_THE MIDDLE AMUR._
Departure from Blagovestchensk.--The Zeya.--Climate.--Employment
of time.--Russian tea-drinking.--The Bureya river and
mountains.--Delightful scenery.--Ekaterino-Nicolsk.--Distribution
of books and Scriptures.--Recognized by a passenger.--Prairie
scenery.--Shooting a dog.--The Sungari.--Chinese
exclusiveness.--Course of the river.--The Amur province.--An
excise officer.--Remarks on alcohol.--Teetotalism in Russia.
We left Blagovestchensk on the morning of the 6th of August, and soon
found the river widened. A short distance below the town is the mouth
of the Zeya, the largest affluent of the Amur we had yet seen.[1]
It was along the Zeya that the first Russians reached the Amur in
1643. Since the Russian occupation, 5,000 peasants have been settled
along the river, which is said to be navigable for steam three or four
hundred miles from its mouth. It is, I believe, owing to the immense
volume of water at times discharged by this river that Blagovestchensk
is liable to serious inundations. At the time of my visit the town
stood from 20 to 30 feet above the river, but in the course of a few
weeks, news reached the Lower Amur that Blagovestchensk was so deeply
flooded that the water had risen to the telegraph wires, and that
there were several feet of water in the houses of the town. I heard,
subsequently, of a flood higher by five feet that took place in 1872.
Beyond Blagovestchensk we experienced a decided rise in the
thermometer. This town is on about the same parallel as London, and has
a summer temperature not very different; but its winter climate is much
more severe.[2] So far as my own experience is concerned, I was highly
favoured in the weather, for the only day on which any rain worth
noticing fell was the last of July, on the Shilka. At the commencement
of the voyage, at night, I put my maximum and minimum thermometers
out of the cabin window; but, having broken the latter on the 2nd of
August, I am unable to say more than that the nights became very much
warmer. On August 6th I noted that the heat was very great, and was
doubly thankful in the morning for a cold bath. My cabin was about the
size of an old-fashioned oblong church pew, with seats on the longer
sides. These were too narrow to sleep upon, so I inflated my air bed
and placed it on the floor; then in the morning it was necessary merely
to remove the bed and unfold my bath previous to calling for water.
I nowhere found in Russia or Siberia the use of “the tub” as English
people now use it; and when on one occasion in Moscow I asked the
landlord whether in the morning I could have a _cold_ bath, he said he
had never been asked for such a thing in his life!
Time on board hung by no means heavily upon my hands; for, having
received several papers of statistics and official information written
in Russ, I was glad to get them translated by some of the ladies who
spoke French. I thus had opportunities of receiving explanations upon
points not quite clear, and of correcting wrong impressions. With
this writing-up books I alternated letter-writing, both private and
official, though it seemed to be not much use writing to England,
since I expected to get there by crossing the Pacific in less time
than a letter could do so by crossing Siberia. The captain, however,
expected to meet a steamer that would take mails to Stretinsk, and
I therefore wrote a number of “open letters,” as the Russians call
them, if only that my friends might receive a penny post-card from the
land of my temporary exile. Among them, I remember, was one to Miss
Frances Ridley Havergal, to whom I had written the previous year during
my Archangel tour. I little thought at the time I was writing she
had passed away, and that when crossing America I should read of her
death.[3]
Thus, what with translating and writing, reading some small manuals
I had brought on botany and geology, and gathering information on
Russian affairs, the days passed happily enough. My fellow-voyagers
were pleasant, and, after being thrown together for nearly a
fortnight, we became quite sociable. The afternoon samovar was a great
rallying-point, for Russians dearly love their tea--and not a little
of it either. When two Moscow merchants have concluded a satisfactory
bargain, they retire to a _traktir_, or tea-shop, where they call for a
samovar, drink so many potations and make themselves so hot, that they
call for a towel to wipe off the perspiration, and then--“begin again.”
