Summing up the details recorded by Admiral Wrangell, a recent writer draws an impressive picture of the mode of life of the people of this desolate waste, and observes: “All denotes that here the limits of the habitable earth are passed; and one asks with astonishment, What could induce human beings to take up their abode in so comfortless a region?”
The chief resource of the Sullaheris of the River Aniuj is, he says, the reindeer chase,—the success of which mainly determines whether famine or some degree of plenty is to be their lot during the coming winter. The passage of the reindeer takes place twice a year: in spring, when the mosquito-swarms drive them to the sea-coast, where they feed on the moss of the tundra; and in autumn, when the increasing cold forces them to retire inland. The spring migration, which begins about the middle of May, is not very profitable; partly because the animals are then in poor condition, and partly because it is more difficult to kill them as they dash across the frozen rivers. The chief hunting takes place in August and September, when the herds, each numbering several thousand deer, return to the forests. They invariably cross the river at a particular spot, where a flat sandy bank enables them to land with comparative ease; and here they close up their ranks, as it were, under the guidance of the stalwart veterans of the herd.
After a brief pause of hesitation the herd plunge into the waters, and in a few minutes the surface of the river seems alive with swimming reindeer. Now is the hunter’s time; and out from his concealment in the reedy creek he darts in his little boat, wounding as many animals as he can. While he and his comrades are thus engaged, they run some risk of being capsized in the turmoil, for the bucks gallantly defend themselves with horns, and teeth, and hind legs, while the roes usually attempt to spring with their fore feet upon the gunwale of the boat. If the hunter should be overset, his sole chance of safety is to cling to a strong animal, which will carry him securely across the stream. Such an accident, however, is of rare occurrence. A good hunter will kill a hundred reindeer, or even more, in half an hour. Meantime, the other boats seize the slaughtered animals, which become the property of their crews; while those that are merely wounded and swim ashore belong to the hunters, who, in the midst of the uproar, when all their strength is tasked to the uttermost, so aim their strokes as only to wound severely the larger animals. The noise of the horns striking against each other, the “incarnadined” waters, the shouts of the hunters, the cries of pain, rage, and alarm of the struggling animals, all form a scene which, once seen, is not easily forgotten.
While the men of Kolymsk are thus engaged during the brief summer-time in hunting, fishing, and haymaking, the women wander over the country, and climb the sides of the mountains, for the purpose of gathering edible roots, aromatic herbs, and various kinds of berries—though the last do not ripen every year. The berry-plucking season at Kolymsk, like the vintage in France or Italy, is a season of mirth, a holiday interval in a hard and laborious life. The young women and girls form large parties, and spend whole days and nights in the open air. When the berries are collected, cold water is poured over them, and they are preserved in a frozen state as an addition to the scanty winter fare. We are told that “social parties” are not unknown at Kolymsk, and probably afford as much or as little entertainment there as in more favoured and more civilized communities. The staple luxury is a deluge of weak tea—very weak, for the aromatic leaves which cheer but not inebriate are very dear at Kolymsk; and as sugar is also a costly article, every guest takes a lump of candy in his mouth, lets the tea which he sips flow by, and then replaces it upon the saucer. It would be considered a breach of courtesy if he consumed the entire lump, which thus is made to do duty at more than one soiree. Next to tea, but not less esteemed, the principal requisite for a Kolymsk entertainment is brandy.
Another important Siberian people are the Tungusi, who spread from the basins of the Upper, Middle, and Lower Tunguska to the western shores of the Sea of Ochotsk, and from the Chinese frontiers and the Baikal to the Polar Ocean. Their number does not exceed thirty thousand. According to their avocations, and the domestic animals which constitute their wealth, they are known as the Reindeer, Horse, Dog, Forest, and River Tungusi. Those who keep or rear horses and cattle are but a few; the majority depend on the reindeer. The condition of all is deplorably wretched. The Tungusi has no resource but fishing or hunting. When the rivers are frozen, he withdraws into the forest. Here his misery is so great and his need so extreme that he frequently becomes a cannibal, and attacks the wives and children of his more fortunate countrymen. In happier circumstances he is remarkable for the readiness of his wit, the vivacity of his manner, and the blithesome carelessness of his disposition. It is asserted, however, that he is both malignant and deceitful. He is vain; and loves to decorate his person with strings and ornaments of glass beads, from his small Tartar cap to the tips of his shoes. When hunting the reindeer, or travelling through the forests, however, he puts on large water-tight boots, or sari, well greased with fat; and he carries, on these occasions, a small axe, a kettle, a leathern wallet containing some dried fish, and a short gun, or a bow and a sling. He is always accompanied by his faithful dog.
“With the assistance of his long and narrow snow-shoes, he flies over the dazzling plain; and protects his eyes, like the Jakut, with a net made of black horse-hair. He never hesitates to attack the bear single-handed, and generally masters him. The nomad Tungusi naturally requires a movable dwelling. His tent is covered with leather, or large pieces of pliable bark, which are easily rolled up, and transported from place to place. The jart of the sedentary Tungusi resembles that of the Jakut, and is so small that it can be very quickly and thoroughly warmed by a fire kindled on the stone hearth in the centre. In his food the Tungusi is by no means dainty. One of his favourite dishes consists of the contents of a reindeer’s stomach mixed with wild berries, and spread out in thin cakes on the rind of trees, to be dried in the air or in the sun. Those who have settled on the Wilnj and in the neighbourhood of Nertschinsk likewise consume large quantities of birch tea, which they boil with fat and berries into a thick porridge; and this unwholesome food adds, no doubt, to the yellowness of their complexion.”
We shall now, and lastly, take a glance at the Tchuktche (or Tuski), who inhabit the north-eastern point of Asia, with the ice-covered waters of the Polar Sea on one side, and those of Behring Sea on the other. Their land is but seldom visited; all, however, who have ventured thither agree in describing it as one of the most melancholy regions of the earth. The soil is barren, and half-frozen, yielding no other vegetation than mosses and lichens, the vaccinium, and the dwarf birch and willow,—except in the low grounds, where the reedy marshes are frequented in the summer by geese, and swans, and ducks, and wading-birds. The climate is so rigorous that one wonders man can make up his mind to endure it. There is no summer earlier than the 20th of July; and on the 20th of August the shadow of winter comes upon the earth. Animal life, however, if not very varied, is abundant: walruses, sea-lions, and seals inhabit the coasts; and the reindeer, the wolf, the argali, and the Arctic fox are found in the interior.