_THE UPPER AMUR._
Formation of the Amur.--Chinese boundary.--Our steamer.--Captain and
passengers.--Natives of Upper Amur.--Orochons.--Manyargs.--Their
hunting year.--Our journey.--Run aground.--Table
provisions.--Scenery.--Albazin.--Cliff of Tsagayan.
We glided into the Amur about sunset on the 30th July, when, happening
to come on deck, I found the passengers gazing over the stern of the
vessel. Before us were the two rivers of which the Amur is formed.
To the right was the defile of the Shilka, to the left the Argun;
and between the streams the mountains narrowed, and came to a point
a mile above the meeting of the waters. On the tongue of land below
was the Russian village and Cossack post of Ust-Strelka. The soft
light of evening threw a charm over the well-wooded landscape. We
had, moreover, reached at last a point out of range of the ubiquitous
English traveller, and to which even comparatively few Russians make
their way from Europe. The Shilka we had travelled, and it was given to
us to peep a little way up the Argun, and remember that in its valley
the great Genghis Khan fought some of his early battles, and from hence
started to subdue China, and begin that wonderful career of Mongol
conquest that extended to Central Europe.
Looking to the north-east and down stream, the view was exceedingly
pretty. On the right, heavily-wooded mountains abut upon the river
for two miles, while on the left is a strip of bottom-land backed by
gentle slopes. To the front we see the river sparkling in the sun, and
rejoicing in its new and beautiful birth.
We were now fairly launched upon a river which, including its numerous
tributaries, is said to drain a territory of 766,000 square miles--an
area as large, that is, as any three countries of Europe except
Russia. The length of the stream from this point to the sea is 1,780
miles, with a fall of 2,000 feet; but if the Argun be regarded as
the main stream, then the total length of the Amur is 3,066 miles,
with a fall of 6,000 feet. It will be best, I think, to treat of so
huge a river in sections, seeing it passes through such varieties of
climate and population. The first section, extending from Ust-Strelka
to Blagovestchensk, at the mouth of the Zeya, we will call the Upper
Amur; from Blagovestchensk to Khabarofka, at the mouth of the Ussuri,
the Middle Amur; and from Khabarofka to the Pacific at Nikolaefsk, the
Lower Amur. The Russians have made a fine atlas, in 46 sheets, of the
river below the confluence of the Shilka and Argun.
Up to the point we had now reached, Russian territory lay on both
sides. Henceforth to Khabarofka we were to have Chinese soil on the
right. The boundary then descends along the bank of the Ussuri, and
continues in a tolerably straight line southwards through Lake Khanka
to the Bay of Peter the Great, in the Sea of Japan. My intention was,
therefore, roughly speaking, to keep along this boundary, and embark
for Yokohama.
But I have said nothing as yet of the steamer in which the first part
of my journey was to be accomplished, namely, from Kara to Khabarofka,
a distance of 1,270 miles. It was a paddle-boat called the _Zeya_.
As I walked on board at Ust-Kara, Captain Paskevitch met me, told me
in French that my cabin was not quite ready, and asked me to occupy
meanwhile his room on deck. He had heard of my mission from Colonel
Merkasin, at Stretinsk, and had most kindly set apart for me, on a full
steamer, a first-class cabin intended for two persons. This he reserved
so tenaciously as to refuse a first-class place to a passenger rather
than cause inconvenience by giving me a companion, though I was asked
to pay only a single fare.
As compared with the steamer on which I traversed the Obi, the _Zeya_
was small, and it was not new. There were first and second-class cabins
fore and aft, but third-class passengers lived on deck. All three
grades were well represented. Among the first-class passengers was M.
Kokcharoff, a Government officer connected with the gold-mines, whom
we had met at Nertchinsk at dinner, and who was the father of one of
the young officers we saw at Irkutsk. There were also an officer and
his wife whom we had seen on the road at Verchne Udinsk. Among the
second-class passengers were several naval and military officers,
proceeding to their stations on the Pacific, and with them the lady and
gentleman of whom we got the start with the horses from the Baikal.
Several of the ladies spoke French, and a naval captain, Baron de
Fitingoff, spoke a little English also. Thus I needed not to be silent,
and soon found myself at home.