Our cook replenished his pantry at Blagovestchensk, and so did I, for
I bought up all the white bread I could find, and Mr. Peko kindly gave
his parting guest both butter and cheese. On the first day we travelled
340 miles, to Ekaterino-Nicolsk. When we started, the river was 1,200
yards in width, with soundings of 15 feet. At Aigun, 14 miles lower,
it had increased to 1,866 yards wide, and to 30 feet deep. The scenery
during the early part of the day displayed an extensive plain, with no
visible limit on the left hand, and bounded on the right by low ranges
of hills. The soil of this prairie is clayey, with an upper stratum of
rich black mould, which is covered with luxuriant grasses, attaining
often the height of a man. Among them may be seen Manchurian panic
grass, and succulent, broad-bladed kinds of which I do not know the
names; also grape and pea vines, and many varieties of flowers, among
which the lily of the valley is so abundant as to fill the air with its
fragrance. Small shrubs of cinnamon-rose are hidden everywhere by the
grass, and, with vetches and other climbing plants, render travelling
over these prairies, as Mr. Collins testifies, extremely difficult.
[Illustration: RUSSIAN PEASANT, WITH SAMOVAR.]
Below Aigun, the country on the north continues flat, and is covered
with a rich black soil, in places fourteen inches thick. About 30
miles below Aigun, the river divides into many channels, and the
right bank in several places is scooped out and steep. On the left
are extensive shallows and sandbanks--some barren, others covered
with grasses and willows. Of this last there are nine species on the
river. The natives use the bark for making ropes. At Skobeltsina,
160 miles below Blagovestchensk, the Bureya comes in from the north,
after a course of 703 miles. This river flows through a level prairie
country, diversified by clumps of oaks and maples. At its mouth it has
a breadth of half a mile. Beyond this stream the south bank rises,
and toward the latter part of the day we found ourselves not far from
the Bureya mountains, where the hills approached close to the river.
Coal seams from three to four inches thick, resembling cannel coal,
have been discovered in this district. The lower portions of the hills
were wooded with small oaks, and on more elevated parts were denser
forests of young oak and black birch. In shady ravines are found groves
of white birch and aspen, and in open situations, and on the islands,
various kinds of willows, limes, bird-cherry trees, small Tatar apples,
elms, the Manchu ash, the Mongol oak, and a few cork trees of small
size. Hazels also grow here, and at the skirt of the forest may be
found the vine climbing the trees to the height of 15 feet. The most
characteristic shrub of these forests is the Manchurian virgin’s bower,
the numerous white blossoms of which contribute not a little to its
beauty.
We were favoured with a delightful evening for our journey through the
Bureya mountains, the scenery of which reminded me forcibly of some
parts of the Danube.[4]
The Bureya, or Little Khingan, mountains cross the valley of the Amur
at nearly right angles. They are of mica schist, clay slate, and
granite. Porphyry has been found in one locality, and there are said
to exist indications of gold. As we journeyed down the stream in the
evening light, the tortuous course of the river added much to the
beauty of the scene. Almost every minute the picture changed, hill,
forest, and cliff giving variety to the prospect as we wound our way
through the defile. Here and there were tiny cascades breaking over
the steep rocks to the edge of the river, and occasionally a little
meadow nestled in a ravine. At times one seemed completely enclosed in
a lake, from which there was no escape visible save by climbing the
hills, and it was impossible to discover any trace of an opening half a
mile ahead. And thus we travelled on, till at dusk we arrived for the
night at Ekaterino-Nicolsk, a settlement of 300 houses, standing on
a plateau 40 feet above the river. Here I found a church, which was
approached through an avenue of trees in a public garden. I afterwards
learned that specimens of all the trees in the region were planted
there; but when I entered it, the light was too far gone to allow of my
seeing more than that we had come to beauties of vegetation superior to
anything I had yet beheld in Siberia.
The arrival of a steamer at Ekaterino-Nicolsk is not an event that
takes place daily throughout the year, and the whistle draws a large
proportion of the population to the river’s bank--some to sell garden
produce, some to meet friends, and some to look on. These little
crowds afforded me excellent opportunities for distributing my tracts,
and selling or giving away the Scriptures. A large proportion of the
Russian colonists get their living by supplying fuel for the steamers.
