[Illustration: FRANCIS E. CLARK]
THE GREAT SIBERIAN RAILWAY
WHAT I SAW ON MY JOURNEY
BY DR. F. E. CLARK
WITH SIXTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS AND A MAP
=London=
S. W. PARTRIDGE AND CO.
8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW
1904
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FROM NEW YORK TO VLADIVOSTOCK 1
II. THE METROPOLIS OF THE NORTHEAST 13
III. RIDING ON THE RAIL IN SIBERIA 25
IV. FROM VLADIVOSTOCK TO KHABAROFFSK 39
V. THE _BARON KORFF_ 50
VI. THE LORDLY AMOUR 61
VII. BETWEEN TWO GREAT NATIONS 74
VIII. A SIBERIAN CAPITAL 86
IX. AGROUND IN THE AMOUR 101
X. ON THE SHILKA 114
XI. THE TRANS-BAIKAL 129
XII. THE HOLY SEA 144
XIII. A SIBERIAN CITY OF CHURCHES 156
XIV. A SIBERIAN _TRAIN DE LUXE_ 166
XV. OUT OF ASIA INTO EUROPE 180
SOME FACTS AND FIGURES 194
ENGLISH-RUSSIAN GLOSSARY 201
ILLUSTRATIONS
FRANCIS E. CLARK _Frontispiece_
CATHEDRAL AT VLADIVOSTOCK _Facing p._ 4
DRY-DOCK AT VLADIVOSTOCK ” 6
HARBOR OF VLADIVOSTOCK ” 10
GROUP OF KOREAN WORKMEN, VLADIVOSTOCK ” 12
GENERAL TCHITCHAGOFF ” 18
GENERAL VIEW OF VLADIVOSTOCK ” 22
STATION OF KORFOVSKIA, EASTERN SIBERIA, SHOWING AMERICAN
LOCOMOTIVE ” 26
“WHO’LL BUY MY FLOWERS?” ” 30
VILLAGE OF VIAZEMSKOI, EASTERN SIBERIA ” 32
THROUGH THE FOREST IN EASTERN SIBERIA ” 34
CITY OF KHABAROFFSK, ON THE AMOUR RIVER ” 38
FATHER ALEXANDER AND STATION-MASTER AT NIKOLSKOIE ” 42
A PATHETIC SIBERIAN VILLAGE GRAVEYARD ” 46
THE OLD WAY BY THE “SHIP OF THE DESERT” ” 48
THE _BARON KORFF_ ” 50
EMBARKING ON AN AMOUR RIVER STEAMER ” 54
ON THE SHORE OF THE AMOUR ” 58
A PRISON BARGE ” 62
A SIBERIAN RIVER TOWN IN WINTER ” 66
A THUNDER-STORM BY NIGHT ON THE AMOUR ” 70
ON THE BANKS OF THE AMOUR ” 74
SOME OF OUR FELLOW-TRAVELLERS. SIBERIAN EMIGRANTS ON THE
AMOUR ” 78
SOME OTHER FELLOW-PASSENGERS. RUSSIAN OFFICERS AND THEIR
FAMILIES ” 80
A TRIUMPHAL ARCH IN HONOR OF THE CZAREWITCH’S JOURNEY
THROUGH SIBERIA ” 82
A MODEST TRIUMPHAL ARCH AT A LITTLE SIBERIAN VILLAGE ” 84
“EACH WOMAN HUGGING TWO OR THREE BOTTLES OF MILK” ” 86
THE LEADING HOTEL, BLAGAVESTCHENSK ” 90
THE CEMETERY AT BLAGAVESTCHENSK ” 92
ONE OF BLAGAVESTCHENSK’S BEAUTIFUL CHURCHES ” 94
A GREAT DEPARTMENT STORE IN BLAGAVESTCHENSK, WITH
MARKET-PLACE IN FRONT ” 96
AN UPPER AMOUR RIVER STEAMER ” 98
ON THE UPPER AMOUR ” 100
TUMBLING ASHORE FROM THE _ADMIRAL CHICACHOFF_ ” 102
CHILDREN OF EMIGRANTS PICKING WILD FLOWERS ON THE BANKS
OF THE AMOUR ” 106
AN EMIGRANT HOUSE ON THE UPPER AMOUR ” 108
THE MEN BEHIND THE BARS ON THE PRISON BARGE ” 110
THE HILL-SIDES WERE CARPETED WITH FLOWERS ” 114
A TYPICAL WATER-TOWER ON THE TRANS-SIBERIAN RAILWAY ” 116
THE LIGNITE CLIFFS ON THE AMOUR ” 118
THE EVER-PRESENT SAMOVAR ” 122
SOME FIFTH-CLASS PEOPLE ” 124
A RAFT ON THE SHILKA ” 126
SIBERIAN RECRUITS BOUND FOR CHINA ” 130
FOR THIRTY-SIX MORTAL HOURS WE WAITED ” 132
A TRANS-BAIKAL TRAIN. PRISONERS CARRYING WATER ” 134
BOUND FOR FAR SIBERIA ” 138
FIFTEEN MINUTES AT EVERY STATION ” 140
PRISON CAR IN SIBERIA. FAMILIES OF PRISONERS AT THE WINDOWS ” 142
THE ELEPHANT’S NOSE, LAKE BAIKAL ” 146
THE ICE-BREAKER ON LAKE BAIKAL ” 150
THE SHORES OF LAKE BAIKAL ” 154
BURIATS FROM LAKE BAIKAL, WITH SEAL FROM THE LAKE ” 158
AN IRKUTSK DROSKY ” 160
GENERAL VIEW OF IRKUTSK ” 162
ONE OF THE BEAUTIFUL CHURCHES OF IRKUTSK ” 166
A PART OF OUR _TRAIN DE LUXE_ ” 170
A VIEW ON THE ANGARA, NEAR IRKUTSK ” 174
A TRAINMAN WHO HAS TAKEN THE VEIL ” 176
SIBERIAN RAILWAY NEAR THE ASIATIC BORDER ” 178
ZLATOOST, A BORDER TOWN BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA ” 182
IN THE URAL MOUNTAINS ” 186
THE KREMLIN IN WINTER ” 190
A SHRINE AT A RAILWAY STATION ” 194
RUSSIAN TYPES ” 196
MAP SHOWING THE AUTHOR’S ROUTE FROM VLADIVOSTOCK ACROSS
SIBERIA TO ST. PETERSBURG ” 200
BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION
This volume describes the last six weeks of a long journey undertaken
in the interests of the Young People’s Society of Christian Endeavor.
