after a week’s steady and incessant rain, but faintly describes the
condition in which we found the road. In many places it was entirely
submerged, and we had to trust to Providence and the yemstchik’s
knowledge of the road for safety. At one place the water was well over
the hind wheels. We were not sorry to emerge on dry land again, for we
had to cross a broken-down bridge during this aquatic interlude, when a
false move to the right or left would have precipitated us into a ditch
about ten feet deep and broad in proportion. For the first eighteen
versts it was quite impossible to attempt a faster pace than a walk, and
several times we stuck altogether. It was anxious work, for a loosened
bolt or screw, a broken axle, may, in Siberia, detain one for a week or
more. We had not much confidence in our yemstchik, who could not at the
most have been more than twelve or thirteen years old, and should have
fared badly had we adhered to our original intention and started
over-night, for the horses did exactly as they liked. What the little
imp lacked in strength, however, he made up in assurance, and waved his
whip about, alternately cursing and praising his team after the most
approved style. We had a narrow escape of an upset once when the horses,
taking fright at a dead horse on the side of the road, made a bolt for
it into the forest. Luckily a large hole into which the tarantass dived,
brought us up all standing, and saved us from further mishap. During
this performance two of the traces broke, and we were detained over an
hour repairing them. Three télégas and a tarantass having passed us
meanwhile, we were detained at the next station (Kourjinskaya) for
twenty-four hours.
The utterly inadequate number of horses kept at each station may be said
to have been one of our chief drawbacks. Whenever, on the road, one has
the misfortune to meet the post, it is impossible, although the mail
consists, as a rule, of four or six tarantasses, at the most, to procure
horses, and a long weary wait is the result. Sometimes, when we had the
post-house to ourselves, it was bearable enough, but on most occasions
our sufferings were shared by a number of other travellers. Sitting or
standing in a bare, whitewashed room for half a dozen hours together, is
not conducive to good temper or conversation, and on these occasions the
waiting-room reminded me of nothing so much as a cage of wild beasts,
each eyeing the other with envy, hatred, and malice, the women
especially looking as if they would like to tear each other’s eyes out.
The peculiarities of men too came out at such times, some taking the
matter coolly and philosophically, alternately drinking tea and smoking
cigarettes, till their horses were ready; others pacing restlessly up
and down the room, cursing the post-master, yemstchiks, and everybody
connected with the establishment; others, again, subsiding into a state
of dull apathy, and staring straight before them for hours together. I
often thought at such times of men I know in England, to whom a wait of
a couple of hours in a snug waiting-room, surrounded by papers and
books, food and drink, is an excuse for a good British grumble. I
thought of what they would say to a detention of three days, or so, in
one of these post-houses, with nothing but tea for nourishment, nothing
to look at but four dirty whitewashed walls, nothing to do but to pace
up and down for hours together, to try and keep the circulation going in
one’s tired, hungry frame, a thousand-mile journey before them, and
probably a dozen such delays ere they reached their final destination!
I will not weary the reader with an account of every stage. Suffice it
to say that we reached Nijni Udinsk, after some delay and trouble, on
the 31st of August; and with the exception of the desert, I do not think
I have ever made a rougher or more uncomfortable journey than that from
Touloung to this town. The last stage was a terrible one, and I thought
more than once we should have to abandon all hope of reaching Nijni
Udinsk that night at any rate. About half-way the horses, of which we
had seven in, shied while crossing a rickety wooden bridge, both near
wheels went over the edge, and for a few moments things looked ugly.
Though the team plunged a good deal, however, no harm was done, and by
the aid of two young fir-trees that our yemstchiks cut down, we got the
clumsy vehicle hoisted on to _terra firma_ again. Although well broken
into jolting and shaking by camel-cart experiences, I do not think I
ever made a more fatiguing journey. Our bodies and bones ached for days
after.
We were detained some time at the ferry over the River Uda, on which
river the town of Nijni Udinsk is situated, for a caravan of over 200
carts was being taken across, and it was quite an hour before we managed
to persuade the ferryman to take us on board. In the meantime we amused
ourselves watching the busy scene and the frantic efforts made by men
and horses to drag the heavy tea-carts up the steep river-bank. Not a
hundred yards off, a young and pretty woman was bathing in the stream,
stark naked, a proceeding which seemed to amuse not a little the ragged,
wild-looking fellows in charge of the caravan. Some, bolder than the
rest, ventured to embark in an interchange of chaff with the fair
bather, who, far from being dismayed, only laughed and showed her white
teeth derisively, giving her assailants back as good as they gave.
Siberian women are certainly not troubled with shyness.
It was dusk when we reached the post-house, a large brick building, with
a good garden and shady courtyard. The waiting-room was taken possession
of by five Japanese youths, who, after a course of study at St.
Petersburg, were returning to Japan _viâ_ Wladivostok and the Amour. But
the innkeeper’s wife (a pretty flaxen-haired Swede), would not hear of
our sharing the big room with the Japs, but laid us a table in her own
private sitting-room, where, at the open window, looking on to the
garden, redolent of sweetbriar and honeysuckle, we enjoyed the first
comfortable meal we had made for nearly a fortnight. Our little hostess
prepared it with her own hands, and took quite a motherly interest in
us, a kindness we could not but repay by visiting and admiring her
firstborn (a little chubby-cheeked girl of a few weeks old), the
miniature of her mother, that lay asleep in a swinging cradle suspended
from the ceiling of her neat, chintz-curtained bedroom. That all
post-houses were like this, I thought, as I turned in on a comfortable
(and stuffed) sofa. A slight touch of frost in the air made a couple of
blankets, that our little friend insisted on giving us, very acceptable,
and a last look at the night having shown us a bright moon and cloudless
sky, we slept soundly without any fear of rain on the morrow.
Had we consulted our own wishes, we should have stayed at least a couple
of days at this friendly oasis, but time would not allow us more than a
few hours’ rest, and bidding farewell to our kind little hostess, we had
left Nijni Udinsk far behind us ere the sun had fairly risen. The town,
is neatly and regularly built, and contains about four thousand
inhabitants. Though the pavements are of wood, many of the houses are of
whitewashed brick, which, with their bright green roofs and shutters,
somewhat relieve the melancholy effect which in every Siberian town is
produced by the sombre colour of the roads, and unpainted wooden houses.
There were but one or two shops, however, for the sale of stores of all
kinds; and the streets, though broad and regular, were unlighted.
All went “merry as a marriage bell” for two days after leaving Nijni
Udinsk, the weather, though cold and frosty at nights, remaining bright
and fine. The aspect of the country, too, was more picturesque and
cheerful than any we had passed through since leaving the Trans-Baikal.
