THE CITY OF THE YAKUTE
During our stay in Yakutsk we were the guests of the Chief of Police, an
official generally associated (in the English mind) with mystery and
oppression, dungeons and the knout. But Captain Zuyeff in no way
resembled his prototype of the London stage and penny novelette. By
rights our host should have been a cool cynical villain, always in full
uniform, and continually turning up at awkward moments to harass some
innocent victim, instead of which he was rather a commonplace but
benevolent individual devoted to his wife and child and consumed with a
passion for photography, which was shared by many of the exiles under
his charge. I once had occasion to go to his office and found Zuyeff in
his shirt sleeves, busily engaged in developing "Kodak" films with a
political who had dined at his house the night before! But this would
never have done for a transpontine audience.
Yakutsk (which was founded in 1633 by the Cossack Beketoff) presents, at
a distance, a rather imposing appearance, quickly dispelled on closer
acquaintance. For a more lifeless, depressing city does not exist on the
face of this planet. Even Siberians call this the end of the world. The
very name of the place suggests gloom and mystery, for the news that
filters through from here, at long intervals, into civilisation is
generally associated with some tragedy or disaster, such as the awful
fate of poor de Long and his companions of the _Jeannette_ in the Lena
delta, or more recently the Yakutsk Prison Mutiny. The Tsar's remotest
capital is composed mainly of time-bleached wooden buildings of gloomy
appearance even on the brightest day. We saw Yakutsk at its best, for in
summer time the dusty streets and dingy dwellings are revealed in all
the dirt and squalor which were concealed from our gaze by a clean
mantle of snow. There are no public buildings to speak of, but the
golden domes of half a dozen fine churches tower over the dull drab
town, partly relieving the sombre effect produced by an absolute lack of
colour. Even the palace of the Governor is a mean-looking one-storied
edifice, scarcely fit for the ruler of a province seven times the size
of France! A Cossack stockade of great age faces the palace; and its
dilapidated wooden walls are tottering with age, but are yet in keeping
with most of the houses around them. There is a legend concerning this
fort (erected by Cossacks in 1647) which may, or may not, be true. The
natives granted these first settlers as much land, for the erection of a
citadel, as they could encircle with a limited number of reindeer skins.
But the wily Russians cut the skins into thin, very long strips and took
possession of an extensive site for a town. At present Yakutsk is a city
of the past, one may almost add of the dead, where ghosts walk in the
shape of surly Russian traders clad in the fashion of a century ago, and
sinister-looking fur-clad Yakutes. And yet the dead here may be said to
live, for corruption is delayed for an indefinite period, so intense is
the cold. Shortly before our arrival a young Russian girl was exhumed
for legal purposes, and her body was found in exactly the same condition
as when it was interred five years before. This however is scarcely
surprising in a soil which is perpetually frozen to a depth of six
hundred feet.
The uncanny sensation of gloom and despondency which here assails the
traveller is not mitigated by the knowledge that, to reach Yakutsk you
must slowly wade, as we had done, through a little hell of monotony,
hunger, and filth. To leave it you must retrace your steps through the
same purgatory of mental and physical misery. There is no other way
home, and so, to the stranger fresh from Europe, the place is a sink of
despair. And yet Yakutsk only needs capital, energy, and enterprise to
convert her into a centre of modern commerce and civilisation. Gold
abounds in all the affluents of the Lena; last year the output in the
Vitimsk district alone was over a quarter of a million sterling, and the
soil is practically untouched. Iron also exists in very large
quantities, to say nothing of very fair steam coal near the delta; and
there is practically a mountain of silver known to exist near the city.
Lead and platinum have also been found in considerable quantities
further afield. Were the Yakutsk province an American State the now
desolate shores of the Lena would swarm with prosperous towns, and the
city would long ere this have become a Siberian El Dorado of the
merchant and miner.[13] As it is the trade of this place is nothing to
what it could be made, in capable and energetic hands, within a very
short space of time. Here, as everywhere else on the river, the summer
is the busiest season. In August a fair is held on the Lena in barges,
which drift down the river from the Ust-kutsk with European merchandise
of every description. In the fall the barges are towed back by steamers,
exporting furs, fish, and ivory to the value of twenty million roubles,
the goods brought in only amounting to about a twentieth part of that
sum. Steamers run frequently in the open season both up and down the
river as far as Bulun in the Arctic Ocean, which tiny settlement yearly
exports large quantities of salt fish, furs, and walrus tusks.[14]
[Footnote 13: In face of these natural resources it is satisfactory to
note that a line from Irkutsk to Yakutsk could be laid with little
difficulty.]
