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

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

On these hunting expeditions many Siberians pass the greater part of the winter in the forest. Before he sets out, the huntsman usually makes a bargain with a merchant. He promises the merchant all the skins he gets at a certain average price, provided the merchant will buy all without selection. If the hunter has good luck he may, even nowadays, make enough out of it to keep him alive, or at least to defray the expenses of the winter; usually, however, he has little recompense for his hardships and privations, and no one less modest in his demands than the Siberian huntsman could make it a means of livelihood.

Hunting the bear is regarded by the West Siberians as the most honourable and the most arduous kind of sport. For in this region Bruin is by no means the good-natured, simple creature he still is here and there in East Siberia; he is rather, as in most regions, a rough, uncouth fellow, who usually runs away from man, but who, when wounded or driven into a corner, will show fight savagely and prove himself exceedingly formidable. In spite of all persecution, he is still far from extermination; his occurrence may be spoken of as frequent, or, at any rate, as not uncommon. Always and everywhere, however, he goes his own way, and does not too often cross man’s path. Not that he is shy of human settlements, for he often stations himself not far from these, and sometimes falls upon domestic animals under the very eyes of their possessors; but he shows himself so sporadically that many Siberians have never seen him face to face, nor met him in the forest. It seems likely that he goes a-touring all the summer. He traverses the woods with a disregard of paths, but keeps to more or less beaten tracks when he ascends to the heights of the mountains in late summer, or returns to lower ground at the beginning of winter. When the corn is ripe, he stations himself in the fringes of the forest that he may steal comfortably from the adjacent fields; sometimes he leaves the wood entirely and visits the steppes, or the mountain-sides with steppe characters; he will stay a long time in one district and hurry through another without stopping, always and everywhere keeping a sharp look-out for the constantly recurring opportunities of securing his favourite foods. In most districts he is emphatically a vegetarian; here and there he becomes a formidable carnivore; in other places he seeks after carrion. In spring he is on short commons, and takes what he can get; he sneaks stealthily on the herds grazing in the woodland, makes a sudden bound on a victim, or pursues it with surprising rapidity, seizes it, drags it to the ground, kills it, and, after satiating himself, buries the remainder for a future meal. When a cattle plague rages, he visits the burial-places in order to secure the carcasses, and he is even accused of being a body-snatcher. In summer he plunders the fields of rye, wheat, and oats, robs bee-hives, and the nests of wild-bees and wasps, destroys ant-hills for the sake of the pupæ, rolls old trunks over to get at the beetles and grubs beneath, and even breaks up mouldering trees to capture the larvæ which live in rotting wood. In autumn he lives almost exclusively on berries of all sorts, and even on those fruits which he can gather from such trees as the bird-cherry; when the cembra-cones are ripe he goes after these, climbing lofty trees, and breaking off not only branches but the very tops; nor can he refrain from persistently prowling round the stores in which the cones are temporarily collected, or from trying to find his way in. Moreover, at all seasons he tries his hand at fishing, and not unfrequently with success. From man he usually runs away, but sometimes he will attack him without further ado, not hesitating even at superior force. According to the weather he times his winter-sleep. For his bed he selects a suitable place under a fallen giant tree; there he scrapes out a shallow hole, covers the floor with fine pine-twigs and moss a foot and a half deep, cushions the side-walls with the same material, covers the outside with branches and pieces of stem, creeps into the interior, and allows himself to be snowed up. If the first snowfall surprise him on the mountains, he does not always descend, but hides in a rock-cave which he furnishes as best he can, or else expands a marmot’s burrow till it is just big enough to hold him, and there sleeps through the winter. Once sunk into deep sleep, he lies dormant so obstinately that many efforts are often necessary to rouse him; he bites savagely at the poles with which the huntsman tries to poke him up, he growls and roars, and only surrenders when rockets or fire-brands are thrown on his refuge. Then, if he be not wounded, he rushes forth like a startled boar, and seeks safety in rapid flight. According to the consistent evidence of all experienced huntsmen, the she-bear brings forth young only every second winter, and does not awake from her deep sleep until a short time before the birth; she licks her cubs clean and dry, sets them to suck, and continues her sleep in snatches. At the end of May or in June she seeks out her older children, of two or even four years’ growth, and compels them to do service as nurses.[37]

