The week I remained at Kiachta was a time of festivity from beginning
to end. I endeavored to write up my journal but was able to make
little more than rough notes. The good people would have been
excusable had they not compelled me to drink so much excellent
champagne. The amiable merchants of Kiachta are blessed with such
capacities for food and drink that they do not think a guest satisfied
until he has swallowed enough to float a steamboat.
I found an excellent _compagnon du voyage_, and our departure was
fixed for the evening after the dinner with Mr. Pfaffius. A change
from dinner dress to traveling costume was speedily made, and I was
_gotovey_ when my friend arrived with several officers to see us off.
About eight o’clock we took places in my tarantass, and drove out of
the northern gate of Troitskosavsk.
My traveling companion was Mr. Richard Maack, Superintendent of Public
Instruction in Eastern Siberia. He was just finishing a tour among the
schools in the Trans-Baikal province, and during fourteen years of
Siberian life, he had seen a variety of service. He accompanied
General Mouravieff oil the first expedition down the Amoor, and wrote
a detailed account of his journey. Subsequently he explored the
Ousuree in the interest of the Russian Geographical Society. He said
that his most arduous service was in a winter journey to the valley of
the Lena, and along the shores of the Arctic Ocean. The temperature
averaged lower than in Dr. Kane’s hibernation on the coast of
Greenland, and once remained at -60° for nearly three weeks. Of five
persons comprising the party, Maack is the only survivor. One of his
companions fell dead in General Mouravieff’s parlor while giving his
account of the exploration.
We determined to be comfortable on the way to Irkutsk. We put our
baggage in a telyaga with Maack’s servant and took the tarantass to
ourselves. The road was the same I traveled from Verkne Udinsk to
Kiachta, crossing the Selenga at Selenginsk. We slept most of the
first night, and timed our arrival at Selenginsk so as to find the
school in session. During a brief halt while the smotretal prepared
our breakfast, Maack visited the school-master at his post of duty.
Over the hills behind a lake about a day’s ride from Selenginsk there
is a Bouriat village of a sacred character. It is the seat of a large
temple or lamisary whence all the Bouriats in Siberia receive their
religious teachings. A grand lama specially commissioned by the great
chief of the Bhuddist faith at Thibet, presides over the lamisary. He
is supposed to partake of the immortal essence of Bhudda, and when his
body dies, his spirit enters a younger person who becomes the lama
after passing a certain ordeal.
The village is wholly devoted to religious purposes, and occupied
exclusively by Bouriats. I was anxious to visit it, but circumstances
did not favor my desires.
We made both crossings of the Selenga on the ice without difficulty.
It was only a single day from the time the ferry ceased running until
the ice was safe for teams. We reached Verkne Udinsk late in the
evening, and drove to a house where my companion had friends. The good
lady brought some excellent nalifka of her own preparation, and the
more we praised it the more she urged us to drink. What with tea,
nalifka, and a variety of solid food, we were pretty well filled
during a halt of two hours.
It was toward midnight when we emerged from the house to continue our
journey. Maack found his tarantass at Verkne Udinsk, and as it was
larger and better than mine we assigned the latter to Evan and the
baggage, and took the best to ourselves. Evan was a Yakut whom my
friend brought from the Lena country. He was intelligent and active,
and assisted greatly to soften the asperities of the route. With my
few words of Russian, and his quick comprehension, we understood each
other very well.
During the first few hours from Verkne Udinsk the sky was obscured and
the air warm. My furs were designed for cold weather, and their weight
in the temperature then prevailing threw me into perspiration. In my
dehar I was unpleasantly warm, and without it I shivered. I kept
alternately opening and closing the garment, and obtained very little
sleep up to our arrival at the first station. While we were changing
horses the clouds blew away and the temperature fell several degrees.
Under the influence of the cold I fell into a sound sleep, and did not
heed the rough, grater-like surface of the recently frozen road.
