THE RIVER VOYAGE—_continued_.
An awful fatality—Misfortune follows misfortune—M.
Sotnikoff—Selivanaka, the settlement of the Skopti—A visit from
the village “elder.”
[Illustration: DIFFICULT NAVIGATION.]
Our respite from misfortune was destined, unfortunately, to be but very
brief, for on September 23 occurred an awful fatality by which we lost
the commander of the _Phœnix_—Mr. George Lee, agent in Siberia of the
Anglo-Siberian Syndicate. The circumstances of the tragic event in those
far-away wilds were so impressive in their horror that they are as fresh
in my memory as if it had happened only yesterday.
We had been moving slowly but surely, all day, against a strong
head-wind; in the evening, after dinner, we were all seated in the
cabin, smoking, and otherwise passing the time in our usual pleasant
after-dinner fashion, when suddenly we heard a man who was taking
soundings at the bows call out a quick change in the depth of water.
Mr. Lee, who was reading a book, immediately jumped up, and, putting
on his fur coat and cap, hastily went out, exclaiming as he did so
that he “smelt something wrong.” He had only been gone a few minutes,
when we heard loud cries from the deck, the engine stopped, and almost
immediately the captain rushed into the cabin in a frantic state. With
some difficulty we gathered from his gestures that Mr. Lee had fallen
overboard. In less time than it takes to write it we were all outside and
on the upper deck. The excitement was indescribable. It was a pitch-dark
night, and snowing hard; on all sides were men hurrying with lanterns,
while the captain, through his speaking-trumpet, bawled out directions
to the men in tug and barges behind us. For a few minutes, which seemed
ages, we were peering into the intense darkness astern in the hope
of seeing something which would guide us to the whereabouts of the
unfortunate man, but in vain; when, all of a sudden, we heard shouts from
the tug that they had picked him up. Our joy was great, but destined,
unfortunately, to be of short duration. After some little delay, but
really in wonderfully quick time considering, the tug was observed coming
towards us, and soon was alongside. On its deck was a confused group of
men, standing in awed silence, and looking strangely weird through the
driving snow and under the flickering light of a lantern. In their midst,
in a blanket which they were holding by the four corners, was something
dripping wet, human in form. With little difficulty it was got on board
the _Phœnix_, and then we saw it was the lifeless form of our ill-fated
friend, who so few minutes before had been with us in the best of health
and spirits, little dreaming his end was so near. It was a solemn sight,
and brought before us with a power seldom realized that thrilling
sentence, “In the midst of life we are in death.” Although we persevered
for no less than four hours with Dr. Sylvester’s method, and tried every
other known restorative, all was in vain—the unfortunate man never for
one moment showed the least sign of life; so at last we were reluctantly
forced to come to the conclusion that our efforts were futile.
We afterwards learnt how the accident had happened from the only man who
had witnessed it. Mr. Lee, in his excitement to learn the depth of the
water as shown by the sounding-pole, had stood on a log of timber covered
with snow which was lying under the bulwarks, and, leaning over too far,
his foot slipped on the treacherous surface, and he went overboard head
first, so suddenly that he had not time to utter a cry. Considering how
rapid the stream was, and the darkness of the night, the fact of his
body being picked up at all was nothing short of miraculous, for we were
going full speed at the time. Only a few days before, he had been telling
us he could swim like a duck, and that evening during dinner had been
relating some wonderful escapes from death he had had during his life.
We had learnt that his heart was weak, so there can be very little doubt
that the shock of the sudden immersion in the icy-cold water had had an
instantaneously fatal effect, for his features showed no signs of any
death-struggle, but were as calm as in sleep. A long consultation then
took place, with the result that the London agent of the Syndicate took
command of the ship, and she was again started ahead.
This awful event naturally cast a gloom over us all—although, as if
in mockery of worldly griefs, the sun shone out brilliantly the next
morning for the first time since we had left; in fact, it was like spring
again. It was hard to realize that for the remainder of our voyage the
_Phœnix_, so to speak, would be a floating hearse. No end of ghastly
formalities had to be gone through, such as sealing up the dead man’s
effects, having a coffin made by one of the ship’s carpenters, and a heap
of other details, the custom-house officer now proving himself a really
good fellow, and helping us as much as he could; in fact, I don’t know
what we should have done without him, speaking so little Russian as we
all did. We learnt from him that we should have to stop at Turuchansk,
the first important village we came to, and get permission from the
police officer there to take the body on to Yeniseisk, and, as there was
certain to be an inquest, we must make up our minds to some unavoidable
delay. The only thing to be done, therefore, was to get on as quickly as
possible, for we had no time to lose, with winter so close at hand.
But our misfortunes were not yet at an end. A day or so afterwards, owing
to the strong current keeping us back, we ran short of wood when we were
still some distance from the next station; so, in order not to let the
fires out, it was decided (contrary to our usual custom, as we always
anchored at dusk) to proceed all night. It was a nasty wet night, with
a thick mist over everything, so our progress was very uncertain. All
went well till about three o’clock, when suddenly, without the slightest
warning, the water shallowed, and, with a nasty grinding sound which I
shall long remember, the _Phœnix_ ran aground. It was too dark and foggy
at the time to make out where we were, but we evidently were stuck hard
and fast, as was supposed, on a bank in the middle of the river. All
efforts to back her were unsuccessful. The fog lifted shortly after,
and it was then discovered that we had run clean ashore—so close, in
fact, that one could almost have walked off the ship on to the grass.
