A PERILOUS SUMMER TRIP
The tundra in summer--Crossing the swift Paran
River--Literally billions of mosquitos--Unique measures of
protection against these pests--Mad race down the Uchingay
River on a raft--Lighting a fire with a pistol--Narrow
escape from drowning--Fronyo proves to be a man of
mettle--Pak is caught stealing from slim supply of
provisions and receives chastisement--Subsisting on wild
onions and half-ripe berries--Help at last.
After a rest of two days we started out on the home stretch toward
Ghijiga, which lay three hundred miles to the southwest. As the snow
was now very soft the wooden runners of our sledges were useless. The
wet snow stuck to them, and made progress almost impossible. We
therefore purchased sets of whalebone runners, cut from the ribs of
the whale, and pared down to a quarter of an inch in thickness. These
strips are pinned to the sledge runners, one piece overlapping
another, and the joints worked down smooth. These are as good on wet
snow as the iced wooden runners are on dry snow. We made the three
hundred miles in four days, which was doing fairly well, considering
the fact that we came back with only half the number of dogs that we
started out with. It is true, however, that we had made one or two
valuable acquisitions in the dog line, especially Konikly, with whom I
became more and more pleased. We fed the dogs on the best the land
could provide, and kept them on the road from twelve to fourteen hours
a day. Our provisions were, of course, almost gone, and we were coming
back practically as "empties."
In making long trips the natives frequently have to cache a part of
their provisions along the way for use on the return trip. They make a
little scaffold on the stumps of trees or between two or three living
trees. Even though not set up very much above the snow line, the snow
is so deep that by the time summer has melted it away the goods are
high and dry. No one except the owner would ever think of touching
these provisions.
Upon my return I found that the snows were fast melting, and green
tints were beginning to appear on the hillsides. I thought, however,
that there would be enough snow to allow me to take a little run down
the peninsula that lies between the two northern arms of the Okhotsk
Sea in search of a deposit of cinnabar of which I had heard rumors;
but after two days of hard work, urging the dogs over bare tundra, I
gave it up and came back in disgust. By June 1 the snow was quite
gone, except upon the highest hills and in the secluded nooks where
deep drifts had lain. The river was still very high, and filled with
floating ice. The sun was now visible twenty hours out of the
twenty-four.
[Illustration: Expedition on march--"Konikly" in foreground.]
I was soon ready for a summer trip. The services of my old friend
Chrisoffsky and half a dozen of his horses were secured, and, taking
along my two Koreans, who had wintered at Ghijiga while I was making
my trip to the shores of Bering Sea, I started out, sitting in the
saddle which had been left in the village thirty years before by Mr.
George Kennan. He was then a leading spirit in the American Russian
Telegraph Company, whose object was to build a line across Bering
Strait and connect the two continents. Of this saddle there was
nothing left but the tree and a little leather on the cantle, bearing
a San Francisco stamp. Mrs. Braggin said that Mr. Kennan had given it
to her when he left; I rigged it up with stirrups and used it all
summer.
Plodding northward, we reached Chrisoffsky's place about bedtime,
soaked with mud and water. The tundra was like a great marsh, through
which we had to flounder. We tried to keep to the beds of the little
creeks in which the water had worn away the moss and turf. Where this
was not possible, we had to wade through almost bottomless mud. Even
though lightly loaded, the horses kept sinking to the girth, and it
was only by sheer hard work that we were able to average fifteen miles
a day. Some days we made only five.
Our objective point was the Uchingay, which means "Red," River. It is
a comparatively small stream, flowing into the Paran, near its head.
The natives had told me that at the head waters of this stream there
were two red mountains where the rocks were filled with shiny yellow
points. This place lay about three hundred miles north of Ghijiga.
