Through Siberia

Book-distribution in Western Siberia.—Departure from Tomsk.—Postbells.—How to sit in posting.—Sleeping.—Boundary of Western Siberia.—Wild and domesticated animals.—Birds.—Scenery.—Roadside villages.—Peasants’ houses.—Hammering up “the Prodigal Son.”—Siberian towns.—Houses of upper classes.—Misadventures.—A hospitable merchant.—Frontier of Eastern Siberia.

I have said that, on returning to Tomsk, we found the remainder of our books arrived. The reader may like to know how we had prospered in relation to their distribution through Western Siberia. Our singular mission greatly puzzled the Russians. I have since heard how it reached the ears of the worthy Archbishop of Tobolsk that a strange Englishman had been through the district, leaving thousands of books to be given away. Like a watchful shepherd, his first anxiety was to see that they contained no heresy. Having examined the books, however, and perused a set of the tracts, he found them exceedingly good, and would by no means put anything in the way of their distribution; but, said his Eminence, “Those English are a queer lot, and there must surely be some ulterior motive behind it.” To the same effect were many of the officials’ cogitations as they oozed out and reached me from time to time. We met with no opposition, however, or even questioning of what we were doing. The fact that the revolutionists have sometimes distributed seditious leaflets inside pamphlets approved by the censor makes the police on the alert in European Russia; but I have usually found even there, so long as all was clear and above-board, that the authorities were willing to forward my endeavours; and I so far availed myself of this willingness in Siberia as to distribute more through the authorities than formerly, and less in proportion with our own hands. Still, we gave an immense number personally, and many also we sold, on the principle that a man values most what he pays for. At each of the towns and villages on the Obi we made up parcels and sent them with a note to the parish priest, asking him to distribute the books gratuitously. As the periodical—The Russian Workman—could be had post-free for a rouble a year, many said they should get it. One man intimated that he should write for 50 copies forthwith, and another that he should get the same number of subscribers in his neighbourhood, on the Lower Obi, where he had built a little church, and had had his son instructed to read to the people. Our greatest success, however, in Western Siberia, and one that would have repaid us for all our trouble, has since proved to be the plans laid at Tiumen, through which town, as observed before, some 18,000 exiles pass yearly. From data given me in the prison, we had calculated that there would be about 2,000 pass during the summer who could read, and for these I left 1,980 Russian Scripture portions, 36 Polish, German, French, Tatar, and Mongolian Scriptures, 546 copies of the Rooski Rabotchi, and 2,520 tracts. The exiles going east are sent away in the barge weekly, and, before the party starts, a religious service is held by a priest at Tiumen. I have since heard that after this service, throughout the summer, our books were distributed; so that I trust they are now to be found not only among the convicts in prisons, but also with those who have been sent to live free, but in comparative solitude, in the furthest corners of the country.

Some have shaken their heads and said that the men would sell the books, and make cigarettes of the tracts. This, however, I doubt; but, even if it be so, it may simply mean, in the case of the Scriptures, that a book has passed from the hands of one who did not care for it to those of one who does. But the Russians have great respect, amounting almost to superstition, for what they call “holy books”; and such books are a great deal too scarce to allow of their being generally uncared for. Moreover, in Siberia, books of this character and tracts are new. In European Russia, many, on receiving the books, said they had no idea there were such publications in existence; and we had cases in Asia of soldiers giving their last kopeck to get a copy of the Gospels, the Psalms, or the New Testament.

Before leaving Tomsk we gave the Governor books for the public institutions of his government, and left with him boxes to be forwarded to the residence of the Governor-General Kaznakoff, at Omsk. I had been made acquainted with this latter officer, both officially and privately, in Petersburg, and had been invited to call upon him on my return through Omsk, to be introduced to his family. The general had told me also to telegraph to him in case I got into prison, or in the event of any other small casualty, and I looked forward with pleasure to my visit; but with my subsequent change of plans, I wrote asking that the books I had sent might be distributed in the provinces of Akmolinsk and Semipolatinsk, and thus finished arrangements for the supply of the public institutions in all the four provinces of Western Siberia: our total distribution thus far being 4,000 Scriptures and 9,000 pamphlets and tracts.

