From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

A TEA CART.

In the afternoon we reached a small river, over which, as usual, the road passed on the ice. My yemschik, quite a young lad, was, however, in no hurry to cross when we saw a cart which was coming towards us suddenly half disappear through the ice, which was evidently very rotten. The water, fortunately, was only four feet deep at the utmost, so beyond the difficulty of getting his horse and cart out again he ran no risk. After watching the fellow (who was standing up to his waist in the icy-cold water) in his vain efforts to move the lumbersome vehicle, I decided that we could not stay where we were all day, and that we had to get across somehow, so I persuaded my youthful Jehu to try a narrower spot a little further down, in the hopes of the ice being stronger there. Well, we went at it full tilt, hoping to get across with a rush; and so we did till within about twenty yards of the opposite bank, when, with a sickening crash, the ice gave way, and we were in the water. The horses immediately began kicking and plunging to such an extent that I expected every moment the heavy tarantass would turn over and all my baggage be lost. For a few minutes my driver absolutely lost his head; but, finding that the horses in their mad endeavours to get out had so loosened the ice as to clear the way, he cooled down, and we managed to reach the bank without any further mishap than getting slightly wet. As we drove full gallop along the road to make up for lost time, I looked back and saw the peasant with his horse and cart still in the water, and taking it very quietly. A basin of hot Bouillon Fleet at the next station soon set me right, and I felt no ill effects from the cold water.

I was now rapidly nearing my destination, when on reaching the last station but one, as evening was coming on, the postmaster said something which I did not quite understand, that he did not like to let me go on, about its being soon dark and the road a bad one, also something which I did not catch. However, I had made up my mind to reach Kiakhta that night if it could be done, so I peremptorily ordered the fresh tarantass and horses at once, and after but a short delay I was soon on the move again. The road now lay right across the turf, and, owing to the nature of the soil, was scarcely visible in the rapidly failing light; in fact, in many places I wondered how the driver found his way at all, for I could see no sign of any track.

It was quite dark when we came to what looked like an immense white plain. This, the yemschik told me, was the river Selenga. This majestic river, which flows into Lake Baikal, was here as wide as the Thames at Gravesend, and in the darkness the opposite bank was scarcely visible. Our road lay right across its ice-bound surface. At the edge of the ice my driver drew up, and, getting down, said he would go and look round before venturing on it, as a man who had that afternoon came in from the next station reported that the ice was beginning to break up. I immediately remembered the incident which had happened only a few miles back, and visions rose up before me of what would be the result in the event of such an accident occurring on this mighty river, so I felt just the least little bit uncomfortable when, after being absent some twenty minutes, he came back and said he thought it would be all right, so on we went. It may have been my fancy, but the heavy lumbering vehicle seemed to weigh more than ever now, as it rattled over the ice of the river. We had reached, I suppose, about the middle, when suddenly the horses drew up of their own accord, snorting with fear. A large dark mass was in front of them. Nothing could induce them to go on, so the driver got down to see what it was, and almost immediately returned and, getting up, hastily drove in another direction, informing me, in an awed whisper, that it was water. I then made out that the dark mass was a huge gap in the ice. The instinct of the horses had undoubtedly saved us!

DAY-DREAMS: A SKETCH IN THE TRANS-BAIKAL.

(The curious hanging arrangement is a cradle.)

After a considerable détour we reached what appeared to be the opposite bank, only to find that it was an island, and that there was another broad piece of ice still to be crossed. The driver had now the greatest difficulty in getting the terror-stricken animals to go on at all. It was only after a lot of coaxing, and eventually leading them himself, that they could be persuaded to venture on the treacherous surface. This time, however, we got across without further incident, and it was with a genuine feeling of relief that I felt the tarantass once more rolling over the grass.

After a short search the track was again found, and an hour later I reached the last post-house before Kiakhta, after a most exciting “stage.” There is, of course, no other means of crossing Siberian rivers during the winter but on the ice. Towards the end of the winter, just before the debâcle begins, it is always advisable, where possible, to cross the big rivers by daylight, on account of the many fissures in the ice. I remember nothing of the next twenty versts, for I went off into a deep sleep, probably occasioned by the recent excitement, and never moved till I was woke up by the yemschik calling out to me that we had reached our destination, and wanting to know where he should drive me.

I sat up and looked round me; no easy matter, for it was snowing so thickly that I could scarcely see anything, and the dreary-looking deserted street looked still more wretched as, in the piercing wind, the blinding flakes were whirled about in clouds. It was as uninviting and wintry a scene as could be well imagined, and for a moment I wished myself back in my comfortable quarters at Irkutsk.