As we neared the foot-hills the trail became better. The tundra was
one mass of brilliant flowers, like the wrecks of rainbows. There were
plants of almost infinite variety, and the ground was like a great
expanse of variegated carpeting. But the flowers! They were
indescribably beautiful. Turning the shoulder of a hill, we would come
upon a broad expanse of solid pink or scarlet, acres in extent, and
this would give way to a blue, a yellow, or a lavender, either in
solid color or in various blends. We enjoyed these beauties of nature,
but, at the same time, did not fail to notice the fine beds of wild
onions, which we pulled and ate with great gusto. We craved vegetables
in summer as keenly as we had craved fat in winter. Hardly an hour
passed that we did not have a shot at a duck or a goose, and our
journey was consequently a continual feast. Konikly and Howka
accompanied us. They lived like princes on the tundra rats, which
swarmed about us. The dogs caught them cleverly, and after one good
shake, bolted them whole. These rodents were the size of a small house
rat.
[Illustration: Across the Tundra.]
On June 22 we crossed the high pass leading into the valley of the
Paran River. My aneroid showed an elevation of six thousand feet. That
afternoon we were greeted with a storm of sleet and snow, which drove
us to the shelter of a high precipice, where we stayed close till the
following day. The descent once fairly begun, we soon came into a more
genial atmosphere. Below us in the valley we could see the heavily
wooded banks of the Paran where Chrisoffsky and his two sons were to
leave me with my two Koreans and Fronyo, the Tunguse guide. That night
we camped on the bank of the river.
We were now in the primeval wilderness and had to subsist off the
land. There were fish to catch and there was game to shoot, so there
was little danger of our coming to grief. We had with us some
fish-nets. These were made of horsehair obtained by barter from
Central Siberia. These nets are large enough to hold a good-sized
salmon. By placing them at the mouths of little creeks, and then
scaring the fish down into them, it was not difficult to secure
plenty to eat.
The Paran, even on its upper reaches, was a formidable stream two
hundred yards wide, at this season swollen by melting snows. It was
imperative that we cross this river, for the Uchingay flowed into it
from the other side. Old Chrisoffsky had averred that I would never
get across alive, but I had assured him that I could if there was
timber near by. I had already guaranteed to pay for any horses that I
might lose during the trip. When we came down to the bank of the river
and saw the swift, sullen tide, the old man laughed and said, "I told
you so." I knew that he would be an impediment to me, and that he
would do all he could to prevent my taking the horses across, so I
answered that as it was impossible to cross I would go into camp and
wait for the water to go down. The old gentleman hit the trail for
home the next day, carrying the tale that for once the American was
beaten, and must await the pleasure of the Paran River. He would have
been surprised had he seen us that very night safely on the other side
with our baggage and horses intact. I confess the crossing was no easy
feat, but it had to be done. As the river narrowed to a gorge with
dangerous rapids less than a half mile below where we stood, I went
three miles up the stream, where I found a lot of dead trees,
averaging some ten inches in thickness. These we felled and cut into
twelve-foot lengths, and bound them together with walrus rope, and
thus were provided with a good raft. The Tunguse with his ax fashioned
four rough sweeps, and we rigged up rowlocks by mortising uprights
into the side logs of the raft.
We first tried, unsuccessfully, to cross by swimming the horses behind
the raft; the animals kept trying to climb upon the raft. So we put
back to shore. Then, making long whips, we drove the horses into the
water at a point where the current set across toward the other bank.
By vigorous whipping we showed the horses that they were not to be
allowed to come back to the shore. They were swept off their feet, and
after one or two attempts to return they seemed to understand the
situation, and set out for the farther shore, which they reached after
being swept about a third of a mile down-stream. Then we shoved off
and arrived without mishap on the other bank at almost the very spot
where the horses had landed, and we found them quietly eating.
