"People who naively believe that the Samoyeds are no longer heathen
are greatly mistaken," says Borissoff. "Notwithstanding their being
nominally Christians, they still worship their Hyes and Siadeys no
less fervently than in old times. Recent bloodstains on the idols
testified to recent visits; but it was only when we were about to take
our departure that I learned that this was not the chief shrine at
all!"
Borissoff insisting, Ireena reluctantly guided him to it, three or
four versts down the coast, to the east.
"Now we passed far greater mounds of axes, knives, and other valuable
offerings," he says. "The idols stood like an army around two enormous
elevated, round clay altars at the very top of the mountain, cut off
by a deep chasm bridged by a stone archway; but the number of bones
was less than I had expected to find."
Ireena explained.
"This is the dwelling-place of Hye, the god, not that of Siadey, the
devil," she said. "Hye wants for sacrifice the head of a human being
or of a white bear, or at least of a wild deer. Now that white bears
are harder to kill and wild deer are scarcer, it's no good for people
to come here--unless in great stress. But Siadey takes anything, even
domestic deer!"
"In great stress" had a grim significance. One of the skulls was
obviously that of a man of Aryan race.
Further on they came on one of the sledges habitually used by the
Samoyeds for the conveyance of their gods. Opening its box, Borissoff
found two human-shaped idols, one of wood and the other of stone, and
the images of a bear and a wolf in wood. These must have been brought
out of the tundra by some sorceress, to keep real bears and wolves
from some locality. As long as these objects remained at Hye's shrine,
there would be no danger to the pious offerer's herds. Near by lay
another curiosity. It was a piece of boulder wrapped up in red cloth.
It was "sickness," removed from the tundra, beyond the sea, so as
never to return to the dwellers of the Tchoom!
Borissoff lived with the Samoyeds until he had painted up all his
canvases. Returning to civilization, he was immediately welcomed by
enthusiastic amateurs. The sale of seventy-five pictures _en bloc_ to
M. Tretiakoff, of Moscow, put him on his feet financially. Count Witte
took an interest in his work. The Grand Duke Vladimir remembered that
he had been the first to appreciate the painter's possibilities; and
the Tsar told him to go ahead with another expedition, offering to
defray most of the expenses.
_An Ill-Fated Expedition_
So, with the zoologist Timofeieff, and the chemist Filipoff, he soon
started on a veritable white man's expedition, with a smart cutter,
the "Metchka," a portable dwelling-house, kerosene stoves, scientific
instruments, photographic apparatus, guns, ammunition, books,
clothing, trading-stores, and food delicacies in abundance. Yet, by a
strange irony of fate, the well-stocked little expedition was
destined to suffer perils and privations such as Borissoff had never
dreamed of among his Samoyeds.
They set up their portable dwelling-house on the edge of the Nova
Zembla tundra off the Strait of Matochkin Shar, transporting its parts
and furnishings by dog-sledge. By the time this was accomplished, the
"Metchka" had arrived in the Strait; and they started on a voyage into
the Kara Sea. Their object was to distribute materials and provisions
along the extreme northeastern coast of Nova Zembla during the fall,
and to return to their house to spend the winter. In the spring they
hoped to make an early start in sledges along the route of their
supplies.
_The Abandonment of the Ship_
"It was in navigating the Sea of Kara that we encountered our first
acute peril," says Borissoff. "The further north we got, the more
numerous were icebergs. Often our small ship was wedged in tight
between walls of ice that threatened to crush us.
"We decided to turn back; but it was too late. Winter was closing in
earlier than we had anticipated; and the broken ice about us was
becoming a solid field. After two weeks' battle, we had to surrender.
Nature had captured us. We were being carried off into regions of
certain death. Our only escape lay in abandoning our ship, and
attempting to regain the coast by journeying across the dreadful sea
of ice on foot. Gathering what provisions we could carry, our party of
nine, including the five sailors, set out with but little expectation
of ever reaching land."
Everything was put into three canoes, to be pulled along the edges of
ice-banks by nine men and some twenty dogs. Soon the free water froze
tight; and they had to drag the boats over the ice. The wind made this
too difficult. The canoes were abandoned; and the most necessary
supplies were placed on sledges made of skis. With the snow up to
their waists, they plodded on--until they discovered that they were on
a drifting island of ice!
_Drifting Out to Sea on Floes of Ice_
"We noticed that the ice a little way in front of us was flying at a
terrible speed toward the north, while we seemed to be standing still;
but this was merely an optical illusion--the ice in front of us was
standing still, for it was shore-ice, while we were being carried at a
giddy pace out to sea!
