CHAPTER VII.

IMPRESSIONS OF TOMSK.

Our arrival at Tomsk was signalized by the greatest cold which we had experienced so far. The Réaumur glass showed more than forty degrees of frost, and in this bitter atmosphere it seemed impossible to keep up one’s circulation. In the miserable drosky which took us from the station to the town we became so numbed that on arrival at the portals of the hotel it was with difficulty that we could dismount. Gaskell was unfortunate enough to get one of his hands frost-bitten, and the thawing of that member was accompanied by pain so intense that he almost screamed in agony. Nor was the hotel at which we were forced to put up conducive to comfort. There is in Tomsk one very good hotel, called the Europa, but unfortunately we were unable to obtain apartments here, and were forced to seek shelter in a hostinitca, which was, to say the least, decidedly third class--inferior, in fact, to the accommodation which we had received at Omsk.

Bad as was the bedroom accommodation and the general eating arrangements, the hardened traveller could perhaps put up with them, but what was worse than all was the shocking sanitary arrangements of the place--a state of things, however, which is pretty general in Siberian houses. The stench of that hotel was something abominable, a stench carried on the hot air which crowded and filtered into every corner and crevice of the place. All the windows were tightly closed, being constructed on the double plan, with cotton wool in between, in order to preclude the possibility of a particle of air entering one’s chamber. To sleep in such an atmosphere was out of the question, and we got out of the difficulty by breaking a couple of panes of glass in the window and tying a piece of sacking over the orifice. That hole in the window, viewed from outside, was something like the funnel of a steamer, the hot air rushing out in clouds of steam to be immediately converted into fine snow. But even this novel means of ventilation did not rid us of the smell, which permeated everything from the door of the hotel to the tiniest room or passage.

[Illustration: TOMSK.]

The red-shirted and long-haired individual who acted as proprietor and servant combined, intimated that it was quite impossible to get anything to eat. The samovar we could have with pleasure, but of food the only thing in that direction which it was possible to obtain would be black bread. Our supply of provisions being exhausted, and being in a town of some thirty thousand inhabitants, black bread was not the sort of thing to satisfy four hungry Englishmen; so I wandered forth, chartered a drosky, and drove down to the market-place, or bazaar, which turned out to be a big square surrounded by rows of dismal wooden huts in the last stages of decrepitude. Afar off, over a wooden bridge which spanned the bed of a small river, I could see blinking electric lights, and marvelled considerably.

Here was a town which sported one of the greatest inventions of the age, and yet four travellers, willing to pay anything in reason for decent accommodation, could get no better than that of which I have spoken, and no better food offered than black bread! Most of the magazines were closed. A few skin-clad moujiks, muffled up to the eyes, shuffled along in their huge felt boots, and a few horses hobbled at the heel, looked forlorn and miserable by the huge scales which marked the centre of the bazaar.

My driver, on learning my mission, drove me to a magazine, which fortunately was open, and here I was able to purchase a couple of dozen eggs, frozen as solid as stones, a loaf or two of white bread, a box of sardines, and some sweets. The manner in which the eggs were thrown into the bottom of the drosky was a touching tribute to the severity of the Siberian winter.

By dismal candlelight, seated on rough wooden chairs around a rougher table, with the steaming samovar in the centre, we made our meal. Such luxuries as plates or knives we knew not. We carved our bread with a bowie; we held our eggs in our hands, and consumed the contents, not by the use of a spoon, but by jerking all that would come out into our mouths, then breaking the shell and sucking away what remained attached to the skin. For four of us the proprietor had found one spoon, so the bread-cutting bowie served also to stir up our tea. We started on eggs, made a second course of sardines, and had sweets for dessert. Only our perennial good temper made the meal enjoyable. It was not so much that what we had was not satisfying, but the great fact that here we were in a town, one of the richest in Siberia, and one of the most populous, and that it was impossible to get better fare than this.

No wonder that Siberia is looked upon by the traveller with abhorrence. Apart from its inhabitants, no one can say that Siberia is not a land of beauty, plenty, and promise; but it is the nature of its inhabitants which make it the terrible place it is. The independence, the filth, and general want of comfort which characterize every effort of the community serve to make a visit to any Siberian centre a thing to be remembered for many years, and an experience not desirable to repeat.

