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

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

With the disappearance of the ice the activity of the fishermen on the river begins. Many of the Ostiak fishermen work in the pay of, or at least in partnership with the Russians, others only sell to them the superfluous portion of their catch, and fish on their own account. Immediately after the ice has broken up, the former class pitch their tshums beside the fisher huts of the Russians, and the others settle by the river banks in their summer dwellings—log-huts of the simplest construction. Where a tributary flows into the river, they raise across it, or across the mouth of an arm of the stream, a barricade which leaves only one channel, and in the deep water they place baskets and set bottom-lines; beyond that they use only drag- and seine-nets.

Bustling activity prevails about all the fishing-stations when the catch is good. On a shaky stand above the opening in the barricade the young men, more boys than men, are crouching, peering keenly into the dark flood beneath them to see whether the fish are going into the draw-net which they are holding so as to close the channel. From time to time they lift their burdened net, and empty its contents into their little boat. The men fish together on a sand-bank with the drag-net, or in shallower parts of the river with the seine. In the afternoon, or towards evening the fishermen return home, and the fish are distributed among the different households. Next morning the women’s work begins. Singly, or in groups, they sit beside a great fish heap, each provided with a board and a sharp knife, and scale, gut, split, and crimp the fish, afterwards stringing them on long thin sticks, which are hung up on the drying-stands to dry. With dexterous and certain strokes the abdominal cavity is opened and the side muscles separated from the backbone, a few touches more separate the liver and other viscera from the head, ribs, and more valuable side portions of the body. Liver after liver slips between the smacking lips; for the women have not yet broken their fast and they take the titbits as a preliminary snack. If they are still unsatisfied, a fish is scaled, gutted, and cut in long strips, the end of one of these is dipped into the trickling blood and, thus seasoned, is put into the mouth, divided into suitable mouthfuls with quick knife-strokes which seem to pass perilously near the point of the eater’s nose. The children playing about their busy mothers receive pieces of liver or strips of muscle according to their size; four-year-olds use the knife to cut the pieces almost as cleverly as their elders, who invariably divide their fish or strips of reindeer flesh in this manner. Soon the faces of mothers and children shine with fish blood and liver oil, and the hands glisten with adhering fish-scales. When all the fishes are scaled, split, and hung up to dry, the dogs which have been sitting, covetous but not importunate, beside the women, receive their portion also—the scales and debris, which are thrown into a heap amid which the black muzzles burrow eagerly.

The morning work is over, and a short period of rest has been earned. The mothers take their children on their laps, suckle the nurslings, and then proceed to a work which is absolutely necessary, not only to the little ones’ comfort but to their own—the hunt for parasites. One child after another lays its head in its mother’s lap, and finally she lays her own in that of her eldest daughter or of a friend who hopes for a similar service, and the hunt proves productive. That the booty secured is put between the lips, and if not actually eaten, at least bitten to death, is nothing new to a naturalist who has observed monkeys, and it confirms those who see more than a mere hypothesis in Darwin’s doctrine, or in the belief that men may exhibit atavism, or a reversion to the habits of a remote ancestor.

The sun is sinking, the men, youths, and boys come back with a new and rich harvest. They have eaten raw fish as they required, but now their souls long for warm food. A great steaming kettle of cooked fish, delicious salmonoids (genus Coregonus), the nearest relative of the salmon, is set before them; its accompaniment is bread dipped in and thoroughly saturated with fish fat. Brick-tea,[84] put on the fire with cold water and boiled for a long time, brings the meal to an end. “But when the desire for food and drink is appeased” the spirit also longs for satisfaction, and the musician with harp or zither of his own manufacture is eagerly welcomed, whether to play one of their strange, old, indescribable melodies, or an accompaniment to the quaint dance of the women, in which they raise themselves and sink again, throw one arm round the other, stretch both out, and drop them to their sides. These amusements last until the mosquito-curtain is prepared, then here, too, old and young disappear beneath its folds.

