IN THE ARCTIC
Our reception by the Tchuktchis at Cape Shelagskoi[53] was so surly that
I began to think there might be some reason for the repeated warnings of
our friends on the Kolyma. Two or three woebegone creatures in ragged
deerskins, crawled out of the huts and surveyed us with such suspicion
and distrust that I verily believe they took us for visitors from the
spirit world. As a rule the Tchuktchi costume is becoming, but these
people wore shapeless rags, matted with dirt, and their appearance
suggested years of inactivity and bodily neglect. I noticed, however
with satisfaction that their churlish greeting was not unmingled with
fear, although they obstinately refused the food and shelter begged for
by means of signs, pointing, at the same time, to a black banner
flapping mournfully over the nearest hut. This I knew (from my
experiences at Oumwaidjik in 1896) to be the Tchuktchi emblem of death.
Our sulky hosts then indicated a dark object some distance away upon the
snow, which I sent Stepan to investigate, and the Cossack quickly
returned, having found the corpses of several men and women in an
advanced stage of decomposition. An infectious disease was apparently
raging, for several sufferers lay helpless on the ground of the first
hut we entered. I imagine the malady was smallpox, for a lengthened
experience of Siberian prisons has made me familiar with the
characteristic smell which accompanies the confluent form of this
disease. On the other hand, it may have been _kor_, the mysterious
epidemic which had lately desolated the Kolyma district, and of which we
had heard even as far south as Yakutsk.
[Footnote 53: Von Wrangell writes that during his coast journey an old
Tchuktchi near here told him that he was descended from the Chelagi, or,
as they are usually called by the Tchuktchi, the Tchewany, who many
years since migrated towards the west and have not since been seen. He
adds: "The first of these names has been preserved in Cape Shelagskoi,
and the second in that of Tchewan or Tchaun Bay."]
But food must be obtained at any cost. To leave this place without an
adequate supply would have been sheer madness, especially as we had
ascertained from the natives that the next settlement was at least nine
"sleeps" (or, in Tchuktchi dialect, days) away. Our own stores had now
dwindled down to a few frozen fish, but here, for the first (and by no
means the last) time, _vodka_ came in useful, for there lives no
Tchuktchi who will not sell his soul for alcohol. The fiery spirit
procured seal-meat sufficient to last us, with care, for ten days. I can
safely say that this is the most disgusting diet in creation, but we
devoured it greedily, with keen appetites sharpened by the knowledge
that twenty-four hours more would have seen us starving.
There were about thirty people in this place who had escaped the
prevailing pestilence, but all showed such a marked aversion to our
presence that I sparingly dispensed our _vodka_. A drunken Tchuktchi is
a murderous devil, and I had no desire to repeat my experiences amongst
these people of 1896, when my life was more than once in jeopardy
during their orgies. However, the natives of Erktrik (as this place is
called), were so openly hostile that even the usually truculent
Mikouline, who once, under the influence of his favourite beverage, had
offered to accompany me to a much warmer and remoter place than this,
was paralysed with fear. I therefore resolved to push on early the
following day (April 22), but that night we were all too exhausted to
keep the usual watch, and when we awoke late the next morning our three
Kolyma friends had bolted, taking some of our seal-meat with them. There
can be no doubt that the fugitives perished trying to reach their home,
for panic had deprived them of the reasoning power to steal a sled and
dogs, or even a compass, which they might easily have done. The food the
poor fellows took was perhaps sufficient for a week's consumption,
certainly not for a journey of at least a couple of months on foot. A
more vicious and unprincipled scoundrel than Mikouline probably never
existed, and yet I missed him sorely afterwards, and would give a good
deal, notwithstanding all the trouble he gave me, to know that the
little ruffian had reached the Kolyma in safety. But this is, I fear,
outside the bounds of possibility. We did not leave the next day, for
Erktrik, or rather Cape Shelagskoi, proved a Pandora's box of unpleasant
surprises, including another tempest, which, though not so severe as the
_poorga_ which preceded it, detained us here for forty-eight hours.
These were passed in scouring the coast in search of the drivers, but
although their footsteps were visible for a couple of miles they ceased
abruptly where the runaways had taken to the ice in order to recross
Tchaun Bay.
