Chapter XV: Out of Asia Into Europe 180 (4)

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It may make the geography of Siberia a little more plain if I here explain that Siberia, for governmental purposes, is divided into six provinces: First, starting from the Ural Mountains, Western Siberia, that borders on Europe, and in a rough way embraces the basin of the Obi. Next, Eastern Siberia, which stretches a thousand miles farther east and embraces the basin of the Yenisei and its tributaries. In this province Irkutsk is situated. Then comes the Trans-Baikal, the province that lies east of the beautiful lake of that name, and through which we made our slow and toilsome way as described in the last chapter. Then, east of that, the great province of the Amour, embracing the basin of the Amour and Ussuri. Last of all, bordering on the Pacific Ocean, and including the convict island of Saghalien, is the province called in Russian Primorskaia. The province of the Steppes lies south of Western Siberia, but with that our new way around the old world has nothing to do, for the railway barely grazes its edge, and does not fairly enter its territory. During the twenty-nine days of rail and river travel which I have already described, we had traversed in succession Primorskaia, Amourskaia, and Zabaikalskaia and had reached the eastern edge of Eastern Siberia.

During these twenty-nine days we had travelled nearly twenty-seven hundred miles, and, between us and Moscow, there still lay more than thirty-three hundred miles to be traversed. But the peculiar hardships of the journey were nearly over, for a _train de luxe_ starts from Irkutsk for Moscow every Friday afternoon, and we were just in season to get our tickets, and secure our berths, and replenish our seedy wardrobes, and take passage on the most famous train in all the world, which, without a single change of cars, runs a distance considerably greater than from Boston to San Francisco.

We were happy enough to board this train, as can be imagined, after the bare boards and filth of the uncertain train which had carried us from Stretinsk, and were in a fit frame of mind to enjoy its luxuries and to overlook its defects. Nor were we sorry to leave Irkutsk, for though it is a remarkable place to be found so far from the confines of civilization, yet it has few attractions to long beguile the traveller; and the stifling dust of the streets, which never seem to be watered, obscure the attractions it does possess.

Shortly before our arrival news had come of the serious disturbances in China, and troops were being enrolled and equipped and hurried to the eastern coast in feverish haste. The whole square in front of the Hôtel de Russie was filled with peasants in their red blouses and top-boots, each with his tea-kettle and little bag of poor belongings. These peasants were to be shipped off that day as food for Chinese powder, if so be the Celestials have any powder left by the time these Moujiks reach Blagavestchensk or, later, Port Arthur. The whole city was full of rumors of war, and, though we could not read the Russian papers, or know the extent of the trouble, the air seemed vibrant with battle.

We were told that the train we had taken over the Trans-Baikal road would be the last passenger train that would be allowed to go through for six weeks. How we blessed our fortunate stars that we were not stranded in Stretinsk for six times seven days! We were told also that between Omsk and Irkutsk were twelve trains loaded with soldiers, bound for Manchuria, and that no private telegram to Vladivostock could be delivered within a week, so hot were the wires with government despatches.

Some of these reports were true and some were exaggerated, but evidently China’s last days had come, we thought, as we boarded the _train de luxe_, and Russia intends to be in at the death.

XIV

A SIBERIAN _TRAIN DE LUXE_

The Paris Exposition has made famous the Siberian _train de luxe_, with its moving panorama, its terminal stations at St. Petersburg and Peking, and its dinners at seven francs per head. The newspaper correspondent, too, who has seen it only in his mind’s eye, as he sat at his own cosey fireside rehashing second-hand descriptions of its magnificence, has done his share to advertise it, until the wondering world has an idea that it is a veritable Waldorf-Astoria on wheels, before which all Empire State expresses on the American continent must hide their diminished heads. We read of library-cars and bath-cars, gymnasium-cars where one can make a century run on a stationary bicycle, elegant dinners, barber-shops where passengers receive a free shave every morning, pianos, and other luxuries too numerous to mention.

As a matter of fact, the Siberian _train de luxe_, at least as it started from Irkutsk on the 29th day of June, in the year of our Lord 1900, was a rather shabby vestibuled train of three sleepers, a diner, and a baggage-car. It was luxurious, indeed, compared with the fourth-class emigrant train on which we had been journeying, but it is still many degrees behind the best American trains. It should be remarked, however, that the best cars had been sent to Paris for the Exposition, and it is doubtless true that the train we took is somewhat below the average of the Siberian _trains de luxe_. It is well worth describing, however, as an important link in the great chain that connects the Atlantic and the Pacific in this new way around the world.

