The millions of furs, from the squirrel to the bear, likewise require considerable means of transport; and, finally, the highly important caravan-trade with China conveys thousands of bales of tea from Kiachta to Irbit. Siberia has indeed many navigable rivers, but a glance at the map shows us at once that they are so situated as to afford far less facilities to commerce than would be the case in a more temperate climate. They all flow northward into an inhospitable sea, which is forever closed to navigation, and are themselves ice-bound during the greater part of the year. Enormous distances separate them from each other, and there are no navigable canals to unite them.
On some of the larger rivers steam-boats have indeed been introduced, and railroads are talked of; but there can be no doubt that, for many a year to come, the cart and the sledge will continue to be the chief means of transport in a country which, in consequence of its peculiar geographical position, is even in its more southern parts exposed to all the rigors of an Arctic winter.
Thus at Jakutsk (62° N. lat.), which is situated but six degrees farther to the north than Edinburgh (55° 58´), the mean temperature of the coldest month is -40°, and mercury a solid body during one-sixth part of the year; while at Irkutsk (52° 16´ N. lat.), situated but little farther to the north than Oxford (51° 46´), the thermometer frequently falls to -30°, or even -40°; temperatures which are of course quite unheard of on the banks of the Isis. For these dreadful winters in the heart of Siberia, and under comparatively low degrees of latitude, there are various causes. The land is, in the first place, an immense plain slanting to the north; moreover, it is situated at such a distance from the Atlantic, that beyond the Ural the western sea-winds, which bring warmth to our winters, assume the character of cold land-winds; and, finally, it merges in the south into the high Mongolian plateau, which, situated 4000 feet above the level of the sea, has of course but little warmth to impart to it in winter; so that, from whatever side the wind may blow at that season, it constantly conveys cold. But in summer the scene undergoes a total change. Under the influence of the sun circling for months round the North Pole, floods of warmth are poured into Central Siberia, and rapidly cause the thermometer to rise; no neighboring sea refreshes the air with a cooling breeze; whether the wind come from the heated Mongolian deserts, or sweep over the Siberian plains, it imbibes warmth on every side. Thus the terrible winter of Jakutsk is followed by an equally immoderate summer (58° 3´), so that rye and barley are able to ripen on a soil which a few feet below the surface is perpetually frozen.
87. IRKUTSK.
The boundless woods of Siberia harbor a number of fur-bearing animals whose skins form one of the chief products of the country. Among these persecuted denizens of the forest, the sable (Martes zibellina), which closely resembles the pine-marten (Martes abietum) in shape and size, deserves to be particularly noticed, both for the beauty of its pelt, and its importance in the fur-trade. Sleeping by day, the sable hunts his prey by night; but though he chiefly relishes animal food, such as hares, young birds, mice, and eggs, he also feeds on berries, and the tasteful seeds of the Pinus cembra. His favorite abode is near the banks of some river, in holes of the earth, or beneath the roots of trees. Incessant persecution has gradually driven him into the most inaccessible forests; the days are no more when the Tunguse hunter willingly gave for a copper kettle as many sable skins as it would hold, or when the Kamchatkan trapper, could easily catch seventy or eighty sables in one winter; but Von Baer still estimates the annual produce of all Siberia at 45,000 skins. The finest are caught in the forests between the Lena and the Eastern Sea, but Kamchatka furnishes the greater number. A skin of the finest quality is worth about forty roubles on the spot, and at least twice as much in St. Petersburg or Moscow, particularly when the hair is long, close, and of a deep blackish-brown, with a thick brown underwool. Skins with long dark hair tipped with white are highly esteemed, but still more so those which are entirely black—a color to which the Russians give the preference, while the Chinese have no objection to reddish tints. In consequence of this difference of taste, the sables from the Obi, which are generally larger but of a lighter color, are sent to Kiachta, while the darker skins, from Eastern Siberia, are directed to St. Petersburg and Leipsic.