[Footnote 14: Steam navigation on the Lena river was introduced in
1885.]
In former days before the Russians annexed the Amur river there was
regular communication between Yakutsk and Okhotsk, on the sea of that
name, but although the road, or rather track, still exists, it is now
rarely used.[15] However, American and Chinese goods do occasionally
find their way into Siberia by Okhotsk, for the latter is a free port,
and if merchandise is destined for the Lena province, it is cheaper to
send it in this way than _via_ Vladivostok and the Amur, especially as
steamers now visit the Sea of Okhotsk every summer, sailing from
Vladivostok and making the round trip _via_ Gijija, Ayan, and
Okhotsk.[16] In winter time, when the track is in good condition, the
trip from Okhotsk to Yakutsk occupies about a fortnight, with horse
sledges. In summer the goods are carried over the mountains to the head
of the Nelkan River, which is reached twice during the season by
steamers plying from Yakutsk, a journey of two weeks up stream and about
half the time down. The Nelkan district is said to be fabulously rich in
gold, so much so that Mr. Siberikoff, a prominent Siberian millionaire,
lately visited the place with a view to constructing a railway to
connect Nelkan with Ayan, on the Sea of Okhotsk, a distance of about two
hundred versts.[17] The line would be a costly one, but the country is
said to be so rich, that no expense is to be spared in opening it up.
Steamers also run from Yakutsk up to Viluisk, but the trade with this
place amounts to very little, L5000 or L6000 in all, every summer. Near
Viluisk is the Hospital for Lepers founded some years ago by the English
nurse, Miss Kate Marsden. In view of the conflicting statements which
have appeared in England regarding this institution it is only fair to
say that the lady in question is still spoken of in Yakutsk with respect
and affection, and that the infirmary, which after much suffering and
hardship she contrived to organise, is still in a flourishing condition.
In 1901 it contained more than seventy patients in charge of a
physician, his two assistants and three sisters of charity.
[Footnote 15: See projected railway route, chap. xix.]
[Footnote 16: The Port of Ola is now also called at.]
[Footnote 17: This line is now commenced. See chap. xix.]
As for the climate here it is no better and no worse than other places
in this latitude, although Yakutsk is said to be the coldest place in
winter and the hottest in summer in the world. But this is probably a
mistake, for I carefully searched records of the temperature kept daily
for the past fifteen years, and found that the greatest summer heat
experienced during that period was 78 deg. Fahrenheit in the shade,
which is cooler than an average English summer; 69 deg. below zero
appeared to be the greatest cold here between the months of October and
March, while at Verkhoyansk we experienced 78 deg. below zero, which is,
I imagine, about as low as the thermometer can fall on this earth.
Winter here begins in September, and by the first week in October the
country is ice-bound, and semi-darkness and 55 deg. to 65 deg. below
zero continue until the spring. In May the Lena breaks up, flooding the
country for hundreds of miles and isolating Yakutsk for about a month,
during which you can neither get to the city nor leave it.[18] During
the three months of summer dust and clouds or mosquitoes render life
almost unbearable. And yet Yakutsk is a paradise compared to a certain
settlement, which I shall presently describe, within the Arctic circle.
[Footnote 18: The Lena is not perfectly free from ice until the end of
May or early in June. By October 20 it is generally frozen over. "It is
a peculiarity of these northern rivers that their waters are mainly
derived from the melting snows in June and July, when the Lena, for
example, overflowing its banks, spreads here and there to a width of 60
miles or more."--("In the Lena Delta," by G. W. Melville.)]