First, and very naturally, comes the engine of Russian make, with a great flaring smoke-stack for burning wood. Next to it is the baggage-car with one end fitted with a bath-tub, where dusty travellers can enjoy a refreshing bath on payment of a rouble and a half (seventy-five cents), a very high price to be sure compared with the rate charged for transportation; but then the scarcest and dearest thing throughout Siberia we found to be cold water, either for drinking or bathing purposes.

Following the baggage-car was the dining-car, which was also divided into two sections, half being occupied with small tables that seat two and four each, and the other half fitted with easy-chairs for the smokers and provided with ample windows for observation. In the smoking-room was a small library of, perhaps, fifty books in the Russian, French, and German languages, but nothing in English, except two or three discarded fifth-rate novels in paper covers, evidently contributed by previous travellers.

In the dining-car, two _table d’hôte_ meals were provided: a lunch of two courses at one o’clock, which cost one rouble, and a dinner at six of four courses, for a rouble and a quarter. At other times of day passengers could order what they pleased _à la carte_ from a limited bill of fare.

Behind the dining-car came a second-class sleeping-car, then a first-class sleeper, and, last of all, another second-class sleeper.

These cars are all divided into compartments, or little staterooms, holding two or four people each, with a window, a table, and a wide and very comfortable berth for each person. The cars are all handsomely carpeted and upholstered in blue plush, covered, for the sake of protection, with red-striped denim. In each stateroom were convenient racks and hooks for the disposal of clothes and baggage, and in every way one could make himself as comfortable and have almost as much room as in an ocean steamer’s cabin.

For two friends travelling together, or for a small family of three, as in my own case, this arrangement is far superior to America’s more promiscuous and public Pullman sleeping-car. For individuals travelling alone, the Pullman plan has some decided advantages, if one does not care to be cooped up in narrow quarters for eight or nine days with any chance stranger who may be assigned to the same stateroom. The Pullman cars, too, economize space, for while from forty to forty-eight people can sleep in a Pullman car when crowded, only eighteen can find “lying-down room,” in a Siberian sleeper.

One curiosity of this particular _train de luxe_ was that the first and second class cars were precisely alike in every particular. In amount of room, fittings, upholstery, and comforts of every description, there was not the slightest difference between the three sleeping-cars that composed our train, while the difference of price was nearly forty roubles in favor of the second-class. One would think that, these being the facts, the second-class cars would be overcrowded and the first-class would be empty. Such was not the case on this train at least, for I found every cabin in the first-class taken, and was able to get a large four-berth stateroom in one of the second-class cars for little more than I would pay for two berths in the first-class car.

At the most, the fares in Siberia are remarkably cheap. For the whole stateroom I paid less than one hundred and twenty dollars from Irkutsk to Moscow, a distance of three thousand three hundred and fifty miles; this included four fares and the supplementary price of the _train de luxe_. For the same accommodations in a Pullman car across the American continent (a shorter distance) I should have paid at least five hundred dollars. The full first-class fare in the _train de luxe_ is about fifty dollars, while the second-class fares are less than thirty dollars. By the ordinary trains a considerable saving is effected over these very cheap rates.

Each car has its porter, who can usually speak German or French in addition to Russian, but the specimens that we saw were very lazy and inefficient fellows compared with the deft and obliging “George” who attends to one’s wants in a Pullman car. Our porters on the _train de luxe_ never thought of sweeping or dusting the staterooms, and seemed to think it an imposition to be asked to thoroughly make up the berths for day travel, preferring to leave the beds made up by day that they might have less trouble at night. All day long the lazy porters would loll about on their seats in the middle of the car, doing as little as possible, and apparently begrudging that little. Twice a week the bed linen is changed. Ample washrooms, with a single roller towel, for all guests who do not furnish their own, complete the equipment of the Siberian sleeper.

My excuse for this somewhat minute description of these accommodations is that it will be welcomed by future travellers who have to spend at least eight and one-half days in their little room on wheels.

It must not be thought that for all its name and fame the “Siberian Special” is a lightning express. In speed it would be outstripped, during all the early part of the journey, by any “huckleberry train” in America. Fourteen miles an hour, including stops, was all it pretended to make during the first five days from Irkutsk. The road-bed is new, the rails are light, and as a consequence the train plods along at a pace which an able-bodied cowboy on his bronco would outstrip. In fact I saw, one evening, a race between our famous train and a Siberian “cow-puncher,” in which, for two miles or more, the horseman more than held his own. Then he pulled up with a careless wave of his hat, as though he did not consider it worth while to race any longer with so slow a rival.