On the morning of April 23 we left Erktrik, now each driving a sled, the
fifth team being hitched on to Stepan's _narta_. A dead calm had now
succeeded the wind, and we halted at midday for a rest of an hour. There
being drift-wood near camp, I decided to eat our daily meal here instead
of waiting, as usual, until the evening. And that was one of the
pleasantest hours throughout the whole of that distressing journey, for
the air was still, and the sun blazed down upon our little tent and
filled it with a bright warm light, which, but for the desolate
surroundings and unsavoury odour of seal-meat, would have recalled Nice
or Monte Carlo. The ice, too, on beard and moustache, and clinking
against the drinking-cup, was scarcely suggestive of the Riviera; but,
nevertheless, the momentary peace and warmth were little short of
luxurious. And the dogs seemed to relish the sun and warmth as much as
ourselves, as they lay around, asleep or indulging in the quaint antics
which often made me wonder whether they were not in some way distantly
allied to the human race. For the Siberian sled-dog is unquestionably
the most sagacious animal in existence, and many a time have his comical
vagaries lightened my hours of despondency. In appearance the Siberian
differs essentially from the Eskimo dog, and is a stronger though
smaller animal, seldom of a uniform colour, being generally black and
white, black and tan, &c. His eyes are often of a light blue colour from
the incessant snow-glare, which has a queer effect, especially, as often
happens, when one pupil has retained its original colour. The leader of
my team, a lean, grizzled old customer with the muzzle of a wolf, was
the quaintest of all. Oddly enough, kicks gained his friendship much
more readily than kindness, if the kicker happened to be a favoured
acquaintance; if not, trouble was likely to ensue, as De Clinchamp once
found to his cost! Towards the other male dogs of my team "Tchort," or
the Devil, assumed an air of almost snobbish superiority, but to the
females he was affability itself. The reader will scarcely believe that
I have seen this weird animal squat gravely in front of one of the
opposite sex, extend his right paw and tap her playfully on the jowl,
the compliment being returned by an affectionate lick on Tchort's right
ear. But this is a fact, and only one of many extraordinary
eccentricities which I observed amongst our canine friends while
journeying down the coast. Tchort, however, was a sad thief and stole
everything he could lay his hands, or rather teeth, upon, from seal-meat
to a pair of moccasins. At night, therefore, when other dogs were free
to roam about camp, my leader was invariably fastened firmly to a sled,
where he usually revenged himself by howling dismally at intervals. But
he was a capital leader and as steady as a rock, excepting when the
team, at the sight of a distant object on the snow, would give one
piercing yelp of joy, and bolt towards it at breakneck speed, utterly
regardless of the brake or curses of the driver. I am bound to say that
on these occasions Tchort was the most unruly of the lot.
Beyond Erktrik the coast becomes so rocky and precipitous that we
travelled chiefly over the sea, and progress was slower than it had
been yet on account of the mountainous ice we encountered around the
numerous headlands. There was little driving to do, every man having to
turn to and haul with the dogs, or lift the sleds bodily across
crevasses, or over steep, slippery icebanks. For a week the sky remained
unclouded, and the sun beat down so fiercely that during the day our
garments were soaked with perspiration, which would freeze to the skin
at night and intensify the cold. West of Cape North the coast is of no
great height, and although distance and the rarefied atmosphere often
made the cliffs appear of formidable dimensions, a nearer approach
generally showed that a man could stand on the beach and,
metaphorically, shake hands with one on their summits. With plenty of
decent food this part of the journey would have been comparatively
enjoyable, but as we had only enough seal-meat to last for ten days, and
as I feared that the Erktrik natives, wishing to be rid of us, had
misinformed me as to the distance away of the next village, I could only
issue provisions very sparingly. Luckily my fears were unfounded, for in
a week we reached the second settlement, Owarkin, which was more
prosperous, and where a goodly supply of food was produced in exchange
for half a dozen dogs, some tea and a few articles of barter. The
natives here were less unfriendly, but as most of them had never seen a
white man we were regarded with great curiosity. All day the tent was
packed with eager faces, and at night-time the canvas opening was
continually pushed aside, much to our discomfort, for the cold here was
very severe. But these people were such a welcome contrast to the
sulky, ill-conditioned natives down coast that we gladly suffered this
