The heaviest fortunes at Nerchinsk have been made in commerce and gold
mining, principally the latter. I met one man reputed to possess three
million roubles, and two others who were each put down at over a
million. Mr. Kaporaki, our host, was a successful gold miner, if I may
judge by what I saw. His dwelling was an edifice somewhat resembling
Arlington House, but without its signs of decay. The principal rooms I
entered were his library, parlor, and dining-room; the first was neat
and cozy, and the second elaborately fitted with furniture from St.
Petersburg. Both were hung with pictures and paintings, the former
bearing French imprints. His dining-room was in keeping with the rest
of the establishment, and I could hardly realize that I was in
Siberia, five thousand miles from the Russian capital and nearly half
that distance from the Pacific Ocean. The realization was more
difficult when our host named a variety of wines ready for our use.
Would we take sherry, port, or madiera, or would we prefer
Johannisberg, Hockheimer, or Verzenay? Would we try Veuve Cliquot, or
Carte d’Or? A box of genuine Havanas stood upon his library table, and
received our polite attention. We arrived about ten in the morning,
and on consenting to remain till afternoon a half dozen merchants were
invited to join us at dinner.
Mr. Kaporaki’s gold mines were on the tributaries of the Nertcha,
about a hundred miles away. From his satisfied air in showing
specimens and figures I concluded his claims were profitable. The
mining season had just closed, and he was footing up his gains and
losses for the year. The gold he exhibited was in coarse scales, with
occasional nuggets, and closely resembled the product I saw a few
months earlier of some washings near Mariposa.
The gold on the Nertcha and its tributaries is found in the sand and
earth that form the bed of the streams. Often it is many feet deep and
requires much ‘stripping.’ I heard of one _priesk_ (claim) where the
pay-dirt commenced sixty-five feet from the surface. Notwithstanding
the great expense of removing the superincumbent earth, the mine had
been worked to a profit. Twenty or thirty feet of earth to take away
is by no means uncommon. The pay-dirt is very rich, and the estimates
of its yield are stated at so many _zolotniks_ of gold for a hundred
poods of earth. From one pood of dirt, of course unusually rich, Mr.
Kaporaki obtained 24 zolotniks, or three ounces of gold. In another
instance ten poods of dirt yielded 90 zolotniks of gold. The ordinary
yield, as near as I could ascertain, was what a Californian would call
five or six cents to the pan.
Each of these merchant-miners pays to the government fifteen per cent.
of all gold he obtains, and is not allowed to sell the dust except to
the proper officials. He delivers his gold and receives the money for
it as soon as it is melted and assayed. It was hinted to me that much
gold was smuggled across the frontier into China, and never saw the
treasury of his Imperial Majesty, the Czar. The Cossacks of the Argoon
keep a sharp watch for traffic of this kind. “They either,” said my
informant, “deliver a culprit over to justice or, what is the same
thing, compel him to bribe them heavily to say nothing.”
Nerchinsk formerly stood at the junction of the Nertcha and Shilka, on
the banks of both rivers, but the repeated damage from floods caused
its removal. Even on its present site it is not entirely safe from
inundation, the lower part of the town having been twice under water
and in danger of being washed away.
Many of the present inhabitants are exiles or the descendants of
exiles, Nerchinsk having been a place of banishment for political and
criminal offenders during the last hundred years. Those condemned to
work in the mines were sent to Great Nerchinsk Zavod, about two
hundred miles away. The town was the center of the military and mining
district, and formerly had more importance than at present. Many
participants in the insurrection of 1825 were sent there, among them
the princes Trubetskoi and Volbonskoi. After laboring in the mines and
on the roads of Nerchinsk, they were sent to Chetah, where they were
employed in a polishing mill.
In many stories about Siberian exiles, published in England and
America, Nerchinsk has occupied a prominent position. As far as I
could observe it is not a place of perpetual frost and snow, its
summers being warm though brief. In winter it has cold winds blowing
occasionally from the Yablonoi mountains down the valley of the
Nertcha. The region is very well adapted to agriculture, and the
valley as I saw it had an attractive appearance.
The product of the Nerchinsk mines has been silver, gold, and lead.
