I arranged to ascend the Amoor on the steamer Ingodah, which was
appointed to start on the eighteenth of September. My friend Anossoff
remained at Nicolayevsk during the winter, instead of proceeding to
Irkutsk as I had fondly hoped. I found a _compagnon du voyage_ in
Captain Borasdine, of General Korsackoff’s staff. In a drenching rain
on the afternoon of the seventeenth, we carried our baggage to the
Ingodah, which lay half a mile from shore. We reached the steamer
after about twenty minutes pulling in a whale-boat and shipping a
barrel of water through the carelessness of an oarsman.
At Nicolayevsk the Amoor is about a mile and a half wide, with a depth
of twenty to thirty-five feet in the channel. I asked a resident what
he thought the average rapidity of the current in front of the town.
“When you look at it or float with it,” said he, “I think it is about
three and a half miles. If you go against it you find it not an inch
less than five miles.”
The rowers had no light task to stem the rapid stream, and I think it
was about like the Mississippi at Memphis.
The boat was to leave early in the morning. I took a farewell dinner
with Mr. Chase, and at ten o’clock received a note from Borasdine
announcing his readiness to go to the steamer. Anossoff, Chase, and
half a dozen others assembled to see us off, and after waking the
echoes and watchmen on the pier, we secured a skiff and reached the
Ingodah. The rain was over, and stars were peeping through occasional
loop-holes in the clouds.
[Illustration: SEEING OFF.]
‘Seeing off’ consumed much time and more champagne. As we left the
house I observed Chase and Anossoff each putting a bottle in his
pocket, and remarking the excellent character of their ballast. From
the quantity that revealed itself afterward the two bottles must have
multiplied, or other persons in the party were equally provided. To
send off a friend in Russia requires an amount of health-drinking
rarely witnessed in New York or Boston. If the journey is by land the
wayfarer is escorted a short distance on his route, sometimes to the
edge of the town, and sometimes to the first station. Adieus are
uttered over champagne, tea, lunch—and champagne. It was nearly
daybreak when our friends gave us the last hand-shake and went over
the side. Watching till their boat disappeared in the gloom, I sought
the cabin, and found the table covered with a beggarly array of empty
bottles and a confused mass of fragmentary edibles. I retired to
sleep, while the cabin boy cleared away the wreck.
The sun rose before our captain. When I followed their example we were
still at anchor and our boilers cold as a refusal to a beggar. Late in
the morning the captain appeared; about nine o’clock fire was kindled
in the furnace, and a little past ten we were under way. As our anchor
rose and the wheel began to move, most of the deck passengers turned
in the direction of the church and devoutly made the sign of the
cross. As we slowly stemmed the current the houses of Nicolayevsk and
the shipping in its front, the smoking foundries, and the
pine-covered hills, faded from view, and with my face to the westward
I was fairly afloat on the Amoor.
The Ingodah was a plain, unvarnished boat, a hundred and ten feet
long, and about fifteen feet beam. Her hull was of boiler iron, her
bottom flat, and her prow sharp and perpendicular. Her iron, wood
work, and engines were brought in a sailing ship to the Amoor and
there put together. She had two cabins forward and one aft, all below
deck. There was a small hold for storing baggage and freight, but the
most of the latter was piled on deck. The pilot house was over the
forward cabin, and contained a large wheel, two men, and a chart of
the river. The rudder was about the size of a barn door, and required
the strength of two men to control it. Had she ever refused to obey
her helm she would have shown an example of remarkable obstinacy.
Over the after cabin there was a cook-house, where dwelt a shabby and
unwholesome cuisinier. Between the wheels was a bridge, occupied by
the captain when starting or stopping the boat; the engines, of thirty
horse power, were below deck, under this bridge. The cabins, without
state rooms, occupied the whole width of the boat. Wide seats with
cushions extended around the cabins, and served as beds at night. Each
passenger carried his own bedding and was his own chambermaid. The
furniture consisted of a fixed table, two feet by ten, a dozen stools,
a picture of a saint, a mirror, and a boy, the latter article not
always at hand.
