Kolyvan Lake lies at the foot of some offshoots of the Altai chain. The masses of rocks which strew its shores, broken and fantastic of outline, present all the appearance of a ruined city. The granite seems to have been forced up in a soft or liquid state; then to have flowed over and cooled; after which it has been forced up again and again, with the result that it has assumed, in hardening, the most extraordinary forms. The rocks on the heights of the Altai are not less remarkable: some mock you with the aspect of ruined battlements and feudal keeps; others might be mistaken for human heads of a size so colossal that even the magic helmet in “The Castle of Otranto” would have been a world too small for them.
It is at Oubinskoï, a small town or village on the broad, deep, willow-fringed Ouba, that the ascent of the Altai really begins. Thence you cross the Oulba, and ascend a valley full of charming bits for the artist, to the silver mines of Riddersk. About fifteen versts beyond rises the snow-crowned height of Ivanoffsky-Belock, the source of the Gromotooka, or stream of thunder (“grom”), one of the wildest rivers in the Altai. With a roar like that of thunder it hurls its foaming waters down the rugged steep, frequently tearing off and whirling along with it huge fragments of rock, and filling the startled air with a din and clang which are audible for miles. At Riddersk Mr. Atkinson was compelled to abandon his tarantass; he engaged twenty horses to accompany him, and an escort of fifteen men, five of whom carried rifles, while the rest were equipped with axes. A ride of twenty versts, and he reached Poperetchwaia, the last village in this part of the Altai. It is occupied by only eighteen families, who live there in the solitude of the mountain valley, with the great white peaks around them, ignorant of all the events that daily help to make up the history of the age into which they have been born—ignorant of the intellectual movements that are agitating the minds and filling the thoughts of men. A strange, apparently a useless, life! A life without action, without hope, without purpose! Surely ten years of our free, busy, progressive English life are preferable to a hundred years in this lonely Siberian wild. Each family, we are told, have their horses and cows, and around the village is pasture sufficient for large herds. The stags on the mountains are also theirs, and the deer on the hills, and the fish that teem in the rivers. Wild fruit is plentiful; and the bees in their hives produce abundance of honey. It is a Siberian Arcady; but an Arcady without its poetic romance.
The patriarch of the village is described by Mr. Atkinson as a fine old man, with a head and countenance which would have furnished an artist with a model for one of the Evangelists. Health and happiness shone in his face, the ruddy glow of which was set off by his silver-white beard. He wore a plain white shirt, hanging over trousers of thin linen, and fastened round his waist with a red sash; the trousers were tucked into a pair of boots which reached almost to the knee. In winter, a wolf or sheep skin coat is added to this picturesque costume.
In ascending the Altai our traveller plunged into a glorious forest of cedars, which, with their gnarled and twisted branches, formed an arched roof almost impervious to the sun. The scene afterwards changed to a silvery lake, the Keksa, which slept peacefully in the deep shadows of the mountains. Then came woods of larch, and pine, and birch, all freshly green, and breathing a pungent aromatic odour; and grassy glades, fit haunts for the Oreads of the Greek, or the fairies of the Teutonic mythology, with high cedar-crowned mountains rising on either hand. There were no birds; but on the crags stood numerous graceful stags, watching suspiciously the passage of the strangers, and from bough to bough the black squirrel leaped in his mirth. Less pleasant inhabitants were the flies and mosquitoes, which infested the valley depths and lower levels. Still continuing to ascend, Mr. Atkinson entered a rocky gorge that crossed the shoulder of the mountain ridge. Here the crags presented their most savage grandeur. Time had hewn them into various imposing forms: some like turreted battlements and massive towers; others like enormous buttresses thrown up to support the huge sides of the mountain. While threading the defile, the travellers were overtaken by a terrible storm; the wind raged over the heights and through the ravines with a cruel and sudden fury; the lightning like blood-streaks wound across the darkened sky; the thunder broke in peal after peal, which the echoes caught up and repeated until the air rang as with the din of battle. They sheltered themselves behind a crag until the tempest was past, and then began the descent of the other side of the mountain.