The stops at the stations, too, seem most unnecessarily protracted for such a train, which might be supposed to have the right of way. Never less than ten minutes, and more often fifteen or twenty, our patient locomotive would stand panting at every little platform in the wilds before the station-master would ring his welcome bell, to tell it that it might shriek its farewell and proceed on its way.

For a number of miles after leaving Irkutsk, the railway follows the windings of the swift-flowing Angara, and then, leaving the river, strikes off across the interminable wooded prairies that line so much of the track to Moscow. The weather was exceedingly hot during the first four or five days of the journey, the thermometers in the cars frequently registering over ninety degrees Fahrenheit. If one takes the Siberian route to avoid the heat of the Red Sea in summer, he will not gain much, though, to be sure, the cool nights make the Siberian journey more tolerable. Moreover, the heat, much of the time, was of the damp, “muggy” variety so trying to bear.

A plague of flies, which would have made even Pharaoh quail, added much to the minor discomforts of the trip, though they did not afflict the passengers within the cars as sorely as when they ventured out upon the platform. Here they were, indeed, intolerable, and set every pair of hands revolving about a tormented head like a windmill in a gale. The most obnoxious insect was a little black gnat, much like the midge of the Adirondacks, which in clouds filled the air, and filled as well eyes, and nose, and ears of any venturesome traveller that left the comparative refuge of his car. The natives have learned to protect themselves against these pests by wearing veils of black mosquito netting day and night. For fully fifteen hundred miles almost every man, woman, and child we met was thus protected, and it gave a peculiarly solemn and lugubrious aspect to the little villages and stations to see every one peering at you through a mask of black netting. In this funereal attire every Siberian looked as though he had lost every friend in the world, or was about to attend his own obsequies. Trainmen working on the track, flagmen signalling the engineer, women with bottles of milk and loaves of bread, station-masters in bright official uniforms, little tow-headed children with bare feet, all had gone into mourning because of the midges.

At every station were country hucksters at a little stand, ready to sell the few products of the farms to the hungry travellers. They did not do much business, naturally, with the passengers of the _train de luxe_, who had their own dining-car, but with the regular trains or the frequent special emigrant or military trains they had a rushing trade. As we approached the European frontier, prices of these country comestibles fell, and boiled eggs were to be bought for half a cent each, and a very considerable loaf of bread for two cents and a half, while milk, fried fish, chunks of roast meat, and kvass, or Russian pop-beer, were proportionately cheap.

At almost every siding we passed a long train laden with emigrants or soldiers on their way to China, for the Siberian reserves had been called out. The latter were stalwart, rough, honest-looking fellows, who evidently had left their little farms at a moment’s notice to serve their country. They seemed to possess no uniforms or equipments, though, to be sure, these may have been stored in the close box-cars that accompanied each train. They wore their peasants’ red blouses and loose breeches. Many of them were barefooted, and some of them were hatless and ragged, but, before they meet the Chinese, these raw recruits will doubtless be licked into shape by the drill-masters, uniformed and armed, and made into very presentable soldiers. They certainly have the requisite brawn, if not the brain. I was surprised to see that there seemed to be few young men among them, scarcely any under thirty, while most looked to be over forty.

The emigrants were weighted with more _impedimenta_ than the soldiers, but even their household belongings were pitifully scant. Every day we passed half a dozen long trainloads of men, women, and children on their way to the new Eldorado on the banks of the Amour. Most of them were too poor to afford even the hard comfort of a third or fourth class car, and they were pigged in together in ordinary box freight-cars, which were marked on the outside to carry “twelve horses or twenty-four men.” Still they did not seem discontented, much less hopeless, but at every little station jumped from their stifling boxes and raced for the hot-water tank, which a paternal government always kept steaming, free of charge. Here they filled their tin pails and made their inevitable “chi” (tea), on which, supplemented by liberal portions of black bread, they chiefly subsist.

Sometimes we indulged in the luxury of giving the little emigrating urchins, bound for a far-off land, a few kopeks, when the gratitude of the parents was touching to see. Rushing from the car, they would sometimes seize our hands and kiss them in the courtly old Russian style, as though we had bestowed a king’s ransom on their offspring, and then as the trains parted, going east and west, would tumble back into their fifth-class boxes, while we would return to our compartments feeling as we reached them that he would be a thankless man indeed who, with such contrasts in view, should ever grumble again at the minor discomforts of a _train de luxe_.

OUT OF ASIA INTO EUROPE

The long journey in the _train de luxe_ from Irkutsk to St. Petersburg, especially the Siberian part of the journey, does not afford a great variety of scenery or incident. But, if somewhat monotonous, it is a pleasing and gentle monotony. There is not a mile of desert land in all the five thousand versts between Lake Baikal and the Atlantic, or, for that matter, between the Pacific and the Atlantic, by the way we have travelled.

