AN EVENING VISIT
As we approached the town, there was less talking and laughing and the
singing became less boisterous. The crowds gathered as I had seen them
before, and showed their appreciation of the songs by now and then
joining in the chorus.
[Illustration: COSSACK OFFICERS]
Before the barracks were reached, the men leaped down from the
horses, loosened their saddle girths, and led them to the stables.
Here they unsaddled them, gave them hay, and curried them, while the
non-commissioned officers inspected their legs as well as the skin
that had been under the saddles. This was done with much caution, for
Captain Mongalov was particularly strict regarding the health and
care of the horses. Where there was negligence, his usual reprimand
was apt to end with: "Don't forget next time that the Cossack army's
efficiency depends more on the sound legs of a good horse than on the
blockhead who does not know enough to take care of them."
When all the horses had been inspected, cleaned, watered, and given
their prescribed measure of oats, the men were allowed to go to get
themselves ready for dinner, leaving, however, four men whose turn it
was to take care of the stables.
I wish there were time to tell of all the wonders of that garrison
visit, of the dinner in the big dining-room with Dimitri, of the
lessons given the young men, of the instructing officers, and most of
all of my first sight of the fascinating and difficult exercise called
the _jigatovka_, which I saw that same afternoon, and which consisted
of horse vaulting, dart throwing at a gallop and many other things.
Captain Mongalov invited us all to spend the evening at his house,
and by six o'clock my father, my aunt, and I were at his front door.
Being a little in advance of the others, I tried to open it, but, to
my surprise, found it was not possible to do so. Could it be locked, I
wondered. In our village such a thing was never done except under very
unusual circumstances. Father, noting my surprise, pointed to a handle
on the door which he bade me pull down. I did so and heard a loud ring
within. In a moment the door was opened by an orderly, who greeted us
like friends and invited us in.
When he had gone to announce us, I glanced around the room. A big desk
occupied the left corner, the top of which was covered with books
relating to military regulations. The big brass inkstand with its two
kinds of ink, black and red, especially attracted me. On a table near
by, a heavy nickel-plated lamp threw its light over a mass of official
papers. Instead of benches around the room as at my own home there
were numerous comfortable chairs.
One wall was covered with the skins of wild beasts. I recognized those
of a black and of a brown bear. Above these were fastened enormous
antlers. On their very numerous branches hung swords, daggers, and
other arms. Pictures, one of which was that of an old lady plainly
dressed (the Captain's mother), hung on the opposite wall.
Then my attention fastened itself on a big tiger skin covering a
sofa. I touched the artificial eyes which looked so intently at me; I
wondered if the teeth were real. So occupied did I become that it was
like an electric shock to feel a sudden clap on my shoulder and the
Captain's hearty voice greeting me.
I immediately experienced a strong desire to converse with him as I
would with an older brother, but he had turned from me and was busy
answering some of my father's numerous questions.
The bell rang again and admitted a new group. My aunt at once stepped
up and threw her arms about one of the women in it, who proved to be
her own cousin from the pretty neighboring city of Blagovestchensk.
Closely following the cousin came her husband, a former artillery
officer, with a very long beard. His thick, bushy gray hair framed a
small sympathetic face. With them was a pale but very attractive lady
dressed in a gray suit. A little girl of about my own age, had hold of
her hand.
Mongalov greeted this lady with particular respect and gallantly
kissed her hand. Then he invited all to take off their wraps and make
themselves at home, that is, all but Nina, the little girl, and myself.
He had beckoned to us to follow the orderly into the garden.
Here we found many things to interest us. There was a horse that
refused sugar from Nina but accepted, to my great delight, bread and
salt from me. There were fancy chickens, and, best of all, a sort of
see-saw on which I condescended to accept Nina's invitation to play.
We stood as straight as possible on the board which was balanced on a
log, and as it went up and down jumped alternately into the air, each
time going a little higher. Nina was not at all afraid, and despite a
peculiar seriousness about her, we were well acquainted when supper was
announced.
The table, set with more good things than I had ever seen before,
was in a long dining-room. Soon everybody was laughing and joking,
everybody except Nina's mother. It seemed to me that she was not like
the rest of us but I could not have told why.