The search for silver and lead has diminished since the mines were
opened to private enterprise. At one time 40,000 poods of lead were
produced here annually, most of it being sent to the Altai mountains
to be employed in reducing silver. In most places where explored the
country is rich in gold, and I have little doubt that thorough
prospecting would reveal many placers equaling the best of those in
California.
Very few exiles are now sent to Nerchinsk in comparison with the
numbers formerly banished there. Under the reign of Nicholas and his
father Nerchinsk received its greatest accessions, the Polish
revolutions and the revolt of 1825 contributing largely to its
population. Places of exile have always been selected with relation to
the offence and character of the prisoners. The worst offenders,
either political or criminal, were generally sent to the mines of
Nerchinsk, their terms of service varying from two to twenty years, or
for life. I was told that the longest sentence now given is for twenty
years. The condition of prisoners in former times was doubtless bad,
and there are many stories of cruelty and extortion practiced by
keepers and commandants. The dwellings of prisoners were frequently no
better than the huts of savages; their food and clothing were poor and
insufficient; they were compelled to labor in half frozen mud and
water for twelve or fourteen hours daily, and beaten when they
faltered.
The treatment of prisoners depended greatly upon the character of the
commandant of the mines. Of the brutality of some officials and the
kindness of others there can be little doubt. We have sufficient proof
of the varied qualities of the human heart in the conduct of
prison-keepers in America during our late war. There have been many
exaggerations concerning the treatment of exiles. I do not say there
has been no cruelty, but that less has occurred than some writers
would have us believe. Before leaving America I read of the rigorous
manner in which the sentence of the conspirators of 1825 was carried
out. According to one authority the men were loaded with chains and
compelled to the hardest labor in the mines under relentless
overseers. They were badly lodged, fed with insufficient food, and
when ill had little or no medical treatment.
Nearly all these unfortunates were of noble families and never
performed manual labor before reaching the mines. They had been
tenderly reared, and were mostly young and unused to the hardships of
life outside the capitals. Thrust at once into the mines of Siberia
they could hardly survive a lengthened period of the cruelty alleged.
Most of them served out their sentences and retained their health.
Some returned to Europe after more than thirty years exile, and a few
were living in Siberia at the time of my visit, forty-one years after
their banishment. I conclude they were either blessed with more than
iron constitutions, or there is some mistake in the account of their
suffering and privation.
Many attempts have been made to escape from these mines, but very few
were completely successful. Some prisoners crossed into China after
dodging the vigilant Cossacks on the frontier, but they generally
perished in the deserts of Mongolia, either by starvation or at the
hands of the natives. I have heard of two who reached the Gulf of
Pecheli after many hardships, where they captured a Chinese fishing
boat and put to sea. When almost dead of starvation they were picked
up by an English barque and carried to Shanghae, where the foreign
merchants supplied them with money to find their way to Paris.
A better route than this was by the Amoor, before it was open to
Russian navigation. Many who escaped this way lost their lives, but
others reached the seacoast where they were picked up by whalers or
other transient ships. In 1844 three men started for the Ohotsk sea,
traveling by way of the Yablonoi mountains. They had managed to obtain
a rifle, and subsisted upon game they killed, and upon berries, roots,
and the bark of trees. They escaped from the mines about midsummer,
and hoped by rapid travel to reach the coast before winter overtook
them.
One of the men was killed by falling from a rock during the first
month of the journey. The others buried their dead companion as best
they could, marking his grave with a cross, though with no expectation
it would again be seen by human eyes. Traversing the mountains and
reaching the tributaries of the Aldan river, they found their
hardships commencing. The country was rough and game scarce, so that
the fugitives were exhausted by fatigue and hunger. They traveled for
a time with the wandering Tunguze of this region, and were caught by
the early snows of winter when the coast was still two hundred miles
away. They determined to wait until spring before crossing the
mountains. Unluckily while with the Tunguze they were seen by a
Russian merchant, who informed the authorities. Early in the spring
they were captured and returned to their place of imprisonment.
The region around the Yablonoi mountains is so desolate that escape in
that direction is almost impossible. By way of the post route to Lake
Baikal it is equally difficult, as the road is carefully watched and
there are few habitations away from the post villages and stations.