"Our only salvation was to reach the stationary shore-ice. The edge of
the moving floe was grinding it into a devilish porridge. Immense
blocks, weighing tens of thousands of tons, were whirled round, leaped
out of the sea, climbed on each other, rearing on high, groaning and
roaring, and plunging and vanishing!"
[Illustration: PAINTING OF A SLEDGE SET UPON END FOR THE NIGHT, WITH
SKINS AND MEAT HUNG UPON IT SO AS TO BE OUT OF REACH OF THE DOGS]
They made the crossing and dragged on inland for three days. A gentle
breeze was blowing. Borissoff heard a suspicious plash of water.
"It was horrible to believe our ears. We climbed a hummock; and
there our eyes assured us that another channel of water really
separated us from firm land! The floe began breaking up. The solid
ground failed beneath us. Our feet were sucked into yielding
quicksands of snow and splintered ice. We threw ourselves flat to
distribute our weight and clutched the larger lumps. We lost our
kerosene stove, the tray for lighting fires on, some of our
cartridges, and most of our instruments. The sleeping-bags, fur
coats, and other remnants of our supplies we managed to save."
The despairing howls of their lost dogs cut them to the heart. The men
lost courage. Borissoff and the two scientific men had to threaten the
others with revolvers; and a tragedy on the ice was imminent, when
they found themselves being carried into an extensive bay surrounded
by lofty cliffs. On an iceberg they discovered brackish water. Later
it gave them unbearable thirst, until the men cried: "Oh, God, for one
small cup of warm water, to die in peace!"
_Making a Fire with Seal Fat_
Borissoff killed a seal and implored them to be patient while he made
a fire with its oily fat to melt snow for drinking--a trick he had
learned among the Samoyeds. Ravenously eating the liver, lights,
kidneys, and brains raw, they began cutting the necessary pieces of
fat. Borissoff would take a tiny log of firewood, cut it small, pour
kerosene over it, rub it with fat, and light it. This had to be done
in a tea-tin. They put fat on the fire. It burned splendidly. One
small stick warmed the kettle; and the famished men were soon drinking
lukewarm cocoa. During their further wanderings from floe to floe,
they carried with them the embers of wood and treasured every little
piece of rag and paper "to keep the lamp of our life burning as long
as we should have seal fat. The wood embers seemed capable of burning
for ever, provided there was enough fat!"
They grew attached to particular floes on which they had built
shelters. But the sleeping-bags were becoming unendurable, the fur
rubbed off, the leather wet and clammy, like the skin of a putrefying
carcass. They had almost got to lying in the sleeping-bags by day,
when a Samoyed declared he smelt the smoke of a native encampment. A
sailor thought he heard the barking of dogs; but they paid no
attention, for the howls of their own poor beasts, wandering aimlessly
on the floes, often came to them. After drinking tea, they rose up and
prepared to make some effort.
_The Party Rescued by Samoyeds_
It grew lighter. There was something moving on the shore. It could not
be merely birds! They let off a gun. Two shots answered. Lines of tiny
black dots advanced toward them. They were Samoyed dog-sledges. "And
fancy what a stroke of luck!" says Borissoff; "they were old friends
of mine, with whom I had lived on my first sojourn in the tundra!"
[Illustration: A STUDY MADE IN NOVA ZEMBLA AT THE TIME OF THE COMPLETE
ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, JULY 27, 1896]
Brought finally to shore by the natives, they rejoiced childishly at
its contact. Here was solid land! Here were real stones! "Strange
phenomenon," says Borissoff, "an hour before, we had scarcely been
able to lift our weary feet. Now we wanted to leap, dance, laugh, cry,
pray, and run about aimlessly! Timofeieff and I took two rifles and
went along the shore northward. We ploughed through the snow, why and
whither we did not know. We could not sit still. Then, when we
returned to the snug tents, we ate boiled reindeer meat, drank hot
tea, and lay down to sleep twenty-seven hours without once waking!"
The land journey back to their portable house was accomplished in
dog-sledges.
[Illustration: PAINTING OF A CHURCH BUILT BY M. SEBERJAKOW]
The three months' night was passed amid comfortable surroundings. They
shot the white bear. They read, dreamed, told stories, and played
cards interminably. They received continual visits from delighted
natives, come on perilous pilgrimages to the magic European house,
with its lavish food novelties, its devil-boxes that talked, sang, and
played music.
When the three months' day came again, they made a great sledge
expedition north to the Straits of Tchekin, called The Unknown and the
Bear Straits. Borissoff, as usual, made quantities of paintings. He
named one enormous glacier after Count Witte.
"One morning I went out to paint it, shining like silver in the
sunlight. I had scarcely finished making the rough sketch," he tells,
"when a noise of shuffling and deep breathing attracted my attention.