The roads were smoother and wider. By the side, wild roses, convolvuli,
bluebells, and wild hyacinth grew luxuriantly——while a kind of high,
red-leafed fern, common in this district, gave a pleasant and bright
relieving spot of colour to the dull, monotonous pine and larch.
As a set-off to these advantages, however, we suffered terribly from
mosquitoes, which swarmed by day, but which, as soon as the sun had set,
were driven in by the cold. So bad were they, that the peasants we
passed on the road or in the cornfields wore black gauze veils, fastened
like a mask over their faces, and we had cause to regret not having
provided ourselves with these safeguards, for, for the few days they
lasted, these plagues gave one no rest for an instant, and one’s blood
was in a constant state of fever, from the irritation set up by the
poisonous bites. Fortunately they did not trouble us long, and once past
Atchinsk disappeared altogether.
Scarcely a day now passed that we did not meet prisoners, in gangs of
two to three hundred each, on their way to Irkoutsk, Chita, and other
parts of Eastern Siberia. The appearance of our tarantass was invariably
the signal for stragglers to fall in, and as we passed through the
crowd, the poor wretches pressed in eagerly on either side and begged
for kopeks, cigarettes, and food, though, as regarded the latter
necessary, we were usually as badly off as they themselves. We noticed
that the further west we got, many more of the men wore chains, probably
on account of the facilities for escape being easier. Also that, while
the ostrogs east of Tomsk are insecure, dilapidated buildings, those to
the west are nearly all new and substantial-looking, surrounded by a
double guard of Cossacks, and protected in many cases by a brick wall
surmounted with high chevaux de frise.
I remember meeting a gang, two days after leaving Nijni Udinsk. It was a
wild, desolate bit of road, and though a bright, sunny day, in
semi-darkness, for the forest trees, through which we were passing,
almost met over our heads. Suddenly, a turn of the road brought us full
in view of one of the dismal grey processions with which we had now
grown familiar, and as it was a large gang, we ordered the yemstchik to
draw up for a few moments while they filed by. Poor wretches! There was
but little talking or laughing that day. The heat and thirst had taken
all desire for conversation out of them, for it had been a long stage,
of nearly thirty versts, from the last ostrog, and they had still seven
more to do before resting for the night. Mosquitoes fairly swarmed in
this defile, and the Cossacks on guard wore black gauze masks. I
noticed, with satisfaction, that one of the brave fellows had taken off
his to give to one of the women, who was struggling along with
difficulty, two children clinging to her skirts. Seeing we had pulled
up, they halted, as if by common consent, as they passed us, and led by
one of the men, with a sweet tenor voice, struck up the sad, pathetic
air, “Kouda Doroga Sibiri,” we had heard on Lake Baikal. It was an
impressive scene, the guard carelessly resting on their rifles, the men
with their sunburnt, weary faces, the women in long robes of white,
their children clinging to them, and joining with tiny treble in the
tune they knew so well. All sang in parts, and correctly, and with over
two hundred voices, joining in the sweet melancholy air, the effect may
be imagined.
About a mile further on we passed four télégas, containing political
prisoners. On either side of each cart marched a Cossack with fixed
bayonet and loaded rifle. The men, three in number, were in ordinary
walking dress, which showed plainly the order to which they had belonged
in happier days. It was easy to distinguish the _homme du peuple_ in
shabby, greasy garments taken from the scum of Petersburg or Odessa,
from the slight, well-built man in the next téléga, in neat tweed suit,
holding a cigarette in his small white hand, evidently a gentleman, who
perhaps, but a few short months before had been surrounded with every
comfort and luxury. The woman in the last téléga was neatly clad in a
black silk gown, beginning to show slight symptoms of wear, and a red
worsted “Tam O’Shanter” hat, a head-dress very popular among lady
political exiles in Siberia. Though not pretty, she had a bright, clever
face, and returned our bow with a pleasant smile and nod. We afterwards
heard that this was Madame B————, who, for an alleged conspiracy against
the Government at Odessa, was on her way to the mines of Kara, in the
Trans-Baikal provinces, for life.
A large and luxurious tarantass brought up the rear of this weird
procession. In the vehicle were a Cossack officer, and, seated by his
side, a remarkably pretty and well-dressed woman. We had a good look at
her, our yemstchiks stopping by mutual consent to have a chat and give
the horses breathing-time. She did not look particularly enamoured of
her companion, a coarse, red-faced man with bristly grey moustache,
bloodshot eyes, and spectacles. Hers was a true Russian face——small
regular features, deep blue (almost violet) eyes, and that sweet sad
expression rarely seen out of the Czar’s dominions. In reply to my
question, as soon as we had resumed our journey, if he knew who the
lovely vision was, our yemstchik replied with a wink: “A prisoner’s
wife.” The wink spoke volumes, and fully explained the poor woman’s
aversion to her travelling companion.
She was, we afterwards heard, the wife of Count L., the young and
good-looking prisoner we had met in the téléga. It must have been
somewhat tantalizing to travel on day after day, week after week, within
sight of his wife, and yet not be allowed to open his lips; more
maddening still to see the advances made by the untutored boor who a
very short time before would have deemed it an honour to be allowed even
to address her. This is perhaps one of the hardest evils that political
exiles have to endure. The wife of a prisoner may by Russian law
accompany her husband to his destination at the expense of the
Government, on condition that she travels with the prisoners, lives on
prison food, sleeps in the ostrogs, and submits to prison discipline.
There is but one distinction made between the wife of the political
prisoner and the criminal convict, this being that the former is not
compelled to walk, but may, if she prefers, travel in a “téléga,” a
vehicle so rough and uncomfortable that walking is infinitely
preferable. But should a married woman be young and pretty, heaven help
her, especially if, as is frequently the case, the Cossack lieutenant in
charge of the party is susceptible to the charms of female beauty. No
sooner has the barge arrived at Tomsk than her persecutions commence,
nor do they end, as a rule, until the unhappy woman has ceased to resist
the advances of her brutal admirer. The commander of a prison-gang is as
great a despot in his way as the Czar of all the Russias, for there is
no one to check or gainsay him, the whole way from Tomsk to the shores
of Okhotsk, and who would take the word of a convict (and especially a
political one) against that of an officer of the Czar? In most cases the
unfortunate husband is the unconscious means by which the wife is
brought to her ruin. Threats of punishment, deprivation of food, and
even flogging are made by the human devil in charge, till at length,
worn out with repeated insults and ill-treatment, the poor wife too
often yields, and is promoted to a place in his tarantass, whence she is
forced to submit daily to the silent reproaches of the husband for whose
good, in nine cases out of ten, she has fallen.
