MY FLIGHT FROM SIBERIA—THE END OF MY JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD—MY FRIEND AXELROD AGAIN—CONCLUSION
The terrible events that had happened in the town, and the death of our unhappy fellow-citizens, could not but leave an indelible impression on many people’s minds, my own included. Blagovèstshensk had become so detestable to us that many left the place as soon as things were quiet again. Unfortunately I could not follow their example at once; but I determined on the first opportunity to transfer myself to the Far East, in which I had long been interested. I intended to settle in the busy commercial town of Vladivostock, and there patiently await the time when I might be free to return home. Before that time could arrive five or six years had still to pass; but the nearer the time came, the more irrepressible grew the desire to quit Siberia, and the thought of flight recurred again and again. Nevertheless doubts also arose whether it were worth while to jeopardise the freedom, however limited, that I had won by my sixteen years of prison and exile. If my attempt failed, I should have rendered myself liable to all the rigour of the law; and I was no longer of an age to bear suffering and privations as in youth, for I was now well past my fortieth year.
Thus did I hesitate backward and forward until the spring of 1901, when various personal reasons made me come to a definite decision, which resulted in my burning 348the bridge behind me, as the saying goes. I resolved to escape as soon as the Amur was open for travelling again.
Circumstances favoured my project; a kind friend who had a large connection throughout the country promised his aid, and the following plan seemed the easiest of execution. I was to leave Blagovèstshensk unobserved, going first to Habarovsk and thence to Vladivostock, where I must take my passage on a foreign vessel bound for Japan; and this I succeeded in carrying through, with the help of the friend above mentioned.
It need hardly be said that I cannot give all the details of my flight from Siberia, where I was under strict police supervision; for I must not compromise those who assisted me. As I went on board the steamboat that was leaving for Habarovsk, (of course, taking no luggage with me,) there suddenly appeared the deputy-prìstav to whose district I belonged. Of course, at the first moment I thought my plans had been discovered, and I was not a little alarmed; but I was soon satisfied that the official had merely come to take leave of some friends who were travelling by the same boat. It evidently never entered his head that I was taking my departure from Blagovèstshensk under the very nose of the police; I suppose he thought that, like himself, I had come to say farewell to some friend, (which was quite permissible,) and I managed that he should lose sight of me, so that he might imagine I had gone home.
I found there were people of my acquaintance on board who belonged to the place; but they apparently never once thought that I was leaving Siberia for good; and in conversation with them I let it appear that I was travelling on some official commission. Our boat was a tug, and therefore went very slowly; it stopped at every village on the way, and took five days to reach Habarovsk. Here came my most perilous moment, as on leaving the steamer everyone had to show their passes, and of course I had none. I avoided this difficulty by staying on the boat for 349the night; and next morning I betook myself to the house of a friend, who came on board and fetched me. I spent the day with him, and we devoted it to seeing the town.
I had every intention of seeing as much as possible, during my journey eastwards, of this country—hitherto unknown to me—which was developing with such extraordinary rapidity, especially since the construction of the railway by the Ussur. Villages were springing up like mushrooms, and soon became towns of a considerable size. Habarovsk itself had developed from the insignificant hamlet of Habàrovka into an important town which is now the residence of the Governor-General of the Amur province. It is situated at the junction of the Amur with the Ussur, and stands in a most picturesque position on a steep and lofty cliff around whose base flow the two mighty rivers. But this chief town of a vast and fertile country is itself like nothing but a great barrack; nearly all the houses have the appearance of official buildings, and one meets soldiers in the streets at every turn. As in most Russian towns, there is no look of comfort; the streets are unpaved and very dusty, and are dimly lighted at night by oil lamps standing at a respectful distance from each other. I found the town museum, however, by no means ill-equipped.
Faithful to my intention of learning all I could about the country, I gladly accepted the invitation of a friend, near whose place of abode I must pass, and went to visit him at Nikolsk-Ussurìsk. This place had only within the year attained to the dignity of being called a town, and, like many others in the province, it swarmed with soldiers; which was explained by the fact that the slaughtering of Chinese was not yet entirely at an end, and, as was supposed, preparations were also being made for war with Japan. As the district lies in close proximity to China, Korea, and Japan, and is the probable theatre of future warlike operations, the Russian Government is 350apparently taking its measures in good time, and by drafting in large numbers of soldiers is converting the province into a sort of military camp.
