not unnatural, since this is a military road and the large places are
all military headquarters. Everywhere, in the cars and out, officers
and soldiers were to be seen. At least every other man you met seemed
to be in uniform. But they, too, were invariably polite and showed
nothing of the haughty arrogance and devil-may-care air often exhibited
by the soldiery of Germany and other army-ridden countries. In fact,
I was struck on this railway ride, and on all my other journeys in
Siberia, by a certain quiet, dignified, self-contained air that the
people displayed. The hucksters are not insistent on your buying
their wares. The cabmen are not vociferous. The few beggars are not
obtrusive. It is as though the vast, lonely stretches of their homeland
had somehow impressed themselves upon the character of the people. The
broad reach of upland and prairie, the noble hills, the wide stretch
of blue heavens above them, the long, serious winter, the strenuous
conditions of their life in this virgin land, have developed a national
character, which seems never to have acquired the noise and bustle and
artificial “hustle” of city-dwellers. On the whole, it is a pleasing,
restful, and, I should think, likable type of character to which these
surface indications point. I felt that I was back in the early days of
New England, among the Pilgrim fathers and mothers of a new empire, as
I looked into these earnest, frank, and serious faces, and as I looked
I had large hope for the empire they are founding.
The parish priest is also a picturesque and interesting factor of
village life. He often came to the station to take part in the one
excitement of the day, the arrival of the daily passenger train. He was
usually clad in flowing robes of black, with a close-fitting purple
cap, while a huge gold or silver crucifix dangled from his neck. His
hair is always long and curly. Whether the Greek priests were chosen
for their curly hair or indulged in the use of curling-irons when
preparing their morning toilet was a question which interested the
ladies in our party. They seemed to mingle with their people on terms
of benevolent equality, and their kindly and gracious presence shed a
benediction even upon the railway platform. They were not averse to
having their pictures taken, and the camera enthusiasts “snapped” the
holy fathers with the greatest freedom.
The kodak is not unknown in Siberia, but it is evidently much more of a
novelty than in the west, and always attracted crowds of staid peasants
who wanted to look into the “finder” and see the resultant picture.
Some were quite disappointed that the completed picture could not
immediately be taken out of the camera and shown to them. One gorgeous
railway official, much be-braided and be-spangled with gilt, insisted
on having his black-bearded face transferred to the sensitive film.
He posed with his most radiant expression, without any exhortation to
“look pleasant.” He followed our party about, and apparently expressed
every good wish for our successful journey, though our knowledge of
Russian was not equal to his voluble good wishes, and, finally, just
as the train pulled out of his station, he handed us a paper on which
he had written a request that we telegraph him of our safe arrival at
Blagavestchensk, a city on the Amour River, a thousand miles further
west. A kindly fellow-feeling that, to be provoked while the train
stopped “ten minutes for refreshments.”
[Illustration: A PATHETIC SIBERIAN VILLAGE GRAVEYARD]
Fifty miles after leaving Vladivostock the railway climbs to a
considerable plateau, and the trees disappear, while open prairie
land takes the place of the forests that crown and gird the hill-sides.
For a couple of hundred miles, at a rough guess, the open prairie land
continues. The soil mostly seemed to be a rich black loam, and one
would think it was capable of supporting millions of people where it
now supports hundreds.
On the second morning of our journey, twenty hours after leaving
Vladivostock, we woke up in a heavily wooded, hilly region, and I had
to rub my eyes to make sure that I was not dreaming and had really
awaked in Siberia and not in northern Maine. Here was the Moosehead
Lake region duplicated, apparently, in every stump and white birch-tree
and corduroy road. Here were the same tree-clad hills and rocky
ravines, with glimpses of other and higher hills peering above the
tree-tops. Here were the same clear running brooks, babbling over their
rocky beds, the same patches of charred timber burned to clear the
land, the same flora down to the dandelions, blue-bells, butter-cups,
and cowslips. To be sure, there was not such a predominance of
spruce-trees as in northern Maine, but their places were taken by the
larch and cedar and other evergreens, and white and yellow birch,
beech, and poplar, which predominated, made me feel very much at home.
