THE LAND OF DESOLATION
Lieutenant Schwatka, the famous Alaskan explorer, once remarked that a
man travelling in the Arctic must depend upon his own judgment, and not
upon the advice of others, if he would be successful. The wisdom of his
words was proved by our journey from Yakutsk to Verkhoyansk. Every one
at the former place, from the Governor downwards, assured me that
certain failure and probable disaster must inevitably attend an attempt
to reach Verkhoyansk in under six weeks. Fortunately I turned a deaf ear
to well-meant, but unwise, counsel, for in less than nine days we had
reached the place in question, and had left it again on our way
northward in under a fortnight from the time we left Yakutsk. I should
add that our rapid rate of speed was entirely due to Stepan, without
whose aid we should probably have taken at least three times as long to
complete the journey. But the wiliest of Yakute postmasters was no match
for our Cossack, whose energetic measures on previous trips had gained
him the nickname of _Tchort_ (or "the devil") on the Verkhoyansk track.
And a devil he was when drivers lagged, or reindeer were not quickly
forthcoming at the end of a stage!
There are two routes from Yakutsk to Sredni-Kolymsk, near the Arctic
Ocean, which was now our objective point. These cannot be called roads,
or even tracks, for beyond Verkhoyansk (which is only one-third of the
distance) the traveller must depend almost entirely upon his compass and
the stars. The oldest route to the Kolyma is now very seldom used,
although Von Wrangell travelled over it in the early part of the
nineteenth century. On this occasion the Russian explorer avoided
Verkhoyansk, and, proceeding some distance south of the route we
selected, passed through the ruined, and now deserted, town of
Zashiversk. By Stepan's advice we chose the Verkhoyansk route, as being
the one best known to the Cossack, for it is the one by which political
exiles invariably travel. Politicals, Cossacks, and natives alone visit
these desolate northern wastes, unless it be a special mission like ours
or that of Dr. Herz. The Governor of Yakutsk had held his post for
nearly twenty years, and yet had never summoned the courage to visit
even Verkhoyansk. Nor could any of his officials advise me, from
personal experience, which road to select, although their remarks on the
subject recalled the darkie's advice to the cyclist as to the best of
two pathways across a swamp: "Whichebber one you travels, Boss, I guess
you'll be d----d sorry you didn't take de udder!"
Horses were used for the first three stages out of Yakutsk, along a
narrow track through the forests, vaguely indicated by blazed trees. It
was anything but pleasant travelling, for our light _nartas_ were
specially adapted to the smooth, level stride of the reindeer, and the
ponies whisked them about like match-boxes, occasionally dashing them
with unpleasant force against a tree-trunk. It was, therefore, a relief
to reach Hatutatskaya on the second day, and to find there thirty or
forty sturdy reindeer tethered around the station. The method of
harnessing this animal is peculiar. Each sled is drawn by four deer, two
abreast. In front of the four wheeler is a kind of miniature sled, or
platform on runners, on which the driver sits to control the two leaders
in front of him. There are no reins, the entire team being managed by a
thong attached to the off-leader, and the traces are secured by a loop
round the neck, and inside the outer leg of each deer. The latter
carried no bells, and although it may sound childish to say so, we
missed their music terribly at first. The driver is armed with a long
pole, which, however, he seldom uses, for, if the Yakute has a virtue,
it is kindness to animals. A plaintive cry, which sounds like "_yahee_,"
is uttered to urge on a team, and it generally has the desired effect,
for the Siberian reindeer is the gamest animal in the world. I have seen
them working incessantly day after day, growing weaker hour by hour, and
yet bravely struggling on until the poor little beasts would fall to the
ground from sheer exhaustion, never to rise again. We lost many during
the long and trying journey to the Arctic, and I shall always recall
their deaths with a keen pang of remorse. For their gentle, docile
nature made it the more pitiable to see them perish, as we looked
helplessly on, unable to alleviate their agony, yet conscious that it
was for our sake they had suffered and died.
