IRKUTSK TO KRASNOYARSK.
For the first two stages from Irkutsk we caught occasional glimpses
of high mountain ranges at a great distance to the south-west. But
the dense forest soon shut in our view. The roads were tolerably
good, and we rumbled along expeditiously and comfortably. The
country maintains the same characteristics as already noted--thick
woods for the most part, with clear patches here and there,
and villages at intervals of a few miles; while its surface is
pleasantly varied with hill and dale, and if only there were less
forest to enable one to see round him, it would be a very cheerful
drive. Innumerable small rivers have to be crossed in ferry-boats,
which help to break the monotony of the journey. Reading is next to
impossible on Russian roads, and the art of sleeping--when there
is nothing better to do--is a most valuable accomplishment to the
traveller. We had attained considerable proficiency in this, and I
have been ferried across a river amid the hubbub of taking out and
putting in horses, and rolling the carriage into and out of the
ferry-boat, without suffering any interruption of a profound slumber.
Being eager to make up lost time, we drove our yemschiks hard
with drink-money, and they certainly responded heartily to the
stimulant. The roads are very steep, and nothing has been done in
the way of cuttings or embankments. The ravines have generally
small streamlets running along the bottom, which is ragged and
broken. These are bridged over in a rough-and-ready manner. But the
ascents and descents are fearfully steep. When a heavy carriage
starts down a hill with three rats of ponies in front of it, one
only bearing the weight of the vehicle, no earthly power can stop
it. The drag on the wheel is of little use. The only safety is in
the plan the Russian drivers adopt of going full tilt from top to
bottom, to the delight of Siberian ponies--dashing over the wooden
bridge like madmen, and halfway up the opposite hill before they
draw rein. There is a fascinating excitement about this mode of
charging a ravine which kills all sense of danger, except, perhaps,
when the road is slippery with snow, well polished with sledges.
Under these circumstances it is only the more necessary to urge the
beasts at top speed; but a qualm of nervousness will occasionally
rise, unbidden, until you have learned to confide implicitly in the
infallibility of the yemschiks and their high-mettled steeds.
The ponies are always in prime condition for work. Little or no
attention is paid to them in the stable or out of it, but they have
always as much corn as they can eat, and they are notoriously good
feeders. They are capable of a great amount of continuous hard work.
On an average every one of them travels two stages a day, both ways,
for they always return to their own station. That is equal to about
forty miles with a loaded carriage, and the same distance back, with
an empty one, on the same day. When the roads are tolerable they
go at a good speed. We have travelled eighteen miles at a stretch
within an hour and a half. The roads seldom admit of this rate of
travelling, however, being generally, saving the bridges and the
original cutting through the woods, left pretty much to nature.
Along the whole length of the post-road the distances from station
to station are marked at every verst by wooden poles, painted black
and white; and at each station a high post indicates the distances
from the chief towns. A feeling of depression always came over me on
spelling out the interesting word St. Petersburg, and finding it was
more than 6000 versts or 4000 miles off. It was a tedious business
to reduce such an imposing figure as that. After Irkutsk we had got
it under the 6000. When wearied out with rough travelling, the few
versts to the next halt were painful enough, and on such occasions
the 5000 odd were really appalling.
We never stopped by day or night, unless compelled by force of
circumstances. Our meals were consequently uncertain and irregular,
both as to time, quantity, and quality. At most of the stations
shtchee and beef could be had about mid-day, though unless it was
ready we did not wait for it, but pushed on, trusting to what
we might pick up in a chance way, and having our small stock of
preserved meat to fall back upon, should everything else fail.
Twice a day we drank tea. The Russians lose a great deal of time
in tea-drinking at the post-stations. Give them plenty of tea,
and they care little for food. Indeed they encourage the habit
partly to blunt the appetite. It suits their constitutions, but it
certainly did not answer with us, to be jolted and tumbled about
on bad roads with a stomach full of fluid. Besides the loss of
time was an object to us, but of little account apparently to the
Russians. A sufficiency of solid food can be disposed of in a very
few minutes, not so boiling tea, and I have constantly seen Russians
slowly sipping quarts of the decoction long after their horses were
ready for the road. In a very cold night the hot tea is no doubt
acceptable, but one tumbler of hot grog is worth a gallon of tea,
and occupies less time and less room.