The summer is past, and winter follows the short autumn. A new activity comes into play with the migration of the birds; a new, indeed the full, true life of the Ostiaks begins with winter. For the departing summer guests the treacherous net is spread. Gaps are cut in the dense willow growth of the banks on the direct course between two large sheets of water, and in each space is spread a thin, easily-moved limed net, into which fly not only ducks, but geese, swans, and cranes. These are welcome booty, both on account of flesh and feathers, for birds of all kinds form a considerable portion of the food not only of the Ostiaks but of all the dwellers in the river-basin. At the time when the bird-catcher begins his work the nomad herdsman sets out on the chase, and sets his fall-traps in the tundra for the red and Arctic foxes, or in the forest, in company with his more settled relatives, he sets snares, spring-bows, and self-acting cross-bows for wolves and foxes, sables and ermines, gluttons and squirrels. If snow has fallen, the experienced huntsman buckles on his snow-shoes, puts on his snow-spectacles, and betakes himself with his fleet dog to the tundra or the forest to seek out the bear in his den, to follow the track of the lynx, to chase the elk and the wild reindeer, now impeded by the snow, which will not bear their weight though it bears the huntsman’s. He has never lied, never sworn falsely by the bear’s tooth, never done a wrong, and the bear is therefore powerless against him, the elk and the reindeer are not fleet enough to escape him! When a bear has been shot he returns triumphantly to the village, neighbours and friends gather round him in the tshum, rejoicing, and as the general jubilation infects him, he slips quietly away, disguises himself, puts on a mask, and begins the bear-dance, executing wonderful movements, which are meant to mimic and illustrate those of the bear in all the varied circumstances of his life.

The huts of the fisher-folk soon contain a rich treasure of skins, the tshum of the herdsman a still richer, for he has stored up the skins of all the reindeer slaughtered throughout the year. Now it is time to get rid of them. Everyone, far and near, prepares for the fair which is held every year, in the second half of January, in Obdorsk, the last Russian village, and the most important trading centre on the lower Obi. The fair is attended by natives and strangers, and during its progress the Russian government officials collect taxes from the Ostiaks and Samoyedes, settle disputes, and deal out justice generally; the Russian merchants are on the outlook for buyers and sellers, the dishonest ones among them, and the swindling Syryani, for thoughtless drunkards, and the clergy for heathen to be converted. Among the Ostiaks and Samoyedes all sorts of agreements are made, weddings arranged, enemies reconciled, friends gained, compacts with the Russians formed, debts paid and new ones contracted. From all sides appear long trains of sledges drawn by reindeer, and one tshum after another grows up beside the market-place, each tshum surrounded by heavily-laden sledges containing the saleable acquisitions of the year. Every morning the owner, with his favourite wife in gala attire, proceeds to the booths to sell his skins and buy other commodities. They bargain, haggle, and attempt to cheat, and Mercury, as powerful as of yore, shows his might not only as the god of merchants but of thieves. Alcohol, though its retail sale is forbidden by the government, is to be had not only at every merchant’s, but in almost every house in Obdorsk, and it blunts the senses and dulls the intelligence of Ostiak and Samoyede, and impoverishes them even more than the much-dreaded reindeer plague. Brandy rouses all the passions in the ordinarily calm, good-tempered, inoffensive Ostiak, and transforms the peaceable, friendly, honest fellows into raging, senseless animals. Man and wife alike long for brandy; the father pours it down his boy’s throat, the mother forces it on her daughter, should they begin by rebelling against the destructive poison. For brandy the Ostiak squanders his laboriously-gained treasures, his whole possessions; for it he binds himself as a slave, or at least as a servant; for it he sells his soul, and denies the faith of his fathers. Brandy is an indispensable accompaniment to the conclusion of every business, even to conversion to the orthodox church. With the help of brandy a dishonest merchant can get possession of all an Ostiak’s skins, and without these, with empty purse and confused head, the man who arrived in Obdorsk full of hope and pride, returns to his tshum cheated, not to say plundered. He repents his folly and weakness, makes the best of resolutions, becomes tranquil in doing so, and soon remembers nothing except that he enjoyed himself excellently with his fellow tribesmen. First they had drunk together; then men and women had kissed each other, then the men had beaten their wives, had tried their strength on each other, had even drawn their sharp knives, and, with flashing eyes, had threatened each other with death; but no blood had been shed; there had been a reconciliation; the women who had fallen on the ground, stupefied with blows and brandy, were lifted up tenderly, and were tended by other women; to celebrate the reconciliation an important compact had been made, a bridegroom was sought for the daughter, a little bride for the son; even a widow had been married, and they drank again to the occasion; in short, they had had a splendid time. That the government officials had shut up all those who were dead drunk, that all, all their money had gone the way of things perishable, had certainly been disagreeable, very disagreeable. However, the prison had opened again; after a time, the loss of the money had been got over, and only the golden recollection, over which they could gloat for a whole year, and the betrothal, so satisfactory to all parties, remained as permanent gain from the delightful festival.