From Verkne Udinsk to Lake Baikal, the road follows the Selenga
valley, which gradually widens as one descends it. The land appears
fertile and well adapted to farming purposes but only a small portion
is under cultivation. The inhabitants are pretty well rewarded for
their labor if I may judge by the appearance of their farms and
villages. Until reaching Ilyensk, I found the cliffs and mountains
extending quite near the river. In some places the road is cut into
the rocks in such a way as to afford excitement to a nervous traveler.
The villages were numerous and had an air of prosperity. Here and
there new houses were going up, and made quite a contrast to the old
and decaying habitations near them. My attention was drawn to the
well-sweeps exactly resembling those in the rural districts of New
England. From the size of the sweeps, I concluded the wells were deep.
The soil in the fields had a loose, friable appearance that reminded
me of the farming lands around Cleveland, Ohio.
One of the villages where we changed horses is called Kabansk from the
Russian word ‘_Kaban_’ (wild boar). This animal abounds in the
vicinity and is occasionally hunted for sport. The chase of the wild
boar is said to be nearly as dangerous as that of the bear, the brute
frequently turning upon his pursuer and making a determined fight. We
passed the Monastery of Troitska founded in 1681 for the conversion of
the Bouriats. It is an imposing edifice built like a Russian church in
the middle of a large area surrounded by a high wall. Though it must
have impressed the natives by its architectural effects it was
powerless to change their faith.
[Illustration: WILD BOAR HUNT.]
As it approaches Lake Baikal the Selenga divides into several
branches, and encloses a large and very fertile delta. The afternoon
following our departure from Verkne Udinsk, we came in sight of the
lake, and looked over the blue surface of the largest body of fresh
water in Northern Asia. The mountains on the western shore appeared
about eight or ten miles away, though they were really more than
thirty. We skirted the shore of the lake, turning our horses’ heads to
the southward. The clear water reminded me of Lake Michigan as one
sees it on approaching Chicago by railway from the East. Its waves
broke gently on a pebbly beach, where the cold of commencing winter
had changed much of the spray to ice.
[Illustration: A WIFE AT IRKUTSK]
There was no steamer waiting at Posolsky, but we were told that one
was hourly expected. Maack was radiant at finding a letter from his
wife awaiting him at the station. I enquired for letters but did not
obtain any. Unlike my companion. I had no wife at Irkutsk.
[Illustration: NO WIFE AT IRKUTSK.]
The steamboat landing is nine versts below the town, and as the post
route ended at Posolsky, we were obliged to engage horses at a high
rate, to take us to the port. The alternate freezing and thawing of
the road—its last act was to freeze—had rendered it something like
the rough way in a Son-of-Malta Lodge. The agent assured us the
steamer would arrive during the night. Was there ever a steamboat
agent who did not promise more than his employers performed?
According to the tourist’s phrase the port of Posolsky can be ‘done’
in about five minutes. The entire settlement comprised two buildings,
one a hotel, and the other a storehouse and stable. A large quantity
of merchandise was piled in the open air, and awaited removal.
It included tea from Kiachta, and vodki or native whiskey from
Irkutsk. There are several distilleries in the Trans-Baikal province,
but they are unable to meet the demand in the country east of the
lake. From what I saw _in transitu_ the consumption must be enormous.
The government has a tax on vodki equal to about fifty cents a gallon,
which is paid by the manufacturers. The law is very strict, and the
penalties are so great that I was told no one dared attempt an evasion
of the excise duties, except by bribing the collector.
The hotel was full of people waiting for the boat, and the
accommodations were quite limited. We thought the tarantass preferable
to the hotel, and retired early to sleep in our carriage. A teamster
tied his horses to our wheels, and as the brutes fell to kicking
during the night, and attempted to break away, they disturbed our
slumbers. I rose at daybreak and watched the yemshicks making their
toilet. The whole operation was performed by tightening the girdle and
rubbing the half-opened eyes.
Morning brought no boat. There was nothing very interesting after we
had breakfasted, and as we might be detained there a whole week, the
prospect was not charming. We organized a hunting excursion, Maack
with his gun and I with my revolver. I assaulted the magpies which
were numerous and impertinent, and succeeded in frightening them.