After three days and nights' travelling we arrived at the
Birusanskaya station, distant from Irkutsk 638 versts, or 426 miles,
which was very fair going, all things considered. In that distance
we had only passed one town--Nijni-udinsk. Birusanskaya stands on
the right bank of the river Birusa, which, at this part of its
course, divides the government of Irkutsk from that of Yenisei.
This river, as well as those crossed to the eastward, rises in the
mountain ranges near the southern frontier of Siberia. They all flow
northward, and fall into the Angara, before its junction with the
Yenisei.
At Birusanskaya we were told that the river was impassable on
account of the ice, and that there were no horses, with a number
of similar stories, more or less true. It was night, and we were
not the only sufferers; so, as soon as we had fairly exhausted all
the persuasive means at our disposal, we quietly went to roost
like the rest. At 10 o'clock next morning we were furnished with
horses, and drove to the river. It was fast freezing over, and at
the regular crossing there was too much ice at the edges to admit of
the ferry-boat's "communicating." Another crossing had therefore to
be used, where there was no proper road on either side of the river,
and which consequently involved much loss of time. On leaving the
river, and before joining the post-road, a tract of prairie ground
had to be crossed, all holes and hillocks, and anything but an
eligible road for wheeled carriages.
The distance from home seemed to diminish suddenly as we came in
sight of the telegraph wires which had been carried as far as the
river Birusa. The posts were put up at some parts of the road
eastward. Coils of wire were lying at every station, and the workmen
were busy stretching and carrying it on. The posts are tall rough
spars, placed at intervals of one hundred yards, and only two wires
are used. The telegraph was completed to Irkutsk in December last.
A marked improvement in the roads was observable in the government
of Yenisei. They had been macadamised, and although the stones had
been overlaid with a coating of mud during the early part of autumn,
it was not so deep as to become very rough with traffic. In some
parts a thin covering of snow lay on the ground, and sledges were in
use in such places.
In the middle of the night (a very cold one) of the 23rd October,
we arrived at the river Kan, which, from the town of Kansk, flows
nearly west, and joins the Yenisei north of Krasnoyarsk. The
ferrymen were all on the opposite shore with their boats, and of
course asleep, and we were anything but sanguine of rousing them. We
called lustily, but the echo of our shouts alone responded, as if in
mockery. "You may call spirits from the vasty deep," &c. But either
we must get over, or shiver on the banks of this river Styx till
day-light. Fortunately the yemschiks were as impatient as ourselves,
and possessing stentorian lungs, they plied them vigorously, until
at last a gruff response from the log-hut on the other side was
vouchsafed. Then some low mutterings were heard (for the air was
so still and frosty that you might have heard a pin fall), then a
little rumbling of oars and heavy footsteps on the loose deck-boards
of the ferry-boat, some splashing in the water, and in due time
the boat itself, with the grim ferrymen in beards and sheepskins,
was seen approaching us. The town of Kansk is a verst and a half
from the ferry. The sharp air had affected all and sundry at the
post-station of Kansk, for a deep sleep had fallen on them. With a
little perseverance we knocked them up, in anything but an amiable
frame of mind, and it was near 4 o'clock, a.m., before the sleepy
yemschiks had got the horses in.
We had picked up a fellow-traveller the day before, and arranged to
travel in company, if possible, as far as Tomsk. He was carrying
gold from Irkutsk to Barnaul, which is the great place for smelting
it. Our first introduction to him was at the Birusa river, which
he excited our jealousy by crossing in advance of us. To get a rise
out of him we promised extra drink-money to our yemschik if he would
pass him, which he did. The Russian was annoyed at being passed,
and at the next station he recorded his grievances in the book kept
for that purpose. We left him there drinking tea, and soon after we
missed some things which we had in the hurry left behind. Our new
friend came up with us at the next station, and brought with him the
missing articles. This began to make us feel kindly to him, and as
we encountered him at every station, we soon got intimate, and he
ended by proposing to keep company with us, dining and drinking tea
together. His name was Vasil Vasilovitch Something or other (I never
could catch his family name), but as his talk turned greatly on the
charms of Barnaul, we gave him the nickname of Old Barnaul. He tried
hard to speak French and English, but as he had only acquired about
ten words of the former, and five of the latter, we could only get
on with a conglomeration of Russian, French, and English, or through
the interpretation of Schwartz. "_Prendre thé_--very good," was
about his highest effort in philology. Old Barnaul talked much of
San Francisco, whither he had been carried as a prisoner on board
H.M.S. Pique, during the Crimean War. He was captured at Sitka,
and after spending some time at San Francisco, studying American
character, and acquiring his modicum of the English language, he
found his way back in an American vessel to Sitka. Old Barnaul had
a cossack in full accoutrements, _i. e._, armed with a long sword,
a most kind, good-natured Russian soldier, who was infinitely more
useful to us than the empty-headed Schwartz.