There are no long stretches of sagebrush plain, such as Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada afford; no “bad lands,” such as are found in the Dakotas; no interminable stretches of wearisome, treeless prairies, such as the Canadian Pacific traverses in Manitoba and Assiniboia. There are occasional wide reaches of prairie or meadow land, but trees are always in sight, and for the most part the road passes through a heavily wooded country. Birches abound everywhere, with their graceful white boles, and there are many forests of pine and poplar. The trees in the vicinity of the railway are not large, the “monarchs of the forest,” if there ever were any, having been cut off at the advent of the railway.

The piles of cut wood by the railroad track impress the traveller with the boundlessness of the forests. Millions of cords of clean cut birch and pine, with scarcely a knot or a blemish, stand in neat piles waiting the insatiable engine.

Everywhere the land seems fertile, and, though but an infinitesimal part of it is cultivated, it would all reward the husbandman. Great flocks of sleek cattle roam over these natural pastures, but there is room for a hundred flocks where one roams to-day. And all this vast domain has been waiting for settlers at Europe’s back door during all the centuries. Only now is the door fairly open, and the new settlers are pouring through. America, meanwhile, has been discovered, opened, and occupied; Australia has been discovered and great cities built upon its seaboard; the tropics and the poles have been explored; and all the time a great fertile domain, vaster than all Europe, and separated from Europe’s swarming, overcrowded millions by no barrier of sea, and but a low mountain range, has been waiting, almost tenantless, for a people. But now Siberia has been discovered--discovered by the settler and the home-maker, as well as by the politician and the autocrat who desires a Botany Bay for his convicts--and a new and virgin empire that can afford asylum for the surplus population of two continents has been added to the world’s productive domains. Undoubtedly this enormous and almost untrodden empire gives Russia a great advantage among the nations of the world. Here is a vast new continent contiguous and near to ancient Russia, a domain which cannot be seriously threatened by any enemy, a domain which in the decrepit state of China requires no fleets or armies to protect. At length Russia has awakened to a sense of its value, and is pouring into it by the ten thousand every month the peaceful settlers who will make her possession secure.

Between Irkutsk and Moscow the railway passes through a few large towns of considerable importance. Chief of these are Crasnoiarsk, about seven hundred miles from Irkutsk; Taiga, some three hundred miles still nearer Europe; Omsk, about five hundred miles further west; and Tschelabinsk, which lies near the edge of Europe, two thousand miles from our starting point at Irkutsk.

These places will be but names to most of my readers, and they will not be much the wiser if I tell them such facts as that Omsk has forty thousand inhabitants and Tschelabinsk has fifteen thousand. All these towns, and many smaller ones that I might mention, are places of no little importance in the districts of which they are the centres, but they do not as yet cut much of a figure on the world’s maps. They all have the characteristics of frontier towns, are built largely of logs, but boast from one to twenty beautiful churches, which always strike the eye and give them a character and a beauty which they would sadly lack without the shining domes and brilliant crosses pointing heavenward.

Omsk is the most important place on the line of the railway between Irkutsk and Moscow, and is the residence of the governor-general of the province of the Steppes, and of a Greek Church archbishop.

Tomsk is a larger and more important place still, but is not directly on the Trans-Siberian route, being connected by a branch line at Taiga.

The road crosses many large rivers during these two thousand miles before it reaches the European frontier, and the cost of the great iron bridges which span them must have been enormous. They seem to be built in the most substantial manner, with piers and buttresses of massive cut stone. These rivers belong to the great systems of the Yenisei and the Obi, which in their upper reaches branch off into many streams, each of which, in any other continent, would be a notable and famous stream. But Siberia is so rich in great rivers that even the names of these mighty tributaries are not of great interest to the reading public. When Siberia shall come to her own and take her place among the great populous nations of the earth, these rivers will add enormously to her wealth and commerce.

On the evening of the fifth day from Irkutsk we went to bed in Asia, and woke up on the morning of the sixth day in Europe, and in the beautifully situated town of Zlatoost. We found ourselves also in the heart of the Urals, and the contrast with the flat plains of Siberia was most refreshing.

Lovely spruce-clad mountains towered above us on every side; a rushing river, which the track follows for many miles, seemed to beckon us on with its smiling ripples that glinted and glowed in the morning sun. Great, open, park-like valleys and uplands lay between the mountains, dotted with trees and covered with the greenest of grass, studded with beautiful flowers of every hue. Altogether, for many miles, the scene was one of rare loveliness, and was worth travelling a thousand weary versts to see.