It was now late in June, and the mosquitos had arrived in full force,
though the flies as yet held off. The former pests were so thick that
the air seemed literally filled with them as with flakes of snow in a
heavy storm. The air was resonant with the deep humming sound from
their wings. We all had to wear heavy gauntlet gloves tied tightly
about the arm, and mosquito-hats made after a plan of my own. The
summer before, I had made use of a broad felt hat with mosquito-net
sewed around the rim, and with a draw-string at the bottom to fasten
it at the throat; but this had proved perfectly useless because the
least breath of wind would blow it against my face, and instantly a
hundred mosquitos were at their deadly work. Besides this the net was
continually getting torn in the underbrush; consequently, I was driven
by desperation to invent some better way. I had with me a small roll
of fine wire screen for screening gold ore. It was "thirty-mesh"
(thirty strands to the inch). The night after we crossed the river I
got out this roll of screen and cut out pieces six inches wide and
twelve inches long and sewed them around the front rims of our hats. I
cut up a couple of flour-sacks and sewed the strong cloth all around
below the wire screen and behind the hat, gathering it with a string
at the bottom. Finally I punched a small hole through the wire for my
pipe-stem, and with this piece of armor on my head I could laugh at
the mosquitos, and even succeeded in drinking tea through the screen.
When we ate we were obliged to make a big smudge and sit in the smoke,
and we slept in our hats and gloves. The special value of the wire
screen became evident a few days later when the flies began to appear.
There was one species of fly so small that it could easily penetrate
the ordinary mosquito-netting, but could not possibly negotiate this
wire screen. The bite of this fly feels like the prick of a red-hot
needle, and two days later each bite becomes a running sore. The flies
are far more to be dreaded than the mosquitos.
[Illustration: Tundra Camp.]
The poor horses were simply black with mosquitos, though we helped
them as much as we could by tying branches of leaves to the saddles
and bridles. During the night we provided a good heavy smudge for the
animals to stand in. The horses knew well its value, and would crowd
together into the smoke to escape the cruel stings of their enemies.
At about four o'clock each morning the cool temperature quieted the
mosquitos, and the horses could get two hours of feeding. At noon,
when we lunched, the horses would crowd in upon us in the smoke, and
even though beaten off, would persistently return. Frequently the camp
was pervaded by the smell of burning hoofs and tails. The dogs
suffered less, for their hair protected them, and at night they would
sleep with their faces buried between their paws so that the mosquitos
could not get at their vulnerable spot.
Having crossed the river, we followed along its eastern bank till we
came to the Uchingay River, and a few days later reached the head
waters of this stream. We saw in the distance the two red mountains.
In the stream I began to find float-rock containing iron pyrites, and
I prospected carefully on all sides, but, with the exception of a few
colors now and then, there was nothing of interest. When we came near
the source of the stream I sunk shafts to bed-rock. After a thorough
examination of the region I was forced to admit that the trip had been
a failure, and prepared to retrace my steps.
After two days on the return trail, we found the water of the stream
fairly deep, and I determined to make a raft and float down with my
Tunguse guide, examining the outcroppings on either side of the
stream, while the two Koreans took the horses down along the bank. I
estimated that I could go four times as fast as the horses, and that
if I stopped frequently to examine the formations I would arrive at
the crossing of the Paran at about the same time as the Koreans.
So we all went to work and made a raft of light dry sticks, twelve
feet long by about eight inches in diameter. There were twelve sticks
in all, and the raft was about seven feet wide. Fronyo selected three
good pieces of timber and made sweeps, the extra one being for
emergencies. We also had two good stout poles. All our baggage was
loaded on the raft, fastened down securely, and covered with a
tarpaulin. I then divided the food evenly, giving the Koreans their
full share, and telling them to go to the point where we had crossed
the Paran, and that if we did not show up within a certain time to
make their way across the river and return to Ghijiga without us. I
gave Kim the rifle and cartridges, and half the food, which amounted
to a little rice, half a pound of tea, and some hard bread. I also
gave him the fish-net. Fronyo and I kept the shot-gun.