Mrs. Clark and myself having been invited to attend various conventions
of the society in Japan and China, we started for the far East,
accompanied by our little son Harold, a boy of twelve years, in the
early days of January, 1900.
The conventions were, beyond our expectations, large in numbers,
enthusiastic in interest, and important in their results; but they
cannot be described in this volume.
Knowing that a new all-steam route around the world was to be opened by
the completion of the Trans-Siberian Railway to the head of navigation
on the Shilka River, and having important engagements at the World’s
Christian Endeavor Convention, which was to meet in London in July, we
determined not to follow the beaten tracks around the world which we
had before taken, but to attempt this new route, which binds Asia and
Europe, the Pacific with the Atlantic.
The last meetings of the series we had gone to the far East to attend
were held in north China, in Tientsin, Peking, Tungchow, and Poatingfu,
only a few days before the terrible uprising which bids fair to make
such momentous changes in the map of the world.
The meetings being over and our object in visiting China being
accomplished, we left Taku, as it proved, by the last steamer that
sailed for Corea before the bombardment of the forts of Taku and the
siege of Tientsin.
For nearly two weeks we coasted around the peninsula of Corea, stopping
at Chemulpo, Mokpo, Fusan, and Wonsan, or Gensan, as the last-named
port is indifferently called.
At Fusan, at the southern extremity of Corea, we spent four days
waiting for a steamer to take us up the coast, and here, in soil
already prepared, the first Christian Endeavor Society of Corea was
planted in a church of the Australian Presbyterian Mission.
At length we reached Vladivostock, and our long journey across the
Siberian plains by rail and river began.
At Taku our party had been pleasantly enlarged by the addition of
Miss Anna Northend Benjamin, of New York, a well-known lecturer and
newspaper correspondent, on her way home from the Philippines.
At Wonsan, in Corea, Mr. J. M. Jordan, British Consul-General to Corea,
and Mr. Burn Murdock, a mining expert, became our fellow-passengers.
At Khabaroffsk Mr. J. C. Smith, a leading merchant of Nagasaki, who
was accompanied by Mrs. Smith, took the same steamer; also Baron
Hartogensis, of Germany, and Herr Ritter, Swiss Consul-General to
Japan, all of whom, with one or two other foreigners (non-Russians),
afterwards formed themselves into the “Never Again Society,” to whom
this book is dedicated.
Interest is perhaps added to this journey from the fact that we were
the first Americans, and in all probability the first foreigners, to go
around the world by the new route. The trans-Siberian all-steam route
had been opened but a few days when we took passage at Vladivostock,
as I have explained in an early chapter, and none of the few who had
preceded us across Siberia by this route had completed the circuit of
the globe.
If this fact is borne in mind, it will explain some of the difficulties
inevitably incidental to a new and untried route.
I wish gratefully to acknowledge the courtesy of their Excellencies the
Russian Ministers Plenipotentiary to Japan and China, and to General
Tchitchagoff, the Governor of Vladivostock and the Primorskaia, for
their kind assistance in a journey which, were it not for their aid,
would have been far more difficult and tedious.
It is also fair to add that already, in the minds of some at least
of the “Never Again Society,” the discomforts and delays of the
journey have faded into the unremembered Past, which so kindly and so
quickly touches our little woes with the finger of oblivion, while its
novelties and pleasures stand out in ever-bolder and happier relief.
If the above-mentioned society were canvassed to-day, it would not be
at all surprising if its members should unanimously resolve themselves
into a
“_Some Time Again Society_.”
BOSTON, _February 2, 1901_.
A NEW WAY AROUND AN OLD WORLD
I
FROM NEW YORK TO VLADIVOSTOCK
The completion of a new way around this old world is a matter of no
little interest and moment. Such a new way has just been opened, and
it was my fortune to be one of the first five passengers who took this
journey.
On the 28th of December, 1899, the last rail was laid on the
trans-Baikal section of the Siberian Railway, which for the present
will stop at Stretinsk, and there connect with the steamers on the
Shilka, a branch of the Amour River, for Khabaroffsk, where again
railway communication is resumed for a further journey of five
hundred miles to Vladivostock, on the Sea of Japan. Thus across all of
Russia’s vast domain in Europe and Asia it is possible to go by steam,
a distance of considerably more than six thousand miles, as the route
is now traversed by river and by rail. My own route was in the other
direction, from east to west--from Vladivostock to St. Petersburg.
