Chapter X: Irkoutsk to Tomsk (2)

What a day that was! I have experienced many miserable hours in the course of my travels but never a day so wretched, and unspeakably depressing as that 30th of August in Touloung post-house. Save the mail, nothing passed the whole livelong day, not even a téléga. Having read all that the rain had left us of our books, we simply sat down and looked at each other in sheer despair. The situation would have been laughable had it not seemed, at the time, so serious.

The main street of an Eastern Siberian village is not an inspiriting sight, even on a fine and sunny day. I have never looked upon a more dismal spectacle than met the eye from the post-house windows at Touloung. There were four, two looking on to the village street, the others on to a lonely barren stretch of common, at the end of which, through the grey mist, loomed the red roof of the ostrog. It was hard to say which depressed one most, the dirty village street, knee-deep in mud and filth, the dirty dilapidated houses; the only signs of life half a dozen mangy-looking ducks splashing and wallowing in the rain, and a couple of shivering post-horses crouching under shelter of our tarantass;——or the lonely, drab-coloured road, winding away like a great snake over the common, past the prison, and into a green mass of forest just beyond; the tall gaunt telegraph poles and black and white verst posts almost undistinguishable in the dense grey mist, dispelled, ever and anon, by driving showers of rain and sleet. The interior was no better than the look-out. Our amusement became at length reduced to killing the flies, which swarmed in thousands on the dirty walls, and drinking tea, that never-failing solace of the Siberian traveller. There was no food in the house to speak of. The unwelcome visitor of last night had exhausted our old friend’s stock, and reduced the contents of his larder to some salted “omuli” and a couple of loaves (or rather “lumps”) of black bread. This constituted our evening meal. A buxom female, who appeared as if by magic from the innermost recesses of the kitchen, waited on us. We would willingly have dispensed with her services, for she was not only disgustingly dirty, but was afflicted, in addition, with a loathsome skin disease. Nor was it reassuring when our host explained the cause. “Poor girl,” he said pensively, “she has suffered much the last three weeks. You would hardly think, to see her bustling about so cheerfully, that she only rose for the first time to-day from a bad attack of small-pox, caught from one of those beastly tea-caravans from China. Curse them! they spread it all over the country.” Under any other circumstances I should have felt uneasy, but we were becoming so desperate that had violent symptoms developed themselves, I believe we should have taken it quite as a matter of course. For this very reason, perhaps, neither of us caught it, for the fair “Liouba” had undoubtedly arrived at the most infectious stage of the disease.

Towards sunset the rain abated a little. About seven o’clock, some women emerged from the houses opposite, each carrying a basin and slice of black bread, which, having placed under shelter of the eaves, they left and returned within doors. A Siberian woman’s out-door costume on a rainy day is even more peculiar than that in which she receives her guests in summer, for, from the waist downwards, with the exception of a pair of high boots reaching to the knee, there is no attempt at clothing of any description, the linen skirt being fastened apparently round the neck. The appearance of these worthy dames all at once at the gates of their courtyards was curious in the extreme, nor did they appear the least disconcerted when they caught sight of our faces at the window. On inquiry, it is the custom, throughout Siberia, for the peasants of every village and town to place outside each house refreshment of some sort (which usually takes the shape of bread and milk) for the use of any convict that may make his escape. The rule is an old one, nor has it ever been interfered with by the Imperial Government. It is also understood that the bowl and plate holding the provisions shall not be tampered with or taken away, china utensils being rather valuable in Eastern Siberia. Whenever this code of honour has been infringed the next convict who escapes is bound, should he come across him, to kill the thief. A sentence of this kind was carried out near Tomsk while we were staying there. Both convicts had made their escape from the ostrog at Kolinskaya, about ninety versts from Tomsk, the first escaping about three weeks before the second. As usual, both made what they could upon the road, till the latter accidentally heard of the theft committed by the former, and never rested till he had hunted him down, and after a severe struggle beaten him to death with a bludgeon. His body was found in the forest some days later.

But if the day at Touloung had been depressing, the night was infinitely more so. The remains of our scanty meal having been carried away by the small-pox patient, the post-master appeared with two guttering tallow dips, which just sufficed to make darkness visible, and, bidding us good night, retired to the depths of his ill-smelling den, whence, a few moments after, there issued sounds of music in the shape of a groaning, wheezing concertina. We were given the benefit of this inspiriting music from a little past eight o’clock till far into the night. I used to think the Russian National Anthem a fine and stirring composition, but can, even now, scarcely hear it without a shudder. It was the only tune he knew. It was past 1 a.m. when I got to sleep. The howling of the wind, and rattling of the rain and sleet against the window-panes, made one feel thankful one was under shelter, even in such a den as this. A huge grey rat, sitting near on the floor, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, appeared to share my opinion. Two months before, I could not have slept a wink with the knowledge that such an animal was in the room, but I now composed myself to slumber quite unconcernedly, although with the firm conviction that when asleep, he, and probably many others, would be scrambling over my body and face. An excellent school is Siberia for the fastidious, and I know many a youthful London “masher” who would derive incalculable benefit (both physical and and mental) from a short residence at Touloung.

