They are suspicious, like all oppressed nations that have much to suffer from their more crafty or energetic neighbors. Obstinately attached to their old customs, they are opposed to all innovations; and they have been so often deceived by the Russians, that they may well be pardoned if they look with a mistrustful eye upon all benefits coming from that source.
The wealth of the Samoïedes consists in the possession of herds of reindeer, and P. von Krusenstern, in 1845, calculated the number owned by the Samoïedes of the Lower Petschora, near Pustosersk, at 40,000 head—a much smaller number than what they formerly had, owing to a succession of misfortunes. The Russian settlers along that immense stream and its tributaries gradually obtain possession of their best pasture-grounds, and force them to recede within narrower and narrower limits. Thus many have been reduced to the wretched condition of the Arctic fisherman, or have been compelled to exchange their ancient independence for a life of submission to the will of an imperious master.
The entire number of the European and Asiatic Samoïedes is estimated at no more than about 10,000, and this number, small as it is when compared to the vast territory over which they roam, is still decreasing from year to year. Before their subjugation by the Russians, the Samoïedes were frequently at war with their neighbors, the Ostiaks, the Woguls, and the Tartars, and the rude poems which celebrate the deeds of the heroes of old are still sung in the tents of their peaceful descendants. The minstrel, or troubadour—if I may be allowed to use these names while speaking of the rudest of mankind—is seated in the centre of the hut, while the audience squat around. His gesticulations endeavor to express his sympathy with his hero. His body trembles, his voice quivers, and during the more pathetic parts of his story, tears start to his eyes, and he covers his face with his left hand, while the right, holding an arrow, directs its point to the ground. The audience generally keep silence, but their groans accompany the hero’s death; or when he soars upon an eagle to the clouds, and thus escapes the malice of his enemies, they express their delight by a triumphant shout.
77. BANKS OF THE IRTYSCH.
CHAPTER XV.
THE OSTIAKS.
What is the Obi?—Inundations.—An Ostiak summer Yourt.—Poverty of the Ostiak Fishermen.—A winter Yourt.—Attachment of the Ostiaks to their ancient Customs.—An Ostiak Prince.—Archery.—Appearance and Character of the Ostiaks.—The Fair of Obdorsk.
What is the Obi?—“One of the most melancholy rivers on earth,” say the few European travellers who have ever seen it roll its turbid waters through the wilderness, “its monotonous banks a dreary succession of swamps and dismal pine-forests, and hardly a living creature to be seen, but cranes, wild ducks, and geese.” If you address the same question to one of the few Russians who have settled on its banks, he answers, with a devout mien, “Obi is our mother;” but if you ask the Ostiak, he bursts forth, in a laconic but energetic phrase, “Obi is the god whom we honor above all our other gods.”
To him the Obi is a source of life. With its salmon and sturgeon he pays his taxes and debts, and buys his few luxuries; while the fishes of inferior quality which get entangled in his net he keeps for his own consumption and that of his faithful dog, eating them mostly raw, so that the perch not seldom feels his teeth as soon as it is pulled out of the water. In spring, when the Obi and its tributaries burst their bonds of ice, and the floods sweep over the plains, the Ostiak is frequently driven into the woods, where he finds but little to appease his hunger; at length, however, the waters subside, the flat banks of the river appear above their surface, and the savage erects his summer hut close to its stream. This hovel has generally a quadrangular form, low walls, and a high pointed roof, made of willow-branches covered with large pieces of bark. These, having first been softened by boiling, are sewn together, so as to form large mats or carpets, easily rolled up and transported. The hearth, a mere hole inclosed by a few stones, is in the centre, and the smoke escapes through an aperture at the top. Close to the hut there is also, generally, a small store-house erected on high poles, as in Lapland; for the provisions must be secured against the attacks of the glutton, the wolf, or the owner’s dogs.