Stratensk is neither large nor handsome. The most I saw of it was near
the hotel whither we went from the boat. The rooms we were shown into
faced the river, and had high walls decorated with a few pictures. My
apartment had a brick stove in one corner, a table, three or four
chairs, and a wide sofa or cushioned bench without a back. This last
article served as bed by night and seat by day. No bed clothing is
furnished in a Siberian hotel, each traveler being expected to carry
his own supply.
The government has a foundry and repair shop two miles above the town,
where several steamers pass the winter and have their machinery
repaired. Immediately on arrival we sent to request Mr. Lovett, the
gentleman in charge of the works, to call upon us. He responded
promptly, and came while we were at supper. Being English and with a
slight tendency to _embonpoint_, he readily accepted several bottles
of ‘Bass & Co.’ that remained from our small stores. He was
accompanied by Captain Ivashinsoff, who spoke English easily and well.
His knowledge of it was obtained rather romantically as the story was
told me.
Two years earlier this officer happened in Hong Kong and during his
stay an American vessel arrived. Her captain had been seriously ill
for some weeks and totally incapable of duty. The first mate died on
the voyage, and the second was not equal to the difficulties of
navigation. The captain was accompanied by his daughter, who had been
several years at sea and learned the mysteries of Bowditch more as a
pastime than for anything else. In the dilemma she assumed control of
the ship, making the daily observation and employing the mate as
executive officer. When they reached Hong Kong the captain was just
recovering. The young woman came on shore, saw and conquered the
Russian. Neither spoke the other’s language, and their conversation
was conducted in French. After their marriage they began to study, and
had made such progress that I found the captain speaking good English,
and learned that the lady was equally fluent in Russian. She was
living at Stratensk at the time of my visit, and I greatly regretted
that our short stay prevented my seeing her. She was a native of
Chelsea, Massachusetts, and was said to enjoy her home on the Amoor.
Three or four steamers were in winter quarters, and the Korsackoff was
to join them immediately. Both at Stratensk and Nicolayevsk it is the
custom to remove the machinery from steamers during winter. It is
carefully housed to prevent its rusting, and I presume to lessen the
loss in case of fire or damage from breaking ice.
We talked with our new friends till late in the evening, and then
prepared to continue our journey. Lovett gave me his blessing and a
feather pillow; the former to cover general accidents and the latter
to prevent contusions from the jolting vehicle. Borasdine obtained a
Cossack to accompany us on the road and ordered our baggage made
ready. The Cossack piled it into a wagon and it was transported to the
ferry landing and dumped upon the gravel. We followed and halted in
front of the palisaded hotel of the exiles. The ferry boat was on the
opposite shore, four or five hundred yards away. Borasdine called, but
the boatmen did not rise.
“Dai sloopka!” (send a boat.)
After a moment’s pause he repeated:
“Dai sloopka!”
He added the usually magic word “courier!” but it had no effect. He
shouted repeatedly and grew hoarse. Then I lifted up my voice like a
pelican in the wilderness, but with no better effect. When we had
almost reached the pitch of despair a man appeared from behind a wood
pile and tried his vocal organs in our behalf. At his second call a
reply was given, and very soon a light twinkled at the ferry house.
[Illustration: STRATENSK, EASTERN SIBERIA.]
The boat was a long time coming, and while we waited its arrival a
drunken Bouriat made himself unpleasantly familiar. As often as I
changed my position he would come to my side and endeavor to rest his
dirty arm on my shoulder. I finally walked through a pile of brushwood
and crooked sticks, which was too much for the native with his weak
knees and muddy brain. After struggling with a persistency that would
have been commendable had the object to be attained been commensurate
to the effort, he became inextricably tangled, and I left him in the
loving embrace of a decayed tree-top.
The boat came with four shaggy ferrymen, who had some difficulty in
reaching land. It was a kind of large skiff, high at both ends and
having a platform, like that of a hay-scale, in the center. The
platform projected a foot or more beyond the sides of the boat, and
had no railing to prevent a frightened horse or drunken man going
overboard. This is the general style of river ferry boats in Siberia.
The boatmen do not appear very skillful in handling them, but I
learned that serious accidents were very rare.
We piled our baggage and left the shore, running upon two rocks and
colliding with a sandbar before getting fairly away. I fell asleep
during the crossing, satisfied that the crew did not need my
assistance. We landed where the road is cut into the rocky bank, and
were obliged to lift the baggage over a pile of stony debris. The
boatmen said it was impossible to go to the regular landing, but I
suspect they wished an extra gratuity for handling our impedimenta.