After a stay of four-and-twenty hours at Nikolsk-Ussurìsk I went on to Vladivostock, a very pretty seaport of some thirty thousand inhabitants, for which—not without good grounds—a brilliant future is prophesied. Its situation is charming, and in its public arrangements it is already far in advance, not only of most Siberian towns, but also of many in European Russia. Here I stayed three days before I could arrange for my passage on a foreign vessel, but at length all was ready, and my last night in Siberia arrived. I slept but little. The thought that next morning I was to bid farewell to all that time had made so familiar to me mingled with my fears for the successful achievement of my escape. So often in my life had some small chance cruelly frustrated all my plans that I naturally trembled now for the result of the present adventure. I had no desire to find myself suddenly bound for the icy regions of Yakutsk instead of for the lands of freedom, and I prepared beforehand for every possibility.
All went well, however, and next morning I boarded a ship that was going to Japan. Yet, when the boat weighed anchor and danger no longer threatened me, a strange feeling of sadness came over me, as though I were parting, not from the land of prison and exile, but from a dear home. Thus can custom attach a man even to chains and bondage. But I felt that it was not only from use and wont that I was parting; I was not merely leaving Siberia, but Russia—and perhaps for ever.
It was a dismal day, the sky was covered with heavy clouds, and rain flowed in torrents. Our steamer rolled violently, and many of the passengers were seasick; but, though I had hardly ever been on the sea before, I remained immune, and rejoiced thereat, as I had another 351long voyage before me. We soon began to skirt the coast of the Korean peninsula, and entered two harbours, those of Gensan and Fusan, remaining four-and-twenty hours in each. I went on shore with some other passengers to see the towns, which in many respects resemble those of Japan—the same style of building, the same apparent superfluity of shops and booths. The Japanese appear to be the ruling spirits there, and the efforts of Russia to oust them do not seem likely to be crowned with success; nor in my opinion are they justified, for Japan has every right to exercise her civilising influence on Korea.
I also visited a Korean village in the neighbourhood of Gensan, and was astonished at its primitive character. It consisted of one very narrow street bordered by straw-thatched wooden huts, which had neither windows nor doors, the latter being replaced by loose boards. The whole population evidently lived principally in the street, carrying on all occupations there—cooking, eating, and so forth.
Five days after our departure from Vladivostock the steamer dropped anchor in the harbour of Nagasaki. As soon as the health regulations had been complied with I got into one of the little boats that had crowded alongside and went to an hotel close to the sea. Compared with Russian inns it seemed to me cheap, clean, and comfortable; and the Japanese servants spoke a little broken Russian.
In Nagasaki I had to decide how I would pursue my journey. I might go by the Suez Canal to one of the ports of Western Europe, and that was the shortest and cheapest route; but I had a great wish to see something of North America while the opportunity offered, and thus to complete the journey round the world that had been begun so much against my will. I inquired about the next boat for San Francisco, and found it would not leave for nine or ten days, but I resolved to employ the interval in seeing the neighbourhood.
352Nagasaki is a rather large town of over one hundred thousand inhabitants, and lies scattered picturesquely over the hills that surround a fine bay. Most of the streets, especially in the Japanese quarter, are too narrow for horse traffic to be possible through them; horses are, therefore, replaced by men, who with their little two-wheeled carriages (jinrikisha) play the part of cab horses, and are called kurnei. There are so many of them that they literally stand before every house, and crowd in front of the hotels and big shops. They surround any stranger in the street, bidding against each other for his custom, and each trying to win his favour, chattering in broken Russian or English. For the modest sum of ten sen (about 2?d.) the course, or twenty sen the hour, the kurnei will take his “fare ” with marvellous swiftness up hill and down dale; and it not seldom happens that though the perspiration may be streaming from the brow of the kurnei, the “civilised” European in his little carriage may be seen laying a stick or an umbrella across his shoulders to urge him onward. The poor fellow who thus turns himself into a beast of burden must give almost half of his hardly earned day’s wage to the proprietor of the jinrikisha, and must also pay something to the State for the licence authorising him to support himself in this laborious way. His living, however, is cheap enough, his food consisting of rice and an inferior kind of fish.
Most of the houses in Nagasaki are two-storied wooden buildings, the ground-floor being used as a shop, inn, or workshop. It was a puzzle to me where all these innumerable shops could find customers, and how they managed to exist. In my rambles I often saw a whole row of shops without a single purchaser, and if one entered he was instantly surrounded as though a customer were the rarest of guests.
The houses in the Japanese quarter are built in a wonderfully light and airy fashion, as if just run up hastily for summer quarters. Throughout the town there reigns 353the most perfect order; the streets are excellently paved, and the portion before each house is kept clean and watered by the occupier. There is never the least dust, and the air is singularly mild and pure. One feels how each breath dilates and strengthens the lungs, and it is not to be wondered at that many Russians and English use Nagasaki as a health-resort.
The European quarter, along the quay, is full of hotels and restaurants, banks, and other houses of business. Here the streets are somewhat wider, and............