THE RIVER VOYAGE OF THE _PHŒNIX_ UP TO YENISEISK.
The Yenisei river—Its noble proportions—Scenery along the
banks—The first tree—Our first mishap—The return of the tug—An
exciting incident.
[Illustration: A HOUSE-BOAT.]
On September 14 the ocean steamers _Biscaya_ and _Thule_ started on their
return voyage to England, it having been arranged that the tug should
pilot them down to the mouth of the river, and then rejoin us as quickly
as possible. It almost seemed like parting with an old friend, as we got
our last glimpse of the _Biscaya_; for, in spite of her grimy decks and
straitened quarters, we had all of us, somehow, come to look upon her
as a sort of home; and when, after cheering ourselves hoarse, the two
ships at length disappeared behind a distant headland, we realized that
the connecting link with the Old Country was severed, so to speak, and
the magnitude of the journey we had before us seemed to magnify itself.
As a matter of fact, it is only now, on looking back over the six long
weary weeks during which we were slowly making our way against the heavy
stream, through hundreds and hundreds of miles of uninteresting scenery,
and after quite a series of mishaps, that we can fully realize what the
journey was like. For my own part, I should be sorry to undertake it
again. However, to continue my narrative.
[Illustration: THE “PHŒNIX.”
[_To face p. 61._]
The two ships once out of sight, no time was lost, and preparations were
immediately commenced for our speedy departure. The barges had to be
properly stowed, a lot of spare timbers which had been brought down had
to be cut up for the engines, and a host of minor details seen to before
starting on our long journey. Two days were thus spent, and then at last,
exactly a month after our arrival in the river, we made a start with our
heavy load in tow. We made but slow progress, for the stream was strong.
Still, we could not help feeling thankful at moving at all, after our
long period of inactivity.
Although we were now nearly three hundred miles from the mouth of the
river, there was no perceptible difference in its enormous width, which
must nearly average ten miles for at least four hundred miles from the
sea, while in many places it widens out into such enormous expanses of
water that it can only be likened to a continuous series of huge lakes.
As a matter of fact, between Golchika and Karaoul, at a distance of two
hundred miles from the sea, there is one part where for nearly a hundred
miles it is over sixty miles in width, and when there is a gale blowing,
as was the case when we passed up it, the sea is quite as heavy as it
is during a “sou’wester” in the English Channel, the flat character of
the “tundras” (as the vast treeless plains in these regions are called)
rendering the wind exceptionally bleak. Such noble proportions are
thoroughly in keeping with the enormous length of this majestic river,
which, with its important tributaries the Selenga and the Angara, is over
five thousand miles, and takes its rise in Chinese territory, while,
according to the French geographer Reclus, its water-system covers an
enormous area of nearly 2,900,000 square versts (equal to about 1,950,000
English square miles). The largest rivers in Europe dwindle into absolute
insignificance in comparison with it, for the Volga, Danube, Rhone, and
Rhine, if added together, would barely make a Yenisei, while the poor
little Thames would be but as a small muddy brook, even when compared
with one of its least important tributaries—the Kureika, for instance.
Yet on the whole of this vast highway, traversing as it does such a
diversified tract of continent, there are only ten steamers, and these
only kept going through the enterprise of such Siberian magnates as
Siberiakoff, Gadaloff, Boudaresoff, and Kitmanoff. Siberia is still in
its infancy, so the future of its magnificent resources cannot yet be
gauged; still, should they eventually find a market in England through
the medium of the Yenisei and Kara sea-route, it will be solely owing to
British pluck and enterprise, as personified in Captain Wiggins, to whom
is undoubtedly due the honour of being the first to land a British cargo
in the heart of Siberia. Whether this bold and adventurous enterprise be
destined ever to vie with that of the Hudson Bay traders, to which it
can aptly be compared, is scarcely my province to discuss in a narrative
which is purely descriptive; still, one cannot help contemplating it with
pride that the old spirit which existed in our forefathers still remains,
and that, while this exists, England will always retain her position as
the pioneer of commercial enterprise all the world over.
For the next few days after leaving our anchorage, not only was the
journey uninteresting as regards events, but also from a picturesque
point of view. We were still beyond the northern limit of trees, and
the banks of the river, though perhaps presenting some interest to
the geological student, were certainly not strikingly picturesque,
and offered no artistic attractions. This barren appearance, however,
gradually changed, low bushes appeared on the hillsides and gradually
increased in height, till at last, on September 18, we sighted the first
actual tree we had seen since leaving Europe—a solitary and miserable
specimen of the larch species; yet it was a very welcome sight, for it
betokened our approaching return to more temperate latitudes and brighter
scenes. But one must have been in the Arctic regions to understand how
eager one is to get out of their dreary confines. In a very short time,
trees became more and more numerous on either bank—in fact, it almost
seemed as though we had crossed an invisible line beyond which they
could not grow, so sudden was the change once past it. They were still a
species of larch, though so small that some one remarked that they were
not so “larch” (?) as in England. We also saw in the distance several
white foxes along the banks; their being this colour is, as is well
known, a sure sign of approaching winter.
We shortly reached the small church-village of Dudinskoi, the first
station of any importance we had yet come to. We arrived too late to
go on shore, much as we should have liked to; for it appeared, from
all accounts, to be quite a flourishing little place, boasting of a
population consisting of a couple of priests, a police officer, some
exiles, and a number of natives, as well as a rich merchant who owns
nearly all the place. However, we made up our minds to have a look round
the first thing in the morning.