Before the work was finished they regretted their manoeuvre.
As we touched the shore one man went to the station to bring horses
and a vehicle. Borasdine and I scrambled over the rocks to the road
fifteen feet above the water, and by the time the crew brought up our
baggage the conveyance arrived. It was what the Russians call a
_telyaga_, drawn by three horses.
This carriage is of Quaker simplicity. There are four wheels on wooden
axles, with rough but strong ‘reaches.’ A body, shaped something like
an old-fashioned baby-cart, rests upon the reaches or on poles fixed
over them. The hood protects against wind and rain from behind, and
the best of the vehicles have boots buttoned in front and attached to
the hoods. The driver sits on the bow directly behind the shaft-horse,
and one part of his duty is to keep from falling off. The traveler
spreads his baggage inside as evenly as possible to form a bed or
cushion. Angular pieces should be discarded, as the corners are
disagreeable when jolted against one’s sides. Two shafts are fixed in
the forward axle, and a horse between them forms a sort of _point
d’appui_. Any number from one to six can be tied on outside of him.
The fault of our baggage was that we, or rather I, had too much.
Worst of all, I had a wooden trunk that I proposed throwing away at
Nicolayevsk, but had been told I could carry to Irkutsk without
trouble. It could not ride inside, or if it did we could not. We
placed the small articles in the interior of the vehicle, and tied the
trunk and Borasdine’s _chemadan_ on the projecting poles behind. The
_chemadan_ is in universal use among Siberian travelers, and admirably
adapted to the road. It is made of soft leather, fastens with a lacing
of deer-skin thongs, and can be lashed nearly water tight. It will
hold a great deal,—I never saw one completely filled,—and
accommodates itself to the shape of its aggregate contents. It can be
of any size up to three or four feet long, and its dimensions are
proportioned to each other about like those of an ordinary
pocket-book. A great advantage is the absence of sharp corners and the
facility of packing closely.
We acted contrary to the custom of the country in tying our baggage
behind. There are gentlemen of the road in Siberia as there are ‘road
agents’ in California. The Siberian highwaymen rarely disturb the
person of a traveler, but their chief amusement is to cut away outside
packages. As a precaution we mounted our Cossack on the trunk, but
before we went a mile he fell from his perch in spite of his utmost
efforts to cling to the vehicle. After that event he rode by the
driver’s side.
On seeing Lovett at Stratensk my first question related to the
condition of the road. “Horrid,” said he. “The worst time to travel.
There has been much rain and cold weather. You will find mud either
soft or frozen most of the way to Chetah.”
Before we started the driver brought an additional horse, and after a
preliminary kick or two we took the road. For a few miles we went up
and down hills along the edge of the river, where the route has been
cut at much labor and expense. This was not especially bad, the worst
places being at the hollows between the hills where the mud was
half-congealed. When we left the river we found the mud that Lovett
prophesied. Quality and quantity were alike disagreeable. All roads
have length more or less; ours had length, breadth, depth, and
thickness. The bottom was not regular like that of the Atlantic, but
broken into inequalities that gave an uneasy motion to the telyaga.
To travel in Siberia one must have a _padaroshnia_, or road pass, from
the government authorities, stating the number of horses to which he
is entitled. There are three grades of padaroshnia; the first for high
officials and couriers; the second for officers on ordinary business;
and the third for civilian travelers. The first and second are issued
free to those entitled to receive them, and the third is purchased at
the rate of half a copeck a verst. These papers serve the double
purpose of bringing revenue to government and preventing unauthorized
persons traveling about the country. A traveler properly provided
presents his papers at a post-station and receives horses in his turn
according to the character of his documents.
A person with a courier’s pass is never detained for want of animals;
other travelers must take their chance. Of course the second class of
passport precedes the third by an inflexible rule. Suppose A has a
second class and B a third class padaroshnia. A reaches a station and
finds B with a team ready to start. If there are no more horses the
_smotretal_ (station master) detaches the animals from B’s vehicle and
supplies them to A. B must wait until he can be served; it may be an
hour, a day, or a week.
The stations are kept by contract. The government locates a station
and its lessee is paid a stipulated sum each year. He agrees to keep
the requisite horses and drivers, the numbers varying according to the
importance of the route. He contracts to carry the post each way from
his station to the next, the price for this service being included in
the annual payment. He must keep one vehicle and three horses at all
times ready for couriers. Couriers, officers, and travelers of every
kind pay at each station the rate fixed by law.
