Chapter XXXVIII…

Chapter XXXVIII

THE SHILKA.

Departure from Kara.--Parting hospitality.--Ust-Kara police-master.--Head waters of the Shilka.--Collins’s descent of Ingoda.--The Onon.--Formation of Shilka.--Scenery below Stretinsk.--Shilkinsk.--Hospitality of police-master.--Non-arrival of steamer.--Efforts at conversation.--Steaming down the river.--Shilka scenery.--Tributaries from north and south.--Arrival at confluence of Shilka and Argun.

My steamer was due at Ust-Kara on Sunday evening. It was arranged, therefore, that my host should drive me to the river and see me off; or, if the steamer did not come, then leave me to wait its arrival in the house of the police-master. The colonel was pleased to say that he regretted my departure. He seldom received visits of the kind I had paid, which naturally had been more pleasant, he said, than inspection visits of officials. He alluded, however, to a visit to Kara of the Grand Duke Alexei-Alexeivitch as having done much good, and he was desirous of gathering all the information he could respecting our treatment of criminals in England.

The colonel’s farewell did not end in words, for, like a true Russian, he made ample provision for his parting guest. Some Tunguses had passed a few days previously, of whom he had bought a box, of native manufacture, both curious and useful, and this he proceeded to fill for me with the good things of Kara. These included roast chickens and a piece of boiled ham. Preserves, too, my host had discovered that I liked, and I must therefore take some pots of jam recently made. Did I like cheese? Well--at home, half a pound would suffice me for a twelvemonth; but in Siberia, where good butter was scarce, and a cheese cost ten shillings, I had learned to regard it as a delicacy. The colonel therefore insisted on my taking the greater part of a Dutch bowler, and he regretted that he could not offer me the only piece he had of what looked like Cheddar, because he was expecting a visit from his Excellency the Governor of the province, and wanted a delicacy to set before him. The extreme kindness with which this was done was almost embarrassing. In England it would appear strange, but in the district of the Amur these were presents not to be despised, for some of them I could have otherwise obtained neither for love nor money.

At last we set out duly laden, intending to call on our way at the prisons I had not yet seen. Packing, however, had taken rather long; and when we came to the first prison, where the officer was standing ready to receive us, I was afraid we should not have time, and that our staying might involve the missing of the steamer. I therefore begged that we might push on, which we did, to Ust-Kara. Here I looked over various buildings, which have been already referred to, as the summer hospital, with 93 patients, the women’s wards, and the wards for the old and superannuated men, also the new cellular prison for politicals, and a prison in which they manufacture various requisites for the use of the convicts. In this last, five men wished to sing to us a piece of Church music, which they did, and thus ended my visits to five of the six prisons of Kara. Evening was now drawing on, and as the boat had not come, I was consigned to the care of the police-master, and bade adieu to Colonel Kononovitch with feelings of regret.

From Ust-Kara the steamer was to bear me to the Amur. This will be a convenient place, therefore, from which to say something further about the head waters of that river, namely, of the Ingoda and Onon, which form the Shilka; and the Argun, which, with the Shilka, forms the Amur.

The Argun, Onon, and Ingoda all rise in the Kentai (or Khangai) and Yablonoi mountains. From the summit of this latter range the traveller approaching Chita from the west first sees the Ingoda at the foot of the range. From Chita to Stretinsk the journey can be made by water, and Mr. Collins, the first American traveller in this region, in 1858, so accomplished it.[1] On the fourth day he passed the river Onon, coming in from the south. This stream rises in the same district, but somewhat further south than the Ingoda, and in its upper course its banks are wooded. It is navigable all the summer.

By the union of the Ingoda with the Onon is formed the Shilka, and at the junction the two rivers have each run a course of some 400 miles. The stream now increases in breadth and slightly in depth, so that, when not frozen, the river can be navigated at all seasons in small boats, though with some risk from the numerous sandbanks and rapids. About 40 miles below the Onon, the Nertcha enters from the north, and here stands the old city of Nertchinsk, not far from which the floating traveller passes the monastery of Nertchinsky, and subsequently arrives at Stretinsk.

It was from this spot I commenced the descent of the Shilka with my Cossack attendant. As we glided along, hour after hour, the shifting scenes reminded one of some grand spectacle in a fairy tale, for bend after bend, and point after point, opened to view landscapes and vistas of surpassing beauty. Now and then we had to beware of rapids, and in one place of a sunken rock called the “Devil’s Elbow.” The depth sufficed for our boat, but we met a steamer coming up stream, whose captain had a hard task to find and keep the channel.

Between Stretinsk and Shilkinsk the left bank is fairly populated, most of the necessaries of life are easily attainable, and fish and game are abundant. Granite predominates on both banks of the river as far as the third station, Botti, beyond which limestone prevails. The cliffs become lofty, some of them about 1,000 feet, and their summits are riven into numerous picturesque turrets, while beneath are openings leading into caverns. A few miles further the valley of the Shilka opens out, and the rocks recede for a considerable distance till they reach the valley of Tchalbu-tchenskoi, down the centre of which flows the river Tchal-bu-tche.

On the space formed by the receding rocks stands Shilkinskoi Zavod, a town stretching two miles along the river on a plateau 30 feet high. This was the seat of an old convict silver-mining establishment, the working of which has ceased long since.[2] The river here has a breadth of 600 yards, with a current of four knots, and in the spring a depth of seven feet on the shallows, but in the summer and autumn the depth is much less.

On the second day we came in sight of a large house on the left bank, where I landed, thinking perhaps to find some one to speak to. At the various stations I had given tracts, and, in a small way, found a ready sale for New Testaments. I offered the same at this large house, which proved to be that of a doctor, but he was not at home. His wife was in the house, but we had no language in common, and therefore my sale had to be conducted here, as at the post-houses, by dumb motions, one question about the hour being put and answered, I remember, by drawing a clock and marking the hands. Ten miles further was Ust-Kara, whence I digressed into a description of the headwaters of the Amur.

After bidding adieu to Colonel Kononovitch, on Sunday evening the 27th July, I was waiting in the house of the police-master for the arrival of the steamer. This worthy official was several degrees lower in position and intelligence than my late host, but he had a good house, and spared no pains to make me comfortable. He was living bachelor fashion, his wife and daughters having gone on a tour to Irkutsk. This he regretted, and so did I, for I was given to understand that they spoke French; and it was not particularly lively to be in a house in which you could speak a word to no one, especially with a host who would insist upon talking, whether you understood or not. One hour passed by, and two, and three, and the expected whistle was not heard, till, night having fairly set in, my host made me understand that the steamer had run aground.

It seemed best, therefore, to go to bed, hoping for its appearance in the morning. A bed was made for me on the floor of the best room in the house, but no washing apparatus provided. The maid was to be called in the morning to do the part of a Levite, and pour water on my hands. I was not, however, to retire supperless, and whilst food was being prepared the police-master begged me to try his piano. Accordingly, I strummed three tunes, which represent my stock-in-trade in this department, and my host nodded satisfaction. At supper he rattled away, and it was in vain that I shook my head and replied, “Ne govoriu po Russki” (I do not speak Russ). He returned to the charge afresh, until I was glad to retire.

Morning came, but not the steamer, and after breakfast I was writing, when it occurred to me that if the steamer were aground, it might be days or even weeks before it arrived, and at last I thought it desirable to inquire for particulars. A military officer came in, but I could extract from him no language I knew. Presently, however, the police-master brought a piece of paper that gave me hope. It was a polyglot letter to this effect: “Respected Sir, I should be glad to be allowed to teach your children French, which language I know. Your obedient servant, So-and-So.” And this was written in Russian, French, German, and English, and, as a finale, was added, “Sic transit gloria mundi.” I saw at once there was a genius in the place,--perhaps a released exile, or the wife of one, and I requested my host by signs to bring us together at once. But I think the said genius must have been away, for the police-master was holding a discussion with the officer as if there were some difficulty in the matter, when, as they were talking, the steamer’s whistle was heard.

The effect was magical. I rushed to make ready. The carriage was before the door in a very few minutes, and the police-master, who was expecting his family by the boat, was speedily with me, my baggage on the vehicle, and we dashed off to the station. Here I was introduced to the wife and family, and also to a lady who I fancy was the authoress of the polyglot paper,[3] after which I embarked.

The weather was beautiful, and we steamed down the lovely Shilka 150 miles to its junction with the Argun. The first station beyond Ust-Kara was Ust-Chorney. Here the Chorney, or Black river, falls into the Shilka by two channels. This river is so rapid, and sometimes so violent, as to dash the passing boat or raft a wreck against the opposite rock-bound shore. Further on the scenery changes on the south side. Perpendicular cliffs of limestone appear with groups of birch and larch on their tops, and in the small ravines. Over these rounded summits appear, and a long chain of hills stretches southwards towards the Argun.

The next station is Gorbitza, near the mouth of the Gorbitza river. Until 1854 this was the boundary of the Russian and Chinese empires. At Bogdoi, not far distant, is a mineral spring where annually a fair was held, at which a few Russian merchants and Cossacks used to assemble to meet the Manchu who came to barter. The Manchu ascended the Amur from Aigun in large boats, bringing printed cotton goods, silk, tobacco, and Chinese brandy, which they exchanged for glassware, soap, and deer-horns.

Below Gorbitza the river enters a region where the cliffs rise considerably higher than in the limestone. Here granite is heaved up in huge masses, which time, frost, and sun have riven and shattered into curious forms. Ravines are also rent far into the mountains, and down them clear streams descend. A little further on the shores become wooded, pine-trees grow along the banks, and on the upper slopes are black and white birches, with occasional clumps of larch, while the dwarf elm grows from the clefts in the rocks.

Mineral springs are frequently met with on the banks of the Shilka. To some the natives resort. Further down are several islands, upon one of which, named “Sable” island, are pine, larch, and birch. At the river Bankova, having its source in the mining district near the Argun, and falling into the Shilka from the south, there is another place where a fair was held by the Cossacks of the Argun and the Tunguses of the Yablonoi, the latter bringing skins, deer-horns, and a few sable and fox skins. These they bartered with the Cossacks for flour, vodka, powder, and lead. Further on, and not far from the confluence of the Shilka and Argun, the Son-ghe-noi enters the Shilka to the south, and at a short distance is a lake from which the natives and Cossacks obtain their supplies of salt. A few miles below Son-ghe-noi are two islands in the Shilka, and a little beyond these the sandstone rocks rise abruptly in picturesque forms from the water. The rocks recede to the southward, and a small delta has formed extending to the mouth of the Argun. Near it is the village of Ust-Strelka,[4] or Arrow mouth, situated at the junction of the two rivers which form the Amur, and here I arrived on Wednesday evening, the 30th of July.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Russians at that time were engaged in the annexation of the Amur territory, and the Governor, General Korsakoff, willingly lent him aid. He embarked at Atalan, about eight miles below Chita, in a flat-bottomed barge. Here the river is 200 yards wide, and the shores are well timbered and mountainous. The river proved easy to navigate, and Mr. Collins, his provisions, and 18 persons proceeded down the stream at the rate of nearly five miles an hour. The country on the third day became more open, with extensive high-rolling prairies, and the banks of the stream afforded much beautiful scenery. On the 21st May the forests were still leafless, though flowers were making their appearance, and the willows were budding. The rocks of the river are in many parts covered with mosses and a beautiful fern, and in sheltered spots appears in summer the rhubarb plant.

[2] At Shilkinsk were built several of the barges for the first great expedition on the Amur in 1854, and here the expedition was fitted out with military stores and other necessaries. The Government had, too, in the place a glass factory and a very large tan-yard, but I have a suspicion that these factories were much more important in the days when Messrs. Atkinson, Collins, and Ravenstein wrote, than a quarter of a century later, at the time of my visit. Up to this point at least I could hear of no factories in Siberia, other than those I have mentioned. At Ekaterineburg there was a paper-mill, belonging to Mr. Yates, at whose house I dined; and there were the soap and candle works, near which I stayed, and where, through difficulty of getting a sufficiency of fuel, they were burning wood and rubbish, and with the gas produced therefrom, through a two-feet tube, were heating some of the boilers.

[3] “Une sage femme,” she called herself, who had been acting in her capacity as midwife, and had returned by the boat. Women alone, I understand, act in this capacity in Russia,--a doctor being called in only in case of difficulty.

[4] Here the Shilka ends its course of 700 miles, and is joined by the Argun, after a course of 1,000 miles. The Argun proper rises among the Nertchinsk ore mountains, at an elevation of from 2,000 to 3,000 feet, and very near to the source of the Onon, the two streams running down the northern and southern slopes respectively of the mountain-range. The upper part of the Argun, however, rises as the Kerulen to the south-east of Kiakhta, in the Kentai (or Khangai) mountains. For 550 miles the Kerulen traverses one of the most inhospitable tracts of the Gobi. It then runs through the Dalai Nor or Lake, and flows into the Argun proper, by which name the lower course of the river is known; and then, after flowing 420 miles further, it joins the Shilka at Ust-Strelka.

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Chapter XXXIX

THE HISTORY OF THE AMUR.

Divisible into three periods.--Period of Cossack plunder.--Poyarkof.--Khabarof.--Stepanof.--Discovery and occupation of Shilka.--Chernigovsky.--Period of conflict with Chinese.--Russo-Chinese treaty of 1686.--Russian mission at Peking.--Affairs on the Amur during Russian exclusion.--Third historic period from 1847.--Preparatory operations on Lower Amur.--Muravieff’s descent of the river, 1854.--Influence of the Crimean war.--Colonization of Lower Amur.--Further colonization, 1857.--Chinese protests.--Influence of Anglo-Chinese war.--The Sea Coast erected into a Russian province.--Renewed difficulties with China.--Treaty of 1860.--Review of Russian occupation.

The history of the Amur, or so much of it as need here be mentioned in connection with the Russians, may be divided into three periods. We have first the period of Cossack pillage and plunder of the native tribes, beginning in 1636, and extending over a period of 50 years to 1682. This was followed in 1683 by a period of warfare with China, lasting for half-a-dozen years, and succeeded by uninterrupted Chinese possession for (roughly) 150 years, to 1848; after which comes the period of Russian annexation, beginning in 1848, completed in 1860, and continuing to the present day.[1]

I have already stated that, within about 20 years after the founding of Yeneseisk, the Russians pushed on their conquests to the Sea of Okhotsk, on the shores of which, in 1639, they built a winter station for the collection of tribute. It was here first they heard from the Tunguses of tribes to the south, dwelling along the Zeya and Shilka.[2]

These reports attracted attention in Yakutsk, and an expedition of 132 men, most of them promyshlenie, was placed under Poyarkof, who left Yakutsk in 1643, ascended the river Aldan, and built winter quarters for 40 of his men, and stores, in the mountains. Pushing on himself with 92 men, he crossed the Stanovoi range, and, after suffering great hardships, reached the head waters of the Zeya, where he met the first reindeer Tunguses. Further on he came to a Daurian village, in which he was kindly received, but his extortionate conduct provoked the natives to hostility; and one of his officers, having attacked a village and been repulsed, Poyarkof, with the loss of many Cossacks through hunger, retired down the Zeya, descended the Amur to its mouth, and, crossing the Sea of Okhotsk, reached Yakutsk in 1646.

The next prominent traveller was Khabarof, from 1647 to 1652. A shorter route to the river had been heard of by way of the Olekma; and Khabarof, at the head of a band of adventurers, took this route to the Upper Amur. The natives, having heard of the conduct of Poyarkof, fled before the Russians; and Khabarof marched on, slaughtering his opponents, or putting them to flight. Strengthened by reinforcements, he descended the river to the Lower Amur, wintered at Achansk (which no longer exists), and was vainly attacked by the natives and the Manchu. In the following spring he turned back, and ascended the river to the Zeya, where some of his men mutinied. He sent messengers to Yakutsk asking for 6,000 men, and, there being no such force in Siberia, the voivod dispatched the messengers to Moscow, where the conquest of the Amur had been for some time under consideration. Khabarof returned in 1652, and thus ended the first nine years of Russian adventure on the Amur, during which some of the leaders had shown great perseverance; but the natives had been badly treated, exposed to all sorts of extortion, and their tilled lands reduced to deserts.

We come now to Stepanof (1652-1661). Reports of the excesses committed by the adventurers already mentioned had reached Moscow, and it was determined to send a force of 3,000 men to occupy the newly-explored territories. The command was given to Stepanof, and he was accompanied by hundreds of adventurers, who were attracted by the reported riches of the country. Stepanof was not able to carry out his instructions to found settlements, and spent his time in roving along the Amur and up the Sungari. At Kamarskoi he was besieged, in the spring of 1655 by a large Manchu force; but with a garrison of 500 men he put 10,000 foes to flight. Subsequently he was joined by Feodor Puschkin and 50 Cossacks, by whom he sent the tribute he had extorted to Moscow. Puschkin’s party lost their way, and 41 of them perished. Stepanof continued his predatory expeditions till 1658, when, at the mouth of the Zeya, 180 of his men deserted, and he was met by a Manchu force, and himself and nearly all his band slain or made prisoners. This for a time practically cleared the Amur of the Russians, and what few remained evacuated the district in 1661.

All the expeditions above mentioned reached the Amur from the north-west, striking the river some miles below the confluence of the Shilka, at what is now Ust-Strelka. We proceed to say a few words respecting the discovery and occupation of that tributary, 1652-58. Cossacks from Yeneseisk had pushed their explorations beyond the Baikal, and, in consequence of their reports, Pashkof the Voivod, in 1652, sent out a party to cross the lake, under command of Beketof, who, two years later, built a fort on the Nertcha; but the expedition came to nothing. Other adventurers went out in 1654 and 1655. At length Pashkof was entrusted with a force of 566 men to found a town on the Shilka, whence the surrounding territories might be subjugated. He left Yeneseisk in 1656, and on his way founded Nertchinsk. Whilst so doing, he sent a number of his men down the Amur to look for Stepanof, but they were met by his deserters, and robbed of their provisions, after which, in 1662, Pashkof returned to Yeneseisk, his mission unattained.

What Government troops had failed to effect, however, was soon after accomplished by a runaway exile--Nikitao Chernigovsky--who, at the head of a lawless band, murdered the Voivod of Ilimsk, and in 1665 fled to the banks of the Amur, where he built a fort on the site of Albaza’s village, opposite the river Albazikha. He was joined by others as lawless as himself; villages were founded near the fort, and Albazin became a place of importance. A petition was forwarded to Moscow, representing what had been done as done for the Tsar, and praying for Chernigovsky’s pardon, in consideration of his recent services. It was granted; and Chernigovsky made tributary many of the surrounding tribes near Albazin. The Chinese complained of Russian encroachments, and conciliatory embassies proceeded to Peking, in 1670 and 1675. The people of Albazin, however, determined to do as they pleased, and, in spite of orders to the contrary, they navigated the Lower Amur, and founded settlements, so that at the close of 1682 the Russians had established themselves at Albazin, on the Zeya, and on the Amgun.

This finishes the first period in the history of the Amur--that of Cossack pillage and plunder.

The oppression of the Russians naturally caused the tribes on the Amur to apply for help to their neighbours and nominal masters, the Chinese, who made large preparations to expel the intruders. They destroyed the Russian settlements on the Zeya and Amgun, took some of the garrisons prisoners, and advanced upon Albazin in June 1685. After a blockade of 18 days the garrison surrendered, and were allowed to retire to Nertchinsk. The Chinese then destroyed the fort, and withdrew down the river to Aigun; but the Russians followed in the wake of their conquerors and rebuilt their town. The Chinese, therefore, returned in July of the following year, again surrounded the fort, where the Russians held out bravely till November, in which month the siege was raised, in consequence of orders from the Chinese Government, to whom the Russians had sent ambassadors desiring conditions of peace.

The ever-recurring complications with the Chinese made the Russian Government desirous to come to some arrangement regarding the frontier of the two empires. Venyukoff accordingly was sent on a mission to Peking to arrange preliminaries, and he brought back with him a letter in Chinese, Manchu, and Mongol, translated into Latin, which supplies a good idea of Chinese views on the Amur question.[3]

If this letter be anything like a true statement of the case, which there seems to be no just cause to doubt, then the moderation and forbearance of the Chinese stands out in striking contrast to the conduct of the Russians. I have described (Chapter XXXV.) how the conference was conducted, and how it ended in a treaty, by which Albazin and the whole of the Amur were confirmed to the Chinese.[4]

This settlement practically closed the district to Europeans for about 160 years--that is, till 1848. A few encroaching hunters were from time to time caught and punished. Some convicts also escaped from the mines of Nertchinsk to Chinese territory, and others went down the whole length of the Amur, one of them getting away from Nikolaefsk to America; but very little is known of the Amur basin during these years, though Russia kept up the supply of priests who crossed the desert to sustain the Russian mission at Peking.

