XIV. THE SAMOÏEDES
Their Barbarism.--Num, or Jilibeambaertje.--Shamanism.--Samoïede Idols.--Sjadæi.--Hahe.--The Tadebtsios, or Spirits.--The Tadibes, or Sorcerers.--Their Dress.--Their Invocations.--Their conjuring Tricks.--Reverence paid to the Dead.--A Samoïede Oath.--Appearance of the Samoïedes.--Their Dress.--A Samoïede Belle.--Character of the Samoïedes.--Their decreasing Numbers.-- Traditions of ancient Heroes.
The Samoïedes, the neighbors of the Laplanders, are still farther removed from civilized society, and plunged in even deeper barbarism. The wildest tundras and woods of Northern Russia and Western Siberia are the home of the Samoïede. With his reindeer herds he wanders over the naked wastes, from the eastern coast of the White Sea to the banks of the Chatanga, or hunts in the boundless forests between the Obi and the Jenissei. His intercourse with the Russians is confined to his annual visit at the fairs of such miserable settlements as Obdorsk and Pustosersk, where, far from improving by their company, he but too often becomes the prey of their avarice, and learns to know them merely as cheats and oppressors. Protestant missionaries have long since brought instruction to the Laplander’s hut, but the majority of the less fortunate Samoïedes still adhere to the gross superstitions of their fathers. They believe in a Supreme Being--Num, or Jilibeambaertje--who resides in the air, and, like the Jupiter of old, sends down thunder and lightning, rain and snow; and as a proof that something of a poetic fancy is to be found even among the most savage nations, they call the rainbow “the hem of his garment.” As this deity, however, is too far removed from them to leave them any hope of gaining his favor, they never think of offering him either prayer or sacrifice. But, besides Num, there are a great many inferior spirits, or idols, who directly interfere in human concerns--capricious beings, who allow themselves to be influenced by offerings, or yield to magical incantations; and to these, therefore, the Samoïede has recourse when he feels the necessity of invoking the aid or averting the wrath of a higher Power.
The chief of all Samoïede idols is in the island of Waygatz--a cold and melancholy Delos--where it was already found by old Barentz. This idol is a mere block of stone, with its head tapering to a point. It has thus been fashioned, not by a mortal artist, but by a play of nature. After this original the Samoïedes have formed many idols of stone or wood of various sizes, which they call “Sjadæi,” from their possessing a human physiognomy (sja). These idols they dress in reindeer skins, and ornament them with all sorts of colored rags. But a resemblance to the human form is not the necessary attribute of a Samoïede idol; any irregularly-shaped stone or tree may be thus distinguished. If the object is small, the savage carries it every where about with him, carefully wrapped up; if too cumbersome to be transported, it is reserved as a kind of national deity. As with the Ostiaks, each Samoïede tribe has in its train a peculiar sledge--the Hahengan--in which the household idols (or Hahe) are placed. One of these Penates protects the reindeer, another watches over the health of his worshippers, a third is the guardian of their connubial happiness, a fourth takes care to fill their nets with fish. Whenever his services are required, the Hahe is taken from his repository, and erected in the tent or on the pasture-ground, in the wood or on the river’s bank. His mouth is then smeared with oil or blood, and a dish with fish or flesh is set before him, in the full expectation that his good offices will amply repay the savory repast. When his aid is no longer necessary, he is put aside without any further ceremony, and as little noticed as the Madonna of the Neapolitan fisherman after the storm has ceased.
The Hahe, or idols, are very convenient objects of reverence to the Samoïede, as he can consult them, or ask their assistance, without being initiated in the secrets of magic; while the Tadebtsios, or invisible spirits, which everywhere hover about in the air, and are more inclined to injure than to benefit man, can only be invoked by a Tadibe, or sorcerer, who, like the Cumæan Sibyl, works himself into a state of ecstatic frenzy. When his services are required, the first care of the Tadibe is to invest himself with his magical mantle--a kind of shirt made of reindeer leather, and hemmed with red cloth. The seams are covered in a similar manner, and the shoulders are decorated with epaulettes of the same gaudy material. A piece of red cloth veils the eyes and face--for the Tadibe requires no external organs of sight to penetrate into the world of spirits--and a plate of polished metal shines upon his breast.
Thus accoutred, the Tadibe seizes his magical drum, whose sounds summon the spirits to his will. Its form is round, it has but one bottom, made of reindeer skin, and is more or less decorated with brass rings and other ornaments, according to the wealth or poverty of its possessor. During the ceremony of invocation, the Tadibe is generally assisted by a disciple, more or less initiated in the magic art. They either sit down, or walk about in a circle. The chief sorcerer beats the drum, at first slowly, then with increasing violence, singing at the same time a few words to a mystic melody. The disciple immediately falls in, and both repeat the same monotonous chant.
At length the spirits appear, and the consultation is supposed to begin; the Tadibe from time to time remaining silent, as if listening to their answers, and but gently beating his drum, while the assistant continues to sing. Finally, this mute conversation ceases, the song changes into a wild howling, the drum is violently struck, the eye of the Tadibe glows with a strange fire, foam issues from his lips--when suddenly the uproar ceases, and the oracular sentence is pronounced. The Tadibes are consulted not only for the purpose of recovering a strange reindeer, or to preserve the herd from a contagious disorder, or to obtain success in fishing; the Samoïede, when a prey to illness, seeks no other medical advice; and the sorcerer’s drum either scares away the malevolent spirits that cause the malady, or summons others to the assistance of his patient.
The office of Tadibe is generally hereditary, but individuals gifted by nature with excitable nerves and an ardent imagination not seldom desire to be initiated in these supernatural communications. No one can teach the candidate. His morbid fancy is worked upon by solitude, the contemplation of the gloomy aspect of nature, long vigils, fasts, the use of narcotics and stimulants, until he becomes persuaded that he too has seen the apparitions which he has heard of from his boyhood. He is then received as a Tadibe with many ceremonies, which are held in the silence of the night, and invested with the magic drum. Thus the Tadibe partly believes in the visions and fancies of his own overheated brain. Besides dealing with the invisible world, he does not neglect the usual arts of an expert conjuror, and knows by this means to increase his influence over his simple-minded countrymen. One of his commonest tricks is similar to that which has been practised with so much success by the Brothers Davenport. He sits down, with his hands and feet bound, on a reindeer skin stretched out upon the floor, and, the light being removed, begins to summon the ministering spirits to his aid. Strange unearthly noises now begin to be heard--bears growl, snakes hiss, squirrels rustle about the hut. At length the tumult ceases, the audience anxiously awaits the end of the spectacle, when suddenly the Tadibe, freed from his bonds, steps into the hut--no one doubting that the spirits have set him free.
As barbarous as the poor wretches who submit to his guidance, the Tadibe is incapable of improving their moral condition, and has no wish to do so. Under various names--Schamans among the Tungusi, Angekoks among the Esquimaux, medicine-men among the Crees and Chepewyans, etc.--we find similar magicians or impostors assuming a spiritual dictatorship over all the Arctic nations of the Old and the New World, wherever their authority has not been broken by Christianity or Buddhism; and this dreary faith still extends its influence over at least half a million of souls, from the White Sea to the extremity of Asia, and from the Pacific to Hudson’s Bay.
Like the Ostiaks and other Siberian tribes, the Samoïedes honor the memory of the dead by sacrifices and other ceremonies. They believe that their deceased friends have still the same wants, and pursue the same occupations, as when in the land of the living; and thus they place in or about their graves a sledge, a spear, a cooking-pot, a knife, an axe, etc., to assist them in procuring and preparing their food. At the funeral, and for several years afterwards, the relations sacrifice reindeer over the grave. When a person of note, a prince, a Starschina, the proprietor of numerous herds of reindeer, dies (for even among the miserable Samoïedes we find the social distinctions of rich and poor), the nearest relations make an image, which is placed in the tent of the deceased, and enjoys the respect paid to him during his lifetime. At every meal the image is placed in his former seat, and every evening it is undressed and laid down in his bed. During three years the image is thus honored, and then buried; for by this time the body is supposed to be decayed, and to have lost all sensation of the past. The souls of the Tadibes, and of those who have died a violent death, alone enjoy the privilege of immortality, and after their terrestrial life hover about in the air as unsubstantial spirits.
Yet in spite of this privilege, and of the savory morsels that fall to their share at every sacrificial feast, or of the presents received for their services, the Tadibes are very unhappy beings. The ecstatic condition into which they so frequently work themselves shatters their nerves and darkens their mind. Wild looks, bloodshot eyes, an uncertain gait, and a shy manner, are among the effects of this periodical excitement.
Like the Ostiaks, the Samoïedes consider the taking of an oath as an action of the highest religious importance. When a crime has been secretly committed against a Samoïede, he has the right to demand an oath from the suspected person.
If no wooden or stone Hahe is at hand, he manufactures one of earth or snow, leads his opponent to the image, sacrifices a dog, breaks the image, and then addresses him with the following words:--“If thou hast committed this crime, then must thou perish like this dog.” The ill consequences of perjury are so much dreaded by the Samoïedes--who, though they have but very faint ideas of a future state, firmly believe that crime will be punished in this life, murder with violent death, or robbery by losses of reindeer--that the true criminal, when called upon to swear, hardly ever submits to the ceremony, but rather at once confesses his guilt and pays the penalty.
The most effectual security for an oath is that it should be solemnized over the snout of a bear--an animal which is highly revered by all the Siberian tribes, from the Kamchatkans to the Samoïedes, as well as by the Laplanders. Like the Laplanders, they believe that the bear conceals under his shaggy coat a human shape with more than human wisdom, and speak of him in terms of the highest reverence. Like the Lapps also, when occasion offers, they will drive an arrow or a bullet through his skin; but they preface the attack with so many compliments that they feel sure of disarming his anger.
The appearance of the Samoïedes is as wild as the country which they inhabit. The dwarfish stature of the Ostiak, or the Lapp, thick lips, small eyes, a low forehead, a broad nose so much flattened that the end is nearly upon a level with the bone of the upper jaw (which is strong and greatly elevated), raven-black shaggy hair, a thin beard, and a yellow-brown complexion, are their characteristic features, and in general they do nothing to improve a form which has but little natural beauty to boast of. The Samoïede is satisfied if his heavy reindeer dress affords him protection against the cold and rain, and cares little if it be dirty or ill-cut; some dandies, however, wear furs trimmed with cloth of a gaudy color. The women, as long as they are unmarried, take some pains with their persons; and when a Samoïede girl, with her small and lively black eyes, appears in her reindeer jacket tightly fitting round the waist, and trimmed with dog-skin, in her scarlet moccasins, and her long black tresses ornamented with pieces of brass or tin, she may well tempt some rich admirer to offer a whole herd of reindeer for her hand. For among the Samoïedes no father ever thinks of bestowing a portion on his daughter: on the contrary, he expects from the bridegroom an equivalent for the services which he is about to lose by her marriage. The consequence of this degrading custom is that the husband treats his consort like a slave, or as an inferior being. A Samoïede, who had murdered his wife, was quite surprised at being summoned before a court of justice for what he considered a trifling offense; “he had honestly paid for her,” he said, “and could surely do what he liked with his own.”
The senses and faculties of the Samoïedes correspond to their mode of life as nomads and hunters. They have a piercing eye, delicate hearing, and a steady hand: they shoot an arrow with great accuracy, and are swift runners. On the other hand, they have a gross taste, generally consuming their fish or their reindeer flesh raw; and their smell is so weak that they appear quite insensible to the putrefying odors arising from the scrapings of skins, stinking fish, and other offal which is allowed to accumulate in and about their huts.
The Samoïede is good-natured, melancholy, and phlegmatic. He has, indeed, but indistinct notions of right and wrong, of good and evil; but he possesses a grateful heart, and is ready to divide his last morsel with his friend. Cruelty, revenge, the darker crimes that pollute so many of the savage tribes of the tropical zone, are foreign to his character. Constantly at war with a dreadful climate, a prey to ignorance and poverty, he regards most of the things of this life with supreme indifference. A good meal is of course a matter of importance in his eyes; but even the want of a meal he will bear with stoical apathy, when it can only be gained by exertion, for he sets a still higher value on repose and sleep.
A common trait in the character of all Samoïedes is the gloomy view which they take of life and its concerns; their internal world is as cheerless as that which surrounds them. True men of ice and snow, they relinquish, without a murmur, a life which they can hardly love, as it imposes upon them many privations, and affords them but few pleasures in return.
They are suspicious, like all oppressed nations that have much to suffer from their more crafty or energetic neighbors. Obstinately attached to their old customs, they are opposed to all innovations; and they have been so often deceived by the Russians, that they may well be pardoned if they look with a mistrustful eye upon all benefits coming from that source.
The wealth of the Samoïedes consists in the possession of herds of reindeer, and P. von Krusenstern, in 1845, calculated the number owned by the Samoïedes of the Lower Petschora, near Pustosersk, at 40,000 head--a much smaller number than what they formerly had, owing to a succession of misfortunes. The Russian settlers along that immense stream and its tributaries gradually obtain possession of their best pasture-grounds, and force them to recede within narrower and narrower limits. Thus many have been reduced to the wretched condition of the Arctic fisherman, or have been compelled to exchange their ancient independence for a life of submission to the will of an imperious master.
The entire number of the European and Asiatic Samoïedes is estimated at no more than about 10,000, and this number, small as it is when compared to the vast territory over which they roam, is still decreasing from year to year. Before their subjugation by the Russians, the Samoïedes were frequently at war with their neighbors, the Ostiaks, the Woguls, and the Tartars, and the rude poems which celebrate the deeds of the heroes of old are still sung in the tents of their peaceful descendants. The minstrel, or troubadour--if I may be allowed to use these names while speaking of the rudest of mankind--is seated in the centre of the hut, while the audience squat around. His gesticulations endeavor to express his sympathy with his hero. His body trembles, his voice quivers, and during the more pathetic parts of his story, tears start to his eyes, and he covers his face with his left hand, while the right, holding an arrow, directs its point to the ground. The audience generally keep silence, but their groans accompany the hero’s death; or when he soars upon an eagle to the clouds, and thus escapes the malice of his enemies, they express their delight by a triumphant shout.
XV. THE OSTIAKS
What is the Obi?--Inundations.--An Ostiak summer Yourt.--Poverty of the Ostiak Fishermen.--A winter Yourt.--Attachment of the Ostiaks to their ancient Customs.--An Ostiak Prince.--Archery.-- Appearance and Character of the Ostiaks.--The Fair of Obdorsk.
What is the Obi?--“One of the most melancholy rivers on earth,” say the few European travellers who have ever seen it roll its turbid waters through the wilderness, “its monotonous banks a dreary succession of swamps and dismal pine-forests, and hardly a living creature to be seen, but cranes, wild ducks, and geese.” If you address the same question to one of the few Russians who have settled on its banks, he answers, with a devout mien, “Obi is our mother;” but if you ask the Ostiak, he bursts forth, in a laconic but energetic phrase, “Obi is the god whom we honor above all our other gods.”
To him the Obi is a source of life. With its salmon and sturgeon he pays his taxes and debts, and buys his few luxuries; while the fishes of inferior quality which get entangled in his net he keeps for his own consumption and that of his faithful dog, eating them mostly raw, so that the perch not seldom feels his teeth as soon as it is pulled out of the water. In spring, when the Obi and its tributaries burst their bonds of ice, and the floods sweep over the plains, the Ostiak is frequently driven into the woods, where he finds but little to appease his hunger; at length, however, the waters subside, the flat banks of the river appear above their surface, and the savage erects his summer hut close to its stream. This hovel has generally a quadrangular form, low walls, and a high pointed roof, made of willow-branches covered with large pieces of bark. These, having first been softened by boiling, are sewn together, so as to form large mats or carpets, easily rolled up and transported. The hearth, a mere hole inclosed by a few stones, is in the centre, and the smoke escapes through an aperture at the top. Close to the hut there is also, generally, a small store-house erected on high poles, as in Lapland; for the provisions must be secured against the attacks of the glutton, the wolf, or the owner’s dogs.
Although the Obi and its tributaries--the Irtysch, the Wach, the Wasjugan--abundantly provide for the wants of the Ostiaks, yet those who are exclusively fishermen vegetate in a state of the greatest poverty, in indolence, drunkenness, and vice. The wily Russian settlers have got them completely in their power, by advancing them goods on credit, and thus securing the produce of their fisheries from year to year. During the whole summer Russian speculators from Obdorsk, Beresow, and Tobolsk sail about on the Obi, to receive from their Ostiak debtors the salmon and sturgeon which they have caught, or to fish on their own account, which, as having better nets and more assistance, they do with much greater success than the poor savages.
The Russian Government has, indeed, confirmed the Ostiaks in the possession of almost all the land and water in the territories of the Lower Obi and Irtysch, but the Russian traders find means to monopolize the best part of the fisheries; for ignorance and stupidity, in spite of all laws in their favor, are nowhere a match for mercantile cunning.
At the beginning of winter the Ostiaks retire into the woods, where they find at least some protection against the Arctic blasts, and are busy hunting the sable or the squirrel; but as fishing affords them at all times their chief food, they take care to establish their winter huts on some eminence above the reach of the spring inundations, near some small river, which, through holes made in the ice, affords their nets and anglers a precarious supply. Their winter yourt is somewhat more solidly constructed than their summer residence, as it is not removed every year. It is low and small, and its walls are plastered with clay. Light is admitted through a piece of ice inserted in the wall or on the roof. In the better sort of huts, the space along one or several of the walls is hung with mats made of sedges, and here the family sits or sleeps. Sometimes a small antechamber serves to hang up the clothes, or is used as a repository for household utensils. Besides those who live solely upon fishes and birds of passage, there are other Ostiaks who possess reindeer herds, and wander in summer to the border of the Polar sea, where they also catch seals and fish. When winter approaches, they slowly return to the woods. Finally, in the more southerly districts, there are some Ostiaks who, having entirely adopted the Russian mode of life, cultivate the soil, keep cattle, or earn their livelihood as carriers.
In general, however, the Ostiak, like the Samoïede, obstinately withstands all innovations, and remains true to the customs of his forefathers. He has been so often deceived by the Russians that he is loth to receive the gifts of civilization from their hands. He fears that if his children learn to read and write, they will no longer be satisfied to live like their parents, and that the school will deprive him of the support of his age. He is no less obstinately attached to the religion of his fathers, which in all essential points is identical with that of the Samoïedes. In some of the southern districts, along the Irtysch, at Surgut, he has indeed been baptized, and hangs up the image of a saint in his hut, as his Russian pope or priest has instructed him to do; but his Christianity extends no farther. Along the tributaries of the Obi, and below Obdorsk, he is still plunged in Schamanism.
Like the Samoïedes, the Ostiaks, whose entire number amounts to about 25,000, are subdivided into tribes, reminding one of the Highland clans. Each tribe consists of a number of families, of a common descent, and sometimes comprising many hundred individuals, who, however distantly related, consider it a duty to assist each other in distress. The fortunate fisherman divides the spoils of the day with his less fortunate clansman, who hardly thanks him for a gift which he considers as his due. In cases of dispute the Starschina, or elder, acts as a judge; if, however, the parties are not satisfied with his verdict, they appeal to the higher authority of the hereditary chieftain or prince--a title which has been conferred by the Empress Catherine II. on the Ostiak magnates, who, from time immemorial, have been considered as the heads of their tribes. These princes are, of course, subordinate to the Russian officials, and bound to appear, with the Starschinas, at the fairs of Beresow or Obdorsk, as they are answerable for the quantity and quality of the various sorts of furs which the Ostiaks are obliged to pay as a tribute to Government. Their dignity is hereditary, and, in default of male descendants, passes to the nearest male relation. It must, however, not be supposed that these princes are distinguished from the other Ostiaks by their riches or a more splendid appearance; for their mode of life differs in no way from that of their inferiors in rank, and, like them, they are obliged to fish or to hunt for their daily subsistence.
On entering the hut of one of these dignitaries, Castrén found him in a ragged jacket, while the princess had no other robe of state but a shirt. The prince, having liberally helped himself from the brandy-bottle which the traveller offered him, became very communicative, and complained of the sufferings and cares of the past winter. He had exerted himself to the utmost, but without success. Far from giving way to indolence in his turf-hut, he had been out hunting in the forest, after the first snow-fall, but rarely pitching his bark-tent, and frequently sleeping in the open air. Yet, in spite of all his exertions, he had often not been able to shoot a single ptarmigan. His stores of meal and frozen fishes were soon exhausted, and sometimes the princely family had been reduced to eat the flesh of wolves.
The Ostiaks are excellent archers, and, like all the other hunting tribes of Siberia, use variously constructed arrows for the different objects of their chase. Smaller shafts, with a knob of wood at the end, are destined for the squirrels and other small animals whose fur it is desirable not to injure; while large arrows, with strong triangular iron points, bring down the wolf, the bear, and sometimes the fugitive exile. For, to prevent the escape of criminals sentenced to banishment in Siberia, the Russian Government allows the Ostiaks to shoot any unknown person, not belonging to their race, whom they may meet with on their territory. Although well aware of this danger, several exiles have attempted to escape to Archangel along the border of the Arctic sea; but they either died of hunger, or were devoured by wild beasts, or shot by the Ostiaks. There is but one instance known of an exile who, after spending a whole year on the journey, at length reached the abodes of civilized man, and he was pardoned in consideration of the dreadful sufferings he had undergone.
The Ostiaks are generally of a small stature, and most of them are dark-complexioned, with raven-black hair like the Samoïedes; some of them, however, have a fairer skin and light-colored hair. They have neither the oblique eyes nor the broad projecting cheek-bones of the Mongols and Tungus, but bear a greater resemblance to the Finnish, Samoïede, and Turkish cast of countenance. They are a good-natured, indolent, honest race; and though they are extremely dirty, yet their smoky huts are not more filthy than those of the Norwegian or Icelandic fisherman. As among the Samoïedes, the women are in a very degraded condition, the father always giving his daughter in marriage to the highest bidder. The price is very different, and rises or falls according to the circumstances of the parent; for while the rich man asks fifty reindeer for his child, the poor fisherman is glad to part with his daughter for a few squirrel-skins and dried sturgeon.
Before taking leave of the Ostiaks, we will still tarry a moment at the small town of Obdorsk, which may be considered as the capital of their country, and entirely owes its existence to the trade carried on between them and the Russians. Formerly the merchants from Beresow and Tobolsk used merely to visit the spot, but the difficulties of the journey soon compelled them to establish permanent dwellings in that dreary region. A certain number of exiles serves to increase the scanty population, which consists of a strange medley of various nations, among whom Castrén found a Calmuck, a Kirghis, and a Polish cook, who bitterly complained that he had but few opportunities of showing his skill in a town where people lived à la Ostiak. In fact, most of the Russian inhabitants of the place have in so far adopted the Ostiak mode of life, as to deem the cooking of their victuals superfluous. When Castrén, on his arrival at Obdorsk, paid a visit to a Tobolsk merchant, who had been for some time settled in the place, he found the whole family lying on the floor, regaling on raw fish, and the most civilized person he met with told him that he had tasted neither boiled nor roast flesh or fish for half a year. Yet fine shawls and dresses, and now no doubt the crinoline and the chignon, are found amidst all this barbarism. Edifices with the least pretensions to architectural beauty it would of course be vain to look for in Obdorsk. The houses of the better sort of Russian settlers are two-storied, or consisting of a ground-floor and garrets; but as they are built of wood, and are by no means wind-tight, the half-famished Ostiaks, who have settled in the town, are probably more comfortably housed in their low turf-huts than the prosperous Russian inhabitants of the place. The latter make it their chief occupation to cheat the Ostiaks in every possible way; some of them, however, add to this profitable, if not praiseworthy occupation, the keeping of reindeer herds, or even of cows and sheep.