Awakening at five o’clock, I sprang eagerly to the window, to see how the weather was. Alas! it was pouring harder than ever. Still the same sodden grey sky of yesterday, with sooty-coloured clouds driving over it, still the same desolate landscape, dripping houses, and distant forest shrouded in white mist. Another day at Touloung! Cursing Siberia and everything connected with it, I wrapped myself in my pelisse, and lay down again on the filthy worm-eaten floor, nor did I wake again till past ten o’clock, to find a new arrival seated, in front of the hissing samovar, and the rain coming down harder than ever.

The new comer was a Jew, and a very dirty one into the bargain, though evidently a man of means, as his private tarantass and fat podgy hands, covered with enormous diamond rings, testified. Like most of his race, he was as curious as a monkey, and no sooner had I opened my eyes than I was assailed with the usual bevy of questions. “What was my nationality?” “Where had I come from?” “Where was I going?” “What was my income?” and finally, “What had brought me to Siberia?” My answer, “Pleasure,” was invariably met with shouts of laughter on these occasions. Nor, now that I have crossed that dreary country, can I blame my fellow-travellers for what at the time I looked upon as a somewhat rude and unnecessary display of mirth. The Jew spoke a little French, and was a welcome addition to our melancholy party, for besides being a cheery, talkative fellow, full of fun and anecdote, he had a large stock of provisions. We were, almost starving, and accepted with alacrity his invitation to join him in a tin of preserved mutton, washed down by a couple of glasses of vodka. I do not know when I ever enjoyed a meal more. We had not tasted solid food for nearly three days, and the pangs of hunger were beginning to make themselves felt in a most painful and unmistakable manner. We more than once experienced, seriously speaking, the pains of starvation in Siberia: that terrible gnawing sensation at the pit of the stomach which is so hard to describe, but which for sheer mental and physical suffering is unequalled.

Our Hebrew friend was, it transpired, a bagman “travelling” in gunpowder, and a native of Irkoutsk. He was now on his way to Tashkent, in Central Asia, having come the whole distance from Nicolaievsk, on the Sea of Okhotsk, without a break, save a rest of a couple of days in his native city. Such a voyage as ours paled before the prodigious length of this journey, which must be at least four thousand miles from end to end. The Jew had already done it four times, once in winter, an experiment, he added, he would not care to repeat. “In summer,” said our talkative friend, “it is charming. Like what you English would call one great _Picque-Nicque_.” How I envied the little man his cheerful disposition!

He made a start by five o’clock, when the weather cleared a little, and by nine o’clock the sky was cloudless and covered with bright stars. Dreading a rainy morrow, we almost decided to have the horses put in and push on at once. The next station could not, at any rate, be worse than Touloung, and might be better; but the post-master begged us not to attempt it. The floods were out in places, and he had but a young and inexperienced yemstchik to give us, who would probably lose his head, should anything go wrong. We were not sorry next day that we had taken the old man’s advice. Morning broke bright and clear, though the roofs of the houses were still wet and gleaming in the sunshine, as with six horses in, we slowly made our way up the miry street, and said good-bye, with a sigh of relief, to the grimy post-house in which we had passed so many dreary, comfortless hours.

A newly steam-ploughed field in the boggiest parts of Cambridgeshire after a week’s steady and incessant rain, but faintly describes the condition in which we found the road. In many places it was entirely submerged, and we had to trust to Providence and the yemstchik’s knowledge of the road for safety. At one place the water was well over the hind wheels. We were not sorry to emerge on dry land again, for we had to cross a broken-down bridge during this aquatic interlude, when a false move to the right or left would have precipitated us into a ditch about ten feet deep and broad in proportion. For the first eighteen versts it was quite impossible to attempt a faster pace than a walk, and several times we stuck altogether. It was anxious work, for a loosened bolt or screw, a broken axle, may, in Siberia, detain one for a week or more. We had not much confidence in our yemstchik, who could not at the most have been more than twelve or thirteen years old, and should have fared badly had we adhered to our original intention and started over-night, for the horses did exactly as they liked. What the little imp lacked in strength, however, he made up in assurance, and waved his whip about, alternately cursing and praising his team after the most approved style. We had a narrow escape of an upset once when the horses, taking fright at a dead horse on the side of the road, made a bolt for it into the forest. Luckily a large hole into which the tarantass dived, brought us up all standing, and saved us from further mishap. During this performance two of the traces broke, and we were detained over an hour repairing them. Three télégas and a tarantass having passed us meanwhile, we were detained at the next station (Kourjinskaya) for twenty-four hours.

