_ACROSS LAKE BAIKAL TO TROITZKOSAVSK._
Leaving Irkutsk.--The Angara.--Approach to the Baikal.--Its shores and
fish.--Steaming across.--Seizing post-horses.--Arrival at Verchne
Udinsk.--Smuggling at the prison.--Arrival at Selenginsk.--English
mission to Buriats.--English graves.--Old scholars.--Story of the
mission.--Journey to Troitzkosavsk.
We left Irkutsk on Thursday, July 10th, after a stay that could hardly
be called enjoyable, though amid the confusion we met with much more
consideration than could have been expected. For the first night we
slept, as already stated, in our tarantass, and I took my morning bath
in the pantry. What a treat, too, was that bath, deliciously cold from
the Angara, to a man who had not taken his clothes off for more than
a week! During our stay we made the acquaintance of several officers,
of whom there is no lack at Irkutsk, as there are usually in barracks
about 2,000 troops. It was very difficult to procure provisions. On
sending out on the morning of our departure, all the white bread
that could be found was one penny loaf, and that somewhat stale. It
seemed, therefore, that I should have to come down to rye bread; but
some pancakes were made for me, the difficulty was thus surmounted,
and by two o’clock we had fairly begun our 300 miles to Kiakhta. Our
baggage and remaining books were still too heavy to be taken on the
same vehicle, and we therefore stowed away ourselves and our personal
effects in the tarantass, and the boxes followed in a post-conveyance,
out of which they were changed at every station. We wished to make only
40 miles before night, to Lake Baikal, and then wait till morning at
Listvenitznaya for the steamer.
We had not proceeded far before we drove along the banks of the Angara,
which is, in some respects, the most remarkable river in Siberia.
There are scores of streams and rivulets running into Lake Baikal, of
which the more important are the Upper Angara, the Barguzin, and the
Selenga; but the Angara is the only one that runs out, and it does so
with such impetuosity that the rapid by which the water leaves the
lake never freezes even with the temperature of the air at 24° below
zero; and though the ice is six feet thick on the lake, yet, all the
winter through, ducks float on the bosom of the rapid. I have heard it
suggested that there may be hot-springs just there; but whether this
is so or not, the waters of the lake and the Angara are particularly
cold.[1]
Shortly after leaving Irkutsk the road enters a wooded part of the
Angara valley, and as the road winds along it, many points are passed
presenting magnificent views. In some parts enormous sandstone cliffs
arise out of the water, crowned with dark pines and cedars; in others
the thick forest descends to the river’s brink, and the broad sheet
of water is seen rushing madly onwards. Afterwards the valley becomes
more rugged, with deep ravines running up into the mountains. Beyond
this the road has been cut along the edge of a cliff at a considerable
height above the river, and, about five miles before reaching the
Baikal, a scene is presented that may well cause the traveller to stop.
The valley becomes wider, and the mountains rise abruptly to a much
greater elevation. The Angara is here more than a mile in width, and
this great body of water is seen rolling down a steep incline, forming
a rapid nearly four miles in length. At the head of this, and in the
centre of the stream, a great mass of rock rises, called the _Shaman
Kamen_, or “Priest,” or “spirit’s stone,” held sacred by the followers
of Shamanism, and not to be passed by them without an act of devotion.
When Shamanism prevailed in this neighbourhood, human sacrifices were
made at the sacred rock, the victim with his hands tied being tossed
into the torrent below. Beyond is the broad expanse of the Baikal,
extending about 50 miles, to where its waves wash the foot of Amar
Daban, whose summit, even in June, is usually covered with snow. The
mighty torrent throwing up its jets of spray, the rugged rocks with
their fringes of pendent birch overtopped by lofty pines, and the
colouring on the mountains, produce a picture of extraordinary beauty
and grandeur. A few miles further, and the Baikal is seen spreading out
like a sea, and its waves are heard beating on the rocky shore.