For hours these familiar forests lined the railway, and then the
train emerged into the fertile plains that border the Amour. Here the
snow fences, piled up in their summer quarters, reminded one of the
prairies of our own Northwest, and showed that in the Siberian winter
the railway has the same great enemy to fight. The telegraph poles,
often braced by two supports until they look like so many tripods, also
testify to the strength of Siberian winds. At length, at noon of the
second day, twenty-nine hours after leaving Vladivostock, the spires
and chimneys of Khabaroffsk appear across the prairie, and we realize
that the first stage, and a very pleasant one, of our trans-Siberian
journey was nearly finished.
[Illustration: THE OLD WAY BY THE “SHIP OF THE DESERT”]
Scarcely had the train pulled into the station of Khabaroffsk, and
before I could get to the door of the car, when a police official in
gorgeous raiment crowded in and inquired anxiously for “Pastor Clark
from America.” When I confessed to being, in all probability, the
individual that he sought, the official seemed much relieved, and at
once took charge of me and mine, bag and baggage, and summoned a small
squad of soldiers, or sub-police, to assist him. Evidently the kindly
telegram of Governor Tchitchagoff was doing its beneficent work, and,
like expectant American politicians, we were “in the hands of our
friends.”
V
THE _BARON KORFF_
Our friend in need proved a friend indeed, for it would have been no
easy thing, knowing scarcely a word of the language, to disentangle our
baggage, secure a cart to carry it, and droskies to carry ourselves,
and make our way through the city of Khabaroffsk to the steamboat
landing two miles away in season to catch the mail steamer, which,
with steam up and whistle shrieking, was waiting to start on her long
journey up the mighty Amour. But our official accomplished it all for
us with celerity and despatch. He picked out our baggage, hired our
droskies, took another himself, and drove to the steamer, saw our
baggage safely bestowed in a state-room which had been secured for us
at the governor’s orders, and did not leave us until we were fairly
established in our comfortable and commodious quarters on the _Baron
Korff_. We appreciated this courtesy the more fully when we learned
that the steamer was exceedingly crowded, that it went only once in
five days, and that some people had already been waiting fifteen days
for the coveted passage. Our rapid flight through Khabaroffsk was made
in a cloud of dust which would have done honor to Peking itself, the
dustiest city in the world. Through the dust, however, we were able
to catch glimpses of a frontier American-like town, with some good
business blocks of brick and a fine cathedral church. We afterwards
learned that Khabaroffsk contains about fifteen thousand inhabitants,
and its importance is derived from the fact that it is the highest seat
of government for all this vast section of the Amour River. Sitting
on a high bluff at the juncture of the Amour and the Ussuri, a great
stream which here joins its forces with its greater rival, the town
occupies a commanding position and is regally situated to dominate the
traffic of both rivers. In any other land the Ussuri itself would be a
notable river, but in this country of great rivers, though it is nearly
a mile wide at its juncture with the Amour, it is only a branch of
eastern Siberia’s greater waterway.
[Illustration: THE _BARON KORFF_]
Since the _Baron Korff_ was to be our home for the next week, and, in
a literal as well as figurative sense, we were to be “all in the same
boat” with the rest of her passengers, we were naturally anxious to
know something of them and of her, if it is proper to speak of a baron
as belonging to the feminine sex. A hasty inspection showed us that the
_Baron Korff_ was a stately side-wheeler, such as might have done duty
on the Mississippi before the railroads robbed her of her commercial
glory. The first-class accommodations were well forward, and consisted
of roomy and comfortably furnished staterooms for about twenty people
on the upper deck, each room having berths for two people, a long
dining-saloon, into which the state-rooms opened, and a pleasant
saloon in front, handsomely furnished and provided with a good German
piano. This saloon made a delightful sitting-room for the passengers,
for its abundant glass furnished a splendid view of the river and the
banks on either side, between which the _Baron_ made her devious way.