No one can travel by post without a padaroshnia, and this can only be
procured at the chief towns and is not issued to an unknown applicant.
I heard a story of a young Pole who attempted, some years ago, to
escape from exile. He was teacher in a private family and passed his
evenings in gambling. At one time he was very successful at cards, and
gained in a single week three thousand roubles. With this capital he
arranged a plan of escape.
By some means he procured a padaroshnia, not in his own name, and
announced his intention to visit his friends a few miles away. As he
did not return promptly search was made, and it was found that a
person answering his description had started toward Lake Baikal.
Pursuit naturally turned in that direction, exactly opposite to his
real course of flight. He traveled by post with his padaroshnia and
reached the vicinity of Omsk without difficulty. Very injudiciously he
quarreled with the drivers at a post station about the payment of ten
copecks, which he alleged was an overcharge. The padaroshnia was
examined in consequence of the quarrel and found applicable to a
Russian merchant of the third class, and not for a nobleman, which he
claimed to be.
The station-master arrested the traveler and sent him to Omsk, when
his real character was ascertained. On the third day of captivity he
bribed his guards and escaped during the night. He remained free more
than a month, but was finally recaptured and sent to Irkutsk.
At Nerchinsk I resumed my efforts to purchase a tarantass, but my
investigations showed the Nerchinsk market ‘out’ of everything in the
tarantass line and no promise of a new crop. Fortune and Kaporaki
favored me, and found a suitable vehicle that I could borrow for the
journey to Irkutsk. I was to answer for its safety and deliver it to a
designated party on my arrival there.
The regulations did not permit, or at least encourage, Borasdine to
invest in vehicles. A courier is expected, unless in winter, to travel
by the post carriages. All breakages in that case are at the expense
of government, with the possible exception of the courier’s bones and
head. If a carriage breaks down he takes another and leaves the wreck
for the station men to pick up. If he should buy a tarantass and it
gave out he would be forced to leave it till he came again, or sell it
at any price offered. Nothing that relates to his personal comfort is
allowed to detain a courier. He can stop only for change of team,
hasty meals, and when leaving or taking despatches on his route.
Sometimes a river gets high and refuses to respect his padaroshnia, or
a severe and blinding storm stops all travel. A courier’s pass is
supposed to command everything short of the elements, and I have a
suspicion that some Russians believe it powerful _with_ the elements.
A courier ought to travel with only his baggage and servant, the
former not exceeding 200 pounds. Borasdine had Cossack and baggage in
proper quantity; adding me and my impedimenta, he was hardly in light
moving order. I suggested that he drop me and I would trust to luck
and my padaroshnia. I had confidence in the good nature of the
Russians and my limited knowledge of the language. I could exhibit my
papers, ask for horses, say I was hungry, and was perfectly confident
I could pay out money as long as it lasted. But my companion replied
that an extra day on the route would make no difference in his
catching the boat to cross Lake Baikal, and we would remain together
until new difficulties arose.
Having dined we visited the post-station and ordered horses sent to
the house of our host. The servants filled our tarantass with baggage,
while their master filled us with champagne. The vehicle displayed the
best carrying capacity, as it had room for more when our hearts were
too full for utterance, save in a half breathed sigh.
We rattled out of Kaporaki’s yard and down to the Nertcha, where we
had a ferry-boat like the one at Stratensk, though a little larger.
The horses were detached and remained on the bank until the tarantass
was safely on board. There was not much room for them, but they
managed to find standing places.
By the time we were over the river it was night, and the sentinel
stars had set their watch in the sky. We found the road an unpleasant
combination of snow, dirt, and water. We had four weak little horses,
and the driver told us they had made one journey to the station and
back again since morning.
In the Russian posting system the horses carry loads only one way. The
driver takes your vehicle to the station, where he is allowed to rest
himself and horses one hour and then starts on his return. In ordinary
seasons when the traveling is good, each team of horses will make two
round trips in twenty-four hours. This gives them from fifty to
seventy miles daily travel, half of it without load and at a gentle
pace.