The fair lasts from the beginning of winter to February, and during this time the Ostiaks who assemble at Obdorsk pitch their bark-tents about the town. With their arrival a new life begins to stir in the wretched place. Groups of the wild sons and daughters of the tundra, clothed in heavy skins, make their appearance, and stroll slowly through the streets, admiring the high wooden houses, which to them seem palaces. But nothing is to be seen of the animation and activity which usually characterize a fair. Concealing some costly fur under his wide skin mantle, the savage pays his cautious visit to the trader, and makes his bargain amidst copious libations of brandy. He is well aware that this underhand way of dealing is detrimental to his interests; that his timorous disposition shrinks from public sales, and frequently he is not even in the situation to profit by competition; for among the thousands that flock to the fair, there are but very few who do not owe to the traders of Obdorsk much more than they possess, or can ever hope to repay. Woe to the poor Ostiak whose creditor should find him dealing with some other trader!--for the seizure of all his movable property, of his tent and household utensils, would be the least punishment which the wretch turned adrift into the naked desert would have to expect. The fair is not opened before Government has received the furs which are due to it, or at least a guarantee for the amount from the merchants of the place. Then the magazines of the traders gradually fill with furs--with clothes of reindeer skin ready made, with feathers, reindeer flesh, frozen sturgeon, mammoth tusks, etc. For these goods the Ostiaks receive flour, baked bread, tobacco, pots, kettles, knives, needles, brass buttons and rings, glass pearls, and other trifling articles. An open trade in spirits is not allowed; but brandy may be sold as a medicine, and thus many an Ostiak takes advantage of the fair for undergoing a cure the reverse of that which is recommended by hydropathic doctors.
Towards the end of February, when the Ostiaks have retired into the woods--where they hunt or tend their reindeer herds until the opening of the fishing-season recalls them to the Obi--the trader prepares for his journey to Irbit, where he hopes to dispose of his furs at an enormous profit, and Obdorsk is once more left until the following winter to its death-like solitude.
Chapter XVI
CONQUEST OF SIBERIA BY THE RUSSIANS--THEIR VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY ALONG THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA.
Ivan the Terrible.--Strogonoff.--Yermak, the Robber and Conqueror.--His Expeditions to Siberia.--Battle of Tobolsk.-- Yermak’s Death.--Progress of the Russians to Ochotsk.--Semen Deshnew.--Condition of the Siberian Natives under the Russian Yoke.--Voyages of Discovery in the Reign of the Empress Anna.-- Prontschischtschew.--Chariton and Demetrius Laptew.--An Arctic Heroine.--Schalaurow.--Discoveries in the Sea of Bering and in the Pacific Ocean.--The Lächow Islands.--Fossil Ivory.--New Siberia.--The wooden Mountains.--The past Ages of Siberia.
In the beginning of the thirteenth century, the now huge Empire of Russia was confined to part of her present European possessions, and divided into several independent principalities, the scene of disunion and almost perpetual warfare. Thus when the country was invaded, in 1236, by the Tartars, under Baaty Khan, a grandson of the famous Gengis Khan, it fell an easy prey to its conquerors. The miseries of a foreign yoke, aggravated by intestine discord, lasted about 250 years, until Ivan Wasiljewitsch I. (1462–1505) became the deliverer of his country, and laid the foundations of her future greatness. This able prince subdued, in 1470, the Great Novgorod, a city until then so powerful as to have maintained its independence, both against the Russian grand princes and the Tartar khans; and, ten years later, he not only threw off the yoke of the Khans of Khipsack, but destroyed their empire. The conquest of Constantinople by the Turks placed the spiritual diadem of the ancient Cæsars on his head, and caused him, as chief of the Greek orthodox Church, to exchange his old title of Grand Prince for the more significant and imposing one of Czar.
His grandson, Ivan Wasiljewitsch II., a cruel but energetic monarch, conquered Kasan in 1552, and thus completely and permanently overthrew the dominion of the Tartars. Two years later he subdued Astrakhan, and planted the Greek cross on the borders of the Caspian Sea, where until then only the Crescent had been seen.
In spite of the inhuman cruelty that disgraced his character, and earned for him the name of Terrible, Ivan sought, like his illustrious successor, Peter the Great, to introduce the arts and sciences of Western Europe into his barbarous realm, and to improve the Russian manufactures by encouraging German artists and mechanics to settle in the country. It was in his reign that Chancellor discovered the passage from England to the White Sea, and Ivan gladly seized the opportunity thus afforded. Soon after this the port of Archangel was built, and thus a new seat was opened to civilization at the northern extremity of Europe.
After the conquest of Kasan, several Russians settled in that province; among others, a merchant of the name of Strogonoff, who established some salt-works on the banks of the Kama, and opened a trade with the natives. Among these he noticed some strangers, and having heard that they came from a country ruled by a Tartar Khan, who resided in a capital called Sibir, he sent some of his people into their land. These agents returned with the finest sable skins, which they had purchased for a trifling sum; and Strogonoff, not so covetous as to wish to keep all the advantage of his discovery to himself, immediately informed the Government of the new trade he had opened. He was rewarded with the gift of considerable estates at the confluence of the Kama and Tschinsova, and his descendants, the Counts Strogonoff, are, as is well known, reckoned among the richest of the Russian nobility.
Soon after Ivan sent some troops to Siberia, whose prince, Jediger, acknowledged his supremacy, and promised to pay him an annual tribute of a thousand sable skins. But this connection was not of long duration, for a few years after Jediger was defeated by another Tartar prince, named Kutchum Khan; and thus, after Russian influence had taken the first step to establish itself beyond the Ural, it once more became doubtful whether Northern Asia was to be Christian or Mohammedan. The question was soon after decided by a fugitive robber.
The conquests of Ivan on the Caspian Sea had called into life a considerable trade with Bokhara and Persia, which, however, was greatly disturbed by the depredations of the Don Cossacks, who made it their practice to plunder the caravans. But Ivan, not the man to be trifled with by a horde of freebooters, immediately sent out a body of troops against the Don Cossacks, who, not venturing to meet them, sought their safety in flight. At the head of the fugitives, whose number amounted to no less than 6000 men, was Yermak Timodajeff, a man who, like Cortez or Pizarro, was destined to lay a new empire at the feet of his master. But while the troops of the Czar were following his track, Yermak was not yet dreaming of future conquests; his only aim was to escape the executioner; and he considered himself extremely fortunate when, leaving his pursuers far behind, he at length arrived on the estates of Strogonoff. Here he was well received--better, no doubt, than if he had come single-handed and defenseless; and Strogonoff having made him acquainted with Siberian affairs, he at once resolved to try his fortunes on this new scene of action. As the tyranny of Kutchum Khan had rendered him odious to his subjects, he hoped it would be an easy task to overthrow his power; the prospect of a rich booty of sable skins was also extremely attractive; and, finally, there could be no doubt that the greatest dangers were in his rear, and that any choice was better than to fall into the hands of Ivan the Terrible. Strogonoff, on his part, had excellent reasons for encouraging the adventure. If it succeeded, a considerable part of the profits was likely to fall to his share; if not, he at least was rid of his unbidden guest.
Thus Yermak, in the summer of 1578, advanced with his Cossacks along the banks of the Tschinsova into Siberia. But, either from a want of knowledge of the country, or from not having taken the necessary precautions, he was overtaken by winter before he could make any progress; and when spring appeared, famine compelled him to return to his old quarters, where, as may easily be imagined, his reception was none of the most cordial. But, far from losing courage from this first disappointment, Yermak was firmly resolved to persevere. He had gained experience--his self-confidence was steeled by adversity; and when Strogonoff attempted to refuse him further assistance, he pointed to his Cossacks with the air of a man who has the means of enforcing obedience to his orders. This time Yermak took better measures for insuring success; he compelled Strogonoff to furnish him with an ample supply of provisions and ammunition, and in the June of the following year we again find him, with his faithful Cossacks, on the march to Siberia. But such were the impediments which the pathless swamps and forests, the severity of the climate, and the hostility of the natives opposed to his progress, that towards the end of 1580 his force (now reduced to 1500 men) had reached no farther than the banks of the Tara. The subsequent advance of this little band was a constant succession of hardships and skirmishes, which caused it to melt away like snow in the sunshine; so that scarcely 500 remained when, at the confluence of the Tobol and the Irtysch, they at length reached the camp of Kutchum Khan, whose overwhelming numbers seemed to mock their audacity.
But Yermak felt as little fear at sight of the innumerable tents of the Tartar host, as the wolf when meeting a herd of sheep. He knew that his Cossacks, armed with their matchlocks, had long since disdained to count their enemies, and, fully determined to conquer or to die, he gave the order to attack. A dreadful battle ensued, for though the Tartars only fought with their bows and arrows, yet they were no less brave than their adversaries, and their vast superiority of numbers made up for the inferior quality of their weapons. The struggle was long doubtful--the Tartars repeating attack upon attack like the waves of a storm-tide, and the Cossacks receiving their assaults as firmly and immovably as rocks; until, finally, the hordes of Kutchum Khan gave way to their stubborn obstinacy, and his camp and all its treasures fell into the hands of the conquerors.
The subsequent conduct of Yermak proved that he had all the qualities of a general and a statesman, and that his talents were not unequal to his fortunes. Without losing a single moment, he, immediately after this decisive battle, sent part of his small band to occupy the capital of the vanquished Kutchum, for he well knew that a victory is but half gained if one delays to reap its fruits. The Cossacks found the place evacuated, and soon after Yermak made his triumphal entry into Sibir. His weakness now became a source of strength, for, daunted by the wonderful success of this handful of strangers, the people far and wide came to render him homage. The Ostiaks of the Soswa freely consented to yield an annual tribute of 280 sable skins, and other tribes of the same nation, who were more backward in their submission, were compelled by his menaces to pay him a tax, or jassak, of eleven skins for every archer.
It was not without reason that Yermak thus sought to collect as many of these valuable furs as he possibly could, for his aim was to obtain from Ivan a pardon of his former delinquencies, by presenting him with the richest spoils of his victories, and he well knew that it would be impossible for him to maintain his conquests without further assistance from the Czar. Great was Ivan’s astonishment when an envoy of the fugitive robber brought him the welcome gift of 2400 sable skins, and informed him that Yermak had added a new province to his realm. He at once comprehended that the hero who with small means had achieved such great successes, was the fittest man to consolidate or enlarge his acquisitions; he consequently not only pardoned all his former offenses, but confirmed him in the dignity of governor and commander-in-chief in the countries which he had subdued. Thus Yermak’s envoy, having been received with the greatest distinction at Moscow, returned to his fortunate master with a robe of honor which had been worn by the Czar himself, and the still more welcome intelligence that re-enforcements were on the march to join him.
Meanwhile Yermak had continued to advance into the valley of the Obi beyond its confluence with the Irtysch; and when at length his force was augmented by the arrival of 500 Russians, he pursued his expeditions with increasing audacity. On his return from one of these forays, he encamped on a small island in the Irtysch. The night was dark and rainy, and the Russians, fatigued by their march, relied too much upon the badness of the weather or the terror of their name. But Kutchum Khan, having been informed by his spies of their want of vigilance, crossed a ford in the river, and falling upon the unsuspecting Russians, killed them all except one single soldier, who brought the fatal intelligence to Sibir. Yermak, when he saw his warriors fall around him like grass before the scythe, without losing his presence of mind for a moment, cut his way through the Tartars, and endeavored to save himself in a boat. But in the medley he fell into the water and was drowned.
By the orders of Kutchum, the body of the hero was exposed to every indignity which the rage of a barbarian can think of; but after this first explosion of impotent fury, his followers, feeling ashamed of the ignoble conduct of their chief, buried his remains with princely pomp, and ascribed miraculous powers to the grave in which they were deposited. The Russians have also erected a monument to Yermak in the town of Tobolsk, which was built on the very spot where he gained his first decisive victory over Kutchum. It is inscribed with the dates of that memorable event, and of the unfortunate day when he found his death in the floods of the Irtysch. His real monument, however, is all Siberia from the Ural to the Pacific; for as long as the Russian nation continues to exist, it will remember the name of Yermak Timodajeff. The value of the man became at once apparent after his death, for scarcely had the news of the disaster arrived, when the Russians immediately evacuated Sibir, and left the country. But they well knew that this retreat was to be but temporary, and that the present ebb of their fortunes would soon be followed by a fresh tide of success. After a few years they once more returned, as the definitive masters of the country. Their first settlement was Tjumen, on the Tara, and before the end of 1587 Tobolsk was founded. They had, indeed, still many a conflict with the Woguls and Tartars, but every effort of the natives to shake off the yoke proved fruitless.
As gold had been the all-powerful magnet which led the Spaniards from Hispaniola to Mexico and Peru, so a small fur-bearing animal (the sable) attracted the Cossacks farther and farther to the east; and although the possession of fire-arms gave them an immense advantage over the wild inhabitants of Siberia, yet it is as astonishing with what trifling means they subdued whole nations, and perhaps history affords no other example of such a vast extent of territory having been conquered by so small a number of adventurers.
As they advanced, small wooden forts (or ostrogs) were built in suitable places, and became in their turn the starting-posts for new expeditions. The following dates give the best proof of the uncommon rapidity with which the tide of conquest rolled onward to the east. Tomsk was founded in 1604; and the ostrog Jeniseisk, where the neighboring nomads brought their sable skins to market, in 1621. The snow-shoes of the Tunguse, which they sometimes saw ornamented with this costly fur, induced the Cossacks to follow their hordes, of which many had come from the middle and inferior Tunguska, and thus, in 1630, Wassiljew reached the banks of the Lena. In 1636 Jelissei Busa was commissioned to ascend that mighty river, and to impose jassak on all the natives of those quarters. He reached the western mouth of the Lena, and after navigating the sea for twenty-four hours came to the Olekma, which he ascended. In 1638 he discovered the Tana, on whose banks he spent another winter; and in 1639, resuming his voyage eastward by sea, he reached the Tchendoma, and wintering for two years among the Jukahirs, made them also tributary to Russia.
In that same year another party of Cossacks crossed the Altai Mountains, and, traversing forests and swamps, arrived at the coasts of the inhospitable Sea of Ochotsk; while a third expedition discovered the Amoor, and built a strong ostrog, called Albasin, on its left bank. The report soon spread that the river rolled over gold-sand, and colonists came flocking to the spot, both to collect these treasures, and to enjoy the fruits of a milder climate and of a more fruitful soil. But the Chinese destroyed the fort in 1680, and carried the garrison prisoners to Peking.
Albasin was soon after rebuilt; but as Russia at that time had no inclination to engage in constant quarrels with the Celestial Empire about the possession of a remote desert, all its pretensions to the Amoor were given up by the treaty of Nertschinsk (1689). This agreement, however, like so many others, was doomed to last no longer than it pleased the more powerful of the contracting parties to keep it, and came to nothing as soon as the possession of the Amoor territory became an object of importance, and the increasing weakness of China was no longer able to dispute its possession. Thus, when Count Nicholas Mourawieff was appointed Governor-general of Eastern Siberia in 1847, one of his first cares was to appropriate or annex the Amoor. He immediately sent a surveying expedition to the mouth of the river, where, in 1851, regardless of the remonstrances of the Chinese Government, he ordered the stations of Nicolayevsk and Mariinsk to be built; and in 1854 he himself sailed down the Amoor, with a numerous flotilla of boats and rafts, for the purpose of personally opening this new channel of intercourse with the Pacific. Other expeditions soon followed, and the Chinese, finding resistance hopeless, ceded to Russia in the year 1858, by the treaty of Aigun, the left bank of the Amoor as far as the influx of the Ussuri, and both its banks below the latter river. Thus the Czar found some consolation for the losses of the Crimean campaign in the acquisition of a vast territory in the distant East, which, though at present a mere wilderness, may in time become a flourishing colony.
In 1644, a few years after the discovery of the Amoor, the Cossack Michael Staduchin formed a winter establishment on the delta of the Kolyma, which has expanded into the town of Nishnei-Kolymsk, and afterwards navigated the sea eastward to Cape Schelagskoi, which may be considered as the north-eastern cape of Siberia.
In 1648 Semen Deschnew sailed from the Kolyma with the intention of reaching the Anadyr by sea, and by this remarkable voyage--which no one else, either before or after him, has ever performed--discovered and passed through the strait, which properly should bear his name, instead of Bering’s, who, sailing from Kamchatka northward in 1728, did not go beyond East Cape, being satisfied with the westerly trending of the cape beyond the promontory. Some of Deschnew’s companions subsequently reached Kamchatka, and were put to death by the people of that peninsula, which was conquered, in 1699, by Atlassoff, a Cossack officer who came from Jakutsk.
After having thus rapidly glanced at the progress of the Russian dominion from the Ural to the Sea of Ochotsk, it may not be uninteresting to inquire whether the natives had reason to bless the arrival of their new masters, or to curse the day when they were first made to understand the meaning of the word jassak, or tribute. Unfortunately, history tells us that, while the conquerors of Siberia were fully as bold and persevering as the companions of Cortez and Pizarro, they also equalled them in avarice and cruelty. Under their iron yoke whole nations, such as the Schelagi, Aniujili, and Omoki, melted away; others, as the Woguls, Jukahires, Koriaks, and Itälmenes, were reduced to a scanty remnant.
The history of the subjugation of the Itälmenes, or natives of Kamchatka, as described by Steller, may suffice to show how the Cossacks made and how they abused their conquests.
When Atlassoff, with only sixteen men, came to the river of Kamchatka, the Itälmene chieftain inquired, through a Koriak interpreter, what they wanted, and whence they came; and received for answer that the powerful sovereign, to whom the whole land belonged, had sent them to levy the tribute which they owed him as his subjects. The chieftain was naturally astonished at this information, and offering the strangers a present of costly furs, he requested them to leave the country, and not to repeat their visit. But the Cossacks thought proper to remain, and built a small wooden fort, Verchnei Ostrog, whence they fell on the neighboring villages, robbing or destroying all they could lay hands upon. Exasperated by these acts, the Itälmenes resolved to attack the fort; but as the wary Cossacks had kept up a friendly intercourse with some of them, and had moreover ingratiated themselves with the women, the plans of their enemies were always revealed to them in proper time, and led to a still greater tyranny. At length the savages appeared before the ostrog in such overwhelming numbers that the Cossacks began to lose courage; yet by their superior tactics they finally managed to gain a complete victory, and those who escaped their bullets were either drowned or taken prisoners, and then put to death in the most cruel manner.
Convinced that a lasting security was impossible as long as the natives retained their numbers, the Cossacks lost no opportunity of goading them to revolt, and then butchering as many of them as they could. Thus, in less than forty years, the Kamchatkans were reduced to a twelfth part of their original numbers; and the Cossacks, having made a solitude, called it peace.
In former times the nomads of the North used freely to wander with their reindeer herds over the tundra, but after the conquest they were loaded with taxes, and confined to certain districts. The consequence was that their reindeer gradually perished, and that a great number of wandering herdsmen were now compelled to adopt a fisherman’s life--a change fatal to many.
It would, however, be unjust to accuse the Russian Government of having willfully sought the ruin of the aboriginal tribes; on the contrary, it has constantly endeavored to protect them against the exactions of the Cossacks, and in order to secure their existence, has even granted them the exclusive possession of the districts assigned to them. Thus the Ostiaks and Samoïedes, the Koriaks and the Jakuts, have their own land, their own rivers, forests, and tundri. But if it is a common saying in European Russia “that heaven is high, and the Czar distant,” it may easily be imagined that beyond the Ural the weak indigenous tribes found the law but a very inefficient barrier against the rapacity of their conquerors.
Thus, in spite of the Government, the jassak was not unfrequently raised, under various pretenses, to six or ten times its original amount; and the natives were, besides, obliged to bring the best of their produce, from considerable distances, to the ostrog.
Nor could the Government prevent the accumulation of usurious debts, nor the leasing of the best pasturages or fishing-stations for a trifling sum quite out of proportion to their value; so that the natives no longer had the means of feeding their herds, and sank deeper and deeper into poverty.
And if we consider, finally, of what elements Yermak’s band was originally composed, we can easily conceive that, under such masters, the lot of the Siberian natives was by no means to be envied.
* * * * *
The year 1734 opens a new epoch in the history of Siberian discoveries. Until then they had been merely undertaken for purposes of traffic; bold Cossacks and Promyschlenniki (or fur-hunters) had gradually extended their excursions to the Sea of Bering; but now, for the first time, scientific expeditions were sent out, for the more accurate investigation of the northern coasts of Siberia.
Prontschischtschew, who sailed westward from the Lena to circumnavigate the icy capes of Taimurland, was accompanied by his youthful wife, who wintered with him at the Olenek, in 72° 54´ of latitude, and in the following summer took part in his fruitless endeavors to double those most northerly points of Asia. He died in consequence of the fatigues he had to undergo, and a few days after she followed him to the grave. A similar example of female devotion is not to be met with in the annals of Arctic discovery.
After Prontschischtschew’s death, Lieutenant Chariton Laptew was appointed to carry out the project in which the former had failed. Having been repulsed by the drift-ice, he was obliged to winter on the Chatanga (1739–40); but renewed the attempt in the following summer, which however exposed him to still severer trials. The vessel was wrecked in the ice; the crew reached the shore with difficulty, and many of them perished from fatigue and famine before the rivers were sufficiently frozen to enable the feeble survivors to return to their former winter-station at Chatanga. Notwithstanding the hardships which he and his party had endured, Laptew prosecuted the survey of the promontory in the following spring.
Setting out with a sledge-party across the Tundra on April 24, 1741, he reached Taimur Lake on the 30th; and following the Taimur River, as it flows from the lake, ascertained its mouth to be situated in lat. 75° 36´ N. On August 29 he safely returned to Jeniseisk, after one of the most difficult voyages ever performed by man. The resolution with which he overcame difficulties, and his perseverance amid the severest distresses, entitle him to a high rank among Arctic discoverers.
While Chariton Laptew was thus gaining distinction in the wilds of Taimurland, his brother, Dimitri Laptew, was busy extending geographical knowledge to the east of the Lena. He doubled the Sviatoi-noss, wintered on the banks of the Indigirka, surveyed the Bear Islands, passed a second winter on the borders of the Kolyma, and in a fourth season extended his survey of the coast to the Baranow Rock, which he vainly endeavored to double during two successive summers. After having passed seven years on the coasts of the Polar Ocean, he returned to Jakutsk in 1743.
