We ran upon a rock, stove a hole in the steamer, and are now undergoing
repairs. We are aground on a sandbank and pumping out water. On the left is
the Russian bank, on the right the Chinese. If I were back at home now I
should have the right to boast: “Though I have not been in China I have
seen China only twenty feet off.” We are to stay the night in Pokrovskaya.
We shall make up a party to see the place.
If I were a millionaire I should certainly have a steamer of my own on the
Amur. It is a fine, interesting country. I advise Yegor Mihailovitch not to
go to Tuapse but here; there are here by the way neither tarantulas nor
phalangas. On the Chinese side there is a sentry post--a small hut; sacks
of flour are piled up on the bank, ragged Chinamen are dragging the sacks
on barrows to the hut. And beyond is the dense, endless forest.
Some schoolgirls are travelling with us from Irkutsk--Russian faces, but
not good-looking.
POKROVSKAYA STANITSA,
June 23, 1890.
I have told you already we are aground on a sandbank. At Ust-Stryelka,
where the Shilka joins the Argun (see map), the steamer went aground in two
and a half feet of water, struck a rock, and stove in several holes in its
side and, the hold filling with water, the steamer sank to the bottom. They
began pumping out water and putting on patches; a naked sailor crawled into
the hold, stood up to his neck in water, and tried the holes with his
heels. Each hole was covered on the inside with cloth smeared with grease:
they lay a board on the top, and stuck a support upon the latter which
pressed against the ceiling like a column. Such is the repairing. They were
pumping from five o’clock in the evening till night, but still the water
did not abate: they had to put off the work till morning. In the morning
they discovered some more holes, and began patching and pumping again. The
sailors pump while we, the general public, pace up and down the decks,
criticize, eat, drink, and sleep; the captain and his mate do the same as
the general public, and seem in no hurry. On the right is the Chinese bank,
on the left is the stanitsa, Pokrovskaya, with the Cossacks of the Amur; if
one likes one can stay in Russia, if one likes one can go into China, there
is nothing to hinder one. It is insufferably hot in the daytime, so that
one has to put on a silk shirt. They give us dinner at twelve o’clock,
supper at seven.
Unluckily the steamer _Vyestnik_ coming the other way with a crowd of
passengers is approaching the stanitsa. The _Vyestnik_ cannot go on either,
and both steamers stay stock-still. There is a military band on the
_Vyestnik_, consequently there has been a regular festival. All yesterday
the band was playing on deck to the entertainment of the captain and
sailors, and consequently to the delay of the repairing. The feminine half
of the public were highly delighted; a band, officers, naval men ... oh!
The schoolgirls were particularly pleased. Yesterday evening we walked
about the Cossack settlement, where the same band, hired by the Cossacks,
was playing. Today we are continuing the repairs.
The captain promises that we shall start after dinner, but he promises it
listlessly, gazing away into space--obviously he does not mean it. We are
in no haste. When I asked a passenger, “Whenever are we going on?” he
asked, “Why, aren’t you all right here!”
And that’s true. Why not stay, as long as we are not bored?
The captain, his mate, and his agent are the acme of politeness. The
Chinese in the third class are good-natured and funny. Yesterday a Chinaman
sat on the deck and sang something very mournful in a falsetto voice; as he
did so his profile was funnier than any caricature. Everybody looked at him
and laughed, while he took not the slightest notice. He sang falsetto and
then began singing tenor. My God, what a voice! It was like the bleat of a
sheep or a calf. The Chinese remind me of good-natured tame animals, their
pigtails are long and black like Natalya Mihailovna’s. Apropos of tame
animals, there’s a tame fox cub living in the toilet-room. It sits and
looks on as one washes. If it sees no one for a long time it begins to
whine.
What strange conversations one hears! They talk of nothing but gold, the
mines, the Volunteer Fleet and Japan. In Pokrovskaya all the peasants and
even the priests mine for gold. The exiles follow the same occupation and
grow rich as quickly as they grow poor. There are people who look like
artizans and who never drink anything but champagne, and walk to the tavern
on red baize which is laid down from their hut to the tavern.
* * * * *
The Amur country is exceedingly interesting. Highly original. The life here
is such as people have no conception of in Europe. It reminds me of
American stories. The shores of the Amur are so wild, original, and
luxuriant that one longs to live there all one’s life. I am writing these
last few lines on the 25th of June. The steamer rocks and prevents my
writing properly. We are moving again. I have come a thousand versts down
the Amur already, and have seen a million gorgeous landscapes; I feel giddy
with ecstasy.... It’s marvellous scenery, and how hot! What warm nights!
There is a mist in the mornings but it is warm.
I look through an opera-glass at the shore and see a prodigious number of
ducks, geese, grebes, herons and all sorts of creatures with long beaks.
This would be the place to take a summer villa in! At a little place called
Reinov a goldminer asked me to see his sick wife. As I was leaving him he
thrust into my hands a roll of notes. I felt ashamed. I was beginning to
refuse and thrust it back, saying that I was very rich myself; we talked
together for a long time trying to persuade each other, and yet in the end
fifteen roubles remained in my hands. Yesterday a goldminer with the face
of Petya Polevaev dined in my cabin; at dinner he drank champagne instead
of water, and treated us to it.
The villages here are like those on the Don. There is a difference in the
buildings but nothing to speak of. The inhabitants don’t keep the fasts,
and eat meat even in Holy Week; the girls smoke cigarettes, and old women
smoke pipes--it is the correct thing. It’s strange to see peasants with
cigarettes! And what liberalism! Oh, what liberalism!
The air on the steamer is positively red-hot with the talk that goes on.
People are not afraid to talk aloud here. There’s no one to arrest them and
nowhere to exile them to, so you can be as liberal as you like. The people
for the most part are independent, self-reliant, and logical. If there is
any misunderstanding at Ust-Kara, where the convicts work (among them many
politicals who don’t work), all the Amur region is in revolt. It is not the
thing to tell tales. An escaped convict can travel freely on the steamer to
the ocean, without any fear of the captain’s giving him up. This is partly
due to the absolute indifference to everything that is done in Russia.
Everybody says: “What is it to do with me?”
I forgot to tell you that in Transbaikalia the drivers are not Russians but
Buriats. A funny people! Their horses are regular vipers; they could never
be harnessed without trouble--more furious than fire-brigade horses. While
the trace-horse is being harnessed, its legs are hobbled; as soon as they
are set free the chaise goes flying to the devil, so that one holds one’s
breath. If one does not hobble a horse while it is being harnessed, it
kicks, knocks bits out of the shaft with its hoofs, tears the harness, and
behaves like a young devil that has been caught by the horns.
June 26.
We are getting near Blagoveshtchensk. Be well and merry, and don’t get used
to being without me. No doubt you have already? Respectful greetings to
all, and a friendly kiss.