had been outstripped by a military officer travelling with his wife, who took the fresh horses we should have had; so that, when we arrived, it was feared we should be without. Whereupon the officer’s wife, addressing me in French, asked half-triumphantly, and half in a mischievous joke, whether I did not find myself “without horses”? She happened, however, to be wrong. We obtained horses, and, at night, overtook our friends, broken down, with their tarantass undergoing repairs at another station. We therefore got ahead, till, on the Baikal, they overtook us again. We saw at a glance that there would be a rush for horses, and, therefore, immediately the boat touched, I sprang ashore, presented to the post-master my podorojna, and secured my team; whereas the officer, not knowing that I had more than an ordinary civilian’s paper, or relying, perhaps, upon the power of his crown podorojna, was not so quick, and failed to get his steeds; and as we rolled away we heard him storming at the post-master for allowing us to have them before he had been served.
We drove for some distance on an elevated plateau beside the eastern shore of the lake, from which we got many good views of its waters, and where we observed at the roadside red Turk’s-head lilies, similar to but smaller than those seen in English gardens, and yellow lilies. There were likewise in the neighbourhood abundance of strawberries, raspberries, and whortleberries. Among the trees were cedars up to 120 feet in height; also the balsam poplar, which here attains a growth sufficiently large to allow the natives of the coast to make their canoes of a single log; likewise the cherry-tree and the Siberian apple. A black and white jackdaw, as my companion called it, made its appearance; and the birds of prey appeared more numerous, as they well might be in the vicinity of a larger animal population; for in these Baikal forests are found martens, squirrels, foxes, wolves, the lynx, the elk, the wild boar, and the bear--the last feeding on berries in summer, and on cedar-nuts raked up from beneath the snow in winter.
Having taken the lead on the road from the Baikal, we were anxious to keep it, though things looked threatening on arriving at the first station, where the post-master said there were no horses. We brought our crown podorojna to bear, and then the letter of the Minister at Petersburg, but to no purpose. There were no post-horses, he said, though there was a man standing near who would lend us private horses at double fares. To this we should have had to agree, but we pulled out lastly our blanco letter, and this gained the day; for the post-master, on seeing that, said to the would-be extortioner, “You must let them have the horses”; and so on we trotted through a country more hilly than anything we had passed, till at six o’clock we arrived at Verchne Udinsk. This place might very well be called “the Amur and China Junction,” for to turn to the left brings the traveller to the Pacific, and to turn to the right leads to Peking.
It was now Saturday afternoon, and we were anxious to get on, if possible, a few stations further, to Selenginsk, which was the scene of the labours of some English missionaries, and there to spend the Sunday to inquire about their work. The old difficulty of horses, however, cropped up, for they could let us have none on the instant, and every one was on tiptoe expecting the passing through of the Governor-General, Baron Friedrichs. I have already mentioned that his Excellency was at some mineral springs on the Mongolian frontier, and, having heard of the fire at Irkutsk, he was now returning. Everything, therefore, had to be in readiness. The post-house was swept and garnished, and we were requested not to go into the large guest-room, where the tables and chairs were arranged for his Excellency’s visit. Horses, however, were promised quickly as a favour, and meanwhile we strolled into the town.
Verchne--that is, Upper--Udinsk is the capital of an uyezd, and has a population of 3,500. It is a clean little town, and, upon entering the market square, it was easy to see that we were approaching the borders of the Celestial Empire--for here was John Chinaman, with open shop, standing behind the counter selling tea. We found also, to our great satisfaction, a baker’s shop, where was not only white bread, but all manner of bake-meats, of which we proceeded to make havoc then and there. The white bread was 75 per cent. dearer than at Tobolsk, but I was only too thankful to get a store at any price, my pancakes being all but gone. For lemonade they asked 6_s._ a bottle, or 6_d._ a glass. It was like watered lemon syrup. Fresh butter cost a rouble a pound, and was obtained with difficulty.
There is a prison in Verchne Udinsk, which we passed at the side of the road, and the prisoners were looking from the windows. Here had recently occurred an incident illustrative of Goryantchikoff’s statement, in his “Buried Alive,” that some of his fellow-prisoners were spirit-dealers, and frequently smuggled liquor into the prison in the entrails of cows or oxen. For this purpose the entrails were washed and filled with water, to keep them damp and ready to receive the liquor. When filled, they were wound by the smuggler round his body and thighs, and so brought into the prison. On the afternoon of our arrival, a drunken woman had been detected thus carrying in vodka. We did not visit the building, but left with the Ispravnik half-a-dozen New Testaments, and the same number or Gospels for Tatars, and of Scripture portions in Mongolian. The present was not unappreciated, for the Ispravnik, learning that I was going to the far east, gave me an introduction to his son-in-law at Blagovestchensk, which afterwards proved useful.
At last we started, and trotted on through the night to Selenginsk, and spent there the remainder of the following day. We called on the Ispravnik, who, with his wife, received us politely; and the latter, finding that we had good books to dispose of, wished to purchase some, which I allowed her to do to the value of three roubles. We also asked the Ispravnik’s acceptance of some portions of Scripture in Mongolian for distribution among the surrounding Buriats. Then conversation followed about the English mission, of which Selenginsk was for 13 years the head-quarters, but ceased to be so about 40 years ago.
The Ispravnik had nothing to say of the missionaries but what was good and kind,--a repetition of what I had heard elsewhere. A house, he told us, was still standing on the spot where the missionaries lived, and he furnished us with the names of persons who could give us further information. We went, therefore, direct to the site of the mission station, where we found some out-buildings, very much like those of an English farmyard, and strongly suggestive of home. There was also a nice house, which had been built near the spot on which formerly stood the one inhabited by the Englishmen. The garden remained, and in it we were taken to a walled enclosure--a little graveyard--in which were five graves: those of Mrs. Yule, Mrs. Stallybrass, and three children. The place had been recently renovated, at the expense of a missionary in China, and we were pleased to see the resting-place of our compatriots looking so neat and orderly. The garden commanded a pretty view of the valley of the Selenga, and there was pointed out across the river the site on which the town stood in the early part of the century, till, being destroyed by fire, it was rebuilt on the opposite side. The lady who occupied the house told us that now and then a traveller turns aside to see the spot, and that the ignorant people say that the English people come out of their graves at night--a report she is at no pains to contradict, on the plea that, as the house is in a lonely position, the idea may conduce to protect her from thieves.
