For a long time I could never rid myself of a sensation of 'goneness' when I read the figures indicating the distance to St. Petersburg. Above seven thousand they were positively frightful; between six and seven thousand, they were disagreeable to say the least. Among the five thousand and odd versts, I began to think matters improving, and when I descended below four thousand, I felt as if in my teens. The proverb says, "a watched pot never boils." I can testify that these distance figures diminished very slowly, and sometimes they seemed to remain nearly the same from day to day.

The snow storm that began when we left Tomsk, continued through the night and the following day. The air was warm, and there was little wind, so that our principal inconvenience was from the snow flakes in our faces, and the gradual filling of the road. Toward sunset a wind arose. Every hour it increased, and before midnight there was good prospect of our losing our way or being compelled to halt until daybreak. The snow whirled in thick masses through the air, and utterly blinded us when we attempted to look out. The road filled with drifts, and we had much difficulty in dragging through them. The greatest personal inconvenience was the sifting of snow through the crevices of our sleigh cover. At every halt we underwent a vigorous shaking to remove the superfluous snow from our furs.

A storm with high winds in this region takes the name of bouran. It is analogous to the poorga of Northeastern Siberia and Kamchatka, and may occur at any season of the year.

Bourans are oftentimes very violent, especially in the open steppe. Any one who has experienced the norther of Texas, or the bora of Southern Austria, can form an idea of these Siberian storms. The worst are when the thermometer sinks to twenty-five degrees or more below zero, and the snow is dashed about with terrific fury. At such times they are almost insupportable, and the traveler who ventures to face them runs great risk of his life. Many persons have been lost in the winter storms, and all experienced voyagers are reluctant to brave their violence. In summer the wind spends its force on the earth and sand which it whirls in large clouds. A gentleman told me he had seen the dry bed of a river where there were two feet of sand, swept clean to the rock by the strength of the wind alone. A little past daylight the sleigh came to a sudden stop despite the efforts of all concerned. The last hundred versts of our ride we had four horses to each sleigh, and their united strength was not more than sufficient for our purpose. The drift where we stopped was at least three feet deep, and pretty closely packed. We, that is to say, the horses and yemshicks, made several efforts but could not carry the sleigh through. The mammoth sleigh came up and the two yemshicks trod a path through the worst part of the drift. The doctor and I descended from the vehicle, and assisted by looking on. The sleigh thus lightened, was dragged through the obstruction but unfortunately turned on its beam ends, and filled with snow before it could be righted.

The bouran was from the south, and raised the temperature above the freezing point. The increasing heat became uncomfortable after the cold I had experienced. The horses did not turn white from perspiration as in colder days, and the exertion of travel set them panting as in summer. The drivers carefully knotted their (the horses') tails to prevent them (the tails) from filling with snow, but the precaution was not entirely successful. The snow was of the right consistency for a school boy's frolic, and would have thrown a group of American urchins into ecstacies. Whenever our pace quickened to a trot or gallop, the larboard horse threw a great many snowballs with his feet. He seemed to aim at my face, and every few minutes I received what the prize ring would call 'plumpers in the peeper, and sockdolagers on the potato-trap.'

We drove into Barnaool about forty-four hours after leaving Tomsk. At the hotel we found three rooms containing chairs and tables in profusion, but not a bed or sofa. Of course we were expected to supply our own bedding, and need not be particular about a bedstead. The worst part of the affair was the wet condition of our furs. My sheepskin sleigh robe was altogether too damp for use, and I sent it to be dried in the kitchen. Several of my fur garments went the same way. Even my shooba, which I carried in a bag, had a feeling of dampness when I unfolded it, and in fact the only dry things about us, were our throats. We set things drying as best we could, and then ordered dinner. Before our sleighs were unloaded, a policeman took our passports and saved us all trouble of going to the station.

In the evening I accompanied Dr. Schmidt on a visit to a friend and fellow member of the Academy of Science. We found a party of six or eight persons, and, as soon as I was introduced, a gentleman despatched a servant to his house. The man returned with a roll of sheet music from which our host's daughter favored us with the "Star Spangled Banner," and "Hail Columbia," as a greeting to the first American visitor to Barnaool. On our return to our lodgings we made our beds on the floor, and slept comfortably. The dampness of the furs developed a rheumatic pain in my shoulder that stiffened me somewhat inconveniently.

We breakfasted upon cakes and tea at a late hour in the morning, and then went to pay our respects to General Freeze, the Nachalnik or Director of Mines, and to Colonel Filoff, chief of the smelting works. Both these officers were somewhat past the middle age, quiet and affable, and each enjoyed himself in coloring a meerschaum. They have been engaged in mining matters during many years, and are said to be thoroughly versed in their profession. After visiting these gentlemen we called upon other official and civilian residents of the city.

Barnaool is the center of direction of the mining enterprises of the Altai mountains, and has a population of ten or twelve thousand. Almost its entire business is in someway connected with mining affairs, and there are many engineer officers constantly stationed there. I met some of these gentlemen during my stay, and was indebted to them for information concerning the manner of working mines and reducing ores. The city contains a handsome array of public buildings, including the mining bureau, the hospital, and the zavod or smelting establishment. General Freeze, the Nachalnik, is director and chief, not only of the city but of the entire mining district of which Barnaool is the center. The first discoveries of precious metals in the Altai regions were made by one of the Demidoffs who was sent there by Peter the Great. A monument in the public square at Barnaool records his services, in ever during brass. I was shown an autograph letter from the Empress Elizabeth giving directions to the Nachalnik who controlled the mines during her reign. The letter is kept in an ivory box on the table around which the mining board holds its sessions. The mines of this region are the personal property of the Emperor, and their revenues go directly to the crown. I was told that the government desires to sell or give these mines into private hands, in the belief that the resources of the country would be more thoroughly developed. The day before my departure from Barnaool, I learned that my visit had reference to the possible purchase of the mining works by an American company. I hastened to assure my informant that I had no intention of buying the Altai mountains or any part of them.

The Nachalnik visits all mines and smelting works in his district at least once a year, and is constantly in receipt of detailed reports of operations in progress. His power is almost despotic, and like the governors of departments throughout all Siberia, he can manage affairs pretty much in his own way. There are no convict laborers in his district, the workmen at the mines and zavods being peasants subject to the orders of government. Each man in the district may be called upon to work for the Emperor at fixed wages of money and rations. I believe the daily pay of a laborer is somewhat less than forty copecks. A compromise for saints days and other festivals is made by employing the men only two weeks out of three. Relays are so arranged as to make no stoppage of the works except during the Christmas holidays.

I saw many sheets of the geological map of the Altai region, which has been a long time in preparation, and will require several years to complete. Every mountain, hill, brook, and valley is laid down by careful surveyors, and when the map is finished it will be one of the finest and best in the world. One corps is engaged in surveying and mapping while another explores and opens mines.

When the snows are melted in the spring, and the floods have receeded from the streams, the exploring parties are sent into the mountains. Each officer has a particular valley assigned him, and commands a well equipped body of men. He is expected to remain in the mountains until he has finished his work, or until compelled to leave by the approach of winter. The party procures meat from game, of which there is nearly always an abundant supply.

Holes are dug at regular intervals, on the system I have already described in the mines of the Yenesei. The rocks in and around the valley are carefully examined for traces of silver, and many specimens have been collected for the geological cabinet at Barnaool. Maps are made showing the locality of each test hole in the valley, and the spot whence every specimen of rock is obtained. On the return of the party its reports and specimens are delivered to the mining bureau. The ores go to the laboratory to be assayed, and the specimens of rock are carefully sorted and examined.

Gold washings are conducted on the general plan of those in the Yeneseisk government, the details varying according to circumstances. A representation of the principal silver mine—somewhat on the plan of Barnum's "Niagara with Real Water"—was shown me in the museum. In general features the mines are not materially unlike silver mines elsewhere. There are shafts, adits, and levels just as in the mines of Colorado and California. The Russians give the name of priesk to a mine where gold is washed from the earth. The silver mine with its shafts in the solid rock is called a roodnik. As before stated, the word zavod is applied to foundries, smelting works, and manufactories in general.

Colonel Filoff invited the doctor and myself to visit the zavod at Barnaool on the second day after our arrival. As he spoke no language with which I was familiar, the colonel placed me in charge of a young officer fluent in French, who took great pains to explain the modus operandi. The zavod is on a grand scale, and employs about six hundred laborers. It is enclosed in a large yard with high walls, and reminded me of a Pennsylvania iron foundry or the establishment just below Detroit. A sentry at the gate presented arms as we passed, and I observed that the rule of no admittance except on business was rigidly enforced.



In the yard we were first taken to piles of ore which appeared to an unpracticed eye like heaps of old mortar and broken granite. These piles were near a stream which furnishes power for moving the machinery of the establishment. The ore was exposed to the air and snow, but the coal for smelting was carefully housed. There were many sheds for storage within easy distance of the furnaces. The latter were of brick with tall and substantial chimneys, and the outer walls that surrounded the whole were heavily and strongly built. Charcoal is burned in consequence of the cheapness and abundance of wood. I was told that an excellent quality of stove coal existed in the vicinity, and would be used whenever it proved most economical. Nearly all the ore contains copper, silver, and lead, while the rest is deficient in the last named article. The first kind is smelted without the addition of lead, and sometimes passes through six or seven reductions. For the ore containing only copper and silver the process by evaporation of lead is employed. Formerly the lead was brought from Nerchinsk or purchased in England, the land transport in either case being very expensive. Several years ago lead was found in the Altai mountains, and the supply is now sufficient for all purposes.

