One is out of it on board a Siberian river-steamer if one does not eat nuts, for every one devours day and night, hour after hour, a small kind of cob-nut, very common in Siberia, which to my taste was extremely insipid and flavourless. But we were told by the Sourikoffs it was the proper thing to do, so purchased a pound or so at the first stopping-place, and followed the example of our fellow-passengers. Every one devoured them, from the captain downwards. Even the melancholy exile had her bag of “brousniki,” as they are called, and the beer-drinking inspector furtively produced them every now and then from the depths of his fur-lined “dacha.” When the Siberian is unable to obtain these, he chews a kind of elastic composition made of turpentine, not unpleasant to the taste. The Russians call this “Conversation Sibérienne,” hardly a compliment to the conversational powers of the inhabitants of Asiatic Russia.
From the day we left Samarof, our northernmost point, the weather became cold and raw, so much so that furs were a daily as well as nightly necessity. Cold and blinding showers of hail and sleet kept us prisoners in the little stuffy saloon of the steamer, and we passed the days sadly enough, staring out of the misty windows at the flat, muddy banks, watching the grey, woolly clouds as they swept across the desolate-looking plains. We had now entered the river Irtish, where navigation is extremely dangerous at this time of the year on account of the dense fogs that prevail between Soorgoot and Tobolsk. Collisions are of frequent occurrence, and it is not to be wondered at. There is no rule of the road as at sea or on most European rivers. Upon meeting a vessel a red or white flag was waved from the bridge to intimate that we should pass to the right or left of it. At night the signal was given by a small hand-lamp. On foggy days and dark misty nights the danger of this system may be imagined, and we got but little sleep at nights for fear of a smash, to say nothing of a deafening fog-horn kept going almost without cessation from sunset till dawn. We only anchored once, however, when the fog became so bad you could literally not see your hand before you. It lasted seven hours, as uncomfortable ones as I ever wish to spend, for eyes, nose, and mouth were choked with the fumes which penetrated even into the saloon. The scenery for a couple of days after leaving Soorgoot was still more desolate and monotonous. The forests of birch and beech disappeared altogether, and were replaced by vast plains of sand, varied by an occasional salt-marsh, the only signs of vegetation being the stunted willows and scrub that fringed the banks of the dirty, muddy-coloured river. Not a living thing is seen in these regions, save at long intervals, perhaps, the encampment of some Ostiak, the tiny tents only accentuating the huge landscape of desolation surrounding it. It gives me the blues even now to recall the shores of the Obi and Irtish on a dull day.
We reached Tobolsk at 5 p.m. on the 25th of September. The night before, just as we were sinking into a sweet sleep, we were all roughly tumbled out of our berths and ordered on deck. “It’s come at last,” said Lancaster, who, like myself, had made up his mind that an accident had happened, for there was a tremendous turmoil and scurrying about on deck, and, looking out of the little port-hole, I made out the red and green lights of a large steamer close alongside. Sourikoff was already on deck. Poor Madame S. and little Olga and Hélene were sitting on a pile of luggage, their teeth chattering and faces blue with the cold. “Is it not disgraceful?” said the poor little lady, “we have to change steamers.” The winter-quarters of the Kazanetze were, it appeared, at Tomsk; those of the Reutern, the steamer we had just met, at Tobolsk. The latter, having been delayed by the fogs for nearly four days, would not have time to return to her winter port before the closing of the navigation. “The intention was,” said the captain, “to change us at Soorgoot, but these cursed fogs have thrown out all the company’s arrangements.”
We certainly got the worst of the bargain. The Reutern was of precisely the same dimensions as the Kazanetze, and whereas we had but eight first-class passengers all told, she carried sixty or seventy natives of Tomsk, and other riverside towns, who were hurrying back to their homes before the freezing of the Obi. The saloon of the Reutern was, as may be imagined, in a truly disgusting state. The tables covered with grease and cigarette ash, the floor strewn with chicken bones, egg shells, pieces of bread, squashed berries, &c., and although it was past midnight, a great many of the passengers must have been indulging in a meal at the time the Kazanetse hove in sight, for the smell of grease and cooking was intolerable, the windows of the saloon having evidently been closed ever since the Reutern had left Tobolsk. The Siberians have queer notions of eating, and their meals correspond very much with their unfinished mode of life. While on their travels they feed anyhow, no matter how great the facility for obtaining food at proper hours. You will see them, men, women, and children alike, subsist throughout the day solely on tea, bread, or sweet biscuits and berries, and then, as if struck by a sudden happy thought, rouse themselves about midnight, and sit down to a heavy meal of two or three courses, washed down by copious draughts of scalding tea, and preceded by three or four large glasses of vodka. Cigarettes are incessantly smoked during meals. Cigars are unobtainable in Siberia. I tried one at Tomsk, but felt the effects for days afterwards. Russian cigarettes are, in my opinion, better than the Egyptian. They are more aromatic, and certainly less injurious. Those made by Laferme under the name of “Petits canons,” are the best, and are to be bought almost everywhere throughout the Russian Empire, from Kiakhta to Petersburg, Archangel to Merv. They are a beautifully made cigarette, and the price (one rouble a hundred) is reasonable enough.
