IMPRESSIONS OF TOMSK.
Our arrival at Tomsk was signalized by the greatest cold which we had
experienced so far. The Réaumur glass showed more than forty degrees
of frost, and in this bitter atmosphere it seemed impossible to keep
up one’s circulation. In the miserable drosky which took us from the
station to the town we became so numbed that on arrival at the portals
of the hotel it was with difficulty that we could dismount. Gaskell
was unfortunate enough to get one of his hands frost-bitten, and the
thawing of that member was accompanied by pain so intense that he
almost screamed in agony. Nor was the hotel at which we were forced
to put up conducive to comfort. There is in Tomsk one very good
hotel, called the Europa, but unfortunately we were unable to obtain
apartments here, and were forced to seek shelter in a hostinitca, which
was, to say the least, decidedly third class--inferior, in fact, to the
accommodation which we had received at Omsk.
Bad as was the bedroom accommodation and the general eating
arrangements, the hardened traveller could perhaps put up with them,
but what was worse than all was the shocking sanitary arrangements
of the place--a state of things, however, which is pretty general in
Siberian houses. The stench of that hotel was something abominable, a
stench carried on the hot air which crowded and filtered into every
corner and crevice of the place. All the windows were tightly closed,
being constructed on the double plan, with cotton wool in between, in
order to preclude the possibility of a particle of air entering one’s
chamber. To sleep in such an atmosphere was out of the question, and
we got out of the difficulty by breaking a couple of panes of glass
in the window and tying a piece of sacking over the orifice. That hole
in the window, viewed from outside, was something like the funnel of a
steamer, the hot air rushing out in clouds of steam to be immediately
converted into fine snow. But even this novel means of ventilation did
not rid us of the smell, which permeated everything from the door of
the hotel to the tiniest room or passage.
[Illustration: TOMSK.]
The red-shirted and long-haired individual who acted as proprietor
and servant combined, intimated that it was quite impossible to get
anything to eat. The samovar we could have with pleasure, but of food
the only thing in that direction which it was possible to obtain would
be black bread. Our supply of provisions being exhausted, and being in
a town of some thirty thousand inhabitants, black bread was not the
sort of thing to satisfy four hungry Englishmen; so I wandered forth,
chartered a drosky, and drove down to the market-place, or bazaar,
which turned out to be a big square surrounded by rows of dismal
wooden huts in the last stages of decrepitude. Afar off, over a wooden
bridge which spanned the bed of a small river, I could see blinking
electric lights, and marvelled considerably.
Here was a town which sported one of the greatest inventions of the
age, and yet four travellers, willing to pay anything in reason for
decent accommodation, could get no better than that of which I have
spoken, and no better food offered than black bread! Most of the
magazines were closed. A few skin-clad moujiks, muffled up to the eyes,
shuffled along in their huge felt boots, and a few horses hobbled at
the heel, looked forlorn and miserable by the huge scales which marked
the centre of the bazaar.
My driver, on learning my mission, drove me to a magazine, which
fortunately was open, and here I was able to purchase a couple of dozen
eggs, frozen as solid as stones, a loaf or two of white bread, a box of
sardines, and some sweets. The manner in which the eggs were thrown
into the bottom of the drosky was a touching tribute to the severity of
the Siberian winter.
By dismal candlelight, seated on rough wooden chairs around a rougher
table, with the steaming samovar in the centre, we made our meal. Such
luxuries as plates or knives we knew not. We carved our bread with a
bowie; we held our eggs in our hands, and consumed the contents, not
by the use of a spoon, but by jerking all that would come out into our
mouths, then breaking the shell and sucking away what remained attached
to the skin. For four of us the proprietor had found one spoon, so the
bread-cutting bowie served also to stir up our tea. We started on eggs,
made a second course of sardines, and had sweets for dessert. Only our
perennial good temper made the meal enjoyable. It was not so much that
what we had was not satisfying, but the great fact that here we were in
a town, one of the richest in Siberia, and one of the most populous,
and that it was impossible to get better fare than this.
No wonder that Siberia is looked upon by the traveller with abhorrence.
Apart from its inhabitants, no one can say that Siberia is not a land
of beauty, plenty, and promise; but it is the nature of its inhabitants
which make it the terrible place it is. The independence, the filth,
and general want of comfort which characterize every effort of the
community serve to make a visit to any Siberian centre a thing to be
remembered for many years, and an experience not desirable to repeat.