The storms on the lake are very severe. They say, at Irkutsk, it is
only upon the Baikal in the autumn that a man learns to pray from his
heart. The most dangerous wind is the north-west. It is called the
mountain wind, whilst that from the south-west is called the “_deep_
sea-breeze.” Formerly, in crossing, it was no uncommon occurrence
for a boat or barge to be detained three weeks on a voyage of 40
miles, without being able to land on either shore. This induced an
enterprising merchant to have a hull built on the lake, and engines,
boiler, and machinery brought 4,000 miles overland from Petersburg;
and when the new vessel steamed across in a gale, both Siberians and
Mongols looked on with not a little astonishment.[2]
The fish of the Baikal are abundant, and are caught in variety, such as
the _omullé_, somewhat like the herring; the _suig_, which resembles
but is smaller than the sturgeon; the _askina_, the pike, the carp, the
_lavaret_, and a white fish called the _tymain_. Travellers also tell
of a remarkable fish called the _golomain_, which is only seen when
thrown on shore during a violent tempest, and is of so oily a nature
that it melts in the sun, or on the approach of heat, leaving only its
skeleton and skin. It is a remarkable fact also that the seal of the
ocean is found in the lake. About 2,000 are killed yearly.
The natives call the lake _Svyatoe More_, the “Holy Sea,” and aver
that no one was ever lost in its waters; for when a person is drowned
therein, the waves invariably throw his body on shore. It must be a
pleasant sensation to cross this lake in winter. The ice is as clear,
transparent, and as smooth as glass, so that travellers describe
the difficulty of realizing that they are not gliding on water. The
journey across is made in a remarkably short time. Mr. Erman travelled
thus 7 German miles (or 27 English) in 2¼ hours, which for horse
travelling must be allowed to be extraordinary. Formerly there was a
winter station on the ice, half-way across, for changing horses; but
as the ice on one occasion gave way, and allowed the whole concern to
disappear, they now cross the lake at a single stage. There is a road
round the south end of the lake, but in summer the crossing by steamer
is usually preferred.
We reached the station about six or eight hours after leaving Irkutsk,
and, passing the night at a rough hotel, next morning got our tarantass
on board, among half-a-dozen others, and steamed across. The steamer
was called the _General Korsakoff_. It made a loud grunting, and out of
its tall chimney emitted a cloud of sparks like the tail of a comet.
I went below to see the engines, and found them of the most primitive
kind--a huge boiler simply laid in a wooden hull. I offered for sale on
board some of my books, and gave others away. This soon got me friends,
and the engineer honoured me by playing a tune on his concertina. I
went also into the captain’s cabin, and he was glad to buy some New
Testaments. It was so chilly, however, on deck that I put on my ulster,
and stowed myself away in the tarantass; after doing which, on the 11th
of July, it was not difficult to believe what I had heard, that pigeons
flying across the lake in winter sometimes drop dead from cold.
As we drew near to the shore, we had the enjoyment of a mild piece of
something like revenge. I have already observed that the traveller who
has a crown podorojna takes precedence; but if two travellers come
to a station, _both_ having crown podorojnas, he who arrives first
takes the horses. Moreover, “the rule of the road” is that one set of
post-horses must not outstrip one that has started before; which rule,
however, an extra tip to the yemstchik will sometimes evade. Now, as
we came towards Irkutsk, we had been outstripped by a military officer
travelling with his wife, who took the fresh horses we should have had;
so that, when we arrived, it was feared we should be without. Whereupon
the officer’s wife, addressing me in French, asked half-triumphantly,
and half in a mischievous joke, whether I did not find myself “without
horses”? She happened, however, to be wrong. We obtained horses, and,
at night, overtook our friends, broken down, with their tarantass
undergoing repairs at another station. We therefore got ahead, till, on
the Baikal, they overtook us again. We saw at a glance that there would
be a rush for horses, and, therefore, immediately the boat touched, I
sprang ashore, presented to the post-master my podorojna, and secured
my team; whereas the officer, not knowing that I had more than an
ordinary civilian’s paper, or relying, perhaps, upon the power of his
crown podorojna, was not so quick, and failed to get his steeds; and as
we rolled away we heard him storming at the post-master for allowing us
to have them before he had been served.
We drove for some distance on an elevated plateau beside the eastern
shore of the lake, from which we got many good views of its waters,
and where we observed at the roadside red Turk’s-head lilies, similar
to but smaller than those seen in English gardens, and yellow lilies.
