AMONG THE TCHUKTCHIS
The wintry aspect of nature around Bering Straits seemed to predict a
late summer, and it looked as though months must elapse before the
Revenue cutter courteously placed at my disposal by the United States
Government could break through the ice and reach us. My original idea
was to try and cross over the frozen Straits to Cape Prince of Wales, in
Alaska, a feat never yet attempted by a white man, but I found on
arrival at East Cape that the passage is never essayed by the
Tchuktchis, and only very rarely by the Eskimo. During the past decade
perhaps a dozen of the latter have started from the American side, but
only a third of the number have landed in Siberia, the remainder having
either returned or perished. The distance from shore to shore at the
nearest point is about forty miles, the two Diomede Islands and Fairway
Rock being situated about half-way across. Bering Straits are never
completely closed, for even in midwinter floes are ever on the move,
which, with broad and shifting "leads" of open water, render a trip on
foot extremely hazardous. Our subsequent experience on nearly seven
miles of drifting ice, across which we were compelled to walk in order
to land on American soil, inspired me with no desire to repeat the
experiment.
East Cape, Bering Straits, practically "the end of the end of the
world," is about the last place where you would expect to find a white
man, especially in springtime, which, in this far North, answers to the
depth of winter in England. When we arrived there, East Cape had been
cut off by ice from the world ever since the previous summer, which
rendered the presence of "Billy," as the natives called him, the more
remarkable. At first I mistook the man for a Tchuktchi, for he had
adopted native costume, and a hard winter passed amongst these people,
combined with a painful skin disease, had reduced him to a skeleton. The
poor fellow had suffered severely, mentally and physically, and could
only crawl about the settlement with difficulty, and yet, when news
first reached the cape of our approach, he had set out to walk along the
coast and meet us, and was brought back from the first village, fifteen
miles away, more dead than alive. Billy was a young man, about
twenty-five years old, whose hardships had given him a middle-aged
appearance. He belonged to the American middle class and was apparently
well educated, and, as I suppress his name, there can be no harm in
giving his history.
A year before we found him, Billy had left his home in San Francisco to
ship as ordinary seaman on board a whaler. But a rough life and stormy
weather soon cured him of a love for the sea, and while his ship was
lying at Nome City he escaped, intending to try his luck at the
diggings. A report, however, had just reached Nome that tons of gold
were lying only waiting to be picked up on the coast of Siberia, and the
adventurous Billy, dazzled by dreams of wealth, determined to sink his
small capital in the purchase of a boat in which to sail away to the
Russian "El Dorado." Having stocked his craft with provisions, Billy
started alone from Nome, and after many hair-breadth escapes from
shipwreck in the Straits, managed to reach East Cape. This was early in
the month of August, when an American Revenue cutter is generally
cruising about, and the Californian was delighted with his kindly
reception from the Tchuktchis, ignoring that the latter are not so
pleasantly disposed when alone in their glory and fortified by a frozen
sea. For nearly a month Billy remained at East Cape, prospecting every
day, and working like a galley slave in the marshy "tundras" swarming
with mosquitoes, only to return, every night, to his walrus-hide hut
with growing despair. For although the streams teemed with fish, not a
glimmer of gold rewarded his labours. Time crept away and the coming
winter had shown her teeth with a cutting blizzard, while ice was
forming around the coast, when one gloomy October day the Revenue cutter
anchored, for the last time that season, off the settlement. And Billy
regarded her hopelessly, knowing that desertion from his ship had
rendered him an outlaw. To board the _Bear_ would mean irons and
imprisonment, and the deserter dared not face an ordeal which, a few
months later, he would gladly have undergone to escape from Siberia.
Billy watched the Government vessel sink below the horizon with some
uneasiness, for his sole property now consisted of the furs he stood up
in. His boat, clothes and even mining tools had all been bartered for
food, and the discomfited prospector was now living practically on the
charity of his savage hosts. The reflection, therefore, that nine long
months must be passed in this Arctic prison was not a pleasant one,
especially as the natives had already indulged in one of the "drink
orgies" which were afterwards resumed at intervals throughout that
terrible winter.