The day following our arrival a lunch was given in our honour by the
Governor at the Palace, a ramshackle old building, comfortably
furnished, but with no attempt at ostentation. The household was more
like that of an English country house, and there was none of the
stateliness and ceremony here which characterised the Governor's Palace
at Irkutsk. Nor was I sorry for it, for in this land of hunger and long
distances man can well dispense with formality and etiquette. We sat
down over a score to lunch, including half a dozen ladies, one, at
least, of whom was young and attractive, and as daintily gowned as
though she had just returned from a drive in the Bois de Boulogne. But
Madame V---- the bride of a Government official had arrived here too
recently to acquire the mildewed appearance (I can use no other term),
which every woman seems to acquire after a prolonged residence in
Yakutsk. The meal was a merry one and was followed by music and dancing
until nightfall, when another repast was served. By the way, although
the pangs of hunger had often assailed us on the road, the frequency of
meals here was our greatest trial. For they seemed to continue at short
intervals throughout the twenty-four hours. The house of our host, the
Chief of Police, was, for Yakutsk, an extremely quiet and orderly one,
and yet I never once succeeded in getting to bed before 4 o'clock in the
morning, chiefly because the principal meal of the day was only served
at midnight. Breakfast at 9 A.M. consisted of such dainties as black
bread, smoked fish, and _cheese_! This was followed at mid-day by a
heavier meal, where wines, beer, and fiery _vodka_ played an important
part. At 3 P.M. a dinner of several courses was discussed, and at 8 P.M.
tea (accompanied by sweets and cakes) was again partaken of. The
midnight supper aforementioned wound up the day. A sideboard in the
dining-room was laid out with salt fish, ham, _caviar_, raw cucumber,
&c., for snacks at odd moments! There was seldom more than about three
or four hours sleep, but a siesta was generally indulged in from 4 to 7
P.M., and a stay of ten days here convinced me of the wisdom of this
arrangement. Most of the men passed their evenings in gambling at cards,
but the women appeared to have absolutely no occupation of a rational
kind. The entire city only boasted of three pianos, but nearly every
house possessed a gramophone, which generally provided the music after
dinner, when the ladies would sit in a silent circle and listen to the
ruthless assassination of Massenet and Mascagni, while the men played
cards or walked up and down the room chatting and smoking, and
frequently adjourning to the buffet, which in Yakutsk is seldom far
distant. Once a month an amateur performance is given at the club, and
we attended one of these entertainments, which was of a wearisome
description, commencing at about 6 P.M. and lasting till long after
midnight. Of course there was, as usual, plenty to eat and drink between
the acts.[19]
[Footnote 19: The Russian Admiral Von Wrangell (who visited Yakutsk in
1820) wrote: "The inhabitants are not in an advanced state of
intellectual cultivation. They pass much of their super-abundant leisure
in somewhat noisy assemblages where eating and drinking play a principal
part. After dinner, which is a very substantial meal, and at which
_nalivka_, a liquor made of brandy, berries, and sugar, is not spared,
the gentlemen pass the afternoon with cards and punch, and the ladies
gather round the tea-table."]
As sometimes happens in this world men here are far better off than
women, for the former are occupied during the day with their
professional duties, and, if so inclined, they can obtain excellent
fishing and shooting within a day's journey. The Verkhoyansk mountains
can be reached in under a week, and here there are elk, wild sheep, and
other big game, but for the unfortunate fair sex life is one eternal
round of hopeless monotony. There is not even a regiment to enliven the
dreariness of existence, for the garrison consists of about one hundred
and fifty Cossacks, with only a couple of officers in command. Nor is
there a newspaper; only a dry official journal printed once a month,
while the telegrams received by the Governor are sent round to
subscribers of one rouble per month. In summer it is possible to walk or
drive about, notwithstanding the mosquitoes, but in spring or
winter-time the women here are often kept indoors for days together by
the floods or piercing cold. No wonder that physical strength is soon
impaired by an idle life, stimulants, and the eternal cigarette, or that
moral laxity should follow the daily contamination of spicy scandal and
pernicious French literature. I have heard Siberians assert that Yakutsk
is the most immoral city in the world, and (with a mental reservation
regarding Bucharest) I felt bound to agree with them. For if only
one-half of the tales which I heard concerning the gay doings of the
_elite_ here were true, then must the wicked little Roumanian capital
"take" (to use a slang expression) "a back seat." Apparently this state
of affairs has existed for some time, for when Admiral Melville, of the
_Jeannette_, was here twenty years ago, searching the coast for his
unfortunate shipmates, he attended a reception given on New Year's Eve
by the Lieutenant-Governor, and was told by the latter that, "on that
night, as on no other, every man had his own wife at his side instead of
some other man's."[20]
[Footnote 20: "In the Lena Delta," by G. W. Melville.]
