like a bed of many-coloured tulips. Some, with hands clasped together,
walked to and fro, singing simple songs to those plaintive Russian
melodies which, in their sweet minor keys, are often so beautiful.
Others joined in a game which resembles our English see-saw. A plank,
about seven feet long, was placed on a centre block, six inches high. At
each end stood a player, who, by springing up and alighting again on the
board, caused her companion at the other end to rise higher every time.
The players in this way would sometimes bound as high as three feet or
three feet and a half.
From Nijne Mr. Atkinson made several excursions into the mining districts
of the Ural, and afterwards returned to Ekaterineburg, to complete the
preparations for his Siberian expedition. He took with him a young man,
about twenty-four years old, who spoke German fluently, and bidding adieu
to his friends, started on his journey. In spite of every effort, he
says, a feeling of deep sadness overtook him when his gaze rested for the
last time on the lofty mountain crest which forms the boundary of Europe.
But the die was cast; he gave the word “Forward!” and away dashed the
horses into Asia. Kamenskoï was the first stage; beyond which he entered
the valley of the Issetz, and rapidly approached the great monastery of
St. Tolometz. It stands on the left bank of the Issetz, near its
junction with the river Teleta, and in external appearance resembles the
Kremlin of Moscow. The walls are strengthened by towers at the angles,
and close to the east end stands the church, an elegant and a spacious
edifice. The road from this point still lay along the high bank of the
Issetz, which here flows through a well-wooded country and teeming fields
of wheat and rye. There are no fences in the fields; but every village
has its ring-fence of posts and rails, enclosing an area of from two to
three miles in diameter, with gates on the high-road, and a watchman to
open and shut them. Passing station after station, Atkinson crossed the
Issetz and the Tobol, and struck into the steppes of Ischim—a flat,
uninteresting tract of country between the rivers Tobol and Ischim. It
is watered by several lakes, and the small sandy ridges—they can scarcely
be called hills—are often covered with pine-woods.
Here he fell in with a large party of convicts, marching, under a strong
guard, into Eastern Siberia. There were ninety-seven in the gang, the
van of which was led by seventeen men and three women, in chains,
destined for Nertchinsk, more than four thousand versts further. The
journey would occupy them eight months. The others followed in pairs, on
their way to the government of Irkutsk; they had three thousand versts to
travel, or a march of six months. Behind them came telagas {166} with
baggage, and eleven women riding; some of whom were accompanying their
husbands into their miserable exile. In front and on each side rode
mounted Cossacks, who strictly guarded the prisoners; but what were they
to do if they escaped? There was no prospect before them but death by
starvation.
At the various posting-stations barracks are built, the front buildings
of which are occupied by the officers, guards, and attendants. From each
end, to the distance of about forty or fifty feet, stretches a high
stockade, which returns at right angles, and runs about sixty feet. It
is then carried along the back so as to enclose in all an area of two
hundred feet by sixty; in the middle are the buildings for the prisoners.
The stockade is formed of trunks of trees, twelve inches in diameter,
standing fifteen feet above the ground, and cut to a sharp point at the
top; placed close together, they form a very strong barrier. The
prisoners, moreover, are placed under continual supervision. They march
two days, at a rate of twenty to twenty-five versts daily, and rest one.
A gang leaves Ekaterineburg every Monday morning.