We bade the Koreans good-by, and shoved off into the stream, which was
running like a mill-race. We were kept busy steering the raft clear of
the rocks with which the river was strewn. As yet we used only the
poles. I may as well confess right here that this trip on the raft was
a fearfully hazardous undertaking, for we never knew what sort of
water we had below us; so clumsy was our craft there was no chance of
escape to either bank should danger loom suddenly ahead. But the hard
work we had experienced in making our way through the tangled woods
made us reverse the dictum of Hamlet, and, rather than bear again the
ills we had been through, we flew to others that we knew not of. The
rush and swirl of the angry waters, the narrow escape from the ragged
crest of a reef that came almost, but not quite, to the surface, and
was invisible thirty feet away, the rush past steep cliffs and flowery
banks, all formed such a delightful contrast to the weary plodding
through the forest that we were willing to welcome almost any dangers
for the sake of the exhilaration of this mad dash down the stream.
The river was only about twenty yards wide at the point where we
embarked upon it, but it broadened rapidly as it was fed by tributary
streams from either side. Now and again the current was divided by an
island, and then came together far below. All went smoothly the first
day, and at four o'clock we tied up to the bank and prepared to camp.
But so great was our difficulty in finding any dry wood that it was
bedtime before we had finished our preparations for the night.
The next morning we made an early start. It was thought that we must
be near the junction of the Uchingay and the Paran. Though a drizzly,
sleety day, it did not dampen our ardor--nor that of the mosquitos. I
had to put on a set of oilskins which greatly hampered my movements on
the raft. The river had now broadened to a hundred and fifty feet, and
was indeed a mighty torrent. We tied up to the bank frequently to
examine the outcroppings.
We had congratulated ourselves upon the ease and rapidity of our run
down-stream, when suddenly we sighted white water below and knew
there was serious trouble ahead. Our raft was so light that usually it
would pass over any obstacles in the bed of the stream or at most
scrape lightly upon them, turn around once or twice, and then float
off into smooth water below. Of course, if the rocks came above the
surface it was an easier matter to go around them. We managed to pass
through these rapids successfully, but immediately below them we saw
that the stream divided into two parts, the channel to the left
appearing to be the better one. We guided our raft accordingly, and
soon found ourselves rushing down a gorge at railroad speed. The cañon
began to "box up" in an ugly manner, and our pace became so great that
we lost control of our little craft. Sweeping around a bend, we saw
that a great tree had been undermined by the water, and had fallen out
over the stream so that two thirds of the narrow channel was
completely blocked. We strove with might and main to pull the raft to
one side in order to evade disaster, but she might as well have been
an ocean steamer for all the effect of our futile endeavors. We swept
under and among the branches of the tree, and though we hugged the
raft as closely as possible, we were both brushed clean off. I seized
a branch and tried to draw myself up, but the current snatched me
away, and I was swept down-stream. I fought to regain the surface,
but could not do it. My head was fairly bursting, when I felt the
current pushing me up, and suddenly I was shot out of the water and
rolled up on a wooden incline. As soon as I could collect my wits I
found, to my amazement, that I was on the raft again. It had landed
against a rock in a shelving position, with the lower side under the
water, and the water itself had provided, in an almost miraculous
manner, the means which alone could save my life. Almost the first
thing I saw was a hand above the water, grasping the edge of the raft,
and another feeling eagerly for a place to get hold. Poor Fronyo was
under water and evidently far gone. I thrust my arm in up to the
shoulder, and got hold of his hair, and I had little difficulty in
dragging him out and up on the raft. He was almost unconscious. I took
him by the collar and the seat of the pants, and, by pounding his
stomach on the pack, soon relieved him of the water he had swallowed.
Twenty minutes later I was rejoiced to see him quite himself again,
although very weak.
[Illustration: "Kim" in Summer Camp on Tundra.]
When he had sufficiently recovered, we began to think of continuing
our eventful journey. The raft was firmly lodged upon the rock, and
the force of the current threatened to break it up at any moment. I
waded into the water on the submerged end of the raft to ease the
pressure on the rock, and then, with levers, we gradually swung her
about until she drifted free of the ledge and went whirling
down-stream.