It speedily became manifest that our captain was a man of
determination, and that he had a rough-and-ready way of enforcing
his orders. The cook, an oily-looking man, had smuggled _vodka_ on
board, and made himself so far drunk as to spoil the passengers’
dinner; whereupon the captain seized him and tied him to the capstan.
He had not been there long, however, before the capstan was required
for some one else. The ship had got into difficulties, the number of
the crew being insufficient for the occasion; and the captain ordered
a man-of-war’s-man, travelling as a third-class passenger, to lend a
hand. He did not choose to do so, whereupon the captain collared him,
and, having released the cook, bound him to the capstan. Our chief, I
found, was only a young man--less than 25--and had served for a time in
the Imperial navy. He had fallen in love, and wished to marry before
the age allowed in the service. Just then the Amur Company made him
a good offer to take charge of one of their vessels, and he had thus
left the Government service, and accepted a stipend which enabled him
to forsake a bachelor’s life. He thought, however, that in giving up
the navy he had made a mistake, and sent his papers by some of our
passengers to be presented to the Governor at Vladivostock, asking to
return.
As we proceeded we found the population on the Chinese bank was
exceedingly small, and but few houses appeared on the Russian side.
The natives of the Upper and Middle Amur belong, all of them, to
the Tungusian stock, though they differ somewhat among themselves,
according to the manner of life they pursue, and their nearness or
otherwise to Chinese influence. Thus, on the Upper Amur, on the Russian
territory, are the Orochons, or reindeer Tunguses; whilst further
east, north of the Middle Amur, are their brethren the Manyargs,
or horse Tunguses. On the southern bank of the Upper Amur are the
Daurians, who to some extent cultivate the soil; whilst further east,
and to the south of the Middle Amur, is the region of the Manchu, the
most civilized of all the Tunguse tribes. This division is somewhat
arbitrary, and does not notice subdivisions of some of the tribes;
but it may suffice for the present to indicate their territories, and
we can enter into further particulars as we approach their respective
localities.
The Orochons numbered, in 1856, 206 individuals of both sexes, roving
over an area of 28,000 square miles--a country, that is, as large
as Bavaria or the island of Sardinia. They originally lived in the
province of Yakutsk, whence they emigrated to the banks of the Amur in
1825, and occupied a part of the territory of the Manyargs, whom they
compelled to withdraw farther down the river.[1]
The Manyargs occupy the north bank of the Middle Amur below the
Orochons, but in summer they ascend the river for the purpose of
fishing. As the needs of the reindeer drive the Orochons to the moss
tracts of the mountains, so the needs of the horses send the Manyargs
to the grassy valleys of the Zeya, and to the prairie region eastwards
to the Bureya mountains.
Apart, however, from their differences as to habitation, and the
domestic animals they use (the Orochons keeping deer and the Manyargs
horses), we may speak of the Orochons and Manyargs together. In
appearance they are rather small, and of a spare build. Their arms and
legs are thin, the face flat, but the nose, in many instances, is large
and pointed. The cheeks are broad, the mouth large, the eyes small
and sleepy-looking. The hair is black and smooth, the beard short,
and the eyebrows very thin. Old men allow the beard and moustache to
grow, but carefully pull out the whiskers. They cut the hair short on
the forehead and temples, and plait it behind into a tail, ornamented
with ribbons and leather straps. This fashion was no doubt copied from
the Manchu, but since they have come under Russian influence it has
gradually waned. In the case of the women the hair is parted down the
middle, the plaits are worn round the head, and fastened with ribbons
above the forehead. During summer the women wear a conical hat made of
cotton, somewhat like an extinguisher. Unmarried girls are recognized
by their head-band, embroidered with beads.
The Orochons and Manyargs lead a wandering life. In spring and summer
they live on the banks of the river to fish; in autumn they retire to
the interior to hunt. In these migrations the deer or the horses carry
the scanty property of their owners. The horses are small but strong,
of great endurance, and find food in winter by scraping away the snow
with their feet.
[Illustration: REINDEER TUNGUSES WITH BIRCH-BARK TENT.]
