Above Albazin the Amoor steadily narrows; the hills are more rugged;
the trees less luxuriant; the meadows fewer, and the islands less
extensive. On the morning of the 15th my thermometer was at +16°, and
the trees on the shore were white with frost. The deck passengers
shivered around the engines and endeavored to extract heat from them.
The cabin passengers, excepting myself, were wrapped in their fur
coats as if it were midwinter. I walked about in my ordinary clothing,
finding the air bracing but not uncomfortable. I could not understand
how the Russians felt the cold when it did not affect me, and was a
little proud of my insensibility to frost. Conceit generally comes of
ignorance, and as I learned, wisdom I lost my vanity about resisting
cold.
Nearly every day on the Korsackoff I was puzzled at finding laurel
leaves in the soup, and did not understand it till I saw a barrel of
beef opened. There were lots of laurel leaves packed with the meat,
and I learned that they assist the preservative qualities of the salt
and give an agreeable flavor. I can speak in favor of the latter
theory, but know nothing about the former. The ancient Romans wore
laurel crowns, but they did not prevent the decline and fall of their
empire. Possibly the Russians may have better success in saving their
beef by the use of the laurel.
During a fog on the river we grazed a rock, slid upon a sandbar, and
then anchored, as we should have done at first. When in motion we
employed all possible time, and, considering the state of our engines,
made very good progress. Borasdine learned from our Cossack the
explanation of this haste.
“The pilots, firemen, and nearly all the crew,” said the Cossack,
“have their wives at Stratensk, and are anxious to winter with them.
If the boat is frozen in below there they must remain till she thaws
out again. Consequently their desire to finish the voyage before the
ice is running.”
At Igiratiena I met Colonel Shobeltsin, an officer identified with all
the movements for the final occupation of the Amoor. In 1852 he made a
journey from Irkutsk to Nicolayevsk, following a route up to that time
untraveled. He accompanied Mouravieff’s expedition in 1854, and was
afterward intimately connected with colonization enterprises. A few
years ago he retired from service and settled at this village. His
face indicates his long and arduous service, and I presume he has seen
enough hardship to enjoy comfort for the rest of his days.
His house was the best on the Amoor above Blagoveshchensk and very
comfortably furnished. In the principal room there were portraits of
many Russian notabilities, with lithographs and steel engravings from
various parts of the world. Among them were two pictures of American
country life, bearing the imprint of a New York publisher. I had
frequently seen these lithographs in a window on Nassau street, little
thinking I should find them on the other side of the world. One room
was quite a museum and contained a variety of articles made by
Manjours and Tunguze. There were heads of deer, sable, and birds,
while a quantity of furs hung near the door.
With a spirit of hospitality the Colonel prepared us a breakfast
during our brief stay, and invited us to join him in the beverage of
the country. When we returned to the boat the steward was
superintending the killing of a bullock at the bank. Half a dozen
wolfish dogs were standing ready to breakfast as soon as the
slaughtering was over. A Cossack officer in a picturesque costume
stood on the bank near the boat. He wore an embroidered coat of
sheepskin, the wool inside, a shaggy cap of coal-black wool, and a
pair of fur-topped boots. All his garments were new and well fitting,
and contrasted greatly with the greasy and long used coats of the
Cossacks on the boat. Sheepskin garments can look more repulsive than
cloth ones with equal wearing. Age can wither and custom stale their
infinite variety.
Winding among the mountains and cliffs that enclose the valley we
reached in the evening a village four miles below the head of the
Amoor. I rose at daybreak on the 17th to make my adieus to the river.
The morning was clear and frosty, and the stars were twinkling in the
sky, save in the east where the blush of dawn was visible. The hills
were faintly touched with a little snow that had fallen during the
night. The trunks of the birches rose like ghosts among the pines and
larches of the forest, while craggy rocks pushed out here and there
like battlements of a fortress. The pawing steamer with her mane of
stars breasted the current with her prow bearing directly toward the
west.
