CHAPTER XXI.
Above Albazin the Amoor steadily narrows; the hills are more rugged; the trees less luxuriant; the meadows fewer, and the islands less extensive. On the morning of the 15th my thermometer was at +16°, and the trees on the shore were white with frost. The deck passengers shivered around the engines and endeavored to extract heat from them. The cabin passengers, excepting myself, were wrapped in their fur coats as if it were midwinter. I walked about in my ordinary clothing, finding the air bracing but not uncomfortable. I could not understand how the Russians felt the cold when it did not affect me, and was a little proud of my insensibility to frost. Conceit generally comes of ignorance, and as I learned, wisdom I lost my vanity about resisting cold.
Nearly every day on the Korsackoff I was puzzled at finding laurel leaves in the soup, and did not understand it till I saw a barrel of beef opened. There were lots of laurel leaves packed with the meat, and I learned that they assist the preservative qualities of the salt and give an agreeable flavor. I can speak in favor of the latter theory, but know nothing about the former. The ancient Romans wore laurel crowns, but they did not prevent the decline and fall of their empire. Possibly the Russians may have better success in saving their beef by the use of the laurel.
During a fog on the river we grazed a rock, slid upon a sandbar, and then anchored, as we should have done at first. When in motion we employed all possible time, and, considering the state of our engines, made very good progress. Borasdine learned from our Cossack the explanation of this haste.
“The pilots, firemen, and nearly all the crew,” said the Cossack, “have their wives at Stratensk, and are anxious to winter with them. If the boat is frozen in below there they must remain till she thaws out again. Consequently their desire to finish the voyage before the ice is running.”
At Igiratiena I met Colonel Shobeltsin, an officer identified with all the movements for the final occupation of the Amoor. In 1852 he made a journey from Irkutsk to Nicolayevsk, following a route up to that time untraveled. He accompanied Mouravieff’s expedition in 1854, and was afterward intimately connected with colonization enterprises. A few years ago he retired from service and settled at this village. His face indicates his long and arduous service, and I presume he has seen enough hardship to enjoy comfort for the rest of his days.
His house was the best on the Amoor above Blagoveshchensk and very comfortably furnished. In the principal room there were portraits of many Russian notabilities, with lithographs and steel engravings from various parts of the world. Among them were two pictures of American country life, bearing the imprint of a New York publisher. I had frequently seen these lithographs in a window on Nassau street, little thinking I should find them on the other side of the world. One room was quite a museum and contained a variety of articles made by Manjours and Tunguze. There were heads of deer, sable, and birds, while a quantity of furs hung near the door.
With a spirit of hospitality the Colonel prepared us a breakfast during our brief stay, and invited us to join him in the beverage of the country. When we returned to the boat the steward was superintending the killing of a bullock at the bank. Half a dozen wolfish dogs were standing ready to breakfast as soon as the slaughtering was over. A Cossack officer in a picturesque costume stood on the bank near the boat. He wore an embroidered coat of sheepskin, the wool inside, a shaggy cap of coal-black wool, and a pair of fur-topped boots. All his garments were new and well fitting, and contrasted greatly with the greasy and long used coats of the Cossacks on the boat. Sheepskin garments can look more repulsive than cloth ones with equal wearing. Age can wither and custom stale their infinite variety.
Winding among the mountains and cliffs that enclose the valley we reached in the evening a village four miles below the head of the Amoor. I rose at daybreak on the 17th to make my adieus to the river. The morning was clear and frosty, and the stars were twinkling in the sky, save in the east where the blush of dawn was visible. The hills were faintly touched with a little snow that had fallen during the night. The trunks of the birches rose like ghosts among the pines and larches of the forest, while craggy rocks pushed out here and there like battlements of a fortress. The pawing steamer with her mane of stars breasted the current with her prow bearing directly toward the west.
“Just around that point,” said the first officer of the Korsackoff as he directed his finger toward a headland on the Chinese shore, “you will see the mouth of the Argoon on the left and the Shilka on the right;—wait a moment, it is not quite time yet.”
When we rounded the promontory dawn had grown to daylight, and the mountains on the south bank of the Argoon came into view. A few minutes later I saw the defile of the Shilka. Between the streams the mountains narrowed and came to a point a mile above the meeting of the waters. On the delta below the mountains is the Russian village and Cossack post of Oust-Strelka (Arrow Mouth,) situated in Latitude 53° 19′ 45″ North, and Longitude 121° 50′ 7″ East. It is on the Argoon side of the delta and contains but a few houses. I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled in the cold atmosphere that the inhabitants were endeavoring to make themselves comfortable.
The Amoor is formed by the union of these rivers, just as the Ohio is formed by the Allegheny and Monongahela. Geographers generally admit that the parent stream of a river is the one whose source is farthest from the junction. The Argoon flows from the lake Koulon, which is filled by the river Kerolun, rising in the Kentei Khan mountains in Northern Mongolia. Together the Argoon and Kerolun have a development of more than a thousand miles. There are many Cossacks settled along the Argoon as a frontier guard. The river is not navigable, owing to numerous rocks and rapids.