Gulls were flying over the lake; Maack desired one for his cabinet at
Irkutsk, but couldn’t get him. He brought down an enormous crow, and
an imprudent hawk that pursued a small bird in our vicinity. His last
exploit was in shooting a partridge which alighted, strange to say, on
the roof of the hotel within twenty feet of a noisy crowd of
yemshicks. The bird was of a snowy whiteness, the Siberian partridge
changing from brown to white at the beginning of winter, and from
white to brown again as the snow disappears.
A “soudna” or sailing barge was anchored at the entrance of a little
bay, and was being filled with tea to be transported to Irkutsk. The
soudna is a bluff-bowed, broad sterned craft, a sort of cross between
Noah’s Ark and a Chinese junk. It is strong but not elegant, and might
sail backward or sidewise nearly as well as ahead. Its carrying
capacity is great in proportion to its length, as it is very wide and
its sides rise very high above the water. Every soudna I saw had but
one mast which carried a square sail. These vessels can only sail
with the wind, and then not very rapidly. An American pilot boat could
pass a thousand of them without half trying.
About noon we saw a thin wreath of smoke betokening the approach of
the steamer. In joy at this welcome sight we dined and bought tickets
for the passage, ours of the first class being printed in gold, while
Evan’s billet for the deck was in Democratic black. It cost fifteen
roubles for the transport of each tarantass, but our baggage was taken
free, and we were not even required to unload it.
[Illustration: A SOUDNA.]
There is no wharf at Posolsky and no harbor, the steamers anchoring in
the open water half a mile from shore. Passengers, mails, and baggage
are taken to the steamer in large row boats, while heavy freight is
carried in soudnas. The boat that took us brought a convoy of exiles
before we embarked. They formed a double line at the edge of the lake
where they were closely watched by their guards. When we reached the
steamer we found another party of prisoners waiting to go on shore.
All were clad in sheepskin pelisses and some carried extra garments.
Several women and children accompanied the party, and I observed two
or three old men who appeared little able to make a long journey. One
sick man too feeble to walk, was supported by his guards and his
fellow prisoners.
Though there was little wind, and that little blew from shore, the
boat danced uneasily on the waves. Our carriages came off on the last
trip of the boat, and were hoisted by means of a running tackle on one
of the steamer’s yards.
While our embarkation was progressing a crew of Russians and Bouriats
towed the now laden soudna to a position near our stern. When all was
ready, we took her hawser, hoisted our anchor and steamed away. For
some time I watched the low eastern shore of the lake until it
disappeared in the distance. Posolsky has a monastery built on the
spot where a Russian embassador with his suite was murdered by
Bouriats about the year 1680. The last objects I saw behind me were
the walls, domes, and turrets of this monastery glistening in the
afternoon sunlight. They rose clear and distinct on the horizon, an
outwork of Christianity against the paganism of Eastern Asia.
The steamer was the _Ignalienif_, a side wheel boat of about 300 tons.
Her model was that of an ocean or coasting craft, she had two masts,
and could spread a little sail if desired. Her engines were built at
Ekaterineburg in the Ural Mountains, and hauled overland 2500 miles.
She and her sister boat, the _General Korsackoff_, are very profitable
to their owners during the months of summer. They carry passengers,
mails, and light freight, and nearly always have one or two soudnas in
tow. Their great disadvantage at present is the absence of a port on
the eastern shore.
The navigation of Lake Baikal is very difficult. Storms arise with
little warning, and are often severe. At times the boats are obliged
to remain for days in the middle of the lake as they cannot always
make the land while a gale continues. There was very little breeze
when we crossed, but the steamer was tossed quite roughly. The winds
blowing from the mountains along the lake, frequently sweep with great
violence and drive unlucky soudnas upon the rocks.
The water of the lake is so clear that one can see to a very great
depth. The lake is nearly four hundred miles long by about thirty or
thirty-five in width; it is twelve hundred feet above the sea level,
and receives nearly two hundred tributaries great and small. Its
outlet, the Angara, is near the southwestern end, and is said to carry
off not more than a tenth of the water that enters the lake. What
becomes of the surplus is a problem no one has been able to solve. The
natives believe there is an underground passage to the sea, and sonic
geologists favor this opinion. Soundings of 2000 feet have been made
without finding bottom. On the western shore the mountains rise
abruptly from the water, and in some places no bottom has been found
at 400 feet depth, within pistol shot of the bank. This fact renders
navigation dangerous, as a boat might be driven on shore in even a
light breeze before her anchors found holding ground.