minor discomfort. We remained in this place for one night only, and
pushed on with renewed hope, encouraged by the kindly demeanour of the
natives, for Cape North. But now the fair weather broke up, and almost
daily we had to fight against gales and blizzards, which weakness,
caused by filthy diet, almost rendered us incapable of. But we pegged
away cheerfully enough, although every one was suffering more or less
from troublesome catarrh; De Clinchamp was partially crippled by
frost-bite, and snow-blindness caused me incessant pain--agony on sunny
days when there was a glare off the ice. To make matters worse,
drift-wood was so scarce at this time that a small fire was only
attainable every second day. Luckily I had kept a few wax candles, and
with the aid of these enough snow was melted to serve as a lotion for De
Clinchamp and myself. I was harassed, too, by the thought that at our
slow rate of speed Koliutchin Bay (still eight hundred miles away) would
probably be found broken up and impassable, in which case the entire
summer would have to be passed amongst these treacherous natives. For
should the Revenue cutter, which the American Government had kindly
undertaken to send to our assistance in June, not find us at East Cape,
she would probably sail away again, under the impression that we had
returned to the Kolyma. In any case she would scarcely come more than a
hundred miles or so west of Bering Straits, and Koliutchin was quite
three times that distance. There is probably no region in the world
more inaccessible than North-Eastern Siberia, and even had the ill-fated
Andre managed to effect a landing, say between Tchaun Bay and the Kolyma
River, he would, unless well supplied with provisions, in my opinion,
have perished.
Near Cape Kyber a huge bear and its cub were seen in the ice off the
island of Shalarof,[54] about three miles from the coast. De Clinchamp,
Stepan and half a dozen dogs at once went in pursuit, less for the sake
of sport than of replenishing our larder, but after an exciting chase
the brute got away, leaving its cub to be devoured by the dogs before
Stepan could secure it, a keen disappointment to us all.[55] We
frequently came across tracks after this, but saw no more bears, which
from everything but a gastronomical point of view was no loss. For there
is no more sport in shooting the polar species than in knocking over a
rook or a rabbit.
[Footnote 54: About three and a half versts north of Cape Kyber there is
a rocky island of two and a half versts in circumference, entirely
surrounded by hummocks. I gave it the name of Shalarof, after the man
whose enterprise, courage, and perseverance, and finally whose death in
these regions, have well deserved that his name should be so
recorded.--"The Polar Sea," by Von Wrangell.]
[Footnote 55: Von Wrangell writes that dogs have a remarkable aversion
to bear's flesh as long as it is warm, but this was not our experience
on this occasion.]
Finally Areni, a large village near Cape North, was reached, and here we
found food in plenty, even some deer-meat, which, although putrid, was
most acceptable. The _kor_, or smallpox, had not visited this place, and
we saw and heard no more of this dread disease eastward of this. From
here on to Cape North villages became more frequent and natives more
friendly. In one place the sight of a San Francisco newspaper filled us
with joy and a pleasant sense of proximity, although it _was_ two years
old. We traced it to an American whaler, for the trade of this coast is
now no longer in Russian hands, but in those of the whaling fleet from
the Golden Gate. At present there is no communication whatsoever between
the Tchuktchis and the Kolyma, as we had already found to our cost.
A hard journey of over two days from here, during which scarcity of
drift-wood caused us much trouble, brought us to Cape North.[56]
Darkness had now almost left us, and on April 28 we travelled nearly
throughout the night in a dim daylight, arriving the next morning at a
small village of three huts called Yugetamil. "And it's about time,"
murmured Harding, on hearing the name. But the atrocious pun was justly
received in silence. About fifteen miles east of this we sighted
mountains, perhaps thirty miles to the southward, known to the
Tchuktchis as the Puk-tak range. The highest peak, Mount Uruni, about
3000 feet high, was visible in clear weather.
[Footnote 56: Concerning this region Von Wrangell wrote: "Drift-wood is
scarce along this coast, partly from the consumption by Tchuktchis, and
partly from natural causes. The greater part of the drift-wood found
between the Shelagskoi and the Bering Straits is probably of American
origin, for it consists chiefly of stems of pines and firs. My opinion
that the drift-wood on this part of the coast comes from America is
confirmed by the assertion of the Tchuktchis that among the trunks of
fir they not unfrequently find some that have been felled with stone
axes."]