But “man proposes, God disposes.” Daring the night our first mishap
occurred. Without the slightest warning a strong gale sprang up, and
the _Phœnix_ had a very narrow escape of being wrecked. The river being
certainly not less than six miles wide, there was quite a heavy sea on;
our barges were pitched and tossed about like so many corks, and in a
very short time became quite unmanageable, ending by being driven right
up alongside in dangerous proximity to us. The confusion for a time
was awful, and a blinding snowstorm coming on added still more to the
excitement, as it was impossible to see more than a few yards on either
side. Steam, indeed, was quickly got up, and it was immediately decided
to get up the anchors and attempt to run before the gale up-stream.
Before, however, we could get under way, one of the smaller lighters was
swamped, and sank immediately. No one was on board of her at the time,
fortunately. After proceeding some fifteen versts, we found a sheltered
creek, and again anchored.
The gale abated as quickly as it rose, and the next day the weather
was absolutely perfect. All that day we were busy replenishing our
wood-bunkers, for although we had, to all appearances, an almost
inexhaustible supply a couple of days before, it seemed to have
positively melted away once the engines were started. As is the custom
all over Siberia, nothing but wood is burnt, and this is easily
understood when one comes to consider how vast is the forest region of
Siberia, a region only comparable to the backwoods of North America.
At the various small stations, and also here and there along the banks of
the river, are to be found huge piles of wood, placed by the villagers,
ready cut, for the use of the steamers plying between Yeniseisk and the
mouth of the river. This wood is for sale at an average price of one and
a half roubles (a little more than 3_s._ 8_d._) per cubic fathom—(N.B.
the Russian fathom is seven feet, not six feet as in England)—not dear,
considering how much time is saved by finding the wood all ready for use,
as we afterwards discovered when on one or two occasions we ran short of
fuel, and, there being no “station” near, we actually had to burn all our
available spars and other spare timber, and eventually had to send men
ashore to cut down trees—a long and tedious operation. The _Phœnix_ burnt
about fifteen fathoms a day, as I afterwards learnt; so my astonishment
at the quick way the huge piles vanished down the bunker-holes is easily
explained. I hear that some of the other river steamers burn as much as
thirty fathoms in the twenty-four hours.
[Illustration: LOADING WOOD FOR THE “PHŒNIX.”
[_To face p. 66._]
Just as we were finishing loading wood the tug hove in sight, much to our
relief, as she was already overdue, and fear had been expressed for her
safety. She was soon alongside, and we then learnt that she had safely
accomplished her mission of piloting the two ships down to Golchika, but
not, however, without a few mishaps, for she had had a serious fire in
her bunkers, and on one occasion had been aground in a nasty position for
no less than nine hours. However, “all’s well that ends well,” and our
party was now complete again.
The next few days were uneventful. The weather was bitterly cold, and
snow occasionally fell, so the surrounding landscape—if the dreary
expanse of monotonous banks could be so called—looked, if anything, still
more dreary. Then occurred the second incident in the long series of
mishaps which followed us throughout the voyage.
We were busy loading wood one afternoon, when suddenly the captain rushed
on deck, and, in an excited voice, called out that we had sprung a leak!
It may easily be imagined the effect this announcement had on us—it came
like a thunderbolt, so little were we expecting anything unusual. On
further investigation it was found that the water was gaining rapidly,
so without losing a moment all the men were instantly recalled to the
ship and ordered to commence clearing the hold, in order, if possible, to
discover the damage and, if not too late, make it good. The excitement
was great, for, although we were only about two miles from the shore, the
situation was extremely grave, from what we could learn from those who
had been down to see. Most of us, therefore, got our papers and valuables
in readiness in case of emergency. In the mean time the pumps were going,
and steam got ready, so that, in the event of its being necessary, the
ship could be run ashore at a moment’s notice. For some hours no visible
headway was made against the enemy, till towards nine o’clock, after
several hours of hard and persistent work in icy-cold water, the men
were relieved, as it was discovered the water was abating. It afterwards
transpired that, from some unexplained cause, a plate had been started,
and the “list” given to the ship by the loading of the wood on one side
only had caused the inrush of water. One of the engineers was fortunately
soon able to patch it up and obviate any further danger. The prospect of
having, perhaps, to abandon our comfortable quarters was not enticing
while it lasted, and it certainly was with a great sense of relief that
we got under way once more, and then sat down to an extra late dinner,
with a bottle of champagne to commemorate our escape.
For the next twenty-four hours we fortunately were able to proceed
without any special incident. The weather still continued very cold and
wintry, and much snow fell. The few scattered trees on the banks now
grew more closely together, till at length we reached a dense forest,
which we never afterwards entirely lost sight of. Right away southward,
with scarcely a break, I learnt, it stretches to the far-distant Chinese
frontier, some five thousand miles, while to east it is bounded by the
river Lena, which thus gives it an approximate breadth of two thousand
miles—probably the largest tract of forest-land in the world, and, as I
have previously remarked, only comparable to the backwoods of America.
Very depressing was the effect of this continuous wall of trees, in all
the various stages of growth and decay—in some parts the predominance
of firs giving it almost the appearance of a huge plantation of
telegraph-poles. The chief trees appeared to be pine, white birch, lime,
and mountain ash.