I remained in Irkutsk until snow fell, and the winter roads were
suitable for travel. One day the moving portion of the city was on
wheels: the next saw it gliding on runners. The little sleighs of the
_isvoshchiks_ are exactly like those of St. Petersburg and
Moscow,—miniature affairs where you sit with your face within six
inches of the driver’s back, and cannot take a friend at your side
without much crowding. They move rapidly, and it is a fortunate
provision that they are cheap. In all large cities and towns of Russia
many _isvoshchiks_ go to spend the winter. With a horse and little
sleigh and a cash capital sufficient to buy a license, one of these
enterprising fellows will set up in business. Nobody thinks of walking
in Moscow or St. Petersburg, unless his journey or his purse is very
short. It is said there are thirty thousand sleighs for public hire in
St. Petersburg alone, during the winter months, and two-thirds that
number in Moscow. The interior towns are equally well supplied in
proportion to their population.
One may naturally suppose that accidents are frequent where there are
many vehicles and fast driving is the fashion. Accidents are rare from
the fact that drivers are under severe penalties if they run over any
one. Furthermore the horses are quick and intelligent, and being
driven without blinkers, can use their eyes freely. To my mind this
plan is better than ours, and most foreigners living in Russia are
inclined to adopt it. Considered as an ornament a blinker decorates a
horse about as much as an eye shade does a man.
With the first fall of snow, I began preparations for departure. I
summoned a tailor and gave orders for a variety of articles in fur and
sheep-skin for the road. He measured me for a coat, a cap, a pair of
stockings, and a sleigh robe, all in sheep-skin. He then took the size
of my ears for a pair of lappets, and proposed fur socks to be worn
under the stockings. When the accumulated result of his labors was
piled upon the floor of my room, I was alarmed at its size, and
wondered if it could ever be packed in a single sleigh. Out of a bit
of sable skin a lady acquaintance constructed a mitten for my nose, to
be worn when the temperature was lowest. It was not an improvement to
one’s personal appearance though very conducive to comfort.
To travel by _peraclodnoi_ (changing the vehicle at every station) is
bad enough in summer but ten times bad in winter. To turn out every
two or three hours with the thermometer any distance below zero, and
shift baggage and furs from one sleigh to another is an absolute
nuisance. Yery few persons travel by _peraclodnoi_ in winter, and one
does not find many sleighs at the post stations from the fact that
they are seldom demanded. Nearly all travelers buy their sleighs
before starting, and sell them when their journeys are ended.
I surveyed the Irkutsk market and found several sleighs ‘up’ for sale.
Throughout Siberia a sleigh manufactured at Kazan is preferred, it
being better made and more commodious than its rivals. My attention
was called to several vehicles of local manufacture but my friends
advised me not to try them. I sought a _Kazanski kibitka_ and with the
aid of an intelligent _isvoshchik_ succeeded in finding one. Its
purchase was accomplished in a manner peculiarly Russian.
The seller was a _mischanin_ or Russian merchant of the peasant class.
Accompanied by a friend I called at his house and our negotiation
began over a lunch and a bottle of nalifka. We said nothing on the
subject nearest my heart and his, for at least a half hour, but
conversed on general topics. My friend at length dropped a hint that I
thought of taking up my residence at Irkutsk. This was received with
delight, and a glass of nalifka, supplementary to at least half a
dozen glasses I had already swallowed.
“Why don’t you come to sleighs at once, and settle the matter?” I
asked. “He probably knows what we want, and if we keep on at this rate
I shall need a sleigh to go home in.”
“Don’t be impatient,” said my friend; “you don’t understand these
people; you must angle them gently. When you want to make a trade,
begin a long way from it. If you want to buy a horse, pretend that you
want to sell a cow, but don’t mention the horse at first. If you do
you will never succeed.”
We hedged very carefully and finally reached the subject. This was so
overpowering that we took a drink while the merchant ordered the
sleigh dragged into the court yard. We had another glass before we
adjourned for the inspection, a later one when we returned to the
house, and another as soon as we were seated. After this our
negotiations proceeded at a fair pace, but there were many vacuums of
language that required liquid filling. After endeavoring to lower his
price, I closed with him and we clenched the bargain with a drink.
