KASANSKOI.
Our Russian customs officer—A shooting-excursion—Visit
to the settlement of Kasanskoi—The house of a Siberian
trader—Interesting people—First experience of Russian
hospitality—The return of the _Phœnix_—Departure of the
_Biscaya_.
[Illustration: OUR CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICER.]
We had the Russian custom-house officer quartered on us during the
absence of the _Phœnix_, and a very nice unassuming fellow we all found
him, although we hardly understood a word he said. He was a typical
specimen of a Russian—a great big chap with broad shoulders and long fair
beard. I had heard he was an ardent sportsman, though he had no gun with
him on board; so one evening after supper I thought he might like to come
and have some shooting with me. But how was I to make him understand?
for although I pointed to my guns, he did not seem to comprehend. At
last an idea struck me. I got a piece of paper and drew a duck on it, at
the same time making a sign of shooting with my gun. He guessed at once
what it meant, and agreed to join me. Unfortunately, however, I had only
one fowling-piece with me, and my Winchester was hardly the thing for
wild duck, as he seemed to wish to tell me; but, to his great amusement,
I drew a bear on the paper, and so made an excuse for taking the rifle
also. As may be imagined, we had no occasion to use it. For a wonder, in
a country like this teeming with birds, we only had poor sport in return
for a long and fatiguing walk across miles of swampy ground.
[Illustration: KASANSKOI.]
[Illustration: TRADER’S HOUSE AT KASANSKOI.]
After I had thoroughly explored the adjoining country, one morning I got
out a small steam-launch belonging to the _Phœnix_, and, with a Russian
who spoke a little German as fireman and interpreter, went down the
river as far as the four or five log-houses and huts which constituted
the settlement of Kasanskoi. As at Karaoul, the dogs gave us a hearty
welcome, though, fortunately, they were all chained up this time, as
they looked anything but gentle creatures, and tried hard to get at us.
The largest of the houses was really not a bad-looking sort of place,
certainly far better than one would have expected to find. The proprietor
came out and politely invited us to enter. We accepted his invitation,
and, following him in, found ourselves in a large kind of kitchen, in
which several members of the family were busily engaged in various
household duties. But for the quaint costume of the man, and the fact
that the women were smoking cigarettes, there was nothing particularly
striking about the place. I could not, however, help immediately noticing
how wonderfully clean it was: the walls rivalled the boards of the floor
in whiteness, the table shone like a looking-glass, and everything
showed the handiwork of a careful housewife. The stove was alight, and
the heat was excessive, yet, curiously, there was not the slightest
feeling of ill ventilation. Immediately on entering I noticed (as my
“Murray” told me I should in all Russian dwellings) the inevitable sacred
picture in a corner of the room, and, in accordance with the advice he
gives, I immediately took off my hat, so as to be quite _en règle_.
The Russians, or rather the Northern Siberians, are certainly a most
phlegmatic race, if they are all like the few I have already met. One
would have thought that in this remote place the entrance of a stranger
would have excited just the least little show of interest—but no, they
hardly uttered a word; they just looked up for a second from their work,
and then resumed it without the slightest comment, as if I had been an
ordinary everyday visitor from a neighbouring house. Since they paid so
little attention, I was equally cool, and walked round about the room,
looking at everything as though I had been in a museum; and then got out
my sketch-book, and, sitting down, started a portrait of my host. He
seemed to understand what I wanted of him, and kept as rigid as a statue
while I was doing it.
[Illustration: MINE HOST AT KASANSKOI.]
Even when it was finished, no one evinced the slightest curiosity to see
the result. In any other part of the world one would have been pestered
by people crowding round and all wanting to finger one’s sketch-book;
but here, in this far-away Siberian home, where, to say the least of it,
sketching is not an everyday sight, stolid indifference was stronger
than idle curiosity. I determined to take advantage of it, and, since
my being there did not seem to disturb them a little bit, I got out the
launch, and returned there the next day with my paint-box and largest
sketching-block.
[Illustration: SWEET SEVENTEEN.]
All the people I had seen on the previous afternoon were in the house,
having what evidently was their morning meal. It was a simple and homely
sight, this family gathering round the brightly polished table, with
the glittering samovar towering in the centre. It struck me as being so
interesting that I got a couple of chairs, one to sit on and the other as
an easel, and commenced sketching in the group as rapidly as possible.
Fancy what would have happened if such an event occurred in an English
homestead! Imagine, for instance, a bearded Russian walking coolly in
while breakfast was going on and the whole family present, and, without
saying a word, taking possession of part of the room and commencing to
paint the occupants without even asking permission! In my case, however,
all went as merrily as a wedding-bell: no one interfered with me, and
they were so long discussing their weak tea that, by the time they had
finished, I had managed to get a very fair idea of the _mise en scène_.