The approach to Tobolsk is picturesque. One felt, on looking at the villages in the suburbs, with their green church spires and neat whitewashed houses, large fields, and grazing-grounds, enclosed by neat wooden railings, that one was indeed approaching civilization. For some two miles before reaching the town itself, the river is lined by rocky, precipitous cliffs topped with dense forests of pine. Here and there huge landslips had taken place. In one instance nearly a quarter of a mile square had sunk bodily into the river, trees and all, looking at the point where it had broken away as clean cut as if it had been done with a knife. The Irtish River is very subject to these convulsions of nature. Its banks in 1753 fell a depth of nearly seventy feet.
Tobolsk is distinctly the prettiest town in Siberia, though perhaps the fact of our being so pleased with it was not altogether unassociated with the thought that it was the last Siberian city (except Tiumen) that we should visit. On first appearance one is reminded not a little of Gibraltar; one portion of the town being built on a steep cliff, the other on the marshy plain, watered by the winding yellow Irtish, and its smaller tributary, the Tobol river. We were to start again at midnight, so lost no time in landing and making an excursion round the city.
It will give the reader some idea of the size of Siberia, when I say that the district or government of Tobolsk alone is nearly eight times as large as Great Britain and Ireland. The population of this vast province are for the most part Russians, Tartars, Ostiaks, and Samoyedes, the two latter aboriginal tribes. The city of Tobolsk was for a long time the capital of the whole of Eastern and Western Siberia, and is rich in historical associations. It belonged up to 1581 to the Tartars, and was then known under the name of Isker, the governor or ruler of the province being a Tartar chief of the name of Kootchoom.
It may be said that Siberia was practically unknown to the inhabitants of European Russia up to the middle of the sixteenth century, for although, previously to this, an expedition had penetrated as far as the Lower Obi, yet its effects were not permanent. Later on, Ivan Vassilovitch II. sent a body of troops across the Ourals, laid some of the Tartar tribes under tribute, and assumed the title of “Lord of Siberia.” Kootchoom Khan, however, a descendant of Chenghiz Khan, punished these tribes for their cowardice, regained their fealty, and thus put an end to further encroachments from Russia. A second invasion, however, ended more favourably for Russian interests, and in a totally unexpected manner. Ivan II. had extended his conquests to the Caspian Sea, and opened up trade with Persia. The merchants and caravans were, however, frequently pillaged by hordes of banditti called Don Cossacks, whom the Czar was finally compelled to attack, killing many, and making prisoners of many more. Some escaped; among the latter being some five hundred freebooters, under the command of a chief named Yermak Timoffeef, who, making their way to Orel, heard of an inviting field of adventure lying east of the Oural mountains. It is not generally known that the enormous country known as Asiatic Russia was conquered and annexed by five hundred men. Yermak, himself an outlaw, conquered, after a desperate battle, the Tartar hordes of Kootchoom Khan, then prince of the Tobolsk province, and became in twenty-four hours transformed from a lawless robber into a prince. But he had the good sense, notwithstanding, to see that he could not hope to hold his enormous empire without assistance. He sent, therefore, fifty of his Cossacks to the Czar of Russia, their chief being ordered to represent to that monarch the progress which the Russian troops under the command of Yermak had made in Siberia, where an extensive empire had been conquered in the name of the Czar. The latter, delighted beyond measure at this fresh acquisition of territory, gave the rebel Yermak free pardon, and at once sent him money and assistance. Reinforced by five hundred Cossacks, Yermak renewed his efforts, formed fresh expeditions, and was enabled to subdue and conquer fresh districts, which had been fomented and incited to rebellion by the conquered Kootchoom Khan. In one of the smaller engagements, Yermak perished, not, it is said, by the sword of the enemy, but, having to cut his way to the water’s edge, he essayed to jump into a boat, and stepping short, fell into the water, when the weight of his armour drowned him.
The stream of conquest flowed apace after the death of Yermak, whose name will live for ever in Russia as one of the greatest benefactors of that country. Tomsk was founded in 1604, and from thence new expeditions were formed by the Cossacks, with the result that Yeneseisk was founded in 1619, and a few years afterwards the city of Krasnoiarsk. Crossing the Yenisei river, the invading army advanced to the shores of Lake Baikal, and in 1620 attacked, and conquered, the populous nation of the Bouriattes. Then, making for the north, they founded Yakoutsk in 1632, and subjugated, though not without difficulty, the powerful Yakout tribe. Having accomplished this, the troops crossed the Aldan mountains, and in 1639 reached the sea of Okhotsk. Thus in less than seventy years was added to the Russian Empire a territory as large as the whole of Europe, whose ancient capital was Tobolsk——thus was an empire comprising nearly the half of Asia conquered and annexed by a simple Cossack and five hundred men. Ought not this to warn us that Russian enterprise is not a thing to be thought lightly of; that in most cases what a Russian, be he noble or moujik, has said “I will do,” he does, be it at the cost of his life.
In the public gardens of Tobolsk is a monument of grey granite, about fifty feet in height, which was erected in 1839. On the base is inscribed, in gold letters, the words, “To Yermak! Conqueror of Siberia.”