From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

From the distance are heard weak, shrill, bleating sounds. They do not escape the attentive ears of the mothers. A loud and simultaneous call from every throat is the answer; all the maternal longing, increased to the utmost by the long waiting, is condensed in a single cry. And from the distance, down from the hills towards the yurt, the eager lambs and kids come rushing to find their mothers; the biggest and strongest in front, the youngest and weakest behind, but all hurrying, running and leaping, almost enveloped in a cloud of dust; and stretching out into a longer procession the nearer they approach their goal. An apparently inextricable confusion arises, old and young, united at last, run hither and thither, touching each other lightly as they pass, to find out, by touch as well as by smell, whether they have found their own or not; both run on if this is not the case, the lambs and kids, however, in most cases only after they have been made aware of their mistake by a push or tread from the mother animal. Gradually the dense crowd dissolves, for by degrees, in a much shorter time than one would imagine, every mother has found her child, every child its mother, and the young one now kneels down under its parent, eagerly drawing from the udder what milk remains. And if the bleating still continues, the sounds are now indicative only of the liveliest satisfaction.

But this state of mutual delight does not last long. The udders, already milked, are quickly exhausted, and, in spite of all the thrusts of the suckling, the fountain will flow no longer. But mother and young still enjoy the pleasure of being together. The mixed flock spreads out in all directions, the complaisant mother following the lively youngster as it climbs the nearest height after the manner of its kind, or looking contentedly on when a little kid tries its strength in playful combat with another of its own age. The whole space round the yurt is picturesquely decorated by the lively flocks, a most charming picture of peaceful and comfortable pastoral life lies before the eyes of those who have feeling and understanding to enjoy it.

The women now allow themselves a short rest, take their children in their laps, and fulfil their maternal duties or desires. But more work awaits them. A lowing announces the approach of the cows, also eager for their share of maternal joy, and the industrious women rise hastily, bring the calves which were tied up beforehand to the cows, let them suck for a little, wrench them from the udder again, and only after milking allow the calves full freedom. Meanwhile the shepherds and dogs have once more collected the sheep and goats, and now old and young, men and women, boys and girls, unite in the work of catching the lambs and fastening them in rows, with nooses which are firm without being too tight, to a cord in front of the yurt, so that the mothers cannot suckle. As may be supposed, this is not completed without much bleating and noise, and mingled with it are the cries and wailings of the children wearying for their mothers, the lowing of cows, and the barking of dogs. Only the lambs and kids just tied submit quietly to the inevitable. A few kids still try their sprouting horns in playful duels, but they soon tire, and lay themselves peaceably down opposite their quondam rivals. Before the long row is fastened most of the young ones have tucked in their legs and given themselves up to repose. One mother-sheep and goat after another sniffs at the little ones till she has found her own, but returns to the flock when she has satisfied herself that it is impossible to lie down beside her offspring.

The sun has long since disappeared from the horizon, and twilight has given place to darkness. It becomes quieter and quieter in the yurt. Men and animals have sought and found rest; only the dogs begin their rounds under the guidance of a watchful herdsman; but even they only bark when there is a real reason for it, when it is necessary to scare away some prowling wolf or other thief. A cool, but fragrant, dewy summer night descends upon the steppe, and the refreshing slumber of this richest and most beautiful season blots out the hardships of winter from the memory of man and beast alike.

FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ.

To escape the threatening hand of justice, four thieves fled from the homes of honest men, and sought refuge and concealment in the vast steppe. On their flight, they fell in with two beggar-women, driven out, like themselves, from among their industrious fellows. The beggar-women found favour in the eyes of the thieves, and they married them, two thieves taking one woman. A great many children resulted from these alliances, so contrary to the laws of God and man, and the children became the parents of a numerous people who spread over the hitherto uninhabited steppe. But they were faithful to their origin—thieves like their fathers, beggars like their mothers, and like both in being without religion or morals. This people is the Kirghiz, whose name signifies “Robber”.