There were likewise in the neighbourhood abundance of strawberries,
raspberries, and whortleberries. Among the trees were cedars up to 120
feet in height; also the balsam poplar, which here attains a growth
sufficiently large to allow the natives of the coast to make their
canoes of a single log; likewise the cherry-tree and the Siberian
apple. A black and white jackdaw, as my companion called it, made its
appearance; and the birds of prey appeared more numerous, as they well
might be in the vicinity of a larger animal population; for in these
Baikal forests are found martens, squirrels, foxes, wolves, the lynx,
the elk, the wild boar, and the bear--the last feeding on berries in
summer, and on cedar-nuts raked up from beneath the snow in winter.
Having taken the lead on the road from the Baikal, we were anxious to
keep it, though things looked threatening on arriving at the first
station, where the post-master said there were no horses. We brought
our crown podorojna to bear, and then the letter of the Minister at
Petersburg, but to no purpose. There were no post-horses, he said,
though there was a man standing near who would lend us private horses
at double fares. To this we should have had to agree, but we pulled
out lastly our _blanco_ letter, and this gained the day; for the
post-master, on seeing that, said to the would-be extortioner, “You
must let them have the horses”; and so on we trotted through a country
more hilly than anything we had passed, till at six o’clock we arrived
at Verchne Udinsk. This place might very well be called “the Amur and
China Junction,” for to turn to the left brings the traveller to the
Pacific, and to turn to the right leads to Peking.
It was now Saturday afternoon, and we were anxious to get on, if
possible, a few stations further, to Selenginsk, which was the scene
of the labours of some English missionaries, and there to spend the
Sunday to inquire about their work. The old difficulty of horses,
however, cropped up, for they could let us have none on the instant,
and every one was on tiptoe expecting the passing through of the
Governor-General, Baron Friedrichs. I have already mentioned that his
Excellency was at some mineral springs on the Mongolian frontier, and,
having heard of the fire at Irkutsk, he was now returning. Everything,
therefore, had to be in readiness. The post-house was swept and
garnished, and we were requested not to go into the large guest-room,
where the tables and chairs were arranged for his Excellency’s visit.
Horses, however, were promised quickly as a favour, and meanwhile we
strolled into the town.
Verchne--that is, Upper--Udinsk is the capital of an uyezd, and has a
population of 3,500. It is a clean little town, and, upon entering the
market square, it was easy to see that we were approaching the borders
of the Celestial Empire--for here was John Chinaman, with open shop,
standing behind the counter selling tea. We found also, to our great
satisfaction, a baker’s shop, where was not only white bread, but all
manner of bake-meats, of which we proceeded to make havoc then and
there. The white bread was 75 per cent. dearer than at Tobolsk, but I
was only too thankful to get a store at any price, my pancakes being
all but gone. For lemonade they asked 6_s._ a bottle, or 6_d._ a glass.
It was like watered lemon syrup. Fresh butter cost a rouble a pound,
and was obtained with difficulty.
There is a prison in Verchne Udinsk, which we passed at the side
of the road, and the prisoners were looking from the windows. Here
had recently occurred an incident illustrative of Goryantchikoff’s
statement, in his “Buried Alive,” that some of his fellow-prisoners
were spirit-dealers, and frequently smuggled liquor into the prison
in the entrails of cows or oxen. For this purpose the entrails were
washed and filled with water, to keep them damp and ready to receive
the liquor. When filled, they were wound by the smuggler round his body
and thighs, and so brought into the prison. On the afternoon of our
arrival, a drunken woman had been detected thus carrying in _vodka_. We
did not visit the building, but left with the Ispravnik half-a-dozen
New Testaments, and the same number or Gospels for Tatars, and of
Scripture portions in Mongolian. The present was not unappreciated,
for the Ispravnik, learning that I was going to the far east, gave me
an introduction to his son-in-law at Blagovestchensk, which afterwards
proved useful.
At last we started, and trotted on through the night to Selenginsk,
and spent there the remainder of the following day. We called on the
Ispravnik, who, with his wife, received us politely; and the latter,
finding that we had good books to dispose of, wished to purchase some,
which I allowed her to do to the value of three roubles. We also asked
the Ispravnik’s acceptance of some portions of Scripture in Mongolian
for distribution among the surrounding Buriats. Then conversation
followed about the English mission, of which Selenginsk was for 13
years the head-quarters, but ceased to be so about 40 years ago.