The bridegroom and bride had also been at the fair, had drunk with the rest, and thus made each other’s acquaintance, and the bridegroom had agreed with his parents to choose the maiden as his wife, or rather had agreed to receive her. For it is the parents’ decision, not the consent of the couple themselves, that concludes a marriage among the Ostiaks. They may perhaps have some regard for the bridegroom’s wishes, may allow him to cast his affections on one or other of the daughters of his people, but they only send an agent to treat with the girl’s father if their own circumstances correspond with his. The maiden herself is not consulted, perhaps because, at the time of her betrothal, she is much too young to be able to decide upon her own future with discretion. Even the future husband has not reached his fifteenth year when the agent begins to treat for the twelve-year-old bride. In this case the general exhilaration of fair-time had considerably hastened the course of proceedings. The matrimonial agent had gained an immediate consent; the negotiations, often very protracted, had been at once begun, and thanks to brandy, which usually proves an evil demon, but in this case expedited matters, they were brought to a speedy conclusion. It had been agreed that Sandor, the young bridegroom, should pay for his little bride, Malla, sixty reindeer, twenty skins of the white and ten of the red fox, a piece of coloured cloth, and various trifles such as rings, buttons, glass beads, head-dresses, and the like. That was little, much less than the district governor, Mamru, who was scarcely better off, had to give for his wife; for his payment consisted of a hundred and fifty reindeer, sixty skins of the Arctic and twenty of the red fox, a large piece of stuff for clothes, several head-dresses, and the customary trifles. But times were better then, and Mamru might well pay what was equivalent to more than a thousand silver roubles for his wife, who was stately, rich, and of good family.

The amount agreed on is paid; the nuptials of the young couple are celebrated. The relatives of the bride’s family come to her father’s tent to bring presents and to receive others from the bridegroom’s gift, which is laid out for everyone to see. The bride is arrayed in festive garments, and she and her friends prepare for the drive to the tshum of the bridegroom or of his father. Beforehand they have eaten abundantly of the flesh of a reindeer, fresh killed, according to custom. Only a few fish caught under the ice have been cooked to-day; the flesh of the reindeer was eaten raw, and when one began to grow cold a second was slaughtered. The bride weeps, as becomes departing brides, and refuses to leave the tshum in which she was brought up, but she is consoled and coaxed by all, and at last she is ready. A prayer before the domestic idol solicits the blessing of the heavenly Ohrt, whose sign, the divine fire Sornidud—in our eyes only the flaming northern light—had shone blood-red in the sky the evening before. The daughter is accompanied by her mother, who keeps close by her side, and even remains near her during the night. Mother and daughter mount one sledge, the rest of the invited kinsfolk mount theirs, and, in festive pomp, to the sound of the bells which all the reindeer wear on their harness, the wedding procession sets forth.

In his father’s tent the bridegroom awaits the bride, who modestly veils her face with her head-dress in the presence of her future father and brothers-in-law. This she continues to do after the marriage is consummated. A new banquet begins, and the guests, who have been joined by the bridegroom’s relatives, do not disperse till late at night. But the next day the mother brings the young wife back to her father’s tent. A day later all the bridegroom’s relatives appear to demand her back again for him. Once more the low hut is filled with festive sounds; then the bride leaves it for ever, and is again conducted with pomp to the tshum which she is thenceforward to share with her husband, or with him and his father and brothers and sisters, or later on with another wife.

The sons of poor people pay at most ten reindeer for their brides; those of the fisher-folk only the most necessary furnishings of the tshum, and even these are often shared among several families; but their weddings, too, are made the occasion of a joyful festival, and there is as much banqueting as circumstances will allow.