The utterly inadequate number of horses kept at each station may be said to have been one of our chief drawbacks. Whenever, on the road, one has the misfortune to meet the post, it is impossible, although the mail consists, as a rule, of four or six tarantasses, at the most, to procure horses, and a long weary wait is the result. Sometimes, when we had the post-house to ourselves, it was bearable enough, but on most occasions our sufferings were shared by a number of other travellers. Sitting or standing in a bare, whitewashed room for half a dozen hours together, is not conducive to good temper or conversation, and on these occasions the waiting-room reminded me of nothing so much as a cage of wild beasts, each eyeing the other with envy, hatred, and malice, the women especially looking as if they would like to tear each other’s eyes out. The peculiarities of men too came out at such times, some taking the matter coolly and philosophically, alternately drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, till their horses were ready; others pacing restlessly up and down the room, cursing the post-master, yemstchiks, and everybody connected with the establishment; others, again, subsiding into a state of dull apathy, and staring straight before them for hours together. I often thought at such times of men I know in England, to whom a wait of a couple of hours in a snug waiting-room, surrounded by papers and books, food and drink, is an excuse for a good British grumble. I thought of what they would say to a detention of three days, or so, in one of these post-houses, with nothing but tea for nourishment, nothing to look at but four dirty whitewashed walls, nothing to do but to pace up and down for hours together, to try and keep the circulation going in one’s tired, hungry frame, a thousand-mile journey before them, and probably a dozen such delays ere they reached their final destination!

I will not weary the reader with an account of every stage. Suffice it to say that we reached Nijni Udinsk, after some delay and trouble, on the 31st of August; and with the exception of the desert, I do not think I have ever made a rougher or more uncomfortable journey than that from Touloung to this town. The last stage was a terrible one, and I thought more than once we should have to abandon all hope of reaching Nijni Udinsk that night at any rate. About half-way the horses, of which we had seven in, shied while crossing a rickety wooden bridge, both near wheels went over the edge, and for a few moments things looked ugly. Though the team plunged a good deal, however, no harm was done, and by the aid of two young fir-trees that our yemstchiks cut down, we got the clumsy vehicle hoisted on to _terra firma_ again. Although well broken into jolting and shaking by camel-cart experiences, I do not think I ever made a more fatiguing journey. Our bodies and bones ached for days after.

We were detained some time at the ferry over the River Uda, on which river the town of Nijni Udinsk is situated, for a caravan of over 200 carts was being taken across, and it was quite an hour before we managed to persuade the ferryman to take us on board. In the meantime we amused ourselves watching the busy scene and the frantic efforts made by men and horses to drag the heavy tea-carts up the steep river-bank. Not a hundred yards off, a young and pretty woman was bathing in the stream, stark naked, a proceeding which seemed to amuse not a little the ragged, wild-looking fellows in charge of the caravan. Some, bolder than the rest, ventured to embark in an interchange of chaff with the fair bather, who, far from being dismayed, only laughed and showed her white teeth derisively, giving her assailants back as good as they gave. Siberian women are certainly not troubled with shyness.

It was dusk when we reached the post-house, a large brick building, with a good garden and shady courtyard. The waiting-room was taken possession of by five Japanese youths, who, after a course of study at St. Petersburg, were returning to Japan _viâ_ Wladivostok and the Amour. But the innkeeper’s wife (a pretty flaxen-haired Swede), would not hear of our sharing the big room with the Japs, but laid us a table in her own private sitting-room, where, at the open window, looking on to the garden, redolent of sweetbriar and honeysuckle, we enjoyed the first comfortable meal we had made for nearly a fortnight. Our little hostess prepared it with her own hands, and took quite a motherly interest in us, a kindness we could not but repay by visiting and admiring her firstborn (a little chubby-cheeked girl of a few weeks old), the miniature of her mother, that lay asleep in a swinging cradle suspended from the ceiling of her neat, chintz-curtained bedroom. That all post-houses were like this, I thought, as I turned in on a comfortable (and stuffed) sofa. A slight touch of frost in the air made a couple of blankets, that our little friend insisted on giving us, very acceptable, and a last look at the night having shown us a bright moon and cloudless sky, we slept soundly without any fear of rain on the morrow.

Had we consulted our own wishes, we should have stayed at least a couple of days at this friendly oasis, but time would not allow us more than a few hours’ rest, and bidding farewell to our kind little hostess, we had left Nijni Udinsk far behind us ere the sun had fairly risen. The town, is neatly and regularly built, and contains about four thousand inhabitants. Though the pavements are of wood, many of the houses are of whitewashed brick, which, with their bright green roofs and shutters, somewhat relieve the melancholy effect which in every Siberian town is produced by the sombre colour of the roads, and unpainted wooden houses. There were but one or two shops, however, for the sale of stores of all kinds; and the streets, though broad and regular, were unlighted.

All went “merry as a marriage bell” for two days after leaving Nijni Udinsk, the weather, though cold and frosty at nights, remaining bright and fine. The aspect of the country, too, was more picturesque and cheerful than any we had passed through since leaving the Trans-Baikal. The roads were smoother and wider. By the side, wild roses, convolvuli, bluebells, and wild hyacinth grew luxuriantly——while a kind of high, red-leafed fern, common in this district, gave a pleasant and bright relieving spot of colour to the dull, monotonous pine and larch.

As a set-off to these advantages, however, we suffered terribly from mosquitoes, which swarmed by day, but which, as soon as the sun had set, were driven in by the cold. So bad were they, that the peasants we passed on the road or in the cornfields wore black gauze veils, fastened like a mask over their faces, and we had cause to regret not having provided ourselves with these safeguards, for, for the few days they lasted, these plagues gave one no rest for an instant, and one’s blood was in a constant state of fever, from the irritation set up by the poisonous bites. Fortunately they did not trouble us long, and once past Atchinsk disappeared altogether.