Fourteen years later, Schalaurow, a merchant of Jakutsk, who sailed from the Jana in a vessel built at his own expense, at length succeeded in doubling the Baranow Rock, and proceeded eastward as far as Cape Schelagskoi, which prevented his farther progress. After twice wintering on the dreary Kolyma, he resolved, with admirable perseverance, to make a third attempt, but his crew would no longer follow him. From a second sea-journey, which he undertook in 1764 to that cape, he did not return. “His unfortunate death is the more to be lamented,” says Wrangell, “as he sacrificed his property and life to a disinterested aim, and united intelligence and energy in a remarkable degree.” On his map, the whole coast from the Jana to Cape Schelagskoi is marked, with an accuracy which does him the greatest honor. In 1785 Billings and Sarytchew were equally unsuccessful in the endeavor to sail round the cape which had defeated all Schalaurow’s endeavors; nor has the voyage been accomplished to the present day.
As the sable had gradually led the Russian fur-hunters to Kamchatka, so the still more valuable sea-otter gave the chief impulse to the discovery of the Aleutic chain and the opposite continent of America. When Atlassow and his band arrived at Kamchatka by the end of the seventeenth century, they found the sea-otter abounding on its coasts; but the fur-hunters chased it so eagerly that, before the middle of the eighteenth century, they had entirely extirpated it in that country. On Bering’s second voyage of discovery (1741–42), it was again found in considerable numbers. Tschirigow is said to have brought back 900 skins, and on Bering’s Island 700 sea-otters--whose skins, according to present prices, would be worth about £20,000--were killed almost without trouble. These facts, of course, encouraged the merchants of Jakutsk and Irkutsk to undertake new expeditions.
Generally, several of them formed an association, which fitted out some hardly seaworthy vessel at Ochotsk, where also the captain and the crew, consisting of fur-hunters and other adventurers, were hired. The expenses of such an expedition amounted to the considerable sum of about 30,000 roubles, as pack-horses had to transport a great part of the necessary outfit all the distance from Jakutsk, and the vessel generally remained four or five years on the voyage. Passing through one of the Kurile Straits, these expeditions sailed at first along the east coast of Kamchatka, bartering sables and sea-otters for reindeer skins and other articles; and as the precious furs became more rare, ventured out farther into the Eastern Ocean. Thus Michael Nowodsikoff discovered the Western Aleuts in 1745; Paikoff the Fox Islands in 1759; Adrian Tolstych almost all the islands of the central group, which still bear his name, in 1760; Stephen Glottoff the island of Kadiak in 1763, and Krenitzin the peninsula of Aljaska in 1768. When we consider the scanty resources of these Russian navigators, the bad condition of their miserable barks, their own imperfect nautical knowledge, and the inhospitable nature of the seas which they traversed, we can not but admire their intrepidity.
In the Polar Sea there are neither sables nor otters, and thus the islands lying to the north of Siberia might have remained unknown till the present day, if the search after mammoth-teeth had not, in a similar manner, led to their discovery.
In March, 1770, while a merchant of the name of Lächow was busy collecting fossil ivory about Cape Sviatoinoss, he saw a large herd of deer coming over the ice from the north. Resolute and courageous, he at once resolved to follow their tracks, and after a sledge-journey of seventy versts, he came to an island, and twenty versts farther reached a second island, at which, owing to the roughness of the ice, his excursion terminated. He saw enough, however, of the richness of the two islands in mammoth-teeth, to show him that another visit would be a valuable speculation; and on making his report to the Russian Government, he obtained an exclusive privilege to dig for mammoth-bones on the islands which he had discovered, and to which his name had been given. In the summer of 1773 he consequently returned, and ascertained the existence of a third island, much larger than the others, mountainous, and having its coasts covered with drift-wood. He then went back to the first island, wintered there, and returned to Ustjansk in spring with a valuable cargo of mammoth-tusks.
There hardly exists a more remarkable article of commerce than these remains of an extinct animal. In North Siberia, along the Obi, the Jenissei, the Lena, and their tributaries, from lat. 58° to 70°, or along the shores of the Polar Ocean as far as the American side of Bering Strait, the remains of a species of elephant are found imbedded in the frozen soil, or become exposed, by the annual thawing and crumbling of the river-banks. Dozens of tusks are frequently found together, but the most astonishing deposit of mammoth-bones occurs in the Lächow Islands, where, in some localities, they are accumulated in such quantities as to form the chief substance of the soil. Year after year the tusk-hunters work every summer at the cliffs, without producing any sensible diminution of the stock. The solidly-frozen matrix in which the bones lie thaws to a certain extent annually, allowing the tusks to drop out or to be quarried. In 1821, 20,000 lbs. of the fossil ivory were procured from the island of New Siberia.
The ice in which the mammoth remains are imbedded sometimes preserves their entire bodies, in spite of the countless ages which must have elapsed since they walked on earth. In 1799 the carcass of a mammoth was discovered so fresh that the dogs ate the flesh for two summers. The skeleton is preserved at St. Petersburg, and specimens of the woolly hair--proving that the climate of Siberia, though then no doubt much milder than at present, still required the protection of a warm and shaggy coat--were presented to the chief museums of Europe.
The remains of a rhinoceros, very similar to the Indian species, are likewise found in great numbers along the shores, or on the steep and sandy river-banks of Northern Siberia, along with those of fossil species of the horse, the musk-ox, and the bison, which have now totally forsaken the Arctic wilds.
The Archipelago of New Siberia, situated to the north of the Lächow Islands, was discovered by Sirowatsky in 1806, and since then scientifically explored by Hedenström in 1808, and Anjou in 1823. These islands are remarkable no less for the numerous bones of horses, buffaloes, oxen, and sheep scattered over their desolate shores, than for the vast quantities of fossil-wood imbedded in their soil. The hills, which rise to a considerable altitude, consist of horizontal beds of sandstone, alternating with bituminous beams or trunks of trees. On ascending them, fossilized charcoal is everywhere met with, incrusted with an ash-colored matter, which is so hard that it can scarcely be scraped off with a knife. On the summit there is a long row of beams resembling the former, but fixed perpendicularly in the sandstone. The ends, which project from seven to ten inches, are for the most part broken, and the whole has the appearance of a ruinous dike. Thus a robust forest vegetation once flourished where now only hardy lichens can be seen; and many herbivorous animals feasted on grasses where now the reindeer finds but a scanty supply of moss, and the polar bear is the sole lord of the dreary waste.
XVII. SIBERIA--FUR-TRADE AND GOLD-DIGGINGS
Siberia.--Its immense Extent and Capabilities.--The Exiles.-- Mentschikoff.--Dolgorouky.--Münich.--The Criminals.--The free Siberian Peasant.--Extremes of Heat and Cold.--Fur-bearing Animals.--The Sable.--The Ermine.--The Siberian Weasel.--The Sea-otter.--The black Fox.--The Lynx.--The Squirrel.--The varying Hare.--The Suslik.--Importance of the Fur-trade for the Northern Provinces of the Russian Empire.--The Gold-diggings of Eastern Siberia.--The Taiga.--Expenses and Difficulties of searching Expeditions.--Costs of Produce, and enormous Profits of successful Speculators.--Their senseless Extravagance.--First Discovery of Gold in the Ural Mountains.--Jakowlew and Demidow.-- Nishne-Tagilsk.
Siberia is at least thirty times more extensive than Great Britain and Ireland, but its scanty population forms a miserable contrast to its enormous size. Containing scarcely three millions of inhabitants, it is comparatively three hundred times less peopled than the British Islands. This small population is, moreover, very unequally distributed, consisting chiefly of Russians and Tartars, who have settled in the south or in the milder west, along the rivers and the principal thoroughfares which lead from the territory of one large stream to the other. In the northern and eastern districts, as far as they are occupied, the settlements are likewise almost entirely confined to the river-banks; and thus the greater part of the enormous forest-lands, and of the interminable tundras, are either entirely uninhabited by man, or visited only by the huntsman, the gold-digger, or the migratory savage.
And yet Siberia has not been so niggardly treated by Nature as not to be able to sustain a far more considerable population. In the south there are thousands of square miles fit for cultivation; the numbers of the herds and flocks might be increased a hundred-fold, and even the climate would become milder after the labor of man had subdued the chilling influences of the forest and the swamp. But it is easier to express than to realize the wish to see Siberia more populous, for its reputation is hardly such as to tempt the free colonists to settle within its limits; and thus the Russian Government, which would willingly see its more temperate regions covered with flourishing towns and villages, can only expect an increase of population from the slow growth of time, aided by the annual influx of the involuntary emigrants which it sends across the Ural to the East.
Many a celebrated personage has already been doomed to trace this melancholy path, particularly during the last century, when the all-powerful favorite of one period was not seldom doomed to exile by the next palace revolution. This fate befell, among others, the famous Prince Mentschikoff. In a covered cart, and in the dress of a peasant, the confidential minister of Peter the Great, the man who for years had ruled the vast Russian Empire, was conveyed into perpetual banishment. His dwelling was now a simple hut, and the spade of the laborer replaced the pen of the statesman. Domestic misfortunes aggravated his cruel lot. His wife died from the fatigues of the journey; one of his daughters soon after fell a victim to the smallpox; his two other children, who were attacked by the same malady, recovered. He himself died in the year 1729, and was buried near his daughter at Beresow, the seat of his exile. Like Cardinal Wolsey, after his fall he remembered God, whom he had forgotten during the swelling tide of his prosperity. He considered his punishment as a blessing, which showed him the way to everlasting happiness. He built a chapel, assisting in its erection with his own hands, and after the services gave instruction to the congregation. The inhabitants of Beresow still honor his memory, and revere him as a saint. They were confirmed in this belief by the circumstance that his body, having been disinterred in 1821, was found in a state of perfect preservation, after a lapse of ninety-two years.
One day, as his daughter walked through the village, she was accosted by a peasant from the window of a hut. This peasant was Prince Dolgorouky, her father’s enemy--the man who had caused his banishment, and was now, in his turn, doomed to taste the bitterness of exile. Soon after the princess and her brother were pardoned by the Empress Anna, and Dolgorouky took possession of their hut. Young Mentschikoff was finally reinstated in all the honors and riches of his father, and from him descends, in a direct line, the famous defender of Sebastopol.
Marshal Münich, the favorite of the Empress Anna, was doomed, in his sixtieth year, to a Siberian exile, when Elizabeth ascended the throne. His prison consisted of three rooms--one for his guards or jailers, the second for their kitchen, the third for his own use. A wall twenty feet high prevented him from enjoying the view even of the sky. The man who had once governed Russia had but half a rouble daily to spend; but the love of his wife--who, although fifty-five years old, had the courage and the self-denial to accompany him in his banishment--alleviated the sorrows of his exile. The venerable couple spent twenty-one years in Siberia, and on their return from exile, fifty-two children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, were assembled to meet them at Moscow. The revolution which placed Catherine the Second on the throne had nearly once more doomed the octogenarian statesman to banishment, but he fortunately weathered the storm, and died as governor of St. Petersburg.
In this century, also, many an unfortunate exile, guiltless at least of ignoble crimes, has been doomed to wander to Siberia. There many a soldier of the grande armée has ended his life; there still lives many a patriotic Pole, banished for having loved his country “not wisely but too well;” there also the conspirators who marked with so bloody an episode the accession of Nicholas, have had time to reflect on the dangers of plotting against the Czar.
Most of the Siberian exiles are, however, common criminals--such as in our country would be hung or transported, or sentenced to the treadmill: the assassin, the robber--to Siberia; the smuggler on the frontier, whose free-trade principles injure the imperial exchequer--to Siberia; even the vagabond who is caught roaming, and can give no satisfactory account of his doings and intentions, receives a fresh passport--to Siberia.
Thus the annual number of the exiles amounts to about 12,000, who, according to the gravity of their offenses, are sent farther and farther eastward. On an average, every week sees a transport of about 300 of these “unfortunates,” as they are termed by popular compassion, pass through Tobolsk. About one-sixth are immediately pardoned, and the others sorted. Murderers and burglars are sent to the mines of Nertschinsk, after having been treated in Russia, before they set out on their travels, with fifty lashes of the knout. In former times their nostrils used to be torn off, a barbarity which is now no longer practised.
According to Sir George Simpson’s “Narrative of a Journey Round the World” (1847), Siberia is the best penitentiary in the world. Every exile who is not considered bad enough for the mines--those black abysses, at whose entrance, as at that of Dante’s hell, all hope must be left behind--receives a piece of land, a hut, a horse, two cows, the necessary agricultural implements, and provisions for a year. The first three years he has no taxes to pay, and, during the following ten, only the half of the usual assessment. Thus, if he choose to exert himself, he has every reason to hope for an improvement in his condition, and at the same time fear contributes to keep him in the right path; for he well knows that his first trespass would infallibly conduct him to the mines, a by no means agreeable prospect. Under the influence of these stimulants, many an exile attains a degree of prosperity which would have been quite beyond his reach had he remained in European Russia.
Hofmann gives a less favorable account of the Siberian exiles. In his opinion, the prosperity and civilization of the country has no greater obstacle than the mass of criminals sent to swell its population. In the province of Tomsk, which seems to be richly stocked with culprits of the worst description, all the wagoners belong to this class. They endeavored to excite his compassion by hypocrisy. “It was the will of God!” is their standing phrase, to which they tried to give a greater emphasis by turning up the whites of their eyes. But, in spite of this pious resignation to the Divine will, Hofmann never met with a worse set of drunkards, liars, and thieves.
As to the free Siberian peasant, who is generally of exile extraction, all travellers are agreed in his praise. “As soon as one crosses the Ural,” says Wrangell, “one is surprised by the extreme friendliness and good-nature of the inhabitants, as much as by the rich vegetation, the well-cultivated fields, and the excellent state of the roads in the southern part of the government of Tobolsk. Our luggage could be left without a guard in the open air. ‘Ne-boss!’ ‘Fear not!’ was the answer when we expressed some apprehension; ‘there are no thieves among us.’ This may appear strange, but it must be remembered that the Tomsk wagoners, described above, are located far more to the east, and that every exiled criminal has his prescribed circuit, the bounds of which he may not pass without incurring the penalty of being sent to the mines.
According to Professor Hansteen, the Siberian peasants are the finest men of all Russia, with constitutions of iron. With a sheepskin over their shirt, and their thin linen trowsers, they bid defiance to a cold of 30° and more. They have nothing of the dirty avarice of the European Russian boor; they have as much land as they choose for cultivation, and the soil furnishes all they require for their nourishment and clothing. Their cleanliness is exemplary. Within the last thirty years the gold-diggings have somewhat spoilt this state of primitive simplicity, yet even Hofmann allows that the West-Siberian peasant has retained much of the honesty and hospitality for which he was justly celebrated.
Besides agriculture, mining, fishing, and hunting, the carriage of merchandise is one of the chief occupations of the Siberians, and probably, in proportion to the population, no other country employs so large a number of wagoners and carriers. The enormous masses of copper, lead, iron, and silver produced by the Altai and the Nertschinsk mountains, have to be conveyed from an immense distance to the Russian markets. The gold from the East-Siberian diggings is indeed easier to transport, but the provisions required by the thousands of workmen employed during the summer in working the auriferous sands, have to be brought to them, frequently from a distance of many hundred versts.
The millions of furs, from the squirrel to the bear, likewise require considerable means of transport; and, finally, the highly important caravan-trade with China conveys thousands of bales of tea from Kiachta to Irbit. Siberia has indeed many navigable rivers, but a glance at the map shows us at once that they are so situated as to afford far less facilities to commerce than would be the case in a more temperate climate. They all flow northward into an inhospitable sea, which is forever closed to navigation, and are themselves ice-bound during the greater part of the year. Enormous distances separate them from each other, and there are no navigable canals to unite them.
On some of the larger rivers steam-boats have indeed been introduced, and railroads are talked of; but there can be no doubt that, for many a year to come, the cart and the sledge will continue to be the chief means of transport in a country which, in consequence of its peculiar geographical position, is even in its more southern parts exposed to all the rigors of an Arctic winter.
Thus at Jakutsk (62° N. lat.), which is situated but six degrees farther to the north than Edinburgh (55° 58´), the mean temperature of the coldest month is -40°, and mercury a solid body during one-sixth part of the year; while at Irkutsk (52° 16´ N. lat.), situated but little farther to the north than Oxford (51° 46´), the thermometer frequently falls to -30°, or even -40°; temperatures which are of course quite unheard of on the banks of the Isis. For these dreadful winters in the heart of Siberia, and under comparatively low degrees of latitude, there are various causes. The land is, in the first place, an immense plain slanting to the north; moreover, it is situated at such a distance from the Atlantic, that beyond the Ural the western sea-winds, which bring warmth to our winters, assume the character of cold land-winds; and, finally, it merges in the south into the high Mongolian plateau, which, situated 4000 feet above the level of the sea, has of course but little warmth to impart to it in winter; so that, from whatever side the wind may blow at that season, it constantly conveys cold. But in summer the scene undergoes a total change. Under the influence of the sun circling for months round the North Pole, floods of warmth are poured into Central Siberia, and rapidly cause the thermometer to rise; no neighboring sea refreshes the air with a cooling breeze; whether the wind come from the heated Mongolian deserts, or sweep over the Siberian plains, it imbibes warmth on every side. Thus the terrible winter of Jakutsk is followed by an equally immoderate summer (58° 3´), so that rye and barley are able to ripen on a soil which a few feet below the surface is perpetually frozen.
The boundless woods of Siberia harbor a number of fur-bearing animals whose skins form one of the chief products of the country. Among these persecuted denizens of the forest, the sable (Martes zibellina), which closely resembles the pine-marten (Martes abietum) in shape and size, deserves to be particularly noticed, both for the beauty of its pelt, and its importance in the fur-trade. Sleeping by day, the sable hunts his prey by night; but though he chiefly relishes animal food, such as hares, young birds, mice, and eggs, he also feeds on berries, and the tasteful seeds of the Pinus cembra. His favorite abode is near the banks of some river, in holes of the earth, or beneath the roots of trees. Incessant persecution has gradually driven him into the most inaccessible forests; the days are no more when the Tunguse hunter willingly gave for a copper kettle as many sable skins as it would hold, or when the Kamchatkan trapper, could easily catch seventy or eighty sables in one winter; but Von Baer still estimates the annual produce of all Siberia at 45,000 skins. The finest are caught in the forests between the Lena and the Eastern Sea, but Kamchatka furnishes the greater number. A skin of the finest quality is worth about forty roubles on the spot, and at least twice as much in St. Petersburg or Moscow, particularly when the hair is long, close, and of a deep blackish-brown, with a thick brown underwool. Skins with long dark hair tipped with white are highly esteemed, but still more so those which are entirely black--a color to which the Russians give the preference, while the Chinese have no objection to reddish tints. In consequence of this difference of taste, the sables from the Obi, which are generally larger but of a lighter color, are sent to Kiachta, while the darker skins, from Eastern Siberia, are directed to St. Petersburg and Leipsic.
The chase of the sable is attended with many hardships and dangers. The skins are in the highest perfection at the commencement of the winter; accordingly, towards the end of October, the hunters assemble in small companies, and proceed along the rivers in boats, or travel in sledges to the place of rendezvous--taking with them provisions for three or four months. In the deep and solitary forest they erect their huts, made of branches of trees, and bank up the snow round them, as a further protection against the piercing wind. They now roam and seek everywhere for the traces of the sable, and lay traps or snares for his destruction. These are generally pitfalls, with loose boards placed over them, baited with fish or flesh; fire-arms or cross-bows are more rarely used, as they damage the skins. The traps must be frequently visited, and even then the hunter often finds that a fox has preceded him, and left but a few worthless remnants of the sable in the snare. Or sometimes a snow-storm overtakes him, and then his care must be to save his own life. Thus sable-hunting is a continual chain of disappointments and perils, and at the end of the season it is frequently found that the expenses are hardly paid. Until now the sable has been but rarely tamed. One kept in the palace of the Arch-bishop of Tobolsk was so perfectly domesticated, that it was allowed to stroll about the town as it liked. It was an arch-enemy of cats, raising itself furiously on its hind-legs as soon as it saw one, and showing the greatest desire to fight it.
In former times the ermine (Mustela erminea) ranked next to the sable as the most valuable fur-bearing animal of the Siberian woods; at present the skin is worth no more than from five to eight silver kopeks at Tobolsk, so that the whole produce of its chase hardly amounts to 200,000 roubles. This little animal resembles in its general appearance the weasel, but is considerably larger, as it attains a length of from twelve to fourteen inches. Its color, which is reddish-brown in summer, becomes milk-white during the winter in the northern regions, with the exception of the tip of the tail, which always remains black. Its habits likewise greatly resemble those of the weasel; it is equally alert in all its movements, and equally courageous in defending itself when attacked. It lives on birds, poultry, rats, rabbits, leverets, and all kinds of smaller animals, and will not hesitate to attack a prey of much greater size than itself. Although various species of ermine are distributed over the whole forest region of the north, yet Siberia produces the finest skins. The largest come from the Kolyma, or are brought to the fair of Ostrownoje by the Tchutchi, who obtain them from the coldest regions of America.
The Siberian weasel (Viverra siberica), which is much smaller than the ermine, is likewise hunted for its soft and perfectly snow-white winter dress--the tip of the tail not being black, as in the latter.
The sea-otter, or kalan (Enhydris lutris), the most valuable of all the Russian fur-bearing animals, as 110 silver roubles is the average price of a single skin, is nearly related to the weasel tribe. The enormous value set upon the glossy, jet-black, soft, and thick fur of the kalan sufficiently explains how the Russian hunters have followed his traces from Kamchatka to America, and almost entirely extirpated him on many of the coasts and islands of Bering’s Sea and the Northern Pacific, where he formerly abounded. His habits very much resemble those of the seal; he haunts sea-washed rocks, lives mostly in the water, and loves to bask in the sun. His hind feet have a membrane skirting the outside of the exterior toe, like that of a goose, and the elongated form of his flexible body enables him to swim with the greatest celerity. The love of the sea-otters for their young is so great that they reckon their own lives as nothing to protect them from danger; and Steller, who had more opportunities than any other naturalist for observing their habits, affirms that, when deprived of their offspring, their grief is so strong that in less than a fortnight they waste away to skeletons. On their flight they carry their young in their mouths, or drive them along before them. If they succeed in reaching the sea, they begin to mock their baffled pursuer, and express their joy by a variety of antics. Sometimes they raise themselves upright in the water, rising and falling with the waves, or holding a fore paw over their eyes, as if to look sharply at him; or they throw themselves on their back, rubbing their breast with their fore paws; or cast their young into the water, and catch them again, like a mother playing with her infant. The sea-otter not only surpasses the fish-otter by the beauty of his fur, but also in size, as he attains a length of from three to four feet, exclusive of the tail. His food consists of small fishes, molluscs, and crustaceous animals, whose hard calcareous covering his broad grinders are well adapted to crush.
