The Siberian Sable-Hunter.
CHAPTER XI.
The season of summer, at Okotsk, consisting of the months of June, July, and August, is the only time when a vessel can venture to navigate the stormy sea of that far northern region. Alexis was, therefore, obliged to wait several weeks, before the time of departure arrived. As the land mail came once every month from St. Petersburgh to Okotsk, by way of Tobolsk, he twice received a letter from his sister. In the latter instance, the epistle arrived but a single day before the vessel was to sail, and contained somewhat painful intelligence. A part of it ran thus:
“Although, as I have said, I am, on the whole, cheerful, yet, I confess that my mind is sometimes clouded with apprehension. Our dear father is impressed with the idea that he shall live but a short period, and it is impossible to disguise the fact, that he is very feeble. He does not leave the house now, and very seldom his room. His mind is, however, tranquil, and he seems to feel a sort of religious resignation, which is really beautiful to behold. He has no anxieties but for you and me.
“He has a dreadful idea of Colonel Krusenstern, the Russian commander here, who has been so kind to us, and especially to me. He thinks all his kindness is selfish and hypocritical, and that, under the mask of friendship, he harbors some base design. I must confess, that I begin to fear the man, for he is known to be ruthless and savage in his temper, when once excited. I almost suspect that he has sent you and Suvarrow away, to deprive us of protection. If our poor father were to die, what, alas, would be my situation? But I must not indulge these thoughts; indeed, they are only flitting shadows, that occasionally come across my mind. Do not mention these things to Suvarrow, for they might make him unhappy. I must confess that I feel depressed at the idea of the dreadful distance that lies between us; and how that distance will soon be increased. Only think of it, Alexis—when you get into the Pacific Ocean—you and Suvarrow will be on one side of the world, and I on the other! Then will there be a whole world between us!—This is a sad thought; but I must not permit it to weaken my heart, so as to prevent doing my duty to our beloved father. Oh, Alexis! what would I not give to see you! But it may not be. Heaven bless you, my dear, my only brother! Farewell!
Katrine.”
Alexis was so much affected by this letter that he was on the point of deciding to return straight back to Tobolsk—but before he had quite made up his mind, the vessel was ready to depart, and Suvarrow hurried him on board. There all was activity and bustle. The ship, called the Czarina, carried forty guns, and contained three hundred men. To get a vessel of war, of this size, under way, is a serious matter. The heavy anchor is to be taken in; a variety of sails to be set; and it seemed as if all was to be done with as much noise as possible. Alexis had never been on board a ship before, and the scene was quite strange and bewildering to him. But at last the anchor was in; several sheets of broad canvass were spread to the wind; the vessel began to move forward; the waves dashed against her prow, and rippled along her sides; a stream of milky foam was at her stern, and the little town of Okotsk began to seem smaller and smaller, and at last sank from the view, behind the swelling bosom of the sea!
The die was now cast; Alexis was upon the ocean, separated from the land on which he had hitherto dwelt, and many months must elapse before he could hope to see his kindred, about whom he now had occasion to feel the greatest anxiety. But his attention was soon called to other things. The wind blew more and more fresh, and the gallant ship flew like an eagle upon her way. Everything was new to our young hero, and for a long time his mind was absorbed in the scenes on board the ship, or by the aspect of the gloomy deep. But at last he grew sea-sick, and was obliged to go to his berth.
The dog presented to Peyrouse.
The sea of Okotsk appears like a little spot upon the map, but it is a thousand miles long, and five hundred miles wide. The vessel, therefore, was soon out of sight of land, but proceeding southward, she approached a rugged and rocky shore, in about a week. Alexis was now able to be on deck, and was told that they were about passing between the great island of Jesso, on the left, and the island of Saghalien, on the right. They soon entered a narrow strip of water, called the straits of Peyrouse, in honor of that celebrated navigator, who passed through them in 1788. The land was visible on both sides, but it presented a dreary and desolate appearance.
Alexis learned that Jesso, or Matsmai, as it is often called, though considered one of the Kurile islands, belongs to the Japanese. There are, however, on this island, as well as upon Saghalien, a race of natives, called Ainos, who are remarkable for having long and full heads of hair. But they are very intelligent, and at the same time are neat, peaceful, and much attached to one another. Peyrouse landed upon one of the shores in this region, and had a very pleasant reception. One day he gave a child a piece of rose-colored nankeen; and his father, wishing to return the favor, went out immediately, and got a little dog, and begged Peyrouse to accept it. This is only one instance to show how well they appreciate a favor.
The Czarina made no stay in these regions, farther than to catch a supply of salmon, which were amazingly abundant. The mariners found the shores almost constantly beset by thick fogs, rendering the navigation very difficult and dangerous. Beside this, there seemed to be rocks and reefs on every hand, and swift currents, that made it necessary to use the utmost caution.
The straits were soon passed, and the ship entered the Japanese Sea, which lies between Tartary and the islands of Japan. The course of the ship was still southerly, and for several days nothing of particular interest happened. While they were thus pursuing their voyage, the officers of the ship usually dined together, Alexis and a Russian merchant, who had entered the vessel at Okotsk, being of the party. Much hilarity prevailed, songs were sung, and many good stories were told.
