Through Siberia

Situation of Krasnoiarsk.—Our hotel.—Dr. Peacock.—Visit to prison, hospital, and madhouse.—Cathedral.—Drive in “Rotten Row.”—Shoeing horses.—Bible affairs at Krasnoiarsk.—Consignment to Governor for provinces of Yeneseisk and Yakutsk.—Departure from Krasnoiarsk.—Change of scenery.—Kansk Okrug.—Our arrival anticipated.—Visit to Ispravnik.—Statistics of crime.—The Protopope of Kansk.—Parochial information.—Demand for Scriptures.—A travelling companion.—Further posting help.—Butterflies and mosquitoes.—Nijni Udinsk.—Telma factory.—A détour.—Alexandreffsky.

Siberia, immense as it is, has only 17 towns with a population of more than 5,000 inhabitants, and of these large towns Krasnoiarsk, with a population of 13,000, is a fair specimen. It derives its name from the Russian words krasnoi, red, and yar, a cliff, in allusion to the red-coloured marl of the banks on which the town is situated; its houses being built on the tongue of land at the confluence of the Yenesei and the Kacha. On the south the plain stretches away for nine versts, and on the south-west a range of blue hills is descried, which betray their rocky character by sharp and picturesque outlines. The opposite bank, too, of the Yenesei has, amidst forest scenery, some fine rocks, one of which, of curious formation, called the Tokmak, rises to the dignity of a mount. The Siberians, therefore, are justified, to a considerable degree, in claiming for Krasnoiarsk that it is picturesquely situated. It was certainly the prettiest spot we had thus far seen; and since we made there some pleasant acquaintances, and received much kindness from the people, it naturally lingers in the memory as one of the bright spots of our journey.⁠[1]

Having arrived early on the morning of the 24th June, we drove to what is called an hotel, kept by one “Shlyaktin,” where we engaged the best room in the house for two shillings a day, with two bedsteads, for which, as usual in Russia, we provided our own pillows and linen. Other things were proportionately cheap: turkeys 3s. a pair; a whole calf, nine months old, from 3s. to 4s.; geese from 1s. 8d. to 2s. 6d. a couple; but pheasants, brought hundreds of miles from Tashkend, cost 6s. a brace.

We had not entered many minutes before several beggars came to the window to solicit alms, which seemed to be their method of honouring all newcomers; and if they received anything they crossed themselves, and no doubt blessed us.⁠[2]

Krasnoiarsk boasts of a Lutheran chapel, though it is without a resident pastor. We made it our business to go there first, thinking to find a catechist, Mr. Adamson, for whom we had a letter. He was away, however, and was represented by an old German woman. Whether she recognized in us kindred spirits, I know not, but she cried as she shook our hands and bade us God-speed.

We then accompanied Dr. Peacock, who took us first to see the prison,⁠[3] and afterwards the large hospital, through which pass annually about 2,500 patients. A part of it serves as a madhouse, in which were 48 inmates, 42 of whom were exiles, 28 being pronounced incurable. From inquiries I made, I did not gather that medical opinion went so far as to say that banishment drove people mad; but it seemed that many so afflicted were exiled as prisoners who ought rather to have been in lunatic asylums as idiots; such, for instance, was the case of one man who had been sent to Siberia for setting houses on fire, and who, on arriving, repeated his offence, saying that he did it “for fun.”⁠[4]

The hospital building had been originally erected as a private residence by a rich gold-seeker.⁠[5] How far, in its altered condition, the house suits the purpose of a hospital, I could not judge; for in Russia they have a habit, in summer, of turning the patients out under temporary sheds and tents whilst the buildings are being repaired for the winter; and this was the state of affairs at Krasnoiarsk during our inspection. But I am afraid the building is not all that could be desired. At Tomsk we had seen a summer tent-hospital for 20 men with typhus fever.

