From Pekin to Calais by Land

by Harry De Windt

The population of Kamchatka is roughly estimated at four thousand souls, about five hundred of whom reside at the capital, Petropaulosk, on the eastern coast, which is said to possess the finest harbour in the world, and where the allied French and English fleets were repulsed by the Russians during the Crimean war. The aboriginal tribes, however, are seldom met with in or near the capital, where society consists almost entirely of Government officers and Cossacks, stationed here to preserve law and order among these remote subjects of the Czar, who, however, give them little or no trouble. The chief complaint among military men at this dreary outpost is that they have nothing to do in the way of fighting to keep their hands in.

The aboriginal inhabitants of Kamchatka are divided into three distinct races: the Koriaks, in the north, the Kamchatdales, in the south, and the Kuriles, a tribe inhabiting the islands of that name, which, lying to the southward of Kamchatka, were lately ceded by Russia to Japan in exchange for the island of Sakhalien. Of these three the Kamchatdales are the most civilized and friendly, probably on account of their more frequent intercourse with Europeans from Petropaulosk and other settlements. They are of a copper colour, with narrow black eyes, thick lips, and flat noses, and long, streaming hair, which they take great delight in plastering over with seal oil, blubber, and other fishy abominations.

A Kamchatdale may be smelt a mile off, their bodies exuding a strong smell of fish, on which they subsist, eaten raw; but they are friendly, hospitable fellows, and, unlike the fierce and savage Koriaks, always glad to welcome or help a stranger. Up till some years since many of the Kamchatdales were Chamans, but this religion has died out a good deal since the advent of Russian traders, who have replaced it by introducing vodka and debauchery. The Kamchatdales have, curiously enough, a practice identical with one among the Dyaks of Borneo: that of kindling a light by rapidly turning in the hands a dry stick in a hole made in a plank of wood, and using a piece of dry grass as fuel. They are also, like the Dyaks, capital dancers and mimics, imitating in their dances the movements of animals and birds with surprising grace and accuracy.

The Koriaks, on the other hand, are said to be the most treacherous and degraded race in Siberia. Many are nomad, and have no fixed abode, the stationary ones being much finer in physique and less wild than their wandering brothers. Strangely enough, however, they allow the latter to treat them as slaves, and obey them without a murmur. While the nomads are savage, cruel, and treacherous, the settled Koriak is a contented, cheerful being, always glad to see strangers, and, though not so civilized, as hospitable in his way as the Kamchatdale. The settled Koriaks, like the latter, gain their livelihood by fishing, while the nomad’s life is occupied with hunting and his flocks of reindeer. The dwelling of the settled Koriak is comfortable enough, and is built of wood in the shape of an X, fifteen to twenty feet high. The entry is by clambering up a pole on the outside and dropping through a hole in the top (in the centre of the X), which serves for door, window, and chimney, there being no other egress. The tents of the nomad Koriaks are of reindeer skin, and much smaller, but in neither can a European stay more than a few moments, the smoke and stench being intolerable to any but a Koriak’s eyes and stomach. Drunkenness among the Koriaks is rarer than among the Kamchatdales, for the good reason that they cannot get drink. A mushroom or fungus, however, found in the north-east portion of their territory, makes an admirable substitute. Happily, it is rare, for a mouthful of it produces intoxication for three or four days. Although the wandering Koriaks treat their animals with kindness, their cruelty to women is proverbial. Unlike the Kamchatdales and their nearer neighbours, they are extremely jealous, and very often kill their wives on a mere suspicion of infidelity, the more often that they have a right to slay them if really guilty. No Koriak’s wife is ever permitted by her lord to beautify herself, or even wash, for fear of attracting the notice of others. To make assurance doubly sure these northern Othellos, from time to time, compel their wretched women to cover their entire bodies with a thick coating of rancid oil, which effectually keeps even the most amorous lover at a safe distance. When the Koriaks, male or female, become old and unfit for work, they are killed by their family, being allowed the privilege of choosing whether they shall be stoned to death, or have their throats cut. Part of a Koriak youth’s education is learning to give the coup de grâce as painlessly as possible.

The Kuriles, as I have said, inhabit the small islands of that name south of Cape Lopatka. They are essentially fishermen, their clothes, tents, and even boots being made of fish-skin. I saw, in the museum at Irkoutsk, a long cloak made by them of this material as light and thin as goldbeater’s-skin, and absolutely waterproof. The framework of their canoes is of wood, with this fabric four or five thicknesses tightly stretched across it, and these apparently fragile craft will live in the roughest sea, the crew looking, a short distance off, as if they were sitting on the water, so low is the gunwale. The Kuriles have become more civilized since the ceding of their islands to Japan, though they still preserve queer customs with regard to their women. When a Kurile has proved his wife faithless, he does not, like the Koriak, visit it on her, but on the seducer, whom he is bound to challenge to mortal combat. The weapons are thick cudgels, the challenger first receiving three blows on the head or bare back from his opponent. It is then the turn of the latter, and so they go on till one of the combatants dies of his injuries, the duels sometimes lasting an hour. When a Kurile woman gives birth to twins, one is slain by the father as a sacrifice to the spirits.