Next to the sea-otter, the black fox, whose skin is of a rich and shining black or deep brown color, with the longer or exterior hairs of a silvery-white, furnishes the most costly of all the Siberian furs. The average price of a single skin amounts to 60 or 70 silver roubles, and rich amateurs will willingly pay 300 roubles, or even more, for those of first-rate quality. The skin of the Siberian red fox, which ranks next in value, is worth no more than 20 roubles; the steel-gray winter dress of the Siberian crossed fox (thus named from the black cross on his shoulders), from 10 to 12 roubles; and that of the Arctic fox, though very warm and close, no more than 6 or 8.
The bear family likewise furnishes many skins to the Siberian furrier. That of the young brown bear (Ursus arctos) is highly esteemed for the trimming of pelisses; but that of the older animal has little value, and is used, like that of the polar bear, as a rug or a foot-cloth in sledges.
The lynx is highly prized for its very thick, soft, rust-colored winter dress, striped with darker brown. It attains the size of the wolf, and is distinguished from all other members of the cat tribe, by the pencils of long black hair which tip its erect and pointed ears. It loves to lie in ambush for the passing reindeer or elk, on some thick branch at a considerable distance from the ground. With one prodigious bound it leaps upon the back of its victim, strikes its talons into its flesh, and opens with its sharp teeth the arteries of its neck.
Though singly of but little value, as a thousand of its skins are worth no more than one sea-otter, the squirrel plays in reality a far more important part in the Siberian fur-trade than any of the before-mentioned animals, as the total value of the gray peltry which it furnishes to trade is at least seven times greater than that of the sable. Four millions of gray squirrel skins are, on an average, annually exported to China, from two to three millions to Europe, and the home consumption of the Russian Empire is beyond all doubt still more considerable, as it is the fur most commonly used by the middle classes. The European squirrels are of inferior value, as the hair of their winter dress is still a mixture of red and gray; in the territory of the Petschora, the gray first becomes predominant, and increases in beauty on advancing towards the east. The squirrels are caught in snares or traps, or shot with blunted arrows. Among the fur-bearing animals of Siberia, we have further to notice the varying hare, whose winter dress is entirely white, except the tips of the ears, which are black; the Baikal hare; the ground-squirrel, whose fur has fine longitudinal dark-brown stripes, alternating with four light-yellow ones; and the suslik, a species of marmot, whose brown fur, with white spots and stripes, fetches a high price in China. It occurs over all Siberia as far as Kamchatka. Its burrows are frequently nine feet deep; this, however, does not prevent its being dug out by the hunters, who likewise entrap it in spring when it awakes from its winter sleep.
Summing together the total amount of the Russian fur-trade, Von Baer estimates the value of the skins annually brought to the market by the Russian American Fur Company at half a million of silver roubles, the produce of European Russia at a million and a half, and that of Siberia at three millions. As agriculture decreases on advancing to the north, the chase of the fur-bearing animals increases in importance. Thus, in the most northern governments of European Russia--Wjatka, Wologda, Olonez, and Archangel--it is one of the chief occupations of the inhabitants. In Olonez about four hundred bears are killed every year, and the immense forests of Wologda furnish from one hundred to two hundred black foxes, three hundred bears, and three millions of squirrels.
Although the sable and the sea-otter are not so numerous as in former times, yet, upon the whole, the Russian fur-trade is in a very flourishing condition; nor is there any fear of its decreasing, as the less valuable skins--such as those of the squirrels and hares, which from their numbers weigh most heavily in the balance of trade--are furnished by rodents, which multiply very rapidly, and find an inexhaustible supply of food in the forests and pasture-grounds of Siberia.
The chase of the fur-bearing animals affords the North-Siberian nomads--such as the Ostiaks, Jakuts, Tungusi, and Samoïedes--the only means of procuring the foreign articles they require; hence it taxes all their ingenuity, and takes up a great deal of their time. On the river-banks and in the forests they lay innumerable snares and traps, all so nicely adapted to the size, strength, and peculiar habits of the various creatures they are intended to capture, that it would be almost impossible to improve them. An industrious Jakut will lay about five hundred various traps as soon as the first snow has fallen; these he visits about five or six times in the course of the winter, and generally finds some animal or other in every eighth or tenth snare.
The produce of his chase he brings to the nearest fair, where the tax-gatherer is waiting for the jassak, which is now generally paid in money (five paper roubles = four shillings). With the remainder of his gains he purchases iron kettles, red cloth for hemming his garments, powder and shot, rye-meal, glass pearls, tobacco, and brandy--which, though forbidden to be sold publicly, is richly supplied to him in private--and then retires to his native wilds. From the smaller fairs, the furs are sent by the Russian merchants to the larger staple places, such as Jakutsk, Nertschinsk, Tobolsk, Kiachta, Irbit, Nishne-Novgorod, and finally St. Petersburg and Moscow; for by repeatedly sorting and matching the size and color of the skins, their value is increased.
About thirty years ago firs were still the chief export article of Siberia--to China, European Russia, and Western Europe--but since then the discovery of its rich auriferous deposits has made gold its most important produce. The precious metal is found on the western slopes of the Ural chain and in West Siberia; but the most productive diggings are situated in East Siberia, where they give occupation to many thousands of workmen, and riches to a few successful speculators.
The vast territory drained by the Upper Jenissei and its tributaries, the Superior and the Middle Tunguska, consists for the greater part of a dismal and swampy primeval forest, which scarcely thirty years since was almost totally unknown. A few wretched nomads and fur-hunters were the only inhabitants of the Taiga--as those sylvan deserts are called--and squirrel skins seemed all they were ever likely to produce. A journey through the Taiga is said to be one of the most fatiguing and tedious tours which it is possible to make. Up-hill and down-hill, a narrow path leads over a swampy ground, into which the horses sink up to their knees. The rider is scarcely less harassed than the patient animal which carries him over this unstable soil. No bird enlivens the solitary forest with its song; the moaning of the wind in the crowns of the trees alone interrupts the gloomy silence. The eternal sameness of the scene--day after day one constant succession of everlasting larches and fir-trees--is as wearying to the mind as the almost impassable road to the body.
But suddenly the sound of the axe or the creaking of the water-wheel is heard; the forest opens, a long row of huts extends along the banks of a rivulet, and hundreds of workmen are seen moving about as industrious as a hive of bees. What is the cause of all this activity--of this sudden change from a death-like quiet to a feverish life? These are the gold-fields; the sands of these swampy grounds are mixed, like those of the Pactolus, with gold, and their fortunate possessors would not exchange them for the finest meadows, cornfields, or vineyards.
Fedor Popow, a hunter of the province of Tomsk, is said to have been the first discoverer of gold in Siberia; and Government having granted permission to private persons to search for the precious metal, a few enterprising men directed their attention to the wild spurs of the Sajan Mountains. A brilliant success rewarded their endeavors. In the year 1836 an exploring-party, sent out by a merchant named Jakin Resanow, discovered a rich deposit of auriferous sand near the banks of the Great Birussa; and in 1839–40, similar deposits were found along several of the tributaries of the Upper Tunguska, and still farther to the north, on the Oktolyk, a rivulet that flows into the Pit.
The expenses of a searching-party amount, on an average, to 3000 silver roubles (£600); and as very often no gold whatever is found, these hazardous explorations not seldom put both the purse and the perseverance of their undertakers to a severe trial. Thus Nikita Maesnikow had spent no less than 260,000 silver roubles (£52,000) in fruitless researches, when he at length discovered the rich gold-field on the Peskin, which, as we shall presently see, amply remunerated him for his previous losses.
Of the difficulties which await the gold-searchers, a faint idea may be formed, on considering that the whole of the auriferous region, which far surpasses in size most of the European kingdoms, consists of one vast forest like that above described. Patches of grass-land on which horses can feed are of very rare occurrence, and damp moss is the only bed the Taiga affords. As the gold-searchers are very often at work some hundreds of versts from the nearest village, they are obliged to carry all their provisions along with them. Their clothes are almost constantly wet, from their sleeping in the damp forest, from the frequent rains to which they are exposed, and from their toiling in the swampy ground. Scarcely have they dug a few feet deep when the pit fills with water, which they are obliged to pump out as fast as it gathers, and thus standing up to their knees in the mud, they work on until they reach the solid rock, for then only can they be certain that no auriferous layer has been neglected in their search. When we consider, moreover, that all this labor is very often totally useless, their perseverance can not but be admired; nor is it to be wondered at that exploring-parties have sometimes encamped on the site of rich gold-deposits without examining the spot, their patience having been exhausted by repeated failures in the vicinity. When the winter, with its deep snowfalls, suddenly breaks in upon the searchers, their hardships become dreadful. The frost and want of food kill their horses, their utensils have to be left behind; and dragging their most indispensable provisions along with them on small sledges, they are not seldom obliged to wade for weeks through the deep snow before they reach some inhabited place.
But even the severity of a Siberian winter does not prevent the sending out of exploring-parties. Such winter explorations are only fitted out for the more accurate examination of very swampy auriferous grounds that have been discovered in the previous year, and where it is less difficult to work in the frozen soil than to contend with the water in summer. A winter-party travels without horses, the workmen themselves transporting all that they require on light sledges. They are obliged to break up the obdurate soil with pickaxes, and the sand thus loosened has to be thawed and washed in warm water. After their day’s work, they spend the night in huts made of the branches of trees, where they sleep on the hard ground. It requires the iron constitution of a Siberian to bear such hardships, to which many fall a prey, in spite of their vigorous health.
A gold-deposit having been found, the fortunate discoverer obtains the grant of a lot of ground, 100 sashens (600 feet) broad, and 2500 sashens (or 5 versts) long. Two adjoining lots are never granted to the same person, but a subsequent purchase or amalgamation is permitted. At first Government was satisfied with a moderate tax of 15 per cent. of the produce; subsequently, however, this was doubled, until within the last few years, when, the gold production having been found to decrease, the primitive impost was returned to, or even reduced to 5 per cent. for the less productive mines. Besides this tax, from four to eight gold roubles per pound of gold, according to the richness of the diggings, have to be paid for police expenses. Only a twelve years’ lease is granted, after which the digging reverts to the crown, and a new lease has to be purchased. As the severe climate of the Taiga limits the working-time to four months (from May to September), the period of the concession is thus in reality not more than four years.
The first care of the lessee is, of course, to collect the necessary provisions and working apparatus. The distant steppe of the Kirghese furnishes him with dried or salted meat; his iron utensils he purchases in the factories of the Ural; the fairs of Irbit and Nishne-Novgorod supply him with every other article; and rye-meal and fishes he easily obtains from the Siberian peasants or traders. By water and by land, all these various stores have to be transported in summer to the residence or establishment of the gold-digger on the border of the Taiga. The transport through the Taiga itself takes place during the winter, on sledges, at a very great cost; and the expense is still more increased if time has been lost through inattention, as then all that may still be wanting has to be conveyed to the spot on the backs of horses.
Most of the men that are hired for working in the diggings are exiles--the remainder generally free peasants, who have been reduced in their circumstances by misfortunes or misconduct. The procuring of the necessary workmen is an affair of no small trouble and expense. Before every summer campaign the agents of the gold-diggers travel about the country like recruiting-sergeants, and after giving many fair words and some hand-money, they take the passport of the man engaged as a security for his appearance. But although a passport is an indispensable document in Siberia, yet it not seldom happens that the workman finds means to obtain a new one under some other name, and, engaging himself to a new master, defrauds the first of his hand-money.
It may be easily imagined that, as the workmen only consist of the refuse of society, the greatest discipline is necessary to keep them in order. The system of a secret police, so cherished by all arbitrary governments, is here extended to its utmost limits; scarcely has a suspicious word fallen among the workmen, when the director is immediately informed of it, and takes his measures accordingly. Every man knows that he is watched, and is himself a spy upon his companions.
Hofmann relates an instance of a plot singularly nipped in the bud. In one of the gold-diggings on the Noiba, the workmen, at the instigation of an under-overseer, had refused to perform a task assigned to them. It was to be feared that the spirit of insubordination would gain ground, and extend over all the neighboring diggings. The director, consequently, sent at once for military assistance; this, however, proved to be unnecessary, for when the Cossacks arrived at the Noiba, a thunder-storm arose, and at the very moment they came riding up to the digging a flash of lightning killed the ringleader in the midst of the mutineers. As soon as the men recovered from the first shock of their surprise and terror, they all exclaimed, “This is the judgment of God!” and, without any further hesitation, at once returned to their duty.
Besides free rations, the ordinary wages of a common workman are 15 roubles banco, or 12 shillings a month, but more experienced hands receive 50 or even 60 roubles. The pay dates from the day when the workman makes his appearance at the residence, and thenceforward, also, his rations are served out to him. They consist of a pound of fresh or salt meat, or an equivalent portion of fish on fasting-days, cabbage and groats for soup, besides fresh rye-bread and quas (the favorite national beverage) ad libitum. The whole number of workmen employed in a gold-digging subdivide themselves into separate societies, or artells. Each of these elects a chief, or head-man, to whom the provisions for his artell are weighed out, and to whom all the other common interests are intrusted. The sale of spirituous liquor is strictly forbidden, for its use would render it impossible to maintain order; and, according to law, no gin-shop is allowed to be opened within 60 versts of a digging.
The pay and the liberal rations received would alone be insufficient to allure workmen to the diggings, for, as we have seen, the voyage there and back is extremely irksome, and the labor very fatiguing. An excellent plan has consequently been devised for their encouragement. The contract of each workman distinctly specifies the quantity of his daily work, consisting of a certain number of wheelbarrows of sand--from 100 to 120, according to the distance from the spot where it is dug to the place where it is washed out--each reckoned at three pouds,[11] which one party has to fill, another to convey to the wash-stands, and a third to wash.
The task is generally completed by noon, or early in the afternoon. For the labor they perform during the rest of the day, or on Sundays and holidays, they receive an extra pay of two or three roubles for every solotnik of gold they wash. Every evening the workmen come with the produce of their free labor to the office, the gold is weighed in their presence, and the artell credited for the amount of its share. This free-work is as advantageous for the masters as the laborers. The former enjoy a net profit of eight or ten roubles per solotnik, and all the working expenses are of course put to the charge of the contract labor; and the latter earn a great deal of money, according to their industry or good-luck, for when fortune favors an artell, its share may amount to a considerable sum. During Hofmann’s stay at the Birussa, each workman of a certain artell earned in one afternoon 72 roubles, and the Sunday’s work of another of these associations gave to each of its members 105 roubles, or £4. The artisans--who, though employed in a gold-mine, are not engaged in digging or washing the auriferous sand--are also rewarded from time to time by a day’s free-labor in places which are known to be rich. On one of these occasions a Cossack on the Oktolyk received 300 roubles for his share of the gold that was washed out of 49 wheelbarrows of sand. These of course are extraordinary cases, but they show how much a workman may gain; and being of course exaggerated by report, are the chief inducements which attract the workmen, and keep them to their duty.
If the free-labor is unproductive, many of the workmen desert or give up free-labor altogether, and in both cases the master is a loser. To prevent this, it is customary, in many of the diggings, to pay the workmen a fixed sum for their extra work.
At the end of the season the workmen are paid off, and receive provisions for their home-journey. Generally, the produce of their summer’s labor is spent, in the first villages they reach, in drinking and gambling; so that, to be able to return to their families, they are obliged to bind themselves anew for the next season, and to receive hand-money from the agent, who, knowing their weakness, is generally on the spot to take advantage of it. After spending a long winter full of want and privations, they return to the Taiga in spring, and thus, through their own folly, their life is spent in constant misery and hard labor.
During the winter the digging is deserted, except by an under-overseer and a few workmen, who make the necessary preparations for the next campaign, receive and warehouse the provisions as they arrive, and guard the property against thieves or wanton destruction. The upper-overseer or director, meanwhile, is fully occupied at the residence in forwarding the provisions and stores that have arrived there during the summer to the mine, in making the necessary purchases for the next year, in sending his agents about the country to engage new workmen; and thus the winter is, in fact, his busiest time. With the last sledge transport he returns to the digging, to receive the workmen as they arrive, and to see that all is ready for the summer. As his situation is one of great trust and responsibility, he enjoys a considerable salary. Maesnikow, for instance, paid his chief director 40,000 roubles a year; and 6000 or 8000 roubles, besides free station, and a percentage of the gold produced, is the ordinary emolument.
It is thus evident that the expenses of a Siberian gold-mine are enormous, but when fortune favors the undertaker he is amply rewarded for his outlay; an annual produce of 10, 15, or 20 pouds of gold is by no means uncommon. In the year 1845, 458 workmen employed in the gold-mine of Mariinsk, belonging to Messrs. Golubdow and Kusnezow, produced 81 pouds 19⅓ lbs. of the much-coveted metal; in the year 1843 the mine of Olginsk, belonging to Lieutenant Malewinsky, yielded 82 pouds 37¼ lbs.; and in 1844, the labor of 1014 workmen, employed in the mine of Kresdowosdwishensk, belonging to Messrs. Kusnezow and Schtschegolow, produced no less than 87 pouds 14 lbs. of gold. But even Kresdowosdwishensk has been distanced by the mine of Spasky, situated near the sources of the Peskin, which, in the year 1842, yielded its fortunate possessor, the above-mentioned Counsellor Nikita Maesnikow (one of the few men who were already extremely rich before the Siberian auriferous deposits were discovered), the enormous quantity of 100 pouds of gold! From 1840 to 1845, Maesnikow extracted from this mine no less than 348 pouds 6 lbs. of gold, worth 4,135,174 silver roubles, or about £640,000. Still more recently, in 1860, the Gawrilow mine, belonging to the house of Rjasanow, produced 102½ pouds of pure gold.
But in Siberia, as elsewhere, mining operations are frequently doomed to end in disappointment, particularly if the space destined to be worked in the following summer has not been carefully examined beforehand, as the ore is often very unequally distributed. A speculator, having discovered a gold-mine, examined four or five samples of the sand, which gave a highly satisfactory result. Delighted with his good-fortune, he made his arrangements on a grand scale, and collected provisions for 500 workmen; but when operations began, it was found that he had, unfortunately, hit upon a small patch of auriferous sand, the vicinity of which was totally void of gold, so that his 500 workmen produced no more than a few pounds of ore, and he lost at least £10,000 by his adventure.
The entire gold produce of East Siberia amounted, in 1845, to 848 pouds 36 lbs., and in 1856 to about 1100 pouds; but latterly, in consequence of the increasing wages and dearness of provisions, which has caused many of the less productive mines to be abandoned, it has somewhat diminished. In 1860, 31,796 men, 919 women, and 8751 horses and oxen, were employed in the Siberian gold-mines.
As may easily be imagined, the discovery of these sources of wealth in the desert has caused a great revolution in the social state of Siberia. The riches so suddenly acquired by a few favorites of fortune, have raised luxury to an unexampled height, and encouraged a senseless prodigality. Some sterlets[12] having been offered for 300 roubles to a miner suddenly raised from penury to wealth, “Fool!” said the upstart, with the superb mien of a conquering hero, to the fish-dealer, “wilt thou sell me these excellent sterlets so cheap? Here are a thousand roubles; go, and say that thou hast dealt with me!”
The small town of Krasnojarsk, romantically situated on the Jenissei, is the chief seat of the rich miners. Here may be seen the choicest toilettes, the most showy equipages, and champagne (which in Siberia costs at least £1 a bottle) is the daily beverage of the gold aristocracy. Unfortunately, Krasnojarsk had, until very recently, not a single bookseller’s shop to boast of; and while thousands were lavished on vanity and sensual enjoyments, not a rouble was devoted to the improvement of the mind.
Less rich in gold than the province of Jeniseisk, but richer in copper and iron, and above all in platina, is the Ural, where mining industry was first introduced by Peter the Great, in the last years of the seventeenth century, and has since acquired a colossal development. Though gold was discovered in the Uralian province of Permia as early as 1745, yet its production on a large scale is of more modern date. In the year 1816 the whole quantity of gold furnished by the Ural amounted only to 5 pouds 35 lbs., while in 1834 it had increased to 405 pouds.
The discovery of the precious metals on the estates of the large mine-proprietors of the Ural, who already before that time were among the wealthiest men of the empire, has increased their riches to an enormous extent, and given a European celebrity to the names of Jakowlew and Demidoff. Werch Issetsk and Werchne Tagilsk, in the province of Permia, belonging to the Jakowlew family, have an extent of more than three millions of acres, with a population of 11,000 souls. Besides iron and copper, their chief produce, these estates yielded, in 1834, 58 pouds of gold.
Nishne-Tagilsk, belonging, since 1725, to the Demidoffs, is a still more magnificent possession; for it may truly be said, that perhaps nowhere in the world are greater mineral riches congregated in one spot than here, where, besides vast quantities of iron and copper, the washing of the sands produced, in 1834 no less than 29 pouds of gold, and 113 pouds 3 lbs. of platina. The estate extends over four millions of acres, and its population, in 1834, amounted to 20,000 souls.
The town of Nishne-Tagilsk has about 15,000 inhabitants, and Helmersen (“Travels in the Ural”) praises the Demidoffs for their zeal in carrying the civilization of Europe to the wilds of the Ural. In an excellent elementary school, 150 boys are clothed, fed, and educated at their expense. Those pupils who distinguish themselves by their abilities are then sent to a higher school, such as the Demidoff Lyceum in Jaroslaw, or the University of Moscow, and after the termination of their studies obtain a situation on the estates of the family. The palace of the Demidoffs has a fine collection of paintings by the first Italian masters; but it is seldom if ever inhabited by the proprietors, who prefer Florence and Paris to the Ural. The founder of the family was an eminent gunsmith of the town of Tula, whose abilities gained him the favor of Peter the Great, and the gift of the mines on which the colossal fortune of his descendants has been raised.
XVIII. MIDDENDORFF’S ADVENTURES IN TAIMURLAND
For what Purpose was Middendorff’s Voyage to Taimurland undertaken?-- Difficulties and Obstacles.--Expedition down the Taimur River to the Polar Sea.--Storm on Taimur Lake.--Loss of the Boat.-- Middendorff ill and alone in 75° N. Lat.--Saved by a grateful Samoïede.--Climate and Vegetation of Taimurland.
On following the contours of the Siberian coast, we find to the east of Nova Zembla a vast tract of territory projecting towards the Pole, and extending its promontories far into the icy sea. This country-- which, from its principal river, may be called Taimurland--is the most northern, and, I need hardly add, the most inhospitable part of the Old World. The last huts of the Russian fishermen are situated about the mouth of the Jenissei, but the whole territory of the Taimur River, and the regions traversed by the lower course of the Chatanga and the Päsina, are completely uninhabited.
Even along the upper course of these two last-named rivers, the population is exceedingly scanty and scattered; and the few Samoïedes who migrate during the summer to the banks of the Taimur, gladly leave them at the approach of winter, the cold of which no thermometer has ever measured. As may easily be imagined, Taimurland has but few attractions for the trader or the fur-hunter, but for the naturalist it is by no means without interest.
