Through Siberia

Leaving Irkutsk.—The Angara.—Approach to the Baikal.—Its shores and fish.—Steaming across.—Seizing post-horses.—Arrival at Verchne Udinsk.—Smuggling at the prison.—Arrival at Selenginsk.—English mission to Buriats.—English graves.—Old scholars.—Story of the mission.—Journey to Troitzkosavsk.

We left Irkutsk on Thursday, July 10th, after a stay that could hardly be called enjoyable, though amid the confusion we met with much more consideration than could have been expected. For the first night we slept, as already stated, in our tarantass, and I took my morning bath in the pantry. What a treat, too, was that bath, deliciously cold from the Angara, to a man who had not taken his clothes off for more than a week! During our stay we made the acquaintance of several officers, of whom there is no lack at Irkutsk, as there are usually in barracks about 2,000 troops. It was very difficult to procure provisions. On sending out on the morning of our departure, all the white bread that could be found was one penny loaf, and that somewhat stale. It seemed, therefore, that I should have to come down to rye bread; but some pancakes were made for me, the difficulty was thus surmounted, and by two o’clock we had fairly begun our 300 miles to Kiakhta. Our baggage and remaining books were still too heavy to be taken on the same vehicle, and we therefore stowed away ourselves and our personal effects in the tarantass, and the boxes followed in a post-conveyance, out of which they were changed at every station. We wished to make only 40 miles before night, to Lake Baikal, and then wait till morning at Listvenitznaya for the steamer.

We had not proceeded far before we drove along the banks of the Angara, which is, in some respects, the most remarkable river in Siberia. There are scores of streams and rivulets running into Lake Baikal, of which the more important are the Upper Angara, the Barguzin, and the Selenga; but the Angara is the only one that runs out, and it does so with such impetuosity that the rapid by which the water leaves the lake never freezes even with the temperature of the air at 24° below zero; and though the ice is six feet thick on the lake, yet, all the winter through, ducks float on the bosom of the rapid. I have heard it suggested that there may be hot-springs just there; but whether this is so or not, the waters of the lake and the Angara are particularly cold.⁠[1]

Shortly after leaving Irkutsk the road enters a wooded part of the Angara valley, and as the road winds along it, many points are passed presenting magnificent views. In some parts enormous sandstone cliffs arise out of the water, crowned with dark pines and cedars; in others the thick forest descends to the river’s brink, and the broad sheet of water is seen rushing madly onwards. Afterwards the valley becomes more rugged, with deep ravines running up into the mountains. Beyond this the road has been cut along the edge of a cliff at a considerable height above the river, and, about five miles before reaching the Baikal, a scene is presented that may well cause the traveller to stop. The valley becomes wider, and the mountains rise abruptly to a much greater elevation. The Angara is here more than a mile in width, and this great body of water is seen rolling down a steep incline, forming a rapid nearly four miles in length. At the head of this, and in the centre of the stream, a great mass of rock rises, called the Shaman Kamen, or “Priest,” or “spirit’s stone,” held sacred by the followers of Shamanism, and not to be passed by them without an act of devotion. When Shamanism prevailed in this neighbourhood, human sacrifices were made at the sacred rock, the victim with his hands tied being tossed into the torrent below. Beyond is the broad expanse of the Baikal, extending about 50 miles, to where its waves wash the foot of Amar Daban, whose summit, even in June, is usually covered with snow. The mighty torrent throwing up its jets of spray, the rugged rocks with their fringes of pendent birch overtopped by lofty pines, and the colouring on the mountains, produce a picture of extraordinary beauty and grandeur. A few miles further, and the Baikal is seen spreading out like a sea, and its waves are heard beating on the rocky shore.

The storms on the lake are very severe. They say, at Irkutsk, it is only upon the Baikal in the autumn that a man learns to pray from his heart. The most dangerous wind is the north-west. It is called the mountain wind, whilst that from the south-west is called the “deep sea-breeze.” Formerly, in crossing, it was no uncommon occurrence for a boat or barge to be detained three weeks on a voyage of 40 miles, without being able to land on either shore. This induced an enterprising merchant to have a hull built on the lake, and engines, boiler, and machinery brought 4,000 miles overland from Petersburg; and when the new vessel steamed across in a gale, both Siberians and Mongols looked on with not a little astonishment.⁠[2]

The fish of the Baikal are abundant, and are caught in variety, such as the omullé, somewhat like the herring; the suig, which resembles but is smaller than the sturgeon; the askina, the pike, the carp, the lavaret, and a white fish called the tymain. Travellers also tell of a remarkable fish called the golomain, which is only seen when thrown on shore during a violent tempest, and is of so oily a nature that it melts in the sun, or on the approach of heat, leaving only its skeleton and skin. It is a remarkable fact also that the seal of the ocean is found in the lake. About 2,000 are killed yearly.