The Russians call this region of the Urals the “Switzerland of Russia,” and though it lacks the grandeur of the snow-clad Alps, it has a beauty of its own which is exceedingly charming.

All day long our road wound through these charming scenes, up hill and down dale, usually keeping a rushing, sparkling river in view, until, towards the close of the long day, the great town of Oofa, with its beautiful churches and fine railway station, came in view. We had passed the barrier of the Urals, and the day of loveliest scenery in all the long journey had come to an end.

Our deliberate train mended its pace very considerably after getting into Europe, and, on the last three days of the journey, did almost as many versts as during the first five. The engineer actually seemed able to get by some small and insignificant stations without stopping, and where we did stop it was often for less than a full half-hour. We averaged fully twenty miles an hour after crossing the Urals, which seemed like lightning speed after our slow and toilsome way in Siberia.

On the seventh day of our journey from Irkutsk, the Urals had faded into the distance, and the flat plains of European Russia were substituted for the flat plains of Asiatic Russia. The country on both sides of the mountains looks much the same, except that the European plains are better cultivated and less wooded. They have evidently known the plowshare for many a hundred years, and in early July were smiling with luxuriant crops of wheat, and barley, and rye. Greater Russia plainly is in no danger this year of a wide-spread famine.

In some places hay-making had begun, and the great unfenced fields containing hundreds of acres were alive with haymakers in gay attire. The Russian farmers live together in villages, instead of in isolated farmhouses, as do our husbandmen, and the business of cutting and making a great communal hayfield was evidently an important matter that brought together all the men, women, and children of the village. Often forty hay-wagons, each with a span of horses and five times as many people, were assembled at the edge of a field. The mowers, in long rows, would then start for the other side of the great field, nearly a mile away, cutting a wide swath as they went, while fifty Russian Maud Mullers, in red and blue bodices, raked the meadows sweet with hay, which yesterday had been cut. They seemed merry and light-hearted about their task, and we could hear snatches of song and bursts of laughter, and many a bright bandanna was waved at the flying train.

The small villages did not strike me, as I saw them from the train, as being superior to the Siberian towns. They are built largely of logs, or of mud and wattle, and have low-browed thatch roofs, often much out of repair. But every village, however small and shabby, has a beautiful church, which contrasts strangely with the one-story thatch-roof huts that gather around it, as if a brood of very diminutive chickens were clustering around a big brooding mother hen.

The large towns which we passed, as we drew near to Moscow, were distinctly better built than in Siberia. Large blocks of brick and stone, wide streets, and a general air of thrift and prosperity seemed to pervade them. Samara is a city nobly situated on the banks of the Volga, and has really a regal appearance on her crown of hills, with her great cathedral and noble churches dominating all.

The railway crosses the Volga, a few miles after leaving Samara, by a splendid iron bridge, nearly a mile long. Even here, so far from its source, this greatest river of Europe is a majestic, swift-flowing stream, bearing upon its ample bosom great rafts from the pine forests near its source, and many great steamers, which carry passengers to the famous fair at Nijni-Novgorod, and other towns along its banks. Most, if not all of these steamers, use petroleum for fuel, brought from the great wells of Batoum, and huge tanks for the storage of oil begin to form conspicuous features of the landscape near every large town.

Indeed, our own locomotive, instead of gorging itself with birchwood, as its predecessors which drew the _train de luxe_ had done, took long deep draughts of crude kerosene oil, which, it must be said, did not improve its breath. Some of the engines I noticed at this end of the line were Baldwin locomotives, a make which I had not seen since we had left Khabaroffsk, on the further side of far Siberia.

On the eighth and last day of our journey on the “Siberian Special,” as our train was called in railroad nomenclature, we passed through the large and commanding town of Toula, a great railroad centre, and also famous for the splendor of its churches. The stations we passed on this day were finer than any we had yet seen, and were often embowered in trees until they looked like châteaus in lovely green parks. Peasant women stood on every platform with heaps of little wild strawberries, which they sold at a ridiculously cheap price, about two cents a quart. Others had the first red cherries of the season, and others yellow apples that had been kept in water for nearly a year, and that tasted as if baked. Other vendors of delicious, sparkling koumyss, milk, Russian kvass, and other more harmful beverages, also appeared upon the scene at many stations.

The devout character of the Russians was shown by the fact that every third-class waiting-room had its shrine, with beautifully framed pictures of Christ and the Madonna and some of the Eastern saints. Before these icons often burned ceremonial candles, and smaller candles were to be had by devotees for two or three kopeks apiece. Rapt travellers, with uplifted eyes, were often to be seen crossing themselves before these icons.