The distance from Yakutsk to Verkhoyansk is 934 versts, or about 625
English miles. Most of the way lies through a densely wooded region and
across deep swamps, almost impassable in summer. About half-way the
Verkhoyansk range is crossed, and here vegetation ceases and the country
becomes wild in the extreme. Forests of pine, larch, and cedar
disappear, to give place to rugged peaks and bleak, desolate valleys,
strewn with huge boulders, and slippery with frozen streams, which
retard progress, for a reindeer on ice is like a cat on walnut-shells.
The _stancias_, as the deer-stations are called, are here from forty to
sixty versts apart. There are no towns in this region, or even villages
in our sense of the word, for a couple of dilapidated huts generally
constitute the latter in the eyes of the Yakute. As for the _stancias_
they were beyond description. I had imagined that nothing could be worse
than a Lena post-house, but the latter were luxurious compared to the
native _yurta_, which is merely a log-hut plastered with mud. You enter
a low, narrow aperture, the door of which is thickly padded with felt,
and find yourself in a low dark room considerably below the surrounding
ground, with a floor of beaten mud, slippery with the filth of years,
and windows of ice. The walls are of mud-plastered logs, also the
ceiling, which would seriously inconvenience a six-foot man. As soon as
the eye grows accustomed to the gloom you find that a rough wooden bench
surrounds the apartment, and that one portion of it is strewn with wet
and filthy straw. This is for the guests. When it was occupied we slept
on the floor, and there was little difference, except that cattle also
shared the _stancia_, and were apt to walk over us during the night. A
fire of pine-logs was kept blazing on the clay hearth night and day, and
the heat was sometimes so overpowering that we suffered almost as much
from it as from the deadly cold outside. But the stench was even worse
to endure, especially when cooking operations were in progress, for the
Yakute will not look at fresh pure meat. He prefers it in a condition
that would repel a civilised dog, and the odour that used to emanate
from a mass of putrid deer-meat, or, worse still, tainted fish,
simmering on the embers, is better left to the imagination. At first we
suffered severely from nausea in these unsavoury shelters, and there
were other reasons for this which cannot here be explained. Suffice it
to say that it was a constant source of wonder to me that even this
degraded race of beings could live amidst such bestial surroundings and
yet survive. Vermin had up till now been a trifling inconvenience, but
thousands on the Lena were here succeeded by myriads of the foe, and,
for a time, our health suffered from the incessant irritation, which
caused us many days of misery and nights of unrest. Stepan told me that
in summer the _stancias_ were unapproachable, and this I could well
believe seeing that we were often driven out of them during dry and
intense cold. But in the open season only Cossacks attempt to travel
through with the mail to Verkhoyansk, once each way. The journey, which
is made on horseback, is a perilous one, owing to unfordable rivers and
dangerous swamps, and the mail carriers are occasionally drowned, or
lost in the marshy deserts, where they perish of starvation. Stepan
had once made the summer trip, and sincerely hoped he might never have
to repeat the experiment.
Travellers on this road are luckily rare, so that the post-houses seldom
contained any guests besides ourselves. The _stancias_ were crowded
enough as it was with the Yakute postmaster and his generally numerous
and disgusting family, several deer-drivers, and perhaps two or three
cows crowded into a space of about thirty feet square. We travelled
throughout the twenty-four hours, and only stopped at these places
sufficiently long to thaw out some food and swallow a meal. The
_stancias_ were too far apart to work on a schedule, and we generally
left one rest-house with very vague notions as to when we should see the
next. On one occasion we were compelled to lay-to in a storm for
eighteen hours (although the _stancia_ was only a couple of miles away),
and to subsist during that time on chocolate and black bread, frozen to
the consistency of iron.[26] But luckily the weather was, on the whole,
favourable. Most of the nights were clear, and at first there was a
bright moon, which was also an advantage, although at times our way lay
through forests so deep and dark that it became necessary to use lights.