The natives call the lake Svyatoe More, the “Holy Sea,” and aver that no one was ever lost in its waters; for when a person is drowned therein, the waves invariably throw his body on shore. It must be a pleasant sensation to cross this lake in winter. The ice is as clear, transparent, and as smooth as glass, so that travellers describe the difficulty of realizing that they are not gliding on water. The journey across is made in a remarkably short time. Mr. Erman travelled thus 7 German miles (or 27 English) in 2¼ hours, which for horse travelling must be allowed to be extraordinary. Formerly there was a winter station on the ice, half-way across, for changing horses; but as the ice on one occasion gave way, and allowed the whole concern to disappear, they now cross the lake at a single stage. There is a road round the south end of the lake, but in summer the crossing by steamer is usually preferred.

We reached the station about six or eight hours after leaving Irkutsk, and, passing the night at a rough hotel, next morning got our tarantass on board, among half-a-dozen others, and steamed across. The steamer was called the General Korsakoff. It made a loud grunting, and out of its tall chimney emitted a cloud of sparks like the tail of a comet. I went below to see the engines, and found them of the most primitive kind—a huge boiler simply laid in a wooden hull. I offered for sale on board some of my books, and gave others away. This soon got me friends, and the engineer honoured me by playing a tune on his concertina. I went also into the captain’s cabin, and he was glad to buy some New Testaments. It was so chilly, however, on deck that I put on my ulster, and stowed myself away in the tarantass; after doing which, on the 11th of July, it was not difficult to believe what I had heard, that pigeons flying across the lake in winter sometimes drop dead from cold.

As we drew near to the shore, we had the enjoyment of a mild piece of something like revenge. I have already observed that the traveller who has a crown podorojna takes precedence; but if two travellers come to a station, both having crown podorojnas, he who arrives first takes the horses. Moreover, “the rule of the road” is that one set of post-horses must not outstrip one that has started before; which rule, however, an extra tip to the yemstchik will sometimes evade. Now, as we came towards Irkutsk, we had been outstripped by a military officer travelling with his wife, who took the fresh horses we should have had; so that, when we arrived, it was feared we should be without. Whereupon the officer’s wife, addressing me in French, asked half-triumphantly, and half in a mischievous joke, whether I did not find myself “without horses”? She happened, however, to be wrong. We obtained horses, and, at night, overtook our friends, broken down, with their tarantass undergoing repairs at another station. We therefore got ahead, till, on the Baikal, they overtook us again. We saw at a glance that there would be a rush for horses, and, therefore, immediately the boat touched, I sprang ashore, presented to the post-master my podorojna, and secured my team; whereas the officer, not knowing that I had more than an ordinary civilian’s paper, or relying, perhaps, upon the power of his crown podorojna, was not so quick, and failed to get his steeds; and as we rolled away we heard him storming at the post-master for allowing us to have them before he had been served.

We drove for some distance on an elevated plateau beside the eastern shore of the lake, from which we got many good views of its waters, and where we observed at the roadside red Turk’s-head lilies, similar to but smaller than those seen in English gardens, and yellow lilies. There were likewise in the neighbourhood abundance of strawberries, raspberries, and whortleberries. Among the trees were cedars up to 120 feet in height; also the balsam poplar, which here attains a growth sufficiently large to allow the natives of the coast to make their canoes of a single log; likewise the cherry-tree and the Siberian apple. A black and white jackdaw, as my companion called it, made its appearance; and the birds of prey appeared more numerous, as they well might be in the vicinity of a larger animal population; for in these Baikal forests are found martens, squirrels, foxes, wolves, the lynx, the elk, the wild boar, and the bear—the last feeding on berries in summer, and on cedar-nuts raked up from beneath the snow in winter.

Having taken the lead on the road from the Baikal, we were anxious to keep it, though things looked threatening on arriving at the first station, where the post-master said there were no horses. We brought our crown podorojna to bear, and then the letter of the Minister at Petersburg, but to no purpose. There were no post-horses, he said, though there was a man standing near who would lend us private horses at double fares. To this we should have had to agree, but we pulled out lastly our blanco letter, and this gained the day; for the post-master, on seeing that, said to the would-be extortioner, “You must let them have the horses”; and so on we trotted through a country more hilly than anything we had passed, till at six o’clock we arrived at Verchne Udinsk. This place might very well be called “the Amur and China Junction,” for to turn to the left brings the traveller to the Pacific, and to turn to the right leads to Peking.

It was now Saturday afternoon, and we were anxious to get on, if possible, a few stations further, to Selenginsk, which was the scene of the labours of some English missionaries, and there to spend the Sunday to inquire about their work. The old difficulty of horses, however, cropped up, for they could let us have none on the instant, and every one was on tiptoe expecting the passing through of the Governor-General, Baron Friedrichs. I have already mentioned that his Excellency was at some mineral springs on the Mongolian frontier, and, having heard of the fire at Irkutsk, he was now returning. Everything, therefore, had to be in readiness. The post-house was swept and garnished, and we were requested not to go into the large guest-room, where the tables and chairs were arranged for his Excellency’s visit. Horses, however, were promised quickly as a favour, and meanwhile we strolled into the town.