In 1866 the Government used wood to the value of £6,000, and private
firms £1,200; and as we had frequently to stop at these wood stations,
I was able to go on shore, and leave my printed messengers in the most
out-of-the-way places, where they were always thankfully received, and
often gladly purchased.[5]
This attracted the attention of the passengers, who wished also to
purchase. One day, on the Shilka, I sold more than 30 copies, some
of them to very poor-looking persons. A merchant on board wished to
invest largely, but I was unwilling to sell wholesale, preferring
rather to scatter my stock over as wide an area as possible. I
found, moreover, that travelling merchants in Siberia ask a shilling
for the books I was selling at sixpence; and though, considering
the difficulties of carriage from Petersburg, this was not perhaps
exorbitant, yet I wished rather to bring my wares directly within
reach of as many purchasers as possible, and even to _give_ them, if
necessary, in lonely and far-off places. We reached some out-of-the-way
spots on the Obi by sending parcels of books to the priests, with a
letter, but this I was unable to do on the Upper and Middle Amur.
The curiosity of my fellow-passengers was of course aroused by what
appeared to them my strange proceedings, and they hit upon various
conjectures as to who and what I might be. It has not unfrequently
been my experience to find, after curiosity has subsided, that my
distributing religious literature has secured for me many attentions
and acts of kindness from those who, before reading the tracts,
were disposed to be prejudiced and perhaps opposed. I found this
particularly the case in Siberia, though I was hardly prepared to
learn that the intelligence of what I had done three years before
in Finland had reached the Amur. On the second day, however, between
Blagovestchensk and Khabarofka, a passenger, who had come on board
the previous day, espied my name on my luggage, and, coming on deck,
he asked if I had travelled round the Gulf of Bothnia. On receiving
a reply in the affirmative, he said he had read of my tour, which
had been translated by my Finnish friend for a paper called the
_Helsingfors Dagblad_. He thus remembered what I had done, and was
abundantly willing to be of service if he could. His name was M. Emil
Kruskopf, an inspector in the telegraph service, and he performed
several kindnesses for me unasked. He had been flattered as a Finn by
the way I had spoken of the Scandinavian steamers, and thus I found
that a kind word was bearing its fruit after many days, and far from
the place where it was spoken.
Among the crowd who came to look on at Nicolsk was the priest, to whom
I gave some pamphlets and some copies of the _Russian Workman_. Next
morning we departed, hoping by nightfall to reach Khabarofka. After
proceeding a short distance the mountains receded on the left, and, a
little lower, on the right also. Then appeared two islands, the one on
the right being about half a mile long and a few yards high, covered
with birches and elms, in the shade of which grasses grow to the height
of six feet. The second island is a steep rock. The depth of the river
continued to be 70 feet.[6]
The country in this part is the most desolate along the whole course of
the Amur; though, with us, the monotony of the afternoon was enlivened
by a cry that a bear was swimming across the river. And, surely enough,
there was the head of _some_ animal above the water, not very far from
the steamer, though I confess it did not appear to me to be that of a
bear. Some of the passengers went below for their revolvers and rifles,
and began to fire, much to the excitement of every one on board. The
captain stopped the ship, and as the animal came nearer, the shot
entered the water so close to his nose that he raised himself to see
what was the matter. At last a bullet struck him in the head, and the
discolored water proclaimed a fatal shot. A boat was lowered, and some
of the crew put off, but only to find that all the excitement had been
bestowed upon an unfortunate dog!
We passed the mouth of the Sungari, on the southern bank of the Amur,
992 miles below Ust-Strelka.[7] The Sungari, with its affluents, drains
the larger portion of Manchuria. Very little is known about it, though
its valley is said to be tolerably well peopled and fertile.[8]
We had now reached the most southerly bend of the Amur, and had entered
a somewhat different climate from that of the Bureya range, for these
mountains are cooler than either of the prairies above or below them.[9]
Below the Sungari the level prairie continues along the left bank of
the Amur. On the right bank a range of hills accompanies the river for
a distance of 20 miles, and at the villages of Dyrki, Etu, and Kinneli
are bold cliffs. The hills are covered with an open forest. Underneath
them a luxuriant herbage shoots up to the height of five feet, and
in July are seen the numerous red flowers of the Lespedeza, the blue
blossoms of vetches, large white umbels of the Biotia, and catkins of
the Sanguisorba. On the shores of the islands in the river are heaped
up the bleached trunks of fallen trees and driftwood.