By good luck we encountered no more obstacles, and soon shot out into
open country; and, in a drenching rain, we pulled up to the bank and
hastened to make preparations for getting dry. Almost everything we
had was soaking wet, but I remembered that among our impedimenta there
was a tin box containing some matches. I rummaged around and found it,
but the matches were too damp to use. We then hunted everywhere for a
piece of flint, but could find none. As a last resource, I opened my
medicine chest and took out a piece of absorbent cotton. Then we
secured some dry chips from the interior of a log of dead wood.
Opening three or four of my revolver cartridges, I poured out the
powder on the absorbent cotton and then fired a blank shell into it.
This manoeuver proved successful, and we soon had a roaring fire. We
stood in the smoke and let our clothes dry while we fought the
mosquitos. Now and then we would make a dash out of our covert to
bring wood for the fire. In a couple of hours we were dry, and,
lighting our pipes, we had a good smoke. We were able to laugh, then,
at the ludicrous aspect of what had been a mighty close shave. Fronyo
had done better than I, for he had not once loosed his hold on the
raft; and yet had I not been swept off and then thrown up on the raft
again, there would have been no one to tell the story.
This Tunguse, Fronyo, was game to the backbone. When it came time to
start out once more on our crazy craft, he crossed himself devoutly,
and followed me without a murmur. He said that if God willed that he
should die on that raft he would die, that was all. If he did not
follow me wherever I went he felt that he would lose caste with his
people and be shamed forever.
That day I shot two sea-gulls which had come far inland to nest. They
were not very savory eating, being tough and insipid. These birds
usually come up into the interior in May, and, until the advent of the
salmon, they have little to eat except berries. Each day they make a
trip down to the coast and back.
All our sugar was melted, and our tea had received a preliminary
steeping; but we dried it out and made it do. The fact is, we were
rather badly off for food. I had only a few paper shells left, and
half of these were damp.
The next morning after our adventure in the gorge we cut loose from
the bank, and, in an hour's time, floated out of the Uchingay into the
Paran, which was a hundred and twenty yards wide, and carried an
immense volume of water. The river was in flood, and was filled with
small islands, which made it difficult to choose a route; but all
went well, and at four o'clock we pulled up to the bank at the spot
where we had first crossed, and where we had agreed to meet the
Koreans. We settled down in camp, expecting to see them on the
following day. That afternoon I had the pleasure of killing a goose
with a brood of little ones. After the mother goose had been killed
the little ones took to a small pond, but were hunted down and killed
in cold blood. It was no time to think of mere sportsmanship, as the
law of self-preservation absorbed our thoughts. Soon we heard the
"honking" of the old male goose. Fronyo took the dead goose and
cleverly set it up with a stick thrust through its neck, and the other
end stuck in the mud at the bottom of the shallow pond. The old
gentleman goose saw his spouse sitting quietly on the water, and was
just settling down near her when, not receiving any answer to his
call, he grew suspicious and started to rise again. I could ill afford
to waste a single cartridge, but I took the risk and fired. The old
fellow came to the ground with a resounding thump. We now had over
twenty pounds of good meat. Of the little goslings we made a soup,
adding a good quantity of wild onions; and it would have been a dish
fit for a king had we possessed a little salt. But our supply had been
melted.
[Illustration: Reindeer Feeding.]
The next day we heard a rifle-shot in the woods. This was the signal
agreed upon, and soon Konikly and Howka came running into camp half
famished, and eagerly bolted the bones that we had thrown aside. We
could not waste a cartridge on an answering shot, so Fronyo went out
to meet the Koreans, and soon brought them into camp, and there
followed an interesting interchange of experiences since we had parted
company on the Uchingay. I found that they had not hoarded their
provisions at all, but, with true Korean improvidence, had eaten up
everything. For the morrow they had no thought. I took a careful
inventory of stock, and found that we had two geese, a little wet
rice, some tea, and hard bread. The outlook was certainly not
pleasing, for it would take at least six days to get within the radius
of civilization.