Verchne—that is, Upper—Udinsk is the capital of an uyezd, and has a population of 3,500. It is a clean little town, and, upon entering the market square, it was easy to see that we were approaching the borders of the Celestial Empire—for here was John Chinaman, with open shop, standing behind the counter selling tea. We found also, to our great satisfaction, a baker’s shop, where was not only white bread, but all manner of bake-meats, of which we proceeded to make havoc then and there. The white bread was 75 per cent. dearer than at Tobolsk, but I was only too thankful to get a store at any price, my pancakes being all but gone. For lemonade they asked 6s. a bottle, or 6d. a glass. It was like watered lemon syrup. Fresh butter cost a rouble a pound, and was obtained with difficulty.

There is a prison in Verchne Udinsk, which we passed at the side of the road, and the prisoners were looking from the windows. Here had recently occurred an incident illustrative of Goryantchikoff’s statement, in his “Buried Alive,” that some of his fellow-prisoners were spirit-dealers, and frequently smuggled liquor into the prison in the entrails of cows or oxen. For this purpose the entrails were washed and filled with water, to keep them damp and ready to receive the liquor. When filled, they were wound by the smuggler round his body and thighs, and so brought into the prison. On the afternoon of our arrival, a drunken woman had been detected thus carrying in vodka. We did not visit the building, but left with the Ispravnik half-a-dozen New Testaments, and the same number or Gospels for Tatars, and of Scripture portions in Mongolian. The present was not unappreciated, for the Ispravnik, learning that I was going to the far east, gave me an introduction to his son-in-law at Blagovestchensk, which afterwards proved useful.

At last we started, and trotted on through the night to Selenginsk, and spent there the remainder of the following day. We called on the Ispravnik, who, with his wife, received us politely; and the latter, finding that we had good books to dispose of, wished to purchase some, which I allowed her to do to the value of three roubles. We also asked the Ispravnik’s acceptance of some portions of Scripture in Mongolian for distribution among the surrounding Buriats. Then conversation followed about the English mission, of which Selenginsk was for 13 years the head-quarters, but ceased to be so about 40 years ago.

The Ispravnik had nothing to say of the missionaries but what was good and kind,—a repetition of what I had heard elsewhere. A house, he told us, was still standing on the spot where the missionaries lived, and he furnished us with the names of persons who could give us further information. We went, therefore, direct to the site of the mission station, where we found some out-buildings, very much like those of an English farmyard, and strongly suggestive of home. There was also a nice house, which had been built near the spot on which formerly stood the one inhabited by the Englishmen. The garden remained, and in it we were taken to a walled enclosure—a little graveyard—in which were five graves: those of Mrs. Yule, Mrs. Stallybrass, and three children. The place had been recently renovated, at the expense of a missionary in China, and we were pleased to see the resting-place of our compatriots looking so neat and orderly. The garden commanded a pretty view of the valley of the Selenga, and there was pointed out across the river the site on which the town stood in the early part of the century, till, being destroyed by fire, it was rebuilt on the opposite side. The lady who occupied the house told us that now and then a traveller turns aside to see the spot, and that the ignorant people say that the English people come out of their graves at night—a report she is at no pains to contradict, on the plea that, as the house is in a lonely position, the idea may conduce to protect her from thieves.

After having been shown what there was of interest about the place, we called on an old man—a Russian—named Ivlampi Melnikoff, who, in his boyhood, had attended the mission school. When he heard that one of the missionaries, Mr. Stallybrass, was still living, and that I had seen him just before leaving England, he seemed much pleased, and spoke with affection of his teachers. He had not opened a book for 40 years, and so had forgotten how to read, but he remembered, and inquired particularly for, some of the missionaries’ sons, and sent to them his respects. The old man had lost sight of his Buriat schoolfellows, and thought that not one of them became a Christian, though he afterwards remembered that one was baptized into the Russian Church. Besides this old Russian we saw the nephew of one who had been a pupil in the school, and heard of an old man living some 35 versts distant, still a Buriat, who, as a boy, had been a scholar. We had the same testimony from both witnesses, that has been repeated by several travellers, that the missionaries did not baptize a single convert. None of them, however, said what I did not know until I returned to England, and spoke to Mr. Stallybrass upon the subject, namely, that the missionaries were under agreement with the Russian Government not to baptize any converts.⁠[3]

We continued our journey from Selenginsk for twelve hours more, through a country which gave me my first experience of a Russian steppe, a tract of undulating land with a sandy soil, covered with a little grass and a reedy-looking herb, but suffering from a lack of humidity, as the tundra suffers from lack of warmth. Trees were visible only here and there, but water was abundant, sometimes in large lakes; so that the hilly roads, the expanse of water, and the treeless waste, reminded me sometimes of the scenery of our Wiltshire downs, and, in one or two places, of the English lakes. As we approached our destination the road became more and more sandy, and very heavy for the horses; but at last, on Monday, the 14th July, we reached Kiakhta.