After the treaty of Nertchinsk, the town of Aigun was removed to the right or southern bank of the river, and in keeping with the jealous policy of exclusion peculiar to the celestials, the Chinese were forbidden to emigrate northward to the thinly-populated Manchuria, and the Manchu were forbidden to pass northward of the town of San-sin on the Sungari, whilst the privilege of trading on the Amur was restricted to ten merchants, who obtained for that purpose a licence at Peking. Besides these particulars of the Amur during the period of the Russian exclusion, we learn something from the letters of Roman Catholic missionaries in Manchuria, one of whom, M. De La Brunière, descended the Amur to the country of the Gilyaks, where he was killed. But I shall speak of this when I come to the people and place of his murder. This finishes our second period--that of war with China. It remains to treat of the recent history of the Amur, and of the annexation of all its left and part of its right bank by Russia. This will bring before us the events occurring between 1847 and 1861.

The recent history of the Amur may be said to date from the time that Count Nicolas Muravieff became Governor of Eastern Siberia in 1847. The Russians had long seen the desirability of acquiring the right of navigating the Amur, if only for the purpose of sending down it provisions for their settlements in Kamchatka, the land carriage of which annually required 14,000 to 15,000 pack-horses. With a view to this, they had sent Golovkin to Peking at the beginning of the present century to treat for the free navigation of the river, or, at all events, to gain permission to send a few ships once a year with provisions. But the Chinese were unwilling to make any concession whatever.

Muravieff became Governor of Eastern Siberia in 1848, and one of his first acts was to send an officer with four Cossacks down the Amur, who were never heard of again. Admiral Nevilskoi, in the same year, left Cronstadt for the Pacific to explore the mouth of the Amur; and, in 1851, founded Nikolaefsk and Mariinsk as trading ports. Two years later were founded Alexandrovsk, in Castries Bay; and other posts in the island of Sakhalin at Aniva Bay and Dui.

The next year, 1854-5, was important in the history of the Amur, as that in which the first Russian military expedition descended the river from the Trans-Baikal provinces. Russia had at the time three frigates in or near the Sea of Okhotsk, and, owing to the breaking out of the Crimean War and the presence of an English fleet in the Pacific, it was feared that these might be left in want of supplies, and that the Russian settlements on the Pacific, which at that time depended on shipments from home, might be seriously straitened. The Black Sea and the Baltic were blockaded, and the only feasible plan was to send provisions from Siberia down the Amur. The nearest Chinese authorities at Kiakhta and Urga professed themselves unable to give permission; but as no time was to be lost, Muravieff’s necessity knew no law, and he started down the river.

He had a steamer, 50 barges, and numerous rafts, 1,000 men, and guns. Several men of science, to whom we owe much of the solid information given us by Mr. Ravenstein, accompanied him. His journey down the river to Mariinsk was uneventful, and he returned by way of Ayan to Irkutsk.

The continuation of hostilities between Russia and the English and French allies naturally made the Russians prepare for an attack on their eastern settlements,[5] and considerable activity was displayed by them on the Amur in 1855-6. Three more expeditions left Shilkinsk in the course of the year, and conveyed down the river 3,000 soldiers and 500 colonists, with cattle, horses, provisions, agricultural implements, and military stores.[6] Accordingly, the places founded on the river grew fast. Villages were built by the colonists at Irkutskoi, Bogorodskoi, and Mikhailovsk. Great progress also was visible at Nikolaefsk, which from a village of 10 houses grew to one of 150.

The operations of the allied fleets in the Pacific in 1855 were on a larger scale than in the preceding year; but the results were equally insignificant, and the peace of 1856 left the Russians free to carry on their plans of annexation. General Muravieff now went to Petersburg to advocate the granting of large means for colonizing the river, and during his absence the direction of affairs was left in the hands of General Korsakoff.[7]

But the year 1857-8 will ever be one of the most memorable in the history of the river. Muravieff had succeeded at Petersburg in securing large grants of men and money. Troops descended and formed numerous stations along the left bank, and colonists and provisions were conveyed to the possessions of the Russo-American Company. A Captain Furruhelm conducted down the river 100 emigrants and 1,000 tons of provisions, and with him travelled Mr. Collins, already referred to, as “commercial agent of the United States for the Amur river.” Count Putiatin, also bound on a mission to Japan and China, availed himself of the newly-opened way. Putiatin received orders to induce the Chinese to come to some definite arrangement regarding the frontier of the Amur, but he was not successful. This result was felt on the river; for the mandarins now again protested against the occupation of the territory, and in some instances molested the Russian traders. Accordingly, Muravieff hastened to Petersburg for fresh reinforcements, and more troops were sent east; whilst the territory in dispute, together with Kamchatka and the coast of the Okhotsk Sea, was erected into a separate province, called “the Maritime province of Eastern Siberia.” A squadron of seven screw steamers was dispatched from Cronstadt in the summer, and two European-built steamers, the Lena and the Amur, ascended the river with merchandise and troops.

When Muravieff got back to the Amur, in 1858, the Chinese were in a very different humour, for they were then at war with the English and French, and Russia found no difficulty in concluding an amicable treaty at Aigun on 28th of May. China ceded to Russia the left bank of the Amur down to the Ussuri, and both banks below that river, and opened the Sungari and Ussuri to Russian merchants and travellers.

On the 21st May, Muravieff laid the foundation of Blagovestchensk, at the mouth of the Zeya; he then descended the Amur, and founded Khabarofka, at the mouth of the Ussuri, and subsequently selected the site of Sophiisk; after which, in August, he was created “Count of the Amur.” On the last day of the year this territory received a new organization, and was divided into the “Maritime province of Eastern Siberia,” and the “Amur province,” the latter denoting a district along the river, above the mouth of the Ussuri.[8]

We now come to 1859-60, during which time several measures were taken to favour colonization. Political exiles were to have passports granted them for three years, to enable them to proceed to the east; and if deserving, their term was to be extended permanently. The sailors stationed at the Lower Amur were allowed to retire after 15 years’ service, received a plot of ground, and might send for their families to come to them at the Government expense. The colonists, too, were to be maintained by Government for two years, after which time they were to provide for themselves. Government also renounced its monopoly of the mineral treasures of Siberia; and in future any one, except convicts, was to be allowed to search for precious stones or metals. This attracted many emigrants, and on the arrival from Western Siberia of 10,000 of them at Irkutsk, Cossack stations were founded along the banks of the Ussuri and the Sungacha, with a view to the settlement of the frontier.

Difficulties, however, with China again arose. The Chinese had repelled the advance of the allied French and English forces in 1859, and, being elated for the moment with the power of their arms, imagined that it was no longer necessary to conciliate the Russians, and told them that China had never ceded the Amur, that they had no right there, and must immediately quit. Things, therefore, looked gloomy towards the south;[9] but the relative positions of China and Russia were suddenly transposed by the successes of the English and French, who thoroughly humbled China; and Russia, availing herself of the opportunity, was able to conclude, on the 14th of November, 1860, a most advantageous treaty, much more comprehensive than any ever concluded by China with a foreign power, which gave Russia a right to the country north of the Amur and east of the Ussuri, together with the entire coast of Manchuria, down to the frontiers of Corea.

I have thus traced the history of the Amur from the time that the Russians first heard of the river, in 1639, down to 1860, when they obtained possession of it.[10] It remains for me now to give the reader, as best I can, an idea of the condition of things as I found them at the time of my visit.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I am specially indebted to Mr. Ravenstein’s excellent work, “The Russians on the Amur,” for the substance of the following pages.

[2] This report, so far as the Shilka is concerned, was confirmed in the same year by what a party of Cossacks heard, who had been sent from Yeneseisk to the Vitim, about a prince of the Daurians named Lavkai, who inhabited a stronghold at the mouth of the Urka rivulet, and whose people kept cattle and tilled the soil.

[3] It was dated 20th November, 1686, and ran in part thus: “The officers to whom I have entrusted the supervision of the sable hunt, have frequently complained of the injury which the people of Siberia do to our hunters on the Amur. My subjects have never provoked yours, nor done them any injury; yet the people at Albazin, armed with cannon, guns, and other firearms, have frequently attacked my people, who had no firearms, and were peaceably hunting.

“They also roved about the Lower Amur, and troubled and injured the small town of Genquen and other places. As soon as I heard of this I ordered my officers to take up arms, and act as occasion might require. They accordingly made prisoners some of the Russians who were roving about the Lower Amur; no one was put to death, but all were provided with food.

“When our people arrived before Albazin, and called upon it to surrender, Alexei and others, without deigning a reply, treated us in a hostile manner, and fired off muskets and cannon. We therefore took possession of Albazin by force; but even then we did not put any one to death. We liberated our prisoners, but more than 40 Russians, of their own free choice, preferred remaining amongst my people. The others were exhorted earnestly to return to their own side of the frontier, where they might hunt at pleasure. My officers, however, had scarcely left, when 460 Russians returned, rebuilt Albazin, killed our hunters, and laid waste their fields; thus compelling my officers to have recourse to arms again.

“Albazin consequently was beleagured a second time; but orders were nevertheless given to spare the prisoners and restore them to their own country. Since then, Venyukoff and others have arrived at Peking to announce the approach of an ambassador, and to propose a friendly conference to settle the boundary question, and induce the Chinese to raise the siege of Albazin. On this a courier was sent at once to Albazin to put a stop to further hostilities.”

[4] The treaty began as follows:--“In order to suppress the insolence of certain scoundrels, who cross the frontier to hunt, plunder, and kill, and who give rise to much trouble and disturbance, to determine clearly and distinctly the boundaries between the empires of China and Russia, and lastly to re-establish peace and good understanding for the future, the following articles are by mutual consent agreed upon.” After defining the boundaries, the treaty went on to provide that hunters of either empire should under no pretence cross the frontier. Also that neither party should receive fugitives or deserters; and the third article states, “Everything which has occurred hitherto is to be buried in eternal oblivion.”

[5] Their strength on the Amur at the time was very inconsiderable, and the allies, having mustered their forces on the American coast, came down upon a comparatively feeble folk in Siberia. Petropavlovsk in Kamchatka was attacked, but the Russians managed to hold their own till orders arrived from Petersburg to abandon the place, which they did on 17th April, 1855, taking with them the inhabitants, with whom they safely reached Castries Bay.

[6] The Chinese were either unwilling or unable to oppose the passage. Up to this time no attempt had been made to found any settlement on the Upper or Middle Amur, and the presence of the allied fleets in the Pacific ostensibly justified the assembling of a force on the Lower Amur. The Chinese did send to Nikolaefsk certain mandarins to treat; but these not being of sufficient rank, Muravieff refused to receive them.

[7] In the course of the 12 months 697 barges and rafts descended the river, conveying 1,500 head of cattle, and the provisions required by the forces on the Lower Amur. Cossack stations were built on the Upper and Middle Amur, and another settlement made on the lower part of the river. Postal communication by horses was established between Nikolaefsk and Mariinsk, which until then had been carried on by dog sledges. The Russian colonists agreed to supply the necessary horses during winter at the rate of £22 a “pair,” and during the summer they were to supply the steamers on the river with the requisite fuel.

[8] Admiral Kazakevich remained military governor of the Maritime province, and resided at Nikolaefsk; and General Busse was appointed military governor of the Amur, with a salary of £1000 a year, and a residence at Blagovestchensk. Shortly after the ukase of the 31st December, the Cossack forces on the Amur received a separate organization. Up to the end of 1858, 20,000 persons of both sexes had been settled along the river, and these were to furnish two regiments of cavalry and two battalions of infantry, as well as two battalions of Ussuri infantry from the Maritime province. Commercial enterprise was promised a fresh impulse by the foundation of the Amur Company, the object of which was the development of trade on the river. It started with a capital of £150,000, and was privileged to open establishments on the Amur and Shilka, but proved unsuccessful, and after a few years was dissolved.

[9] The newly-acquired territory, moreover, was not fulfilling the anticipations of those who thought to find at once the country turned into the granary of Siberia, and supplying with its produce and manufactures the navies of the world. The Amur was a source of continual expenditure, and the Cossacks were not proving the best of colonists. To remedy this, German colonists had been sent for. My old host, with whom I stayed at Vladivostock, Captain De Vries, was to bring 40 German families from California, who were to be settled at the mouth of the Bureya; but, as he told me, he found the thing impracticable.

[10] At that date they had brought to the region about 40,000 colonists, most of them from the Trans-Baikal and Irkutsk governments, who walked with their cattle to the Shilka, and then proceeded on huge rafts, like floating farm-yards. The cattle were turned on shore to feed at night, and marched back in the morning to travel by day. By these means the banks of the river became populated, though scantily, this region covering an area of 361,000 square miles, or twice as large as that of Spain. The Russians, by 1861, had established military posts along the whole course of the Amur, on the Ussuri, and at various harbours on the sea-coast, the whole military force, up to 1859, being about 15,000 men. Simultaneously while strengthening her forces on the Amur, Russia reinforced her navy in the Pacific; and in 1860 she had there 19 steamers, mounting 380 guns, and manned by between 4,000 and 5,000 sailors and marines. There were also, in 1861, 12 steamers on the river, nine of which belonged to the Government.

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Chapter XL

THE UPPER AMUR.

Formation of the Amur.--Chinese boundary.--Our steamer.--Captain and passengers.--Natives of Upper Amur.--Orochons.--Manyargs.--Their hunting year.--Our journey.--Run aground.--Table provisions.--Scenery.--Albazin.--Cliff of Tsagayan.

We glided into the Amur about sunset on the 30th July, when, happening to come on deck, I found the passengers gazing over the stern of the vessel. Before us were the two rivers of which the Amur is formed. To the right was the defile of the Shilka, to the left the Argun; and between the streams the mountains narrowed, and came to a point a mile above the meeting of the waters. On the tongue of land below was the Russian village and Cossack post of Ust-Strelka. The soft light of evening threw a charm over the well-wooded landscape. We had, moreover, reached at last a point out of range of the ubiquitous English traveller, and to which even comparatively few Russians make their way from Europe. The Shilka we had travelled, and it was given to us to peep a little way up the Argun, and remember that in its valley the great Genghis Khan fought some of his early battles, and from hence started to subdue China, and begin that wonderful career of Mongol conquest that extended to Central Europe.

Looking to the north-east and down stream, the view was exceedingly pretty. On the right, heavily-wooded mountains abut upon the river for two miles, while on the left is a strip of bottom-land backed by gentle slopes. To the front we see the river sparkling in the sun, and rejoicing in its new and beautiful birth.

We were now fairly launched upon a river which, including its numerous tributaries, is said to drain a territory of 766,000 square miles--an area as large, that is, as any three countries of Europe except Russia. The length of the stream from this point to the sea is 1,780 miles, with a fall of 2,000 feet; but if the Argun be regarded as the main stream, then the total length of the Amur is 3,066 miles, with a fall of 6,000 feet. It will be best, I think, to treat of so huge a river in sections, seeing it passes through such varieties of climate and population. The first section, extending from Ust-Strelka to Blagovestchensk, at the mouth of the Zeya, we will call the Upper Amur; from Blagovestchensk to Khabarofka, at the mouth of the Ussuri, the Middle Amur; and from Khabarofka to the Pacific at Nikolaefsk, the Lower Amur. The Russians have made a fine atlas, in 46 sheets, of the river below the confluence of the Shilka and Argun.

Up to the point we had now reached, Russian territory lay on both sides. Henceforth to Khabarofka we were to have Chinese soil on the right. The boundary then descends along the bank of the Ussuri, and continues in a tolerably straight line southwards through Lake Khanka to the Bay of Peter the Great, in the Sea of Japan. My intention was, therefore, roughly speaking, to keep along this boundary, and embark for Yokohama.

But I have said nothing as yet of the steamer in which the first part of my journey was to be accomplished, namely, from Kara to Khabarofka, a distance of 1,270 miles. It was a paddle-boat called the Zeya. As I walked on board at Ust-Kara, Captain Paskevitch met me, told me in French that my cabin was not quite ready, and asked me to occupy meanwhile his room on deck. He had heard of my mission from Colonel Merkasin, at Stretinsk, and had most kindly set apart for me, on a full steamer, a first-class cabin intended for two persons. This he reserved so tenaciously as to refuse a first-class place to a passenger rather than cause inconvenience by giving me a companion, though I was asked to pay only a single fare.

As compared with the steamer on which I traversed the Obi, the Zeya was small, and it was not new. There were first and second-class cabins fore and aft, but third-class passengers lived on deck. All three grades were well represented. Among the first-class passengers was M. Kokcharoff, a Government officer connected with the gold-mines, whom we had met at Nertchinsk at dinner, and who was the father of one of the young officers we saw at Irkutsk. There were also an officer and his wife whom we had seen on the road at Verchne Udinsk. Among the second-class passengers were several naval and military officers, proceeding to their stations on the Pacific, and with them the lady and gentleman of whom we got the start with the horses from the Baikal. Several of the ladies spoke French, and a naval captain, Baron de Fitingoff, spoke a little English also. Thus I needed not to be silent, and soon found myself at home.

It speedily became manifest that our captain was a man of determination, and that he had a rough-and-ready way of enforcing his orders. The cook, an oily-looking man, had smuggled vodka on board, and made himself so far drunk as to spoil the passengers’ dinner; whereupon the captain seized him and tied him to the capstan. He had not been there long, however, before the capstan was required for some one else. The ship had got into difficulties, the number of the crew being insufficient for the occasion; and the captain ordered a man-of-war’s-man, travelling as a third-class passenger, to lend a hand. He did not choose to do so, whereupon the captain collared him, and, having released the cook, bound him to the capstan. Our chief, I found, was only a young man--less than 25--and had served for a time in the Imperial navy. He had fallen in love, and wished to marry before the age allowed in the service. Just then the Amur Company made him a good offer to take charge of one of their vessels, and he had thus left the Government service, and accepted a stipend which enabled him to forsake a bachelor’s life. He thought, however, that in giving up the navy he had made a mistake, and sent his papers by some of our passengers to be presented to the Governor at Vladivostock, asking to return.

As we proceeded we found the population on the Chinese bank was exceedingly small, and but few houses appeared on the Russian side. The natives of the Upper and Middle Amur belong, all of them, to the Tungusian stock, though they differ somewhat among themselves, according to the manner of life they pursue, and their nearness or otherwise to Chinese influence. Thus, on the Upper Amur, on the Russian territory, are the Orochons, or reindeer Tunguses; whilst further east, north of the Middle Amur, are their brethren the Manyargs, or horse Tunguses. On the southern bank of the Upper Amur are the Daurians, who to some extent cultivate the soil; whilst further east, and to the south of the Middle Amur, is the region of the Manchu, the most civilized of all the Tunguse tribes. This division is somewhat arbitrary, and does not notice subdivisions of some of the tribes; but it may suffice for the present to indicate their territories, and we can enter into further particulars as we approach their respective localities.

The Orochons numbered, in 1856, 206 individuals of both sexes, roving over an area of 28,000 square miles--a country, that is, as large as Bavaria or the island of Sardinia. They originally lived in the province of Yakutsk, whence they emigrated to the banks of the Amur in 1825, and occupied a part of the territory of the Manyargs, whom they compelled to withdraw farther down the river.[1]

The Manyargs occupy the north bank of the Middle Amur below the Orochons, but in summer they ascend the river for the purpose of fishing. As the needs of the reindeer drive the Orochons to the moss tracts of the mountains, so the needs of the horses send the Manyargs to the grassy valleys of the Zeya, and to the prairie region eastwards to the Bureya mountains.

Apart, however, from their differences as to habitation, and the domestic animals they use (the Orochons keeping deer and the Manyargs horses), we may speak of the Orochons and Manyargs together. In appearance they are rather small, and of a spare build. Their arms and legs are thin, the face flat, but the nose, in many instances, is large and pointed. The cheeks are broad, the mouth large, the eyes small and sleepy-looking. The hair is black and smooth, the beard short, and the eyebrows very thin. Old men allow the beard and moustache to grow, but carefully pull out the whiskers. They cut the hair short on the forehead and temples, and plait it behind into a tail, ornamented with ribbons and leather straps. This fashion was no doubt copied from the Manchu, but since they have come under Russian influence it has gradually waned. In the case of the women the hair is parted down the middle, the plaits are worn round the head, and fastened with ribbons above the forehead. During summer the women wear a conical hat made of cotton, somewhat like an extinguisher. Unmarried girls are recognized by their head-band, embroidered with beads.

The Orochons and Manyargs lead a wandering life. In spring and summer they live on the banks of the river to fish; in autumn they retire to the interior to hunt. In these migrations the deer or the horses carry the scanty property of their owners. The horses are small but strong, of great endurance, and find food in winter by scraping away the snow with their feet.