Yet Tomsk is not without its attractions. It is divided into two towns,
the upper and the lower; the latter being on the banks of the Tom, and
the former on the brow of the high cliffs which divide the river into
two sections. There are some very fine buildings in the city, notably
the Military Academy, the Government Mining Laboratory, the governor’s
residence, the theatre, and half a dozen magnificent churches. The
main street is built on the side of a hill, east to west, but the
mean character of the houses and magazines on either side, as well as
the dilapidated and broken wooden pavement outside them, turns what
would be a magnificent avenue into one by no means pleasing to the
eye. At night the electric light casts a white glare upon this huddle
of houses, and serves to show the unwary pedestrian the pitfalls in
the road and the pavement. What this town is like in summer, when the
hot sun beats down upon its unpaved roads and serves to accentuate
its predominant smell, it is not difficult to realize. Happily for
the health of the Tomskite, there is an eight-months’ winter, and to
this almost perpetual time of frost I certainly think that much of the
good health of the Siberian is due. I have travelled in many lands,
but I must place it on record that for absolute neglect of the most
elementary stages of sanitation the Siberian authorities surpass the
efforts of all others I have seen.
Prior to the establishment of the Trans-Siberian Railroad, Tomsk,
being situated at the very centre of Siberia, became the _entrepôt_ for
the general commerce of the country. Westward, the magnificent water
system of the Obi put the traveller in touch with Tobolsk, Tiumen, and
the Trans-Ural Railway to Europe. Tomsk was, and still is, the biggest
debarking point for European goods. Here, too, are centred some of
the great tea magazines, and the residences of several millionaire
gold-miners and merchants. Its society is distinctly that of the
trading classes. Rich men abound--made rich by the profits of monopoly,
but with that monopoly steadily slipping at the present time from their
grasp. The gold-miners are, perhaps, the most influential, inasmuch as
the industry of gold-mining in Siberia is one in which the Government
takes an active interest. They are represented in Tomsk by many of
the leading gold-miners of the country, notably M. Siberikoff, one of
the richest men in all Siberia, and who has done much towards the
improvement of the city. In 1888 he founded the University, the first
one, I believe, in the whole of Siberia, and to which, at the present
day, students journey from all parts of Siberia in order to complete
their education.
While in Tomsk I had the opportunity of visiting one of these
millionaire gold-miners, a man whom popular repute said was one of
the richest in Tomsk. He possessed, at any rate, the largest and
most sumptuously furnished private residence, and was said to be
extremely hospitable. And yet this man could with difficulty sign
his own name. Forty years ago he had been an ordinary gold-washer
in the Semipalatinsk Mountains. That was in the days when gold was
found by the handful, when there was very little competition, less
Government supervision, and plenty of opportunities for stealing. From
a moujik the particular gold-miner I am speaking of became a renter of
Government land, and in the course of the next twenty years amassed
nearly a million roubles. He purchased houses and land freely in Tomsk,
and ultimately became, as I have hinted, one of the wealthiest men in
the community.
It is the custom in Siberia when paying a visit, even if it be at ten
o’clock in the morning, to go in evening dress. To neglect this is to
offer one of the greatest insults you can to the Siberian. Excuses
avail nothing; it is a case of being in a land where such a thing is
necessary, and if you are unprovided with the customary black coat
that is entirely your look out, and by far the best thing to do is to
decline the invitation. Fortunately, I was aware of this custom, and
had brought with me the necessary costume, and I made the visit at
midday.
My host received me with considerable enthusiasm, but although
accustomed somewhat to Siberian manners, it was with difficulty that
I could repress my repugnance of him. He was unshaven, dirty, and
the rusty black clothes which he wore fitted him as a sack would a
broomstick. He smoked _papiros_, spat, and made horrible noises with
his nose. He invited me to drink vodki, which I did. It was his custom
to take a glass, swallow its contents, and then eructate noisily; in
which performance he was aided and abetted by several of the male
members of the family and some visitors.