Though, as I have said, the last rail of the trans-Baikal section of
the road was laid on December 28, 1899, the Amour and its tributaries
were then frozen, and no steam communication could be had until spring
unloosed the icy fetters. The rivers did not open this year until the
middle of May, and on the 31st day of May I reached Vladivostock, and
on the 1st day of June took passage at Khabaroffsk, on the Amour River
steamer _Baron Korff_, for the long journey across the Russias.
I mention this fact because the newness of the route will account for
some of the crude and primitive accommodations that will be alluded to
further on in this story.
To be sure, many other travellers had crossed Siberia from Vladivostock
to St. Petersburg, but the journey could not, before May of 1900, be
done by uninterrupted steam travel, and thus one more way of going
around the world by the aid of the all-compelling steam-engine has been
added to the two that already existed.
For many years it has been possible to steam around the Cape of Good
Hope and stormy Cape Horn from New York back to New York again. For a
generation it has been possible to take the shorter cut by rail across
the American continent and by steamer through the Suez Canal. Now a
third steam route has been opened which reduces the ocean journey to a
minimum, and, for the first time in history, makes the portion of the
journey by land considerably longer than the portion by sea.
This is surely good news for bad sailors.
Roughly speaking, this way around the world involves about thirteen
thousand miles of railroad or river travel, and nine thousand miles of
sea travel. Approximately, these distances may be divided as follows:
MILES.
By rail from New York to San Francisco 3000
By ocean from San Francisco to Yokohama 5000
By rail from Yokohama to Nagasaki 800
By ocean from Nagasaki to Vladivostock 1000
By rail (and river) from Vladivostock to Liverpool 9000
By ocean from Liverpool to New York 3000
I need dwell but briefly on our journey from New York to Vladivostock,
for, so far as Nagasaki at least, it is getting to be as commonplace
as a trip across the Atlantic steam ferry. As a matter of fact, it
occupied us more than four months, owing to various detours in Japan
and China for the sake of attending Christian Endeavor conventions
which had called me to the far East. This part of the journey, however,
might have been easily accomplished in twenty-five days--five days
across the American continent, eighteen days from San Francisco to
Yokohama, and two days from Yokohama to Nagasaki.
[Illustration: CATHEDRAL AT VLADIVOSTOCK]
Here the novel part of the journey begins. We at once get out of the
beaten path of the globe-trotter. He halts on the southern edge of
Japan, or, perhaps, more often keeps on eastward across the choppy
Yellow Sea to Shanghai, and thence, if he is really a _globe_-trotter,
on to Hong Kong, the Straits, Colombo, and Suez.
In the future, however, the stream of world-encirclers is likely to
divide at Nagasaki, one part of the stream flowing east and south over
the old channel, the other flowing east and north over the new route
which, less than three weeks ago as I write these words, was opened up
around “this goodly frame the earth.”
By this latter route, which I am about to describe, the traveller
sails from one glorious harbor to another--from Nagasaki to Fusan,
Corea; to Wonsan, Corea; to Vladivostock, Russia. In all of them “the
navies of the world might ride,” according to the old platitude, and
on this coast, without much doubt, will be the naval battle-field of
the future, when the Titans get ready to measure their sea-power one
against another in the struggle for Corea or China.
We took passage on a little Japanese steamer, the _Ise Maru_, which
runs between Kobe and Vladivostock, and which belongs to the Nippon
Yushen Kaisha, the largest steamship company in the world, with
steamers plying to America and Europe and Shanghai and Hong Kong,
besides to the innumerable ports up and down the coast of Japan.
Many of the steamers are large and fine, but the _Ise Maru_ is not one
of these. She is, however, clean and fairly comfortable, and we will
not complain, as the journey is a short one of less than a thousand
miles.
[Illustration: DRY-DOCK AT VLADIVOSTOCK]
A prejudice against Japanese captains and chief officers exists among
many foreigners, who will not sail, if they can help it, except on
ships manned by European officers. I must say that I do not share
this prejudice. I have sailed with more than one Japanese captain and
crew, and I have invariably found them polite and exceedingly attentive
to the comfort of their passengers, and, so far as I could judge,
excellent seamen, leaning always to the side of caution in navigating
the treacherous rock-bound coasts. As a matter of fact, the steamers
that have been lost in these eastern seas have usually been officered
by Europeans, and not by Japanese.
Half of the steamers of the Nippon Yushen Kaisha are officered by
Japanese, and half by Europeans, and the latter have been by far the
most unfortunate.
So, casting prejudice and fear to the winds, and trusting in Providence
for a safe voyage, we set sail, and, twenty-four hours out of Nagasaki,
approached the bold shores of Corea, no longer the hermit nation, but
open now at a dozen doors to the commerce of the world.
Fusan, at the southwestern corner of the peninsula, is one of these
open doors, a door, in fact, which has long been open, for the Japanese
for three hundred years have here kept at least a foot in the doorway
for their own ingress and egress.
Fusan is in every sense a Japanese port. The Japanese have been here so
long that they have even trained the great pine-trees along the streets
and on the temple hill to grow in picturesque Japanese fashion, and
their shops, their banners, their Shinto shrines, their good roads,
all proclaim their long occupation. The only Americans in Fusan are
found in a small colony of faithful missionaries, whose homes, on a
picturesque hill between the Japanese and Corean cities of Fusan, are
conspicuous for miles around. The next day after her arrival the _Ise
Maru_ weighed anchor again and, shaping her course due north, made
for the port of Wonsan, on the Corean coast, midway between Fusan and
Vladivostock, and about three hundred miles from either port.