Glad were they to find themselves in the more genial lowlands; and leaving behind them the Chelsoun chain of the Altai, which they had just crossed, they rode at a rapid rate towards Zirianovsky, a mining station at the foot of the Eagle Mountains. The silver mines here are the most valuable in the Altai. Some of the ores, which are exceedingly rich, lie at a depth of two hundred and eighty feet; others have been followed to a depth of four hundred and ninety feet. In working them the great difficulty to be confronted by the miners is the vast quantity of water that almost inundates the mines; but this might be obviated by the employment of a steam-engine. To carry the ore to the smelting-works upwards of two hundred horses are employed. First, it is conveyed in small carts, drawn by one horse, to Werchnayan pristan, on the Irtisch, a distance of more than one hundred versts; thence it is sent down the river in boats to Oust-Kamenogorsk pristan; and from the last place it is removed again in carts to Barnaoul, Pavlovsky, and other zavods; making a traject of nine hundred versts in all from the mines to the smelting-works.
Skirting the base of the Kourt-Choum mountains, which form the boundary between the Russian and Chinese empires, Mr. Atkinson turned his face southward, and before long arrived at Little Narym—a small outpost of Cossacks, stationed on a plain within a few versts of the Russian frontier. He was then on the military road, which extends only about twenty versts further, to the last outpost from Western Siberia. Having obtained horses, two telagas, and Cossack drivers, he started down the valley of the Narym, which opens into that of the Irtisch, and at nightfall entered Great Narym. To the officer in command he explained his project of crossing the Chinese frontier; but was warned that, as winter had already set in, and the snow lay deep in the Kourt-Chume chain, he would probably be lost or frozen to death if he attempted that route. He was advised to go through the Kirghiz steppe; and the officer courteously offered to forward him from one Cossack post to another, until he reached the fortress at Kochbouchta. Mr. Atkinson gladly accepted the offer, and arranged to meet his new friend in Ust-Kamenogorsk, on the Irtisch, hiring a boat and men to convey him thither. The boat consisted of two small canoes lashed together, five feet apart, with beams placed across, and the whole boarded over so as to provide a platform, or deck, about fifteen feet by ten. In the head and stern of each canoe sat a strong, sturdy fellow, with a small paddle, not much larger than a child’s garden spade; this was used only to guide the bark, its progress being sufficiently provided for by the rapidity of the current. Paddling out into the middle of the river, which was more than a thousand yards broad, the boatmen soon got into the swing of the current, and the voyage began. “I was watching the changes in the scene,” says Mr. Atkinson, “as one mountain peak after another came in view; when suddenly, and without any previous intimation, two of the men called out that their canoe was filling fast, and that they must make for the shore without a minute’s delay! Before we got halfway to the bank she was nearly full of water, and when within about a hundred yards, the men cried out that she was sinking; this brought our broad deck down to the water on one side, and helped to float her. The men paddled with all their might, and at last we reached a thick bed of reeds, which assisted in keeping us afloat, till we succeeded in getting near enough to the bank to throw our luggage ashore; and then we landed.”
After some trouble, Mr. Atkinson was able to hire a good boat, used for transporting the ore; and the luggage was transferred to it. Then a new difficulty arose; one of the men deserted. But with great promptitude Mr. Atkinson seized a bystander, and kept him prisoner until the deserter was given up. At last, a fresh start was effected. The sun was setting; a keen cutting wind blew up the river; and there was no shelter to be obtained, nor wood for a fire, for many versts. Fast over the valley crept the cold shades of night, and swiftly did they steal up the mountain sides. No signs of any resting-place could be discovered, and the scenery grew more and more gloomy. Turning a rocky headland, they beheld at a great distance the glimmer of a fire, though whether it was in a dwelling, or on the river bank, they could not determine. Bending vigorously to their oars, the boatmen shot forward rapidly; and after a long pull arrived at a small Cossack station, where Mr. Atkinson readily obtained shelter.
