Some Heroes of Travel / or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and Enterprise

by W. H. Davenport Adams

This was not the only adventure that befell Mr. Atkinson while he made Mahomed’s aul his headquarters. One day, he was returning from an excursion to some finely coloured porphyry rocks, when the wind begun to blow across the steppe in strong and frequent gusts, and his Kirghiz guides announced that a storm was at hand. Their prediction was confirmed by the clouds that gathered about the lower peaks of the Altai, and soon a dense mass of blackness, extending for a long distance from north to south, rolled rapidly in the direction of the travellers. Not a tree or a rock offered the slightest shelter. Spurring their horses briskly, they galloped over the plain, pursued by the storm, as, in Goethe’s ballad, the father and his doomed child are pursued by the Erl King. The gusts of wind ceased, and for a short time a deadly calm prevailed. Meanwhile, the clouds were painfully agitated, as if by some internal force, and streams of vapour issuing from their blackness whirled rapidly round. A low murmur stole through the air; gradually it deepened and strengthened, until, as the storm broke upon the steppe, it swelled into a roar like that of a thousand cannon. The grasses and low bushes were rooted up, and sent flying into the air with fearful velocity. The terrified horses stopped suddenly; nor could they be induced to move until the whirlwind had passed by. Fortunately the travellers had not been caught in its vortex, and no serious accident occurred.

Leaving the hospitable Mahomed, Mr. Atkinson continued his explorations of the steppe, and rode onward to the next aul, which lay to the northward, and was reached in two days’ journey. Here, after the usual entertainment, he found himself free to write up his journal—much to the astonishment of his companions, the three R’s being unknown in the steppe to any but the mullahs, or priests, of the various tribes. The manuscript was a wonder to the children of the wilderness, and they regarded its owner as a very wealthy mullah, possessed of the priceless treasure of a book full of amulets. For the mullah sells his amulets, or charms, at the rate of a sheep for each scrap of paper, which he has covered with unmeaning characters. Mr. Atkinson’s ring was examined; also his knife; also a piece of red sealing-wax. On a piece of thick paper from his sketch-book he took impressions of his seal, and presented them to the women of the yourt, who doubtlessly long wore them in their caps as talismans or ornaments of special value and importance. His watch was likewise an object of curiosity. He held it to the ear of a woman sitting near him. Evidently she thought it was alive and talking, for she communicated the fact to her companions, and they all expressed a wish to hear it speak.

By way of Mount Kamenogorsk, his old quarters, Mr. Atkinson proceeded to Barnaoul, which he reached on the 1st of November. This town is built at the junction of the small river Barnaulka with the Ob. The streets are wide, laid out in parallel lines, and intersected by others at right angles. There are three ugly brick churches, and one large hospital. Its silver smelting works are on an extensive scale, producing annually about nine thousand pounds. Almost all the gold found in Siberia is also smelted here, and cast into bars; and every year six caravans leave with the precious metals for St. Petersburg—four in winter by the sledge roads, and two in summer. Barnaoul is the centre for the administration of the mines of the Altai, and the residence of the Natchalink, or director, as well as of the heads of the principal departments.

The public museum at Barnaoul contains a very good collection of minerals, some Siberian antiquities, a few Siberian animals and birds, and four tiger-skins. The wearers of these skins were killed in different parts of Siberia; in two instances their capture proving fatal to some of the peasants engaged in it, for pea-rifles and hay-forks are scarcely fit weapons with which to encounter the fiercest of the beasts of prey. They are seldom found in Siberia; only when driven by hunger do they cross the Irtisch, and many peasants do not know them even by name. The last of the Barnaoul company, now reposing peacefully in a glass case, was discovered, early one morning, prone on the top of a small hay-rick, near the village. The peasant, who had come for some hay for his horses, beheld with surprise and terror the strange and formidable creature, and shrank from his glaring eyeballs, which seemed to sparkle with fire. At the same moment the peasant’s dog caught sight of him, and, with a loud bark, bravely dashed towards the rick. Growling terribly, the tiger sprung to the ground. The dog met him intrepidly,—to be crushed in a moment beneath his heavy paw. Hastening towards the village, the man gave the alarm, and quickly returned with a valiant company; some armed with pea-rifles, others with hay-forks and axes. Several dogs followed them. On approaching the rick, they were apprised of the enemy’s position by a furious growl. The dogs made a brilliant charge; but the tiger crouched sullenly, and did not spring. A small shot through his hide roused him, and at a bound he was in among the dogs, killing a couple of them instantly with his terrible paws, and scattering the rest in ignominious flight. He received two more balls, but they served only to inflame his fury, and leaping in among his assailants, he felled one of them to the ground, dead. Again the dogs charged him, while the peasants with their hay-forks stabbed him in the back and sides. At last he withdrew slowly towards a bank covered with brushwood, followed by the dogs and their masters; but on reaching the bank he halted, faced round, growled angrily, and prepared for another spring. His enemies halted, and poured in shot upon him; the dogs barked furiously; but he held his ground, and could not be induced to move. After a while, encouraged by his inaction, the dogs began to close in upon him, and finally it was discovered that a ball had pierced him in a vital part, and the beast was dead.