After having been shown what there was of interest about the place, we called on an old man--a Russian--named Ivlampi Melnikoff, who, in his boyhood, had attended the mission school. When he heard that one of the missionaries, Mr. Stallybrass, was still living, and that I had seen him just before leaving England, he seemed much pleased, and spoke with affection of his teachers. He had not opened a book for 40 years, and so had forgotten how to read, but he remembered, and inquired particularly for, some of the missionaries’ sons, and sent to them his respects. The old man had lost sight of his Buriat schoolfellows, and thought that not one of them became a Christian, though he afterwards remembered that one was baptized into the Russian Church. Besides this old Russian we saw the nephew of one who had been a pupil in the school, and heard of an old man living some 35 versts distant, still a Buriat, who, as a boy, had been a scholar. We had the same testimony from both witnesses, that has been repeated by several travellers, that the missionaries did not baptize a single convert. None of them, however, said what I did not know until I returned to England, and spoke to Mr. Stallybrass upon the subject, namely, that the missionaries were under agreement with the Russian Government not to baptize any converts.[3]
We continued our journey from Selenginsk for twelve hours more, through a country which gave me my first experience of a Russian steppe, a tract of undulating land with a sandy soil, covered with a little grass and a reedy-looking herb, but suffering from a lack of humidity, as the tundra suffers from lack of warmth. Trees were visible only here and there, but water was abundant, sometimes in large lakes; so that the hilly roads, the expanse of water, and the treeless waste, reminded me sometimes of the scenery of our Wiltshire downs, and, in one or two places, of the English lakes. As we approached our destination the road became more and more sandy, and very heavy for the horses; but at last, on Monday, the 14th July, we reached Kiakhta.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] As we approached Telma my thermometer at noon in the shade stood at 85°, and when crossing a stream called the Ija, the temperature of the water was 70°; but coming on the same day to the Angara, nearly 100 miles from Baikal, the temperature of the river was only 50°; and when crossing the Baikal itself, the atmosphere registered 45° and the water only 40°. The Angara is the last river in Siberia to close, which it does about New Year’s Day (sometimes not till the middle of January); and the first to open, namely, about the 11th April. The lake is 1,200 feet above the sea level, and the current of the river is remarkably swift, as the traveller will infer should he overtake a barge being towed against the stream by perhaps 20 horses. Though the distance is only 40 miles from Irkutsk, a barge takes three days to be dragged up to the rapid, and then for the rapid itself it requires another day, even with double the number of horses. This refers, however, to a large soudno, or vessel, with a bluff bow and broad stern, which might almost as well sail sideways as speed ahead, and usually carries 600 chests and 25,000 bricks of tea.
[2] The basin of the lake is about 400 miles in length and 35 miles in width, covering an area of 14,000 square miles. It has a circumference of nearly 1,200 miles. This, therefore, is the largest fresh-water lake in the Old World; and, next to the Caspian and the Aral, is the largest inland sheet of water in Asia. Several travellers have crossed the lake en route from or to Irkutsk, but Mr. Atkinson did more. He spent several days exploring its coasts, and, turning to the east from Listvenitznaya, he found the shore became exceedingly abrupt for 20 miles, with many striking scenes, in which waterfalls played a part. The north shore is the most lofty. In some parts the precipices rise 900 feet, and, a little beyond the Arga, to 1,200 feet. Basaltic cliffs also appear rising from deep water to an elevation of 700 feet. A little more than a boat’s length from shore, soundings have been taken to the depth of 900 feet. Greater depths than this, however, have been reached. The captain of the steamer informed Mr. Atkinson that on one occasion he had run out 2,100 feet of line without finding bottom; and in 1872 soundings were taken at the south-west end, showing 3,600 feet: hence the common saying that the Baikal has no bottom. The shore exhibits, besides the basalt just named, other unquestionable evidences of volcanic action, and in some of the ravines are great masses of lava. Hot mineral springs likewise exist in several parts of the surrounding mountain-chain.
[3] The story of the mission seemed to be this:--At the beginning of the present century there were four parties of foreign Protestant missionaries working in the Russian dominions, namely, (1) the Presbyterians, in the south of European Russia; (2) the Moravians, on the Volga; (3) some Swiss missionaries from Basle, who took the place of the Presbyterians, and worked upon their ground; and (4) the London Missionary Society, which was allowed to send men to the Buriats in Siberia. Among the last company were Messrs. Stallybrass, Swan, and Yule, who saw at once that the first thing to be done was to translate the Scriptures. Mr. Stallybrass left England in 1817, and lived in Irkutsk for a year and a half to learn the Mongolian language. In due time the translation was commenced, from the original Hebrew and Greek, and with such success did the work go on that they actually printed the Old Testament in their Siberian wilderness at Verchne Udinsk, to which place the missionaries removed from Selenginsk, and where they remained till they were sent home in 1840. The New Testament was printed in London. Their work was, therefore, of a preparatory and fundamental, rather than an aggressive, character. Nevertheless, they had a school, numbering, sometimes, from 15 to 20 scholars; but there was found a special difficulty in inducing children to attend, for not only were their parents utterly ignorant of the value of education, but they wanted the children to help them tend their flocks, grazing, not on settled pasturage, but as they wandered over the vast extent of the Trans-Baikal and the Mongolian steppes. Hence the children were at school to-day and gone to-morrow; and even when parents could be induced to leave their children with the missionaries during their own absence with their flocks, these children had to be kept and fed as boarders, and even then the parents begrudged the loss of their services. The object, however, of the Englishmen began to be appreciated, and tokens of success appeared. Then came the difficulty which all along had loomed in the distance. The Russian Synod, in its jealousy for its own Church, had expressly stipulated that the missionaries should receive no converts by baptism, and this had been agreed to, and, of course, kept. But when certain of the Buriats showed signs of having received the truth, in the love of it, the missionaries found themselves in a dilemma. The Russians wished the converts to be handed over for baptism to their Church, and, on these terms, were willing that the English should stay and work as hard as they pleased; but this did not satisfy the men, nor the committee of the London Missionary Society, and neither party was disposed to give way. About this time, however, great political changes had taken place. Alexander I., who favoured Christian missions, had died, and was succeeded by the iron Nicolas, who does not seem to have been particularly opposed to missions; but the Synod was jealous of foreign interference, and an occasion was found for dismissing all foreign missionaries from the Russian dominions, under the pretext that the Synod wished to do all its own mission work for its own heathen. The Imperial ukase to this effect was issued in 1840, and thus a mission was stopped whose foundations were laid by the English, and which produced a translation of the whole Bible printed in Buriat Mongolian. It had taught some few scholars of great promise, one of whom, at least, named Shagder, it was known (and probably many more did so unknown), was afterwards baptized into the Russian Church. How far the Russian missionaries among this people owe any portion of their success to the foundation thus laid I cannot say. Of the Russian mission I shall speak hereafter.
Chapter XXVII
THE SIBERIAN FRONTIER AT KIAKHTA.
Hospitable reception.--History of Kiakhta.--Treaties between Russians and Chinese.--Early trading.--Decline of commerce.--The tea trade.--Troitzkosavsk church.--Miraculous ikons.--Kiakhta church.--Russian churches in general.--Bells.--Valuable ikons.--Climate of Kiakhta.--Drive to Ust-Keran.
I have said in the previous chapter that we reached Kiakhta. It would have been more accurate to have said Troitzkosavsk, which is within sight of and may be called a suburb of Kiakhta, situated on the Siberian frontier. Here we were lodged, for by the terms of a treaty between Chinese and Russians, no officer or stranger may sleep in Kiakhta proper. On arriving, we learned, to our dismay, that there was no hotel or guest-house in either town. We therefore went to the office of the Ispravnik, and in his absence showed our documents, which served so far to establish our respectability, that we were told we might have accommodation at the police-station. For this offer of course we were grateful, but, before accepting it, we thought we would present some of our letters of introduction. One was addressed to Mr. Tokmakoff, a first-class merchant in the place; but he was away in Mongolia, and his wife and family were living at their summer house “in the country.” We had another letter, given me by Mr. Larsen, the telegraphist at Irkutsk, to Mr. Koecher, the principal of the real or commercial school, who lived in one of the best houses of the town, and who, upon our presenting the letter, immediately pressed us to take up our abode with him. We were only too thankful to do so, and, after a fortnight’s inconveniences in sleeping, to find ourselves in quarters with proper and comfortable beds. Our host was living bachelor fashion, and was expecting to leave shortly for Petersburg; his wife had already preceded him. He spared no pains to make us comfortable, and, being thus settled, we had time to look about the place, which, on leaving England, had been the utmost bound to which my travelling imagination had carried me. The Mohammedans say, “See Mecca and expire”; the Italians, “See Naples and die”; and in somewhat of the same spirit I had fixed upon Kiakhta as the ultima thule of my Siberian wanderings: not that there is much that is remarkable in the physical aspect of the place, but from Kiakhta one walks out of Siberia into China and sees the blue hills of Mongolia. The town, moreover, has a history, and was the scene of a treaty between the two largest empires in the world.