Nearing Cape North the ice was so bad that our progress seldom exceeded
two miles an hour, but the cliffs here are quite perpendicular, so that
it was impossible to travel by land. In places they were covered to a
height of forty feet or so by the clear green or blue ice formed by
breakers of the preceding year, and the dazzling colours reflected by
the sunshine on the glassy surface of the rocks was marvellous to
behold. Nearing the cape the ice was piled up so high that I feared at
one time we should never succeed in rounding the headland. The sleds
were constantly hauled up hummocks sixty to seventy feet high, and much
care was needed to prevent them falling headlong from the summits with
the dogs. Every one had over a score of bad falls that day, and although
no bones were broken I slipped up towards midday and landed heavily on
the back of my head with my feet in the air. But for three thick fur
caps my skull must have been fractured, and for several minutes I lay
unconscious. All that day we toiled along, now scrambling over
mountainous "torosses," now wading waist-deep in soft snow, which
occasionally gave way to precipitate us into invisible holes. When, late
at night, we reached a small village of two huts (name unknown), men and
dogs were quite exhausted, and had the tiny settlement been half a mile
further we could never have reached it. Here again we disposed of three
dogs for more seal-meat, and went on the next morning rejoicing,
notwithstanding a stiff gale from the eastward accompanied by snow.
At Cape North the natives were the friendliest we had yet seen, and we
actually obtained flour and molasses, priceless luxuries. Pancakes fried
in seal oil may not sound appetising, but to us they tasted like the
daintiest of _petits fours_. And the welcome news that Koliutchin Bay
would remain frozen until late in May enabled me to hope that we might
now reach Bering Straits, a contingency which only a few days before had
seemed extremely remote. This information was furnished by a Tchuktchi
named Yaigok, whose home was within a few miles of Bering Straits, and
who spoke a few words of English picked up from the American whalemen.
This man was returning with a sled-load of bearskins and fox furs, to
trade to the whaling fleet. He was a fine, strapping fellow, and I
gladly accepted his offer to guide us as far as his village, for twelve
dogs, some tobacco and a couple of clasp-knives. Several natives here
had travelled as far as the Bering Straits, which they called the "Big
River," the land beyond it, Alaska, being known as "Nagurok" in the
Tchuktchi dialect.
The village at Cape North is known to the natives as Irkaipien. From a
distance the promontory presents almost the appearance of an island, as
it is joined to the low land by a landspit hidden in winter by stranded
ice. This is probably the point seen in 1777 by Captain Cook, from whom
it received its present name, but I rechristened it Cape Despair, on
account of the difficulty we experienced in reaching it from the time
when it was first sighted. Mentioning the fact to Stepan, I was much
entertained by an anecdote related by the Cossack in connection with the
names of places. He had once accompanied a German traveller, who was
compiling a volume of his experiences, down the Yenisei River in
Siberia. On several occasions the tourists' inquiries as to
topographical names were met with the reply, "Imia niet," for the
country they were travelling was new to Stepan. When, however, the book
of travel was published in Berlin, a mountain, two rivers and a village
were carefully described under the title of the above two words which in
Russian signify: "It has no name!"
[Illustration: CAPE DESPAIR.]
I was rather disturbed while at Cape North to hear the name of my old
friend Koari of Oumwaidjik continually mentioned by the natives, for
although I well knew the old scoundrel's influence extended along the
coast in a southerly direction, I was not prepared to find it existing
amongst the Tchuktchis of the north-eastern seaboard. One of my chief
objects had been to avoid the Oumwaidjik people, and I had therefore
planned our route so as to steer north of the place by over two hundred
miles. However, nothing was known here of the enmity existing between
myself and this old bandit, who, by reason of the punishment inflicted
on him on my account by the United States Government, would probably
have made things warm for us had he been aware of my proximity, I had
hitherto imagined that no land communication existed between Oumwaidjik
and the Arctic Coast, and that by the time navigation re-opened we
should be far away from the clutches of my old enemy, with whom our
guide, Yaigok, was apparently on intimate terms. I therefore resolved to
be careful, the more so that at Natska, a village about ten days east of
Cape North, we found a caravan of sixteen dog-sleds, laden down with
furs, on the point of departure.
"Where are those people going?" I inquired of Yaigok, as the team
started away across the tundra in a south-easterly direction.