The natives have many superstitions concerning Lake Baikal. In their
language it is the “Holy Sea,” and it would be sacrilege to term it a
lake. Certainly it has several marine peculiarities. Gulls and other
ocean birds frequent its shores, and it is the only body of fresh
water on the globe where the seal abounds. Banks of coral like those
in tropical seas exist in its depths.
[Illustration: AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE.]
The mountains on the western shore are evidently of volcanic origin,
and earthquakes are not unfrequent. A few years ago the village of
Stepnoi, about twenty miles from the mouth of the Selenga, was
destroyed by an earthquake. Part of the village disappeared beneath
the water while another part after sinking was lifted twenty or thirty
feet above its original level. Irkutsk has been frequently shaken at
the foundations, and on one occasion the walls of its churches were
somewhat damaged. Around Lake Baikal there are several hot springs,
some of which attract fashionable visitors from Irkutsk during the
season.
[Illustration: LAKE BAIKAL IN WINTER]
The natives say nobody was ever lost in Lake Baikal. When a person is
drowned there the waves invariably throw his body on shore.
The lake does not freeze until the middle of December, and sometimes
later. Its temperature remains pretty nearly the same at all seasons,
about 48° Fahrenheit. In winter it is crossed on the ice, the passage
ordinarily occupying about five hours. The lake generally freezes when
the air is perfectly still so that the surface is of glossy smoothness
until covered with snow. A gentleman in Irkutsk described to me his
feelings when he crossed Lake Baikal in winter for the first time. The
ice was six feet thick, but so perfectly transparent that he seemed
driving over the surface of the water. The illusion was complete, and
not wholly dispelled when he alighted. “Starting from the western
side, the opposite coast was not visible, and I experienced” said my
friend, “the sensation of setting out in a sleigh to cross the
Atlantic from Liverpool to New York.”
In summer and in winter communication is pretty regular, but there is
a suspension of travel when the ice is forming, and another when it
breaks up. This causes serious inconvenience, and has led the
government to build a road around the southern extremity of the lake.
The mountains are lofty and precipitous, and the work is done at vast
expense. The road winds over cliffs and crags sometimes near the lake
and again two thousand feet above it. Largo numbers of peasants,
Bouriats, and prisoners have been employed there for several years,
but the route was not open for wheeled vehicles at the time I crossed
the lake.
One mode of cutting the road through the mountains was to build large
bonfires in winter when the temperature was very low. The heat caused
the rock to crack so that large masses could be removed, but the
operation was necessarily slow. The insurrection of June, 1866,
occurred on this road.
Formerly a winter station was kept on the ice half-way across the
lake. By a sudden thaw at the close of one winter the men and horses
of a station were swallowed up, and nothing was known of them until
weeks afterward, when their bodies were washed ashore. Since this
catastrophe the entire passage of the lake, about forty miles, is made
without change of horses.
We left Posolsky and enjoyed a sunset on the lake. The mountains rise
abruptly on the western and southeastern shores, and many of their
snow covered peaks were beautifully tinged by the fading sunlight. The
illusion regarding distances was difficult to overcome, and could only
be realized by observing how very slowly we neared the mountains we
were approaching. The atmosphere was of remarkable purity, and its
powers of refraction reminded me of past experience in the Rocky
Mountains. We had sunset and moon-rise at once. ‘Adam had no more in
Eden save the head of Eve upon his shoulder.’
The boat went directly across and then followed the edge of the lake
to Listvenichna, our point of debarkation. There was no table on
board. We ordered the samovar, made our own tea, and supped from the
last of our commissary stores. Our fellow passengers in the cabin were
two officers traveling to Irkutsk, and a St. Petersburg merchant who
had just finished the Amoor Company’s affairs. We talked, ate, drank,
smoked, and slept during the twelve hours’ journey.