Although the flesh of the bear is by no means unpalatable, it is but little esteemed in West Siberia, where bear-hams are served up rather in obedience to fashion than from appreciation of the dish. Nevertheless, the bear-hunt brings in rich gain. The skin is in great demand for sledge-rugs and fetches a high price; teeth and claws serve not only among the Ostiaks and Samoyedes, but also among the West Siberian peasants, as potent charms; even the bones are now and then used. The canine of a bear slain in honourable combat brings to the Ostiak hunter, so he believes, supernatural gifts, especially courage, strength, and even invulnerability. A claw, especially the fourth of the right fore-foot, which corresponds to the ring finger, is prized by the love-lorn maiden of the Ural, for the youth whom she secretly scratches with it is bound to return her love ardently. Teeth and claws have, therefore, a high value, and have more effect in inciting the huntsman to pursue the most formidable carnivore of the forest, than any damage which Bruin does. But the chase is neither easy nor without danger. Traps do not seem to be of any avail. The hunter must seek out the bear, and, weapon in hand, helped by his practised dogs, must do battle. During the summer the restless habits of the bear make the chase very difficult; during winter there is the chance of finding a lair and of killing the sleeper in or near it. The poor peasant who discovers a lair sells the bear in situ to any well-to-do sportsman, who, on a suitable day, goes with him and the requisite associates and surrounds the sleeper with sure marksmen. Beaters rouse the creature from his slumbers and bring him into view, and the huntsman shoots from the nearest possible distance. It is thus that the great majority of the bears are secured, and to good shots there is little danger. In summer and autumn they track the bear with small dogs, and while these bait him on all sides, the sportsman seizes a good opportunity for a telling shot. Or he may use the bear-spear, as the bold Ostiaks do, and charge the animal. Or else he may wind birch-bark several times round his left arm, and, holding this as a shield against the angry bear, may plunge a long, broad knife into his heart as he snaps at the bark. In these modes of attack accidents do, indeed, often happen; but in the course of time some hunters become so expert and cold-blooded that they prefer the spear or knife to any other weapon. Indeed, a peasant girl in the village of Morschowa is famous all over West Siberia for having killed more than thirty bears with the knife.

Of undesired encounters with bears many stories are told. A hunter, armed only with a pea-rifle, came across a large bear in the forest, but did not dare to shoot, knowing that his weapon was too small for such big game. He therefore remained still, so as not to irritate the bear. But Bruin came along, raised himself, snuffed at the huntsman’s face, and then gave him a blow which stretched him senseless on the ground. Thereupon the bear ran away as quickly as possible, just as if he thought that he had played a naughty trick. Two Swedes, Aberg and Erland, were hunting hazel-grouse on the Urals. The former approached a bramble bush in the hope of raising a bird, when to his surprise a huge bear jumped up and made for him at once. As flight was impossible, Aberg raised his fowling-piece to his shoulder, aimed at the bear’s eye, fired, and was fortunate enough to blind him. Maddened with the pain, the bear covered the bleeding eye with his paw, roared loudly, and rushed on at the undismayed huntsman. But the latter coolly took aim at the other eye and fired again with equal effect. Then he called for his comrade, and they fired alternately at the blinded bear until he was dead.