In Kamchatka and North Eastern Siberia the post route is equipped
with dog-teams, just as it has horses in more southerly latitudes. In
the northern part of Yakutsk the reindeer is used for postal or
traveling service. A padaroshnia calls for a given number of horses,
usually three, without regard to the number of persons traveling upon
it. Generally the names of all who are to use it are written on the
paper, but this is not absolutely necessary. Borasdine had a
padaroshnia and so had I, but mine was not needed as long as we kept
together.
The post carriages must be changed at every station. Constant changing
is a great trouble, especially if one has much baggage. In a wet or
cold night when you have settled comfortably into a warm nest, and
possibly fallen asleep, it is an intolerable nuisance to turn out and
transfer. To remedy this evil one can buy a _tarantass_, a vehicle on
the general principle of the telyaga, but larger, stronger, and better
in every way. When he buys there is a scarcity and the price is high,
but when he has finished his journey and wishes to sell, it is
astonishing how the market is glutted. At Stratensk I endeavored to
purchase a tarantass, but only one could be had. This was too
rheumatic for the journey, and very groggy in the springs, so at the
advice of Lovett I adhered to the telyaga.
The Russians apply the term ‘equipage’ to any vehicle, whether on
wheels or runners, and with or without its motive power. It is a
generic definition, and can include anything drawn by horses, dogs,
deer, or camels. The word sounds very well when applied to a
fashionable turnout, but less so when speaking of a dirt-cart or
wheelbarrow.
The same word, ‘equipage,’ is used in Russian as in French to denote a
ship’s crew. In this connection I heard an amusing story, vouched for
as correct. A few years after the disappearance of Sir John Franklin
the English Admiralty requested the Russian government to make
inquiries for the lost navigator along the coast and islands of the
Arctic Ocean. An order to that effect was sent to the Siberian
authorities, and they in turn commanded all subordinates to inquire
and report. A petty officer some where in Western Siberia was puzzled
at the printed order to ‘inquire concerning the English Captain, John
Franklin, and his equipage.’ In due time he reported:
“I have made the proper inquiries. I can learn nothing about Captain
Franklin; but in one of my villages there is an old sleigh that no one
claims, and it may be his equipage.”
We carried one and sometimes two bells on the yoke of our shaft-horse
to signify that we traveled by post. Every humbler vehicle was
required to give us the entire road, at least such was the theory.
Sometimes we obtained it, and sometimes the approaching drivers were
asleep, and the horses kept their own way. When this occurred our
driver generally took an opportunity to bring his whip lash upon the
sleeper. It is a privilege he enjoys when driving a post carriage to
strike his delinquent fellow man if in reach. I presume this is a
partial consolation for the kicks and blows occasionally showered upon
himself. Humanity in authority is pretty certain to give others the
treatment itself has received. Only great natures will deal charity
and kindness when remembering oppression and cruelty.
I was not consulted when our telyaga was built, else it would have
been wider and longer. When our small parcels were arranged inside
there was plenty of room for one but hardly enough for two. Borasdine
and I were of equal height, and neither measured a hair’s breadth less
than six feet. When packed for riding I came in questionable shape, my
body and limbs forming a geometric figure that Euclid never knew.
Notwithstanding my cramped position I managed to doze a little, and
contemplated an essay on a new mode of triangulation. We rattled our
bones over the stones and frozen earth, and dragged and dripped
through the mud to the first station. As we reached the establishment
our Cossack and driver shouted “_courier!_” in tones that soon brought
the smotretal and his attendants. They rubbed their half-open eyes and
bestirred themselves to bring horses. The word ‘courier’ invigorates
the attachés of a post route, as they well know that the bearer of a
courier’s pass must not be delayed. Ten minutes are allowed for
changing a courier’s horses, and the change is often made in six or
eight minutes. The length of a journey depends considerably upon the
time consumed at stations.
[Illustration: A SIBERIAN TARANTASS.]
Here we found a tarantass, neither new nor elegant, but strong and
capacious. We hired it to Nerchinsk, and our Cossack transferred the
baggage while four little rats of ponies were being harnessed. The
harness used on this road was a combination of leather and hemp in
about equal proportions. There were always traces of ropes more or
less twisted. It is judicious to carry a quantity of rope in one’s
vehicle for use in case of accident. A Russian _yemshick_ (driver) is
quite skillful in repairing breakages if he can find enough rope for
his purpose.
