THE KAMIN RAPIDS.
A whole chapter of accidents—First touch of winter—Arrival at
Yeniseisk.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE BOAT.]
We reached the entrance to the Kamin Pass on October 10, and all of us
got up at six in the morning so as not to miss any of it. I was very
disappointed, for, though the finest sight we had yet seen on the river,
the scenery was not nearly so imposing as I had been led to expect.
Still, I suppose it is very grand for Siberia, which does not abound in
big effects. For about half a mile, high but unpicturesque rocks rose
precipitously from the swirling waters, their summits covered with dense
forests of rigid pine trees, which in themselves took away from the
effect, so regularly did they grow. One of our party said it reminded
him of the Hudson River. With the utmost difficulty the _Phœnix_ managed
to hold her own against the tremendous current, and, with the engines
going at their utmost pressure, after eight hours’ steaming got past the
worst of the rapids, with all her barges in tow—an unprecedented feat in
Yenisei navigation—and this notwithstanding her damaged propeller.
[Illustration: A RIVER PILOT.]
In the mean time the little tug was having a _mauvais quart d’heure_—for,
with her heavy barge, the stream proved too much for her powers; it
was very different work to towing on the Thames—and, as ill-luck would
have it, eventually ended by her being driven ashore some distance away
from us, and in such shallow water that we could not get near enough to
render her any assistance with the _Phœnix_. For two whole days all our
available men were working at her before they were successful in getting
her off. It was dreary work hanging about the deserted ship during this
time, for all the boats were being used, so we could not get ashore,
although an adventurous member of our party tried to fix up a raft, but
was not successful beyond giving us a couple of hours’ hard work in
hauling the confounded logs on board again after his fruitless attempt.
However, at last we got under way again, and arrived at the village of
Worogoro, where we had to stop for wood.
[Illustration: THE RIVER YENESEI AT WOROGORO.
[_To face p. 90._]
The village itself offered little of interest, but I had heard that a
wealthy Tartar lived there, so was looking forward to seeing something
quite startling and Asiatic in appearance, and had my sketch-book ready.
Imagine my disappointment when there came on board what looked more like
a middle-aged English butcher than anything else, even to wearing the
usual sort of blue coat. There was absolutely nothing of the “Tartar”
about him; he looked, on the contrary, a very mild and inoffensive sort
of individual, very unlike what one used to conjure up in one’s mind
in the good old schoolboy days. Close to the village we saw the first
cultivated ground we had seen since leaving Norway, in July.
The next morning an accident happened as they were getting up anchor,
and caused tremendous excitement. By some means the anchor dragged, and
the ship, swinging round with the swift stream, caused the chain to slip
from the capstan, and it ran out with such tremendous velocity that the
capstan was absolutely smashed to pieces. For a moment all the men around
were panic-stricken, and although, to my mind, there was absolutely no
danger, as we were quite close to the shore, I saw the captain and the
custom-house officer devoutly crossing themselves and muttering prayers.
Luckily, it all ended well, for we managed to recover the anchor and
chain by means of the derrick, and the capstan was soon replaced by the
carpenter, and we now began to congratulate ourselves that at last we
should get fairly under way once more.
But we were destined to undergo many more vexatious mishaps before we
reached our journey’s end. The tug, which all along had been unable to
keep up with us, and had proved itself our “old man of the sea,” not
having turned up when we anchored the previous night, and there being
no signs of her, a boatful of wood in charge of three men was sent back
in case she had run short of fuel. To our great annoyance, she did not
turn up in the morning. Hour after hour passed by, and at last it was
decided to leave the barges and run back to see what had happened. It
was certainly most provoking, but the only thing to do. So back we went
at a tremendous pace with the stream, and about ten miles off we came
up with the laggard—anchored, as her fuel had run out. To our great
astonishment we learnt that they had seen nothing of the boat with the
wood we had sent them; it must, then, have passed them during the night,
and they informed us their anchor light had gone out at one moment. So
here was another delay, as we had now to go in search of this boat. Off
we started, and another seven miles or so farther down we at last sighted
it—much to our relief, for we were almost beginning to fear something had
happened. The men, as ill-luck would have it, had evidently managed to
pass the tug during the night at the exact moment when its lantern went
out. The day was nearly gone by the time we got back to the barges again.
Still, as there was a moon rising, it was decided to proceed without
further delay.