Behind the first-class cabins was a large open space, sheltered from
the wind, and suitable for a promenade. Here was a restaurant and bar,
frequently patronized by some of our thirsty fellow-passengers, while
behind it were the second-class cabins, which looked to me nearly as
comfortable as those at the other end of the ship. Down below were
huddled together a miscellaneous crowd of peasants--men, women, and
children--with their scant piles of bedding and all their worldly
possessions; sturdy men in top-boots and figured gowns belted at the
waist, often with a sleeveless vest worn outside; women in gay calicoes
and hobnailed shoes; children clad in little more than nature’s
original raiment--all were here. On the hard iron floor they spread out
their quilts, piled their household goods about them, and prepared to
make the best of their six days in the bowels of the _Baron Korff_.
Their accommodations were not luxurious, certainly, but when we
remember that they paid but three roubles and six kopeks for the entire
918 versts, more than six hundred miles, to Blagavestchensk, or only
about one dollar and a half, we cannot think that the accommodations
were disproportionate to the price.
The chief rival of our friends in the steerage was the great pile of
wood, for which the _Baron Korff_ had an insatiate maw, and which, when
first put on board, occupied fully one-half the space of the steerage,
but which, every hour, sensibly diminished until we came to a station,
where a new supply was taken on board.
[Illustration: EMBARKING ON AN AMOUR RIVER STEAMER]
The second-class fare was four times the third-class, or thirteen
roubles and ninety-seven kopeks, and the first-class more than seven
times the third, or twenty-two roubles and ninety-six kopeks. I am
constrained to admit, however, that the first-class accommodations are
fully seven times as good as the third, though I do not think they are
twice as good as the second.
For the meals on the Amour steamers one pays separately, at the rate of
two roubles a day, not an extravagant sum, indeed; but they were not
extravagant meals, and they cost all they were worth.
In the morning, about eight, tea was served, with the inevitable
samovar occupying the place of honor in the centre. Slices of lemon and
sugar were provided, according to the Russian style, but no milk. Soft
bread and zweiback, without butter, completed the first meal of the day.
The second, and principal, meal was served promptly at noon, and
consisted of a thick, greasy soup, a course of meat with no potatoes,
and very scanty vegetables of any kind, and a pudding. On rare
occasions ice-cream took the place of the pudding. Tea was served
again at four o’clock, and supper, which consisted of one meat course
without vegetables, and more tea, completed the menus for the day. If
one wished to supplement these meals with orders from the restaurant of
caviare or smoked fish or boiled eggs, of course he was at liberty to
do so.
The first meal served on the _Baron Korff_ on our voyage was supper.
Fifteen foreigners and five Russians sat down to the table together.
None of the foreigners, at least, knew what to expect from the culinary
department. The meat was served, and was sparingly partaken of, on
the supposition that, after the fashion of other steamers, four or
five other courses would follow. Then came a long wait. The plates
were removed, and still we waited. The minutes lengthened into a full
quarter of an hour, and at length the one overworked waiter appeared,
bearing, not the expected fish or vegetables or salad or dessert, but
_the brass samovar_, and we knew a tumbler of tea was all that was to
be expected. The craning of necks as the long-delayed waiter entered
the room, and the expressions of disappointment when his sole burden
was discovered, were amusing. But though some went hungry to bed the
first night, Experience, the mother of wisdom, taught a needed lesson
for all travellers on the Amour River--to lay in a sufficient store
from the first platter, and not trust to the “hereafter.” After that no
one omitted the first course.
I dwell somewhat at length on these details, because, so far as my
experience of Siberian river-steamers goes--and this experience became
somewhat large and varied before we reached Stretinsk, twenty days
later--they are characteristic of all river travel in Siberia.
The steward, to whom I have already alluded, was a sadly overworked
individual. He was waiter, cook, bell-boy, chambermaid, boots, and
man-of-all-work for all the twenty first-class passengers, and, as can
be imagined, no grass was allowed to grow under his feet. To be sure,
his duties as chambermaid were merely nominal, for every one took care
of his own room, furnished his own bedding, and made his own bed, and
all had to wash in a common lavatory and furnish their own towel, soap,
and, of course, all toilet articles. This common washroom arrangement
was the most unpleasant feature of the _Baron Korff_, and we had
occasionally to remind ourselves that we were in the extreme boundaries
of Siberia. Who, then, had a right to look for all the luxuries of the
latest civilization?