We left Paris supplied with an elaborate electric outfit, which now, and
in after-days, would have been a godsend, but the lamps and cumbersome
batteries had to be abandoned with our other stores at Moscow. Probably
the cold would have rendered the wires useless, at any rate I consoled
myself by thinking so.
[Footnote 26: On such occasions Christy's "Kola Chocolate" is
invaluable.]
Two days' hard travelling brought us to Tandinskaya. This is the best
_stancia_ on the road, and we therefore seized the opportunity to make a
good, substantial meal and snatch a few hours' sleep before proceeding
to the next rest-house, which was nearly a hundred miles distant. At
Tandinskaya we changed teams, successfully resenting the extortionate
charges made by the postmaster. All the _stancias_ on this road are
leased by the Government to Yakute peasants, who are legally entitled to
receive three kopeks a verst for every pair of deer. This sum includes
post-house accommodation, such as it is; but as we always added a rouble
or two for the use of these filthy hovels, Stepan was the more incensed
at this postmaster's rascality. The latter claimed payment for about
fifty versts more than we had actually covered, so Stepan averred,
although the distances north of Yakutsk are very vague, and the Cossack
was probably wrong. It was amusing to compare the mileage as given in
the only post-book of this road (compiled in the reign of the Empress
Catherine) with the real distances, which were invariably twice as long.
The officials of those days probably reflected that, if three kopeks
must be paid for a verst, the latter had better be a long one. And the
Yakute, knowing no better, suffered in silence.
On leaving Tandinskaya, we travelled some miles along the river Aldan, a
tributary of the Lena, which is dangerous in winter on account of
numerous overflows. Our drivers, therefore, proceeded with caution,
walking some distance ahead of the sleds, and frequently sounding the
ice with their long poles. It was bitterly cold, for a breeze was
blowing in our faces, and the deer, as usual, slipped and slithered in
all directions, continually upsetting the sleds. This became such a
common occurrence that, after a couple of days, we took it as a matter
of course, and I would often awaken from a nap inside the hood to find
myself proceeding face downwards, the sled having overturned. But the
driver would merely halt the team and replace the _narta_, with its
helpless inmate, on its runners, with the indifference of a child
playing with a toy horse and cart. Luckily the deer never attempted to
bolt on these occasions, but waited patiently until their burthen was
placed "right side up."
To-day the wind became more boisterous, and the cold consequently more
piercing every mile we travelled. We had left Tandinskaya about ten at
night, and towards morning Stepan calculated that we had covered twenty
miles in seven hours. The stars had now disappeared, and snow was
falling fast, also the wind had risen to a gale, which percolated the
felt hoods and furs like a stream of iced water. At daybreak the weather
turned to a blizzard, which raged for twenty-four hours and nearly
buried us in snow; but when the storm lulled a bit we struggled
painfully on for about fifteen miles, and hailed the sight of a
_povarnia_ with delight, for it meant, at any rate, shelter and a fire.
_Povarnias_ are merely mud-huts erected at intervals along the track,
when the _stancias_ are long distances apart. They are dark, uninhabited
hovels, generally half full of snow, and open to the winds, and yet
these crazy shelters have saved many a traveller from death by cold and
exposure on this lonely road. A _povarnia_ contains no furniture
whatever; merely a clay hearth and some firewood which previous
travellers have left there, perhaps weeks before. For on leaving these
places every one is expected to cut fuel ready for those who come after.
Sanga-Ali was the _povarnia_ we had now reached, and it was almost
blocked by snow which had drifted in through the open doorway. But we
set to with a will, and were soon crouching over a good fire on which a
pot of deer-meat was fragrantly simmering. Here we remained until early
next morning, taking it in turns to pile on fresh logs, for when the
flame waned for an instant the cold became so intense that to sleep in
it without a fire might have had unpleasant results.
Sordonnakia, the second _povarnia_, was reached after a journey of nine
hours, by which time the weather had again become still and clear.