The cabins were unclean, and reminded me of the general condition of
transports during our late war. Can any philosopher explain why boats
in the service of government are nearly always dirty?
The personnel of the boat consisted of a captain, mate, engineer, two
pilots, and eight or ten men. The captain and mate were in uniform
when we left port, but within two hours they appeared in ordinary
suits of grey. The crew were deck hands, roustabouts, or firemen, by
turns, and when we took wood most of the male deck passengers were
required to assist. On American steamboats the after cabin is the
aristocratic one; on the Amoor the case is reversed. The steerage
passengers lived, moved, and had their being and baggage aft the
engine, while their betters were forward. This arrangement gave the
steerage the benefit of all cinders and smoke, unless the wind was
abeam or astern.
Steam navigation on the Amoor dates from 1854. In that year two wooden
boats, the Shilka and the Argoon, were constructed on the Shilka
river, preparatory to the grand expedition of General Mouravieff.
Their timber was cut in the forests of the Shilka, and their engines
were constructed at Petrovsky-Zavod. The Argoon was the first to
descend, leaving Shilikinsk on the 27th of May, 1854, and bringing the
Governor General and his staff. It was accompanied by fifty barges and
a great many rafts loaded with military forces to occupy the Amoor,
and with provisions for the Pacific fleet. The Shilka descended a few
months later. She was running in 1866, but the Argoon, the pioneer,
existed less than a decade. In 1866 there were twenty-two steamers on
the Amoor, all but four belonging to the government.
The government boats are engaged in transporting freight, supplies,
soldiers, and military stores generally, and carrying the mail. They
carry passengers and private freight at fixed rates, but do not give
insurance against fire or accidents of navigation. Passengers contract
with the captain or steward for subsistence while on board. Deck
passengers generally support themselves, but can buy provisions on the
boat if they wish. The steward may keep wines and other beverages for
sale by the bottle, but he cannot maintain a bar. He has various
little speculations of his own and does not feed his customers
liberally. On the Ingodah the steward purchased eggs at every village,
and expected to sell them at a large profit in Nicolayevsk. When we
left him he had at least ten bushels on hand, but he never furnished
eggs to us unless we paid extra for them.
One cabin was assigned to Borasdine and myself, save at meal times,
when two other passengers were present. One end of it was filled with
the mail, of which there were eight bags, each as large as a Saratoga
trunk and as difficult to handle. The Russian government performs an
‘express’ service and transports freight by mail; it receives parcels
in any part of the empire and agrees to deliver them in any other part
desired. From Nicolayevsk to St. Petersburg the charges are
twenty-five copecks (cents) a pound, the distance being seven thousand
miles. It gives receipts for the articles, and will insure them at a
charge of two per cent. on their value.
Goods of any kind can be sent by post through Russia just as by
express in America. Captain Lund sent a package containing fifty sable
skins to his brother in Cronstadt, and another with a silk dress
pattern to a lady in St. Petersburg. In the mail on the Ingodah there
were twelve hundred pounds of sable fur sent by Mr. Chase to his agent
in St. Petersburg. Money to any amount can be remitted, and its
delivery insured. I have known twenty thousand roubles sent on a
single order.
Parcels for transportation by post must be carefully and securely
packed. Furs, silks, clothing, and all things of that class are
enveloped in repeated layers of oil cloth and canvas to exclude water
and guard against abrasion. Light articles, like bonnets, must be
packed with abundance of paper filling them to their proper shape, and
very securely boxed. A Siberian lady once told me that a friend in St.
Petersburg sent her a lot of bonnets, laces, and other finery
purchased at great expense. She waited a long time with feminine
anxiety, and was delighted when told her box was at the post office.
What was her disappointment to find the articles had been packed in a
light case which was completely smashed. She never made use of any
part of its contents.
In crossing Siberian rivers the mail is sometimes wet, and it is a
good precaution to make packages waterproof. A package of letters for
New York from Nicolayevsk I enveloped in canvas, by advice of Russian
friends, and it went through unharmed.
[Illustration: SCENES ON THE AMOOR.]