The lead absorbs the silver, and leaves the copper in the refuse matter. This was formerly thrown away, but by a newly invented process the copper is extracted and saved. The production of silver in the Altai mines is about a thousand and fifty poods annually, or forty thousand pounds avoirdupois. The silver is cast into bars or cakes about ten inches square, and weighing from seventy to a hundred pounds each.

Colonel Filoff showed us into the room where the silver is stored. Two soldiers were on guard and six or eight others rested outside. A sergeant brought a sealed box which contained the key of the safe. First the box and then the safe were opened at the colonel's order, and when we had satisfied our curiosity, the safe was locked and the key restored to its place of deposit. The colonel carried the seal that closed the box, and the sergeant was responsible for the integrity of the wax.

The cakes had a dull hue, somewhat lighter than that of lead, and were of a convenient shape for handling. Each cake had its weight, and value, and result of assay stamped upon it, and I was told that it was assayed again at St. Petersburg to guard against the algebraic process of substitution. About thirty poods of gold are extracted from every thousand poods of silver after the treasure reaches St. Petersburg. The silver is extracted from the lead used to absorb it, the latter being again employed while the former goes on its long journey to the banks of the Neva.

The ore continues to pass through successive reductions until a pood of it contains no more than three-fourths a zolotink of silver; less than that proportion will not pay expenses. I was told that the annual cost of working the mines equaled the value of the silver produced. The gold contained in the silver is the only item of profit to the crown. About thirty thousand poods of copper are produced annually in this district, but none of the copper zavods are at Barnaool.



All gold produced from the mines of Siberia, with the exception of that around Nerchinsk, is sent to Barnaool to be smelted. This work is performed, in a room about fifteen feet square, the furnaces being fixed in its centre like parlor stoves of unusual size. The smelting process continues four months of each year, and during this time about twelve hundred poods of gold are melted and cast into bars. This work, for 1866, was finished a few days before my arrival, and the furnaces were utterly devoid of heat. In the yard at the zavod, I saw a dozen or more sleds, and on each of them there was an iron-bound box filled with bars of gold. This train was ready to leave under strong guard for St. Petersburg.

The morning after my visit to the zavod it was reported that a soldier guarding the sled train had been killed during the night. The incident was a topic of conversation for the rest of my stay, but I obtained no clear account of the affair. All agreed that a sentinel was murdered, and one of the boxes plundered of several bars of gold, but beyond this there were conflicting statements. It was the first occurrence of the kind at Barnaool, and naturally excited the peaceful inhabitants.

The doctor trusted that the affair would not be associated with our visit, and I quite agreed with him. It is to be hoped that the future historian of Barnaool will not mention, the murder and robbery in the same paragraph with the distinguished arrival of Dr. Schmidt and an American traveler.

The rich miners send their gold once a year to Barnaool, the poorer ones twice a year. Those in pressing need of money receive certificates of deposit as soon as their gold is cast into bars, and on these certificates they can obtain cash at the government banks. The opulent miners remain content till their gold reaches the capital, and is coined. Four or six months may thus elapse after gold has left Barnaool before its owner obtains returns.



CHAPTER XLIV.

The society of Barnaool consists of the mining and other officers, with a larger proportion of families than at Irkutsk. It had a more quiet and reserved character than the capital of Eastern Siberia, but was not the less social and hospitable. Many young officers of the mining and topographical departments pass their summers in the mountains and their winters in Barnaool. The cold season is therefore the gayest, and abounds in balls, parties, concerts, and amateur theatricals. The former theatre has been converted into a club-room.

There is a good proportion, for a Siberian town, of elegant and luxuriant houses. The furniture and adornments were quite as extensive as at Irkutsk or Tomsk, and several houses that I visited would have been creditable in Moscow or St. Petersburg. It is no little wonder to find all the comforts and luxuries of Russian life in the southern part of Siberia, on the borders of the Kirghese steppes.

The large and well arranged museum contained more than I could even glance over in a single day. There were models of machines used in gold-washing, quartz mills fifty years old, and almost identical with those of the present day; models of furnaces and zavods in various parts of Siberia, and full delineations of the principal silver mines of the Altai. There was a curious steam engine, said to have been made at Barnaool in 1764, and used for blowing the furnaces. I saw a fine collection of minerals, birds, beasts, and other curiosities of the Altai. Particular attention was called to the stuffed skins of two enormous tigers that were killed several years ago in the southern part of the district. One of them fell after a long fight, in which he killed one of his assailants and wounded two others.

The museum contains several dead specimens of the bearcoot, or eagle of the Altai. I saw a living bird of this species at the house of an acquaintance. The bearcoot is larger than the American eagle, and possesses strength enough to kill a deer or wolf with perfect ease. Dr. Duhmberg, superintendent of the hospitals, told me of an experiment with poison upon one of these birds. He began by giving half a grain of curavar, a poison from South America. It had no perceptible effect, the appetite and conduct of the bird being unchanged. A week later he gave four grains of strychnine, and saw the bird's feathers tremble fifteen minutes after the poison was swallowed. Five hours later the patient was in convulsions, but his head was not affected, and he recovered strength and appetite on the next day. A week later the bearcoot swallowed seven grains of curavar, and showed no change for two days. On the second evening he went into convulsions, and died during the night.

The Kirghese tame these eagles and employ them in hunting. A gentleman who had traveled among the Kirghese told me he had seen a bearcoot swoop down upon a full grown deer and kill him in a few minutes. Sometimes when a pack of wolves has killed and begun eating a deer, the feast will be interrupted by a pair of bearcoots. Two birds will attack a dozen wolves, and either kill or drive them away.

Barnaool is quite near the Kirghese steppes. One of my acquaintances had a Kirghese coachman, a tall, well formed man, with thick lips and a coppery complexion. I established a friendship with this fellow, and arranged that he should sit for his portrait, but somehow he was never ready. He brought me two of his kindred, and I endeavored to persuade the group to be photographed. There was a superstition among them that it would be detrimental to their post mortem repose if they allowed their likenesses on this earth when they themselves should leave it. I offered them one, two, three, and even five roubles, but they stubbornly refused. Their complexions were dark, and their whole physiognomy revealed the Tartar blood. They wore the Russian winter dress, but had their own costume for state occasions. In this part of Siberia Kirghese are frequently found in Russian employ, and are said to be generally faithful and industrious. A considerable number find employment at the Altai mines, and a great many are engaged in taking cattle and sheep to the Siberian markets.

The Kirghese lead a nomadic life, making frequent change of residence to find pasturage for their immense flocks and herds. The different tribes are more or less hostile to each other, and have a pleasant habit of organizing raids on a colossal scale. One tribe will suddenly swoop down upon another and steal all portable property within reach. They do not mind a little fighting, and an enterprise of this kind frequently results in a good many broken heads. The chiefs believe themselves descended from the great warriors of the ancient Tartar days, and boast loudly of their prowess. The Kirghese are brave in fighting each other, but have a respectful fear of the Russians. Occasionally they plunder Russian traders crossing the steppes, but are careful not to attack unless the odds are on their own side.

The Russians have applied their diplomacy among the Kirghese and pushed their boundaries far to the southward. They have purchased titles to districts controlled by powerful chiefs, and after being fairly settled have continued negotiations for more territory. They make use of the hostility between the different tribes, and have managed so that nearly every feud brought advantages to Russia. Under their policy of toleration they never interfere with the religion of the conquered, and are careful not to awaken prejudices. The tribes in the subjugated territory are left pretty much to their own will. Every few years the chain of frontier posts is pushed to the southward, and embraces a newly acquired region. Western Siberia is dotted over with abandoned and crumbling forts that once guarded the boundary, but are now far in the interior. Some of these defences are near the great road across the Baraba steppe.

The Kirghese do not till the soil nor engage in manufactures, except of a few articles for their own use. They sell sheep, cattle, and horses to the Russians, and frequently accompany the droves to their destination. In return for their flocks and herds they receive goods of Russian manufacture, either for their own use or for traffic with the people beyond. Their wealth consists of domestic animals and the slaves to manage them. Horses and sheep are legal tender in payment of debts, bribes, and presents.

In the last few years Russian conquest in Central Asia has moved so fast that England has taken alarm for her Indian possessions. The last intelligence from that quarter announces a victory of the Russians near Samarcand, followed by negotiations for peace. If the Muscovite power continues to extend over that part of Asia, England has very good reason to open her eyes.

I never conversed with the Emperor on this topic, and cannot speak positively of his intentions toward Asia, but am confident he has fixed his eye upon conquest as far south of the Altai as he can easily go. That his armies may sometime hoist the Russian flag in sight of the Indo-English possessions, is not at all improbable. But that they will either attempt or desire an aggressive campaign against India is quite beyond expectation.

It is but a few years ago that English travelers were killed for having made their way into Central Asia in disguise, and Vambery, the Hungarian traveler, was considered to have performed a great feat because he returned from there with his life. There is now the Tashkend Messenger, a Russian paper devoted to the interests of that rich province. Moscow merchants are establishing the Bank of Central Asia, having its headquarters at Tashkend and a branch at Orenburg, and Tashkend will soon be in telegraphic communication with the rest of the world.

A plan has been proposed to open Central Asia to steam boat navigation. The river Oxus, or Amoo-Daria, which flows through Bakhara and Khiva, emptying into the Aral sea, was once a tributary of the Caspian. Several steamers have been placed upon it, and others are promised soon. The dry bed of the old channel of the Oxus is visible in the Turcoman steppe at the present day. The original diversion was artificial, and the dikes which direct it into the Aral are said to be maintained with difficulty. It has been proposed to send an expedition to remove these barriers and turn the river into its former bed.

Coupled with this project is another to divert the course of the Syr-Daria and make it an affluent of the Oxus. This last proposition was half carried out two hundred years ago, and its completion would not be difficult.