Krasnoiarsk has a cathedral, presided over by the Bishop of Yeneseisk, and four or five churches, one of which was built at a cost of £70,000 by a rich gold-seeker, by name, I think, Kusnitzoff, which, be it known to English readers, means “Smith.” We made the acquaintance of two of his daughters during our voyage on the Obi. They had been spending the winter in Petersburg, and were then travelling a distance of 3,000 miles to spend the summer in Siberia. This was their usual practice. One of these ladies had travelled to England, had even crossed the Atlantic to America, and we were glad to renew our acquaintance at Krasnoiarsk. Theirs was one of the best of the private houses, on entering which a broad flight of steps led to the upper storey, where was a drawing-room, or rather a ball-room, containing two grand pianos, the walls being hung with European oil-paintings, and where, among other curiosities, we were shown three nuggets of gold, each of which must have weighed several pounds, but serving no purpose but to be looked at, save that a natural indentation in one had been used on certain grand occasions as a cigar-boat. In front of the house was an enclosure, full of shrubs, dahlias, and flowers; but it was manifest that horticultural operations were carried on with difficulty. The Siberians do more with flowers in their rooms, thus adding much to their beauty.

We dined at this house, and afterwards were taken for a drive. The plain running south of the town is the “Rotten Row” of Krasnoiarsk; and here we saw a fair Amazon, of good position, and the mother, by-the-bye, of three children, with hair cut short behind, sitting astride her horse, in knickerbockers and high boots. It was the only instance we saw of this, however; and further east, on the Amur, I met with a lady in a riding-habit that would have been becoming enough even in Hyde Park.

We drove some distance up the bank of the Yenesei, intending to visit a monastery a few miles distant, but were stopped by the unusual height of the floods, and returned to pass through the two handsome squares in the middle of the town, and the smaller streets which cross the principal roads at right angles. We passed a public garden, also given by Mr. Kusnitzoff to the town. We walked there in the evening, leaving the carriages at the gates, as did several fashionables, and found inside a place for refreshments, rooms for cards, and a promenade. As we strolled about among the trees and shrubs I asked how long they had been there, and found they were self-planted, and that the garden was an adaptation from nature. Close at hand were blacksmiths’ forges, where they were shoeing horses in a curious manner.⁠[6]

Before leaving our lady friends, their hospitality took a very practical turn, as Siberian hospitality generally does, for they gave us some excellent fresh butter and a jar of marmalade. Both these were of great value, and I was particularly thankful to get the latter. In order to prevent the possibility of being reduced to black bread between Krasnoiarsk and Irkutsk, we ordered to be baked a pile, three feet high, of large, flat, white loaves, with a little butter added to prevent their getting dry; and these lasted us for 600 miles.

I was anxious to open at Krasnoiarsk a depôt or an agency for the sale of the Scriptures, and, with that intent, presented an introduction at the shop of one of the principal tradesmen. We found a large store full of all manner of wares, among which, however, it was difficult to see anything small that was particularly Siberian, though I bought a string of beads, worn round the neck by Russian peasant girls, called a gaitan. Unfortunately the merchant was away, and I could not hear of another house of business suitable for what I wanted. Dr. Peacock, however, seemed to feel so strongly the importance of making the most of an opportunity to get the Scriptures circulated in the neighbourhood that he purchased 250 copies, intending to dispense them far and near. I gave him also a supply of reading matter for his hospital patients.⁠[7]

Having thus spent four agreeable days at the capital of the Yeneseisk province, we left on the evening of the 27th June, with a journey before us of 600 miles to Irkutsk.⁠[8] We met with an early adventure on reaching the opposite bank of the river; for we had omitted to get a special note from the post-master, without which the post-boys, waiting with their horses, would not take us on. Mr. Interpreter, therefore, at a cost of 8s., and not without danger, had to spend half the night in recrossing the river and returning, whilst I “camped out” alone in the tarantass on the river’s bank. I was so stiff and tired, however, with the previous night’s journey to the gold-mine, that I slept soundly till, at early dawn, horses were procured, and we jogged onwards.

We had now entered a land of valleys and hills instead of a country of marshes or plains, and the scenery improved vastly. Not so, however, the roadside fare; for milk was less abundant, and consequently we could not so easily get curds or such diet, nor even milk to drink. But we were so anxious to get forward that we became somewhat impatient of the long time spent in heating the samovar and preparing for a meal. The consequence was that if, on arriving at a station, horses were to be had at once, we did as best we could about food, eating in the tarantass as we went along, and sometimes not having more than one “square meal” a day.

