KIACHTA.
As we approached the Russian frontier we reflected on the savage
condition in which we had been living for so long, and were not
without some anxiety as to how we should brook the glimmering of
civilisation which we might expect to find, even in that remote
corner of Christendom. It was also uncertain what reception we would
meet with from the Russian officials, for although we had every
reason to anticipate cordiality and friendly assistance, still
political complications in Europe might have altered the relations
of either of our respective countries with the court of Russia,
and difficulties might possibly be raised. I had not forgotten
the advice of a Russian official, high in the confidence of his
Government, to defer my journey till more tranquil times. While
indulging in these vain surmises, a smart shower of snow diverted
our attention to other matters.
The Chinese town of Maimachin has first to be passed through. It is
surrounded by a modern palisade, and looks mean enough externally,
but improves vastly on acquaintance. The streets are regular, wide
(for China), and tolerably clean. The houses are solid, tidy, and
tastefully decorated, with pretty little courtyards, and ornamental
screens for their doors, &c. The Chinese settlers have evidently
improved by contact with the Russians, for the style of their
houses in Maimachin, where the Chinese are only sojourners away
from their own country, is superior to what one usually sees, even
in fashionable cities in China proper. The _yamun_, or Government
office, is at the far end of Maimachin, and is presided over by a
Mongol. Beyond the Yamun is an open square, which is considered
neutral ground between Russia and China. On the Russian side of the
square we pass through a gate and are in Kiachta, under the wing
of the great Russian eagle, which we see paraded everywhere over
our heads. The black and white posts, said to have been a pet fancy
of that miserable pedant, Paul Petrovitch, that offend the eye
everywhere in Russia; the elegant houses with white-washed walls and
red or green roofs; the gorgeous churches with tall tapering spires;
and the wide streets, with nobody in them, are all taken in at the
first glance through the gateway, and establish it beyond doubt that
we are really in the territory of the Czars.
With little trouble we found out Mr. Pfaffius, Commissary of the
Frontier, an office established in lieu of the governorship which
had been abolished. The Commissary received us in a very friendly
manner, gave me some letters that had overtaken me from China, files
of the "Times" newspaper up to the 5th of August, and finally, to my
great joy and comfort, announced that he had instructions from his
superiors to facilitate my journey homewards, in consequence of an
application from Lord Napier to the authorities at St. Petersburg.
Nothing could be more satisfactory, and we had only now to get
lodgings and make ourselves easy for a little.
Kiachta itself is but a small place, and contains few inhabitants,
except the Commissary and his dependents, and the Russian merchants
who are engaged in the China trade. The general population lives at
Troitskosarfsk, which is a good-sized town, about two miles from
Kiachta. Thither we proceeded with our caravan, and soon fell into
comfortable quarters by the kind assistance of my countryman, Mr.
Grant. The day was wearing on, and our Mongols were in a hurry to
get back to their grazing-ground. The camels were soon relieved
of their burdens, but we could hardly realise that they were now
unloaded for the last time in our service. The lama called us to
count over the packages, and see whether everything was right; he
then received the balance of his contract money, and was off. We
did not charge him the forfeit he was liable to for the four days'
over-time. Tellig received a small present, which gratified him
beyond measure, for he never considered that he had done anything
to lay us under an obligation to him. We really felt sorry to part
from our Mongols, especially the faithful Tellig, and we could not
help commiserating them as we thought of the severe season they had
to pass on those dreary steppes, so intolerable in September, that
one would suppose flesh and blood could not withstand the cruel
cold of winter. They had in view a return cargo from a Chinaman
in Maimachin, and, after a few days' rest, they would probably be
on the march again towards the Great Wall of China. They had no
intention of laying up any part of the winter, that being in fact
their busiest season, and they would be in Kiachta again about
December. What a miserable life it seems to live day and night
almost on the back of a stinking camel! And yet these people, in the
midst of hardships, are as happy as the day is long.