Sleighs were in great demand, as many persons were setting out for
Russia, and I made sure of my purchase by paying on the spot and
taking a glass of nalifka. As a finale to the transaction, he urged me
to drink again, begged my photograph, and promised to put an extra
something to the sleigh.
The Siberian peasant classes are much like the Chinese in their manner
of bargaining. Neither begins at the business itself, but at something
entirely different. A great deal of time, tea, and tobacco is consumed
before the antagonists are fairly met. When the main subject is
reached they gradually approach and conclude the bargain about where
both expected and intended. An American would come straight to the
point, and dealing with either of the above races his bluntness would
endanger the whole affair. In many matters this patient angling is
advantageous, and nowhere more so than in diplomacy. Every one will
doubtless acknowledge the Russians unsurpassed in diplomatic skill.
They possess the faculty of touching gently, and playing with their
opponents, to a higher degree than any nation of Western Europe.
Other things being equal, this ability will bring success.
There are several descriptions of sleigh for Siberian travel. At the
head, stands the _vashok_, a box-like affair with a general
resemblance to an American coach on runners. It has a door at each
side and glass windows and is long enough for one to lie at full
length.
[Illustration: A VASHOK.]
Three persons with limited baggage can find plenty of room in a
vashok. A _kibitka_ is shaped much like a tarantass, or like a New
England chaise stretched to about seven feet long by four in width.
There is a sort of apron that can be let down from the hood and
fastened with straps and buckles to the boot. The boot can be buttoned
to the sides of the vehicle and completely encloses the occupants. The
vashok is used by families or ladies, but the kibitka is generally
preferred by men on account of the ability to open it in fine weather,
and close it at night or in storms.
A sleigh much like this but less comfortable is called a _povoska_. In
either of them, the driver sits on the forward part with his feet
hanging over the side. His perch is not very secure, and on a rough
road he must exercise care to prevent falling off. “Why don’t you have
a better seat for your driver?” I asked of my friend, when negotiating
for a sleigh. “Oh,” said he, “this is the best way as he cannot go to
sleep. If he had a better place he would sleep and lose time by slow
traveling.”
A sleigh much used by Russian merchants is shaped like an elongated
mill-hopper. It has enormous carrying capacity, and in bad weather
can be covered with matting to exclude cold and snow. It is large,
heavy, and cumbersome, and adapted to slow travel, and when much
luggage is to be carried. All these concerns are on runners about
thirty inches apart, and generally shod with iron. On each side there
is a fender or outrigger which serves the double purpose of
diminishing injury from collisions and preventing the overturn of the
sleigh. It is a stout pole attached to the forward end of the sleigh,
and sloping downward and outward toward the rear where it is two feet
from the runner, and held by strong braces. On a level surface it does
not touch the snow, but should the sleigh tilt from any cause the
outrigger will generally prevent an overturn. In collision with other
sleighs, the fender plays an important part. I have been occasionally
dashed against sleds and sleighs when the chances of a smash-up
appeared brilliant. The fenders met like a pair of fencing foils, and
there was no damage beyond the shock of our meeting.
[Illustration: A KIBITKA.]
The horses are harnessed in the Russian manner, one being under a yoke
in the shafts, and the others, up to five or six, attached outside.
There is no seat in the interior of the sleigh. Travelers arrange
their baggage and furs to as good a level as possible and fill the
crevices with hay or straw. They sit, recline, or lie at their option.
Pillows are a necessity of winter travel.
I exchanged my trunk for a chemadan of enormous capacity, and long
enough to extend across the bottom, of my sleigh. For the first
thousand versts, to Krasnoyarsk, I arranged to travel with a young
officer of engineers whose baggage consisted of two or three hundred
pounds of geological specimens. For provisions we ordered beef,
cabbage soup, little cakes like ‘mince turnovers,’ and a few other
articles. Tea and sugar were indispensable, and had a prominent place.
Our soups, meat, pies, _et cetera_ were frozen and only needed thawing
at the stations to be ready for use.