Genghis Khan, who subdued China and began that wonderful career of Tartar conquest that extended to Middle Europe, was born on the banks of the Kerolun. Some of his early battles were fought in its valley.
The Shilka is formed by the Onon and Ingodah, that rise in the region north of the head waters of the Kerolun. From the sources of the Onon to Oust-Strelka is a distance of seven hundred and fifty miles. There are many gold mines along this river, and the whole mountain chain is known to be rich in minerals. Including its tributaries on both sides and at its formation, the Amoor as it flows into the Gulf of Tartary drains a territory of 766,000 square miles.
There is a little island just below the point of land extending between the two rivers. As we approached it the steamer turned to the right and proceeded up the Shilka, leaving the Amoor behind us. I may never see this great river again, but I shall never forget its magnificent valley and its waters washing the boundaries of two empires and bringing the civilization of the East and West in contact. I shall never forget its many islands, among which we wound our tortuous way; its green meadows, its steep cliffs, and its blue mountains, that formed an ever-changing and ever beautiful picture. I shall never forget its forests where the yellow hues of autumn contrasted with the evergreen pine and its kindred, and which nature has lavishly spread to shield the earth from the pitiless storm and give man wherewith to erect his habitation and light his hearthstone with generous fire. Mountain, hill, forest, island, and river will rise to me hereafter in imagination as they rose then in reality. A voyage along the entire course of the Amoor is one that the longest lifetime cannot efface from the memory.
For a hundred and sixty years the little post of Oust-Strelka was the most easterly possession of Russia in the Amoor valley. In 1847 Lieutenant General Mouravieff, having been appointed Governor General of Eastern Siberia, determined to explore the river. In the following spring he sent an officer with four Cossacks to descend the Amoor as far as was prudent. The officer took a liberal supply of presents for the people along the banks, and was instructed to avoid all collisions with the natives and not to enter their towns. From the day of his departure to the present nothing has ever been heard of him or his men. Diligent inquiries have been made among the natives and the Chinese authorities, but no information gained. It is supposed the party were drowned by accident, or killed by hostile residents along the river.
In 1850 and the three following years the mouth of the Amoor was examined and settlements founded, as already described. The year 1854 is memorable for the first descent of the Amoor by a military expedition. The outbreak of the Crimean war rendered it necessary to supply the Russian fleet in the Pacific. The colonies on the Pacific needed provisions, and the Amoor offered the only feasible route to send them. General Mouravieff made his preparations, and obtained the consent of his government to the important step. He asked the permission of the Chinese, but those worthies were as dilatory as usual, and Mouravieff could not wait. He left Shilikinsk on the 27th of May, escorted by a thousand soldiers with several guns, and carrying an ample supply of provisions for the Pacific fleet.
The Chinese made no actual opposition, but satisfied themselves with counting the boats that passed. Mouravieff supplied the fleet at the mouth of the Amoor, and then returned by way of Ayan to Irkutsk. The troops were left to garrison the fortified points on or near the sea. In 1855 three more expeditions left Shilikinsk with soldiers and colonists. General Mouravieff accompanied the first of these expeditions and went directly to Nicolayevsk. The allied fleet attempted to enter the Amoor but could not succeed. The general sent his compliments to the English Admiral and told him to come on if he could and he should be warmly received. In 1856 a few Cossack posts were established along the river, and in the next year nearly three thousand Cossacks were sent there. The Chinese made a formal protest against these movements, and there were fears of a hostile collision. The reverses that China suffered from the English and French prevented war with Russia, and in 1858 Mouravieff concluded a treaty at Igoon by which the Russian claim to the country north of the Amoor and east of the Ousuree was acknowledged. The Russians were thus firmly established, and the development of the country has progressed peacefully since that period.
As the Argoon from its mouth to Lake Kerolun forms the boundary between the empires I lost sight of China when we entered the Shilka. As I shivered on the steamer’s bridge, my breath congealing on my beard, and the hills beyond the Amoor and Argoon white with the early snow of winter, I could not see why the Celestials call their land the ‘Central Flowery Kingdom.’
The Shilka has a current flowing four or five miles an hour. The average speed of the Korsackoff in ascending was about four miles. The river wound among mountains that descended to the water without intervening plateaus, and only on rare occasions were meadows visible. The forests were pine and larch, with many birches. The lower part of the Shilka has very little agricultural land, and the only settlements are the stations kept by a few Cossacks, who cut wood for the steamers and supply horses to the post and travelers in winter.
The first night after leaving the Amoor there was a picturesque scene at our wooding station. The mountains were revealed by the setting moon, and their outline against the sky was sharply defined. We had a large fire of pine boughs burning on the shore, and its bright flames lighted both sides of the river. The boatmen in their sheepskin coats and hats walked slowly to and fro, and gave animation to the picture. While I wrote my journal the horses above me danced as though frolicking over a hornet’s nest, and reduced sentimental thoughts to a minimum. To render the subject more interesting two officers and the priest grew noisy over a triple game of cards and a bottle of vodki. I wrote in my overcoat, as the thermometer was at 30° with no fire in the cabin.