One of our first objects of inquiry at Kiachta was a Russian bath,
which we found in the house where we lodged, and anything so
exquisitely luxurious I never experienced, burdened as I was with a
month's sand and dust, which we had no efficient means of getting
rid of in the desert. The Mongols, indeed, never attempt to wash
themselves, being only too glad to get water enough to boil their
mutton and make their tea, and that is generally carried from a
considerable distance, for a yourt is never found very close to a
well. I never could get an explanation of this, but presume it is so
ordained by law, to prevent any one family from monopolising a well.
Although the Mongols do not wash at all, they did not look so dirty
as we did after twenty-four hours travel,--either the dust does not
stick to them, or it does not show on their darker-coloured skins.
Anyhow, it does not inconvenience them, and all the purifying I have
seen them attempt is a rough wipe they occasionally give to their
greasy mouths with the skirt of their garment, either calico or
sheepskin.
We were agreeably surprised to find so much refinement in this
outpost of Siberia. The houses are mostly large and comfortable. All
are built of wood, and mostly of round logs dovetailed together at
the ends, and caulked with moss, giving them a massive warm look,
even from outside. Those of greater pretensions are faced outside
with planed wood, painted white, which, with their red or green
painted roofs, give a cheerful air to the whole place. The churches
are a great ornament to the town. They are all three built of brick,
and white-washed, the tall cupolas being painted green.
The streets are well kept, which is not difficult to do, seeing
that the ground is dry, and there is no great traffic to cut up the
roads. Several of the streets are provided with wooden side-walks,
which are very agreeable to the feet where the planking is sound,
but in many places it has given way, exposing dangerous pitfalls to
nocturnal or inebriated pedestrians.
Every Russian above the rank of a _moujik_ (peasant) drives in
some sort of a vehicle; and there are all sorts in Kiachta,
from the droshkie, pure and simple, drawn by one or two shaggy
Siberian ponies, to the luxurious carriage of "the swell,"
mounting a coachman, and perhaps a footman in livery, and drawn
by two well-bred showy little horses from the west. The Russians
never ride for pleasure or exercise; in this respect resembling
the Chinese, who never ride, walk, dance, or do anything that
they can afford to pay some one else to do for them. A few of
the Kiachta notabilities, who have been put under strict regimen
by their doctors, certainly may be seen in the afternoon taking
a constitutional, closely muffled up in their fur over-coats,
which they hug round them with both hands, greatly impeding the
free movement of the limbs. Fast walking would, however, probably
be considered derogatory to the dignity of their station. These
solitary and sombre-looking figures, covered up to the eyes, look
like assassins, and the imagination can easily picture to itself a
dagger concealed under the ample folds of the cloak as they pace
slowly along in the dusk on the open road between Kiachta and
Troitskosarfsk.
The Russians generally have a lurking consciousness that they are
but half civilised, and they are quite aware that they are so
esteemed by the rest of Europe. Hence they are at unusual pains
to maintain punctiliously the external forms of civilised life,
mistaking the husk for the kernel. The tailors and milliners of
Kiachta are as particular, and their customers perhaps more so,
about getting the latest Parisian fashions, as their contemporaries
in the most fashionable towns in Europe or even America. A morning
visit in a shooting-coat to a merchant in Kiachta would grievously
shock his sense of propriety, and if such an outlandish garb were to
meet the ultra-refined eyes of his wife, the probable consequences
to her delicate system are too serious to contemplate, albeit she
is "fat, fair, and forty," and will challenge you in champagne on
a proper occasion till all is blue. I had the misfortune to be the
innocent cause of an alarming attack to a gentleman, who was civil
enough to call at an unexpectedly early hour in the morning, by
appearing before him in slippers and a Chinese sleeping-dress.
The apparition paralysed him for two minutes, nor did he entirely
recover his equanimity during the interview. It is this mistaken
notion of what constitutes civilisation that induces the well-to-do
Russian to wear expensive furs, simply because they are expensive,
and to drink English bottled porter, not because he likes it, but
because it costs twelve shillings a bottle.
