Chapter VIII: Means of Communication in Siberia

Absolute insufficiency of the present means of transport—Coaches and
sleighs—The tarantass: price, length and conditions of travelling
by this means of locomotion—Navigation—Scheme for penetrating into
Siberia by the Arctic Ocean and its recent success—Absolute
necessity of more railways.

In order to form a fair idea of the revolution which the Trans-Siberian Railway is likely to bring about in the economical and political conditions of Northern Asia, it will be as well to glance at the actual conditions of the present means of travel and transport in the country. The most rapid means of locomotion at the disposal of travellers only yesterday, as it were, was in summer the stage-coach, and in winter the sleigh. Twenty years ago, to go to Vladivostok (6,000 miles distant) the traveller took the coach at Kazan, on the Volga, the journey occupying not less than two months in the more favourable season, when a coat of snow, as solid as marble and as smooth as velvet, replaces the usual mud and slush on the Siberian roads. Later on, with the progress of navigation and the construction of a railway across the Urals, the starting-point for this journey was removed further on to the most eastern point touched by the steamboats, in the basin of the Obi at Tomsk. In summer this route shortened the journey viâ Krasnoyarsk, Irkutsk, and Chita about 1,875 miles, at the end of which one reached the Amur, where navigation recommenced. Since 1896 the Trans-Siberian has passed Tomsk, and now the starting-point of the road journey has gone gradually farther afield, and is now daily receding more to the east.

In the summer of 1897 the railway had already reached the little town of Kansk, about 160 miles beyond the Yenissei, and it was here, or at the Kluchi station, some 65 miles further on, that one hired a coach. It is, however, wiser to buy one’s tarantass, in order to avoid the trouble of unloading luggage at each stage, and, again, the coaches hired out by the postmasters are much less comfortable.

The station-master at Kluchi, to whom I had been recommended, like many other subordinate officials in Siberia, was an exile, who in better days had been a captain in the artillery, and, moreover, the cashier of his regiment. One fine day, in a fit of over-generosity, he unluckily lent a sum of money, abstracted from the cash-box, to a comrade who had lost very considerably at the gaming-tables. Fate avenged the regiment in the shape of an inspector, who inopportunely arrived upon the scene, examined into affairs, and forthwith ended the military career of the unlucky officer. After fourteen years’ exile in Siberia this indiscriminately good-natured individual has become chief inspector of a little railway-station, and adds to his small income by letting out tarantasses to travellers. He sold me for £18 the best of his vehicles, which, I was assured, had recently been used by a distinguished official, but, nevertheless, I had to get rid of it, when I took the steamer on the Amur two months later, for about £7.

Jules Verne, in ‘Michael Strogoff,’ has introduced and popularized the tarantass. It is a vehicle without springs, with a body about six feet long, like a trough supported on three broad planks of wood, and mounted upon two very low axles nine to ten feet apart. An immense hood protects the back part of the carriage from the rain, and by buttoning the leathern apron fixed to the front, one can keep one’s self almost hermetically screened from the weather. The tarantass, if it is not particularly comfortable, has the advantage of being very strong. It possesses nothing in the shape of a seat, and one is obliged to lie full-length on a litter of hay or upon the luggage, unless, indeed, from time to time, in order to change position, one cares to sit on the edge of the vehicle or else alongside the coachman. The horses are supplied by the postmasters at the rate of three kopecks, or three farthings, per verst for each horse, and, moreover, one has to pay a fixed tax of about fivepence per horse at each relay. The team consists usually of three horses, and the relays are found at a distance of about sixteen miles apart. The expenses, therefore, for this short distance amount to about five shillings, inclusive of a tip to the coachman, so that there is not much to complain of in that respect. The same tariff applies in winter, but in the intermediary seasons, from March 5 to May 15, and from September 15 to December 1, when the thaw sets in and the roads are very heavy, a fourth horse is needed, and the expense is increased about one quarter. I used frequently to ask Siberians how many miles could be performed in this sort of vehicle. Of course, almost everybody gave me a different answer. One high official in Tomsk informed me that it could undertake as many as 400 versts in twenty-four hours. ‘Do not imagine you can go more than from sixty-five to eighty,’ said the station-master, and as it was he who had sold me my tarantass, I came to the conclusion that his rather dismal prognostic was the true one. As a matter of fact, everything depends upon the condition of the roads, and also as to whether the traveller has supplied himself with a _podorojne_, an official document usually granted to Imperial couriers and to high officials, and which enables its possessor to avoid being detained at the various stations on the road. Fortunately, as I had one of these documents, I was able to make between 90 and 120 miles in twenty-four hours.

I cannot describe the scenery by the way as particularly interesting. The road cuts through the forests of pines and larches, and is, as a rule, fairly well kept, and about as broad as the best of our national routes in France. From time to time the wall of verdure opens out to give way to a clearing, along which one perceives rows of wooden houses, indicating the existence of some village or other, the name of which is printed on a post, that also supplies information as to the number of inhabitants of each sex. One soon gets tired of the beauty of the trees, and, to be truthful, also of the rather monotonous convoys of _telegas_ loaded with merchandise, waggons with gold, escorted by soldiers, and of the interminable caravans of emigrants. As one passes the Baikal the road becomes less and less frequented, and more and more monotonous and dreary, especially in the dismal steppe, with its stunted growth, through which flows the Vitim, an affluent of the Lena. The road now meanders through marshy prairies, and is merely indicated by the line of gray telegraph-posts stretching off towards the horizon.

