DOG-SLEDGING AND THE FUR TRADE
Description of the sledge and its seven pairs of dogs--The
harness--The useful _polka_--The start-off a gymnastic
performance for the driver--Methods of steering and avoiding
obstructions while going at full speed--Dog-trading _en
route_--Dog-fights are plentiful--Prices of sable and other
skins in the native market--The four grades of sables--How
they live and what they live on--A Russian writer on sable
hunting--Days when a native would barter eighteen sable
skins for an ax.
I could not delay here. The sledge-road to Ghijiga was in fine
condition, and, hiring a team of dogs, I started out the next morning
on my first sledge-ride. Our team consisted of fourteen big, wolflike
sledge-dogs with shaggy coats and erect pointed ears. Some were white,
some black, some gray, some red, and some a bluish color. The two
leaders were a magnificent pair--one red, the other blue. They were
all fierce-looking fellows, but I had no difficulty in stroking them,
as they like to be petted. The harness consisted of a breast collar
and a belly-band. Leading back from the collar, and held in place on
the sides by the belly-band, are two thongs, which are attached to a
ring directly behind the dog. From this ring a single thong, three
feet in length, attaches the dog to the central tug which draws the
sledge. Each thong is fastened to a ring on the tug by means of a
wooden pin three inches long. The dogs are always fastened to the tug
in pairs. The central tug leads forward from the sledge to a point
between the leading pair of dogs. Between the several pairs is a clear
space of about eighteen inches.
The sledge itself, which is called a _narta_, is a remarkable vehicle.
It is made of light basswood without nails or screws. The parts are
bound together with walrus thongs. It is admirably adapted to survive
the hard knocks which it is sure to receive. It has just the necessary
amount of "give" without losing anything in strength. The runners are
from ten to fourteen feet long and two feet apart. They are from three
to four inches wide and unshod. The bed of the sledge is raised ten
inches above the runners by means of posts at frequent intervals. On
each side is a railing six inches high, with a thong mesh to prevent
the load from falling off. At about one third the distance from the
front to the back of the sledge is placed a perpendicular bow of stout
wood, which rises some four feet and a half from the ground. The
driver sits behind this, and whenever an obstruction is met with, he
steps off quickly at the side and pulls the sledge one way or the
other by means of this bow, which he grasps in the right hand. The
driver holds a stout steel-shod stick five feet in length with a cord
attached to the end. He can use this _polka_ as a brake by putting it
between the runners and digging it into the ground, or he can anchor
the sledge with it by driving it perpendicularly into the snow
immediately in front of the sledge and then tying the cord to the bow
which has been described. When this is done the sledge cannot possibly
move forward.
Several bearskins were laid in the bed of the sledge for me, and a
back-rest was made by lashing together three cross-pieces. I was told
to keep as far down as possible, as it would lessen the probability of
capsizing. Before starting, one more important piece of work had to be
performed. Chrisoffsky, using the polka as a lever, tipped the sledge
up at an angle of forty-five degrees, exposing the bottom of one
runner, and proceeded to scrape it with a knife he always carried in a
sheath at his thigh. Then from under his fur coat he drew out a little
bottle of water which was fastened about his neck with a cord, and
wetting a piece of deer fur as one would wet a sponge, he drew it
rapidly along the runner, with the result that a thin film of ice was
formed along its whole length. The other runner was treated
likewise. This is a very important part of the preparation for a
sledge-ride.
[Illustration: Sledge-dogs, showing Harness and Method of Hitching.]
While this was going on the dogs were continually yelping with
excitement and leaping in their collars, eager to be off. Old
Chrisoffsky quieted them with the cry "Chy, chy, chy." The old
gentleman himself was to be my driver, and I mounted and was carefully
tucked in by kindly, even if dirty, hands, while Chrisoffsky
restrained the dogs. I said good-by, and settled back to witness a
marvelous feat of human dexterity on the part of the driver, and of
almost human intelligence on the part of the dogs. It was a crisp,
cold morning. The road was well broken, but the difficulty was in
getting out of the village with its narrow, winding paths to the open
tundra where the road was straight and easy.
As Chrisoffsky untied the cord from the bow, the alert dogs gave a
wild yell, and strained at their collars as though they had gone mad.