In the streets and in the bazaar (Gostinnaidvor) a strange mixture
of races is seen. The hairy, greasy, drunk-when-he-can Russian
moujik; the small-eyed cunning Russian shop-keeper; a sprinkling
of fine, dirty, rough-looking Bouriats, a Tartar tribe subject to
Russia; a few Mongols who have business,--for their authorities,
instigated by the Chinese government, are jealously watchful of
their crossing the frontier,--and a few astute Chinese, the most
business-like of the whole crowd.
The merchants of Kiachta are mostly reported to be enormously
wealthy--several millions of roubles are not considered too much to
ascribe to the most prosperous of them. These great fortunes are
doubtless for the most part mythical, and as mammon is devoutly
worshipped here, and the Russian "swell" has no qualities but wealth
to recommend him to the respect of his countrymen, their reputed
millions are merely a figure of speech, by which the public mean to
express their appreciation of character. That the Kiachta merchants
are, on the whole, wealthy, there is no doubt, and the most approved
means for attaining that desirable condition seems to be to fail
periodically. On those occasions the gentleman makes a journey to
Nijni-novgorod and Moscow to see his creditors,--offers them fifty
kopeks in the rouble or--nothing. The composition is accepted for
various reasons: first, because it would be too much trouble to
dispute it, and secondly, because the said creditors have made a
good thing out of the connection, and hope to do so again. All
this being satisfactorily arranged, the merchant starts afresh in
the old line, having in the meantime added "house to house, and
field to field." I would not be supposed to insinuate that this
is a common practice in Kiachta, but some instances were pointed
out to me of Croesuses who had passed through the ordeal more
than once, rising higher in public estimation each time, as their
worldly prosperity increased. Large profits are made, or rather
have been made, in the Kiachta trade, both with China and the west
of Russia. Almost every merchant has a shop either in the bazaar
at Troitskosarfsk or in Kiachta, and their principle in business
is rather to do little with large profits, than to accept smaller
profits with a greatly extended trade. They don't seem to try to
undersell each other, but rather combine to tax the public heavily
for all the necessaries of life. The prices of nearly all articles
in the shops are extravagant, even allowing for the expensive
carriage their goods have to bear from the great distances most of
them have to come. Were they to be content with such profits as
would be considered ample in any other civilised country, they would
place the necessaries of life, and even luxuries, within the reach
of a vast number of people whose means do not at present admit of
expensive indulgences, and thereby increase consumption to an extent
that would in the long run bring them in greater aggregate profits
than they now realise, and indirectly add to the general prosperity
and well-being of the place. For one bottle of porter they now sell
at three and four roubles, they would sell ten at one-and-a-half
or two roubles; and so with other things. But the Russians have
no notions of expansion, and the merchants are far behind the
Government in commercial enlightenment. The recent measure of
opening the Russian sea-ports to the import of tea direct from
China, has utterly disconcerted the Kiachta people, who looked on
the overland tea-trade through Siberia, with its sure snug profits,
as part of their inheritance; and bitter complaints are heard on all
sides at such an arbitrary interference with their prerogative. They
considered themselves to have a vested right to supply the Russian
people with dear tea for ever.
The Chinese of Maimachin are likewise reputed wealthy, and no doubt
they are, to judge by their portly figures. This is considered a
sure sign of prosperity in China, where rolling in wealth, and
rolling in fat, are often considered synonymous terms. I have,
however, known the criterion prove frequently fallacious. The
Chinese merchants of Maimachin live there without their families,
and consider themselves as mere sojourners, although many of them
spend the best part of their lives there. They have an unconquerable
aversion to moving their families from the spot where they and their
fathers were born; and even within the bounds of their own country
they rarely migrate for good from one district to another, unless
driven to such a step by some potent cause, such as a visitation
from the "rebels."