[Illustration: ON THE SHORE OF THE AMOUR]
At length we were embarked on the long river journey to which we had so
long been looking forward, and about which we had heard such various
and contradictory reports. For months we had made it a point to inquire
of every one likely to know concerning the trans-Siberian route. No
two people agreed concerning it, or came within sight of agreement.
“It can’t be done,” “You can do it easily,” “It will take two months,”
“You can go through in twenty-two days,” “You will get stuck on the
sand-bars for weeks,” “You will have no difficulty whatsoever,” “The
steamers run only occasionally, and do not begin until the 11th of
June,” “They run every day, and the river is open early in May,” “You
will need heavy clothes, and all your winter furs,” “You will find
delightful summer weather,” “You will have to ride in cattle-cars when
you get to the end of your boat journey,” “You will have the most
luxurious railway accommodations in the world.”
Such were the varied and miscellaneous bits of misinformation which
we had been able to pick up in America, Japan, China, and even in
Vladivostock itself. But now the journey on the great waterway of
Siberia had begun. The paddle-wheels of the _Baron Korff_ had begun
to revolve, we were to be among the first few score of people who
had crossed the Russias by steam, and we should soon know which of
these conflicting stories were correct, or whether they were all alike
untrustworthy.
VI
THE LORDLY AMOUR
Fair as was the scene that first bright June day on the Amour, we could
not altogether forget that we were in Siberia, for, as the lines of the
_Baron Korff_ were cast off, another steamer of like pattern anchored
just beyond moved out of our way, and we saw that she was towing a
convict barge, and the faces of the poor fellows bound for dismal exile
could be seen, pressing close up to the bars of their floating cage.
These prisoners were bound for Saghalien Island, a thousand miles away,
at the mouth of the Amour.
No sooner had the _Baron Korff_ gotten clear of the pier than we found
that she, too, towed a convict barge, and henceforth, for days and
days, for hundreds of miles, one of these grewsome ships followed
in our wake, tugged by the same steam-power that carried us along.
But what a difference! We were journeying in comparative luxury, with
pleasant company, and all the freedom that a roomy steamer can furnish,
to friends in Europe, and then to our home in the home land.
They, shut up in a white, floating cage, in narrow quarters, were
facing exile and misery, and perhaps death, far from their homes and
kindred. Every revolution of the paddle-wheels was carrying us nearer
home, and them farther away. What a mockery the bright sunshine and
green, tree-clad banks, and boundless, free prairies, stretching
beyond, must have seemed to these cabined, cribbed, confined, hemmed-in
voyagers!
[Illustration: A PRISON BARGE]
It must be confessed that these particular convict barges from a
distance did not look either filthy or overcrowded, and closer
inspection afterwards convinced me that if prisoners must be exiled,
they could scarcely have expected more comfortable conveyance. Still
the thought of those fellow-travellers, so near and yet so far from
the view-point of freedom, hope, and good cheer, cast a shadow on the
journey whenever we looked at their white prison trailing on behind.
The Amour at Khabaroffsk, though we were more than five hundred miles
from its mouth, was fully a mile and a half wide, and flowed in a
strong, full current, which fact we realized for many a day thereafter,
as we made our slow and toilsome way against it. The Amour is one
of the few greatest rivers of the world. In length it is equalled
by no river in Europe, and surpassed only by the Yang-tse-Kiang and
Yenisei, in Asia, by the Nile and Congo, in Africa, and by the Amazon
and Mackenzie, in America, though, if we reckon the Mississippi and
Missouri as one river, it is longer than any of them except the Nile.
The basin drained by the Amour contains over 500,000 square miles. It
is a singular fact that so many of the great rivers of the world are
of nearly the same length. The Amour, Yenisei, Mekong, Obi, Hoangho,
and Lena, in Asia, are all within two or three hundred miles of the
same length, and all surpass 2500 miles.
The Congo, according to the geographers, is only about a hundred miles
longer than the Amour, while the Niger is two hundred miles shorter.
