"I know that search would be made for me, and my hope now lay in some one coming to the lake. It did not require long deliberation to determine me to remain in the vicinity of the water. As long as I was near it I could not perish of thirst; and moreover, the Mongols, who probably knew of the lake, might be attracted here for water, and, if looking for me, would be likely to take the lake in the way. Tying my kerchief to my ramrod, which I fixed in the ground, I lay down on the grass and slept, as near as I could estimate, for more than two hours.

"Seeing some water-fowl a short distance away, I walked in their direction, and luckily found a nest among the reeds, close to the water's edge. The six or eight eggs it contained were valuable prizes; one I swallowed raw, and the others I carried to where I left my gun. Gathering some of the dry grass and reeds, I built a fire and roasted the eggs, which gave me a hearty meal. The worst of my hardships seemed over. I had found water—bad water, it is true—but still it was possible to drink it; by searching among the reeds I could find an abundance of eggs; my gun could procure me game, and the reeds made a passable sort of fuel. I should be discovered in a few days at farthest, and I renewed my determination to remain near the lake.

"The day passed without any incident to vary the monotony. Refreshed by my meal and by a draught from a small pool of comparatively pure water, I was able to sleep most of the afternoon, so as to keep awake during the night, when exercise was necessary to warmth. About sunset a drove of antelopes came near me, and by shooting one I added venison to my bill of fare. In the night I amused myself with keeping my fire alive, and listening to the noise of the birds that the unusual sight threw into a state of alarm. On the following morning, as I lay on my bed of reeds, a dozen antelopes, attracted by my kerchief fluttering in the wind, stood watching me, and every few minutes approaching a few steps. They were within easy shooting distance, but I had no occasion to kill them. So I lay perfectly still, watching their motions and admiring their beauty.

"All at once, though I had not moved a muscle, they turned and ran away. While I was wondering what could have disturbed them I heard the shout of two Mongol horsemen, who were riding toward me, and leading my pony they had caught a dozen miles away. A score of men from the caravan had been in search of me since the morning after my disappearance, and had ridden many a mile over the desert."

The Mongols are a strong, hardy, and generally good-natured race, possessing the spirit of perseverance quite as much as the Chinese. They have the free manners of all nomadic people, and are noted for unvarying hospitality to visitors. Every stranger is welcome, and has the best the host can give; the more he swallows of what is offered him, the better will be pleased the household. As the native habits are not especially cleanly, a fastidiously inclined guest has a trying time of it. The staple dish of a Mongol yourt is boiled mutton, but it is unaccompanied with capers or any other kind of sauce or seasoning. A sheep goes to pot immediately on being killed, and the quantity that each man will consume is something surprising. When the meat is cooked it is lifted out of the hot water and handed, all dripping and steamy, to the guests. Each man takes a large lump on his lap, or any convenient support, and then cuts off little chunks which he tosses into his mouth as if it were a mill-hopper. The best piece is reserved for the guest of honor, who is expected to divide it with the rest; after the meat is devoured they drink the broth, and this concludes the meal. Knives and cups are the only aids to eating, and as every man carries his own "outfit," the Mongol dinner service is speedily arranged. The entire work consists in seating the party around a pot of cooked meat.



The desert is crossed by various ridges and small mountain chains, that increase in frequency and make the country more broken as one approaches the Tolla, the largest stream between Pekin and Kiachta. The road, after traversing the last of these chains, suddenly reveals a wide valley which bears evidence of fertility in its dense forests, and the straggling fields which receive less attention than they deserve.

The Tolla has an ugly habit of rising suddenly and falling deliberately. When at its height, the stream has a current of about seven miles an hour, and at the fording place the water is over the back of an ordinary pony. The bottom of the river consists of large boulders of all sizes from an egg up to a cotton bale, and the footing for both horses and camels is not specially secure. The camels need a good deal of persuasion with clubs before they will enter the water; they have an instinctive dread of that liquid and avoid it whenever they can. Horses are less timorous, and the best way to get a camel through the ford is to lead him behind a horse and pound him vigorously at the same time. When the river is at all dangerous there is always a swarm of natives around the ford ready to lend a hand if suitably compensated. They all talk very much and in loud tones; their voices mingle with the neighing of horses, the screams of camels, the roaring of the river, and the laughter of the idlers when any mishap occurs. The confused noises are in harmony with the scene on either bank, where baggage is piled promiscuously, and the natives are grouped together in various picturesque attitudes. Men with their lower garments rolled as high as possible, or altogether discarded, walk about in perfect nonchalance; their queues hanging down their backs seem designed as rudders to steer the wearers across the stream.



About two miles from the ford of the Tolla there is a Chinese settlement, which forms a sort of suburb to the Mongol town of Urga. The Mongols have no great friendship for the Chinese inhabitants, who are principally engaged in traffic and the various occupations connected with the transport of goods. Between this suburb and the main town the Russians have a large house, which is the residence of a consul and some twenty or thirty retainers. The policy of maintaining a consulate there can only be explained on the supposition that Russia expects and intends to appropriate a large slice of Mongolia whenever opportunity offers. She has long insisted that the chain of mountains south of Urga was the "natural boundary," and her establishment of an expensive post at that city enables her to have things ready whenever a change occurs. In the spirit of annexation and extension of territory the Russians can fairly claim equal rank with ourselves. I forget their phrase for "manifest destiny," and possibly they may not be willing that I should give it.

Urga is not laid out in streets like most of the Chinese towns; its by-ways and high-ways are narrow and crooked, and form a network very puzzling to a stranger. The Chinese and Russian settlers live in houses, and there are temples and other permanent buildings, but the Mongols live generally in yourts, which they prefer to more extensive structures. Most of the Mongol traffic is conducted in a large esplanade, where you can purchase anything the country affords, and at very fair prices.

The principal feature of Urga is the lamissary or convent where a great many lamas or holy men reside. I have heard the number estimated at fifteen thousand, but cannot say if it be more or less. The religion of the Mongols came originally from Thibet, by direct authority of the Grand Lama, but a train of circumstances which I have not space to explain, has made it virtually independent. The Chinese government maintains shrewd emissaries among these lamas, and thus manages to control the Mongols and prevent their setting up for themselves. As a further precaution it has a lamissary at Pekin, where it keeps two thousand Mongol lamas at its own expense. In this way it is able to influence the nomads of the desert, and in case of trouble it would possess a fair number of hostages for an emergency.

About the year 1205 the great battle between Timoujin and the sovereign then occupying the Mongol throne was fought a short distance from Urga. The victory was decisive for the former, who thus became Genghis Khan and commenced that career of conquest which made his name famous.

Great numbers of devotees from all parts of Mongolia visit Urga every year, the journey there having something of the sacred character which a Mahommedan attaches to a pilgrimage to Mecca. The people living at Urga build fences around their dwellings to protect their property from the thieves who are in large proportion among the pious travelers.

From Urga to the Siberian frontier the distance is less than two hundred miles; the Russian couriers accomplish it in fifty or sixty hours when not delayed by accidents, but the caravans require from four to eight days. There is a system of relays arranged by the Chinese so that one can travel very speedily if he has proper authority. Couriers have passed from Kiachta to Pekin in ten or twelve days; but the rough road and abominable carts make them feel at their journey's end about as if rolled through a patent clotheswringer. A mail is carried twice a month each way by the Russians. Several schemes have been proposed for a trans-Mongolian telegraph, but thus far the Chinese government has refused to permit its construction.

The desert proper is finished before one reaches the mountains bordering the Tolla; after crossing that stream and leaving Urga the road passes through a hilly country, sprinkled, it is true, with a good many patches of sand, but having plenty of forest and frequently showing fertile valleys. These valleys are the favorite resorts of the Mongol shepherds and herdsmen, some of whom count their wealth by many thousand animals. In general, Mongolia is not agricultural, both from the character of the country and the disposition of the people. A few tribes in the west live by tilling the soil in connection with stock raising, but I do not suppose they take kindly to the former occupation. The Mongols engaged in the caravan service pass a large part of their lives on the road, and are merry as larks over their employment. They seem quite analogous to the teamsters and miscellaneous "plainsmen" who used to play an important part on our overland route.