We still passed frequent trains of Siberian settlers, and others of brawny soldiers, “bearded like the pard,” and packed into their fifth and sixth-class cars like the proverbial sardines in their boxes. Occasionally a train of prisoners looked out through their iron gratings at us, seeming to cast a murky shadow on the pleasant landscape, as we thought of the dreary years of exile before them. We saw no political prisoners, however, and even the criminals are allowed to take their wives and children with them. These latter often clung to the iron bars with their faces close against them, like so many infant Charlotte Cordays. It must be said that these prisoners, like others whom we had seen, fared a good deal better in their railway accommodations than the emigrants or the soldiers.

More and more cultivated and attractive the beautiful country appeared as we approached Moscow, giving evidence in every smooth and fertile field of five hundred years of tillage, until at last, promptly on schedule time, 197 hours after leaving Irkutsk, the Siberian Special rolled into the beautiful station of sacred Moscow, and our long journey across all the Russias was practically finished. It is a matter of thirteen hours further to St. Petersburg, and two days more by the fastest train to London. Thence six or seven days more by one of the Atlantic liners to New York, and our journey by this new way around an old world was completed.

SOME FACTS AND FIGURES

As a multitude of friends and other correspondents have asked me to give full particulars concerning the time and cost of this journey, I will add a few lines to answer these natural inquiries.

I was told by the most sanguine, before starting, that the journey from Vladivostock to Moscow could be made in twenty-two days. I do not think that it ever was, or can be, made in that length of time, until the Trans-Baikal Railway is greatly improved, and the Amour and Shilka have a channel dredged through their shallows; and that will be many a long day yet.

As a matter of fact, the journey took us thirty-eight days, and, allowing for probable detentions by rail and river, it cannot often be made in less time. If it had not been for the kind personal interest of the governor of Vladivostock, we should have been much longer on the way than we were. I can well imagine that the trip might take three or four months instead of as many weeks. The exact time of the different divisions of our journey was as follows:

Days
Vladivostock to Khabaroffsk (rail) 1¼
Khabaroffsk to Blagavestchensk (boat) 5½
Waited for steamer at Blagavestchensk 2
Blagavestchensk to Stretinsk (boat) 12½
Waited for train at Stretinsk 1½
Stretinsk to Irkutsk (rail) 6
Waited for train at Irkutsk 1
Irkutsk to Moscow (rail) 8½
----
Total 38¼

If we had found high water in the Amour, we might have saved three days on the river journey, and if the bridge on the Trans-Baikal road had not burned down so inopportunely, we might have saved two days more, but it is difficult to see how more than five or six days could have been saved by the most favoring combination of circumstances.

I also heard many absurd rumors of the cheapness of the journey across Siberia. One Russian official of note told me that the whole cost from Vladivostock to Moscow, first-class, meals included, would be one hundred and twenty roubles. I will give the fares as they actually were paid, leaving out the odd kopeks:

Roubles
Vladivostock to Khabaroffsk 17
Khabaroffsk to Blagavestchensk 23
Blagavestchensk to Stretinsk 29
Stretinsk to Irkutsk 18
Irkutsk to Moscow 98
-------
Total for fares (first-class) 183

To this must be added at least three roubles a day for living expenses along the road, even by those economically inclined who drink no strong liquors, which will add to the expense of a thirty-eight days’ journey one hundred and fourteen roubles, making the journey cost two hundred and ninety-six roubles, or, in round numbers, about one hundred and fifty dollars in gold--not expensive, to be sure, for a six-thousand-mile trip, but not so cheap as is usually thought.

Those who are willing to travel in second-class cars and steamer accommodations can save nearly one hundred roubles, or about fifty dollars, on the whole journey. The second-class cars are entirely comfortable, and very little poorer than the first-class, but the second cabin on the steamers is not to be recommended.

I have very often been asked whether I would advise others to take the journey. That all depends upon their circumstances and travel proclivities.

For good sailors who do not mind a long ocean voyage, the trip through the Suez Canal is certainly easier and more restful. For bad sailors and those who fear the sea for any reason--and their name is legion--the Trans-Siberian route offers many compensations. Moreover, if one can command his own time, and is in no great haste to reach his journey’s end at a fixed date, the Siberian journey will prove far more attractive than to those who are pressed with engagements and must make schedule time, for it is impossible to calculate exactly, or even within a fortnight, the time that may be taken. A pressing engagement in London, which I almost missed owing to the unexpected delays, detracted not a little from the comfort of the journey so far as I was concerned.

