Day 107 - May 29, 1908 Siberian Quagmire
Approaching the Asian Continent and seeing Vladivostok on the horizon gave me an uneasy feeling. At this point, we had covered nearly 13,000 miles in 96 days yet we still had over 8,000 miles across two continents to go! We had learned a lot about the Flyer as well as about ourselves, but we now faced the vast expanse of the lawless Siberian and Manchurian tundra. This was coupled with the fact that the Germans, Italians, and French were already onshore waiting for us to restart the Race. During their wait, they had several days to prepare themselves. However, we had a declared advantage by going to Alaska of 15 days and the Germans had an additional 15 days penalty for using the railroad to freight the Protos in the US. That gave us little comfort, as it was still anyone’s Race.
We unloaded the Flyer and went to the Grand Hotel of Vladivostok. It was there I found St. Chaffray who urgently wanted to speak with me, obviously determined and near panic. He represented the De Dion, last of the original three French cars to start the Race and considered himself the “Napoleon of the Automobile”. It seems that the Marquis De Dion who owned the company had gotten into a bit of a flap with his family. They were going to have him declared legally insane for spending so much money on the Race and about to forcibly take over control of the company from him. Upon considering his options, the Marquis decided to withdraw the De Dion from the Race, selling it to a wealthy Chinese merchant in Peking.
St. Chaffray was now without a ride, and was demanding that I take him aboard the Flyer to Paris. I explained that all of our seats were filled, and we had no room. St. Chaffray retorted saying that “I own all of the gasoline there is to be had in Vladivostok, and I have an option on all the gasoline in Harbin. Without gasoline you can’t go!” I held my anger at this wild threat, and told him to come back the next day for my answer.
I knew that I now had to find enough gasoline to get from Vladivostok to Irkutsk, some 2,000 miles. I began to search the city and discovered that a large German trading company “Kunst & Albers” had a petrol supply. I entered the store and asked for the manager. Herr Mayer, who was a clerk, said the manager was occupied in a meeting, so I explained my need to him. He said they had 16 pod (about 64 gallons) which I agreed to buy and paid him a deposit. Just as I was about to leave, the manager came out of his office. I thanked him for the service of his fine clerk and for the gasoline. He of course knew that the German team was already in Vladivostok, and he was not about to help the Americans saying there would be no gasoline! Fortunately, my German was fluent and I replied that I had bought and paid for the gasoline. I would be back to pick it up, and if it was not ready for me we had with us a reporter for the New York Times. I would order him to cable a story back to New York telling the true nature of German sportsmanship! He yelled “You would not dare to do that”! I simply turned and left the building.
I returned a few hours later to find 76 pod (about 300 gallons) waiting for me at $1.25 per gallon, and I bought it all. Returning to the hotel, I found St. Chaffray awaiting my answer. I told him I would not need his gasoline, but suggested that he might find a ride with the German Protos? Foiled in his plot, St. Chaffray replied that a Frenchman riding in the German car “would smell bad”, and he would take the train back to Paris.
We were finally ready to leave Vladivostok on May 22, where it had been raining 17 of the last 20 days. This would pose a problem, as the tundra was perma-frost and when the surface layer thawed it became soup. The muddy quagmire had no bottom, and it was not unusual for horses drawing carts to suddenly sink out of sight quickly drowning the horse in mud. The Russian army officers told us this was “madness” and that we would never get through with an automobile. Many had said the same thing about driving across the United States in the middle of winter, so we didn’t give such remarks much weight. We of course had to figure out some way to drive the 5,000 pound Flyer through the mess.
The Italians were not yet ready to leave. Antonio Scarfoglio laments that everything in
Vladivostok is German, where they have managed “to become the gods and protectors of the country, they are absolutely insufferable”. Sirtori had been recalled by the Zust company, leaving only Scarfoglio and Haaga alone and depressed in “this sad country”. Antonio had been delayed twenty-two days in Vladivostok awaiting arrangements to be made for them to continue. During that time he heard nothing but predictions of their impending doom and failure. Chinese marauders, Manchurian tigers, fever, plague, pestilence, famine, mosquitoes as big as locust and of course mud. They finally resumed the Race for Paris on June 5.