The supper lasted a long time and when we returned to the big
living-room, the piano, which stood on one side, was opened and Lidia
Ivanovna, the lady in gray, consented to play some Russian airs from
Glinka's opera, "Life of the Tzar."
Shortly after, both she and her little daughter as well as my aunt's
cousin left, pleading the weariness still felt by the strangers from
long travel.
When they had gone, Mongalov turned to the former artillery officer,
whose name was Kuzmin, and asked, "Where did you meet Lidia Ivanovna?"
"She came with a caravan of prisoners sent from St. Petersburg."
(Petrograd.) "I am told that she is looking for her husband who was
sent to Siberia a few years ago as a political exile.[16] If she can
find him, she wishes to share his fate."
Here I exclaimed impulsively: "It ought to be easy to find him. The
government officials can surely tell her where he is."
Kuzmin smiled bitterly. "They can, perhaps, if they wish. You must
remember, however, that Siberia is no little state. When I came here,
it was with many thousands of prisoners, mostly Poles who had fought
for their country's independence, and they are now so scattered that
you might not meet a dozen in a lifetime."
"How big is Siberia?" I asked.
"In figures, it is more than five million square miles, but see that
map hanging on the wall," said the old man with some eagerness, as
if glad of the change in the conversation, "and see that little dot.
That stands for the biggest city you know, the one you are now in,
Habarovsk."
"That little dot!" I exclaimed in surprise, for no one had ever
explained a map to me before.
"This waving line," continued Kuzmin, "is the Amur River."
Again I stared incredulously. How could a little line stand for the
very wide Amur whose waters ran from horizon to horizon!
"Now that is only a small part of Siberia," said my new teacher. "From
here at Habarovsk to the Ural Mountains, which separate Siberia from
Russia, it takes two months to travel both day and night in a carriage."
"Tell me some other things about Siberia," I begged.
He pointed to a blue spot in the south. "This is Lake Baikal,[17] the
largest body of fresh water in Asia, about four hundred miles long and
about forty-five miles wide. It is fifteen hundred feet above the
level of the sea. It is a place full of mystery. I don't know if any
one yet has been able to find how deep it is. On one side are all kinds
of caverns and arches. It's pretty but it's mysterious. Now and then
the earth in the vicinity trembles and quakes. Irkutsk, the largest and
most important city in Siberia, is not very far from it."
After a moment's pause, he went on: "Let me tell you something of
Blagovestchensk,[18] my own city. But no; I'd talk too long. Why don't
you move there?" turning suddenly to my father.
My father shook his head. "If I move," he said slowly, "I want to try
farming."
"Farming offers many inducements," agreed Kuzmin. "I meet many farmers
who came here penniless and now have hundreds of acres of land and
hundreds of head of cattle and stables filled with grain."[19]
"Were you ever in St. Petersburg?" I asked unexpectedly. At this
question a queer change came over Kuzmin's face and he looked down
without answering.
Here Mongalov reached for his balalaika, a sort of Russian mandolin,
and began to play some gay Russian airs on it.
When we reached home, I asked my father why Kuzmin did not wish to talk
about St. Petersburg.
"He is a useful and clever man," my father answered, "but, poor fellow,
he belongs to the unfortunates."
From that I understood that, like Lidia Ivanovna's husband, the former
artillery officer was an exile.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 16: Siberia was formerly a penal colony.]
[Footnote 17: Lake Baikal's depth has never been measured. It is said
to be the deepest lake in the world. There are many very interesting
things about this lake. For one thing, everything points to its being
very ancient. Water flowing into it is supposed to be ten times that
flowing out into the Angara River. What becomes of it? Its waters are
fresh, yet gulls, cormorants, and other birds usually found only on the
sea, haunt it, and seals actually live in it. The peasants call it the
Holy Sea and have many superstitions regarding it.--THE EDITOR.]
[Footnote 18: Blagovestchensk is now one of the prettiest cities in
Siberia. It has tree-lined avenues, parks, and attractive residences.
There are also fine schools, public libraries, theaters, and hospitals
free to the poor.--THE EDITOR.]
[Footnote 19: Between 1905 and 1914 more than 3,000,000 colonists
settled in Siberia. A great deal has been done by the Russian
Government to help the new settlers in their new life.--THE EDITOR.]