Fortunately, bright calm days prevailed south of Verkhoyansk, although
in mid-winter these are the realms of eternal darkness. But in our case
spring was approaching, and on fine mornings I could throw open my
_narta_ and bask in warm sunshine while contemplating a sky of sapphire
and smoking a cigar--one of the last, alas! I was likely to enjoy on
this side of America. On such days the pure frosty air would exhilarate
like champagne, and there was only one drawback to perfect enjoyment:
the body would be baked on one side by the scorching rays, and frozen in
the shade on the other. Another inconvenience was hunger, for there was
never more than one square meal in the twenty-four hours, and often not
that, and nothing resists cold like a well-lined stomach. Our sufferings
were undoubtedly great from Yakutsk to the Arctic Ocean, but they were
greatly alleviated by the fact that it was generally possible, even in
the coldest weather, to enjoy a cigarette under cover of the hood. A
pipe was, of course, out of the question, for the temperature (even
under the felt covering) was never over 10 deg. below zero, which would
have instantly blocked the stem with frozen nicotine. But a Russian
_papirosh_ could always be enjoyed in peace, if not comfort, out of the
wind, and I have derived relief through many an hour of misery through
their soothing influence.
A brief halt only was made at Sordonnakia, for the _povarnia_ had been
left in such a disgusting state by its last occupants that we were
compelled to eat in our sleds. The fifty versts between this place and
the _stancia_ of Bete-Kul were rapidly accomplished, and during this
stage we came in sight of the Verkhoyansk range, a chain of precipitous
mountains which would form one of the chief stumbling-blocks to the
construction of the proposed All-World Railway. If the Paris-New York
line is ever laid it will probably not run through Verkhoyansk. The
direction would rather be east direct from Yakutsk to the Okhotsk Sea
although that is also mountainous enough. Nearing Bete-Kul the landscape
became yet wilder and more desolate, and we travelled along valleys of
deep snow and across dark, lonely gorges, the depths of which even a
brilliant sunshine could not penetrate. What this region may be like in
summer-time I know not, but in winter the surface of the moon itself
could scarcely present a more silent, spectral appearance.
At Bete-Kul we were kept some time waiting for reindeer, which had to be
brought in from a considerable distance. Deer generally take some
finding, as they stray sometimes fifteen or twenty miles from a
_stancia_ in search of moss, but, in our case, long delays had been
avoided by the Cossack who preceded us. The _stancia_ at Bete-Kul was
kept by a more prosperous-looking Yakute than usual, and his wife was
attired in bright silks and wore a profusion of massive gold jewellery.
The Yakutes are expert goldsmiths, but chiefly excel in the manufacture
of arms, especially a kind of _yataghan_, or huge dagger, which is stuck
into the waistband. Yakute steel is much more flexible than Russian,
although I have seen a knife made out of the former sever a copper coin
as neatly as though it were a meat-lozenge.
We shared the postmaster's meal at Bete-Kul, and were introduced to a
peculiar dish, which deserves mention as showing the extraordinary
digestive powers of these people. It was a kind of jelly extracted from
reindeer-horns and flavoured with the bark of the pine tree, which is
scraped into a fine powder for the purpose. I was fated to subsist in
after days on disgusting diet of the most varied description, but to
this day the recollection of that Bete-Kul jelly produces a faint
feeling of nausea, although I can recall other ghoulish repasts of raw
seal-meat with comparative equanimity. Pure melted butter formed the
second course of this Yakute _dejeuner_, each guest being expected to
finish a large bowl. Stepan, however, alone partook of this tempting
dish, but he merely sipped it, while our host and his wife drained the
hot, oily mess as though it had been cold water. But Yakutes will
consume any quantity of butter in this condition. Dobell, the explorer,
says that a moderate Yakute butter-drinker will consume from twenty to
thirty pounds at a sitting. The same traveller adds that "at other times
these natives drink butter as a medicine, and declare it excellent for
carrying away the bile." This was written nearly one hundred years ago,
and it is curious to note that the most modern European treatment for
gall-stones should now be olive oil, given in large quantities,
presumably to produce a similar effect to that obtained by the butter of
the Yakute. By the time this weird meal was over the deer had arrived,
and I declined our host's offer of a pipe of Circassian tobacco, which
would probably have finished me off completely. Both sexes here smoke a
tiny Chinese pipe, with bronze bowl and wooden stem, which half a dozen
whiffs suffice to finish. The stem is made to open so that the nicotine
may be collected, mixed with wood shavings, and smoked again.