Wonsan, like Fusan, possesses a magnificent harbor, entirely landlocked
and surrounded by imposing hills. No wonder that Russia, as well as
Japan, has cast covetous eyes upon this splendid port, but to all
appearances Japan has the inside track, for here, as in Fusan, she has
securely seated herself, has built her houses and shops and wharves and
temples, and owns more of the shipping that visits the harbor than all
other nations combined.
A few hours only were given to Wonsan, and again the whistle of the
_Ise_ shrieked, the anchor was hoisted to the bows, and the little ship
ploughed her way once more up the bold Corean coast, to make the last
loop in her frequently interrupted voyage. One of these days Corea, I
believe, will be a favorite haunt of pleasure-seekers and tourists. The
coastline is magnificently indented with bays and gulfs, the interior
is one series of grand mountains and lovely valleys, the west coast
is lined with charming islands that form almost a continuous break
to the winds and waves, while the east coast, though without many
islands, furnishes equally fine scenery and unrivalled delights for
the mountaineer on the shore and the yachtsman on the sea. The people
are poor, primitive, and, it must be confessed, dirty, but are kind,
courteous, and even courtly, and, in their white linen clothes and
queer horse-hair hats, are most picturesque and interesting--far more
so than their neighbors in China, _me judice_.
[Illustration: HARBOR OF VLADIVOSTOCK]
But we are bound for Siberia, and must not in this chapter linger in
Corea. Early on the morning of May 29th, five days out from Nagasaki,
the passengers of the _Ise Maru_ awoke to find themselves in still
another magnificent landlocked harbor. One glance at the shore where
stands Vladivostock, the “Magic City,” showed them that they had left
Mongolia and Mongolians behind them, and, though still in Asia, and on
the extreme eastern verge of Asia, were in an Asia owned and dominated
by Europeans. Large blocks of brick and stone crown the hills on
which the town is situated. A great white house flying the admiral’s
flag occupies the most commanding site. A beautiful Greek church,
with trim minarets, stands near by. The Russian tricolor is flying
everywhere. We had left behind, as completely as though we had sailed
to another planet, the mud huts of Corea, the slight one-story wooden
houses of Japan, and the stone hovels and filthy streets of China, and
suddenly found ourselves in a city of substantial brick and stone, wide
paved streets, electric lights and telegraph wires, and railway trains
snorting and puffing down to the very wharves. We could almost imagine
that either Tacoma or Seattle had bodily taken passage across the
Pacific and had planted itself on the eastern shore of Asia instead of
the western shore of America. Only the droskies and tarantasses flying
through the streets, with one horse under the huge Russian collar while
another ran free to keep up with his trotting-mate, recalled us to the
fact that we were about to step ashore in monarchical Russia instead of
republican America.
A score of sampans, each manned by a long-cued Chinaman, were clamoring
to take us ashore, and we were scarcely less anxious to accept their
invitation, that we might plant our feet on _terra firma_, and realize
that our long ocean voyage was over and our longer land journey over an
unbeaten track was about to begin.
[Illustration: GROUP OF KOREAN WORKMEN, VLADIVOSTOCK]
II
THE METROPOLIS OF THE NORTHEAST
Vladivostock, on nearer approach, unlike many towns, carries out its
more distant promise. It is not a trim and finished town, but it is
one of strong outlines, and evidently built for a great future. Its
chief buildings are substantial. The town looks as though it had come
to stay. To be sure, the new outlet which Russia has obtained through
eastern China to the sea at Port Arthur will rob Vladivostock of its
unique importance as Russia’s only open door on the Pacific, but her
glory as the great natural port of Siberia, with a limitless country
of vast resources behind her, can never be taken away. The huge
ice-breaker which crunches up the harbor ice in winter with its sharp
iron beak is a complete success, and it is no longer an ice-bound port
for even three months of the year. The winter, though long, is not
unusually severe, and the mercury, I am told, seldom or never sinks so
low as it does in Boston or New York.
No sooner had we stepped on shore than we were treated to our first
disillusionment concerning Russia and the Russians. We had heard much
about the terrors of the Russian custom-house. We expected to have our
baggage overhauled from turret to foundation-stone, and the feminine
member of our party had pictured to herself a swarthy Cossack with
sword and cutlass making hay of her feminine belongings, while he
searched for dutiable goods. But our Chinese sampan-man landed us at
the pier, and no customs officer appeared upon the scene. We waited,
but he did not come. We inquired in two or three different languages
for the custom-house, but no one knew what we meant. We wandered
up and down the pier looking for some building that resembled the
familiar office where duties are collected, but could find none. At
length, having fully satisfied our consciences, we boldly loaded our
_impedimenta_ into a drosky, and told the driver to take it to the
Hôtel du Pacifique. This he successfully accomplished, and no officer
of the law appeared to disturb our peace of mind, or to look into the
innocent recesses of our trunks.
So far as I know we were subjected to no surveillance of any sort. We
came and went as we pleased. We minded our own business, and every one
else minded his. There seemed to be no such inspection of newly arrived
strangers as one is often conscious of in Germany. And yet, here we
were in autocratic Russia, and, more than that, in Siberia, the land of
the exile and the prisoner--the land around whose name has clustered
every synonym for oppression and cruelty.
I am inclined to think that what I have been told by an acute
observer is very true, and that Russia is much more autocratic and
inquisitorial on paper than in reality. Her laws are severe and may
be enforced if needs must, but their iron hand is seldom felt by
the well-disposed. There is much theoretical restriction, and much
practical liberty.
The hotels of Vladivostock are not to be indiscriminately commended.