How the man survived is a mystery--treated as a rule like a slave,
clothed in ragged furs, nourished on disgusting food, and ever at the
beck and call of every man, woman and child in the settlement.
Christmas-time found Billy suffering severely from scurvy, and covered
from head to foot with painful boils. Throughout this period, however,
he received every attention and care from the women, who, however,
without medical appliances, could do little to alleviate his sufferings.
Billy said that at times these strange people showed a consideration and
kindness only surpassed on other occasions by their brutality and
oppression. One day gifts of food and furs would be showered upon the
white man, and nothing be too good for him; on the next he would be
cursed and reviled, if not actually ill-treated by all. On drink-nights
Billy concealed himself, even preferring to sleep in the snow rather
than brave the drunken fury of the revellers, which, as the reader will
presently see, was one of my greatest anxieties during our sojourn on
these barren shores. All things considered, our arrival on the scene
was a godsend to this poor castaway, who averred that another month of
solitude would assuredly have driven him out of his mind. But our
presence worked a marvellous difference in a short space of time, and
Billy visibly gained in health and strength as the days went on, chiefly
on account of congenial companionship; for we were almost as badly off,
in material comforts, as our poor friend himself.
East Cape consists of a few walrus-hide huts which cling like limpets to
the face of a cliff overhanging the Straits. In anything like windy
weather you can't go out without danger of being blown bodily into the
sea. Also, on the occasion of my last overland trip, I had been warned
by the officers of the _Bear_ against dangerous natives here, so I
resolved to move on to Whalen, a village a few miles west of East Cape
on the Arctic Ocean, to await the arrival of the _Thetis_.[58]
[Footnote 58: The name Whalen should probably be written as it is
pronounced--Oo-aylin, but I have adopted the mode of spelling in use
amongst the whaling fraternity.]
Whalen consists of about thirty _yarats_ (as a Tchuktchi dwelling is
called) and about three hundred inhabitants. The village stands on a
sandy beach only a few yards from the sea, but when we arrived here the
entire country was knee-deep in partly melted snow, which rendered
locomotion very wet and unpleasant. Here we were kindly received, indeed
rather too kindly, for our presence was the signal for a feast, and in a
few hours every man in the settlement was mad with drink. Fortunately
the chief remained sober and we hid in his hut until the orgie was
over. But all that night men were rushing about the village, firing off
Winchesters, and vowing to kill us, although that morning when sober
they had been quite friendly. We did not pass a very pleasant night, but
the next day all was quiet, and remained so until the appearance of a
whaler again demoralised the settlement. When a Tchuktchi gets drunk,
his first impulse is to get a rifle and shoot. He prefers a white man to
practise upon, but if there are none handy he will kill anybody, even
his mother, without compunction, and be very sorry for it when he is
sober, which unfortunately does not mend matters. Many whalemen have
been slain on this coast during the past ten years, and during the few
weeks we were at Whalen two natives were killed, also a German trader on
the Diomede Islands in Bering Straits. But as the latter individual had
set up a primitive still and announced his intention of flooding the
coast with "tanglefoot,"[59] his own poison was probably seized by the
islanders, who, when intoxicated, murdered its manufacturer.
[Footnote 59: A slang term for whisky on the Alaskan coast.]
Teneskin, the chief of Whalen, was, luckily for ourselves, a very
different type of man to the ruffian Koari; and his stalwart sons,
Yemanko and Mooflowi, who were, like their father, teetotalers, became
our powerful allies when the demon of drink was rampant. Yemanko, the
elder, spoke English fairly well, and the comparative comfort in which
we lived here was chiefly due to his intelligence, for he managed to
persuade his father that my cheques, or rather receipts for food, would
be honoured by the commander of the _Thetis_ on her arrival. This was
our only way out of a tight corner, and I awaited the chief's verdict
with intense anxiety, for should his decision be unfavourable starvation
stared us in the face, and the worst kind of starvation, in the midst of
plenty. For Billy told me that Teneskin received a yearly consignment of
goods, in exchange for native produce, from the whalers, and that a shed
adjoining his hut was packed from floor to ceiling with canned
provisions, groceries and other luxuries. To my great relief the
conclave, which lasted for several hours, terminated satisfactorily, and
it was agreed that every article furnished by Teneskin should on her
arrival be doubly repaid from the store-room of the Revenue cutter. And
notwithstanding some anxious qualms as to subsequent repayment which
occasionally assailed our host, this plan worked well, for while here we
never once suffered from actual hunger. Stepan alone was disgusted with
the preliminary discussion regarding the food supply. These Tchuktchis
were subjects of the Tsar, he urged, and should therefore be compelled
to furnish goods free of cost to the illustrious travellers under His
Majesty's protection. The Cossack even donned his uniform cap with the
gold double eagle in order to impress the natives with a sense of our
official importance. But although the head-dress was at once removed by
irreverent hands and passed round with some amusement, I regret to say
that its effect (from an awe-inspiring point of view) was a total
failure.
