CHAPTER XXIII.
The heaviest fortunes at Nerchinsk have been made in commerce and gold mining, principally the latter. I met one man reputed to possess three million roubles, and two others who were each put down at over a million. Mr. Kaporaki, our host, was a successful gold miner, if I may judge by what I saw. His dwelling was an edifice somewhat resembling Arlington House, but without its signs of decay. The principal rooms I entered were his library, parlor, and dining-room; the first was neat and cozy, and the second elaborately fitted with furniture from St. Petersburg. Both were hung with pictures and paintings, the former bearing French imprints. His dining-room was in keeping with the rest of the establishment, and I could hardly realize that I was in Siberia, five thousand miles from the Russian capital and nearly half that distance from the Pacific Ocean. The realization was more difficult when our host named a variety of wines ready for our use. Would we take sherry, port, or madiera, or would we prefer Johannisberg, Hockheimer, or Verzenay? Would we try Veuve Cliquot, or Carte d’Or? A box of genuine Havanas stood upon his library table, and received our polite attention. We arrived about ten in the morning, and on consenting to remain till afternoon a half dozen merchants were invited to join us at dinner.
Mr. Kaporaki’s gold mines were on the tributaries of the Nertcha, about a hundred miles away. From his satisfied air in showing specimens and figures I concluded his claims were profitable. The mining season had just closed, and he was footing up his gains and losses for the year. The gold he exhibited was in coarse scales, with occasional nuggets, and closely resembled the product I saw a few months earlier of some washings near Mariposa.
The gold on the Nertcha and its tributaries is found in the sand and earth that form the bed of the streams. Often it is many feet deep and requires much ‘stripping.’ I heard of onepriesk(claim) where the pay-dirt commenced sixty-five feet from the surface. Notwithstanding the great expense of removing the superincumbent earth, the mine had been worked to a profit. Twenty or thirty feet of earth to take away is by no means uncommon. The pay-dirt is very rich, and the estimates of its yield are stated at so manyzolotniksof gold for a hundred poods of earth. From one pood of dirt, of course unusually rich, Mr. Kaporaki obtained 24 zolotniks, or three ounces of gold. In another instance ten poods of dirt yielded 90 zolotniks of gold. The ordinary yield, as near as I could ascertain, was what a Californian would call five or six cents to the pan.
Each of these merchant-miners pays to the government fifteen per cent. of all gold he obtains, and is not allowed to sell the dust except to the proper officials. He delivers his gold and receives the money for it as soon as it is melted and assayed. It was hinted to me that much gold was smuggled across the frontier into China, and never saw the treasury of his Imperial Majesty, the Czar. The Cossacks of the Argoon keep a sharp watch for traffic of this kind. “They either,” said my informant, “deliver a culprit over to justice or, what is the same thing, compel him to bribe them heavily to say nothing.”
Nerchinsk formerly stood at the junction of the Nertcha and Shilka, on the banks of both rivers, but the repeated damage from floods caused its removal. Even on its present site it is not entirely safe from inundation, the lower part of the town having been twice under water and in danger of being washed away.
Many of the present inhabitants are exiles or the descendants of exiles, Nerchinsk having been a place of banishment for political and criminal offenders during the last hundred years. Those condemned to work in the mines were sent to Great Nerchinsk Zavod, about two hundred miles away. The town was the center of the military and mining district, and formerly had more importance than at present. Many participants in the insurrection of 1825 were sent there, among them the princes Trubetskoi and Volbonskoi. After laboring in the mines and on the roads of Nerchinsk, they were sent to Chetah, where they were employed in a polishing mill.
In many stories about Siberian exiles, published in England and America, Nerchinsk has occupied a prominent position. As far as I could observe it is not a place of perpetual frost and snow, its summers being warm though brief. In winter it has cold winds blowing occasionally from the Yablonoi mountains down the valley of the Nertcha. The region is very well adapted to agriculture, and the valley as I saw it had an attractive appearance.