Wild animals in the region of the Upper and Middle Amur are numerous. The Orochons disperse in small parties to hunt them, returning from time to time to their yourts.[2] They hunt squirrels, sables, reindeer, elks, foxes, and sometimes bears. Squirrels they find in great numbers. A good sportsman may kill 1,000 in a season, and 500 is an average bag.[3] In December they take their furs to the localities fixed upon for paying the yassak, or tax, where also they barter with merchants assembled for that purpose. Each male between the ages of 15 and 50 pays annually two silver roubles, or their equivalent in furs. No other taxes are levied upon them, and this brings in to the Government an enormous quantity of skins.

My journey on the Upper Amur, or, more accurately, from Ust-Kara to Blagovestchensk, occupied eight days. The distance was 700 miles, and the first-class fare three guineas. Under ordinary circumstances, however, the time ought not to have been so long, but there was less water in the river, the captain said, than he had ever known before. It was by reason of this that the boat had run aground at Shilkinsk on the Sunday I was to have started, and on Monday evening a sister-boat, the Ingoda, having done the same, and knocked three holes in her hull, the Zeya had stayed alongside to render assistance. This caused the loss to us of the whole of Tuesday. Both boats belonged to the same company, and it was an act of policy, as well as kindness, that the damaged boat should not be left in so lonely a region, whilst a further reason for submitting to the delay, and keeping the boats together, was that our own vessel might run aground and so need assistance from the Ingoda.

I was curious to hear from the captain what was the thickness of iron on the Zeya, and what distance we should have to sink, supposing we went to the bottom. The iron, I learned, was three-sixteenths of an inch thick, which was somewhat alarming, but it was a comfort to know that the water in some parts of the river was not much more than 30 inches deep. Our steamer drew only two feet and a half, consequently we were often gliding along within a few inches of the ground. One of the crew was placed in the bow of the boat, holding a measuring rod, with the feet marked in black and white, and secured to a string. This in shallow places he constantly threw, as if harpooning fish, and then noticing the depth when it struck the bottom, he called out in a sing-song fashion, “Chetiri-s’polovenoi! chetiri! tri-s’polovenoi! tri!”--four-and-a-half! four! three-and-a-half! three! and so on; the speed of the vessel being slackened when the small numbers were called.

After reaching the Amur on Wednesday, we travelled safely for that evening and on Thursday, but on Friday morning, coming to a turn in the channel, the boat ran aground on a bank, with her whole length turned sideways to the current--going at the rate of about four miles an hour. The shallowness of the stream now became apparent, for when the men jumped overboard the water rose hardly up to their waists.[4] Every effort was made to float the craft with anchors and levers, and digging away the beach, until, as evening came on and brought no success, we hoped the Ingoda would overtake us and return the compliment of rendering assistance, especially as we had once put back to look after her welfare. The Ingoda did come, but was not powerful enough to get us off, and we had therefore to lie aground till Saturday morning. The greater part of the passengers were then shifted from the Zeya to the Ingoda, and there they were compelled to remain from breakfast-time till evening, and that, too, with very little food, for the Ingoda was not carrying passengers, and so was not provisioned. Whilst this shifting was going on, I was in my cabin writing, and so had not to change. Meanwhile the sailors had hard work, for they were in the water nearly all day. About two o’clock, however, the Zeya was once more afloat, after which it took three or four hours to get up the anchors, and then, for the rest of our journey, we had no lack of water. The boat did not usually travel at night.

These delays had put a considerable strain on the resources of our cook, whose arrangements were not of a high order. I had rather anticipated this; and, having become so accustomed to see Russians travelling with their own provisions, had prepared accordingly. Some loaves of white bread had been brought for me by the ship from Stretinsk, and fresh butter; besides which, Colonel Kononovitch, as already stated, had loaded me with good things, and I had not parted with my provision basket and its cooking apparatus.[5]

They had different arrangements on the Amur from those we had on the Obi. The steward undertook to provide every one with four meals a day. The first was tea and bread on getting up. Next, about 11 a.m., came “déjeuner à la fourchette,” consisting of two courses. At five o’clock came bread and tea again, and dinner, of three or four courses, followed at seven. The provisions were decidedly inferior to those of the Obi, but acquaintance with certain Russian dishes was thereby forced upon me, which I might otherwise not have known. One of them was “gretchnevaya kasha,” or buckwheat gruel, with melted butter like oil poured over it. I imagined it might be given us as a last resource, all other provisions having failed; but the passengers seemed to think it good though humble fare, and said it was what they provide largely for the soldiers. It is a daily dish, I am told, among peasants and servants in Russia. Further on we bought and slaughtered an ox. And as we approached Blagovestchensk, our table improved to clear soup, with minced patties, meat from the joint, and stewed fruit.

The service, too, was inferior to that on the Obi, for on the Amur the steward was represented by a couple of boys, not too tidily dressed, and with rough heads, who knew more of play than of waiting. It should be added, however, that the price charged for the four meals a day was not exorbitant, namely, three shillings; and after having the samovar frequently into my own cabin, and other extras, though to a considerable extent providing myself, my steward’s bill for the eight days came only to 17 shillings.

We were highly favoured in the weather, which, with the exception of one day, was fine, and added much to the enjoyment of the journey. Between Stretinsk and Blagovestchensk were 42 stations. Many of them were named after the Russian officers who took part in the annexation of the country, such as Orloff, Beketoff, Korsakoff, etc.

At Ust-Strelka the river is 1,100 yards wide, and sometimes 10 feet deep. At Albazin, 160 miles lower, it contracts to 500 yards, but increases to 20 feet in depth. After leaving the Shilka, the scenery of the Amur at first deteriorated. Soon, however, the river stretched across the valley, and the banks rose in precipitous cliffs, or steep rocky slopes. Many brooks entered the stream on both banks. When rain falls on the mountains, the river rises sometimes 12 feet and more in the course of a few days, the greatest rise being 24 feet. Our captain of the Zeya was hoping that the Thursday’s rain would thus aid him in getting out of the shallows. Five streams join the Amur on the Russian side, between Ust-Strelka and Albazin, of which the Amazar is the first and most considerable. At their mouths are small alluvial plains overgrown with grass, sometimes 18 inches high, though on higher spots in this district the herbage is not luxuriant.

Below the Amazar the banks were alternately rocky bluffs and wooded bottoms, the river sweeping along in great picturesque bends. At Sverbeef the river increases in breadth. The mountains are not so high, and sandbanks are frequent. These appear at low water as islands. The forests are thin, and there is little underwood. On the mountains larch and firs prevail. In the valleys the white birch predominates, with bird-cherry and aspen. The trees, however, are small; and among them, further on, are apple-trees with tiny fruit, willows, and the hoar-leaved alder.[6]

On the rocky mountain slopes are the service-tree, alder, aspen, poplar, and hawthorn, together with the Daurian rhododendron. On loose soil Indian wormwood frequently covers a whole mountain slope.

As we approached Albazin the mountains retired, and below them were extensive prairies, affording excellent pasturage. Opposite the town, on the Chinese bank, the Albazikha, or Emuri, falls into the Amur behind a large island, with an area of several thousand acres. Oaks and black birch now begin to take the place of the larch, and at the foot of the mountains are seen elms, ashes, hazels, willows, the Daurian buckthorn, wild roses, and bird-cherries--the last sometimes reaching to a height of 50 feet.

Albazin is the most important of the towns we passed between Ust-Strelka and Blagovestchensk. It is finely situated on a plateau 50 feet high, and extends some distance backwards to the mountains. We arrived there early on Friday morning, August 1st. Albazin was important to the early adventurers, by reason of the fine sables taken in its vicinity.[7]

The Albazin sable is said to be the best on the Amur, that of the Bureya Mountains next, and, thirdly, that of Blagovestchensk; but none of them are so good as those obtained further north.

I was much struck, below the town, with the brilliant red of the sandstone cliffs. On the right bank the mountains approach again close to the river; but on the left the plain continues for 70 miles, ending in a rock or promontory, called Malaya Nadejda, or Little Hope. This lofty mass of rock projects into the river in the shape of a semicircular tower. After passing the station Tolbuzin, 240 miles from Ust-Strelka, the river takes a more southerly direction, and lower down has numerous islands. These are covered with poplar, ash, and willow; and among the flowers are seen the rhododendron, the lily of the valley, pink, primrose, violet, white poppy, forget-me-not, and white pæony; also garlic, chickweed, asparagus, cinquefoil, and thyme.

A few miles lower is a remarkably steep sandstone cliff, of yellowish grey colour, bounding one of the reaches of the river for a distance of three miles. It is called Tsagayan, and is 302 miles from Ust-Strelka. It is about 250 feet high, and has in it two seams of coal, of which there is said to be plenty on the Amur, though it has not been worked, I believe, owing to the abundance of wood. The natives look upon Tsagayan as the abode of evil spirits. At its foot are found agates, carnelians, and chalcedonies.

Beyond the Tsagayan the valleys descending to the river are wider, the steep mountains recede, and the meadows are richer in grass. Small groves of poplars, elms, ashes, and wild apples alternate with bushes of red-berried elder, sand willows, self-heal, and wild briar. At the station Kazakevich, however, the mountains approach the river, and a dark granite rock, 300 feet high, overhangs the water. Eight miles south is the rock Korsakoff, a promontory of semicircular shape; and 40 miles more bring the traveller to the mouth of the Komar, which is the second considerable stream flowing into the Amur from the right bank after leaving Albazin, the other being the Panza. The course of the Amur here becomes very tortuous, and, about 50 miles below, the Komar almost describes a circle, leaving but a neck of land half a mile in width. The Komar is the greatest affluent of the Upper Amur from the Chinese side. It is a little short of 600 miles in length, more than one-half of which is navigable. The upper part of the valley is populated by Daurians.

Travelling thus amidst beautiful scenery, we reached Blagovestchensk on the eighth day, being now 560 miles from Ust-Strelka, and the width of the river having considerably increased. Here, however, we may leave the water for awhile, for the steamer stayed a whole day, and thus gave me the opportunity of spending some hours ashore.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] There are two tribes of them, one called Ninagai, which, in 1856, mustered 68 males and 66 females; 27 of the males paid annually 5_s._ 5_d._ of tribute each, or instead thereof 12 squirrel skins, to the Russian officer commanding the post at Gorbitza. The other tribe, the Shologon, numbered 72, including 40 females, of whom 17 had to pay to the commandant of Ust-Strelka a tribute of 6_s._ 4_d._ each. They owned 82 reindeer. There is also a tribe along the sea coast, called Orochons, or Orochi, amongst whom it is customary for women to suckle their children till they are three or four years old. The men are recognized by their wide-brimmed hats. I saw one of them in prison at Nikolaefsk, and was struck with his manly bearing. This agrees with what Mr. Ravenstein says of the Orochons of the Upper Amur, that they are not so submissive as the Manyargs, whose spirits have been broken by the oppression of the Mandarins.

[2] These yourts, or tents, are easily built and quickly removed. About 20 poles are stuck into the ground, to form a circle from 10 to 14 feet in diameter, and are tied about 10 feet above the centre. The frame is covered with birch bark, and overlaid with skins of reindeer and moose. An opening is left in front to serve as a door, and a hole in the top for the chimney. During winter the door is closed by furs or skins. In case of temporary removal, the skins and bark are taken away, and the poles are left standing.

[3] Mr. Ravenstein gives, from Russian sources, an interesting account of the manner in which these natives spend their hunting year. In March they go on snow-shoes over snow, into which, at that season, cloven-footed animals sink, and shoot elks, roe, and musk deer, wild deer and goats; the tent being fixed in valleys and defiles, where the snow lies deepest. In April the ice on the rivers begins to move, and the huntsman, now turned fisher, hastens to the small rivulets to net his fish. Those not required for immediate use are dried against the next month, which is one of the least plentiful in the year. In May they shoot deer and other game, which they have decoyed to certain spots by burning down the high grass in the valleys, so that the young sprouts may attract the deer and goats. June supplies the hunter with antlers of the roe. These they sell at a high price to the Chinese for medicinal purposes. The Chinese merchants come north in this month, bringing tea, tobacco, salt, powder, lead, grain, butter, and so forth, so that a successful huntsman is then able to provide himself with necessaries for half the year. In July the natives spend a large part of the month catching fish, taken with nets or speared with harpoons. They are able also to spear the elk, which likes a water-plant growing in the lakes. He comes down at night, wades into the water, and, whilst engaged in tearing at the plant with his teeth, is killed by the huntsman. In August they catch birds, speared at night in the retired creeks and bays of the river and lakes. Their flesh, except that of the swan, is eaten, and the down is exchanged for ear and finger rings, bracelets, beads, and the like. Thus they spend the summer months, afterwards retiring again to the mountains for game. In the beginning of September they prepare for winter pursuits. The leaves are falling, and it is the season when the roebuck and the doe are courting. The natives avail themselves of this, and, by cleverly imitating the call of the doe on a wooden horn, entice the buck near enough to shoot him. Generally speaking, this is the plentiful season of the year, so far as flesh is concerned; but, should the hunters not be fortunate, they live upon service-berries and bilberries, which they mix with reindeer milk. They also eat the nuts of the Manchu cedar and of the dwarf-like Cembra pine. The latter part of September and beginning of October are again employed in fishing, for the fish then ascend the river to spawn. About the middle of October begins the hunting of fur-bearing animals, the most profitable of all game; and this goes on till the end of the year.

[4] For steamers to run aground in the Volga is so common a thing that the captains take a number of third-class passengers free, on the understanding that, if the ship gets on a bank, they shall jump overboard and endeavour to get her off. Bold captains there, moreover, have a plan, when coming to a shallow place, of putting on steam, in the hope that the impetus and extra commotion made in the water by the paddles may tide them over the difficulty. The banks of the Volga being of mud, such experiments are not very dangerous, but our boat had grounded upon stones.

[5] After having taken with me my cuisine several times, I am disposed briefly to advise any who may care to be counselled, by saying “don’t.” It certainly does not pay in Russia, for hot water may almost everywhere be had, and the people well understand the speedy preparation of the samovar. A lunch basket, however, is a great comfort, and I should not think of taking a long journey without one. The cuisine may occasionally be needed; but in going round the globe I used it only once, and when travelling last year over the Caucasus to Armenia not at all.

[6] The white birch is the most important. In spring the natives peel off the bark in strips from two to four yards in length. The coarse outside of the bark, and the ligneous layers on the inside, are scraped off. It is then rolled up, and softened by steam, which makes it pliable. Several of these are sewn together, and supply the native with a waterproof blanket or mat, forming a wind screen in winter, and a covering for the hut in summer. The bark thus prepared is used also for wrapping merchandise, making small canoes, baskets, platters, cups, and household utensils.

[7] Albazin, as already stated, is noted in Siberian annals for the sieges it stood, and one of the Russian stories connected therewith is, that when the garrison was greatly distressed for food, Chernigoffsky sent a pie, weighing 40 or 50 lbs., to the Chinese commander, to convince him that the fort was well provisioned. This present was so well appreciated, that the Chinaman sent for more, but in vain. History does not say whether the pie was of beef, mutton, pork, or puppies! The remains of walls, moats, ditches, and mounds, showing the site and extent of the town, may still be traced; and, by digging, the curious may still find there bricks, shreds of pottery, arms, etc. In Maack’s celebrated work on the Amur, his plan represents Albazin as a square of 240 feet, and the Chinese camp as a parallelogram of 670 feet long and 140 wide. The Amur measures here 580 yards wide.

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Chapter XLI

BLAGOVESTCHENSK.

Russian orthodox missions.--Particulars of Orthodox Missionary Society.--Visit to telegraph station.--Seminary for training priests.--Salaries of Russian clergy.--Blagovestchensk prison.--Leafy barracks.--View of the town.--Molokan inhabitants.

“Blagovestchensk,”--I hope that the tongue of the reader curls round the syllables of this word more easily than did mine on the first occasion I attempted to pronounce it. The g should be guttural, and the first e like the French é. The meaning of the name is “Annunciation,” or, as some put it, “glad tidings.” I know not whether this has anything to do with the fact that Blagovestchensk is the head-quarters of Oriental Siberian missionary effort, about which it will here be a rest to say a few words by way of change from the waters of the river.

As Russia ranges under her standards many nations, so she is brought into contact with many religions; with Lutheranism in the Baltic provinces and Finland, Buddhism in Mongolia, Mohammedanism along her southern frontier, Paganism in the Caucasus and Armenia, and, we may add, Shamanism and other ’isms among the aboriginal inhabitants of both her European and Asiatic territories. The Russians have long made persistent efforts to win back their own dissenters, whether from the various bodies of Raskolniks, or the Uniats, which latter were seduced from them by the Church of Rome.[1] Besides this reclaiming work of her own people, foreign missionaries were, in the time of Alexander I., allowed to work among the heathen within the empire, and I have already noticed the London mission to the Buriats. The Synod, however, put a stop to this foreign work; and that their jealousy in this matter continues, I learnt from a Lutheran pastor, who, when he was taking up his residence near some of the native tribes, was bidden “not to busy himself as a missionary.”

Compared with the Western Churches, whether Roman or Reformed, the Eastern Church has never been remarkable for missionary zeal, and I was therefore not a little surprised and pleased in Siberia to stumble unexpectedly upon the latest report (for 1876) of the “Orthodox Missionary Society,” published at Moscow the year before my visit. The book is of respectable size, extends to 100 pages, and the statistics are displayed with considerable fulness. At present it is with the Russians only the day of small things; but it should be borne in mind that 1876 was only the seventh year of the Society’s existence.

Some particulars of this young Society will be interesting, the more so as I am able to supplement what I learned in Siberia by extracts from the report for 1879, quoted in the Journal de St. Petersbourg, September 7th, 1881. The Society has a central council, and branches in 29 dioceses, with 7,560 members, which means, I suppose, subscribers. Its capital in 1879 amounted to 660,000 roubles, of which 121,000 were spent during the year.[2] Among the remittances sent to the central council from associations is £77 from “the army and navy.” Again, there appears what I imagine to be a special fund for “propagating the orthodox faith among the heathen.” This is apart from their efforts among Mohammedans and Romanists; but the Russian Church has missions to the adherents of all religions within her empire, except Protestants.

As for the spending of the money, it appears that the council and 27 associations distributed, among 19 missions, funds to the amount of £11,580. The 21 mission stations are, with one exception, within the bounds of the empire. The other mission, to which I have alluded in a previous chapter, is in Japan. I heard at Kasan that they have a missionary also in Jerusalem, New York, and San Francisco; but these, I presume, are chaplains. Their chief European pagan missions are in the governments of Astrakhan, Riazan, Perm, and Kasan, in which last are several semi-heathen tribes.[3]

It is in Asiatic Russia, however, that most of the Society’s money is expended, and the conversion of 5,000 Pagans is reported to have taken place in 1879. They have opened a school among the Samoyedes. They have also missions in Kamchatka (including probably, the Sea-coast province), upon which, in 1876, they expended £300, and from whence the following year, according to the Almanack, they obtained 606 converts. The provinces, however, in which most money is spent are those of Tomsk, Irkutsk, and the Trans-Baikal. In the latter two are the Buriats, amongst whom the Russians have 30 mission stations and 68 missionaries.[4] The province of Tomsk includes the region of the western chain of the Altai mountains, where schools and missions have been established for the Kirghese of the Steppes. In the Altai mission, during the first half of the year 1877, they enrolled 195 converts. Further east they have missionaries, some of whom I met, among the Goldi and Gilyaks; but I shall speak of them when we come to their districts. At Blagovestchensk lives the Bishop of the diocese, who had been described to me as “a good missionary.”

We stopped at Blagovestchensk on Tuesday, August 5th, and I made my way to the telegraph station, where, as in other towns, thanks to good introductions, I received much kindness from the officials. When travelling to Barnaul, I chanced to light on a telegraph officer, Mr. Friis, whose name was on my list, and he told me of a brother officer in Tomsk who spoke English. At Irkutsk Mr. Larsen gave considerable linguistic help; so did Mr. Koch at Stretinsk; and now, at Blagovestchensk, I found a Mr. Niellsen, who had worked in London, and spoke English; and Mr. Peko, who spoke French and English too. Mr. Peko, I found, was the director of this station of first rank.[5] When dining with the manager, Mr. Peko, and Mr. Niellsen, in the garden, I was interested to hear, among other scraps of professional information, that English is the best of languages for telegraphy, for that in it they can express more in few words than in any other. The Russians, they said, prefer to use English rather than their own language for telegrams. My nationality was further flattered in the town by a doctor’s wife telling me that to speak English was now in Siberia and Russia more fashionable than to speak French. Said she, “On peut oublier maintenant le Français pour apprendre l’Anglais.”

