Chapter XXXV · FROM STRETINSK TO UST-KARA.

Arrival at Stretinsk.—Recorded distances from Petersburg.—Taking in a passenger.—Travelling allowance to officers.—Parting with interpreter.—Farewell to tarantass.—Starting to Kara.—The world before me.—Previous writers on the Amur.—Gliding down the Shilka.—Talking by signs.—My Cossack attendant.—Taking an oar.—How Russians sleep.—Arrival at Ust-Kara.

On reaching Stretinsk, we were on the same meridian as Nanking. We had been reminded of our increasing distance from Petersburg by the verst-posts which kept us company all the way. At every station, too, there is a post setting forth how many versts distant are Petersburg, Moscow, and the government towns on either side. The verst-posts recur at every two-thirds of an English mile. At the top they are shaped square, being so turned that the approaching traveller sees at a glance how many versts it is to the station which he has left, or to which he is journeying. When we entered Siberia at Tiumen, the distance was 2,543 versts from Petersburg; at Tomsk it increased to 4,052; at Krasnoiarsk to 4,606; and at Irkutsk to 5,611; whilst on arrival at Stretinsk it was almost 7,000 versts, or 4,600 miles.

It has already been stated that, after leaving Nertchinsk, the number of our horses was reduced. On reaching the last station but one, we had to take in a passenger. We overtook an officer, his wife and family, whose acquaintance we had made in the Obi steamer, and whom we subsequently met several times on our journey eastward. His wife spoke French, and their three or four children were exceedingly well-behaved. We could not help pitying this party of six, all of whom were stowed away in a single tarantass, not much, if any, bigger than ours, which was not excessively large for two. One of the children, if I mistake not, was a baby, and if to the discomforts I have described as accompanying us two be added the crowding of all these children and an untold quantity of baggage into a single vehicle, then one may picture some of the difficulties with which Russian officers and their families travel in Siberia.

This party having arrived before us had secured one “pair” of horses, and the question arose as to whether the remaining pair should be given to us or to a telegraph officer, who had also arrived before us, but who was proceeding in our direction. He proposed that we should have the horses and take him carriage free, which, rather than wait, we were glad to do, and he thereby was able to pocket his travelling allowance.⁠[1]

On arriving at Stretinsk we found it a good-sized town, with hospital, sundry factories, barracks, and other buildings, befitting the chief port of the Upper Amur. We were reminded, however, of its distance from civilized centres almost before our horses stopped, for a youth rushed up to inquire whether our tarantass was for sale. They make no axletrees of iron in these parts, and hence, when a traveller arrives who has a tarantass thus furnished, he has a good chance, after having had the use of it all across the country, to sell it at Stretinsk for as much or more than it cost in Europe. White bread was at famine prices here, costing 6d. a lb.—five times as much as we paid at Tobolsk—because the American flour deposited at Nikolaefsk ascends the river a distance of nearly 2,000 miles, and the Russian flour, from Irkutsk, travels 900 miles by land. So between the two, delicate persons “brought up on white bread,” as the Russians say, fare badly.

We called first at the telegraph office, and presented a letter of introduction to Mr. Koch, who was ready at once to help, and from whom I learned that my coming had been announced to the Commandant, Colonel Merkasin, a worthy officer, of whom I heard a good account from a released political exile, who said that prisoners received much kindness at his hands, and that, if the colonel used their labour, he paid them fairly for their work. We were favoured with his ready attention, and, on going to his house, found that the Governor of Chita, according to his promise, had requested him to make arrangements whereby I might visit the mines of Kara. They were 80 miles distant, and could be approached in summer by land only by a bridle-path. The other method was to row down the Shilka in an open boat.

But I was first to part with my interpreter, who was to return from this place, a day or two afterwards, in our poor old tarantass.⁠[2] Before parting, there were sundry arrangements to make, and various things to send back with him, instead of my taking them round the remainder of the globe; but some of these I never saw again, for at one of the stations Mr. Interpreter’s portmanteau was stolen, with my property in it. The only place at Stretinsk in which we could put up was a small building, dignified with the name of an hotel, consisting of a central chamber with a billiard table, and a room on either side—one set apart for women and the other for men. The sleeping accommodation in the latter was a wooden seat running round the room—a very common arrangement still in many parts of Russia. They provided us food, however, and the place sufficed for unpacking and arranging our effects, of which I intended to take the light baggage with me, and leave my trunk, “hold-all,” and boxes of books to follow by the steamer.

I was anxious to get forward as quickly as possible, for it was already Thursday morning, the 24th of July, and on Sunday evening the steamer was due to pick me up at Ust-Kara, and take me to the Amur. The colonel spared no pains to make things go smoothly. He had provided a boat used by the police, which I was to keep all the way, and not change at every station. He had also provided a Cossack who was to be my guard, servant, and attendant, and whom I asked the colonel positively to order not to leave me till he had delivered me safe into the hands of Colonel Kononovitch, the Commandant at Kara. The colonel smiled at my request, and undertook to see that my luggage was properly put on board the steamer, as also did Mr. Koch; and then, bidding farewell to the officer and to Mr. Interpreter, I embarked at three o’clock to float down the waters of the Shilka.