The product of the Nerchinsk mines has been silver, gold, and lead. The search for silver and lead has diminished since the mines were opened to private enterprise. At one time 40,000 poods of lead were produced here annually, most of it being sent to the Altai mountains to be employed in reducing silver. In most places where explored the country is rich in gold, and I have little doubt that thorough prospecting would reveal many placers equaling the best of those in California.
Very few exiles are now sent to Nerchinsk in comparison with the numbers formerly banished there. Under the reign of Nicholas and his father Nerchinsk received its greatest accessions, the Polish revolutions and the revolt of 1825 contributing largely to its population. Places of exile have always been selected with relation to the offence and character of the prisoners. The worst offenders, either political or criminal, were generally sent to the mines of Nerchinsk, their terms of service varying from two to twenty years, or for life. I was told that the longest sentence now given is for twenty years. The condition of prisoners in former times was doubtless bad, and there are many stories of cruelty and extortion practiced by keepers and commandants. The dwellings of prisoners were frequently no better than the huts of savages; their food and clothing were poor and insufficient; they were compelled to labor in half frozen mud and water for twelve or fourteen hours daily, and beaten when they faltered.
The treatment of prisoners depended greatly upon the character of the commandant of the mines. Of the brutality of some officials and the kindness of others there can be little doubt. We have sufficient proof of the varied qualities of the human heart in the conduct of prison-keepers in America during our late war. There have been many exaggerations concerning the treatment of exiles. I do not say there has been no cruelty, but that less has occurred than some writers would have us believe. Before leaving America I read of the rigorous manner in which the sentence of the conspirators of 1825 was carried out. According to one authority the men were loaded with chains and compelled to the hardest labor in the mines under relentless overseers. They were badly lodged, fed with insufficient food, and when ill had little or no medical treatment.
Nearly all these unfortunates were of noble families and never performed manual labor before reaching the mines. They had been tenderly reared, and were mostly young and unused to the hardships of life outside the capitals. Thrust at once into the mines of Siberia they could hardly survive a lengthened period of the cruelty alleged. Most of them served out their sentences and retained their health. Some returned to Europe after more than thirty years exile, and a few were living in Siberia at the time of my visit, forty-one years after their banishment. I conclude they were either blessed with more than iron constitutions, or there is some mistake in the account of their suffering and privation.
Many attempts have been made to escape from these mines, but very few were completely successful. Some prisoners crossed into China after dodging the vigilant Cossacks on the frontier, but they generally perished in the deserts of Mongolia, either by starvation or at the hands of the natives. I have heard of two who reached the Gulf of Pecheli after many hardships, where they captured a Chinese fishing boat and put to sea. When almost dead of starvation they were picked up by an English barque and carried to Shanghae, where the foreign merchants supplied them with money to find their way to Paris.
A better route than this was by the Amoor, before it was open to Russian navigation. Many who escaped this way lost their lives, but others reached the seacoast where they were picked up by whalers or other transient ships. In 1844 three men started for the Ohotsk sea, traveling by way of the Yablonoi mountains. They had managed to obtain a rifle, and subsisted upon game they killed, and upon berries, roots, and the bark of trees. They escaped from the mines about midsummer, and hoped by rapid travel to reach the coast before winter overtook them.
One of the men was killed by falling from a rock during the first month of the journey. The others buried their dead companion as best they could, marking his grave with a cross, though with no expectation it would again be seen by human eyes. Traversing the mountains and reaching the tributaries of the Aldan river, they found their hardships commencing. The country was rough and game scarce, so that the fugitives were exhausted by fatigue and hunger. They traveled for a time with the wandering Tunguze of this region, and were caught by the early snows of winter when the coast was still two hundred miles away. They determined to wait until spring before crossing the mountains. Unluckily while with the Tunguze they were seen by a Russian merchant, who informed the authorities. Early in the spring they were captured and returned to their place of imprisonment.