I heard in Tomsk many sad and heart-breaking narratives, but none
perhaps so touching as the case of a young Scotchwoman, Mrs. B., whose
husband had in 1879 practised as a physician for some years in the
district of Chernigoff, European Russia. Although a liberal, Dr. B. had
religiously abstained from openly expressing his views, or meddling in
any way with politics, in fact had lived as a peaceful and industrious
citizen in every way. In the spring of 1880, however, two young women
from St. Petersburg arrived at his house with letters of introduction.
They had been studying medicine at the hospitals in the capital, and
finished the course of lectures, but wishing to continue their studies,
called upon the doctor upon their return to their native town, to ask
whether he would receive them as pupils, a proposal to which he at once
assented. The girls were then introduced to his wife, who took a fancy
to them, and a day seldom passed that one or both did not visit the
house.
One morning, about a month after their arrival, the doctor was visited
by the police superintendent, who informed him that his young friends
were political suspects, and, from information received from Petersburg,
were living on forged passports. But the next piece of news fairly
staggered him: the women were to be sent at once by administrative
process to the village of Verkhoyansk, in the province of Yakoutsk,
where in a week’s time he, the doctor was, condemned to follow them for
an indefinite number of years!
As is usual in such cases, a guard was put over the house, and Dr. B.
forbidden to leave it. To make matters worse, his wife, a young and
beautiful woman of twenty-two, was _enceinte_. But there was no help for
it. The day of his departure arrived, when poor B. excused himself on
the plea of going for a few days to Petersburg on business. It was only
two months later, when her child was born, that Mrs. B. learnt the
truth, and within a week had made up her mind to follow her husband, and
start on a journey of six thousand miles before she had really recovered
from her confinement, under circumstances before which many a strong man
would have quailed. Not possessing the necessary means for travelling by
steamer and tarantass, Mrs. B. joined a party of exiles at Tomsk, and
set out for her long, weary journey. She would, in the ordinary course
of affairs, reach her destination in sixteen months, always supposing
she was not taken ill on the road. For weeks, months, did her almost
superhuman courage and determination sustain her, and enable her to bear
the long, weary marches under a burning sun, the insufficient food, the
fetid atmosphere of ostrogs, and, worse still, the insults of her male
companions. For four months she struggled on, but the tax had been too
great on the nervous system, and on arrival at Krasnoiarsk, her mind
showed symptoms of wandering. Still the thought that every day, every
hour, was bringing her nearer her husband’s arms, gave her courage and
additional energy, and put her in better spirits, which, alas! were soon
destined to have a terrible fall. It was within three or four stages of
Irkoutsk that she heard her death-warrant. “At Irkoutsk,” said the poor
woman one fine sunny evening when, the day’s march over, she was sitting
out in the prison-yard with her fellow-prisoners, “At Irkoutsk I shall
only be one hundred and eighty miles from my husband. Only fancy, in
another month I may be at Verkholensk, and with him again.” “Is that the
Englishman who was banished from Chernigoff,” asked a “political,” a
stranger, who had just come in from Krasnoiarsk, “if so, you will have
to go a good deal further than Verkholensk to find him. Do not you know
that they have sent him to Verkhoyansk, a Yakout settlement three
thousand miles from Irkoutsk, within the Arctic circle?”
Within the Arctic circle! Poor soul! little as she knew Siberia, she
knew what that meant; knew that to reach her husband’s place of
banishment she must travel weeks and months alone, in dog or reindeer
sledges, through the arctic desolation and fever-stricken “Toundras” of
North-Eastern Asia. Next morning, however, she resumed her march
mechanically, ate and drank nothing, spoke to no one, but seemed dazed
and bewildered by the blow. The very evening of the day the gang reached
Irkoutsk (the city which throughout the weary pilgrimage had been her
haven of hope and rest), she went raving mad, and died in the criminal
asylum three days afterwards. Has any writer of fiction ever imagined a
more tragic or heart-rending story than this?
We reached Biriousinsk, a town of five thousand inhabitants, about
mid-day on the 3rd of September. Gold has lately been discovered near
here in large quantities. This event caused some surprise amongst the
gold-workers of Tomsk and Irkoutsk, for until just lately this district
had been looked upon as almost barren of mineral productions, the
richest gold-fields being situated to the north of the province of
Yeneseisk, Nertchirsk, in the Trans-Baikal, and Yuz, near the Altai
chain, on the borders of China. The whole of Siberia, however, may be
said to teem with the precious mineral, and, as a Russian once remarked
to me, “Where it has not been found, it has not been looked for!”
Silver, copper, and iron, are also found in large quantities in certain
districts of Russian Asia, as many as 40,000 lbs. of the first-named
metal being annually sent from the district of Barnaul, in South-Western
Siberia, to Petersburg. On arrival, the silver is refined, and about
three per cent. of gold extracted from it.
The Government gold and silver mines are worked by convicts, who receive
no pay for their labour. The private mines are mostly of gold, and are
leased by Government to private individuals on certain conditions. The
applicant must, however, be a Russian subject. No foreigner, although
naturalized, is permitted to rent ground for gold-digging purposes. The
land, once allotted, is the property of the lessor, until it has been
completely worked out, or has been abandoned. It then reverts to the
Crown, or if not worked by the lessor at least one out of every three
years, the claim is forfeited to Government, who may let it out to
another applicant. All gold must be delivered to the imperial mint at a
fixed price, which leaves a good profit to the Government. Many private
mines employ as many as two and even three thousand men. The Siberian
peasant seldom goes to work at the diggings; he can earn far more by
agriculture at home, for Siberia is as rich a country above-ground as
below. The workmen employed by the mine owners are generally discharged
convicts, who have been sent to Siberia for theft and other minor
offences. Bad characters of all sorts——drunkards, vagabonds, the scum of
Irkoutsk and Tomsk——are the kind of men who find refuge in the private
gold-mines, which, as may be imagined, are perfect pandemoniums when
compared with the strict and well-regulated government establishments.
The usual pay of a miner is four roubles (about 8_s._) a month. On
making the contract, however, he is paid a sum of money varying from six
to ten English pounds sterling. With this he proceeds solemnly and
deliberately to get drunk, nor does he desist till every penny of the
“Hand-money,” as it is called, is exhausted. When sufficiently sober, he
is sent off with a couple of hundred companions to the diggings. The
working season lasts about a hundred and twenty days, and terminates, at
latest, by the 15th of September. Work commences at 3 a.m. all weathers,
and is seldom finished till eight or nine o’clock at night. The workmen
are, therefore, as may be imagined, well fed. Each man gets from 1½ to 2
lbs. of fresh beef per diem, salt, buckwheat, and as much black bread as
he can eat. His lodgings, too, are in most cases good, and well
ventilated, and every gold-mine owner is bound by Government to keep up
a fully-equipped hospital, with a resident surgeon and staff of
assistants on the premises. Besides the fixed rations of food, a large
stock of “vodka” is also kept for the men, who get a tumbler-full of the
spirit once or twice a week, by way of warding off ague, and other
malarial attacks. A pound of brick tea is also allowed each man per
month. When the season is over, the majority of the gangs find their way
to one of the large towns with the balance of their wages, and spend
their money in drink and debauchery, till the return of the summer, and
this accounts largely for the frequency of crime in Tomsk and Irkoutsk.