Dinner in the house of a wealthy Siberian is a peculiar custom. There
is no formal sitting down, to be waited upon as with us of the western
world. The apartment into which I was ushered was large, bare, and
uncomfortable. An enormous piano occupied one corner; chairs were
scattered around on the polished floor; the walls were whitewashed, but
without a picture or other ornamentation to relieve their bareness;
a great stove, which occupied another corner, sent out radiating
waves of heat. Down one side of the room ran a long table, decked out
with glasses, bottles, plates, knives and forks, and many and varied
articles of food in the way of canned goods. This table was faced by
three smaller ones, covered with red baize, and around which, in the
intervals of eating and drinking, our host’s party would assemble to
throw dice or play cards. The Siberian luncheon or dinner occupies
hours. You sit around and take a hand at cards or form one in a dice
party. Ten minutes elapse, the host comes round, pats each one of his
guests on the shoulder, and at the same time flicks his third finger
against his neck. This is the Siberian invitation for a drink. The
crowd collects around the table, each takes a glass filled with vodki,
or with some one or other of the many mysterious compounds which go
under the name of Siberian liqueurs, tosses it off, makes a grimace,
sometimes the sign of the cross, gulps down a bit of bread and sardine,
and wanders back to the card-table.
In another ten minutes a huge sturgeon, smoking hot, is brought in on
a dish. The host comes round again, again pats shoulders, but this
time moves his jaws convulsively, as if in the action of eating.
Up rises the crowd once more, in order to make a combined attack
upon the sturgeon with finger or with fork, washing down toothsome
morsels with more vodki. Back again to card-playing, and up again
to eat or drink--so the day wears on. Conversation is not very
brilliant or long sustained. There is a moody, dissatisfied air about
everybody--a general, as it seemed to me, want of confidence in one’s
neighbour--which makes the whole meeting oppressive, so much so that I
was glad when the time for departure came, and I was able to get out
into the street.
At that moment it is necessary again to observe Siberian customs, this
being to shake the hand of the host, the hostess, and everybody who has
got any connection with the house, and to thank them for the food you
have had; to declare that it is the finest food you have eaten in all
your life, that you have never tasted such vodki, and that, as long as
you live, you will remember the hospitality you have received. Mine
host hurries to help you into your shouba; but you must on no account
let him do that, as it would imply that you have not had enough to eat
to make you strong enough for that particular office. You gently ward
him off and laugh idiotically; he insists, and _you_ insist, until
ultimately you manage to get into your furs, shake hands again, cross
yourself before the ikon on the wall, bundle down the steps into the
yard, where dogs snarl around your legs, open the big gate, and emerge
into the street.
The ceremony of Siberian hospitality is almost ludicrous, viewed of
course from the light of things at home. It is impossible for the
Westerner to feel comfortable, and I have it on the authority of a
French gentleman who has lived in Tomsk for fifteen years, and is
compelled by his position to move about considerably in the so-called
society of the place, that he cannot get himself to enjoy the various
functions at which he is always an honoured guest.
While in Tomsk, it was my privilege and good fortune to make the
acquaintance of M. Shostok, the chief of the Mining Department
of Central Siberia, and who probably ranks, next to the General
Governor himself, as the most important personage in all Tomsk. I
found M. Shostok an extremely agreeable and cultured gentleman, who
had travelled much, and was keenly alive to the shortcomings of the
Siberian populace. His particular department was one which required
a tremendous amount of work, for he was the receiver of all the gold
and other precious metals mined in the provinces of Tomsk, Atchinsk,
Semipalatinsk, Minusinsk, and Yeneiseik, a district covering many
thousands of square miles, and including in its area all the richest
gold mines north of the Altai range.
At Tomsk the gold is received, assayed, and smelted, its actual value,
less 3 per cent, or 5 per cent., according to the district, being
credited to the miner on a six month’s acceptance. The average amount
of gold received yearly by the Tomsk laboratory amounts to some
hundreds of poods, the latest statistics showing 170 poods in 1891,
being 7.15 per cent. of the production of the whole country. Eastern
Siberia, of which the receiving depôt is Irkutsk, produces far more
gold, 1510 poods being the receipts in 1891--63.32 per cent. of the
production of the whole country. Considering that Western Siberia is
for the main part comparatively flat, the production is looked upon as
extremely encouraging, although Eastern Siberia offers greater scope to
the capitalist and to the foreign miner.
So far, owing to lack of information concerning the country, and to
the universal suspicion attaching to enterprises in Russia, combined
with the formidable red-tapeism of the Russian Government, very few
foreigners have attempted gold-mining in Siberia; although, from the
little that I have learnt of it, I can see that it is as safe, if
not safer, to work for gold in that country than in others where the
Government itself is not the protecting agent. One thing, however,
must be borne in mind: in order to pose as a successful miner in
Siberia it is necessary first of all to clearly understand the
conditions implied by the Government, and to have a complete knowledge
of the language and the customs of the people; for the pitfalls are
many, and the Russian Government is not the sort of one to excuse
mistakes.
