Stratensk, Eastern Siberia
The boat was a long time coming, and while we waited its arrival a drunken Bouriat made himself unpleasantly familiar. As often as I changed my position he would come to my side and endeavor to rest his dirty arm on my shoulder. I finally walked through a pile of brushwood and crooked sticks, which was too much for the native with his weak knees and muddy brain. After struggling with a persistency that would have been commendable had the object to be attained been commensurate to the effort, he became inextricably tangled, and I left him in the loving embrace of a decayed tree-top.
The boat came with four shaggy ferrymen, who had some difficulty in reaching land. It was a kind of large skiff, high at both ends and having a platform, like that of a hay-scale, in the center. The platform projected a foot or more beyond the sides of the boat, and had no railing to prevent a frightened horse or drunken man going overboard. This is the general style of river ferry boats in Siberia. The boatmen do not appear very skillful in handling them, but I learned that serious accidents were very rare.
We piled our baggage and left the shore, running upon two rocks and colliding with a sandbar before getting fairly away. I fell asleep during the crossing, satisfied that the crew did not need my assistance. We landed where the road is cut into the rocky bank, and were obliged to lift the baggage over a pile of stony debris. The boatmen said it was impossible to go to the regular landing, but I suspect they wished an extra gratuity for handling our impedimenta. Before the work was finished they regretted their manoeuvre.
As we touched the shore one man went to the station to bring horses and a vehicle. Borasdine and I scrambled over the rocks to the road fifteen feet above the water, and by the time the crew brought up our baggage the conveyance arrived. It was what the Russians call a telyaga, drawn by three horses.
This carriage is of Quaker simplicity. There are four wheels on wooden axles, with rough but strong ‘reaches.’ A body, shaped something like an old-fashioned baby-cart, rests upon the reaches or on poles fixed over them. The hood protects against wind and rain from behind, and the best of the vehicles have boots buttoned in front and attached to the hoods. The driver sits on the bow directly behind the shaft-horse, and one part of his duty is to keep from falling off. The traveler spreads his baggage inside as evenly as possible to form a bed or cushion. Angular pieces should be discarded, as the corners are disagreeable when jolted against one’s sides. Two shafts are fixed in the forward axle, and a horse between them forms a sort of point d’appui. Any number from one to six can be tied on outside of him.
The fault of our baggage was that we, or rather I, had too much. Worst of all, I had a wooden trunk that I proposed throwing away at Nicolayevsk, but had been told I could carry to Irkutsk without trouble. It could not ride inside, or if it did we could not. We placed the small articles in the interior of the vehicle, and tied the trunk and Borasdine’s chemadan on the projecting poles behind. The chemadan is in universal use among Siberian travelers, and admirably adapted to the road. It is made of soft leather, fastens with a lacing of deer-skin thongs, and can be lashed nearly water tight. It will hold a great deal,—I never saw one completely filled,—and accommodates itself to the shape of its aggregate contents. It can be of any size up to three or four feet long, and its dimensions are proportioned to each other about like those of an ordinary pocket-book. A great advantage is the absence of sharp corners and the facility of packing closely.
We acted contrary to the custom of the country in tying our baggage behind. There are gentlemen of the road in Siberia as there are ‘road agents’ in California. The Siberian highwaymen rarely disturb the person of a traveler, but their chief amusement is to cut away outside packages. As a precaution we mounted our Cossack on the trunk, but before we went a mile he fell from his perch in spite of his utmost efforts to cling to the vehicle. After that event he rode by the driver’s side.
On seeing Lovett at Stratensk my first question related to the condition of the road. “Horrid,” said he. “The worst time to travel. There has been much rain and cold weather. You will find mud either soft or frozen most of the way to Chetah.”
Before we started the driver brought an additional horse, and after a preliminary kick or two we took the road. For a few miles we went up and down hills along the edge of the river, where the route has been cut at much labor and expense. This was not especially bad, the worst places being at the hollows between the hills where the mud was half-congealed. When we left the river we found the mud that Lovett prophesied. Quality and quantity were alike disagreeable. All roads have length more or less; ours had length, breadth, depth, and thickness. The bottom was not regular like that of the Atlantic, but broken into inequalities that gave an uneasy motion to the telyaga.
To travel in Siberia one must have a padaroshnia, or road pass, from the government authorities, stating the number of horses to which he is entitled. There are three grades of padaroshnia; the first for high officials and couriers; the second for officers on ordinary business; and the third for civilian travelers. The first and second are issued free to those entitled to receive them, and the third is purchased at the rate of half a copeck a verst. These papers serve the double purpose of bringing revenue to government and preventing unauthorized persons traveling about the country. A traveler properly provided presents his papers at a post-station and receives horses in his turn according to the character of his documents.