The idea of saving money or in any way bettering his condition rarely
enters the head of a Siberian gold-digger.
We were not detained long at Biriousinsk, and after a substantial
breakfast of tea and boiled eggs, took the road again, and by seven
o’clock that evening had rolled off nearly fifty versts. At Ilinskaya,
however, we were brought to a sudden check. Our off wheel had caught
fire, and it was only on discovering this that we remembered that in our
eagerness to push on, we had for the last half-dozen stages neglected to
oil the axles, an operation that should be performed at the very least
every other stage.
We made up our minds therefore to stop the night, and push on to Kansk
early the next morning, for clouds gathering to windward looked anything
but reassuring. About midnight I was awoke from a delicious dream of
home and its comforts, to find a huge, shapeless fur-clad figure
standing over me, and in a loud and imperious voice, commanding me to
rise and get horses. “Yeshchi lochade,”[15] it yelled, as I with
difficulty made out that my nocturnal visitor was a woman. Vainly I
endeavoured to make her understand that I was not the post-master, but
all to no purpose. The more I reasoned, the more she stormed, till even
Lancaster turned uneasily in his slumbers. “Get me horses,” shrieked the
gorgon, “get me horses at once, or,” and here she pointed dramatically
to the complaint-book. At last, losing all patience, she knelt down, and
seizing my shoulders, shook me with masculine force. Thinking the joke
had gone a little too far, I was about to summon the post-master, when
that worthy appeared. Then with true Siberian politeness, and without a
word of apology, the gorgon turned upon him, a small meek man, who was
utterly powerless to compete with this dread vision of the night. Her
system seemed to pay, for in less than half an hour the horses were in
and we heard her jingle out of the yard, leaving us to our slumbers in
peace.
The rain came on a few versts from Ilinskaya with every appearance of
settling in for a steady downpour. The landscape to-day was less wooded
and more cultivated than any we had passed since leaving Irkoutsk. A
couple of post tarantasses passed us a few versts from Kansk, returning
to Ilinskaya. Their drivers were fast asleep inside, coiled up out of
the rain. Our yemstchik did not attempt to wake them. Although we were
on the summit of a steep hill, he gave the horses a cut over the
quarters and sent them careering away down the decline full gallop. I
did not see what happened. This is thought a good joke in Siberia.
Perhaps the most trying time to a beginner on wheels in Siberia is
getting on board the river ferries, when each yemstchik vies with the
other who shall gallop the quickest on board and pull up the shortest
without going over the other side. As the ferries were invariably
approached by a steep road cut down the river-bank, there was no lack of
excitement on these occasions. I remember once, just before reaching
Krasnoiarsk, our driver, who was somewhat intoxicated, overshot the
mark, one of his horses tumbling over the side, and only being got back
with great difficulty. Rarely a day passed, that one of our outside
horses did not fall, once or twice at least, but no yemstchik ever pulls
up for anything under a broken rein or wheel.
The post-horses are game, wiry little beasts, ranging from 14 hands 2
in. to 15 hands. Though rough and ungroomed, they are well fed, and they
need be, for a rest of only six hours is allowed between the stages. In
busy times, such as, for instance, the great fair of Nijni Novgorod,
when traders flock to the World’s Fair from all parts of Asia, many of
the poor beasts die from sheer fatigue. The usual number used in a
tarantass or téléga is three, or a “troika,” harnessed abreast. In bad
weather, when the roads are deep, four or five are used. We have had as
many as seven in, and even with that number failed to progress quicker
than at a walk! The harness and reins are of the most primitive
description, and made of rope, while the shaft horse wears the high yoke
collar, with bells attached, which seems such a useless appendage
(except for the look of the thing) in Russian harness.
For cleverness I have never seen the equal of these game, wiry little
animals. I recollect on one occasion (when crossing the Yenisei River)
the guard-rail running round the ferry boat was quite five feet high. On
disembarking, there was a scramble, for the outlet was too narrow to
admit of five horses (the number we had in). Our outside horse was
consequently jammed up against the rail. With a run it would have been
an extraordinary jump to get over, nothing short of a miracle under
present circumstances, for the other horses were plunging madly in their
endeavours to get once more on to terra firma. But the little beast
remained quite cool. Not in the least put out by the row and confusion,
he simply reared up, rested his fore-feet on the top of the rail, and
sliding over on his stomach, fell heavily in a heap on the other side.
In another second he had picked himself up, and we were off again.
I was much struck by the scarcity of bay horses. All are chestnut, grey,
or dun, the latter colour predominating. I did not see more than half a
dozen bay horses the whole way from Irkoutsk to Tomsk, though from first
to last we must have used quite four hundred, and seen four or five
times that number.
The yemstchik or driver is a stupid, good-natured creature, addicted to
vodka when he can get it. As the drink-money is only fifteen kopeks a
stage (and many travellers do not give that), they have not much
opportunity of gratifying this penchant, for tobacco runs away with most
of their money. I can safely say I do not think I ever saw a yemstchik
without a pipe in his mouth. Though kind to a fault to his own horses,
he does not show much pity for animal life in the villages. Calves,
pigs, poultry, ducks, each had their turn, and we rarely passed through
a village without running over and killing something; the bigger the
beast, the more pleased the driver. On such occasions, he would turn
round and look at us with a smile of satisfaction, regardless of the
threats and curses of the infuriated owner as he bore the maimed or
defunct one into his cottage. This is another “joke” much in vogue with
yemstchiks! Yet, notwithstanding all we were told, we found the Siberian
yemstchik a good fellow enough, and, considering the hard work and
privation he goes through, far more sober than many men in the same
position in more civilized countries. Indeed he need be, for a single
accident on the road ensures instant dismissal, be it the fault of the
driver or not.
We spent the night at Kansk. A mysterious and speedily dressed
individual here begged to be allowed to share our tarantass and expenses
as far as Krasnoiarsk, but we declined with thanks. He was a
cutthroat-looking villain, and probably up to mischief, for he seemed
much less keen about accompanying us on seeing we were well armed.