As we drew towards the end of our voyage, we were approaching likewise
the confines of the Amur province, which is at once the smallest and
least populous of the provinces of Siberia.[10] There are 31 stations
between Blagovestchensk and Khabarofka, the distance is 560 miles, and
I paid for first-class fare £2 10_s._ The largest of the stations and
the most important is Michael Semenovsk, about 17 miles below the mouth
of the Sungari, so named in honour of a Governor-General of Eastern
Siberia. It is a military post, and rejoices in the possession of two
iron guns pointing over the river in the direction of China, though
they are said to be utterly useless for purposes of war, and can only
be employed for firing salutes.
At this place we put off some of our passengers, and among them the
wife of the artillery officer whom we had first seen as far back as
Kansk, and with whom we had been brought in contact on the Baikal, and
again on the Shilka. It looked as if our acquaintance was now to cease,
but it was not so; for when I reached Vladivostock this lady appeared
again, at a distance of more than 3,000 miles from where we first met.
I had made another acquaintance also since leaving Blagovestchensk,
one Baron Stackelberg. This gentleman had been sent to the Amur to
put the screw on in the matter of excise. At the annexation of the
country, the Government was so anxious to people it that they promised
emigrants immunity from taxes for 20 years, and this time was nearly
up. The Baron had, therefore, to put things in order, and had been
doing so since 1875, when he crossed Siberia by land and happened to
fall in and travel with Mr. Milne, to whose journey across Europe and
Asia I have alluded in a previous chapter. The Baron spoke pleasingly
of his journey with his English friend, as he called him, and he was
evidently disposed to give a second Englishman a welcome. He spoke
French fluently, and gave me some interesting statistics about alcohol,
which is the principal source of the Government revenue both in Russia
and Siberia.[11] I hesitate, from my own experience, to endorse the
opinion sometimes expressed, that the Russians, as a people, are more
intemperate than the English. Among them, it is true, the vice seems
to pass for less sin and for less shame than with us; but England has
the unenviable notoriety of arresting in one year 203,989 persons
for crimes in which drunkenness is entered as part of the charges! I
can present no statistics on the number of drunkards in Russia. One
does see a great many, certainly, on a festival. I was lamenting this
to a Russian lady, when she acknowledged its truth, but reminded me
that with them the evil is confined chiefly to men; and without doubt,
whatever comparison may be instituted between the two countries with
regard to drunkenness among the male sex, they have no town in Russia
which has more drunken women than men--that apprehends in a single
year 6,276 females to 5,537 males, or 32 drunkards a day! For this,
alas! we must look to England--to Liverpool. Still, drunkenness is a
most fruitful cause of crime in Russia, as witnessed by what I saw and
heard in the prisons at Tiumen, Tobolsk, and Barnaul; and it may very
well be questioned whether the evil habits among Russians of gambling,
drunkenness, and idleness are not in part to be traced to the very
large number of holy days in their calendar, on many of which they
abstain from work more completely than on Sundays. They fast rigorously
and long, and then, at the close, break out in excess.
Teetotalism has not yet made much way among the Russian people or
clergy. I chanced, indeed, to be dining in Petersburg in company with
a gentleman, who said that the priest of his country parish was an
abstainer, whom he sometimes invited to dinner; and when he would give
him a little red wine for his stomach’s sake, the priest declined,
saying that if he did not abstain altogether he might soon become a
drunkard, because invited so often to drink by his parishioners.
This case, however, was sufficiently uncommon to cause a lady present
to observe that she had never heard of an abstaining priest before.
Accordingly, it is with great satisfaction I have observed from the
newspapers that the matter has been under the consideration of the
present Emperor, and that his Majesty has called in certain experts to
advise on the subject. God send them help against this national curse,
the demon of intemperance!
