THE TUNGUSI.
This race having spread over East Siberia, driving before them the Jakuts, Jukahiri, Tchuktchi, and other aboriginal tribes, were conquered by the Russians, and are now as ignorant and uncivilized as they were two hundred and fifty years ago. Dr. Hartwig, deriving his information from Wrangell, the Arctic explorer, thus sketches the traits of this people:—
“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 shore 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 his 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 plains, 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 relatives 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 are hung on branches of trees.
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 and Ochotsk, which, before the opening of Amoor to trade, was the chief port of East Siberia.
CHAPTER CXLVII.
SIBERIA—Concluded.
THE SAMOÏEDES AND OSTIAKS.
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 — OSTIAKS — WHAT IS THE OBI? — A SUMMER YOURT — POVERTY OF OSTIAK FISHERMEN — A WINTER YOURT — ATTACHMENT OF OSTIAKS TO THEIR ANCIENT CUSTOMS — ARCHERY — APPEARANCE AND CHARACTER OF THE OSTIAKS.
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 coasts 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 everywhere 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 other to the assistance of his patient.
Besides dealing with the invisible world, the Tadibe does not neglect the usual arts of an expert conjurer, and knows by this means how 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 North American Indians,—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. 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 afterward, 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.
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 Kamschatkans 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, 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 offence; “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.
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 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.
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.