We frequently met rafts with men and horses descending to supply the post stations, or bound on hunting excursions. I was told that the hunters float down the river on rafts and then make long circuits by land to their points of departure. The Siberian squirrel is very abundant in the mountains north of the Shilka, and his fur is an important article of commerce.
We stopped at Gorbitza, near the mouth of the Gorbitza river, that formerly separated Russia and China and was the boundary up to 1854.
Above this point the villages had an appearance of respectable age not perceptible in the settlements along the Amoor. Ten or twelve miles from our wooding place we met ice coming out of the Chorney river, but it gave us no inconvenience. The valley became wider and the hills less abrupt, while the villages had an air of irregularity more pleasing than the military precision on the Amoor. I saw many dwellings on which decay’s effacing fingers were busy. The telegraph posts were fixed above Gorbitza, but the wires had not been strung.
There were many haystacks at the villages, and I could see droves of cattle and sheep on the cleared hills. At one landing I found a man preparing his house for winter by calking the seams with moss. Under the eaves of another house there were many birds that resembled American swallows. I could not say whether they were migratory or not, but if the former they were making their northern stay a late one. Their twitterings reminded me of the time when I used to go at nightfall, ‘when the swallows homeward fly,’ and listen to the music without melody as the birds exchanged their greetings, told their loves, and gossipped of their adventures.
PREPARING FOR WINTER.
PREPARING FOR WINTER.
Just at sunset we reached Shilikinsk, a town stretching nearly two miles along the river, on a plateau thirty feet high. We stopped in the morning where there was abundance of wood, but only took enough to carry us to Shilikinsk. There was a lady in the case. Our first officer had a feminine acquaintance at the town, and accordingly wished to stop for wood, and, if possible, to pass the night there. His plan failed, as no wood could be discovered at Shilikinsk, though our loving mate scanned every part of the bank. We had enough fuel to take us a few miles farther, where we found wood and remained for the night. The disappointed swain pocketed his chagrin and solaced himself by playing the agreeable to a lady passenger.
I saw in the edge of the town a large building surrounded with a palisaded wall. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to the structure new to my eyes.
“It is a station for exiles,” was my friend’s reply, “when they pass through the town. They generally remain here over night, and sometimes a few days, and this is their lodging. You will see many such on your way through Siberia.”
“Is it also the prison for those who are kept here permanently?” “No; the prison is another affair. The former prison at Shilikinsk has been converted into a glass manufactory. Just behind it is a large tannery, heretofore celebrated throughout Eastern Siberia for its excellent leather.”
As we proceeded the country became more open and less mountainous, and I saw wide fields on either side. A road was visible along the northern bank of the river, sometimes cut in the hillside where the slope was steep. On the southern bank there was no road beyond that for local use. The telegraph followed the northern side, but frequently left the road to take short cuts across the hills.
We struck a rock ten miles from our journey’s end, and for several minutes I thought we should go gracefully to the bottom. We whirled twice around on the rock before we left it, and our captain feared we had sprung a leak. When once more afloat Borasdine and I packed our baggage and prepared for the shore. We ate the last of our preserves and gave sundry odds and ends to the Cossacks. As a last act we opened the remaining bottles of a case of champagne, and joined officers and fellow passengers in drinking everybody’s health.
Late in the afternoon of the 20th October we were in sight of Stratensk. The summer barracks were first visible, and a moment later I could see the church dome. In nearly all Russian towns the churches are the first objects visible on arriving and the last on departing. Tho house of worship is no less prominent in the picture of a Russian village than the ceremonies of religion in the daily life of the people.
There was a large crowd on the bank to welcome us. Officers, soldiers, merchants, Cossacks, peasants, women, children, and dogs were in goodly numbers. Our own officers were in full uniform to make their calls on shore. The change of costume that came over several passengers was interesting in the extreme.
At last the steamer ceased her asthmatic wheeze and dropped her anchor at the landing. We gave our baggage to a Cossack to take to the hotel. Soon as the rush over the plank was ended I walked ashore from the Korsackoff for the last time.
So ended, for the present, my water journeying. I had zig-zagged from New York a distance, by my line of travel, not less than fifteen thousand miles. The only actual land route on my way had been forty-seven miles between Aspinwall and Panama. I had traveled on two ocean passenger-steamers, one private steamer of miniature size, a Russian corvette, a gunboat of the Siberian fleet, and two river boats of the Amoor flotilla. Not a serious accident had occurred to mar the pleasure of the journey. There had been discomforts, privations, and little annoyances of sufficient frequency, but they only added interest to the way.
The proverb well says there is no rose without a thorn, and it might add that the rose would be less appreciable were there no thorn. Half our pleasures have their zest in the toil through which they are gained. In travel, the little hardships and vexations bring the novelties and comforts into stronger relief, and make the voyager’s happiness more real. It is an excellent trait of human nature that the traveler can remember with increased vividness the pleasing features of his journey while he forgets their opposites. Privations and discomforts appeal directly to the body; their effect once passed the physical system courts oblivion. Pleasures reach our higher being, which experiences, enjoys, and remembers.
TAIL PIECE