For a time we travelled well. We continued to go up and down hills, some of which we estimated at about 500 feet in height; and though there was usually a sufficiency of horses, yet for the first two stages they failed us. We paid a little more than post fares, and hired private steeds instead. The peasants sometimes took advantage of the occasion, when post-horses failed, to ask double fares; but as this exorbitant demand amounted to only about 2d. a mile for each horse, it seemed better to do this for a stage than to be detained, perhaps for several hours, and then to get tired animals.

Having left Krasnoiarsk late on Friday night, we reached Kansk in good time on Sunday morning, where we spent the rest of the day, considerably fatigued with the combined effect of the recent horse-riding, tarantass driving, and insufficient rest and food. Kansk is the chief town of an okrug, or district, and the residence of an intelligent Ispravnik; and, as it possessed a small prison and hospital, we washed, dressed in our “Sunday best,” and called upon this dignitary to present our letters. He told us, to our surprise, that he had received a telegram the day before from the acting Governor-General of Irkutsk, directing him to help us forward as much as possible; and consequently he had sent east and west to all the stations in his district—a distance of nearly 200 miles—telling them to let us have horses quickly. We were rather at a loss to account for such unexpected kindness, and the more so as the Ispravnik thought the instructions had originally been sent from Petersburg. It served, however, to remind us that we were not lost sight of at head-quarters. The Ispravnik accompanied us to the prison, in which were 146 prisoners in 29 rooms, which had a Sunday look about them. Things were brushed up and “settled,” as a housekeeper would say, and we distributed papers to the prisoners to read. We also gave the Ispravnik some copies of the New Testament and other reading material for the prison, for the town hospital, and for the schools of the neighbourhood; after which he invited us to his house to drink tea.

His wife was a German, which accounted for certain foreign tastes visible about the room, and for some of the pictures. We learned that the Ispravnik holds a similar position in his district or okrug, or circle, that a Governor does in his province,—the pay of an Ispravnik being from £100 to £150 per annum; that of a Governor from £600 to £1,000 per annum; and of a Governor-General about £3,000, the latter two having also furnished houses. The okrug of Kansk was 200 miles in diameter, and had a population of 40,000, with upwards of 900 miles of roads. These were kept in order by 9,000 men, each of whom was responsible for 90 fathoms of way; and it is only fair to say that we found the roads of Yeneseisk the best in Siberia. Nearly all the crime in the district, we were told, is traceable to drink; and that which ended in murder commonly arose from love affairs.⁠[9]

Prisoners of all sorts were allowed to hold correspondence with their friends; but the prison chief, or the Ispravnik, might object to any part of what was written, and send it back to the writer, though even then the latter might appeal to the Governor-General. Letters usually came, we found, by every post, so that the prisoners evidently availed themselves to a considerable extent of their privilege.

After leaving the Ispravnik, we called on the Protopope, or head priest of the place. His house had a superior look about it, and so had the Protopope himself. He gave us a hearty reception, and we asked a few questions concerning his parish. It appeared that he had 2,000 parishioners, living in Kansk and four surrounding villages. He thought about 100 could read, and for these he very readily accepted papers and tracts. He had an elementary boys’ school, which was supported by the community, the scholars paying nothing. I asked about his congregations, and found that from 300 to 400 usually came to church on Sundays, but that on festivals the number rose to 1,000 or 1,500, and of these about 300 or 400 in the course of the year received the Communion.⁠[10]

This chief pastor of the place told us he had often bestowed books on the prisoners, but that the books had disappeared. He gave us some idea of the desire there is for the Scriptures in remote parts of Siberia, by saying that on one occasion he bought 200 New Testaments and took them to Minusinsk, where he sold them in a single day at a rouble each.⁠[11]

In further illustration of the demand for Scriptures in this part of the country, I may mention that, on the way from Tomsk, I made it a practice to go into the post-stations; and whilst my companion was arranging about the horses, I took some pamphlets and Scriptures, and, having nailed up an illustration of the “Prodigal Son,” I next distributed some tracts, saying, as I did so, “darom,” which means “gratis”; and then, showing a New Testament, I said “dvatzat-piat kopeck,” which means 25 kopecks; or I showed a copy of the Gospels, and said “dve-natzat kopeck,” or 12 kopecks. Usually this offer was jumped at; sometimes three or four were bought by one person; and it not unfrequently happened that the first purchaser would run off to tell others of his good fortune, and bid them lose no time in following his example. This was usually done whilst the horses were being changed; but if we stopped for a meal, and it was noised abroad in the village that tracts were being given away, we were taken by storm, and sometimes could hardly eat in peace for the numbers who came to ask for our gifts.