Though we were now past the so-called “robber district,” we did not
relax our vigilance when travelling by night, till we reached Tomsk.
Kansk is a neat, well-built town of ten thousand inhabitants. In
appearance it is an Irkoutsk in miniature, though there is more attempt
at ornamentation here, some of the streets being planted with trees on
either side like boulevards. The post-house, too, was comfortable, and
there was a sofa therein stuffed with horsehair, an unwonted luxury in
Siberia. The night’s rest we looked forward to was, however, somewhat
marred by a party going on in the next apartment, and given in honour of
his birthday by the post-master; a party which, commencing at 9 p.m.,
did not break up till nearly eight the next morning, when it was time to
think of getting up and being off again. The guests were all more or
less intoxicated by midnight, and kept on coming in in relays to look at
us, as we lay feigning sleep, throughout the night. They did not break
up till about 4 a.m., after obliging us with “Volga,” the boat-song I
have mentioned, at the top of their voices, and all in different keys.
It was past ten o’clock next morning before the fumes of the vodka had
sufficiently evaporated to enable the fuddled post-master to produce a
troika. We were not sorry to make a late start, however, for the morning
was bitterly cold, and the roads coated with ice, unmistakable sign of
the approach of winter, and which made us doubly anxious to push on
without delay to Tomsk.
The aspect of the country between Kansk and Atchinsk was, if not so
picturesque, much more civilized than any we had as yet passed, the
dense, thick forest being superseded by large tracts of cultivated land
and fields of corn and mustard. It had frequently been a source of
wonder to me that the timber of Siberia is not more largely worked; but
I ascertained at Tomsk that this is forbidden by the Imperial
Government. Every peasant is at liberty to cut down for his own private
use as many pine or fir trees as he likes, but the export or selling of
them is strictly forbidden. This seems strange, for a brisk trade might
be driven with Mongolia, where wood is invaluable, to say nothing of
North China, where it is also so scarce. We passed thousands of trees
killed by fires having been lighted at their foot, their trunks charred
and blackened to a height of several feet, where peasants had encamped
in the woods. In dry weather these occasionally set fire to neighbouring
trees, and large tracts of country are devastated by the flames.
We rattled off the two hundred odd versts separating Kansk from
Krasnoiarsk with but little delay, being only detained twice on the
road, once at Ribinskaya, where, meeting the post, we were delayed for
nine hours, and at Balanskaya, our axle having caught fire and worn down
to a dangerous extent, without our being aware of the mischief. Had we
known the trouble in store for us owing to this apparently trifling
incident, we should not have felt so light-hearted as when, having
repaired the mischief, we set off again, after a delay of seven hours,
on our journey.
At four o’clock, on the afternoon of the 7th September, we caught sight
of the blue waters of the Yenisei, winding through a fertile landscape
of plain and forest, and beyond it the red cliffs of Krasnoiarsk
standing out sharp and clear against the sky-line. We reached the ferry
about nine o’clock that evening. The town was brightly illuminated in
honour of General Ignatieff, Governor of Eastern Siberia, who was
passing through from Petersburg _en route_ to Irkoutsk; and I have
seldom seen a prettier spectacle than the illuminations presented, the
lights reflected in the dark, swift waters of the Yenisei, as we crossed
it. Darkness lent enchantment to the view, however, for as we drove
through the slushy, ill lit streets to the filthy hotel, we were almost
sorry we had not remained over-night at Botolskaya, and gone right
through the following day.
A good scrub in a bucket of water, however, worked wonders, and though
the apartment given us was dirty and entirely devoid of furniture, we
did ample justice to the supper of cold steret soup, beefsteak, and
caviare, and bottle of claret that our host (the dirtiest man, without
exception, that I have ever seen) set before us. The luxury of a change
of clothes after wearing the same for a fortnight must be experienced to
be appreciated. Our bodies were literally covered with bites, and the
sensation of a rest for a while from the intolerable itching and
irritation of the past ten days, was worth the discomfort and annoyance
one had gone through, though it was not till we were well over the
Urals, and after repeated applications of carbolic acid soap, that we
entirely got rid of that most pertinacious and venomous of insects, the
white Siberian bug.
A visitor was announced while we were at supper. This, I may mention, is
one of the chief drawbacks of Siberian travel. No matter how late the
hour, or how tired he may be, every traveller is bound, by the custom of
the country, to receive any one who chooses to call upon him, often
enough from idle curiosity. I was told in Moscow, that such persons are
often spies, employed by Government. If so, the individual who now made
his appearance had a peculiar way of pursuing his calling.
M. Dombrowski was, according to his own account, a Pole, who had been
banished to Tomsk for a short period, on account of an article written
in a Warsaw paper. He was a tall, pale young man, with washed-out
features, clad in a long black cloak about three sizes too large for
him, which he wrapped loosely about him in the fashion of a Roman toga.
His official cap, with green band and button, proclaimed him a servant
of the Russian Government; as we afterwards discovered, a clerk in the
court-house at Tomsk.
We were both tired to death, and I felt strongly inclined to get up and
kick the stranger down-stairs, when, having taken off his cap, he took
his seat at the table without invitation, produced a dialogue-book, and
calmly helped himself to a glass of claret. But the cool impudence of
the man was amusing, too, so we made the best of it, and ordered up
another bottle of wine, and a cutlet for the poor devil, who looked half
starved, and as if he had lived on wood shavings for a month or two. The
kindness was misplaced, for he utterly declined to leave till about 6
a.m., when we were compelled to eject him by main force, not a very
difficult operation after the repeated libations of kümmel and vodka of
which he had partaken at our expense. Under their influence the wretch
confessed that he had never really had an idea of accompanying us to
Tomsk; but the news had spread in less than half an hour, that two
Englishmen had arrived in Krasnoiarsk, and always having had an intense
admiration for the English nation, our friend had determined on making
our acquaintance. We had the satisfaction of paying him out and making
him feel thoroughly uncomfortable once during the evening, when
Lancaster, in answer to his toast of “England,” responded by drinking to
the health of “Poland!” “For God’s sake not too loud, gospodin,” said
our unwelcome guest. “If those words were heard by the keeper of this
hotel, they would give me another year in Siberia. There is no Poland
now.”
On leaving the hotel, our strange and now somewhat drunken acquaintance
presented us with his card, and by the aid of a dialogue-book, essayed
to convey how much he had enjoyed his evening, and morning, for the sun
was now high over the house-tops. His card (a half-sheet of note-paper),
bore the following inscription scrawled upon it with a lead pencil:——
“Monsieur le Gentilhomme,”
“(Noble) Dombrowski,
“Eau (sic) Palas de Justice,”
“Eau” Tomsk——
“La Siberie de Russie.”