"Over the mountains to Koari!" replied the Tchuktchi, and I prudently
refrained from questioning him further.
Another unpleasant incident occurred at Cape North, where a gale and
heavy snow detained us for two days. A young native, having imbibed our
_vodka_, clamoured loudly for more, and when Stepan refused to produce
the drink, drew a knife and made a savage lunge which cut into the
Cossack's furs. In an instant the aggressor was on his back in the snow,
and foreseeing a row I seized a revolver and shouted to my companions to
do likewise. But to my surprise the crowd soundly belaboured their
countryman, while Yaigok apologised on behalf of the chief, for the
man's behaviour. Nevertheless, there were dissentient voices and ugly
looks, so that I was not altogether sorry to leave Irkaipien behind us.
We made rapid headway after this, for most of the way lay over tundra as
smooth and flat as a billiard-table. Our guide's sled continually left
us far behind, for the Tchuktchi's _nartas_ are far superior to those
made on the Kolyma. Yaigok's dogs, too, were fresh and hardy, while ours
were exhausted by hunger and hardship. Our method of harnessing was also
inferior to the Tchuktchi method, which brings the strain on the
shoulders instead of the neck. These people, like the Yakutes, are very
kind to animals. I never once saw them strike their dogs, which were
urged on by rattling an iron ring fixed for the purpose to the end of
the brake. Yaigok knew every inch of the road and saved many a mile by
short cuts taken across land or sea. The cold here was great and
drift-wood scarce, but one could be sure now of passing some settlement
at least every three or four days, where even a foul glimmer of a
seal-oil lamp was better than no fire at all. About this time the sleds
gave us much trouble--the rough usage they had undergone necessitating
constant repairs, but these were quickly made, for not a scrap of metal
enters into the construction of a Kolyma dog-sled; merely wooden pegs
and walrus-hide thongs, which are more durable and give more spring and
pliancy than iron nails. Three days after leaving Cape North, and in
fine weather, Wrangell Land was sighted, or, I should perhaps say, was
probably sighted, for at times huge barriers of icebergs can easily be
mistaken for a distant island. Yaigok, however, averred that it was an
island, and his judgment was probably correct.
The journey from here eastwards to Bering Straits would under ordinary
circumstances of travel have seemed a severe one, for we travelled
through head winds and constant snowstorms, which now, with a rising
temperature, drenched our furs and made the nights even more miserable
than those of intense, but dry, cold. One thing here struck me as
curious, every snow-flake was a most perfect five-pointed star, as
accurately shaped as though it had passed through a tiny mould.
Discomforts, as I have said, continued, not to say hardships, but we had
become so inured to the latter that we could now, with well-lined
stomachs, afford to despise even blizzards with shelter never more than
twenty or thirty miles distant. Our diet was not appetising, consisting
as it did for the most part of oily seal and walrus-meat, but
drift-wood was now more plentiful, and we could usually reckon on that
blessing, a fire at night. There was now little difficulty in finding
settlements, one of which was reached on an average every twenty-four
hours, but it was necessary to keep a sharp look-out, for the low,
mushroom-like huts of the Tchuktchis are invisible a short distance away
and are easily passed unnoticed during a fog or in driving snow. Fogs,
by the way, were very prevalent as we neared the Straits, and became
denser in proportion as the spring advanced.
East of Cape North we had no bother whatever with the natives, who in
many places even refused payment for food and assistance. Passing the
villages of Wankarem and Onman[57] we reached, on May 10, Koliutchin, a
large village situated on an island in the bay of that name. Here we
were received with open arms by the chief, who spoke a little English,
picked up, like Yaigok's, from American whalemen at East Cape. Professor
Nordenskjold's ship the _Vega_ wintered here some years ago, and the
natives showed us souvenirs of the Swedish explorer's visit in the shape
of clasp-knives and tin tobacco-boxes. The irony of fate and obstinacy
of pack-ice are shown by the fact that all on board the _Vega_ were
expecting an easy passage through Bering Straits to the southward, and
yet within twenty-four hours were compelled to remain for another winter
securely ice-locked off this dreary settlement.
[Footnote 57: Our American charts made these villages sixty miles apart,
whereas they are not divided by a third of the distance.]