We now prepared to drive into Eastern Siberia, and on Thursday evening, June 19th, galloped out of Tomsk in two troikas, containing ourselves and baggage—the latter reduced, but still a heavy load. Outside the town the tongues of our horses’ bells were unloosed, and we jingled merrily along. The said bells are placed beneath the douga, over the centre horse, and are intended to give notice to the public generally, and all whom it may concern, that post-horses are coming, and, accordingly, that it is their bounden duty to get out of the way. If they fail to do this, which is sometimes the case, especially at night, when the drivers of slow-going vehicles are nodding on their seats, then “the rule of the road” is that the post-boy may give them a cut with his whip—a visitation inflicted sometimes upon men, and sometimes, with caravans, upon the leading horse, which, in his driver’s absence or sleep, is supposed to know the side of the road he ought to take.

We were now becoming accustomed to our jolting mode of travel, and I had already discovered a secret in connection therewith worth handing down to posterity. It concerns the position of the body and legs in the tarantass. If you place your heels against the front of the vehicle, or against a bag or box, your feet become excessively tired; and if you lie at full length, flat, you may soon imagine yourself in a ship’s berth, rolling from side to side. Now, my golden secret is this: First secure to yourself (in a hole if possible) a soft, springy base upon which to sit, and then place on that a ribbed circular air-cushion. Secondly, put your down-pillow behind at an angle of 60 degrees, and, if you like, an air-pillow, without ribs, in the nape of your neck. But the next arrangement is the most important. Draw up your legs till the knees come on a level with your chin; then put beneath the knee-pits a soft parcel or bag, sufficiently high to leave the feet dangling above the ground; and the result will be that you will travel with comparative comfort by night and by day continuously for 1,000 miles. Being thus fixed before and behind, and kept laterally straight by the side of the vehicle and your companion, the only direction in which you can be shot is upwards and heavenwards, to come down, alas! on the old spot; and this must be accepted as your minimum amount of local disturbance. The reader may think it utterly impossible to sleep under such circumstances—and at first it is so. But Nature will assert her claims. A Siberian priest told us that, when he travelled from Europe, he could not at first sleep at all in the tarantass; but that, when at last he did so, he lost no less than three hats whilst wrapped in slumber. As for myself, I soon learnt to doze; and in my journal of June 21st I find the entry, “Managed to sleep quite soundly in the tarantass till 8 o’clock this morning.” It was not always, however, one could sleep the whole night through; and I recollect on one occasion awaking from a beautiful dream of pleasant society in an English drawing-room to find myself, to my disgust, outside a Siberian post-house. On another occasion I had been sleeping soundly, and, on looking out early in the morning, found that the driver had followed my example; and the horses, not feeling the lash, had followed suit, and so we had come to a standstill, and all were slumbering together. I gave the man, however (to confess it for once), a dig in the back; his whip fell on the horses, and they galloped in style to the end of the stage.

On the third day after leaving Tomsk, we approached the boundary that divides Western from Eastern Siberia; but up to this point we had not met with a large number of wild animals. No wolves came alongside the tarantass as they did last year in the Caucasus, nor did we so much as catch sight of a bear, as on my journey from Archangel.⁠[1] As to domesticated animals, large herds of cows were seen, and milk was abundant. Strange to say, however, the people make little or no cheese; and the peasants do not usually butter their bread. Their fresh butter, when they make it, is without salt, and is generally used for cooking. The pigs of the country are a long-legged breed, and are frequently seen running about the village streets. They furnish the long bristles from their mane which are used for making brooms.

We saw no lack of birds of prey in Western Siberia, for hawks of various kinds are seen sailing gracefully over every town. We met with the largest number of sportsmen’s birds between Tiumen and Tobolsk, chiefly water-birds, with wild ducks and geese in abundance. I tasted at Ekaterineburg the gluchar, or cock of the wood, the same as our capercailzie. It was a well-tasted bird, from whose breast ten persons were helped, and it may be bought in the winter at Ekaterineburg for 8d. In the Altai regions is found a magnificent eagle called the bearcoot, of which specimens are shown in the Barnaul Museum. It is strong enough to kill a deer with ease; and it not unfrequently happens that, when wolves have killed and begun to eat their prey, a pair of bearcoots will attack and kill or drive them away, and eat their intended meal. The Kirghese tame these birds for the purpose of hunting.

