As we touched the shore one man went to the station to bring horses and a vehicle.  Borasdine and I scrambled over the rocks to the road fifteen feet above the water, and by the time the crew brought up our baggage the conveyance arrived.  It was what the Russians call a telyaga, drawn by three horses.

This carriage is of Quaker simplicity.  There are four wheels on wooden axles, with rough but strong ‘reaches.’  A body, shaped something like an old-fashioned baby-cart, rests upon the reaches or on poles fixed over them.  The hood protects against wind and rain from behind, and the best of the vehicles have boots buttoned in front and attached to the hoods.  The driver sits on the bow directly behind the shaft-horse, and one part of his duty is to keep from falling off.  The traveler spreads his baggage inside as evenly as possible to form a bed or cushion.  Angular pieces should be discarded, as the corners are disagreeable when jolted against one’s sides.  Two shafts are fixed in the forward axle, and a horse between them forms a sort of point d’appui.  Any number from one to six can be tied on outside of him.

The fault of our baggage was that we, or rather I, had too much.  Worst of all, I had a wooden trunk that I proposed throwing away at Nicolayevsk, but had been told I could carry to Irkutsk without trouble.  It could not ride inside, or if it did we could not.  We placed the small articles in the interior of the vehicle, and tied the trunk and Borasdine’s chemadan on the projecting poles behind.  The chemadan is in universal use among Siberian travelers, and admirably adapted to the road.  It is made of soft leather, fastens with a lacing of deer-skin thongs, and can be lashed nearly water tight.  It will hold a great deal,—­I never saw one completely filled,—­and accommodates itself to the shape of its aggregate contents.  It can be of any size up to three or four feet long, and its dimensions are proportioned to each other about like those of an ordinary pocket-book.  A great advantage is the absence of sharp corners and the facility of packing closely.

We acted contrary to the custom of the country in tying our baggage behind.  There are gentlemen of the road in Siberia as there are ’road agents’ in California.  The Siberian highwaymen rarely disturb the person of a traveler, but their chief amusement is to cut away outside packages.  As a precaution we mounted our Cossack on the trunk, but before we went a mile he fell from his perch in spite of his utmost efforts to cling to the vehicle.  After that event he rode by the driver’s side.

On seeing Lovett at Stratensk my first question related to the condition of the road.  “Horrid,” said he.  “The worst time to travel.  There has been much rain and cold weather.  You will find mud either soft or frozen most of the way to Chetah.”