After the third station the road improved, the snow and mud
diminishing and leaving a comparatively dry track. The stations were
generally so uncomfortably hot as to put me in a perspiration, and I
was glad to get out of doors. The temperature was about 70°
Fahrenheit, and the air at night contained odors from the breath and
boots of dormant _moujiks_. The men sleep on the floor and benches,
but the top of the stove is the favorite couch. The stove is of brick
as already described, and its upper surface is frequently as wide as a
common bed. Sometimes the caloric is a trifle abundant, but I have
rarely known it complained of.
[Illustration: FAVORITE BED.]
I could never clearly understand the readiness and ability of the
Russians to endure contrasts of heat and cold with utter complacence
and without apparent ill effect. I have seen a yemshick roused at
midnight from the top of a stove where he was sleeping in a
temperature of eighty-five or ninety degrees. He made his toilet by
tightening his waist-belt and putting on his boots. When the horses
were ready he donned his cap and extra coat, thrust his hands into
mittens, and mounted the front of a sleigh. The cold would be anywhere
from ten to fifty degrees below zero, but the man rarely appeared to
suffer. In severe weather I hesitated to enter the stations on account
of the different temperature of the house and the open air, but the
Russians did not seem to mind the sudden changes.
All natives of Northern Siberia subject themselves without
inconvenience to extremes of heat and cold. Major Abasa told me that
when the cold was 40° below zero he had found the Koriaks in their
yourts with a temperature 75° above. They passed from one to the other
without a change of clothing and without perspiring. At night they
ordinarily slept in their warm dwellings, but when traveling they
rested in the snow under the open sky. In his exploration around
Penjinsk Gulf the major saw a woman sleep night after night on the
snow in the coldest weather with no covering but the clothing she wore
in the day. She would have slept equally well if transferred to a hot
room.
The Yakuts and Tunguze are equally hardy. Captain Wrangell gives
examples of their endurance, especially of living in warm rooms or
sleeping on the ice at a low temperature. Captain Cochrane, the
English Pedestrian, had a wonderful experience with some natives that
guided him from the Lena to the Kolyma. Though the Captain was an old
traveler and could support much cold and fatigue, he was greatly
outdone by his guides. He could never easily accommodate himself to
wide extremes of heat and cold, and I believe this is the experience
of nearly all persons not born and reared under a northern sky. The
road from Nerchinsk to Chetah is through an undulating country, the
hills in many places being high enough to merit the name of mountains.
Sometimes we followed the valley of the Ingodah, and again we left it
to wind over the hills and far away where the bluffs prevented our
keeping near the stream. When we looked upon the river from these
mountains the scene was beautiful, and I shall long retain my
impression of the loveliness of the Ingodah. Mr. Collins described
this valley nine years before me, and with one exception I can confirm
all he said of its charms. He had the good fortune to travel in spring
when the flowers were in bloom, whereas my journey was late in autumn.
My English friend at Stratensk spoke of this particular feature of the
country, and described the thick carpet of blossoms that in some
places almost hid the grass from view. To compensate for the long and
dreary winter Nature spreads her floral beauties with lavish hand, and
converts the once ice-bound region into a landscape of beautiful and
fragrant flowers.
The valley is fertile and well cultivated, villages and farm houses
being frequent. The road was excellent, wide, and well made; much
labor had been expended upon it during the last two years. Its up and
down-ishness was not to my liking, as the horses utterly refused to
gallop in ascending hills a mile or two long. The descent was less
difficult, but unfortunately we could not have it all descent. We had
equal quantities of rising and falling, with the difference against us
that we were ascending the valley. Fortunately the road was dry and in
some places we found it dusty.
Late in the afternoon we halted for dinner, ordering the samovar
almost before we stopped the tarantass. We ordered eggs and bread, and
in hopes of something substantial Borasdine consulted the mistress of
the house. He returned with disgust pictured on his countenance.
“Have they anything?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No; nothing but mutton.” Nothing but mutton! _I_ was entirely
reconciled. When it came I made a fine dinner, but he took very little
of it. There are great flocks of sheep belonging to the Bouriats in
Eastern Siberia, and they form the chief support of that people.