I did not think it necessary to inquire whether it was customary for
Polish noblemen to wear no shirt, eat meat with their fingers,
expectorate freely during dinner, and perform various other little feats
too numerous to mention. These harmless eccentricities may have been
born of exile. The “Grentilhomme Noble” gave one, at any rate, a
favourable idea of the capacity of his race for drinking, his share
being five bottles of claret, a bottle of kümmel, and two of vodka. Bore
as he was, I could not help pitying the poor wretch, who was sent to
Tomsk nominally for six months, but had already been there nearly two
years. His salary was, he told us, 20_l._ English per annum, and on this
he had to live and clothe himself. “The criminals are better off than
we, gospodin,” he said, as he took leave of us. “Let them know in
England how we are treated in this cursed country. How a murderer who
kills his whole family, has a far easier time of it than the unhappy man
or woman who ventures to stand up for the people.”
Krasnoiarsk, which stands on a plain fringed by the precipitous cliffs
of red earth, from which the town takes its name, is neither picturesque
nor interesting. Wooden hovels here, stone palaces there, wooden
pavements, oil lamps, open drains by the roadway, deep mud in rainy
weather, blinding dust in dry; dirty, greasy men, frowsy, ill-dressed
women, Cossack soldiers, and occasional gangs of prisoners; such is the
visible population. For one thing only is Krasnoiarsk famous: its fire
brigade. There are at least thirty watch-towers in the town, and the
stations are models of smartness and cleanliness. Though so frequent at
Irkoutsk, Tomsk, and the other smaller towns, a bad fire here is rare.
We paid a visit while at Krasnoiarsk to the Whiteley of Siberia——one,
Gadolovitch, in whose establishments at Irkoutsk, Tomsk, Atchisk,
Krasnoiarsk, and Tobolsk, almost anything may be purchased, from a
Waterbury watch to a ship’s anchor, and, curiously enough, at reasonable
prices. I bought a box of revolver cartridges at Krasnoiarsk cheaper
than I should have paid for them in London or Paris.
The morning of the 9th of September saw us once more _en route_. The
road, after leaving the town, skirts for some distance the banks of the
Yenisei river, that huge volume of water which, rising on the borders of
China, traverses half Asia to discharge itself into the Gulf of Yenisei
in the Arctic Ocean, its entire length being computed to be something
over three thousand miles. It is, of course, unnavigable throughout the
winter, though that intrepid explorer, Captain Wiggins, has
satisfactorily demonstrated that, during the summer months, water
communication between England and Central Siberia is by no means
impossible.
Our axle now gave us a good deal of anxiety, for before we were many
miles out the tarantass was leaning over at a most uncomfortable angle.
The road, too, was worse than it had been since leaving Lake Baikal, and
every roll the carriage made gave us the greatest anxiety, for there was
no blacksmith procurable nearer than Atchinsk, nearly two hundred versts
off. It put us out of our suspense at Kosoulskaya by snapping in two
altogether, although we were going at a most gingerly pace,
precipitating the yemstchik into the road, where, had it not been for
the hood of the tarantass, Lancaster and I should have followed him.
Here was a pretty predicament. Luckily the horses were quiet, and stood
still while we scrambled out to ascertain the extent of the damage.
Luckier still, we were only four versts from the post-house——the last
before Atchinsk. Lopping off a couple of stout fir boughs, our yemstchik
prized the carriage up straight, and, mounting one of the horses,
galloped off to Chernoyéchinsk in quest of another axle and pair of
wheels, by the aid of which we might, at any rate, reach Atchinsk.
Luckily the day was fine, and though the mosquitoes were troublesome, we
had plenty of cigarettes and half a dozen bottles of claret, which we
had purchased at Krasnoiarsk, to while away the weary hours. Being a
lonely part of the road, we loaded the revolvers, and kept them ready in
case of need. Nothing passed us, however, the whole, long, weary day,
from eight in the morning, when the accident occurred, till 5 p.m., but
a couple of hay-carts and a gang of three hundred prisoners, most of
them in chains, followed by six télégas with political prisoners, four
women and two men, the latter on foot. Two of the women were young and
pretty, and laughed heartily, as they passed, at our woe-begone
condition, and, indeed, we must have looked somewhat ridiculous, seated
in the middle of the road in our tarantass, with the hind-wheels and
axle gone, propped up on a couple of fir-trees, solemnly discussing a
bottle of claret! A casual observer might have taken the political
exiles for a pleasure-party, to judge from the shouts of merry laughter
that rang through the forest long before they came in sight. The smart,
tweed gowns and Tam-o’-Shanter hats (this seems to be the uniform of
Nihilist ladies) looked strangely out of keeping with the rough wooden
télégas and dirty straw on which they were seated. And yet the youngest
and prettiest girl of them all was, we afterwards heard, on her way to
Irkoutsk for life. She could not have been more than eighteen, and was
as neatly turned out, with _gants de Suéde_ and neat grey dress, as if
she had come from a walk in the Bois de Boulogne or Hyde Park, instead
of a long twenty-days’ march from Tomsk. The men, too, were well dressed
and respectable looking, though their high spirits were evidently
assumed for the occasion, while those of the women were perfectly
natural.
The yemstchik returned about four o’clock, accompanied by two villagers
carrying an iron axle. It was a clumsy affair enough, having been taken
off one of the Post télégas; but as it was only a temporary affair, this
did not much signify. We arrived at Taoutinsk, the next station to
Atchinsk, at ten o’clock that night without further mishap. At times,
though, the tarantass wobbled about terribly, and we constantly expected
to find ourselves in the old position——feet upwards. The yemstchik who
drove us the last stage could not possibly have been more than twelve
years old. The stage was only sixteen versts, luckily, and I luckily
kept an eye on the proceedings of our youthful jehu; for about half way,
being about to descend a long and very steep hill, he got down from his
box, and gravely proceeded to put the skid _behind_ the front wheel
instead of before the hind one!
Atchinsk is, if not the largest, decidedly the most taking town we saw
in Siberia. It has a population of about ten thousand, and is built on
the summits of five or six low hills. The grassy hollows between these
are used as common land, where cattle, pigs, and geese roam about at
will. The cheerful aspect of the place, when compared with other
Siberian towns, is partly due to the fact that the soil is of a much
lighter colour, and nearly all the wooden buildings are painted white or
grey, picked out with bright colours. The immediate neighbourhood of
Atchinsk, too, is free of forest. The town stands in the middle of a
large grass plain watered by the Chulim river——a plain composed of large
enclosed grass meadows, where, as we drove by that bright sunshiny
morning, cattle and sheep were browsing, knee deep in rich, luxuriant
pasture, and wild flowers. Atchinsk is the one bright spot of that weary
journey——an oasis of flowers and sunshine in the dark, dreary desert of
gloom and monotony lying between Tomsk and Irkoutsk. The post-house was
clean and roomy, the waiting-room boasting a carpet, plenty of chairs,
and a sofa, while the snowy, whitewashed walls hung with bright
engravings, and the windows filled with flowers, gave a cheerful look to
the place that up till now I had thought impossible to find in a
Siberian dwelling. We were glad of a rest of twenty-four hours here (the
time necessary for the completion of our repairs), and after an
excellent breakfast of caviare, fried eggs, and beefsteak, sallied out
refreshed in body and mind to find a blacksmith.