Wild animals in the region of the Upper and Middle Amur are
numerous. The Orochons disperse in small parties to hunt them,
returning from time to time to their yourts.[2] They hunt squirrels,
sables, reindeer, elks, foxes, and sometimes bears. Squirrels they
find in great numbers. A good sportsman may kill 1,000 in a season,
and 500 is an average bag.[3] In December they take their furs to the
localities fixed upon for paying the _yassak_, or tax, where also they
barter with merchants assembled for that purpose. Each male between the
ages of 15 and 50 pays annually two silver roubles, or their equivalent
in furs. No other taxes are levied upon them, and this brings in to
the Government an enormous quantity of skins.
My journey on the Upper Amur, or, more accurately, from Ust-Kara to
Blagovestchensk, occupied eight days. The distance was 700 miles, and
the first-class fare three guineas. Under ordinary circumstances,
however, the time ought not to have been so long, but there was less
water in the river, the captain said, than he had ever known before. It
was by reason of this that the boat had run aground at Shilkinsk on the
Sunday I was to have started, and on Monday evening a sister-boat, the
_Ingoda_, having done the same, and knocked three holes in her hull,
the _Zeya_ had stayed alongside to render assistance. This caused the
loss to us of the whole of Tuesday. Both boats belonged to the same
company, and it was an act of policy, as well as kindness, that the
damaged boat should not be left in so lonely a region, whilst a further
reason for submitting to the delay, and keeping the boats together, was
that our own vessel might run aground and so need assistance from the
_Ingoda_.
I was curious to hear from the captain what was the thickness of iron
on the _Zeya_, and what distance we should have to sink, supposing we
went to the bottom. The iron, I learned, was three-sixteenths of an
inch thick, which was somewhat alarming, but it was a comfort to know
that the water in some parts of the river was not much more than 30
inches deep. Our steamer drew only two feet and a half, consequently
we were often gliding along within a few inches of the ground. One of
the crew was placed in the bow of the boat, holding a measuring rod,
with the feet marked in black and white, and secured to a string. This
in shallow places he constantly threw, as if harpooning fish, and
then noticing the depth when it struck the bottom, he called out in a
sing-song fashion, “_Chetiri-s’polovenoi! chetiri! tri-s’polovenoi!
tri!_”--four-and-a-half! four! three-and-a-half! three! and so on; the
speed of the vessel being slackened when the small numbers were called.
After reaching the Amur on Wednesday, we travelled safely for that
evening and on Thursday, but on Friday morning, coming to a turn in
the channel, the boat ran aground on a bank, with her whole length
turned sideways to the current--going at the rate of about four miles
an hour. The shallowness of the stream now became apparent, for when
the men jumped overboard the water rose hardly up to their waists.[4]
Every effort was made to float the craft with anchors and levers,
and digging away the beach, until, as evening came on and brought
no success, we hoped the _Ingoda_ would overtake us and return the
compliment of rendering assistance, especially as we had once put back
to look after her welfare. The _Ingoda_ did come, but was not powerful
enough to get us off, and we had therefore to lie aground till Saturday
morning. The greater part of the passengers were then shifted from the
_Zeya_ to the _Ingoda_, and there they were compelled to remain from
breakfast-time till evening, and that, too, with very little food, for
the _Ingoda_ was not carrying passengers, and so was not provisioned.
Whilst this shifting was going on, I was in my cabin writing, and so
had not to change. Meanwhile the sailors had hard work, for they were
in the water nearly all day. About two o’clock, however, the _Zeya_ was
once more afloat, after which it took three or four hours to get up
the anchors, and then, for the rest of our journey, we had no lack of
water. The boat did not usually travel at night.
These delays had put a considerable strain on the resources of our
cook, whose arrangements were not of a high order. I had rather
anticipated this; and, having become so accustomed to see Russians
travelling with their own provisions, had prepared accordingly.