Yet Tomsk is not without its attractions. It is divided into two towns, the upper and the lower; the latter being on the banks of the Tom, and the former on the brow of the high cliffs which divide the river into two sections. There are some very fine buildings in the city, notably the Military Academy, the Government Mining Laboratory, the governor’s residence, the theatre, and half a dozen magnificent churches. The main street is built on the side of a hill, east to west, but the mean character of the houses and magazines on either side, as well as the dilapidated and broken wooden pavement outside them, turns what would be a magnificent avenue into one by no means pleasing to the eye. At night the electric light casts a white glare upon this huddle of houses, and serves to show the unwary pedestrian the pitfalls in the road and the pavement. What this town is like in summer, when the hot sun beats down upon its unpaved roads and serves to accentuate its predominant smell, it is not difficult to realize. Happily for the health of the Tomskite, there is an eight-months’ winter, and to this almost perpetual time of frost I certainly think that much of the good health of the Siberian is due. I have travelled in many lands, but I must place it on record that for absolute neglect of the most elementary stages of sanitation the Siberian authorities surpass the efforts of all others I have seen.

Prior to the establishment of the Trans-Siberian Railroad, Tomsk, being situated at the very centre of Siberia, became the _entrepôt_ for the general commerce of the country. Westward, the magnificent water system of the Obi put the traveller in touch with Tobolsk, Tiumen, and the Trans-Ural Railway to Europe. Tomsk was, and still is, the biggest debarking point for European goods. Here, too, are centred some of the great tea magazines, and the residences of several millionaire gold-miners and merchants. Its society is distinctly that of the trading classes. Rich men abound--made rich by the profits of monopoly, but with that monopoly steadily slipping at the present time from their grasp. The gold-miners are, perhaps, the most influential, inasmuch as the industry of gold-mining in Siberia is one in which the Government takes an active interest. They are represented in Tomsk by many of the leading gold-miners of the country, notably M. Siberikoff, one of the richest men in all Siberia, and who has done much towards the improvement of the city. In 1888 he founded the University, the first one, I believe, in the whole of Siberia, and to which, at the present day, students journey from all parts of Siberia in order to complete their education.

While in Tomsk I had the opportunity of visiting one of these millionaire gold-miners, a man whom popular repute said was one of the richest in Tomsk. He possessed, at any rate, the largest and most sumptuously furnished private residence, and was said to be extremely hospitable. And yet this man could with difficulty sign his own name. Forty years ago he had been an ordinary gold-washer in the Semipalatinsk Mountains. That was in the days when gold was found by the handful, when there was very little competition, less Government supervision, and plenty of opportunities for stealing. From a moujik the particular gold-miner I am speaking of became a renter of Government land, and in the course of the next twenty years amassed nearly a million roubles. He purchased houses and land freely in Tomsk, and ultimately became, as I have hinted, one of the wealthiest men in the community.

It is the custom in Siberia when paying a visit, even if it be at ten o’clock in the morning, to go in evening dress. To neglect this is to offer one of the greatest insults you can to the Siberian. Excuses avail nothing; it is a case of being in a land where such a thing is necessary, and if you are unprovided with the customary black coat that is entirely your look out, and by far the best thing to do is to decline the invitation. Fortunately, I was aware of this custom, and had brought with me the necessary costume, and I made the visit at midday.

My host received me with considerable enthusiasm, but although accustomed somewhat to Siberian manners, it was with difficulty that I could repress my repugnance of him. He was unshaven, dirty, and the rusty black clothes which he wore fitted him as a sack would a broomstick. He smoked _papiros_, spat, and made horrible noises with his nose. He invited me to drink vodki, which I did. It was his custom to take a glass, swallow its contents, and then eructate noisily; in which performance he was aided and abetted by several of the male members of the family and some visitors.