But the merriest tale had its scene in the village of Tomski Sawod in the district of Salair. One of the peasants was leading a load of cembra-cones through the forest, and did not notice that the cones were falling out of one of his sacks. A bear, who was wandering through the forest in the rear of the cart, crossed the road, and finding some of the cones looked for more, and followed the track unnoticed. After a time the peasant left the horse and cart standing, and diverged into the wood to fetch another sack which he had left filled with cones. But before he returned with his burden, the bear, still gathering cones, had reached the cart and climbed into it, there to feast to his heart’s content. With no little dismay the peasant perceived as he drew near what passenger had taken possession, and not daring to dispute his right, left him with the horse and cart. The horse, becoming uneasy, looked back, recognized the bear, and forthwith trotted off as fast as he could go. But the undesired jolting frightened the bear and prevented him from leaping off. He was forced to sit still and hold on, venting his increasing discontent in loud roars. The roaring only served to increase the pace; the more the bear stormed, the faster the horse hastened to the village. Now the village-folk had been for several hours expecting a visit from the bishop, and were standing at their doors in holiday attire, ready to greet his reverence when he appeared. Already sharp-eyed boys had been posted on the outlook on the church-tower, with instructions to toll the bells when the bishop’s company came in sight. In the distance was seen a whirling cloud of dust; the boys sprang to the bells, men and women arranged themselves in rows, the priest appeared with incense before the door of the church, every soul stood ready to give a worthy reception to the dignitary of the church. On came the rattling cart, and right through the festive village tore horse and driver, the former covered with dust, sweating and panting, the latter roaring and snorting, their mad career only ending when they reached the peasant’s yard. Instead of the beautiful Russian psalm, the terrified cries of half-senseless women rang out through the air, and the men, instead of doing dutiful reverence, rushed about astonished and affrighted. Only the church bells continued to peal. Before these had ceased, the men had recovered presence of mind and got hold of their weapons. The cart was followed, and the bear, who seemed to have lost all his wits, was soon stretched dead on the throne which he had himself chosen.

Those who know the ways of bears will allow that all might have happened as I have described, though we may be inclined to regard the humorous story as one of the sportsman’s budget. For even the most serious and honourable forest-folk sometimes mingle truth and fancy when they tell of the forests and woodcraft of Siberia.

THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA.

The north of Africa is desert, must be desert, and will be desert for ever. For between the Red Sea and the Atlantic, the land-area exposed to the scorching sun is so extensive that the surrounding seas have not their usual climatic importance. The Red Sea is out of account altogether; even the Mediterranean is too small to have great influence, and the Atlantic Ocean affects only a narrow belt along the west coast. Over regions so vast and so hot, every cloud is dispersed without moistening or fertilizing the parched ground. Only when we go much further south, near the equator, do the conditions change. On the one side, the Atlantic Ocean sweeps in with a great curve; on the other side, the Indian Ocean washes the African shores, the two oceans, as it were, stretching their hands across the continent. Here, moreover, at certain times, thunder-storms bring downpours of rain so heavy that the desert has to give way to the more living steppe, and the year is divided into two essentially different seasons—of life and of death, of rain and of drought, whereas in the barren desert only the periodic winds bear tidings of the seasonal changes in progress elsewhere.

In order to understand the steppe-lands it is necessary to give a rapid sketch of their seasons. For every country reflects its dominant climate, and the general aspect of a region is in great part an expression of the conflicting forces of its seasons, apart from which it cannot be understood.

Almost as soon as the rains are over, the season of destruction and death begins—the long and terrible winter of the African interior—a winter which brings about by heat the same dire effects as are wrought in the North by cold. Before the sky, hitherto often clouded, has become quite clear, some of the trees, which had become green in spring, throw off their foliage, and with the wind-swept leaves go the wandering birds. These had brooded here in the spring, but now they seek other fields. The stems of the cereals turn yellow before the rains have ceased; the low grasses wither and dry. The intermittent water-courses cease to have any flow; the rain-filled pools are dried up; and not only the reptiles and amphibians, but even the fishes peculiar to them, are forced to burrow and seek winter-quarters in the damp clay. The seeds of plants, and the eggs or larvæ of insects are also hidden away in the earth.