As we pursued our way towards Eastern Siberia, there was a slight improvement in the landscape. For a long distance, after leaving Tomsk, the country was flat; but in the direction of Krasnoiarsk was seen a range of hills to the south, dotted with pine-trees, the country looking English-like and fertile, well wooded, and here and there under cultivation. Hitherto the herbage had been singularly luxuriant; but, from the station next before Atchinsk, pasture became less plentiful, and thus, in a measure, explained why henceforth our hire of horses was to cost us double. The number of towns and villages along the road for the first 400 miles of the way—that is, from Tomsk to Krasnoiarsk—was more numerous than might be expected, though, the further east we went, the further apart they were. The post-houses were rarely more than from ten to fifteen miles distant from one another, and we frequently drove through two or three intervening villages. To describe one village is to describe them all—the chief difference being that whilst each consists of a single street, with detached houses on either side of the way, some villages are larger than others. One we passed through was said to be nearly three miles long. The said street is usually wide, but never by any chance paved, though now and then a few boards are laid down for a footway. Nor is the street usually beautified with anything worthy the name of a garden. Now and then a few trees are planted in front of a house, but with such a high, clumsy palisade to keep off the cattle, that the attempted cultivation of beauty becomes rather a disfigurement than otherwise. The priest’s house is often one of the best in the place. So, again, the post-house usually stands out prominently; and if there happen to be any Government official in the village, an extra coat of paint, or some little ornamentation about the exterior, may point out the house inhabited by superiors; but ordinarily the houses of the peasants or farmers are very much alike. The foundation may perchance be of stone, but all else is of wood. For the walls, trees are cut and barked, slightly flattened by being cut away on two opposite sides, and then laid one above the other, the ends being dovetailed together at the corners. The interstices between the logs are calked with moss, and the roof is generally of overlapping boards. So long as the foundation holds good, the houses look tolerably neat; but when this begins to give, or the logs to rot, they become strained and warped in so many directions as to present a very dilapidated appearance. When the houses are intended for the accommodation of human beings only, they generally have no second storey; but in the case of farm-houses, where cattle are sheltered, we frequently found them having an upper storey approached by an outside staircase. There were usually also out-houses adjoining, and under the same roof; so that one had but to leave the dwelling-room upstairs, cross a passage, and open a door, to find oneself looking down upon beasts and cattle, and other denizens of a farm-yard, which share the same roof, though not, like the Irish pig, the same apartments as their owners. The interior of the house is as simple as the outside. In the centre is a brick stove. The walls are whitewashed or papered, and adorned with pictures according to the means and taste of the owners. Portraits of the Imperial family figure largely, so do battle scenes, pictures of the saints, and family photographs. As already observed, I took with me a large number of illustrated prints of “The Prodigal Son,” round which was written the parable in Russ. Having provided myself with a hammer and tacks, I was wont to go into the guest-room at the post-houses, and there nail up the picture, to the great admiration usually of the post-master. I have heard from a gentleman, who has recently crossed Siberia, that these pictures still adorn the walls of the post-houses, and that the books given with them are carefully preserved. My action, however, was not always understood at first, especially by those who could not read. One woman, who saw only an early stage of my operations, ran off to her husband as frightened as if I had been nailing up an Imperial ukase. They usually proceeded at once to read the parable; some said they should have it framed; and one post-master, a Jew, said in German, as he finished reading, that it was “a right good story.”

What has been said of Siberian houses thus far refers more especially to the houses of the peasantry and their villages. The traveller, however, from Tomsk passes certain small towns which have cross streets, wooden footways, perchance a small hospital, and the residence of an ispravnik, or a few well-to-do merchants. On entering the dwelling of one of these classes, one finds large rooms, papered walls, and painted floors, with perhaps a square of carpet near the sofa and table. Things look plain but comfortable within; and the out-houses, such as kitchen and bath-house, are at a convenient distance in the yard. The liability of the kitchen to catch fire partly accounts for its being detached; and these out-houses serve as a residence for the servants.

Houses occupied by persons highest in position, such as governors of provinces, and high military officers, are also of wood, and often without a second storey; but the rooms are more spacious and en suite, enlivened with flowers and creepers, and the tables enriched by articles of virtu from Europe. It is interesting to an Englishman to see how many things from London find their way to these remote regions. Thus, when sitting at a desk, one finds oneself among Cumberland leads and Perry’s coloured pencils, and a dozen other trifles, reminders of home.