So far back as the 17th century, trade was carried on, though not protected by Government, between the Siberians and their southern neighbours the Chinese.[1]
But in 1692 a treaty was made at Nertchinsk, opening the way to regular and permanent commerce between the two countries, though subject to certain vexatious forms and restrictions. Subsequently Peter the Great, seeing the advantage of this treaty, desired that the privilege of trading with China, then confined to individuals, should be extended to caravans; and, the Emperor approving, the right of trading thus was appropriated as a monopoly by the Russian Crown.
So things went on till 1722, when, the Russians offending their celestial neighbours, the Chinese Emperor expelled all Muscovites from his dominions, and brought trading affairs to a standstill. Six years later the treaty of Kiakhta was concluded, which stipulated that a caravan of not more than 200 persons should visit Peking every three years, and that the subjects of each nation, though not allowed to cross the frontier with their wares, might dispose of them to each other at two places on the border--Kiakhta, and Tsurukhaitu on the Argun, about 60 miles from Nertchinsk. This led to the foundation of the town of Kiakhta; and as there were certain conditions in the treaty limiting the number of persons, and imposing various restrictions upon those who should live there, another town was built a mile off, and called Troitzkosavsk, in which these restrictions were evaded.[2]
The traveller of to-day does not see Kiakhta as it was in palmy times, though a considerable trade is still carried on between China and Eastern Siberia, and large consignments are sent to Nijni Novgorod and Moscow. The tradition is still kept up that the sea passage injures the flavour of the herb, and that caravan tea is the best, which commands, accordingly, prices up to ten shillings per pound. I have heard quite recently of “yellow” tea, which even at Kiakhta costs this sum, and which, brought overland, would probably command in Petersburg 16_s._ or 18_s._ per pound. One hears also in Russia of “blossom” tea, which consists of only the dried flowers of the tea plant, and of other choice growths, the best of which are not brought to England at all. There is one kind of yellow tea, I am told, costing as much as five guineas a pound. The Emperor of China is supposed to enjoy its monopoly. A friend of mine, who received a few pounds as a present, tells me she did not think it distinguishable from that sold at 5_s._ a pound. Blossom tea is well known throughout Russia, and is mixed in the proportion of two-ounces to one pound of ordinary tea.[3]
In addition to ordinary and superior sorts, the Russians import, chiefly for consumption by the military and native populations, immense quantities of tea pressed into the form of tablets, or bricks, each of which weighs about 2 lbs. These bricks are made of tea-dust mixed with a common coarse sort made of twigs, stalks, and tea refuse, the whole being first submitted for a minute to the action of steam and then pressed into a mould. Some say that bullocks’ or other blood is also mixed with brick tea, but I have not heard this corroborated. The tea-dust used for brick tea costs in China about 5_d._ per pound, the manufacture about 1½_d._ more, and the article bears a handsome profit. In 1878 the Russian manufacturers in China were said to have realized a profit of 75 per cent. This they cannot do, however, all the year round, for the making of the bricks goes on only from the middle of June to the end of September, during which season they work at it night and day.
Apart, however, from the trade which passes over the Siberian frontier, there is much in Kiakhta and Troitzkosavsk to interest the western traveller. Among other novelties are to be seen Mongolian cavalry dashing about the streets, the soldiers being known mainly by a piece of ribbon streaming from their hats. The united population of the two places amounts to nearly 5,000, who are supplied with provisions by both Russians and Chinese. There may be seen coming from their farms and gardens numbers of peasant wagons, as well as clumsy Mongolian carts, the latter on wheels without spokes, formed of large wooden discs, which oxen cause to wabble along. Common vegetables are to be had in abundance. A large square in the centre of Troitzkosavsk is used for a corn and hay market, and is provided in Russian fashion with a huge pair of scales sanctioned by the authorities. Here the vendors of agricultural and garden produce assemble, and generally manage to get rid of their stock and garden produce early in the day. Young chickens cost 4_d._ each, lemons in winter 1_s._ a-piece, and occasionally even double that price, and Cognac brandy 9_s._ per bottle. Troitzkosavsk is also supplied with excellent fish, but we found it difficult to get good fruit. Besides the market square at Troitzkosavsk, there are two public gardens at Kiakhta, and also a cemetery.
We went to the small prison, and found it a poor affair. The police-master told us he had received a letter concerning our intended visit long before, and had been expecting us. Where the information came from he did not say; but it served to remind us again that, though more than 4,000 miles from the capital, we were not lost sight of. This was the last place at which I heard of our coming having been announced beforehand, though a general at Petersburg had told me that I might usually expect this; for how, said he, are the Governors to whom your letter is addressed to know that your document is not forged unless they are advised that a letter has been given you? and then, to illustrate his remark, he said that, on one occasion, a man, dressed like a gendarme, presented himself at Irkutsk with a forged letter and got a prisoner released.
I may add to the foregoing that Kiakhta was the last, and almost the only, place other than Petersburg where symptoms of a disaffected or revolutionary spirit came under my notice; and this in the solitary instance, that when an educated man in the town was shown in an English newspaper a portrait of Vera Sassulitch, the would-be murderess of Trepoff, I heard that he admired and praised her. As for Nihilism, I heard, in crossing Russia, so little about it that I am ashamed to say I left the country with very vague ideas as to what it is. I am not sure that I know much about it now, but an Englishman who has spent a large portion of his life in Russia and Siberia tells me there are various kinds of Nihilists. The mildest type, if they can be called such, simply want free speech and a free press, as do, I am told, all the “Slavophils”; the next wish for a ministry responsible to the people; but both these classes (which are supposed to be numerous) think the time not yet come, and that they must wait for further enlightenment of the people. With this opinion my friend agreed, feeling sure that at present the educated Russian and the moujik would quarrel, he said, if one were dependent on the other. The third class are the “black” Nihilists, who want the dethronement of the reigning dynasty and a republic, and who are willing to adopt any means, even the most criminal, to gain their end.
Of all this and its like I heard next to nothing after leaving Petersburg; there, however, great excitement prevailed. I arrived only a few days after one of the attempts on the late Emperor’s life, and a friend called to tell me they were at their wits’ end to know what to do. Turning back his coat collar, he showed me sewn thereon the certified badge of his calling, so placed that it might be ready to show the police, if required, at a moment’s notice. The English, he said, were strongly suspected, and he doubted whether he should be safe in affording me his usual protection and kindly services. He had told one of his Russian friends that I had arrived in the country for the purpose of distributing books and tracts, but the Russian did not believe that I could be come for such a charitable object, but thought I must be sent by the English Government. The rumours afloat respecting the English were both numerous and ridiculous. The authorities had not then succeeded in finding the press from which were issued the Nihilist placards and papers, and, as the ambassadors’ residences are privileged places, supposed to be closed against the police, it was affirmed that the secret press must be there. My friend told me he heard it said that “proclamations” against the Russian Government could be bought at the English Embassy for a rouble each. Another rumour said that the Russians were persuaded that the centre of the revolution was in the English Embassy, and that they had even thought of setting fire thereto, with the hope of securing, in the confusion, the revolutionary papers. I smiled on hearing this, and concluded that it could be only the most ignorant of the people who believed such puerilities, but on repeating it as a joke to a Russian fellow-traveller from Moscow, he said he quite believed that the forbidden press was in the Ambassador’s house, and that the revolutionists obtained their money from the English Government. I heard, too, in Petersburg that it was thought by the lower orders that the Nihilists obtained a large portion of their funds from the “International” in England.
