Through Siberia

Formation of the Amur.—Chinese boundary.—Our steamer.—Captain and passengers.—Natives of Upper Amur.—Orochons.—Manyargs.—Their hunting year.—Our journey.—Run aground.—Table provisions.—Scenery.—Albazin.—Cliff of Tsagayan.

We glided into the Amur about sunset on the 30th July, when, happening to come on deck, I found the passengers gazing over the stern of the vessel. Before us were the two rivers of which the Amur is formed. To the right was the defile of the Shilka, to the left the Argun; and between the streams the mountains narrowed, and came to a point a mile above the meeting of the waters. On the tongue of land below was the Russian village and Cossack post of Ust-Strelka. The soft light of evening threw a charm over the well-wooded landscape. We had, moreover, reached at last a point out of range of the ubiquitous English traveller, and to which even comparatively few Russians make their way from Europe. The Shilka we had travelled, and it was given to us to peep a little way up the Argun, and remember that in its valley the great Genghis Khan fought some of his early battles, and from hence started to subdue China, and begin that wonderful career of Mongol conquest that extended to Central Europe.

Looking to the north-east and down stream, the view was exceedingly pretty. On the right, heavily-wooded mountains abut upon the river for two miles, while on the left is a strip of bottom-land backed by gentle slopes. To the front we see the river sparkling in the sun, and rejoicing in its new and beautiful birth.

We were now fairly launched upon a river which, including its numerous tributaries, is said to drain a territory of 766,000 square miles—an area as large, that is, as any three countries of Europe except Russia. The length of the stream from this point to the sea is 1,780 miles, with a fall of 2,000 feet; but if the Argun be regarded as the main stream, then the total length of the Amur is 3,066 miles, with a fall of 6,000 feet. It will be best, I think, to treat of so huge a river in sections, seeing it passes through such varieties of climate and population. The first section, extending from Ust-Strelka to Blagovestchensk, at the mouth of the Zeya, we will call the Upper Amur; from Blagovestchensk to Khabarofka, at the mouth of the Ussuri, the Middle Amur; and from Khabarofka to the Pacific at Nikolaefsk, the Lower Amur. The Russians have made a fine atlas, in 46 sheets, of the river below the confluence of the Shilka and Argun.

Up to the point we had now reached, Russian territory lay on both sides. Henceforth to Khabarofka we were to have Chinese soil on the right. The boundary then descends along the bank of the Ussuri, and continues in a tolerably straight line southwards through Lake Khanka to the Bay of Peter the Great, in the Sea of Japan. My intention was, therefore, roughly speaking, to keep along this boundary, and embark for Yokohama.

But I have said nothing as yet of the steamer in which the first part of my journey was to be accomplished, namely, from Kara to Khabarofka, a distance of 1,270 miles. It was a paddle-boat called the Zeya. As I walked on board at Ust-Kara, Captain Paskevitch met me, told me in French that my cabin was not quite ready, and asked me to occupy meanwhile his room on deck. He had heard of my mission from Colonel Merkasin, at Stretinsk, and had most kindly set apart for me, on a full steamer, a first-class cabin intended for two persons. This he reserved so tenaciously as to refuse a first-class place to a passenger rather than cause inconvenience by giving me a companion, though I was asked to pay only a single fare.

As compared with the steamer on which I traversed the Obi, the Zeya was small, and it was not new. There were first and second-class cabins fore and aft, but third-class passengers lived on deck. All three grades were well represented. Among the first-class passengers was M. Kokcharoff, a Government officer connected with the gold-mines, whom we had met at Nertchinsk at dinner, and who was the father of one of the young officers we saw at Irkutsk. There were also an officer and his wife whom we had seen on the road at Verchne Udinsk. Among the second-class passengers were several naval and military officers, proceeding to their stations on the Pacific, and with them the lady and gentleman of whom we got the start with the horses from the Baikal. Several of the ladies spoke French, and a naval captain, Baron de Fitingoff, spoke a little English also. Thus I needed not to be silent, and soon found myself at home.

It speedily became manifest that our captain was a man of determination, and that he had a rough-and-ready way of enforcing his orders. The cook, an oily-looking man, had smuggled vodka on board, and made himself so far drunk as to spoil the passengers’ dinner; whereupon the captain seized him and tied him to the capstan. He had not been there long, however, before the capstan was required for some one else. The ship had got into difficulties, the number of the crew being insufficient for the occasion; and the captain ordered a man-of-war’s-man, travelling as a third-class passenger, to lend a hand. He did not choose to do so, whereupon the captain collared him, and, having released the cook, bound him to the capstan. Our chief, I found, was only a young man—less than 25—and had served for a time in the Imperial navy. He had fallen in love, and wished to marry before the age allowed in the service. Just then the Amur Company made him a good offer to take charge of one of their vessels, and he had thus left the Government service, and accepted a stipend which enabled him to forsake a bachelor’s life. He thought, however, that in giving up the navy he had made a mistake, and sent his papers by some of our passengers to be presented to the Governor at Vladivostock, asking to return.