A large proportion of the men engaged in this transit service are lamas, their sacred character not excusing them, as many suppose, from all kinds of employment. Many lamas are indolent and manage in some way to make a living without work, but this is by no means the universal character of the holy men. About one-fifth of the male population belong to the religious order, so that there are comparatively few families which do not have a member or a relative in the pale of the church. If not domiciled in a convent or blessed by fortune in some way, the lama turns his hand to labor, though he is able at the same time to pick up occasional presents for professional service. Many of them act as teachers or schoolmasters. Theoretically he cannot marry any more than a Romish priest, but his vows of celibacy are not always strictly kept. One inconvenience under which he labors is in never daring to kill anything through fear that what he slaughters may contain the soul of a relative, and possibly that of the divine Bhudda. A lama will purchase a sheep on which he expects to dine, and though fully accessory before and after the fact, he does not feel authorized to use the knife with his own hand. Even should he be annoyed by fleas or similar creeping things (if it were a township or city the lama's body could return a flattering census,) he must bear the infliction until patience is thoroughly exhausted. At such times he may call an unsanctified friend and subject himself and garments to a thorough examination.



Every lama carries with him a quantity of written prayers, which he reads or recites, and the oftener they are repeated the greater is their supposed efficacy. Quantity is more important than quality, and to facilitate matters they frequently have a machine, which consists of a wheel containing a lot of prayers. Sometimes it is turned by hand and sometimes attached to a wind-mill; the latter mode being preferred.

Abbe Hue and others have remarked a striking similarity between the Bhuddist and Roman Catholic forms of worship and the origin of the two religions. Hue infers that Bhuddism was borrowed from Christianity; on the other hand, many lamas declare that the reverse is the case. The question has caused a great deal of discussion first and last, but neither party appears disposed to yield.

The final stretch of road toward the Siberian frontier is across a sandy plain, six or eight miles wide. On emerging from the hills at its southern edge the dome of the church in Kiachta appears in sight, and announces the end of Mongolian travel. No lighthouse is more welcome to a mariner than is the view of this Russian town to a traveler who has suffered the hardships of a journey from Pekin.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

The week I remained at Kiachta was a time of festivity from beginning to end. I endeavored to write up my journal but was able to make little more than rough notes. The good people would have been excusable had they not compelled me to drink so much excellent champagne. The amiable merchants of Kiachta are blessed with such capacities for food and drink that they do not think a guest satisfied until he has swallowed enough to float a steamboat.

I found an excellent compagnon du voyage, and our departure was fixed for the evening after the dinner with Mr. Pfaffius. A change from dinner dress to traveling costume was speedily made, and I was gotovey when my friend arrived with several officers to see us off. About eight o'clock we took places in my tarantass, and drove out of the northern gate of Troitskosavsk.

My traveling companion was Mr. Richard Maack, Superintendent of Public Instruction in Eastern Siberia. He was just finishing a tour among the schools in the Trans-Baikal province, and during fourteen years of Siberian life, he had seen a variety of service. He accompanied General Mouravieff oil the first expedition down the Amoor, and wrote a detailed account of his journey. Subsequently he explored the Ousuree in the interest of the Russian Geographical Society. He said that his most arduous service was in a winter journey to the valley of the Lena, and along the shores of the Arctic Ocean. The temperature averaged lower than in Dr. Kane's hibernation on the coast of Greenland, and once remained at -60 deg. for nearly three weeks. Of five persons comprising the party, Maack is the only survivor. One of his companions fell dead in General Mouravieff's parlor while giving his account of the exploration.

We determined to be comfortable on the way to Irkutsk. We put our baggage in a telyaga with Maack's servant and took the tarantass to ourselves. The road was the same I traveled from Verkne Udinsk to Kiachta, crossing the Selenga at Selenginsk. We slept most of the first night, and timed our arrival at Selenginsk so as to find the school in session. During a brief halt while the smotretal prepared our breakfast, Maack visited the school-master at his post of duty.

Over the hills behind a lake about a day's ride from Selenginsk there is a Bouriat village of a sacred character. It is the seat of a large temple or lamisary whence all the Bouriats in Siberia receive their religious teachings. A grand lama specially commissioned by the great chief of the Bhuddist faith at Thibet, presides over the lamisary. He is supposed to partake of the immortal essence of Bhudda, and when his body dies, his spirit enters a younger person who becomes the lama after passing a certain ordeal.

The village is wholly devoted to religious purposes, and occupied exclusively by Bouriats. I was anxious to visit it, but circumstances did not favor my desires.

We made both crossings of the Selenga on the ice without difficulty. It was only a single day from the time the ferry ceased running until the ice was safe for teams. We reached Verkne Udinsk late in the evening, and drove to a house where my companion had friends. The good lady brought some excellent nalifka of her own preparation, and the more we praised it the more she urged us to drink. What with tea, nalifka, and a variety of solid food, we were pretty well filled during a halt of two hours.

It was toward midnight when we emerged from the house to continue our journey. Maack found his tarantass at Verkne Udinsk, and as it was larger and better than mine we assigned the latter to Evan and the baggage, and took the best to ourselves. Evan was a Yakut whom my friend brought from the Lena country. He was intelligent and active, and assisted greatly to soften the asperities of the route. With my few words of Russian, and his quick comprehension, we understood each other very well.

During the first few hours from Verkne Udinsk the sky was obscured and the air warm. My furs were designed for cold weather, and their weight in the temperature then prevailing threw me into perspiration. In my dehar I was unpleasantly warm, and without it I shivered. I kept alternately opening and closing the garment, and obtained very little sleep up to our arrival at the first station. While we were changing horses the clouds blew away and the temperature fell several degrees. Under the influence of the cold I fell into a sound sleep, and did not heed the rough, grater-like surface of the recently frozen road.

From Verkne Udinsk to Lake Baikal, the road follows the Selenga valley, which gradually widens as one descends it. The land appears fertile and well adapted to farming purposes but only a small portion is under cultivation. The inhabitants are pretty well rewarded for their labor if I may judge by the appearance of their farms and villages. Until reaching Ilyensk, I found the cliffs and mountains extending quite near the river. In some places the road is cut into the rocks in such a way as to afford excitement to a nervous traveler.

The villages were numerous and had an air of prosperity. Here and there new houses were going up, and made quite a contrast to the old and decaying habitations near them. My attention was drawn to the well-sweeps exactly resembling those in the rural districts of New England. From the size of the sweeps, I concluded the wells were deep. The soil in the fields had a loose, friable appearance that reminded me of the farming lands around Cleveland, Ohio.

One of the villages where we changed horses is called Kabansk from the Russian word 'Kaban' (wild boar). This animal abounds in the vicinity and is occasionally hunted for sport. The chase of the wild boar is said to be nearly as dangerous as that of the bear, the brute frequently turning upon his pursuer and making a determined fight. We passed the Monastery of Troitska founded in 1681 for the conversion of the Bouriats. It is an imposing edifice built like a Russian church in the middle of a large area surrounded by a high wall. Though it must have impressed the natives by its architectural effects it was powerless to change their faith.



As it approaches Lake Baikal the Selenga divides into several branches, and encloses a large and very fertile delta. The afternoon following our departure from Verkne Udinsk, we came in sight of the lake, and looked over the blue surface of the largest body of fresh water in Northern Asia. The mountains on the western shore appeared about eight or ten miles away, though they were really more than thirty. We skirted the shore of the lake, turning our horses' heads to the southward. The clear water reminded me of Lake Michigan as one sees it on approaching Chicago by railway from the East. Its waves broke gently on a pebbly beach, where the cold of commencing winter had changed much of the spray to ice.

There was no steamer waiting at Posolsky, but we were told that one was hourly expected. Maack was radiant at finding a letter from his wife awaiting him at the station. I enquired for letters but did not obtain any. Unlike my companion. I had no wife at Irkutsk.



The steamboat landing is nine versts below the town, and as the post route ended at Posolsky, we were obliged to engage horses at a high rate, to take us to the port. The alternate freezing and thawing of the road—its last act was to freeze—had rendered it something like the rough way in a Son-of-Malta Lodge. The agent assured us the steamer would arrive during the night. Was there ever a steamboat agent who did not promise more than his employers performed?