The Russians and Chinese are peculiarly suited to each other in
the commercial, as well as in the diplomatic departments. They
have an equal regard for truth, for the Russian, spite of his fair
complexion, is at the bottom more than half Asiatic. There is
nothing original about this observation, but it serves to explain
how it is that the Russians have won their way into China by quiet
and peaceable means, while we have always been running our head
against a stone wall, and never could get over it without breaking
it down. The Russian meets the Chinese as Greek meets Greek: craft
is encountered with craft, politeness with politeness, and patience
with patience. They understand each other's character thoroughly,
because they are so closely alike. If some matter has to be
negotiated, it is quite understood that each begins as far from the
subject as possible: much conversation takes place on both sides;
many pipes are smoked, and many cups of tea sipped, while they are
beating about the bush. They receive each other's statements for
what they are worth, that is, not as being intended to convey any
definite signification, but as merely put in for the purpose of
concealing their real purpose and to smooth the way to the object in
view. Of course much valuable time is lost by this circumlocution,
but it is a matter of apparent indifference to either party whether
the negotiation is concluded in one day, or three days, or three
weeks. They prefer their own way of dealing, and don't understand
any other. When either Russian or Chinese meets a European,
say an Englishman, he instinctively recoils from the blunt,
straightforward, up-and-down manner of coming to business at once;
and the Asiatic either declines a contest which he cannot fight
with his own weapons, or, seizing the weak point of his antagonist,
he angles with him until he wearies him into acquiescence. As a
rule, the Asiatic has the advantage. His patient equanimity, and
heedlessness of the waste of time, are too much for the impetuous
haste of the European. This characteristic of the Russian trading
classes has enabled them to insinuate themselves into the confidence
of the Chinese; to fraternise and identify themselves with them, and
as it were make common cause with them in their daily life; while
the European holds himself aloof, and only comes in contact with
the Chinese when business requires it,--for all the rest, a great
gulf separates them in thoughts, ideas, and the aims of life. The
Russians and Chinese are equally low in their tastes; intellectual
and manly recreations are equally foreign to them, while eating and
drinking, play-going and gambling, are the congenial amusements
of both alike. I have been told that the Russian merchants of
Kiachta, when they wish to treat each other to something worthy of
a highly cultivated mind, order a Chinese dinner in Maimachin,
a feast that most Europeans would rather undergo the incipient
stages of starvation than come within the smell of. But in this and
other things the Russians pay tribute to the superior civilisation
of the Chinese, all the more genuine that it is unconsciously
done. That the Chinese are the more civilised of the two, I am
thoroughly convinced. Their notions of civilisation certainly run
in a different groove from those of Christian nations, but it is
a spontaneous growth, and genuine of its kind. But the Russians,
after all that they have borrowed from their western neighbours,
remain barbarians at bottom; and their living in large houses, and
drinking expensive wines, serve merely to exhibit, in more striking
colours, the native barbarism of the stock on which these twigs of a
higher order of life have been engrafted. This does not, of course,
apply to the educated gentlemen of Russia, the _nous autres_, who
constitute a higher caste, and who have been largely leavened with
foreign blood, but only to the middle and lower ranks. There is no
middle class in Russia, as we understand the term, but there is a
pretty large number of merchants who have risen from the condition
of serfs, many of them very rich, and who must be taken to represent
the middle class, but between whom and the gentlemen in uniform
there is as impassable a barrier as between a merchant in Japan
and a daimio. The Chinese far outstrip the Russians as a nation of
shopkeepers, and in commercial matters generally have more enlarged
and liberal ideas. Much of this is due to the non-interference of
Government with trade. The restrictions of shops to one locality in
Russian towns has its advantages and disadvantages; but the licence
fees required for admission to the guilds, and for permission to
open a shop in the bazaar, are so onerous as to exclude that class
of small shopkeepers who are the life and soul of Chinese cities.