Our journey from Tomsk to Krasnoiarsk was not entirely devoid of incident, our misadventures being connected for the most part with a limping wheel. Our first misadventure happened in returning from Barnaul, when, in the middle of the night, in the midst of a field, one of our shafts broke. But this might have happened anywhere; and fortunately there happened to be a man resting by the roadside to feed his horses, who lent us his pole to go to the next station. Early in the morning, however, it was discovered that our Siberian Jehu had been driving so furiously that, like Phaëton, his classical ancestor, he had set the wheels on fire. Matters were made worse for want of a smith at hand; and when we found a smith, he had no coal. We applied, therefore, a liberal allowance of grease, and limped on to Tomsk, where the whole concern was supposed to be put in order and cleaned, with the addition of new shafts and mended wheels, at a cost of nearly £2. We had not travelled four-and-twenty hours before the wheel was again on fire, and we paid several shillings for the repair of the axletree; a little further on, 24s. more; and then, on the evening of the third day, we arrived at a village where lived a smith. Now this man was well known in the district as an extortioner. He came to us clad in a pea-green dressing-gown, and smoked a cigarette as he leisurely walked round the tarantass, just as a man surveys a horse. He informed us that he would put us right for £5, which we flatly refused to give. “But you will certainly break down if you proceed,” urged the extortioner. “Then,” said I, “if we do, we will not come to you for assistance.” Said some of the people, “You had better go on to the next station at Bogotol, where there lives a merchant named So-and-so; and if you ask him he will recommend you to an honest wheelwright.” With our spokes roped together, therefore, and wetted, we waddled on, and arrived at Bogotol between three and four in the morning.

“Is the merchant So-and-so at home?” was the first question we asked at the post-house. “Yes,” said they; “but he is asleep, and will get up for nobody.” “Indeed,” said I to my interpreter, “will you go to him and say as politely as you can that an Englishman travelling to Irkutsk has met with an accident, and will be greatly obliged if he can recommend him an honest wheelwright?” And off went Mr. Interpreter, with a glum countenance, evidently not liking his job. He knocked at the merchant’s door, expecting to get roundly abused for his intrusion. But the merchant, on ascertaining what was the matter, asked the stranger in, and shouted to his servants, Peter, Timothy, and John, to bestir themselves. One he sent for the wheelwright, another to heat the samovar, and a third to prepare some food; and then, said he, “I cannot think of letting you go till the wheelwright comes, and all is going well”; after which he plied his visitor with talk, telling him what a famous place was Siberia; that any one might come in his neighbourhood, and, without payment, till as much land or cut as much grass as he liked, no man forbidding him; though labour, he added, was scarce, and imported goods dear. Thus, after tea and talk, and the arrival of the workman, the merchant returned to his slumbers. But I thought this one of the finest examples of hospitality and kindness to strangers I had ever met with, and I wondered much whether a broken-down Russian traveller, knocking up an Englishman at four in the morning, and asking to be recommended to an honest wheelwright, would have received a kindlier reception. The honest wheelwright mended us up for a few shillings, and, after calling to thank the merchant, we started, and about noon reached Krasnorechinska. Here we called upon the priest, who had 3,000 parishioners, of whom he said 200 could read, for whom we gave him some pamphlets, and sold him four New Testaments. He possessed a large Russian Bible, which cost upwards of six shillings, and was, he said, the cheapest to be had.

By night we reached Atchinsk, the first station in Eastern Siberia, and although the roads were perceptibly better immediately we crossed the border, our poor wheel was out of trim again, and threatened to detain us far into the morrow. And now came sundry physicians to administer advice, chiefly, however, in their own favour. One wished to sell us a new wheel for £1, another to make an exchange of our two front wheels for £2, and so on; in answer to which I declared that I would go straight to the Ispravnik and show my grand letter from Petersburg. “But,” urged Mr. Interpreter, “the Ispravnik has nothing to do with mending wheels!” “True,” I replied; but—“Let us go!” And so we did, and were kindly received. “If your axletrees are of iron,” said the Ispravnik, “I doubt whether there are any persons in the place capable of mending them; but, even if there are, they will most likely be drunk, as to-day is a fête; and you must therefore wait till to-morrow.” I pleaded, however that he should do his best, and things turned out better than he prophesied. A wheelwright was found, who for half-a-crown enabled us to proceed, and early next morning we reached Krasnoiarsk.