According to the tourist's phrase the port of Posolsky can be 'done' in about five minutes. The entire settlement comprised two buildings, one a hotel, and the other a storehouse and stable. A large quantity of merchandise was piled in the open air, and awaited removal.

It included tea from Kiachta, and vodki or native whiskey from Irkutsk. There are several distilleries in the Trans-Baikal province, but they are unable to meet the demand in the country east of the lake. From what I saw in transitu the consumption must be enormous. The government has a tax on vodki equal to about fifty cents a gallon, which is paid by the manufacturers. The law is very strict, and the penalties are so great that I was told no one dared attempt an evasion of the excise duties, except by bribing the collector.

The hotel was full of people waiting for the boat, and the accommodations were quite limited. We thought the tarantass preferable to the hotel, and retired early to sleep in our carriage. A teamster tied his horses to our wheels, and as the brutes fell to kicking during the night, and attempted to break away, they disturbed our slumbers. I rose at daybreak and watched the yemshicks making their toilet. The whole operation was performed by tightening the girdle and rubbing the half-opened eyes.

Morning brought no boat. There was nothing very interesting after we had breakfasted, and as we might be detained there a whole week, the prospect was not charming. We organized a hunting excursion, Maack with his gun and I with my revolver. I assaulted the magpies which were numerous and impertinent, and succeeded in frightening them. Gulls were flying over the lake; Maack desired one for his cabinet at Irkutsk, but couldn't get him. He brought down an enormous crow, and an imprudent hawk that pursued a small bird in our vicinity. His last exploit was in shooting a partridge which alighted, strange to say, on the roof of the hotel within twenty feet of a noisy crowd of yemshicks. The bird was of a snowy whiteness, the Siberian partridge changing from brown to white at the beginning of winter, and from white to brown again as the snow disappears.

A "soudna" or sailing barge was anchored at the entrance of a little bay, and was being filled with tea to be transported to Irkutsk. The soudna is a bluff-bowed, broad sterned craft, a sort of cross between Noah's Ark and a Chinese junk. It is strong but not elegant, and might sail backward or sidewise nearly as well as ahead. Its carrying capacity is great in proportion to its length, as it is very wide and its sides rise very high above the water. Every soudna I saw had but one mast which carried a square sail. These vessels can only sail with the wind, and then not very rapidly. An American pilot boat could pass a thousand of them without half trying.

About noon we saw a thin wreath of smoke betokening the approach of the steamer. In joy at this welcome sight we dined and bought tickets for the passage, ours of the first class being printed in gold, while Evan's billet for the deck was in Democratic black. It cost fifteen roubles for the transport of each tarantass, but our baggage was taken free, and we were not even required to unload it.



There is no wharf at Posolsky and no harbor, the steamers anchoring in the open water half a mile from shore. Passengers, mails, and baggage are taken to the steamer in large row boats, while heavy freight is carried in soudnas. The boat that took us brought a convoy of exiles before we embarked. They formed a double line at the edge of the lake where they were closely watched by their guards. When we reached the steamer we found another party of prisoners waiting to go on shore. All were clad in sheepskin pelisses and some carried extra garments. Several women and children accompanied the party, and I observed two or three old men who appeared little able to make a long journey. One sick man too feeble to walk, was supported by his guards and his fellow prisoners.

Though there was little wind, and that little blew from shore, the boat danced uneasily on the waves. Our carriages came off on the last trip of the boat, and were hoisted by means of a running tackle on one of the steamer's yards.

While our embarkation was progressing a crew of Russians and Bouriats towed the now laden soudna to a position near our stern. When all was ready, we took her hawser, hoisted our anchor and steamed away. For some time I watched the low eastern shore of the lake until it disappeared in the distance. Posolsky has a monastery built on the spot where a Russian embassador with his suite was murdered by Bouriats about the year 1680. The last objects I saw behind me were the walls, domes, and turrets of this monastery glistening in the afternoon sunlight. They rose clear and distinct on the horizon, an outwork of Christianity against the paganism of Eastern Asia.

The steamer was the Ignalienif, a side wheel boat of about 300 tons. Her model was that of an ocean or coasting craft, she had two masts, and could spread a little sail if desired. Her engines were built at Ekaterineburg in the Ural Mountains, and hauled overland 2500 miles. She and her sister boat, the General Korsackoff, are very profitable to their owners during the months of summer. They carry passengers, mails, and light freight, and nearly always have one or two soudnas in tow. Their great disadvantage at present is the absence of a port on the eastern shore.

The navigation of Lake Baikal is very difficult. Storms arise with little warning, and are often severe. At times the boats are obliged to remain for days in the middle of the lake as they cannot always make the land while a gale continues. There was very little breeze when we crossed, but the steamer was tossed quite roughly. The winds blowing from the mountains along the lake, frequently sweep with great violence and drive unlucky soudnas upon the rocks.

The water of the lake is so clear that one can see to a very great depth. The lake is nearly four hundred miles long by about thirty or thirty-five in width; it is twelve hundred feet above the sea level, and receives nearly two hundred tributaries great and small. Its outlet, the Angara, is near the southwestern end, and is said to carry off not more than a tenth of the water that enters the lake. What becomes of the surplus is a problem no one has been able to solve. The natives believe there is an underground passage to the sea, and sonic geologists favor this opinion. Soundings of 2000 feet have been made without finding bottom. On the western shore the mountains rise abruptly from the water, and in some places no bottom has been found at 400 feet depth, within pistol shot of the bank. This fact renders navigation dangerous, as a boat might be driven on shore in even a light breeze before her anchors found holding ground.

The natives have many superstitions concerning Lake Baikal. In their language it is the "Holy Sea," and it would be sacrilege to term it a lake. Certainly it has several marine peculiarities. Gulls and other ocean birds frequent its shores, and it is the only body of fresh water on the globe where the seal abounds. Banks of coral like those in tropical seas exist in its depths.



The mountains on the western shore are evidently of volcanic origin, and earthquakes are not unfrequent. A few years ago the village of Stepnoi, about twenty miles from the mouth of the Selenga, was destroyed by an earthquake. Part of the village disappeared beneath the water while another part after sinking was lifted twenty or thirty feet above its original level. Irkutsk has been frequently shaken at the foundations, and on one occasion the walls of its churches were somewhat damaged. Around Lake Baikal there are several hot springs, some of which attract fashionable visitors from Irkutsk during the season.



The natives say nobody was ever lost in Lake Baikal. When a person is drowned there the waves invariably throw his body on shore.

The lake does not freeze until the middle of December, and sometimes later. Its temperature remains pretty nearly the same at all seasons, about 48 deg. Fahrenheit. In winter it is crossed on the ice, the passage ordinarily occupying about five hours. The lake generally freezes when the air is perfectly still so that the surface is of glossy smoothness until covered with snow. A gentleman in Irkutsk described to me his feelings when he crossed Lake Baikal in winter for the first time. The ice was six feet thick, but so perfectly transparent that he seemed driving over the surface of the water. The illusion was complete, and not wholly dispelled when he alighted. "Starting from the western side, the opposite coast was not visible, and I experienced" said my friend, "the sensation of setting out in a sleigh to cross the Atlantic from Liverpool to New York."

In summer and in winter communication is pretty regular, but there is a suspension of travel when the ice is forming, and another when it breaks up. This causes serious inconvenience, and has led the government to build a road around the southern extremity of the lake. The mountains are lofty and precipitous, and the work is done at vast expense. The road winds over cliffs and crags sometimes near the lake and again two thousand feet above it. Largo numbers of peasants, Bouriats, and prisoners have been employed there for several years, but the route was not open for wheeled vehicles at the time I crossed the lake.

One mode of cutting the road through the mountains was to build large bonfires in winter when the temperature was very low. The heat caused the rock to crack so that large masses could be removed, but the operation was necessarily slow. The insurrection of June, 1866, occurred on this road.

Formerly a winter station was kept on the ice half-way across the lake. By a sudden thaw at the close of one winter the men and horses of a station were swallowed up, and nothing was known of them until weeks afterward, when their bodies were washed ashore. Since this catastrophe the entire passage of the lake, about forty miles, is made without change of horses.