The town was _en fête_ for some reason or other. Bells were ringing, the
houses decorated with flags and evergreens, and people all turned out in
their Sunday best. It was not reassuring, on reaching the principal
square, to find that all the shops were shut, save the public houses,
where crowds of natives were refreshing themselves with vodka and other
spirituous liquors, preparatory to the mid-day meal. Some were drinking
at the bar, others seated at the little tables by the doorway, others
rolling about in the bright sunshine outside, but all, men and women,
were even at this early hour——11.30 a.m.——more or less drunk.
The blacksmiths’ quarter was, I found, at the other end of the town, and
we had to walk nearly a mile before reaching the forge. Like many
oriental towns, each trade in Atchinsk has its own street, and we found
a regular colony of smithies, but all, alas! closed, and their owners
either inside their houses sleeping off the effects of the previous
day’s debauch (the _fête_ lasted two days), or laying in a fresh stock
of vodka and brandy in the town. We knocked at and entered at least a
dozen houses before we found a man sober enough to undertake our job.
Nor would he till we had promised to pay him a ridiculously large sum in
proportion to the work, and to keep him well provided with liquor till
it was finished. We regarded the wheel with some uneasiness for two or
three days after, but our friend, drunk as he was, had made a good job
of it, and we arrived at Tomsk without further mishap.
Leaving Atchinsk on the morning of the 11th of September, we passed the
same day between Bogotolsk and Bolshoi-Kosoul, the two high brick
pillars that mark the boundary of Eastern and Western Siberia. We had
now entered the Government of Tomsk.
The tedium of the journey now palled on one terribly. No one can
thoroughly understand the meaning of the word “monotony,” who has not
visited Siberia, and travelled for hour after hour, day after day, week
after week, along its dark, pine-girt roads. Along the whole of the
post-road from Irkoutsk, distances are marked by wooden posts, painted
black and white, placed at every verst, while at every post-station a
large board indicates the distance from the chief towns. My heart sank
whenever I looked at these and saw the word Petersburg, with the
appalling number of oughts under it. The few versts from station to
station were bad enough, but when it came to the six thousand odd
separating us from Petersburg, one almost gave up all hope of ever
seeing Europe again. However bright the sunshine or blue the sky, a
sense of depression and loneliness hung over one, impossible to shake
off. I have never, even in the depths of a Bornean forest, felt so
utterly lonely and cut off from the rest of the civilized world as when
crossing Siberia. It is rightly named by Russians, the land of exile and
sorrow; and the dreariest days I have ever experienced were those spent
in traversing the wild tract of forest and steppe between Irkoutsk and
Tomsk. One chafed and fretted at first at the daily difficulties, the
hours of delay passed in waiting for relays that never arrived——hours
that seemed endless by day, but became maddening by night. After a time,
however, one saw the folly of attempting to fight against fate, and fell
into a state of reckless apathy, a condition of mind I should recommend
any traveller adopting who intends crossing Siberia, I will not say with
comfort, but without being positively driven out of his mind. Towards
the end of our journey, nothing put us out. I verily believe if the
tarantass had stood on its head, or rather hood, we should have taken it
quite as a matter of course, and remained quietly seated till it righted
itself! Everything after the first week became mechanical. Drinking tea
at the stations, going to sleep at a moment’s notice, if there were no
horses, harnessing them at once if there were, and returning to the
depths of our gloomy vehicle, there to lie hour after hour, day after
day, with nothing to look at but the black road and eternal
pine-forests, nothing to think of save fair civilized Europe, so far
away, but to which one felt with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, every
jingle of the collar-bells was bringing us nearer. Even the scenery does
not atone for all these drawbacks. The Siberian forests are not grand,
but the trees have a dwarfish look produced by the immense plains. Not a
bird, not a sound, is heard in these vast solitudes, and when the horses
stop and the bells are silent, the stillness becomes almost oppressive.
Two stations after Atchinsk, the weather changed, and the second day out
the rain was pouring down in sheets, with the usual result, that of
wetting us through and through after the first hour. The post-houses
about here were the filthiest we had as yet come across, and saving
stale eggs and sour milk, there was absolutely nothing to eat. Yet with
all these _contretemps_, we could not grumble, for rain as it might, we
were now safe as regards the steamer, which would soon, we thought with
relief, be bearing us out of this cursed country for good and all!
There were no delays to speak of till reaching Haldiéva. But arriving
here at four o’clock on the afternoon of the 14th September, we found
all the horses engaged. We were now but some thirty versts from Tomsk,
so could afford to wait, and change our soaking garments for dry ones.
For two days and a night we had been wet through, and were chilled to
the bone.
A roaring fire and three or four glasses of vodka soon put things in a
rosier light, and we retired to rest with an assurance from the
post-master that at 4 a.m. at latest the horses would be forthcoming,
and visions of civilization and a luxurious _déjeûner à la fourchette_
at Tomsk next day, mingled with our dreams, till at about 3 a.m. the
sound of wheels and trampling of hoofs brought us back to reality.
Looking out into the yard, I descried a confused mass of télégas and
tarantasses. By-and-by a torch flashed on the gold-laced cap of a
courier standing up in a tarantass and superintending the proceedings.
It was the mail! “No horses till five to-morrow afternoon, monsieur,”
said the old post-master, as he and the courier, a smart stalwart young
fellow, armed with a long cavalry sabre and brace of revolvers, sat down
to a glass of tea and cigarette while the relays were put in. A quarter
of an hour more, and they were away again, leaving us to grumble and
curse our ill-luck, as the sound of their collar-bells died away on the
clear, frosty air. We did not get away from Haldiéva till past 5 p.m.
the following day. The clear amber light of the setting sun was flooding
the dark green forest of fir-trees when we reached Semiloujnaya, the
last station before Tomsk. The journey from Haldiéva had been a hard
one, for the country was flooded, and the water in parts well over the
axles. The last stage was a long one, twenty-nine versts, but we refused
to accede to the post-master’s pressing invitation to stay the night,
and proceed next morning. We had good cause to regret our obstinacy ere
morning. By six o’clock the relay was in, and a few minutes after we
rattled out of the village, as with a loud clashing of bells the wiry
little horses tore away on our last stage in Siberia, flinging the mud
and stones high in air behind them, as if in derision at the desolate
and depressing country we were now (thank Heaven!) fast leaving behind
us.