All this smoke and rumour, however, we left behind on quitting Moscow, and though we may perchance have been watched, I was never conscious of it. I mention this because as some were surprised at my going to Russia when in such a disturbed condition, so others may be curious to know how this disturbance affected me as a traveller; and though I am far from supposing that my very limited and isolated experience is worth much, or perhaps anything, in showing the political condition of Russia and Siberia at the time of my visit, yet I wish to convey the impression that Russian atrocities and inflamed horrors, as posted on placards and shouted by London newsboys, shrink into very much smaller dimensions when the scene of action is reached. Such at least has been my invariable experience, and to this I shall further allude hereafter.
They have also at Troitzkosavsk a church in which “a miracle” seemed about to be recognised during our sojourn; for, on the first night of our stay, after I had gone to bed, a woman came to the party of friends with whom I had left Mr. Interpreter, and told them that she could see a strange halo of light in the church, but whether caused by celestial radiance or angels’ wings she did not say. The party turned out, therefore, my interpreter included, and made for the church, into which they could not gain admittance, and which was apparently empty, though they managed at last, by looking through a crevice or window, to descry a lamp burning before a glass ikon, which happened to slant at such an angle as dimly to reflect through the darkness the rays of light to the spot where they had been seen by the woman. This took away the sense of the miraculous, not altogether to the satisfaction of some of the party, who seemed to think “there was something in it.”[4]
The great ecclesiastical wonder of Kiakhta is its cathedral, said to be the finest in Eastern Siberia, and to have cost 1,400,000 roubles, equal at the time of building to at least £150,000. It was built at the expense of the Kiakhta merchants, and possesses some excellent bells.[5]
In bells, the Russian Church is the richest in the world--so far, at least, as regards their size. The largest we have in England--that of Christ Church, Oxford, weighing 7 tons--is but a baby compared with many in Russia. The largest in Petersburg weighs 23 tons; “Great John,” in the older capital, weighs 96 tons; whilst the old “Tsar Kolokol,” or the King of Bells, in Moscow, weighed originally nearly 200 tons, or 432,000 lbs. Reckoning their value at 18 silver roubles per pood, we get a price for our Oxford bell of £1,100; and for that of the largest one of Moscow of £32,000. This monster bell is 26 ft. high, and 67 ft. round!
It was neither its bells, however, nor its architecture that made Kiakhta cathedral “a fine church,” but rather its costly fittings. It has two altars, both of silver; a candlestick with numerous rubies and emeralds, and a large chandelier studded with precious stones. More striking still, perhaps, was the profusion of objects made of solid silver, such as the “royal doors,” which are said to weigh 2,000 lbs.; and, above all, the ikonostasis of gold and glass, or crystal--the value of the last, no doubt, being considerably enhanced by the cost of carriage to so remote a spot. There were also several paintings, executed at great expense in Europe.
We mounted the tower, and from thence had a view of the surrounding country and of the three towns of Troitzkosavsk, Kiakhta, and the Chinese Maimatchin. On a slight elevation, about a mile to the north, at the head of an open sand-valley between two ranges of moderately high hills, lay Troitzkosavsk, with its 4,600 inhabitants, its school, houses, shops, Government buildings, and a number of persons and officials who could not strictly be called merchants. There is also a large building which formerly was the Custom House, where the duties on tea were collected.[6] Below us was Kiakhta, with about 400 inhabitants, the abode of Russian mercantile aristocrats and their belongings, making a population, according to Hoppe’s Almanack, of about 5,000. The town lies snugly in a hollow, between hills of sand and fir-trees, well sheltered from northerly winds, and opening out southwards towards Mongolia. A small rivulet, called the Bura, runs through the hollow, and, turning westward to the sandy plain, makes its way at last into the Selenga. The country round looks sandy and dry, which is in keeping with the meteorological conditions of the place. Southerly winds prevail, and there is a deficiency of moisture in the atmosphere; hence they have only a slight fall during the year either of rain or of snow. So much is this the case that wheeled vehicles are used all through the winter, and goods and travellers at that season are thus driven some miles out of Troitzkosavsk to the spot where snow begins, and sledges are usable. Kiakhta is about 2,500 feet above the sea level. The greatest cold in 1877 was in February, when the thermometer stood at 42° below zero; whilst the greatest heat that year, namely 100°·5, was in August.
On the first morning after our arrival, our host sent us in his carriage for a drive of 20 miles to Ust-Keran, the summer residence of Mr. Tokmakoff, where also we expected to find a fellow-countryman, who, we heard, was Professor of English in the gymnase at Troitzkosavsk. It was a fine day, and our horses dashed along over a wide extent of country, somewhat suggestive of Salisbury plain. We saw very few people, but, happening to meet a vehicle, we pulled up, and my interpreter, having descended, went to the carriage to know if we were taking the right road. He called to me that we were right for Madame Tokmakoff’s, upon which I shouted, “Ask him if the Englishman is there!” whereupon someone in the carriage replied, “I am the Englishman.” It was pleasant to hear this spoken in my native tongue, and I hastened to make the acquaintance of Mr. Frank M----, who was spending his vacation as tutor, and teaching English, in the very family to which we were going. He therefore turned back, and accompanied us to Madame Tokmakoff’s, by whom we were heartily welcomed, and where we were reminded of home by the sight of cricket-bats, stumps, and sundry other English things.
The great event of the afternoon was driving some miles further to a Buriat lamasery, or monastery, inhabited by priests, for whom I had taken some Scriptures; but none of them spoke Russian, and as we could not well make them understand, I left the books with our friend to give when an interpreter could explain, and this little commission he kindly performed. I shall have occasion to speak of this lamasery hereafter. On our way we had to cross a river, the vehicle being put on a raft, and the horses swam through the stream--not considered extraordinary in these parts, for the same evening we saw a dozen horses returning from their work, and when they came to the river, they plunged in of their own accord, and swam across.
One of the men on the bank was very much puzzled to make me out, especially as I asked questions, and made notes of the replies. He seemed to think there might be “something up,” but said that “I wore no official clothes, and so he could not tell what sort of a ‘tchinovnik’ I was.” His suspicions, however, abated, and his vanity seemed tickled, when he was told that I had come from a very far country, that I was anxious to know about their manners and customs, and made notes of what I heard and saw to tell my countrymen on my return. After inspecting the monastery, we drove back to Kiakhta the same evening, having spent a particularly agreeable day.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] In 1655 a Russian embassy was sent to Peking, with a view to the arrangement of a commercial treaty. The route then lay from Tobolsk up the Irtish to its source, over the Altai mountains, through the vast domain of the Kalmuks, and across the Mongolian steppes. The Russian envoy, however, refused to lie down and submit to Chinese etiquette in approaching the Emperor, and was sent away, partly, perhaps, for his want of obsequiousness, and more, perhaps, because the Chinese did not see the need of a treaty, the boundaries of the two empires being then not so perfectly in contact as now. A second embassy, sent in 1675, proved also a failure; but after this there happened a series of events which caused the Chinese to realize that the Russians were nearer neighbours than they had been accustomed to regard them. This was brought about by the advances of the Siberians in the region of the Amur, where they had taken up their abode among the Daurians and other tribes, whom they so far encroached upon as to cause the Daurians to appeal for aid to the Chinese. This aid was given, and thus the Chinese and the Russians came first to blows in 1684.