We left Posolsky and enjoyed a sunset on the lake. The mountains rise abruptly on the western and southeastern shores, and many of their snow covered peaks were beautifully tinged by the fading sunlight. The illusion regarding distances was difficult to overcome, and could only be realized by observing how very slowly we neared the mountains we were approaching. The atmosphere was of remarkable purity, and its powers of refraction reminded me of past experience in the Rocky Mountains. We had sunset and moon-rise at once. 'Adam had no more in Eden save the head of Eve upon his shoulder.'

The boat went directly across and then followed the edge of the lake to Listvenichna, our point of debarkation. There was no table on board. We ordered the samovar, made our own tea, and supped from the last of our commissary stores. Our fellow passengers in the cabin were two officers traveling to Irkutsk, and a St. Petersburg merchant who had just finished the Amoor Company's affairs. We talked, ate, drank, smoked, and slept during the twelve hours' journey.

Congratulate us on our quick passage! On her very next voyage the steamer was eight days on the lake, the wind blowing so that she could not come to either shore. To be cooped on this dirty and ill-provided boat long enough to cross the Atlantic is a fate I hope never to experience.

There is a little harbor at Listvenichna and we came alongside a wharf. Maack departed with our papers to procure horses, and left me to look at the vanishing crowd. Take the passengers from the steerage of a lake or river steamer in America, dress them in sheepskin coats and caps, let them talk a language you cannot understand, and walk them into a cloud of steam as if going overboard in a fog, and you have a passable reproduction of the scene. A bright fire should be burning on shore to throw its contrast of light and shadow over the surroundings and heighten the picturesque effect.

Just as the deck hands were rolling our carriages on shore my companion returned, and announced our horses ready. We sought a little office near the head of the wharf where the chief of the 'tamojna' (custom house) held his court. This official was known to Mr. Maack, and on our declaring that we had no dutiable effects we were passed without search.

As before remarked all the country east of Lake Baikal is open to free trade. This result has been secured by the efforts of the present governor general of Eastern Siberia. Under his liberal and enlightened policy he has done much to break down the old restrictions and develop the resources of a country over which he holds almost autocratic power. It was about three in the morning when we started over the frozen earth. Two miles from the landing we reached the custom house barrier where a pole painted with the government colors stretched across the road. Presenting our papers from the chief officer we were not detained. On the steamer when we were nearing harbor our conversation turned upon the custom house. It was positively asserted that the officials were open to pecuniary compliments, much, I presume like those in other lands. The gentleman from the Amoor had considerable baggage, and prepared a five rouble note to facilitate his business. Evidently he gave too little or did not bribe the right man, as I left him vainly imploring to be let alone in the centre of a pile of open baggage, like Marius in the ruins of Carthage.

The road follows the right bank of the Angara from the point where it leaves the lake. The current here is very strong, and the river rushes and breaks like the rapids of the St. Lawrence. For several miles from its source it never freezes even in the coldest winters. During the season of ice this open space is the resort of many waterfowl, and is generally enveloped in a cloud of mist. At the head of the river rises a mass of rock known as Shaman Kamen (spirit's rock). It is held in great veneration by the natives, and is believed to be the abode of a spirit who constantly overlooks the lake. When shamanism prevailed in this region many human sacrifices were made at the sacred rock. The most popular method was by tying the hands of the victim and tossing him into the 'hell of waters' below.

Many varieties of fish abound in the lake, and ascend its tributary rivers. The fishery forms quite a business for the inhabitants of the region, who find a good market at Irkutsk. The principal fish taken are two or three varieties of sturgeon, the herring, pike, carp, the askina, and a white fish called tymain. There is a remarkable fish consisting of a mass of fat that burns like a candle and melts away in the heat of the sun or a fire. It is found dead on the shores of the lake after violent storms. A live one has never been seen.



The distance to Irkutsk from our landing was about forty miles, and we hoped to arrive in time for breakfast. A snow storm began about dayliglit, so that I did not see much of the wooded valley of the river. We met a train of sixty or seventy carts, each carrying a cask of vodki. This liquid misery was on its way to the Trans-Baikal, and the soudna which brought a load of tea would carry vodki as a return cargo.

The clouds thinned and broke, the snow ceased falling, and the valley became distinct. While I admired its beauty, we reached the summit of a hill and I saw before me a cluster of glittering domes and turrets, rising from a wide bend in the Angara. At first I could discern only churches, but very soon I began to distinguish the streets, avenues, blocks, and houses of a city. We entered Irkutsk through its eastern gate, and drove rapidly along a wide street, the busiest I had yet seen in Asiatic Russia.

Just as the sun burst in full splendor through the departing clouds, I alighted in the capital of Oriental Siberia, half around the world from my own home.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

As we entered the city a Cossack delivered a letter announcing that I was to be handed over to the police, who had a lodging ready for me. On learning of my presence at Kiachta the Governor General kindly requested an officer of his staff to share his rooms with me. Captain Paul, with whom I was quartered, occupied pleasant apartments overlooking the gastinni-dvor. He was leading a bachelor life in a suite of six rooms, and had plenty of space at my disposal. That I might lose no time, the Chief of Police stationed the Cossack with a letter telling me where to drive.

I removed the dust and costume of travel as soon as possible, and prepared to pay my respects to the Governor General. My presentation was postponed to the following day, and as the Russian etiquette forbade my calling on other officials before I had seen the chief, there was little to be done in the matter of visiting.

The next morning I called upon General Korsackoff, delivered my letters of introduction, and was most cordially welcomed to Irkutsk. The Governor General of Eastern Siberia controls a territory larger than all European Russia, and much of it is not yet out of its developing stage. He has a heavy responsibility upon his shoulders in leading his subjects in the way best for their interests and those of the crown. Much has been done under the energetic administration of General Korsackoff and his predecessor, and there is room to accomplish much more. The general has ably withstood the cares and hardships of his Siberian life. He is forty-five years of age, active and vigorous, and capable of doing much before his way of life is fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. Like Madame De Stael, he possesses the power of putting visitors entirely at their ease. To my single countrywomen I will whisper that General Korsackoff is of about medium height, has a fair complexion, blue eyes, and Saxon hair, and a face which the most crabbed misanthrope could not refuse to call handsome. He is unmarried, and if rumor tells the truth, not under engagement.



The Governor General lives in a spacious and elegant house on the bank of the Angara, built by a merchant who amassed an immense fortune in the Chinese trade. On retiring from business he devoted his time and energies to constructing the finest mansion in Eastern Siberia. It is a stone building of three stories, and its halls and parlors are of liberal extent. Furniture was brought from St. Petersburg at enormous cost, and the whole establishment was completed without regard to expense. At the death of its builder the house was purchased by government, and underwent a few changes to adapt it to its official occupants. On the opposite bank of the river there is a country seat, the private property of General Korsackoff, and his dwelling place in the hot months.

It was my good fortune that Mr. Maack was obliged by etiquette to visit his friends on returning from his journey. I arranged to accompany him, and during that day and the next we called upon many persons of official and social position. These included the Governor and Vice Governor of Irkutsk, the chief of staff and heads of departments, the mayor of the city, and the leading merchants. Succeeding days were occupied in receiving return visits, and when these were ended I was fairly a member of the society of the Siberian capital.

The evening after my arrival I returned early to my lodgings to indulge in a Russian bath. Captain Paul was absent, but his servant managed to inform me by words and pantomime that all was ready. On the captain's return the man said he had told me in German that the bath was waiting.

"How did you speak German?" asked the captain, aware that his man knew nothing but Russian.

"Oh," said the servant, "I rubbed my hands over my face and arms and pointed toward the bath-room."

On the morning after my arrival the proprietor of the house asked for my passport; when it returned it bore the visa of the chief of police. There is a regulation throughout Russia that every hotel keeper or other householder shall register his patrons with the police. By this means the authorities can trace the movements of 'suspects' and prevent unlicensed travel. In Siberia the plan is particularly valuable in keeping exiles on the spots assigned them.

At St. Petersburg and Moscow the police keep a directory and hold it open to the public. When I reached the capital and wished to find some friends who arrived a few days before me, I obtained their address from this directory. Those who sought my whereabouts found me in the same way.