The largest building in Kiachta is called the Custom House, but it
is no longer used as such, all duties on merchandise having been
recently abolished through the enlightened exertions of the present
Governor-General of Eastern Siberia, who has done much to develop
trade in his government. And truly the whole of that inaccessible
region, including the Amoor provinces, is so ill-favoured by
nature in its geographical position, and so thinly inhabited by a
race who have had all enterprize ground out of them by centuries
of oppression, that it is only by coaxing and nursing that
prosperity can ever take root and flourish. The old Custom House
is now occupied by the chief of _postes_ and some other Government
officials. It is situated on an elevation above the town and at the
far end of Troitskosarfsk, at as great a distance as possible from
the residence of the Commissary of the Frontier, who holds his court
at the opposite extremity of Kiachta.
Having much business to transact at both these places, we hired a
droshkie by the day at two roubles, an old shabby looking machine,
very groggy on the springs, with two wild half-broken ponies tied to
it with ropes, and an unkempt _moujik_ on the box. In this turn-out
we rattled along the dusty streets of Kiachta, passed by everything
we saw excepting costermongers' carts. I felt very small, perched
on the old rattle-trap, and had it not been for the "honour of the
thing" I would infinitely have preferred walking or riding, but that
was not to be thought of in a Russian, and especially a Siberian,
town. Our reputation was at stake.
Kiachta lies snugly in a hollow between hills of sand and fir-trees,
well sheltered from the northerly winds, and opening out southwards
towards Mongolia. A small rivulet runs through the ravine, which
turns west through the sandy plain on the Mongol side of the
frontier, and falls into the general receptacle of the other rivers
we had crossed. Kiachta and Troitskosarfsk are said to contain
20,000 inhabitants, who are pretty well supplied with provisions
from the interior. Great numbers of peasants' carts may be seen in
the morning bringing in the products of their farms and gardens
to market. All the common vegetables are to be had in abundance;
good beef and mutton of course, though the Russians, for some
unexplained reason, eat very little mutton. The supplies for Kiachta
come from great distances, and the peasants start from their homes
long before break of day. They generally hunt in couples, the man
with his sheepskin coat hung on him, leading the horse and riding
by turns, while the good-wife, swaddled up into a round bundle of
clothing, and booted to the knees, sits on the top of the cabbages.
A large square in the centre of Troitskosarfsk is set apart as
a corn and hay market, and is provided with sundry weights and
scales sanctioned by the proper authorities. Here the vendors of
agricultural produce assemble, and generally manage to get rid of
their stocks by an early hour in the afternoon. Everything seems to
be sold by weight in Russia, but they can hardly carry this to the
same extent as the Chinese, who sell live chickens by weight, and
by way of making up for any deficiency stuff their crops with sand,
which adds an ounce or two to the aggregate weight, but produces
death in a very short time. This trick used to be played off on
masters of steamers, who thought to do a service to their countrymen
at Shanghae, where provisions were at famine prices, by bringing a
few hundred fowls from other ports where they were to be had cheap.
The mortality in the middle passage was so great, however, that the
second day generally threw a very different light on the venture.
Kiachta is also well supplied with excellent fish, the sturgeon
among others, from the river Selenga, and it was here for the first
time that we indulged ourselves in fresh caviar.
In this town there is a public recreation ground within a neat
enclosure, where ladies promenade in the afternoon to inhale the
fresh air, or exhibit the latest thing in bonnets, for Russians
don't care much for air or exercise. Some retired nooks there are in
the enclosure, suggestive of love-making at a more genial season,
but they looked dreary enough in September, with a hard frost on
the ground, and snow on the neighbouring hills. The whole goes by
the name of "the garden," and in the three short months of summer
it may possibly show something to justify this appellation. The
mere attempt at gardening under such difficulties as a Siberian
climate imposes, is creditable to the enterprise of the Kiachtaites,
and it were much to be wished that the sun would shine on their
efforts. The severity of the weather drives those who have a taste
for flowers to cultivate them in their houses, which they do very
successfully. Many of their rooms are like greenhouses, furnished
round with large flowering shrubs in pots, very pleasant to the eye,
whatever may be the effect of so much vegetation on human health.