There is plenty of wild fowl in Kamchatka, and the country abounds with geese, duck, and snipe at the proper seasons. It is probably the only country in the world where the real wild dog exists. These are found on the mountains, are of a buff or grey colour, the size of a huge mastiff, and very fierce, so much so that natives have been killed when attempting to capture them for purposes of sleighing. They are fed (in their civilized state) on fish, and, the rivers of Kamchatka teeming with salmon, do not have any difficulty in procuring a meal whenever they want it, merely walking into the stream, and seizing their prey with their teeth.

To the north of Kamchatka is the Chukchee coast, which extends from Chanskaia Bay round Behring’s Peninsula to the river Anadyr. This region is inhabited by the Chukchee tribe——a race of men very similar to the wandering Koriaks——who live a nomadic life in tents made of reindeer skins, for here the reindeer roam about in thousands. This part of Siberia also swarms with lemmings, a species of large rat. At times these loathsome creatures migrate in myriads, and woe to the luckless traveller that meets a swarm, for nothing will turn them aside. Rivers and lakes are crossed, even arms of the sea, and should they meet a native in the open country, they will not deviate an inch from their line, swarming up his legs and body one side to clamber down his back on the other. If not attacked, they are harmless enough, though it must be a severe strain on the patience to have to wait till an army of the brutes has passed over one, an operation which sometimes lasts a couple of hours! The white Polar bear is also found in the Chukchee country. The language of the Kamchatdales, Koriaks, and Chukchees is a harsh, guttural one, and almost synonymous.

We now come to the Yakouts, or aborigines of Yakoutsk——the largest province in Siberia, which extends from south of the town of Yakoutsk to the mouth of the Lena River in the Frozen Ocean, and is nearly the size of the whole of Europe——Russia excepted. The total population of this huge province is under two hundred and thirty thousand, consisting of Russians, Tungouses, Yukagirs, and Yakouts.

Perhaps with the exception of Yakoutsk and Sakhalien, the town or village of Okhotsk, situated on the sea of that name, is the most utterly desolate place in the whole of Siberia. Its population in 1810 numbered only one hundred and fifty, and these existed solely by trading in furs and fish with the nearest settlements. Okhotsk may literally be called the end of the world. Not a tree or blade of grass is visible within miles of the wretched huts and two or three wooden officials’-houses that constitute the colony. The summer at Okhotsk consists of three months of damp and chilly weather, which is succeeded by nine months of cold as raw as it is intense. The food of the inhabitants is fish, nothing but fish, of which they certainly have a large and varied choice, for there are at least fourteen varieties of salmon found here. From the absence of fresh vegetables, however, scurvy rages in winter. To the south of Okhotzk lies the island of Sakhalien. The climate is even worse here than at Okhotzk. In July, the hottest month of the year, the thermometer seldom if ever rises above 60° F., while in January it never exceeds 14° F. Scarcely two days together ever pass without rain, followed by dense fogs. The sun is seldom seen, and never felt. It will be a bad day for prisoners when exile to Siberia is abolished, and all convicts are sent direct to Sakhalien by sea.

The town of Yakoutsk has a population of under five thousand, many of whom are political exiles, and, saving Kara and Sakhalien, there are few places more dreaded by prisoners throughout Siberia than this desolate city, which is over five thousand miles from Petersburg! It has, too, the unenviable notoriety of being the hottest place in summer, and the coldest in winter in the world, while in the former season people have been known to die from the effects of mosquito bites, from dense swarms of which the inhabitants are never free in summer for a moment, night or day. Most of the buildings in Yakoutsk are of wood, though there is a handsome stone cathedral, and the Governor’s house is of the same material. The town presents a queer patchwork appearance, the more solidly built mission-houses being mixed up pell-mell with the winter dwellings of the Yakouts, who mix freely with the European population. It is rare to meet a Yakout out of his own province, though I came across two or three as far south as Ziminskaia, near Irkoutsk. They are smallish men, of light copper colour, with black, close-cropped hair, and are a genial, hospitable race. Although robust and capable of going through great fatigue and privation, the majority are timid, not to say cowardly, in disposition, though as hunters they are unsurpassed, and from Yakoutsk are exported the most valuable furs in Siberia. A great number of the latter are sent to China, but the majority find their way to Moscow and Petersburg.