At the time of our visit Yakutsk contained under a score of political
exiles, who seemed to be no worse off, socially, than any one else, for
they moved freely about in society and were constantly favoured guests
of the Chief of Police. The exiles, however, were not permitted to take
part in the private theatricals I have mentioned, a restriction which
caused them great annoyance. Their loud and unfavourable criticisms from
the stalls on the evening in question were certainly not in the best of
taste, and, to my surprise, they were not resented by the Governor's
staff. This incident will show that, in Yakutsk at any rate, the
"politicals" are treated not only with leniency but with a friendly
courtesy, which on this occasion was certainly abused. Mr. Olenin, an
exile whose term of banishment was expiring, told me that he had no
fault whatever to find with Yakutsk as a place of exile, so much so that
he had resolved not to return to Russia at the end of his sentence, but
to remain here and complete an ethnological work upon which he was
engaged. As will presently be seen (in the eighth chapter), I do not in
any way hold a brief for the Russian Government, although I have
occasionally been accused (in the English Press) of painting its prisons
in _couleur de rose_ for my own private ends. I simply state what I saw
on this and subsequent occasions, and am glad to say that in Yakutsk
the condition of the political exiles was as satisfactory as it could
possibly be made in such a rigorous climate and amidst such cheerless
surroundings.
I obtained from Mr. Olenin a plain and unvarnished account of the
Yakutsk prison revolt, and subsequent "massacre," which aroused such
indignation in England a few years ago. It was then reported that the
political exiles here were subjected to such cruelty while in prison
that they unsuccessfully tried to starve themselves and then mutinied,
upon which both men and women were mercilessly butchered. As a matter of
fact, at the commencement of the incident the exiles were not confined
in prison at all, but were living in provisional liberty. What really
happened was this. A party (numbering about half a dozen of both sexes),
which was bound for Verkhoyansk, carried more baggage than usual, and
the season being far advanced, the Governor of Yakutsk directed that the
exiles should start forthwith without their belongings, which should be
sent after them as soon as possible. Otherwise, he explained, the
politicals might not reach their destination before the break-up of the
roads, which would probably mean death from starvation or by drowning in
the floods. But an angry discussion followed this edict, and as the
politicals were assembling in the open street for departure a young
student lost his temper and fired his revolver, killing a policeman. A
general _melee_ ensued, during which several persons were accidentally
killed and wounded, for a large crowd had been attracted by the sound of
firearms. The exiles, Fuff, Minor, and Pik, were shot dead on the spot.
A young woman, Madame Gourievitch, about to become a mother, was
bayoneted, and died in great agony. Finally, after a hard struggle, the
culprits were secured and confined in the prison, where some of them did
undoubtedly try to starve themselves in order to escape execution. The
case was tried at Petersburg, and three of the ringleaders, Zotoff,
Haussmann, and Bernstein, were duly hanged in the Yakutsk gaol. Zotoff,
who had been badly wounded during the fight, had to be carried on his
bed to the scaffold. The other exiles received long terms of
imprisonment at the political prison at Akatui, where I saw and
conversed with them in 1894.[21] The women were sent to Viluisk, but
have since been liberated.
[Footnote 21: For further details of this prison see "The New Siberia,"
by Harry de Windt. Chatto and Windus, London. 1896.]
Criminal convicts here are also well cared for, although the prison,
which contained about ninety inmates, was old and dilapidated, like
almost every other building in the place. But the wards appeared to be
fairly clean and well warmed, a comfortable infirmary adjoined the
building, and also a home maintained by private subscriptions for the
children of prisoners. Enforced idleness seemed to be the chief
complaint from which the convicts were suffering, for during the long
winter months it is naturally difficult to find them employment.