The Ispravnik had nothing to say of the missionaries but what was good
and kind,--a repetition of what I had heard elsewhere. A house, he told
us, was still standing on the spot where the missionaries lived, and
he furnished us with the names of persons who could give us further
information. We went, therefore, direct to the site of the mission
station, where we found some out-buildings, very much like those of an
English farmyard, and strongly suggestive of home. There was also a
nice house, which had been built near the spot on which formerly stood
the one inhabited by the Englishmen. The garden remained, and in it we
were taken to a walled enclosure--a little graveyard--in which were
five graves: those of Mrs. Yule, Mrs. Stallybrass, and three children.
The place had been recently renovated, at the expense of a missionary
in China, and we were pleased to see the resting-place of our
compatriots looking so neat and orderly. The garden commanded a pretty
view of the valley of the Selenga, and there was pointed out across
the river the site on which the town stood in the early part of the
century, till, being destroyed by fire, it was rebuilt on the opposite
side. The lady who occupied the house told us that now and then a
traveller turns aside to see the spot, and that the ignorant people say
that the English people come out of their graves at night--a report she
is at no pains to contradict, on the plea that, as the house is in a
lonely position, the idea may conduce to protect her from thieves.
After having been shown what there was of interest about the place,
we called on an old man--a Russian--named Ivlampi Melnikoff, who,
in his boyhood, had attended the mission school. When he heard that
one of the missionaries, Mr. Stallybrass, was still living, and that
I had seen him just before leaving England, he seemed much pleased,
and spoke with affection of his teachers. He had not opened a book
for 40 years, and so had forgotten how to read, but he remembered,
and inquired particularly for, some of the missionaries’ sons, and
sent to them his respects. The old man had lost sight of his Buriat
schoolfellows, and thought that not one of them became a Christian,
though he afterwards remembered that one was baptized into the Russian
Church. Besides this old Russian we saw the nephew of one who had been
a pupil in the school, and heard of an old man living some 35 versts
distant, still a Buriat, who, as a boy, had been a scholar. We had the
same testimony from both witnesses, that has been repeated by several
travellers, that the missionaries did not baptize a single convert.
None of them, however, said what I did not know until I returned to
England, and spoke to Mr. Stallybrass upon the subject, namely, that
the missionaries were under agreement with the Russian Government _not_
to baptize any converts.[3]
We continued our journey from Selenginsk for twelve hours more, through
a country which gave me my first experience of a Russian steppe, a
tract of undulating land with a sandy soil, covered with a little grass
and a reedy-looking herb, but suffering from a lack of humidity, as the
tundra suffers from lack of warmth. Trees were visible only here and
there, but water was abundant, sometimes in large lakes; so that the
hilly roads, the expanse of water, and the treeless waste, reminded me
sometimes of the scenery of our Wiltshire downs, and, in one or two
places, of the English lakes. As we approached our destination the road
became more and more sandy, and very heavy for the horses; but at last,
on Monday, the 14th July, we reached Kiakhta.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] As we approached Telma my thermometer at noon in the shade stood
at 85°, and when crossing a stream called the Ija, the temperature of
the water was 70°; but coming on the same day to the Angara, nearly 100
miles from Baikal, the temperature of the river was only 50°; and when
crossing the Baikal itself, the atmosphere registered 45° and the water
only 40°. The Angara is the last river in Siberia to close, which it
does about New Year’s Day (sometimes not till the middle of January);
and the first to open, namely, about the 11th April. The lake is 1,200
feet above the sea level, and the current of the river is remarkably
swift, as the traveller will infer should he overtake a barge being
towed against the stream by perhaps 20 horses. Though the distance is
only 40 miles from Irkutsk, a barge takes three days to be dragged up
to the rapid, and then for the rapid itself it requires another day,
even with double the number of horses. This refers, however, to a large
_soudno_, or vessel, with a bluff bow and broad stern, which might
almost as well sail sideways as speed ahead, and usually carries 600
chests and 25,000 bricks of tea.