As a matter of fact the Tchuktchis know nothing whatever about Russia,
and even the Great White Tsar has less influence here than a skipper of
the grimiest Yankee whaler. For the latter is the unfailing source,
every summer, of the vile concoction known as whisky, for which a
Tchuktchi will barter his existence, to say nothing of whalebone and
walrus tusks. Indeed, were it not for the whalers these people would
undoubtedly perish, for although a Russian gunboat generally visits them
once during the summer, it is more with the object of seizing anything
her commander can lay his hands upon than of affording assistance. The
"Stars and Stripes" are therefore the only colours with which the coast
Tchuktchis are familiar, and I had therefore brought an American flag as
well as our now tattered Union Jack, which proved a wise precaution. The
British ensign they had never seen before.
There are perhaps twelve thousand Tchuktchis in all, the race consisting
of two tribes: the coast Tchuktchis, inhabiting the shore from Tchaun
Bay to the mouth of the Anadyr River; and the land Tchuktchis, who are
more or less nomads, roaming amongst the plains and mountains of the
interior with herds of reindeer, which form their sole means of
existence, while their brethren of the coast are entirely dependent upon
the sea for a living. Although nominally Russian subjects, these people
are the freest subjects in the world, paying no taxes and framing their
own laws, which is perhaps only just seeing that they have never been
really conquered by Russia. Samoyedes, Buriates and Yakutes have all
gone down before the iron heel of the Cossack, but for two centuries the
Tchuktchi has stood his ground, and with cold and desolation for
allies, has invariably routed all invaders.[60] Thus, to this day, these
people are respected, if not feared, by their Russian neighbours, and
although several attempts have been made in St. Petersburg to establish
a _yassak_[61] amongst them, no official has yet penetrated far enough
into the Tchuktchi country to collect it. Although Russia is their
common foe, the land and sea Tchuktchis are staunch friends, for each
tribe is more or less dependent on the other; the coast Tchuktchis
furnishing whalebone, walrus tusks, hides, seal-meat and oil to the
landsmen, and receiving deer-meat for food, and skins for clothing, in
return.
[Footnote 60: "These people for many years resisted every attempt made
by the Russians either to subdue them or to pass through their country.
Of a force numbering two hundred armed men who were sent into their
territory, rather for the purpose of scientific exploration than with
any views of conquest, not a soul returned, nor has their fate ever been
ascertained."--"Frozen Asia," by Professor Eden.]
[Footnote 61: The fur-tax formerly paid to the Crown by the Yakutes and
other Siberian races.]
It is a far cry from Bering Straits to Borneo, and I was therefore
surprised to find many points of resemblance between the coast
Tchuktchis and the Dyaks of that tropical island, with whom I became
well acquainted some years ago while in the service of Raja Brooke. The
Tchuktchi is perhaps physically stronger than the Dyak--unquestionably
he is, by nature, a greater drunkard--but otherwise these races might
pass for each other so far as features, complexion and characteristics
are concerned. And although I have heard men assert that the Tchuktchis
originally migrated to Asia from the American continent, my own
experience leads me to doubt that this fact, the more so that there is
not an atom of resemblance (save perhaps in a partiality for strong
drink) between the Eskimo of Alaska and their Siberian neighbours. As a
rule the coast native is intelligent, and of strong and graceful build,
owing to his life of almost ceaseless activity; out in all weathers, in
summer fighting the furious gales of the Arctic in skin boats, in winter
tracking the seal, walrus or bear, sometimes for days together, amid the
cold, dark silence of the ice. Towards springtime this becomes a
dangerous occupation, for floes are often detached without warning and
carried away from the main pack into Bering Sea, whence there is
generally no return, although marvellous escapes are recorded. Yemanko,
the chief's son, had lived for six days floating about on a block of
ice, and subsisting upon a seal which he had caught before he was swept
into Bering Sea, eventually grounding near East Cape. His only companion
was frozen to death.