Koliutchin Island was called Burney Island by Captain Cook, but Whale
Island would be a better name for it than either, for it exactly
resembles a narwhal on the surface of the sea. There appeared to be
frequent communication with the mainland, for we reached the island
(about four miles in circumference and twenty-five miles from the coast)
by a well-defined sled-track; perhaps luckily, for the bay was otherwise
obstructed by heavy ice. News travels like lightning along this part of
the coast, and Kouniang, the chief, and a crowd of natives received us
as we landed along the beach. As soon as our tent was pitched, deer-meat
(only slightly tainted!), flour and molasses were brought us, also some
sticky American sweets, which having reposed for some time in the
chief's deerskin _parka_, were covered with hairs. But we were used to
this slight inconvenience, for since leaving Yakutsk I had seldom
partaken of a meal which was not freely sprinkled with capillary
particles, either from our own furs or the surroundings. I verily
believe that between Verkhoyansk and East Cape I consumed, in this way,
enough hair to stuff a moderately sized pillow!
Kouniang was one of the richest natives on the coast, and his trade with
the whale-ships was extensive; he providing the Americans with
whalebone, walrus tusks and furs, in exchange for cotton goods, canned
provisions and rubbish of all kinds "made in Germany." The chief would
take no payment for his hospitality, and this was perhaps fortunate, as
I had very little to give him. So many of our dogs had died or been
bartered that only thirty-one were now left, and these, with four sleds,
about fifteen pounds of Circassian tobacco and under a gallon of
_vodka_, represented the entire assets of the expedition. Poverty is a
serious crime in a civilised country, but in some savage lands it means
absolute starvation, and the problem of tiding over perhaps a couple of
months at East Cape without means of paying for food now caused me
considerable anxiety. A credit was awaiting me at Nome City in Alaska,
but the Tchuktchi scarcely understands banking transactions. Everything
depended upon the charity or otherwise of the chief at East Cape; and,
as the reader may imagine, I left Koliutchin in a very perplexed state
of mind.
Koliutchin Bay was negotiated in beautiful weather, much to my relief,
for I had experienced misgivings after our terrible experiences in
Tchaun Bay. But a blue sky and perfect stillness enabled our now
exhausted dogs to carry us across in under seven hours, and I was glad
to reach the eastern shore, for great lakes of open water on every side
showed that we were not a day too soon. The sun had now become so
powerful that most of our travelling was done by night, for during the
daytime the ice was often inch-deep in water, and the runners were
imbedded in the soft and yielding snow. The coast from here on to Bering
Straits is said to be rich in minerals; but although coal was frequently
seen cropping out from the cliffs and mica is plentiful, we saw no gold,
and only heard on one occasion of the precious metal. This was at
Inchaun, about a day's journey from East Cape, where one Jim, an
English-speaking Tchuktchi informed me that he knew of "a mountain of
gold" about ten miles away. The lad offered to walk to the place (now
almost inaccessible on account of melting snow), and to bring me
specimens of the ore, which I agreed to, undertaking to repay him with
one of our much-battered sleds on arrival at East Cape. The next day Jim
returned with several attractive bits of rock, which, however, when
tested by an expert at Nome City, were found to be absolutely worthless.
I had heard of this mountain of gold in London, where I believe it once
figured in an alluring prospectus! Jim, I fancy, was a bit of a humbug,
who had served on a whaler and was therefore not wholly unacquainted
with iron pyrites. Indeed this was the most intelligent Tchuktchi I ever
met, although his language would have startled an English bargee. The
white man he regarded with extreme contempt, alluding to us
indiscriminately as "disfellah" as he sat in our tent, calmly sharing
(without invitation) any repast that was going on, and occasionally
pausing to exclaim, between the mouthfuls, "By G--! you come a long
way!"
At Inchaun, Yaigok left us, and we proceeded alone and rapidly along the
now level beach and rolling tundra. The comparative ease and comfort
with which we accomplished the last three hundred miles of the coast
journey was due to the fact that the natives are in yearly touch with
the American whaling fleet, and are therefore generally well provided
with the necessaries of life. On May 19 we reached East Cape, the
north-easternmost point of Asia, after a voyage of nearly two months
from Sredni-Kolymsk. At this point the expedition had accomplished
rather more than half the entire journey, and had travelled, from Paris,
a distance of about 11,263 English miles.