From Pekin to Calais by Land

by Harry De Windt

The post-horses are game, wiry little beasts, ranging from 14 hands 2 in. to 15 hands. Though rough and ungroomed, they are well fed, and they need be, for a rest of only six hours is allowed between the stages. In busy times, such as, for instance, the great fair of Nijni Novgorod, when traders flock to the World’s Fair from all parts of Asia, many of the poor beasts die from sheer fatigue. The usual number used in a tarantass or téléga is three, or a “troika,” harnessed abreast. In bad weather, when the roads are deep, four or five are used. We have had as many as seven in, and even with that number failed to progress quicker than at a walk! The harness and reins are of the most primitive description, and made of rope, while the shaft horse wears the high yoke collar, with bells attached, which seems such a useless appendage (except for the look of the thing) in Russian harness.

For cleverness I have never seen the equal of these game, wiry little animals. I recollect on one occasion (when crossing the Yenisei River) the guard-rail running round the ferry boat was quite five feet high. On disembarking, there was a scramble, for the outlet was too narrow to admit of five horses (the number we had in). Our outside horse was consequently jammed up against the rail. With a run it would have been an extraordinary jump to get over, nothing short of a miracle under present circumstances, for the other horses were plunging madly in their endeavours to get once more on to terra firma. But the little beast remained quite cool. Not in the least put out by the row and confusion, he simply reared up, rested his fore-feet on the top of the rail, and sliding over on his stomach, fell heavily in a heap on the other side. In another second he had picked himself up, and we were off again.

I was much struck by the scarcity of bay horses. All are chestnut, grey, or dun, the latter colour predominating. I did not see more than half a dozen bay horses the whole way from Irkoutsk to Tomsk, though from first to last we must have used quite four hundred, and seen four or five times that number.

The yemstchik or driver is a stupid, good-natured creature, addicted to vodka when he can get it. As the drink-money is only fifteen kopeks a stage (and many travellers do not give that), they have not much opportunity of gratifying this penchant, for tobacco runs away with most of their money. I can safely say I do not think I ever saw a yemstchik without a pipe in his mouth. Though kind to a fault to his own horses, he does not show much pity for animal life in the villages. Calves, pigs, poultry, ducks, each had their turn, and we rarely passed through a village without running over and killing something; the bigger the beast, the more pleased the driver. On such occasions, he would turn round and look at us with a smile of satisfaction, regardless of the threats and curses of the infuriated owner as he bore the maimed or defunct one into his cottage. This is another “joke” much in vogue with yemstchiks! Yet, notwithstanding all we were told, we found the Siberian yemstchik a good fellow enough, and, considering the hard work and privation he goes through, far more sober than many men in the same position in more civilized countries. Indeed he need be, for a single accident on the road ensures instant dismissal, be it the fault of the driver or not.

We spent the night at Kansk. A mysterious and speedily dressed individual here begged to be allowed to share our tarantass and expenses as far as Krasnoiarsk, but we declined with thanks. He was a cutthroat-looking villain, and probably up to mischief, for he seemed much less keen about accompanying us on seeing we were well armed. Though we were now past the so-called “robber district,” we did not relax our vigilance when travelling by night, till we reached Tomsk.

Kansk is a neat, well-built town of ten thousand inhabitants. In appearance it is an Irkoutsk in miniature, though there is more attempt at ornamentation here, some of the streets being planted with trees on either side like boulevards. The post-house, too, was comfortable, and there was a sofa therein stuffed with horsehair, an unwonted luxury in Siberia. The night’s rest we looked forward to was, however, somewhat marred by a party going on in the next apartment, and given in honour of his birthday by the post-master; a party which, commencing at 9 p.m., did not break up till nearly eight the next morning, when it was time to think of getting up and being off again. The guests were all more or less intoxicated by midnight, and kept on coming in in relays to look at us, as we lay feigning sleep, throughout the night. They did not break up till about 4 a.m., after obliging us with “Volga,” the boat-song I have mentioned, at the top of their voices, and all in different keys. It was past ten o’clock next morning before the fumes of the vodka had sufficiently evaporated to enable the fuddled post-master to produce a troika. We were not sorry to make a late start, however, for the morning was bitterly cold, and the roads coated with ice, unmistakable sign of the approach of winter, and which made us doubly anxious to push on without delay to Tomsk.

The aspect of the country between Kansk and Atchinsk was, if not so picturesque, much more civilized than any we had as yet passed, the dense, thick forest being superseded by large tracts of cultivated land and fields of corn and mustard. It had frequently been a source of wonder to me that the timber of Siberia is not more largely worked; but I ascertained at Tomsk that this is forbidden by the Imperial Government. Every peasant is at liberty to cut down for his own private use as many pine or fir trees as he likes, but the export or selling of them is strictly forbidden. This seems strange, for a brisk trade might be driven with Mongolia, where wood is invaluable, to say nothing of North China, where it is also so scarce. We passed thousands of trees killed by fires having been lighted at their foot, their trunks charred and blackened to a height of several feet, where peasants had encamped in the woods. In dry weather these occasionally set fire to neighbouring trees, and large tracts of country are devastated by the flames.

We rattled off the two hundred odd versts separating Kansk from Krasnoiarsk with but little delay, being only detained twice on the road, once at Ribinskaya, where, meeting the post, we were delayed for nine hours, and at Balanskaya, our axle having caught fire and worn down to a dangerous extent, without our being aware of the mischief. Had we known the trouble in store for us owing to this apparently trifling incident, we should not have felt so light-hearted as when, having repaired the mischief, we set off again, after a delay of seven hours, on our journey.

At four o’clock, on the afternoon of the 7th September, we caught sight of the blue waters of the Yenisei, winding through a fertile landscape of plain and forest, and beyond it the red cliffs of Krasnoiarsk standing out sharp and clear against the sky-line. We reached the ferry about nine o’clock that evening. The town was brightly illuminated in honour of General Ignatieff, Governor of Eastern Siberia, who was passing through from Petersburg en route to Irkoutsk; and I have seldom seen a prettier spectacle than the illuminations presented, the lights reflected in the dark, swift waters of the Yenisei, as we crossed it. Darkness lent enchantment to the view, however, for as we drove through the slushy, ill lit streets to the filthy hotel, we were almost sorry we had not remained over-night at Botolskaya, and gone right through the following day.

A good scrub in a bucket of water, however, worked wonders, and though the apartment given us was dirty and entirely devoid of furniture, we did ample justice to the supper of cold steret soup, beefsteak, and caviare, and bottle of claret that our host (the dirtiest man, without exception, that I have ever seen) set before us. The luxury of a change of clothes after wearing the same for a fortnight must be experienced to be appreciated. Our bodies were literally covered with bites, and the sensation of a rest for a while from the intolerable itching and irritation of the past ten days, was worth the discomfort and annoyance one had gone through, though it was not till we were well over the Urals, and after repeated applications of carbolic acid soap, that we entirely got rid of that most pertinacious and venomous of insects, the white Siberian bug.