Some loaves of white bread had been brought for me by the ship from
Stretinsk, and fresh butter; besides which, Colonel Kononovitch, as
already stated, had loaded me with good things, and I had not parted
with my provision basket and its cooking apparatus.[5]
They had different arrangements on the Amur from those we had on the
Obi. The steward undertook to provide every one with four meals a
day. The first was tea and bread on getting up. Next, about 11 a.m.,
came “_déjeuner à la fourchette_,” consisting of two courses. At five
o’clock came bread and tea again, and dinner, of three or four courses,
followed at seven. The provisions were decidedly inferior to those
of the Obi, but acquaintance with certain Russian dishes was thereby
forced upon me, which I might otherwise not have known. One of them was
“_gretchnevaya kasha_,” or buckwheat gruel, with melted butter like oil
poured over it. I imagined it might be given us as a last resource,
all other provisions having failed; but the passengers seemed to think
it good though humble fare, and said it was what they provide largely
for the soldiers. It is a daily dish, I am told, among peasants and
servants in Russia. Further on we bought and slaughtered an ox. And as
we approached Blagovestchensk, our table improved to clear soup, with
minced patties, meat from the joint, and stewed fruit.
The service, too, was inferior to that on the Obi, for on the Amur the
steward was represented by a couple of boys, not too tidily dressed,
and with rough heads, who knew more of play than of waiting. It should
be added, however, that the price charged for the four meals a day
was not exorbitant, namely, three shillings; and after having the
samovar frequently into my own cabin, and other extras, though to a
considerable extent providing myself, my steward’s bill for the eight
days came only to 17 shillings.
We were highly favoured in the weather, which, with the exception of
one day, was fine, and added much to the enjoyment of the journey.
Between Stretinsk and Blagovestchensk were 42 stations. Many of them
were named after the Russian officers who took part in the annexation
of the country, such as Orloff, Beketoff, Korsakoff, etc.
At Ust-Strelka the river is 1,100 yards wide, and sometimes 10 feet
deep. At Albazin, 160 miles lower, it contracts to 500 yards, but
increases to 20 feet in depth. After leaving the Shilka, the scenery
of the Amur at first deteriorated. Soon, however, the river stretched
across the valley, and the banks rose in precipitous cliffs, or steep
rocky slopes. Many brooks entered the stream on both banks. When rain
falls on the mountains, the river rises sometimes 12 feet and more in
the course of a few days, the greatest rise being 24 feet. Our captain
of the _Zeya_ was hoping that the Thursday’s rain would thus aid him in
getting out of the shallows. Five streams join the Amur on the Russian
side, between Ust-Strelka and Albazin, of which the Amazar is the
first and most considerable. At their mouths are small alluvial plains
overgrown with grass, sometimes 18 inches high, though on higher spots
in this district the herbage is not luxuriant.
Below the Amazar the banks were alternately rocky bluffs and wooded
bottoms, the river sweeping along in great picturesque bends. At
Sverbeef the river increases in breadth. The mountains are not so high,
and sandbanks are frequent. These appear at low water as islands. The
forests are thin, and there is little underwood. On the mountains
larch and firs prevail. In the valleys the white birch predominates,
with bird-cherry and aspen. The trees, however, are small; and among
them, further on, are apple-trees with tiny fruit, willows, and the
hoar-leaved alder.[6]
On the rocky mountain slopes are the service-tree, alder, aspen,
poplar, and hawthorn, together with the Daurian rhododendron. On loose
soil Indian wormwood frequently covers a whole mountain slope.
As we approached Albazin the mountains retired, and below them were
extensive prairies, affording excellent pasturage. Opposite the town,
on the Chinese bank, the Albazikha, or Emuri, falls into the Amur
behind a large island, with an area of several thousand acres. Oaks and
black birch now begin to take the place of the larch, and at the foot
of the mountains are seen elms, ashes, hazels, willows, the Daurian
buckthorn, wild roses, and bird-cherries--the last sometimes reaching
to a height of 50 feet.
Albazin is the most important of the towns we passed between
Ust-Strelka and Blagovestchensk. It is finely situated on a plateau
50 feet high, and extends some distance backwards to the mountains.
We arrived there early on Friday morning, August 1st. Albazin was
important to the early adventurers, by reason of the fine sables taken
in its vicinity.[7]
The Albazin sable is said to be the best on the Amur, that of the
Bureya Mountains next, and, thirdly, that of Blagovestchensk; but none
of them are so good as those obtained further north.