The horses, like many other terrestrial things, were better than they
appeared, and notwithstanding the bad road they carried us at good
speed. I was told that the horses between Stratensk and Lake Baikal
were strangers to corn and oats, and not over familiar with hay. Those
at the post stations must be fed in the stable, but nearly all others
hunt their own food. In summer they can easily do this, but in winter
they subsist on the dry grass standing on the hills and prairies.
There is little snow in this region, but when it falls on the pastures
the horses scrape it away to reach the grass. They are never
blanketed, in the coldest weather, and the only brushing they receive
is when they run among bushes.
In the government of Yakutsk there are many horses that find their own
living in winter as in summer. They eat grass, moss, fish, bushes, and
sometimes the bark of trees. Captain Wrangell tells of the great
endurance of these beasts, and says that like all other animals of
that region they shed their coats in the middle of summer.
At the second station the smotretal sought our horses among the
village peasants, as he had none of his own. He explained that a high
official had passed and taken the horses usually kept for the courier.
This did not satisfy Borasdine, who entered complaint in the
regulation book, stating the circumstances of the affair. At every
station there is a book sealed to a small table and open to public
inspection. An aggrieved traveler is at liberty to record a statement
of his trouble. At regular intervals an officer investigates the
affairs of every station. Complaints are examined, and offences
treated according to their character. This wholesome regulation keeps
the station masters in proper restraint.
Day had fairly opened through a dense fog when our delay ended. While
we descended a long hill one of our hinder wheels parted company and
took a tangent to the road side. We were in full gallop at the time,
but did not keep it up long. A pole from a neighboring fence, held by
a Pole from Warsaw, lifted the axle so that the wheel could be
replaced. I assisted by leaving the carriage and standing at the
roadside till all was ready. We had some doubts about the vehicle
holding together much longer, but it behaved very well. The tarantass
is a marvel of endurance. To listen to the creaking of its joints, and
observe its air of infirmity, lead to the belief that it will go to
pieces within a few hours. It rattles and groans and threatens prompt
analysis, but some how it continues cohesive and preserves its
identity hundreds of miles over rough roads.
We were merciless to the horses as they were not ours and we were in a
hurry. When the driver allowed them to lag, Borasdine ejaculated
‘POSHOL!’ with a great deal of emphasis and much effect. This word is
like ‘faster’ in English, and is learned very early in a traveler’s
career in Russia. I acquired it before reaching the first station on
my ride, and could use it very skillfully. In the same connection are
the words ‘_droghi_’ (‘touch up,’) ‘_skorey_’ (‘hurry,’) and
‘_stupie_’ (‘go ahead.’) All these commands have the accent upon the
last syllable, and are very easy to the vocal organs. I learned them
all and often used them, but to this day I do not know the Russian
word for ‘slower.’ I never had occasion to employ it while in the
empire, except once when thrown down an icy slope with a heap of
broken granite at its base, and at another time when a couple of
pretty girls were standing by the roadside and, as I presumed, wanted
to look at me.
From Stratensk to Nerchinsk, a distance of sixty miles, our road led
among hills, undulating ground, meadows, and strips of steppe, or
prairie, sometimes close to the river, and again several miles away.
The country is evidently well adapted to agriculture, the condition of
the farms and villages indicating prosperity. I saw much grain in
stacks or gathered in small barns. As it was Sunday no work was in
progress, and there were but few teams in motion anywhere. The roads
were such that no one would travel for pleasure, and the first day of
the week is not used for business journeys.
From the top of a hill I looked into the wide and beautiful valley of
the Nertcha, which enters the Shilka from the north. On its left bank
and two or three miles from its mouth is the town of Nerchinsk with
five or six thousand inhabitants. Its situation is charming, and to me
the view was especially pleasing, as it was the first Russian town
where I saw evidences of age and wealth. The domes of its churches
glistened in the sunlight that had broken through the fog and warmed
the tints of the whole picture. The public buildings and many private
residences had an air of solidity. Some of the merchants’ houses would
be no discredit to New York or London. The approach from the east is
down a hill sloping toward the banks of the Nertcha.
We entered the gateway of Nerchinsk, and after passing some of the
chief buildings drove to the house of Mr. Kaporaki, where we were
received with open arms. Borasdine and his acquaintance kissed
affectionately, and after their greeting ended I was introduced. We
unloaded from the tarantass, piled our baggage in the hallway, and
dismissed the driver with the borrowed vehicle. Almost before we were
out of our wrappings the samovar was steaming, and we sat down to a
comforting breakfast, with abundance of tea. And didn’t we enjoy it
after riding eight or ten hours over a road that would have shaken
skimmilk into butter? You bet we did.
[Illustration: TAIL PIECE]