[2] The basin of the lake is about 400 miles in length and 35 miles in
width, covering an area of 14,000 square miles. It has a circumference
of nearly 1,200 miles. This, therefore, is the _largest fresh-water
lake_ in the Old World; and, next to the Caspian and the Aral, is the
largest inland sheet of water in Asia. Several travellers have crossed
the lake _en route_ from or to Irkutsk, but Mr. Atkinson did more. He
spent several days exploring its coasts, and, turning to the east from
Listvenitznaya, he found the shore became exceedingly abrupt for 20
miles, with many striking scenes, in which waterfalls played a part.
The north shore is the most lofty. In some parts the precipices rise
900 feet, and, a little beyond the Arga, to 1,200 feet. Basaltic cliffs
also appear rising from deep water to an elevation of 700 feet. A
little more than a boat’s length from shore, soundings have been taken
to the depth of 900 feet. Greater depths than this, however, have been
reached. The captain of the steamer informed Mr. Atkinson that on one
occasion he had run out 2,100 feet of line without finding bottom;
and in 1872 soundings were taken at the south-west end, showing 3,600
feet: hence the common saying that the Baikal has no bottom. The shore
exhibits, besides the basalt just named, other unquestionable evidences
of volcanic action, and in some of the ravines are great masses of
lava. Hot mineral springs likewise exist in several parts of the
surrounding mountain-chain.
[3] The story of the mission seemed to be this:--At the beginning of
the present century there were four parties of foreign Protestant
missionaries working in the Russian dominions, namely, (1) the
Presbyterians, in the south of European Russia; (2) the Moravians, on
the Volga; (3) some Swiss missionaries from Basle, who took the place
of the Presbyterians, and worked upon their ground; and (4) the London
Missionary Society, which was allowed to send men to the Buriats in
Siberia. Among the last company were Messrs. Stallybrass, Swan, and
Yule, who saw at once that the first thing to be done was to translate
the Scriptures. Mr. Stallybrass left England in 1817, and lived in
Irkutsk for a year and a half to learn the Mongolian language. In due
time the translation was commenced, from the original Hebrew and Greek,
and with such success did the work go on that they actually printed
the Old Testament in their Siberian wilderness at Verchne Udinsk,
to which place the missionaries removed from Selenginsk, and where
they remained till they were sent home in 1840. The New Testament was
printed in London. Their work was, therefore, of a preparatory and
fundamental, rather than an aggressive, character. Nevertheless, they
had a school, numbering, sometimes, from 15 to 20 scholars; but there
was found a special difficulty in inducing children to attend, for not
only were their parents utterly ignorant of the value of education,
but they wanted the children to help them tend their flocks, grazing,
not on settled pasturage, but as they wandered over the vast extent
of the Trans-Baikal and the Mongolian steppes. Hence the children
were at school to-day and gone to-morrow; and even when parents could
be induced to leave their children with the missionaries during
their own absence with their flocks, these children had to be kept
and fed as boarders, and even then the parents begrudged the loss of
their services. The object, however, of the Englishmen began to be
appreciated, and tokens of success appeared. Then came the difficulty
which all along had loomed in the distance. The Russian Synod, in
its jealousy for its own Church, had expressly stipulated that the
missionaries should receive no converts by baptism, and this had been
agreed to, and, of course, kept. But when certain of the Buriats showed
signs of having received the truth, in the love of it, the missionaries
found themselves in a dilemma. The Russians wished the converts to be
handed over for baptism to their Church, and, on these terms, were
willing that the English should stay and work as hard as they pleased;
but this did not satisfy the men, nor the committee of the London
Missionary Society, and neither party was disposed to give way. About
this time, however, great political changes had taken place. Alexander
I., who favoured Christian missions, had died, and was succeeded by
the iron Nicolas, who does not seem to have been particularly opposed
to missions; but the Synod was jealous of foreign interference, and
an occasion was found for dismissing all foreign missionaries from
the Russian dominions, under the pretext that the Synod wished to do
all its own mission work for its own heathen. The Imperial ukase to
this effect was issued in 1840, and thus a mission was stopped whose
foundations were laid by the English, and which produced a translation
of the whole Bible printed in Buriat Mongolian. It had taught some few
scholars of great promise, one of whom, at least, named Shagder, it was
known (and probably many more did so unknown), was afterwards baptized
into the Russian Church. How far the Russian missionaries among this
people owe any portion of their success to the foundation thus laid I
cannot say. Of the Russian mission I shall speak hereafter.