The region around the Yablonoi mountains is so desolate that escape in that direction is almost impossible. By way of the post route to Lake Baikal it is equally difficult, as the road is carefully watched and there are few habitations away from the post villages and stations. No one can travel by post without a padaroshnia, and this can only be procured at the chief towns and is not issued to an unknown applicant.
I heard a story of a young Pole who attempted, some years ago, to escape from exile. He was teacher in a private family and passed his evenings in gambling. At one time he was very successful at cards, and gained in a single week three thousand roubles. With this capital he arranged a plan of escape.
By some means he procured a padaroshnia, not in his own name, and announced his intention to visit his friends a few miles away. As he did not return promptly search was made, and it was found that a person answering his description had started toward Lake Baikal. Pursuit naturally turned in that direction, exactly opposite to his real course of flight. He traveled by post with his padaroshnia and reached the vicinity of Omsk without difficulty. Very injudiciously he quarreled with the drivers at a post station about the payment of ten copecks, which he alleged was an overcharge. The padaroshnia was examined in consequence of the quarrel and found applicable to a Russian merchant of the third class, and not for a nobleman, which he claimed to be.
The station-master arrested the traveler and sent him to Omsk, when his real character was ascertained. On the third day of captivity he bribed his guards and escaped during the night. He remained free more than a month, but was finally recaptured and sent to Irkutsk.
At Nerchinsk I resumed my efforts to purchase a tarantass, but my investigations showed the Nerchinsk market ‘out’ of everything in the tarantass line and no promise of a new crop. Fortune and Kaporaki favored me, and found a suitable vehicle that I could borrow for the journey to Irkutsk. I was to answer for its safety and deliver it to a designated party on my arrival there.
The regulations did not permit, or at least encourage, Borasdine to invest in vehicles. A courier is expected, unless in winter, to travel by the post carriages. All breakages in that case are at the expense of government, with the possible exception of the courier’s bones and head. If a carriage breaks down he takes another and leaves the wreck for the station men to pick up. If he should buy a tarantass and it gave out he would be forced to leave it till he came again, or sell it at any price offered. Nothing that relates to his personal comfort is allowed to detain a courier. He can stop only for change of team, hasty meals, and when leaving or taking despatches on his route. Sometimes a river gets high and refuses to respect his padaroshnia, or a severe and blinding storm stops all travel. A courier’s pass is supposed to command everything short of the elements, and I have a suspicion that some Russians believe it powerfulwiththe elements.
A courier ought to travel with only his baggage and servant, the former not exceeding 200 pounds. Borasdine had Cossack and baggage in proper quantity; adding me and my impedimenta, he was hardly in light moving order. I suggested that he drop me and I would trust to luck and my padaroshnia. I had confidence in the good nature of the Russians and my limited knowledge of the language. I could exhibit my papers, ask for horses, say I was hungry, and was perfectly confident I could pay out money as long as it lasted. But my companion replied that an extra day on the route would make no difference in his catching the boat to cross Lake Baikal, and we would remain together until new difficulties arose.
Having dined we visited the post-station and ordered horses sent to the house of our host. The servants filled our tarantass with baggage, while their master filled us with champagne. The vehicle displayed the best carrying capacity, as it had room for more when our hearts were too full for utterance, save in a half breathed sigh.
We rattled out of Kaporaki’s yard and down to the Nertcha, where we had a ferry-boat like the one at Stratensk, though a little larger. The horses were detached and remained on the bank until the tarantass was safely on board. There was not much room for them, but they managed to find standing places.
By the time we were over the river it was night, and the sentinel stars had set their watch in the sky. We found the road an unpleasant combination of snow, dirt, and water. We had four weak little horses, and the driver told us they had made one journey to the station and back again since morning.
In the Russian posting system the horses carry loads only one way. The driver takes your vehicle to the station, where he is allowed to rest himself and horses one hour and then starts on his return. In ordinary seasons when the traveling is good, each team of horses will make two round trips in twenty-four hours. This gives them from fifty to seventy miles daily travel, half of it without load and at a gentle pace.