I was relieved to find that the country between this and Koari's village
(about three hundred miles south) was now impassable on account of
melting snow, for, if only for the sake of revenge, this wily old thief
would probably have set the natives here against us. Communication
between the two places had been frequent throughout the winter, and
Koari's son, Oyurapok (a deadly enemy of mine), had lately been at
Whalen, but had of course ignored my movements.[62] An Oumwaidjik man,
however, who accompanied him had remained here on account of sickness.
He was almost a lad and therefore knew nothing of Harding and myself,
but we were much amused one day to see him proudly produce a many-bladed
clasp-knife, _once my property_ (!) which Koari had confiscated, with
our other goods, in 1896! There seemed to be no love lost between the
Whalen and Oumwaidjik people, whom I had found as surly and inhospitable
as these were (when sober) friendly and well disposed. It is curious to
notice how the various settlements of this coast vary with regard to the
reputation of their inhabitants. Thus, although we were generally well
treated here, a stay at East Cape would probably have meant serious
trouble with the natives, from whom Billy had fled to take refuge at
Whalen. But the East Cape people are probably the worst on the coast,
although the natives at St. Lawrence Bay are nearly as bad, and those at
Oumwaidjik even worse. And yet, unless a drink feast is in progress, a
stranger who behaves himself is safe enough in most Tchuktchi villages,
so much so that these people are known as _Masinker_ (which in their
dialect signifies "good") amongst the American whalemen. The odour of a
Tchuktchi is indescribable, but so powerful and penetrating as to be
noticeable some distance from a settlement, this characteristic smell
being caused by a certain emanation of the human body which enters
largely into the _Masinker's_ daily use. The fluid is employed chiefly
for tanning purposes, but it is also used for cleaning food platters,
drinking cups and, worst of all, for washing the body, which it is said
to protect from cold. Both here and at Oumwaidjik I tried in vain to
discover the origin of this disgusting habit, which also prevails to a
lesser extent amongst the Alaskan Eskimo. This is only one of the many
revolting customs which I unfortunately had an opportunity of studying
at close quarters while at Whalen, where I came to the conclusion that
the Tchuktchi race must be the filthiest in the world. Were I to
describe one-tenth of the repulsive sights which came under my daily
notice, the reader would lay down this book in disgust.
[Footnote 62: See "Through the Gold Fields of Alaska," by Harry de
Windt. London: Chatto and Windus.]
Furs are worn by the coast Tchuktchis throughout the year, which, as
they are seldom removed, did not make them pleasant neighbours in a
crowded hut. The men wear a deerskin _parka_, a loose garment reaching a
little below the waist and secured by a belt or walrus thong, and hair
seal boots and breeches. In rainy weather a very light and transparent
yellow waterproof, made of the intestines of the walrus, is worn. Men
and boys wear a close-fitting cap covering the ears, like a baby's
bonnet, and have the crown and base of the skull partly shaved, which
gives them a quaint monastic appearance, while every man carries a long
sharp knife in a leather sheath thrust through his belt. The women are
undersized creatures, some pretty, but most have hard weather-beaten
faces, as they work in the open in all weathers. Many have beautiful
teeth, which, however, are soon destroyed by the constant chewing of
sealskin to render it pliable for boots and other articles. They wear a
kind of deerskin combinations made in one piece and trimmed at the neck
and wrists with wolverine, a pair of enormous sealskin moccasins, which
gives them an awkward waddling gait, completing their attire. The hair
is worn in two long plaits, intertwined with gaudy beads, copper coins
and even brass trouser buttons given them by whalemen. Unlike the men,
all the women are tattooed--generally in two lines from the top of the
brow to the tip of the nose, and six or seven perpendicular lines from
the lower lip to the chin. Tattooing here is not a pleasant operation,
being performed with a coarse needle and skin thread--the dye (obtained
from the soot off a cooking-pot moistened with seal oil) being sewn in
with no light hand by one of the older squaws. Teneskin's daughter,
Tayunga, was not tattooed, and therefore quite good-looking, but even
the prettiest face here is rendered unattractive by the unclean
personality and habits of its owner. So filthy are these people that
even the _parkas_ of both sexes are made so that the hand and arm can be
thrust bodily inside the garment, not, as I at first imagined, for the
sake of warmth, but to relieve the incessant annoyance caused by
parasites. Hours of idleness were often passed by a couple of friends in
a reciprocal hunt for vermin.