Being aware that Russian officials are seldom overpaid, the lavish style
in which they entertained us astonished me, for provisions of all kinds
must, I imagined, always be at famine prices in a town within measurable
distance of the Arctic regions. But inquiry proved that I was entirely
wrong, and that living here is as cheap, if not cheaper, than in
Irkutsk. It used not to be so when, in former days, Yakutsk was
surrounded by vast marshes, often submerged, and apparently quite
useless for the purposes of cultivation.[22] But these are now converted
into fertile plains of grain and pasture, this innovation being entirely
due to the "Skoptsi," a religious sect exiled from European Russia, who,
by dint of thrift and industry, have raised a flourishing colony on the
outskirts of the city.[23] Cultivation was formerly deemed impossible in
this inclement region, but now the Skopt exile amasses wealth while the
Russian emigrant gazes disconsolately at the former's rich fields and
sleek cattle, and wonders how it is all done. For the Skoptsi are
up-to-date farmers, employing modern American machinery, which they
import into the country _via_ Vladivostok. And their efforts have been
amply repaid, for in 1902 the sale of corn and barley, formerly unknown
here, realised the sum of over a million roubles. Thirty years ago this
district contained but few herds of cattle, and now nearly two million
roubles' worth of frozen meat is annually exported to the various
settlements up and down the river. The inhabitants of Yakutsk are also
indebted to these industrious exiles for the fact that their markets are
now provided with vegetables of most kinds, although only the potato
was procurable some years ago. Now cabbages, beetroot, carrots,
radishes, cucumbers, and lettuce are to be had in season at a reasonable
price, to say nothing of delicious water-melons in August, but I could
not find that any other kind of garden-fruit was grown here, although
wild berries are both numerous and delicious.
[Footnote 22: The explorer Dobell wrote: "In the autumn of 1813 I found
that agriculture had advanced no further than Olekma (Olekminsk), 600
versts above Yakutsk."]
[Footnote 23: The Skoptsi faith, the practice of which is strictly
forbidden in Russia, entails a life of absolute chastity. This sect can
only acquire new members by election, since both sexes so mutilate their
persons that they can neither beget nor bear children.]
The Skoptsi exiles, who number about six hundred, inhabit a village
called Markha about seven versts from Yakutsk. Every man and woman in
the place (there are of course no children) is a Skopt. We visited
Markha one bright morning, driving out with the Governor, his staff and
several other officials in about a dozen sleighs in all. Breakfast had
been prepared for us at the house of the wealthiest Skopt in the
village, and we did justice to it with appetites sharpened by the drive
through the keen frosty air. There was a breeze and the cold was
piercing, but once indoors the sun streamed into the room with such
force that I was compelled to move my seat away from a window. One might
have been lunching in the late spring at Nice or Beaulieu. The
scrupulous cleanliness of Markha after the dirt and squalor of most
Siberian villages was striking. Our host's sitting-room contained even
palms and flowers, artificial, of course, but cheerful to the eye. He
himself waited on us during the meal, and continually plied his guests
with champagne and other rare vintages, for the Skopt, although a miser
at heart, is fond of displaying his wealth. Avarice is the
characteristic of these people, although they are kind to their own
poor. We visited an institution maintained solely by the village for
the old and decrepit of both sexes, and this place would have done
credit to a European city. On the way to this establishment we passed
several windmills, a rare sight in Siberia, also a number of corn and
saw mills driven by steam. The engines were of American make, also all
the agricultural machinery, which was shown us with pardonable pride. In
every shed we entered the cattle looked sleek and well fed, and the
poorest and tiniest hut had its poultry yard. The Lena Province now
contains over 300,000 head of cattle, and their number is yearly
increasing. When the Skoptsi first came here, forty years ago, cows and
oxen were numbered by the hundred.