After the third station the road improved, the snow and mud diminishing and leaving a comparatively dry track. The stations were generally so uncomfortably hot as to put me in a perspiration, and I was glad to get out of doors. The temperature was about 70° Fahrenheit, and the air at night contained odors from the breath and boots of dormantmoujiks. The men sleep on the floor and benches, but the top of the stove is the favorite couch. The stove is of brick as already described, and its upper surface is frequently as wide as a common bed. Sometimes the caloric is a trifle abundant, but I have rarely known it complained of.
FAVORITE BED.
FAVORITE BED.
I could never clearly understand the readiness and ability of the Russians to endure contrasts of heat and cold with utter complacence and without apparent ill effect. I have seen a yemshick roused at midnight from the top of a stove where he was sleeping in a temperature of eighty-five or ninety degrees. He made his toilet by tightening his waist-belt and putting on his boots. When the horses were ready he donned his cap and extra coat, thrust his hands into mittens, and mounted the front of a sleigh. The cold would be anywhere from ten to fifty degrees below zero, but the man rarely appeared to suffer. In severe weather I hesitated to enter the stations on account of the different temperature of the house and the open air, but the Russians did not seem to mind the sudden changes.
All natives of Northern Siberia subject themselves without inconvenience to extremes of heat and cold. Major Abasa told me that when the cold was 40° below zero he had found the Koriaks in their yourts with a temperature 75° above. They passed from one to the other without a change of clothing and without perspiring. At night they ordinarily slept in their warm dwellings, but when traveling they rested in the snow under the open sky. In his exploration around Penjinsk Gulf the major saw a woman sleep night after night on the snow in the coldest weather with no covering but the clothing she wore in the day. She would have slept equally well if transferred to a hot room.
The Yakuts and Tunguze are equally hardy. Captain Wrangell gives examples of their endurance, especially of living in warm rooms or sleeping on the ice at a low temperature. Captain Cochrane, the English Pedestrian, had a wonderful experience with some natives that guided him from the Lena to the Kolyma. Though the Captain was an old traveler and could support much cold and fatigue, he was greatly outdone by his guides. He could never easily accommodate himself to wide extremes of heat and cold, and I believe this is the experience of nearly all persons not born and reared under a northern sky. The road from Nerchinsk to Chetah is through an undulating country, the hills in many places being high enough to merit the name of mountains. Sometimes we followed the valley of the Ingodah, and again we left it to wind over the hills and far away where the bluffs prevented our keeping near the stream. When we looked upon the river from these mountains the scene was beautiful, and I shall long retain my impression of the loveliness of the Ingodah. Mr. Collins described this valley nine years before me, and with one exception I can confirm all he said of its charms. He had the good fortune to travel in spring when the flowers were in bloom, whereas my journey was late in autumn. My English friend at Stratensk spoke of this particular feature of the country, and described the thick carpet of blossoms that in some places almost hid the grass from view. To compensate for the long and dreary winter Nature spreads her floral beauties with lavish hand, and converts the once ice-bound region into a landscape of beautiful and fragrant flowers.
The valley is fertile and well cultivated, villages and farm houses being frequent. The road was excellent, wide, and well made; much labor had been expended upon it during the last two years. Its up and down-ishness was not to my liking, as the horses utterly refused to gallop in ascending hills a mile or two long. The descent was less difficult, but unfortunately we could not have it all descent. We had equal quantities of rising and falling, with the difference against us that we were ascending the valley. Fortunately the road was dry and in some places we found it dusty.
Late in the afternoon we halted for dinner, ordering the samovar almost before we stopped the tarantass. We ordered eggs and bread, and in hopes of something substantial Borasdine consulted the mistress of the house. He returned with disgust pictured on his countenance.
“Have they anything?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No; nothing but mutton.” Nothing but mutton!Iwas entirely reconciled. When it came I made a fine dinner, but he took very little of it. There are great flocks of sheep belonging to the Bouriats in Eastern Siberia, and they form the chief support of that people. Curiously enough the Russians rarely eat mutton, though so abundant around them. Borasdine told me it seldom appeared on a Siberian table, and I observed that both nobles and peasants agreed in disliking it. While at dinner we caught sight of a pretty face and figure, more to my fellow traveler’s taste than thepiece de resistanceof our meal.
