The exciting narrative of travel in the central regions of Africa the young reader may pursue in various volumes, from those describing the adventures of Leo Africanus, in 1513, to the narrative of the intrepid career of Mungo Park, in 1796. From the dangers of travel in the torrid zone the spirit of contrast would direct us to a glance at the perils of adventure in the arctic. Here a pile of books written by men of science await us; but, unfortunately, many of them, like the volumes of Maupertuis and Pallas, though rich in details of natural philosophy or natural history, possess little interest as narratives of adventure. Their authors had little or none of the true heroic spirit of the man of enterprise, who never courts ease when the way of danger is the real path to entire knowledge. The spirit of Dr. Edward Daniel Clarke marks more accurately the proper constitution of the traveller united with the tendencies of the man of science. He had resolved to attempt reaching the North Pole; but having arrived at Enontakis, in latitude 68 degrees, 30 min., 30 sec., N., he was seized with illness, and obliged to return to the south. He thus writes to his mother, from Enontakis:—
“We have found the cottage of a priest in this remote corner of the world, and have been snug with him a few days. Yesterday I launched a balloon, eighteen feet in height, which I had made to attract the natives. You may guess their astonishment when they saw it rise from the earth. Is it not famous to be here within the frigid zone, more than two degrees within the arctic, and nearer to the pole than the most northern shores of Iceland? For a long time darkness has been a stranger to us. The sun, as yet, passes not below the horizon, but he dips his crimson visage behind a mountain to the north. This mountain we ascended, and had the satisfaction to see him make his courtesy without setting. At midnight the priest of this place lights his pipe, during three weeks of the year, by means of a burning-glass, from the sun’s rays.”
Of all travellers in the northern regions, though not the most intellectual, the hardiest and most adventurous is Captain Cochrane. He had originally intended to devote himself to African discovery, conceiving himself competent for that arduous undertaking, by experience of the fatigues he had borne in laborious pedestrian journeys through France, Spain, and Portugal, and in Canada. “The plan I proposed to follow,” says he, “was nearly that adopted by Mungo Park, in his first journey—intending to proceed alone, and requiring only to be furnished with the countenance of some constituent part of the government. With this protection, and such recommendation as it would procure me, I would have accompanied the caravans in some servile capacity, nor hesitated even to sell myself as a slave, if that miserable alternative were necessary, to accomplish the object I had in view. In going alone, I relied upon my own individual exertions and knowledge of man, unfettered by the frailties and misconduct of others. I was then, as now, convinced that many people travelling together for the purpose of exploring a barbarous country, have the less chance of succeeding; more especially when they go armed, and take with them presents of value. The appearance of numbers must naturally excite the natives to resistance, from motives of jealousy or fear; and the danger would be greatly increased by the hope of plunder.”
The answer he received from the Admiralty being unfavourable, and thinking that a young commander was not likely to be employed in active service, he planned for himself a journey on foot round the globe, as nearly as it could be accomplished by land, intending to cross from northern Asia to America at Behring’s Straits. Captain Cochrane did not realise his first intent, but he tracked the breadth of the entire continent of Asia to Kamtschatka. Hazards and dangers befel him frequently in this enterprise; but he pursued it undauntedly. His perils commenced when he had left St. Petersburg but a few days, and had not reached Novogorod.
“From Tosna my route was towards Linbane,” says our adventurer, “at about the ninth milestone from which I sat down, to smoke a cigar or pipe, as fancy might dictate. I was suddenly seized from behind by two ruffians, whose visages were as much concealed as the oddness of their dress would permit. One of them, who held an iron bar in his hand, dragged me by the collar towards the forest, while the other, with a bayonetted musket, pushed me on in such a manner as to make me move with more than ordinary celerity; a boy, auxiliary to these vagabonds, was stationed on the roadside to keep a look-out. We had got some sixty or eighty paces into the thickest part of the forest, when I was desired to undress, and having stripped off my trousers and jacket, then my shirt, and finally my shoes and stockings, they proceeded to tie me to a tree. From this ceremony, and from the manner of it, I fully concluded that they intended to try the effect of a musket upon me, by firing at me as they would at a mark. I was, however, reserved for fresh scenes; the villains, with much sang froid, seated themselves at my feet, and rifled my knapsack and pockets, even cutting out the linings of the clothes in search of bank bills or some other valuable articles. They then compelled me to take at least a pound of black bread, and a glass of rum, poured from a small flask which had been suspended from my neck. Having appropriated my trousers, shirts, stockings, and shoes, as also my spectacles, watch, compass, thermometer, and small pocket sextant, with one hundred and sixty roubles (about seven pounds), they at length released me from the tree, and, at the point of a stiletto, made me swear that I would not inform against them—such, at least, I conjectured to be their meaning, though of their language I understood not a word. Having received my promise, I was again treated by them to bread and rum, and once more fastened to the tree, in which condition they finally abandoned me. Not long after, a boy who was passing heard my cries, and set me at liberty. With the remnant of my apparel, I rigged myself in Scotch Highland fashion, and resumed my route. I had still left me a blue jacket, a flannel waistcoat, and a spare one, which I tied round my waist in such a manner that it reached down to the knees; my empty knapsack was restored to its old place, and I trotted on with even a merry heart.”