We have seen in a former chapter how Von Baer, prompted by the disinterested love of science, travelled to Nova Zembla to examine the productions of a cold insular summer beyond the 70th degree of latitude. The instructive results of his journey rendered it doubly desirable to obtain information about the effects of summer in a continental climate, situated if possible still farther to the north; and as no region could be better suited to this purpose than the interior of the broad mass of Taimurland, the Academy of Sciences of St. Petersburg resolved to send thither a scientific expedition. Fortunately for the success of the undertaking, Von Middendorff, the eminent naturalist, whose offer of service was gladly accepted, was in every respect the right man in the right place; for to the most untiring scientific zeal, and an unwavering determination, he joined a physical strength and a manual dexterity rarely found united with learning. In the Lapland moors he had learned to bivouac for nights together, while chasing the waterfowl, and on foot he was able to tire the best-trained walrus-hunter. He understood how to construct a boat, and to steer it with his own hand, and every beast or bird was doomed that came within reach of his unerring ball. In one word, no traveller ever plunged into the Arctic wilds more independent of baggage, followers, or the means of transport.
On April 4 we find Middendorff, accompanied by Mr. Brandt, a Danish forester, and a single servant, on the ice of the Jenissei between Turuchansk and Dudino. Here his companions were attacked by measles; but as it was high time to reach the Chatanga before the melting of the snow, the patients were carefully packed up in boxes lined with skins, and the whole party--whose numbers, meanwhile, had been increased by the addition of a topographer and of three Cossacks-- emerged from the region of forests on April 13, having to face a cold of -36°, and a storm that almost overturned their sledges. With Tunguse guides they traversed the tundra in a north-easterly direction as far as the Päsina, and thence passing on from one Samoïede horde to another, at length reached Koronnoie Filippowskoi (71° 5´ lat.) on the Boganida, an affluent of the Cheta, which is itself a tributary of the Chatanga. Here a halt was made, partly because all the party except Middendorff were by this time attacked with the reigning epidemic, and partly to wait for the Samoïedes, whom they intended to join on their summer migration to the north. During this interval Middendorff made an excursion to the Chatanga, for the purpose of gathering information about the voyage down that river, and to make the necessary preparations. In the village of Chatangsk, however, he found nearly all the inhabitants suffering from the measles; and as no assistance was to be expected from them, he resolved to alter his route, and to proceed as soon as possible to the River Taimur, which would in all probability afford him the best means for penetrating to the extreme confines of continental Asia. As this most northerly river of the Old World lies far beyond the boundaries of arboreal growth, a boat-frame of twelve feet on the keel had to be made at Koronnoie before setting out. Brandt was left behind with part of the company, to make a prolonged series of meteorological observations, and to gather as complete a collection as possible of the animals and plants of the country, while Middendorff started on his adventurous tour (May 19) with sixty-eight reindeer, under the guidance of a few Samoïedes on their progress to the north, and accompanied only by the topographer, an interpreter, and two Cossacks. The difficulties of this journey, since a boat-frame, fuel, provisions, physical instruments, apparatuses for the preservation of objects of natural history, forming altogether a load for many sledges, had to be transported along with the travellers, would have been great at all times, but were now considerably increased by the epidemic having also seized the tribe of Samoïedes which Middendorff expected to find near the small River Nowaia, and which was to guide him farther on to the Taimur. At length, after a search of three days, he found the remnant of the horde, which had been decimated and reduced to a deplorable condition by the epidemic. In vain he sought for the well-known faces of the chief personages of the horde, with whom he had negotiated on the Boganida--“they were all dead.” Of thirty-five persons, one only was completely healthy; a second could hardly crawl about; but the others lay prostrate in their tents, coughing and groaning under their skin coverings. Leaving seven corpses on the road, they had advanced by slow journeys to join Middendorff, until they broke down, so that instead of receiving aid at their hands, he was now obliged to help them in their distress--an assistance which they amply repaid, as we shall see in the sequel.
Unfortunately the illness had prevented the Samoïede women from sewing together, as they had promised, the skins that were necessary to complete the covering of the travellers’ tent, so that they had much to suffer during a violent snow-storm, which raged from May 27 to 30. Thus after another long delay and an irreparable loss of time, considering the extreme shortness of the summer, Middendorff was not able to start from the Nowaia before May 31. The softening of the snow rendered the advance of the sledges extremely difficult, so that it was not before June 14 that he reached the Taimur at a considerable distance above the point where the river discharges its waters into the lake. Encamping on a steep declivity of its bank, Middendorff now set about building his boat. On June 30 the ice on the river began to break up, and on July 5 the navigation of the stream was free. By the light of the midnight sun the boat was launched, and christened “The Tundra,” to commemorate the difficulties of its construction in the deserts of 74° N. lat. Constant north winds retarded the voyage down the river and over the lake, beyond which the Taimur, traversing a hilly country, is inclosed within steep and picturesque rocks. The increasing rapidity of the stream now favored the travellers, and the storms were less troublesome between the mighty rock-walls; but unfortunately Middendorff, instead of being able, as he had expected, to fill his nets with fish as he advanced, and to establish dépôts for his return journey, found himself obliged to consume the provisions he had taken with him in the boat. On August 6 the first night-frost took place, and from that time was regularly repeated. Yet in spite of these warnings, Middendorff continued his journey down the river, and reached the sea on August 24, in 76° N. lat. But now it was high time to return.
“The fear of leaving my undertaking half unfinished,” says Middendorff, “had hitherto encouraged me to persevere. The great distance from any human habitation, the rapid stream, against which we had now to contend, and the advanced season, with its approaching dark nights and frosts, made our return an imperative necessity, and I could have but little reliance on our remaining strength. The insufficient food and the fatigues of our journey, often prolonged to extreme exhaustion, had reduced our vigor, and we all began to feel the effects of our frequent wading through cold water, when, as often happened, our boat had grounded upon a shallow, or when the flat mud-banks of the river gave us no other alternative for reaching the dry land. It was now also the second month since we had not slept under a tent, having all the time passed the nights behind a screen erected on the oars of the boat, as a shelter against the wind. Provided with a good load of drift-wood, collected on the shore of the Polar Ocean, we began our return voyage on August 26. The borders of the river were already incrusted with ice. Wading became extremely irksome, the river having meanwhile fallen above six feet, and the shallows frequently forcing us to step into the water and pull the boat along.
“Fortunately the wind remained favorable, and thus by rowing to the utmost of our strength, and with the assistance of the broad sails of our ‘Tundra,’ we surmounted two rapids which, encased between abrupt rocks, seemed to defy our utmost efforts.
“On the 31st, a malicious gust of wind, bursting out of a narrow gorge, threw our boat against the rocks and broke the rudder. The frost and wet, together with the shortness of our provisions, tried us sorely. Not a day passed without sleet and snow.
“On September 5, while endeavoring to double during a violent storm a rocky island at the northern extremity of Lake Taimur, one wave after another dashed into the boat, which I could only save by letting her run upon a sand-bank. The violent wind, with a temperature of only +27° at noon, covered our clothes with solid ice-crusts. We were obliged to halt four days till the storm ceased; our nets and my double-barrelled gun proved daily more and more unsuccessful, so that hunger combined with cold to render our situation almost intolerable. On the 8th, while on the lookout for ptarmigan, I saw through my telescope a long stripe of silver stretching over the lake, and, returning to my comrades, informed them that we must absolutely set off again the next morning, regardless of wind and weather.
“On the following day the ominous indications of the telescope rendered it necessary to approach the more open west side of the lake; which I followed until stopped by the ice, along whose borders I then sailed in order to reach the river, which must still be open. Meanwhile the wind had completely fallen, and, to our astonishment, we saw the water in our wake cover itself with a thin crust of ice as soon as we passed. The danger of freezing fast in the middle of the lake was evident.”
Unfortunately, while endeavoring to reach the river, the boat was crushed between two ice floes, and was with great difficulty dragged on shore. The only chance of rescue now was to meet with some Samoïedes on the upper course of the river, for these nomads never wander northward beyond the southern extremity of the lake, and from this our travellers were still at a great distance.
“We made a large hand-sledge,” continues Middendorff, “and set off without loss of time on the 10th, in spite of the rainy weather, which had completely dissolved the sparing snow upon the hills. The sharp stones cut into our sledge-runners like knives, and after having scarcely made three versts, the vehicle fell to pieces. The bad weather forced us to stop for the night. The fatigues of our boat-journey, the want of proper food, and mental anxiety, had for several weeks been undermining my health: a total want of sleep destroyed the remainder of my strength, so that, early on the 11th, I felt myself quite unable to proceed.”
In this extremity Middendorff adopted with heroic self-denial the best and only means for his own preservation and that of his comrades. If, by departing without loss of time, they were fortunate enough to reach the Samoïedes before these nomads had left the Taimur country for the south, he also might be rescued; if they found them very late, they at least might expect to save their lives; if the Samoïedes could not be found, then of course the whole party was doomed. Thus Middendorff resolved to separate at once from his comrades. A remnant of flesh extract, reserved for extreme cases, was divided into five equal portions; the naturalist’s dog, the faithful companion of all his previous journeys, was killed, though reduced to a mere skeleton, and his scanty flesh similarly distributed among the party. The blood and a soup made of the bones served for the parting repast. Thus of his own free-will, the winter having already set in, Middendorff, ill and exhausted, remained quite alone in the icy desert, behind a sheltering rock, in 75° N. lat., several hundred versts from all human dwellings, almost without fuel, and with a miserable supply of food. The three first days he was still able to move. He saw the lake cover itself completely with ice, and the last birds depart for the south. Then his strength utterly failed him, and for the next three days he was unable to stir. When he was again able to move, he felt an excessive thirst. He crawled to the lake, broke the ice, and the water refreshed him. But he was not yet free from disease, and this was fortunate, as want of appetite did not make him feel the necessity of food. Now followed a succession of terrible snow-storms, which completely imprisoned the solitary traveller, but at the same time afforded him a better shelter against the wind.
“My companions,” he writes in a letter to a relation, “had now left me twelve days; human assistance could no longer be expected; I was convinced that I had only myself to rely upon, that I was doomed, and as good as numbered with, the dead. And yet my courage did not forsake me. Like our squirrels, I turned myself according to the changes of the wind. During the long sleepless nights fancy opened her domains, and I forgot even hunger and thirst. Then Boreas broke roaring out of the gullies as if he intended to sweep me away into the skies, and in a short time I was covered with a comfortable snow-mantle. Thus I lay three days, thinking of wretches who had been immured alive, and grown mad in their dreadful prison. An overwhelming fear of insanity befell me--it oppressed my heart--it became insupportable. In vain I attempted to cast it off--my weakened brain could grasp no other idea. And now suddenly--like a ray of light from heaven--the saving thought flashed upon me.
“My last pieces of wood were quickly lighted--some water was thawed and warmed--I poured into it the spirits from a flask containing a specimen of natural history, and drank. A new life seemed to awaken in me; my thoughts returned again to my family, to the happy days I had spent with the friends of my youth. Soon I fell into a profound sleep--how long it lasted I know not--but on awakening I felt like another man, and my breast was filled with gratitude. Appetite returned with recovery, and I was reduced to eat leather and birch-bark, when a ptarmigan fortunately came within reach of my gun. Having thus obtained some food for the journey, I resolved, although still very feeble, to set out and seek the provisions we had buried. Packing some articles of dress, my gun and ammunition, my journal, etc., on my small hand-sledge, I proceeded slowly, and frequently resting. At noon I saw, on a well-known declivity of the hills, three black spots which I had not previously noticed, and as they changed their position, I at once altered my route to join them. We approached each other--and, judge of my delight, it was Trischun, the Samoïede chieftain, whom I had previously assisted in the prevailing epidemic, and who now, guided by one of my companions, had set out with three sledges to seek me. Eager to serve his benefactor, the grateful savage had made his reindeer wander without food over a space of 150 versts where no moss grew.
“I now heard that my companions had fortunately reached the Samoïedes four days after our separation; but the dreadful snow-storms had prevented the nomads from coming sooner to my assistance, and had even forced them twice to retrace their steps.
“On September 30 the Samoïedes brought me to my tent, and on October 9 we bade the Taimur an eternal farewell. After five months we hailed with delight, on October 20, the verge of the forest, and on the following day we reached the smoky hut on the Boganida, where we had left our friends.”
Having thus accompanied Middendorff on his adventurous wanderings through Taimuria, I will now give a brief account of his observations on the climate and natural productions of this northern land.
The remark of Saussure that the difference of temperature between light and shade is greatest in summer, and in the high latitudes, was fully confirmed by Middendorff. While the thermometer marked -37° in the shade, the hillsides exposed to the sun were dripping with wet, and towards the end of June, though the mean temperature of the air was still below the freezing-point of water, the snow had already entirely disappeared on the sunny side of the Taimur River. Torrents came brawling down the hills; the swollen rivers rose forty or sixty feet above their winter level, and carried their icy covering along with them to the sea.
On August 3, in the very middle of the short Taimurian summer, in 74° 15´ of latitude, Middendorff hunted butterflies under the shelter of a hill, bare-footed and in light under-clothes. The thermometer rose in the sun to +68°, and close to the ground to +86°, while at a short distance on a spot exposed to the north-eastern air-current it fell at once to +27°.
The moisture of the air was very remarkable. In May thick snow-fogs almost perpetually obscured the atmosphere, so that it was impossible to ascertain the position of the sun. It appeared only in the evening, or about midnight, and then regularly a perpendicular column of luminous whiteness descended from its orb to the earth, and, widening as it approached the horizon, took the form and the appearance of a colossal lamp-flame, such as the latter appears when seen through the mists of a vapor bath. From the same cause parhelia and halos were very frequent.
During the daytime the snow-fogs, in perpetual motion, either entirely veiled the nearest objects, or magnified their size, or exhibited them in a dancing motion. In June the snow-fog became a vapor-fog, which daily from time to time precipitated its surplus of moisture in form of a light rain, but even then the nights, particularly after eleven o’clock, were mostly serene.
Experience proved, contrary to Arago’s opinion, that thunder-storms take place within the Arctic zone. The perpetual motion of the air was very remarkable. The sun had merely to disappear behind a cloud to produce at once a gust of wind. Towards the end of August, the southern and the northern air-currents, like two contending giants, began to strive for the mastery, until finally the storms raged with extreme violence. But in these treeless deserts their fury finds nothing to destroy.
It is impossible to form any thing like a correct estimate of the quantity of snow which annually falls in the highest latitudes. So much is certain that it can not be small, to judge by the violence and swelling of the rivers in spring. The summits of the hills, and the declivities exposed to the reigning winds, are constantly deprived of snow, which, however, fills up the bottom of the valleys to a considerable height. Great was Middendorff’s astonishment, while travelling over the tundra at the end of winter, to find it covered with no more than two inches, or at the very utmost half a foot, of snow; the dried stems of the Arctic plants everywhere peeping forth above its surface. This was the natural consequence of the north-easterly storms, which, sweeping over the naked plain, carry the snow along with them, and form the snow-waves, the compass of the northern nomads.
It is extremely probable that, on advancing towards the pole, the fall of snow gradually diminishes, as in the Alps, where its quantity likewise decreases on ascending above a certain height.
On measuring the thickness of the ice, Middendorff was very much surprised to find it nowhere, both in the lakes and on the river, thicker than eight feet, and sometimes only four and a half; its thickness being constantly proportionate to the quantity of snow with which it was covered. At first he could hardly believe that this simple covering could afford so efficacious a protection against the extreme cold of winter in the 74th degree of latitude, but the fact is well known to the Samoïedes, who, whenever they require water, always make the hole where the snow lies deepest.
The tundras of Taimuria were found to consist principally of arid plateaux and undulating heights, where the vegetation can not conceal the boulders and the sand of which the crust of the earth is formed.
The withered tips of the grasses scarcely differ in color from the dirty yellow-brown moss, and the green of the lower part of the stalks appears as through a veil. Nothing can be of a more dreary monotony than this vegetation when spread over a wide surface; but in the hardly perceptible depressions of the plains where the spring water is able to collect, a fresher green gains the upper hand, the stalks are not only longer, but stand closer together, and the grass, growing to a height of three or even four inches, usurps the place of the moss. Here and there small patches of Dryas octopetala, or Cassiope tetragona, and much more rarely a dwarf ranunculus, diversify the dingy carpet, yet without being able to relieve its wearisome character. But very different, and indeed truly surprising, is the aspect of the slopes which, facing the Taimur lake or river, are protected against the late and early frosts. Here considerable patches of ground are covered with a lively green, intermingled with gayly-colored flowers, such as the brilliant yellow Sieversia, the elegant Oxytropis, the blue and white Saxifragas, the red Armeria alpina, and a beautiful new species of Delphinium. All these various flowers are not dwarfs of stunted growth, for Polemones, Sisymbrias, Polygonums, and Papavers above a foot high decorate the slopes, and Middendorff found an islet in the Taimur covered like a field with a Senecio, of which some of the most conspicuous specimens were more than a foot and a half high, and bore no less than forty flowers above an inch in diameter.
The progress of vegetation is uncommonly rapid, so that, as Middendorff remarks, if any one wishes to see the grass grow, he must travel to the Taimur. Scarcely do the first leaves peep forth when the blossoms also appear, as if, conscious of the early approach of autumn, they felt the necessity of bringing their seeds to a rapid maturity under this wintry sky.
With regard to the animal creation, the general law of polar uniformity was fully confirmed in Taimurland. The same lemmings were found which people the whole north of Asia and America, and as high as 75° N. lat. they found the traces of the snow-hare, which inhabits the complete circle of the Arctic regions of the globe. The Arctic fox, everywhere at home in the treeless wastes, is here also pursued by the northern glutton; and following the herds of the reindeer, the wolves, and the Samoïedes, roams up and down the tundra. The ptarmigan, which in Scandinavia and on Melville Island feeds on berries and buds, appears also as a summer visitor at the mouth of the Taimur in 75° 4´ N. lat., and the ivory gull of the northern European seas likewise builds its nest on the rocks of that distant shore.
The more vigorous vegetation on the sheltered declivities of the Taimur provides food for a comparatively greater number of insects than is found on the coasts of Nova Zembla. Bees, hornets, and three different species of butterflies, buzzed or hovered round the flowers, and caterpillars could be gathered by dozens on the tundra, but their mortal enemies had pursued them even here; and ichneumon flies crept out of most of them. Two spiders, several flies, gnats, and tipulæ, a curculio, and half a dozen carabi completed Middendorff’s entomological list, to which, no doubt, further researches would have considerably added.
Thus, at the northern extremity of Asia, as in every other part of the world, the naturalist finds the confirmation of the general law that, where the means of life are given, life is sure to come forth.
XIX. THE JAKUTS
Their energetic Nationality.--Their Descent.--Their gloomy Character.--Summer and Winter Dwellings.--The Jakut Horse.-- Incredible Powers of Endurance of the Jakuts.--Their Sharpness of Vision.--Surprising local Memory.--Their manual Dexterity.-- Leather, Poniards, Carpets.--Jakut Gluttons.--Superstitious Fear of the Mountain-spirit Ljeschei.--Offerings of Horse-hair.-- Improvised Songs.--The River Jakut.
The Jakuts are a remarkably energetic race, for though subject to the Muscovite yoke, they not only successfully maintain their language and manners, but even impose their own tongue and customs upon the Russians who have settled in their country. Thus in Jakutsk, or the “capital of the Jakuts,” as with not a little of national pride and self-complacency they style that dreary city, their language is much more frequently spoken than the Russian, for almost all the artisans are Jakuts, and even the rich fur-merchant has not seldom a Jakut wife, as no Russian now disdains an alliance with one of that nation.
At Amginskoie, an originally Russian settlement, Middendorff found the greatest difficulty in procuring a guide able to speak the Russian language, and all the Tunguse whom he met with between Jakutsk and Ochotsk understood and spoke Jakut, which is thus the dominant language from the basin of the Lena to the extreme eastern confines of Siberia. In truth, no Russian workman can compete with the Jakuts, whose cunning and effrontery would make it difficult even for a Jew to prosper among them.
Though of a Mongolian physiognomy, their language, which is said to be intelligible at Constantinople, distinctly points to a Turk extraction, and their traditions speak of their original seats as situated on the Baikal and Angora, whence, retreating before more powerful hordes, they advanced to the Lena, where in their turn they dispossessed the weaker tribes which they found in possession of the country. At present their chief abode is along the banks of that immense river, which they occupy at least as far southward as the Aldan. Eastward they are found on the Kolyma, and westward as far as the Jenissei. Their total number amounts to about 200,000, and they form the chief part of the population of the vast but almost desert province of Jakutsk.
They are essentially a pastoral people, and their chief wealth consists in horses and cattle, though the northern portion of their nation is reduced to the reindeer and the dog. Besides the breeding of horses, the Russian fur-trade has developed an industrial form of the hunter’s state, so that among the Jakuts property accumulates, and we have a higher civilization than will be found elsewhere in the same latitude, Iceland, Finland, and Norway alone excepted. Of an unsocial and reserved disposition, they prefer a solitary settlement, but at the same time they are very hospitable, and give the stranger who claims their assistance a friendly welcome. Villages consisting of several huts, or yourts, are rare, and found only between Jakutsk and the Aldan, where the population is somewhat denser. Beyond the Werchojansk ridge the solitary huts are frequently several hundred versts apart, so that the nearest neighbors sometimes do not see each other for years.
In summer the Jakut herdsmen live in urossy, light conical tents fixed on poles and covered with birch rind, and during the whole season they are perpetually employed in making hay for the long winter.
In 62° N. lat., and in a climate of an almost unparalleled severity, the rearing of their cattle causes them far more trouble than is the case with any other pastoral people. Their supply of hay is frequently exhausted before the end of the winter, and from March to May their oxen must generally be content with willow and birch twigs or saplings.
At the beginning of the cold season the Jackut exchanges his summer tent for his warm winter residence, or yourt, a hut built of beams or logs, in the form of a truncated pyramid, and thickly covered with turf and clay. Plates of ice serve as windows, and are replaced by fish-bladders or paper steeped in oil, as soon as the thaw begins. The earthen floor, for it is but rarely boarded, is generally sunk two or three feet below the surface of the ground. The seats and sleeping berths are ranged along the sides, and the centre is occupied by the tschuwal, or hearth, the smoke of which finds its exit through an aperture in the roof. Clothes and arms are suspended from the walls, and the whole premises exhibit a sad picture of disorder and filth. Near the yourt are stables for the cows, but when the cold is very severe, these useful animals are received into the family room. As for the horses, they remain night and day without a shelter, at a temperature when mercury freezes, and are obliged to feed on the withered autumnal grass which they find under the snow. These creatures, whose powers of endurance are almost incredible, change their hair in summer like the other quadrupeds of the Arctic regions. They keep their strength, though travelling perhaps for months through the wilderness without any other food than the parched, half-rotten grass met with on the way. They retain their teeth to old age, and remain young much longer than our horses. “He who thinks of improving the Jakut horse,” says Von Middendorff, “aims at something like perfection. Fancy the worst conceivable roads, and for nourishment the bark of the larch and willow, with hard grass-stalks instead of oats; or merely travel on the post-road to Jakutsk, and see the horses that have just run forty versts without stopping, and are covered with perspiration and foam, eating their hay in the open air without the slightest covering, at a temperature of -40°.”
