About four o’clock a glittering speck on the horizon attracted our attention, which an hour later proved to be the spire of Kiakhta Cathedral. By six o’clock we were full in sight of the town of Maimachin, the Chinese settlement, its pagodas and quaint architecture standing out in striking contrast to the Russian cathedral, with its golden dome, the European stone-built houses, and regular streets and squares of Kiakhta. Skirting the wooden walls surrounding Maimachin, we find ourselves on a broad, level piece of ground about six hundred yards broad, with, on the right hand, a guard-house and high wooden gates, surmounted by the Imperial Eagle, while to our left the Chinese flag, hoisted on to a long red pole, floats in front of the governor of Maimachin’s residence. We are standing on neutral ground, and in another minute have passed the Cossack, who from the depths of a black and white sentry-box, eyes the caravan with a stolid, indifferent expression, but, curious to relate, does not ask for our passports. The first stage of our journey is over. We are in the Russian Empire.
CHAPTER VII.
KIAKHTA TO IRKOUTSK.
A square, whitewashed room, its walls and uncarpeted floor reeking with filth, and devoid of all furniture save a table and two hard, straight-backed chairs, and an overpowering smell of sewage from a cesspool beneath the open window, through which a crowd of shock-headed Siberian boys watch our every movement. An old man, in greasy rags and redolent of garlic, who resolutely refuses to allow us to enter even this fetid den unless the lodging-money is prepaid. No bed, no food, no drink, no washing appliances——such were the comforts awaiting us at the “Hotel Glembodski,” Kiakhta, the only inn in the place.
It was disappointing, to say the least of it. We had passed well-built, luxurious-looking houses on our way through the town, and expected to find, at any rate, the bare necessaries of life. Nay, more; when we saw the almost palatial houses of the tea-merchants surrounded by gardens and conservatories, neat, well-kept public gardens, smart carriages of every description, and men and women dressed in the latest European fashion, visions entered the mind of a really well-cooked dinner, washed down with iced champagne; but, alas! not for long. Ice there was, certainly, but we drank it in “quass;” while for food we had to fall back on our own stale provisions.
“Can we have anything to eat?” was our first question, when, having failed in getting any water to wash in, we made up our minds to “pig it” that night, and present our credentials to the governor of Kiakhta in the morning. But there was no food in the house, the old man said, and all the shops were shut. To-morrow they would be open at six, and we could breakfast early, he added, by way of consolation.
A pleasant welcome after a journey of eight hundred miles, I thought that night as I lay down in my sheepskins on the grimy floor, wondering whether it would be as bad as this throughout Siberia. The stench, rats, and vermin, kept us awake more than half the night. I would have given a good deal to be back in mid-desert. There, at least, one had fresh air.
We were besieged next morning before eight o’clock by half a dozen Chinamen from Maimachin, who calmly walked in without knocking, and seating themselves on the ground, commenced to jabber away in Russian——not a word of which I could understand. I called for Jee Boo, and found they were tea-merchants, and had come to buy our samples. It was a long time before they could be persuaded that we had none to sell, never dreaming that any one could be mad enough to cross the Gobi Desert for pleasure!
It poured with rain all next day. Our ill-luck did not desert us, for on calling at the governor’s house in the morning, we were told he was away, and would probably not return for a fortnight at least, by which time we hoped to be many miles from Kiakhta. M. Gribooshin, a tea-merchant, on whom I had a letter of credit, was also away shooting in Mongolia; but his clerk provided us with the necessary funds, and we left his luxurious mansion with a sigh of regret to return wet and dispirited to our squalid room at the inn, and settle our plans for getting out of the dismal, inhospitable place as quickly as possible.
I have seldom passed a more miserable day. No fire (for it was cold and damp), no books, no food excepting some greasy soup, the ingredients of which I shudder to think of; and when night came on, no light but that from a flickering oil wick which just sufficed to make our wretched surroundings visible. I managed to glean from our host that he was a Polish exile, and had been sent here after the insurrection of 1864. If all his countrymen have the same notions of comfort, I thought, banishment to Siberia can affect them but little.