The stream during the next few days was so swift that, with our broken
propeller, we barely did two versts an hour; it was little better than
standing still, and the vibration all over the ship was so great that it
was impossible to read with comfort, still less to attempt to sketch or
write. However, we were thankful to be making any headway at all, and to
be able to pass a short time without any more mishaps. But our respite
was not for long. We managed to run short of wood at some distance from
the next “station,” and, as we had on a previous similar occasion burnt
up all our available spare timber, we had to stop and send the men ashore
to cut down some trees. The water was so deep that, although the _Phœnix_
was drawing eight feet, she was able to go so close in to the shore that
we could put out a plank from her deck and walk off on to _terra firma_.
Two of us took advantage of the opportunity to stretch our legs, and,
taking our rifles, started on a ramble. The forest grew right down to
the river’s bank, and was almost impenetrable; dense underwood and huge
fallen trees barred one’s passage at every step, as though to warn one
from endeavouring to penetrate too far into its gloomy recesses, while
through the gaunt fir trees the rushing wind seemed to moan and sob as
though at the approach of winter. It was a dreary, uncanny sort of place,
and thoroughly realized my idea of the wilds of Siberia—so much so, in
fact, that I felt glad to get out of its mysterious twilight into the
broad daylight again.
Our custom-house officer and the first engineer the next morning took
their guns and started off in search of game; they arranged to be back
in a couple of hours, in readiness for our departure, but when we were
ready to start they had not reappeared. Two hours more passed, and still
no signs of them. We began to get anxious, and kept the steam-whistle
going incessantly, in case they did not know the time. When at last they
were quite four hours late, we could come to no other conclusion but
that they had lost themselves, or that something had happened, so we
immediately organized search-parties, and in a few minutes a dozen of us,
fully armed, started off in different directions into the forest. It was
a difficult task we had before us, and not unlike the proverbial “looking
for a needle in a bundle of hay,” as no one had the slightest idea which
way the two men had taken. It was arranged that, as soon as they were
found (for we seemed to have no doubt about it), the steam-whistle should
be sounded four times as a signal to the other parties to return to the
ship. Our satisfaction may easily be imagined when, half an hour or so
afterwards, we heard the welcome sound which announced that what might
have been yet another serious affair had come to a safe conclusion.
On getting back, we saw the two men in a state of utter exhaustion; in
fact, if one of the party who had found them had not had the forethought
to take his flask of brandy with him, they would never have been able
to get back without being carried, as they were dead-beat, having had
nothing to eat that morning. They told us that they had come across a
bear’s trail, and in their excitement following it lost their way, and
although they could hear the steam-whistle in the distance they could not
localize the sound, and were actually going away rather than to it, as it
appeared. They said they were on the point of giving in when they were
found, for night was coming on, and they were famished with hunger and
cold. We quite believed them, for they presented a pitiable appearance.
They only had three damp matches and a few cartridges left, and had
not even a compass to guide them. This bear-hunting experience will,
therefore, probably teach them a lifelong lesson—not to venture into a
dense and almost impassable forest, without a compass and taking one’s
bearings on it beforehand. However, fortunately, as it happened, it was a
case of “all’s well that ends well,” although another day had been lost.
We were now getting well within touch of our destination, and on arrival
at the village of Nasymovo, some eighty miles from Yeniseisk, sent a
messenger on ahead with letters and telegrams with reference to Mr. Lee’s
death. He was a veritable messenger of death, and we felt what an awful
shock it would be for his family. Still, it was better they should know
of it before we arrived. This village, the last of importance we should
stop at, was quite a big place, the principal street certainly being
nearly a mile in length. There were several really good shops, in one of
which, among a host of miscellaneous articles displayed, was a package
of “Brook’s Crochet Cotton.” It was quite refreshing to see the English
label.
That evening we had our first touch of real cold, the thermometer going
down to 20° Fahr.—quite a respectable commencement, although none of our
Russians seemed to think much of it. We now proceeded more rapidly, as
the current was less swift, and we were looking forward to the speedy
termination of the most tedious journey any of us had ever made. We
began to count the hours which now separated us from civilization, for
the little town which we were now approaching seemed a sort of El Dorado
after our cramped shipboard quarters. No further incident occurred, and
at eight o’clock in the evening of Saturday, October 25, we anchored
off Yeniseisk, the goal which we had so long been striving to reach,
and which we had reached, in spite of all adverse prophecies, thus
accomplishing the feat of landing an important cargo of British goods in
the very heart of Siberia.
[Illustration: STORING THE WINTER FORAGE: A VILLAGE SCENE ON THE YENISEI.
[_To face p. 96._]