The plants are put out into gardens during the short summer, and
withdrawn to the warm rooms when the chill winds give notice that
winter is near.
The climate of Kiachta is very cold in winter, and pretty hot in
summer. The air is very dry, soil sandy, and little or no rain or
snow falls. It lies in lat. 50° 15', and at an elevation of 2200
feet above the sea. The population is reputed to be healthy, and old
people of eighty and upwards are as lively as crickets. The houses
are very comfortable, so far at least as warmth constitutes comfort,
and in severe climates it is undoubtedly the first essential. The
massive wooden walls well caulked with moss, which is said to be
better and more lasting than oakum, are well adapted to exclude
cold. They have all double windows a few inches apart, with the
space between filled with cotton wool along the sill. The rooms are
heated by large closed stoves or ovens, which are used for cooking
as well as warming the house. In general, one stove is made to heat
several rooms, being built into the corner presenting one face to
each apartment. The great drawback in all this is the absolute want
of ventilation, which was to us very trying and disagreeable, but
the Russians are accustomed to live in health in the close stuffy
atmosphere of their houses. The temperature of their rooms is kept
up to about + 16° Reaumur (68° Fahrenheit), and varies but little
from that range. They use a great deal of firewood, which is cheap
in the neighbourhood of those vast primæval forests, and in the
yards of Kiachta immense stores of this fuel are piled up for winter
use.
The Russian manner of living was not quite suitable to us, although
more regular than we had lately been accustomed to. They eat but one
meal a-day, and that about twelve or one o'clock. The everlasting
samovar fills up the morning and evening with its incessant bubbling
and spluttering. Much tea-drinking is calculated to take the edge
off a ravenous appetite, and in addition to the fluid we were fain
to eat all the little cakes that usually accompany the samovar,
in order to tide over the long twenty-four hours that interfered
between regular meals. The stock dish of the Russians is a vegetable
soup, with beef boiled in it. It is called _shtchee_, and is good
or bad, according to the materials available for its manufacture,
and the skill of the cook. Our cook in Kiachta was a lady of the
mature age of eighty-two, who was justly proud of her attainments.
The _shtchee_ is enough of itself to make a substantial meal, as the
_bouilli_ is served up with it; but it is generally followed by a
solid piece of roast beef. The bread is very good and white, but a
strange custom prevails of putting black bread on the table along
with the white, for the apparent purpose of showing off by contrast
the extreme whiteness of the white, for no one ever touches the
black when he can get the other. The real black bread is heavier,
and as clammy as if potatoes entered largely into its composition.
It is used almost exclusively by the peasants, and is doubly
economical, being in the first instance cheap in price, and moreover
a very little of it goes a long way, as it resists digestion as
long as a hard-boiled egg. The black bread used by the well-to-do
classes is a compromise, and is of a black-brown colour, known as
_demi-blanc_.
The Kiachta community is for the most part permanent. The official
portion of it is of course migratory, as the Government _employés_
look for promotion to other regions, but some of them also settle
down in Kiachta and found families. Many of the merchants also move
westward, or intend to do so, but the whole substratum of peasants,
artisans and tradesmen is a settled population. They talk little
of Petersburg and Moscow, and when they do, it is with a kind of
distant awe, as if these holy places belonged to a higher world.
Irkutsk is the centre of their thoughts, the pivot on which they
move. Whatever is defective in Kiachta is sure to be found in
perfection in Irkutsk; the best hotels, horses, carriages, doctors,
houses, churches, shops--everything--are there. A journey to
Irkutsk is not an unfrequent occurrence, but a journey to Moscow is
something to be talked about on every convenient occasion for the
remainder of one's life-time.