[Illustration: TENESKIN'S DAUGHTERS.]
I was naturally anxious to avoid the close companionship with the
natives, which residence in a _Yarat_ would have entailed. Teneskin's
hut was the cleanest in the village, but even this comparatively
habitable dwelling would have compared unfavourably with the foulest den
in the London slums. The deep, slushy snow made it impossible to fix up
a tent, but Teneskin was the proud possessor of a rough wooden hut built
from the timbers of the whaler _Japan_, which was wrecked here some
years ago, and in this we took up our abode. The building had one
drawback; although its walls were stout enough a roof was lacking, and
our tent was a poor substitute. However, the place was cleaned out and
made fairly cosy with our rugs, furs and four sleds which were used as
bunks. Then came a serious difficulty, artificial warmth, which, without
a roof, was sorely needed at night. Teneskin's trading goods comprised a
small iron cooking stove, which seemed to be the very thing, with plenty
of drift-wood about, and which Stepan, with Cossack promptitude, annexed
without leave. But an hour later Yemanko rushed into the hut, pale with
rage, and without a word seized our treasure and carried it away. Things
looked even more ugly when very shortly afterwards the Chief,
accompanied by a crowd of natives, entered our dwelling, with Billy as
spokesman in their midst. Then amidst frequent interruptions from the
Chief the mystery was explained. It appeared that a superstition exists
amongst these people that if a cooking place is used by strangers in a
hut belonging to the father of a newly born child, the latter dies
within a _moon_ or month. Teneskin's family had recently received an
addition which was the cause of our trouble, but during the height of
the argument, Stepan quietly seated himself beside me and whispered the
word "Mauser," which reminded me that our host had cast longing eyes on
a rifle in my possession. Much as I prized it a fire was essential, and
the rifle had to go; which it did without delay, for Teneskin, once
possessed of the precious weapon, the baby, to use a sporting
expression, was knocked out at a hundred to one! The stove was replaced
by willing hands with one proviso: that only the Chief's pots and pans
were to be used for the preparation of our food, which proved that a
Tchuktchi is not unlike some Christians in the soothing of his
conscience.
As the spring wore on, strong gales accompanied by storms of sleet drove
us to seek the warmth and filth of Teneskin's residence, which was of
walrus hide, about forty feet round and fifteen feet high in the centre.
The only aperture for light and air was a low doorway. There was a large
outer chamber for fishing and hunting tackle where dogs roamed about,
and inside this again a small dark inner room, called the _yaranger_,
formed of thick deerskins, where the family ate and slept. In here
seal-oil lamps continually burning make it average about 85 deg.