Blagovestchensk has a seminary for the training of priests, similar to those established in Russia by Peter the Great. He found his clergy exceedingly ignorant, and established these institutions for their sons, enjoining the bishops to support them with a twentieth part of the income from the monasteries. In these establishments, and others which have been added, are educated the rank and file of the Russian clergy.[6]

I did not once meet in Russia with a priest who could speak French, German, or English. Perhaps they throw their strength into patristic and ecclesiastical learning, since the parochial clergy are usually said to be not well instructed in secular studies. An instance was given me by an Englishman, who travelled in Siberia with a Russian archbishop, who one day asked the Englishman which had the greater population, London or San Francisco. Whereupon my wicked friend said, “Well, you see, London has a population of two hundred thousand, and San Francisco four millions.” “Ah!” said the archbishop with satisfaction, “I thought so; I thought San Francisco was the larger!”

Those students who wish to attain to the higher degrees of learning, on leaving the seminary, proceed to one of the ecclesiastical academies which correspond to our universities, and where they can take the degrees of student, candidate, master, and doctor of theology. There is no theological faculty in the Russian universities, but it is now required that all who are to be consecrated bishops shall have passed through the academy.

To return, however, to the seminary: the students enter at the age of eight, and remain normally till twenty-two, when they receive a diploma, which is accepted by the bishop, and the candidate without further examination is ordained.

The case of one of these students presented a curious instance of the working of the inconsistent requirement of the Russian Church, that the parochial clergy at the time of their ordination must be married. “Do you see that boy running about on the deck?” said a fellow-passenger to me, pointing to one of the seminary students. “He is nineteen years old, and is returning to the seminary for the last time. In the course of a few months his mother is to find him a wife, and next year he will return to be married, and then immediately ordained!”[7] This would be before the canonical age for ordination, but was owing to the lack of clergy in the Primorsk, in which there are about 50 congregations with churches or chapels. Between Nikolaefsk and Vladivostock, a distance of 1,300 miles, are only 14 priests and 2 deacons; and so pressing was the need of clergy a few years since that tradesmen, letter carriers, and even yemstchiks in some few instances were ordained.

Mr. Peko accompanied me at Blagovestchensk to call upon Mr. Petroff, the deputy-governor, from whom I learned that there was only one prison in the province, having 26 rooms. We visited it, but the only notes I have are “dirty and overcrowded,” and “punishment cells all full,” some having two men in a place not too large for one. What made the prison so full I know not, nor am I able to say whether they were local offenders from the province or exiles temporarily there on their way eastwards. There were none lounging about in the yard, so I suppose they had all been gathered for our inspection. The punishment cells being occupied was not, as far as I know, because the men had misbehaved, but because they were compelled to use all available space. Moreover, since the prison authorities seem to look upon solitary confinement as so great a punishment, it may be that two were put in some of the cells for the sake of company. I remember that when I spoke to the president of the Tomsk prison approving the separate as opposed to the gang system, he thought it was decidedly bad to put a moujik, or simple peasant, in a cell alone; for “having nothing to think about,” he said, “he might go mad!” This good man informed me, too, in connection with my self-imposed mission, that the prisoners did not want so much religion, but liked also books of history, travels, etc. This I knew, but since three wagonloads did not more than suffice for the little I attempted, and my means were limited both as to carriage and in other ways, I was only too thankful to take so many books as we did, and leave it to other philanthropists to complete the work. I left 50 New Testaments and 12 wall pictures at Blagovestchensk with Mr. Petroff for the prison, for the 20 rooms of his two hospitals and a school in the course of erection, with four rooms for prisoners’ children.

Near the hospital were summer Cossack barracks, put together in the most primitive fashion. The ordinary barracks needing repair, they had cut branches of trees and leafy underwood, tied them in fagots, and stood them up so as to form walls and roof, which gave tolerable shelter for hot weather, but served as poor protection from wind and rain. They were intended, however, to last only for a few weeks.

From these summer barracks there was a fine view of the river and town. The houses are situated on a plain 15 feet or 20 feet above the water. The Government establishments and merchants’ stores are large and well built, each having plenty of space around it. Some of them have gardens, and stretching along the bank from the wharf to the roomy telegraph office is a green sward planted with trees for a park. Blagovestchensk has a population of only 3,400, but its long river front and its cross streets give it the appearance of an important town. Some of the shops were excellent, and well supplied with merchandise. The town was founded in 1858, and the Amur Company kept there one of its principal stores. On the winding up of its affairs, this store was bought by the company’s clerk. Mr. Knox says, in 1866, that the Russian officers complained of the combinations among the merchants to maintain prices at an exorbitant scale. I heard, too, that this is still done. If, for instance, in the middle of the winter a merchant discovers that his brother tradesmen have sold all their sugar or any other article, and that his stock is all the town possesses, then, knowing that no more can arrive till the ice goes and the navigation opens, he can demand higher prices for goods of which he has a monopoly. Candles were quoted to me as costing usually 11_d._ or 1_s._ per lb., but as rising sometimes to 2_s._ 6_d._ Cheese costs from 2_s._ to 2_s._ 6_d._ per lb., but I suppose that these articles must be of European or American manufacture. Chickens at Blagovestchensk vary from 6_d._ to 2_s._ each, veal from 4_d._ to 5_d._, and beef from 2½_d._ to 4_d._ per lb. Milk costs 2_d._ per pint in summer, and 4_d._ in winter; live geese, bought from the Manchu, cost from 2_s._ 6_d._ to 4_s._; but in winter, from the Molokans, 5_s._ In connection with these prices should be quoted the cost of land, which may be purchased from the Government for 2_s._ an acre.

I was told that the town is full of dissenters. I did not hear of any Starovers or Old Believers, nor observe on any church the three transverse beams of their form of the cross; but there were many Molokans,--colonists, I suppose, or descendants of exiles. Their presence, doubtless, accounts for a good deal of the prosperity of the town, for they are “honest, sober, and industrious.”

The Molokans are so called because they drink milk on the usual fasting days. Their origin is involved in obscurity, and by some is dated back to the middle of the last century. Early in the present century many were living in the south of Russia. An English gentleman, residing at Berdiansk in 1848, visited their villages, and from his wife I learn that Salamatin, the Molokan chief, and his family were pious, but very simple, uneducated people. My friend used sometimes to invite them to her table. She tells me that their enlightenment came, to all appearance, simply from reading the Bible. They found there the worship of images forbidden, and accordingly declined to bow down before them, on which account some were persecuted, even to bodily pain, but to no purpose; they would not give way. Blunt’s “Dictionary of Sects” says that a Baron Haxthausen, in 1843, visited a colony of 3,000 Molokans in the Crimea, and found that they denied the necessity of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. With Blunt’s statement partly agrees what my friend told me, namely, that some important official came to visit the Molokans in her neighbourhood (not, however, in the Crimea, but in the government of Ekaterinoslav, which was then their habitation, their villages being situated on the banks of the Moloshna), and found so little objectionable among them, and so much that was good, that the official gave them an excellent character, and they were afterwards left unmolested. Also their alleged disuse of baptism and the Lord’s Supper seems to agree with what I heard of them from a fellow-traveller, who lodged in the house of a Molokan; for he told me that on Sundays they hold meetings, read the Scriptures, pray, sing, expound the Bible, and ask questions, but he thought they did not baptize nor receive the Lord’s Supper. But I remember my lady friend telling me that when the Molokans separated from, or were turned out of, the Russian Church, they had no priests nor any person of education to guide them, nor have they priests now, but only elders; hence, if they are without sacraments, I am not clear whether it is from choice or necessity.[8] My fellow-passenger spoke in high terms of the Molokans of Blagovestchensk. He said he never saw any of them intoxicated, or even enter a tavern; that he rarely or never saw them out of temper, or heard them use bad language; and that they spent their spare time in reading the Scriptures.

But this does not save them from annoyance. Their manner of living at Blagovestchensk has enabled many of the Molokans to become rich, so that they can hire servants. An old Russian law, however, forbids a Molokan to employ an orthodox Russian. The Russians, notwithstanding, like to serve the Molokans, because they are good masters, and pay well. Hence the law has become practically obsolete; but the summer before my visit, the police-master (a man of anything but exemplary moral character), having a grudge against a principal Molokan, and, Haman-like, thinking scorn to lay hands on one only, began doing his best to annoy the whole of them in the town. How the matter ended I did not hear.

I saw, before I left Siberia, an official confirmation of the good opinion I was led to form of the Molokans. The governor of a province wrote officially to Petersburg thus: “We have 105 Molokans, most of them living in the South Ussuri district. They are living quietly, and are very laborious, and amenable to authority. They are civil in their bearing towards the members of the orthodox Church, and are not fanatical.” Looking, therefore, at this triple testimony, and comparing the lives of the Molokans with the lives of the orthodox, I felt that to bring the orthodox into contact with the Molokans would be likely to improve the orthodox rather than otherwise, and that the Tsar would have more good subjects than he now has if he had more Molokans.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The number of dissenters is duly tabulated in the official reports sent to the Emperor. Thus, in one of them I was permitted to see was written, “No case has occurred during the year of dissenters being reclaimed, but we have in the province, as last year, 140 of both sexes of Bezpopoftschins, and 105 Molokans.”

[2] The amount collected in boxes at church doors in 1876 was 30,100 roubles 37½ kopecks, and from other sources 111,598 roubles 28¼ kopecks, making a total of 141,698 roubles 65¾ kopecks--say £17,712 (reckoning the rouble in this chapter at half-a-crown, its approximate value at the date of the report), besides £1,537 paid to the council by local committees. A comparison is drawn between 1876 and the previous six years, and shows an advance over 1875 of 890 members and £500. The Society has six associations in Siberia, of which Irkutsk has the largest number of members--490, and raises the largest amount of money--£3,470. There is also a list of “special donations” in 1876, which were invested; one donation of 40 roubles, or £5; two of 50 roubles; one of 60; six of 100; one of 200; and one, the largest, of 300 roubles, or £37.

[3] The results obtained by the Society in 1879 in the region of the Volga, inhabited chiefly by Mohammedans, are much less than in Asia, the opposition being so great that for the present the missionaries can only prepare the way. To this end, schools might become a powerful auxiliary. Some tribes, such as the Tcheremisses and the Votyaks, for example, show an inclination for instruction; but the want of funds prevents the extension of the Russian school system to the Mohammedan villages. The same is seen with the Kalmuks of Astrakhan, who would welcome schools, and gladly abandon their nomad and heathen congeners to settle upon lands assigned to them. At Noire-Cherinsk, 12 families began the construction of houses, but for lack of money failed to complete them, and asked the Government for an advance of £3 for each family. At Oulane-Ergansk, certain families have come to settle, and already are giving themselves to agriculture.

[4] One of their triumphs in 1879 was the conversion of the learned lama, Taptchine-Nagbou-Mangolaiew, who was first impressed by the Russian Church services he attended from the preceding year at Chita and Verchne Udinsk, where, after the manner of the missionaries, the service and singing is, I believe, in the vernacular. This man was baptized in the waters of the Baikal, from which he takes his present name of Vladimir Baikalsky. He understands seven languages--Manchu, Chinese, Mongolian, Thibetan, Sanscrit, Latin, and Russ, and has accepted the post of Professor of Mongolian in one of the missionary colleges.

[5] The Government authorized, so far back as 1861, the construction of a telegraphic line from Nikolaefsk, up the Amur, to Khabarofka, which was to continue thence to the southernmost point of the Russian territories on the Sea of Japan. The telegraph line from Kasan to Omsk was to be opened in the same year; from Omsk to Irkutsk in 1862, and thence undertaken in 1863 to Kiakhta and Khabarofka, the Amur Company agreeing to do the work and the Minister of Marine to provide the funds, the Government guaranteeing 5 per cent. on the outlay. The rates for telegrams in Russia and Siberia are:--

Within a radius of 66 miles, 1 shilling for 20 words. ” ” 660 ” 2 shillings ” ” ” ” 1,000 ” 4 ” ” ” Beyond ” ” ” 6 ” ” ”

[6] Upon my return journey on the Amur, I met on the boat some of the students going back to Blagovestchensk after their holidays, and from them and their teacher I got the following information respecting their place of education. Priests’ sons are provided with education, food, and clothing free; other scholars pay for food and clothing. They are at the seminary ten months and a half during the year, and have the remaining six weeks for holidays. They have six classes, and stay two years in each, with four lectures daily, and read from eight till two. At the seminary at Blagovestchensk, in 1878, there were 50 students and nine professors, namely, of Latin, mathematics, Greek (no Hebrew), theology, philosophy, the Bible, Russ, Manchu, physics, music, etc. The students, I was told, on leaving, usually know a little Latin and Greek, and may learn modern languages; but this last, in Russia, is not compulsory.

[7] I have called this requirement of the Russian Church inconsistent because they interpret St. Paul’s words, that a deacon should be the husband of one wife, so literally as not to ordain a bachelor as parish clergyman; and yet, though St. Paul gives the same injunction concerning a bishop, they will not consecrate a priest to the episcopate so long as he is married.

[8] The Molokans of Ekaterinoslav were not indifferent to the sacraments, for Salamatin, their then chief, was wont to baptize by immersion; and as for the Lord’s Supper, they celebrated it sitting round a table, each communicant receiving a piece of bread broken from one loaf, and the cup was afterwards passed round to each member.

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Chapter XLII

THE MIDDLE AMUR.

Departure from Blagovestchensk.--The Zeya.--Climate.--Employment of time.--Russian tea-drinking.--The Bureya river and mountains.--Delightful scenery.--Ekaterino-Nicolsk.--Distribution of books and Scriptures.--Recognized by a passenger.--Prairie scenery.--Shooting a dog.--The Sungari.--Chinese exclusiveness.--Course of the river.--The Amur province.--An excise officer.--Remarks on alcohol.--Teetotalism in Russia.

We left Blagovestchensk on the morning of the 6th of August, and soon found the river widened. A short distance below the town is the mouth of the Zeya, the largest affluent of the Amur we had yet seen.[1]

It was along the Zeya that the first Russians reached the Amur in 1643. Since the Russian occupation, 5,000 peasants have been settled along the river, which is said to be navigable for steam three or four hundred miles from its mouth. It is, I believe, owing to the immense volume of water at times discharged by this river that Blagovestchensk is liable to serious inundations. At the time of my visit the town stood from 20 to 30 feet above the river, but in the course of a few weeks, news reached the Lower Amur that Blagovestchensk was so deeply flooded that the water had risen to the telegraph wires, and that there were several feet of water in the houses of the town. I heard, subsequently, of a flood higher by five feet that took place in 1872.

Beyond Blagovestchensk we experienced a decided rise in the thermometer. This town is on about the same parallel as London, and has a summer temperature not very different; but its winter climate is much more severe.[2] So far as my own experience is concerned, I was highly favoured in the weather, for the only day on which any rain worth noticing fell was the last of July, on the Shilka. At the commencement of the voyage, at night, I put my maximum and minimum thermometers out of the cabin window; but, having broken the latter on the 2nd of August, I am unable to say more than that the nights became very much warmer. On August 6th I noted that the heat was very great, and was doubly thankful in the morning for a cold bath. My cabin was about the size of an old-fashioned oblong church pew, with seats on the longer sides. These were too narrow to sleep upon, so I inflated my air bed and placed it on the floor; then in the morning it was necessary merely to remove the bed and unfold my bath previous to calling for water. I nowhere found in Russia or Siberia the use of “the tub” as English people now use it; and when on one occasion in Moscow I asked the landlord whether in the morning I could have a cold bath, he said he had never been asked for such a thing in his life!

Time on board hung by no means heavily upon my hands; for, having received several papers of statistics and official information written in Russ, I was glad to get them translated by some of the ladies who spoke French. I thus had opportunities of receiving explanations upon points not quite clear, and of correcting wrong impressions. With this writing-up books I alternated letter-writing, both private and official, though it seemed to be not much use writing to England, since I expected to get there by crossing the Pacific in less time than a letter could do so by crossing Siberia. The captain, however, expected to meet a steamer that would take mails to Stretinsk, and I therefore wrote a number of “open letters,” as the Russians call them, if only that my friends might receive a penny post-card from the land of my temporary exile. Among them, I remember, was one to Miss Frances Ridley Havergal, to whom I had written the previous year during my Archangel tour. I little thought at the time I was writing she had passed away, and that when crossing America I should read of her death.[3]

Thus, what with translating and writing, reading some small manuals I had brought on botany and geology, and gathering information on Russian affairs, the days passed happily enough. My fellow-voyagers were pleasant, and, after being thrown together for nearly a fortnight, we became quite sociable. The afternoon samovar was a great rallying-point, for Russians dearly love their tea--and not a little of it either. When two Moscow merchants have concluded a satisfactory bargain, they retire to a traktir, or tea-shop, where they call for a samovar, drink so many potations and make themselves so hot, that they call for a towel to wipe off the perspiration, and then--“begin again.” Our cook replenished his pantry at Blagovestchensk, and so did I, for I bought up all the white bread I could find, and Mr. Peko kindly gave his parting guest both butter and cheese. On the first day we travelled 340 miles, to Ekaterino-Nicolsk. When we started, the river was 1,200 yards in width, with soundings of 15 feet. At Aigun, 14 miles lower, it had increased to 1,866 yards wide, and to 30 feet deep. The scenery during the early part of the day displayed an extensive plain, with no visible limit on the left hand, and bounded on the right by low ranges of hills. The soil of this prairie is clayey, with an upper stratum of rich black mould, which is covered with luxuriant grasses, attaining often the height of a man. Among them may be seen Manchurian panic grass, and succulent, broad-bladed kinds of which I do not know the names; also grape and pea vines, and many varieties of flowers, among which the lily of the valley is so abundant as to fill the air with its fragrance. Small shrubs of cinnamon-rose are hidden everywhere by the grass, and, with vetches and other climbing plants, render travelling over these prairies, as Mr. Collins testifies, extremely difficult.

Below Aigun, the country on the north continues flat, and is covered with a rich black soil, in places fourteen inches thick. About 30 miles below Aigun, the river divides into many channels, and the right bank in several places is scooped out and steep. On the left are extensive shallows and sandbanks--some barren, others covered with grasses and willows. Of this last there are nine species on the river. The natives use the bark for making ropes. At Skobeltsina, 160 miles below Blagovestchensk, the Bureya comes in from the north, after a course of 703 miles. This river flows through a level prairie country, diversified by clumps of oaks and maples. At its mouth it has a breadth of half a mile. Beyond this stream the south bank rises, and toward the latter part of the day we found ourselves not far from the Bureya mountains, where the hills approached close to the river. Coal seams from three to four inches thick, resembling cannel coal, have been discovered in this district. The lower portions of the hills were wooded with small oaks, and on more elevated parts were denser forests of young oak and black birch. In shady ravines are found groves of white birch and aspen, and in open situations, and on the islands, various kinds of willows, limes, bird-cherry trees, small Tatar apples, elms, the Manchu ash, the Mongol oak, and a few cork trees of small size. Hazels also grow here, and at the skirt of the forest may be found the vine climbing the trees to the height of 15 feet. The most characteristic shrub of these forests is the Manchurian virgin’s bower, the numerous white blossoms of which contribute not a little to its beauty.

We were favoured with a delightful evening for our journey through the Bureya mountains, the scenery of which reminded me forcibly of some parts of the Danube.[4]

The Bureya, or Little Khingan, mountains cross the valley of the Amur at nearly right angles. They are of mica schist, clay slate, and granite. Porphyry has been found in one locality, and there are said to exist indications of gold. As we journeyed down the stream in the evening light, the tortuous course of the river added much to the beauty of the scene. Almost every minute the picture changed, hill, forest, and cliff giving variety to the prospect as we wound our way through the defile. Here and there were tiny cascades breaking over the steep rocks to the edge of the river, and occasionally a little meadow nestled in a ravine. At times one seemed completely enclosed in a lake, from which there was no escape visible save by climbing the hills, and it was impossible to discover any trace of an opening half a mile ahead. And thus we travelled on, till at dusk we arrived for the night at Ekaterino-Nicolsk, a settlement of 300 houses, standing on a plateau 40 feet above the river. Here I found a church, which was approached through an avenue of trees in a public garden. I afterwards learned that specimens of all the trees in the region were planted there; but when I entered it, the light was too far gone to allow of my seeing more than that we had come to beauties of vegetation superior to anything I had yet beheld in Siberia.