We had barely reached the post-station, after seeing the priest, before he came driving close on our heels for his return visit. He wore the violet velvet hat of a protopope, was dressed in a black silk cassock, with a gold chain and crucifix about his neck, and with a loose white overcoat to protect him from the dust of the road. He cordially wished us success in our work, and asked us to call again on our homeward journey. We then went to the evening service in his church, after which the Ispravnik and his wife came to return our call, bringing with them their son, a boy of 13 years of age, who was to go to a military school at Irkutsk. The father said that he did not like to send him with just any one, but that he should be thankful to be allowed to place the boy under my care, offering at the same time to pay the cost of one horse to Irkutsk, which amounted to 25 roubles.

It is a common thing in Siberian travel, when one person does not wish to occupy the whole of his vehicle, to share the expense with a fellow-passenger. I therefore consented, and stowed the boy away among the tracts and books in the second tarantass, where he seemed happy enough. His joining us was rather a help, for his father gave us an open letter to all the post-masters of his district, requesting them, if there were not a sufficiency of post-horses, to hire some immediately from the peasants. He also added a blanco letter, which enabled us, in case of need, to take those reserved at the post-stations for the use of the Ispravnik or his police. This is called, I believe, “Zemski” post, applying only to Siberia, and the horses of which, when not wanted, are sometimes lent to private travellers.

The combined result of these letters was that we got on famously, and occasionally made 200 versts in the 24 hours. This for summer travelling is good—so good, in fact, that we hardly wished to do better, as it had now become very hot, and the dust of the way rendered the journey very fatiguing.

We were still passing through an undulating country, with delightful weather; on either side of the way grass, and in it grew a large yellow flower, similar in form to our common white garden lily. On passing the frontier from the Yeneseisk to the Irkutsk governments, it soon became apparent that our new roads were not so good as those we had left behind. We crossed many rivers, on the banks of one of which we drove through an extraordinary swarm of white butterflies. The shrubs in the neighbourhood were evidently eaten bare by their larvæ, the imagines, or perfect insects, being assembled in troops on the ground. We were now drawing near a district famous for a small kind of mosquito, the bite of which is very virulent, and is so dreaded by the people that the men working at the roadside protect themselves about the head with horsehair veils. Another place in Siberia famous for these insects is the Barabinsky steppe, where horses persecuted by them sometimes break loose, and do so to certain death. We, however, were not incommoded by them.

On the 1st of July the weather was hotter than we had hitherto experienced it, and very oppressive, though at night it became chilly. The greatest heat registered in the province of Irkutsk in 1877 was during the month of August, when it rose to 90·3, the greatest cold registered being in January, and descending to 40·2 below zero.

On the second day after leaving Kansk we were somewhat hindered by a superabundance of fellow-travellers, with whom it was very pleasant to chat over a cup of tea in the post-house, though matters were not quite so smooth when it was discovered that less than the required number of horses were forthcoming, and the question arose as to who should be first served. At one station we had to stay five hours, yet it is only fair to add that, thanks to our excellent recommendations, this was the longest delay of the kind that fell to our lot. Travellers are sometimes obliged to wait a whole day.

On the evening of the same day, at dusk, we reached Nijni Udinsk, and, as there was a small prison in the place, I was anxious to give a few books to the Ispravnik, and pass on without stopping; the latter, however, was away, so we went to his assistant. After knocking pretty lustily at his door, a servant appeared, who informed us that his master was asleep; and to awaken a man out of sleep is in Russia no venial sin. An Anglo-Russian friend informs me that she has frequently been told, on asking for a servant, that he was asleep, and could not be waked, because a sleeping man’s soul is before his God! We told this servant, however, that we had a letter from Petersburg; and before we left the town a messenger came to the post-house, giving me the particulars I desired, and took back a sufficiency of books for the 98 prisoners under detention.