The day before my departure was the peculiar property of Saint
Inakentief, the only saint who belongs especially to Siberia.
Everybody kept the occasion in full earnest, the services commencing
the previous evening when nearly everybody got drunk. I had a variety
of preparations in the shape of mending, making bags, tying up bundles
and the like, but though I offered liberal compensation neither
man-servant nor maid-servant would lend assistance. Labor was not to
be had on any terms, and I was obliged to do my own packing. There are
certain saints’ days in the year when a Russian peasant will no more
work than would a Puritan on Sunday. All who could do so on the day
above mentioned visited the church four miles from Irkutsk, where
Saint Inakentief lies buried.
I occupied the fashionable hours of the two days before my departure
in making farewell visits according to Russian etiquette. Not
satisfied with their previous courtesy my friends arranged a dinner at
the club rooms for the last evening of my stay at Irkutsk. The other
public dinners were of a masculine character, but the farewell
entertainment possessed the charm of the presence of fifteen or twenty
ladies. General Shelashnikoff, Governor of Irkutsk, and acting
Governor General during the absence of General Korsackoff, presided at
the table. We dined directly before the portraits of the last and
present emperors of Russia, and as I looked at the likeness of
Nicholas I thought I had never seen it half as amiable.
After the dinner the tables disappeared with magical rapidity and a
dance began. While I was talking in a corner behind a table, a large
album containing views of Irkutsk was presented to me as a souvenir of
my visit. The _golovah_ was prominent in the presentation, and when it
was ended he urged me to be his _vis a vis_ in a quadrille. Had he
asked me to walk a tight rope or interpret a passage of Sanscrit, I
should have been about as able to comply. My education in ‘the light
fantastic’ has been extremely limited, and my acquaintances will
testify that nature has not adapted me to achievements in the
Terpsichorean art.
I resisted all entreaties to join the dance up to that evening. I
urged that I never attempted it a dozen times in my life, and not at
all within ten years. The golovah declared he had not danced in
twenty-five years, and knew as little of the art as I did. There was
no more to be said. I resigned myself to the pleasures awaiting me,
and ventured on the floor very much as an elephant goes on a newly
frozen mill-pond. Personal diffidence and a regard for truth forbid a
laudatory account of my success. I did walk through a quadrille, but
when it came to the Mazurka I was as much out of place as a blind man
in a picture gallery.
My arrangement to travel with the geologic officer and his heavy
baggage fell through an hour before our starting time. A now plan was
organized and included my taking Captain Paul in my sleigh to
Krasnoyarsk. Two ladies of our acquaintance were going thither, and I
gladly waited a few hours for the pleasure of their company. When my
preparations were completed, I drove to the house of Madame Rodstvenny
whence we were to set out. The madame and her daughter were to travel
in a large kibitka, and had bestowed two servants with much baggage
and provisions in a vashok. With our three vehicles we made a
dignified procession.
We dined at three o’clock, and were ready to start an hour later. Just
before leaving the house all were seated around the principal room,
and for a minute there was perfect silence. On rising all who
professed the religion of the Greek Church bowed to the holy picture
and made the sign of the cross. This custom prevails throughout
Russia, and is never omitted when a journey is to be commenced.
There was a gay party to conduct us to the first station,
conveniently situated only eight miles away. At the ferry we found
the largest assemblage I saw in Irkutsk, not excepting the crowd at
the fire. The ferry boat was on the other side of the river, and as I
glanced across I saw something that caused me to look more intently.
It was a little past sunset, and the gathering night showed somewhat
indistinctly the American and Russian flags floating side by side on
the boat. My national colors were in the majority.
The scene was rendered more picturesque by a profusion of Chinese
lanterns lighting every part of the boat. The golovah stood at my side
to enjoy my astonishment. It was to his kindness and attention that
this farewell courtesy was due. He had the honor of unfurling the
first American flag that ever floated over the Angara—and his little
surprise raised a goodly sized lump in the throat of his guest.
[Illustration: FAREWELL TO IRKUTSK.]