Asia, he remarks, is the land for tea; there it is that a man learns to appreciate the herb at its full and proper value. After refreshing himself with the popular beverage, he took a long walk alone on the bank of the Irtisch. The fine, picturesque scenery was seen with impressive effect under the influence of a splendid moonlight, which cast the lower mountains into deep shade, while a silver lustre rested on the snow-crowned peaks, contrasting vividly with the gloom of the valleys. “How infinitely small,” says Mr. Atkinson, “the sight of these mighty masses made me feel, as I wandered on in my solitary ramble! Excepting myself, I could not see one living thing—all was silent as the grave. I had passed some high rocks that shut out the Cossack post from my view, and had entered a valley, running up into the mountains, which lay shrouded in dusky shadow. Two white peaks rose far into the cold, grey sky; the full light of the moon shining upon one of them, and aiding much in giving a most solemn grandeur to the gloomy scene. Fancy began to people this place with phantoms, ghosts, and goblins of horrible aspect. It required but the howling of the wolves to give a seeming reality to the creations of the imagination.”
Passing the mouth of the Bouchtarma, Mr. Atkinson descended the river to Mount Kamenogorsk. There he found his friend, the Cossack colonel, who provided him with an escort of two stalwart Cossacks, armed with sabre, gun, pistol, and long lance. His party also included an unarmed Cossack driver, and his own attendant. He set out in a light telaga, drawn by three horses, and plunged into the solitude of the Kirghiz steppe, which extends eastward to Nor-Zaisan and southward to the Tarbogatni Mountains. There are many undulations on this vast plain, which in summer affords pasturage for immense herds of horses. While halting on the bank of a dried-up stream to dine, Mr. Atkinson observed in the distance a small column of white smoke, which he supposed to proceed from a Kirghiz aul, or village; but a guide whom he had hired assured him there were no encampments in that direction, and that the smoke issued from burning reeds on the shores of Lake Nor-Zaisan. Thitherward the traveller immediately proceeded; sometimes over rich pastures, at others over a rough tract of ground and stones almost bare of vegetation. After riding a couple of hours, they were able to make out that the steppe was on fire, and that all the reeds were feeding the flame; and in due time they came upon a miserable Kirghiz yourt, or dwelling, inhabited by a dirty Kirghiz woman and four children, three of whom were very ill. She received the stranger, however, with simple hospitality, kindled the fire, and set his kettle on it. In return he made tea for himself and the children, who were lying on a voilock, covered up with skins. He then walked to the summit of a neighbouring hill to gain a view of the burning steppe. The fire was still about ten versts to the east, but was travelling west, and across Mr. Atkinson’s track, extending in breadth some miles across the plain—a great wave of flame, which, accompanied by rolling clouds of smoke, ran swiftly along the ground, consuming the long grass, and reddening the horizon with a lurid glow.
Next morning Mr. Atkinson resumed his journey, passed a Kirghiz aul, and reached the margin of the Nor-Zaisan, but was unable to obtain a glimpse of its waters, owing to the dense masses of tall reeds which completely encircled it. He rode across to the Irtisch, but there too the view was similarly blocked up. There was nothing to be done but to return as quickly as possible to Kochbouchta, and prepare for the expedition into Chinese Tartary, which he had long had in contemplation. A man of irrepressible energy and singularly firm resolution, Mr. Atkinson, when his plans were once formed, lost no time in carrying them into execution. But while the necessary arrangements were being made, he found time to accomplish some short but interesting excursions in the neighbourhood of Kochbouchta, visiting the gold mines, and sketching the romantic scenery of the valley of the Isilksou. At length he was ready for his departure, and with an escort of three Cossacks, his servant, and his own Cossack attendant, he once more crossed the Irtisch, and began his journey across the Kirghiz steppe. All the party were well armed and well mounted, and Mr. Atkinson felt competent to encounter, if need be, half a hundred of the nomadic bandits, if they should attempt to plunder him. His servant, however, manifested so lively a dread of the robbers of the steppes, and so strong a disinclination to a close acquaintance with the Kirghiz, that Mr. Atkinson ordered him back to Ust-Kamenogorsk to await his return, rightly judging that his fears would render him an incumbrance and an impediment rather than a useful auxiliary.