Scarcely a day now passed that we did not meet prisoners, in gangs of two to three hundred each, on their way to Irkoutsk, Chita, and other parts of Eastern Siberia. The appearance of our tarantass was invariably the signal for stragglers to fall in, and as we passed through the crowd, the poor wretches pressed in eagerly on either side and begged for kopeks, cigarettes, and food, though, as regarded the latter necessary, we were usually as badly off as they themselves. We noticed that the further west we got, many more of the men wore chains, probably on account of the facilities for escape being easier. Also that, while the ostrogs east of Tomsk are insecure, dilapidated buildings, those to the west are nearly all new and substantial-looking, surrounded by a double guard of Cossacks, and protected in many cases by a brick wall surmounted with high chevaux de frise.

I remember meeting a gang, two days after leaving Nijni Udinsk. It was a wild, desolate bit of road, and though a bright, sunny day, in semi-darkness, for the forest trees, through which we were passing, almost met over our heads. Suddenly, a turn of the road brought us full in view of one of the dismal grey processions with which we had now grown familiar, and as it was a large gang, we ordered the yemstchik to draw up for a few moments while they filed by. Poor wretches! There was but little talking or laughing that day. The heat and thirst had taken all desire for conversation out of them, for it had been a long stage, of nearly thirty versts, from the last ostrog, and they had still seven more to do before resting for the night. Mosquitoes fairly swarmed in this defile, and the Cossacks on guard wore black gauze masks. I noticed, with satisfaction, that one of the brave fellows had taken off his to give to one of the women, who was struggling along with difficulty, two children clinging to her skirts. Seeing we had pulled up, they halted, as if by common consent, as they passed us, and led by one of the men, with a sweet tenor voice, struck up the sad, pathetic air, “Kouda Doroga Sibiri,” we had heard on Lake Baikal. It was an impressive scene, the guard carelessly resting on their rifles, the men with their sunburnt, weary faces, the women in long robes of white, their children clinging to them, and joining with tiny treble in the tune they knew so well. All sang in parts, and correctly, and with over two hundred voices, joining in the sweet melancholy air, the effect may be imagined.

About a mile further on we passed four télégas, containing political prisoners. On either side of each cart marched a Cossack with fixed bayonet and loaded rifle. The men, three in number, were in ordinary walking dress, which showed plainly the order to which they had belonged in happier days. It was easy to distinguish the _homme du peuple_ in shabby, greasy garments taken from the scum of Petersburg or Odessa, from the slight, well-built man in the next téléga, in neat tweed suit, holding a cigarette in his small white hand, evidently a gentleman, who perhaps, but a few short months before had been surrounded with every comfort and luxury. The woman in the last téléga was neatly clad in a black silk gown, beginning to show slight symptoms of wear, and a red worsted “Tam O’Shanter” hat, a head-dress very popular among lady political exiles in Siberia. Though not pretty, she had a bright, clever face, and returned our bow with a pleasant smile and nod. We afterwards heard that this was Madame B————, who, for an alleged conspiracy against the Government at Odessa, was on her way to the mines of Kara, in the Trans-Baikal provinces, for life.

A large and luxurious tarantass brought up the rear of this weird procession. In the vehicle were a Cossack officer, and, seated by his side, a remarkably pretty and well-dressed woman. We had a good look at her, our yemstchiks stopping by mutual consent to have a chat and give the horses breathing-time. She did not look particularly enamoured of her companion, a coarse, red-faced man with bristly grey moustache, bloodshot eyes, and spectacles. Hers was a true Russian face——small regular features, deep blue (almost violet) eyes, and that sweet sad expression rarely seen out of the Czar’s dominions. In reply to my question, as soon as we had resumed our journey, if he knew who the lovely vision was, our yemstchik replied with a wink: “A prisoner’s wife.” The wink spoke volumes, and fully explained the poor woman’s aversion to her travelling companion.

She was, we afterwards heard, the wife of Count L., the young and good-looking prisoner we had met in the téléga. It must have been somewhat tantalizing to travel on day after day, week after week, within sight of his wife, and yet not be allowed to open his lips; more maddening still to see the advances made by the untutored boor who a very short time before would have deemed it an honour to be allowed even to address her. This is perhaps one of the hardest evils that political exiles have to endure. The wife of a prisoner may by Russian law accompany her husband to his destination at the expense of the Government, on condition that she travels with the prisoners, lives on prison food, sleeps in the ostrogs, and submits to prison discipline. There is but one distinction made between the wife of the political prisoner and the criminal convict, this being that the former is not compelled to walk, but may, if she prefers, travel in a “téléga,” a vehicle so rough and uncomfortable that walking is infinitely preferable. But should a married woman be young and pretty, heaven help her, especially if, as is frequently the case, the Cossack lieutenant in charge of the party is susceptible to the charms of female beauty. No sooner has the barge arrived at Tomsk than her persecutions commence, nor do they end, as a rule, until the unhappy woman has ceased to resist the advances of her brutal admirer. The commander of a prison-gang is as great a despot in his way as the Czar of all the Russias, for there is no one to check or gainsay him, the whole way from Tomsk to the shores of Okhotsk, and who would take the word of a convict (and especially a political one) against that of an officer of the Czar? In most cases the unfortunate husband is the unconscious means by which the wife is brought to her ruin. Threats of punishment, deprivation of food, and even flogging are made by the human devil in charge, till at length, worn out with repeated insults and ill-treatment, the poor wife too often yields, and is promoted to a place in his tarantass, whence she is forced to submit daily to the silent reproaches of the husband for whose good, in nine cases out of ten, she has fallen.