We left Bete-Kul at four in the morning, intending, if possible, to
cross the mountains during the day, but the pass had lately been blocked
with snow and the natives reported it in a terrible condition. But time
would admit of no delay and I resolved to make the attempt at all
hazards. Anna-sook, a miserable little _povarnia_ near the foot of the
mountain, was reached after a journey of five hours. The hut was, as
usual, full of drifted snow, which we had to remove before breakfasting
in an atmosphere of 12 deg. below zero, upon which a roaring fire made
no appreciable impression. Oddly enough, in this deserted shanty we came
upon the sole sign of life which we had encountered (outside of the
_stancias_) all the way from Yakutsk. This was a tiny field-mouse, which
had survived the Arctic winter, curled up in a little mound of earth in
a corner of this cold, dark shanty. The poor little half-frozen thing
could scarcely move, but we gathered some fir-boughs and made it a nest,
and left with it a goodly supply of biscuit-crumbs, which it devoured
with avidity and a grateful look in its beady black eyes.
Starting at midday we commenced the ascent of the mountain, which is
crossed by probably the most remarkable pass in the world. From a
distance it looked as though a perpendicular wall of ice, some hundreds
of feet in height, must be scaled in order to gain the summit. Before
ascending, the iron horse shoes brought from Yakutsk were fastened to
our moccasins, ostensibly to afford secure foothold, but I discarded
these awkward appendages after they had given me five or six bad falls,
and my companions did likewise. About two hours of severe work,
increased by deep snow and the rarefied atmosphere, brought us to the
summit, the reindeer and sleds ascending by a longer but much less
precipitous route. During the ascent there were places where a slip must
have meant a dangerous, if not fatal, fall, for midway up a precipice of
over a thousand feet was crossed by a slippery ledge of ice about three
feet in width. Looking down on the northward side, a frozen snow-slope,
about a mile in length, was so steep, that it seemed impossible to
descend it without personal injury. We awaited the sleds for nearly
three hours on the summit, almost perished with cold in a temperature of
nearly 45 deg. below zero, accompanied by a strong breeze which resembled
one described by a friend of the writer, a Chantilly trainer, as a lazy
wind, viz., one that prefers to go straight through the body instead of
the longest way round. To descend, the deer were fastened behind the
sleds, which we all held back as much as possible as they dashed down
the incline. But nearing the valley the pace increased until all control
was lost, and we landed in a deep snow-drift half-way down, men, deer,
and sleds being muddled up in inextricable confusion. I remember
thinking at the time what a fortune such a snow-slide would make for its
proprietor at Earl's Court. Imagine an "ice chute" more than a mile in
length. To stand upright was even now, half-way down the mountain, out
of the question, so the rest of the perilous descent was ignominiously
accomplished on all-fours. We reached the valley in safety, followed by
the sleds, which were now restrained only by drivers and deer. From
below they looked like flies crawling down a white wall. At this point
the Verkhoyansk mountains are about 4500 ft. above the level of the sea.
Leaving the mountains we were soon lost in the forests again, and from
here to Kangerak, the first station on the northern side of the range,
the journey is one of wondrous beauty, for the country strikingly
resembles Swiss Alpine scenery. In cloudless weather we glided swiftly
and silently under arches of pine-boughs sparkling with hoar-frost, now
skirting a dizzy precipice, now crossing a deep, dark gorge, rare rifts
in the woods disclosing glimpses of snowy crag and summit glittering
against a sky of cloudless blue. The sunny pastures and tinkling
cow-bells of lovely Switzerland were wanting, but I can never forget the
impressive grandeur of those desolate peaks, nor the weird, unearthly
stillness of the lonely, pine-clad valleys at their feet.