He drew out the polka, placed one foot on the runner, gave the bow a
jerk to dislodge the sledge from its position in the snow, and
shouted, "Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk!" to the impatient dogs. They sprang
forward together, giving the sledge a jerk that nearly threw me
overboard, and dashed forward at a terrific speed, Chrisoffsky still
standing on the runner and waving the polka in his hand. We were off
like a shot amid the laughter and good-bys of Chrisoffsky's numerous
progeny. The trick was to get the dogs around those sharp curves at
such a speed without upsetting the sledge. The driver by shouting,
"Put, put, put!" could make them swerve about forty-five degrees to
the right, and they would continue to turn till he stopped; then they
would go straight ahead. If he wanted them to turn to the left he
would give a strong guttural, scraping noise that sounded like an
intensified German "ch," repeated as long as he wished them to
continue turning. If we met an obstruction he would leap off, even
when going at full speed, and by means of the bow pull or push the
sledge free from the impending smash, and then leap on again as nimbly
as a cat, despite his sixty-odd years. As we swept out of the village,
followed by the shouts of "Doswi dania" (good-by), we plunged down
into a gully and up the other side on to the open tundra, the dogs on
the dead run. For a time our speed must have been nearly that of a
greyhound at full stretch. Old Chrisoffsky looked back at me and
laughed, and asked me how I liked it.
I have ridden a good many kinds of vehicles, but for beauty of motion
give me a narta with fourteen big, wild dogs, and a smooth road. The
narta goes like a snake, it is so sinuous and adapts itself so
perfectly to the irregularities of the road.
After a while the dogs got the "wire edge" worked off their enthusiasm
and settled down to a good steady trot that took us along at the rate
of seven miles an hour. They worked together as smoothly as a machine.
When they became thirsty, they would lap up the snow beside the path.
If one of the dogs stops drawing and begins to shirk, the driver
stands up and throws the polka at him, hitting him on the head or
back, and then, by a dexterous motion, pushes the narta to one side
and recovers the polka as the sledge passes it. The dog so warned will
probably go miles with his head over his shoulder watching to see if
he is going to be struck again; and all the other dogs, too, keep a
weather-eye open. The best dogs are always in the lead, and the
poorest ones back near the driver, where he can manage them most
easily.
If a dog refuses to draw, the sledge is stopped and the driver, to an
accompaniment of very choice language, beats the sluggard with the
lash of the polka till he deems the punishment sufficient. That dog
will need no more reminders for a day at least. Almost always after
starting out one or two dogs have to be handled in this manner before
they will settle down to the day's work. Not infrequently dog-teams,
meeting in the road, will stop and the drivers will proceed to "swap
horses," or rather dogs, in the true David Harum style. But the two
leaders are never exchanged in this way. They are the driver's
favorites, and are too valuable to risk in such a trade. Even if their
master is starving he will not part with his leaders.
About five miles out, we met a team of dogs going up-country. We
stopped simultaneously to exchange news, and inside of ten seconds one
of our dogs made a jump at one of the other team. This was the signal,
and in an instant all the twenty-eight dogs were at it tooth and nail
in one grand scrimmage. After beating them unmercifully, the drivers
were able to separate the two teams, and we found that three of our
dogs were limping. I then learned that in a fight the Siberian dog
does not make for his antagonist's throat, but for his feet, for he
seems to know that injury to that member is the most serious that can
happen to a sledge-dog. It was amusing to see with what deftness they
would draw their feet back from the snap of the enemy. The neck is
generally covered with a thick growth of hair which is impervious to
teeth, while from the ankle to the foot the hair is cut away by the
driver to prevent the snow from balling upon it. Our troubles proved
not to be serious, and at the end of the third hour we approached
Ghijiga. As soon as the dogs scented the town they gave a
simultaneous yelp and broke into a swift run, as is always their
custom in approaching any settlement. At the same time all the dogs of
the village, apparently, came rushing out to meet us, and ran
alongside yelping and snapping in a friendly way at our dogs. Old
Chrisoffsky drew up with a flourish before my cabin, where I received
a hearty welcome from the townsfolk. This day's trip from
Chrisoffsky's house by dog-sledge cost me the enormous sum of one
rouble, or fifty cents in United States gold.
[Illustration: Mr. Vanderlip's Dog-sled loaded.]
It was now late in October, and it was necessary for me to stop in
Ghijiga while my winter outfit of clothes was being prepared. The snow
was already deep and the river frozen solid, excepting at the rapids.
But cold as it was, my work was but just beginning, for it is only in
winter that long distance travel is possible. In summer you may
struggle across six or eight miles of spongy tundra a day, but in
winter you can easily cover from sixty to ninety miles, depending upon
the quality of your teams and the number of your relays.
By this time the natives were beginning to bring in their furs and
other valuables to exchange with the merchants of the trading company.
It may be of interest to give the prevailing prices.