By the first project, Russia would obtain a continuous water-way from Nijne Novgorod on the Volga to Balkh on the Amoo-Daria, within two hundred miles of British India. The second scheme carried out would bring Tashkend and all Central Asia under commercial control, and have a political effect of no secondary importance. A new route might thus be opened to British India, and European civilization carried into a region long occupied by semi-barbarian people. Afghanistan would be relieved from its anarchy and brought under wholesome rule. The geographical effect would doubtless be the drying up of the Aral sea. A railway between Balkh and Delhi would complete an inland steam route between St. Petersburg and Calcutta.

Surveys have been ordered for a Central Asiatic Railway from Orenburg or some point farther south, and it is quite possible that before many years the locomotive will be shrieking over the Tartar steppes and frightening the flocks and herds of the wandering Kalmacks and Kirghese. A railway is in process of construction from the Black Sea to the Caspian, and when this is completed, a line into Central Asia is only a question of time.

The Russians have an extensive trade with Central Asia. Goods are transported on camels, the caravans coming in season for the fairs of Irbit and Nijne Novgorod. The caravans from Bokhara proceed to Troitska, (Lat. 54 deg. N., Lon. 61 deg. 20' E.,) Petropavlovsk, (Lat. 54 deg. 30' N., Lon. 69 deg. E.,) and Orenburg, (Lat. 51 deg. 46' N., Lon. 55 deg. 5' E.) There is also a considerable traffic to Sempolatinsk, (Lat. 50 deg. 30' N., Lon. 80 deg. E.) The Russian merchandise consists of metals, iron and steel goods, beads, mirrors, cloths of various kinds, and a miscellaneous lot "too numerous to mention." Much of the country over which these caravans travel is a succession of Asiatic steppes, with occasional salt lakes and scanty supplies of fresh water.

After passing the Altai mountains and outlying chains the routes are quite monotonous. Fearful bourans are frequent, and in certain parts of the route they take the form of sand storms. A Russian army on its way to Khiva twenty-five years ago, was almost entirely destroyed in one of these desert tempests. Occasionally the caravans suffer severely.

The merchandise from Bokhara includes raw cotton, sheepskins, rhubarb, dried fruits, peltries, silk, and leather, with shawl goods of different kinds. Cotton is an important product, and in the latter part of my journey I saw large quantities going to Russian factories. Three hundred years ago a German traveler in Russia wrote an account of 'a wonderful plant beyond the Caspian sea.' "Veracious people," says the writer, "tell me that the Borauez, or sheep plant, grows upon a stalk larger than my thumb; it has a head, eyes, and ears like a sheep, but is without sensation. The natives use its wool for various purposes."

I heard air interesting story of an adventure in which one of the Kirghese, who was living among the Russians at the time of my visit to Barnaool, played an important part. He was a fine looking fellow, whose tribe lived between the Altai Mountains and Lake Ural, spending the winters in the low lands and the summers in the valleys of the foot-hills. He was the son of one of the patriarchs of the tribe, and was captured, during a baranta or foray, by a chief who had long been on hostile terms with his neighbors. The young man was held for ransom, but the price demanded was more than his father could pay, and so he remained in captivity.

He managed to ingratiate himself with the chief of the tribe that captured him, and as a mark of honor, and probably as an excuse for the high ransom demanded, he was appointed to live in the chief's household. He was allowed to ride with the party when they moved, and accompany the herdsmen; but a sharp watch was kept on his movements whenever he was mounted, and care was taken that the horses he rode were not very fleet. The chief had a daughter whom he expected to marry to one of his powerful neighbors, and thereby secure a permanent friendship between the tribes. She was a style of beauty highly prized among the Asiatics, was quite at home on horseback, and understood all the arts and accomplishments necessary to a Kirghese maiden of noble blood. It is nothing marvelous that the young captive, Selim, should become fond of the charming Acson, the daughter of his captor. His fondness was reciprocated, but, like prudent lovers everywhere, they concealed their feelings, and to the outer world preserved a most indifferent exterior.

Selim thought it best to elope, and broached his opinion to Acson, who readily favored it. They concluded to make the attempt when the tribe was moving to change its pasturage, and their absence would not be noticed until they had several hours start and were many miles on their way. They waited until the chief gave the order to move to another locality, where the grass was better. Acson managed to leave the tent in the night, under some frivolous pretext, and select two of her father's best horses, which she concealed in a grove not far away. By previous arrangement she appeared sullen and indignant toward Selim, who, mounted on a very sorry nag, set off with a party of men that were driving a large herd of horses. The latter were ungovernable, and the party became separated, so that it was easy for Selim to drop out altogether and make his way to the grove where the horses were concealed. In the same way Acson abandoned the party she started with, and within an hour from the time they left the aool, or encampment, the lovers met in the grove.



It was a long way to Selim's tribe, but he knew it was somewhere in the mountains to the north and west, having left its winter quarters in the low country. The pair said their prayers in the true Mahommedan style, and then, mounting their horses, set out at an easy pace to ascend the valley toward the higher land. Their horses were in excellent condition, but they knew it would be necessary to ride hard in case they were pursued, and they wished to reserve their strength for the final effort. An hour before nightfall, they saw, far down the valley, a party in pursuit. The party was riding rapidly, and from appearances had not caught sight of the fugitives. After a brief consultation the latter determined to turn aside at the first bend of the valley, and endeavor to cross at the next stream, while leaving the pursuers to go forward and be deceived.

They turned aside, and were gratified to see from a place of concealment the pursuing party proceed up the valley. The departure of the fugitives was evidently known some time earlier than they expected, else the pursuit would not have begun so soon. Guided by the general course of the hills, the fugitives made their way to the next valley, and, as the night had come upon them, they made a camp beneath a shady tree, picketing their horses, and eating such provisions as they had brought with them.

In the morning, just as their steeds were saddled and they were preparing to resume their journey, they saw their pursuers enter the valley a mile or two below them, and move rapidly in their direction. Evidently they had turned back after losing the track, and found it without much delay. But their horses wore more weary than those of the fleeing lovers, so that the latter were confident of winning the race.

Swift was the flight and swift the pursuit. The valley was wide and nearly straight, and the lovers steadily increased the distance between them and their pursuers. They followed no path, but kept steadily forward, with their faces toward the mountains. Their pursuers, originally half a dozen, diminished to five, then to four, and as the hours wore on Selim found that only two were in sight. But a new obstacle arose to his escape.



He knew that the valley he was ascending was abruptly enclosed in the mountains, and escape would be difficult. Further to the east was a more practicable one, and he determined to attempt to reach it. Turning from the valley, he was followed by his two pursuers, who were so close upon him that he determined to fight them. Acson had brought away one of her father's scimetars, and with this Selim prepared to do battle. Finding a suitable place among the rocks, he concealed his horses, and with Acson made a stand where he could fight to advantage. He took his position on a rock just over the path his pursuers were likely to follow, and watched his opportunity to hurl a stone, which knocked one of them senseless. The other was dismounted by his horse taking fright, and before he could regain his saddle, Selim was upon him. A short hand-to-hand fight resulted in Selim's favor.

Leaving his adversaries upon the ground, one of them dead and the other mortally wounded, Selim called Acson and returned to his horses. Both the fugitives were thoroughly exhausted on reaching the valley, and found to their dismay that a stream they were obliged to cross was greatly swollen with recent rains in the mountains.

They were anxious to put the stream between them and their remaining pursuers, and after a brief halt they plunged in with their horses. Selim crossed safely, his horse stemming the current and landing some distance below the point where he entered the water. Acson was less fortunate.

While in the middle of the stream her horse stumbled upon a stone, and sprang about so wildly as to throw her from the saddle. Grasping the limb of a tree overhanging the water, she clung for a moment, but the horse sweeping against her, tore the support from her hand. With a loud cry to her terror-stricken lover, she sank beneath the waters and was dashed against the rocks a hundred yards below.



Day became night, the stars sparkled in the blue heavens; the moon rose and took her course along the sky; the wind sighed among the trees; morning tinged the eastern horizon, and the sun pushed above it, while Selim paced the banks of the river and watched the waters rolling, rolling, rolling, as they carried his heart's idol away from him forever, and it was not until night again approached that he mounted his steed and rode away, heart-broken, and full of sadness. He ultimately made his way to his own tribe, but years passed before he recovered from the crushing weight of that blow; and when I saw him there was still upon his countenance a deep shadow which will never be removed. Such is the story of Selim and Acson. A more romantic one is hardly to be found.



CHAPTER XLV.

One morning while I was in Barnaool the doctor left me writing, and went out for a promenade. In half an hour he returned accompanied by a tall, well-formed man with a brunette complexion, and hair and mustache black as ebony. His dress was Russian, but the face impressed me as something strange.

"Let me introduce you," said the doctor, "to an officer of the Persian army. He has been eight years from home, and would like to talk with an American."

We shook hands, and by way of getting on familiar footing, I opened my cigar case. Dr. Schmidt translated our conversation, the Persian speaking Russian very fairly. His story was curious and interesting. He was captured in 1858 near Herat, by a party of predatory Turcomans. His captors sold him to a merchant at Balkh where he remained sometime. From Balkh he was sold to Khiva, and from Khiva to Bokhara, whence he escaped with a fellow captive. I asked if he was compelled to labor during his captivity, and received a negative reply. Soldiers and all others except officers are forced to all kinds of drudgery when captured by these barbarians. Officers are held for ransom, and their duties are comparatively light.

Russian slaves are not uncommon in Central Asia, though less numerous than formerly. The Kirghese cripple their prisoners by inserting a horse hair in a wound in the heel. A man thus treated is lamed for life. He cannot use his feet in escaping, and care is taken that he does not secure a horse.