He comes up with a file of soldiers in the course of a few miles and is relieved with some food, but declines the offer of clothes. A carriage is also offered to convey him to the next military station. “But I soon discovered,” he continues, “that riding was too cold, and therefore preferred walking, barefooted as I was; and on the following morning I reached Tschduvo, one hundred miles from St. Petersburg.” At Novogorod he is further relieved by the governor, and accepts from him a shirt and trousers.
He reaches Moscow without a renewal of danger, and thence Vladimir and Pogost. In the latter town he cheerfully makes his bed in a style that shows he possessed the spirit of an adventurer in perfection. “Being too jaded to proceed farther,” are his words, “I thought myself fortunate in being able to pass the night in a cask. Nor did I think this mode of passing the night a novel one. Often, very often, have I, in the fastnesses of Spain and Portugal, reposed in similar style.” He even selects exposure to the open air for sleep when it is in his power to accept indulgence. “Arrived at Nishney Novogorod, the Baron Bode,” says he, “received me kindly, placing me for board in his own house; while for lodging I preferred the open air of his garden: there, with my knapsack for a pillow, I passed the night more pleasantly than I should have done on a bed of down, which the baron pressed me most sincerely to accept.” A man who thus hardened himself against indulgence could scarcely dread any of the hardships so inevitable in the hazardous course he had marked out for himself.
Accordingly, we find him exciting the wonder of the natives by his hardihood, in the very heart of Siberia. “At Irkutsk,” is his own relation, “in the month of January, with forty degrees of Reaumur, I have gone about, late and early, either for exercise or amusement, to balls or dinners, yet did I never use any other kind of clothing than I do now in the streets of London. Thus my readers must not suppose my situation to have been so desperate. It is true, the natives felt surprised, and pitied my apparently forlorn and hopeless situation, not seeming to consider that, when the mind and body are in constant motion, the elements can have little effect upon the person. I feel confident that most of the miseries of human life are brought about by want of a solid education—of firm reliance on a bountiful and ever-attendant Providence—of a spirit of perseverance—of patience under fatigue and privations, and a resolute determination to hold to the point of duty, never to shrink while life retains a spark, or while ‘a shot is in the locker,’ as sailors say. Often, indeed, have I felt myself in difficult and trying circumstances, from cold, or hunger, or fatigue; but I may affirm, with gratitude, that I have never felt happier than even in the encountering of these difficulties.” He remarks, soon afterwards, that he has never seen his constitution equalled; but the young reader will remember that the undaunted adventurer has strikingly shown us how this excellent constitution was preserved from injury by shunning effeminacy.
Yet our traveller’s superlative constitution is severely tested when he reaches the country of the Yakuti, a tribe of Siberian Tartars. He crosses a mountain range, and halts, with the attendants he has now found the means to engage, for the night, at the foot of an elevation, somewhat sheltered from the cold north wind. “The first thing on my arrival,” he relates, “was to unload the horses, loosen their saddles or pads, take the bridles out of their mouths, and tie them to a tree in such a manner that they could not eat. The Yakuti then with their axes proceeded to fell timber, while I and the Cossack, with our lopatkas or wooden spades, cleared away the snow, which was generally a couple of feet deep. We then spread branches of the pine tree, to fortify us from the damp or cold earth beneath us; a good fire was now soon made, and each bringing a leathern bag from the baggage furnished himself with a seat. We then put the kettle on the fire, and soon forgot the sufferings of the day. At times the weather was so cold that we were obliged to creep almost into the fire; and as I was much worse off than the rest of the party for warm clothing, I had recourse to every stratagem I could devise to keep my blood in circulation. It was barely possible to keep one side of the body from freezing, while the other might be said to be roasting. Upon the whole, I passed the night tolerably well, although I was obliged to get up five or six times to take a walk or run, for the benefit of my feet. The following day, at thirty miles, we again halted in the snow, when I made a horse-shoe fire, which I found had the effect of keeping every part of me alike warm, and I actually slept well without any other covering than my clothes thrown over me; whereas, before, I had only the consolation of knowing that if I was in a freezing state with one half of my body, the other was meanwhile roasting to make amends.”
Captain Cochrane’s constitution had so much of the power of adaptation to circumstances, that he was enabled to make a meal even with the savagest tribes. A deer had been shot, and the Yakuti began to eat it uncooked! “Of course,” says he, “I had the most luxurious part presented to me, being the marrow of the fore-legs. I did not find it disagreeable, though eaten raw and warm from life; in a frozen state I should consider it a great delicacy. The animal was the size of a good calf, weighing about two hundred pounds. Such a quantity of meat may serve four or five good Yakuti for a single meal, with whom it is ever famine or feast, gluttony or starvation.”