I was much struck, below the town, with the brilliant red of the
sandstone cliffs. On the right bank the mountains approach again close
to the river; but on the left the plain continues for 70 miles, ending
in a rock or promontory, called _Malaya Nadejda_, or Little Hope.
This lofty mass of rock projects into the river in the shape of a
semicircular tower. After passing the station Tolbuzin, 240 miles from
Ust-Strelka, the river takes a more southerly direction, and lower down
has numerous islands. These are covered with poplar, ash, and willow;
and among the flowers are seen the rhododendron, the lily of the
valley, pink, primrose, violet, white poppy, forget-me-not, and white
pæony; also garlic, chickweed, asparagus, cinquefoil, and thyme.
A few miles lower is a remarkably steep sandstone cliff, of yellowish
grey colour, bounding one of the reaches of the river for a distance of
three miles. It is called Tsagayan, and is 302 miles from Ust-Strelka.
It is about 250 feet high, and has in it two seams of coal, of which
there is said to be plenty on the Amur, though it has not been worked,
I believe, owing to the abundance of wood. The natives look upon
Tsagayan as the abode of evil spirits. At its foot are found agates,
carnelians, and chalcedonies.
Beyond the Tsagayan the valleys descending to the river are wider, the
steep mountains recede, and the meadows are richer in grass. Small
groves of poplars, elms, ashes, and wild apples alternate with bushes
of red-berried elder, sand willows, self-heal, and wild briar. At the
station Kazakevich, however, the mountains approach the river, and a
dark granite rock, 300 feet high, overhangs the water. Eight miles
south is the rock Korsakoff, a promontory of semicircular shape; and
40 miles more bring the traveller to the mouth of the Komar, which is
the second considerable stream flowing into the Amur from the right
bank after leaving Albazin, the other being the Panza. The course of
the Amur here becomes very tortuous, and, about 50 miles below, the
Komar almost describes a circle, leaving but a neck of land half a mile
in width. The Komar is the greatest affluent of the Upper Amur from
the Chinese side. It is a little short of 600 miles in length, more
than one-half of which is navigable. The upper part of the valley is
populated by Daurians.
Travelling thus amidst beautiful scenery, we reached Blagovestchensk on
the eighth day, being now 560 miles from Ust-Strelka, and the width of
the river having considerably increased. Here, however, we may leave
the water for awhile, for the steamer stayed a whole day, and thus gave
me the opportunity of spending some hours ashore.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] There are two tribes of them, one called Ninagai, which, in 1856,
mustered 68 males and 66 females; 27 of the males paid annually 5_s._
5_d._ of tribute each, or instead thereof 12 squirrel skins, to the
Russian officer commanding the post at Gorbitza. The other tribe, the
Shologon, numbered 72, including 40 females, of whom 17 had to pay
to the commandant of Ust-Strelka a tribute of 6_s._ 4_d._ each. They
owned 82 reindeer. There is also a tribe along the sea coast, called
Orochons, or Orochi, amongst whom it is customary for women to suckle
their children till they are three or four years old. The men are
recognized by their wide-brimmed hats. I saw one of them in prison at
Nikolaefsk, and was struck with his manly bearing. This agrees with
what Mr. Ravenstein says of the Orochons of the Upper Amur, that they
are not so submissive as the Manyargs, whose spirits have been broken
by the oppression of the Mandarins.
[2] These yourts, or tents, are easily built and quickly removed. About
20 poles are stuck into the ground, to form a circle from 10 to 14 feet
in diameter, and are tied about 10 feet above the centre. The frame is
covered with birch bark, and overlaid with skins of reindeer and moose.
An opening is left in front to serve as a door, and a hole in the top
for the chimney. During winter the door is closed by furs or skins. In
case of temporary removal, the skins and bark are taken away, and the
poles are left standing.