To recross the river we used the same heavy raft that we had crossed
on before, dragging it a mile up-stream before venturing to embark.
The horses knew that they were on the homeward trail, and breasted the
swift tide willingly.
Before starting out to cross the mountains on the way to Ghijiga, it
was imperative that we should supplement our slender stock of food,
for there would be several days during which we could hope to get very
little along the way. With our small fish-net I tried a little arm of
the river, and succeeded in catching two fine _harritongas_, each
weighing nearly three pounds. They were black on top, with a yellow
belly, and supplied us with a delicious white meat. The dorsal fin
extends from the neck to the tail. It is a favorite dish in Russia,
where it is called the _harra_. Try as I might, I could catch no more.
I decided that it would be necessary to send Fronyo on ahead with the
best horse and most of the food, with instructions to hurry to Ghijiga
and secure from the magistrate the necessary food, and then hasten
back to our relief. I wanted certain special articles of food, and as
I could not write Russian, and as Fronyo could not be expected to know
the different kinds of foreign food, I was driven to use the primitive
ideographic method. My note to the magistrate, therefore, consisted of
a series of pictures, representing roughly the things that I wanted
and the amount. First came a picture of a Tunguse leading a
pack-horse, and then the "counterfeit presentment" of a tin of beef,
with the number twelve appended. Then came loaves of bread, with tins
of butter following, and a noble array of other edibles. To my fancy
it was the most interesting procession I had ever witnessed.
Fronyo said that we need have no fear, for if worse came to worst, we
could live on the wild onions and the inside bark of the fir-trees,
which grew here and there among the mountains, while on the tundra
there were plenty of tundra rats--appetizing thought! Of course, if we
had been in any real danger of starvation, we could have immolated the
horses and dogs on the altar of Epicurus, but we did not propose to do
this, except as a last resort.
The wild onion is considered the best cure for the scurvy, and is
eaten eagerly as soon as it begins to appear in the spring. It is
said, though I had no opportunity to see a case, that if scurvy is
imminent and some of the wild garlic is eaten, the body breaks out in
an eruption which passes away in a few days. The onion seems to expel
the germs through the skin by means of this eruption.
The natives strip the birchbark from the trees while it is still
green, and cut it into long threads like vermicelli. On entering a
village it is quite a common sight to see the women cutting up this
bark for food. They ferment the juice of this birchbark and make a
mild alcoholic drink. They also eat the berries of the shad-bush and
the bark of the sallow, a kind of willow.
These people have acquired a remarkable knowledge of the virtues of
various plants. Some of these tribes are accustomed to dip the points
of their arrows into a decoction of a species of ranunculus, and
wounds so inoculated are incurable unless the poison is immediately
drawn out. Even whales, if wounded with these arrows, come near the
shore and expire in dreadful agony.
Fronyo started out at a good pace while we stayed behind to try and
secure more game before hitting the trail across the mountains. We
secured two more fish, and at four o'clock in the afternoon were on
the road, which we kept till ten o'clock. The next morning, after half
a breakfast, we pushed on up the valley through the foothills of the
range that we had to cross, none of us any too cheerful, but all
determined.
That day I discovered some crumbs of bread in Pak's beard, and
investigation showed that he had been making a square meal of a large
portion of our remaining small stock of bread. It may be pardoned me,
under the circumstances, that I drew off and hit him a good shoulder
blow in the left eye, which felled him to the ground. This proved to
be an unfortunate form of punishment, for he was the Korean who
possessed only one good eye, and that was good no longer. My anger,
righteous though it may have been, turned instantly to solicitude. I
blamed myself without measure for my hasty action, went into camp and
founded a hospital on the spot. For the next twenty-four hours all my
energies and resources were centered on that unhappy eye. I can truly
say that I have never hit anything since without first making sure
that the object of my punishment had a spare eye. Later on my
conscience forced me to give him a silver watch and a new suit of
clothes. I rather think the other Korean envied him that blow when he
saw the final result.