Travelling in company has its arguments _pro_ and _con_. First,
_pro_--you have the chance of exciting in the respective yemschiks
the noble ambition of landing you first at the next station, by
holding out the promise to each of extra drink-money if he wins.
This is also exhilarating to yourself, as in every stage of the
journey you have the excitement of a race to beguile the tedium
of the way. Then, by preconcerted arrangement, you determine at
what station you will dine or drink tea, so that whichever of you
arrives first can make the necessary preparations. Second, _con_.
You throw a heavier burden on the yemschiks at the stations, and
thereby protract the usual time required to change horses. And you
run the risk of stopping the whole party by the greater number of
horses you call for all at once, for there may often be horses for
one traveller, where there are not enough for two. On the whole, it
retards progress, just as in the case of vessels keeping company
on the water, the speed obtained is somewhat less than that of the
slowest of the convoy.
To the west of Kansk, the country is nearly cleared of wood, and is
for the most part rather flat. Cultivation becomes more general, and
the clear view occasionally obtained over the bare country, revealed
many large villages dotted here and there.
The wind rose early in the day, and sent a cold chill through us as
we drove up in its teeth. While halting at a station, a smart shower
of snow fell, and caught our tarantass, half-open in front, and face
to wind. It was fast filling with snow, and we rebuked Schwartz for
his negligence. He at once transferred the responsibility from his
own shoulders, by going out into the yard and kicking the first
yemschik he met, which seems to be the most civil kind of salutation
a Russian moujik expects. When the shower stopped, it was not
difficult to shake out the snow from our blankets, and what was
left was no great inconvenience to us, for the air was too cold to
allow it to melt. The road was kept clean by the wind, which drove
the snow before it like fine sand drift. But the wind was a sad
inconvenience to us, and this was perhaps the only day on which our
heavy furs and blankets were inadequate to retain warmth. The roads
were excellent, however, and we went merrily along. We found the
inconvenience of travelling with Old Barnaul, on coming to a station
where horses were obtainable for us, being privileged, but none for
him. The "cold without," and a good dinner within, induced us to
wait a few hours until he could get horses. Besides, the Yenisei
river was before us, and we were assured that the passage could not
be effected in such a wind.
Very late at night we reached Basailsk, a station ten versts short
of the Yenisei. There we remained all night, and next morning drove
on to the river. Here was one instance, out of many, of the absurd
situations that have been chosen for many of the post-stations in
Siberia, with reference to the rivers. The station is nearly always
placed at some distance from the river, sometimes only one or two
versts. Horses have to be harnessed and driven to the river, there
unharnessed again, transported across the water, and put to again on
the other side. This extra work and loss of time would be saved by
placing the station on the bank of the river, and so by having one
on each side, the horses need never be ferried over at all.
The Yenisei is a noble river, the largest in Siberia. Its banks are
bold, but very bare, while the lack of timber, and general baldness
of the country, give the scene a bleak and inhospitable aspect. The
sprinkling of snow that hung about the crevices served to intensify
the gloom.
