He was very courteous.
“It is not possible to cross, Madame. It is not possible. The soldiers come first.”
I took another look at the good-humoured, strapping, fair-haired soldiers in khaki, with their khaki-coloured carts. The ferry crossing was laden with them, hundreds of others were waiting, among them numbers of country people. They had bundles and laden baskets and looked people who had shopped and wanted to go home again. Were these exiles? I did not know. They looked simple peasants. Whoever they were, there did not seem much chance for them or me, and I said the one Russian word I knew, “steamer,” and indicated that I wanted to go back there. Much as I wanted to go home, tired as I was of travelling, I decided I would postpone my railway journey for a day and take advantage of that comfortable Russian custom that allows you to live on a steamer for two days while she is in port. The ishvornik nodded, back we went helter-skelter to the wharf and—the steamer was gone!
I have had some bad moments in my life, but that one stands out still. Why, I hardly know, for sitting here in my garden it does not seem a very terrible thing. I had plenty of money in my pocket and there were hotels in the town. But no! more than ever, safe here in Kent, do I dread a Siberian hotel! Then I was distinctly afraid. I might so easily have disappeared and no one would have asked questions for months to come. I tried to tell the boy I wanted to go to one of those dreaded hotels—I felt I would have to risk it, for I certainly could not spend the night in a droshky—and I could not make him understand. Perhaps, as in Saghalien, there were no hotels to accommodate a woman of my class, or perhaps, as is most probable, they were all full of soldiers, anyhow he only looked at me blankly, and Buchanan and I looked at each other. Buchanan anyhow had no fears. He was quite sure I could take care of him. I looked at the boy again and then, as if he had suddenly had an inspiration, he drove me back to the place opposite the ferry whence we had come. The soldiers were there still, crowds and crowds of them, with their little carts and horses, and they were amusing themselves by stealing each other's fodder; the ferry had come back, but there were no soldiers on it, only the country people were crowding down. I had been forbidden to go upon it, and never should I have dreamt of disobeying orders, but my driver had different views. He waited till no officer was looking, seized my baggage and flung it down on the great ferry right in front of the military stores, beside the refreshment stall where they were selling sausages and bread in round rings such as peasants eat, and tea and lemonade. I had not expected to find so commonplace a thing on a river in Siberia. Now I had sat in that dilapidated carriage for over four hours and I was weary to death, also I could not afford to be parted from my luggage, so I put Buchanan under my arm—it was too muddy for him to walk—and followed as fast as I could. My good angel prompted me to pay that driver well. I paid him twice what the mate had said it ought to cost me if I waited half-a-day, and never have I laid out money to better advantage. He turned to a big man who was standing by, a man in sea-boots, a red belted blouse and the tall black Astrakhan cap that I have always associated in my own mind 'with Circassians, and spoke to him, saying “Anglisky.” Evidently he said it might be worth his while to look after me. I don't know whether this gentleman was a Caucasian, one of the “wolves of the Amur,” but whoever he was, he was a very hefty and capable individual, with a very clear idea of what a foreign lady ought to do, and he promptly constituted himself my guardian.
After all, the world, take it on the whole, is a very kindly, honest place. So many times have I been stranded when I might quite easily have been stripped of everything, and always some good Samaritan has come to my aid, and the reward, though I did my best, has never been commensurate with the services rendered.
The ferry across the Shilka at Stretensk is a great affair, like a young paddock afloat, and beside the horses and carts upon it were a number of country people with their bundles. I sat there a little uncomfortably because I did not know what would happen, only I was determined not to be parted from my baggage. Presently the huge float drifted off, amidst wild shouts and yells. When I was there, a great deal in Russia was done to the accompaniment of much shouting, and I rather fancy that this ferry was going off on an unauthorised jaunt of its own. The Shilka is a broad river here, a fortnight's steamer journey from its mouth, but the ferry came to a full stop in the middle of the stream and a motor boat which did not look as if it could hold half the people came alongside.
“Skurry! Skurry!” was the cry, and the people began leaping overboard into the boat. The military were getting rid summarily of their civilian crowd. In a few seconds that boat was packed to the gunwales and I was looking over at it. I had Buchanan under my arm; he was always a good little dog at critical moments, understanding it was his part to keep quiet and give as little trouble as possible. In my other hand I had my despatch-case, and, being anything but acrobatic by temperament, I felt it was hopeless to think of getting into it. If the penalty for not doing so had been death, I do not think I could have managed it. However, I didn't have a say in the matter. The big Russian in the red blouse picked me up and dropped me, little dog, box and all, into the boat, right on top of the people already there. First I was on top, and then, still hanging on to my little dog, I slipped down a little, but my feet found no foothold; I was wedged between the screaming people. After me, with my luggage on his shoulder, came my guardian, and he somehow seemed to find a very precarious foothold on the gunwale, and he made me understand he wanted two roubles for our fares. If he had asked for ten he would have got it, but how I managed to get at my money to this day I do not know. The boat rocked and swayed in a most alarming manner, and I thought to myself, Well, we are on top now, but presently the boat will upset and then we shall certainly be underneath. I gathered that the passengers were disputing with the boatman as to the price to be paid for the passage across, though this was unwise, for the ferry was threatening momentarily to crush us against the rocky bank. He was asking sixty kopecks—a little over a shilling—and with one voice they declared that forty was enough. Considering the crowd, forty I should have thought would have paid him excellently. That I had given my guardian more did not trouble me, because any extra he earned was more than justified, for one thing was certain, I could never have tackled the job by myself.
Just as I was growing desperate and Buchanan began to mention that he was on the verge of suffocation the difficulty of the fares was settled and we made for the bank. But we did not go to the usual landing-stage; that, I presume, was forbidden as sacred to the soldiers, and we drew up against a steep, high bank faced with granite.
“Skurry! Skurry!” And more than ever was haste necessary, for it looked as if the great ferry would certainly crush us. The people began scrambling up. But I was helpless. Whatever happened, I knew I could never climb that wall. I could only clutch my little dog and await events. My guardian was quite equal to the situation. The boat had cleared a little and there was room to move, and, dropping the baggage, he picked me up like a baby and tossed me, dog and all, up on to the bank above. Whether that boat got clear away from the ferry I do not know. When I visited the place next morning there were no remains, so I presume she did, but at the time I was giving all my attention to catching a train.
My guardian engaged a boy to carry the lighter baggage, and shouldering the rest himself, he took me by the arm and fairly raeed me up the steep incline to the railway station that was a seething mass of khaki-clad men.