Our party was so large that the boat made two journeys to ferry us
over the water. I remained till the last, and on the bank of the river
bade adieu to Irkutsk and its hospitable citizens. I may not visit
them again, but I can never forget the open hearted kindness I
enjoyed. The Siberians have a climate of great severity, but its
frosts and snows have not been able to chill the spirit of genuine
courtesy, as every traveler in that region can testify. Hospitality is
a custom of the country, and all the more pleasing because heartily
and cheerfully bestowed.
The shades of night were falling fast as I climbed the river bank, and
began my sleigh ride toward the west. The arched gateway at Irkutsk
close by the ferry landing, is called the Moscow entrance, and is said
to face directly toward the ancient capital. As I reached the road, I
shouted “_poshol_” to the yemshick, and we dashed off in fine style.
At the church or monastery six versts away, I overtook our party. The
ladies were in the chapel offering their prayers for a prosperous
journey. When they emerged we were ready to go forward over a road not
remarkable for its smoothness.
At the first station our friends joined us in taking tea. Cups,
glasses, cakes, champagne bottles, cakes and cold meats, crept somehow
from mysterious corners in our vehicles. The station master was
evidently accustomed to visits like this, as his rooms were ready for
our reception. We were two hours in making our adieus, and consuming
the various articles provided for the occasion. There was a general
kissing all around at the last moment.
We packed the ladies in their sleigh, and then entered our own. As we
left the station our friends joined their voices in a farewell song
that rang in our ears till lost in the distance, and drowned by nearer
sounds. Our bells jingled merrily in the frosty air as our horses sped
rapidly along the road. We closed the front of our sleigh, and settled
among our furs and pillows. The night was cold, but in my thick
wrappings I enjoyed a tropical warmth and did not heed the low state
of the thermometer.
Our road for seventy versts lay along the bank of the Angara. A thick
fog filled the valley and seemed to hug close to the river. In the
morning every part of our sleigh except at the points of friction, was
white with frost. Each little fibre projecting from our cover of
canvas and matting became a miniature stalactite, and the head of
every nail, bolt, and screw, buried itself beneath a mass like
oxydised silver. Everything had seized upon and congealed some of the
moisture floating in the atmosphere. Our horses were of the color, or
no color, of rabbits in January; it was only by brushing away the
frost that the natural tint of their hair could be discovered, and
sometimes there was a great deal of frost adhering to them.
During my stay at Irkutsk I noticed the prevalence of this fog or
frost cloud. It usually formed during the night and was thickest near
the river. In the morning it enveloped the whole city, but when the
sun was an hour or two in the heavens, the mist began to melt away. It
remained longest over the river, and I was occasionally in a thick
cloud on the bank of the Angara when the atmosphere a hundred yards
away was perfectly clear. The moisture congealed on every stationary
object. Houses and fences were cased in ice, its thickness varying
with the condition of the weather. Trees and bushes became masses of
crystals, and glistened in the sunlight as if formed of diamonds. I
could never wholly rid myself of the impression that some of the trees
were fountains caught and frozen when in full action. The frost played
curious tricks of artistic skill, and its delineations were sometimes
marvels of beauty.
Any one who has visited St. Petersburg in winter remembers the effect
of a fog from the Gulf of Finland after a period of severe cold. The
red granite columns of St. Isaac’s church are apparently transformed
into spotless marble by the congelation of moisture on their surface.
In the same manner I have seen a gray wall at Irkutsk changed in a
night and morning to a dazzling whiteness. The crystalline formation
of the frost had all the varieties of the kaleidoscope without its
colors.
I slept well during the night, awaking occasionally at the stations or
when the sleigh experienced an unusually heavy thump. In the morning I
learned we had traveled a hundred and sixty versts from Irkutsk. The
road was magnificent after leaving the valley of the Angara, and the
sleigh glided easily and with very little jolting.
“No cloud above, no earth below;
A universe of sky and snow.”
I woke to daylight and found a monotonous country destitute of
mountains and possessing few hills. It was generally wooded, and where
under cultivation near the villages there was an appearance of
fertility. There were long distances between the clusters of houses,
and I was continually reminded of the abundant room for increase of
population.