[2] Kiakhta became the centre of Russo-Chinese commerce, which was greatly increased after 1762, when Catherine II. abolished the Crown monopoly of the fur trade, together with the exclusive privilege of sending caravans to Peking. These concessions increased the traffic enormously, and the influence of the business transacted on the frontier extended from Kiakhta all across Siberia and Russia, and even to the middle of Germany. Thus, from 1728 to 1860, the Kiakhta merchants enjoyed almost a monopoly of Chinese trade, and made fortunes estimated by millions of roubles. The treaty of 1860, however, opened Chinese ports to Russian ships, and thus dealt a severe blow to the Kiakhta trade; for up to that time only a single cargo of tea was carried annually into Russia by water. Before 1860, the importation of tea at Kiakhta was about one million chests annually, without taking any account of brick tea, and, previous to 1850, all trade done at Kiakhta was in barter, tea being exchanged for Russian furs and other goods, because the Russian Government prohibited the export of gold and silver money.
[3] When crossing the Pacific I fell in with a tea merchant homeward bound from China, and from him I gathered that three-fourths of the Russian trade is done in medium and common teas, such as are sold in London in bond from 1_s._ 2_d._ down to 8_d._ per English pound, exclusive of the home duty. The remaining fourth of their trade includes some of the very best teas grown in the Ning Chow districts--teas which the Russians will have at any price, and for which, in a bad year, they may have to pay as much as 3_s._ a pound in China, though in ordinary years they cost from 2_s._ upwards. The flowery Pekoe, or blossom tea, costs also about 3_s._ in China.
[4] In Russia one continually meets with these sacred pictures, said to work miracles: and sometimes relics, though the latter not so often as in Roman countries. In two places I have been curious enough to inquire for the evidence that might be given to substantiate the so-called miracles. Of course, in many cases, the wonderful things said to have been performed are enveloped in the mist of antiquity, but one explanation offered at Novgorod, in the Yuryef monastery, was to the effect that the very man who had shown us the bells, many years ago, saw two women arrive at the place, who were screaming and possessed of the devil, but that on coming to the grave of Father Fochi (the great saint of the place) they were made whole. The second explanation offered me, at the Spasski monastery in Yaroslaf, was of a similar character. A certain ikon, before which I was standing, was alleged to have been placed in the church in 1828. A girl, 17 years of age, was seized by demoniacal possession, and dreamed that she saw a certain picture. On waking, she was said to have searched through the town for the picture, which, on looking through the church window, she recognized in the ikon before us, and from that day she was made whole! Such are some of the stories upon which rest the alleged power of ikons to work miracles. But, as I have said before, the Russians are by no means “sceptical.” Consequently, if a church or a monastery only possesses a well-known miracle working ikon, the fortune of the place is made. Persons come from far and near to pray before it, bringing, of course, a present, and not unfrequently adding a thank-offering if the prayer be heard. A poor man, having a diseased leg or a sick cow, purchases a little silver model of his leg or his cow, and hangs it upon the ikon (I have seen several such), or, if the offerer be rich, he brings gems to adorn the wonder-working picture. These pictures, on special occasions, are taken to the houses of the faithful, being carried through the streets in procession, the people doffing their caps; and I have seen the more devout, in the hope of receiving a blessing, run between the bearers and under the picture carried upon their shoulders. At Kasan we saw the coffin of Bishop Gregory, from which chips are cut by sufferers to place on their wounds to be healed. The monk who accompanied us, and who was, intellectually, superior to some I have met, said that it was a well-known fact, and believed by all, that the relics of saints placed upon diseased parts of the body, and used with faith, are good for healing. The bishop, he said, died 200 years ago, but the wood of the alleged coffin did not appear to me to have reached the age of 200 weeks, and the whole concern looked modern.
[5] This reminds me that, though allusions have often been made to churches, I have not yet described what a Russian church is like. It should be premised, then, that the ideas of an Englishman and a Russian differ widely as to what a grand church should be. Given an English committee, money in hand, and they say, “Go to; let us build a church to the praise and glory of--the architect;” whereas a Russian merchant, his pocket full of roubles, seeks him out a lapidary, to whom he takes emeralds, rubies, diamonds, and pearls; a smith, to whom he consigns poods of silver; and a cunning workman, who can emblazon and embroider priestly robes and ecclesiastical garments. The consequence is that the English ecclesiologist, standing before “a fine church” in Russia, finds almost nothing upon which to expend his vocabulary of architectural terms. He sees merely wood, stone, or brick and plaster buildings, not too evenly finished, and whitewashed over in such a fashion that, but for their proportions, they would not be thought too good for an English homestead.
The Russian churches are so far alike that they are all modelled on the Byzantine style of architecture--a Byzantine church having been described as a “gabled Greek cross, with central dome inscribed in a square.” On the exterior, besides the central, there is sometimes a western dome, often there is one at each angle of the square, and, occasionally, one at each end of the cross. Accordingly, instead of spires, the eye of a traveller in Russia becomes accustomed to cross-crowned domes, which, as they are brightly painted and sometimes covered even with gold, and furnished with bells, affect both eye and ear not unpleasingly.
On entering a Russian church from the west, the internal arrangement is seen to be fourfold: first, the narthex, or porch, which was anciently for catechumens and penitents; next the nave, or body of the church; then a narrow platform, raised by steps, answering to the choir; and, beyond that, the sanctuary. The sanctuary is divided into three chambers: the central one being called “the altar,” in which stands the holy table, and behind it the bishop’s throne; the southern chamber forming the sacristy, where are kept the vestments and treasures; whilst that on the north is for preparing the sacramental elements. The sanctuary is parted off from the choir by a high panelled screen, called the ikonostasis, pierced by three doors, the centre opening being called the “royal gates,” on the north side of which hangs a gilded sacred picture of the Virgin, and on the south side a picture of our Saviour, and the patron saint of the church. The remaining parts of the screen are covered with other pictures, upon the frames and coverings of which, apart from their artistic value, an almost fabulous amount is sometimes lavished. The precious stones on the picture of Our Lady of Kasan, for instance, in Petersburg, are valued at £15,000; whilst, at Moscow, one emerald on the picture of the Holy Virgin of Vladimir is valued at £10,000--the value of the whole of those on this latter ikon being estimated at £45,000.
[6] All duties are now arranged at Irkutsk, and the annual quantity of leaf-tea (exclusive of brick-tea) that passes through is upwards of 5,000 tons.
Chapter XXVIII
THE MONGOLIAN FRONTIER AT MAIMATCHIN.
Outlook into Mongolia.--Town of Maimatchin without women.--Visit to a Chinese merchant.--Refreshments.--Attendants.--Purchases.--Tea bricks for coin.--The town.--Buddhist temple.--Chinese malefactors.--Their punishments.--Chinese dinner.--Food.--Intoxicating drinks.--Route to Peking.--Travellers.--Modes of conveyance.--Manners of the desert.--Postal service.
As we stood on the top of Kiakhta church, we could see, as already observed, the three towns of Troitzkosavsk, Kiakhta, and Maimatchin. The former two were like other Siberian towns, but southwards there lay before us something decidedly new. Just over the border was a veritable Chinese town; then came a broad plain, covered with sand and herbage, with the horizon bounded by the hills of Mongolia, beyond which the imagination was left to picture its capital, Urga, and, further south, the great wall of China. Before continuing our journey eastwards, therefore, I shall describe our visit to Maimatchin, and offer a few observations upon the route over the Mongolian frontier to Peking.
