From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

[To face [p. 173].

I was much struck with the scarcity of travellers we met, either on the road or in the stations, for only on two or three occasions did we meet any one or find the waiting-room occupied. At one place the Imperial Mail, bound for Irkutsk, came up while we were there—half a dozen of the shabbiest and most ramshackle of sledges, in charge of an equally seedy and shabby individual in a dirty old sheepskin coat, and with an enormous revolver in his belt. I could not help feeling somewhat disappointed, for from what I had previously read I had expected to see a dashing courier, resplendent in green and gold, and armed to the teeth, so had my sketch-book in readiness as soon as I heard that the mail had arrived. At another station I found the room occupied by a family, consisting of a lady and gentleman, and no less than four children and a maid. By some accident I discovered that the lady spoke German, so we had quite a long chat together. She informed me that they had come straight away from far Vladivostock, and were going to St. Petersburg, a journey which, from start to finish, would probably take them ten weeks, that is, if they stopped nowhere on the road. Her husband, who was a Government official, she told me, had been in bad health for some time past, and had been recommended to go to St. Petersburg to get the highest of medical advice. This is the longest journey I ever heard of “to see a doctor.” I saw them start again shortly after, and although there were so many of them, they had such a huge sledge that they all seemed to pack into it quite comfortably.

You may imagine how refreshing, so to speak, it was, after the sort of wilderness we had come through, to find that the next station, Touloung, was quite a busy little town, its many and well-built streets actually lighted up, whilst several important-looking shops and large houses helped to give quite a lively appearance to the place. The post-house itself was also quite “up to” the town, and not only boasted of several large and well-furnished rooms, but also a big apartment, most handsomely decorated, in which, I was informed, the Governor of Irkutsk held receptions when he had occasion to visit the town. Touloung, though an old town, was certainly one of the prettiest and most flourishing I had passed through, and my only regret was that it was night when we got there, for I should like to have sketched some of the bits I saw, notably the beautiful house of the merchant, Mr. Shokounoff, which stands exactly opposite the post-station, for it struck me as being a splendid specimen of Russian architecture. After doing a little shopping, and a look round, and a “feed,” once more I got under weigh.

The next few stations were wretchedly uncomfortable, or anyway they seemed so, perhaps out of contrast to the nice one we had just left; so there was little temptation to loiter in them longer than was absolutely necessary whilst waiting for the fresh horses. At Tiretskaya, where we had to cross the Oka, the road went along the centre of the river on the ice for several miles, and the high wooded banks on either side gave it a most peculiar and striking appearance, not unlike a railway cutting.

The next place of interest we came to was the large village of Koutoulik (or, rather, small town, for it contains over eleven hundred inhabitants). The post-house here was without exception the smartest on the whole road. The waiting-room, which was really well-furnished, was not only full of plants and flowers, but actually had pictures on the walls, not the usual cheap, religious ones, but good oleographs; whilst to add to the good impression caused by these attempts at luxury, I learnt that there was a “real dinner” ready if I cared to take of it. You may imagine I jumped at it after living on tinned food for nearly a week. The wife of the staroster had evidently been a professed cook in her time, judging from the result and the way I was served. After dinner I lit my pipe and had a stroll through the village, whilst Matwieff was looking after the horses. The streets presented so lively and animated an appearance that I spent more time than I had intended to, wandering about in search of subjects. The inhabitants were evidently used to artists, for neither my sketch-book nor my camera attracted any particular attention.

During the night after leaving Koutoulik occurred the accident which I have already referred to. We had started from the station of Polovilnaya at about 1.30 a.m., and I was soon fast asleep. How long I had been asleep I know not, but I was suddenly woke up by an indescribable sort of sensation that the sledge had “changed front.” I sprang up and, raising the hood, looked out, when, to my no slight dismay, I discovered that we were on a long and steep hill and that the horses had lost all control over the sledge which was “skidding” down sideways at a rate that increased every instant. Matwieff was immediately as wide awake as myself, and we both sat and looked out and waited breathlessly for the result, which was absolutely inevitable, for it would have been utter madness to have attempted to jump out, encumbered as we both were with our heavy furs and the stiff apron of the sledge. Although the driver urged the horses to their very top speed they could not get ahead of the heavy vehicle, which had obtained complete mastery over them and was simply dragging them along with it. Just before reaching the bottom of the hill was a slight rise in the road such as one sees on a switchback railway; here the driver was shot off his seat as out of a catapult, and a few yards further down the sledge turned completely over into a huge drift of snow by the side of the road. The luggage was so firmly wedged in that it barely moved, and both Matwieff and I were also so firmly boxed in that we found ourselves lying on our sides completely helpless. Fortunately a large caravan was coming along at the moment, and the men, seeing our predicament, immediately hurried up and soon righted the sledge again. The horses, I forgot to add, stopped at once as soon as they felt the resistance offered by the deep snow. This little misadventure was evidently a usual occurrence to them, and also to the driver, who turned up unhurt and smiling a few seconds after, and soon we were off again as fast as ever.

For the moment I thought we had got off scot free, for the sledge was uninjured, and neither Matwieff nor I felt any ill effects from the spill. A few stations further on, however, when going to get out of the sledge I felt a nasty pain in my right ankle, and found, on trying to walk, that my leg was so stiff I could not use it. Here was a pretty go! I was evidently in for a bad sprain, and I knew what that meant. Luckily Matwieff was an old soldier in every sense of the word, and rose to the occasion, for without the slightest hesitation he insisted on my not moving, and also on his putting me on a snow compress. In the mean time it was decided that we should hurry on to Irkutsk, which was now only some forty versts off, without any unnecessary delay. In spite, however, of the cold compress, the pain in my foot, probably aggravated by the movement of the sledge, increased to such an extent that I was in positive agony when at last we came in sight of our destination, and the many golden cupolas and minarets of the capital of Eastern Siberia stood out clear and defined as a picture against the bright morning sky.

The scene was a beautiful one, and I could not help enjoying it in spite of the acute pain I was suffering. Our road lay right across the frozen river Angara, “the most beautiful river in the world,” as it has been called. It was a Sunday morning, and crowds of gaily dressed peasants on foot and in sledges were making their way towards the city in the brilliant sunshine. The air resounded with the merry ring of sledge bells, whilst the many quaint costumes and curious conveyances gave an aspect of gaiety and life to a scene the like of which I had not yet witnessed in Siberia. My only regret was that owing to my being unable to move I could not get out of the sledge to make a sketch or take a photograph. However, I promised myself not to lose sight of the subject, and to return on the very first occasion when my foot would allow me. A few minutes afterwards the driver drew up outside a large triumphal arch standing at the entrance to the city and removed the duga bells before passing through, as nowhere in Siberia are these allowed except on the high-road.

My eight days’ tedious journey was at last ended, and it was with a veritable feeling of relief that I found myself passing through the broad, well-built streets, with the prospect of soon being once again in a comfortable and well-appointed hotel.