The weather was steadily cold—about zero Fahrenheit—and was called mild for the season by the residents of Irkutsk. I brought from New York a heavy overcoat that braved the storms of Broadway the winter before my departure. My Russian friends pronounced it nechevo (nothing,) and advised me to procure a 'shooba,' or cloak lined with fur. The shooba reaches nearly to one's feet, and is better adapted to riding than walking. It can be lined according to the means and liberality of the wearer. Sable is most expensive, and sheepskin the least. Both accomplish the same end, as they contain about equal quantities of heat.

The streets of Irkutsk are of good width and generally intersect at right angles. Most of the buildings are of wood, and usually large and well built. The best houses are of stone, or of brick covered with plaster to resemble stone. Very few dwellings are entered directly from the street, the outer doors opening into yards according to the Russian custom. To visit a person you pass into an enclosure through a strong gateway, generally open by day but closed at night. A 'dvornik' (doorkeeper) has the control of this gate, and is responsible for everything within it. Storehouses and all other buildings of the establishment open upon the enclosure, and frequently two or more houses have one gate in common.

The stores or magazines are numerous, and well supplied with European goods. Some of the stocks are very large, and must require heavy capital or excellent credit to manage them. Tailors and milliners are abundant, and bring their modes from Paris. Occasionally they paint their signs in French, and display the latest novelties from the center of fashion. Bakers are numerous and well patronized. 'Frantsooski kleb,' (French bread,) which is simply white bread made into rolls, is popular and largely sold in Irkutsk.

One of my daily exercises in Russian was to spell the signs upon the stores. In riding I could rarely get more than half through a word before I was whisked out of sight. I never before knew how convenient are symbolic signs to a man who cannot read. A picture of a hat, a glove, or a loaf of bread was far more expressive to my eye than the word shapka, perchatki, or kleb, printed in Russian letters.

The Russians smoke a great deal of tobacco in paper cigarettes or 'papiros.' Everywhere east of Lake Baikal the papiros of Irkutsk is in demand, and the manufacture there is quite extensive. In Irkutsk and to the westward the brand of Moscow is preferred. The consumption of tobacco in this form throughout the empire must be something enormous. I have known a party of half a dozen persons to smoke a hundred cigarettes in an afternoon and evening. Many ladies indulge in smoking, but the practice is not universal. I do not remember any unmarried lady addicted to it.

Irkutsk was founded in 1680, and has at present a population of twenty-eight or thirty thousand. About four thousand gold miners spend the winter and their money in the city. Geographically it is in Latitude 52 deg. 40' north, and Longitude 104 deg. 20' east from Greenwich. Little wind blows there, and storms are less frequent than at Moscow or St. Petersburg. The snows are not abundant, the quantity that falls being smaller than in Boston and very much less than in Montreal or Quebec. In summer or winter the panorama of Irkutsk and its surroundings is one of great beauty.



There are twenty or more churches, of which nearly all are large and finely placed. Several of them were planned and constructed by two Swedish engineer officers captured at Pultawa and exiled to Siberia. They are excellent monuments of architectural skill, and would be ornamental to any European city.

The Angara at Irkutsk is about six hundred yards wide, and flows with a current of six miles an hour. It varies in height not more than ten or twelve inches during the entire year. It does not freeze until the middle of January, and opens early in May. There are two swinging ferries for crossing the river. A stout cable is anchored in mid-stream, and the ferry-boat attached to its unanchored end. The slack of the cable is buoyed by several small boats, over which it passes at regular intervals. The ferry swings like a horizontal pendulum, and is propelled by turning its sides at an angle against the current. I crossed on this ferry in four minutes from bank to bank.

There are many public carriages in the streets, to be hired at thirty copecks the hour; but the drivers, like their profession everywhere, are inclined to overcharge. Every one who thinks he can afford it, keeps a team of his own, the horses being generally of European stock. A few horses have been brought from St. Petersburg; the journey occupies a full year, and the animals, when safely arrived, are very costly. Private turnouts are neat and showy, and on a fine afternoon the principal drives of the city are quite gay. General Korsackoff has a light wagon from New York for his personal driving in summer.

I found here a curious regulation. Sleighs are prohibited by municipal law from carrying bells in the limits of the city. Reason: in a great deal of noise pedestrians might be run over. In American cities the law requires bells to be worn. Reason: unless there is a noise pedestrians might be run over.

"You pays your money and you takes your choice."

Cossack policemen watch the town during the day, and at night there are mounted and foot patrols carrying muskets with fixed bayonets. Every block and sometimes every house has its private watchman, and at regular intervals during the night you may hear these guardians thumping their long staves on the pavement to assure themselves and others that they are awake. The fire department belongs to the police, and its apparatus consists of hand engines, water carts, and hook and ladder wagons. There are several watch towers, from which a semaphore telegraph signals the existence of fire. An electric apparatus was being arranged during my stay.

During my visit there was an alarm of fire, and I embraced the opportunity to see how the Russians 'run with the machine.' When I reached the street the engines and water carts were dashing in the direction of the fire. The water carts were simply large casks mounted horizontally on four wheels; a square hole in the top served to admit a bucket or a suction hose. Those carts bring water from the nearest point of supply, which may be the river or an artificial reservoir, according to the locality of the fire. Engines and carts are drawn by horses, which appear well selected for strength and activity. All the firemen wore brass helmets.

The burning house was small and quite disengaged from others, and as there was no wind there was no danger of a serious conflagration. The Chief of Police directed the movements of his men. The latter worked their engines vigorously, but though the carts kept in active motion the supply of water was not equal to the demand. For some time it seemed doubtful which would triumph, the flames or the police. Fortune favored the brave. The building was saved, though in a condition of incipient charcoalism.

The Chief of Police wore his full uniform and decorations as the law requires of him when on duty. During the affair he was thoroughly spattered with water and covered with dirt and cinders. When he emerged he presented an appearance somewhat like that of a butterfly after passing through a sausage machine. A detachment of soldiers came to the spot but did not form a cordon around it. Every spectator went as near the fire as he thought prudent, but was careful not to get in the way. Two or three thousand officers, soldiers, merchants, exiles, moujiks, women, boys, and beggars gathered in the street to look at the display.

The Russian fire engines and water carts with their complement of men, and each drawn by three horses abreast, present a picturesque appearance as they dash through the streets. The engines at Irkutsk are low-powered squirts, worked by hand, less effective than the hand engines used in America twenty or thirty years ago, and far behind our steamers of the present day. In Moscow and St. Petersburg the fire department has been greatly improved during the past ten years, and is now quite efficient.

The markets of Irkutsk are well supplied with necessaries of life. Beef is abundant and good, at an average retail price of seven copecks a pound. Fish and game are plentiful, and sell at low figures. The rebchik, or wood-hen, is found throughout Siberia, and is much cheaper in the market than any kind of domestic fowl. Pork, veal, and mutton are no more expensive than beef, and all vegetables of the country are at corresponding rates. In fact if one will eschew European luxuries he can live very cheaply at Irkutsk. Everything that comes from beyond the Urals is expensive, on account of the long land carriage.

Champagne costs five or six roubles a bottle, and a great quantity of it is drank. Sherry is from two to seven roubles according to quality, and the same is the case with white and red wines. The lowest price of sugar is thirty copecks the pound, and it is oftener forty-five or fifty. Porter and ale cost two or three roubles a bottle, and none but the best English brands are drank. The wines are almost invariably excellent, and any merchant selling even a few cases of bad wine would very likely lose his trade. Clothes and all articles of personal wear cost about as much as in St. Louis or New Orleans. Labor is neither abundant nor scarce. A good man-servant receives ten to fifteen roubles a month with board.

Wood comes in soudnas from the shores of Lake Baikal and is very cheap. These vessels descend the river by the force of the current, but in going against it are towed by horses. The principal market place is surrounded with shops where a varied and miscellaneous lot of merchandise is sold. I found ready-made clothing, crockery, boots, whisky, hats, furniture, flour, tobacco, and so on through a long list of saleable and unsaleable articles. How such a mass could find customers was a puzzle. Nearly all the shops are small and plain, and there are many stalls or stands which require but a small capital to manage. A great deal of haggling takes place in transactions at these little establishments, and I occasionally witnessed some amusing scenes.