“Just around that point,” said the first officer of the Korsackoff as
he directed his finger toward a headland on the Chinese shore, “you
will see the mouth of the Argoon on the left and the Shilka on the
right;—wait a moment, it is not quite time yet.”
When we rounded the promontory dawn had grown to daylight, and the
mountains on the south bank of the Argoon came into view. A few
minutes later I saw the defile of the Shilka. Between the streams the
mountains narrowed and came to a point a mile above the meeting of the
waters. On the delta below the mountains is the Russian village and
Cossack post of Oust-Strelka (Arrow Mouth,) situated in Latitude 53°
19′ 45″ North, and Longitude 121° 50′ 7″ East. It is on the Argoon
side of the delta and contains but a few houses. I knew by the smoke
that so gracefully curled in the cold atmosphere that the inhabitants
were endeavoring to make themselves comfortable.
The Amoor is formed by the union of these rivers, just as the Ohio is
formed by the Allegheny and Monongahela. Geographers generally admit
that the parent stream of a river is the one whose source is farthest
from the junction. The Argoon flows from the lake Koulon, which is
filled by the river Kerolun, rising in the Kentei Khan mountains in
Northern Mongolia. Together the Argoon and Kerolun have a development
of more than a thousand miles. There are many Cossacks settled along
the Argoon as a frontier guard. The river is not navigable, owing to
numerous rocks and rapids.
Genghis Khan, who subdued China and began that wonderful career of
Tartar conquest that extended to Middle Europe, was born on the banks
of the Kerolun. Some of his early battles were fought in its valley.
The Shilka is formed by the Onon and Ingodah, that rise in the region
north of the head waters of the Kerolun. From the sources of the Onon
to Oust-Strelka is a distance of seven hundred and fifty miles. There
are many gold mines along this river, and the whole mountain chain is
known to be rich in minerals. Including its tributaries on both sides
and at its formation, the Amoor as it flows into the Gulf of Tartary
drains a territory of 766,000 square miles.
There is a little island just below the point of land extending
between the two rivers. As we approached it the steamer turned to the
right and proceeded up the Shilka, leaving the Amoor behind us. I may
never see this great river again, but I shall never forget its
magnificent valley and its waters washing the boundaries of two
empires and bringing the civilization of the East and West in contact.
I shall never forget its many islands, among which we wound our
tortuous way; its green meadows, its steep cliffs, and its blue
mountains, that formed an ever-changing and ever beautiful picture. I
shall never forget its forests where the yellow hues of autumn
contrasted with the evergreen pine and its kindred, and which nature
has lavishly spread to shield the earth from the pitiless storm and
give man wherewith to erect his habitation and light his hearthstone
with generous fire. Mountain, hill, forest, island, and river will
rise to me hereafter in imagination as they rose then in reality. A
voyage along the entire course of the Amoor is one that the longest
lifetime cannot efface from the memory.
For a hundred and sixty years the little post of Oust-Strelka was the
most easterly possession of Russia in the Amoor valley. In 1847
Lieutenant General Mouravieff, having been appointed Governor General
of Eastern Siberia, determined to explore the river. In the following
spring he sent an officer with four Cossacks to descend the Amoor as
far as was prudent. The officer took a liberal supply of presents for
the people along the banks, and was instructed to avoid all collisions
with the natives and not to enter their towns. From the day of his
departure to the present nothing has ever been heard of him or his
men. Diligent inquiries have been made among the natives and the
Chinese authorities, but no information gained. It is supposed the
party were drowned by accident, or killed by hostile residents along
the river.
In 1850 and the three following years the mouth of the Amoor was
examined and settlements founded, as already described. The year 1854
is memorable for the first descent of the Amoor by a military
expedition. The outbreak of the Crimean war rendered it necessary to
supply the Russian fleet in the Pacific. The colonies on the Pacific
needed provisions, and the Amoor offered the only feasible route to
send them. General Mouravieff made his preparations, and obtained the
consent of his government to the important step. He asked the
permission of the Chinese, but those worthies were as dilatory as
usual, and Mouravieff could not wait. He left Shilikinsk on the 27th
of May, escorted by a thousand soldiers with several guns, and
carrying an ample supply of provisions for the Pacific fleet.