As we proceeded we found the population on the Chinese bank was exceedingly small, and but few houses appeared on the Russian side. The natives of the Upper and Middle Amur belong, all of them, to the Tungusian stock, though they differ somewhat among themselves, according to the manner of life they pursue, and their nearness or otherwise to Chinese influence. Thus, on the Upper Amur, on the Russian territory, are the Orochons, or reindeer Tunguses; whilst further east, north of the Middle Amur, are their brethren the Manyargs, or horse Tunguses. On the southern bank of the Upper Amur are the Daurians, who to some extent cultivate the soil; whilst further east, and to the south of the Middle Amur, is the region of the Manchu, the most civilized of all the Tunguse tribes. This division is somewhat arbitrary, and does not notice subdivisions of some of the tribes; but it may suffice for the present to indicate their territories, and we can enter into further particulars as we approach their respective localities.

The Orochons numbered, in 1856, 206 individuals of both sexes, roving over an area of 28,000 square miles—a country, that is, as large as Bavaria or the island of Sardinia. They originally lived in the province of Yakutsk, whence they emigrated to the banks of the Amur in 1825, and occupied a part of the territory of the Manyargs, whom they compelled to withdraw farther down the river.⁠[1]

The Manyargs occupy the north bank of the Middle Amur below the Orochons, but in summer they ascend the river for the purpose of fishing. As the needs of the reindeer drive the Orochons to the moss tracts of the mountains, so the needs of the horses send the Manyargs to the grassy valleys of the Zeya, and to the prairie region eastwards to the Bureya mountains.

Apart, however, from their differences as to habitation, and the domestic animals they use (the Orochons keeping deer and the Manyargs horses), we may speak of the Orochons and Manyargs together. In appearance they are rather small, and of a spare build. Their arms and legs are thin, the face flat, but the nose, in many instances, is large and pointed. The cheeks are broad, the mouth large, the eyes small and sleepy-looking. The hair is black and smooth, the beard short, and the eyebrows very thin. Old men allow the beard and moustache to grow, but carefully pull out the whiskers. They cut the hair short on the forehead and temples, and plait it behind into a tail, ornamented with ribbons and leather straps. This fashion was no doubt copied from the Manchu, but since they have come under Russian influence it has gradually waned. In the case of the women the hair is parted down the middle, the plaits are worn round the head, and fastened with ribbons above the forehead. During summer the women wear a conical hat made of cotton, somewhat like an extinguisher. Unmarried girls are recognized by their head-band, embroidered with beads.

The Orochons and Manyargs lead a wandering life. In spring and summer they live on the banks of the river to fish; in autumn they retire to the interior to hunt. In these migrations the deer or the horses carry the scanty property of their owners. The horses are small but strong, of great endurance, and find food in winter by scraping away the snow with their feet.

Wild animals in the region of the Upper and Middle Amur are numerous. The Orochons disperse in small parties to hunt them, returning from time to time to their yourts.⁠[2] They hunt squirrels, sables, reindeer, elks, foxes, and sometimes bears. Squirrels they find in great numbers. A good sportsman may kill 1,000 in a season, and 500 is an average bag.⁠[3] In December they take their furs to the localities fixed upon for paying the yassak, or tax, where also they barter with merchants assembled for that purpose. Each male between the ages of 15 and 50 pays annually two silver roubles, or their equivalent in furs. No other taxes are levied upon them, and this brings in to the Government an enormous quantity of skins.

My journey on the Upper Amur, or, more accurately, from Ust-Kara to Blagovestchensk, occupied eight days. The distance was 700 miles, and the first-class fare three guineas. Under ordinary circumstances, however, the time ought not to have been so long, but there was less water in the river, the captain said, than he had ever known before. It was by reason of this that the boat had run aground at Shilkinsk on the Sunday I was to have started, and on Monday evening a sister-boat, the Ingoda, having done the same, and knocked three holes in her hull, the Zeya had stayed alongside to render assistance. This caused the loss to us of the whole of Tuesday. Both boats belonged to the same company, and it was an act of policy, as well as kindness, that the damaged boat should not be left in so lonely a region, whilst a further reason for submitting to the delay, and keeping the boats together, was that our own vessel might run aground and so need assistance from the Ingoda.

