Krasnoiarsk, which stands on a plain fringed by the precipitous cliffs of red earth, from which the town takes its name, is neither picturesque nor interesting. Wooden hovels here, stone palaces there, wooden pavements, oil lamps, open drains by the roadway, deep mud in rainy weather, blinding dust in dry; dirty, greasy men, frowsy, ill-dressed women, Cossack soldiers, and occasional gangs of prisoners; such is the visible population. For one thing only is Krasnoiarsk famous: its fire brigade. There are at least thirty watch-towers in the town, and the stations are models of smartness and cleanliness. Though so frequent at Irkoutsk, Tomsk, and the other smaller towns, a bad fire here is rare.
We paid a visit while at Krasnoiarsk to the Whiteley of Siberia——one, Gadolovitch, in whose establishments at Irkoutsk, Tomsk, Atchisk, Krasnoiarsk, and Tobolsk, almost anything may be purchased, from a Waterbury watch to a ship’s anchor, and, curiously enough, at reasonable prices. I bought a box of revolver cartridges at Krasnoiarsk cheaper than I should have paid for them in London or Paris.
The morning of the 9th of September saw us once more en route. The road, after leaving the town, skirts for some distance the banks of the Yenisei river, that huge volume of water which, rising on the borders of China, traverses half Asia to discharge itself into the Gulf of Yenisei in the Arctic Ocean, its entire length being computed to be something over three thousand miles. It is, of course, unnavigable throughout the winter, though that intrepid explorer, Captain Wiggins, has satisfactorily demonstrated that, during the summer months, water communication between England and Central Siberia is by no means impossible.
Our axle now gave us a good deal of anxiety, for before we were many miles out the tarantass was leaning over at a most uncomfortable angle. The road, too, was worse than it had been since leaving Lake Baikal, and every roll the carriage made gave us the greatest anxiety, for there was no blacksmith procurable nearer than Atchinsk, nearly two hundred versts off. It put us out of our suspense at Kosoulskaya by snapping in two altogether, although we were going at a most gingerly pace, precipitating the yemstchik into the road, where, had it not been for the hood of the tarantass, Lancaster and I should have followed him.
Here was a pretty predicament. Luckily the horses were quiet, and stood still while we scrambled out to ascertain the extent of the damage. Luckier still, we were only four versts from the post-house——the last before Atchinsk. Lopping off a couple of stout fir boughs, our yemstchik prized the carriage up straight, and, mounting one of the horses, galloped off to Chernoyéchinsk in quest of another axle and pair of wheels, by the aid of which we might, at any rate, reach Atchinsk.
Luckily the day was fine, and though the mosquitoes were troublesome, we had plenty of cigarettes and half a dozen bottles of claret, which we had purchased at Krasnoiarsk, to while away the weary hours. Being a lonely part of the road, we loaded the revolvers, and kept them ready in case of need. Nothing passed us, however, the whole, long, weary day, from eight in the morning, when the accident occurred, till 5 p.m., but a couple of hay-carts and a gang of three hundred prisoners, most of them in chains, followed by six télégas with political prisoners, four women and two men, the latter on foot. Two of the women were young and pretty, and laughed heartily, as they passed, at our woe-begone condition, and, indeed, we must have looked somewhat ridiculous, seated in the middle of the road in our tarantass, with the hind-wheels and axle gone, propped up on a couple of fir-trees, solemnly discussing a bottle of claret! A casual observer might have taken the political exiles for a pleasure-party, to judge from the shouts of merry laughter that rang through the forest long before they came in sight. The smart, tweed gowns and Tam-o’-Shanter hats (this seems to be the uniform of Nihilist ladies) looked strangely out of keeping with the rough wooden télégas and dirty straw on which they were seated. And yet the youngest and prettiest girl of them all was, we afterwards heard, on her way to Irkoutsk for life. She could not have been more than eighteen, and was as neatly turned out, with gants de Suéde and neat grey dress, as if she had come from a walk in the Bois de Boulogne or Hyde Park, instead of a long twenty-days’ march from Tomsk. The men, too, were well dressed and respectable looking, though their high spirits were evidently assumed for the occasion, while those of the women were perfectly natural.
The yemstchik returned about four o’clock, accompanied by two villagers carrying an iron axle. It was a clumsy affair enough, having been taken off one of the Post télégas; but as it was only a temporary affair, this did not much signify. We arrived at Taoutinsk, the next station to Atchinsk, at ten o’clock that night without further mishap. At times, though, the tarantass wobbled about terribly, and we constantly expected to find ourselves in the old position——feet upwards. The yemstchik who drove us the last stage could not possibly have been more than twelve years old. The stage was only sixteen versts, luckily, and I luckily kept an eye on the proceedings of our youthful jehu; for about half way, being about to descend a long and very steep hill, he got down from his box, and gravely proceeded to put the skid behind the front wheel instead of before the hind one!
Atchinsk is, if not the largest, decidedly the most taking town we saw in Siberia. It has a population of about ten thousand, and is built on the summits of five or six low hills. The grassy hollows between these are used as common land, where cattle, pigs, and geese roam about at will. The cheerful aspect of the place, when compared with other Siberian towns, is partly due to the fact that the soil is of a much lighter colour, and nearly all the wooden buildings are painted white or grey, picked out with bright colours. The immediate neighbourhood of Atchinsk, too, is free of forest. The town stands in the middle of a large grass plain watered by the Chulim river——a plain composed of large enclosed grass meadows, where, as we drove by that bright sunshiny morning, cattle and sheep were browsing, knee deep in rich, luxuriant pasture, and wild flowers. Atchinsk is the one bright spot of that weary journey——an oasis of flowers and sunshine in the dark, dreary desert of gloom and monotony lying between Tomsk and Irkoutsk. The post-house was clean and roomy, the waiting-room boasting a carpet, plenty of chairs, and a sofa, while the snowy, whitewashed walls hung with bright engravings, and the windows filled with flowers, gave a cheerful look to the place that up till now I had thought impossible to find in a Siberian dwelling. We were glad of a rest of twenty-four hours here (the time necessary for the completion of our repairs), and after an excellent breakfast of caviare, fried eggs, and beefsteak, sallied out refreshed in body and mind to find a blacksmith.
The town was en fête for some reason or other. Bells were ringing, the houses decorated with flags and evergreens, and people all turned out in their Sunday best. It was not reassuring, on reaching the principal square, to find that all the shops were shut, save the public houses, where crowds of natives were refreshing themselves with vodka and other spirituous liquors, preparatory to the mid-day meal. Some were drinking at the bar, others seated at the little tables by the doorway, others rolling about in the bright sunshine outside, but all, men and women, were even at this early hour——11.30 a.m.——more or less drunk.
The blacksmiths’ quarter was, I found, at the other end of the town, and we had to walk nearly a mile before reaching the forge. Like many oriental towns, each trade in Atchinsk has its own street, and we found a regular colony of smithies, but all, alas! closed, and their owners either inside their houses sleeping off the effects of the previous day’s debauch (the fête lasted two days), or laying in a fresh stock of vodka and brandy in the town. We knocked at and entered at least a dozen houses before we found a man sober enough to undertake our job. Nor would he till we had promised to pay him a ridiculously large sum in proportion to the work, and to keep him well provided with liquor till it was finished. We regarded the wheel with some uneasiness for two or three days after, but our friend, drunk as he was, had made a good job of it, and we arrived at Tomsk without further mishap.