But the Jakut himself is no less hardened against the cold than his faithful horse. “On December 9,” says Wrangell, “we bivouacked round a fire, at a temperature of -28°, on an open pasture-ground, which afforded no shelter against the northern blast. Here I had an excellent opportunity for admiring the unparalleled powers of endurance of our Jakut attendants. On the longest winter journey they take neither tents nor extra covering along with them, not even one of the larger fur-dresses. While travelling, the Jakut contents himself with his usual dress; in this he generally sleeps in the open air; a horse rug stretched out upon the snow is his bed, a wooden saddle his pillow. With the same fur jacket, which serves him by daytime as a dress, and which he pulls off when he lies down for the night, he decks his back and shoulders, while the front part of his body is turned towards the fire almost without any covering. He then stops his nose and ears with small pieces of skin, and covers his face so as to leave but a small opening for breathing--these are all the precautions he takes against the severest cold. Even in Siberia the Jakuts are called ‘men of iron.’ Often have I seen them sleeping at a temperature of -4° in the open air, near an extinguished bivouac fire, and with a thick ice-rind covering their almost unprotected body.”
Most of the Jakuts have an incredible sharpness of vision. One of them told Lieutenant Anjou, pointing to the planet Jupiter, that he had often seen yonder blue star devour a smaller one, and then after a time cast it out again.[13] Their local memory is no less astonishing; a pool of water, a large stone, a solitary bush imprints itself deeply into their remembrance, and guides them after a lapse of years through the boundless wilderness. In manual dexterity they surpass all other Siberian nations, and some of their articles, such as their poniards and their leather, might figure with credit in any European exhibition. Long before the Russian conquest they made use of the iron ore on the Wilui to manufacture their own knives and axes, which, either from the excellence of the material or of the workmanship, rarely break, even in the severest cold--a perfection which the best Sheffield ware does not attain. Since time immemorial they have been acquainted with the art of striking fire with flint and steel, an invention unknown even to the ancient Greeks and Romans. Their leather is perfectly water-tight, and the women make carpets of white and colored skins, which are even exported to Europe. It is almost superfluous to mention that a people so capable of bearing hardships, so sharp-witted, and so eager for gain as the Jakuts must needs pursue the fur-bearing animals with which their forests abound with untiring zeal and a wonderful dexterity.
The horse renders the Jakut services not less important than those of the reindeer to the Samoïede or the Lapp. Besides using it for carrying or riding, the Jakut makes articles of dress out of its skin, and fishing-nets of its hair; boiled horse-meat is his favorite food, and sour mare’s milk, or kumyss, his chief beverage. Of the latter he also makes a thick porridge, or salamat, by mixing it with rye-flour, or the inner rind of the larch or fir tree, to which he frequently adds dried fish and berries, and, to render it perfect, a quantity of rancid fat, of which he is immoderately fond. He is in fact a gross feeder, and some professional gluttons are capable of consuming such astonishing masses as to shame the appetite even of an Esquimaux. During his stay at Jakutsk, Sir George Simpson put the abilities of two distinguished artists to the test, by setting two pouds of boiled beef and a poud of melted butter before them. Each of them got a poud of meat for his share; the butter they were allowed to ladle out and drink ad libitum. The one was old and experienced, the other young and full of zeal. At first the latter had the advantage. “His teeth are good,” said the elder champion, “but with the assistance of my saint (crossing himself), I will soon come up to him.”
When about half of their task was finished, Sir George left his noble guests to the care and inspection of his secretary, but when he returned a few hours after, he was informed that all was consumed, while the champions, stretched out on the floor, confirmed the secretary’s report, and expressed their thanks for the exorbitant meal they had enjoyed by respectfully kissing the ground. After one of these disgusting feats, the gorged gluttons generally remain for three or four days plunged in a torpid state like boa snakes, without eating or drinking, and are frequently rolled about on the ground to promote digestion. It may also be noticed, as a proof of the low state of intellectual culture among the Jakuts, that at every wedding among the richer class two professed virtuosi in the art of gormandizing are regularly invited for the entertainment of the guests. One of them is treated at the bridegroom’s expense, the other at that of the bride, and the party whose champion gains the victory considers it as a good omen for the future.
The Jakuts, besides being a pre-eminently pastoral people, are also the universal carriers to the east of the Lena. For beyond Jakutsk, the only roads are narrow paths leading through swamps, dense forests, or tangled bushes, so that the horse affords the only means of reaching the more even and lower countries where reindeer or dogs can be attached to sledges. Without the Jakut and his horse, the Russian would never have been able to penetrate to the Sea of Ochotsk, and from thence to the Aleutian chain; but for him, they never would have settled on the Kolyma, nor have opened a commercial intercourse with the Tchuktchi and the western Esquimaux.
Before the possession of the Amoor had opened a new road to commerce, thousands of pack-horses used annually to cross the Stanowoi hills on the way to Ochotsk; and when we consider the dreadful hardships of the journey, we can not wonder that the road was more thickly strewn with the skeletons of fallen horses than the caravan routes through the desert with the bones of famished camels. But the Jakut fears neither the icy cold of the bivouac nor the pangs of hunger, which, in spite of his wolfish voracity, he is able to support with stoical fortitude. He fears neither the storm on the naked hill, nor the gloom of the forest, nor the depth of the morass; and, bidding defiance to every thing else, fears only the invisible power of “Ljeschei,” the spirit of the mountain and the wood. The traveller wonders when he sees on an eminence crowned with firs an old tree from whose branches hang bunches of horse-hair. The Jakut who leads the caravan soon explains the mystery. He dismounts, and plucking a few hairs from the mane of his horse, attaches them with a great show of respect to a branch, as an offering to propitiate the favor of Ljeschei on the journey. Even those Jakuts who pass for Christians still pay this mark of respect to the dethroned divinity of their fathers; and there can be no doubt that they still retain the old belief in Schamanism, and an abject fear of all sorts of evil spirits.
While travelling they sing almost perpetually melancholy tunes, corresponding with the habitual gloom of their national character. The text has more variety and poetry, and generally celebrates the beauties of nature, the stately growth of the pine, the murmuring of the brook, or the grandeur of the mountain. The singers are mostly improvisatores, and to conciliate the favor of Ljeschei, they praise the desert through which they pass as if it were a paradise.
Like the impoverished Samoïede or Lapp, the indigent Jakut, who possesses neither cattle nor horses, settles near some stream. His only domestic animal is his dog, who carries the fish on a light sledge from the river-bank to his hut, or follows him into the woods on his hunting expeditions. With the skins of fur-bearing animals he pays his jassak, and is glad if the surplus allows him to indulge from time to time in the luxury of a pipe of Circassian tobacco.
XX. WRANGELL
His distinguished Services as an Arctic Explorer.--From Petersburg to Jakutsk in 1820.--Trade of Jakutsk.--From Jakutsk to Nishne-Kolymsk.--The Badarany.--Dreadful Climate of Nishne-Kolymsk.--Summer Plagues.--Vegetation.--Animal Life.-- Reindeer-hunting.--Famine.--Inundations.--The Siberian Dog.-- First Journeys over the Ice of the Polar Sea, and Exploration of the Coast beyond Cape Shelagskoi in 1821.--Dreadful Dangers and Hardships.--Matiuschkin’s Sledge-journey over the Polar Sea in 1822.--Last Adventures on the Polar Sea.--A Run for Life.-- Return to St. Petersburg.
The expeditions which had been sent out during the reign of the Empress Anna for the exploration of the Arctic shores of Eastern Siberia, had performed their task so badly as to leave them still almost totally unknown. To fill up this blank in geography, the Emperor Alexander ordered two new expeditions to be fitted out in 1820 for the purpose of accurately ascertaining the limits of these extreme frontiers of his immense empire. Of the one which, under Lieutenant Anjou, commenced its operations from the mouth of the Jana, and comprised within its range New Siberia and the other islands of the Lächow group, but little has been communicated to the public, all his papers having been accidentally burned; but the travels of Lieutenant von Wrangell, the commander of the second expedition, have obtained a world-wide celebrity. Starting from the mouths of the Kolyma, he not only rectified the errors of the coast-line of Siberia, from the Indigirka in the west to Koliutschin Island in the east, but more than once ventured in a sledge upon the Polar Ocean, in the hopes of discovering a large country supposed to be situated to the northward of Kotelnoi and New Siberia.
Wrangell left St. Petersburg on March 23, 1820, and experiencing in his journey of 3500 miles repeated alternations of spring and winter, arrived at Irkutsk, where the gardens were in full flower, on May 20.
After a month’s rest, a short journey brought him to the banks of the Lena, on which he embarked on June 27, to descend to Jakutsk, which he reached on July 27. This small town of 4000 inhabitants bears the gloomy stamp of the frigid north, for though it has a few good houses, its dwellings chiefly consist of the winter yourts of the Jakuts, with turf-covered roofs, doors of skins, and windows of talc or ice. The only “sight” of this dreary place is the old ruinous ostrog or wooden fort built by the Cossacks, the conquerors of the country, in 1647. Jakutsk is the centre of the interior trade of Siberia. To this place are brought, in enormous quantities, furs of all kinds, walrus-teeth, and mammoth-tusks, from distances of many thousand versts, to an amount of half a million pounds.
The commercial sphere of the Jakutsk merchants is of an immense extent. During a cold of ten and twenty degrees they set out for the Lächow Isles, for the fair of Ostrownoje, for Ochotsk, or Kjachta. Jakutsk merchants were the first who ventured in crazy ships across the Sea of Kamchatka, and discovered the island of Kadjiak, eighty degrees of longitude from their home.
On September 12 Wrangell left Jakutsk, where regular travelling ends, as from thence to Kolymsk, and generally throughout Northern Siberia, there are no beaten roads. The utmost that can be looked for are foot or horse tracks leading through morasses or tangled forests, and over rocks and mountains. Travellers proceed on horseback through the hilly country, and, on reaching the plains, use sledges drawn either by reindeer or dogs.
In this manner Wrangell crossed from the basin of the Lena to that of the Yana, never experiencing a higher temperature than +2°, and frequently enduring a cold of more than -12°, during the journey over the intervening hills, and then turning eastward, traversed the Badarany, a completely uninhabited desert, chiefly consisting of swamps. These Badarany never entirely dry up, even after the longest summer-drought. At that time a solid crust is formed, through which the horses frequently break, but they are preserved from totally sinking in the mire by the perpetually frozen underground. Nothing can be more dismal and dreary than the Badarany. As far as the eye reaches, nothing is to be seen but a covering of dingy moss, relieved here and there on some more elevated spots by wretched specimens of dwarf-larches. The winter is the only season for traversing this treacherous waste, but woe to the traveller should he be overtaken by a snow-storm, as for miles and miles there is no shelter to be found but that of some ruinous powarni, or post-station.
At length, fifty-two days after leaving Jakutsk, Wrangell arrived on November 2 at Nishne-Kolymsk, the appointed head-quarters of the expedition, where he was welcomed with a cold of -40°, or 72° below the freezing-point of water.
Even in Siberia the climate of this place is ill-reputed for its severity, which is as much due to its unfavorable position as to its high latitude (68° N.). The town stands on a low swampy island of the Kolyma, having on the west the barren tundra, and on the north the Arctic Ocean, so that the almost constant north-west winds have full scope for their violence, and cause frequent snow-storms even in summer.
The mean temperature of the whole year is only +14°. The river at Nishne-Kolymsk freezes early in September, but lower down, where the current is less rapid, loaded horses can sometimes cross on the ice as early as August 20, nor does the ice ever melt before June.
Although the sun remains fifty-two days above the horizon, the light, obscured by almost perpetual mists, is accompanied with little heat, and the solar disc, compressed by refraction into an elliptical form, may be looked at with the naked eye without inconvenience. In spite of the constant light, the common order of the parts of the day is plainly discernible. When the sun sinks down to the horizon, all nature is mute; but when, after a few hours, it rises in the skies, every thing awakens, the few little birds break out in feeble twitter, and the shrivelled flowers venture to open their petals.
Although winter and summer are in reality the only seasons, yet the inhabitants fancy they have spring when about noon the rays of the sun begin to make themselves felt, which generally takes place about the middle of March, but this so-called spring has frequent night-frosts of twenty degrees. Their autumn is reckoned from the time when the rivers begin to freeze over, that is, from the first days of September, when a cold of thirty degrees is already by no means uncommon. As may easily be supposed in a climate like this, the vegetation of summer is scarcely more than a struggle for existence.
In the latter end of May the stunted willow-bushes put out little wrinkled leaves, and those banks which slope towards the south become clothed with a semi-verdant hue; in June the temperature at noon attains 72°; the flowers show themselves, and the berry-bearing plants blossom, when sometimes an icy blast from the sea destroys the bloom. The air is clearest in July, and the temperature is usually mild, but then a new plague arises for the torment of man. Millions and millions of mosquitoes issue from the swamps of the tundra, and compel the inhabitants to seek refuge in the dense and pungent smoke of the “dymokury,” or large heaps of fallen leaves and damp wood, which are kindled near the dwellings and on the pasture-grounds, as the only means of keeping off those abominable insects.
These tormentors, however, are not without use, for they compel the reindeer to migrate from the forests to the sea-shore and the ice, thus exposing them to the attack of the hunters, and they also prevent the horses from straying in the plains, and wandering beyond the protection of the smoke.
Scarcely is the mosquito plague at an end, when the dense autumn fogs rising from the sea spoil the enjoyment of the last mild hours which precede the nine months’ winter. In January the cold increases to -45°; breathing then becomes difficult; the wild reindeer, the indigenous inhabitant of the Polar region, withdraws to the thickest part of the forest, and stands there motionless, as if deprived of life.
With the 22d November begins a night of thirty-eight days, relieved in some degree by the strong refraction and the white of the snow, as well as by the moon and the aurora. On the 28th December the first pale glimmering of dawn appears, which even at noon does not obscure the stars. With the re-appearance of the sun the cold increases, and is most intense in February and March at the rising of the sun. Even in winter completely clear days are very rare, as the cold sea-wind covers the land with mists and fogs.
The character of the vegetation corresponds with that of the climate. Moss, stunted grass, dwarfish willow-shrubs, are all that the place produces. The neighboring valleys of the Aniuj, protected by mountains against the sea-wind, have a somewhat richer flora, for here grow berry-bearing plants, the birch, the poplar, absinthe, thyme, and the low-creeping cedar. This poverty, however, of the vegetable world is strongly contrasted with the profusion of animal life over these shores and on the Polar Sea. Reindeer, elks, bears, foxes, sables, and gray squirrels fill the upland forests, while stone-foxes burrow in the low grounds. Enormous flights of swans, geese, and ducks arrive in spring, and seek deserts where they may moult and build their nests in safety. Eagles, owls, and gulls pursue their prey along the sea-coast; ptarmigan run in troops among the bushes; little snipes are busy among the brooks. In the morasses the crows gather round the huts of the natives; and when the sun shines in spring, the traveller may even sometimes hear the note of the finch, and in autumn that of the thrush. But the landscape remains dreary and dead; all denotes that here the limits of the habitable earth are passed, and one asks with astonishment what could induce human beings to take up their abode in so comfortless a region?
In the district of Kolymsk, which surpasses in size many a European kingdom, the population, at the time of Wrangell’s visit, consisted of 325 Russians, 1034 Jakuts, and 1139 Jukahires of the male sex, of whom 2173 had to pay the jassak, consisting of 803 fox and 28 sable skins, worth 6704 roubles, besides which they were taxed to the amount of 10,847 roubles in money. Thus the Russian double-eagle made, and no doubt still makes, the poor people of Kolymsk pay rather dear for the honor of living under the protection of its talons.
The Cossacks, in virtue of their descent from the original conquerors of the country, enjoy the enviable privilege of being tax free; they are, however, obliged to render military service when required. They form the small garrison of Nishne-Kolymsk, and every year twenty-five of them repair to the fair of Ostrownoje, to keep the wild Tchuktchi in check. The Russians are chiefly the descendants of fur-hunters or of exiles; and though they have adopted the native clothing and mode of life, they are still distinguishable by their more muscular frame. The women, who are somewhat better-looking than the female Jakuts and Jukahires, are fond of music, and their traditional songs dwell on the beauties of nature--the rustling brook, the flowery mead, the nightingale’s note--all things belonging to a world of which they have no idea.
The dwellings of the Russians are hardly to be distinguished from the yourts of the native tribes. They are made of drift-wood, and, as may easily be imagined, are very small and low. The interstices are carefully stopped up with moss, and the outside is covered with a thick layer of clay. An external mud wall rises to the height of the roof to keep off the wind. In a hut like this Wrangell spent many a winter month, but when the cold was very intense, he was not able to lay aside any part of his fur clothing, though sitting close to a large fire. When he wanted to write he had to keep the inkstand in hot water; and at night, when the fire was allowed to go out for a short time, his bedclothes were always covered with a thick snow-like rime.
The existence of the people of Kolymsk depends upon fishing and hunting, in which they are assisted by their dogs. These faithful, but cruelly-treated animals, are said to resemble the wolf, having long, pointed, projecting noses, sharp and upright ears, and long bushy tails. Their color is black, brown, reddish-brown, white, and spotted, their howling that of a wolf. In summer they dig holes in the ground for coolness, or lie in the water to escape the mosquitoes; in winter they burrow in the snow, and lie curled up, with their noses covered with their bushy tails. The preparation of these animals for a journey must be carefully attended to; for a fortnight at least they should be put on a small allowance of hard food, to convert their superfluous fat into firm flesh; they must also be driven from ten to twenty miles daily, after which they have been known to travel a hundred miles a day without being injured by it. A team consists commonly of twelve dogs, and it is of importance that they should be accustomed to draw together. The quick and steady going of the team, as well as the safety of the traveller, mainly depends on the docility and sagacity of the foremost dog or leader. No pains are therefore spared in his education, so that he may understand and obey his master’s orders, and prevent the rest from starting off in pursuit of the stone-foxes or other animals that may chance to cross their path. Their usual food is frozen fish, and ten good herrings are said to be a proper daily allowance for each dog while on duty. When not actively employed, they are obliged to content themselves with offal, and towards spring, when the winter’s provisions are generally exhausted, they suffer the keenest hunger.
This season is also a hard time for the wandering tribes of the neighborhood. Then they flock to Nishne-Kolymsk, and to the other Russian settlements on the Kolyma, but here also famine stares them in the face. There is, indeed, a public corn magazine, but the price of flour is raised by the cost of transport to such an exorbitant height, as to be completely beyond the reach of the majority of the people. Three such dreadful springs did Wrangell pass at Kolymsk, witnessing scenes of misery never to be forgotten.
But when the distress of the people has reached its highest point, relief is generally at hand. Troops of migratory birds come from the south, and furnish some food for the despairing population. The supply is increased in June, when the ice breaks on the Kolyma, for in spite of the faultiness of the nets and the want of skill of the fishermen, the river is the principal source of plenty during the summer, and supplies, moreover, the chief provisions for the following winter. But with these gifts the Kolyma brings the plague of inundations, so that during the summer of 1822 Wrangell was obliged to spend a whole week on the flat roof of his hut.
The chief resource of the Jukahires of the River Aniuj is the reindeer chase, the success of which mainly decides whether famine or some degree of comfort is to be their lot during the coming winter. The passage of the reindeer takes place twice a year; in spring, when the mosquitoes compel them to seek the sea-shore, where they feed on the moss of the tundra, and in autumn, when the increasing cold forces them to retire from the coast. The spring migration, which begins about the middle of May, is not very profitable, partly because the animals are meagre, and their furs in bad condition, and partly because it is more difficult to kill them as they pass the frozen rivers. The chief hunting is in August and September, when the herds, consisting each of several thousand deer, return to the forests. They invariably cross the river at a particular spot, where a flat sandy bank makes their landing easier; and here they press more closely together, under the guidance of the strongest animals of the herd.
The passage takes place after some hesitation, and in a few minutes the river is covered with swimming reindeer. The hunters, hidden in creeks or behind stones and bushes, now shoot forth in their small boats and wound as many as they can. While they are thus busy, they run some risk of being overturned in the turmoil, for the bucks defend themselves with their horns, their teeth, and their hind legs, while the roes generally attempt to spring with their fore feet upon the edge of the boat. When the hunter is thus overset, his only chance of safety is to cling to a strong animal, which safely brings him to the shore. But the dexterity of the hunters renders such accidents rare. A good hunter will kill a hundred reindeer and more in half an hour. In the mean time the other boats seize the killed animals, which become their property, while those that are merely wounded and swim ashore belong to the hunters, who, in the midst of the tumult, where all their energies are taxed to the utmost, direct their strokes in such a manner as only severely to wound the larger animals. The noise of the horns striking against each other, the waters tinged with blood, the cries of the hunters, the snorting of the affrighted animals, form a scene not to be described.
The people of the Aniuj were already suffering great distress when, on September 12, 1821, the eagerly-expected reindeer herds made their appearance on the right bank of the river. Never had such a multitude been seen; they covered the hills, and their horns might have been mistaken at a distance for a moving forest. In a short time numbers of the Siberian tribes had assembled, ready to destroy them. But the wary animals, alarmed by some circumstance or other, took another road, and, leaving the banks of the river, vanished on the mountains. The despair of the people may be imagined; some lamented aloud and wrung their hands, others threw themselves upon the ground and scratched up the snow, others stood motionless like statues--a dreadful image of the universal misery. The later fishing-season likewise failed in this deplorable year, and many hundreds died in the following winter.
While the men of Kolymsk are busily employed during the short summer in hunting, fishing, and hay-making, the women wander over the country, particularly in the mountains, to gather edible roots, aromatic herbs, and berries of various kinds, which latter, however, do not every year arrive at maturity. The berry-gathering here, like the vintage elsewhere, is a time of merriment. The younger women and girls go together in large parties, passing whole days and nights in the open air. When the berries are collected, cold water is poured over them, and they are preserved in a frozen state for a winter treat. Social parties are not unknown at Kolymsk, and are perhaps not less entertaining than in more refined communities. Floods of weak tea (for the aromatic leaves “which cheer, but not inebriate,” are very dear at Kolymsk) form the staple of the entertainment; and as sugar is also an expensive article, every guest takes a lump of candy in his mouth, lets the tea which he sips flow by, and then replaces it upon the saucer. It would be considered very unmannerly were he to consume the whole piece, which thus is able to do duty at more than one soirée. Next to tea, brandy is a chief requisite of a Kolymsk party.
The busiest time at Kolymsk is in February, when the caravan from Jakutsk arrives on its way to the fair of Ostrownoje. It consists of about twenty merchants, each of whom leads from ten to forty sumpter horses. This is the time not only for sale and purchase, but also for hearing the last news from the provincial capital Jakutsk, and receiving intelligence six months old from Moscow and St. Petersburg.
From this short account of Kolymsk life it may well be imagined what a sensation it must have made in so secluded a place when Wrangell arrived there in November, and informed the people that he was come to spend the better part of the next three years among them.