The Chinese made no actual opposition, but satisfied themselves with
counting the boats that passed. Mouravieff supplied the fleet at the
mouth of the Amoor, and then returned by way of Ayan to Irkutsk. The
troops were left to garrison the fortified points on or near the sea.
In 1855 three more expeditions left Shilikinsk with soldiers and
colonists. General Mouravieff accompanied the first of these
expeditions and went directly to Nicolayevsk. The allied fleet
attempted to enter the Amoor but could not succeed. The general sent
his compliments to the English Admiral and told him to come on if he
could and he should be warmly received. In 1856 a few Cossack posts
were established along the river, and in the next year nearly three
thousand Cossacks were sent there. The Chinese made a formal protest
against these movements, and there were fears of a hostile collision.
The reverses that China suffered from the English and French prevented
war with Russia, and in 1858 Mouravieff concluded a treaty at Igoon by
which the Russian claim to the country north of the Amoor and east of
the Ousuree was acknowledged. The Russians were thus firmly
established, and the development of the country has progressed
peacefully since that period.
As the Argoon from its mouth to Lake Kerolun forms the boundary
between the empires I lost sight of China when we entered the Shilka.
As I shivered on the steamer’s bridge, my breath congealing on my
beard, and the hills beyond the Amoor and Argoon white with the early
snow of winter, I could not see why the Celestials call their land the
‘Central Flowery Kingdom.’
The Shilka has a current flowing four or five miles an hour. The
average speed of the Korsackoff in ascending was about four miles. The
river wound among mountains that descended to the water without
intervening plateaus, and only on rare occasions were meadows visible.
The forests were pine and larch, with many birches. The lower part of
the Shilka has very little agricultural land, and the only settlements
are the stations kept by a few Cossacks, who cut wood for the steamers
and supply horses to the post and travelers in winter.
The first night after leaving the Amoor there was a picturesque scene
at our wooding station. The mountains were revealed by the setting
moon, and their outline against the sky was sharply defined. We had a
large fire of pine boughs burning on the shore, and its bright flames
lighted both sides of the river. The boatmen in their sheepskin coats
and hats walked slowly to and fro, and gave animation to the picture.
While I wrote my journal the horses above me danced as though
frolicking over a hornet’s nest, and reduced sentimental thoughts to a
minimum. To render the subject more interesting two officers and the
priest grew noisy over a triple game of cards and a bottle of vodki. I
wrote in my overcoat, as the thermometer was at 30° with no fire in
the cabin.
We frequently met rafts with men and horses descending to supply the
post stations, or bound on hunting excursions. I was told that the
hunters float down the river on rafts and then make long circuits by
land to their points of departure. The Siberian squirrel is very
abundant in the mountains north of the Shilka, and his fur is an
important article of commerce.
We stopped at Gorbitza, near the mouth of the Gorbitza river, that
formerly separated Russia and China and was the boundary up to 1854.
Above this point the villages had an appearance of respectable age not
perceptible in the settlements along the Amoor. Ten or twelve miles
from our wooding place we met ice coming out of the Chorney river, but
it gave us no inconvenience. The valley became wider and the hills
less abrupt, while the villages had an air of irregularity more
pleasing than the military precision on the Amoor. I saw many
dwellings on which decay’s effacing fingers were busy. The telegraph
posts were fixed above Gorbitza, but the wires had not been strung.
There were many haystacks at the villages, and I could see droves of
cattle and sheep on the cleared hills. At one landing I found a man
preparing his house for winter by calking the seams with moss. Under
the eaves of another house there were many birds that resembled
American swallows. I could not say whether they were migratory or not,
but if the former they were making their northern stay a late one.
Their twitterings reminded me of the time when I used to go at
nightfall, ‘when the swallows homeward fly,’ and listen to the music
without melody as the birds exchanged their greetings, told their
loves, and gossipped of their adventures.