I heard in Tomsk many sad and heart-breaking narratives, but none perhaps so touching as the case of a young Scotchwoman, Mrs. B., whose husband had in 1879 practised as a physician for some years in the district of Chernigoff, European Russia. Although a liberal, Dr. B. had religiously abstained from openly expressing his views, or meddling in any way with politics, in fact had lived as a peaceful and industrious citizen in every way. In the spring of 1880, however, two young women from St. Petersburg arrived at his house with letters of introduction. They had been studying medicine at the hospitals in the capital, and finished the course of lectures, but wishing to continue their studies, called upon the doctor upon their return to their native town, to ask whether he would receive them as pupils, a proposal to which he at once assented. The girls were then introduced to his wife, who took a fancy to them, and a day seldom passed that one or both did not visit the house.

One morning, about a month after their arrival, the doctor was visited by the police superintendent, who informed him that his young friends were political suspects, and, from information received from Petersburg, were living on forged passports. But the next piece of news fairly staggered him: the women were to be sent at once by administrative process to the village of Verkhoyansk, in the province of Yakoutsk, where in a week’s time he, the doctor was, condemned to follow them for an indefinite number of years!

As is usual in such cases, a guard was put over the house, and Dr. B. forbidden to leave it. To make matters worse, his wife, a young and beautiful woman of twenty-two, was _enceinte_. But there was no help for it. The day of his departure arrived, when poor B. excused himself on the plea of going for a few days to Petersburg on business. It was only two months later, when her child was born, that Mrs. B. learnt the truth, and within a week had made up her mind to follow her husband, and start on a journey of six thousand miles before she had really recovered from her confinement, under circumstances before which many a strong man would have quailed. Not possessing the necessary means for travelling by steamer and tarantass, Mrs. B. joined a party of exiles at Tomsk, and set out for her long, weary journey. She would, in the ordinary course of affairs, reach her destination in sixteen months, always supposing she was not taken ill on the road. For weeks, months, did her almost superhuman courage and determination sustain her, and enable her to bear the long, weary marches under a burning sun, the insufficient food, the fetid atmosphere of ostrogs, and, worse still, the insults of her male companions. For four months she struggled on, but the tax had been too great on the nervous system, and on arrival at Krasnoiarsk, her mind showed symptoms of wandering. Still the thought that every day, every hour, was bringing her nearer her husband’s arms, gave her courage and additional energy, and put her in better spirits, which, alas! were soon destined to have a terrible fall. It was within three or four stages of Irkoutsk that she heard her death-warrant. “At Irkoutsk,” said the poor woman one fine sunny evening when, the day’s march over, she was sitting out in the prison-yard with her fellow-prisoners, “At Irkoutsk I shall only be one hundred and eighty miles from my husband. Only fancy, in another month I may be at Verkholensk, and with him again.” “Is that the Englishman who was banished from Chernigoff,” asked a “political,” a stranger, who had just come in from Krasnoiarsk, “if so, you will have to go a good deal further than Verkholensk to find him. Do not you know that they have sent him to Verkhoyansk, a Yakout settlement three thousand miles from Irkoutsk, within the Arctic circle?”

Within the Arctic circle! Poor soul! little as she knew Siberia, she knew what that meant; knew that to reach her husband’s place of banishment she must travel weeks and months alone, in dog or reindeer sledges, through the arctic desolation and fever-stricken “Toundras” of North-Eastern Asia. Next morning, however, she resumed her march mechanically, ate and drank nothing, spoke to no one, but seemed dazed and bewildered by the blow. The very evening of the day the gang reached Irkoutsk (the city which throughout the weary pilgrimage had been her haven of hope and rest), she went raving mad, and died in the criminal asylum three days afterwards. Has any writer of fiction ever imagined a more tragic or heart-rending story than this?

We reached Biriousinsk, a town of five thousand inhabitants, about mid-day on the 3rd of September. Gold has lately been discovered near here in large quantities. This event caused some surprise amongst the gold-workers of Tomsk and Irkoutsk, for until just lately this district had been looked upon as almost barren of mineral productions, the richest gold-fields being situated to the north of the province of Yeneseisk, Nertchirsk, in the Trans-Baikal, and Yuz, near the Altai chain, on the borders of China. The whole of Siberia, however, may be said to teem with the precious mineral, and, as a Russian once remarked to me, “Where it has not been found, it has not been looked for!” Silver, copper, and iron, are also found in large quantities in certain districts of Russian Asia, as many as 40,000 lbs. of the first-named metal being annually sent from the district of Barnaul, in South-Western Siberia, to Petersburg. On arrival, the silver is refined, and about three per cent. of gold extracted from it.