One day, after dinner, while all were sitting around the table, the conversation turned upon Tartary, a vast country which lay westward of the Japanese Sea. After a good deal had been said on the subject, the captain of the ship, whose name was Orlof, joined in the discourse, and proceeded as follows:
“In ancient times, the Tartars were called Scythians; and in their contests with the Romans, they appear to have displayed great vigor of character. They have been spread over nearly all the central and northern part of Asia, from time immemorial; but they are broken into many tribes, and pass under many different names, as Cossacks, Kalmucks, Mongols, Kirghises, Kalkas, Mandshurs, Uzbeks, Turkomans, &c. The tribes which inhabit Siberia, the Ostiacks, Tunguses and others, are but fragments of the great Tartar family.
“At the present day, the central part of Asia, from the Caspian and Volga on the west, to the Sea of Japan on the east, is occupied by Tartars, though divided into two separate governments—Independent Tartary and Chinese Tartary. The latter, including Thibet, is nearly as extensive as Siberia, and has been subject to the emperor of China since 1647, for it was about that time that the Mandshur Tartars took Pekin, and set one of their princes on the throne of China. Since that time, the emperors of China have been of this Tartar line.
“The Mogols are regarded as the original race of all the Tartars, and also of the Japanese, Chinese, and some of the adjacent nations. They are, also, the original stock from which the Turks have sprung, as well as the Huns, and some other tribes of Europe. But the point about which I was going to speak, is the inconsistency of the Tartar character. With other nations, they are considered savage and merciless, while, among each other, they are kind, gentle and affectionate, in a remarkable degree. Of these two opposite characters there is abundant proof.
“Attila, the leader of the Huns, who fell like a cloud of desolating locusts upon Italy, about the year 400 after Christ, was called the ‘scourge of God.’ His mission seemed to be to destroy, and he performed the fearful work without mercy. Hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children, were sacrificed to his fury, and that of his bloody followers.
“In 1206, Genghis Khan founded the empire of the Mogols, and spread his empire from east to west, three thousand five hundred miles. Not only lesser kingdoms, but China itself became subject to his sway. In the early part of his career, he took a large number of prisoners; but, as if to make his name a terror throughout the world, he ordered those of the most elevated rank to be thrown into caldrons of boiling water. He pursued his conquests with amazing success, but with unsparing severity. Cities, towns, and countries he laid waste, and he crushed human beings with as little feeling as if they had been only so many spiders. He trod the earth, crushing human beings, as remorselessly as we do insects. He turned his armies against China, and passed the great wall, which had been built a thousand years before, to save that empire from the Tartars, who even then, appear to have excited the dread of their neighbors.
“Genghis entered China, and attacked Pekin. This at last yielded, and for an entire month, it was given up to fire and the sword. He afterwards led his armies against the more western nations. The conflict and the slaughter were fearful; in the destruction of two cities, alone, Bochara and Samarcand, two hundred thousand people were destroyed, of every age and sex. Everywhere he was successful, but at last he died, in his sixty-sixth year. Six millions of people fell victims to the bloody wars of this great butcher of his fellow-men. Yet, savage as he was in war, Genghis was a promoter of learning, and a friend to religious freedom; he welcomed all learned men at his court, and showed great tenderness to friends, and especially, his own family.
“Timour the Tartar, or Tamerlane, though the son of a peasant, became a king, and, about the year 1400, had so extended his conquests that his empire nearly exceeded that of Genghis Khan. He subdued Persia, India, Syria, and Asia Minor. He conquered Bajazet, the sultan of Constantinople, and took him prisoner. He twice took Bagdat, and in the latter case, gave it up to the fury of his soldiers, who slew eight hundred thousand men. Yet Timour—thus savage in war—was a man of many agreeable qualities, and has left behind him numerous anecdotes of justice and gentleness.
“There are many other proofs to be found in history of this savageness of the Tartars in war; yet, all travellers tell us of their hospitality, humanity and kindness, in peace. Many of them are robbers by trade, and from the earliest times they have been accustomed to pour down, by thousands, from their colder climes, to ravage the rich and luxurious natives of the south.”
When the captain paused, the merchant remarked, that he was much gratified at this sketch of Tartar history and character. “I suppose,” said he, “that the phrase, ‘he has caught a Tartar,’ arose from the general notion among mankind, that the people of this stock, are a rough, untameable race. I have, indeed, heard a story told as giving origin to this proverb. A braggadocia soldier, it is said, in one of our wars against some of the tribes on the borders of the Caspian, getting separated from his companions, was taken by one of the enemy. His commander being near—the soldier called out—‘Captain, I have caught a Tartar,’—‘Well,’- said the captain, ‘fetch him along!’ ‘But the fellow won’t let me come!’ said the soldier. Since that time, the expression, he has caught a Tartar, is applied to those, who, in seeking to get an advantage of others, have been taken in themselves.
“But you were speaking of Genghis Khan. I was once among the Cossacks of the Don—among whom there are always many story-tellers. I recollect to have heard one relate a tale of that famous conqueror, which exhibits him in the light in which you have portrayed him. Shall I tell it?”
“Certainly,” was the reply of several voices—and the merchant went on. But as the story is rather long, we must leave it for the next chapter.