The Siberian Sable-Hunter.
CHAPTER IV.
A meeting with Tunguses.—A great feast.—The travellers proceed.
The long story of Linsk being finished, Alexis remarked that, although it was not the best he had heard in his life, he was still obliged, for he had never heard a Samoide tale before.
“Well,” said the old hunter, a little snappishly, “if you don’t like my stories, you need not listen to ’em. I didn’t make ’em myself, and only tell what other people have told me. And as to these Samoides, what can you expect, when the men are not taller than a keg of brandy, and the women are about the height of a five-gallon jug? Can we expect to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear? I could tell you a story of Tartar robbers and enchanted castles, if you would like that better.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Alexis; “I did not mean to offend you. The Samoide story will do, but I should like to hear a Tartar tale very much.”
“Well,” said Linsk, “I will tell you one;” but just as he was about to begin, they came in sight of some huts belonging to the Tunguses, a very singular race of people, who inhabit the middle portions of Siberia. They resemble the Ostiacks, like them living in houses built of poles set in a circle. They have no towns or villages, but they wander from place to place, living entirely by hunting and fishing, in which they display wonderful skill and perseverance. In summer, they dwell on the banks of the rivers, and in winter retire to the wooded regions, where they pursue the sable, ermine, marten, and black fox. They have no fire-arms, but are adroit in the use of the bow and arrow. In the spring, they carry or send their furs to Yakoutsk, a considerable town on the Olekminsk river, and the great fur-market of Siberia.
In a short time, our adventurers came to the group of huts which they had before descried, and Linsk, who knew the habits of the people, did not hesitate at once to go up to one of them and prepare to enter it through a hole about three feet high, that was left as a door. He was met at the entrance by a man of about fifty years of age, and dressed in a short coat made of a wolf-skin, and a pair of flannel trowsers, that looked as much like a petticoat as anything else. He gazed at the four hunters for a moment with some distrust, but then seemed satisfied, and made a sign of welcome.
The conversation soon brought other persons out of the several huts around. These consisted of men, women, and children—all low in stature, and with skins of the color of a smoked ham. The men were dressed nearly in the same fashion as the person first described. The women were attired in short cotton gowns and flannel petticoats that reached but little below the knee. The children were half naked, or clad in cotton wrappers. Several of them had on cast-off seal-skin jackets reaching down to the middle, and making them look like half boys and half beasts.
They were a queer-looking set of people, but seemed frank and good-natured, and invited the strangers to spend the night, which was now approaching, with them. Linsk, who knew the language pretty well, accepted the offer, and the party was led to one of the largest huts. Alexis noticed two large rein-deer in a little pen attached to the dwelling, and observed several large dogs, who now awoke from their repose and came smelling suspiciously around the new-comers.
On entering the hut, the scene presented was a curious one. The whole interior consisted of one room. This was circular, of a conical form, and about twenty feet across. Benches were set around, upon which the wife and one or two other women were sitting. The fire was built in the centre, and, there being no chimney, the whole hut was filled with smoke; but the inmates did not seem to mind it. The children were crawling upon the floor like pigs.
After staying a while in the hut, it was announced that supper was ready, and the travellers soon found that it was to be a feast. The men of the party had been on a fishing expedition, and, having been absent a week, had scarcely tasted a bit of food during that period, and their families at home had been fasting in the mean time. One of the huts had been assigned to the cooking of the meal, and it was to be eaten in the same place.
When the sable-hunters came to the hut, they found about sixty people there, of all sexes and sizes. Already had the revel begun; for the hunger of the party was beyond control. The feast itself was a sight to see. Four large iron caldrons had been set over the fire, filled with fishes of all sorts, though chiefly cod. They were thrown in together without dressing—heads, tails, entrails, fins, and scales! A huge quantity of deer’s-grease and a little salt had been put in. A brisk fire had then been kindled beneath, and the whole fried or boiled into a mighty chowder. The steam that gushed from the door of the hut, was almost strong enough for a supper. It was so rank as to satisfy Alexis and his two younger companions, who soon went out of doors, and mingled with the people there.
A feast of wolves could not have been more voracious. Knives, forks, and plates were not thought of; each one ran into the hut with a wooden bowl, and, dipping it into the caldron, brought forth the seething mass, and while it yet seemed boiling hot, they devoured it with a rapacity absolutely amazing. The scalding heat seemed not to be the least hindrance; there was no ceremonious blowing and cooling—down it went, one dishful after another, as if it were a strife to see who could devour the most in the shortest space of time!
In two or three instances the children upset their bowls, and picking up the food from the ground, heedless of the dirt attached to it, ate it down; no matter if it was trodden upon, it was all the same. One of the children was seen by Alexis, flat upon his stomach, lapping up the broth, from the earth, that had been spilt. Among this crowd, the dogs came in for their share; but they were often obliged to dispute their claims to the remnants with the greedy children.
Among all this coarseness, the strangers were treated with the utmost hospitality, as, indeed, they had been ever since their departure from Tobolsk. After the meal had been finished, a few of the men treated themselves, apart, to brandy, in which entertainment our adventurers were permitted to join. A scene of drunkenness followed, after which the men staggered to their several houses. Linsk and his companions were comfortably lodged, having drank but sparingly.
In the morning the travellers left their Tungusian friends, and set out on their journey, offering to pay for their entertainment, which was, however, refused. Indeed, this had been generally the case, and they had hardly found any necessity of having money. Proceeding upon their journey, Linsk, according to his wont, began to talk, and these Tungusians were naturally the subject of his discourse.
“They are very numerous,” said he, “occupying nearly half of Siberia, and being confined to the central portions of it. They are as restless as Tartars, always moving from place to place, and alternately feasting and starving. They go without food as long as a wolf, and, like a wolf, they will gorge themselves when they get a chance. They eat food when and where they can get it. This is the way they are brought up. I have seen them eat candles, soap, and raw pork. I was once at a place where a reindeer died of disease; they threw him whole upon a fire, singed him a little, and then eat him, leaving nothing but the bones! A real hungry Tungusian will eat twenty pounds of meat in a day!”
Alexis would have expressed some doubt of all this, had not the scene he had witnessed prepared him to believe it, and had he not found that Linsk, though loyal to servility, and not a little inclined to superstition, was still a man of veracity in all that related to his own observation and experience. He went on with his description, therefore, without interruption.
“Yet, greedy as these people are, they have their good points, as I believe all God’s creatures have. They are honest, frank, and hospitable. If they love feasting, their willingness to share the meal with a stranger is a greater virtue. And they are not so stupid as one might expect, from their swallowing such oceans of lard. I know of no people so cunning in catching fish and game. In the winter season, many establish themselves in the forests along the branches of the Wittim and Olekminsk regions, lying to the south of where we now are. A young hunter from Tobolsk, whom I knew, and who dwelt there one winter, told me that they were the keenest fellows he had ever met with. They would trace a fox by his foot-prints upon the frozen snow, and could tell whether it was grey or black by the shape of his track! They killed their game with blunt arrows, so as not to injure the skin; and so careful were they of the sable, that when they found one on a tree, they would not shoot him, but make fires beneath, and smoke him, until the creature would fall at their feet.
“The fact is, that the Tunguses are such good hunters that the wild beasts have found them out, and have pretty much left their country. The fine sables are now seldom found where they used to be abundant, and those who would hunt them must go farther north, where we are going. These people have no books, and their religion is a strange belief in stupid gods, whom they worship under the guise of little wooden images. They believe in witchcraft and sorcery; and there are a good many cheats among them, who pretend to practise these forbidden arts.”
(To be continued.)