Thus a religious Tartar poet pictures the origin, and describes the character of a people closely related to his own, who speak the same language, and worship the same God according to the precepts of the same prophet. He speaks thus, solely because the Kirghiz, in matters of religion, cling less slavishly to words, and think less narrowly than he does. His words simply illustrate the old and ever new story; the offence which the poet’s words express is constantly repeated among every people, the pious lie, which no sect has shrunk from uttering, to lower the credit of those who think differently from themselves.

But the traveller who sojourns among the Kirghiz, the stranger who seeks and receives hospitality under the light roof of their yurt, the scholar who endeavours to investigate their manners and customs, the official who lives among them as guardian of the law, or as representative of the State; in a word, everyone who has much intercourse with them, and is unprejudiced, gives an account of them widely different from that of the Tartar poet.

There was a time when the Kirghiz in general justified their name, but this time has long gone by, at least as far as most branches of the different hordes are concerned. The sentiments, the adventurous expeditions, and brigand exploits of their fathers may awaken an echo in the breast of every Kirghiz; but, on the whole, these horsemen of the steppe have submitted to the laws of their present rulers, live at peace among themselves, as well as with their neighbours, respect the rights of property, and do not rob and steal oftener or more than other people, but rather more rarely and less. Under Russian dominion the Kirghiz of to-day live in such satisfactory circumstances, that their fellow-tribesmen beyond the boundaries look with envy on the Russian subjects. Under the protection of their government they enjoy quietness and peace, security of property, and religious freedom; they are almost entirely exempt from military service, and are taxed in a manner which must be acknowledged as reasonable in every respect; they have the right of choosing their own district governors, and many other privileges to the enjoyment of which the Russians themselves have not as yet attained. Unfortunately, these governors are not so reasonable as the government, and they hamper, oppress, and overreach the Kirghiz whenever and in whatever way they can. But, happily, they have not been able in any way to influence the manners and customs of the people.

The Kirghiz are a race of true horsemen, and can scarcely be thought of apart from their horses; they grow up with the foal and live with the horse till death. It is not, indeed, on horseback only that the Kirghiz is at home, for he understands how to ride every kind of animal which can bear him at all: but the horse is always, and under all circumstances, his favourite bearer and most cherished companion. He transacts all his business on horseback, and the horse is looked upon as the only steed worthy of a man. Men and women ride in the same fashion, not a few of the women with the same skill as the men. The position of the rider is lazy and comfortable, not very pleasing to the eye of the spectator. The Kirghiz rides in short buckled stirrups, without a leg-guard, touching the front edge of the saddle with the knees only, and thus balancing himself freely; trotting, he raises himself in the stirrups, often standing upright in them, and bending his head so far forward that it almost touches the horse’s neck; when the horse walks or gallops, as it usually does, he holds himself erect. He holds the reins with the whole hand. The knout, which is held by the loop or knot, he uses with the thumb, index and middle fingers. Falling out of the saddle is by no means a rare occurrence, for he takes not the slightest heed of ways and paths, but leaves the horse to find these for itself. And even if he be of more careful mood, he will take any path which the beast can tread, with as little hesitation as he mounts the wildest, most intractable horse. Difficult paths do not exist for him; in fact, path simply means the distance across a given area; what may lie between the beginning and the end of the journey is to him a matter of the utmost indifference. As long as he is in the saddle he expects incredible things of his steed, and gallops uphill or downhill, over firm ground or through bog, morass, or water; without giddiness or any of the fear which seizes him when afoot, he climbs precipices which any other rider would deem impassable, and looks calmly down from the saddle into the abyss by the side of the goat-track, which he calls a road, where even the most expert mountaineer would be unable to repress a shudder. When he has dismounted, he acts upon all the rules deduced from long experience for the care of an over-strained horse, and is as careful of it as he had previously been inconsiderate. On festive occasions the Kirghiz performs feats of horsemanship for the amusement of the spectators, who are never awanting; he raises himself erect in the stirrups, which are crossed over the saddle, and springs from them without falling, he holds fast to the saddle or stirrups with his hands, and stretches his legs into the air, or hangs from one side of the saddle, and attempts to pick up some object from the ground, but he does not seem to practise the military sports of his Turkish relatives. Racing is to him the greatest of all pleasures, and every festival is celebrated by a race.