When Baedeker writes his inevitable guide-book about Siberia he will
not mark them with his familiar *, unless they greatly improve upon
their present condition. It should be said, however, that the best one
was recently destroyed by fire, and the chief one that still remains is
probably suffering from lack of competition. The table was very good,
and the chief fault was that the rooms and halls were dark and dirty,
and clean linen was a scarce and precious article. One sheet for each
bed seemed to be the full allowance, and one small towel for three
people was apparently thought to be an ample supply. When one of our
party righteously complained that her towel had evidently done duty
before, the Japanese chambermaid, who did the English for the hotel,
replied that it was _impossible_ to get another; it was not to be had.
There was not a clean towel in the hotel. After much importunity,
however, she was induced to loan a long, clean scarf from her own
bureau to serve as a towel.
However, this was a minor matter. We reminded ourselves that we were
in Siberia, and on the eastern edge of Siberia at that. Who could
expect all the amenities of civilization? We were no sooner established
in our hotel for the day than I sallied out to seek the governor of
Vladivostock and of this whole eastern province, to whom I fortunately
had a letter from the Russian minister of Japan.
Well was it that I found the governor armed with these credentials, as
the sequel will show in another chapter. Governor Tchitchagoff received
me with the utmost courtesy. The letter from the minister to Japan
acted like an open sesame to his kindly attentions, and he at once
despatched a secretary to secure berths on the train which left the
next day for Khabaroffsk, and sent another to telegraph to Khabaroffsk
to hold a state-room on the Amour River steamer for Blagovestchensk, as
he knew the berths were in great demand. At the same time he gave me
a letter to the chief of police in Khabaroffsk. While waiting for the
preparation of this letter by his secretary he showed me a map of the
vast province of Primorskaia, of which he is governor, a province which
extends for two thousand miles up the shores of the Pacific, clear away
to the North Pole, embracing Kamchatka and the famous Saghalien Island
north of Japan, to which are banished the worst of Russian convicts.
[Illustration: GENERAL TCHITCHAGOFF
Governor of Vladivostock and Primorskaia]
Governor Tchitchagoff is a man of commanding presence, but most
urbane and gentlemanly, a trait which he shares with most Russians
of the better class, so far as my observation goes. There is a
certain courtly simplicity about them, free from all arrogance
and brusqueness, which is the very essence of high breeding. The
governor speaks fluently French and German, and English with a little
hesitation. This, again, is a type of the educated Russian of the
better class, who is usually a famous linguist.
Moreover, the governor is a Cossack, a name which, in my ignorance, I
had hitherto associated largely with frontier troopers of the Buffalo
Bill order. I confess my stupid misconception with contrition of
spirit. Thus again came a happy disillusion concerning Russia and the
Russians. This interview with the governor set my mind at rest in
regard to any danger of losing the steamer on the first stage of our
long river journey, for I knew that the word of General Tchitchagoff
was as the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not. He is the
virtual czar of all this Eastern land. It was exceedingly necessary
that we should incur no long delays, as a most important engagement
awaited me in London within forty-four days. I had already cabled
“London screaming,” which meant, according to the cable code, that I
would be in London on the Fourth of July (a most appropriate cable word
for the date in question), and there were very few days to spare over
the shortest time on record. Mail steamers on the Amour River start on
their various stages only once in five days, and it would not do to
miss connections at the outset.
But now, with easy minds, we set out to “do” the town. It does not
take long to exhaust its glories, for it is a new town, in the raw,
half-baked stage of its existence, with most of its glories in the
future. But these are evident enough to make up for any present
deficiencies. Vladivostock is credited, in the latest published
statistics, with about 29,000 inhabitants, but it is now said to have
40,000, chiefly Russians, Chinese, and Coreans, with a sprinkling
of Japanese, Germans, French, Italians, English, and a very few
Americans. It is a remarkably cosmopolitan little city to be found on
the banks of an almost arctic sea, and it exhibits all the life and
picturesqueness of a little cosmopolis. Russian droskies go flying
about the streets in every direction, as though their occupants were
pressed for the last second of time, and would be eternally too
late unless they arrived somewhere within less than five minutes.
Most harum-scarum, reckless drivers apparently are the drosky men.
Their horses are given a loose rein, and they go flying down-hill
at breakneck speed, over the rough roads, and galloping up the next
incline with never a check on their mad career. The appearance of
reckless haste is further increased by the fact that always one horse
and often two horses are hitched to the vehicle outside the shafts, by
loose ropes or leather thongs. These horses often pull away from the
wheel-horse within the shafts so far as the harness will let them, and
they dance and prance and gallop while he trots at full speed, and the
drosky goes rattlety-bang over the stones and into the holes and over
the “thank-ye-marms” in a way that the Russians seem to like, but which
tires the patience and, let us hope, improves the liver of the foreign
passengers.
Besides the drosky, the streets are full of another peculiarly Russian
vehicle, the isvodschik, which resembles a small boat set on long
poles, somewhat after the fashion of the body of a buckboard. This is
used to carry luggage, and, in many parts of the country, passengers
as well, who pile into it until it looks like a peasant’s cart in
Naples or a Chinese wheelbarrow in Shanghai. The Chinese wheelbarrow
is not wanting in Vladivostock either, and its familiar squeak is
heard on every hand. Vladivostock, indeed, must be the paradise of the
Celestial, for here he gets a wage of a rouble and a half a day, which
is something like ten times the pay he would receive in his native
land. Moreover, there seems to be unlimited work for him in grading
and paving the streets, carrying brick and mortar, rowing the sampans,
building the railways, and doing the other drudgery of a new colony.