Dinner in the house of a wealthy Siberian is a peculiar custom. There is no formal sitting down, to be waited upon as with us of the western world. The apartment into which I was ushered was large, bare, and uncomfortable. An enormous piano occupied one corner; chairs were scattered around on the polished floor; the walls were whitewashed, but without a picture or other ornamentation to relieve their bareness; a great stove, which occupied another corner, sent out radiating waves of heat. Down one side of the room ran a long table, decked out with glasses, bottles, plates, knives and forks, and many and varied articles of food in the way of canned goods. This table was faced by three smaller ones, covered with red baize, and around which, in the intervals of eating and drinking, our host’s party would assemble to throw dice or play cards. The Siberian luncheon or dinner occupies hours. You sit around and take a hand at cards or form one in a dice party. Ten minutes elapse, the host comes round, pats each one of his guests on the shoulder, and at the same time flicks his third finger against his neck. This is the Siberian invitation for a drink. The crowd collects around the table, each takes a glass filled with vodki, or with some one or other of the many mysterious compounds which go under the name of Siberian liqueurs, tosses it off, makes a grimace, sometimes the sign of the cross, gulps down a bit of bread and sardine, and wanders back to the card-table.

In another ten minutes a huge sturgeon, smoking hot, is brought in on a dish. The host comes round again, again pats shoulders, but this time moves his jaws convulsively, as if in the action of eating. Up rises the crowd once more, in order to make a combined attack upon the sturgeon with finger or with fork, washing down toothsome morsels with more vodki. Back again to card-playing, and up again to eat or drink--so the day wears on. Conversation is not very brilliant or long sustained. There is a moody, dissatisfied air about everybody--a general, as it seemed to me, want of confidence in one’s neighbour--which makes the whole meeting oppressive, so much so that I was glad when the time for departure came, and I was able to get out into the street.

At that moment it is necessary again to observe Siberian customs, this being to shake the hand of the host, the hostess, and everybody who has got any connection with the house, and to thank them for the food you have had; to declare that it is the finest food you have eaten in all your life, that you have never tasted such vodki, and that, as long as you live, you will remember the hospitality you have received. Mine host hurries to help you into your shouba; but you must on no account let him do that, as it would imply that you have not had enough to eat to make you strong enough for that particular office. You gently ward him off and laugh idiotically; he insists, and _you_ insist, until ultimately you manage to get into your furs, shake hands again, cross yourself before the ikon on the wall, bundle down the steps into the yard, where dogs snarl around your legs, open the big gate, and emerge into the street.

The ceremony of Siberian hospitality is almost ludicrous, viewed of course from the light of things at home. It is impossible for the Westerner to feel comfortable, and I have it on the authority of a French gentleman who has lived in Tomsk for fifteen years, and is compelled by his position to move about considerably in the so-called society of the place, that he cannot get himself to enjoy the various functions at which he is always an honoured guest.

While in Tomsk, it was my privilege and good fortune to make the acquaintance of M. Shostok, the chief of the Mining Department of Central Siberia, and who probably ranks, next to the General Governor himself, as the most important personage in all Tomsk. I found M. Shostok an extremely agreeable and cultured gentleman, who had travelled much, and was keenly alive to the shortcomings of the Siberian populace. His particular department was one which required a tremendous amount of work, for he was the receiver of all the gold and other precious metals mined in the provinces of Tomsk, Atchinsk, Semipalatinsk, Minusinsk, and Yeneiseik, a district covering many thousands of square miles, and including in its area all the richest gold mines north of the Altai range.

At Tomsk the gold is received, assayed, and smelted, its actual value, less 3 per cent, or 5 per cent., according to the district, being credited to the miner on a six month’s acceptance. The average amount of gold received yearly by the Tomsk laboratory amounts to some hundreds of poods, the latest statistics showing 170 poods in 1891, being 7.15 per cent. of the production of the whole country. Eastern Siberia, of which the receiving depôt is Irkutsk, produces far more gold, 1510 poods being the receipts in 1891--63.32 per cent. of the production of the whole country. Considering that Western Siberia is for the main part comparatively flat, the production is looked upon as extremely encouraging, although Eastern Siberia offers greater scope to the capitalist and to the foreign miner.

So far, owing to lack of information concerning the country, and to the universal suspicion attaching to enterprises in Russia, combined with the formidable red-tapeism of the Russian Government, very few foreigners have attempted gold-mining in Siberia; although, from the little that I have learnt of it, I can see that it is as safe, if not safer, to work for gold in that country than in others where the Government itself is not the protecting agent. One thing, however, must be borne in mind: in order to pose as a successful miner in Siberia it is necessary first of all to clearly understand the conditions implied by the Government, and to have a complete knowledge of the language and the customs of the people; for the pitfalls are many, and the Russian Government is not the sort of one to excuse mistakes.