The native, ordinarily, does not take money for his skins, but various
kinds of necessaries. Reducing it all, however, to a monetary basis,
we find that he receives for sable skin ten to thirteen roubles;
red-fox skin, two to three roubles; white-fox skin, one and a half
roubles; black-fox skin, fifty to one hundred and fifty roubles;
blue-squirrel skin, thirty-five cents; unborn-deer skin, twelve cents;
turbogan (kind of coon), fifteen cents; yearling-deer skin,
seventy-five cents; sea-dog skin, one rouble; black-bear skin, seven
roubles; brown-bear skin, five roubles; white-bear skin, twenty-five
roubles; walrus rope, two cents a yard; walrus ivory, from five cents
to one and a half roubles a tusk; mammoth tusk, five to six roubles;
fur coats, one and a half to five roubles; boots, twenty-five cents to
seventy-five cents a pair. For an ermine skin he is wont to receive
two needles or a piece of sugar as large as a thimble.
In exchange for these commodities the traders give tea, sugar, powder,
lead, cartridges, tobacco, bar iron one inch wide by a quarter of an
inch thick, needles, beads, and various other trinkets.
When the goods are marketed it is found that the company makes
anywhere from one hundred to one thousand per cent. profit. Tea, the
article most called for, allows only one hundred per cent. profit. On
sugar some three hundred per cent. is made, and on the trinkets and
other miscellaneous goods anywhere from five hundred to one thousand
per cent. is made.
[Illustration: Ghijiga River in Winter.]
Several significant facts are to be deduced from this list: first, the
low price that is paid for sables compared with the prices they bring
in the European market; second, the comparatively high price the skin
of the black fox brings, although it is only a fraction of what it
costs at home (a single skin has brought as high as four thousand
dollars in Paris); third, the extremely low cost of ermine; and
fourth, the fact that there is no active trade in mammoth tusks,
although they are plentiful. They are often ten feet in length, and it
might be supposed that they would contain ivory enough to make them
worth much more than they bring; but the fact is that it is fossil
ivory, and the outside of each tusk is so far broken and decayed that
only the very center of the tusk contains marketable ivory.
The common rule is to give the natives one year's credit; the tea,
sugar, tobacco, and other articles which they receive this year being
paid for by the skins which they bring next year. The plan works well,
for the natives are scrupulous in the payment of their debts. And
furthermore, the traders, being on the spot, have a wide personal
acquaintance among the natives and know just whom they can depend
upon.
Of course the most valuable portion of the produce of this north
country is sable skins. There are four kinds, or rather grades, of
sables. The finest come from the Lena River district; the second grade
from the territory of which we are writing and within a radius of five
hundred miles about the head of the Okhotsk Sea; the third grade from
the Amur River district, and the fourth from Manchuria. Generally, the
farther north one goes the better the sables.
Before Siberia was conquered by Russia, sables were extremely common,
but gradually they were pushed back by the coming of settlers, for
they will not remain in the vicinity of human dwellings. They live in
holes, as do the martens or ermines, but those who have studied their
habits say that they frequently build nests of sticks and grass in the
branches of trees, and use them alternately with their holes. They
usually sleep about half the day, and roam about in search of food the
other half. In the early spring they live on hares, though they will
also eat weasles or ermine. When the berries are in season they
subsist solely on cranberries, blueberries, and especially the berries
of the shad-bush. The natives say that eating these last causes them
to itch and rub themselves against the trees, which for the time being
spoils their fur; so that while the shad-bush is in berry no sables
are caught.
About the end of March the sable brings forth its young, from three to
five in the litter, and suckles them from four to six weeks.
The method of trapping sables has been well described by a quaint
writer near the beginning of the nineteenth century, and, as there
have been very few changes during the interval, he is worth quoting:
The sable hunters, whether Russian or native, begin to set
out for hunting about the beginning of September. Some
Russians go themselves, and others hire people to hunt for
them, giving them proper clothes and instruments for
hunting, and provisions for the time of their being out.
When they return from the chase they give their masters all
the game, and restore them likewise all that they received,
except the provisions.
A company that agrees to hunt together assembles from six to
forty men, though formerly there were sometimes even fifty.
They provide a small boat for every three or four men, which
they cover over; and take with them such persons as
understand the language of the people among whom they go to
hunt, and likewise the places properest for hunting. These
persons they maintain at the public charge, and give them,
besides, an equal share of the game.
In these boats every hunter lays thirty poods of rye-flour,
one pood[2] of wheat-flour, one pood of salt, and a quarter
of a pood of groats. Every two men must have a net, a dog,
and several poods of provisions for the dog, a bed and
covering, a vessel for preparing their bread, and a vessel
to hold leaven. They carry with them very few firearms.
[2] Russian weight equivalent to thirty-six pounds
avoirdupois.
The boats are then drawn up-stream as far as they can go,
where the hunters build for themselves. Here they all
assemble and live until the river is frozen over. In the
mean time they choose for their chief leader one who has
been oftenest upon these expeditions; and to his orders they
profess an entire obedience. He divides the company into
several small parties, and names a leader to each, except
his own, which he himself directs; he also appoints the
places where each party is to hunt. As soon as the season
begins, this division into small parties is unalterable,
even though the whole company consists of only eight or
nine, for they never all go toward the same place. When
their leaders have given them their orders, every small
company digs pits upon the road by which they must go. In
these pits they lay up for every two men three bags of flour
against their return, when they shall have consumed all
their other provisions; and whatever they have left in the
huts they are obliged to hide also in pits, lest the wild
inhabitants should steal it.