In order to break the intolerable monotony of these very long journeys, it is usual to invite one or two other travellers to share expenses, and these are not difficult to find, for the Russians are naturally sociable and quite free from stiffness or conventionality. I was rather surprised on one occasion to find the wife of an official in Trans-Baikalia who, to join her husband, had performed the journey from Vladikavkaz, 4,000 miles by rail and 1,000 miles by road, in the company of an officer with whom she was only slightly acquainted. The Russians were not more astonished at this than Americans would have been. The general insecurity of the country is probably responsible for the ease with which people make acquaintances. Those who like to deal in horrors are by no means behindhand in relating appalling stories of travellers who have been waylaid by escaped convicts and murdered in the heart of the forest. ‘Have you your revolvers?’ asked the postmaster, on the evening of my first journey in my tarantass, and just as we were about to start. ‘Three travellers were assassinated on this relay only fifteen days ago,’ continued he, and then he gave us a horribly detailed account of the circumstances. I had no revolver with me, and never had any reason to need one, and I rather doubted the authenticity of these gruesome stories. The real danger which travellers in Siberia have to encounter is that of having the rope which attaches their luggage to the back of the tarantass artfully cut and their portmanteaus carried off. Accidents are rare, as the tarantass is generally very strongly built. It is somewhat alarming, however, when at the head of a steep incline, to watch the coachman exciting his horses into a gallop by the wildest gesticulations, but one soon learns that the danger in this case is merely apparent.

Considerable patience is certainly needed on these Siberian journeys, for the roads are often appallingly bad, especially when the inundations set in after a thaw, when even the bridges are carried off by the torrents. Then, again, what is particularly exasperating is the passive air of resignation assumed by all concerned, postmaster and coachman, and even by one’s travelling companions. Accustomed as these people are to live in a climate in which the forces of Nature defy the ingenuity of man, they are very apt, especially as they have nothing on earth else to do, to shrug their shoulders at the inevitable, and to avoid with supreme skill troubling themselves about the ways and means of bettering things. I remember on one occasion, after having been assured at Kiakhta and Chita that if I persisted in continuing my journey I was exposing my life, being landed in a ford into which one of the wheels of the tarantass stuck. To extricate it, we had to work for over an hour in the cold water and in the dim dawn, and even then we were only able to do so with the help of two Buriats who were passing that way, and who lent us their horses to assist us in getting out of this unpleasant fix. With the sole exception of this mishap I had very little to complain of. It is in the post-stations, however, that one’s patience is put to the test and that one realizes the force of a truism made by a certain English author, who began a book on Siberia with the following singular aphorism: ‘In Siberia time is not money.’ One crosses the threshold of these rather doleful-looking houses, which become more and more lugubrious as one advances eastward, with a feeling akin to dread.

The postmaster is almost invariably to be found seated in front of a very dirty register, and generally grunts out his answers to your inquiries as to whether he has any horses ready, ‘You will have to wait two or three hours, possibly until the next morning,’ after which pleasant piece of information you pass into the common waiting-room, usually furnished with a few chairs, two or three tables and one or two old sofas. On the wall hang an ikon or so, the inevitable portraits of their Majesties, and a few frames with the usual printed instructions and regulations. Then comes a sort of glorified bill-of-fare, from a perusal of which you learn the names of a number of succulent dishes, but, unfortunately, the last line informs you that the postmaster is only obliged to supply you with black bread and hot water, the last article being intended to make tea, with which, together with sugar, every traveller supplies himself before starting. Nearly always, however, one finds excellent eggs and milk. It is wise in travelling in Trans-Baikalia to take a supply of preserves, which you can procure in any large Siberian town.

The travellers, however, whom one meets in these resorts are generally exceedingly friendly, very willing and even eager to share their provisions. Seated round the great copper samovar, conversation becomes cordial and intimate, everybody calling each other, regardless of age or sex, by their Christian names, ‘Nicholas Petrovitch,’ ‘Paul Ivanovitch,’ ‘Elisabeth Alexandrovna,’ and so forth. Constantly, when on the journey, one often falls in with the same people, and thus acquaintance soon ripens into intimacy. But, although these gatherings round the samovar are very agreeable, and enable one to study the pleasanter qualities of the Russian people, it is not advisable to pass the night in any of the hostelries along the road, for all the insecticide powders ever invented will not insure a quiet night.