The post wagons are changed at every station, and the mail while
being transferred is not handled with care. Frail articles must be
boxed so that no tossing will injure them. My lady friend told me of a
bride who ordered her trousseau from St. Petersburg and prepared for a
magnificent wedding. The precious property arrived forty-eight hours
before the time fixed for the ceremony. Moving accidents by flood and
field had occurred. The bridal paraphernalia was soaked, crushed, and
reduced to a mass that no one could resolve into its original
elements. The wedding was postponed and a new supply of goods ordered.
The mail is always in charge of a postillion, who is generally a
Cossack, and his duty is much like that of a mail agent in other
countries. He delivers and receives the sacks of matter at the post
offices, and guards them on the road. During our voyage on the Ingodah
there was no supervision over the mail bags after they were deposited
in our cabin. I passed many hours in their companionship, and if
Borasdine and I had chosen to rifle them we could have done so at our
leisure. Possibly an escape from the penalties of the law would have
been less easy.
Our cook was an elderly personage, with thin hair, a yellow beard, and
a much neglected toilet. On the first morning I saw him at his
ablutions, and was not altogether pleased with his manner. He took a
half-tumbler of water in his mouth and then squirted the fluid over
his hands, rubbing them meanwhile with invisible soap. He was quite
skillful, but I could never relish his dinners if I had seen him any
time within six hours. His general appearance was that of having slept
in a gutter without being shaken afterwards.
The day of our departure from Nicolayevsk was like the best of our
Indian summer. There was but little wind, the faintest breath coming
now and then from the hills on the southern bank. The air was of a
genial warmth, the sky free from clouds and only faintly dimmed with
the haze around the horizon. The forest was in the mellow tints of
autumn, and the wide expanse of foliferous trees, dotted at frequent
intervals with the evergreen pine, rivalled the October hues of our
New England landscape. Hills and low mountains rose on both banks of
the river and made a beautiful picture. The hills, covered with forest
from base to summit, sloped gently to the water’s edge or retreated
here and there behind bits of green meadow. In the distance was a
background of blue mountains glowing in sunshine or dark in shadow,
and varying in outline as we moved slowly along. The river was ruffled
only by the ripples of the current or the motion of our boat through
the water. Just a year earlier I descended the Saint Lawrence from
Lake Ontario to Quebec. I saw nothing on the great Canadian river that
equaled the scenery of my first day’s voyage on the Amoor.
Soon after leaving Nicolayevsk we met several loads of hay floating
with the current to a market at the town. On the meadows along the
river the grass is luxuriant, and hay requires only the labor of
cutting and curing. During the day we passed several points where
haymaking was in progress. Cutting was performed with an instrument
resembling the short scythe used in America for cutting bushes. After
it was dried, the hay was brought to the river bank on dray-like
carts. An American hay wagon would have accomplished twice as much,
with equal labor.
The hay is like New England hay from natural meadows, and is delivered
at Nicolayevsk for six or eight dollars a ton. Cattle and horses
thrive upon it, if I may judge by the condition of the stock I saw.
For its transportation two flat-bottomed boats are employed, and held
about twelve feet apart by timbers. A floor on these timbers and over
the boats serves to keep the hay dry. Men are stationed at both ends
of the boats, and when once in the stream there is little to do beside
floating with the current. A mile distant one of these barges appears
like a haystack which an accident has set adrift.
We saw many Gilyak boats descending the river with the current or
struggling to ascend it. The Gilyaks form the native population in
this region and occupy thirty-nine villages with about two thousand
inhabitants. The villages are on both banks from the mouth of the
river to Mariensk, and out of the reach of all inundations. Distance
lends enchantment to the view of their houses, which will not bear
close inspection.
[Illustration: A GILYAK VILLAGE.]
Some of the houses might contain a half dozen families of ordinary
size, and were well adapted to the climate. While we took wood at a
Gilyak village I embraced the opportunity to visit the aboriginals.