The two fugitives traveled together from Bokhara, suffering great hardships in their journey over the steppes. They avoided all towns through fear of capture, and subsisted upon whatever chance threw in their way. Once when near starvation they found and killed a sheep. They ate heartily of its raw flesh, and before the supply thus obtained was exhausted they reached the Russian boundary at Chuguchak. One of the twain died soon afterward, and his companion in flight came to Barnaool. The authorities would not let him go farther without a passport, and he had been in the town nearly a year at the time of my visit.

Through the Persian ambassador at St. Petersburg, he had communicated, with his government at Teheran, and expected his passport in a few weeks.

During the eight years that had elapsed since his capture this gentleman heard nothing from his own country. He had learned to speak Russian but could not read it. I told him of the completion of the Indo-European telegraph by way of the Euphrates and the Persian Gulf, and the success of electric communication between England and India. Naturally he was less interested concerning the Atlantic cable than about the telegraph in his own country. We shook hands at parting, and mutually expressed a wish to meet again in Persia and America.

After his departure, the doctor commented upon the intelligent bearing and clear eye of the Persian, and then said:

"I have done several strange and unexpected things in my life, but I never dreamed I should be the interpreter between a Persian and an American at the foot of the Altai mountains."

I met at Barnaool, a Prussian gentleman Mr. Radroff, who was sent to Siberia by the Russian Academy of Science. He knew nearly all the languages of Europe, and had spent some years in studying those of Central Asia. He could converse and read in Chinese, Persian, and Mongol, and I don't know how many languages and dialects of lesser note. His special mission was to collect information about the present and past inhabitants of Central Asia, and in this endeavor he had made explorations in the country of the Kirghese and beyond Lake Balkask. He was preparing for a journey in 1867 to Kashgar.

Mr. Radroff possessed many archaeological relics gathered in his researches, and exhibited drawings of many tumuli. He had a curious collection of spear heads, knives, swords, ornaments, stirrup irons, and other souvenirs of ancient days. He discoursed upon the ages of copper, gold, and iron, and told the probable antiquity of each specimen he brought out. He gave me a spear head and a knife blade taken from a burial mound in the Kirghese country. "You observe," said he, "they are of copper and were doubtless made before the discovery of iron. They are probably three thousand years old, and may be more. In these tumuli, copper is found much better preserved than iron, though the latter is more recently buried."

At this gentleman's house, I saw a Persian soldier who had been ten years in captivity among the Turcomans, where he was beaten and forced to the lowest drudgery, and often kept in chains. After long and patient waiting he escaped and reached the Siberian boundary. Having no passport, and unable to make himself understood, he was sent to Barnaool and lodged in prison where he remained nearly two years! The Persian officer above mentioned, heard of him by accident, and procured his release. Mr. Radroff had taken the man as a house servant and a teacher of the Persian language. I heard him read in a sonorous voice several passages from the Koran. His face bore the marks of deep suffering, and gave silent witness to the story of his terrible captivity in the hands of the Turcomans. His incarceration at Barnaool was referred to as an "unfortunate oversight." Escaping from barbarian slavery he fell into a civilized prison, and must have considered Christian kindness more fanciful than real. He expected to accompany his countryman on his return to Persia.

The day before our departure, we were invited to a public dinner in honor of our visit. It took place at the club rooms, the tables being set in what was once the parquet of the theatre. The officials, from General Freeze downward, were seated in the order of their rank, and the post of honor was assigned to the two strangers. No ladies were present, and the dinner, so far as its gastronomic features went, was much like a dinner at Irkutsk or Kiachta.

At the second course my attention was called to an excellent fish peculiar to the Ob and Yenesei rivers. It is a species of salmon under the name of Nalma, and ascends from the Arctic Ocean. Beef from the Kirghese steppes elicited our praise, and so did game from the region around Barnaool. At the end of the dinner I was ready to answer affirmatively the inquiry, "all full inside?"

At the appearance of the champagne, Colonel Taskin of the mining engineers made a brief speech in English, and ended by proposing the United States of America and the health of the American stranger. Dr. Schmidt translated my response as well as my toast to the Russian empire, and especially the inhabitants of Barnaool. The doctor was then honored for his mammoth hunt, and made proper acknowledgment. Then we had personal toasts and more champagne with Russian and American music, and champagne again, and then we had some more champagne and then some champagne.

When the tables were removed, we had impromptu dancing to lively music, including several Cossack dances, some familiar and others new to me. There is one of these dances which usually commences by a woman stepping into the centre of the room and holding a kerchief in her right hand. Moving gracefully to the music, she passes around the apartment, beckoning to one, hiding her face from another, gesticulating with extended arms before a third, and skilfully manipulating the kerchief all the while. When this sentimental pantomime is ended, she selects a partner and waves the kerchief over him. He pretends reluctance, but allows himself to be dragged to the floor where the couple dance en deux. The dance includes a great deal of entreaty, aversion, hope, and despair, all in dumb show, and ends by the lady being led to a seat. I saw this dance introduced in a ballet at the Grand Theatre in Moscow, and wondered why it never appeared on the stage outside the Russian empire.

One of the gentlemen who danced admirably had recovered the use of his legs two years before, after being unable to walk no less than twenty-eight years. He declared himself determined to make up for lost time, and when I left the hall, he continued entertaining himself.

During the dancing, a party gathered around where I stood and I observed that every lady was assembling as if to witness some fun. "Be on your watch," a friend whispered, "they are going to give you the polkedovate."

The polkedovate is nothing more nor less than a tossing up at the hands of a dozen or twenty Russians. It has the effect of intoxicating a sober man, but I never heard that it sobered a drunken one. Major Collins was elevated in this way at Kiachta, and declares that the effect, added to the champagne he had previously taken, was not at all satisfactory. Remembering his experience, and fearing I might go too high or come too low, I was glad when a diversion was made in my favor by a gentleman coming to bid me good night.



The custom of tossing up a guest is less prevalent in Siberia than ten or twenty years ago. It was formerly a mark of high respect, but I presume few who were thus honored would have hesitated to forego the distinguished courtesy.

One of the gentlemen I met at dinner had a passion for trotting horses. He asked me many questions about the famous race horses in America, from Lady Suffolk down to the latest two-twenties. I answered to the best of my abilities, but truth required me to say I was not authority in equine matters. The gentleman treated me to a display of trotting by a Siberian horse five years old, and carefully trained. I forget the exact figures he gave me, but believe they were something like two-thirty to the mile. To my unhorsy eye, the animal was pretty, and well formed, and I doubt not he would have acquitted himself finely on the Bloomingdale Road. The best horses in Siberia are generally from European Russia, the Siberian climate being unfavorable to careful breeding. Kirghese horses are excellent under the saddle, but not well reputed for draught purposes.

I gave out some washing at Barnaool, and accidentally included a paper collar in the lot. When the laundress returned the linen, she explained with much sorrow the dissolution of the collar when she attempted to wash it. I presume it was the first of its kind that ever reached the Altai mountains.



We arranged to leave Barnaool at the conclusion of the dinner at the club room. First we proceeded to the house of Colonel Taskin where we took 'positively the last' glass of champagne. Our preparations at our lodgings were soon completed, and the baggage carefully stowed. A party of our acquaintances assembled to witness our departure, and pass through a round of kissing as the yemshick uttered 'gotovey.' They did not make an end of hand-shaking until we were wrapped and bundled into the sleigh.

It was a keen, frosty night with the stars twinkling in the clear heavens as we drove outside the yard of our hotel. Horses, driver, and travelers were alike exhilarated in the sharp atmosphere and we dashed off at courier pace. The driver was a musical fellow, and endeavored to sing a Russian ballad while we were galloping over the glistening snow.

We had a long ride before us. The wide steppe of Baraba, or Barabinsky, lies between Barnaool and the foot of the Ural mountains. There was no town where we expected to stop before reaching Tumen, fifteen hundred versts away. As the luxuries of life are not abundant on this road we stored our sleighs with provisions, and hoped to add bread and eggs at the stations. Our farewell dinner was considered a sufficient preparation for at least a hundred and fifty versts. I nestled down among the furs and hay which formed my bed, leaned back upon the pillows and exposed only a few square inches of visage to the nipping and eager air.

A few versts from town we stuck upon an icy bank where the smooth feet of our horses could not obtain holding ground. After a while we attached one horse to a long rope, and enabled him to pull from the level snow above the bank. I expected the yemshick would ask us to lighten the sleigh by stepping out of it. An American driver would have put us ashore without ceremony, but custom is otherwise in Siberia. Horses and driver are engaged to take the vehicle and its burden to the next station, and it is the traveler's privilege to remain in his place in any emergency short of an overturn.

The track was excellent, having been well trodden since the storm. We followed our former road a hundred versts from Barnaool, and then turned to the left to strike the great post route near Kiansk. It was necessary to cross the river Ob, and as we reached the station near it during the night, we waited for daylight. The ice was sufficiently thick and firm, but the danger arose from holes and thin places that could not be readily discovered in the dark. While crossing we met a peasant who had tumbled into one of these holes, and been fished out by his friends. He looked unhappy, and no doubt felt so. His garments were frozen stiff, and altogether he resembled a bronze statue of Franklin after a freezing rain storm.



The thermometer fell on the first night to fifteen degrees below zero, and to about -20 deg. just before sunrise. The colder it grew the better was our speed, the horses feeling the crisp air and the driver being anxious to complete his stage in the least time possible. With uniform roads and teams one can judge pretty fairly of the temperature by the rate at which he travels. From Barnaool we did not have the horses of the post, but engaged our first troikas of a peasant who offered his services. Our yemshick took us to his friend at the first station, and this operation was regularly repeated. Occasionally our two yemshicks had different friends, and our sleighs were separately out-fitted. When this was the case the teams were speedily attached out of a spirit of rivalry. We frequently endeavored to excite the yemshicks to the noble ambition of a race by offering a few copecks to the winner. When the teams were furnished from different houses the temper of emulation roused itself spontaneously.