We stopped for breakfast soon after sunrise. The samovar was ordered,
and our servants brought a creditable supply of toothsome little cakes
and pies. These with half a dozen cups of tea to each person prepared
us for a ride of several hours. We dined a little before sunset, and
for one I can testify that full justice was done to the dinner.
Very little can be had at the stations on this road, so that
experienced travelers carry their own provisions. One can always
obtain hot water, and generally bread, and eggs, but nothing else is
certain. In winter, provisions can be easily carried as the frost
preserves them alike from decaying or crushing. Soup, meats, bread,
and other edibles can be carried on long routes with perfect facility.
There is a favorite preparation for Russian travel under the name of
_pilmania_. It is a little ball of minced meat covered with dough, the
whole being no larger than a robin’s egg. In a frozen state a bag full
of pilmania is like the same quantity of walnuts or marbles, and can
be tossed about with impunity. When a traveler wishes to dine upon
this article he orders a pot of boiling water and tosses a double
handful of pilmania into it. After five minutes boiling the mass is
ready to be eaten in the form of soup. Salt, pepper, and vinegar can
be used with it to one’s liking.
Our _diner du voyage_ consisted of pilmania, roast beef, and partridge
with bread, cakes, tea, and quass. Our table furniture was somewhat
limited, and the room was littered with garments temporarily
discarded. The ladies were crinolineless, and their coiffures were
decidedly not Parisian. My costume was a cross between a shooting
outfit and the everyday dress of a stevedore, while my hair appeared
as if recently dressed with a currant bush. Captain Paul was equally
unpresentable in fastidious parlors, but whatever our apparel it did
not diminish the keenness of our appetites. The dinner was good, and
the diners were hungry and happy. Fashion is wholly rejected on the
Siberian road, and each one makes his toilet without regard to French
principles and tastes.
According to Russian custom, somebody was to be thanked for the meal.
As the dinner came from the provisions in the servants’ sleigh we
presented our acknowledgments to Madame Rodstvenny. With the
forethought of an experienced traveler the lady had carefully provided
her edibles and so abundant was her store that my supply was rarely
drawn upon. We were more like a pic-nic party than a company of
travelers on a long journey in a Siberian winter. Mademoiselle was
fluent in French, and charming in its use. The only drawback to
general conversation was my inability to talk long with Madame except
by interpretation. In our halts we managed to pass the time in
tea-drinking, conversation, and sometimes with music of an impromptu
character. I remember favoring air appreciative audience with a solo
on a trunk key, followed by mademoiselle and the captain in a duett on
a tin cup and a horn comb covered with letter paper.
There was very little scenery worthy of note. The villages generally
lay in single streets each containing from ten to a hundred houses.
Between these clusters of dwellings there was little to be seen beyond
a succession of wooded ridges with stretches of open ground. The
continued snow-scape offered no great variety on the first day’s
travel, and before night I began to think it monotonous. The villages
were from ten to twenty miles apart, and very much the same in general
characteristics. The stations had a family likeness. Each had a
travelers’ room more or less comfortable, and a few apartments for the
smotretal and his attendants. The travelers’ room had some rough
chairs, one or two hard sofas or benches, and the same number of
tables. While the horses were being changed we had our option to enter
the station or stay out of doors. I generally preferred the latter
alternative on account of the high temperature of the waiting rooms,
which necessitated casting off one’s outer garment on entering. During
our halts I was fain to refresh myself with a little leg stretching
and found it a great relief.
The first movement at a station is to present the padaroshnia and
demand horses. Marco Polo says, that the great Khan of Tartary had
posting stations twenty-five miles apart on the principal roads of his
empire. A messenger or traveler carried a paper authorizing him to
procure horses, and was always promptly supplied. The padaroshnia is
of ancient date, if Marco be trustworthy. It is not less important to
a Russian traveler at present than to a Tartar one in earlier times.
Our documents were efficacious, and usually brought horses with little
delay. The size of our party was a disadvantage as we occasionally
found one or two sets of horses ready but were obliged to wait a short
time for a third. Paul had a permit to impress horses in the villages
while I carried a special passport requesting the authorities to ‘lend
me all needed assistance.’ This was generally construed into
despatching me promptly, and we rarely failed with a little persuasion
and money, to secure horses for the third sleigh.