The winter was passed in preparation for the next spring expeditions, for during the long Arctic night the darkness prevents travelling, and the snow acquires a peculiar hardness or sharpness from the extreme cold, so that then four times the number of dogs would be needed. But as in summer the thawing is likewise a hindrance, Wrangell had in reality only about ten weeks every year, from March till the end of May, for the accomplishment of his task.
As may easily be supposed, it was no easy matter to make the necessary arrangements for an expedition requiring some hundreds of dogs, and provisions for several weeks; but such was the energy displayed by Wrangell and his colleagues, that on February 19, 1821, they were able to start on their first journey over the ice of the Polar Sea, which they reached on the 25th. Nine sledges, with the usual team of twelve dogs to each, were provided for the present excursion, six of which were to carry provisions and stores, to be distributed in different dépôts, and then to return. The provisions for the dogs consisted of 2400 fresh herrings, and as much “jukola” as was equivalent to 8150 dried herrings. The increasing cold and the violence of the wind made travelling very difficult. To guard the dogs from being frozen, the drivers were obliged to put clothing on their bodies, and a kind of boots on their feet, which greatly impeded their running. At times the frost was so intense that the mercury congealed while Wrangell was making his observations. He thus describes the manner in which he passed the nights on the Polar Sea in his tent:--
“Between tea and supper the sledge-drivers went out to attend and feed their dogs, which were always tied up for the night, lest they should be tempted away by the scent of some wild animal. Meanwhile, we were engaged in comparing our observations, and in laying down on the map the ground which we had gone over in the course of the day; the severe cold, and the smoke which usually filled the tent, sometimes made this no easy task. Supper always consisted of a single dish of fish or meat soup, which was boiled for us all in the same kettle, out of which it was eaten. Soon after we had finished our meal, the whole party lay down to sleep. On account of the cold we could not lay aside any part of our travelling-dress, but we regularly changed our boots and stockings every evening, and hung those we had taken off, with our fur caps and gloves, on the tent-poles to dry. This is an essential precaution, particularly in respect to stockings, for with damp clothing there is the greatest risk of the part being frozen. We always spread the bear-skins between the frozen ground and ourselves, and the fur coverings over us, and, being well tired, we usually slept very soundly. As long as all the sledge-drivers continued with us, we were so crowded that we had to place ourselves like the spokes of a wheel, with our feet towards the fire and our heads against the tent wall. In the morning we generally rose at six, lit the fire, and washed ourselves before it with fresh snow; we then took tea, and immediately afterwards dinner (which was similar to the supper of the night before). The tent was then struck, and every thing packed and stowed on the sledges, and at nine we usually took our departure.”
The chief impediments to journeying on the ice were found to be the hummocks, often eighty feet high, which lie in ridges at certain distances, parallel perhaps to the shore. Along the line or lines where the ice is periodically broken, it is forced by pressure and the tossing of a tempestuous sea into those irregular ridges through which Wrangell had sometimes to make a way with crowbars for half a mile. The “polinyas,” or spaces of open water in the midst of the ice, offered less hindrance, as they might be avoided; but in this neighborhood, and sometimes even where no hole in the ice was visible, layers of salt were met with, which cut the dogs’ feet, and at the same time increased the labor of the draft, the sledges moving over the salt with as much difficulty as they would over gravel.
In spite of all these hindrances, Wrangell extended his exploration of the coast fifty versts beyond Cape Shelagskoi, where the want of fuel and provisions compelled him to return. The dépôts which he had made as he advanced, were found partly devoured by the stone-foxes and gluttons, so that the party was compelled to fast during the two last days of the journey. After an absence of three weeks Nishne-Kolymsk appeared like a second Capua to Wrangell, but time being precious he allowed himself but a few days’ rest, and started afresh, on March 26, for Cape Shelagskoi, with the intention of penetrating as far as possible to the north on the ice of the Polar Sea. The caravan consisted of twenty-two sledges, laden with fuel and provisions for thirty days, including food for 240 dogs. So imposing a train had certainly never been seen before in these desolate regions, for the part of the coast between the Kolyma and Cape Shelagskoi is wholly uninhabited; on one side the occasional excursions of the Russians terminate at the Baranow rocks, and on the other the Tchuktchi do not cross the larger Baranow River. The intervening eighty versts of coast are never visited by either party, but considered as neutral ground. On April 1 Wrangell reached the borders of the Polar Sea, and proceeding northward to 71° 31´, found the thickness of the ice, which he measured by means of a hole, to be about a foot, very rotten, and full of salt; the soundings, twelve fathoms, with a bottom of soft green mud. The wind increasing in violence, he heard the sound of the water beneath, and felt the undulatory motion of the thin crust of ice.
“Our position,” says the bold explorer, “was at least an anxious one; the more so as we could take no step to avoid the impending danger. I believe few of our party slept, except the dogs, who alone were unconscious of the great probability of the ice being broken up by the force of the waves. Next day, the wind having fallen, I had two of the best sledges emptied, and placed in them provisions for twenty-four hours, with the boat and oars, some poles and boards, and proceeded northward to examine the state of the ice; directing M. von Matiuschkin, in case of danger, to retire with the whole party as far as might be needful, without awaiting my return. After driving through the thick brine with much difficulty for seven versts, we came to a number of large fissures, which we passed with some trouble by the aid of the boards which we had brought with us. At last the fissures became so numerous and so wide that it was hard to say whether the sea beneath us was really still covered by a connected coat of ice, or only by a number of detached floating fragments, having everywhere two or more feet of water between them. A single gust of wind would have been sufficient to drive these fragments against each other, and being already thoroughly saturated with water, they would have sunk in a few minutes, leaving nothing but sea on the spot where we were standing. It was manifestly useless to attempt going farther; we hastened to rejoin our companions, and to seek with them a place of greater security. Our most northern latitude was 71° 43´ at a distance of 215 versts in a straight line from the lesser Baranow rock.” After rejoining his companions, and while still on the frozen sea, so thick a snow-storm came on that those in the hindmost sledge could not see the leading ones. Unable either to pitch their tent or to light a fire, they were exposed during the night to the whole fury of the storm, with a temperature of +7°, without tea or soup, and with nothing to quench their thirst or satisfy their hunger but a few mouthfuls of snow, a little rye biscuit, and a half-spoilt fish. On April 28 they arrived at Nishne-Kolymsk, after an absence of thirty-six days, during which they had travelled above 800 miles with the same dogs, men and animals having equally suffered from cold, hunger, and fatigue.
Neither discomfort, however, nor danger prevented Wrangell from undertaking a third excursion in the following spring. He had great difficulty in procuring the necessary dogs, a disease which raged among them during the winter having carried off more than four-fifths of these useful animals. At length his wants were supplied by the people of the Indigirka, where the sickness had not extended, and on March 14, 1822, he again set out for the borders of the Polar Sea. During this expedition a large extent of coast was accurately surveyed by Wrangell, who sent out his worthy assistant Matiuschkin, with two companions, in an unloaded sledge, to see if any farther advance could be made to the north. Having accomplished ten versts, Matiuschkin was stopped by the breaking up of the ice. Enormous masses, raised by the waves into an almost vertical position, were driven against each other with a dreadful crash, and pressed downward by the force of the billows to re-appear again on the surface covered with the torn-up green mud which here forms the bottom of the sea. It would tire the reader were I to relate all the miseries of their return voyage; suffice it to say that, worn out with hunger and fatigue, they reached Nishne-Kolymsk on May 5, after an absence of fifty-seven days. Such sufferings and perils might have excused all further attempts to discover the supposed land in the Polar Sea, but nothing daunted by his repeated failures, Wrangell determined on a fourth expedition in 1823, on which he resolved to start from a more easterly point. On reaching the coast, the obstacles were found still greater than on his previous visits to that fearful sea. The weather was tempestuous, the ice thin and broken. It was necessary at times to cross wide lanes of water on pieces of ice; at times the thin ice bent beneath the weight of the sledges, which were then saved only by the sagacity of the dogs, who, aware of the danger, ran at their greatest speed until they found a solid footing. At length, about sixty miles from shore, they arrived at the edge of an immense break in the ice, extending east and west farther than the eye could reach.
“We climbed one of the loftiest hummocks,” says Wrangell, “whence we obtained an extensive view towards the north, and whence we beheld the wide ocean spread before our gaze. It was a fearful and magnificent, but to us a melancholy spectacle! Fragments of ice of enormous size floated on the surface of the water, and were thrown by the waves with awful violence against the edge of the ice-field on the farther side of the channel before us. The collisions were so tremendous that large masses were every instant broken away, and it was evident that the portion of ice which still divided the channel from the open ocean would soon be completely destroyed. Had we attempted to ferry ourselves across upon one of the floating pieces of ice, we should not have found firm footing upon our arrival. Even on our own side fresh lines of water were continually forming, and extending in every direction in the field of ice behind us. We could go no farther. With a painful feeling of the impossibility of overcoming the obstacles which nature opposed to us, our last hope vanished of discovering the land, which we yet believed to exist. We saw ourselves compelled to renounce the object for which we had striven through three years of hardships, toil, and danger. We had done what honor and duty demanded; further attempts would have been absolutely hopeless, and I decided to return.”
They turned, but already the track of their advance was scarcely discernible, as new lanes of water had been formed, and fresh hummocks raised by the sea. To add to their distress, a storm arose, which threatened every moment to swallow up the ice island, on which they hoped to cross a wide space of water which separated them from a firmer ground.
“We had been three long hours in this position, and still the mass of ice beneath us held together, when suddenly it was caught by the storm, and hurled against a large field of ice; the crash was terrific, and the mass beneath us was shattered into fragments. At that dreadful moment, when escape seemed impossible, the impulse of self-preservation, implanted in every living being, saved us. Instinctively we all sprang at once on the sledges, and urged the dogs to their full speed. They flew across the yielding fragments to the field on which we had been stranded, and safely reached a part of it of firmer character, on which were several hummocks, where the dogs immediately ceased running, conscious, apparently, that the danger was past. We were saved! We joyfully embraced each other, and united in thanks to God for our preservation from such imminent peril.”
But their misfortunes did not end here; they were cut off from the deposit of their provisions; they were 360 versts from their nearest magazines, and the food for the dogs was now barely sufficient for three days. Their joy may be imagined when, after a few versts’ travelling, they fell in with Matiuschkin and his party, bringing with them an abundant supply of provisions of all kinds.
To leave nothing undone which could possibly be effected, Wrangell advanced to the eastward along the coast, past Cape North, seen in Cook’s last voyage, and proceeded as far as Koliutschin Island, where he found some Tchuktchi, who had come over from Bering’s Straits to trade.
With this journey terminated Wrangell’s labors on the coasts, or on the surface of the Polar Sea, and, at the beginning of the following winter, we find him taking a final leave of Nishne-Kolymsk. On January 10, 1824, he arrived at Jakutsk, and a few months later at Petersburg. If we consider the difficulties he had to encounter, and his untiring zeal and courage in the midst of privations and dangers, it is only fair to admit that his name deserves to be ranked among the most distinguished explorers of the Arctic world.
XXI. THE TUNGUSI
Their Relationship to the Mantchou.--Dreadful Condition of the outcast Nomads.--Character of the Tungusi.--Their Outfit for the Chase.--Bear-hunting.--Dwellings.--Diet.--A Night’s Halt with Tungusi in the Forest.--Ochotsk.
Though both belonging to the same stock, the fate of the Tungusi and Mantchou has been very different; for at the same time when the latter conquered the vast Chinese Empire, the former, after having spread over the greatest part of East Siberia, and driven before them the Jakuts, the Jukahiri, the Tchuktchi, and many other aboriginal tribes, were in their turn subjugated by the mightier Russians. In the year 1640 the Cossacks first encountered the Tungusi, and in 1644 the first Mantchou emperor mounted the Chinese throne. The same race which here imposes its yoke upon millions of subjects, there falls a prey to a small number of adventurers. However strange the fact, it is, however, easily explained, for the Chinese were worse armed and less disciplined than the Mantchou, while the Tungusi had nothing but bows and arrows to oppose to the Cossack fire-arms; and history (from Alexander the Great to Sadowa) teaches us that victory constantly sides with the best weapons.
In their intellectual development we find the same difference as in their fortunes between the Mantchou and the Siberian Tungusi. Two hundred and fifty years ago the former were still nomads, like their northern kinsfolk, and could neither read nor write, and already they have a rich literature, and their language is spoken at the court of Peking; while the Tungusi, oppressed and sunk in poverty, are still as ignorant as when they first encountered the Cossacks.
According to their occupations, and the various domestic animals employed by them, they are distinguished by the names of Reindeer, Horse, Dog, Forest, and River Tungusi; but although they are found from the basins of the Upper, Middle, and Lower Tunguska to the western shores of the Sea of Ochotsk, and from the Chinese frontiers and the Baikal to the Polar Ocean, their whole number does not amount to more than 30,000, and diminishes from year to year, in consequence of the ravages of the small-pox and other epidemic disorders transmitted to them by the Russians. Only a few rear horses and cattle, the reindeer being generally their domestic animal; and the impoverished Tunguse, who has been deprived of his herd by some contagious disorder or the ravages of the wolves, lives as a fisherman on the borders of a river, assisted by his dog, or retires into the forests as a promyschlenik, or hunter. Of the miseries which here await him, Wrangell relates a melancholy instance. In a solitary hut in one of the dreariest wildernesses imaginable, he found a Tunguse and his daughter. While the father, with his long snow-shoes, was pursuing a reindeer for several days together, this unfortunate girl remained alone and helpless in the hut--which even in summer afforded but an imperfect shelter against the rain and wind--exposed to the cold, and frequently to hunger, and without the least occupation. No wonder that the impoverished Tungusi not seldom sink into cannibalism. Neither the reindeer nor the dogs, nor the wives and children of their more fortunate countrymen, are secure from the attacks and voracity of these outcasts, who, in their turn, are treated like wild beasts, and destroyed without mercy. A bartering trade is, however, carried on with them, but only at a distance, and by signs; each party depositing its goods, and following every motion of the other with a suspicious eye.
The Russian Government, anxious to relieve the misery of the impoverished nomads, has given orders to settle them along the river-banks, and to provide them with the necessary fishing implements; but only extreme wretchedness can induce the Tunguse to relinquish the free life of the forest. His careless temper, his ready wit, and sprightly manner, distinguish him from the other Siberian tribes--the gloomy Samoïede, the uncouth Ostiak, the reserved Jakut--but he is said to be full of deceit and malice. His vanity shows itself in the quantity of glass beads with which he decorates his dress of reindeer leather, from his small Tartar cap to the tips of his shoes. When chasing or travelling on his reindeer through the woods, he of course lays aside most of his finery, and puts on large water-tight boots, or sari, well greased with fat, to keep off the wet of the morass. His hunting apparatus is extremely simple. A small axe, a kettle, a leathern bag containing some dried fish, a dog, a short gun, or merely a bow and a sling, is all he requires for his expeditions into the forest. With the assistance of his long and narrow snow-shoes, he flies over the dazzling plain, and protects his eyes, like the Jakut, with a net made of black horse-hair. He never hesitates to attack the bear single-handed, and generally masters him. The nomad Tunguse naturally requires a movable dwelling. His tent is covered with leather, or large pieces of pliable bark, which are easily rolled up and transported from place to place. The yourt of the sedentary Tunguse resembles that of the Jakut, and is so small that it can be very quickly and thoroughly warmed by a fire kindled on the stone hearth in the centre. In his food the Tunguse is by no means dainty. One of his favorite dishes consists of the contents of a reindeer’s stomach mixed with wild berries, and spread out in thin cakes on the rind of trees, to be dried in the air or in the sun. Those who have settled on the Wiluj and in the neighborhood of Nertschinsk, likewise consume large quantities of brick tea, which they boil with fat and berries into a thick porridge, and this unwholesome food adds no doubt to the yellowness of their complexion.
But few of the Tungusi have been converted to Christianity, the majority being still addicted to Shamanism. They do not like to bury their dead, but place them, in their holiday dresses, in large chests, which they hang up between two trees. The hunting apparatus of the deceased is buried beneath the chest. No ceremonies are used on the occasion, except when a Shaman happens to be in the neighborhood, when a reindeer is sacrificed, on whose flesh the sorcerer and the relations regale themselves, while the spirits to whom the animal is supposed to be offered are obliged to content themselves with the smell of the burnt fat. As among the Samoïedes or the Ostiaks, woman is a marketable ware among the Tungusi. The father gives his daughter in marriage for twenty or a hundred reindeer, or the bridegroom is obliged to earn her hand by a long period of service.
In East Siberia the Tungusi divide with the Jakuts the task of conveying goods or travellers through the forests, and afford the stranger frequent opportunities for admiring their agility and good-humor. On halting after a day’s journey, the reindeer are unpacked in an instant, the saddles and the goods ranged orderly on the ground, and the bridles collected and hung on branches of trees. The hungry animals soon disappear in the thicket, where they are left to provide for themselves. The men, who meanwhile have been busy with their axes, drag a larch-tree or two to the place of encampment. The smaller branches are lopped off and collected to serve as beds or seats upon the snow, while the resinous wood of the larger trunks is soon kindled into a lively fire. The kettle, filled with snow, is suspended from a strong forked branch placed obliquely in the ground over the fire, and in a few minutes the tea is ready--for the Tungusi proceed every evening according to the same method, and are consequently as expert as long and invariable practice can make them. Comfortably seated on his reindeer saddle, the traveller may now amuse himself with the dances, which the Tungusi accompany with an agreeable song; or if he choose to witness their agility in athletic exercises, it only costs him a word of encouragement, and a small donation of brandy. Two of the Tungusi hold a rope, and swing it with all their might, so that it does not touch the ground. Meanwhile a third Tunguse skips over the rope, picks up a bow and arrow, spans the bow and shoots the arrow, without once touching the rope. Some particularly bold and expert Tungusi will dance over a sword which a person lying on his back on the ground is swinging about with the greatest rapidity. Should our traveller be a friend of chess, the Tungusi are equally at his service, as they are passionately fond of this noblest of games, especially in the Kolymsk district. Like all other Siberian nomads, they visit at least once a year the various fairs which are held in the small towns scattered here and there over their immense territory--such as Kirensk, Olekminsk, Bargusin, Tschita, and Ochotsk, which, before the opening of the Amoor to trade, was the chief port of East Siberia.
Ochotsk is one of the dreariest places imaginable; at least no traveller who ever visited it has a word to say in its favor. Not a single tree grows for miles and miles around, and the wretched huts of which the town is composed lie in the midst of a swamp, which in summer is a fruitful source of malaria and pestilence. The River Ochota, at whose mouth Ochotsk is situated, does not break up before the end of May, and the ice-masses continue to pass the town till the 15th or 20th of June. Soon after begins the most unpleasant time of all the year, or “buss” of the Siberians, characterized by thick fog and a perpetual drizzling rain. The weather clears up in July, but as early as August the night-frosts cover the earth with rime. Salmon, of which no less than fourteen different species live in the Sea of Ochotsk, are the only food which the neighborhood affords; all other necessaries of life come from Jakutsk, and are of course enormously dear. Meat appears only from time to time on the tables of the wealthier merchants, and bread is an article of luxury. No wonder that the scurvy ravages every winter a place so ill-provisioned, and that at the time when the first caravan of pack-horses is expected to cross the Aldan Mountains, the people of Ochotsk, unable to restrain their impatience, go out a long way to meet it. As the former trade of the place has now no doubt been transferred to the settlements on the Amoor, it may well be supposed that Ochotsk has lost most of its former inhabitants, who can only be congratulated on their change of residence.
XXII. GEORGE WILLIAM STELLER
His Birth.--Enters the Russian Service.--Scientific Journey to Kamchatka.--Accompanies Bering on his second Voyage of Discovery.--Lands on the Island of Kaiak.--Shameful Conduct of Bering.--Shipwreck on Bering Island.--Bering’s Death.--Return to Kamchatka.--Loss of Property.--Persecutions of the Siberian Authorities.--Frozen to Death at Tjumen.
George William Steller, one of the most distinguished naturalists of the past century, was born at Winsheim, a small town in Franconia, in the year 1709. After completing his studies at the universities of Wittenberg and Halle, he turned his thoughts to Russia, which, since the reforms of Czar Peter the Great, and the protection which that monarch and his successors afforded to German learning, had become the land of promise for all adventurous spirits.
Having been appointed surgeon in the Russian army, which at that time was besieging Danzig, he went with a transport of wounded soldiers, after the surrender of that town, to St. Petersburg, where he arrived in 1734. Here his talents were soon appreciated; after a few years he was named a member of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, and sent by Government, in 1738, to examine the natural productions of Kamchatka. The ability and zeal with which he fulfilled this mission is proved by the valuable collections which he sent to the Academy, and by his numerous memoirs, which are still read with interest in the present day.
In 1741 he accompanied Bering on his second voyage of discovery, the object of which was to determine the distance of America from Kamchatka, and to ascertain the separation or the junction of both continents in a higher latitude--a question which his first voyage had left undecided. Nothing could be more agreeable to a man like Steller, than the prospects held out to him by an expedition to unknown regions; and we can easily imagine the delight with which the naturalist embarked on board of the “Saint Peter,” commanded by Bering in person. Accompanied by the “Saint Paul,” under Tschirigow, they sailed on June 4 from the Bay of Avatscha.
The expedition had cost ten years of preparation, and brought misery and ruin upon many of the wild Siberian tribes, for all that was necessary for the outfit had to be conveyed by compulsory labor from the interior of the continent over mountains and rivers, through dense forests and pathless wilds, and it seemed from the very beginning of the voyage as if the curses of the unfortunate natives clung to it. Much valuable time had been lost, for the ships ought to have sailed at least a month earlier, and Bering, who from illness constantly kept to his cabin, was by no means a fit commander for a scientific expedition.
After a few days a dense fog separated the vessels, which were never to meet again; and as the “St. Peter” held her course too much to the south, the Aleutic chain remained undiscovered, and the first land was only sighted after four weeks in the neighborhood of Bering’s Bay. During the whole of this passage Steller had to endure all the vexations which arrogant stupidity could inflict upon a man anxious to do his duty. It was in vain that he repeatedly pointed out the signs which indicated the presence of land not far to the north, in vain that he entreated the commander to steer but one day in that direction. At last, on July 15, the high mountains of America were seen to rise above the horizon, and the vessel anchored on the 19th near to the small island of Kaiak.
On the following day a boat was sent out to fetch some fresh water, but it was with the utmost difficulty that Steller could obtain permission to join the party. All assistance was obstinately denied him, and accompanied by his only servant, a Cossack, he landed on the unknown shore, eager to make the most of the short time allotted him for his researches. He immediately directed his steps towards the interior, and had scarcely walked a mile when he discovered the hollowed trunk of a tree, in which, a few hours before, the savages had boiled their meat with red-hot stones. He also found several pots filled with esculent herbs, and a wooden instrument for making fire, like those which are used by the inhabitants of Kamchatka. Hence he conjectured that the aborigines of this part of the American coast must be of the same origin as the Kamchatkans, and that both countries must necessarily approach each other towards the north, as the inhabitants could not possibly traverse such vast extents of ocean in their rudely-constructed boats.