Twice we left the post route to make short cuts that saved thirty or forty miles travel. On those side roads we found plenty of horses, and were promptly served. The inhabitants of the steppe are delighted at the opportunity to carry travelers at post rates. The latter are saved the trouble of exhibiting their padarashnia at every station, and generally prefer to employ private teams. The horses were small, wiry beasts of Tartar breed, and utter strangers to combs and brushes.

While at breakfast on the second morning we were accosted by an old and decrepid beggar. The fellow wore a decoration consisting of a box six or seven inches square, suspended on his breast by a strap around his neck. Though seedy enough to set up business on his own account, he explained that he was begging for the church. His honesty was evidently in question as the box was firmly locked and had an aperture in the top for receiving money. We each gave ten copecks into his hand, and I observed that he did not drop the gratuity into the box. I was reminded of the man who owed a grudge against a railroad line, and declared that the company should never have another cent of his money. A friend asked how he would prevent it, as he frequently traveled over the road.

"Easy enough," was the calm reply, "I shall hereafter pay my fare to the conductor."

The morning after reaching Barnaool, I had a fine twinge of rheumatism that adhered during my stay. Quite to my surprise it left me on the second day after our departure, and like the bad boy in the story never came back again. The medical faculty can have the benefit of my experience, and prescribe as follows for their rheumatic patients.

"st. nt. o. lg. sl. S. r. = ther. - z

"Start at night on a long sleigh ride over a Siberian road with the thermometer below zero."

A bouran arose in the afternoon of the second day, but was neither violent nor very cold. At Barnaool I had my sleigh specially prepared to exclude drifting snow. I ordered a liberal supply of buttons and straps to fasten the boot to the hood, besides an overlapping flap of thick felt to cover the crevice between them. The precaution was well taken, and with our doors thoroughly closed we were not troubled with much snow. The drivers were exposed on the outside of the sleigh, and had the full benefit of the wind. At the end of the first drive after this storm commenced our yemshick might have passed for an animated snow statue. The road was tolerable, and a great improvement upon that from Krasnoyarsk to Tomsk.



CHAPTER XLVI.

The great steppe of Baraba is quite monotonous, as there is very little change of scenery in traveling over it. Whoever has been south or west from Chicago, or west from Leavenworth, in winter, can form a very good idea of the steppe. The winter appearance is much like that of a western prairie covered with snow. Whether there is equal similarity in summer I am unable to say. The country is flat or slightly undulating, and has a scanty growth of timber. Sometimes there were many versts without trees, then there would be a scattered and straggling display of birches, and again the growth was dense enough to be called a forest. The principal arboreal productions are birches, and I found the houses, sheds, and fences in most of the villages constructed of birch timber. The open part of the steppe, far more extensive than the wooded portion, was evidently favorable to the growth of grass, as I saw a great deal protruding above the snow. There are many marshy and boggy places, covered in summer with a dense growth of reeds. They are a serious inconvenience to the traveler on account of the swarms of mosquitoes, gnats, and other tormenting insects that they produce.

While crossing the Baraba swamps in summer, men and women are obliged to wear veils as a protection against these pests. Horses are sometimes killed by their bites, and frequently became thin in flesh from the constant annoyance. A gentleman told me that once when crossing the swamps one of his horses, maddened by the insects, broke from the carriage and fled out of sight among the tall reeds. The yemshicks, who knew the locality, said the animal would certainly be killed by his winged pursuers in less than twenty-four hours.

There is much game on the steppe in summer, birds being more numerous than beasts. The only winter game we saw was the white partridge, (kurupatki,) of which we secured several specimens.

The steppe is fertile, and in everything the soil can produce the people are wealthy. They have wheat, rye, and oats in abundance, but pay little attention to garden vegetables. In 1866 the crops were small in all parts of Siberia west of Lake Baikal, and I frequently heard the peasants complaining of high prices. They said such a season was almost unprecedented. On the steppe oats were forty copecks, and wheat and rye seventy copecks a pood; equaling about thirty cents and seventy-five cents a bushel respectively. In some years wheat has been sold for ten copecks the pood, and other products at proportionate prices. We paid twelve copecks the dizaine for eggs, which frequently sell for one-third that sum.

The fertility of the soil cannot be turned to great account, as there is no general market. Men and horses engaged in the transportation and postal service create a limited demand, but there is little sale beyond this. With so small a market there are very few rich inhabitants on the steppe; and with edibles at a cheap rate, there are few cases of extreme poverty. We rarely saw beggars, and on the other hand we found nobody who was able to dress in broadcloth and fine linen and fare sumptuously every day.

Hay is abundant, and may be cut on any unclaimed part of the steppe. I was told that in some places the farmers of a village assemble on horseback at an appointed time. At a given signal all start for the haying spots, and the first arrival has the first choice. There is enough for all, and in ordinary seasons no grass less than knee high is considered worth cutting.

At the villages we generally obtained excellent bread of unbolted wheat flour, rye being rarely used. There were many windmills of clumsy construction, the wheels having but four wings, and the whole concern turning on a pivot to bring its face to the wind. No bolting apparatus has been introduced, and the machinery is of the simplest and most primitive character. It was a period of fasting, just before Christmas, and our whole obtainable bill of fare comprised bread and eggs. As we reached a certain station we asked what we could get to eat.

"Everything," was the prompt reply of the smotretal. We were hungry, and this information was cheering.

"Give us some schee, if you please," said the doctor.

An inquiry in the kitchen showed this edible to be 'just out.'

"Some beef, then?"

There was no beef to be had. Cutlets were alike negatived.

"Any pilmania?" was our next inquiry.

"Nierte; nizniu."

The 'everything' hunted down consisted of eggs, bread, and hot water. We brought out a boiled ham, that was generally our piece de resistance, and made a royal meal. If trichina spiralis existed in Siberian ham, it was never able to disturb us. We found no fruit as there are no orchards in Siberia. Attempts have been made to cultivate fruit, but none have succeeded. A little production about the size of a whortleberry was shown me in Eastern Siberia, where it was pickled and served up as a relish with meat. "This is the Siberian apple," said the gentleman who first exhibited it, "and it has degenerated to what you see since its introduction from Europe." On dissecting one of these little berries, I found it possessed the anatomy of the apple, with seeds smaller than pin-heads.

Kotzebue and other travelers say there are no bees in Siberia, but the assertion is incorrect. I saw native honey enough to convince me on this point, and learned that bees are successfully raised in the southern part of Asiatic Russia.

We were not greatly delayed in our team changing, though we lost several hours in small instalments. We had two sleighs, and although there were anywhere up to a dozen men to prepare them, the harnessing of one team was generally completed before the other was led out. When the horses were ready, the driver often went to fetch his dehar and make his toilet. In this way we would lose five or ten minutes, a small matter by itself, but a large one when under heavy multiplication.



We took breakfast and dinner daily in the peasants' houses, which we found very much like the stations. We carried our own tea and sugar, and with a fair supply of provisions, added what we could obtain. Tea was the great solace of the journey, and proved, above all others, the beverage which cheers. I could swallow several cups at a sitting, and never failed to find myself refreshed. It is far better than vodki or brandy for traveling purposes, and many Russians who are pretty free drinkers at home adhere quite closely to tea on the road. The merchant traveler drinks enormous quantities, and I have seen a couple of these worthies empty a twenty cup samovar with no appearance of surfeit. So much hot liquid inside generally sets them into a perspiration. Nothing but loaf sugar is used, and there is a very common practice of holding a lump in one hand and following a sip of the unsweetened tea with a nibble at the sugar. When several persons are engaged in this rasping process a curious sound is produced.

There are many Tartars living on the steppe, but we saw very little of them, as our changes were made at the Russian villages. Before the reign of Catherine II. there was but a small population between Tumen and Tomsk, and the road was more a fiction than a fact. The Governor General of Siberia persuaded Catherine to let him have all conscripts of one levy instead of sending them to the army. He settled them in villages along the route over the steppe, and the wisdom of his policy was very soon apparent. The present population is made up of the descendants of these and other early settlers, together with exiles and voluntary emigrants of the present century. Several villages have a bad reputation, and I heard stories of robbery and murder. In general the dwellers on the steppe are reputable, and they certainly impressed me favorably.

I was told by a Russian that Catherine once thought of giving the Siberians a constitution somewhat like that of the United States of America, but was dissuaded from so doing by one of her ministers.



The villages were generally built each in a single street, or at most, in two streets. The largest houses had yards, or enclosures, into which we drove when stopping for breakfast or dinner. The best windows were of glass or talc, fixed in frames, and generally made double. The poorer peasants contented themselves with windows of ox or cow stomachs, scraped thin and stretched in drying. There were no iron stoves In any house I visited, the Russian peitcha or brick stove being universal. Very often we found the women and girls engaged in spinning. No wheel is used for this purpose, the entire apparatus being a hand spindle and a piece of board. The flax is fastened on an upright board, and the fingers of the left hand gather the fibres and begin the formation of a thread. The right hand twirls the spindle, and by skillful manipulation a good thread is formed with considerable rapidity.

A great deal of hemp and flax is raised upon the steppe, and we found rope abundant, cheap, and good. I bought ten fathoms of half-inch rope for forty copecks, a peasant bringing it to a house where we breakfasted. When I paid for it the mistress of the house quietly appropriated ten copecks, remarking that the rope maker owed her that amount. She talked louder and more continuously than any other woman I met in Siberia, and awakened my wonder by going barefooted into an open shed and remaining there several minutes. She stood in snow and on ice, but appeared quite unconcerned. Our thermometer at the time showed a temperature of 21 deg. below zero.