To my vast relief the eye healed, and we went on. The third day saw us
over the mountains and crawling across the tundra. We had thrown away
all our bedding and blankets, and each was astride a horse. On the
fourth day we were reduced to wild onions and half-ripe berries, which
induced a violent diarrhea. We came at last to where sea-gulls were
nesting, but they were so shy that we could not get near them. Konikly
had gone on with Fronyo, but we still had Howka with us, and he was
getting fat on the tundra rats. It was to him, now, that we looked for
food. He would make a rush at a sea-gull, and, as the bird flew from
its nest on the tundra, he would begin to devour the eggs; but we
would rush up and drive him off and secure the loot. The eggs were far
gone, and would have been ready to hatch in another week. We boiled
them, and the Koreans ate the embryonic sea-gulls while I ate the
albuminous substance that still remained. About this time we began to
think of sacrificing one of the horses to the common good, but no one
of us was strong enough to walk, and the horses were therefore
spared. The dog we could not kill, for he was our chief provider.
[Illustration: Three Little Half-caste Russians and Native Nurse,
Ghijiga, Okhotsk Sea.]
We plodded on until we were about two days' journey from Chrisoffsky's
house, when one morning I descried, far across the tundra, a line of
some fifteen pack-horses and men. We spurred on gladly to meet the
welcome relief.
I found that half a dozen of the officers and men of the steamer which
my employers had sent for me had come to hunt me up. Never have I seen
such a glorious sight as those well-dressed men and those loaded
horses. The captain dismounted, and I tried to address him in Russian,
but he said, "You forget that I speak English." Now, it may seem
scarcely credible, and yet it is true, that for a few moments I was
almost totally unable to converse with him in my native tongue. I had
not used a word of it in conversation for fourteen months, and my low
physical condition acting on my nerves, confused my mind, and I spoke
a jumble of English, Russian, and Korak. It was a week before I could
talk good, straight English again.
We camped right where we had been met, and the packs were opened up
immediately. I sat on a sack filled with potatoes, and watched them
bring out coffee, then some bacon, then some fresh eggs! Then the
captain came with a bottle of champagne and handed me a glass. This I
held in one hand, and with the other I reached down and extracted a
potato, and fell to munching it raw, sipping the champagne between
bites, while I watched them build a fire and prepare the food. It was
a feast that I shall never forget. After it a box of good cigars was
circulated, which added the final touch to my felicity.
When the inner man had been satisfied, I began to think of how the
outer man might be improved upon. My clothes were in rags, my weight
had fallen from one hundred and sixty pounds to one hundred and
fifteen, my beard was long and unkempt, my boots were in shreds. The
good friends had thoughtfully brought along my steamer trunk, which
now lay in one of the tents. I ordered several kettles of water
heated, and stripping behind the tent, I threw the noisome rags, with
all their denizens, as far into the bush as I could, and then went in
and had a glorious tubbing. I got into a suit of soft flannels, Scotch
tweed knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket, and after shaving and
grooming myself for an hour, the loathsome larva that had crawled into
camp emerged from that tent a bejeweled butterfly. That delicious
moment was worth almost as much as it cost.
Then we made our way back to Ghijiga, where I distributed presents
among my friends, native and foreign, and boarded the steamer for
Vladivostok. I reached that place twelve days later, and gave account
of my travels and explorations. The search for a Siberian Klondike had
been, so far, a failure. This is not the place for a technical account
of my observations in northern Siberia, but this much I may say:
though there may be gold within the radius that I covered, I satisfied
myself that there were no extensive auriferous deposits on the streams
flowing into the Okhotsk Sea near its head, nor in the beach sands
along the shore of Bering Sea, south of the Anadyr River. But, of
course, the whole question was not yet settled, for there remained the
whole stretch of the northeast peninsula, above the point I had
reached, and it turned out that my work was not yet finished.