OUR JOURNEY TO KHABAROVSK
September 2nd.—We leave Vladivostock with its mists and fogs to-day.
I, for my part, shall be heartily glad when we can be comfortably by
ourselves at Khabarovsk.
A great number of officers accompanied us as far as the boat on the
Soungatcha river. We had a brilliant leave-taking. I received so
many bouquets that I almost disappeared amongst the flowers. The
railway-station was decked out with flags. A great crowd had assembled
on the platform which was covered with red cloth; a special train, with
a dinner-car attached to it, was awaiting us. Two sentinels were placed
before our saloon-carriage. Whistles are given to signal our departure.
The train steamed out of the station amid the ringing cheers of the
crowd. Standing at the window we answer the salutes and hand-wavings. Our
train crept along at the pace of a snail, making only twenty miles an
hour. Our way leads along the sea-shore for some time, and then we enter
a wide plain, disturbing the tiger with the locomotive.
At the first stoppage we are received in pomp. A triumphal arch has been
raised, bearing our initials. A deputation of inhabitants came up to my
husband and presented him with “Bread and Salt,” and the workmen of the
railway-line handed me a bouquet almost too big to carry.
We move very cautiously and slowly, because yesterday the train which had
been run on trial, went off the rails in this place. We see a number of
mansas, Chinese workmen, repairing the line.
At five o’clock we arrived at the point at which the railway ended and
stopped at Nikolskoe, a large military station. We were four hours late.
Dr. Pokrovski and Mr. Koulomsine take from here the boat on the lake
Khanka. They will await our arrival at a place called the “Third Post.”
We chose to go by way of the carriage road, which will prolong our
journey for at least a day or two.
My husband was received on the platform by General Kopanski, the
commander of the troops, who drove us to his abode, situated about eight
miles distant from the railway station. A group of peasants were awaiting
my husband on the square before the church to offer up their petitions,
very queer ones some of them. An old woman went on her knees holding her
request on the top of her head, in which she asked Sergy to indicate to
her the shortest way to Jerusalem! Our drive through the village caused a
great sensation. The inhabitants stood on their thresholds and stared at
us. I saw some peer at us from the windows, through opera-glasses. Before
General Kopanski’s house a guard of honour presented arms to my husband,
and a platoon of Cossacks defiled before him.
We are here for three days. Our host, though an old bachelor, knew how to
make us as comfortable as possible.
September 3rd.—General Kopanski gave a grand dinner to-day in our honour.
During the repast a military band played selections from “Faust.” The
music led me to a far-away place; I had closed my eyes and saw St.
Petersburg in vision. I kept back my tears with difficulty.
September 4th.—I did not leave my room until dinner-time, reading a heap
of newspapers which had been forwarded from Khabarovsk; but the news
was two months old. One is obliged to live behind date in this far-away
country.
After dinner we went to the camp to assist at the evening retreat. The
big camp, situated about five miles from Nikolskoe, was decorated with
flags and lanterns of different colours. The soldiers received us with
shouts and cheers. When prayers were ended, the drums beat the salute and
a salvo of twenty-six cannons was fired, after which the spouse of the
chief of the brigade offered us tea in a big tent.
September 5th.—To-day we are undertaking the most difficult part of our
journey, and shall have to endure the misery of atrocious roads. At six
o’clock in the morning our tarantass, a rattling post-chaise, was at the
door. An escort of two hundred Cossacks on horseback is trotting close
behind our carriage and on both sides of it, until our first stoppage
where we have to change horses. A third hundred of Cossacks was sent on
before, to be divided into parties of six men to escort us all the way.
Our cortège consists of seven carriages. Whilst we traverse the camp the
soldiers forming a line on each side of us cheer us loudly; military
bands play marches as we drive along. We plodded on steadily the whole
morning and were shaken a good deal on the badly-made roads. The two
first stations were kept by the post department, but at the third
stopping-place a team of three horses, belonging to different Russian
colonists, harnessed together with utter disregard to size, breed, and
disposition, were awaiting us. The harness was rusty and mended with
strings. The driver was with great difficulty inspired to action, and
totally incapable of transmitting such inspiration to his animals, by
coaxing words or whip. At last the poor hacks moved on, one pulling to
the right, the other to the left. The road was completely deserted; we
didn’t meet a living creature on our way. I was told that these spots
were frequented by tigers, and when I asked a Cossack of our escort if we
had no risk of meeting one, the man answered coolly that it might happen
very easily. Not much comfort from that Cossack.
The roads were very bad, very hilly and rough. We climbed with difficulty
the steep ascents, and descended with still greater difficulty. Our
driver, a peasant boy of about sixteen, drove atrociously, cutting
corners and racing down steep hills. At a descent, which he took at a
tremendous pace, a part of the harness gave way and the horses became
uncontrollable. I was on the act of jumping out of the carriage when the
Cossack, who sat on the box, succeeded in holding in the horses.