throughout the winter. Beyond the tiny doorway there was no ventilation
whatsoever, and the heat and stench of the place were beyond
description. At night men, women and children stripped naked, and even
then the perspiration poured off them. The nights we passed here were
indescribable. Suffice it to say that the hours of darkness in the inner
chamber of that _yarat_ were worthy of Dante's Inferno. And the days
were almost as bad, for then the indescribable filth of the dwelling was
more clearly revealed. At the daily meal we reclined on the floor, like
the Romans in "Quo Vadis," by a long wooden platter, and lumps of seal
or walrus meat were thrown at us by the hostess, whose dinner costume
generally consisted of a bead necklace. Rotten goose eggs and stale
fish roe flavoured with seal oil were favoured delicacies, also a kind
of seaweed which is only found in the stomach of the walrus when
captured. Luckily a deer was occasionally brought in from inland, and
Stepan then regaled us with good strong soup followed by the meat which
had made it. Every part of the animal was greedily devoured by the
natives, even the bones being crushed and the marrow extracted from
them, flavoured with seal oil, and eaten raw. Teneskin, however, had
plenty of flour, and this, with desiccated vegetables, was our mainstay
during the greater part of the time. As spring advanced, game was added
to our bill of fare in the shape of wild duck, which flew in enormous
clouds over the settlement. A large lagoon hard by swarmed with them,
and one could always bag a couple at least every morning and evening
without leaving the hut. But a shooting party was usually made up every
day, and we sallied out with the natives, perhaps a score of men and
boys, the former armed with Winchesters and the latter with slings,
which projected a row of five or six balls cut out of walrus teeth. To
shoot a duck on the wing with a bullet is not easy, but the natives
seldom returned empty handed; and many a time I have seen a tiny lad of
ten or twelve years old bring down his bird with a sling at twenty or
thirty yards. Once I saw Yemanko, with the same weapon, put a stone
clean through a biscuit tin at twenty yards range. And one memorable day
(for once only) a regal repast was served of three courses consisting of
reindeer, wild duck, and Harding's plum pudding, which, notwithstanding
its novel experiences, proved delicious. It only had one irreparable
fault--there was not enough of it. All things considered, our stay here
was by no means the worst part of the journey, for beyond filthy food
and surroundings and the deadly monotony of existence, there was little
to complain of. Every now and then a drunken orgie would necessitate
close concealment, but this was practically the only annoyance to which
we were subjected. Once, however, Stepan ventured out during one of
these outbursts, and was instantly fired at by a band of ruffians who
were reeling about the village. The man who fired the shot was, when
sober, one of our best friends, and, luckily for the Cossack, was too
far gone to shoot straight. This incident was therefore a comparatively
trivial one, although it served to show the unpleasant affinity between
a barrel of whisky and bloodshed, and the undesirability of Whalen as a
sea-side resort for a longer period than was absolutely necessary. But
Teneskin and his sons were always ready to protect us by force if
necessary against the aggression of inebriates. Indeed had it not been
for these three giants I doubt if the Expedition would have got away
from Whalen without personal injury or perhaps loss of life.
Although our host himself did not indulge in alcohol, he was the sole
retailer of it to our neighbours. I only once saw the stuff, which was
religiously kept hidden save when an orgie had been decided upon and
Teneskin, after receiving payment, barricaded himself and prepared for
squalls. When we arrived at Whalen, most of the fiery spirit left by
the whalers the preceding year was exhausted, and Teneskin was issuing
an inferior brand of his own brewing, concocted much in the same way as
the "gun-barrel water" of the Eskimo and even more potent, if possible,
than San Francisco "Tangle-foot." This is made by mixing together one
part each of flour and molasses with four parts of water and then
letting the mixture stand for four days in a warm atmosphere until it
ferments. The distillery consists of a coal oil tin, an old gun-barrel,
and a wooden tub. The mash is put in the coal oil tin, and the
gun-barrel, which serves as the coil, leads from this tin through the
tub, which is kept filled with cracked ice. A fire is then built under
the tin, and as the vapour rises from the heated mess it is condensed in
the gun-barrel by the ice in the tub, and the liquor comes out at the
end of the gun barrel drop by drop, and is caught in a drinking cup.
This process is necessarily slow, and it took a long time to obtain even
a half pint of the liquor, but the whisky made up in strength what it
lacked in quality, and it did not take much of it to intoxicate, which
(from a Tchuktchi standpoint) was the principal object. I am told on
reliable authority that, on the Alaskan coast, the Eskimo women join
freely in the drunken debauches of the men, but this was certainly not
the case amongst the Siberian natives, at any rate those at Whalen. For
throughout our stay there I only once saw an intoxicated female. This
was the wife of Teneskin, who during an orgie was invariably the only
inebriated member of his household. But she certainly made up for the
rest of the family!