Nevertheless, in spite of the discomforts and delays, I am exceedingly glad to have taken the journey. It was an experience never to be forgotten, and furnished memory-pictures that will never fade. I should advise any one with plenty of time on his hands, who enjoys rail and river travel, and who is not afraid of the inevitable hardships of a new frontier country, to go and do likewise.

The journey I have described was made at a most fortunate time, immediately before the Chinese outbreak, which may change the face of the world, especially of the far Siberian world. A week later, or a fortnight later at the most, the journey would have been impossible for many months. But doubtless before my readers wish to take this new way round the old world the “Yellow Peril” will be overpassed, and the Trans-Siberian route will be once more open to the travelling public.

In these annals I have purposely omitted any extended reference to the commercial and political importance of the Trans-Siberian Railway, for the reading public has been flooded with speculations and facts, more or less accurate, on this subject. There seems, then, to be little need for their further exploitation. Moreover, history, during the next decade, will determine these matters much more accurately than the wisest prophet can forecast them to-day.

When the Eastern Chinese Railway, connecting with the Trans-Siberian road, is opened--if the Mongolians, who are showing such unexpected ferocity, ever allow it to be opened--it will be possible, perhaps, to go from Paris to Peking in two weeks, or, in time, even in eleven days, as Mr. A. R. Colquhoun, in his excellent book, _Overland to China_, points out.

Even then, there will be many who will desire to take the journey I have described through the lordly domain of Siberia, by rail and river from the Pacific to the Atlantic, which for vastness of extent along the same east and west parallels, for variety of primeval scenery, and for wideness of view over “this goodly frame, the earth,” will never be surpassed.

Synopsis of the Russian Alphabet

SOME NECESSARY RUSSIAN WORDS

The following list of words, of course, does not pretend to be an English-Russian vocabulary, but simply the smallest possible number of words which a traveller would need in crossing Siberia. It would be well, of course, to know many more. But it would be possible for the traveller to make this journey with the limited means of communication with his fellow-travellers, restaurant-keepers, hotel-proprietors, train-men and steam-boat officials that are here put at his disposal. As it is impossible, of course, in a volume of this character to give anything like a complete vocabulary, I have thought that a very small fraction of a loaf was better than no bread, and that this was not one of the cases when a little knowledge (of Russian) was a dangerous thing.

Cardinal Numbers

одинъ, one.
два, two.
три, three.
четыре, four.
пять, five.
шесть, six.
семь, seven.
восемь, eight.
девять, nine.
десять, ten.

English-Russian Vocabulary

Able (to be), быть въ состояніи.
accident, несчастніе.
act (to), дѣйствовать.
address (direction), адресъ, надпись.
adieu, прощай, прощайте.
air, воздухъ.
all, весь, вся, все.
America, Америка.
animal, животный.
apartment, комната, квартира.
apple, яблоко.
April, апрѣль.
as, какъ, такъ, такъ какъ.
ask (to), спрашивать.
August, августъ.

Bag, кошелекъ.
baggage, багажъ.
barber, цирюльникъ.
bath, ванна.
bed (bedstead), постель, кровать.
bedroom, спальня.
beefsteak, бифштексъ.
bill (account), счетъ.
boat, лодка.
book, книга.
bookseller, книгопродавецъ.
boot, сапогъ, ботинка.
box (coffer), сундукъ.
bread, хлѣбъ.
breakfast, завтракъ.
business, дѣло.
butter, масло (коровье).
button, пуговиця.
buy (to), покупать, купить.

Cab, дрожки.
cabman, извощикъ.
can (I), я могу.
carriage, карета, телѣга.
carry (to), носить, нести.
chair, стулъ.
chamber, комната.
China, Китай.
church, церковь.
city, городъ.
class, классъ, разрядъ.
clean (to), чистить.
clock (what o’--is it?), который часъ?
clothing, одежда, платье.
coachman, кучеръ.
coffee, кофей.
coffee-house, кофейня.
copeck, копейка, (копѣйка).
cost (to), стоить.
cure (to), лѣчить.

Day, день.
December, Декабрь.
dentist, зубной врачъ.
dinner, обѣдъ.
dirty, грязний.
dish, блюдо, кушаніе.
do (to), дѣлать.
doctor, врачъ, лѣкарь, докторъ.
dress, пгатье.

Eat (to), ѣсть, кушать.
egg, яйцо.
engage (to), уговаривать.
enough, долвольно.
Europe, Европа.
express-train, курьерскій поѣздъ.