Curiously enough the Russians rarely eat mutton, though so abundant
around them. Borasdine told me it seldom appeared on a Siberian table,
and I observed that both nobles and peasants agreed in disliking it.
While at dinner we caught sight of a pretty face and figure, more to
my fellow traveler’s taste than the _piece de resistance_ of our meal.
After dinner we passed over a hill and entered a level region where we
found plenty of mud. About midnight the yemshick exhibited his skill
by driving into a mudhole where there was solid ground on both sides.
We were hopelessly stuck, and all our cries and utterances were of no
avail. The Cossack and the driver could accomplish nothing, and we
were obliged to descend from the carriage. We required our
subordinates to put their shoulders to the wheels, though the
operation covered them with mud. While they lifted we shouted to the
horses, Borasdine in Russian and I in French and English.
Twenty minutes of this toil accomplished nothing. Then we unloaded all
our baggage down to the smallest articles. Another effort and we were
still in our slough of despond. I retreated to a neighboring fence and
returned with a stout pole. The Cossack brought another, and we
arranged to lift the fore wheels to somewhere near the surface. It was
my duty to urge the horses, and I flattered myself that I performed
it.
I had the driver’s whip to assist my utterance; the others lifted,
while I struck and shouted. We had a long pull, a strong pull, and a
pull all together, and pulled out of the depths. I attributed no small
part of the success to the effect of American horse-vocabulary upon
Russian quadrupeds. When we reloaded it was refreshing to observe the
care with which the Cossack had placed our pillows on the wet ground
and piled heavy baggage over them. Borasdine expressed his objection
to this plan in such form that the Cossack was not likely to repeat
the operation.
The motion of the tarantass, especially its jolting over the rough
parts of the route, gave me a violent headache, the worst I ever
experienced. The journey commenced too abruptly for my system to be
reconciled without complaint. Nearly four months I had been almost
constantly on ships and steamboats, all my land riding in that time
not amounting to thirty miles. I came ashore at Stratensk and began
travel with a Russian courier over Siberian roads at the worst season
of the year. It was like leaving the comforts of a Fifth Avenue parlor
to engage in wood-sawing. At every bound of the vehicle my brain
seemed ready to burst, and I certainly should have halted had we not
intended delaying at Chetah.
[Illustration: CONCENTRATED ENERGIES.]
A Russian yemshick centers his whole duty in driving his team. He
gives no thought to the carriage or the persons inside; they must
look out for their own interest. Let him come to a hill, rough or
smooth, rocky or gravelly, provided there be no actual danger, he
descends at his best speed. Sometimes the horses trot, and again they
gallop down a long slope. Near the bottom they set out on a full run,
as if pursued by a pack of hungry wolves. They dash down the hill,
across the hollow, and part way up the opposite ascent without
slacking speed. The carriage leaps, bumps, and rattles, and the
contents, animate or inanimate, are tossed violently. If there is a
log bridge in the hollow the effect is more than electric. The driver
does not even turn his head to regard his passengers. If the carriage
holds together and follows it is all that concerns him.
At first I was not altogether enamored of this practice. But as I
never suffered actual injury and the carriages endured their rough
treatment, I came in time to like it. As a class the Russian yemshicks
are excellent drivers, and in riding behind more than three hundred of
them I had abundant opportunity to observe their skill. They are not
always intelligent and quick to devise plans in emergencies, but they
are faithful and know the duties of their profession. For speed and
safety I would sooner place myself in their hands than behind
professional drivers in New York. They know the rules of the road, the
strength and speed of their horses, and are almost uniformly good
natured.
We reached Chetah at five in the morning and roused the inmates of the
only hotel. The sleepy _chelavek_ showed us to a room containing two
chairs, two tables, and a dirty sofa. The Cossack brought our baggage
from the tarantass, and we endeavored to sleep. When we rose Borasdine
went to call upon the governor while I ordered breakfast on my own
account. Summoning the _chelavek_ I began, “_Dai samovar, chi, saher e
kleb_,” (give the samovar, tea, bread, and sugar.) This accomplished,
I procured beefsteaks and potatoes without difficulty. I spoke the
language of the country in a fragmentary way, but am certain my
Russian was not half as bad as the beefsteak.