The only city on the steppe is Omsk, at the junction of the Om and Irtish, and the capital of Western Siberia. It is said to contain twelve thousand inhabitants, and its buildings are generally well constructed. We did not follow the post route through Omsk, but took a cut-off that carried us to the northward and saved a hundred versts of sleigh riding. The city was founded in order to have a capital in the vicinity of the Kirghese frontier, but since its construction the frontier line has removed far away.

In 1834 a conspiracy, extending widely through Siberia, was organized at Omsk. M. Piotrowski gives an account of it, from which I abridge the following:

It was planned by the Abbe Sierosiuski, a Polish Catholic priest who had been exiled for taking part in the rebellion of 1831. He was sent to serve in the ranks of a Cossack regiment in Western Siberia, and after a brief period of military duty was appointed teacher in the military school at Omsk. His position gave him opportunity to project a rebellion. His plan was well laid, and found ready supporters among other exiles, especially the Poles. Some ambitious Russians and Tartars were in the secret. The object was to secure the complete independence of Siberia and the release of all prisoners. In the event of failure it was determined to march over the Kirghese steppes to Tashkend, and attempt to reach British India.

Everything was arranged, both in Eastern and Western Siberia. The revolt was to begin at Omsk, where most of the conspirators were stationed, and where there was an abundance of arms, ammunition, supplies, and money. The evening before the day appointed for the rising, the plot was revealed by three Polish soldiers, who confessed all they knew to Colonel Degrave, the governor of Omsk. Sierosiuski and his fellow conspirators in the city were at once arrested, and orders were despatched over the whole country to secure all accomplices and suspected persons. About a thousand arrests were made, and as soon as news of the affair reached St. Petersburg, a commission of inquiry was appointed. The investigations lasted until 1837, when they were concluded and the sentences confirmed.



Six principal offenders, including the chief, were each condemned to seven thousand blows of the plette, or stick, while walking the gauntlet between two files of soldiers. This is equivalent to a death sentence, as very few men can survive more than four thousand blows. Only one of the six outlived the day when the punishment was inflicted, some falling dead before the full number of strokes had been given. The minor offenders were variously sentenced, according to the extent of their guilt, flogging with the stick being followed by penal colonization or military service in distant garrisons.

It is said that the priest Sierosiuski while undergoing his punishment recited in a clear voice the Latin prayer, "Misere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordium tuam."

On approaching the Irtish we found it bordered by hills which presented steep banks toward the river. The opposite bank was low and quite level. It is a peculiarity of most rivers in Russia that the right banks rise into bluffs, while the opposite shores are low and flat. The Volga is a fine example of this, all the way from Tver to Astrachan, and the same feature is observable in most of the Siberian streams that reach the Arctic Ocean. Various conjectures account for it, but none are satisfactory to scientific men.

Steamboats have ascended to Omsk, but there is not sufficient traffic to make regular navigation profitable. We crossed the Irtish two hundred and seventy versts south of Tobolsk, a city familiar to American readers from its connection with the "Story of Elizabeth." The great road formerly passed through Tobolsk, and was changed when a survey of the country showed that two hundred versts might be saved. Formerly all exiles to Siberia were first sent to that city, where a "Commission of Transportation" held constant session. From Tobolsk the prisoners were told off to the different governments, provinces, districts, and 'circles,' and assigned to the penalties prescribed by their sentences.

Many prominent exiles have lived in the northern part of the government of Tobolsk, especially at Beresov on the river Ob. Menshikoff, a favorite of Peter the Great, died there in exile, and so did the Prince Dolgorouki and the count Osterman. It is said the body of Menshikoff was buried in the frozen earth at Beresov, and found perfectly preserved a hundred years after its interment. In that region the ground never thaws more than a foot or two from the surface; below to an unknown depth it is hardened by perpetual frost. Many Poles have been involuntary residents of this region, and contributed to the development of its few resources.

North of Tobolsk, the Ostiaks are the principal aboriginals, and frequently wander as far south as Omsk. Before the Russian occupation of Siberia the natives carried on a trade with the Tartars of Central Asia, and the abundance and cheapness of their furs made them attractive customers. Marco Polo mentions a people "in the dark regions of the North, who employ dogs to draw their sledges, and trade with the merchants from Bokhara." There is little doubt he referred to the Ostiaks and Samoyedes.

A Polish lady exiled to Beresov in 1839, described in her journal her sensation at seeing a herd of tame bears driven through the streets to the market place, just as cattle are driven elsewhere. She records that while descending the Irtish she had the misfortune to fall overboard. The soldier escorting her was in great alarm, at the accident, and fairly wept for joy when she was rescued. He explained through his tears that her death would have been a serious calamity to him.

"I shall be severely punished," he said, "if any harm befalls you, and, for my sake, I hope you won't try to drown yourself, but will keep alive and well till I get rid of you."

Tobolsk is on the site of the Tartar settlement of Sibeer, from which the name of Siberia is derived. In the days of Genghis Khan northern Asia was overrun and wrested from its aboriginal inhabitants. Tartar supremacy was undisputed until near the close of the sixteenth century, when the Tartars lost Kazan and everything else west of the Urals. During the reign of Ivan the Cruel, a difficulty arose between the Czar and some of the Don Cossacks, and, as the Czar did not choose to emigrate, the Cossacks left their country for their country's good. Headed by one Yermak, they retired to the vicinity of the Ural mountains, where they started a marauding business with limited liability and restricted capital. Crossing the Urals, Yermak subjugated the country west of the Irtish and founded a fortress on the site of Sibeer. He overpowered all the Tartars in his vicinity, and received a pardon for himself and men in return for his conquest. The czar, as a mark of special fondness, sent Yermak a suit of armor from his own wardrobe. Yermak went one day to dine with some Tartar chiefs, and was arrayed for the first time in his new store clothes. One tradition says he was treacherously killed by the Tartars on this occasion, and thrown in the river. Another story says he fell in by accident, and the weight of his armor drowned him. A monument at Tobolsk commemorates his deeds.

No leader rose to fill Yermak's place, and the Russians became divided into several independent bands. They had the good sense not to quarrel, and remained firm in the pursuit of conquest. They pushed eastward from the Irtish and founded Tomsk in 1604. Ten years later the Tartars united and attempted to expel the Russians. They surrounded Tomsk and besieged it for a long time. Russia was then distracted by civil commotions and the war with the Poles, and could not assist the Cossacks. The latter held out with great bravery, and at length gained a decisive victory. From that time the Tartars made no serious and organized resistance.

Subsequent expeditions for Siberian conquest generally originated at Tomsk. Cossacks pushed to the north, south, and east, forming settlements in the valley of the Yenesei and among the Yakuts of the Lena. In 1639 they reached the shores of the Ohotsk sea, and took possession of all Eastern Siberia to the Aldan mountains.

I believe history has no parallel to some features of this conquest. A robber-chieftain with a few hundred followers,—himself and his men under ban, and, literally, the first exiles to Siberia—passes from Europe to Asia. In seventy years these Cossacks and their descendants, with, little aid from others, conquered a region containing nearly five million square miles. Everywhere displaying a spirit of adventure and determined bravery, they reduced the Tartars to the most perfect submission. The cost of their expeditions was entirely borne by individuals who sought remuneration in the lucrative trade they opened. The captured territory became Russian, though the government had neither paid for nor controlled the conquest.

I saw the portrait and bust of Yermak, but no one could assure me of their fidelity. The face was thoroughly Russian, and the lines of character were such as one might expect from the history of the man. He was represented in the suit of armor he wore at his death.



CHAPTER XLVII.

The evening after we passed the Irtish, a severe bouran arose. As the night advanced the wind increased. The road was filled and apparently obliterated. The yemshicks found it difficult to keep the track, and frequently descended to look for it. Each interval of search was a little longer than the preceding one, so that we passed considerable time in impatient waiting. About midnight we reached a station, where we were urged to rest until morning, the people declaring it unsafe to proceed. A slight lull in the storm decided us and the yemshicks to go forward, but as we set out from the station it seemed like driving into the spray at the foot of Niagara. Midway between the station, we wandered from the route and appeared hopelessly lost, with the prospect of waiting until morning.

Just before nightfall, we saw three wolves on the steppe, pointing their sharp noses in our direction, and apparently estimating how many dinners our horses would make. Whether they took the mammoth into account I cannot say, but presume he was not considered. Wolves are numerous in all Siberia, and are not admired by the biped inhabitants. When our road seemed utterly lost, and our chances good for a bivouac in the steppe, we heard a dismal howl in a momentary lull of the wind.

"VOLK," (wolf,) said the yemshick, who was clearing away the snow near the sleigh.

Again we heard the sound, and saw the horses lift their ears uneasily.

An instant later the fury of the wind returned. The snow whirled in dense clouds, and the roaring of the tempest drowned all other sounds. Had there been fifty howling wolves, within a hundred yards of us, we could have known nothing until they burst upon us through the curtain of drifting snow.

It was a time of suspense. I prepared to throw off my outer garments in case we were attacked, and roused the doctor, who had been some time asleep. At the cry of "wolf," he was very soon awake, though he did not lose that calm serenity that always distinguished him. The yemshicks continued their search for the road, one of them keeping near the sleigh and the other walking in circles in the vicinity. Our position was not enviable.



To be served up au natural to the lupine race was never my ambition, and I would have given a small sum, in cash or approved paper, for a sudden transportation to the Astor House, but with my weight and substance, all the more desirable to the wolves, a change of base was not practicable. Our only fire-arms were a shot-gun and a pistol, the latter unserviceable, and packed in the doctor's valise. Of course the wolves would first eat the horses, and reserve us for dessert. We should have felt, during the preliminaries, much like those unhappy persons, in the French revolution, who were last in a batch of victims to the guillotine.