Mai-ma-tchin signifies, in Chinese, “buy and sell,” and so is applied to this border town as a “a place of trade.” It has a population, we were told, of 3,000, and differs in one respect, at all events, from all the cities upon the face of the earth, in that the inhabitants are all of the male sex. Not a woman is to be found in the town, a baby’s music is never heard there, and the streets are void of girls and boys. Not that the men, however, are all bachelors, for some of them have wives and families in China proper. Nor are they all woman-haters or henpecked husbands. We did indeed hear of one man, a British subject, who so far agreed with Solomon as to the undesirability of living with a brawling woman, even though it were in a wide house, that he had fled from his island home, and retired to a house-top in the wilds of Siberia, where he is living in prosperity, and whither his spouse has not pursued him. But the fact is, that among the curious arrangements of the Chinese at the time of their early treaties with the Russians, and in order that their celestial subjects might not become rooted to the soil, but consider themselves as sojourners only, they have forbidden that women should live in Maimatchin. Hence a paterfamilias of Maimatchin, if he wishes to visit his wife and children, must undertake a month’s journey across the desert on the back of a camel, and return by the same means; so that a few such journeys may well give wings to his desire speedily to make his fortune and return home.
We took the opportunity of paying an afternoon visit to Maimatchin on the first day of our arrival at Kiakhta, Mr. Koecher kindly accompanying us. After passing out of the wooden gate of Kiakhta we found ourselves on a piece of neutral ground, about 500 yards wide, between the two empires. On the south side is a palisade pierced for the principal gate, shielded from view by a high wooden screen some eight or ten paces from the wall. Behind this screen we entered Maimatchin, and found ourselves in a new world. The town is built inside a strong wooden enclosure, about 400 yards square, with four or five mud-paved streets. They are regular, however, tolerably clean, and, for China, wide,--wide enough perhaps to allow of a London omnibus being driven through them. The houses are of one storey, built of unburnt bricks of mud and wood, and are thus solid and tidy, and are surrounded by courtyards. At the entrances are screens that shut out the river from the street, which are painted with diabolical-looking figures, to frighten away evil spirits. This represents, however, the houses of the well-to-do merchants. Towards the southern part of the town are the mean, windowless houses of the poor, which have little of the neatness and propriety of the above.
We were taken first to visit one of the Chinese merchants named Van-Tchan-Taï; and on entering his courtyard we found it surrounded by a number of doors, some entering the warehouses, the kitchen, out-houses, etc., and one leading to the shop and dwelling-place of the merchant. The door consisted of a suspended transparent screen, admitting the air, and yet keeping out flies and insects. The window-frames were ornamented and covered with paper. None looked into the street, but all into the courtyard. Inside the house were two compartments, an outer and an inner. In the outer chamber we were seated on a raised platform, or divan, which serves for a sleeping-place for the clerks and assistants by night, and for a dining-place by day, when the bedding and cushions are neatly rolled up and ornamentally arranged. This platform is heated by a flue beneath, and on the edge in front is kept, always burning, a small charcoal fire, which serves for lighting pipes and heating grog. Round the wall hung illuminated texts, from the writings of Confucius, and various pictures, one of which we were told was a representation of the god of happiness. And a very stout personage he looked! But this is strictly in keeping with Chinese notions, for they delight to load their deities with collops of fat, prosperity and abundance of flesh in their eyes having great affinity. A number of little birds were in the room, not in cages, but on perches resembling those on which parrots are kept in England.
The merchant invited us to drink tea, and told us that the Chinese use this beverage without sugar or milk three times a day; namely, at rising, at noon, and at seven in the evening. They have substantial meals at nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. When they discovered I was English, they were curious to know all about us, making various inquiries, trying to imitate our words and sounds, even to laughing, and examining carefully such things as were shown them, as watches, pencils, and knives. We were no less curious to pry into their affairs, and learn of them all we could. The merchant employed 23 “clerks,” 18 in Maimatchin, and the remainder at a branch establishment in some other part of the world. We did not make out, however, whether this number included shop assistants, warehousemen, servants, cooks, etc., or whether it consisted only of actual writers. They seemed all dressed alike, from the master downwards; that is, in a suit of blue nankeen, and black skull caps. Suspended on the wall, and covered with paper to keep them from dust, were two or three white straw hats, of depressed conical shape, with a horsehair tassel on the top, seemingly reserved for summer use or gala days. One of the attendants had a black dress edged with white, and on inquiry he was found to be the coachman in half mourning. Chinese full mourning must not be of silk, is all white, and worn 100 days after the death of a relative, during which time the head is not shaved. Black and white is afterwards worn for three years, one of its features being a small white ball on the top of the cap. As the servants stood about waiting on us, their discipline appeared to be very much of the patriarchal character; none seemed greater or less than another, except it were the chief clerk, who received, we found, about £30 a year; whilst the “boys” received from £5 and upwards, their food being in all cases provided. This chief clerk cultivated a straggling moustache, which is the privilege of all Chinese men after they arrive at 30 years of age. He had also very long nails, protruding, perhaps, half an inch, which evidently were considered beautiful. It is the custom of Chinese gentlemen and ladies to have long nails, that other persons may be aware of their rank in society, for with such impediments they could not labour. This senior also seemed fond of his pipe, which held just so much tobacco as enabled him to take five good strong whiffs only, and he then blew out of the pipe, with a peculiar noise, the remainder of the tobacco and ashes.
Whilst sipping our tea we proceeded to make purchases. The principal articles of Chinese export into Russia are teas, cottons, nankeens, silks, good satins, rhubarb, and many articles of curiosity and ingenuity. The exports from Siberia are generally furs. As we sat in the merchant’s shop, it was a matter for conjecture as to where the merchandise was kept, for it was not visible. A number of articles, however, were brought forth from mysterious cupboards and drawers, and we heard that the Chinese allow as little of their property as possible to be seen by the authorities, lest they should be more highly taxed. So far, therefore, as appearances go in a Chinese shop, the American dealer’s window-notice would be eminently appropriate: “If you don’t see what you want, ask for it.” We did this, and found it successful. My first purchase was a piece of silk called Chin-chun-cha, supposed to be of sufficient measure for two suits of clothes. This silk is undyed, and washes and wears so well that it is a favourite material throughout Siberia for gentlemen’s summer suits, and sometimes for ladies’ dresses.
The Chinese are fond of having a couple of balls in the hand, at idle times, to roll and rub one over the other with the fingers, and so play with; for the same reason, probably, that the Turks like to have beads in the hand. Several of these balls were offered to me. One pair was of Chinese jade, which, on being rubbed together, emitted flashes of electric light. Gilt buttons, too, were shown as a rarity, but their marks betrayed that they came from Birmingham. We bought some embroidered purses of native workmanship, and cups and saucers. The saucers are of a lozenge-shape, and of metal, with an indentation fitted to receive the bottom of the cup, which has no handle. Hence, in drinking the tea, it was not necessary to finger the cup, but merely to hold the saucer and drink from the cup resting therein. Some of the drinking vessels were of wood, but lacquered and covered with a varnish which made them quite capable of holding boiling water. Our most comical purchase, perhaps, was a pair of furred ear-pockets, connected by a piece of elastic, for use in frosty weather.