I was curious to hear from the captain what was the thickness of iron on the Zeya, and what distance we should have to sink, supposing we went to the bottom. The iron, I learned, was three-sixteenths of an inch thick, which was somewhat alarming, but it was a comfort to know that the water in some parts of the river was not much more than 30 inches deep. Our steamer drew only two feet and a half, consequently we were often gliding along within a few inches of the ground. One of the crew was placed in the bow of the boat, holding a measuring rod, with the feet marked in black and white, and secured to a string. This in shallow places he constantly threw, as if harpooning fish, and then noticing the depth when it struck the bottom, he called out in a sing-song fashion, “Chetiri-s’polovenoi! chetiri! tri-s’polovenoi! tri!”—four-and-a-half! four! three-and-a-half! three! and so on; the speed of the vessel being slackened when the small numbers were called.

After reaching the Amur on Wednesday, we travelled safely for that evening and on Thursday, but on Friday morning, coming to a turn in the channel, the boat ran aground on a bank, with her whole length turned sideways to the current—going at the rate of about four miles an hour. The shallowness of the stream now became apparent, for when the men jumped overboard the water rose hardly up to their waists.⁠[4] Every effort was made to float the craft with anchors and levers, and digging away the beach, until, as evening came on and brought no success, we hoped the Ingoda would overtake us and return the compliment of rendering assistance, especially as we had once put back to look after her welfare. The Ingoda did come, but was not powerful enough to get us off, and we had therefore to lie aground till Saturday morning. The greater part of the passengers were then shifted from the Zeya to the Ingoda, and there they were compelled to remain from breakfast-time till evening, and that, too, with very little food, for the Ingoda was not carrying passengers, and so was not provisioned. Whilst this shifting was going on, I was in my cabin writing, and so had not to change. Meanwhile the sailors had hard work, for they were in the water nearly all day. About two o’clock, however, the Zeya was once more afloat, after which it took three or four hours to get up the anchors, and then, for the rest of our journey, we had no lack of water. The boat did not usually travel at night.

These delays had put a considerable strain on the resources of our cook, whose arrangements were not of a high order. I had rather anticipated this; and, having become so accustomed to see Russians travelling with their own provisions, had prepared accordingly. Some loaves of white bread had been brought for me by the ship from Stretinsk, and fresh butter; besides which, Colonel Kononovitch, as already stated, had loaded me with good things, and I had not parted with my provision basket and its cooking apparatus.⁠[5]

They had different arrangements on the Amur from those we had on the Obi. The steward undertook to provide every one with four meals a day. The first was tea and bread on getting up. Next, about 11 a.m., came “déjeuner à la fourchette,” consisting of two courses. At five o’clock came bread and tea again, and dinner, of three or four courses, followed at seven. The provisions were decidedly inferior to those of the Obi, but acquaintance with certain Russian dishes was thereby forced upon me, which I might otherwise not have known. One of them was “gretchnevaya kasha,” or buckwheat gruel, with melted butter like oil poured over it. I imagined it might be given us as a last resource, all other provisions having failed; but the passengers seemed to think it good though humble fare, and said it was what they provide largely for the soldiers. It is a daily dish, I am told, among peasants and servants in Russia. Further on we bought and slaughtered an ox. And as we approached Blagovestchensk, our table improved to clear soup, with minced patties, meat from the joint, and stewed fruit.

The service, too, was inferior to that on the Obi, for on the Amur the steward was represented by a couple of boys, not too tidily dressed, and with rough heads, who knew more of play than of waiting. It should be added, however, that the price charged for the four meals a day was not exorbitant, namely, three shillings; and after having the samovar frequently into my own cabin, and other extras, though to a considerable extent providing myself, my steward’s bill for the eight days came only to 17 shillings.

We were highly favoured in the weather, which, with the exception of one day, was fine, and added much to the enjoyment of the journey. Between Stretinsk and Blagovestchensk were 42 stations. Many of them were named after the Russian officers who took part in the annexation of the country, such as Orloff, Beketoff, Korsakoff, etc.