After leaving Kiansk, which Mr. Atkinson anathematizes as “the worst town
in all Siberia,” he travelled directly south, with the view of visiting
Lakes Sartian and Tchany, the remains of a great inland sea. From Lake
Tchany a chain of lakes, some of which are fifty or sixty versts broad,
extends south-west for nearly two hundred and fifty versts. The country
was low and swampy, but rose occasionally in slight undulations, clothed
with long coarse grass, and frequently relieved by extensive clumps of
birch and aspen, or a thick underwood of bushes. The lakes proved to be
surrounded by so dense a growth of reeds that the water was visible only
at a few points. Beyond, the country was thickly wooded, with large
pieces of cultivated land, on which were fine crops of wheat and rye
growing. The villages were well-built and clean; the inmates looked
comfortable and cleanly; and large herds of cattle grazed in the village
pastures. Speeding onward in his tarantass, as fast as six horses could
carry him, our traveller crossed the Barabinsky steppe—a region curiously
unlike that dreariness of monotony, or monotony of dreariness, which is
generally associated with the name. The traveller might have been
excused for thinking himself in some fair district of England, when he
looked around on hills of gentle slope, covered with noble trees, which
formed the boundaries of considerable plains, and saw the deer nimbly
bounding through the fresh green glades. The view was brightened here
and there with plantations of large timber; at other points rose
sheltered belts of young trees; the effect being in each case so
picturesque as to induce the fancy that art had thus arranged them. The
ground teemed with flowers, as if Proserpine’s fertile feet had
consecrated it—with the bright geranium, pale blue and deep blue
delphinium, white and dark rich crimson dianthus, peony, and purple
crocus. The lakes that studded the expanse, like silver gems in an
emerald setting, bore expanded on their tremulous wave the blooms of the
white and yellow _Nymphoea_. The whole scene was exquisitely sweet and
tranquil.
But in Siberia changes are frequent and sudden, and to this Eden bit
quickly succeeded a Slough of Despond. Crossing a morass in a heavy
vehicle, drawn by six or seven horses, is not a pleasant sensation;
happily, the traject was accomplished without accident. Another and
another followed; and through each, with hard struggling on the part of
the horses, and much yelling on the part of the yemtschick, or driver,
the traveller was carried successfully. He was thankful, however, when
the country again improved, and his road once more lay among the hills
and pastures. At Krontikha, he was greeted with a noble view of the
valley of the Ob, one of the great rivers of Siberia. From one high
ridge to the other, twelve or fifteen versts is the width of the valley;
in the middle, with constant undulations, first to one side and then to
the other, like a coquette between two suitors, the shining stream
pursues its capricious way, sometimes breaking off into several channels,
divided by green little patches of island. Looking to the north-east,
the traveller discerns, at a distance of one hundred and fifty versts,
Kolyvan, formerly the chief town of the government—a rank now assigned to
Tomsk, which lies one hundred and fifty versts further in the same
direction. To the north and east the eye rests on a vast level, dark
with the heavy shadows of forests of pine.
At Barnaoul, the chief town in the mining district of the Altai, Mr.
Atkinson found himself 4527 versts from St. Petersburg. After a night’s
rest he resumed his forward course, and the character of the country soon
warned him that he was approaching the steppes which extend westward to
the banks of the Irtisch. These dreary wildernesses were the home and
haunt of the Kirghiz, before the Russians drove them across the river,
and built a line of forts along its bank from Omsk to the mouth of the
Bouchtarma. The frontier to the Kirghiz steppe is guarded by a line of
barracks; the whole length of the line (about 2500 versts) stretching far
up into the Altai mountain range, and along the boundary of China. Dull
beyond description is the landscape here. The chief product is wormwood;
and around the fords and watercourses grow only a few bushes and stunted
willows.
Kolyvan Lake lies at the foot of some offshoots of the Altai chain. The
masses of rocks which strew its shores, broken and fantastic of outline,
present all the appearance of a ruined city. The granite seems to have
been forced up in a soft or liquid state; then to have flowed over and
cooled; after which it has been forced up again and again, with the
result that it has assumed, in hardening, the most extraordinary forms.
The rocks on the heights of the Altai are not less remarkable: some mock
you with the aspect of ruined battlements and feudal keeps; others might
be mistaken for human heads of a size so colossal that even the magic
helmet in “The Castle of Otranto” would have been a world too small for
them.