Books and European newspapers were plentiful in all the houses we
visited in Markha, and the Skoptsi with whom I conversed were men of
considerable intelligence, well up in the questions of the day. But
their personal appearance is anything but attractive. Most of the men
are enormously stout, with smooth flabby faces and dull heavy eyes,
while the women have an emaciated and prematurely old appearance. The
creed is no doubt a revolting one, physically and morally, but with all
his faults the Skopt has certain good points which his free neighbours
in Yakutsk might do well to imitate.[24]
[Footnote 24: When a Skopt dies, his property is confiscated by the
State, but he generally finds means to dispose of his wealth in other
ways. Occasionally it is buried in remote places, where it remains if
not discovered by accident.]
Although the Yakutes form the bulk of the population in Yakutsk (the
entire province contains about a quarter of a million) they do not mix a
great deal with the Russians, and we saw little of the better class. As
a race the Yakutes are not interesting, while in appearance both sexes
are distinctly plain, and often repulsive. The type is Mongolian; sallow
complexion, beady eyes, flattened nostrils and wiry black hair. The men
are of medium height, thick set and muscular, the women ungainly little
creatures, bedizened with jewellery, and smothered with paint. Some
marry Russians and assume European dress, which only adds to their
grotesque appearance. Notwithstanding their defects the Yakutes are
extremely proud of their birth and origin, and consider themselves
immeasurably superior to the Russians, who, they say, are only tolerated
in the country for commercial purposes. A Yakute is therefore mortally
offended if you call his chief town by anything but its native name:
"The City of the Yakute."
Many Yakutes grow wealthy in the fur, fish or ivory trades, and are so
shrewd in their dealings that Russians have christened them the "Jews of
Siberia." But although cunning and merciless in business matters this
Siberian financier becomes a reckless spendthrift in his pleasures, who
will stake a year's income on the yearly Yakutsk Derby (which takes
place over the frozen Lena), or squander away a fortune on riotous
living and the fair sex. All who can afford it are hard drinkers, and
champagne is their favourite beverage. The men of all classes wear a
long blouse of cloth or fur according to the season, baggy breeches and
high deerskin boots,--the women loose flowing draperies adorned, in
summer, with bright silks and satins, and in winter with costly sables.
A lofty head-dress of the same fur is worn in cold weather. The poorer
Yakute is a miserable mortal. He has no warlike or other characteristics
to render him of any interest whatsoever, like, say his Tchuktchi
brethren in the Far North. For the Yakute peasant is too stupid to be
treacherous, and as cowardly as the Tchuktchi is brave, and, while his
wealthier compatriots have learned to a certain extent the virtue of
cleanliness, the poor Yakute is generally nothing but a perambulating
bundle of filthy rags, the proximity of which, even in the open air, is
almost unbearable. But this is only amongst the peasantry. The town-bred
Yakutes are more civilised and cleanly in their habits, and many are
employed by the Russians as domestic servants. All Yakutes pay a pole
tax of four roubles to the Russian Government, those possessed of means
paying in addition an income tax. Ten years ago taxes were levied in
furs, but they are now paid in coin of the realm. I was surprised to
find that these natives are self-governed to a certain extent; minor
crimes, such as theft, petty larceny, &c., being judged by prominent men
in the towns and the head-man of each village. Murder and more serious
crimes are dealt with by a Russian tribunal in Yakutsk.
I shall not forget my surprise one day when nearing Yakutsk to overhear
one driver apparently addressing another in pure Turkish, a language
with which I am slightly acquainted. The mystery was explained by
Captain Zuyeff, who told me that there is such a marked resemblance
between the language in question and Yakute that a merchant from
Constantinople would readily be understood in the market-places of this
far-away frozen land. Many words are precisely similar, and the numerals
up to ten are identical (see Appendix). On several occasions, while
crossing the Yakute region, the natives failed to comprehend my meaning
in Russian, but when I spoke in Turkish they at once understood me.[25]
[Footnote 25: "This race is supposed to be a Turkish branch of the
Turanian stock. Latham informs us that their language is intelligible at
Constantinople, and that the majority of their words are Turkish;
observing, also, that their traditions bespeak for them a Southern
origin. He says: 'The locality of the Yakutes is remarkable, it is that
of a weak section of the human race pressed into an inhospitable climate
by a stronger one, yet the Turks have ever been the people to displace
others rather than be displaced themselves.'"--"Frozen Asia," by
Professor Eden.]