The arrival of a steamer at Ekaterino-Nicolsk is not an event that takes place daily throughout the year, and the whistle draws a large proportion of the population to the river’s bank--some to sell garden produce, some to meet friends, and some to look on. These little crowds afforded me excellent opportunities for distributing my tracts, and selling or giving away the Scriptures. A large proportion of the Russian colonists get their living by supplying fuel for the steamers. In 1866 the Government used wood to the value of £6,000, and private firms £1,200; and as we had frequently to stop at these wood stations, I was able to go on shore, and leave my printed messengers in the most out-of-the-way places, where they were always thankfully received, and often gladly purchased.[5]

This attracted the attention of the passengers, who wished also to purchase. One day, on the Shilka, I sold more than 30 copies, some of them to very poor-looking persons. A merchant on board wished to invest largely, but I was unwilling to sell wholesale, preferring rather to scatter my stock over as wide an area as possible. I found, moreover, that travelling merchants in Siberia ask a shilling for the books I was selling at sixpence; and though, considering the difficulties of carriage from Petersburg, this was not perhaps exorbitant, yet I wished rather to bring my wares directly within reach of as many purchasers as possible, and even to give them, if necessary, in lonely and far-off places. We reached some out-of-the-way spots on the Obi by sending parcels of books to the priests, with a letter, but this I was unable to do on the Upper and Middle Amur.

The curiosity of my fellow-passengers was of course aroused by what appeared to them my strange proceedings, and they hit upon various conjectures as to who and what I might be. It has not unfrequently been my experience to find, after curiosity has subsided, that my distributing religious literature has secured for me many attentions and acts of kindness from those who, before reading the tracts, were disposed to be prejudiced and perhaps opposed. I found this particularly the case in Siberia, though I was hardly prepared to learn that the intelligence of what I had done three years before in Finland had reached the Amur. On the second day, however, between Blagovestchensk and Khabarofka, a passenger, who had come on board the previous day, espied my name on my luggage, and, coming on deck, he asked if I had travelled round the Gulf of Bothnia. On receiving a reply in the affirmative, he said he had read of my tour, which had been translated by my Finnish friend for a paper called the Helsingfors Dagblad. He thus remembered what I had done, and was abundantly willing to be of service if he could. His name was M. Emil Kruskopf, an inspector in the telegraph service, and he performed several kindnesses for me unasked. He had been flattered as a Finn by the way I had spoken of the Scandinavian steamers, and thus I found that a kind word was bearing its fruit after many days, and far from the place where it was spoken.

Among the crowd who came to look on at Nicolsk was the priest, to whom I gave some pamphlets and some copies of the Russian Workman. Next morning we departed, hoping by nightfall to reach Khabarofka. After proceeding a short distance the mountains receded on the left, and, a little lower, on the right also. Then appeared two islands, the one on the right being about half a mile long and a few yards high, covered with birches and elms, in the shade of which grasses grow to the height of six feet. The second island is a steep rock. The depth of the river continued to be 70 feet.[6]

The country in this part is the most desolate along the whole course of the Amur; though, with us, the monotony of the afternoon was enlivened by a cry that a bear was swimming across the river. And, surely enough, there was the head of some animal above the water, not very far from the steamer, though I confess it did not appear to me to be that of a bear. Some of the passengers went below for their revolvers and rifles, and began to fire, much to the excitement of every one on board. The captain stopped the ship, and as the animal came nearer, the shot entered the water so close to his nose that he raised himself to see what was the matter. At last a bullet struck him in the head, and the discolored water proclaimed a fatal shot. A boat was lowered, and some of the crew put off, but only to find that all the excitement had been bestowed upon an unfortunate dog!

We passed the mouth of the Sungari, on the southern bank of the Amur, 992 miles below Ust-Strelka.[7] The Sungari, with its affluents, drains the larger portion of Manchuria. Very little is known about it, though its valley is said to be tolerably well peopled and fertile.[8]

We had now reached the most southerly bend of the Amur, and had entered a somewhat different climate from that of the Bureya range, for these mountains are cooler than either of the prairies above or below them.[9]

Below the Sungari the level prairie continues along the left bank of the Amur. On the right bank a range of hills accompanies the river for a distance of 20 miles, and at the villages of Dyrki, Etu, and Kinneli are bold cliffs. The hills are covered with an open forest. Underneath them a luxuriant herbage shoots up to the height of five feet, and in July are seen the numerous red flowers of the Lespedeza, the blue blossoms of vetches, large white umbels of the Biotia, and catkins of the Sanguisorba. On the shores of the islands in the river are heaped up the bleached trunks of fallen trees and driftwood.

As we drew towards the end of our voyage, we were approaching likewise the confines of the Amur province, which is at once the smallest and least populous of the provinces of Siberia.[10] There are 31 stations between Blagovestchensk and Khabarofka, the distance is 560 miles, and I paid for first-class fare £2 10_s._ The largest of the stations and the most important is Michael Semenovsk, about 17 miles below the mouth of the Sungari, so named in honour of a Governor-General of Eastern Siberia. It is a military post, and rejoices in the possession of two iron guns pointing over the river in the direction of China, though they are said to be utterly useless for purposes of war, and can only be employed for firing salutes.

At this place we put off some of our passengers, and among them the wife of the artillery officer whom we had first seen as far back as Kansk, and with whom we had been brought in contact on the Baikal, and again on the Shilka. It looked as if our acquaintance was now to cease, but it was not so; for when I reached Vladivostock this lady appeared again, at a distance of more than 3,000 miles from where we first met. I had made another acquaintance also since leaving Blagovestchensk, one Baron Stackelberg. This gentleman had been sent to the Amur to put the screw on in the matter of excise. At the annexation of the country, the Government was so anxious to people it that they promised emigrants immunity from taxes for 20 years, and this time was nearly up. The Baron had, therefore, to put things in order, and had been doing so since 1875, when he crossed Siberia by land and happened to fall in and travel with Mr. Milne, to whose journey across Europe and Asia I have alluded in a previous chapter. The Baron spoke pleasingly of his journey with his English friend, as he called him, and he was evidently disposed to give a second Englishman a welcome. He spoke French fluently, and gave me some interesting statistics about alcohol, which is the principal source of the Government revenue both in Russia and Siberia.[11] I hesitate, from my own experience, to endorse the opinion sometimes expressed, that the Russians, as a people, are more intemperate than the English. Among them, it is true, the vice seems to pass for less sin and for less shame than with us; but England has the unenviable notoriety of arresting in one year 203,989 persons for crimes in which drunkenness is entered as part of the charges! I can present no statistics on the number of drunkards in Russia. One does see a great many, certainly, on a festival. I was lamenting this to a Russian lady, when she acknowledged its truth, but reminded me that with them the evil is confined chiefly to men; and without doubt, whatever comparison may be instituted between the two countries with regard to drunkenness among the male sex, they have no town in Russia which has more drunken women than men--that apprehends in a single year 6,276 females to 5,537 males, or 32 drunkards a day! For this, alas! we must look to England--to Liverpool. Still, drunkenness is a most fruitful cause of crime in Russia, as witnessed by what I saw and heard in the prisons at Tiumen, Tobolsk, and Barnaul; and it may very well be questioned whether the evil habits among Russians of gambling, drunkenness, and idleness are not in part to be traced to the very large number of holy days in their calendar, on many of which they abstain from work more completely than on Sundays. They fast rigorously and long, and then, at the close, break out in excess.

Teetotalism has not yet made much way among the Russian people or clergy. I chanced, indeed, to be dining in Petersburg in company with a gentleman, who said that the priest of his country parish was an abstainer, whom he sometimes invited to dinner; and when he would give him a little red wine for his stomach’s sake, the priest declined, saying that if he did not abstain altogether he might soon become a drunkard, because invited so often to drink by his parishioners. This case, however, was sufficiently uncommon to cause a lady present to observe that she had never heard of an abstaining priest before. Accordingly, it is with great satisfaction I have observed from the newspapers that the matter has been under the consideration of the present Emperor, and that his Majesty has called in certain experts to advise on the subject. God send them help against this national curse, the demon of intemperance!

My meeting with Baron Stackelberg had an important bearing on my wanderings; for I had intended, on arriving at Khabarofka, to leave the Amur, and proceed direct up the Ussuri to Vladivostock. But so it was not to be, and in less than 24 hours I found myself going 1,250 miles out of my way, and in the opposite direction. But before leaving the Chinese border I must say something of the southern bank of the Amur, concerning which and its inhabitants I have hitherto been almost silent.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This river rises in the Yablonoi range, and pursues a course of 700 miles to the south-east, receiving several affluents from the east before it flows into the main stream. At its mouth it is nearly a mile wide, and in some places 35 feet deep. Its swift, turbid, yellowish waters are no mean addition to the black waters of the Sak-hah-lin, as the natives call the Amur. For some distance below the junction the two colors are distinctly visible; but finally the black dragon swallows up his yellow neighbour, and flows on majestically towards the ocean.

[2] The greatest heat, in July 1877, at Blagovestchensk was 89°·2, and at Greenwich 88°·2; but the greatest cold, in December, at Blagovestchensk was 32° below zero, as compared with 28°·7, the greatest cold at Greenwich. Speaking generally of the weather at Blagovestchensk, Mr. Ravenstein remarks that in the winter of 1859-60 it was fine until the middle of October. On the 4th November snow fell, and soon after the river was frozen. During December and January it was fine though cold, the temperature falling occasionally to 45° below zero, and at one time to 49°, and never rising more than 9°·5 above it. Violent storms occurred during November, and again in February. On the 2nd of April was the first thaw. Between the 6th and 9th of May the river became free of ice, and the last snow fell on the 12th, but without remaining on the ground. The greatest heat during the summer was 99°. The district of the Middle Amur enjoys a more favourable climate than the Upper Amur, though only so far as the summer months are concerned. These are free from hoar-frost, which, on the upper part of the river, is often destructive to the harvest. The winter is quite as long, and the Amur at Blagovestchensk is frozen over from the beginning of November to the commencement of May; and the Zeya some three weeks longer. The quantity of snow, however, is not too great to allow of the Manyargs keeping their horses throughout the winter pasturing in the open air.

[3] I wrote also to General Kaznakoff, the Governor-General of Western Siberia, at Omsk, requesting that the Scriptures, which I had arranged for the interpreter to take to Tiumen to be forwarded thence, might be distributed through the provinces of Akmolinsk and Semipolatinsk; so that, with what I hoped to do in the Sea-coast province, I began to look upon my plans for the supply of the Siberian prisons as all but completed. The boxes containing these books did not reach Tiumen till the autumn; they were some time on the road to Omsk; but when I last heard of them, they had reached their destination, and were about to be distributed.

[4] At the entrance of the defile, 783 miles below Ust-Strelka, and on the north bank, is situated the station Pashkof. On the opposite bank rises the bold promontory of Sverbeef, projecting far into the river. From a breadth of two miles the Amur suddenly decreases to 700 yards, the depth in many places reaching to 70 feet, and thus it flows for 100 miles to Ekaterino-Nicolsk. The current sweeps along at the rate of three miles, and in some places attains as much as 5½ miles an hour.

[5] Another opportunity had occurred on the Upper Amur, on our meeting a steamer lugging an immense two-decked barge laden with seamen, who had finished their term of service in the Pacific, and were returning homewards with their wives and children. Their barge had the appearance of a huge Mississippi steamer loaded with passengers above and below, and as we approached they hailed us. Our captain was not then out of shallow water, and as he knew the commander of the approaching steamer he deemed it advisable to drop alongside and ask about the condition of the river, exchange a few kindly words, and perhaps drink with his brother navigator a glass of tea, or something stronger. I, too, went on board, and sold 20 New Testaments in as many minutes, distributing also several papers and books. I wished to make the captain a present of some New Testaments for the use of the crews of his two boats, but he preferred to buy them, and gave me 3½ roubles for 14 copies, to which I added some placards, etc. The captains, too, of the Zeya and the Ingoda bought some for their crews in preference to my giving them. I had, however, already nailed up some of my pictures in both cabins of the two boats, and placed in each a copy of the New Testament for the use of the passengers, as was done also for the boats by which we travelled on the Obi and the Kama.

[6] From this part to the mouth of the Sungari the prairie extends as far as the eye can reach, and the banks of the river are in many places swampy. The stream increases in breadth, and has numerous islands covered with willows and other trees. The islands do not interfere with the navigation, as they are ranged along the two banks of the river, and leave an open channel between.

[7] The color of the Sungari is lighter than the Amur, and Mr. Collins, who tasted the water, pronounces it insipid and warm, as coming from a southern source. The force of the current is about two knots, that of the Amur here being four knots. The Sungari is a mile and one-third in breadth at the mouth. It rises on the eastern slopes of the great Khingan, or Shan-alin, or White Mountains, and, being joined by many tributaries, runs in a southerly direction, till, meeting another affluent from the mountains which border on the Corea, it turns to the north-east, and, after a course of 1,000 miles, falls into the Amur.

[8] The first large town up the river is San-sin, which Mr. Maximowicz the naturalist, in 1859, endeavoured to reach, but he was compelled to return on account of his hostile reception by the jealous and exclusive Chinese villagers. I met at Khabarofka a Russian merchant, who had proceeded up the river some distance to purchase corn; an attempt, however, in which he only partially succeeded,--and that little, I understood, through the mediation of a Roman Catholic missionary. By the Chinese treaty with Russia the Sungari is declared to be open for the purposes of commerce. It thus presents an unoccupied field for some enterprising pioneer who will thus push his way into Manchuria.

[9] In the Bureya district in August thick fogs rest on the river in the morning, and the nights are cold. The amount of snow throughout the winter is about 4½ feet or more. The climate, however, on the Amur, which is most favourable, is that found between the mouths of the Sungari and Ussuri, though even here the river is ice-bound during five or six months. At Khabarofka it freezes about the end of November and opens in the beginning of May. Snow covers the ground to the depth of a foot or a foot and a half, and even 2½ feet in exceptional winters. Below the mouth of the Sungari the Amur divides into several streams, and many islands have been formed in its bed. The river, too, changes its course, and runs to the north-east, which seems to be a direct continuation of the Sungari. In fact, this river has been claimed by some as the parent river. The Russians, however, could well afford to allow the Chinese to establish this relationship, for then the Tsar would be entitled to the greater part of Manchuria, the treaty giving Russia all the land “north of the Amur,” to which John Chinaman would probably object.

[10] It has an area of 173,000 square miles, and is about the size of Spain, its population amounting to only 22,000 persons. In this last respect it contrasts favourably with the neighbouring province of Yakutsk, which is eight times as large, but has only about 1,200 more inhabitants. The one town of the province is Blagovestchensk, where the Governor resides. The other habitations form mere villages situated on the banks of the river.

[11] “Alcohol” is spirit obtained from corn and potatoes, and has 95 degrees of strength; “vodka” is the same spirit weakened by water to 40 degrees, and filtered. A bottle of alcohol costs at Vladivostock 2_s._ 6_d._; a bottle of vodka 1_s._ 3_d._ The Baron was an Esthonian by birth, and he pointed out the remarkable fact that, whilst Esthonia relatively produced more brandy than did other Russian provinces, yet it had the smallest number of shops for its sale. Whether any moral could be drawn from this tale I know not; but I subsequently find on the same opening of my journal two noteworthy entries respecting the Amur. One is that the excise taxes for the Sea-coast province amounted in 1878 to rather more than 20 times the amount realized by all the remaining taxes put together; and the other is the official return to the Emperor, that “the chief causes of crime in the province are gambling and drunkenness.” Comment is needless, and I do not here stay to make any, except to observe how humiliating it is that any country which calls itself Christian, be it Russia or England, should derive its largest revenue from that which most demoralizes its subjects.

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Chapter XLIII

THE MANCHURIAN FRONTIER.

Manchuria and its aboriginal inhabitants.--Their history.--The Daurians.--The Manchu.--Visit to Sakhalin-Ula-Hotun.--Manchu dress.--Music.--Conveyances.--Articles of commerce.--Treatment of dead.--Boats.--Methods of fishing.--Archery.--Town of Aigun.--Buildings.--Temples.--Difficulties of access.

I have said very little on what we saw in descending the Amur of the Daurians and Manchu, because I thought it better to reserve a separate chapter for these extra-Siberian people. Manchuria is bounded on the north by the Amur, on the east by the Ussuri, on the west by Dauria and Mongolia, and on the south by Corea and the Yellow Sea. It is, in fact, the country north of Peking, from which city the territory is governed, and with which its history is closely connected.[1]

A few words should be said, perhaps, first of the Daurians, whose territory we passed whilst on the Upper Amur. Of old they were settled along both banks of the river, and doubtless may here and there be found still on the northern bank; but for the sake of clearness I have preferred to treat of them on the southern bank in their proximity to the Manchu, from whom they can scarcely be distinguished in appearance, and with whom they have more in common than with the natives of the north. The Daurians and Manchu, Mr. Howorth says, are of the same stock in every way. The division is a political one only. The Daurians probably represent the section who paid tribute to the Chinese Court, and the Manchu those who were free. Mr. Wahl says that “Daours” is a name given to the Tunguses of the Amur by the Buriats. The Daurians are taller and stronger than the Orochons, the countenance is oval and more intellectual, and the cheeks are less broad. The nose is rather prominent, and the eyebrows straight. The skin is tawny, the hair brown. The lower classes do not shave the head, and their hair resembles an ill-constructed haystack, around which they twist their pigtail. The higher classes shave the head in front and over the temples, but wear a tail.

The Daurians carry on agriculture successfully, and cultivate vegetables and tobacco. They live in houses made of earth, thatched with reeds or thin bamboos, and have the walls whitewashed inside. The houses are not divided into compartments, and the fireplace is outside, near the door, the smoke from it passing through a pipe into the house. Two iron kettles always form part of the household utensils, one of them for heating water for tea, the other for cooking the food. The windows are large and square, of paper soaked in oil. They are hinged at the top, and are propped open for ventilation. The religion of the Daurians is Shamanism. We saw their canoes from time to time when stopping at wood stations on the Upper Amur, but recognized few of the people themselves.

We saw many Manchu from the Zeya to the Khingan mountains. The southern shores of the Amur are inhabited by Manchu and Chinese, the latter being either exiles or their descendants.[2] On the south bank of the Amur, opposite Blagovestchensk, is a small Manchu town, called Sakhalin-Ula-Hotun (City of the Black River). The Manchu and Chinese formerly called the river above the Sungari “Sakhalin-Ula.” The Goldi called the Amur “Mongo,” and the Gilyaks “Mamoo.” The name Amur was given by the Russians, and is considered a corruption of the Gilyak word. I paid a visit to Sakhalin-Ula on the evening our steamer stayed in the vicinity. It is said to have less than 2,000 inhabitants. I was accompanied by Mr. Niellsen, from the telegraph office at Blagovestchensk, who was slightly known to one of the Manchu merchants. The town stretches a mile along the bank, but extends only a few paces back from the river. It consists of a single street, and is anything but picturesque; for the fences, made of log-frames and covered with board, shut out the view of the gardens, in which are grown millet, maize, radishes, onions, leeks, garlic, Spanish pepper, and cabbages. The walls of the houses are of log plastered with mud, and the windows usually of paper, but occasionally of glass.

The roofs of the buildings are covered with thatch of wheaten straw, and the town is embowered in elms, birches, maples, poplars, and wild apple-trees. This contrasts favourably with the Russian town, where there are few trees except those in the park. Timber, for use of both Russians and Manchu, is cut in the forests 60 miles up the river, and rafted down. They keep plenty of fowls and pigs, and a few horned cattle used for ploughing. Sakhalin-Ula abounds in gardens, which supply the market of Blagovestchensk. Once a month, during the full moon, the Manchu cross the river and open a fair, which lasts seven days. They sell the Russians wheaten and buckwheat flour, barley, beans, oats, eggs, walnuts, vegetables, Ussuri apples, fowls, pigs, cows, and horses. Thus the Russians usually lay in a month’s supply; but should they require anything out of fair-time, the Manchu are not only ready to supply it, but do so at lower prices than the sums asked by the Russian merchants.

As we walked along the street we met a solitary woman, who ran quickly out of the way, as if afraid of us; and having made a long détour from the road, regained it, and continued her journey behind us. The Manchu women dress like the Chinese, in a blue cotton gown, with short loose sleeves, above which the well-to-do wear a cape or mantle of silk, reaching to the waist. The hair is brushed up, fastened on the top of the head in a bunch, and is secured by a comb ornamented with beads and hair-needles, and decked with gay ribbons, with real or artificial flowers. The earrings, finger-rings, and bracelets exhibit much taste. The women are in the habit of carrying their youngest children about with them, tied on the back. The girls, on being released from swaddling-clothes, are dressed like their mothers; but the boys, up to six or seven years of age, wear only a pair of loose pantaloons.

The costume of the men is a long blue coat of cotton, loose linen trousers fastened at the knee or made into leggings, and Chinese boots of skin. They wear also a kind of vest and a belt, to which is attached a case containing a knife, Chinese chopsticks, tinder, a small copper pipe, and tobacco. Both sexes are fond of smoking, and, as in China, constantly carry a fan.