It is at Oubinskoï, a small town or village on the broad, deep,
willow-fringed Ouba, that the ascent of the Altai really begins. Thence
you cross the Oulba, and ascend a valley full of charming bits for the
artist, to the silver mines of Riddersk. About fifteen versts beyond
rises the snow-crowned height of Ivanoffsky-Belock, the source of the
Gromotooka, or stream of thunder (“grom”), one of the wildest rivers in
the Altai. With a roar like that of thunder it hurls its foaming waters
down the rugged steep, frequently tearing off and whirling along with it
huge fragments of rock, and filling the startled air with a din and clang
which are audible for miles. At Riddersk Mr. Atkinson was compelled to
abandon his tarantass; he engaged twenty horses to accompany him, and an
escort of fifteen men, five of whom carried rifles, while the rest were
equipped with axes. A ride of twenty versts, and he reached
Poperetchwaia, the last village in this part of the Altai. It is
occupied by only eighteen families, who live there in the solitude of the
mountain valley, with the great white peaks around them, ignorant of all
the events that daily help to make up the history of the age into which
they have been born—ignorant of the intellectual movements that are
agitating the minds and filling the thoughts of men. A strange,
apparently a useless, life! A life without action, without hope, without
purpose! Surely ten years of our free, busy, progressive English life
are preferable to a hundred years in this lonely Siberian wild. Each
family, we are told, have their horses and cows, and around the village
is pasture sufficient for large herds. The stags on the mountains are
also theirs, and the deer on the hills, and the fish that teem in the
rivers. Wild fruit is plentiful; and the bees in their hives produce
abundance of honey. It is a Siberian Arcady; but an Arcady without its
poetic romance.
The patriarch of the village is described by Mr. Atkinson as a fine old
man, with a head and countenance which would have furnished an artist
with a model for one of the Evangelists. Health and happiness shone in
his face, the ruddy glow of which was set off by his silver-white beard.
He wore a plain white shirt, hanging over trousers of thin linen, and
fastened round his waist with a red sash; the trousers were tucked into a
pair of boots which reached almost to the knee. In winter, a wolf or
sheep skin coat is added to this picturesque costume.
In ascending the Altai our traveller plunged into a glorious forest of
cedars, which, with their gnarled and twisted branches, formed an arched
roof almost impervious to the sun. The scene afterwards changed to a
silvery lake, the Keksa, which slept peacefully in the deep shadows of
the mountains. Then came woods of larch, and pine, and birch, all
freshly green, and breathing a pungent aromatic odour; and grassy glades,
fit haunts for the Oreads of the Greek, or the fairies of the Teutonic
mythology, with high cedar-crowned mountains rising on either hand.
There were no birds; but on the crags stood numerous graceful stags,
watching suspiciously the passage of the strangers, and from bough to
bough the black squirrel leaped in his mirth. Less pleasant inhabitants
were the flies and mosquitoes, which infested the valley depths and lower
levels. Still continuing to ascend, Mr. Atkinson entered a rocky gorge
that crossed the shoulder of the mountain ridge. Here the crags
presented their most savage grandeur. Time had hewn them into various
imposing forms: some like turreted battlements and massive towers; others
like enormous buttresses thrown up to support the huge sides of the
mountain. While threading the defile, the travellers were overtaken by a
terrible storm; the wind raged over the heights and through the ravines
with a cruel and sudden fury; the lightning like blood-streaks wound
across the darkened sky; the thunder broke in peal after peal, which the
echoes caught up and repeated until the air rang as with the din of
battle. They sheltered themselves behind a crag until the tempest was
past, and then began the descent of the other side of the mountain.
Glad were they to find themselves in the more genial lowlands; and
leaving behind them the Chelsoun chain of the Altai, which they had just
crossed, they rode at a rapid rate towards Zirianovsky, a mining station
at the foot of the Eagle Mountains. The silver mines here are the most
valuable in the Altai. Some of the ores, which are exceedingly rich, lie
at a depth of two hundred and eighty feet; others have been followed to a
depth of four hundred and ninety feet. In working them the great
difficulty to be confronted by the miners is the vast quantity of water
that almost inundates the mines; but this might be obviated by the
employment of a steam-engine. To carry the ore to the smelting-works
upwards of two hundred horses are employed. First, it is conveyed in
small carts, drawn by one horse, to Werchnayan pristan, on the Irtisch, a
distance of more than one hundred versts; thence it is sent down the
river in boats to Oust-Kamenogorsk pristan; and from the last place it is
removed again in carts to Barnaoul, Pavlovsky, and other zavods; making a
traject of nine hundred versts in all from the mines to the
smelting-works.