My meeting with Baron Stackelberg had an important bearing on my
wanderings; for I had intended, on arriving at Khabarofka, to leave the
Amur, and proceed direct up the Ussuri to Vladivostock. But so it was
not to be, and in less than 24 hours I found myself going 1,250 miles
out of my way, and in the opposite direction. But before leaving the
Chinese border I must say something of the southern bank of the Amur,
concerning which and its inhabitants I have hitherto been almost silent.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This river rises in the Yablonoi range, and pursues a course of
700 miles to the south-east, receiving several affluents from the east
before it flows into the main stream. At its mouth it is nearly a mile
wide, and in some places 35 feet deep. Its swift, turbid, yellowish
waters are no mean addition to the black waters of the Sak-hah-lin, as
the natives call the Amur. For some distance below the junction the two
colors are distinctly visible; but finally the black dragon swallows up
his yellow neighbour, and flows on majestically towards the ocean.
[2] The greatest heat, in July 1877, at Blagovestchensk was 89°·2,
and at Greenwich 88°·2; but the greatest cold, in December, at
Blagovestchensk was 32° below zero, as compared with 28°·7, the
greatest cold at Greenwich. Speaking generally of the weather at
Blagovestchensk, Mr. Ravenstein remarks that in the winter of 1859-60
it was fine until the middle of October. On the 4th November snow fell,
and soon after the river was frozen. During December and January it was
fine though cold, the temperature falling occasionally to 45° below
zero, and at one time to 49°, and never rising more than 9°·5 above
it. Violent storms occurred during November, and again in February. On
the 2nd of April was the first thaw. Between the 6th and 9th of May
the river became free of ice, and the last snow fell on the 12th, but
without remaining on the ground. The greatest heat during the summer
was 99°. The district of the Middle Amur enjoys a more favourable
climate than the Upper Amur, though only so far as the summer months
are concerned. These are free from hoar-frost, which, on the upper
part of the river, is often destructive to the harvest. The winter is
quite as long, and the Amur at Blagovestchensk is frozen over from the
beginning of November to the commencement of May; and the Zeya some
three weeks longer. The quantity of snow, however, is not too great
to allow of the Manyargs keeping their horses throughout the winter
pasturing in the open air.
[3] I wrote also to General Kaznakoff, the Governor-General of Western
Siberia, at Omsk, requesting that the Scriptures, which I had arranged
for the interpreter to take to Tiumen to be forwarded thence, might be
distributed through the provinces of Akmolinsk and Semipolatinsk; so
that, with what I hoped to do in the Sea-coast province, I began to
look upon my plans for the supply of the Siberian prisons as all but
completed. The boxes containing these books did not reach Tiumen till
the autumn; they were some time on the road to Omsk; but when I last
heard of them, they had reached their destination, and were about to be
distributed.
[4] At the entrance of the defile, 783 miles below Ust-Strelka, and on
the north bank, is situated the station Pashkof. On the opposite bank
rises the bold promontory of Sverbeef, projecting far into the river.
From a breadth of two miles the Amur suddenly decreases to 700 yards,
the depth in many places reaching to 70 feet, and thus it flows for 100
miles to Ekaterino-Nicolsk. The current sweeps along at the rate of
three miles, and in some places attains as much as 5½ miles an hour.
[5] Another opportunity had occurred on the Upper Amur, on our meeting
a steamer lugging an immense two-decked barge laden with seamen, who
had finished their term of service in the Pacific, and were returning
homewards with their wives and children. Their barge had the appearance
of a huge Mississippi steamer loaded with passengers above and below,
and as we approached they hailed us. Our captain was not then out of
shallow water, and as he knew the commander of the approaching steamer
he deemed it advisable to drop alongside and ask about the condition
of the river, exchange a few kindly words, and perhaps drink with his
brother navigator a glass of tea, or something stronger. I, too, went
on board, and sold 20 New Testaments in as many minutes, distributing
also several papers and books. I wished to make the captain a present
of some New Testaments for the use of the crews of his two boats, but
he preferred to buy them, and gave me 3½ roubles for 14 copies, to
which I added some placards, etc. The captains, too, of the _Zeya_ and
the _Ingoda_ bought some for their crews in preference to my giving
them. I had, however, already nailed up some of my pictures in both
cabins of the two boats, and placed in each a copy of the New Testament
for the use of the passengers, as was done also for the boats by which
we travelled on the Obi and the Kama.