We experienced considerable difficulty in getting away from Yakutsk,
indeed had I not possessed my invaluable passport the expedition would
probably have remained there. For every day invitations came pouring in
for days ahead, and the entertainers would not hear of a refusal. At
last, however, firmness became necessary, and I insisted (being
empowered by my magic document to do so) upon immediate preparations
being made for our departure, although every official in the place urged
me to abandon a project which they averred could only end in disaster.
By suggestion of the Governor a Siberian Cossack from the garrison,
Stepan Rastorguyeff, joined the expedition to accompany us so far as I
should deem expedient, for our further progress now bristled with
difficulties. This man was employed to escort political exiles to the
distant settlement of Sredni-Kolymsk, near the Arctic Ocean, and was
therefore acquainted with the best way of reaching that remote post,
indeed he afterwards proved an invaluable addition to our party.
It seemed hard that fate should have selected this year of all others to
render the journey from Yakutsk to the north almost an impossibility. In
the first place reindeer were so scarce and weak that the 1800 odd miles
to Sredni-Kolymsk (which can generally be accomplished, under favourable
circumstances, in four or five weeks) might now take us three months to
cover. In this case failure of the journey and a summer in this dreary
settlement would be our fate; for from May until October, Sredni-Kolymsk
is isolated by marshy deserts and innumerable lakes, which can only be
crossed in a sled. Throughout the summer, therefore, you can neither
reach the place nor leave it.
A still more serious matter was an epidemic which had been raging
amongst the Yakutes of the far north, and a fear of which had driven the
Tchuktchis (or natives of the coast) into the interior of their country
and along the seaboard in an easterly direction until their nearest
settlement was now nearly six hundred miles distant from Sredni-Kolymsk,
at which place I had calculated upon finding these natives, and
utilising them as a means of procuring food and lodging and guidance
along their desolate coast. Now, however, over six hundred miles of ice
without a stick of shelter or mouthful of food stared me in the face. It
was also suggested that, if many of the Tchuktchis had perished from
the dread malady the remainder might have retreated in a body inland, in
which case death from starvation seemed an unpleasant but not unlikely
contingency. For beyond the aforesaid six hundred miles lay another
stretch of about 1600 miles more, before we could reach our destination:
Bering Straits.
Lastly, Sredni-Kolymsk had itself suffered from so serious a famine that
an expedition had lately been despatched from Yakutsk to the relief of
the sufferers. Provisions there would therefore be unprocurable. Also,
most of the dogs in the Kolyma district had perished from a scarcity of
fish the previous season, and as dogs were our sole means of transport
along the Arctic Coast, the reader will admit that, all things
considered, my expedition did not leave Yakutsk under the rosiest of
conditions!
Nevertheless I cannot hope to adequately repay the kindness shown by
every official in Yakutsk, from the Governor downwards, during that
trying time, for it was undoubtedly their timely assistance which
eventually kindled the bright flame of success out of the ashes of a
forlorn hope. As soon as it was realised that my resolve to proceed
northward was inflexible, every man worked to further my ends as though
he himself was embarking upon the hazardous trip. Even the Governor was
continually concocting plans to render our voyage as easy as possible,
and to that end despatched a Cossack three days ahead of us, so that
reindeer might be forthcoming at the stations without delay. But his
Excellency evidently looked upon the scheme as a mad one, and my daily
anxiety was lest he should suddenly take the initiative, set the wires
in motion with Irkutsk, and put a final stopper on our departure for
America--overland.
We now disposed of our cumbersome Yakute sleighs and exchanged them for
"nartas," or reindeer-sleds, each drawn by four deer. A "narta" is a
long narrow coffin-shaped vehicle about 7 ft. long by 3 ft. broad,
fitted with a movable hood, which can be drawn completely over during
storms or intense cold. The occupant lies at full length upon his
mattress and pillows, smothered with furs, and these tiny sleds were as
automobiles to wheelbarrows after our lumbering contrivances on the
Lena. A reindeer-sled is the pleasantest form of primitive travel in the
world, over smooth hard snow; but over rough ground their very lightness
makes them roll and pitch about like a cross Channel steamer, to the
great discomfort of the traveller.