After dinner we passed over a hill and entered a level region where we found plenty of mud. About midnight the yemshick exhibited his skill by driving into a mudhole where there was solid ground on both sides. We were hopelessly stuck, and all our cries and utterances were of no avail. The Cossack and the driver could accomplish nothing, and we were obliged to descend from the carriage. We required our subordinates to put their shoulders to the wheels, though the operation covered them with mud. While they lifted we shouted to the horses, Borasdine in Russian and I in French and English.
Twenty minutes of this toil accomplished nothing. Then we unloaded all our baggage down to the smallest articles. Another effort and we were still in our slough of despond. I retreated to a neighboring fence and returned with a stout pole. The Cossack brought another, and we arranged to lift the fore wheels to somewhere near the surface. It was my duty to urge the horses, and I flattered myself that I performed it.
I had the driver’s whip to assist my utterance; the others lifted, while I struck and shouted. We had a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, and pulled out of the depths. I attributed no small part of the success to the effect of American horse-vocabulary upon Russian quadrupeds. When we reloaded it was refreshing to observe the care with which the Cossack had placed our pillows on the wet ground and piled heavy baggage over them. Borasdine expressed his objection to this plan in such form that the Cossack was not likely to repeat the operation.
The motion of the tarantass, especially its jolting over the rough parts of the route, gave me a violent headache, the worst I ever experienced. The journey commenced too abruptly for my system to be reconciled without complaint. Nearly four months I had been almost constantly on ships and steamboats, all my land riding in that time not amounting to thirty miles. I came ashore at Stratensk and began travel with a Russian courier over Siberian roads at the worst season of the year. It was like leaving the comforts of a Fifth Avenue parlor to engage in wood-sawing. At every bound of the vehicle my brain seemed ready to burst, and I certainly should have halted had we not intended delaying at Chetah.
CONCENTRATED ENERGIES.
CONCENTRATED ENERGIES.
A Russian yemshick centers his whole duty in driving his team. He gives no thought to the carriage or the persons inside; they must look out for their own interest. Let him come to a hill, rough or smooth, rocky or gravelly, provided there be no actual danger, he descends at his best speed. Sometimes the horses trot, and again they gallop down a long slope. Near the bottom they set out on a full run, as if pursued by a pack of hungry wolves. They dash down the hill, across the hollow, and part way up the opposite ascent without slacking speed. The carriage leaps, bumps, and rattles, and the contents, animate or inanimate, are tossed violently. If there is a log bridge in the hollow the effect is more than electric. The driver does not even turn his head to regard his passengers. If the carriage holds together and follows it is all that concerns him.
At first I was not altogether enamored of this practice. But as I never suffered actual injury and the carriages endured their rough treatment, I came in time to like it. As a class the Russian yemshicks are excellent drivers, and in riding behind more than three hundred of them I had abundant opportunity to observe their skill. They are not always intelligent and quick to devise plans in emergencies, but they are faithful and know the duties of their profession. For speed and safety I would sooner place myself in their hands than behind professional drivers in New York. They know the rules of the road, the strength and speed of their horses, and are almost uniformly good natured.
We reached Chetah at five in the morning and roused the inmates of the only hotel. The sleepychelavekshowed us to a room containing two chairs, two tables, and a dirty sofa. The Cossack brought our baggage from the tarantass, and we endeavored to sleep. When we rose Borasdine went to call upon the governor while I ordered breakfast on my own account. Summoning thechelavekI began, “Dai samovar, chi, saher e kleb,” (give the samovar, tea, bread, and sugar.) This accomplished, I procured beefsteaks and potatoes without difficulty. I spoke the language of the country in a fragmentary way, but am certain my Russian was not half as bad as the beefsteak.