For several precious hours every possible device was tried in vain, and
at one time things looked decidedly ugly, as we were on a rocky bottom.
Our little tug, however, proved invaluable, for she at length succeeded
in moving our bows, and then, to our great relief, we slid off into
deep water, not without damage, unfortunately, for it was afterwards
discovered that we had broken a blade of the propeller; still, we managed
to get along somehow, in spite of it. It was high time, for we were at
the very end of our supply of wood, and it was only by burning everything
available, even to the hatches and some spare packing-cases we luckily
had on board, that we could reach the next station, where we found wood
in abundance.
We anchored opposite quite a “swagger” house, far and away the best
we had hitherto seen in Siberia. It was two stories high, had carved
window-frames, a bright-green roof, and other attempts at artistic
decoration which one would hardly have expected to find so far away in
Northern Asia. The owner of the place, we learnt, was a rich retired
merchant named Sotnikoff, who had amassed a large fortune by mining
and extensive trading operations. Vegetating in this dead-alive spot
struck me as being a very unambitious ending to a long and successful
life—however, _chacun à son goût_. We went ashore and paid Mr. Sotnikoff
a visit, and were received with the usual hospitality of Russian
people—I mean a regular sort of meal they put before one, generally
consisting of delicious caviare and black bread, fish-pies, cakes, eggs,
etc., washed down with copious draughts of vodka, and followed by the
inevitable samovar. The house was furnished quite in a luxurious fashion,
and the large room we were shown into boasted a really pretty suite of
furniture, and had pictures on the walls. Mr. Sotnikoff, however, in
spite of his great reputed wealth, was dressed in the ordinary costume
of a Russian peasant, and with his long white beard presented quite a
patriarchal appearance. He returned our visit later in the day, and
strongly urged us not even to attempt to reach Yeniseisk with all our
barges so late in the season, winter being so close at hand that the
river might be frozen over at any moment, in which case we risked losing
all our flotilla, if it caught us in any unprotected spot. Our best plan,
he told us, would be to leave one of our least important barges in his
charge till next spring, and proceed with the remainder without losing
a moment, if possible. This advice so corroborated what we had already
learnt that, as a result of a long and serious consultation, one of the
barges was detached and left with him till the spring. We then again
started, hoping that, with our diminished load, we should make better
progress.
The next few days were uneventful; the banks, with their fringe of dense
forest, still continuing in dreary and endless monotony, while overhead
flocks of migratory birds were continually passing us on their way south,
sure and ominous sign of approaching winter. We could not help being
surprised by the number of seagulls we still saw about; in fact, their
name seemed almost a misnomer, so many hundreds of miles were we from the
sea.
The curious huts of the Samoyede natives along the shores now gradually
disappeared, and in their stead appeared other huts somewhat similar
in form, only covered with strips of birch bark instead of skins, and
inhabited by Ostiaks, a race of people not unlike the Samoyedes, but,
from what I hear, certainly much more civilized—though that is not saying
much, for they could not very easily be less so.
On September 30 we passed Selivanaka, a picturesque and flourishing
little settlement, which is entirely inhabited by a portion of the secret
sect called “Skopti,” or “White Doves,” who are perpetually banished from
Russia on account of their peculiar doctrines. I had already read much
about these curious people, and was hoping that we should stop here for
wood, so that I should be able to go ashore and have a look round; but we
were not in need of fuel, and our time was too precious to allow of any
needless delays, so I had to content myself with as good a look at the
settlement and its inhabitants as I could get through my binocular, for,
although a boat containing three men rowed off to us, we did not stop.
However, we had plenty of opportunity later on for a closer inspection of
these men.
It happened this way: The boat returned to the shore, and Selivanaka
was fast disappearing behind us, when we observed another boat rapidly
catching us up, coming along close to the shore. In a very short time
it was abreast of us, and we then saw it was drawn by three dogs, and
contained the same men we had previously seen. They stopped when a little
ahead of us, and, taking their dogs on board, rowed off to us and asked
if we would allow them to tow behind us as far as Turuchansk, some few
versts farther on. The desired permission being given to them, they
shortly after came up on deck, and we therefore had plenty of time to
examine more closely these specimens of one of the most curious sects
in the world. I was lucky enough to get one of them, who turned out to
be the “village elder,” to let me make a careful sketch of him, as he
had a face full of character; during which time I managed, through an
interpreter, to obtain some interesting particulars of these “peculiar
people.” They are all eunuchs, marriage being forbidden among them. The
Holy Virgin and the Christ they worship are appointed by their elders,
and it is said they consider Peter III. as their god, imagining him to
be still living. They are also strict vegetarians and total abstainers,
from which facts one gathers that, taking one consideration with another,
a Skopti’s life is not a happy one.
[Illustration: SELIVANAKA.
[_To face p. 78._]
Afterwards I had a look at their boat, which was towing behind, and I
could not help noticing the ready way in which their dogs made themselves
comfortable during their masters’ absence. The only harness they wear is
a sort of band round the loins, which is connected with the boat by means
of a long cord. Three is the number generally used, and wonderful are the
distances which, I am told, they are able to accomplish—forty and even
fifty versts at a stretch, and against the stream. No whip is ever used,
their master’s voice being quite sufficient to urge them on, for if one
of them flags the others snap at him and make him keep up the pace.