[6] From this part to the mouth of the Sungari the prairie extends as
far as the eye can reach, and the banks of the river are in many places
swampy. The stream increases in breadth, and has numerous islands
covered with willows and other trees. The islands do not interfere with
the navigation, as they are ranged along the two banks of the river,
and leave an open channel between.
[7] The color of the Sungari is lighter than the Amur, and Mr. Collins,
who tasted the water, pronounces it insipid and warm, as coming from
a southern source. The force of the current is about two knots, that
of the Amur here being four knots. The Sungari is a mile and one-third
in breadth at the mouth. It rises on the eastern slopes of the great
Khingan, or Shan-alin, or White Mountains, and, being joined by many
tributaries, runs in a southerly direction, till, meeting another
affluent from the mountains which border on the Corea, it turns to the
north-east, and, after a course of 1,000 miles, falls into the Amur.
[8] The first large town up the river is San-sin, which Mr. Maximowicz
the naturalist, in 1859, endeavoured to reach, but he was compelled to
return on account of his hostile reception by the jealous and exclusive
Chinese villagers. I met at Khabarofka a Russian merchant, who had
proceeded up the river some distance to purchase corn; an attempt,
however, in which he only partially succeeded,--and that little, I
understood, through the mediation of a Roman Catholic missionary. By
the Chinese treaty with Russia the Sungari is declared to be open for
the purposes of commerce. It thus presents an unoccupied field for some
enterprising pioneer who will thus push his way into Manchuria.
[9] In the Bureya district in August thick fogs rest on the river in
the morning, and the nights are cold. The amount of snow throughout the
winter is about 4½ feet or more. The climate, however, on the Amur,
which is most favourable, is that found between the mouths of the
Sungari and Ussuri, though even here the river is ice-bound during five
or six months. At Khabarofka it freezes about the end of November and
opens in the beginning of May. Snow covers the ground to the depth of
a foot or a foot and a half, and even 2½ feet in exceptional winters.
Below the mouth of the Sungari the Amur divides into several streams,
and many islands have been formed in its bed. The river, too, changes
its course, and runs to the north-east, which seems to be a direct
continuation of the Sungari. In fact, this river has been claimed by
some as the parent river. The Russians, however, could well afford to
allow the Chinese to establish this relationship, for then the Tsar
would be entitled to the greater part of Manchuria, the treaty giving
Russia all the land “north of the Amur,” to which John Chinaman would
probably object.
[10] It has an area of 173,000 square miles, and is about the size of
Spain, its population amounting to only 22,000 persons. In this last
respect it contrasts favourably with the neighbouring province of
Yakutsk, which is eight times as large, but has only about 1,200 more
inhabitants. The one town of the province is Blagovestchensk, where the
Governor resides. The other habitations form mere villages situated on
the banks of the river.
[11] “Alcohol” is spirit obtained from corn and potatoes, and has 95
degrees of strength; “vodka” is the same spirit weakened by water to
40 degrees, and filtered. A bottle of alcohol costs at Vladivostock
2_s._ 6_d._; a bottle of vodka 1_s._ 3_d._ The Baron was an Esthonian
by birth, and he pointed out the remarkable fact that, whilst Esthonia
relatively produced more brandy than did other Russian provinces, yet
it had the smallest number of shops for its sale. Whether any moral
could be drawn from this tale I know not; but I subsequently find on
the same opening of my journal two noteworthy entries respecting the
Amur. One is that the excise taxes for the Sea-coast province amounted
in 1878 to rather more than 20 times the amount realized by all the
remaining taxes put together; and the other is the official return
to the Emperor, that “the chief causes of crime in the province are
gambling and drunkenness.” Comment is needless, and I do not here stay
to make any, except to observe how humiliating it is that any country
which calls itself Christian, be it Russia or England, should derive
its largest revenue from that which most demoralizes its subjects.