The Corean, in his dirty white garments and padded pillow-cushion
shoes, is not far behind him in numbers, and competes for the manual
work of this new country with his Chinese cousin on the same terms.
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF VLADIVOSTOCK]
Vladivostock consists of one chief street, running up-hill and
down-dale, with various branches climbing the hills on every side.
The chief sights are easily done, as I have said, for they consist
of a few fine stores and public buildings, a beautiful Greek church
with its graceful domes, and a triumphal arch in honor of the visit of
the czarewitch, a few years ago, when the first spadeful of earth, in
breaking the eastern end of the new Siberian railway, was turned by the
royal visitor.
But Vladivostock’s chief glories do not lie in her public or private
buildings, or in the great fortresses which command the city and
harbor, but in the magnificent scenery that greets the eye on every
hand. Few cities in all the world are more beautiful for situation. The
Amour Bay, on one side, and the Bay of Ussuri, on the other, clasp the
city in their kind embrace, and constantly lave its feet with gentle
ripples. Noble hills stretch off landwards, and from the main hill-tops
within the city limits one gets glimpses of sea and shore and mountain
and valley of surpassing loveliness. In view of the long journey to
which we were looking forward, the railway station, prosaic as it is,
was the most interesting building in all Vladivostock. Over its doorway
is printed, in old Russian characters, a legend which may well stir the
blood as we think of all that it means. It reads as follows:
VLADIVOSTOCK TO PETERSBURG
9877 VERSTS.
We were to begin to measure off these versts on the morrow.
III
RIDING ON THE RAIL IN SIBERIA
Our first introduction to a Siberian railway train was made under
unusually pleasant circumstances. Hurrying to the station in ample
season to secure what accommodations we could, and expecting to have a
severe struggle with our tickets and our baggage in a strange language
of which we knew scarcely a single word, what was our surprise to have
a decorated official, in a handsome white uniform bound with gold
lace, accost us by name and assure us that, at the governor’s orders,
a first-class compartment had been reserved for us, and all we had to
do was to buy our tickets and take our seats. As the train was very
much crowded, and our lack of knowledge of the language made us almost
as helpless as infants in looking out for our comfort and advantage,
this was a favor which we most thoroughly appreciated. Before the train
started we were favored with a call in our little state-room from the
enterprising and energetic United States Consul, Richard T. Greener,
and also from Mrs. Frederick Pray, a little American lady, who, a few
years ago, transferred her home half around the world, from Berwick,
Maine, to Vladivostock, Russia. Her husband is connected with a large
American firm doing business in Vladivostock, that is introducing many
products of American soil and a thousand Yankee conveniences to the
Siberian public. Mrs. Pray had kindly prepared for us a list of common
Russian phrases, with the English pronunciation, which proved to be
exceedingly useful in calling for tea and bread-and-butter, and a
carriage, and a room at a hotel, or any one of the necessities of life
to the wanderer in Siberia, where French is scarce, and German scarcer,
and English almost nil.
[Illustration: STATION OF KORFOVSKIA, EASTERN SIBERIA, SHOWING AMERICAN
LOCOMOTIVE]
The Russian language is formidable enough even when one has time and
opportunity to make a study of it; to the passing traveller it is
absolutely appalling. It has thirty-six letters instead of twenty-six,
and several of them seem absolutely superfluous, for they cannot be and
never are pronounced. The Greek scholar at first hails the alphabet
with delight, and tackles it with enthusiasm, for he recognizes several
old friends. There is delta and lambda and phi and chi and theta and
several other letters that he struggled with in his school-days. But,
alas! his enthusiasm is soon quenched, for he finds that there are so
many other letters that are neither Greek nor Roman that he is more
confused than helped by the presence of his old friends in such strange
company.
Moreover, several of the letters are exactly like Roman characters, but
have a very different sound, which is very confusing. For instance,
B is not B at all, but is V, as in vein, while the Russian B is an
entirely different character. H is not our familiar aspirate, which
Cockneys so sorely abuse, but is our N. P is equivalent to double
R in hu_rr_y, while the Russian P is made like the Greek pi. C is
always S, and there is no hard C in Russian. Y looks very familiar,
certainly, but is really oo, as in m_oo_n, and a letter that looks like
R wrong side before, Я, is the vowel ya, as in _ya_rd. Then there are
certain italicized letters which still further bewilder the puzzled
student, for u = i and n = p and m = t when written in italics, but not
otherwise. Thus it will be seen that Russian, “as she is spoke” or as
she is wrote, is not by any means a holiday affair, and the usefulness
of Mrs. Pray’s extemporized phrase-book can be fully appreciated.
But the time has come for the start, of which we have been made fully
aware by numerous bells and gongs and whistles. There is no excuse for
any one to get left at a Siberian railway station. Five minutes before
the train starts a large station bell is rung. Four minutes more the
passengers stroll up and down the platform or visit the buffet. Then
the bell is rung once more, the conductor blows his whistle, the engine
shrieks a warning blast, and at last we are off, with St. Petersburg
9877 versts (more than 6250 miles) away.
The scenery for a few miles out of Vladivostock is superb. The railway
skirts one of the great bays between which the city lies, high up
above the water, while off in the distance, beyond the blue ripples,
lie the blue mountains, only partially obscured by the morning haze.