Pursuing his way, Steller now came to a path which led into a dense and shady forest. Before entering, he strictly forbade his Cossack to act without commands, in case of a hostile encounter. The Cossack had a gun, with a knife and hatchet; Steller himself only a Jakut poniard, which he had taken with him to dig out plants or stones. After half an hour’s walking, they came to a place strewn with grass. This was immediately removed, and a roof or platform discovered, consisting of strips of bark laid upon poles and covered with stones. This platform opened into a cellar containing a large quantity of smoked fishes, and a few bundles of the inner bark of the larch or fir tree, which, in case of necessity, serves as food throughout all Siberia. There were also some arrows, dyed black and smoothed, of a size far superior to those used in Kamchatka.
After Steller, in spite of the danger of being surprised by the savages, had accurately examined the contents of the cellar, he sent his Cossack back again to the place where the boatmen were watering. He gave him specimens of the various articles which he had found, ordering him to take them to Captain Bering, and to request that two or three men might be sent to him for further assistance. In the mean time, though quite alone, he continued his investigations of the strange land, and having reached the summit of a hill, he saw smoke rising from a forest at some distance. Overjoyed at the sight, for he now could hope to meet with the natives and to complete his knowledge of the island, he instantly returned to the landing-place with all the eagerness of a man who has something important to communicate; and as the boat was just about to leave, told the sailors to inform the captain of his discovery, and to beg that the small pinnace, with a detachment of armed men, might be sent out to him.
Meanwhile, exhausted with fatigue, he sat down on the beach, where he described in his pocket-book some of the more delicate plants he had collected, which he feared might speedily wither, and regaled himself with the excellent water. After waiting for about an hour, he at length received an answer from Bering, telling him to return immediately on board, unless he chose to be left behind; and we can easily imagine the indignation of the disappointed naturalist at this shameful command.
On the morning of July 21, Bering, contrary to his custom, appeared on deck, ordered the anchors to be weighed, and gave directions to sail back again on the same course. The continent he had discovered was not even honored with a single visit, so that Steller could not help telling the Russians they had merely come thus far for the purpose of carrying American water to Asia. Any conscientious commander would have continued to sail along the unknown shore, or, considering that the season was already far advanced, would have determined to winter there, and to pursue his discoveries next spring; but, unfortunately for Bering and his companions, the course he adopted proved as disastrous as it was dishonorable.
Three months long the ship was tossed about by contrary winds and storms; the islands of the Aleutic chain, though frequently seen through the mists, were but seldom visited; the scurvy broke out among the dispirited, ill-fed crew, their misery increased from day to day, and their joy may be imagined when at length, on November 5, a land was seen which they firmly believed to be Kamchatka--though in reality it was merely the desert of Bering’s Island, situated a hundred miles from that peninsula. Even those who were nearly half dead crept upon deck to enjoy the welcome sight; every one thanked God, and the ignorant officer, convinced that they were at the entrance of the Bay of Avatscha, even named the several mountains; but their mistake soon became apparent when, on rounding a small promontory, some well-known islets were missed. As they had no doubt, however, that the land was really Kamchatka, and the bad weather and the small number of hands fit to do duty rendering it difficult to reach the Gulf of Avatscha, it was resolved to run into the bay that lay before them, and to send notice from thence to Nishne-Kamchatsk of their safe arrival.
Steller was among the first to land, and probably the very first of the party who discovered the mistake of the excellent navigators to whom the expedition had been intrusted. Sea-otters came swimming to him from the land, and he well knew that these much-persecuted animals had long since disappeared from the coast of Kamchatka. The number of Arctic foxes, too, who showed no fear at his approach, and the sea-cows gambolling in the water, were sure signs that the foot of man had not often trodden this shore. Steller was also the first to set the good example of making the best of a bad situation, instead of uselessly bewailing his misfortunes. He began to erect a hut for the following winter, and formed an association with several of the crew, who, whatever might await them, promised to stand by each other.
During the following days the sick were gradually conveyed on shore. Some of them died on board as soon as they were brought into the open air, others in the boat, others as soon as they were landed. “On all sides,” says Steller, in his interesting account of this ill-fated voyage, “nothing was to be seen but misery. Before the dead could be buried, they were mangled by the foxes, who even ventured to approach the helpless invalids who were lying without cover on the beach. Some of these wretched sufferers bitterly complained of the cold, others of hunger and thirst--for many had their gums so swollen and ulcerated with the scurvy as to be unable to eat.”
“On November 13,” continues the naturalist, “I went out hunting for the first time with Messieurs Plenisner and Betge; we killed four sea-otters, and did not return before night. We ate their flesh thankfully, and prayed to God that He might continue to provide us with this excellent food. The costly skins, on the other hand, were of no value in our eyes; the only objects which we now esteemed were knives, needles, thread, ropes, etc., on which before we had not bestowed a thought. We all saw that rank, science, and other social distinctions were now of no avail, and could not in any way contribute to our preservation: we therefore resolved, before we were forced to do so by necessity, to set to work at once. We introduced among us five a community of goods, and regulated our housekeeping in such a manner as not to be in want before the winter was over. Our three Cossacks were obliged to obey our orders, when we had decided upon something in common; but we began to treat them with greater politeness, calling them by their names and surnames, and we soon found that Peter Maximowitsch served us with more alacrity than formerly Petrucha (a diminutive of Peter).
“Nov. 14.--The whole ship’s company was formed into three parties. The one had to convey the sick and provisions from the ship; the second brought wood; the third, consisting of a lame sailor and myself, remained at home--the former busy making a sledge, while I acted as cook. As our party was the first to organize a household, I also performed the duty of bringing warm soup to some of our sick, until they had so far recovered as to be able to help themselves.
“The barracks being this day ready to receive the sick, many of them were transported under roof; but for want of room, they lay everywhere on the ground, covered with rags and clothes. No one could assist the other, and nothing was heard but lamentations and curses--the whole affording so wretched a sight, as to make even the stoutest heart lose courage. On November 15 all the sick were at length landed. We took one of them, named Boris Sänd, into our hut, and by God’s help he recovered within three months.
“The following days added to our misery, as the messengers we had sent out brought us the intelligence that we were on a desert island, without any communication with Kamchatka. We were also in constant fear that the stormy weather might drive our ship out to sea, and along with it all our provisions, and every hope of ever returning to our homes. Sometimes it was impossible to get to the vessel for several days together, so boisterous was the surge; and about ten or twelve men, who had hitherto been able to work, now also fell ill. Want, nakedness, frost, rain, illness, impatience, and despair, were our daily companions.”
Fortunately the stormy sea drove the ship upon the strand, better than it could probably have been done by human efforts. Successively many of the scorbutic patients died, and on December 8 the unfortunate commander of the expedition paid his debt to nature.
Titus Bering, by birth a Dane, had served thirty-six years with distinction in the Russian navy, but age and infirmities had completely damped his energies, and his death is a warning to all who enter upon undertakings above their strength.
In the mean time the whole ship’s company had established itself for the winter in five subterranean dwellings; the general health was visibly improving, merely by means of the excellent water, and by the fresh meat furnished by sea-otters, seals, and manatees; and the only care now was to gain sufficient strength to be able to undertake the work of deliverance in spring.
In April the shipwrecked mariners began to build a smaller ship out of the timbers of the “St. Peter,” and, such was the alacrity with which all hands set to work, that on August 13 they were able to set out.
“When we were all embarked,” says Steller, “we first perceived how much we should be inconvenienced for want of room; the water-casks, provisions, and baggage taking up so much space, that our forty-two men (the three ship’s officers and myself were somewhat better off in the cabin) could hardly creep between them and the deck. A great quantity of the bedding and clothing had to be thrown overboard. Meanwhile we saw the foxes sporting about our deserted huts, and greedily devouring remnants of fat and meat.
“On the 14th, in the morning, we weighed anchor, and steered out of the bay. The weather being beautiful, and the wind favorable, we were all in good spirits, and, as we sailed along the island, pointed out to each other the well-known mountains and valleys which we had frequently visited in quest of game or for the purpose of reconnoitring. Towards evening we were opposite the farthest point of the island, and on the 15th, the wind continuing favorable, we steered direct towards the Bay of Avatscha. About midnight, however, we perceived, to our great dismay, that the vessel began to fill with water from an unknown leak, which, in consequence of the crowded and overloaded state of the vessel, it was extremely difficult to find out. The pumps were soon choked by the shavings left in the hold, and the danger rapidly increased, as the wind was strong and the vessel badly built. The sails were immediately taken in; some of the men removed the baggage to look for the leak, others kept continually pouring out the water with kettles, while others again cast all superfluous articles overboard. At length, after the lightening of the ship, the carpenter succeeded in stopping the leak, and thus we were once more saved from imminent danger.... On the 17th we sighted Kamchatka, but as the wind was contrary, we did not enter the harbor before the evening of the 27th.
“In spite of the joy we all felt at our deliverance, yet the news we heard on our arrival awakened in us a host of conflicting emotions. We had been given up for lost, and all our property had passed into other hands, and been mostly carried away beyond hope of recovery. Hence joy and sorrow alternated within a few moments in our minds, though we were all so accustomed to privation and misery, as hardly to feel the extent of our losses.”
In the year 1744 Steller was ordered to return to St. Petersburg; but his candor had made him powerful enemies. Having reached Novgorod, and rejoicing in the idea of once more mixing with the civilized world, he was suddenly ordered to appear before the imperial court of justice at Irkutsk, on the charge of having treacherously sold powder to the enemies of Russia. Thus obliged to return once more into the depths of Siberia, he was at length dismissed by his judges, after waiting a whole year for their verdict.
Once more on his way to St. Petersburg, he had already reached Moscow, when he was again summoned to appear without delay before the court of Irkutsk. A journey to Siberia is, under all circumstances, an arduous undertaking; what, then, must have been Steller’s feelings when, instead of enjoying the repose he had so well merited, he saw himself obliged to retrace his steps for the fourth time, for the purpose of vindicating his conduct before a rascally tribunal? On a very cold day his Cossack guards stopped to refresh themselves with some brandy at an inn by the road-side, and Steller, who remained in the sledge waiting for their return, fell asleep, and was frozen to death.
He lies buried near the town of Tjumen, and no monument apprises the naturalist, whom the love of knowledge may lead into the Siberian wilds, that his unfortunate predecessor was thus basely requited after years of exertion in the interests of science.
XXIII. KAMCHATKA
Climate.--Fertility.--Luxuriant Vegetation.--Fish.--Sea-birds.-- Kamchatkan Bird-catchers.--The Bay of Avatscha.--Petropavlosk.-- The Kamchatkans.--Their physical and moral Qualities.--The Fritillaria Sarrana.--The Muchamor.--Bears.--Dogs.
The peninsula of Kamchatka, though numbering no more than 6000 or 7000 inhabitants, on a surface equalling Great Britain in extent, has so many natural resources that it could easily maintain a far greater number. The climate is much more temperate and uniform than that of the interior of Siberia, being neither so excessively cold in winter, nor so intensely hot in summer; and though the late and early night-frosts, with the frequent fogs and rains, prevent the cultivation of corn, the humid air produces a very luxuriant herbaceous vegetation. Not only along the banks of the rivers and lakes, but in the forest glades, the grass grows to a height of more than twelve feet, and many of the Compositæ and Umbelliferæ attain a size so colossal that the Heraclium dulce and the Senecio cannabifolius not seldom overtop the rider on horseback. The pasture-grounds are so excellent that the grass can generally be cut thrice during the short summer, and thus a comparatively small extent of land affords the winter supply for all the cattle of a hamlet. Though the cold winds prevent the growth of trees along the coast, the more inland mountain slopes and valleys are clothed with woods richly stocked with sables and squirrels.
No country in the world has a greater abundance of excellent fisheries. In spring the salmon ascend the rivers in such amazing numbers, that on plunging a dart into the stream one is almost sure to strike a fish; and Steller affirms that the bears and dogs of Kamchatka catch on the banks more fish with their paws and mouths than man in other countries, with all his cunning devices of net or angle. As the various birds of passage do not all wander at the same time to the north, so also the various kinds of fishes migrate, some sooner, others later, and consequently profusion reigns during the whole of the summer. Ermann was astonished at this incalculable abundance of the Kamchatkan rivers, for in one of them, when the water was only six inches deep, he saw multitudes of Chaekos (Slagocephalus) as long as his arm partly stranded on the banks, partly still endeavoring to ascend the shallow stream. As the waters contain such an incredible multitude of fishes, we can not wonder that the rocky coasts of the peninsula swarm with sea-fowl, whose breeding and roosting places are as densely peopled as any others in the world. At the entrance of the Avatscha Bay lies a remarkable labyrinth of rocks, separated from each other by narrow channels of water, like the intricate streets of an old-fashioned city. The flood has everywhere scooped out picturesque cavities and passages in these stupendous masses of stone, and the slightest wind causes the waves to beat with terrific violence against their feet. Every ledge, platform, and projection, every niche, hollow, and crevice is peopled with sea-birds of strange and various forms. In the capture of these birds the Kamchatkans display an intrepidity equal to that of the islanders of St. Kilda or Feroe, and trust solely to their astonishing agility in climbing. Barefooted, without ropes or any other assistance, they venture down the steepest declivities, which are frequently only accessible from the top, as the foaming breakers cut off all access from below. The left arm clasps a basket, which they fill with eggs as they advance, while the right hand grasps a short stick with an iron hook to drag the birds from the crevices of the rock. When a bird is caught, a dexterous grip wrings its neck, and it is then attached to the girdle of the fowler. In this manner an expert climber will kill in one day from seventy to eighty birds, and gather above a hundred eggs.
Thus the population of Kamchatka is quite out of proportion to the riches of its pastures and waters. Its scanty inhabitants are moreover concentrated on a few spots along the chief rivers and bays, so that almost the whole peninsula is nothing but an uninhabited wilderness.
Before the conquest of the country by the Russians it had at least twenty times its present population, but the cruelty of the Cossacks and the ravages of the small-pox caused it to melt away almost as rapidly as that of Cuba or Hayti after the arrival of the Spaniards. At that time the sable and the sea-otter were considered of far greater importance than man; and unfortunately Russia has too many deserts to people, before she can think of repairing past errors and sparing inhabitants for this remotest corner of her vast Asiatic empire.
As the peninsula is too distant from the highways of the world to attract the tide of emigration, it is also seldom visited by travellers. The few strangers, however, who have sailed along the coasts, or made excursions into the interior of the country, speak with enthusiasm of the boldness of its rocky promontories, the magnificence of its bays and mountains, and only regret that during the greater part of the year an Arctic winter veils the beauties of the landscape under mists and snow.
Throughout its whole length Kamchatka is traversed by an Alpine chain rising in some of its peaks to a height of 14,000 or 16,500 feet, and numbering no less than 28 active volcanoes along with many others whose fires are extinct. A land thus undermined with subterranean fires must be possessed of many mineral riches, but as yet no one has ever thought of seeking for them or putting them to use.
Owing to the great humidity of the climate and the quantities of rain attracted by the mountains, Kamchatka abounds in springs. In the lowlands they gush forth in such numbers as to render it very difficult to travel any distance on foot or horseback, even in winter, as they prevent the rivers from freezing. No doubt many a mineral spring-- cold, tepid, or warm--that would make the fortune of a German spa, here flows unnoticed into the sea.
Kamchatka has many excellent harbors, and the magnificent Bay of Avatscha would alone be able to afford room to all the navies of the world. Its steep rocky shores are almost everywhere clothed with a species of beech (Betula Ermanni), intermingled with luxuriant grasses and herbs, and the higher slopes are generally covered with a dense underwood of evergreens and shrubs of deciduous foliage, whose changes of color in autumn tinge the landscape with yellow, red, and brown tints. But the chief beauty of the Bay of Avatscha is the prospect of the distant mountains, forming a splendid panorama of fantastic peaks and volcanic cones, among which the Streloshnaja Sopka towers pre-eminent to the height of 14,000 feet. Close to this giant, but somewhat nearer to the coast, rises the active volcano of Avatscha, which frequently covers the whole country with ashes.
The vast Bay of Avatscha forms several minor creeks: among others the haven of St. Peter and Paul, one of the finest natural harbors in the world, where the Russians have established the seat of their government in the small town of Petropavlosk, which hardly numbers 500 inhabitants, but has acquired some celebrity from the unsuccessful attack of the English and French forces in 1854.
Mr. Knox thus describes Petropavlosk: “To make a counterfeit Petropavlosk, take a log village in the backwoods of a western state in America, and place it near a little harbor, where the ground slopes gently to the water. Arrange most of the houses along a single unpaved street, and drop the rest in a higgledy-piggledy fashion on the sloping hillside. All buildings must be but one story high, and those of the poorer sort thatched with grass. The better class may have iron or board roofs painted for preservation. The houses of the officials and the foreign merchants may be commodious, and built of hewn timber, but the doors of all must be low, and heavily constructed, to exclude the winter cold. Every dwelling must contain a brick stove that presents a side to each of two or three rooms. In winter this stove will maintain a temperature of about 68 degrees in all the rooms it is intended to warm.”
Besides some Jakut immigrants, the chief stock of the scanty population of the country consists of the descendants of the primitive Kamchatkans, who, in spite of frequent intermarriages with their conquerors the Cossacks, have still retained many of their ancient manners. They are of a small stature, but broad-shouldered, their cheek-bones are prominent, their jaws uncommonly broad and projecting, their noses small, their lips very full, their hair black. The color of the men is dark brown, or sometimes yellow; the women have fairer complexions, which they endeavor to preserve by means of bears’ guts, stuck upon their faces in spring with fresh lime, so as not to be burned by the sun. They also paint their cheeks with a sea-weed, which, when rubbed upon them with fat, gives them a beautiful red color.
The Kamchatkans are a remarkably healthy race. Many of them attain an age of seventy or eighty years, and are able to walk and to work until their death. Their hair seldom turns gray before their sixtieth year, and even the oldest men have a firm and elastic step. The weight of their body is greater than that of the Jakuts, though the latter live on milk and flesh, while fish is the almost exclusive food of the Kamchatkans. The round tubercles of the Fritillaria sarrana, a species of lily with a dark purple flower, likewise play an important part in their diet, and serve them instead of bread and meal. “If the fruits of the bread-fruit tree,” says Kittlitz--who has seen both plants in the places of their growth--“are pre-eminent among all others, as affording man a perfect substitute for bread, the roots of the Sarrana, which are very similar in taste, rank perhaps immediately after them. The collecting of these tubers in the meadows is an important summer occupation of the women, and one which is rather troublesome, as the plant never grows gregariously, so that each root has to be sought and dug out separately with a knife. Fortunately the wonderful activity of the Siberian field-vole facilitates the labor of gathering the tubers. These remarkable animals burrow extensive winter nests, with five or six store-houses, which they fill with various roots, but chiefly with those of the Sarrana. To find these subterranean treasures, the Kamchatkans use sticks with iron points, which they strike into the earth. The contents of three of these nests are as much as a man can carry on his back. A species of fungus, called muchamor, affords a favorite stimulant. It is dried and eaten raw. Besides its exhilarating effects, it is said to produce, like the Peruvian Coca, a remarkable increase of strength, which lasts for a considerable time.
Fishing and hunting supply all the wants of the Kamchatkans, for they have not yet learned to profit in any degree worth mentioning by the luxuriance of their meadow-lands. They pay their taxes and purchase their foreign luxuries--meal and tea, tobacco and brandy--with furs. The chase of the costly sea-otter (which from excessive persecution had at one time almost become extinct) has latterly improved. Besides the fur animals, they also hunt the reindeer, the argali, the wolf, and the bear, whose skins supply them with clothing.
Bears abound in Kamchatka, as they find a never-failing supply of fishes and berries, and Ermann assures us that they would long since have extirpated the inhabitants, if (most probably on account of the plenty in which they live) they were not of a more gentle disposition than any others in the world. In spring they descend from the mountains to the mouths of the rivers, to levy their tribute on the migratory troops of the fishes, frequently eating only the heads. Toward autumn they follow the fishes into the interior of the country as they ascend the streams.
The most valuable domestic animal in Kamchatka is the dog, who has the usual characters of the Esquimaux race. He lives exclusively on fish, which he catches very dexterously. From spring to autumn he is allowed to roam at liberty, no one troubling himself about him; but in October, every proprietor collects his dogs, binds them to a post, and lets them fast for a time, so as to deprive them of their superfluous fat, and to render them more fit for running. During the winter they are fed with dried fish every morning and evening, but while travelling they get nothing to eat, even though they run for hours. Their strength is wonderful. Generally no more than five of them are harnessed to a sledge, and will drag with ease three full-grown persons, and sixty pounds’ weight of luggage. When lightly laden, such a sledge will travel from 30 to 40 versts in a day over bad roads and through the deep snow; on even roads, from 80 to 140. The horse can never be used for sledging, on account of the deep snow, into which it would sink, and of the numerous rivers and sources, which are either never frozen, or merely covered with a thin sheet of ice, unable to bear the weight of so large an animal.
Travelling with dogs is, however, both dangerous and difficult. Instead of the whip, the Kamchatkans use a crooked stick with iron rings, which, by their jingling, give the leader of the team the necessary signals. When the dogs do not sufficiently exert themselves, the stick is cast among them to rouse them to greater speed; but then the traveller must be dexterous enough to pick it up again while the sledge shoots along. During a snow-storm the dogs keep their master warm, and will lie quietly near him for hours, so that he has merely to prevent the snow from covering him too deeply and suffocating him. The dogs are also excellent weather prophets, for when, while resting, they dig holes in the snow, a storm may with certainty be expected.
The sledge-dogs are trained to their future service at a very early period. Soon after birth they are placed with their mother in a deep pit, so as to see neither man nor beast, and, after having been weaned, they are again condemned to solitary confinement in a pit. After six months they are attached to a sledge with other older dogs, and, being extremely shy, they run as fast as they can. On returning home, they are again confined in their pit, where they remain until they are perfectly trained, and able to perform a long journey. Then, but not before, they are allowed their summer liberty. This severe education completely sours their temper, and they constantly remain gloomy, shy, quarrelsome, and suspicious.
To return to the Kamchatkans: travellers praise their good-nature, their hospitality, and their natural wit. Of a sanguine disposition, they are happy and content in their poverty, and have no cares for the morrow. Being extremely indolent, they never work unless when compelled. They readily adopt strange manners, and no doubt education might produce valuable results in so pliable and sharp-witted a race. Unfortunately the Russians and Cossacks who have settled among them do not afford them the best examples. They have long since been converted to the Greek Church, but it is supposed that baptism has not fully effaced all traces of Shamanism. Formerly they had many gods, the chief of whom was Kutka, the creator of heaven and earth. But far from honoring Kutka, they continually ridiculed him, and made him the constant butt of their satire. Kutka, however, had a wife, Chachy, who was endowed with all the intelligence in which her spouse was supposed to be deficient, and who, as is the case in many mortal housekeepings, was constantly exerting her ingenuity in repairing the blunders of her lord and master.