At each stage the colonists welcomed us with “Bread and Salt.” My husband
received a great number of petitions from the emigrants, for the greater
part complaints from the new settlers against the colonists, who demanded
one hundred roubles for the right of settling down with them, and
oppressed them in every way.
Towards evening we reached a large village, and passed under a triumphal
arch bearing the inscription “Welcome!” We had an hour’s stop at the
village-inn, where we pulled up for dinner. We did honour to the frugal
repast, consisting of cabbage-soup and roasted chicken, served by pretty
village girls arrayed in their Sunday best.
After a drive of less than an hour, we came to a village where we stopped
to rest for the night at the house of the Commissary of Rural Police.
September 6th.—We went in the morning to hear mass in the village chapel.
The peasant girls were in their national dress, their long tresses
interlaced with gay-coloured ribbons. After church, we continued our
journey. We have yet many miles before us. At the next station we found
a relay of four powerful horses belonging to the Prison Department. The
Inspector of the Prisons, Mr. Komorski, was at the station to meet us.
Our escort was increased by two Cossack officers. The horses fretted at
standing, and I found them a bit over fresh; they started at a brisk
pace. Our driver is a convict transported for life to Siberia, who had
just terminated his ten years of penal servitude, and will be made a
colonist in a short time. On the way we stopped at the house of a young
engineer who is taking part in the construction of the railway-line
beyond the Lake Baikal, after the Caspian Sea and the Sea of Aral, the
largest lake in Asia. As soon as the horses were sufficiently rested,
we proceeded on a road which had been growing from bad to worse. It is
constructed on marshy ground and is full of ruts and holes in which we
jolted and tossed about. The shocking roads aren’t like roads at all,
more like ploughed fields, inches deep in mud, and so rough that our
vehicle seemed to be propelled by a succession of earthquakes wallowing
in mud half-way deep. Our horses had hard work, sinking almost to their
shoulders at every step. Our Heir to the throne on his tour to the
Orient, when passing this way, had to be drawn by oxen.
At last we reached the convict settlement where Mr. Kopanski resides,
superintending the work on the railway-line of the convicts sentenced
to hard labour. At the present moment he has under his command three
thousand convicts, and one thousand soldiers to guard them.
Mr. Komorski’s house stands on a small eminence surrounded by barracks
inhabited by convicts, dressed in long grey coats; the greater part are
in chains. A long line of prisoners had half of their heads shaved, they
were runaway convicts, who were brought back again to these parts. They
cheered my husband gaily. A monk stood on the threshold of the chapel,
where a Te Deum was sung by the convicts.
Mr. Komorski showed us a great deal of hospitality. He has contrived to
give our apartment quite an air of cosiness. On my dressing-table I saw
a bottle of scent bearing the name of “Bouquet d’Amour” quite a fitting
denomination, for we are now in the provinces of the “Amour.”
All the servants in the house are convicts, who fulfil their duty
perfectly well, nevertheless these surroundings made me feel so nervous
and miserable, that I did not want to be present at dinner and went to
bed immediately after our arrival, under the pretext of a bad headache.
Oh! how horrid it was to hear the sounds of a gay waltz played by an
orchestra of convicts during the repast! I buried my head in my pillow
and had a good cry. I hated our host ferociously at that moment.
September 7th.—Early in the morning Sergy visited the prisons, and
at eight o’clock we proceeded on our journey. The road had recently
been laid out specially to transport provisions from the boat to Mr.
Komorski’s abode. After a drive of two hours we arrived at a spot where
a copious lunch awaited us in a pavilion set up near the railway-line.
We suddenly came upon a gang of chained convicts breaking stones on
the road, who worked under the eager eyes of guards with ever-ready
revolvers. Whistles were heard giving the signal to these wretched men to
take off their caps at our approach. I was told that work was assigned to
them for twelve hours of labour. Their food is good, the daily rations
consisting of a plate of soup with 250 grams of meat and a kilogram of
bread. In a group of convicts we saw the son of a General we had known at
St. Petersburg. That unfortunate young man had belonged to one of the
brilliant Guard regiments, and had been sent to the galleys and put to
hard labour for life, for having shot one of his comrades, (_Cherchez la
femme!_) His pale, haggard face was so painful to behold.
The last miles leading to the boat were as bad as bad could be. We were
tumbled about like nuts in a bag. We reached towards four p.m. the Third
Post on the banks of the “Soungatcha,” with aching bones and stiffened
limbs. There were our fellow-travellers on the quay awaiting us, and whom
should I see among them but Mr. Li, the _attaché_ of the Chinese Embassy
at St. Petersburg, my summer cavalier of Music Halls. I must say I was
surprised! And I thought I should never see him again. The world’s small!