After long delay the road was discovered, and as the wolves did not come we proceeded. We listened anxiously for the renewal of their howling, but our ears did not catch the unwelcome sound. The doctor exhibited no alarm. As he was an old traveler, I concluded to follow his example, and go to sleep.

In ordinary seasons wolves are not dangerous to men, though they commit more or less havoc among live stock. Sheep and pigs are their favorite prey, as they are easily captured, and do not resist. Horses and cattle are overpowered by wolves acting in packs; the hungry brutes displaying considerable strategy. A gentleman told me he once watched a dozen wolves attacking a powerful bull. Some worried him in front and secured his attention while others attempted to cut his ham-strings. The effort was repeated several times, the wolves relieving each other in exposed positions. At length the bull was crippled and the first part of the struggle gained. The wolves began to lick their chops in anticipation of a meal, and continued to worry their expected prey up to the pitch of exhaustion. The gentleman shot two of them and drove the others into the forest. He could do no more than put the bull out of his misery. On departing he looked back and saw the wolves returning to their now ready feast.

The best parts of Russia for wolf-hunting are in the western governments, where there is less game and more population than in Siberia. It is in these regions that travelers are sometimes pursued by wolves, but such incidents are not frequent. It is only in the severest winters, when driven to desperation by hunger, that the wolves dare to attack men. The horses are the real objects of their pursuit, but when once a party is overtaken the wolves make no nice distinctions, and horses and men are alike devoured. Apropos of hunting I heard a story of a thrilling character.

"It had been," said the gentleman who narrated the incident, "a severe winter in Vitebsk and Vilna. I had spent several weeks at the country residence of a friend in Vitebsk, and we heard, during the latter part of my stay, rumors of the unusual ferocity of the wolves.

"One day Kanchin, my host, proposed a wolf-hunt. 'We shall have capital sport,' said he, 'for the winter has made the wolves hungry, and they will be on the alert when they hear our decoy.'

"We prepared a sledge, one of the common kind, made of stout withes, woven like basket-work, and firmly fastened to the frame and runners. It was wide enough for both of us and the same height all around so that we could shoot in any direction except straight forward. We took a few furs to keep us warm, and each had a short gun of large bore, capable of carrying a heavy load of buck-shot. Rifles are not desirable weapons where one cannot take accurate aim. As a precaution we stowed two extra guns in the bottom of the sledge.

"The driver, Ivan, on learning the business before him, was evidently reluctant to go, but as a Russian servant has no choice beyond obeying his master, the man offered no objection. Three spirited horses were attached, and I heard Kanchin order that every part of the harness should be in the best condition.

"We had a pig confined in a strong cage of ropes and withes, that he might last longer than if dragged by the legs. A rope ten feet long was attached to the cage and ready to be tied to the sledge.

"We kept the pig in furs at the bottom of the sledge, and drove silently into the forest. The last order given by Kanchin was to open the gates of the courtyard and hang a bright lantern in front. I asked the reason of this, and he replied with a smile: 'If we should be going at full speed on our return, I don't wish to stop till we reach the middle of the yard.'

"As by mutual consent neither uttered a word as we drove along. We carried no bells, and there was no creaking of any part of the sledge. Ivan did not speak but held his reins taut and allowed the horses to take their own pace. In his secure and warm covering the pig was evidently asleep. The moon and stars were perfectly unclouded, and there was no motion of anything in the forest. The road was excellent, but we did not meet or pass a single traveler. I do not believe I ever felt silence more forcibly than then.

"The forest in that region is not dense, and on either side of the road there is a space of a hundred yards or more entirely open. The snow lay crisp and sparkling, and as the country was but slightly undulating we could frequently see long distances. The apparent movement of the trees as we drove past them caused me to fancy the woods rilled with animate forms to whom the breeze gave voices that mocked us.

"About eight versts from the house we reached a cross road that led deeper into the forest. 'Naprava,' in a low voice from my companion turned us to the right into the road. Eight or ten versts further Kanchin, in the same low tone, commanded 'Stoi.' Without a word Ivan drew harder upon his reins, and we came to a halt. At a gesture from my friend the team was turned about.

"Kanchin stepped carefully from the sledge and asked me to hand him the rope attached to the cage. He tied this to the rear cross-bar, and removing his cloak told me to do the same. Getting our guns, ammunition, and ourselves in readiness, and taking our seats with our backs toward the driver, we threw out the pig and his cage and ordered Ivan to proceed.

"The first cry from the pig awoke an answering howl in a dozen directions. The horses sprang as if struck with a heavy hand, and I felt my blood chill at the dismal sound. The driver with great difficulty kept his team from breaking into a gallop. Five minutes later, a wolf came galloping from the forest on the left side where I sat.

"'Don't fire till he is quite near,' said Kanchin, 'we shall have no occasion to make long shots.'

"The wolf was distinctly visible on the clean snow, and I allowed him to approach within twenty yards. I fired, and he fell. As I turned to re-load Kanchin raised his gun to shoot a wolf approaching the right of the sledge. His shot was successful, the wolf falling dead upon the snow.

"I re-loaded very quickly, and when I looked up there were three wolves running toward me, while as many more were visible on Kanchin's side. My companion raised his eyes when his gun was ready and gave a start that thrilled me with horror. Ivan was immovable in his place, and holding with all his might upon the reins.

"'Poshol!' shouted Kanchin.

"The howling grew more terrific. Whatever way we looked we could see the wolves emerging from the forest;

"'With their long gallop, which can tire, The hounds' deep hate, the hunter's fire.'

"Not only behind and on either side but away to the front, I could see their dark forms. We fired and loaded and fired again, every shot telling but not availing to stop the pursuit.

"The driver did not need Kanchin's shout of 'poshol!' and the horses exerted every nerve without being urged. But with all our speed we could not outstrip the wolves that grew every moment more numerous. If we could only keep up our pace we might escape, but should a horse stumble, the harness give way, or the sledge overturn, we were hopelessly lost. We threw away our furs and cloaks keeping only our arms and ammunition. The wolves hardly paused over these things but steadily adhered to the pursuit.

"Suddenly I thought of a new danger that menaced us. I grasped Kanchin's arm and asked how we could turn the corner into the main road. Should we attempt it at full speed the sledge would be overturned. If we slackened our pace the wolves would be upon us.

"I felt my friend trembling in my grasp but his voice was firm.

"'When I say the word,' he replied, giving me his hunting knife, 'lean over and cut the rope of the decoy. That will detain them a short time. Soon as you have done so lie down on the left side of the sledge and cling to the cords across the bottom.'

"Then turning to Ivan he ordered him to slacken speed a little, but only a little, at the corner, and keep the horses from running to either side as he turned. This done Kanchin clung to the left side of the sledge prepared to step upon its fender and counteract, if possible, our centrifugal force.

"We approached the main road, and just as I discovered the open space at the crossing Kanchin shouted,—

"'Strike!'

"I whipped off the rope in an instant and we left our decoy behind us. The wolves stopped, gathered densely about the prize, and began quarreling over it. Only a few remained to tear the cage asunder. The rest, after a brief halt, continued the pursuit, but the little time they lost was of precious value to us.

"We approached the dreaded turning. Kanchin placed his feet upon the fender and fastened his hands into the net-work of the sledge. I lay down in the place assigned me, and never did drowning man cling to a rope more firmly than I clung to the bottom of our vehicle. As we swept around the corner the sledge was whirled in air, turned upon its side and only saved from complete oversetting by the positions of Kanchin and myself.

"Just as the sledge righted, and ran upon both runners, I heard a piercing cry. Ivan, occupied with his horses, was not able to cling like ourselves; he fell from his seat, and hardly struck the snow before the wolves were upon him. That one shriek that filled my ears was all he could utter. The reins were trailing, but fortunately where they were not likely to be entangled. The horses needed no driver; all the whips in the world could not increase their speed. Two of our guns wore lost as we turned from the by-road, but the two that lay under me in the sledge were providentially saved. We fired as fast as possible into the dark mass that filled the road not twenty yards behind us. Every shot told but the pursuit did not lag. To-day I shudder as I think of that surging mass of gray forms with eyes glistening like fireballs, and the serrated jaws that opened as if certain of a feast.



"A stern chase is proverbially a long one. If no accident happened to sledge or horses we felt certain that the wolves which followed could not overtake us.

"As we approached home our horses gave signs of lagging, and the pursuing wolves came nearer. One huge beast sprang at the sledge and actually fastened his fore paws upon it. I struck him over the head with my gun and he released his hold. A moment later I heard the barking of our dogs at the house, and as the gleam of the lantern caught my eye I fell unconscious to the bottom of the sledge. I woke an hour later and saw Kanchin pacing the floor in silence. Repeatedly I spoke to him but he answered only in monosyllables.

"The next day, a party of peasants went to look for the remains of poor Ivan. A few shreds of clothing, and the cross he wore about his neck, were all the vestiges that could be found. For three weeks I lay ill with a fever and returned to St. Petersburg immediately on my recovery. Kanchin has lived in seclusion ever since, and both of us were gray-haired within six months."

Before the construction of the railway between Moscow and Nijne Novgorod there were forest guards at regular intervals to protect the road from bears and wolves. The men lived in huts placed upon scaffoldings fifteen or twenty feet high. This arrangement served a double purpose; the guards could see farther than on the ground and they were safe from nocturnal attacks of their four-footed enemies.

One evening at a dinner party, I heard several anecdotes about wolves, of which I preserve two.

"I was once," said a gentleman, "pursued by ten or twelve wolves. One horse fell and we had just time to cut the traces of the other, overturn our sleigh and get under as in a cage, before the wolves overtook us. We thought the free horse would run to the village and the people would come to rescue us. What was our surprise to see him charge upon the wolves, kill two with his hoofs and drive away the rest. When the other horse recovered we harnessed our team and drove home."