[Illustration: PREPARING FOR WINTER.]
Just at sunset we reached Shilikinsk, a town stretching nearly two
miles along the river, on a plateau thirty feet high. We stopped in
the morning where there was abundance of wood, but only took enough to
carry us to Shilikinsk. There was a lady in the case. Our first
officer had a feminine acquaintance at the town, and accordingly
wished to stop for wood, and, if possible, to pass the night there.
His plan failed, as no wood could be discovered at Shilikinsk, though
our loving mate scanned every part of the bank. We had enough fuel to
take us a few miles farther, where we found wood and remained for the
night. The disappointed swain pocketed his chagrin and solaced himself
by playing the agreeable to a lady passenger.
I saw in the edge of the town a large building surrounded with a
palisaded wall. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to the structure new
to my eyes.
“It is a station for exiles,” was my friend’s reply, “when they pass
through the town. They generally remain here over night, and sometimes
a few days, and this is their lodging. You will see many such on your
way through Siberia.”
“Is it also the prison for those who are kept here permanently?” “No;
the prison is another affair. The former prison at Shilikinsk has been
converted into a glass manufactory. Just behind it is a large tannery,
heretofore celebrated throughout Eastern Siberia for its excellent
leather.”
As we proceeded the country became more open and less mountainous, and
I saw wide fields on either side. A road was visible along the
northern bank of the river, sometimes cut in the hillside where the
slope was steep. On the southern bank there was no road beyond that
for local use. The telegraph followed the northern side, but
frequently left the road to take short cuts across the hills.
We struck a rock ten miles from our journey’s end, and for several
minutes I thought we should go gracefully to the bottom. We whirled
twice around on the rock before we left it, and our captain feared we
had sprung a leak. When once more afloat Borasdine and I packed our
baggage and prepared for the shore. We ate the last of our preserves
and gave sundry odds and ends to the Cossacks. As a last act we opened
the remaining bottles of a case of champagne, and joined officers and
fellow passengers in drinking everybody’s health.
Late in the afternoon of the 20th October we were in sight of
Stratensk. The summer barracks were first visible, and a moment later
I could see the church dome. In nearly all Russian towns the churches
are the first objects visible on arriving and the last on departing.
Tho house of worship is no less prominent in the picture of a Russian
village than the ceremonies of religion in the daily life of the
people.
There was a large crowd on the bank to welcome us. Officers, soldiers,
merchants, Cossacks, peasants, women, children, and dogs were in
goodly numbers. Our own officers were in full uniform to make their
calls on shore. The change of costume that came over several
passengers was interesting in the extreme.
At last the steamer ceased her asthmatic wheeze and dropped her anchor
at the landing. We gave our baggage to a Cossack to take to the hotel.
Soon as the rush over the plank was ended I walked ashore from the
Korsackoff for the last time.
So ended, for the present, my water journeying. I had zig-zagged from
New York a distance, by my line of travel, not less than fifteen
thousand miles. The only actual land route on my way had been
forty-seven miles between Aspinwall and Panama. I had traveled on two
ocean passenger-steamers, one private steamer of miniature size, a
Russian corvette, a gunboat of the Siberian fleet, and two river boats
of the Amoor flotilla. Not a serious accident had occurred to mar the
pleasure of the journey. There had been discomforts, privations, and
little annoyances of sufficient frequency, but they only added
interest to the way.
The proverb well says there is no rose without a thorn, and it might
add that the rose would be less appreciable were there no thorn. Half
our pleasures have their zest in the toil through which they are
gained. In travel, the little hardships and vexations bring the
novelties and comforts into stronger relief, and make the voyager’s
happiness more real. It is an excellent trait of human nature that the
traveler can remember with increased vividness the pleasing features
of his journey while he forgets their opposites. Privations and
discomforts appeal directly to the body; their effect once passed the
physical system courts oblivion. Pleasures reach our higher being,
which experiences, enjoys, and remembers.
[Illustration: TAIL PIECE]