As we passed one of the houses, we saw a Manchu, sitting out in the cool of the evening, enjoying his music, which he produced by scraping a stringed instrument of the violin order, though it is no compliment to the fiddle to mention the two together. At Khabarofka I saw other musical instruments, coming nearer to the shape of the banjo. One, with three strings, had a long handle of rosewood, and a drum about six inches in diameter. The drum was covered on either side with serpents’ skin, but if its sound was no more pleasing than that of the instrument at Sakhalin-Ula, I fear it would generally be thought trying to English ears.

By dint of inquiry, we found the merchant to whom my companion was known, and, on entering his yard, saw some Mongolian sheep, with their enormous tails. It was not difficult to understand particularly fat Thibetan sheep needing a little carriage upon which to support this appendage. One could wish them better conveyances, however, than the Manchu carts, which are of a very clumsy description. They have two wheels fixed to the axletree, all turning together. They are drawn by oxen, and move slowly, creaking along. The Manchu have besides a rough kind of travelling carriage for persons of distinction, a two-wheeled affair, not long enough to allow one to lie at full length, nor with covering high enough to permit one to sit upright. It has no springs, the frame resting on the axle. The sides are curtained with cloth, having little windows or peep-holes. A few cushions and hard pillows inside serve to diminish the effect of jolting. The shafts are like those of a common dray, with a sort of shelf to support the driver sitting sideways about ten inches behind the horse. The wheel tires are of surprising breadth and thickness, and cogged as if made for use in a machine. In fact, a “machine” is exactly the word for the whole concern; and on coming out of the said machine after a long journey, and its accompanying jolting over execrable roads, it may well be doubted whether one would not feel bruised “all over alike.”

Our merchant friend gave us a hearty welcome, and bade us be seated in his house, which closely resembled the house of the merchant with whom we dined at Maimatchin. Usually, when a guest enters a Manchu dwelling, one of the women fills and lights a pipe, and having taken a few puffs herself, and wiped the mouthpiece with her hand or apron, presents it. The people in the house we visited were perfectly ready to show us anything and everything we desired to see. One of them was writing, with Indian ink and pen of split reed, or pencil of squirrel’s hair, when, upon observing that I watched him closely, he wrote my name in Chinese on a piece of paper, and gave it me as a souvenir, whilst I did the same in English, and so returned the compliment. They presented me also a bundle of joss-sticks for making a perfume, and which they burn before their idols.

Adjoining the room in which we sat was the shop, where they arrayed me in silk dressing-gowns of splendid quality. Among the articles the Manchu sell to the Russians are silk stuffs, peltry, artificial flowers, felt shoes, matting, etc.; but I saw nothing that so tempted me as the silk dressing-gowns. I forbore to purchase one only because my companion told me that I should get them better and find a larger selection in Japan. We contented ourselves, therefore, with admiring them, to the amusement, apparently, of the Manchu, for they repeatedly imitated not only our speaking but our words and exclamations of surprise, and even our manner of laughing.

I heard in this town of a strange method of treatment of the dead, for Mr. Niellsen told me they were kept in the house for several days; they are then half buried in a funereal hut in the garden or field. The corpse is daily visited by the relatives, who bring all sorts of food and drink. The food is put to the mouth of the deceased with a spoon, and the drink is placed in small cups outside the hut. A few weeks pass in this manner, and then the decomposed corpse is buried deeper.

Steaming away from Sakhalin-Ula, we passed several kinds of Manchu boats, which present a lively appearance on the river. The junks for heavy merchandise are about 60 feet long, from 12 to 14 feet wide, with high bows and sterns, and a large mast, 40 feet high, amidships. Most of them are built on the Sungari, and have a small hut-like construction at the stern. They draw from three to four feet of water, and are manned by a crew of ten,--eight for pushing at the poles, one to steer, and a pilot on the bows to sound and announce the depth of water. Smaller than the junks are the merchants’ boats, with an awning over the state-room, in which the merchant lives, whilst his crew and cargo are stowed in the forepart of the craft. A good deal of valuable merchandise is sometimes carried on board. I remember going to one of them at a stopping-place where the owner showed me a gold watch, said to be of English make, about which, however, when asked for an opinion, I was bound to express my doubts. I thought perhaps the man of business might be disposed to purchase my revolver, for which I had had no use, and found it somewhat in the way. I offered it, therefore, to him for what it cost me. He was accustomed only to the prices of the common Russian revolvers, whereas mine was of good English make. The figure, therefore, alarmed him, though, perhaps, after an hour’s patience, we might have come to terms; but the whistle sounded, and I had abruptly to close our negotiations and make for the steamer.

A Manchu fishing-boat is made of the trunk of a hollowed-out tree, cut in two pieces, fastened with wooden pegs, and secured from leaking with pitch. The small ones are propelled by one man, with a double-bladed paddle. They also make flat-bottomed boats of planks. Most of them carry flags or streamers, and some have dragons’ heads on their bows.

The traveller sometimes sees a novel method of fishing by the Manchu, who sit perched on a tripod of tent-poles, ten feet high, placed at the edge of the river. Here the fisherman waits, like a heron, watching for fish, which he catches with pole, net, or spear, according to circumstances. One would suppose the seat must be very uncomfortable, but these tripods, tied at the top, are seen on many sandbars and shoals, showing it to be one of the recognized methods of fishing. I saw also, below Sakhalin, another curious fishing machine, something like a hand-cart, with two small wheels and long handles. A frame over the axle sustained a long pole, from which was suspended a net about the size of a shrimp net. The machine could thus be wheeled into the water, and the snare lowered, after which the net was lifted again with its catch. During winter, when the river is covered with ice, the Daurians practise a third method of fishing, known to the Cossacks as chekacheni, or “malleting.” Where the ice is transparent, the fish may be seen almost immovable near the surface of the water beneath it. A few blows on the ice with a mallet stun the fish, a hole is then made, and they are taken out with the hand or a small net.

The Manchu are excellent archers. At the military stations trials of skill take place periodically in the presence of the Mandarins and others.[3] “To know how to shoot an arrow,” writes a Manchu author, “is the first and most important knowledge for a Tatar to acquire.” I presume, however, this was written before the introduction of the clumsy Manchu matchlock.

Fourteen miles below the Zeya, and a few hours after leaving Blagovestchensk, our steamer arrived at Aigun, the chief town of the Manchu on the Amur, and once possessing considerable strength. It was formerly the capital of the Chinese province of the Amur, but the seat of government was transferred, some five-and-thirty years ago, to Tsi-tsi-har. It has now a population estimated at 15,000. The town is built on a bank some 8 or 10 feet above high-water mark. The tableland behind the town extends to mountains in a serrated chain, which show themselves as a background to the picture upon the southern horizon.

The Government buildings and several temples are surrounded by a double row of palisades, in the form of a square; and outside this are several hundred mud houses. The town has a gloomy appearance. The houses are nearly all of but one storey, and stand in square yards surrounded by fences of stakes or wickerwork. The only relief to the eye is produced by the gaily-painted temples, which are surrounded with trees, apparently sacred groves, the more noticeable as growing timber is scarce in this region. The temples are square buildings erected with rather more care than private houses. The walls are made of thin poles set up side by side, with the interstices filled with clay, and smoothened. The sloping roof is thatched with straw. As you enter you find yourself in an ante-room, separated from the inner compartment by a curtain running along the width of the temple, and suspended from slender pillars. The curtain being drawn aside, there is seen a table against the wall, upon or over which is a picture of a deity; and on the table lie dried stems and leaves of Artemisia, and some Chinese coins. There is also a semi-globular vessel of metal, with three holes on each side, which is struck by the worshipper, after he has made his obeisance, to attract the notice of the god.[4]

I observed at Aigun, as at Maimatchin, the proximity of the temple and the theatre, and noticed poles standing in front of the Government houses and temples. But I am not clear whether they are merely flag-poles or whether they are for a purpose mentioned by Mr. Ravenstein, who alludes to poles fixed on the screens facing the doors of private houses, the upper parts of which poles are ornamented by the Manchu with the skulls of beasts of prey, small flags, and horsehair, and during prayer are hoisted whilst the worshippers lie prostrate.

Very few foreigners have succeeded in gaining admittance to Aigun. Mr. Collins, with Captain Fulyhelm, made a resolute but fruitless endeavour to do so.[5]

This exclusiveness, however, appears to have abated in after years; for in 1866 Mr. Knox had no difficulty in visiting the town, even when the Governor happened to be absent. He speaks of the streets as having some dry spots, but that otherwise, by reason of the mud, he should describe the measurement of the “broadway” of Aigun as about two miles long, 50 feet wide, and “two feet deep.” The shops in one of the principal streets have open fronts. Here the merchandise is exposed, and the merchant, attired in silks, gravely smokes his pipe till a purchaser enters. Dragons and other figures, cut in paper, are fixed to poles surmounting the shops, and paper lanterns hang across the street. The town has a guard-house and military quarters, and there was pointed out to me, from the deck of the steamer, the fortress and gateway leading to the Government quarter. Over the gateway was a small room, like the drawbridge room in a castle of the middle ages. Twenty men could be lodged there to shoot arrows or throw hot water on an invading foe.

I was not fortunate in getting into the city--not, however, through any difficulty with the authorities (as Baron Stackelberg offered to telegraph to the Chinese Governor to give permission for me to enter), but, owing to delays, our boat was so behind time that the captain could not be induced to lose a couple of hours for the purpose. We stopped, therefore, only a few minutes to take in passengers. Crowds of Manchu and Chinese came to the bank, some of the women having very remarkable head-gear. Men with a cloth about the waist were washing their plump little Manchu horses in the river; and we saw a number of junks drawn up on the banks. These represent some of the Chinese naval force on the Amur,--but only some, I suppose--because, when the Russians obtained the river, the Chinese transferred their navy to the Sungari. Towards this river we proceeded, after leaving Aigun, and arrived, as I have said, on the following day at Khabarofka, which may now be called the military capital of the Sea-coast province.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Chinese applied to the eastern Mongols the name of Dun-Khu, whence the name Tunguses. And wild they must have been in early times, if the account be true that during the winter they lived in subterraneous dwellings, and smeared their bodies with pigs’ fat to protect themselves from cold. The first amelioration in their condition is said to have been due to the conquests of the Coreans, who, in their wars with China, made use of these northern neighbours. When, however, the Coreans fell under the sway of the Chinese, in 677 A.D., the Tungusians, who were subsequently known as the Manchu, retired northwards to the Shan-alin mountains. With the help of many Coreans, they founded the empire of the Bokhai, and the country became one of the most flourishing kingdoms on the eastern sea. The heirs of the power of the Bokhai were the Jurjis, who founded the empire of Kin, and were known as Kin, or Golden Tatars. They dominated over Northern China in the 12th century, and were the ancestors of the Manchu. It is not necessary to follow the vicissitudes of this kingdom through the centuries that followed; but in 1618 the power of the Manchu was so well established, that their king made war with China, and repeatedly defeated the emperor. Some years later, a revolution broke out in China, in the midst of which, in 1643, the emperor committed suicide; whereupon the imperial party called in the aid of the Manchu, who drove the rebels out of Peking. The Chinese general was then left to pursue them further south, whilst the Manchu chief, finding the throne vacant, took it for himself and kept it, and the Manchu dynasty reigns in China to this day. These events were followed by very remarkable consequences to the Manchu country and people; for though by conquest they had gained a neighbouring throne, yet the Chinese managed so to fuse their conquerors with themselves, and to get possession of their country, that the Manchu, during the two centuries they have reigned in China, may be said to have been working out their own annihilation. Their manners, language, their very country has become Chinese, and some maintain that the Manchu proper are now extinct.

[2] This part of the Amur was erected into a penal colony by the Chinese Government soon after the evacuation of Albazin by the Russians in 1680. Above and below Aigun are 25 or 30 clusters of Manchu dwellings, some of the villages having from 10 to 50 or even 100 houses. In other cases the houses stand solitary, like the Cossack picket-posts I afterwards passed on the Ussuri; and I presume they serve the Chinese for the same purpose in watching the frontier. A noticeable feature about these pickets is that, if there be only a single habitation, there is in the corner of the garden a small building like a sentry-box, which is a temple containing an idol or picture, and where worship is offered.

[3] Three straw men of life-size are placed in a straight line, at distances of 20 or 30 paces the one from the other. The mounted archer is on a line with them about 15 feet from the first figure, his bow bent, and his shaft upon the string. The signal being given, he puts his horse to a gallop, and discharges his arrow at the first figure; without checking his horse’s speed, he then takes a second arrow from his quiver, places it to the bow, and discharges it at the second figure, and so with the third; and all this while the horse is going at full speed. From the first figure to the second the archer has barely time for drawing his arrow, fixing, and discharging it; so that when he shoots he has generally to turn somewhat on his saddle, and as to the third shot he discharges it altogether in the old Parthian fashion. Yet for a competitor to be deemed a good archer, says M. Huc, it is essential that he should fire an arrow into every one of the three figures.

[4] Mr. Knox was shown one of the temples of Aigun, which he describes as a building 15 feet by 30 feet, with a red curtain at the door, and a thick carpet of matting over a brick pavement. The altar being veiled, the covering was lifted to allow him to see the inscription. Several pictures adorned the walls, and there were lanterns painted in gaudy colors. Outside also were paintings over the door, representing Chinese landscapes. The windows were of lattice work, the roof had a dragon’s head at each end of the ridge, and a Mosaic pavement extended round the interior of the building. On the exterior of the Buddhist temple we visited near Kiakhta, I observed a symbol in the form of two deer standing on either side of a tree, but I did not notice it again elsewhere.

[5] Their landing caused a great sensation, and the people gathered in crowds. The Governor received them in a pavilion, and was dressed in richly-figured silk robes, with the cap surmounted by a crystal ball and peacocks’ feather. Refreshments were offered, and among them small cups of samchoo or rice wine, and all they said was taken down by scribes; but they were not permitted to visit the city. Previously to this, Admiral Putiatin, of the Russian navy, defied the authorities, and entered the city, as it were, sword in hand; for, permission having been denied him on the pretence that he would not be safe against the insults of the people, the admiral took with him four armed men, and went through the streets. It was on a similar pretence that Mr. Collins was diverted from his purpose.

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Chapter XLIV

THE PRIMORSK OR SEA-COAST PROVINCE.

Fuller treatment of this province.--Boundaries and dimensions.--Mountains, bays, and rivers.--Climate.--Fauna and flora.--Aboriginal and Russian population.--Government.--Food products.--Imports.--Taxes.--Civil government.--Health of the people.

A story is told of a certain preacher who, on mounting his afternoon pulpit, discovered he had brought again the manuscript from which he preached in the morning, whereupon, rising to the occasion, he announced his intention to redeliver the morning’s discourse; and, said he, “I have a particular reason for doing so.” History does not relate what followed; but I would advertise the reader that I purpose to treat more fully of the Primorsk than of the other provinces of Siberia, and “I have a particular reason for doing so”; the “particular reason” in my case being that I know, personally, a great deal more of this province than of the rest. Through other regions I passed as rapidly as possible, never continuing long in one place; but on the sea-coast I lived, moved, and had my habitation for several weeks. I was stationary simply because I could not get forward, and used my leisure to read up Siberia and arrange notes. Moreover, I had the great advantage of staying with persons who spoke English, who had lived in Asiatic Russia for many years, who knew the country well, and could therefore inform me upon Russian affairs. Nor was this all, for I was brought in frequent contact with military and naval officers who spoke French and English, and during my stay at Vladivostock was almost a daily guest at the Governor’s house, and so was enabled to gather information respecting the condition of the province from official sources.

The Littoral, or Sea-coast province, which the Russians call “The Primorsk,” is a strip of seaboard, beginning on the frontier of Corea, and continuing northwards along the coast of Manchuria, round the Sea of Okhotsk and Kamchatka, and terminating at the Chaunskaia Bay in the Arctic Ocean, about 700 miles west of Behring’s Straits.[1] The general aspect of the country is mountainous throughout. Along the Manchurian coast, at a distance of from 25 to 80 miles of the sea, runs the Sikhota-Alin range, a continuation of the Shangan-Alin mountains. The western slope is the birthplace of many streams, which run into the Lower Amur and Ussuri. The eastern slopes drain into the channel of Tartary, those rivers entering the sea having a short course, and being navigable only near the mouth. These mountains attain an elevation of from 4,000 to 6,000 feet. West of the Okhotsk Sea runs the Stanovoi range, which is a continuation of the tableland lying to the north of the Amur, and is estimated, according to Mr. Ravenstein, as having an elevation of from 1,000 to 2,000 feet, the highest peaks reaching perhaps to 5,000 or 6,000 feet. Besides these ranges, there are in the peninsula of Kamchatka nearly 40 mountains, evidently volcanic, though not more than a dozen volcanoes now throw out scoria.

On the sea-coast are several bays suitable for harbours, which might become of commercial importance if the district were sufficiently colonized, and good means of communication opened over the mountains and forests of the Littoral.[2]

The principal rivers of the province are the Ussuri, the Lower Amur, with its largest tributary the Amgun, and in the far north the Anadir, which runs into Behring’s Sea. The Primorsk has one or two lakes on the Arctic Circle, also Lake Kizi, which almost connects the Lower Amur with the Gulf of Tartary at Castries Bay, and Lake Khanka, the largest of them all, out of which flows the Sungacha, an important affluent of the Ussuri. What marshes there are in the province are found on the left bank of the Amur.

The variations of climate must of course be very considerable over a tract of country which in the north lies within the Arctic Circle to the 70th parallel, whilst its most southerly point is nearer the equator than the Pole, being situated in latitude 43°, as far south, that is, as the Pyrenees. Of the 14 meteorological observatories in Siberia, two are situated in the Primorsk, at Nikolaefsk and Vladivostock. For meteorological information from further north we are indebted to travellers, especially to Baron Nordenskiöld.[3] The climate of Nikolaefsk cannot be recommended to those in search of a mild one.[4] During the eight months of winter keen winds prevail, bringing snowstorms of such violence and density that I heard of a man losing himself in crossing the street from the club to his own house. The snow lies frequently from four to five feet deep. I stayed at Nikolaefsk from the 13th to the 30th August, during which time the summer was unusually cold. On several days it rained, and, when taking an evening stroll, I did not feel an Ulster coat too warm.[5]

Descending ten degrees further south to Vladivostock, we find the summer extending to six and a half months, but with an annual temperature about ten degrees lower than at Marseilles, which is on the same parallel.[6]

Thus it will be seen that even in the most southerly portion of the Primorsk the winter climate is severe. The Bay of Peter the Great, it is true, is not frozen at a certain distance from the shore at any period of the year; yet ice is formed upon its creeks and inlets at the beginning of December, and for more than a hundred days ships are locked in the port of Vladivostock. On the other hand, the summer heat on the Manchurian coast is very great, and rises in the port of Olga to more than 96°.

The climate of the Lower Primorsk is more than commonly dependent on two influences: that of the prevailing winds, and of the temperature of the neighbouring seas. The warm Kuro Scivo, or Japan current, soon after it passes the Loo Choo islands, divides, and a small part enters the Sea of Japan, and, skirting its eastern shore, passes out through La Perouse Strait to reunite itself with the main stream that has kept to the eastward of the Japan archipelago. Under the name of “the North Pacific drift,” this Japan current afterwards passes a little south of the Kurile and Aleutian Isles, and then turns southward along the western coast of North America. From the north-east corner of the Sea of Okhotsk two cold currents start and run--the one along the coast of the mainland of Siberia, the other down the west side of Kamchatka. Sakhalin is thus on both shores washed by these cold waters, which continue their course southward along the western shore of the Sea of Japan, round the Corea, past the entrance of the Yellow-Sea, until, near the island of Formosa, they mingle with the monsoon drifts of the China Sea. The effect of this body of cold water along the Siberian coast is obvious, and we find the winter climate far more severe than in corresponding latitudes on the western side of the Pacific or in the Niphon, and the southern islands of Japan. The prevailing winds in winter are from the north and east, and, passing as they do over this same cold sea-water, they get chilled, and add to the rigour of the season. In summer the winds are generally from the west and south-west, and in July the south-west monsoon even extends to the Sea of Okhotsk; and the temperature is abnormally above that of corresponding latitudes. If, however, the climate of the Lower Primorsk and of Eastern Siberia is remarkable for its extremes of cold and heat, drought and humidity, it has at least the advantage of regularity in its yearly progress, and has none of the abrupt changes of temperature met with in Western Siberia. The dry cold of winter, the humid heat of summer, are maintained without sudden changes.[7]

To the phenomena of the particular climate of the sea-coast correspond naturally the distinctive features of its fauna and flora. The forests one passes through in the basin of the Amur are not, like the taigas, sloping towards the Frozen Ocean, composed uniformly of the same species of conifers; but the kinds of trees are very diverse, though their distribution is little varied. With the fir, pitch pine, cedar, and larch are mixed not only the Russian birch, but also the oak, elm, hornbeam, ash, maple, lime, and poplar, some of which grow to the height of 100 feet, with trunks more than a yard in diameter. The bark of the larch is almost as valuable to the tanner as that of oak, and also produces the substance called Venice turpentine, which flows abundantly when the lower parts of the trunks of old trees are wounded. A kind of marrow also exudes from its leaves in the shape of white flakes, which are ultimately converted into small lumps. In the southern parts of the Ussuri country, and on the slopes of the Sikhota Alin, deciduous trees outnumber the conifers. The forest pines are often draped with wild vines, whose grapes ripen, though the cultivation of the vine has not yet been successful. On the Upper Ussuri the Chinese have plantations of ginseng. In the woods grow hazels, peach trees, and wild pears; and what orchards there yet are about the villages show that the Ussuri district might become, for the product of fruits, one of the richest countries in the world.