Chinese junks, loaded with firewood for the locomotives, are dancing
on the waves, or unloading their cargo by throwing the pieces into the
sea for the waves to wash ashore, since the shallow water prevents the
junks from coming close to the bank. Occasionally the railway diverges
from the shore and runs through a copse of birch or beech, fresh and
bright in their new spring livery, and then returns once more to give
us a glimpse of the bright blue sea. The day was charming. Our most
delicious spring weather in America is no more delightful than this
first day of June in frozen Siberia. Had James Russell Lowell lived in
Siberia, he would have written with equal rapture his oft-quoted lines:
“What is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days.”
On one of these “perfect days” it was our good fortune to journey from
Vladivostock. The spring seemed just about as far advanced as it would
be in northern New England on the same date. The meadows were lush and
rank in their growth, and the cattle waded knee-deep in their delicious
fodder, and were, of course, as sleek and fat as cattle could be. The
trees were nearly in full leaf, though some of the later varieties had
not as yet donned their full suit of green. Great dandelions, almost as
large as peonies, starred the fields with yellow, and bluebells and
tiger-lilies made the roadway gay.
[Illustration: “WHO’LL BUY MY FLOWERS?”
Lilies-of-the-valley at the railway station]
At the stations little girls with bare feet offered great bunches of
lilies of the valley for sale, and I noticed that they were not unlike
the rest of the world in taking advantage of the unsophisticated
traveller, for, while I paid fifteen kopeks for a bunch, a Russian by
my side, who knew how to dicker and bargain in the vernacular, paid but
three kopeks for his lilies. But every traveller in a strange land must
pay dear for his experience as well as for his lilies. Let me say, once
for all, that one hundred kopeks make a rouble, and that a rouble, at
the present rate of exchange, is worth a little more than fifty cents.
Russian money is on the gold basis, and is in gold, silver, paper, and
copper. National bills up to the value of five hundred roubles are good
in any part of the empire, and are in denominations of three, five,
ten, twenty-five, fifty, one hundred, and five hundred roubles. Gold is
in common use in pieces of five, seven and one-half, ten, and fifteen
roubles, and silver in roubles, half-roubles, and twenty-five, twenty,
fifteen, ten, and five kopek pieces, while copper coins are of one,
two, three, and five kopeks in value. In my opinion, there are too many
coins of different values, and one and five kopek pieces in copper, and
ten, twenty-five, and fifty kopek pieces in silver, and five and ten
rouble pieces in gold would answer quite as well the purposes of trade
as the larger variety now in use. As it is, the fifteen, twenty, and
twenty-five kopeks are so nearly of the same size as to be confusing,
especially as different issues of the same value are not always of
exactly the same size. The older silver coins seem to be of debased
metal, with a large admixture of copper, but the newer coins that bear
the image and superscription of the present czar are of much better
metal.
[Illustration: VILLAGE OF VIAZEMSKOI, EASTERN SIBERIA]
After the edge of the novelty of our first ride on a Siberian railway
wore off we had time to examine the railway equipment and the
carriages in which we were riding. The train was drawn by a sturdy
Baldwin locomotive, fitted with a big bulbous smoke-stack for burning
wood, and consisted of about a dozen cars of the first, second, and
third classes, in which the third-class largely predominated. The
third-class were painted green, the second-class yellow, and the
first-class a dark shade of blue. Sometimes a single car was divided
into two classes, first and second, one-half being painted blue and
the other yellow, with very little difference between the two classes
except the color of the paint and the price of the tickets. The
second-class cars were, perhaps, upholstered a shade less luxuriously
than the first, and were somewhat more crowded, though there was little
to choose in this respect. The first-class fare was seventeen roubles
(about eight dollars and a half), and the second-class about one-half
that sum. We were told in advance that the trains were built on the
“American plan,” but it is really a combination of the American and
English, somewhat in vogue on the continent of Europe. All the first
and second class cars are divided into compartments, but down their
side runs a narrow corridor wide enough for only one person to squeeze
through at a time. The compartments open on this corridor, and through
it the conductor passes to collect his fares; passengers walk back
and forth, babies escaped from their nurses toddle down, and it is
the general thoroughfare for a heavy-laden train. Being exceedingly
narrow, it is always “congested,” and a fat man finds it his “misery,”
indeed. In order to get through at all he must turn sideways and go
crab fashion. There seems to be a great social democracy in this
aristocratic country, and passengers from the different classes visit
back and forth with the utmost freedom, and occupy compartments of a
higher class than their own for half a day at a time.
[Illustration: THROUGH THE FOREST IN EASTERN SIBERIA]
As a rule, the Russians are exceedingly polite and considerate of
other people, and, for the most part, the rude and selfish people
whom we have met on this journey have belonged to other nationalities.
The third-class cars frequently have an aisle down the middle, with
seats on either side. As all the coaches are meant for night travel,
all provide what is called “lying-down room”--_i.e._, room is provided
for each passenger to stretch out at full length either in the upper
or lower berth. The first and second class cars are luxuriously
upholstered, and, by a curious contrivance, the upper bed turns over
and becomes, not “a chest of drawers,” but the back of the seat by
day. The only real lack of a Siberian railway is suitable lavatory
accommodations. The little toilet-room is often a wretched, filthy
closet, with a single wash-basin and a very limited supply of water,
and it answers for all, men and women alike. This fault is shared by
all Siberian hotels and steamboats that I have seen. The one cramped
and dirty spot is the wash-room (for many hotels have a common
lavatory, and no water is brought to the rooms), and the one scarce
article is fresh, cold water. Beer, wine, vodka, tea, especially tea,
flows freely, but to order a glass of water to drink, or a basin of
water, much more a tub of water for a bath, creates a commotion, and
the water desired is often unattainable, except after strenuous effort.