At Ust-Strelka the river is 1,100 yards wide, and sometimes 10 feet deep. At Albazin, 160 miles lower, it contracts to 500 yards, but increases to 20 feet in depth. After leaving the Shilka, the scenery of the Amur at first deteriorated. Soon, however, the river stretched across the valley, and the banks rose in precipitous cliffs, or steep rocky slopes. Many brooks entered the stream on both banks. When rain falls on the mountains, the river rises sometimes 12 feet and more in the course of a few days, the greatest rise being 24 feet. Our captain of the Zeya was hoping that the Thursday’s rain would thus aid him in getting out of the shallows. Five streams join the Amur on the Russian side, between Ust-Strelka and Albazin, of which the Amazar is the first and most considerable. At their mouths are small alluvial plains overgrown with grass, sometimes 18 inches high, though on higher spots in this district the herbage is not luxuriant.

Below the Amazar the banks were alternately rocky bluffs and wooded bottoms, the river sweeping along in great picturesque bends. At Sverbeef the river increases in breadth. The mountains are not so high, and sandbanks are frequent. These appear at low water as islands. The forests are thin, and there is little underwood. On the mountains larch and firs prevail. In the valleys the white birch predominates, with bird-cherry and aspen. The trees, however, are small; and among them, further on, are apple-trees with tiny fruit, willows, and the hoar-leaved alder.⁠[6]

On the rocky mountain slopes are the service-tree, alder, aspen, poplar, and hawthorn, together with the Daurian rhododendron. On loose soil Indian wormwood frequently covers a whole mountain slope.

As we approached Albazin the mountains retired, and below them were extensive prairies, affording excellent pasturage. Opposite the town, on the Chinese bank, the Albazikha, or Emuri, falls into the Amur behind a large island, with an area of several thousand acres. Oaks and black birch now begin to take the place of the larch, and at the foot of the mountains are seen elms, ashes, hazels, willows, the Daurian buckthorn, wild roses, and bird-cherries—the last sometimes reaching to a height of 50 feet.

Albazin is the most important of the towns we passed between Ust-Strelka and Blagovestchensk. It is finely situated on a plateau 50 feet high, and extends some distance backwards to the mountains. We arrived there early on Friday morning, August 1st. Albazin was important to the early adventurers, by reason of the fine sables taken in its vicinity.⁠[7]

The Albazin sable is said to be the best on the Amur, that of the Bureya Mountains next, and, thirdly, that of Blagovestchensk; but none of them are so good as those obtained further north.

I was much struck, below the town, with the brilliant red of the sandstone cliffs. On the right bank the mountains approach again close to the river; but on the left the plain continues for 70 miles, ending in a rock or promontory, called Malaya Nadejda, or Little Hope. This lofty mass of rock projects into the river in the shape of a semicircular tower. After passing the station Tolbuzin, 240 miles from Ust-Strelka, the river takes a more southerly direction, and lower down has numerous islands. These are covered with poplar, ash, and willow; and among the flowers are seen the rhododendron, the lily of the valley, pink, primrose, violet, white poppy, forget-me-not, and white pæony; also garlic, chickweed, asparagus, cinquefoil, and thyme.

A few miles lower is a remarkably steep sandstone cliff, of yellowish grey colour, bounding one of the reaches of the river for a distance of three miles. It is called Tsagayan, and is 302 miles from Ust-Strelka. It is about 250 feet high, and has in it two seams of coal, of which there is said to be plenty on the Amur, though it has not been worked, I believe, owing to the abundance of wood. The natives look upon Tsagayan as the abode of evil spirits. At its foot are found agates, carnelians, and chalcedonies.

Beyond the Tsagayan the valleys descending to the river are wider, the steep mountains recede, and the meadows are richer in grass. Small groves of poplars, elms, ashes, and wild apples alternate with bushes of red-berried elder, sand willows, self-heal, and wild briar. At the station Kazakevich, however, the mountains approach the river, and a dark granite rock, 300 feet high, overhangs the water. Eight miles south is the rock Korsakoff, a promontory of semicircular shape; and 40 miles more bring the traveller to the mouth of the Komar, which is the second considerable stream flowing into the Amur from the right bank after leaving Albazin, the other being the Panza. The course of the Amur here becomes very tortuous, and, about 50 miles below, the Komar almost describes a circle, leaving but a neck of land half a mile in width. The Komar is the greatest affluent of the Upper Amur from the Chinese side. It is a little short of 600 miles in length, more than one-half of which is navigable. The upper part of the valley is populated by Daurians.

Travelling thus amidst beautiful scenery, we reached Blagovestchensk on the eighth day, being now 560 miles from Ust-Strelka, and the width of the river having considerably increased. Here, however, we may leave the water for awhile, for the steamer stayed a whole day, and thus gave me the opportunity of spending some hours ashore.