"And I," said another, "was once attacked when on foot. I wore a new pelisse of sheep-skin and a pair of reindeer-skin boots. Wolves are fond of deer and sheep, and they eat skin and all when they have a chance. The brutes stripped off my pelisse and boots without harming my skin. Just as I was preparing to give them my woolen trousers, some peasants came to my relief." Although I feared my auditors would be incredulous, I told the story of David Crockett when treed by a hundred or more prairie wolves. "I shot away all my ammunition, and threw away my gun and knife among them, but it was no use. Finally, I thought I would try the effect of music and began to sing 'Old Hundred.' Before I finished the first verse every wolf put his fore paws to his ears and galloped off."

My story did not produce the same results upon my audience, but almost as marked a one, for all appreciated its humor, and before I had fairly finished a burst of laughter resounded through the room, and it was unanimously voted that Americans could excel in all things, not excepting Wolf Stories.



CHAPTER XLVIII.

The many vehicles in motion made a good road twelve hours after the storm ceased. The thermometer fell quite low, and the sharp frost hardened the track and enabled the horses to run rapidly. I found the temperature varying from 25 deg. to 40 deg. below zero at different exposures. This was cold enough, in fact, too cold for comfort, and we were obliged to put on all our furs. When fully wrapped I could have filled the eye of any match-making parent in Christendom, so far as quantity is concerned. The doctor walked as if the icy and inhospitable North had been his dwelling-place for a dozen generations, and promised to continue so a few hundred years longer. We were about as agile as a pair of prize hogs, or the fat boy in the side show of a circus.

My beard was the greatest annoyance that showed itself to my face, and I regretted keeping it uncut. It was in the way in a great many ways. When it was outside my coat I wanted it in, and when it was inside it would not stay there. It froze to my collar and seemed studying the doctrine of affinity. A sudden motion in such case would pull my chin painfully and tear away a few hairs. It was neither long nor heavy, but could hold a surprising quantity of snow and ice. It would freeze into a solid mass, and when thawing required much attention. The Russian officers shave the chin habitually, and wear their hair pretty short when traveling. I made a resolution to carry my beard inviolate to St. Petersburg, but frequently wished I had been less rash. A mustache makes a very good portable thermometer for low temperatures. After a little practice one can estimate within a few degrees any stage of cold below zero, Fahrenheit. A mustache will frost itself from the breath and stiffen slowly at zero, but It does not become solid. It needs no waxing to enable it to hold its own when the scale descends to -10 deg. or thereabouts, and when one experiences -15 deg. and so on downward, he will feel as if wearing an icicle on his upper lip. The estimate of the cold is to be based on the time required for a thorough hardening of this labial ornament, and of course the rule is not available if the face is kept covered.

There is a traveler's story that a freezing nose in a Russian city is seized upon and rubbed by the bystanders without explanation. In a winter's residence and travel in Russia I never witnessed that interesting incident, and am inclined to scepticism regarding it. The thermometer showed -53 deg. while I was in St. Petersburg, and hovered near that figure for several days. Though I constantly hoped to see somebody's nose rubbed I was doomed to disappointment. I did observe several noses that might have been subjected to friction, but it is quite probable the operation would have enraged the rubbee.



During our coldest nights on the steppe we had the unclouded heavens in all their beauty. The stars shone in scintillating magnificence, and seemed nearer the earth than I ever saw them before. In the north was a brilliant aurora flashing in long beams of electric light, and forming a fiery arch above the fields of ice and snow. Oh, the splendor of those winter nights In the north! It cannot be forgotten, and it cannot be described.

Twilight is long in a Siberian winter, both at the commencement and the close of day. Morning is the best time to view it. A faint glimmer appears in the quarter where the sun is to rise, but increases so slowly that one often doubts that he has really seen it. The gleam of light grows broader; the heavens above it become purple, then scarlet, then golden, and gradually change to the whiteness of silver. When the sun peers above the horizon the whole scene becomes dazzlingly brilliant from the reflection of his rays on the snow. In the coldest mornings there is sometimes a cloud or fog-bank resting near the earth, from the congelation and falling of all watery particles in the atmosphere. When the sun strikes this cloud and one looks through it the air seems filled with millions of microscopic gems, throwing off many combinations of prismatic colors, and agitated and mingled by some unseen force. Gradually the cloud melts away as it receives the direct rays of light and heat.



The intense cold upon the road affects horses by coating them, with white frost. Their perspiration congeals and covers them as one may see the grass covered in a November morning. Nature has dressed these horses warmly, and very often their hair may justly be called fur. They do not appear to suffer from the cold; they are never blanketed, and their stables are little better than open sheds. One of their annoyances is the congelation of their breath, and in the coldest weather the yemshicks are frequently obliged to break away the icicles that form around their horses' mouths. I have seen a horse reach the end of a course with his nose encircled in a row of icy spikes, resembling the decoration sometimes attached to a weaning calf.

In a clear morning or evening of the coldest days the smoke from the chimneys in the villages rises very slowly. Gaining a certain height, it spreads out as if unable to ascend farther. It is always light in color and density, and when touched by the sun's rays appears faintly crimsoned or gilded. Once when we reached a small hill dominating a village, I could see the cloud of smoke below me agitated like the ground swell of the ocean. I had only a moment to look upon it ere we descended to the level of the street.

I have not recorded the incidents of each day on the steppe in chronological order, on account of their similarity and monotony. Just one week after our departure from Barnaool we observed that the houses were constructed of pine instead of birch, and the country began to change in character. At a station where a fiery-tempered woman required us to pay in advance for our horses, we were only twenty versts from Tumen.

It is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and it is only a steppe (a thousand miles wide) between Tomsk and Tumen. Travelers from Irkutsk to St. Petersburg consider their journey pretty nearly accomplished on getting thus far along. The Siberians make light of distances that would frighten many Americans. "From Tumen you will have only sixteen hundred versts to the end of the railway," said a gentleman to me one day. A lady at Krasnoyarsk said I ought to wait until spring and visit her gold mines. I asked their locality, and received the reply, "Close by here; only four hundred versts away. You can go almost there in a carriage, and will have only a hundred and twenty versts on horseback."

The best portion of Tumen is on a bluff eighty or a hundred feet above the river Tura. The lower town spreads over a wide meadow, and its numerous windmills at once reminded me of Stockton, California. We happened to arrive on market day, when the peasants from the surrounding country were gathered in all their glory for purposes of traffic. How such a lot of merchandise of nearly every kind under the Siberian sun could find either buyer or seller, it is difficult to imagine. The market-place was densely thronged, but there seemed to be very little traffic in progress.

The population of Tumen is about twenty thousand, and said to be rapidly increasing. The town is prosperous, as its many new and well-built houses bear witness. It has shorn Tobolsk of nearly all her commerce, and left her to mourn her former greatness. It is about three hundred versts from the ridge of the Urals, and at the head of navigation on the Tura. Half a dozen steamers were frozen in and awaited the return of spring, their machinery being stored to prevent its rusting.

In the public square of Tumen there was a fountain, the first I saw in Siberia. Men, women, boys, and girls were filling buckets and barrels, which they dragged away on sleds.

When we returned from our drive, and were seated at dinner, the cook brought a quantity of "Tumen carpets" for sale. He used all his eloquence upon me, but in vain. These carpets were made by hand in the villages around Tumen, their material being goat's hair. From their appearance I judged that a coarse cloth was "looped" full of thread, which was afterward cut to a plush surface. Some of the figures were quite pretty. These carpets can be found in nearly every peasant house in Western Siberia, where they are used as bed and table coverings, floor mats, and carriage robes.

From Tumen to Nijne Novgorod the post is in the hands of a company, and one can buy a ticket for any distance he chooses. We bought to Ekaterineburg, 306 versts, paying nine copecks a verst for each vehicle. At the stations it is only necessary to show the ticket, which will bring horses without delay. The company has a splendid monopoly, protected by an imperial order forbidding competition. The peasants would gladly take travelers at lower rates if the practice were permitted. The only thing they can do is to charter their horses to the company at about one-third the ticket prices. Alexander would make many friends among the people by curtailing the monopoly.

From the Tura the country became undulating as we approached the Urals, but we passed no rugged hills. A great deal of the road lay between double rows of birch trees, that serve for shade in summer and do much to prevent the drifting of snow in winter. Forests of fir appeared on the slopes, and were especially pleasing after the half-desolation of the steppe.

The villages had a larger and more substantial appearance, that indicated our approach to Europe. Long trains laden with freight from Perm, blocked the way and delayed us. A few collisions made our sleigh tremble, and in two instances turned it on its beam ends. We were ahead of the tea trains that left Irkutsk with the early snows, so that we passed few sledges going in our own direction. The second night found us so near Ekaterineburg that we halted a couple of hours for the double purpose of taking tea and losing time.

At the last station, about six in the morning, we were greeted with Christmas festivities. While we waited in the traveler's room, two boys sung or chanted several minutes, and then begged for money. We gave them a few copecks, and their success brought two others, who were driven away by the smotretal. I was told that poor children have a privilege of begging in this manner on Christmas morning. There are many beggars in the towns and villages of the Urals, and in summer there is a fair supply of highwaymen. Several beggars surrounded our sleigh as we prepared to depart and seemed determined to make the most of the occasion.

The undulations of the road increased, and the fir woods became thicker as we approached Ekaterineburg, nestled on the bank of the Isset. Just outside the town we passed a large zavod, devoted to the manufacture of candles. An immense quantity of tallow from the Kirghese steppes undergoes conversion into stearine at this establishment, and the production supplies candles to all Siberia and part of European Russia.