Mr. Li passed through Vladivostock on his way to China, on a holiday.
When we met our companions on Lake Khanka, he decided to come all this
long way to see us. He will return to Lake Khanka to-morrow morning. The
director of the Navigation Company on the Amour-river was also on the
quay to meet us. He presented my husband “Bread and Salt” on a beautiful
silver dish, and I received an enormous bouquet.
We are going to travel now by water as far as Khabarovsk. A handsome
steam-yacht named “Ingoda” was lying alongside the quay, ordered for our
use—a vessel gaily tricked out with flags, with my husband’s standard
floating on the overdeck. The yacht was apparently quite new, all
white and gold, with steam-heating and electricity. We were to travel
luxuriously on that dainty thing. I have a charming cabin with real
windows and bed, not a hard shelf, but quite a wide, springy bed, and
blue silk tapestries on the walls; the covering of the furniture and the
curtains are of the same stuff. I have a toilet-table adorned with white
muslin curtains tied with blue ribbon. The cookery on board is excellent;
the head-cook is a Chinaman. The captain provided soft-moving Chinese
waiters and a Russian maid for me.
We shall weigh anchor only to-morrow morning, because it is dangerous
to sail on the “Soungatcha” by night, the river being very narrow and
winding. After supper the sailors lighted up the boat with Bengal fires,
and barrels of burning tar were placed along the banks of the river. I
sat up half the night on deck, stretched in a basket-chair chatting with
Mr. Li about St. Petersburg, and awakening so many far-off memories.
Sept. 8th.—We started at 8 o’clock in the morning. Our boat glided down
the swift river advancing very slowly. Our way wound in cork-screw
curves, and the raftsman had to do some clever piloting to make the
turns. On the left side of the “Soungatcha” was China. Here and there
appeared to sight Chinese thatched huts. Natives, with long tresses,
floated in junks on the river. On our side there is no vestige of
habitation; all around the silence was profound; we seemed to have the
world to ourselves. Now we steam on along lovely green banks fringed with
tall trees bending their branches low over the water and reflected in it
as in a mirror. Wild ducks swept over us, and long-legged herons came
quite near to the edge of the water.
By the time the moon rose we had come to the first halt, a Cossack
settlement situated in the hollow of a valley, where we cast anchor
for the night. Smoke rose over the thatched roofs of the village;
church-bells were ringing for vespers. Two “atamans” (Cossack delegates)
are standing on the quay, holding their huge staffs of command. A
deputation of Cossacks presented “Bread and Salt” on a glass dish to my
husband, and I received as a gift a wild kid. We saw two men advancing,
carrying between them, across their shoulders, a long pole upon which
hung an enormous sturgeon. There was scarcely room enough on board for
the gigantic fish.
We took a stroll through the village, where we visited the home of a rich
Cossack inhabitant. My husband signed himself as godfather to his little
son, who lay shrieking in his cot. The wee Cossack was still unbaptised,
as there was no priest in the neighbourhood.
Sept. 9th.—The captain waited for the sun to rise to weigh anchor.
Towards ten o’clock we enter the river “Oussouri,” which is considerably
broader than the “Soungatcha.” An eagle is ascending high up in the
skies. The air is so transparent that mountains which are scores of
miles away are distinctly visible. The freshness of the vegetation is
surprising. The furze attains the height of three yards. We slide along
rich verdant valleys strewn with sweet-smelling flowers. The fresh breeze
brings us a penetrating perfume of new-mown hay.
The next stopping-place was Krasnoyarsk, a big Cossack settlement. The
inhabitants presented us wine in bottles entwined with branches of
grapes. I remained on deck till midnight, admiring the large river on
which the full moon reflected its opal glimmer.
Sept. 10th.—The wind that had risen in the night brought rain. We
intended pushing on to Khabarovsk for the night, but the fog being very
dense, we dropped anchor before Kasakevitchi, a large village scattered
on a hillock.
Sept. 11th.—We are passing the most shallow part of the “Oussouri.” The
water is so shallow that we advance with great difficulty. We dropped
anchor five miles off Khabarovsk. Two barges with sails were sent to
meet us with an officer and thirty rowers, in case we could not advance
further on our boat, and it came out that it was the barges that had to
be helped, for during the night a squall arose, followed by a shower,
which nearly submerged the barges. The officer and soldiers had to be
taken on board.
Sept. 12th.—We are at our journey’s end. Our next station will be
Khabarovsk. We advance very slowly in order not to arrive at Khabarovsk
before the appointed hour—nine o’clock in the morning.