But the glory of the Lower Primorsk is the wealth of herbaceous plants which grow on the alluvial soils on the banks and the islands of its rivers. Umbelliferous plants, mugwort, roses, cereals of various kinds, form a mass of vegetation to the height of 8 or 9 feet, penetrable only axe in hand, or along the track of some wild animal. The wild boar, the stag, the roebuck hide themselves in these tall herbs better even than in the forest. The tiger as well as the panther inhabit the bushy herbage of the Ussuri, and there meet also the bear and the sable. Thus the representatives of the south mingle with those from the north in this rich fauna, belonging at once to Siberia and to China.

As regards the inhabitants of the Sea-coast province, in the south are Chinese, Manzas, Tazas, and Coreans, who are constantly travelling, and so cannot well be counted; but, calculating from the registers of births and deaths, their number is estimated at 62,000. North of these, on the Ussuri, are the Goldi, and, on the Lower Amur, another race called Gilyaks, of whom I shall hereafter speak particularly. Proceeding round the Sea of Okhotsk, we come to the territories of the Lamuti, Tunguses, and Yakutes; and then reaching the north-east corner of Siberia, we have three other peoples--the Kamchatdales to the south of the peninsula, with the Koriaks above them, and furthest north the Chukchees. Besides these might be mentioned a few Orochi about the mouth of the Amur, and the Aïnos of Sakhalin and the Kurile islands. Owing to the wandering habits of these tribes, no census can be obtained, but from the church books their number, including both sexes, is estimated at 44,000.[8]

The province is divided into seven uyezds, and the principal towns, beginning from the south, are Vladivostock, Khabarofka, Sophiisk, Nikolaefsk, Ayan, Okhotsk, and Petropavlovsk. The Littoral was erected into a province in 1857, and placed under a Governor who was at once Admiral of the Fleet, Commander of the military forces, and Head of Civil Affairs; and this was the condition of things in 1879--Admiral Erdmann being Governor, and residing at Vladivostock. The military command, however, has since been separated, and given to General Tichmeneff, who resides, I am told, at Khabarofka.

Proceeding now to the natural products of the Primorsk, and the sources of sustenance to its population, we find that agriculture holds a very different place in the upper, middle, and lower parts of the country. The Upper Primorsk extends from Behring’s Straits down to Nikolaefsk, and produces no corn. The inhabitants live by hunting, the fur trade, or on grain supplied by the Government.

The Middle Primorsk extends from Nikolaefsk to Khabarofka, which means virtually the basin of the Lower Amur. Only the Russian subjects till the ground, the total cereal produce for the year 1878 being 327 tons, together with 811 tons of potatoes. The cost of meat in this district is from 5_d._ to 9_d._ per English pound, according to the season. The Lower or Southern Primorsk is populated by Ussuri Cossacks, and by voluntary and involuntary settlers. This is the most productive part of the province, the yield for 1878 being more than 1,000 tons of corn and 800 tons of potatoes. Meat costs from 4_d._ to 6_d._ per lb. Three qualities of wheaten flour are used throughout the Primorsk--the first and second of which are imported from America. About 15,000 fifty-pound bags (say 330 tons) are sold yearly in Nikolaefsk, the best costing from 4_d._ to 6_d._ per lb., the second from 3_d._ to 3½_d._, and the third quality, grown at home, from 1½_d._ to 2½_d._ per lb. The price of rye-flour at Nikolaefsk and Sophiisk varies from 1½_d._ to 2_d._ per lb. On the Ussuri it costs rather less, and north of Nikolaefsk 2_d._ per lb. is asked.

Throughout the province the price of fish is from 9_s._ to 24_s._ per cwt.; butter (not fresh) costs from 10_d._ to 1_s._ 1½_d._ per lb.; black tea from 2_s._ to 4_s._ the Russian pound, and brick tea from 10_d._ to 1_s._ 2_d._ The price of sugar varies from 6_d._ to 8_d._ per lb. Labour throughout the Littoral is scarce. The cost for a man and horse in summer is 6_s._ per day, but in winter 30_s._ a month and hay for the horse. At Nikolaefsk a man earns 3_s._ as a day’s wage; a dvornik, or night-watchman, gets as much as £3 10_s._ a month without board, and a man-servant £2 10_s._ a month and his food. At Vladivostock, convict women for domestic servants are paid from 16_s._ to 30_s._ a month board wages; mechanics earn from 3_s._ to 4_s._ a day, and common labourers 2_s._ This last is a decided advance on the 18_s._ or 20_s._ a month paid to the wharf-porters at Nijni Novgorod, who live, however, on 8_s._ a month, eating little but bread and stchee, the latter being made of good beef, with an allowance of one pound of meat for each person. A half-drunken man at Nijni told me boastfully that in good times he could earn nearly 2_s._ a day; but just then he could get no regular work, and so he said he had taken to drink!

In addition to the home produce of the Primorsk, the Government also imports largely in anticipation of bad seasons and famine, and for the military.[9] They have, too, in this province a fund for loan to the aborigines to the annual amount of nearly £3,000, and rather more than this sum as a reserve fund for famine purposes.

I gathered from an official report in manuscript, which I was courteously permitted to see, some account of the taxes of the province. Personal taxes are paid in the north in money or in furs. In money, in 1878, was paid £28, and in furs the value of nearly £800. The whole of the settlers in the Amur district were to be free from personal taxes, land taxes, and recruiting up to 1881. Hence the land taxes of the province amounted to only £90.[10]

The report above quoted also treated of the health of the people, from which I noticed that vaccination throughout the province had not been wholly successful, partly for want of good vaccine, and partly from the lack of persons qualified to perform the operation. This latter was not greatly to be wondered at, seeing that the yearly remuneration attached to the appointment of district vaccinator was only two guineas, while the work involved much and difficult travelling. In the towns from which reports had come, it appeared that of 375 persons vaccinated, only seven cases had failed.

The total number of (I presume civil) patients through the province in 1878 was 319 (215 males and 104 females), of whom 247 recovered, 40 died, 32 were still under treatment; the average time spent in the hospital by each completed case being 31⅓ days.[11]

The Siberians generally are said to be remarkably strong and robust, for which the reason has been suggested that all the weakly babies are killed by the climate. What truth there may be in this I know not, but in a table given me by the priest of Vladivostock, showing at what ages had occurred the 102 deaths in his parish, for 1878, it was seen that 58, or more than one-half, died under five years of age; and of these, 37 attained to less than the age of 12 months. Further, 24 died between the ages of 25 and 40, and only four exceeded the age of 50.

The report went on to speak of the civil affairs of the province, its public institutions and communications, the morality of the people and their religious dissensions, the prisons[12] and statistics concerning fire[13] and floods; but I need enlarge no further upon the Primorsk as a whole. It has been already pointed out that the country can be best described in three sections,--the Upper or Northern portion, the Lower or Southern portion, and the Middle Primorsk, corresponding roughly to the basin of the Lower Amur, to the description of which last I shall now proceed.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] From this point its inland border runs along the crests of the Stanovoi range to the 55th degree of latitude, then continues southwards to the Little Khingan mountains, thence in a line to the Ussuri and Sungacha, through Lake Khanka, and so to Corea. The length of the province from north to south exceeds 2,300 miles. Its widest part, taken at right angles from the shore, does not exceed 400 miles, whilst at its narrowest, on the Sea of Okhotsk, the western border in some places is not more than 30 miles inland. The area of the province is 733,000 square miles, or about six times as large as the British possessions in Europe.

[2] Thus there are, beginning in the south, Vladivostock and Paseat, and continuing up the Manchurian coast past Olga, Vladimir, and Barracouta Bays, we have De Castries Bay, 135 miles south of Nikolaefsk. De Castries was discovered and surveyed by La Perouse in 1787. It affords good and safe anchorage, and is a kind of ocean port to Nikolaefsk. Other ports further north are Ayan and Okhotsk, and Petropavlovsk in Kamchatka, Olga, Vladivostock, and Paseat are called “open ports,” but all of them in winter are ice-bound, unless it be Paseat, which is not much frozen, nor for long.

[3] Where the Vega was frozen in, west of Behring’s Straits, the temperature sank before the 28th November to 14°·8 below zero, and the newly-formed ice was already two feet thick. On Christmas Day the temperature fell to 31°, and in January to 50°·8, both below zero; whilst the average temperatures for October, November, December, and January were 22°·6 and 2°·1 above, and 9° and 13°·2 below zero respectively.

[4] At Nikolaefsk, in August 1877, the temperature reached no higher than 82°·8, and sank to 45°·5, the mean temperature of the month being 61°·9. The greatest heat of the year was 88°·2, and occurred in July, and the greatest cold registered was in February, when the thermometer fell to 26°·9 below zero. The mean temperature for the year was only 30·2.

[5] On the night of August 19th, the thermometer registered 45°·5, and during the preceding day had not risen above 50°. At Greenwich, on the same date, the thermometer registered 49°·7 in the night, and 70° on the preceding day.

[6] The maximum temperature at Vladivostock, in August 1877, was 89°·1 (the highest of the year); and the minimum was 57°, the mean for the month being 68°·7. In January the degrees of cold registered were 10°·8 below zero, and the mean temperature for the year was 41°·5.

[7] In the least rainy month, for instance, February, the precipitation, whether of snow or rain, represents at Nertchinsk Zavod only one fifty-eighth part of the rainfall of the wet season. So again at Vladivostock the difference between the snowfall of winter and the rainfall of summer is still greater, the snow representing a quantity about 840 times less than the rain. In 1858, Venyukoff experienced on the Ussuri 45 consecutive wet days, and the annual rains drench the harvests of the Cossacks of the Ussuri, who have not yet learned to imitate the Chinese in accommodating their agriculture to the alternations of the seasons.

[8] These statistics are taken from the Government books, and they refer to the native population. The Almanack for 1880 gives to the province 76 populated places, and the number of the Russian inhabitants was handed to me at Nikolaefsk, from Government sources, as 20,000, made up of 10,000 naval and military, 1,200 Government officials, 1,800 townspeople, and 7,000 peasants. In the whole province in 1878 the number of (Russian) marriages was 223, excluding those of soldiers and convicts. The number of births was 1,322, of which 96 were illegitimate; and the number of deaths 545 males and 447 females, in all 992, giving a net increase of 330 to the Russian population.

[9] In 1878, salt, rice, and millet were imported to the value of £25,000. To the southern part of the province salt comes from China. The northern part is supplied by a Government contract with a merchant who has a monopoly up to 1887 for rye, salt, gunpowder, and lead. For the supply of the soldiers, the Government imported also overland 636 tons of rye; of oatmeal, 285 tons; and by sea 1,400 tons of rye, and 280 tons of oatmeal. The average cost of flour to the Government is at Sakhalin 4_s._ 3_d._ and at Vladivostock 3_s._ 9_d._ the pood.

[10] For municipal taxes, police, roads, etc., were paid at Nikolaefsk, £1,582; Vladivostock, £1,500; Sophiisk, £140; Petropavlovsk, £70; Okhotsk, £15; and Ghijiga, £11; that is, about £3,320 together. The excise taxes, however, were far higher--namely, for imported liquors, £9,500; home-made beer, etc., £37; home-made liquors, £569; licences, £1,569; fines, £52; duty for growing tobacco, 6_s._, and for selling it, £269; and tobacco fines, £20. This shows an excise income from the province of £12,000, being a decrease on foreign liquors, compared with the previous year, of £4,600, and an increase on home-made liquors of £439; but an increase for licences of £150, and £15 for fines.

[11] The most frequent maladies were inflammation of the lungs, bowels, and womb, and heart disease. Under the head of epidemics it seemed that during the year typhoid fever broke out at Nikolaefsk and carried off 21 men. A like visitation, lasting for 18 days, in the Khanka district caused about the same number of deaths. At Sophiisk and Udskoi 248 men were struck down, of whom, however, 244 recovered. The deaths by accident and suicide in the province amounted to 21, ten more than in the preceding year.

[12] Criminals and their crimes in the Sea-coast Province for five years, 1874-1878.

1874. 1875. 1876. 1877. 1878. Total. Male. Fm. Totl.

Sacrilege or ecclesiastical offences 1 2 3 3

Offences against the Government and insubordination to authorities 4 2 6 1 13 24 2 26

Breaking prison bounds, running away, and liberating others 9 8 38 43 13 109 2 111

Offences against excise laws 12 3 1 2 2 20 20

Offences against mercantile laws 4 4 5 11 2 13

Vagrancy, harbouring vagabonds, and offences against passport laws 13 10 80 22 38 157 6 163

Murder 3 8 14 7 12 37 7 44

Wounding and other kinds of violence 2 2 15 3 11 30 3 33

Personal insult and assault 10 2 5 8 12 35 2 37

Robbery 8 6 62 28 28 127 5 132

Rascality 3 3 11 6 16 36 3 39

Embezzlement and fraud 1 1 4 1 7 7

Forgery, or counterfeiting notes 8 7 1 8

Bigamy 5 3 2 5

Offences against marriage laws 2 1 1 2

Arson 1 1 1 ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- Totals 64 50 239 129 162 608 36 644

[13] The three fire-engine establishments, maintained at a cost of £534 per annum, are situated at Petropavlovsk, Nikolaefsk, and Vladivostock, their plant consisting of three steam and three manual engines, 26 horses, and 13 water-carts.

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Chapter XLV

THE LOWER AMUR.

My plans altered.--A serious alternative.--Khabarofka.--Fur trade.--Post-office and bank.--A Siberian garden.--Started for Nikolaefsk.--The Lower Amur.--Its affluents.--Fish.--A Russian advocate.--Goldi Christians.--Sophiisk.--A procureur.--Lake Kizi.--Mariinsk.--Snow mountains.--Mikhailofsky.--Hot-springs of Mukhal.--Beautiful scenery.--Tyr monuments.--The “white village.”--Mouth of the Amur.

Approaching Khabarofka on the evening of August 8th, I thought that my journeys on the Amur were ended. I had refused advice that I should go on to Nikolaefsk, my great object being to reach Vladivostock as quickly as possible, there embark for Japan, and thence proceed to America. As to how this could be accomplished no definite information was forthcoming. Something was said at Blagovestchensk about a steamer called the Dragon, and her periodical trips between China, Japan, Vladivostock, Sakhalin, and Nikolaefsk. Merchant ships also were reported to leave the Siberian ports from time to time, as also men-of-war, returning southwards after spending the summer months out of the heat of the tropics. My friends, therefore, at the telegraph station promised to inquire what ships were to leave Vladivostock, and I was to learn the reply on arriving at Khabarofka. A new factor, however, was added to my calculations by Baron Stackelberg, my fellow-passenger, who understood that his friend, Professor Milne, was staying at Vladivostock. The Baron had telegraphed thither to his agent to inquire of the professor if he were “plein de voyage,” and if so, whether he would proceed by sea to meet him at Nikolaefsk for a pleasure tour, and then accompany him to Kamchatka. The Baron expected to find a telegram at Khabarofka, and then, said he, “If Mr. Milne come by the Dragon to Nikolaefsk, it will be better for you to go there with me, and take the boat on its return to Sakhalin, Vladivostock, and Japan, or you may otherwise have to wait at Vladivostock until the Dragon returns.”

Such were our thoughts as we approached Khabarofka, where, on arriving, I found, to my dismay, that the Ussuri boat had grown tired of waiting for us, and had gone, and that another would not start for three days.[1] No message awaited me at Khabarofka, and from the Baron’s telegram it seemed that Mr. Milne was not at Vladivostock, but that the Dragon had just left, or was about to leave, for Nikolaefsk, to which port, however, there was no steamer proceeding from Khabarofka for several days. I was, therefore, in a dilemma. If I went south, I might have to wait a month for the Dragon; and if I stayed for the river steamer to Nikolaefsk, I might lose the Dragon, and thus go 1,250 miles out of my way. I fell asleep that night not knowing what to do, hoping that with morning light the way might be clearer. On waking, I learned that the Baron had been to the agents and taken them to task because the steamer going north to Nikolaefsk had also not waited the arrival of our boat as announced. So successfully had he stormed, according to his own account, that the agent had ordered the Zeya, instead of going back, to go forward to Nikolaefsk.

At no previous point in my journey had I felt it so hard to decide what to do for the best. On leaving England, my tour had been planned to last three months, a period I had already exceeded, while more than half the globe remained to be traversed. I had, moreover, left in the hands of others editorial duties that called for my return, and now there seemed the possibility of prolonged delay. I looked up most earnestly for wisdom, and determined to be guided by the Baron’s advice. Gloomy rumours had reached me of the sad condition of the Sakhalin prisoners, and I asked the Baron whether he thought it at all likely that if I went to the island, and afterwards sent a report to the authorities, it might tend to better the prisoners’ condition. He first asked me gravely, though somewhat to my amusement, whether what I was doing was likely to bring the governments of our respective countries into collision, and then, on being assured that I was acting simply as a private individual, he told me that at Vladivostock I should get no information or statistics respecting Sakhalin, since the books were kept at Nikolaefsk, to which place, therefore, he recommended me to go. Accordingly, fortified with the hope of being useful, I decided to do this; but it was not without many misgivings, though out of that decision sprang results for which afterwards I was deeply grateful. I did not find the Dragon, and had ultimately to retrace my steps to Khabarofka; but my going to Nikolaefsk led to the better distribution of more than 12,000 tracts and several Scriptures, and afforded me glimpses of heathen life for which I shall ever be thankful.

The boat was not to start till noon, and this gave me leisure to see something of our stopping-place. Khabarofka stands on a promontory, at the junction of the Amur with the Ussuri, and overlooks both streams from the top of the bluff, in which, in this direction, the Khoekhtsi hills, running at right angles from the coast, terminate. The position is well chosen for a military post, and the town is not without importance commercially. There are several stores, and the merchants trade with the aborigines of the north in furs to the value of £30,000 a year. Whilst calling on a merchant with whom I had travelled, there entered a Chinaman with what looked like a number of dried rabbit-skins hung on his arm. They proved to be sable-skins, almost as they come from the animals’ backs, turned inside out. In this condition the natives barter them to the Chinese, who, in turn, sell them to the merchants, some of whom are agents for large firms in Petersburg and Moscow. On this occasion the Chinaman asked seven silver roubles, or a guinea, for each skin, which showed that they were not of high quality.[2]

Besides the stores in Khabarofka there is an establishment where they employ 50 men and build steamers, etc., to the value of £10,000 yearly. One of the principal agents of the Steamboat Company lives in the place, drawing a salary of £500 a year, which is thought there a handsome income; but he told me he could not remain, since there was no school near for the education of his children. On entering the post-office, there were to be seen in a large chest, bags, not to say sacks, full of silver roubles, the guardianship of which seemed fully to justify the presence of an armed Cossack, one of whose cloth is always found keeping watch in the post-office and over the mail-bags in transit. The post-office, in fact, is a quasi bank, for on arriving at Nikolaefsk I found that my host kept his banking account 6,000 miles distant, at Petersburg. He paid in his money at the local post-office, and then telegraphed to the capital, upon which his bankers gave him credit for the deposit. There are State banks in Siberia, at Tomsk, Krasnoiarsk, and Irkutsk; but, from the narrow escape I had at Tomsk of being delayed in getting my cash, I was thankful for having exchanged my money in Petersburg for a number of hundred-rouble notes, which I carried in a pocket-girdle.[3]

At Khabarofka I visited the garden of one of the merchants, said to be the best in the place. It was 10 years old, full of apple and pear trees, but they were wild ones, transplanted eight years before. None of the apples were so large as a good English crab, and the “Bergamot” pears were as small. The latter tasted something like the quince, and were useless except to preserve for eating with roast meat. Among other trees were the walnut, the acacia, the bird-cherry, a thorn with a berry larger than is commonly seen in England, called résan; the boyarka or service tree, with bunches of berries like grapes (called calina), and the beech. Among the shrubs, plants, and flowers were maize, wild white lilac, raspberries, currants, and strawberries, dahlias, verbenas, wild pæonies, stocks, carnations, and pinks; and among climbers the wild pea, and the Siberian vinegar plant. These, with other flowers, of which I did not know the names, made a fair show for Khabarofka, where the cold winds begin in the middle of September, and snow covers the ground from November to March. In the neighbourhood were abundance of trees common to a temperate region, such as the oak, maple, alder, larch, pine, poplar, willow, and lime. Some prettily overhung the river’s bank, which was enlivened with boats drawn up by Manchu and Chinese, some of whom were selling excellent French beans, whilst others were engaged in making and mending shoes.