The best time to view the market is on Sunday morning, when the largest crowd is gathered. My first visit was made one Sunday when the thermometer stood at -15 deg. Fahrenheit. The market houses and the open square were full of people, and the square abounded in horses and sleds from the country. A great deal of traffic was conducted on these sleds or upon the solid snow-packed earth. The crowd comprised men, women, and children of all ages and all conditions in life. Peasants from the country and laborers from the city, officers, tradesmen, heads of families, and families without heads, busy men, and idlers, were mingled as at a popular gathering in City Hall Park. Everybody was in warm garments, the lower classes wearing coats and pelisses of sheepskin, while the others were in furs more or less expensive. Occasionally a drunken man was visible, but there were no indications of a tendency to fight. The intoxicated American, eight times out of ten, endeavors to quarrel with somebody, but our Muscovite neighbor is of a different temperament. When drunk he falls to caressing and gives kisses in place of blows.



The most novel sight that day in the market at Irkutsk was the embrace of two drunken peasants. They kissed each other so tenderly and so long that the intense cold congealed their breath and froze their beards together. I left them as they were endeavoring to arrange a separation.

A few beggars circulated in the crowd and gathered here and there a copeck.

The frost whitened the beards of the men and reddened the cheeks of the women. Where hands were bared to the breeze they were of a corned-beefy hue, and there were many persons stamping on the ground or swinging their arms to keep up a circulation. The little horses, standing, were white with frost, but none of them covered with blankets. The Siberian horses are not blanketed in winter, but I was told they did not suffer from cold. Their coats are thick and warm and frequently appear more like fur than hair.

Everything that could be frozen had succumbed to the frost. There were frozen chickens, partridges, and other game, thrown in heaps like bricks or stove wood. Beef, pork, and mutton, were alike solid, and some of the vendors had placed their animals in fantastic positions before freezing them. In one place I saw a calf standing as if ready to walk away. His skin remained, and at first sight I thought him alive, but was undeceived when a man overturned the unresisting beast. Frozen fish were piled carelessly in various places, and milk was offered for sale in cakes or bricks. A stick or string was generally frozen into a corner of the mass to facilitate carrying. One could swing a quart of milk at his side or wrap it in his kerchief at discretion.

There were many peripatetic dealers in cakes and tea, the latter carrying small kettles of the hot beverage, which they served in tumblers. Occasionally there was a man with a whole litter of sucking pigs frozen solid and slung over his shoulder or festooned into a necklace. The diminutive size of these pigs awakened reflections upon the brevity of swinish life.



CHAPTER XXXV.

Custom is the same at Irkutsk as in all fashionable society of the empire. Visits of ceremony are made in full dress-uniform for an officer and evening costume for a civilian. Ceremonious calls are pretty short, depending of course upon the position and intimacy of the parties. The Russians are very punctilious in making and receiving visits. So many circumstances are to be considered that I was always in dread of making a mistake of etiquette somewhere.

Nearly all my acquaintances in Irkutsk spoke French or English, though comparatively few conversed with me in the latter tongue. The facility with which the Russians acquire language has been often remarked. Almost all Russians who possess any education, are familiar with at least one language beside their own. Very often I found a person conversant with two foreign languages, and it was no unusual thing to find one speaking three. I knew a young officer at Irkutsk who spoke German, French, English, and Swedish, and had a very fair smattering of Chinese, Manjour, and Japanese. A young lady there conversed well and charmingly in English, French, and German and knew something of Italian. It was more the exception than the rule that I met an officer with whom I could not converse in French. French is the society language of the Russian capital, and one of the first requisites in education.

Children are instructed almost from infancy. Governesses are generally French or English, and conversation with their charges is rarely conducted in Russian. Tutors are generally Germans familiar with French. There is no other country in the world where those who can afford it are so attentive to the education of their children. This attention added to the peculiar temperament of the Russians makes them the best linguists in the world.

An English gentleman and lady, the latter speaking Russian fluently, lived in Siberia several years. During their sojourn a son was born to them. It was a long time before he began talking, so long in fact, that his parents feared he would be dumb. When he commenced he was very soon fluent in both English and Russian. His long hesitation was doubtless caused by the confusion of two languages.



The present emperor is an accomplished linguist, but no exception in this particular to the Imperial family in general. The Queen of Greece, a niece of the Emperor of Russia, is said to be very prompt to learn a new language whenever it comes in her way, and when she was selected for that royal position she conquered the greek language in a very short time. French is the leading foreign language among the Russians, and the second rank is held by the German. Of late years English has become very popular, and is being rapidly acquired. The present entente cordiale between Russia and the United States is exerting an influence for the increased study of our language. Why should we not return the compliment and bestow a little attention upon the Slavonic tongue?

Most persons in society at Irkutsk were from European Russia or had spent some time in Moscow at St. Petersburg. Of the native born Siberians there were few who had not made a journey beyond the Ural Mountains. Among the officials, St. Petersburg was usually the authority in the matter of life and habit, while the civilians turned their eyes toward Moscow. Society in Irkutsk was not less polished than in the capitals, and it possessed the advantage of being somewhat more open and less rigid than under the shadow of the Imperial palace. Etiquette is etiquette in any part of the empire, and its forms must everywhere be observed. But after the social forms were complied, with there was less stiffness than in European Russia.

Some travelers declare that they found Siberian society more polished than that of Old Russia. On this point I cannot speak personally, as my stay in the western part of the empire was too brief to afford much insight into its life. There may be some truth in the statement. Siberia has received a great many individuals of high culture in the persons of its political exiles. Men of liberal education, active intellects, and refined manners have been in large proportion among the banished Poles, and the exiles of 1825 included many of Russia's ablest minds. The influence of these exiles upon the intelligence, habits, and manners of the Siberians, has left an indelible mark. As a new civilization is more plastic than an old one, so the society of Northern Asia may have become more polished than that of Ancient Russia.

I could learn of only six of my countrymen who had been at Irkutsk before me. Of these all but two passed through the city with little delay, and were seen by very few persons. I happened to reach Siberia when our iron-clad fleet was at Cronstadt, and its officers were being feasted at St. Petersburg and elsewhere. The Siberians regretted that Mr. Fox and his companions could not visit them, and experience their hospitality. So they determined to expend their enthusiasm on the first American that appeared, and rather unexpectedly I became the recipient of the will of the Siberians toward the United States. Two days after my arrival I was visited by Mr. Hamenof, one of the wealthiest merchants of Irkutsk. As he spoke only Russian, he was accompanied by my late fellow-traveler who came to interpret between us, and open the conversation with—

"Mr. Hamenof presents his compliments, and wishes you to dine with him day after to-morrow."

I accepted the invitation, and the merchant departed. Maack informed me that the dinner would be a ceremonious one, attended by the Governor General and leading officials.

About forty persons were present, and seated according to rank. The tables were set on three sides of a square apartment, the post of honor being in the central position facing the middle of the room. The dinner was served in the French manner, and but for the language and uniforms around me, and a few articles in the bill of fare, I could have thought myself in a private parlor of the Trois Freres or the Cafe Anglais.

Madame Ditmar, the wife of the governor of the Trans-Baikal, was the only lady present. When the champagne appeared, Mr. Hamenof proposed "The United States of America," and prefaced his toast with a little speech to his Russian guests. I proposed the health of the Emperor, and then the toasts became irregular and applied to the Governor General, the master of the house, the ladies of Siberia, the Russo-American Telegraph, and various other persons, objects, and enterprises.

From the dinner table we adjourned to the parlors where tea and coffee were brought, and most of the guests were very soon busy at the card tables. On reaching my room late at night, I found a Russian document awaiting me, and with effort and a dictionary, I translated it into an invitation to an official dinner with General Korsackoff. Five minutes before the appointed hour I accompanied a friend to the Governor General's house. As we entered, servants in military garb took our shoobas, and we were ushered into a large parlor. General Korsackoff and many of the invited guests were assembled in the parlor, and within two minutes the entire party had gathered. As the clock struck five the doors were thrown open, and the general led the way to the dining hall.

I found at Irkutsk a great precision respecting appointments. When dinners were to come off at a fixed hour all the guests assembled from three to ten minutes before the time specified. I never knew any one to come late, and all were equally careful not to come early. No one could be more punctual than General Korsackoff, and his example was no doubt carefully watched and followed. It is a rule throughout official circles in Russia, if I am correctly informed, that tardiness implies disrespect. Americans might take a few lessons of the Russians on the subject of punctuality.