When we entered the stations for any purpose the sleighs and their
contents remained unguarded in the streets, but we never lost anything
by theft. With recollections of my experience at stage stations in
America, I never felt quite at ease at leaving our property to care
for itself. My companions assured me that thefts from posting vehicles
seldom occur although the country numbers many convicts among its
inhabitants. The native Siberians have a reputation for honesty, and
the majority of the exiles for minor offences lead correct lives. I
presume that wickedly inclined persons in villages are deterred from
stealing on account of the probability of detection and punishment. So
far as my experience goes the inhabitants of Siberia are more honest
that those of European Russia. In Siberia our sleighs required no
watching when we left them. After passing the Ural mountains it was
necessary to hire a man to look after our property when we breakfasted
and dined.
The horses being the property of the station we paid for them at every
change. On no account was the _navodku_ or drink-money to the driver
forgotten, and it varied according to the service rendered. If the
driver did well but made no special exertion we gave him eight or ten
copecks, and increased the amount as we thought he deserved. On the
other hand if he was obstinate and unaccommodating he obtained
nothing. If he argued that the regulations required only a certain
speed we retorted that the regulations said nothing about drink-money.
In general we found the yemshicks obliging and fully entitled to their
gratuities. We went at breakneck pace where the roads permitted, and
frequently where they did not. A travelers’ speed depends considerably
on the drink-money he is reported to have given on the previous stage.
If illiberal to a good driver or liberal to a bad one he cannot expect
rapid progress.
The regulations require a speed of ten versts (6-2/3 miles) per hour
for vehicles not on government service. If the roads are bad the
driver can lessen his pace, but he must make all proper exertion to
keep up to the schedule. When they are good and the driver is thirsty
(as he generally is), the regulations are not heeded. We arranged for
my sleigh to lead, and that of the servants to bring up the rear.
Whatever speed we went the others were morally certain to follow, and
our progress was frequently exciting. Money was potent, and we
employed it. Fifteen copecks was a liberal gratuity, and twenty
bordered on the munificent. When we increased our offer to twenty-five
or thirty it was pretty certain to awaken enthusiasm. Sometimes the
pecuniary argument failed, and obliged us to proceed at the legal
rate. In such cases we generally turned aside and placed the ladies in
advance.
We made twelve, fourteen, or sixteen versts per hour, and on one
occasion I held my watch, and found that we traveled a trifle less
than twenty-two versts or about fourteen and a half miles in sixty
minutes. I do not think I ever rode in America at such a pace (without
steam) except once when a horse ran away with me. Ordinarily we
traveled faster than the rate prescribed by regulation, and only when
the roads were bad did we fall below it. We studied the matter of
drink-money till it became an exact science.
About noon on the first day from Irkutsk we took a yemshick who proved
sullen in the highest degree. The country was gently undulating, and
the road superb but our promises of navodku were of no avail. We
offered and entreated in vain. As a last resort we shouted in French
to the ladies and suggested that they take the lead. Our yemshick
ordered his comrade to keep his place, and refused to turn aside to
allow him to pass. He even slackened his speed and drew his horses to
a walk. Our stout-armed _garcon_ took a position on our sleigh, and by
a fistic argument succeeded in turning us aside. We made only fair
progress, and were glad when the drive was ended.
When we began our rapid traveling, I had fears that the sleigh would
go to pieces in consequence, but was soon convinced that everything
was lovely. The sport was exciting, and greatly relieved the monotony
of travel. We were so protected by furs, pillows, blankets, and hay,
that our jolting and bounding had no serious result. The ladies
enjoyed it as much as ourselves, and were not at all inconvenienced by
any ordinary shaking. Once at the end of a furious ride of twenty
versts, I found the madame asleep and learned that she had been so
since leaving the last station.
I have ridden much in American stage coaches, and witnessed some fine
driving in the west and in California. But for rapidity and dash,
commend me always to the Siberian yemshicks.