From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

The next morning an accident happened as they were getting up anchor, and caused tremendous excitement. By some means the anchor dragged, and the ship, swinging round with the swift stream, caused the chain to slip from the capstan, and it ran out with such tremendous velocity that the capstan was absolutely smashed to pieces. For a moment all the men around were panic-stricken, and although, to my mind, there was absolutely no danger, as we were quite close to the shore, I saw the captain and the custom-house officer devoutly crossing themselves and muttering prayers. Luckily, it all ended well, for we managed to recover the anchor and chain by means of the derrick, and the capstan was soon replaced by the carpenter, and we now began to congratulate ourselves that at last we should get fairly under way once more.

But we were destined to undergo many more vexatious mishaps before we reached our journey’s end. The tug, which all along had been unable to keep up with us, and had proved itself our “old man of the sea,” not having turned up when we anchored the previous night, and there being no signs of her, a boatful of wood in charge of three men was sent back in case she had run short of fuel. To our great annoyance, she did not turn up in the morning. Hour after hour passed by, and at last it was decided to leave the barges and run back to see what had happened. It was certainly most provoking, but the only thing to do. So back we went at a tremendous pace with the stream, and about ten miles off we came up with the laggard—anchored, as her fuel had run out. To our great astonishment we learnt that they had seen nothing of the boat with the wood we had sent them; it must, then, have passed them during the night, and they informed us their anchor light had gone out at one moment. So here was another delay, as we had now to go in search of this boat. Off we started, and another seven miles or so farther down we at last sighted it—much to our relief, for we were almost beginning to fear something had happened. The men, as ill-luck would have it, had evidently managed to pass the tug during the night at the exact moment when its lantern went out. The day was nearly gone by the time we got back to the barges again. Still, as there was a moon rising, it was decided to proceed without further delay.

The stream during the next few days was so swift that, with our broken propeller, we barely did two versts an hour; it was little better than standing still, and the vibration all over the ship was so great that it was impossible to read with comfort, still less to attempt to sketch or write. However, we were thankful to be making any headway at all, and to be able to pass a short time without any more mishaps. But our respite was not for long. We managed to run short of wood at some distance from the next “station,” and, as we had on a previous similar occasion burnt up all our available spare timber, we had to stop and send the men ashore to cut down some trees. The water was so deep that, although the Phœnix was drawing eight feet, she was able to go so close in to the shore that we could put out a plank from her deck and walk off on to terra firma. Two of us took advantage of the opportunity to stretch our legs, and, taking our rifles, started on a ramble. The forest grew right down to the river’s bank, and was almost impenetrable; dense underwood and huge fallen trees barred one’s passage at every step, as though to warn one from endeavouring to penetrate too far into its gloomy recesses, while through the gaunt fir trees the rushing wind seemed to moan and sob as though at the approach of winter. It was a dreary, uncanny sort of place, and thoroughly realized my idea of the wilds of Siberia—so much so, in fact, that I felt glad to get out of its mysterious twilight into the broad daylight again.

Our custom-house officer and the first engineer the next morning took their guns and started off in search of game; they arranged to be back in a couple of hours, in readiness for our departure, but when we were ready to start they had not reappeared. Two hours more passed, and still no signs of them. We began to get anxious, and kept the steam-whistle going incessantly, in case they did not know the time. When at last they were quite four hours late, we could come to no other conclusion but that they had lost themselves, or that something had happened, so we immediately organized search-parties, and in a few minutes a dozen of us, fully armed, started off in different directions into the forest. It was a difficult task we had before us, and not unlike the proverbial “looking for a needle in a bundle of hay,” as no one had the slightest idea which way the two men had taken. It was arranged that, as soon as they were found (for we seemed to have no doubt about it), the steam-whistle should be sounded four times as a signal to the other parties to return to the ship. Our satisfaction may easily be imagined when, half an hour or so afterwards, we heard the welcome sound which announced that what might have been yet another serious affair had come to a safe conclusion.

On getting back, we saw the two men in a state of utter exhaustion; in fact, if one of the party who had found them had not had the forethought to take his flask of brandy with him, they would never have been able to get back without being carried, as they were dead-beat, having had nothing to eat that morning. They told us that they had come across a bear’s trail, and in their excitement following it lost their way, and although they could hear the steam-whistle in the distance they could not localize the sound, and were actually going away rather than to it, as it appeared. They said they were on the point of giving in when they were found, for night was coming on, and they were famished with hunger and cold. We quite believed them, for they presented a pitiable appearance. They only had three damp matches and a few cartridges left, and had not even a compass to guide them. This bear-hunting experience will, therefore, probably teach them a lifelong lesson—not to venture into a dense and almost impassable forest, without a compass and taking one’s bearings on it beforehand. However, fortunately, as it happened, it was a case of “all’s well that ends well,” although another day had been lost.

We were now getting well within touch of our destination, and on arrival at the village of Nasymovo, some eighty miles from Yeniseisk, sent a messenger on ahead with letters and telegrams with reference to Mr. Lee’s death. He was a veritable messenger of death, and we felt what an awful shock it would be for his family. Still, it was better they should know of it before we arrived. This village, the last of importance we should stop at, was quite a big place, the principal street certainly being nearly a mile in length. There were several really good shops, in one of which, among a host of miscellaneous articles displayed, was a package of “Brook’s Crochet Cotton.” It was quite refreshing to see the English label.

That evening we had our first touch of real cold, the thermometer going down to 20° Fahr.—quite a respectable commencement, although none of our Russians seemed to think much of it. We now proceeded more rapidly, as the current was less swift, and we were looking forward to the speedy termination of the most tedious journey any of us had ever made. We began to count the hours which now separated us from civilization, for the little town which we were now approaching seemed a sort of El Dorado after our cramped shipboard quarters. No further incident occurred, and at eight o’clock in the evening of Saturday, October 25, we anchored off Yeniseisk, the goal which we had so long been striving to reach, and which we had reached, in spite of all adverse prophecies, thus accomplishing the feat of landing an important cargo of British goods in the very heart of Siberia.

STORING THE WINTER FORAGE: A VILLAGE SCENE ON THE YENISEI.