The Conductor
From our dining station we left the main road, and traveled several versts along the frozen surface of the Birusa river. The snow lay in ridges, and as we drove rapidly over them we were tossed like a yawl in a hopping sea. It was a foretaste of what was in store for me at later periods of my journey. The Birusa is rich in gold deposits, and the government formerly maintained extensive mining establishments in its valley.
About nine o’clock in the evening we voted to take tea. On entering the station I found the floor covered with a dormant mass, exhaling an odor not altogether spicy. I bumped my head against a sort of wide shelf suspended eighteen or twenty inches from the ceiling, and sustaining several sleepers.
“Here” said Paul, “is another chambre á coucher” as he attempted to pull aside a curtain at the top of the brick stove. A female head and shoulders were exposed for an instant, until a stout hand grasped and retained the curtain. The suspended shelf or false ceiling is quite common in the peasant houses, and especially at the stations. The yemshicks and other attachés of the concern are lodged here and on the floor, beds being a luxury they rarely obtain. Frequently a small house would be as densely packed as the steerage of a passenger ship, and I never desired to linger in these crowded apartments. A Russian house has little or no ventilation, and the effect of a score of sleepers on the air of a room is ‘better imagined than described.’
On the road west of Irkutsk the rules require each smotretal to keep ten teams or thirty horses, ready for use. Many of them have more than that number, and the villages can supply any ordinary demand after the regular force is exhausted. Fourteen yemshicks are kept at every station, and always ready for service. They are boarded at the expense of the smotretal, and receive about five roubles each per month, with as much drink-money as they can obtain. Frequently they make two journeys a day to the next station, returning without loads. They appeared on the most amiable terms with each other, and I saw no quarreling over their work.
On our first and second nights from Irkutsk the weather was cold, the thermometer standing at fifteen or twenty degrees below zero. On the third day the temperature rose quite rapidly, and by noon it was just below the freezing point. Our furs designed for cold weather became uncomfortably warm, and I threw off my outer garments and rode in my sheepskin coat. In the evening we experienced a feeling of suffocation on closing the sleigh, and were glad to open it again. We rode all night with the wind beating pleasantly against our faces, and from time to time lost our consciousness in sleep. For nearly two days the warm weather continued, and subjected us to inconveniences. We did not travel as rapidly as in the colder days, the road being less favorable, and the horses diminishing their energy with the increased warmth. Some of our provisions were in danger of spoiling as they were designed for transportation only in a frozen state.
Between Nijne Udinsk and Kansk the snow was scanty, and the road occasionally bad. The country preserved its slightly undulating character, and presented no features of interest. Where we found sufficient snow we proceeded rapidly, sometimes leaving the summer road and taking to the open ground, and forests on either side. We pitched into a great many oukhabas, analagous to American “hog wallows” or “cradle holes.” To dash into one of these at full speed gives a shock like a boat’s thumping on the shore. It is only with pillows, furs, and hay that a traveler can escape contusions. In mild doses oukhabas are an excellent tonic, but the traveler who takes them in excess may easily imagine himself enjoying a field-day at Donnybrook Fair.