The chase of the sable is attended with many hardships and dangers. The skins are in the highest perfection at the commencement of the winter; accordingly, towards the end of October, the hunters assemble in small companies, and proceed along the rivers in boats, or travel in sledges to the place of rendezvous—taking with them provisions for three or four months. In the deep and solitary forest they erect their huts, made of branches of trees, and bank up the snow round them, as a further protection against the piercing wind. They now roam and seek everywhere for the traces of the sable, and lay traps or snares for his destruction. These are generally pitfalls, with loose boards placed over them, baited with fish or flesh; fire-arms or cross-bows are more rarely used, as they damage the skins. The traps must be frequently visited, and even then the hunter often finds that a fox has preceded him, and left but a few worthless remnants of the sable in the snare. Or sometimes a snow-storm overtakes him, and then his care must be to save his own life. Thus sable-hunting is a continual chain of disappointments and perils, and at the end of the season it is frequently found that the expenses are hardly paid. Until now the sable has been but rarely tamed. One kept in the palace of the Arch-bishop of Tobolsk was so perfectly domesticated, that it was allowed to stroll about the town as it liked. It was an arch-enemy of cats, raising itself furiously on its hind-legs as soon as it saw one, and showing the greatest desire to fight it.
In former times the ermine (Mustela erminea) ranked next to the sable as the most valuable fur-bearing animal of the Siberian woods; at present the skin is worth no more than from five to eight silver kopeks at Tobolsk, so that the whole produce of its chase hardly amounts to 200,000 roubles. This little animal resembles in its general appearance the weasel, but is considerably larger, as it attains a length of from twelve to fourteen inches. Its color, which is reddish-brown in summer, becomes milk-white during the winter in the northern regions, with the exception of the tip of the tail, which always remains black. Its habits likewise greatly resemble those of the weasel; it is equally alert in all its movements, and equally courageous in defending itself when attacked. It lives on birds, poultry, rats, rabbits, leverets, and all kinds of smaller animals, and will not hesitate to attack a prey of much greater size than itself. Although various species of ermine are distributed over the whole forest region of the north, yet Siberia produces the finest skins. The largest come from the Kolyma, or are brought to the fair of Ostrownoje by the Tchutchi, who obtain them from the coldest regions of America.
The Siberian weasel (Viverra siberica), which is much smaller than the ermine, is likewise hunted for its soft and perfectly snow-white winter dress—the tip of the tail not being black, as in the latter.
The sea-otter, or kalan (Enhydris lutris), the most valuable of all the Russian fur-bearing animals, as 110 silver roubles is the average price of a single skin, is nearly related to the weasel tribe. The enormous value set upon the glossy, jet-black, soft, and thick fur of the kalan sufficiently explains how the Russian hunters have followed his traces from Kamchatka to America, and almost entirely extirpated him on many of the coasts and islands of Bering’s Sea and the Northern Pacific, where he formerly abounded. His habits very much resemble those of the seal; he haunts sea-washed rocks, lives mostly in the water, and loves to bask in the sun. His hind feet have a membrane skirting the outside of the exterior toe, like that of a goose, and the elongated form of his flexible body enables him to swim with the greatest celerity. The love of the sea-otters for their young is so great that they reckon their own lives as nothing to protect them from danger; and Steller, who had more opportunities than any other naturalist for observing their habits, affirms that, when deprived of their offspring, their grief is so strong that in less than a fortnight they waste away to skeletons. On their flight they carry their young in their mouths, or drive them along before them. If they succeed in reaching the sea, they begin to mock their baffled pursuer, and express their joy by a variety of antics. Sometimes they raise themselves upright in the water, rising and falling with the waves, or holding a fore paw over their eyes, as if to look sharply at him; or they throw themselves on their back, rubbing their breast with their fore paws; or cast their young into the water, and catch them again, like a mother playing with her infant. The sea-otter not only surpasses the fish-otter by the beauty of his fur, but also in size, as he attains a length of from three to four feet, exclusive of the tail. His food consists of small fishes, molluscs, and crustaceous animals, whose hard calcareous covering his broad grinders are well adapted to crush.