The sky was still grey and lowering, and the wind keen. We had now left
the forest altogether, and were traversing the vast plains that encircle
the capital of Western Siberia for some thirty miles on every side.
There is practically no road here, the yemstchiks taking their own line,
and steering for the city in their own fashion; evidently, however, our
wretched driver had but a poor eye for locality, for after floundering
helplessly about for three or four hours, he calmly pulled up in the
middle of a huge lake of water, the overflow from a stream hard by, and
confessed that he had lost his way. I looked at my watch; the hands
pointed to a quarter before midnight; we had already been six hours on
the way, and the horses were dead beat.
I resisted the temptation to pull the idiot off his perch and give him a
sound ducking. He richly deserved it, but it would have done but little
good in hastening our arrival. So we set about making casts, to use a
hunting expression, and after four hours of the coldest and most
disagreeable work that has ever fallen to my lot, a thin bright streak
appeared on the horizon. We led the horses all this time, be it
mentioned, and were as often as not up to our waists in the pools of icy
cold water that covered the marshy plain. But the longest lane must have
a turning, and by three o’clock we were rolling wearily through the
silent and deserted streets of Tomsk.
“Nothing but distance now separates us from England,” I thought as we
entered the portals of the comfortable Hôtel d’Europe, “and what is
distance when steam is at hand to overcome it!” We turned into a real
bed two hours later (with sheets and pillow-cases), and felt, after an
excellent supper, contented, not to say triumphant. Trouble, privation,
filthy post-houses, “katorgi,” were now things of the past, but as I
sank into the deep and dreamless sleep that a man can only know who has
passed twenty-two days out in the open, half starved, and wet through
the greater part of the time, the thought uppermost in my mind was: “Not
for a king’s ransom would I do this journey again.”
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
_List of Post Stations (with Distances, Telegraph Stations, and Rivers),
between Irkoutsk and Tomsk, Siberia._
(G.) Good Post-house, (B.) Bad Post-house, (F.) Uninhabitable.
VERSTS
_Irkoutsk._ (Telegraph Station. Ferry over River Angara.)
Good hotel.
Bokofskaya (G.) 13
Soukovskaya. (G.) 21
Tilminskaya. (B.) 27
Maltinskaya. (G.) 21
Polovilnaya. (G.) 29
Cheremoffskaya. (G.) 18
Koutoulik. (B.) 28
Zalarinsk. (B.) 30
Tiretskaya. _River Oka dangerous. Cross by day._ (B.) 22
Ziminskaia. (G.) 25
Kinultinskaya. Telegraph Station. (G.) 30
Listvinskaya. (G.) 20
Kouitoungskaya. (B.) 18
Tilinskaya. (F.) 23
Cheragilskaya. (B.) 18
Touloung. (B.) 26
Kourjinskaya. (B.) 25
Shabartinskaya. (G.) 21
Houdalanskaya. (G.) 21
Kirgitoulskaya. (F.) 26
_Nijni Udinsk._ Telegraph Station. (G.) 21
Oukovskaya. (F.) 28
Kamoushetzkaya. (G.) 17½
Zamzovskaya. (G.) 24
Alzaminskaya. (G.) 25
Rasgonnaia. (B.) 19½
Bayeronovskaya. (G.) 25
Biriousinsk. (G.) 21
Polovina. (G.) 23
Kloutchínskaya. (B.) 19
Tinskaya. (G.) 28
Nijni-Gatchefskaya. (G.) 25
Ilianskaya. (B.) 26
_Kansk._ Telegraph Station and River. (G.) 27
Bolshoirinskaya. (B.) 25
Klontchefskaya. (B.) 22
Borodinskaya. (B.) 16
Ribinskaya. (G.) 16
Ouyarskaya. (B.) 20
Balaiskaya. (B.) 24
Tertege. (G.) 17
Kokinskaya. (G.) 14
Botoiskaya. (B.) 25
_Krasnoiarsk._ Telegraph Station. Ferry over Yenisei River, and 29
Fair Inn.
Zaldievka. (B.) 21
Sokofskaya. (G.) 18
Malokemchougsk. (B.) 18
Ivrulskaya. (B.) 21½
Bolshitiemshimsk. (Ferry). (G.) 16
Kasoulskaya. (G.) 16
Chernoyéchinsk. (G.) 22
Taoutinsk. (B.) 16
_Atchinsk._ Telegraph Station and Ferry. (G.) 16
Bieloyarski. (G.) 13
Krasnoiejinska. (G.) 17
Bogotolsk. (G.) 30
Bolshoi-Kosoul. (B.) 16
Itatskaya. (B.) 18
Pomejoutotchnaya. (F.) 17
Tiajniskaya. (G.) 16
Souslofkaya. (G.) 28
_Marinsk._ Telegraph Station and Ferry. (G.) 24
Podielnichnaya (G.) 23
Birikoulskaya. (B.) 28
Potchitansk. (F.) 27
Kolinskaya. (G.) 23
Ichimskaya. (F.) 22
Trountaiva. (F.) 22
Haldiéva. (B.) 22
Semiloujnaya. (B.) 14
_Tomsk._ Telegraph Station. Good Inn. 29
Price of posting: Horses three kopeks, a verst each from _Irkoutsk_ to
_Bogotolsk_. From Bogotolsk to Tomsk, 1½ kopeks a verst.
—————
Footnote 12:
Extract from the _Volga Messenger_, of October 16th, 1887:——
“The entire tract of country between Tomsk and Irkoutsk is infested
with runaway convicts, so that travelling in this region, especially
on dark autumn nights, is extremely dangerous. Lately a whole family
was murdered at the distance of a few versts from Irkoutsk, and we
hear of such cases frequently enough. So bad is the state of the roads
in this respect, that the Government is about to put a stop to it by
abolishing exile to Siberia, and a proposal to this effect is now
under the consideration of the Imperial Council.”
Footnote 13:
A kind of spruce beer.
Footnote 14:
Such a one is the young and beautiful Countess Ignatieff, wife of the
Governor of Irkoutsk, who, it would seem, is as much at home in the
frozen forests of Eastern Siberia as in the salons of Paris or
Petersburg. One of her latest exploits was to accompany the general to
Yakoutsk——a voyage of three months from Irkoutsk——the greater part of
which had to be accomplished in small birch-bark canoes.
Footnote 15:
Are there any horses?
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