THE MYSTERIES OF THE BAIKAL.


The Angara is cold as ice all the summer through, so cold, indeed, that
to bathe in it is to court inevitable illness, and in winter a sled
drive over its frozen surface is made in a temperature some degrees
lower than that prevailing on the banks. This comes from the fact that
its waters are fresh from the yet unfathomed depths of the Baikal, which
during the five short months of summer has scarcely time to properly
unfreeze. In winter the lake resembles in all respects a miniature
Arctic Ocean, having its great ice hummocks and immense leads, over
which the caravan sleds have to be ferried on large pieces of ice, just
as in the frozen North. In winter, too, the air is so cold in the region
above the lake that birds flying across its icy bosom sometimes drop
down dead on the surface. Some authors say that seals have been caught
in the lake of the same character as those found in the Arctic seas; for
this assertion I have no proof. An immense caravan traffic is carried
across the frozen lake every season between Russia and China. To
accommodate this the Russian postal authorities once established a post
house on the middle of the lake, where horses were kept for travelers.
But this was discontinued after one winter, when an early thaw suddenly
set in, and horses, yemschliks and post house all disappeared beneath
the ice, and were never seen more. In summer the lake is navigated by an
antiquated steamer called the General Korsakoff, which ventures out
in calm weather, but cannot face the violent storms and squalls that
sometimes rise with sudden impetuosity. Irkutskians say, indeed, that it
is only upon Lake Baikal and upon this old hull that a man really learns