Thanks to M. Shostok’s kindness, I was taken into the laboratory,
and shown into the safety vaults, where was stored something like
two hundred poods of smelted gold. The deep dungeons of mediæval
history may be compared to the safety vaults at the Tomsk laboratory.
Subterranean passages, guarded by heavily armed soldiers; ponderous
iron gates and doors; keys a foot long; rusty hinges, bolts; and all
that sort of thing. Four soldiers took us into the store-room, where
three enormous iron safes let into the walls glared at us. The locks of
these safes were sealed with wax, of which M. Shostok alone possessed
the seal. This wax was broken, the safe door unlocked, and there,
reposing on shelves, lay bars of the dull yellow metal, representing
some millions of roubles and the work of thousands of men for many
months.
I had the opportunity of trying to carry as much gold as I could lift,
and it was surprising to me what a small quantity it seemed, and yet it
would have been sufficient to have made my Siberian journey distinctly
remunerative--if I had been allowed the further opportunity of getting
away with it. But there were too many soldiers about; far too many
revolvers, guns, swords, big gates, ponderous locks, and such things
as that, to permit feelings of cupidity even in sight of such wealth.
I went out as poor as I entered, except from an intellectual point of
view, and proceeded to the smelting-room, where I saw tiny pellets of
gold extracted from masses of baser mineral; saw the smallest and most
sensitive balance I have ever had the luck to look upon. This balance
was so true that a piece of paper was weighed against so many hairs. I
afterwards wrote my name on the paper in pencil, and the weight of my
signature was clearly shown.
A word now as to the investment of foreign capital in the Siberian
gold-mining industry. In England, at any rate, there is, or seems
to be, an idea prevalent that before any one can undertake mining
enterprise of any sort in Siberia, it is necessary to get a concession
from the Russian Government. This is entirely erroneous. All that is
necessary is that the intending prospector or purchaser of land shall
be rated a good citizen of his particular country. He should possess
a paper from his consul or ambassador which gives him that honour.
The presentation of this paper, at Tomsk or Irkutsk, to the Minister
of Mines will secure for him a Russian privilege-paper, which gives
him the right for as long as he lives to prospect for gold or other
precious metals in any part of Siberia. He can either break fresh
ground or rent or buy existing mines, for the terms of the contract are
these: All the gold he obtains must be handed over to the Government.
He must obey in every particular the rules laid down by the Mining
Department as to the conduct of his affairs. He is not allowed to have
more than five versts of gold-bearing land in any one spot (this in
order to give other people a chance). But the Government, it seems to
me, in this particular makes one rule and another to obviate it. Thus,
although he may not possess more than five versts of land, his son may
possess the next five versts, his mother the next, and all his uncles,
aunts, sisters, brothers, grandfathers, and grandmothers can go on at
five versts a time consecutively, or as long as the money holds out or
there is land available.
The penalties for breaking any of the rules of the Mining Department
are very severe. It is forbidden to sink a shaft more than ten feet
deep without the presence of a Government inspector. Every piece of
gold obtained from the workings must be carefully weighed in the
presence of the Cossack provided by the Government, duly sealed, and
its weight, value, and venue entered into a gold book. If any mistake
be made in the entry, the miner is subject to a fine of twenty-five
roubles for every error, and in this particular the signatures of the
mining engineer and the mine owner must be attached to the book plain
and unvarnished, the slightest flourish or tailpiece to the signature
costing twenty-five roubles. Here, again, the Russian system of making
one rule to upset another comes in; for all that is necessary to get
back the money expended in fines, is to write a letter to the Minister
of Mines pleading for pardon, and I believe that this pardon is very
rarely withheld.
The gold obtained from the mines must be sent at periods of not more
than three months from each other to the laboratory. If any of the
gold should be lost in transit, the Government will shut down the mine
until that gold or its equivalent value is found. Again, if more than
two strikes occur amongst the workmen in one year the Government
may exercise its right to close the workings. If one of the workmen
be killed by defective machinery, or even in brawling, the works are
stopped.
Little things like these may not tend to encourage foreign capital,
more especially when above all there exists that autocratic right,
which the Emperor reserves, to present you with your passport without
explanation or reason, and to give you twenty-four hours notice to
leave the country.
So much for the general principles of gold-mining in Siberia. Of the
actual detail work of that industry I shall have more to say later on,
when, in contact with the rough gold-miners of the Syansk Mountains,
I had practical experience of the hunt for that noble metal which has
caused some happiness and untold misery for mankind in general.