Furs were my next consideration, for here we discarded civilised
clothing and assumed native dress. The reader will realise what the cold
must have been when I say that we often shivered inside the covered
sleighs (where, however, the temperature never rose above 10 deg. below
zero), under the following mountain of material: two pairs of Jaeger
singlets and drawers, thin deerskin breeches and three pairs of thick
worsted stockings. Over this a suit of Arctic duffle (or felt of
enormous thickness), and a pair of deerskin boots reaching above the
knee and secured by leathern thongs. Then a second pair of deerskin
breeches and a garment called by the Yakutes a "kukhlanka," a long,
loose deerskin coat reaching to the knees, with a hood of the same
material lined with wolverine. Under this hood we wore two close-fitting
worsted caps and a deerskin cap with ear flaps. Two pairs of worsted
gloves and one of bearskin mits, reaching almost to the elbow, completed
the outfit. I had hoped to procure furs for a moderate price in Yakutsk.
But for some occult reason deerskins cost almost as much here as in
Moscow. The good old days are past when peltry was so cheap and European
goods so dear, that an iron cauldron fetched as many sable skins as it
would hold! Stepan also insisted upon the purchase of a number of iron
horse-shoes, which he explained were to be affixed to our moccasins in
order to cross the Verkhoyansk mountains in safety. But the method did
not strike me at the time as practical, and I afterwards had even less
respect for its inventor.
Lastly provisions had to be purchased. Our original outfit brought from
London comprised rations sufficient for six weeks; but this I was
determined not to break in upon, unless absolutely necessary, before the
Arctic coast was reached. There was hardly any food to be procured
between Yakutsk and Verkhoyansk, and, according to Stepan, still less
beyond that isolated village. A reindeer-sled was therefore packed to
its utmost capacity with black bread, salt fish, various tinned
provisions, and a portion of some animal unknown, weighing (in a raw
condition) about 100 lbs. I use the term "animal unknown," as, when
cooked at the first station, the latter looked and tasted exactly like
horse-flesh. I mentioned the fact to Stepan, who was already installed
as _chef_, and he informed me that horse was regarded as a great
delicacy by the Yakutes, and fetched twice the price of any other meat
in their city. "It was bought as beef," added the Cossack, "so that
anyhow we have got the best of the bargain." There was nothing,
therefore, for it but to fall to with knife and fork, and with as little
repulsion as possible, upon the docile friend of man!
We started for the unknown with a caravan of six sleighs in all, of
which two were loaded down with food and baggage. The night of our
departure, February 21st, was fine, and a crowd assembled in front of
our host's house to bid us farewell. But although long and lingering
cheers followed us out of the city, I fancy many of these well-wishers
regarded us more in the light of harmless lunatics than as pioneers of a
great railway which may one day almost encircle the world. Just before
our departure (which was preceded by a dinner-party), a picturesque but
rather trying ceremony took place. Farewells having been said we retired
to don our furs and were entering the sleds when our hostess recalled us
from the frosty night air into the drawing-room, where the heat was that
of a hothouse. "You must not take your furs off," said our host, as I
was divesting myself of a portion of my cumbersome costume, "remain just
as you are." And so we returned to the brightly lit apartment, where the
guests had assembled, and here, with a solemnity befitting the occasion,
they turned toward the sacred "ikon," and knelt and prayed for our
safety and success. This is an old and pretty Russian custom now
obsolete in Europe. And I was almost ungrateful enough to wish, as I
knelt in my heavy furs, streaming with perspiration, that it was no
longer practised in Siberia! But the affecting little ceremony was soon
over, and after a final adieu to our kind hosts, my caravan slid
silently down the snowy, starlit street. An hour later the lights of
Yakutsk had faded away on the horizon, and we had bidden farewell to a
civilisation which was only regained, six long months later, at the
gold-mining city of Nome in Alaska.