The town was founded in 1728, as an _entrepôt_ of the caravan trade
with China, and to that alone does it owe its importance. Tea has
always been much the largest item in this trade, and although
Kiachta must continue to command the trade between China and Eastern
Siberia, the direct importation of sea-borne teas to the Baltic
ports cuts off an important source of prosperity from Kiachta. The
mercantile community have, up to last year, endeavoured to compete
with their rivals, and pushed into China to purchase the tea in the
same markets; but the conditions of the trade are so much altered
that they are deprived of their former facilities for bartering
Russian produce, and in other respects the caravan trade is too
heavily weighted ever to compete successfully with the long sea
route. Even in Russia, wedded as the masses are to prejudice, common
sense must gain the day in the end, particularly where roubles and
kopeks are in question.
We did not grudge ourselves a few days' rest at Kiachta, considering
we had accomplished the most tedious part of the journey, and
henceforward would get over the ground as fast as horses' legs could
carry us. But no such luck was in store for us. The first news we
had from the commissary and others, was that the whole country
between the shores of the Baikal lake and Kiachta was inundated
by the flooding of the river Selenga. It seemed that our adverse
fortune was to follow us along the whole journey. We need not
have been surprised, however, at the intelligence we received of
the condition of the Selenga, since into it all the rivers we had
crossed in Mongolia discharge themselves. The post from Europe was
long overdue, and no news had been received from the Baikal for ten
days. We were constrained perforce to remain quiescent until the
waters should subside, and a day or two after our arrival a courier
who came with the missing mail reported a slight improvement in the
communication, he having succeeded in carrying the mail in small
boats from station to station. Our time was not, however, misspent,
for we had a number of preparations to make for our journey. In
the first place we had to exchange our Chinese silver into Russian
paper money. We were prepared of course to lose on this operation,
but were agreeably surprised to find we had got off with only about
one per cent. For one tael of sycee we received 2_r._ 15_kop._,
which, at the then value of three shillings to the rouble, gave
us 6_s._ 5-4/10_d._ for our tael, which was worth roundly 6_s._
6_d._ We had then our ponies and carts to dispose of, and my pony
was quickly sold for ten roubles, of which my share was eight,
that is twenty-four shillings for what cost thirty-two,--so far so
good. But, when we came to offer the carts for sale, difficulties
presented themselves. No one had ever heard of such articles being
sold in Kiachta. This seemed strange, for the Chinese--if not the
Russians--use no other conveyance in their frequent journeys to
China. The carts are made only in China, and therefore ought to be
at a premium in Kiachta. But the Russians were not to be reasoned
with in this way, but maintained that it was hopeless to attempt to
sell our carts, and we abandoned the idea. We happened, however,
to mention the subject to some Chinese in Maimachin, and having
persuaded them to come to Troitskosarfsk, and see the articles, we
concluded a bargain, on the eve of our departure, for sixty-five
roubles, about half what they cost.
It was necessary to our comfort to purchase a tarantass, or large
travelling carriage. It was possible to travel without one, using
the _kibitka_, or small carriage, provided at the post-stations;
but that mode of travelling involved the annoyance of changing at
every station, which, with our huge amount of baggage, would have
been intolerable. We had some trouble to find a tarantass, and when
we had got one it was not quite what it should have been--indeed we
should have done better to have used the post kibitkas as far as
Irkutsk, and bought a tarantass there, where we would have had a
better selection.
In Maimachin we purchased some goat skins, with hair twelve inches
long. These we had sown together into a sack for each of us to
put our legs into when sitting in the carriage; a very simple
contrivance, well worthy of the attention of all travellers in those
regions in cold weather, and which contributed in no small degree
to our comfort on the road.
The remnant of our stores, &c., tent, saddles, and such like, had
to be abandoned in Kiachta, and we could only make room in the
tarantass for a little brandy, and some tins of bacon, and smoked
tongues. Hitherto we had trusted nothing to the chance supplies of
provisions that might be found on the road; but now, being in a
civilised (?) country, we depended solely on its resources, such as
they were.
We had no trouble with our papers in Kiachta, and our luggage was
never looked at; neither did we require to take out a Russian
passport, but merely had to get our Peking ones viséd for Irkutsk
by the master of police, which formality enabled us to obtain from
the chief of the posts a padaroshna, or pass for post-horses, which
are entirely under Government control. In addition to this, Mr.