A person with a courier’s pass is never detained for want of animals; other travelers must take their chance. Of course the second class of passport precedes the third by an inflexible rule. Suppose A has a second class and B a third class padaroshnia. A reaches a station and finds B with a team ready to start. If there are no more horses the smotretal (station master) detaches the animals from B’s vehicle and supplies them to A. B must wait until he can be served; it may be an hour, a day, or a week.
The stations are kept by contract. The government locates a station and its lessee is paid a stipulated sum each year. He agrees to keep the requisite horses and drivers, the numbers varying according to the importance of the route. He contracts to carry the post each way from his station to the next, the price for this service being included in the annual payment. He must keep one vehicle and three horses at all times ready for couriers. Couriers, officers, and travelers of every kind pay at each station the rate fixed by law.
In Kamchatka and North Eastern Siberia the post route is equipped with dog-teams, just as it has horses in more southerly latitudes. In the northern part of Yakutsk the reindeer is used for postal or traveling service. A padaroshnia calls for a given number of horses, usually three, without regard to the number of persons traveling upon it. Generally the names of all who are to use it are written on the paper, but this is not absolutely necessary. Borasdine had a padaroshnia and so had I, but mine was not needed as long as we kept together.
The post carriages must be changed at every station. Constant changing is a great trouble, especially if one has much baggage. In a wet or cold night when you have settled comfortably into a warm nest, and possibly fallen asleep, it is an intolerable nuisance to turn out and transfer. To remedy this evil one can buy a tarantass, a vehicle on the general principle of the telyaga, but larger, stronger, and better in every way. When he buys there is a scarcity and the price is high, but when he has finished his journey and wishes to sell, it is astonishing how the market is glutted. At Stratensk I endeavored to purchase a tarantass, but only one could be had. This was too rheumatic for the journey, and very groggy in the springs, so at the advice of Lovett I adhered to the telyaga.
The Russians apply the term ‘equipage’ to any vehicle, whether on wheels or runners, and with or without its motive power. It is a generic definition, and can include anything drawn by horses, dogs, deer, or camels. The word sounds very well when applied to a fashionable turnout, but less so when speaking of a dirt-cart or wheelbarrow.
The same word, ‘equipage,’ is used in Russian as in French to denote a ship’s crew. In this connection I heard an amusing story, vouched for as correct. A few years after the disappearance of Sir John Franklin the English Admiralty requested the Russian government to make inquiries for the lost navigator along the coast and islands of the Arctic Ocean. An order to that effect was sent to the Siberian authorities, and they in turn commanded all subordinates to inquire and report. A petty officer some where in Western Siberia was puzzled at the printed order to ‘inquire concerning the English Captain, John Franklin, and his equipage.’ In due time he reported:
“I have made the proper inquiries. I can learn nothing about Captain Franklin; but in one of my villages there is an old sleigh that no one claims, and it may be his equipage.”
We carried one and sometimes two bells on the yoke of our shaft-horse to signify that we traveled by post. Every humbler vehicle was required to give us the entire road, at least such was the theory. Sometimes we obtained it, and sometimes the approaching drivers were asleep, and the horses kept their own way. When this occurred our driver generally took an opportunity to bring his whip lash upon the sleeper. It is a privilege he enjoys when driving a post carriage to strike his delinquent fellow man if in reach. I presume this is a partial consolation for the kicks and blows occasionally showered upon himself. Humanity in authority is pretty certain to give others the treatment itself has received. Only great natures will deal charity and kindness when remembering oppression and cruelty.
I was not consulted when our telyaga was built, else it would have been wider and longer. When our small parcels were arranged inside there was plenty of room for one but hardly enough for two. Borasdine and I were of equal height, and neither measured a hair’s breadth less than six feet. When packed for riding I came in questionable shape, my body and limbs forming a geometric figure that Euclid never knew. Notwithstanding my cramped position I managed to doze a little, and contemplated an essay on a new mode of triangulation. We rattled our bones over the stones and frozen earth, and dragged and dripped through the mud to the first station. As we reached the establishment our Cossack and driver shouted “courier!” in tones that soon brought the smotretal and his attendants. They rubbed their half-open eyes and bestirred themselves to bring horses. The word ‘courier’ invigorates the attachés of a post route, as they well know that the bearer of a courier’s pass must not be delayed. Ten minutes are allowed for changing a courier’s horses, and the change is often made in six or eight minutes. The length of a journey depends considerably upon the time consumed at stations.