Face, лицо.
fact, дѣло.
family, семейство.
farmer, фермеръ.
February, февраль.
first (at), сперва.
fish, рыба.
flour, мука.
flower, цвѣтъ, цвѣтокъ.
foreign, иностранный.
fork, вилка.
fowl, курица.
French, французскій.
Friday, пятница,
friend, пріятель, другъ.
fur, шуба, мѣхъ.

Girl, дѣвочка.
give(to), давать, дать.
glass (drinking), стаканъ.
glove, перчатка.
gold, золото.
good, добрый.

Half, половина, полу ...
handkerchiefs, (носовой) платокъ.
hat, шлапа, шапка.
have (to), имѣть.
here, здѣсь.
hill, холмъ.
horse, конь, лошадь.
hot, жаркій, горячій.
hotel, гостинница.
hour, часъ.
house, домъ, жилище.
how much, сколько.
hungry (to be--), быть голоднымъ.

Ice, ледъ.
ill (sick), больной.
important, важный.
impossible, невозможный.
inhabitant, житель, обитатель.
ink, чернила.
inn, гостинница.
instantly, немедленно.

January, январь.
journal, журналъ.
July, Іюль.
June, Іюнь.

Key, ключъ.
knife, ножъ, ножикъ.

Lady, госпожа.
lamp, лампа, лампада.
landlord, хозяинъ.
language, языкъ.
lantern, фонарь.
large, большой, широкій.
letter, письмо.
light, свѣтъ, сіяніе.
linen, бѣлье.
little (a), мало.
lock, замокъ.
lodging, квартира.
lunch, закуска.

Mail, почта.
man, человѣкъ; men, люди.
many, многіе.
map, карта.
March, Мартъ.
matter (no), бсе равно.
May, Май.
meat, мясо.
mend (to), исправлять.
mile, миля.
milk, молоко.
minute, минута.
Monday, понедѣльникъ.
money, деньги, монета.
morning, утро.
morrow (to), завтра.
Moscow, Москва.
mother, мать.

Name, имя.
needle, иголка.
never, никогда.
news, новость, извѣстіе.
newspaper, вѣдомость, газета.
night, ночь.
no, нѣетъ.
noon, полдень.
north, сѣверъ.
November, ноябрь.

October, октябрь.
overcoat, пальто.

Petersburg (Saint), (Санктъ) Петербургъ.
pillow, подушка.
plate, тарелка.
please (if you--), пожалуйста.
post-office, почтамтъ, почта.
potato, картофель.
promise (to), обѣщать.
pronounce (to), произносить.
province (Russ.), губернія.
purse, кошелекъ.
put (to), класть.

Quarter, четверть.
quickly, скоро.

Railroad, railway, желѣзная дорога.
railway-station, вокзалъ.
rain, дождь.
read (to), читать.
refreshment, освѣженіе.
registered (letter), заказное.
repair (to), поправлять.
rest (repose), отдыхъ.
river, рѣка.
road, дорога, путь.
room, комната.
Russia, Россія.
Russian, Россіянинъ, русскій.

Salt, соль.
Saturday, суббота.
say (to), сказать, говорить.
sea, море.
September, сентябрь.
sheet (bedlinen), простыня.
Siberia, Сибирь.
silver, серебро.
soap, мыло.
soup, супъ, похлебка.
speak (to), говорить.
spoon, ложка.
stay (to), оставаться.
steamboat, steamer, пароходъ.
stocking, чулокъ, носокъ.
stove, печь, печка.
street, улица.
sufficient, достаточный.
sugar, сахаръ.
Sunday, воскресенье.
supper, ужинъ.
sweep (to), мести.

Table, столъ.
table-cloth, скатерть.
talk (to), разговаривать.
tea, чай.
thank (to), благодарить.
there is, вотъ.
thirsty, жаждущій.
Thursday, четвергъ.
ticket, билетъ.
towel, полотенце.
trunk (coffer), сундукъ.
Tuesday, вторникъ.

Vegetables, овощи.

Wagon, вагонъ, телѣга.
wait (to), ждать, пожидать.
waiter, служитель, человѣкъ.
waiting-room, (станціонная) зала.
waken (to), разбудить.
walk (to), гулять, ходить.
want (to), нуждаться, желать.
wash (to), мыть, обмывать.
washerwoman, прачка.
washstand, рукомойникъ.
water, вода.
way, путь, дорога.
Wednesday, среда.
what, что; какой; то что.
when, когда.
wish (to), желать.
woman, жена, женщина.
wood (fuel), дрова.
word, слово.
work (to), работать.
write (to), писать.

Yes, да.

THE END

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