The Government gold and silver mines are worked by convicts, who receive no pay for their labour. The private mines are mostly of gold, and are leased by Government to private individuals on certain conditions. The applicant must, however, be a Russian subject. No foreigner, although naturalized, is permitted to rent ground for gold-digging purposes. The land, once allotted, is the property of the lessor, until it has been completely worked out, or has been abandoned. It then reverts to the Crown, or if not worked by the lessor at least one out of every three years, the claim is forfeited to Government, who may let it out to another applicant. All gold must be delivered to the imperial mint at a fixed price, which leaves a good profit to the Government. Many private mines employ as many as two and even three thousand men. The Siberian peasant seldom goes to work at the diggings; he can earn far more by agriculture at home, for Siberia is as rich a country above-ground as below. The workmen employed by the mine owners are generally discharged convicts, who have been sent to Siberia for theft and other minor offences. Bad characters of all sorts——drunkards, vagabonds, the scum of Irkoutsk and Tomsk——are the kind of men who find refuge in the private gold-mines, which, as may be imagined, are perfect pandemoniums when compared with the strict and well-regulated government establishments. The usual pay of a miner is four roubles (about 8_s._) a month. On making the contract, however, he is paid a sum of money varying from six to ten English pounds sterling. With this he proceeds solemnly and deliberately to get drunk, nor does he desist till every penny of the “Hand-money,” as it is called, is exhausted. When sufficiently sober, he is sent off with a couple of hundred companions to the diggings. The working season lasts about a hundred and twenty days, and terminates, at latest, by the 15th of September. Work commences at 3 a.m. all weathers, and is seldom finished till eight or nine o’clock at night. The workmen are, therefore, as may be imagined, well fed. Each man gets from 1½ to 2 lbs. of fresh beef per diem, salt, buckwheat, and as much black bread as he can eat. His lodgings, too, are in most cases good, and well ventilated, and every gold-mine owner is bound by Government to keep up a fully-equipped hospital, with a resident surgeon and staff of assistants on the premises. Besides the fixed rations of food, a large stock of “vodka” is also kept for the men, who get a tumbler-full of the spirit once or twice a week, by way of warding off ague, and other malarial attacks. A pound of brick tea is also allowed each man per month. When the season is over, the majority of the gangs find their way to one of the large towns with the balance of their wages, and spend their money in drink and debauchery, till the return of the summer, and this accounts largely for the frequency of crime in Tomsk and Irkoutsk. The idea of saving money or in any way bettering his condition rarely enters the head of a Siberian gold-digger.

We were not detained long at Biriousinsk, and after a substantial breakfast of tea and boiled eggs, took the road again, and by seven o’clock that evening had rolled off nearly fifty versts. At Ilinskaya, however, we were brought to a sudden check. Our off wheel had caught fire, and it was only on discovering this that we remembered that in our eagerness to push on, we had for the last half-dozen stages neglected to oil the axles, an operation that should be performed at the very least every other stage.

We made up our minds therefore to stop the night, and push on to Kansk early the next morning, for clouds gathering to windward looked anything but reassuring. About midnight I was awoke from a delicious dream of home and its comforts, to find a huge, shapeless fur-clad figure standing over me, and in a loud and imperious voice, commanding me to rise and get horses. “Yeshchi lochade,”[15] it yelled, as I with difficulty made out that my nocturnal visitor was a woman. Vainly I endeavoured to make her understand that I was not the post-master, but all to no purpose. The more I reasoned, the more she stormed, till even Lancaster turned uneasily in his slumbers. “Get me horses,” shrieked the gorgon, “get me horses at once, or,” and here she pointed dramatically to the complaint-book. At last, losing all patience, she knelt down, and seizing my shoulders, shook me with masculine force. Thinking the joke had gone a little too far, I was about to summon the post-master, when that worthy appeared. Then with true Siberian politeness, and without a word of apology, the gorgon turned upon him, a small meek man, who was utterly powerless to compete with this dread vision of the night. Her system seemed to pay, for in less than half an hour the horses were in and we heard her jingle out of the yard, leaving us to our slumbers in peace.

The rain came on a few versts from Ilinskaya with every appearance of settling in for a steady downpour. The landscape to-day was less wooded and more cultivated than any we had passed since leaving Irkoutsk. A couple of post tarantasses passed us a few versts from Kansk, returning to Ilinskaya. Their drivers were fast asleep inside, coiled up out of the rain. Our yemstchik did not attempt to wake them. Although we were on the summit of a steep hill, he gave the horses a cut over the quarters and sent them careering away down the decline full gallop. I did not see what happened. This is thought a good joke in Siberia.

Perhaps the most trying time to a beginner on wheels in Siberia is getting on board the river ferries, when each yemstchik vies with the other who shall gallop the quickest on board and pull up the shortest without going over the other side. As the ferries were invariably approached by a steep road cut down the river-bank, there was no lack of excitement on these occasions. I remember once, just before reaching Krasnoiarsk, our driver, who was somewhat intoxicated, overshot the mark, one of his horses tumbling over the side, and only being got back with great difficulty. Rarely a day passed, that one of our outside horses did not fall, once or twice at least, but no yemstchik ever pulls up for anything under a broken rein or wheel.

