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

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

Here, as everywhere else, the dog submits to man’s will, but man must adapt himself to the requirements of the reindeer. These requirements, and not the will or humour of the herdsman, determine the wanderings of the nomad Ostiak, as the coming and going of the fishes influences the doings of his relatives in fixed abodes, to a considerable extent at least. The migrations of the reindeer herdsmen and their herds take place for almost the same reasons and in the same direction as those of the Kirghiz, and are distinguished from them chiefly by the fact that they do not cease in winter, but rather become more constant and varied. When the snow begins to melt, the Ostiak herdsman travels slowly towards the mountains; when the mosquito plague begins he ascends their sides, or at least betakes himself to the shoulders of the ranges; when it ceases again—and even the open heights are not entirely free from it—he gradually descends to the low tundra to pass the winter, if possible on his native river-bank. This is the course of his life one year after another, unless he is visited by that most terrible of disasters, the reindeer plague.

Before the short summer comes to the inhospitable land, before even the first breath of spring is stirring, when a thick sheet of ice lies still unbroken over the mighty river, its tributaries, and the innumerable lakes of the tundra, the reindeer bring forth their calves; it is therefore more than ever necessary to seek out a place which offers sufficient pasture for both mothers and young. Our herdsman migrates, therefore, not to the deepest valleys, but to the heights from whose crests the raging storms of winter have blown away much of the snow, and here, in the best available spot, he erects his tshum. For days, even weeks, he remains there until all the exposed reindeer moss has been eaten up, and the broad hoof of the reindeer itself, which has been used to clear away the snow, almost refuses duty. Then the herdsman breaks up his camp, and wends his way to some not far distant spot, which offers the same attractions as the first. Here, too, he remains until pasturage becomes too scarce, for this is still what he looks on as the good season. The herds feed in dense troops; among the stags, whose antlers have just begun to sprout, the deepest peace reigns; the calves are never lost sight of by their anxious parents; the herd neither scatters nor wanders out of hearing of the loud call which summons them to the tshum at sundown. At night, indeed, the greedy wolf, which has been driven by winter from the mountains, prowls around them, but the brave dogs keep sharp watch, and resist the cowardly robber; and our herdsman therefore is as little troubled about the wolves as he is about winter, which he, like all the peoples of the far north, looks on as the best season of the year. The days—still very short—are gradually lengthening, the nights becoming shorter, and the dangers threatening his defenceless herds are gradually diminishing. The river throws off its winter covering; and with the floods warmed in the steppes of the south, soft winds blow through the land; one hill-top after another is laid bare of snow, and here, as well as in the valleys, where the buds are sprouting luxuriantly, the weather-hardened animals find food in abundance. The low tundra has become a paradise in the eyes of our herdsman. But this comfortable life lasts only a short time. The quickly-rising sun, which shines longer and becomes hotter every day, soon melts the snow in the more level valleys and the ice in the broad lakes, thaws even the surface of the frozen earth, and calls into life, along with other harmless children of the spring, milliards of torturing gnats and persecuting gadflies, whose larvæ were snorted out of the reindeers’ nostrils only a few weeks before.[83] Now wandering begins in earnest; the herdsman travels, in short daily marches, but still hastily, towards the mountains.

As soon as the dew is dry on the moss, lichens, grasses, and the young leaves of the dwarf bushes, the women take to pieces the tshum they erected only the day before, and load the sledges which were only then unladen. In the meantime the herdsman himself, on his light sledge drawn by four strong stags, goes in search of the herd scattered about to find pasture, or resting contentedly in groups, collects them and drives them towards the camping ground, where the rest of the family are prepared to receive them. Holding in their hands a thin rope, over which the reindeer seldom venture to jump, they form a circle round the herd; the herdsman, with his lasso in his right hand, goes in among the reindeer, throws his noose almost unfailingly round the neck or antlers of the chosen stags, secures and harnesses them, orders that all the others be let loose, mounts his sledge again and drives away in the direction of the next camping-ground. All the other sledges, driven by different members of the family, follow him in a long train, the whole free herd follows them, lowing or grunting, their hoofs crackling at every step. The dogs run about the whole procession, barking continually and collecting the animals that are inclined to wander. They cannot, however, prevent a few from breaking off from the sides of the herd and remaining behind. The herd spreads out more and more, picturesquely adorning all the heights; now and again they pause in groups over some favourite food; importuned by the calves the mother deer perform their maternal duties, and then, to please their satisfied offspring, lie down beside them till the eagle eye of the herdsman spies them, and, taking a wide circuit round the laggards, he drives them by a word of command, or by the help of the dogs, to join their fellows trotting briskly on ahead. Amid renewed general grunting, and loud barking from the dogs, the reassembled herd surges onwards; a very forest of antlers presses forwards, and something akin to sportsman’s joy stirs the heart of the spectator who is unfamiliar with the sight.