The Amazon is three hundred miles longer than the Amour, the Mackenzie
a hundred miles longer, while the St. Lawrence falls short of it by six
hundred miles.
But, in a general way, it may be said that a dozen of the great rivers
of the world are practically of the same length. Of them all, few are
more majestic and imperious in their flow, or drain a fairer country
than the Amour.
Its water is somewhat muddy at Vladivostock, but nothing like the
consistency of the Mississippi at St. Louis. It cannot not be said to
be “both food and drink.” As we ascend its swift current it constantly
grows clearer, until, a thousand miles farther up, it is about the
color of white wine, and is sweet and wholesome to the taste.
The Amour is unique in the fact that it flows through a fertile country
which is almost uninhabited, and yet is capable of supporting millions.
No great cities line its banks, and not many towns that rank larger
than hamlets. Even these are few and far between, and one journeys
for half a day at a time without seeing even one little hut among the
bushes. Its shores are still in their virgin greenery. For hundreds
of miles at a time one sees not a cultivated field, though doubtless
some such tilled land lies back from the river and out of sight. Great
wood-piles for the use of the frequent river-steamers are the most
common objects that show the hand of man, but even these are often in
desperately lonely spots, so that one can scarcely believe that they
were ever visited by human beings. And yet all this immense river basin
of half a million square miles is apparently fertile and habitable,
and, when we saw it, was glowing in rich and brilliant verdure. Surely
the world is not yet over-peopled while such a lordly domain is waiting
for the plough and the reaper.
To be sure, we saw the Amour Valley in early June, when everything in
nature is at its freshest and best, and our judgment might have been
modified had we seen it in December. Still, every country, like every
man, should be judged at its best and not at its worst.
Promptly at four o’clock the _Baron Korff_ started on her long journey,
and went zigzagging across the lordly river in order to stem the swift
current as best she might. On the left-hand side was Chinese Manchuria,
on the right Russian Siberia. But the Bear has her huge paw on all this
country, and only by sufferance has she for many years allowed the Sick
Man of Asia to nominally rule the left bank of the river.
[Illustration: A SIBERIAN RIVER TOWN IN WINTER]
It is a suggestive journey that we are taking on the broad ribbon of
water that divides two of the greatest nations of the world--the one
hoary and decrepit, with the weakness of her centuries heavy upon her,
the other lusty and stout in comparative youth, like a strong young man
lately come to the consciousness of virile powers.
Two hundred years ago and more China and Russia tried conclusions on
these same plains of the Amour, and then China came off best. Russian
garrisons were captured and carried off to Peking, and a treaty was
concluded ceding all this land back to China. But during these two
centuries China has daily been growing weaker and more corrupt in her
senility. Russia has become mightier with each succeeding year.
In 1868, by the treaty of Aigun, so called because of the Chinese town
on the banks of the Amour, where the treaty was signed, China ceded
all the country north of the river to the Great Bear, who afterwards
obtained concession after concession, until she was paramount in all
Asia north of and including Peking. Then came the last uprising of
China, which began the very month this journey was made, and which
again threatened Russia’s domination, at least for a time. Thus the
shuttlecock of dominion over northern Asia has been thrown back and
forth between the battledore of Russia and China, and the end is not
yet.
It will be seen that if this country through which we are making our
zig-zag route is lonely, it is not devoid of historic interest. It has
been and is a battle-ground for armies and diplomats, and is likely to
play a still larger part on the world’s checker-board in the future.
All through the first afternoon and through the long twilight which,
in these northern latitudes, leaves but a few hours to the night, the
_Baron Korff_ ploughed her way along the mighty river which seemed to
be vexed by no other paddles. But so great is its extent that, although
there are hundreds of steamboats on the river, to meet one is still an
event.
During the first part of the voyage the Manchurian shore presents the
most striking scenery. Many bold and picturesque hills come down to the
water’s edge, clothed from top to toe in living green, the graceful
boles of the white birch, the most abundant tree, gleaming like pillars
of silver against the dark background. On the Siberian shore the banks
are less bold, but seem to present an endless stretch of rich bottom
lands, where the cattle of the world might graze.