Glancing round, I saw to my horror the shaggy white body of a great
polar bear within ten feet of my back. He had been watching me paint.
Now, taking my fright for hostility, he lost interest in art and
advanced toward me, with a paw uplifted. Springing back, I snatched my
rifle, crying: 'Oshkai! Oshkai!' hoping that my companions might hear.
Dropping on one knee, I fired; but the bullet only caused the great
bear to roar and dash toward me. I fired again. The shot was more
effective. It slowed his progress. Then three shots rang from behind
an icy boulder; for my companions had heard and come to my rescue, and
I was saved."
Good luck, however, could not stay with the expedition. First, their
best dogs went mad, not from hydrophobia, but from the strange craze
of the ice, which affects men and dogs alike. Then food failed. The
remaining dogs starved, though they killed their few reindeer to feed
both themselves and the dogs. When nothing remained to kill, they were
glad to eat the refuse of their previous camps. Amid hair-breadth
escapes, suffering from starvation and exhaustion, they wandered back
on foot to their portable house, where the arrival of the Russian
military transport-ship, the "Pakhtoosoff," ended their courageous
preparations for a second wintering. Leaving the house and its stores
to their faithful Samoyeds and carefully packing Borissoff's three
hundred paintings, they steamed back to civilization.
_Borissoff's Revelation of Arctic Color_
When Borissoff arrived at St. Petersburg, the Tsar sent for him. His
impression of the Emperor was of "a quiet gentleman who takes a keen
delight in art." The Empress, herself a painter of portraits, was
immensely interested; and the first exhibition of the paintings took
place in the White Salon of the Winter Palace. Other exhibitions
followed in other capitals of Europe. In Berlin, the exhibit was
patronized by the German Empress; in Munich, by the Prince Regent. In
Paris the French Government bought "In the Kara Sea"; while in London
the court set pointed the way to all good Englishmen to their
exhibition at the Grafton Galleries.
The extraordinary thing about the paintings is, of course, their
revelation of the colors of the frozen world of the polar circle. In a
region which our ignorant imagination shrouds in dull sepia tones,
Borissoff reveals lights that we never dreamed to be on land or sea.
There is an effect of strange, mysterious brilliancy in one of his
largest canvases, entitled "In the Kingdom of Death." Dark icebergs
tower above the open sea; while through heavy purple-black clouds,
melting to blue and mauve, break lines of lurid red light from the
August sunrise, that throw an orange-red glow along steely, blue-black
waters.
"Midnight in the Kara Sea"--selected by the French Government's
experts as Borissoff's most extraordinary production--shows a sky of
glowing orange, and floes of ice drifting on black waters. An
unearthly yellow-green light illumines the deep blue shadows of "A
Polar Winter Night." Two polar bears stand in a great expanse of snow;
the moon's rays fall across rocks and project their outline in black
shade. The snow is wonderfully rendered--thick, soft, and glistening,
after a recent fall.
"Looking for the Reindeer--Evening" shows a snowy landscape with a
firmament of yellow. In "The Cold Became More Severe" gray plains are
seen beneath a sky of clear apricot. "A Halting Place" has a dark
blue-gray sky, brown-gray ice, a belt of snow, and a range of hills
with patches of brown rock showing beneath the snow. Two polar bears
lying dead on the ice in front are admirably done; and the whole
picture is full of stern romance. The romantic quality of Borissoff's
best pictures comes, in part, from the fact that he makes us
understand that people live in these awful places--or have lived!
Such is the suggestion of "The Last Survivor." It shows a desolate
shore where, after an exceptionally severe winter, a band of poor
hunters had perished. Reverently the survivors had interred their
dying comrades--until the last man died! A solitary white fox
surrounded by a few bleaching bones is the central feature of the
haunting picture.
[Illustration: "IN THE MIDNIGHT SUNSHINE"]
For the most part, the pictures are small canvases, depicting
glaciers, icebergs, snowdrifts, coast scenes, and the tundra in its
ever-varying color-aspects, winter and midsummer, spring and autumn,
with its Samoyeds, their tents, boats, sledges, reindeer, dogs, and
foxes. Every imaginable atmospheric effect is given, from the
wonderful glow of the midnight sun, to raw, hanging fog that can be
well-nigh felt. Of the splendid richness of these effects and, quite
as much, their baffling gradations, the painter never tires of
telling. "One beauty of this strange nature," he says, "is the
extraordinarily soft variety of tones, that can only be compared to
the reflections of precious stones. And God preserve the artist from
trying to follow conventional ideas as to tones and effects that may
have happened to strike him as universal in the past! Offended nature
will elude him. It is only by divesting oneself of prejudice that one
can render these wonderful harmonies."