As soon as the rivers are frozen over and the season is
proper for the sable hunting, the chief of the leaders calls
all the huntsmen into the hut, and, having prayed to God,
gives orders to every chief of each small company, and
despatches them the same road which was before assigned
them. Then the leader sets out one day before the rest to
provide lodging-places for them.
When the chief leader despatches the under-leaders he gives
them several orders; one of which is that each should build
his first lodging in honor of some church, which he names,
and the other lodgings to some such saint whose image he has
with him, and that the first sable they catch should be laid
aside in the quarter of the church, and at their return be
presented to it. These sables they call "God's Sables," or
the church's. The first sable that is caught in the quarter
of each saint is given to the person who brought the image
of that saint with him.
On their march they support themselves with a wooden crutch
about four feet long; upon the end of which they put a cow's
horn, to keep it from being split by the ice, and a little
above they bind it around with thongs to keep it from
sinking too deep in the snow. The upper part is broad like a
spade, and serves to shovel away the snow or to take it up
and put it into their kettles, for they must use snow, as
they have frequently no water. The principal chief having
sent out the small parties, starts with his own. When they
come to the places of lodging they build little huts of
logs, and bank them up with snow round about. They hew
several trees upon the road, that they may the more easily
find their way in the winter. Near every quarter they
prepare their trap-pits, each of which is surrounded with
sharp stakes, about six or seven feet high, and about four
feet distant, and is covered over with boards to prevent the
snow from falling in. The entrance through the stakes is
narrow, and over it a board is hung so nicely that by the
least touch of the sables it turns and throws them into the
trap; and they must absolutely go this way to reach a piece
of fish or flesh with which the trap is baited. The hunters
stay in a station till they have a sufficient number of
traps set, every hunter being obliged to make twenty in a
day. When they have passed ten of these quarters the leader
sends back half of his company to bring up the provisions
that were left behind, and with the remainder he advances to
build more huts and set more traps.
These carriers must stop at all the lodging-places to see
that the traps are in order, and take out any sables they
may find in them, and skin them, which none must pretend to
do but the chief man of the company.
If the sables are frozen they thaw them out by putting them
under the bedclothes with them. When the skins are taken
off, all present sit down and are silent, being careful that
nothing is hanging on the stakes. The body of the sable is
laid upon dried sticks, and these are afterward lighted, the
body of the animal smoked, and then buried in the snow or
the earth. Often when they apprehend that the Tunguses may
meet them and take away their booty, they put the skins into
hollow pieces of wood and seal up the ends with snow, which
being wetted soon freezes. These they hide in the snow near
their huts, and gather them up when they return in a body.
When the carriers are come with provisions, then the other
half are sent for more; and thus they are employed in
hunting, the leader always going before to build traps. When
they find few sables in their traps they hunt with nets,
which they can only do when they find the fresh tracks of
sables in the snow. These they follow till it brings them
to the hole where the sable has entered; or if they lose it
near other holes, they put smoking pieces of rotten wood to
them, which generally forces the sable to leave the hole.
The hunter at the same time has spread his net, into which
the animal usually falls; and for precaution his dog is
generally near at hand. Thus the hunter sits and waits
sometimes two or three days. They know when the sable falls
into the net by the sound of two small bells which are
fastened to it. They never put smoky pieces of wood into
those holes which have only one opening, for the sable would
sooner be smothered than come towards the smoke, in which
case it is lost.
When the chief leader and all the hunters are gathered
together, then the leaders of the small parties report to
the chief how many sables or other beasts their party has
killed, and if any of the parties have done anything
contrary to his orders and the common laws. These crimes
they punish in different ways. Some of the culprits they tie
to a stake; others they oblige to ask pardon from every one
in the company; a thief they beat severely, and allow him no
part of the booty; nay, they even take his own baggage from
him and divide it among themselves. They remain in their
headquarters until the rivers are free of ice; and after the
hunting they spend their time preparing the skins. Then they
set out in the boats they came in, and when they get home
they give the sables to the several churches to which they
promised them; and then, having paid their fur-tax, they
sell the rest, dividing equally the money or goods which
they receive for them.
Before Kamchatka was conquered by the Russians the sables were so
plentiful that a hunter could easily take seventy or eighty in a
season, but they were esteemed more for their flesh than for their
fur. At first the natives paid their tribute in sables, and would give
eight skins for a knife and eighteen for an ax.