The post-horses are game, wiry little beasts, ranging from 14 hands 2 in. to 15 hands. Though rough and ungroomed, they are well fed, and they need be, for a rest of only six hours is allowed between the stages. In busy times, such as, for instance, the great fair of Nijni Novgorod, when traders flock to the World’s Fair from all parts of Asia, many of the poor beasts die from sheer fatigue. The usual number used in a tarantass or téléga is three, or a “troika,” harnessed abreast. In bad weather, when the roads are deep, four or five are used. We have had as many as seven in, and even with that number failed to progress quicker than at a walk! The harness and reins are of the most primitive description, and made of rope, while the shaft horse wears the high yoke collar, with bells attached, which seems such a useless appendage (except for the look of the thing) in Russian harness.

For cleverness I have never seen the equal of these game, wiry little animals. I recollect on one occasion (when crossing the Yenisei River) the guard-rail running round the ferry boat was quite five feet high. On disembarking, there was a scramble, for the outlet was too narrow to admit of five horses (the number we had in). Our outside horse was consequently jammed up against the rail. With a run it would have been an extraordinary jump to get over, nothing short of a miracle under present circumstances, for the other horses were plunging madly in their endeavours to get once more on to terra firma. But the little beast remained quite cool. Not in the least put out by the row and confusion, he simply reared up, rested his fore-feet on the top of the rail, and sliding over on his stomach, fell heavily in a heap on the other side. In another second he had picked himself up, and we were off again.

I was much struck by the scarcity of bay horses. All are chestnut, grey, or dun, the latter colour predominating. I did not see more than half a dozen bay horses the whole way from Irkoutsk to Tomsk, though from first to last we must have used quite four hundred, and seen four or five times that number.

The yemstchik or driver is a stupid, good-natured creature, addicted to vodka when he can get it. As the drink-money is only fifteen kopeks a stage (and many travellers do not give that), they have not much opportunity of gratifying this penchant, for tobacco runs away with most of their money. I can safely say I do not think I ever saw a yemstchik without a pipe in his mouth. Though kind to a fault to his own horses, he does not show much pity for animal life in the villages. Calves, pigs, poultry, ducks, each had their turn, and we rarely passed through a village without running over and killing something; the bigger the beast, the more pleased the driver. On such occasions, he would turn round and look at us with a smile of satisfaction, regardless of the threats and curses of the infuriated owner as he bore the maimed or defunct one into his cottage. This is another “joke” much in vogue with yemstchiks! Yet, notwithstanding all we were told, we found the Siberian yemstchik a good fellow enough, and, considering the hard work and privation he goes through, far more sober than many men in the same position in more civilized countries. Indeed he need be, for a single accident on the road ensures instant dismissal, be it the fault of the driver or not.

We spent the night at Kansk. A mysterious and speedily dressed individual here begged to be allowed to share our tarantass and expenses as far as Krasnoiarsk, but we declined with thanks. He was a cutthroat-looking villain, and probably up to mischief, for he seemed much less keen about accompanying us on seeing we were well armed. Though we were now past the so-called “robber district,” we did not relax our vigilance when travelling by night, till we reached Tomsk.

Kansk is a neat, well-built town of ten thousand inhabitants. In appearance it is an Irkoutsk in miniature, though there is more attempt at ornamentation here, some of the streets being planted with trees on either side like boulevards. The post-house, too, was comfortable, and there was a sofa therein stuffed with horsehair, an unwonted luxury in Siberia. The night’s rest we looked forward to was, however, somewhat marred by a party going on in the next apartment, and given in honour of his birthday by the post-master; a party which, commencing at 9 p.m., did not break up till nearly eight the next morning, when it was time to think of getting up and being off again. The guests were all more or less intoxicated by midnight, and kept on coming in in relays to look at us, as we lay feigning sleep, throughout the night. They did not break up till about 4 a.m., after obliging us with “Volga,” the boat-song I have mentioned, at the top of their voices, and all in different keys. It was past ten o’clock next morning before the fumes of the vodka had sufficiently evaporated to enable the fuddled post-master to produce a troika. We were not sorry to make a late start, however, for the morning was bitterly cold, and the roads coated with ice, unmistakable sign of the approach of winter, and which made us doubly anxious to push on without delay to Tomsk.

The aspect of the country between Kansk and Atchinsk was, if not so picturesque, much more civilized than any we had as yet passed, the dense, thick forest being superseded by large tracts of cultivated land and fields of corn and mustard. It had frequently been a source of wonder to me that the timber of Siberia is not more largely worked; but I ascertained at Tomsk that this is forbidden by the Imperial Government. Every peasant is at liberty to cut down for his own private use as many pine or fir trees as he likes, but the export or selling of them is strictly forbidden. This seems strange, for a brisk trade might be driven with Mongolia, where wood is invaluable, to say nothing of North China, where it is also so scarce. We passed thousands of trees killed by fires having been lighted at their foot, their trunks charred and blackened to a height of several feet, where peasants had encamped in the woods. In dry weather these occasionally set fire to neighbouring trees, and large tracts of country are devastated by the flames.