The table was liberally decorated with flowers and plants, and the whole surroundings were calculated to make one forget that he was in cold and desolate Siberia. A band of music was stationed in the adjoining parlor, and furnished us with Russian and American airs. At the first toast General Korsackoff made a speech in Russian, recounting the amity existing between the two nations and the visit of our special embassy to congratulate the Emperor on his escape from assassination. He thought the Siberians felt no less grateful at this mark of sympathy than did the people of European Russia, and closed by proposing, "The President, Congress, and People of the United States." The toast was received with enthusiasm, the band playing Yankee Doodle as an accompaniment to the cheering.

The speech was translated to me by Captain Linden, the private Secretary of the Governor General, who spoke French and English fluently. Etiquette required me to follow with a toast to the emperor in my little speech. I spoke slowly to facilitate the hearing of those who understood English. The Captain then translated it into Russian.

General Korsackoff spoke about four minutes, and I think my response was of the same length. Both speeches were considered quite elaborate by the Siberians, and one officer declared it was the longest dinner-table address the general ever made. Two days later at another dinner I asked a friend to translate my remarks when I came to speak. He asked how long I proposed talking.

"About three minutes," was my reply.

"Oh," said he, "you had better make it one or two minutes. You made a long speech at the Governor General's, and when you dine with a person of less importance he will not expect you to speak as much."

I had not taken this view of the matter, as the American custom tends to brevity on the ascending rather than on the descending scale.

Ten years earlier Major Collins dined with General Mouravieff in the same hall where I was entertained. After dinner I heard a story at the expense of my enterprising predecessor. It is well known that the Major is quite a speech maker at home, and when he is awakened on a favorite subject he has no lack either of ideas or words.

On the occasion just mentioned, General Mouravieff gave the toast, "Russia and America," Major Collins rose to reply and after speaking six or eight minutes came to a pause. Captain Martinoff, who understood English, was seated near the Major. As the latter stopped, General Mouravieff turned to the Captain and asked:

"Will you be kind enough to translate what has been said?"

"Blagodariete," (he thanks you) said the captain. The Major proceeded six or eight minutes more and paused again.

"Translate," was the renewed command of the Governor General.

"He thanks you very much."

Again another period of speech and the address was finished.

"Translate if you please," the general suggested once more to his aid.

"He thanks you very much indeed."

The Major was puzzled, and turning to Captain Martinoff remarked that the Russian language must be very comprehensive when a speech of twenty minutes could be translated in three or four words.

On days when I was disengaged I dined at the Amoorski Gastinitza or Amoor Hotel. The hotel comprised two buildings, one containing the rooms of lodgers, and the other devoted to restaurant, dining and billiard rooms. In the dining department there were several rooms, a large one for a restaurant and table d'hote, and the rest for private parties. Considering the general character of Russian hotels the one at Irkutsk was quite creditable. In its management, cookery, and service it would compare favorably with the establishments on Courtlandt Street or Park Row.

In the billiard room there were two tables on which I sometimes complied with a request to 'show the American game.' The tables had six pockets each, and as the cues had no leather tips, there was an unpleasant clicking whenever they wore used. The Russian game of billiards is played with five balls, and the science consists in pocketing the balls. The carom does not count.

The first time I dined at the hotel the two candles burned dimly, and we called for a third. When it was brought the servant drew a small table near us and placed the extra candle upon it. I asked the reason for his doing so, and it was thus explained.

There is a superstition in Russia that if three lighted candles are placed upon a table some one in the room will die within a year. Everybody endeavors to avoid such a calamity. If you have two candles and order another, the servant will place the third on a side table or he will bring a fourth and make your number an even one.

There was formerly a theatre at Irkutsk, but it was burned a few years ago, and has not been rebuilt. During my stay there was a musical concert in the large hall of the officers' club, and a theatrical display was prepared but not concluded before my departure. At the concert a young officer, Captain Lowbry, executed on the piano several pieces of his own composition, and was heartily applauded by the listeners. Once a week there was a social party at the club house where dancing, cards, billiards, and small talk continued till after midnight.

Nearly every one in society kept 'open house' daily. In most of the families where I was acquainted tea was taken at 8 P.M., and any friend could call at that hour without ceremony. The samovar was placed on the table, and one of the ladies presided over the tea. Those who wished it could sit at table, but there was no formal spreading of the cloth. Tea was handed about the room and each one took it at his liking. I have seen in these social circles a most pleasing irregularity in tea drinking. Some were seated on sofas and chairs, holding cups and saucers in their hands or resting them upon tables; other stood in groups of two, three, or more; others were at cards, and sipped their tea at intervals of the games; and a few were gathered around the hostess at the samovar. The time passed in whatever amusements were attainable. There were cards for some and conversation for others, with piano music, little dances and general sports of considerable variety. Those evenings at Irkutsk were delightful, and I shall always remember them with pleasure.

What with visits, dinners, balls, suppers, social evenings, and sleigh rides, I had little time to myself, and though I economized every minute I did not succeed in finishing my letters and journal until the very day before my departure. The evening parties lasted pretty late. They generally closed with a supper toward the wee small hours, and the good nights were not spoken until about two in the morning.

There is a peculiarity about a Russian party,—whether a quiet social assemblage or a stately ball,—that the whole house is thrown open. In America guests are confined to the parlors and the dancing and supper apartments, from the time they leave the cloaking rooms till they prepare for departure. In Russia they can wander pretty nearly where they please, literally "up stairs, down stairs, or in my lady's chamber." Of course all the rooms are prepared for visitors, but I used at first to feel a shrinking sensation when I sauntered into the private study and work room of my official host, or found myself among the scent bottles and other toilet treasures of a lady acquaintance. This literal keeping of 'open house' materially assists to break the stiffness of an assemblage though it can hardly be entirely convenient to the hosts.

Immediately after my entertainment with General Korsackoff, the mayor of Irkutsk invited me to an official dinner at his house. This was followed a few days later by a similar courtesy on the part of Mr. Trepaznikoff, the son of a wealthy merchant who died a few years ago. Private dinners followed in rapid succession until I was qualified to speak with practical knowledge of the Irkutsk cuisine. No stranger in a strange land was ever more kindly taken in, and no hospitality was ever bestowed with less ostentation. I can join in the general testimony of travelers that the Russians excel in the ability to entertain visitors.

Mr. Kartesheftsoff, the Mayor, or Golovah as he is called, resided in a large house that formerly belonged to Prince Trubetskoi, one of the exiles of 1825. My host was an extensive owner of gold mines, and had been very successful in working them. He was greatly interested in the means employed in California for separating gold from earth, and especially in the 'hydraulic' process. On my first visit Madame Kartesheftsoff spoke very little French. She must have submitted her studies to a thorough revision as I found her a week later able to conduct a conversation with ease. There were other instances of a vigorous overhauling of disused French and English that furnished additional proof of the Russian adaptability to foreign tongues.

To reach the golovah's house we crossed, the Ouska-kofka, a small river running through the northern part of Irkutsk; it had been recently frozen, and several rosy-cheeked boys were skating on the ice. The view from the bridge is quite picturesque, and the little valley forms a favorite resort in certain seasons of the year. The water of the Ouska-kofka is said to be denser than that of the Angara, and on that account is preferred for culinary purposes.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

I have made occasional mention of the exiles of 1825, and it may be well to explain how they went to Siberia. In the early part of the present century Russia was not altogether happy. The Emperor Paul, called to the throne by the death of Catherine II., did not display marked ability, but, 'on the contrary, quite the reverse.' What his mother had done for the improvement of the country he was inclined to undo. Under his reign great numbers were banished to Siberia upon absurd charges or mere caprice. The emperor issued manifestoes of a whimsical character, one of which was directed against round hats, and another against shoe strings. The glaring colors now used upon bridges, distance posts, watch boxes, and other imperial property, were of his selection, and so numerous were his eccentricities that he was declared of unsound mind. In March, 1801, he was smothered in his palace, which he had just completed. It is said that within an hour after the fact of his death was known round hats appeared on the street in great numbers.

