It may be doubted whether the English public have fully appreciated the labours of this persevering explorer. To us it seems that he occupies a high place in the very front rank of African travellers, in virtue not only of the work he did, but of the courage, perseverance, skill, and energy which he displayed. He failed in nothing that he undertook, though his resources were very limited, and the difficulties in his path of the gravest character. He explored Bornú, A’damáwa, and Bagirmi, where no European had ever before penetrated. He surveyed, over an area of six hundred miles, the region which lies between Katséna and Timbuktú, though even to the Arabs it is the least known portion of the Soudan. He formed friendly relations with the powerful princes on the banks of the Niger, from Sokotó to the famous city which shuts its gates upon the Christian. Five of his best years he dedicated to this astonishing enterprise, enduring the gravest privations, and braving the most pestilential climates, as well as the most implacable fanaticism. All this he did, without friends, without companions, without money. Of the five brave men who undertook this adventurous expedition, he alone returned; and returned loaded with treasure, with precious materials of all kinds for the use of the man of science or the merchant—with maps, drawings, chronologies, vocabularies, historical and ethnological notes, itineraries, botanical and geological data, and meteorological tables. Nothing escaped his attention; he was not only a traveller and an observer, but a scientific pioneer. Let us give due honour to a Livingstone, but let us not forget the debt we owe to a Barth. [156]
MR. THOMAS WITLAM ATKINSON,
AND HIS ADVENTURES IN SIBERIA
AND CENTRAL ASIA.
A.D. 1849–55.
I.
Mr. Thomas Witlam Atkinson among recent travellers is not one of the least distinguished. He ventured into what may be called “virgin country”—a region scarcely known to Europeans; carrying his life in his hand; animated by the desire of knowledge rather than the hope of fame; quick to observe, accurate in his observations, and intelligent in combining them into a distinct and satisfactory whole. For some years he lived among the wild races who inhabit Siberia and Mongolia, the Kirghiz steppes, Chinese Tartary, and the wilder districts of Central Asia; and he collected a vast amount of curious information in reference not only to their manners and customs and mode of life, but to the lands which they call their own. The broad and irresistible wave of Western civilization has reached the confines of their vast territories, before long will pour in upon them, and already is slowly, but surely, undermining many an ancient landmark. In the course of another fifty years its advance will have largely modified their characteristics, and swept away much that is now the most clearly and picturesquely defined. We need, therefore, to be grateful to Mr. Atkinson for the record he has supplied of their present condition; a record which to us is one of romantic interest, as to the future historian it will be one of authentic value.
In introducing that record to the reader, he says:—“Mine has been a tolerably wide field, extending from Kokhand on the west to the eastern end of the Baikal, and as far south as the Chinese town of Tchin-si; including that immense chain Syan-shan, never before seen by any European; as well as a large portion of the western part of the Gobi, over which Gonghiz Khan marched his wild hordes; comprising a distance traversed of about 32,000 versts in carriages, 7100 in boats, and 20,300 on horseback—in all, 59,400 versts (about 39,500 miles), in the course of seven years.” Neither the old Venetian, Marco Polo, nor the Jesuit priests, could have visited these regions, their travels having been far to the south; even the recent travellers, Hue and Gobet, who visited “the land of grass” (the plains to the south of the great Desert of Gobi), did not penetrate into the country of the Kalkas. It is unnecessary to premise that in such a journey, prolonged over so many years, extended into so many countries, he suffered much both from hunger and thirst, was exposed to numerous tests of his courage and fortitude, and on several occasions placed in most critical situations with the tribes of Central Asia; that he more than once was called upon to confront an apparently inevitable death. Within the limits to which we are confined, it will be impossible for us to attempt a detailed narrative of his labours, but we shall hope to select those passages and incidents which will afford a fair idea of their value and enterprise.
Armed with a passport from the Czar of All the Russias, which in many a difficult conjuncture proved to its bearer as all-powerful as Ali Baba’s “Open Sesame,” Mr. Atkinson left Moscow on the 6th of March, intent upon the exploration of the wild regions of Siberia. A ten days’ journey brought him to Ekaterineburg, the first Russian town in this direction, across the Asiatic boundary. Here he took boat on the river Tchoussowaia, which he descended as far as the pristan, or port, of Chaitanskoï. Thence he made an excursion to the house of an hospitable Russian, the director of the Outskinkoï iron-works, traversing a forest of pines, which deeply impressed him by its aspect of gloomy grandeur. Resuming his river-voyage, [159] he observed that the valley widened considerably as he advanced. On the west bank spread a large extent of meadow-land; on the eastern, the soil was partly cultivated, and bloomed with young crops of rye. The pastures shone with fresh strong verdure, were already starred with flowers, while the birch trees were hourly bursting into leaf. In this region the change from winter to summer is magically sudden, like that of a transformation scene. At night, you see the grass browned by frost, and the trees bare of buds; in twenty-four hours, the meadows are covered with fresh greenness, and the woods spread over you a thick canopy of vigorous foliage. But if you come from a temperate clime, you miss that sweet and gradual development of bud and bloom, of leaf and flower, which is the charm and privilege of spring. You miss the rare pleasure of watching the opening violet, the first primrose, the early tinge of green upon the hedgerow and in the coppice, which you recognize as the heralds and pledges of happy days to come.
At Oslanskoï Mr. Atkinson took his leave of the Tchoussowaia, and prepared to cross the Ural Mountains. But while staying at Nijne-Toura, he resolved upon ascending the great peak of the Katchkanar. The road led through a tract of deep forest, which spread over high hills, and down into deep valleys, filled with white vapour, through which the branches of lightning-stricken pines loomed ghastly like the shivered masts of a wreck through the ocean mist. Towards noon a thunder-storm came on, accompanied by heavy rain. Portions of the forest were so thick as completely to exclude the daylight; and Mr. Atkinson and his companions frequently found it necessary to cut their way through the intertangled growth.
Though bears and other beasts of prey frequent these wilds, Mr. Atkinson met with none; the chief danger was a fall in the midst of rocks and prostrate trees, which might have been attended with painful consequences. At last they emerged from the forest gloom, at the foot of a steep ascent overlaid with huge blocks of stones. As their horses slowly clambered up the rugged acclivity, the sound was heard of the roar of water, indicating a cataract close at hand. It proved to be the outcome of a small stream, which tumbled down a steep and rocky bed in a succession of shining falls. Crossing this stream, the riders pursued their upward course until at eight o’clock they reached the Katchkanar, after a tedious journey of eleven hours. The guide, a veteran hunter, proposed to halt for the night at the foot of some high rocks—a proposition readily accepted. All hands set to work, and soon a great fire was blazing, not only for the purpose of warmth, but as a protection against the clouds of mosquitoes which swarmed around, and threatened to murder sleep.
At three o’clock, Mr. Atkinson was up and about. The dawn was swiftly advancing over the interminable Siberian forest. Above the vast horizon stretched long lines of pale yellow clouds, which every minute became more luminous, until they seemed like so many waves of golden light rolling and breaking on the far celestial shore. As the sun gradually rose into the heavens, every mountain-top blazed with fire, like gigantic altars, and the pines were transformed into columns of gold. The adventurers were soon afoot, and, crossing a little grassy valley, began the real ascent.