Fortunately the weather was fine, at least during the first days of the journey; and the green river-banks, the birds singing in the trees, and the sunbeams glancing over the wide mirror of the Obi, somewhat enlivened the monotony of the scene.
After having enjoyed at Narym a remarkably mild Siberian winter, as no crows had been frozen to death, and having increased his knowledge of the Ostiak dialects, Castrén proceeded in the following spring, by way of Tomsk, to Krasnojarsk, on the Jenissei, where he arrived in April, 1846, and was welcomed in a most agreeable and unexpected manner. It will be remembered that during his stay at Ishemsk, in the tundra of the Samoïedes, he found warm-hearted friends and protectors against the insane bigotry of the Raskolniks in the Isprawnik and his young and amiable wife. Of the latter it might truly be said that she was like a flower born to blush unseen in the desert. Remarkably eloquent, she was no less talented in expressing her thoughts by writing; and yet she was only the daughter of a serf who had been exiled to Krasnojarsk, and had spent a great part of a small property, acquired by industry and economy, in the education of his gifted daughter. The Isprawnik, a young Pole of insinuating manners, having gained her affections, she had accompanied him to Ishemsk as his wife.
From what Castrén had told her three years since about his future plans, she knew that he would probably arrive about this time at Krasnojarsk, and had written a letter, which reached its destination only a few hours before him. It was to her father, earnestly begging him to pay every attention to the homeless stranger. The feelings of Castrén may easily be imagined when the old man knocked at his door, and brought him these friendly greetings from a distance of 6000 versts.[10]
But his stay at Krasnojarsk was not of long duration, for he was impatient to proceed northward, for the purpose of becoming acquainted with the tribes dwelling along the Jenissei, after having studied their brethren of the Obi. From June till the end of July, his literary pursuits detained him at Turuchansk, where, in the vicinity of the Arctic Circle, he had much to suffer from the heat and the mosquitoes. In the beginning of August the signs of approaching winter made their appearance, the cold north wind swept away the leaves from the trees, the fishermen retired to the woods, and the ducks and geese prepared to migrate to the south. And now Castrén also took leave of Turuchansk—not however, like the birds, for a more sunny region, but to bury himself still deeper in the northern wilds of the Jenissei. Below Turuchansk the river begins to flow so languidly, that when the wind is contrary, the boat must be dragged along by dogs, and advances no more than from five to ten versts during a whole day. Thus the traveller has full time to notice the willows on the left bank, and the firs on the right; the ice-blocks, surviving memorials of the last winter, which the spring inundations have left here and there on the banks of the vast stream; and the countless troops of wild birds that fly with loud clamor over his head.
About 365 versts below Turuchansk is situated Plachina, the fishing-station of a small tribe of Samoïedes, among whom Castrén tarried three weeks. He had taken possession of the best of the three huts of which the place consisted, but even this would have been perfectly intolerable to any one but our zealous ethnologist. Into his study the daylight penetrated so sparingly through a small hole in the wall, that he was often obliged to write by the light of a resinous torch in the middle of the day.
The flame flickering in the wind, which blew through a thousand crevices, affected his eyes no less severely than the smoke, which at the same time rendered respiration difficult. Although the roof had been repaired, yet during every strong rain—and it rained almost perpetually—he was obliged to pack up his papers, and to protect himself from the wet as if he had been in the open air. From this delightful residence, Castrén, still pursuing his study of the Samoïede dialects, proceeded down the river to Dudinka, and finally, in November, to Tolstoi Noss, whose pleasant climate may be judged of by the fact that it is situated in the latitude of 71°. This last voyage was performed in a “balok,” or close sledge, covered with reindeer skins. The tediousness of being conveyed like a corpse in a dark and narrow box, induced him to exchange the “balok” for an open sledge; but the freezing of his feet, of his fingers, and of part of his face, soon caused him to repent of his temerity. As soon as this accident was discovered at the next station, Castrén crept back again into his prison, and was heartily glad when, after a nine days’ confinement, he at length arrived at Tolstoi Noss, which he found to consist of four wretched huts. Here again he spent several weeks studying by torchlight, for the sun had made his last appearance in November, and the day was reduced to a faint glimmering at noon. In January we find him on his return-voyage to Turuchansk, a place which, though not very charming in itself, appeared delightful to Castrén after a six months’ residence in the tundras beyond the Arctic Circle.
Turuchansk can boast at least of seeing some daylight at all seasons of the year, and this may be enjoyed even within-doors, for Turuchansk possesses no less than four houses with glass windows. Longing to reach this comparatively sunny place, Castrén, against his usual custom, resolved to travel day and night without stopping, but his impatience well-nigh proved fatal to him. His Samoïede guide had not perceived in the dark that the waters of the Jenissei, over which they were travelling, had oozed through fissures in the ice, and inundated the surface of the river far and wide. Thus he drove into the water, which of course was rapidly congealing; the reindeer were unable to drag the sledge back again upon the land, and Castrén stuck fast on the river, with the agreeable prospect of being frozen to death. From this imminent danger he was rescued by a wonderful circumstance. Letters having arrived from the Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg, a courier had been dispatched from Turuchansk to convey them to Castrén. This courier fortunately reached him while he was in this perilous situation, helped him on land, and conducted him to a Samoïede hut, where he was able to warm his stiffened limbs.
After such a journey, we can not wonder that, on arriving at Turuchansk, he was so tormented with rheumatism and toothache as to be obliged to rest there several days. With sore joints and an aching body, he slowly proceeded to Jeniseisk, where he arrived on April 3, 1847, in a wretched state of health, which however had not interrupted his Ostiak studies on the way. I rapidly glance over his subsequent travels, as they are but a repetition of the same privations and the same hardships, all cheerfully sustained for the love of knowledge. Having somewhat recruited his strength at Jeniseisk, he crossed the Sajan Mountains to visit some Samoïedes beyond the Russian frontier—a journey which, besides the usual fatigues, involved the additional risk of being arrested as a spy by the Chinese authorities; and the year after he visited Transbaikalia, to make inquiries among the Buriat priests about the ancient history of Siberia.
Having thus accomplished his task, and thoroughly investigated the wild nations of the Finnish race from the confines of the Arctic Sea to the Altai—a task which cost him his health, and the best part of his energies—he longed to breathe the air of his native country. But neither the pleasures of home, nor a professorship at the University of Helsingfors, richly earned by almost super-human exertions, were able to arrest the germs of disease, which journeys such as these could scarcely fail to plant even in his originally robust constitution. After lingering some years, he died in 1855, universally lamented by his countrymen, who justly mourned his early death as a national loss.