Congratulate us on our quick passage! On her very next voyage the
steamer was eight days on the lake, the wind blowing so that she could
not come to either shore. To be cooped on this dirty and ill-provided
boat long enough to cross the Atlantic is a fate I hope never to
experience.
There is a little harbor at Listvenichna and we came alongside a
wharf. Maack departed with our papers to procure horses, and left me
to look at the vanishing crowd. Take the passengers from the steerage
of a lake or river steamer in America, dress them in sheepskin coats
and caps, let them talk a language you cannot understand, and walk
them into a cloud of steam as if going overboard in a fog, and you
have a passable reproduction of the scene. A bright fire should be
burning on shore to throw its contrast of light and shadow over the
surroundings and heighten the picturesque effect.
Just as the deck hands were rolling our carriages on shore my
companion returned, and announced our horses ready. We sought a little
office near the head of the wharf where the chief of the ‘_tamojna_’
(custom house) held his court. This official was known to Mr. Maack,
and on our declaring that we had no dutiable effects we were passed
without search.
As before remarked all the country east of Lake Baikal is open to free
trade. This result has been secured by the efforts of the present
governor general of Eastern Siberia. Under his liberal and enlightened
policy he has done much to break down the old restrictions and develop
the resources of a country over which he holds almost autocratic
power. It was about three in the morning when we started over the
frozen earth. Two miles from the landing we reached the custom house
barrier where a pole painted with the government colors stretched
across the road. Presenting our papers from the chief officer we were
not detained. On the steamer when we were nearing harbor our
conversation turned upon the custom house. It was positively asserted
that the officials were open to pecuniary compliments, much, I presume
like those in other lands. The gentleman from the Amoor had
considerable baggage, and prepared a five rouble note to facilitate
his business. Evidently he gave too little or did not bribe the right
man, as I left him vainly imploring to be let alone in the centre of a
pile of open baggage, like Marius in the ruins of Carthage.
The road follows the right bank of the Angara from the point where it
leaves the lake. The current here is very strong, and the river rushes
and breaks like the rapids of the St. Lawrence. For several miles from
its source it never freezes even in the coldest winters. During the
season of ice this open space is the resort of many waterfowl, and is
generally enveloped in a cloud of mist. At the head of the river rises
a mass of rock known as _Shaman Kamen_ (spirit’s rock). It is held in
great veneration by the natives, and is believed to be the abode of a
spirit who constantly overlooks the lake. When shamanism prevailed in
this region many human sacrifices were made at the sacred rock. The
most popular method was by tying the hands of the victim and tossing
him into the ‘hell of waters’ below.
Many varieties of fish abound in the lake, and ascend its tributary
rivers. The fishery forms quite a business for the inhabitants of the
region, who find a good market at Irkutsk. The principal fish taken
are two or three varieties of sturgeon, the herring, pike, carp, the
_askina_, and a white fish called _tymain_. There is a remarkable fish
consisting of a mass of fat that burns like a candle and melts away in
the heat of the sun or a fire. It is found dead on the shores of the
lake after violent storms. A live one has never been seen.
[Illustration: A SPECIMEN.]
The distance to Irkutsk from our landing was about forty miles, and we
hoped to arrive in time for breakfast. A snow storm began about
dayliglit, so that I did not see much of the wooded valley of the
river. We met a train of sixty or seventy carts, each carrying a cask
of vodki. This liquid misery was on its way to the Trans-Baikal, and
the soudna which brought a load of tea would carry vodki as a return
cargo.
The clouds thinned and broke, the snow ceased falling, and the valley
became distinct. While I admired its beauty, we reached the summit of
a hill and I saw before me a cluster of glittering domes and turrets,
rising from a wide bend in the Angara. At first I could discern only
churches, but very soon I began to distinguish the streets, avenues,
blocks, and houses of a city. We entered Irkutsk through its eastern
gate, and drove rapidly along a wide street, the busiest I had yet
seen in Asiatic Russia.
Just as the sun burst in full splendor through the departing clouds, I
alighted in the capital of Oriental Siberia, half around the world
from my own home.
[Illustration: TAIL PIECE—THE WORLD]