It was questionable whether we could cross the Yenisei in the face
of the wind, which blew in strong gusts from the north-west, but
we managed to get our establishments into a boat, rather small for
the load she had, but quite large enough for the power available to
propel her. She was headed straight across the stream, pulled by
four men in the bow, and steered by the usual rudely made oar over
the stern. They made very little way with her, and when we had
reached the right bank of the river, we had dropped about a mile
down stream. A horse was ready on the other side to tow the boat up
to the proper landing-place. A rope was passed ashore, but before
it was properly secured to the horse, the end slipped, a gust of
wind caught the boat, and she was blown from the shore. This was
too good an opportunity for jabbering and gesticulation to be lost
on our lusty crew, and accordingly to this luxury they abandoned
themselves, while the unfortunate boat, bearing us, the unfortunate
passengers, was being blown out to the middle of the stream by the
wind, and at the same time gliding swiftly down the river. When the
crew had recovered themselves a little, they hesitated about which
shore they ought to make for; and at last concluded it would be best
to go back again to the left bank, which we reached at a point three
miles below our original starting-place. The men landed, and went
to the town to fetch horses to tow the boat up again. We walked to
the town also to seek some shelter from the biting wind, and wait
the arrival of the boat. She got up at noon, and we made a fresh
start to cross, which was successfully accomplished the second time.
A used-up team of horses awaited us, and we travelled slowly to
Krasnoyarsk.
Amid a great deal of grass and waste land, the country round
Krasnoyarsk is well cultivated, but very bare. The town is situated
on a raised plateau in a large valley. Like other Siberian towns
its streets are wide, straight, and clean, with dull-looking wooden
houses, and handsome churches. There is something incongruous in
this combination. The churches are undoubtedly highly ornamental to
the town--it would be poor indeed without them--but the contrast
between their snow-white walls and spires, and the earth-colour of
the houses, is too great. They seem to have no connection with each
other.
Krasnoyarsk, though the government town of Yeniseisk, is
comparatively a small place, its population being something under
10,000. As an exception to the general rule, its name is not derived
from a river, but means "red cliff."
The station-master at Krasnoyarsk combines with his official duties
the business of hotel-keeper, an arrangement admirably convenient
for travellers. The station hotel is a very good one from a Siberian
point of view, and we were induced to shake down in it for the night
from a variety of reasons, chiefly because we were very tired, and
it was snowing heavily.
Other travellers from the west were there at the same time, and
we were entertained by their accounts of the state of the roads
from Nijni-novgorod. It was amusing to hear the different reports
of travellers, and compare them. Most of them were absolutely
contradictory, and we were constrained to come to the conclusion
that Russian travellers fill up the blanks in conversation with
whatever comes uppermost, without taxing their memory to the extent
necessary to give an accurate statement of their experience.
The amount of attention which the efficient management of the
hotel exacted from the landlord left him no time for the duties
of his less remunerative position of postmaster. All the postal
arrangements were in dire confusion in the morning, when we wished
to start on our journey, yemschiks drunk, and no one at his post. We
lost the whole morning waiting for horses, which was so vexatious
that we resolved to record our complaint in "the book." At every
post-station a black book is kept in a corner of a room on a small
table, to which it is attached by a cord, and sealed. It is open
for public inspection, and every traveller has the privilege of
writing in it any grievance he may have suffered from inattention,
incivility, or unwarrantable delay on the part of yemschiks or
postmasters. The director-general of posts makes a periodical
tour, and examines the black book of every station. The complaints
of government couriers are, perhaps, the only ones that excite
much attention. Everything else in the posting system is made
subordinate to the rapid despatch of government intelligence. Horses
can never be refused to a courier on any pretence whatever, for the
station-keepers are obliged, at all times, to keep a certain number
in reserve for such emergencies. When news of importance has to be
transmitted, it can be done with very great rapidity by means of an
_estafette_, which will carry news from Kiachta to St. Petersburg, a
distance of over four thousand miles, in less than twenty days.
The rapidity with which the Russian government has, on certain
occasions, obtained important news from China, proves the efficiency
of the courier service. The signing of the treaties at Tientsin in
1858, and the Taku disaster in 1859, were known at St. Petersburg
some two weeks before the official despatches reached this country.
And now that the telegraph has been extended to Irkutsk, the
Russians receive news from the Chinese commercial ports, on the
direct steamer route, a good many days earlier than we can, even
by telegraph from Suez. The capture of Nanking, for example, was
reported in England _viâ_ St. Petersburg on the 11th September,
while our Suez telegram did not reach till the 23rd.