Pfaffius supplied us with a special pass, to give greater effect to
the padaroshna, and to ensure us proper attention from the various
station masters as far as Irkutsk. This document was to be exchanged
for a similar one, which we hoped to obtain from the higher
authorities at the provincial capital. We experienced the greatest
civility and ready assistance from all the Russian officials with
whom we came in contact in Kiachta, and the bugbear of troublesome
interference by the authorities vanished away.
We soon got tired waiting for better news of the state of the roads
between us and Lake Baikal, and determined to start on the 7th of
October at all hazards. The steady frosty weather, with occasional
falls of snow, gave us warning of winter, and of the uncertainty of
getting our heavy carriage over half-frozen rivers. Every day was
important at such a critical season, and the motherly counsels of
the good old lady we were living with, to postpone our journey till
December, when the snow roads would be in perfect order, only made
us the more impatient to be off. Had we stayed another day we might
have been tempted to give ear to these reiterated remonstrances
against tempting Providence by starting at such a time.
Some hours were occupied in loading our tarantass, for we discovered
to our dismay that the machine, large as it was, was still too small
for our baggage and ourselves. After several attempts to dovetail
unwieldy boxes into corners and use up all smaller articles as
broken stowage, we eventually succeeded, between the inside and
the outside of the machine, to get everything on board, and with a
severe struggle we squeezed ourselves in, horizontally, between the
baggage and the hood of the conveyance. Our padaroshna was for three
horses, but when the driver brought them to be harnessed, and saw
the load he had to drag, he at once protested against going with
less than four. We felt that he was quite right, but to establish a
character it was necessary that we should be firm at the outset. To
have admitted the necessity for four horses would have exposed us
to all manner of impositions at the successive stations, where our
ignorance of Russ would have placed us at the mercy of every ruffian
of a postmaster. With great misgivings, therefore, we started with
our three horses, driven by a Bouriat _yemschik_. The tarantass is
a strong roughly made four-wheeled carriage, placed on poles, which
rest across the two axletrees. The poles are made of soft wood,
but have some spring in them, and the tarantass is at least more
comfortable on rough roads than a Chinese two-wheeled cart. The hood
comes well forward, and with an apron that comes up nearly to the
top, and a curtain that can be let down from the front of the hood,
the tarantass can be pretty well closed in.
The "horses" are only ponies, a little over thirteen hands high,
strong shaggy little brutes, full of beans and of great endurance.
They are harnessed, or rather tied, to the vehicle, or, as the
Russians like to call it, the _equipage_, in the loosest possible
manner. A stout steady one is put in the shafts without any traces,
the collar being secured to the forward part of the shafts by strong
leather bands. A wooden tree arched over the collar and fixed to the
shafts by its two ends, has a bearing rein running from the top, and
kept rather tight on the horse's mouth. A bell is also suspended
from the top of this cumbrous-looking apparatus, which denotes to
all whom it may concern that it jingles over a post-horse. The
bell is an intolerable nuisance on the road, but it is of some use
in arriving at a station to announce the important event to the
station-keeper, who peradventure may be asleep.
The other horses are attached by rope traces to the axletrees, or
any part of the outside of the tarantass which may be available
for making fast a rope. Each horse is independent of the others,
and any, except the middle one, may get off the road, kick, fall,
or do what he likes, without disturbing the general equilibrium.
The favourite number of horses in Russia is three, which they call
a _troilki_--they all go abreast, whether the number be two or
six. Everything about the "turn out" is of the loosest and rudest
construction--the wheels have plenty of scope, and oscillate three
or four inches on the axle, so as to be easily oiled. Something is
constantly going wrong--the wonder is that the whole arrangement
does not break down on the road beyond the hope of remedy; but the
Russians are very clever at making shifts, and with the constant
demands that are made on their resources, their talents are kept in
full exercise.