Skirting the base of the Kourt-Choum mountains, which form the boundary
between the Russian and Chinese empires, Mr. Atkinson turned his face
southward, and before long arrived at Little Narym—a small outpost of
Cossacks, stationed on a plain within a few versts of the Russian
frontier. He was then on the military road, which extends only about
twenty versts further, to the last outpost from Western Siberia. Having
obtained horses, two telagas, and Cossack drivers, he started down the
valley of the Narym, which opens into that of the Irtisch, and at
nightfall entered Great Narym. To the officer in command he explained
his project of crossing the Chinese frontier; but was warned that, as
winter had already set in, and the snow lay deep in the Kourt-Chume
chain, he would probably be lost or frozen to death if he attempted that
route. He was advised to go through the Kirghiz steppe; and the officer
courteously offered to forward him from one Cossack post to another,
until he reached the fortress at Kochbouchta. Mr. Atkinson gladly
accepted the offer, and arranged to meet his new friend in
Ust-Kamenogorsk, on the Irtisch, hiring a boat and men to convey him
thither. The boat consisted of two small canoes lashed together, five
feet apart, with beams placed across, and the whole boarded over so as to
provide a platform, or deck, about fifteen feet by ten. In the head and
stern of each canoe sat a strong, sturdy fellow, with a small paddle, not
much larger than a child’s garden spade; this was used only to guide the
bark, its progress being sufficiently provided for by the rapidity of the
current. Paddling out into the middle of the river, which was more than
a thousand yards broad, the boatmen soon got into the swing of the
current, and the voyage began. “I was watching the changes in the
scene,” says Mr. Atkinson, “as one mountain peak after another came in
view; when suddenly, and without any previous intimation, two of the men
called out that their canoe was filling fast, and that they must make for
the shore without a minute’s delay! Before we got halfway to the bank
she was nearly full of water, and when within about a hundred yards, the
men cried out that she was sinking; this brought our broad deck down to
the water on one side, and helped to float her. The men paddled with all
their might, and at last we reached a thick bed of reeds, which assisted
in keeping us afloat, till we succeeded in getting near enough to the
bank to throw our luggage ashore; and then we landed.”
After some trouble, Mr. Atkinson was able to hire a good boat, used for
transporting the ore; and the luggage was transferred to it. Then a new
difficulty arose; one of the men deserted. But with great promptitude
Mr. Atkinson seized a bystander, and kept him prisoner until the deserter
was given up. At last, a fresh start was effected. The sun was setting;
a keen cutting wind blew up the river; and there was no shelter to be
obtained, nor wood for a fire, for many versts. Fast over the valley
crept the cold shades of night, and swiftly did they steal up the
mountain sides. No signs of any resting-place could be discovered, and
the scenery grew more and more gloomy. Turning a rocky headland, they
beheld at a great distance the glimmer of a fire, though whether it was
in a dwelling, or on the river bank, they could not determine. Bending
vigorously to their oars, the boatmen shot forward rapidly; and after a
long pull arrived at a small Cossack station, where Mr. Atkinson readily
obtained shelter.
Asia, he remarks, is the land for tea; there it is that a man learns to
appreciate the herb at its full and proper value. After refreshing
himself with the popular beverage, he took a long walk alone on the bank
of the Irtisch. The fine, picturesque scenery was seen with impressive
effect under the influence of a splendid moonlight, which cast the lower
mountains into deep shade, while a silver lustre rested on the
snow-crowned peaks, contrasting vividly with the gloom of the valleys.
“How infinitely small,” says Mr. Atkinson, “the sight of these mighty
masses made me feel, as I wandered on in my solitary ramble! Excepting
myself, I could not see one living thing—all was silent as the grave. I
had passed some high rocks that shut out the Cossack post from my view,
and had entered a valley, running up into the mountains, which lay
shrouded in dusky shadow. Two white peaks rose far into the cold, grey
sky; the full light of the moon shining upon one of them, and aiding much
in giving a most solemn grandeur to the gloomy scene. Fancy began to
people this place with phantoms, ghosts, and goblins of horrible aspect.
It required but the howling of the wolves to give a seeming reality to
the creations of the imagination.”
Passing the mouth of the Bouchtarma, Mr. Atkinson descended the river to
Mount Kamenogorsk. There he found his friend, the Cossack colonel, who
provided him with an escort of two stalwart Cossacks, armed with sabre,
gun, pistol, and long lance. His party also included an unarmed Cossack
driver, and his own attendant. He set out in a light telaga, drawn by
three horses, and plunged into the solitude of the Kirghiz steppe, which
extends eastward to Nor-Zaisan and southward to the Tarbogatni Mountains.