The river Ob, which flows past Barnaoul, is described as a magnificent stream, running in a valley twelve versts broad; its numerous small branches divide this valley into islands, on which large trees are growing. In May the melting of the snow swells the stream into a great flood, which inundates much of the valley, and gradually widens from one bank to the other, with the tops of the trees rising above the swirl of waters like islands. At this time many of the scenes along the Ob are very grand, especially if seen at sunrise or sunset, when the various colouring of the luminous sky is mirrored in the mighty stream, which, flashing with golden and crimson lights, rolls through the deep purple masses of the forest, to terminate its course in the Arctic Ocean.

The neighbourhood seems to be an attractive one for the sportsman; snipe abound in June and July, blackcock in August, and rebchicks, or tree partridges, in September. Wild hen are also plentiful, and in winter, hares. Or if the hunter care for more venturous sport, he may sally out against the wolves and bears.

The bears are dangerous antagonists. A very large one was seen by some woodcutters about fifteen versts from the gold mine; and two men, one of whom was known as a bold, skilful, and veteran hunter, started in pursuit. They found the beast’s track quite fresh in the long dewy grass, and cautiously followed it up, until a low growl warned them of his presence. He sprang out of a thicket, about thirty-five paces distant, and confronted his pursuers. The hunter fired, and his shot told, but not in a vital part. The wounded animal charged immediately, the other man reserving his shot until he was within twenty paces. Then, unfortunately, his rifle missed fire. The bear at once stood on his hind legs, and sprang forward against his first assailant, striking him to the earth with a blow that stripped his scalp and turned it over his face; then, seizing his arm, he began to gnaw and crush it to the bone, gradually ascending to the shoulder. The sufferer called to his companion to load and fire; but, losing heart when he saw his friend so terribly mangled, the craven took to flight.

Returning to the gold mine, he related what had happened; but it was then too late to despatch a party in search of the unfortunate hunter. At daylight next morning, however, they set out, with the craven as guide. On arriving at the scene of the affray, no remains of the victim could be found but some torn clothing and his rifle; and the trampled grass showed that he had been carried off into the thick covert. The trail was pursued with the utmost diligence, and at length, under a heap of branches, in a dense thicket of trees and bushes, the hunter’s body was discovered, and, strange to say, though grievously mutilated, it still throbbed with life. With tender care the miserable victim was conveyed to the gold mine and taken to the hospital, where he was treated with the utmost kindness, and all was done that medical skill could do. For a long time he remained unconscious; but at the end of two months a slight improvement was noticeable, and he recovered his reason. His first question was about the bear; his next, about his own defeat. In truth, his conversation turned only upon these subjects: he seemed possessed by a monomania; was continually asking for his rifle, that he might go and kill “Michael Ivanitch” (the bear). As his strength returned, it was thought necessary to place him under restraint, lest his desire to contend with his fierce and powerful enemy should lead him into some dangerous enterprise.

But when autumn arrived, and laid its magical finger on the forest, the monomaniac seemed to have forgotten his hate, so that he was watched with less rigour. He took advantage of his comparative freedom to steal from the hospital, gain his own cottage, and, in the absence of his family, arm himself with his rifle and axe, and stow away in his wallet a loaf of black bread. Then, as the shades of evening began to fall, he started for the forest, and soon disappeared in the gathering gloom.

As soon as his absence from the hospital was known, a close search for him was instituted; but in vain. A week passed by, and it was supposed that he had perished, when one day he strode into the hospital, carrying on his shoulders the skin of a huge black bear. Throwing it down, he exclaimed, “I told you I would have him.” Thenceforward he rapidly recovered; both his physical and mental health were re-established, and he lived to bring down many another “Michael Ivanitch” with his deadly rifle.