(To be continued.)
The Siberian Sable-Hunter.
CHAPTER IV.
A meeting with Tunguses.—A great feast.—The travellers proceed.
The long story of Linsk being finished, Alexis remarked that, although it was not the best he had heard in his life, he was still obliged, for he had never heard a Samoide tale before.
“Well,” said the old hunter, a little snappishly, “if you don’t like my stories, you need not listen to ’em. I didn’t make ’em myself, and only tell what other people have told me. And as to these Samoides, what can you expect, when the men are not taller than a keg of brandy, and the women are about the height of a five-gallon jug? Can we expect to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear? I could tell you a story of Tartar robbers and enchanted castles, if you would like that better.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Alexis; “I did not mean to offend you. The Samoide story will do, but I should like to hear a Tartar tale very much.”
“Well,” said Linsk, “I will tell you one;” but just as he was about to begin, they came in sight of some huts belonging to the Tunguses, a very singular race of people, who inhabit the middle portions of Siberia. They resemble the Ostiacks, like them living in houses built of poles set in a circle. They have no towns or villages, but they wander from place to place, living entirely by hunting and fishing, in which they display wonderful skill and perseverance. In summer, they dwell on the banks of the rivers, and in winter retire to the wooded regions, where they pursue the sable, ermine, marten, and black fox. They have no fire-arms, but are adroit in the use of the bow and arrow. In the spring, they carry or send their furs to Yakoutsk, a considerable town on the Olekminsk river, and the great fur-market of Siberia.
In a short time, our adventurers came to the group of huts which they had before descried, and Linsk, who knew the habits of the people, did not hesitate at once to go up to one of them and prepare to enter it through a hole about three feet high, that was left as a door. He was met at the entrance by a man of about fifty years of age, and dressed in a short coat made of a wolf-skin, and a pair of flannel trowsers, that looked as much like a petticoat as anything else. He gazed at the four hunters for a moment with some distrust, but then seemed satisfied, and made a sign of welcome.
The conversation soon brought other persons out of the several huts around. These consisted of men, women, and children—all low in stature, and with skins of the color of a smoked ham. The men were dressed nearly in the same fashion as the person first described. The women were attired in short cotton gowns and flannel petticoats that reached but little below the knee. The children were half naked, or clad in cotton wrappers. Several of them had on cast-off seal-skin jackets reaching down to the middle, and making them look like half boys and half beasts.