The Polish revolution in 1863 sent many exiles to the country east of Lake Baikal.  Among the prisoners at the time of my journey there was a Colonel Zyklinski confined in prison at a village north of Chetah.  He had a prominent part in the Polish troubles, and was captured at the surrender of the armies.  He served in America under M’Clellan during the Peninsular campaign, and was in regular receipt of a pension from our government.

The Trans-Baikal Province is governed by Major General Ditmar, to whom I brought letters of introduction.  When Borasdine returned from his visit he brought invitation to transfer our quarters to the gubernatorial mansion, where we went and met the governor.  I found him an agreeable gentleman, speaking French fluently, and regretting the absence of Madame Ditmar, in whose praise many persons had spoken.  At dinner I met about twenty persons, of whom more than half spoke French and two or three English.

A military band occupied the gallery over the dining-room.  When General Ditmar proposed “the United States of America,” my ears were greeted with one of our national airs.  It was well played, and when I said so they told me its history.  On hearing of my arrival the governor summoned his chief musician and asked if he knew any American music.  The reply was in the negative.  The governor then sent the band-master to search his books.  He soon returned, saying he had found the notes of “Hail Columbia.”

“Is that the only American tune you have?” asked the general.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have your band learn to play it by dinner time.”

The order was obeyed, and the American music accompanied the first regular toast.  It was repeated at the club-rooms and on two or three other occasions during my stay in Chetah, and though learned so hastily it was performed as well as by any ordinary band in our army.

The principal rooms in General Ditmar’s house had a profusion of green plants in pots and tubs of different sizes.  One apartment in particular seemed more like a greenhouse than a room where people dwelt.  Whether so much vegetation in the houses affects the health of the people I am unable to say, but I could not ascertain that it did.  The custom of cultivating plants in the dwellings prevails through Siberia, especially in the towns.  I frequently found bushes like small trees growing in tubs, and I have in mind several houses where the plants formed a continuous line half around the walls of the principal rooms.  The devotion to floriculture among the Siberians has its chief impulse in the long winters, when there is no out-door vegetation visible beyond that of the coniferous trees.  I can testify that a dwelling-which one enters on a cold day in midwinter appears doubly cheerful when the eye rests upon a luxuriance of verdure and flowers.  Winter seems defeated in his effort to establish universal sway.

The winters in this region are long and cold, though very little snow falls.  Around Chetah and in most of the Trans-Baikal province there is not snow enough for good sleighing, and the winter roads generally follow the frozen rivers.  Horses, cattle, and sheep subsist on the dead and dry grass from October to April, but they do not fare sumptuously every day.