A Siberian writer remarks, naïvely, that “Englishmen have the bad
habit of washing themselves all over every day. _As a consequence of
this habit_, their bodies emit an unpleasant odor.” It must be said
in all fairness, however, that hotels, cars, and steamers in Siberia
are, outside of the wash-rooms, clean and wholesome for the most part.
To one who has just come from China or Corea, and who has tasted the
rare discomforts of travel in those countries, they seem to be beyond
criticism.
Besides the cars already mentioned, a baggage-car and a dining-car
completed our train equipment. The latter, at least three times a day,
is a place of much interest, and deserves a few words of description.
Pullman would scarcely own the diner as an offspring of his invention.
A long table down the middle, at which perhaps twenty people can sit at
one time, and a bar at the end, at which all kinds of light and strong
drinks are served, and toothsome delicacies dear to the Russian heart,
like caviare, sardines, and other little fishes “biled in ile,” are
eaten. At the long table _table d’hôte_ meals are served, consisting
of three or four courses, and one can also order what he chooses,
at a fixed price. The meals are usually one rouble each, and though
not luxurious, from the American dining-car point of view, they are
quite sufficient for the average traveller, and worth the price asked
for them. To be sure, one must get used to the greasy Siberian soup
and to the chunks of tough stewed meat, which may be beef, mutton,
or pork, one is never certain which. But travellers who choose to go
across Siberia should not be squeamish, and to think of eating in
a dining-car, however primitive, while whirling across the plains a
little south of Kamchatka, is enough to kill the spirit of criticism in
the most confirmed growler who ever went around the world.
It only remains to be said that the road-bed of the Eastern Siberian
railway is well made, but seems to lack permanent stone ballast, the
bridges are substantial iron structures, the piers and culverts are
thoroughly built of cut stone, the embankments are smooth and well
sodded, but the rails are light, and, it would seem, must be replaced
by heavier ones before any high rate of speed can be attained.
[Illustration: CITY OF KHABAROFFSK, ON THE AMOUR RIVER]
IV
FROM VLADIVOSTOCK TO KHABAROFFSK
The distance from Vladivostock to Khabaroffsk is a little less than
five hundred miles, and it requires fully twenty-nine hours to cover
it, so it will be seen that the trains are not run on the “Empire
express” plan. However, before we had been many days in Siberia such
a rate of progress had come to seem speed itself. The stations on the
eastern end of the Siberian railway are not many, for the villages are
few and far between, but we make up for the fewness of the stops by
spending a long time at each station. Still we can occupy the waiting
time very pleasantly by getting many, though fleeting, glimpses of
Siberian life. The stations themselves are usually wooden buildings,
neat and attractive and prettily painted. A picturesque water-tower
is always a feature of the grounds, and usually an underground
store-house, sodded over, that looks like an Oklahoma cyclone cellar.
In this, doubtless, provisions are kept from freezing during the long
Siberian winter. All the principal stations have buffets, where thirsty
Russians refresh themselves with vodka, kvass, and other national
drinks.
The villages usually consist of a few log-houses, with an occasional
more pretentious frame house, but they are neat and attractive, and
compare very favorably with the villages on our own Western frontier.
The most interesting object at all these stations was the line of
country men, women, and children who had brought the products of
their farms to sell to the hungry travellers. Every station had its
hucksters, not noisy or obtrusive, but waiting patiently in an orderly
line for customers. Bottles of milk for ten kopeks, hard-boiled eggs
for ten kopeks a dozen, huge loaves of black, sour bread in which the
Siberian rejoices, chunks of fried meat and fried fish, huge pickled
cucumbers, bottles of home-brewed kvass, a kind of innocent pop beer,
were among the comestibles offered for sale. The hucksters were all
hearty, healthy specimens of humanity, not refined or elegant in
feature or dress--this could scarcely be expected in this new land--but
wholesome, honest-faced settlers, capable, evidently, of laying deep
and strong the foundations of an empire. I am told that many of them
are dissenters from the Greek Church, and that they live godly and
simple lives, and are much respected by their neighbors, and in this
part of the country at least are unmolested by the government, unless
they try to proselyte among adherents of the national faith. Most
of them, too, are vegetarians. Every village has its church, often
embowered in a little park of green, and the towers of blue and green,
colors which the Siberians greatly affect for their churches, and
bright copper domes, shining in the brilliant sun, always gave a touch
of pleasing color to the scene, and showed that the people were not
wholly given to buying and selling and getting gain in these little raw
railway settlements.
The costumes of the people who flocked to the railway stations were
most picturesque and interesting. Red was decidedly the favorite color
with the women, and red of every shade and hue. Dull red and bright
red, Turkey red and blood red, crimson, magenta, scarlet, and crushed
strawberry. Often several, if not all, of these colors were combined in
the same costume in a way which, I suppose, would have set the teeth of
our fashion-plate ladies on edge, but which, after all, was undeniably
picturesque.
[Illustration: FATHER ALEXANDER AND STATION-MASTER AT NIKOLSKOIE]
The men were usually clad in a loose blouse, belted around the waist,
and loose trousers tucked invariably into huge top-boots that reached
nearly to the knee. Many times these boots looked to be by far the
most expensive feature of the costume. As a Mexican peasant will often
wear a sombrero, it is said, worth as much as his coat and trousers
and boots, mule and saddle--in fact, the whole outfit combined--so the
Siberian peasant clothes the other end of his anatomy with equal care,
and even if he must go in rags, will bankrupt himself on his boots.