And now the world was before me, and that in a sense in which it had never been before. I was not only a stranger in a strange land, but penetrating a region where no English author had preceded me;⁠[3] but I was far from disliking my new position. The weather was delightful, save that I rather feared sunstroke, and would fain have had a cabbage-leaf to put in my hat. The colonel had recommended some other antidote, but it was rendered unnecessary by the rising of clouds, from which there fell a few drops of rain. The Cossack had provided two oarsmen, so that I had nothing to do but to lean back in the boat, and enjoy the delightful way in which we glided down the stream. It was so pleasant, too, to miss the dust of the road and the jolting of the tarantass!

I could ask no questions, from the simple fact that none of my crew spoke anything but Russ, of which I had hardly learned a dozen words. I purposely did not spend time in mastering even the elements of the language, thinking that I should have an interpreter with me all the way, and not supposing that I should have any further use for my smatter after leaving the country. Moreover, the Russian alphabet of 36 letters is different from others used in Europe, and is certainly not inviting. I had very commonly found, among the upper classes of Russians, that I could get on by some means in French, German, or English. The post-masters, who happened to be Jews, spoke German; and when this triglot mode of communication failed, I took to signs and dumb show—not always, however, with entire success.

At Tomsk, for instance, while Mr. Interpreter was “blowing up” the officials for allowing us to be sent on the wrong road, I was peacefully engaged in ordering the samovar and preparing for tea at the post-house. I wanted some eggs, for which, even if I had learned it, I had quite forgotten the Russian word, “yaitsi.” The Russian who wanted an egg in England cleverly clucked like a hen, and was instantly understood; but this did not occur to me. I therefore walked into the back room, and, to the woman’s astonishment, peeped into the cupboards and drawers, and examined the shelves; but to no purpose. I then bethought me of my artistic acquirements, and, taking out a pencil, drew on the wall an oval the size of an egg, and bade the woman look at that; but she was too dense to catch my meaning. At this juncture her husband entered, and I appealed to his masculine intelligence by pointing to the oval on the wall; but he could not “see” it. A happy thought then struck me, and I remembered that I had in my provision-basket an egg-cup. I took him accordingly into the guest-room, and showed it in triumph. But the man mistook it for a brandy-glass, and said to his wife, “Oh! it is vodka he wants.” I had therefore to return to the charge, and took him into the yard, thinking to see a hen walking about; but they were gone to roost. So I pointed to a pigeon instead, but he perceived no connection between that and a hen’s egg; nor, on second thoughts, did I. At last I saw in a corner some broken egg-shells, and, picking them up, showed them, and effected my object. Further east, I lost a pocket-book containing some of my most important documents, and was compelled to go through a very serious conversation all in dumb show; but this I must not anticipate.

On the Shilka I experienced no inconvenience through not knowing Russ; for, on arriving at the first station, the Cossack went off for fresh oarsmen, and I aired my dozen words in ordering the samovar, which important word, together with tarelka, a plate; chai, tea; voda, water; stakan, a glass; sakhar, sugar; khleb, bread; and maslo, butter, I had thoroughly mastered. It was no part of my duty, I suppose, to feed my Cossack; for I observed he had brought with him black bread, but of course I offered him tea and other fare, to which he took very kindly, even to preserved meat, though he fought shy of anchovy paste, which probably he had never seen before.

Tea over, we left our first station, 17 miles from Stretinsk, for station number two, 14 miles distant. But on this stage one of our oarsmen was old and feeble, and I had insisted (by signs and motions) that an extra hand should be hired, and that the Cossack should be allowed to rest, which he did by curling himself up in the prow of the boat and going to sleep. In this state of things darkness came on, and eight o’clock, nine o’clock, and ten o’clock passed, and still we made only slow progress. At last, in spite of the remonstrances of the men, I took an oar myself, pulled away lustily till I had a warm jacket, and at eleven o’clock we arrived at the post-house of Uktich.

On entering the room a practical illustration was afforded us of the Oriental custom, “Take up thy bed and walk.” The people of the house, not expecting travellers, had occupied the guest-chamber,—one on the bedstead, another on the floor, and so on; but, upon my entering, they snatched up the rugs or cloths upon which they were lying, and decamped with alacrity. In crossing Siberia we rarely saw a genuine bed in the houses of the peasantry, and the people do not usually, I believe, undress before going to sleep.⁠[4]

Soon after five the next morning, I roused the Cossack, who had taken up his quarters on the floor of the guest-room, and by six we started for Botti and Shilkinsk, the third and fourth stations from Stretinsk; and, after sundry stoppages, at seven in the evening we finished our day’s pull of 44 miles, and reached Ust-Kara, where Colonel Kononovitch was awaiting my arrival.

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