At the close of the review the commanding officer thanked his men and praised their skill.  He received the response, simultaneously spoken, “We are happy to please you,” or words of like meaning.  At every parade, whether regular or Cossack, this little ceremony is observed.  As the men marched from the field to their quarters they sang one of their native airs.  These Cossacks meet at stated intervals for drill and discipline, and remain the balance of the time at their homes.  The infantry and cavalry are subject to the same regulation, and the musters are so arranged that some part of the Cossack force is always under arms.

After the review I dined with a party of eighteen or twenty officers at the invitation of Captain Erifayeff of the governor’s staff.  The dinner was given in the house where my host and his friend, Captain Pantoukin, lived, en garcon.  The Emperor of Russia and the President of the United States were duly remembered, and the toasts in their honor were greeted with appropriate music.  In conversation after dinner, I found all the officers anxious to be informed concerning the United States.  The organization of our army, the relations of our people after the war, our mode of life, manners, and customs, were subjects of repeated inquiry.

On the morning of the 26th October, Captain Molostoff, who was to be my companion, announced his readiness to depart.  I made my farewell calls, and we packed our baggage into my tarantass, with the exception of the terrible trunk that adhered to me like a shadow.  As we had no Cossack and traveled without a servant, there was room for the unwieldy article on the seat beside the driver.  I earnestly advise every tourist in Siberia not to travel with a trunk.  The Siberian ladies manage to transport all the articles for an elaborate toilet without employing a single ‘dog house’ or ‘Saratoga.’  If they can do without trunks, of what should not man be capable?

Our leave-taking consumed much time and champagne, and it was nearly sunset before we left Chetah.  It is the general custom in Siberia to commence journeys in the afternoon or evening, the latter extending anywhere up to daybreak.  As one expects to travel night and day until reaching his destination, his hour of starting is of no consequence.  Just before leaving he is occupied in making farewell calls, and is generally ‘seen off’ by his friends.  In the evening he has no warm bed to leave, no hasty toilet to make, and no disturbed household around him.  With a vehicle properly arranged he can settle among his furs and pillows and is pretty likely to fall asleep before riding many miles.  I was never reconciled to commencing a journey early in the morning, with broken sleep, clothing half arranged, and a ‘picked-up’ breakfast without time to swallow it leisurely.