[3] Mr. Ravenstein gives, from Russian sources, an interesting account
of the manner in which these natives spend their hunting year. In
March they go on snow-shoes over snow, into which, at that season,
cloven-footed animals sink, and shoot elks, roe, and musk deer, wild
deer and goats; the tent being fixed in valleys and defiles, where the
snow lies deepest. In April the ice on the rivers begins to move, and
the huntsman, now turned fisher, hastens to the small rivulets to net
his fish. Those not required for immediate use are dried against the
next month, which is one of the least plentiful in the year. In May
they shoot deer and other game, which they have decoyed to certain
spots by burning down the high grass in the valleys, so that the young
sprouts may attract the deer and goats. June supplies the hunter with
antlers of the roe. These they sell at a high price to the Chinese for
medicinal purposes. The Chinese merchants come north in this month,
bringing tea, tobacco, salt, powder, lead, grain, butter, and so forth,
so that a successful huntsman is then able to provide himself with
necessaries for half the year. In July the natives spend a large part
of the month catching fish, taken with nets or speared with harpoons.
They are able also to spear the elk, which likes a water-plant growing
in the lakes. He comes down at night, wades into the water, and, whilst
engaged in tearing at the plant with his teeth, is killed by the
huntsman. In August they catch birds, speared at night in the retired
creeks and bays of the river and lakes. Their flesh, except that of the
swan, is eaten, and the down is exchanged for ear and finger rings,
bracelets, beads, and the like. Thus they spend the summer months,
afterwards retiring again to the mountains for game. In the beginning
of September they prepare for winter pursuits. The leaves are falling,
and it is the season when the roebuck and the doe are courting. The
natives avail themselves of this, and, by cleverly imitating the call
of the doe on a wooden horn, entice the buck near enough to shoot him.
Generally speaking, this is the plentiful season of the year, so far as
flesh is concerned; but, should the hunters not be fortunate, they live
upon service-berries and bilberries, which they mix with reindeer milk.
They also eat the nuts of the Manchu cedar and of the dwarf-like Cembra
pine. The latter part of September and beginning of October are again
employed in fishing, for the fish then ascend the river to spawn. About
the middle of October begins the hunting of fur-bearing animals, the
most profitable of all game; and this goes on till the end of the year.
[4] For steamers to run aground in the Volga is so common a thing
that the captains take a number of third-class passengers free, on
the understanding that, if the ship gets on a bank, they shall jump
overboard and endeavour to get her off. Bold captains there, moreover,
have a plan, when coming to a shallow place, of putting on steam, in
the hope that the impetus and extra commotion made in the water by
the paddles may tide them over the difficulty. The banks of the Volga
being of mud, such experiments are not very dangerous, but our boat had
grounded upon stones.
[5] After having taken with me my cuisine several times, I am
disposed briefly to advise any who may care to be counselled, by
saying “don’t.” It certainly does not pay in Russia, for hot water
may almost everywhere be had, and the people well understand the
speedy preparation of the samovar. A lunch basket, however, is a great
comfort, and I should not think of taking a long journey without one.
The cuisine may occasionally be needed; but in going round the globe I
used it only once, and when travelling last year over the Caucasus to
Armenia not at all.
[6] The white birch is the most important. In spring the natives peel
off the bark in strips from two to four yards in length. The coarse
outside of the bark, and the ligneous layers on the inside, are scraped
off. It is then rolled up, and softened by steam, which makes it
pliable. Several of these are sewn together, and supply the native with
a waterproof blanket or mat, forming a wind screen in winter, and a
covering for the hut in summer. The bark thus prepared is used also for
wrapping merchandise, making small canoes, baskets, platters, cups, and
household utensils.
[7] Albazin, as already stated, is noted in Siberian annals for the
sieges it stood, and one of the Russian stories connected therewith is,
that when the garrison was greatly distressed for food, Chernigoffsky
sent a pie, weighing 40 or 50 lbs., to the Chinese commander, to
convince him that the fort was well provisioned. This present was so
well appreciated, that the Chinaman sent for more, but in vain. History
does not say whether the pie was of beef, mutton, pork, or puppies!
The remains of walls, moats, ditches, and mounds, showing the site and
extent of the town, may still be traced; and, by digging, the curious
may still find there bricks, shreds of pottery, arms, etc. In Maack’s
celebrated work on the Amur, his plan represents Albazin as a square of
240 feet, and the Chinese camp as a parallelogram of 670 feet long and
140 wide. The Amur measures here 580 yards wide.