Alexander I. endeavored to repair some of the evils of his father's reign. He recalled many exiles from Siberia, suppressed the secret inquisition, and restored many rights of which the people had been deprived. His greatest abilities were displayed during the wars with France. After the general peace he devoted himself to inspecting and developing the resources of the country, and was the first, and thus far the only, emperor of Russia to cross the Ural Mountains and visit the mines of that region. His death occurred during a tour through the southern provinces of the empire. Some of his reforms were based upon the principles of other European governments, which he endeavored to study. On his return from England he told his council that the best thing he saw there was the opposition in Parliament. He thought it a part of the government machinery, and regretted it could not be introduced in Russia.

Constantine, the eldest brother of Alexander I., had relinquished his right to the crown, thus breaking the regular succession. From the time of Paul a revolutionary party had existed, and once at least it plotted the assassination of Alexander. There was an interregnum of three weeks between the death of Alexander and the assumption of power by his second brother, Nicholas. The change of succession strengthened the revolutionists, and they employed the interregnum to organize a conspiracy for seizing the government.

The conspiracy was wide spread, and included many of the ablest men of the day. The army was seriously implicated. The revolutionists desired a constitutional government, and their rallying cry of "CONSTITUTIA!" was explained to the soldiers as the name of Constantine's wife. The real design of the movement was not confided to the rank and file, who supposed they were fighting for Constantine and the regular succession of the throne.

Nicholas learned of the conspiracy the day before his ascension; the Imperial guard of the palace was in the plot, and expected to seize the emperor's person. The guard was removed during the night and a battalion from Finland substituted. It is said that on receiving intelligence of the assembling of the insurgents, the emperor called his wife to the chapel of the palace, where he spent a few moments in prayer. Then taking his son, the present emperor, he led him to the soldiers of the new guard, confided him to their protection, and departed for St. Isaac's Square to suppress the revolt. The soldiers kept the boy until the emperor's return, and would not even surrender him to his tutor.

The plot was so wide-spread that the conspirators had good promise of success, but whole regiments backed out at the last moment and left only a forlorn hope to begin the struggle. Nicholas rode with his officers to St. Isaac's square, and twice commanded the assembled insurgents to surrender. They refused, and were then saluted with "the last argument of kings." A storm of grape shot, followed by a charge of cavalry, put in flight all who were not killed, and ended the insurrection.

A long and searching investigation followed, disclosing all the ramifications of the plot. The conspirators declared they were led to what they undertook by the unfortunate condition of the country and the hope of improving it. Nicholas, concealed behind a screen, heard most of the testimony and confessions, and learned therefrom a wholesome lesson. The end of the affair was the execution of five principal conspirators and the banishment of many others to Siberia. The five that suffered capital punishment were hanged in front of the Admiralty buildings in St. Petersburg. One rope was broken, and the victim, falling to the ground, suffered such agony that the officer in charge of the execution sent to the emperor asking what to do. "Take a new rope and finish your duty," was the unpitying answer of Nicholas.

The accession of Nicholas and the attempted revolt occurred on the 14th December, (O.S.) 1825. Within six months from that date the most of the conspirators reached Siberia. They were sent to different districts, some to labor in the mines for specified periods, and others to become colonists. They included some of the ablest men in Russia, and were nearly all young and enterprising. Many of them were married, and were followed into exile by their wives, though the latter were only permitted to go to Siberia on condition of never returning. Each of the exiles was deprived of all civil or political rights, and declared legally dead. His property was confiscated to the crown, and his wife considered a widow and could marry again if she chose. To the credit of the Russian women, not one availed herself of this privilege. I was told that nearly every married exile's family followed him, and some of the unmarried ones were followed by their sisters and mothers.

I have previously spoken of the effect of the unfortunates of the 14th December upon the society and manners of Siberia. These men enjoyed good social positions, and their political faults did not prevent their becoming well received. Their sentence to labor in the mines was not rigorously enforced, and lasted but two or three years at farthest. They were subsequently employed at indoor work, and, as time wore on and passion subsided, were allowed to select residences in villages. Very soon they were permitted to go to the larger towns, and once there, those whose wives possessed property in their own right built themselves elegant houses and took the position to which their abilities entitled them.



General Korsackoff told me that when he first went to serve in Siberia there was a ball one evening at the Governor General's. Noticing one man who danced the Mazurka splendidly, he whispered to General Mouravieff and asked his name. "That," said Mouravieff, "is a revolutionist of 1825. He is one of the best men of society in Irkutsk."

After their first few years of exile, the Decembrists had little to complain of except the prohibition to return to Europe. To men whose youth was passed in brilliant society and amid the gayeties of the capital, this life in Siberia was no doubt irksome. Year after year went by, and on the twenty-fifth anniversary of their banishment they looked for pardon. Little else was talked of among them for some weeks, but they were doomed to disappointment. Nicholas had no forgiving disposition, and those who plotted his overthrow were little likely to obtain favor, even though a quarter of a century had elapsed since their crime.

But the death of Nicholas and the coronation of Alexander II. wrought a change for the exiles. Nicholas began his reign with an act of severity; Alexander followed his ascension with one of clemency. By imperial ukase he pardoned the exiles of 1825, restored them to their civil and political rights, and permitted their return to Europe. As the fathers were legally dead when sent into exile, the children born to them in Siberia were illegitimate in the eye of the law and could not even bear their own family name. Properly they belonged to the government, and inherited their father's exile in not being permitted to go to Europe. The ukase removed all these disabilities and gave the children full authority to succeed to their father's hereditary titles and social and political rights.

These exiles lived in different parts of Siberia, but chiefly in the governments of Irkutsk and Yeneseisk. But the thirty years of the reign of Nicholas were not uneventful. Death removed some of the unfortunates. Others had dwelt so long in Siberia that they did not wish to return to a society where they would be strangers. Some who were unmarried at the time of their exile had acquired families in Siberia, and thus fastened themselves to the country. Not more than half of those living at the time of Alexander's coronation availed themselves of his permission to return to Russia. The princes Trubetskoi and Volbonskoi hesitated for some time, but finally concluded to return. Both died in Europe quite recently. Their departure was regretted by many persons in Irkutsk, as their absence was quite a loss to society. I heard some curious reminiscences concerning the Prince Volbonskoi. It was said that his wife and children, with the servants, were the occupants of the large and elegant house, the prince living in a small building in the court yard. He had a farm near the town and sold the various crops to his wife. Both the princes paid great attention to educating their children and fitting them for ultimate social position in Europe.

While in Irkutsk I saw one of the Decembrists who had grown quite wealthy as a wine merchant. Another of these exiles was mentioned, but I did not meet him. Another resided at Selenginsk, a third near Verkne Udinsk, and a fourth near Lake Baikal. There are several at other points, but I believe the whole number of the Decembrists now in Siberia is less than a dozen. Forty-two years have brought them to the brink of the grave, and very soon the active spirits of that unhappy revolt will have passed away.

The other political exiles in Siberia are almost entirely Poles. Every insurrection in Poland adds to the population of Asiatic Russia, and accomplishes very little else. The revolt of 1831 was prolific in this particular, and so was that of 1863. Revolutions in Poland have been utterly hopeless of success since the downfall and division of the kingdom, but the Poles remain undaunted.

I do not propose entering into a discussion of the Polish question, as it would occupy too much space and be foreign to the object of my book; but I will briefly touch a few points. The Russians and Poles were not inclined to amiability when both had separate governments. Europe has never been converted to Republican principles, and however much the Western powers may sympathize with Poland, they would be unwilling to adopt for themselves the policy they desire for Russia. England holds India and Ireland, regardless of the will of Indians and Irish. France has her African territory which did not ask to be taken under the tri-color, and we are all aware of the relations once held by her emperor toward Mexico. It is much easier to look for generosity and forbearance in others than in ourselves.

Those who are disposed to shed tears over the fate of Poland, should remember that the unhappy country has only suffered the fortune of war. When Russia and Poland began to measure swords the latter was the more powerful, and for a time overran a goodly portion of the Muscovite soil. We all know there has been a partition of Poland, but are we equally aware that the Russia of Rurik and Ivan IV. was partitioned in 1612 by the Swedes (at Novgorod) and the Poles (at MOSCOW?) In 1612 the Poles held Moscow. The Russians rose against them in that year, just as the Poles have since risen against the Russians, but with a different result.