Thanks to M. Shostok’s kindness, I was taken into the laboratory, and shown into the safety vaults, where was stored something like two hundred poods of smelted gold. The deep dungeons of mediæval history may be compared to the safety vaults at the Tomsk laboratory. Subterranean passages, guarded by heavily armed soldiers; ponderous iron gates and doors; keys a foot long; rusty hinges, bolts; and all that sort of thing. Four soldiers took us into the store-room, where three enormous iron safes let into the walls glared at us. The locks of these safes were sealed with wax, of which M. Shostok alone possessed the seal. This wax was broken, the safe door unlocked, and there, reposing on shelves, lay bars of the dull yellow metal, representing some millions of roubles and the work of thousands of men for many months.

I had the opportunity of trying to carry as much gold as I could lift, and it was surprising to me what a small quantity it seemed, and yet it would have been sufficient to have made my Siberian journey distinctly remunerative--if I had been allowed the further opportunity of getting away with it. But there were too many soldiers about; far too many revolvers, guns, swords, big gates, ponderous locks, and such things as that, to permit feelings of cupidity even in sight of such wealth. I went out as poor as I entered, except from an intellectual point of view, and proceeded to the smelting-room, where I saw tiny pellets of gold extracted from masses of baser mineral; saw the smallest and most sensitive balance I have ever had the luck to look upon. This balance was so true that a piece of paper was weighed against so many hairs. I afterwards wrote my name on the paper in pencil, and the weight of my signature was clearly shown.

A word now as to the investment of foreign capital in the Siberian gold-mining industry. In England, at any rate, there is, or seems to be, an idea prevalent that before any one can undertake mining enterprise of any sort in Siberia, it is necessary to get a concession from the Russian Government. This is entirely erroneous. All that is necessary is that the intending prospector or purchaser of land shall be rated a good citizen of his particular country. He should possess a paper from his consul or ambassador which gives him that honour. The presentation of this paper, at Tomsk or Irkutsk, to the Minister of Mines will secure for him a Russian privilege-paper, which gives him the right for as long as he lives to prospect for gold or other precious metals in any part of Siberia. He can either break fresh ground or rent or buy existing mines, for the terms of the contract are these: All the gold he obtains must be handed over to the Government. He must obey in every particular the rules laid down by the Mining Department as to the conduct of his affairs. He is not allowed to have more than five versts of gold-bearing land in any one spot (this in order to give other people a chance). But the Government, it seems to me, in this particular makes one rule and another to obviate it. Thus, although he may not possess more than five versts of land, his son may possess the next five versts, his mother the next, and all his uncles, aunts, sisters, brothers, grandfathers, and grandmothers can go on at five versts a time consecutively, or as long as the money holds out or there is land available.

The penalties for breaking any of the rules of the Mining Department are very severe. It is forbidden to sink a shaft more than ten feet deep without the presence of a Government inspector. Every piece of gold obtained from the workings must be carefully weighed in the presence of the Cossack provided by the Government, duly sealed, and its weight, value, and venue entered into a gold book. If any mistake be made in the entry, the miner is subject to a fine of twenty-five roubles for every error, and in this particular the signatures of the mining engineer and the mine owner must be attached to the book plain and unvarnished, the slightest flourish or tailpiece to the signature costing twenty-five roubles. Here, again, the Russian system of making one rule to upset another comes in; for all that is necessary to get back the money expended in fines, is to write a letter to the Minister of Mines pleading for pardon, and I believe that this pardon is very rarely withheld.

The gold obtained from the mines must be sent at periods of not more than three months from each other to the laboratory. If any of the gold should be lost in transit, the Government will shut down the mine until that gold or its equivalent value is found. Again, if more than two strikes occur amongst the workmen in one year the Government may exercise its right to close the workings. If one of the workmen be killed by defective machinery, or even in brawling, the works are stopped.

Little things like these may not tend to encourage foreign capital, more especially when above all there exists that autocratic right, which the Emperor reserves, to present you with your passport without explanation or reason, and to give you twenty-four hours notice to leave the country.

So much for the general principles of gold-mining in Siberia. Of the actual detail work of that industry I shall have more to say later on, when, in contact with the rough gold-miners of the Syansk Mountains, I had practical experience of the hunt for that noble metal which has caused some happiness and untold misery for mankind in general.