The sun is declining; the draught animals groan heavily, their tongues hanging far out of their mouths; it is time to allow them rest. At a short distance, beside one of the innumerable lakes, there rises a low flat hill. Towards it the herdsman directs his course, and on its summit he brings his antlered team to a stand. One sledge after another arrives; the herd also soon comes up and immediately betakes itself to the best grazing-ground, quickly followed by the unharnessed draught animals.

The women select a suitable spot for erecting the tshum, place the poles upright in a circle, and cover them with the sheets of bark; the herdsman in the meantime takes his already prepared noose, and with experienced eye picks out a young, fat stag from the herd. Quickly he casts the lasso over its horns and neck. In vain the animal struggles for his freedom; the huntsman comes nearer and nearer, and the reindeer follows him unresisting towards the tshum, which has now been erected. An axe-stroke on the back of the head fells the victim to the ground, and a knife is plunged into his heart. In a couple of minutes the animal is skinned and dexterously cut up. A minute later all the members of the family, who have assembled hastily, are dipping strips of cut-up liver into the blood collected in the breast-cavity, and the “bloody meal” begins. Crouching in a circle round the still warm stag, each cuts himself a rib or a piece of the back or haunch; lips become red as if they had been badly painted; drops of blood flow down over chin and breast; the hands, too, are stained, and, dripping with blood, they smear the nose and cheeks; and blood-stained countenances meet the astonished stranger’s gaze. The baby leaves its mother’s breast to share in the meal, and after he has swallowed a piece of liver, and reddened face, hands, and whatever else he can reach, he crows with joy as his careful mother breaks a marrow-bone and gives it to him to suck. The dogs sit in a circle behind the feasting company, ready to snap up the bones which are thrown to them. One after another rises satisfied from the meal, wipes his blood-stained hands on the moss, cleans his knife in the same way, and retires into the tshum to rest. But the housewife fills the cooking-kettle with water, puts into it as much of the flesh of the half-eaten animal as it will hold, and lights the fire to prepare the evening meal.

Fig. 64.—Interior of an Ostiak Dwelling (Tshum).

Meantime the herdsman has thrown off his upper garment and looked through it hastily, yet not without result, and he has drawn near the fire so that the flames may play with full effect on the naked upper portion of his body. He feels comfortable, and begins to think of another enjoyment. A wonderful man who is travelling towards the mountains in his company, a German, perhaps even a member of the Bremen exploring expedition to West Siberia, has not only presented him with tobacco—horrible stuff, it is true, yet at any rate strong—but he has also given him a great sheet of paper, a whole Kölnische Zeitung. From this he carefully tears off a small square piece, twists it to a pointed cornet, fills this with tobacco, bends it in the middle, and the pipe is ready. A moment later it is alight, and it smells so pleasant that the wife distends her nostrils, and begs to share the enjoyment. Her wish is at once granted, and the little pipe wanders round so that every member of the family may enjoy it in turn.

But the contents of the pot begin to bubble, the supper is ready, and all “raise their hands to the daintily prepared meal”. Then the herdsman stands outside the door and utters a far-sounding call of long-drawn notes, to collect the restless herd once more. This done, he returns content into the tshum. Here his wife has spread the mosquito tent and is still busy stuffing its lower edge under the coverlets. While waiting for this work to be finished the man on his couch amuses himself by seizing one of the dogs and nursing it like a baby, the dog enduring it patiently in the consciousness that it is a high honour. Then the man creeps half-naked under the mosquito net, his fifteen-year-old son follows his example, the little thirteen-year-old wife of the latter does the same, the anxious mother sees to the safety of the little one in the cradle, the nursling already mentioned, lays more decayed wood on the smoky fire at the entrance to the tshum, shuts the door, and lies down like the rest. A few minutes later loud snoring announces that all are sleeping the sleep of the just.

The next morning the same daily round begins again, and so it goes on until the mountain heights permit of a longer sojourn in one place. The snow, which falls very early, warns them to return even in August, and again, this time more slowly and leisurely, herdsmen and herds journey back to the low grounds.