From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

The novelty of sledge-travelling soon wears off, especially on a road like this, where there is so little to vary the eternal monotony of the dense forests or rolling plains on either side of one. The same dreary aspects seemed to repeat themselves over and over again almost at every turn of the road, whilst the various villages resembled each other so much that it was at times hard to believe we were not returning to the one we had just left. I do not propose wearying you with a detailed account of the forty-three stations between Krasnoiarsk and Irkutsk, for a description of one, which I have already given, suffices for all—so much so, in fact, that although I tried hard to see something more to sketch, I could discover nothing I had not already seen and sketched on our journey up the Yenisei or in Yeniseisk or Krasnoiarsk. Where, for instance, in France every little “pays” has its individual character, so to speak, here in Siberia from one end to the other of this enormous continent all is the same, and if you have studied one portion of it, you have studied all (of course, with the exception of the aborigines, who naturally differ according to their tribes). For my own part, I can assert that I saw absolutely no difference, either in the build of the houses, or the dress or customs of the inhabitants, all the way from Golchika, the tiny settlement on the tundras far away within the Arctic circle, and Kiakhta, a distance of nearly three thousand miles; and, from what I hear, it is the same from the Urals to the Pacific. It almost seems as though it had been ordained by Imperial Ukase that all over this vast empire the inhabitants should everywhere adopt the same costumes and build and furnish their houses always on the same pattern.

ARRIVAL AT A POST STATION.

What strikes one most on the long stretches of road is the total absence of isolated cottages or farmhouses which so help to enliven a landscape in Europe. Once beyond the fence which encircles the limits of each village commune, all signs of habitation and even cultivation instantly cease, and no more are seen till the next commune is reached. The road then passes through a big wooden gate, with high posts on either side; just inside this is a small sentry-box, in which a watchman is always stationed during the summer months to see that the gate is kept closed, and so keep the cattle from straying outside the boundary. (In the winter the gate is always open.) In the distance one then sees the long dreary stretch of village street, with the green-roofed ostrog, or prison, and the public granary standing out in relief against the dilapidated wooden hovels. Everywhere, as a rule, there seems an entire absence of human life. The post-house is only distinguishable from the other houses by its having black and white lamp-posts on either side of the door, and the Russian coat-of-arms painted on a board over it.

Of course there were flourishing villages here and there, but so few. Kansk, Nijni Udinsk, Touloung, and the large village of Koutoulik, are really the only places worth mentioning in this long road. At Touloung the streets were actually lighted up at night. At these places, of course, the post-houses were better furnished and looked after, but they were but oases among the number of wretched and uncomfortable ones; although I must in justice admit that with only one or two exceptions they were all as clean as soap and water could make them; but then, soap and water does not restore dilapidations or rebuild ramshackle places, unfortunately, and many were very dilapidated indeed, and scarcely worthy being called “Government post-houses.”

The same ideas of ventilation evidently prevail all over Siberia, for everywhere I found the windows hermetically sealed, and in most instances when the stove was in full blaze the atmosphere was simply stifling, as may be imagined after it has been confined in these stuffy rooms for the six long winter months, and being breathed over and over again by hundreds and hundreds of travellers. However, à la guerre comme à la guerre, and in the wilds of Siberia it would have been absurd to expect to find European notions of sanitation.

With but one exception I had no difficulty whatever in getting horses at each station; in fact, in most instances the fresh team was generally ready to start before I was, so I could not complain about being kept waiting. The one exception I refer to occurred at Kansk, where I arrived unfortunately too late at night to be able to look round this interesting and flourishing little town, as I should have had ample time to have done, for on reaching the post-house, the staroster (as the postmaster is called) courteously informed me that no horses could be had till three the next morning—six hours to wait. Luckily the waiting-room was as clean and comfortable as one could have wished it, so I decided to have supper at once and “turn in” on the sofa for a few hours. A tin of Irish stew, washed down (the Irish stew, not the tin) by a glass or two of vodka and a cup of black coffee, seemed a feast for a king after the hasty meals I had been having since leaving Krasnoiarsk, so when I did turn in an hour later it was to immediately fall into the deep sleep which naturally follows when one has “got outside” a square meal and one has a good digestion. Although I had particularly asked the station-master to call me as soon as the horses arrived, I suppose, like the Irish servant in Lever’s story, “he did not like to knock too hard at the door for fear of waking me;” for I was only awakened at eight o’clock the next morning by the sun streaming into my eyes. Still, I was not exactly sorry for the few hours I had lost, as I had had a splendid rest, and after a good sluice in a bucket of ice-cold water felt “fit as ninepence” (though why ninepence should be fit I know not), and did ample justice to a good breakfast before starting.

INTERIOR OF A POST HOUSE.

[To face p. 166