We rattled off the two hundred odd versts separating Kansk from Krasnoiarsk with but little delay, being only detained twice on the road, once at Ribinskaya, where, meeting the post, we were delayed for nine hours, and at Balanskaya, our axle having caught fire and worn down to a dangerous extent, without our being aware of the mischief. Had we known the trouble in store for us owing to this apparently trifling incident, we should not have felt so light-hearted as when, having repaired the mischief, we set off again, after a delay of seven hours, on our journey.

At four o’clock, on the afternoon of the 7th September, we caught sight of the blue waters of the Yenisei, winding through a fertile landscape of plain and forest, and beyond it the red cliffs of Krasnoiarsk standing out sharp and clear against the sky-line. We reached the ferry about nine o’clock that evening. The town was brightly illuminated in honour of General Ignatieff, Governor of Eastern Siberia, who was passing through from Petersburg _en route_ to Irkoutsk; and I have seldom seen a prettier spectacle than the illuminations presented, the lights reflected in the dark, swift waters of the Yenisei, as we crossed it. Darkness lent enchantment to the view, however, for as we drove through the slushy, ill lit streets to the filthy hotel, we were almost sorry we had not remained over-night at Botolskaya, and gone right through the following day.

A good scrub in a bucket of water, however, worked wonders, and though the apartment given us was dirty and entirely devoid of furniture, we did ample justice to the supper of cold steret soup, beefsteak, and caviare, and bottle of claret that our host (the dirtiest man, without exception, that I have ever seen) set before us. The luxury of a change of clothes after wearing the same for a fortnight must be experienced to be appreciated. Our bodies were literally covered with bites, and the sensation of a rest for a while from the intolerable itching and irritation of the past ten days, was worth the discomfort and annoyance one had gone through, though it was not till we were well over the Urals, and after repeated applications of carbolic acid soap, that we entirely got rid of that most pertinacious and venomous of insects, the white Siberian bug.

A visitor was announced while we were at supper. This, I may mention, is one of the chief drawbacks of Siberian travel. No matter how late the hour, or how tired he may be, every traveller is bound, by the custom of the country, to receive any one who chooses to call upon him, often enough from idle curiosity. I was told in Moscow, that such persons are often spies, employed by Government. If so, the individual who now made his appearance had a peculiar way of pursuing his calling.

M. Dombrowski was, according to his own account, a Pole, who had been banished to Tomsk for a short period, on account of an article written in a Warsaw paper. He was a tall, pale young man, with washed-out features, clad in a long black cloak about three sizes too large for him, which he wrapped loosely about him in the fashion of a Roman toga. His official cap, with green band and button, proclaimed him a servant of the Russian Government; as we afterwards discovered, a clerk in the court-house at Tomsk.

We were both tired to death, and I felt strongly inclined to get up and kick the stranger down-stairs, when, having taken off his cap, he took his seat at the table without invitation, produced a dialogue-book, and calmly helped himself to a glass of claret. But the cool impudence of the man was amusing, too, so we made the best of it, and ordered up another bottle of wine, and a cutlet for the poor devil, who looked half starved, and as if he had lived on wood shavings for a month or two. The kindness was misplaced, for he utterly declined to leave till about 6 a.m., when we were compelled to eject him by main force, not a very difficult operation after the repeated libations of kümmel and vodka of which he had partaken at our expense. Under their influence the wretch confessed that he had never really had an idea of accompanying us to Tomsk; but the news had spread in less than half an hour, that two Englishmen had arrived in Krasnoiarsk, and always having had an intense admiration for the English nation, our friend had determined on making our acquaintance. We had the satisfaction of paying him out and making him feel thoroughly uncomfortable once during the evening, when Lancaster, in answer to his toast of “England,” responded by drinking to the health of “Poland!” “For God’s sake not too loud, gospodin,” said our unwelcome guest. “If those words were heard by the keeper of this hotel, they would give me another year in Siberia. There is no Poland now.”

On leaving the hotel, our strange and now somewhat drunken acquaintance presented us with his card, and by the aid of a dialogue-book, essayed to convey how much he had enjoyed his evening, and morning, for the sun was now high over the house-tops. His card (a half-sheet of note-paper), bore the following inscription scrawled upon it with a lead pencil:——

“Monsieur le Gentilhomme,”
“(Noble) Dombrowski,
“Eau (sic) Palas de Justice,”
“Eau” Tomsk——
“La Siberie de Russie.”

I did not think it necessary to inquire whether it was customary for Polish noblemen to wear no shirt, eat meat with their fingers, expectorate freely during dinner, and perform various other little feats too numerous to mention. These harmless eccentricities may have been born of exile. The “Grentilhomme Noble” gave one, at any rate, a favourable idea of the capacity of his race for drinking, his share being five bottles of claret, a bottle of kümmel, and two of vodka. Bore as he was, I could not help pitying the poor wretch, who was sent to Tomsk nominally for six months, but had already been there nearly two years. His salary was, he told us, 20_l._ English per annum, and on this he had to live and clothe himself. “The criminals are better off than we, gospodin,” he said, as he took leave of us. “Let them know in England how we are treated in this cursed country. How a murderer who kills his whole family, has a far easier time of it than the unhappy man or woman who ventures to stand up for the people.”