We then started off about midnight, and on the afternoon of the following day reached a station called Telma, which in previous years has been famous as possessing a factory in which cloth, paper, glass, and soap were made, besides which they produced rough linen woven from Yeneseisk hemp, and dark unbleached cloth, spun from the wool of the Buriat sheep. The peasants generally make a rough cloth of this last material. Manufactures do not flourish in Siberia, as the raw material is grown at enormous distances from the establishments, and, when manufactured, must often be taken enormous distances to be sold; so it is found cheaper to buy the goods imported from other countries. A suit of tweed clothes costs, I heard, £6 at Krasnoiarsk, and on the Amur I met with a gentleman ordering his clothes from Petersburg, and having them sent by post to Blagovestchensk, a distance of 5,000 miles. The factory at Telma is still standing, and is not absolutely idle, but I gathered that it is not in a flourishing condition.⁠[12]

We were now only about 50 versts from Irkutsk, which, under ordinary circumstances, we ought to have reached late the same night. Another project had, however, entered into my mind. About 70 versts north of Irkutsk is the largest prison in Eastern Siberia, called the Alexandreffsky Central Prison, the normal way of visiting which would have been for us to proceed to Irkutsk, present our letters, and so drive out and return, making a journey of 90 miles. Hearing at Telma that we could reach the place from thence in two hours by going across country, spend two hours inspecting the prison, and another two hours in returning to Telma, I calculated we should get back to the main road about midnight, and so reach Irkutsk on Saturday afternoon, and be ready for a quiet Sunday. The first difficulty in the way was that the law permitted no post-horses to be employed off the high-roads; but, thanks to the obliging post-master at Telma, this obstacle was overcome by his providing others, and I determined accordingly to try and save time by taking the prison on my way. How much was involved in that decision I little thought at the moment, but it proved afterwards highly important.

The first object of interest we passed was a large salt-factory, which, like that at Telma, had in years gone by been worked by convicts under the management of the State. This kind of labour is no longer enforced there, and free workmen are employed instead. These were the only salt-works we heard of in Siberia, but we were told of some about 40 miles from Orenburg, in the Urals. Leaving the factory behind, we struck off through the woods, and were enjoying the drive thoroughly when it occurred to our yemstchik that he had taken the wrong direction. Accordingly, he went a long way back, but had to retrace his steps. This caused considerable delay, as did the crossing of the river Angara. At length, through a forest of pine, we reached the summit of a hill, and were able to take in at a glance the surroundings of the large prison, which we reached at dusk. On the road we met some Polish ladies, wives of officials, to whom I explained in French our object in coming. The Director, however, was gone to Irkutsk, and his deputy said it was too late that night, but that we might inspect the prison as early as we chose in the morning. I therefore named the hour of seven, and went to the post-house to sleep.

The keepers of the post-house in this out-of-the-way place appeared somewhat perturbed at the arrival of visitors who wished to spend the night under their roof. However, in this matter Siberian post-masters have no choice, for they are bound to find accommodation for travellers, and may not charge them for it; their profits are the small sums paid for the use of the samovar, and for such refreshments as may be provided. Our quarters were better and more comfortable than usual, as also was our supper, and we lay down for a quiet night. Early in the morning the officer in charge of the prison came to say that when he had made us the promise on the previous evening he had intended to telegraph to Irkutsk for permission, but that there was a fire in Irkutsk, and telegraphic communication was stopped. He must therefore ask us to wait until the return of the chief, who was expected hourly. Accordingly, on his arrival we were conducted to the house of the Director; and though he had been travelling all night he received us at once, accorded us a hearty reception, and introduced us to his wife and friends. He was a Pole—by name Pavolo Schwekofsky—and his house was elegantly furnished, all his servants, however, being convicts. There was an appearance of comfort, not to say of luxury, about the place; and he had in a side room a turning-lathe and English tools. To this we called attention. “Ah, yes,” said he, “we could not do without the English.” And then, after drinking a glass of tea, we started to see the prison.