After taking refreshment, we looked about the house and yard, into the kitchen, which was clean enough, and into the warehouse, with its piles of chests of tea, and were amused to see them take a hollow iron auger, something like a large cheese taster, and drive this into the corner of a tea-chest to bring thereout a sample handful of the fragrant herb. I contented myself, however, with buying a brick of tea, as a greater curiosity. It measures about nine inches by six, and is three-quarters of an inch thick, and might better be called, as it once was in Germany, “tile” tea. This article was formerly used for coin in certain parts of Siberia, and is so still in Mongolia. The owner of a circus, since my visit, made his way through Kiakhta to Urga. The stud and its riders greatly delighted the Mongolians, who are excellent horsemen, and, as the proprietor accepted the “current coin of the realm,” his cashier’s office presented the unusual appearance of being filled to overflowing with bricks of tea! We had cause, therefore, for congratulation, that we had not to carry a quantity of this very inconvenient form of cash.
After leaving the house we wandered through the streets, examining the wares exposed for sale, like those we had seen on the Chinese stalls in the market-place of Troitzkosavsk, and the looking round at which, in both places, gave us much amusement. We found all sorts of Chinese knick-knacks; and the poorest attempts at cutlery, in the shape of knives, scissors, and razors, that ever I saw. The razors bore a strong resemblance to miniature hatchets, and, on steaming across the Pacific, I observed that their use was not confined to men, for the Chinese women think so much of having the hair cut away smoothly from the back of the neck, that one female on board was seen thus acting the barber on behalf of her sister. Beads and hats were likewise exposed for sale, brushes and combs, pieces of flint and steel, and Buddhist rosaries; which last, evidently, were considered finely perfumed, but we thought the smell abominable. A piece of Chinese vanity we saw consisted of circular felt pads, highly dyed with rouge, with which the people rub, and so redden, their faces. Several of these curiosities we bought, bargaining for the price by signs, to the mutual amusement of buyers and salesmen.
We were taken to the Buddhist temple, the precincts of which appeared to comprise the houses of the governor (or, as he is called, the zurgutchay), and the chief priest; also a theatre, and something like a prison. In the court of the temple were placed two or three cannon, which are fired daily when the governor is going to sleep. The theatre, we found, was open only on fête days, and, if the report of travellers be true, the plays are sometimes grossly obscene. This, however, is only in keeping with the pictures seen in the houses, and sold openly in the streets, which are too licentious to bear description.
We saw in the court of the temple two malefactors, who had iron rings round their necks, attached to which were chains, about five feet long, with enormous links, and of great weight, weighing, I should judge, in all, upwards of 50 lbs. They had chains, too, upon their hands and legs, and, being exceedingly dirty and ill clad, they looked somewhat ferocious. One of them had his chain coiled about his shoulders for more convenient carriage, and when he saw that I was curious he allowed it to drop towards the ground, showing me the full length of his punishment. I bought the man’s rosary for a souvenir. We saw, also, in Maimatchin, another kind of Chinese punishment, in the shape of a wooden collar, made of 6-inch plank, about 2½ feet square, and put about a man’s neck. It was said to be more than 100 lbs. in weight, and the unfortunate wearer was prevented by its size from putting his hand to his mouth. He used therefore, in feeding himself, a long wooden spoon, but he looked anything but comfortable. His accusation was written on the collar, setting forth his name and family, and he was to wear his collar night and day for a month, and that for fighting! but I am not clear whether it was for an ordinary pugilistic encounter, or for attempted violence to a superior.
As we walked about the streets it was plain that, though we were distinctly in the Chinese empire and not in Russia, yet that the people of the two border towns were on the most friendly footing. Chinese merchants visit the Russians freely, drink tea, smoke cigarettes, and chatter,--not “pigeon English,” but “pigeon Russian.” To this good feeling I presume it was that we were indebted for an invitation to dine, two days after, with the merchant upon whom we called. We were particularly anxious to do this; for to eat a Chinese dinner at Maimatchin had been one of the curious treats I had promised myself when thinking of pushing on so far as Kiakhta. At the same time, Mr. Michie’s declaring that a Chinese dinner, to which Kiakhta merchants take their friends, was “a feast most Europeans would rather undergo the incipient stages of starvation than come within the smell of it,” had rather terrified me as to the horrors one might be expected to eat. I determined, however, to place bread on one side of my plate and water on the other, and then martyrise myself for the sake of gaining experience, to say nothing of showing myself a person of good breeding in Chinese eyes, by tasting everything; and I hoped that, if anything particularly nasty came into my mouth, it might be neutralized or speedily swallowed by the aid of a piece of bread or a draught of water. Things were not so bad, however, as I had feared, and we were none of us made ill. Calling on our way to dinner at Mr. Tokmakoff’s, I begged a small loaf of half-white bread; and, thus prepared, we presented ourselves at the house of Van Tchan Taï.
There were five in the party, which included Mr. Koecher, our Russian host; Mr. M----, our fellow-countryman; Mr. Interpreter; myself, and a Russian friend. We were shown first into the inner compartment, and seated on the divan, whilst they brought us tea, dried fruits, and confections, such as candied ginger, dried walnuts and Mandarin oranges, salted almonds, and sugared ditto, melon seeds, etc., etc. We then adjourned to the outer chamber, where the dinner was spread on a table. But what a table! It was just about three feet square, and on this were placed, as a commencement, no less than 10 dishes, besides our own plates. These dishes, or saucers, of meats were replaced to the number of 30. Further east I met a man who told me that when he dined at Maimatchin they gave him 64 dishes! At this tiny table we were seated, and each was provided with a small saucer, three inches in diameter, half filled with dark-looking vinegar, into which we were supposed to dip everything before carrying it to the mouth. Of this I soon got tired, and began to eat things au naturel, that is as far as possible; but most of the courses were so disguised by confectionery and culinary art that we had to ask of almost every plate, What is this? Happily the plates were so exceedingly small that to taste of each did not seriously strain one’s eating powers; and by tasting first, and then asking what it was, all prejudice was taken away till it was too late to have any. But we discovered that among the dishes we had eaten were beans, garlic, a kind of sea-weed cooked like seakale, and a green kind also; likewise radishes cut in slices, swallows’ eggs boiled, and rissoles of meat; various sorts of marine vegetables, and, I think, birds’ nests. Towards the end of the feast appeared a samovar, but not like the Russian article of that name,--the difference resembling that between an “outside” and an “inside” Dublin car, of which an Irishman said that, with an outside car the wheels were inside, whereas with an inside car the wheels were outside. So with the Chinese samovar, the boiling part was exposed to view, and contained the soup, in which were small pieces of meat, vermicelli, and rice puddings, the size of tennis balls, for the eating of which they brought us chop-sticks--I suppose, that we might try our hands, for at the earlier part of the meal they had given us knives and forks. Chop-sticks are a pair of cylindrical rods, rather longer, and not quite so thick as lead pencils, which are both held between the thumb and fingers of the right hand, and are used as tongs to take the food and carry it to the mouth--an operation by no means easy to the unpractised. Our host did not sit at table, or eat with us, but stood looking on, and giving orders to his boys or “clerks.” Each guest was provided with a tiny cup about an inch or a little more in diameter, and perhaps half an inch deep. Into this, at an early stage of the proceedings, was poured, from a diminutive kettle, hot mai-ga-lo, or Chinese brandy, tasting, it was said, somewhat like whisky. It is exceedingly strong, though not so potent as another kind of which we heard, called khanshin, and which not only makes a man intoxicated on the day he drinks it, but if he takes a glass of water only on the morrow, the intoxicating effect is repeated. When they came to pour me out brandy I declined, the propriety of which our host recognised at once; for when my friends told him I was a “lama,” or priest, he said that “their lamas were not allowed to drink brandy.” It was comforting, therefore, to find that we had at least one good thing in common.