The Germans took the lead out of the city as we were delayed about an hour with a clutch adjustment. We had only gone about 20 miles, when we heard the revving of a car engine. The only other car in that part of Asia had to be the Germans, and rounding a bend we found them mired in a bog. We carefully maneuvered our way around the Protos which was buried over the rear wheels, and got well past. It would have been easy for us to leave them struggling in the mud, but we decided to back up and pulled them out. Lt. Koeppen was so taken by this show of sportsmanship that he went to his duffle and pulled out a bottle of champagne he carried to celebrate their triumphant entry into Paris. Both the German and American crews toasted each other and the “gallant, comradely act” in the middle of the vast Siberian tundra. MacAdam took a picture of the encounter, which later became famous.
We of course would soon find ourselves in a similar predicament buried deep in mud, but the Germans were no where in sight to lend us assistance. There were no bridges of any description in most places, which meant fording raging rivers. We would wrap the magneto in our rain coat, and then walk out in front of the Flyer to carefully sound the depth. In many cases where the water was too deep, we would hitch teams of horses to the front and simply race through the torrents dragging the Thomas as best we could.
The Germans reported similar conditions sometimes finding a layer of thick grass floating on pools of water. It appears solid, but it soon gives way and the Protos would sink in over the axles with the whole layer oscillating and water spurting from every side. Getting out would often take up to six hours of enormous effort to extricate the 6,000 pound Protos.
We would be exhausted at the end of the day, and often took refuge in Russian army barracks. They were in many cases very roughly built structures, with the garrison crammed into the small quarters. The smell from the constantly wet clothes and unwashed bodies was overwhelming, but we soon grew less sensitive to it as our own condition became very similar. The food was generally kleb (a course rye bread), and large tin cups of steaming tachey (tea). We carried with us various supplies including some condiments. During one meal, I went to the Flyer and returned with a jar of strawberry jam which we shared with our Russian army hosts. They were delighted with this sweet departure from their daily fare and quickly declared us their “comrades”. We later found that they telegraphed the army posts ahead, advising the troops to help the Americans, as they have the most delicious jelly!
The Russian army was here to protect the Trans-Siberian Railway as well as the local villagers from ruthless marauders that freely roamed Siberia. Often the soldiers would have deadly encounters with these lawless bandits, and they warned us of them. We were armed each with holstered pistols, a rifle and a shot gun taking some comfort in that. We managed to proceed a few days when we came to a cross roads in the distance. There we could make out six horsemen in the middle of the trail. As we got closer it became obvious that they were what we had been warned of, and their intentions were obviously not good. They were heavily armed, and suddenly our weapons did not seem as formidable as we once thought. They were between ourselves and Paris, so there was no thought of retreating to safer ground. We continued forward, and considered our options. As we got close enough for them to hear, we burst into hysterical laughter, pointing at each other and acting quite insane. Now the sight of this weird horseless carriage filled with lunatic white men, for the bandits was akin to seeing a space ship with aliens passing by. They slowly parted from the road and we drove on, carrying on as we had. Just clear of them the unmuffled exhaust of the Flyer backfired, and one of the horsemen’s mounts reared up throwing the rider to the ground. We quickly continued without further incident.
At some points our only option was to take to the rail bed of the Trans-Siberian Railroad, although it was worse than those in America with their un-ballasted ties and sharply rising embankments. We came to a series of tunnels and found ourselves in the middle of one when we heard the approach of a fast mail train headed straight for us. There was no width in the tunnel to escape, so we frantically backed the Flyer in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding a deadly collision with the locomotive.
When we arrived at the Manchurian boarder we met Lo Chi Mien, the Chinese Customs official. He was a gracious host who spoke English, French, Russian, and German fluently. He invited us to his quarters which was a sleeping coach on the rail siding. There, I also met a chap from the Le Matin newspaper by the name of Felix Neuville. He helped us greatly with securing needed gasoline, parts, and other supplies through much of Asia. Felix and I would converse in German which he spoke in addition to his native French. He and I would soon become good friends. At one point, Felix noticed my gun and asked if I had the necessary Russian permits? I told him no, so he gave me his Russian permit to carry a gun saying most of the authorities were illiterate. If they saw the document with its brightly colored stamps that would suffice.
We were now one hundred and seven days into this Race, and already had some sense of what Asia would be like. However, we still faced nearly 8,000 miles of considerable uncertainty ahead of us…
*About the author: The above is written in the first person as Jeff Mahl heard the recollections from his Great Grandfather, George N. Schuster, winner of the 1908 New York to Paris Race. Jeff is seated to the left of “Great Gramp” holding the 45 star US flag which flew from the Flyer, with his brother Matt and sister Jenny.
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