Tomsk is, it appears, one of the coldest spots in all Siberia. During certain winters, the thermometer has been known to descend to fifty-five degrees and remain for some time at this temperature, and one is known even so low as fifty-eight degrees!
When I was here, the temperature, on the contrary, was less rigorous than during my sojourn at Omsk. It snowed heavily for some days, and that induced me to confine myself to my room, which I in no way regretted, with the discomfort of so many long days and nights, just passed in the open air, still fresh in my memory.
One night only, urged by some motive for exercise, and perhaps adventure, I went out alone afoot, and took my way, musing, along the banks of the river. The night was very dark, and heavy clouds veiled the stars; but the ground was lighted up with the snow fallen during the day. The frozen surface of the Tom was nowhere even, and I was able to account for the joltings we had experienced in the sledge on crossing this river. Blocks of ice were rising one above the other, sometimes to a great height, presenting their edges upwards, and the aspect of having struggled with tremendous force to escape from the crushing embrace of the solid mass on which they rested. It might be said to have been the result of a terrific combat between two great forces of nature—between the river and the frost—the one visible and vanquished, and the other invisible and victorious. Now, however, this struggle was suspended till the time would come for the victory to be reversed, and meanwhile all was motionless and silent.
I stood regarding it with awe for some time, like the pale visage of death on whose features the convulsions of agony told some dreadful tale. The night was too dark to distinguish the other bank of this great river; and what was before me, in its chilling inhospitable state—total estrangement from the world in this white solitude as far as the eye could reach through the gloom—made me shudder in my loneliness. It was the first time I felt myself so entirely abandoned, so utterly cut off from the world, exiled from my country and home and all that was dear to me. To think of taking to the sledge again, and continuing my journey through this chilling air and darkness, made me shrink with repugnance and fear. To struggle against such a force as had stopped this gigantic river in its course seemed to me foolhardiness. It was indeed a true picture of the extreme North I had come so far as Siberia to see; and although I had gratified my longing as a tourist to see wonders, I wended my way home overwhelmed with this aspect of nature, and it required all the brilliant sunshine of the morrow to brighten my mind with more cheerful thoughts, and give me some courage to resume my journey.
One thing I noticed peculiar to Tomsk was the great number of Corean servants, male and female, that are there met with. I asked the governor the reason of this, and he informed me that many natives of this land took refuge among the Russians to escape from the severe laws in force there. “They know well enough that they will be well received among us, for we have already a protectorate over their country.”
This announcement of a protectorate afforded me some matter for reflection. The Corea, it is known, is only tributary to China. The sovereign of this territory is opposed to Europeans, who are not only not allowed to establish themselves there in any way, but are often persecuted by this tyrant with extreme cruelty. The conquest of the Corea by the Russians—a conquest quite imminent according to the views of the governor of Tomsk—might, if accomplished, occasion important modifications in our trading depôts of the extreme East. It would be an important step towards the complete conversion of China and Japan to modern ideas.
CHAPTER X.
THE GOVERNMENT OF YENISSEISK AND KRASNOIARSK.
Wretched aspect of the villages of this province—The country at last becomes hilly—The night watchers at Krasnoiarsk—M. Lovatine’s three collections—A Polish exile’s ball.