There are many undulations on this vast plain, which in summer affords
pasturage for immense herds of horses. While halting on the bank of a
dried-up stream to dine, Mr. Atkinson observed in the distance a small
column of white smoke, which he supposed to proceed from a Kirghiz aul,
or village; but a guide whom he had hired assured him there were no
encampments in that direction, and that the smoke issued from burning
reeds on the shores of Lake Nor-Zaisan. Thitherward the traveller
immediately proceeded; sometimes over rich pastures, at others over a
rough tract of ground and stones almost bare of vegetation. After riding
a couple of hours, they were able to make out that the steppe was on
fire, and that all the reeds were feeding the flame; and in due time they
came upon a miserable Kirghiz yourt, or dwelling, inhabited by a dirty
Kirghiz woman and four children, three of whom were very ill. She
received the stranger, however, with simple hospitality, kindled the
fire, and set his kettle on it. In return he made tea for himself and
the children, who were lying on a voilock, covered up with skins. He
then walked to the summit of a neighbouring hill to gain a view of the
burning steppe. The fire was still about ten versts to the east, but was
travelling west, and across Mr. Atkinson’s track, extending in breadth
some miles across the plain—a great wave of flame, which, accompanied by
rolling clouds of smoke, ran swiftly along the ground, consuming the long
grass, and reddening the horizon with a lurid glow.
Next morning Mr. Atkinson resumed his journey, passed a Kirghiz aul, and
reached the margin of the Nor-Zaisan, but was unable to obtain a glimpse
of its waters, owing to the dense masses of tall reeds which completely
encircled it. He rode across to the Irtisch, but there too the view was
similarly blocked up. There was nothing to be done but to return as
quickly as possible to Kochbouchta, and prepare for the expedition into
Chinese Tartary, which he had long had in contemplation. A man of
irrepressible energy and singularly firm resolution, Mr. Atkinson, when
his plans were once formed, lost no time in carrying them into execution.
But while the necessary arrangements were being made, he found time to
accomplish some short but interesting excursions in the neighbourhood of
Kochbouchta, visiting the gold mines, and sketching the romantic scenery
of the valley of the Isilksou. At length he was ready for his departure,
and with an escort of three Cossacks, his servant, and his own Cossack
attendant, he once more crossed the Irtisch, and began his journey across
the Kirghiz steppe. All the party were well armed and well mounted, and
Mr. Atkinson felt competent to encounter, if need be, half a hundred of
the nomadic bandits, if they should attempt to plunder him. His servant,
however, manifested so lively a dread of the robbers of the steppes, and
so strong a disinclination to a close acquaintance with the Kirghiz, that
Mr. Atkinson ordered him back to Ust-Kamenogorsk to await his return,
rightly judging that his fears would render him an incumbrance and an
impediment rather than a useful auxiliary.
II.
The tribes of the Kirghiz nation spread over the Asiatic steppes from the
Aral river to the Ala-Tau Mountains. From time immemorial they have been
divided into the Great, the Middle, and the Little Hordes. The Great
Horde occupies the territory north of the Ala-Tau, extending into China
and Tartary. The Middle Horde inhabits the countries lying between the
Ischim, the Irtisch, Lake Balkash, and Khokand. The Little, which is by
far the most numerous Horde, wanders over the undulating plains bounded
by the Yamba and the Ural, over Turkistan (now under Russian rule), and
into Siberia. As a whole, the Kirghiz population may be assumed to
number about 1,250,000 souls. They are of Turco-Tartaric origin; and,
according to Max Müller, Southern Siberia was their mother country.
Nominally, they own the supremacy of the Great White Czar on the one
side, and of the Chinese Emperor on the other; but their nomadic habits
secure their virtual independence. Each tribe is governed by its sultan
or chief. Quarrels and blood feuds between the different tribes are of
constant occurrence. Many live wholly by brigandage; swooping down
suddenly, under cover of night, on the richer auls, or villages, they
carry off horses, cattle, and other objects of value, besides men, women,
and children, whom they sell into slavery. These nocturnal raids are
called barantas.