The village contained a dozen dwellings and several fish-houses. The
buildings were of logs or poles, split in halves or used whole, and
were roofed with poles covered with a thatch of long grass to exclude
rain and cold. Some of the dwelling houses had the solid earth for
floors, while others had floorings of hewn planks.
The store houses were elevated on posts like those of an American
‘corn barn,’ and were wider and lower than the dwellings. Each
storehouse had a platform in front where canoes, fishing nets, and
other portable property were stowed. These buildings were the
receptacles of dried fish for the winter use of dogs and their owners.
The elevation of the floor serves to protect the contents from dogs
and wild animals. I was told that no locks were used and that theft
was a crime unknown.
The dwellings were generally divided into two apartments; one a sort
of ante room and receptacle of house-keeping goods, and the other the
place of residence. Pots, kettles, knives, and wooden pans were the
principal articles of household use I discovered. At the storehouses
there were several fish-baskets of birch or willow twigs. A Gilyak
gentleman does not permit fire carried into or out of his house, not
even in a pipe. This is not owing to his fear of conflagrations, but
to a superstition that such an occurrence may bring him ill luck in
hunting or fishing.
It was in the season of curing fish, and the stench that greeted my
nostrils was by no means delightful. Visits to dwellings or magazines
would have been much easier had I possessed a sponge saturated with
cologne water. Fish were in various stages of preparation, some just
hung upon poles, while others were nearly ready for the magazine. The
manner of preparation is much the same as in Kamchatka, save that the
largest fish are skinned before being cut into strips. The poorest
qualities go to the dogs, and the best are reserved for bipeds.
Though the natives do the most of the fishing on the Amoor, they do
not have a monopoly of it, as some of the Russians indulge in the
sport. One old fellow that I saw had a boat so full of salmon, that
there was no room for more. Now and then a fish went overboard,
causing an expression on the boatman’s face as if he were suffering
from a dose of astonishment and toothache drops in equal proportions.
There were dogs everywhere, some lying around loose, and others tied
to posts under the storehouses. Some walked about and manifested an
unpleasant desire to taste the calves of my legs. All barked, growled,
and whined in a chorus like a Pawnee concert. There were big dogs and
little dogs, white, black, grey, brown, and yellow dogs, and not one
friendly. They did not appear courageous, but I was not altogether
certain of their dispositions. Their owners sought to quiet them, but
they refused comfort.
[Illustration: ABOUT FULL.]
Those dogs had some peculiarities of those in Kamchatka, but their
blood was evidently much debased; they appeared to be a mixture of
Kamchadale, greyhound, bull dog, and cur, the latter predominating.
They are used for hunting at all seasons, and for towing boats in
summer and dragging sledges in winter. I was told that since the
Russian settlement of the Amoor the Gilyak dogs have degenerated, in
consequence of too much familiarity with Muscovite canines.
Nicolayevsk appeared quite cosmopolitan, in the matter of dogs, and it
was impossible to say what breed was most numerous. One day I saw
nineteen in a single group and no two alike.
Near the entrance of the village an old man was repairing his nets,
which were stretched along a fence. He did not regard us as we
scrutinized his jacket of blue cotton, and he made no response to a
question which Borasdine asked. Further along were two women putting
fish upon poles for drying, and a third was engaged in skinning a
large salmon. The women did not look up from their work, and were not
inclined to amiability. They had Mongol features, complexion, eyes,
and hair, the latter thick and black. Some of the men wear it plaited
into queues, and others let it grow pretty much at will. Each woman I
saw had it braided in two queues, which hung over her shoulders. In
their ears they wore long pendants, and their dresses were generally
arranged with taste.
When recalled by the steam whistle we left the village and took a
short route down a steep bank to the boat. In descending, my feet
passed from under me, and I had the pleasure of sliding about ten
yards before stopping. Had it not been for a Cossack who happened in
my way I should have entered the Amoor after the manner of an otter,
and afforded much amusement to the spectators, though comparatively
little to myself. The sliding attracted no special attention as it was
supposed to be the American custom, and I did not deem it prudent to
make an explanation lest the story might bring discredit to my
nationality.
[Illustration: TAIL PIECE—A TURN OUT]