We passed a comfortable night at Kangerak, for the long, fatiguing day
had rendered us oblivious to the attacks of the vermin with which the
_stancia_ swarmed. My ears had been badly frost-bitten crossing the pass
and caused me great pain, but I slept soundly, and so did my companions
who had escaped scot-free. Only one circumstance marred my satisfaction
at having successfully negotiated the pass; three of our deer had
perished from exhaustion. From Kangerak we travelled some distance along
the river Yana, which scatters itself into a series of lakes on either
side of the main stream. There are dangerous overflows here, and twice
we narrowly escaped a ducking, or perhaps a worse fate, although I fancy
the river at this point is very shallow. Nevertheless I heard afterwards
at Verkhoyansk that whole caravans, travellers, drivers and deer have
occasionally been fatally submerged here, or frozen to death after their
immersion. Our deer, as usual, fell about on the ice in all directions,
and one, breaking its leg, had to be destroyed. The stage was a hard
one, so much so that we halted at a _povarnia_ (Mollahoi) for the night.
Towards morning I was awakened by the stifling heat and a disgusting
odour due to the fact that our drivers had discovered a dead horse in
the neighbourhood and were cooking and discussing its remains. Stepan
opined that the animal had expired some weeks previously, and I could
well believe it. A couple of hours before reaching Mollahoi, Harding
caught sight of some ptarmigan within a few yards of the track. I
mention the fact as this was the only game we came across throughout the
whole of the journey of nearly three months from Yakutsk to the Arctic
Ocean.
When the _stancia_ of Siremskaya was reached on February 27, I realised
with intense satisfaction that the journey, at any rate as far as
Verkhoyansk, was practically over. For if this portion of the voyage had
been successfully overcome in so short a time why should not the
remainder as far as Sredni-Kolymsk be accomplished with equal facility?
And so we travelled on from Siremskaya with renewed hopes and in the
best of spirits, although nearing Verkhoyansk the cold became
intense--strong gales and heavy snowstorms prevailed--and we all
suffered severely. Indeed once Clinchamp was carried out of his sled and
into the _povarnia_, a journey of twenty consecutive hours having
temporarily deprived him of the use of his limbs. The thermometer had
marked 40 deg. below zero even inside my closely covered sled, and one
of my feet was also badly frozen, owing, however, to my carelessness in
neglecting to change my foot-gear the previous night, for if this is not
done the perspiration formed during the day congeals, during sleep, into
solid ice. Harding escaped any ill effects, but in truth, although I
have said little about physical sufferings, most of that journey was
terrible work. I got into a way at last of classifying the various
stages of frigidity on departure from a _stancia_, and this was their
order: (1) the warm; (2) the chilly; and (3) the glacial. The first
stage of comparative comfort was due to the effect of a fire and warm
food and generally lasted for two or three hours. In stage No. 2, one
gradually commenced to feel chilly with shivers down the back and a
sensation of numbness in the extremities. No. 3 stage was one of rapidly
increasing cold, until the face was covered by a thin mask of ice formed
by the breath during the short intervals of sleep, or rather stupor. The
awakening was the most painful part of it all, and when the time came to
stagger into some filthy _stancia_, I would have often preferred to
sleep on in the sled, although such an imprudence might have entailed
the loss of a limb.
At last one bright morning in dazzling sunshine we reached Verkhoyansk,
having made the journey from Yakutsk in eight days, a record trip under
any circumstances, especially so under the adverse conditions under
which we had travelled. I had looked forward to this place as a haven of
warmth and rest, and perhaps of safety from the perilous blizzards that
of late had obstructed our progress, but the sight of that desolate
village, with its solitary row of filthy hovels, inspired such feelings
of aversion and depression that my one object was to leave the place as
soon as possible, even for the unknown perils and privations which might
lie beyond it. It was absolutely necessary, however, to obtain fresh
reindeer here, and a stay of at least a couple of days was compulsory.
What we saw, therefore, and did in Verkhoyansk will be described in the
following chapter.