Having thus made the most of my time at Khabarofka, I once more boarded the Zeya, on Saturday noon, for a voyage of 626 miles to Nikolaefsk, in the course of which we were to pass, though not necessarily to stop at, 52 stations. Some were native villages, the names of which had been adopted by the Russians; others were Russian settlements with Sclavonic names; whilst other stations bore double titles, both Russian and native.

The basin of the Lower Amur is bounded on the west by the Bureya mountains, between which and the river lies a flat and partially swampy country; whilst on the east its limit is the coast range already referred to as the Sikhota Alin. The course of the river is north-east. Its principal tributaries flowing in on the left or western bank are the Kur, Girin, and Amgun; on the right bank, the Dondon and the Khungar. The largest of these on the left bank is the Amgun; the largest on the right is the Dondon, which is 500 yards wide at its mouth. At Khabarofka, the Amur has a width of 900 yards; and as we steamed away, the right bank stood out in contrast to the left, which was flat; but after proceeding 20 miles, the character of the scenery changed. Both banks became flat, islands were numerous, and the stream widened to five miles. This kind of scenery continued for the rest of the day, and our evening progress was highly enjoyable, varied now and then by the appearance of the summer yourts of the natives, or the lonely post-stations, deserted in summer, where horses are kept in winter, when the river is frozen and transformed into a road. At the confluence of the Dondon, the river has soundings up to 37 feet, and the channel measures three miles in breadth. This is the widest part of the river without intervening islands, though 17 miles lower, where the left bank is marshy and dotted with lakes, the entire width extends to 12 miles.[4]

At Viatskoy, 50 miles from Khabarofka, I stayed on my return journey, and was offered a sturgeon a yard long, which a man had caught, and was keeping in the river tied by a string beneath the gills. Of the fish caught on the Lower Amur, the Russians think very highly of the sterlet, and the sturgeon is costly. For this small specimen at Viatskoy was asked 2_s._ 6_d._, but in Moscow they said it would fetch £1. They sometimes catch sturgeon weighing from 200 to 300 lbs., and the dried bones and cleansed gelatinous entrails of this fish form a prominent article of commerce between the natives and the Manchu. The bones cost in Manchuria, for culinary purposes, nearly 4_s._ per lb., and the gelatine in Moscow 7_s._ per lb.

In latitude 50° N., the Amur receives on the left bank, from Lake Bolan, an affluent 900 yards wide and 30 feet deep. Hills now rise on both banks, and at Perm (or Milku) the depth of the river increases to between 50 and 60 feet. At Tambofsk, 280 miles from Khabarofka, the banks become mountainous on either side, the river contracts to an average width of a mile and a third, and soundings often reach to 90 feet; and thus the river continues, for a distance of 60 miles, to Zherebtsofsk. From Zherebtsofsk to Sophiisk, the scenery changes again, the river enlarges, runs between numerous islands and several sandbanks, and at Sophiisk its depth is nearly 50 feet.

Our company on board was small in number, which was to be expected, seeing that the boat was a “special.” In the first-class there were only three persons besides the Baron and myself, namely, M. Kruskopf, the telegraph inspector, an advocate, and with him a young man dressed like a Russian shopkeeper. The last two I had observed among the second-class passengers from Kara. We were now brought into closer contact. The advocate spoke French, and I gathered from him that the young man was his client, whose father had recently died, leaving him £20,000. They were come from Central Russia to realize the money, for which the advocate, since he would be occupied at least all the summer, was to have the modest fee of £3,000.[5]

On the morning after leaving Khabarofka, M. Kruskopf left the boat to visit the station at Troitzkoy, but he did not forget me; for, unasked, he telegraphed to Nikolaefsk to his friends, told them I was coming, and requested them to look after my welfare. The day was Sunday, and I enjoyed a quiet morning in my cabin; and in the afternoon we had steamed 170 miles--to Malmejskoy. Here we saw on the bank some Goldi, who called to my mind pictures I had seen of North American Indians. Some of them had a cross suspended from the neck, which in their case had a meaning; for those who wore it thus were baptized, and so distinguished from the pagan Goldi. I gave a few tracts among these people, and in return received, in one of the villages, a curious salutation. Offering an illuminated text to a little girl, her mother directed her to express her thanks by crossing her hands with the palms uppermost, and then go down on all-fours at my feet with her head to the ground.

At Tambofsk, or Girin, 280 miles further, was a village where, on the return journey in the beginning of September, I bought melons and ripe black currants, the latter good, but with less taste than those grown in England. Other berries, tart but juicy, were offered for sale. Here, too, were lying on the bank some drunken gold-miners, whom the captain refused to take on board in that condition, leaving them till he should call again three weeks later, by which time possibly they might be sober and wiser. I met gold capitalists both at Nikolaefsk and at Vladivostock; but from the report sent to the Emperor concerning the Primorsk, it appeared that in 1878 only 600 lbs. of gold were washed throughout the province, the small quantity being set down to the lack of workmen. At Tambofsk we passed out of the district inhabited by the Goldi, and entered that of a distinct though somewhat similar tribe, called the Gilyaks, of both of whom I shall speak hereafter.

The next place of note to which we came, 412 miles from Khabarofka, was Sofiisk, from which there is a road 33 miles long by the shore of Kizi Lake to the coast at De Castries Bay. Light draught steamboats can go within 12 miles or less of De Castries; and as the navigation of the mouth of the Amur is difficult, it was at one time proposed to make a canal, or a railway, to connect the lake with the sea. Surveys were made by Mr. Romanoff, but the plan is not likely to be carried out. The steamer passed Sofiisk on my first journey, but in returning we stayed for a couple of hours; and as there was a prison in the place, I presented my letters, and requested to be allowed to see it. Also I gave to the Commandant of the 5th East Siberian battalion, Colonel Ussofovitch, who was stationed there, a box of books and tracts, with a letter in French, asking that they might be distributed among his soldiers. The colonel did not know French, and a young officer, who called himself the “procureur” of the battalion, was called in to interpret. What this gentleman’s precise office was, I could not exactly make out, but it seemed to be something between that of a judge and a military head police-master. He took me to see the building, where, to my surprise, were 150 prisoners, many of whom, however, were on their way to Sakhalin. The wooden planking of the footways in the town was miserably out of order, and I hinted to the procureur that since they had insufficient work for the prisoners, it would be well to employ them in repairing the pavements. This idea seemed never to have struck him, and he replied at once that he would consider the matter. The procureur spoke French fluently, though with a Russian accent, and he knew something also of the dead languages, Hebrew among them. He said that he had studied this language in prospect of becoming a priest; but that, when he could not see his way to £200 a year in the church, he had entered the army, which, he said, “paid” better. In this case, it seemed to me, the Russian Church, by reason of its miserable emoluments, had lost to her clergy a youth of greater intellectual culture than the majority of her priests. The population of Sofiisk was given me as 700 military and 300 civilians, amongst whom I found a ready sale for the Scriptures. At the telegraph office complaints reached me, as at Khabarofka, that they had no means of educating their children, there being no local school.

The Amur at Sofiisk is nearly two miles wide; seven miles lower it expands to upwards of four miles. Thirteen miles beyond, the banks are low, flat, and marshy; but the land is good, and is cultivated by Russian settlers. Here, too, is the town of Mariinsk, the oldest Russian settlement, next to Nikolaefsk, on the Lower Amur, and situated on the right bank of the river, at the entrance to the Kizi Lake.[6]

Mariinsk was founded by the Russian-American company in the same year with Nikolaefsk, and was a trading post until the military occupation of the river. Difficulties of navigation diminished its military importance, and the post was transferred to Sofiisk, founded in 1858. On an island opposite Mariinsk is the trace of a fort, built by Stepanof, the Cossack adventurer, who descended the Amur in 1654. During the winter he remained here he collected nearly 5,000 sable-skins as tribute. On our return journey we took in at this place, as passengers, a priest, his wife, and son; the lady being the daughter of the late Metropolitan Innokente of Moscow, the wonderful priest who, travelling 8,000 miles, crossed Siberia with his translations of a portion of the New Testament into the language of the Kuriles, and then took them back in print. This lady seems to have inherited something of her father’s enterprise, for I have heard recently from a friend that he met her travelling in Western Siberia.

Mr. Collins mentions that from Mariinsk is seen, to the south-west, a very high mountain, with much snow upon it; and Mr. Ravenstein observes that a few miles below Tambofsk, or Girin, may be seen the craggy summits of mountain ranges, at greater or less distance from the river, covered, in places, as late as June with snow. It was after June when I passed down the stream, but I saw mountains to the left with what looked like snow-drifts, or corries filled with snow. My fellow-passengers, however, and especially the Baron, stoutly maintained that I was mistaken, and that what we saw was either chalk or an effect of light. The formation of the rocks on some of the mountain crests was very remarkable, and they were arrayed in such straight lines, here and there, that they looked like the building of Titans rather than Nature’s handiwork.

Passing Mariinsk we reached Mikhailofsky, a distance of 526 miles from Khabarofka, on Monday afternoon,--that is to say, in about 48 hours, which was more rapid travelling than the captain had accomplished on the Shilka and Upper Amur. A merchant afterwards whispered to me, however, that it was reckless navigation. The captain had not made the passage before; so, placing a man in the bows with the measuring-rod, and rising above all questions as to where the channel lay, he just shot ahead, suspecting no ill where no ill seemed. Fortunately we ran on neither rocks nor shoals, but I was exhorted to be thankful that we had not come to grief. Had we been allowed to proceed at this rate we should have reached Nikolaefsk in another 24 hours, but a telegram awaited the captain at Mikhailofsky to say that another boat of the company was coming up from Nikolaefsk, for which he was to wait, then exchange cargoes and passengers, and return. This involved a delay of 30 hours, which gave me an opportunity of visiting a settlers’ village, the priest of which informed me that he had in his parish 400 persons, of whom only 15 could read. The forest in the neighbourhood has been cleared, and rye, barley, and oats are successfully cultivated. So, too, are vegetables on the river’s bank, for the market at Nikolaefsk. Cucumbers were just coming in, and the people were eating them like apples. When the Baron and I made a morning call at one of the houses, they simply brought forth cucumbers and salt wherewith to regale us. I saw, too, in this village a curious specimen of Russian economy. Not able to purchase whole panes of window-glass, the peasants had used fragments of any form they could get, and fixed them with pieces of birch bark, cut to the shape. Mikhailofsky, however, was not a flourishing village, and it must be added that the colonies of the Lower Amur are generally the least prosperous in the country.

Late on Tuesday evening the promised steamship Onon arrived, and I left the Zeya, in which I had spent the previous 16 days, and travelled 1,900 miles. Next morning we arrived at a Gilyak village, called Mukhal, near to some hot springs which are said to be beneficial in cases of rheumatism, syphilis, diarrhœa, and goitre. The Polish exile, in whose charge they are, is allowed their monopoly, and the Government gives him a grant of £50 a year. About mid-day we passed another Gilyak village called Tyr. The Amur here contracts to 900 yards, and from a bold cliff, 100 feet high on the right bank, a fine view is obtained up stream. The river’s banks spread to a width of five miles, and well-wooded islands lie between. To the south are dark forests and mountain ridges, and at the back of the cliff is a tableland several miles broad. On the opposite bank enters the river Amgun, which rises in the Bureya mountains, and, after a course of not less than 700 miles, flows into the Amur through a delta covered with forest.

The cliff at Tyr is interesting to the archæologist by reason of its Tatar monuments with inscriptions, the history of which appears somewhat doubtful.[7]

I went ashore to examine these monuments, of which Mr. Ravenstein mentions four--one with a granite base, and the upper portion of grey, fine-grained marble, and another of porphyry resting on an octagonal pedestal. Unfortunately, I could stay only a very short time, as the steamer did not wait. I found two monuments near the edge of the cliff, with characters cut thereon. A third is about 400 yards to the east, on a more elevated point, and on a bare rock foundation. The principal one, which I examined most, resembles a thick upright tombstone, about five feet high. The Archimandrite Avvakum says everything proves that the spot where the monument is standing was once the site of a temple devoted to the worship of Buddha, and in Chinese language was called “Youn-nen-se”--that is, the “Temple of Eternal Repose.” The two inscriptions on either side--one in Chinese and the other in Mongolian--were written, he thinks, by some illiterate Mongol lama, not thoroughly acquainted with Chinese grammar. On the left-hand side are the Sanscrit words, “Om-mani-badme-houm” in Thibetan letters; and beneath, in Chinese, “Dai Yuan shouch hi-li-gun-bu”--that is, “The great Yuan spreads the hands of force everywhere.” In a second line on the same side the words, “Om-mani-badme-houm” are written in Chinese and Nigurian. The inscriptions on the right side contain the same in Chinese, Thibetan, and Nigurian. “And then,” says the Archimandrite, “there is nothing more”; about which statement, however, with all deference, I venture to express my doubts; for although I do not read Chinese, and could only examine the monuments for a very few moments, yet I came to the conclusion that whether the interpretation first given be correct or not, it is inadequate, and far from exhaustive. I saw clearly on the stone some large Chinese characters, perhaps two inches high, and some of the Chinese passengers were able partially to decipher them; but the general appearance of the stone reminded me of a palimpsest manuscript which had been, in the first place, covered with small characters, about half an inch square or less, over which the larger characters had been written. Beside the monumental stone, which was mounted on a pedestal, there were lying near five flat stones, cut across the centres from side to side with transverse grooves, about an inch wide and deep. Mr. Collins says they are supposed to have been altars of sacrifice, once elevated and within the temple, and that the grooves served to conduct the blood of the victim into the proper vessel. Whether this be so or not I cannot say, but they looked to me much more like the capitals or bases of pillars, with the grooves for keeping them in place.[8] It is much to be wished that the spot should be visited, and the monuments examined by a competent scholar.

Towards evening we passed another Gilyak habitation called the “white village,” and afterwards found the banks of the Amur becoming abrupt, the islands low and to a great extent exposed to inundation. We had long been passing out of the region of foliferous trees, and in approaching Nikolaefsk they were almost entirely supplanted by conifers, fir-trees prevailing, birches and some few other leafy trees occurring only in favoured localities. The Amur at Nikolaefsk reaches in some places to a depth of 15 feet, is a mile and three-quarters wide, with a current of from four to five knots. The river enters the sea at a distance of 26 miles from the town, the Liman, or gulf, measuring more than nine miles at its widest.[9]

Thus, on Tuesday evening, the 13th of August, I arrived at Nikolaefsk, having completed the passage of the Lower Amur. I have said almost nothing, however, of its curious heathen inhabitants, whose acquaintance I am so glad to have made, and to whose description I shall now proceed.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This was bad enough, but not all. There was no inn, post-house, or hotel in the place; the only lodging that offered was a room constructed on a floating barge, without beds or bedsteads, and in which might sleep, on the seats or the floor, Russians, Chinese, Manchu, or anyone else that chose. Here, however, my Finnish friend, M. Kruskopf, came to my aid, and volunteered to get me a bed at the telegraph station, an offer I should thankfully have accepted, but the captain of the Zeya consented to my sleeping on board till morning, when he expected to go back.

[2] On returning to Khabarofka I found one of my fellow-passengers had bought eight skins, for which he had paid 50_s._ each, and for one for his wife’s hat £4. I heard subsequently that the best sable-skins are from the neighbourhood of the Okhotsk sea, and are worth £4 each. My informant, an old sea captain, said that in 1857 he bought 2,000 in Kamchatka at 30_s._, and that they commanded in New York from £5 to £6 each. Among them were 22 skins for a lady’s set of trimmings, which, when made up, cost her £200. The skins of the younger sables, he said, were blacker than those of the older, which are apt to be more or less grey. The former sell better in Berlin, and the latter are highly esteemed in Paris.

[3] Besides these hundred-rouble notes I took, to pay for horses, £30 in one-rouble notes, the same amount in three and five-rouble notes, small silver coin to the value of 100 roubles, and a bag of copper kopecks, for at the post-houses they are not bound to give change, and the clerks gladly pocket the difference when smaller money is not forthcoming. In the peopled parts of the Sea-coast government there is a postal delivery once a week, at Okhotsk once a month, and at one happy place in the far north, I was told, the postman arrives but once a year! They have a “parcel post” in Siberia, by which packets must not exceed £500 in value, nor weigh more than 1 cwt. The rates are, for 200 miles, ¾_d._ per Russian pound, and ¼_d._ per pound extra for every 60 miles up to 1,600, Beyond that distance it costs ¼_d._ per pound for every 160 miles.

[4] Mr. Ravenstein, in his admirable and generally accurate work (page 187), gives the Amur below the Dondon a breadth in one bed of six miles, and further on a width of 15 miles, including the islands; but I have been unable to confirm these figures from either the chart of the captain of the steamer, or from a well-executed Russian survey of the Amur river at the India Office, which was politely shown me by Mr. Trelawney Saunders.

[5] After this I thought the profession of an advocate profitable, and readily believed him when he told me that he possessed in Russia on the Volga nearly 8,000 acres of land, which cost about £1 an acre. It was the best land, he said, in all Russia; 600 acres he used for growing wheat, and the rest for rye, selling his corn to the merchants of Samara. He told me that in forensic matters things are reversed as between Russia and England, that whereas in England a barrister looks forward to being a judge, in Russia a judge (who is paid only £300 to £400 a year) looks forward to being an advocate, which he can become only after spending five years in court.

[6] This lake seems to be an overflow from the river, which here divides into several channels, and looks as if one day in the remote past it would fain have ended its wanderings, and turned off eastwards through the sea-coast range into Castries Bay. The distance from the head of the Kizi Lake to Castries Bay is only 8½ miles. The lake occupies an area of 93 square miles, being 25 miles long and 12 broad. Of the two islets in the lake, one is a rock about 50 feet in diameter. The crevices are full of fox-holes, and the Gilyaks regard it as sacred, assembling there from time to time for their Shaman rites.

[7] Réclus quotes Von Middendorf to the effect that on the map of Remezov, which appeared in the seventeenth century, a town is marked on this spot as the limits of the conquests of the Tsar Alexander of Macedon, who hid his arms and left there a bell. Such was the tradition of the Cossacks. Again, Ravenstein quotes Witsen to the effect that Russian warriors, 30 or 40 years ago, found a bell weighing 660 lbs. at a place which seems to have been dug round, and near which stood several stones bearing Chinese inscriptions; and he adds that a manuscript of 1678, in the library of the Siberian department, mentions the same facts. My fellow-passengers spoke of the monuments as dating back to the time of Ghengis Khan, and erected to mark the limit of his conquests. Once more, Mr. Ravenstein asserts that one of the emperors of the Yuen dynasty (which flourished in China from 1234 to 1368, A.D.) went by sea to the mouth of the Amur, in commemoration of which he built at Tyr the monastery of “Eternal Repose.” To come to our own times, Mr. Collins relates that the inscriptions on the monuments were translated by the Archimandrite Avvakum, who for several years was connected with the Russian Mission at Peking, and who descended the Amur about 1857 as interpreter to Count Putiatin’s embassy, then on its way to China. Mr. Collins obtained from an officer a translation from the Russian into English of the Archimandrite’s interpretation.

[8] Mr. Collins speaks of excavations, or pits, within and without the remains of a wall, and mentions also his finding the monuments decorated with wreathed garlands of finely-worked splint, or the stripping of a tree, bound together at intervals with willow twigs. The bases of the monuments also were dressed with shavings of wood, worked to represent flowers, thickly planted around in the earth. These he conjectured to have been, as they probably were, offerings of the natives, who still use the place, I understood, for Shamanistic practices.

[9] A mile below the town there are sandbanks, and a bar which prevents the entrance of ships drawing more than 13 feet of water. In fact, from the Continent to the Island of Sakhalin are sandbanks, among which wind the navigable channels, which are liable to change during heavy tempests, so that the pilots are obliged to trace them, sounding-rod in hand. I heard, too, that for strategic purposes some of these channels at the mouth of the river could be filled up, or diverted.

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