Whilst we were in the house of Van Tchan Taï there came in a Mongolian lama, to whom I was introduced as an English lama. The Mongolian lamas do not confine themselves to spiritual functions; for this man was a contractor for the carriage of goods across the desert to and from China, which leads me to say something of this curious journey. The Kiakhta-Peking route was not that followed by the earliest embassies sent overland from Siberia, nor by Marco Polo in his marvellous travels in Tartary. In fact, it is remarkable how very little has been known, until lately, concerning this part of Central Asia, and how little is known still.[1]
After the building of Kiakhta and Maimatchin, the route across the desert was of course extensively used by the caravans, though I am not aware that it was followed by any Englishman or celebrated traveller till within the past quarter of a century.[2]
There are six Englishmen, four of whom I have met, who, as well as some ladies, have travelled this Mongolian route within the past 18 years.[3] The traveller, however, who has given us the most solid and scientific information about the part of Mongolia of which we are speaking is the Russian Colonel Prejevalsky, who spent three years, beginning in 1870, by travelling first from Kiakhta to Peking, then turning northward to Manchuria, and afterwards following in the tracks of Huc not quite to Lhassa, but as far as the Blue River, or the Yang-tse-kiang; and then, turning back, did the most daring thing of all, crossing the desert of Gobi from Ala-shan to Urga and Kiakhta. This journey had never before been attempted by a European, and was accomplished in the height of summer, when sometimes the party could obtain neither pasture nor water.
The distance between Kiakhta and Peking is a thousand miles, and Europeans who wish to make the journey have the choice of two modes of conveyance, either by post-horses or by caravan camels engaged by special bargain with their owners. So, at least, says Colonel Prejevalsky, though Mr. Milne tells a different tale, for he had intended to cross Mongolia in company with a Russian officer by courier horses; but he found that, according to the agreement between the Russian and Chinese Governments, it was allowable only for such couriers as were Russian subjects to take the horse road, and therefore he was obliged to go the ordinary caravan route by camels. He made an agreement with some Mongol carriers, that they were to take him from Kiakhta to Kalgan, near the great wall of China, in 30 days, for which he was to pay them £15. For every day less than thirty he was to pay ten shillings extra; for every day beyond that time they were to pay him ten shillings. There was also a clause that a tent, fire, and water should be supplied. The ordinary procedure of the caravan in winter is to be on the move till about seven or eight in the evening, and then stop for tea, and travel on till midnight or two in the morning. A halt is then made for sleep, and all start again by eight or ten. They eat in winter only once a day, and, according to Mr. Milne’s account, a winter journey across the desert is anything but comfortable. Mr. Michie, however, and Captain Shepherd, who travelled in milder weather, give a very different account, and speak in pleasant terms of a nomad life. It is so utterly different from any European experience of motion and living that, though it has several drawbacks--and a month is rather too long to be wholly agreeable--yet those who have passed through such a phase of travel look back upon it as a pleasant change from the humdrum life of a homeward voyage in a P. and O. steamer.
The pace at which the caravan proceeds is provokingly slow, and the jolting of the rude, clumsy camel-cart makes walking, for a great part of the day, preferable to driving; but there is game to be shot, and the solitude of the desert is now and then relieved by arrivals at Mongolian yourts, or tents, where, conversation being the only form of newspaper they know, there is a general wagging of tongues, and a shower of questions to be asked. The Mongol’s one notion of wealth is the number of a man’s flocks and herds; and thus, if the Englishman is asked what he is worth, he has to translate his riches into thousands of sheep, horses, and bulls, and then explain his possessions. Again, the monotony of the way may be relieved occasionally by meeting with the Russian post.[4]
The manners and customs of the Mongolians are, in many cases, exceedingly interesting, as taking one back to the habits of a nomadic and pastoral people. But it is not necessary to detail them here, as we shall have before us, in a subsequent chapter, the Buriats, who are a branch of the Mongolian race; and in treating of the one we shall be in many respects treating also of the other.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] We owe some of our early geographical information about Eastern Mongolia to the rupture between the Russians and Chinese on the Amur. The Chinese took several prisoners, and transported them to Peking, subsequently allowing Russian priests to be sent to minister to their spiritual necessities. When, in course of time, the prisoners might have returned, they had learned so to like their quarters, that they chose to remain; whereupon “the spiritual mission” was kept up by sending new priests at intervals of ten years, and thus the Russians learned something of the unknown country through which these functionaries travelled.
[2] Daniel De Foe made his celebrated “Robinson Crusoe” to re-visit his island, and afterwards land in China, where he met with a Jesuit missionary who took him to Peking. Then, crossing the desert, he came to the Argun and Nertchinsk, and so proceeded to Tobolsk and crossed the Urals to Archangel. This, of course, is fiction; but it may be that De Foe, who was never abroad in his life, and who published his “Robinson Crusoe” in 1719, had heard of a route used in his day across the Mongolian desert. When we come to the interesting writings of the Roman missionary Huc, we have, of course, a good deal of information about Mongolia; but his route lay in the south along the great wall of China towards the Himalayas, and not at all in the north.
[3] One is Mr. Howell, formerly a British resident in China, who crossed from Shanghai to Kiakhta; another is Mr. Wylie, who was connected with the British and Foreign Bible Society, and who crossed from Kiakhta to Peking; but neither of these gentlemen has favoured the public, as far as I am aware, with information as to his wanderings. In 1863 Mr. Michie undertook “the Siberian overland route from Peking to St. Petersburg,” and wrote an account of his Mongolian travels, which was the first English book that had appeared on that part of Asia. Mr. Michie has been followed by three other English writers. In 1869, by Mr. William Athenry Whyte, F.R.G.S., who wrote, “A Land Journey from Asia to Europe, being an account of a camel and sledge journey from Canton to St. Petersburg, through the plains of Mongolia and Siberia;” in 1875-6, by Mr. John Milne, F.G.S., who crossed Europe and Siberia to Kiakhta, Peking, and Shanghai, and read a paper concerning his journey before the Asiatic Society of Japan; and, in 1877, by Captain W. Shepherd, R.E., who returned “homeward through Mongolia and Siberia,” and wrote a short account in the Royal Engineers’ Journal. I heard some of these travellers spoken of by the residents in Siberia, and the Russians seemed mightily surprised that Captain Shepherd should have taken such a journey alone, and unable to speak a word of their language. I suppose Messrs. Howell and Wylie did the same, but I have heard of Captain Shepherd’s exploit as far away as the Crimea, and so lately as last autumn.
[4] Postal communication was established by treaty between the Russians and Chinese in 1858 and 1860. The Russian Government organized, at its own expense, a regular transmission of both light and heavy mails between Kiakhta, Peking, and Tien-tsin. The Mongols contract to carry the post as far as Kalgan, the Chinese the rest of the way. The Russians have opened post-offices at four places, Urga, Kalgan, Peking, and Tien-tsin. The light mails leave Kiakhta and Tien-tsin three times a month, the heavy mails only once a month. The heavy mails are carried on camels, escorted by two Cossacks from Kiakhta; while the light mails are accompanied only by Mongols, and are carried on horses. The light mails are taken from Kiakhta to Peking in two weeks, whilst the heavy mails take from 20 to 24 days; and the cost of all this to the Russian Government is about £2,400 a year, the receipts at the four offices amounting to about £430.