[Illustration: A HOME IN NORTHERN SIBERIA: THE MORNING MEAL.
[_To face p. 51._]
With the exception of an hour, when I went down and had my lunch in the
launch, I worked there the whole day as comfortably as if I had been in
my own studio. In spite of their natural indifference, the people, in
their quiet sort of way, evidently wished to help me, and to show me
some little politeness. I noticed that the children were forbidden to
talk loud or even to come anywhere near me, and any one who has had any
experience of sketching in strange places, where, as a rule, the children
worry one even more than the flies, will understand what a boon that was;
while, to cap my adventure with this unique family, during the afternoon
my host came up to me, hat in hand, and, bowing very low, pointed to an
adjoining room. Out of curiosity, I got up to see what was there, when,
to my astonishment, I saw the samovar hissing away, and tea and cakes
waiting for me. This was hospitality indeed, and my only regret was not
being able to express my thanks in Russian, but I fancy they must have
pretty well guessed the meaning of the few bluff words I said to that
effect in English as I drank to the health of my host’s wife in boiling
tea, and very nearly scalded myself. The ice was broken, and they all
laughed very much, for fun is probably very much the same all over the
world. We now became quite friendly, considering I did not understand a
word they said; and I made myself quite at home among them till I had
finished my picture. Before leaving I presented my host with a pencil
sketch of his wife as a souvenir of my visit, and he evidently prized
it very much, for I fancy he intended fixing it up over the religious
picture in the corner.
[Illustration: MATERFAMILIAS.]
The _Phœnix_ returned in about ten days, and, to our great satisfaction,
was accompanied by the two vessels she had gone in search of—the _Thule_,
a small steamer of 400 tons, and the small tug she had towed out from
England. Never before had such a flotilla been seen on the river Yenisei;
the only pity was that there was no one but ourselves to see it. So far
the expedition, with the exception of a few unavoidable delays, had gone
without a hitch. It was quite a treat getting something in the shape of
news, such as it was, and all the papers brought by the _Thule_ were
devoured as eagerly as though they were of the previous day instead of
seven weeks old. The only thing now was to get the cargoes transferred
to the barges as quickly as possible, for the season showed unmistakable
signs of being but a short one this year, and it was imperative that
the two ships should get out of the Kara Sea on their way back to
England before the winter came on. As if to emphasize the admonition the
thermometer had given us, the lovely weather suddenly broke up, and, to
our great astonishment, one morning we woke up to find a couple of inches
of snow on the ground, and everything already looking very winterly,
although it was only September 2. Every one, therefore, set to work with
almost feverish haste, so great a fear does the awful Arctic winter
inspire.
[Illustration: TEMPORARY FARMYARD ON ONE OF THE BARGES.
[_To face p. 67._]
[Illustration: TEA-TIME AT THE MEN’S QUARTERS ON SHORE.]
The scene during this work of transhipping our cargo was one of
surprising novelty. The barges intended for the reception of cattle,
pigs, and poultry were temporarily turned into a sort of floating
farmyard. The Siberians evidently did not intend to forget provision
for the wants of the inner man during their long voyage up the river.
In stowing the cargo, all had to work against time, for every hour of
summer in these regions is of the utmost importance. Here, too, was
already present the inevitable Russian official, personified by one of
the most charming men I ever met, with his two attendant Cossacks, prompt
to scrutinize each package of the _Biscaya’s_ cargo. Indeed, for this
purpose they had been expressly sent down some 1500 miles, on board
the river steamer _Phœnix_, to meet us; such is the vigilance of the
Czar’s officials, even at this remote distance from the central seat of
government.
[Illustration: COSSACKS.]
For us, meantime, who were spectators of the operations, the days were
so much like each other that it was at times difficult to remember what
day of the week it was. It was too cold and wretched to even think of
going ashore, so there was nothing for it but to while away the time as
best we could, and wait events. Every morning the question was asked,
“When shall we get out of this?” for we were all getting heartily sick
of our prolonged inactivity—eight weeks since we left London, and still
a month of dreary river journey before us ere we reach our destination,
Yeniseisk. However, _tout vient à point à qui sait attendre_, and at
last came the welcome news that the ships were at length ready to start
for England, and that we were to transfer ourselves and luggage to the
_Phœnix_ in readiness for the river journey. Still, there was a mingled
feeling of regret as we bid farewell to the good ship _Biscaya_, which
had carried us through so many miles of strange waters, and, in spite of
cramped accommodation, had given us opportunities for many hours of real
pleasure and good fellowship.