However interesting, therefore, a cross-country journey through Siberia may be, it is not exactly of the kind one would recommend for a pleasure trip, although many Russian ladies, even of the highest rank, frequently undertake it, but I do not recommend it to delicate people. When supplied with a _podorojne_ and the weather is fine the journey is pleasant enough, but it must not be forgotten that it takes seven weeks to go from the Ural to Vladivostok. In winter the journey by sleigh from the Volga takes two months, but if it takes so long for a traveller, what must it be for merchandise! Commerce, therefore, on account of the backward condition of the land routes, is obliged in Siberia to make use of the splendid watercourses, but even these are paralyzed during seven months of the year by thick coatings of ice, and, what is still worse, they all flow towards an ocean eternally blocked by icebergs.

Recently some very hardy experiments, crowned so far with partial success, have been made to penetrate to the heart of Siberia by the Polar Sea when navigation is free during certain weeks of the year. It will be remembered that it was by the White Sea that European commerce, represented by an Englishman named Chancellor, first entered Russia in the sixteenth century. It is therefore not to be wondered at that attempts have been made to penetrate into Siberia by the mouths of the Obi and the Yenissei, which are situated at no greater distance than 1,000 to 1,200 miles from the northernmost part of Norway, where the sea is always free from ice. M. Sidorov, a Russian gentleman of ample fortune, in the middle of the present century, devoted himself to carrying out this scheme, and notwithstanding that he was discouraged by the leading scientists of the day, who considered it impracticable, he promised a very ample reward to the captain of the first ship which should enter the Yenissei. Two expeditions, attempted in 1862 and 1869, failed; but in 1874 an Englishman named Wiggins, captain of the _Diana_, succeeded in passing the Straits of Kara, which separate Novaya Zemlya from the continent, on the frontiers of Europe and Asia, and thus was able to effect a passage into the estuary of the Yenissei. More successful attempts were made in the following years, and in 1878 iron, groceries, machinery, and other articles, were landed at the mouths of the Obi and the Yenissei. In 1887 an English company was formed to carry on a regular service at the close of each summer between England and the North of Siberia, but unfortunately the first year was not successful, the goods not being of a profitable character. On the succeeding voyage the vessel could not pass the Straits of Kara, and had to return home. Subsequently a new company was formed, but with disastrous results. These ineffectual attempts, however, did not discourage the English, and the scheme for navigating the Arctic Ocean was reassumed on a larger basis in 1896, when three steamers entered the Yenissei and ascended that river to Turukhansk, about 600 miles from its estuary, where their goods were transferred to large barges and conveyed to Krasnoyarsk. The merchandise, which included seven steam-engines, was sold for a fair profit. This English company has now installed an agency at Krasnoyarsk, and the Russian Government, in consideration of the great services which it has rendered at great risk in attempting to create a regular service through the Arctic Ocean into Western and Central Siberia, has reduced the customs duties on all goods introduced by it by one-half, and indeed has completely abandoned its claims on a number of articles such as grocery and machinery. Moreover, so pleased has the Russian Government been by this courageous attempt that it has granted some very valuable mining concessions on this river. In 1897 six English steamers returned to Turukhansk, and quite a fleet of them was directed to the mouth of the Obi, hitherto somewhat neglected on account of the shallowness of the water. Moreover, an attempt has recently been made to create an export trade between Siberia and England, and a cargo of corn brought by the company’s barges to the point where their ships are anchored was soon afterwards happily transported to Europe. In 1898 the same company met with identical success. Thus far this enterprise has been very fortunate. Needless to say, the Kara Sea and the straits which border upon it are, up to the beginning of August, blocked with ice, concentrated there by the different currents, and the season during which navigation is possible lasts only from six weeks to two months, between August and September. The ships used in this particular service must leave Europe a little beforehand, so as to await at the Straits of Kara a favourable opportunity to penetrate to the mouth of the rivers, ascend them, discharge and recharge, and start again as quickly as possible. The time is exceedingly limited during which the barges can transport their cargoes into the interior and reascend the Siberian rivers ere these are frozen over, and this especially is the case on the Yenissei, whose currents, even at Krasnoyarsk, are not more than six miles an hour, attaining, however, twelve miles between Krasnoyarsk and Yenissei. Therefore it is impossible to perform more than seventy to eighty miles a day, and it must be remembered that between Turukhansk and Krasnoyarsk the distance is about 1,000 miles, and that in the beginning of October navigation is suspended. Under these conditions it is not likely that more than one service a year can ever be organized, although possibly, when the peculiarities of the icy regions of the Kara Sea are better known, it might be otherwise. It should also be mentioned that the vessels engaged in this particular trade have not been built expressly for it, but are ordinary cargo-boats, which can be engaged during the rest of the year trading in pleasanter climes. If the present company establishes itself definitely it will be extremely fortunate, not only for the town of Krasnoyarsk, but for the whole of Siberia, which will thus be able to export, by a very cheap route, the excess of its harvests and perhaps also some of its superb wood, and receive in exchange from Western Europe manufactured articles and machinery, hitherto exclusively supplied from Moscow. Therefore the opening of the Trans-Siberian Railway, combined with the passage of navigation through the Arctic Sea, will necessarily benefit Asiatic Russia very considerably, and help that country to obtain freer communication with the rest of the world, and thereby enable it eventually to become completely modernized.