THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF GENAL--WALLS OF LITERATURE--SCARING UP A
BEAR--END OF HORSEBACK RIDE
It was hard work on the following morning to climb again into the
saddle, but the Major was insensible to all appeals for delay. Stern
and inflexible as Rhadamanthus, he mounted stiffly upon his feather
pillow and gave the signal for a start. With the aid of two
sympathetic Kamchadals, who had perhaps experienced the misery of a
stiff back, I succeeded in getting astride a fresh horse, and we
rode away into the Genal (gen-ahl') valley--the garden of southern
Kamchatka.
The village of Malqua lies on the northern slope of the Kamchatka
River watershed, surrounded by low barren granite hills, and reminded
me a little in its situation of Virginia City, Nevada. It is noted
chiefly for its hot mineral springs, but as we did not have time to
visit these springs ourselves, we were compelled to take the natives'
word for their temperature and their medicinal properties, and content
ourselves with a distant view of the pillar of steam which marked
their location.
North of the village opens the long narrow valley of Genal--the most
beautiful as well as the most fertile spot in all the Kamchatkan
peninsula. It is about thirty miles in length, and averages three in
breadth, and is bounded on both sides by chains of high snow-covered
mountains, which stretch away from Malqua in a long vista of white
ragged peaks and sharp cliffs, almost to the head-waters of the
Kamchatka River. A small stream runs in a tortuous course through the
valley, fringed with long wild grass four or five feet in height, and
shaded here and there by clumps of birches, willows, and alders. The
foliage was beginning already to assume the brilliant colours of
early autumn, and broad stripes of crimson, yellow, and green ran
horizontally along the mountain sides, marking on a splendid chromatic
scale the successive zones of vegetation as they rose in regular
gradation from the level of the valley to the pure glittering snows of
the higher peaks.
As we approached the middle of the valley just before noon, the
scenery assumed a vividness of colour and grandeur of outline which
drew forth the most enthusiastic exclamations of delight from our
little party. For twenty-five miles in each direction lay the sunny
valley, through which the Genal River was stretched like a tangled
chain of silver, linking together the scattered clumps of birch and
thickets of alder, which at intervals diversified its banks. Like the
Happy Valley of Rasselas, it seemed to be shut out from the rest of
the world by impassable mountains, whose snowy peaks and pinnacles
rivalled in picturesque beauty, in variety and singularity of form,
the wildest dream of eastern architect. Half down their sides was a
broad horizontal belt of dark-green pines, thrown into strong and
beautiful contrast with the pure white snow of the higher summits and
the rich crimson of the mountain ash which flamed below. Here and
there the mountains had been cleft asunder by some Titanic power,
leaving deep narrow gorges and wild ravines where the sunlight could
hardly penetrate, and the eye was lost in soft purple haze. Imagine
with all this, a warm fragrant atmosphere and a deep blue sky in which
floated a few clouds, too ethereal even to cast shadows, and you will
perhaps have a faint idea of one of the most beautiful landscapes in
all Kamchatka. The Sierra Nevadas may afford views of more savage
wildness, but nowhere in California or Nevada have I ever seen the
distinctive features of both winter and summer--snow and roses, bare
granite and brilliantly coloured foliage--blended into so harmonious
a picture as that presented by the Genal valley on a sunshiny day in
early autumn.
Dodd and I devoted most of our leisure time during the afternoon to
picking and eating berries. Galloping furiously ahead until we
had left the caravan several miles behind, we would lie down in a
particularly luxuriant thicket by the river bank, tie our horses to
our feet, and bask in the sunshine and feast upon yellow honeyed
"moroshkas" (mo-ro'-shkas) and the dark purple globes of delicious
blueberries, until our clothes were stained with crimson spots, and
our faces and hands resembled those of a couple of Comanches painted
for the war-path.
The sun was yet an hour high when we approached the native village of
Genal. We passed a field where men and women were engaged in cutting
hay with rude sickles, returned their stare of amazement with
unruffled serenity, and rode on until the trail suddenly broke off
into a river beyond which stood the village.
Kneeling upon our saddles we succeeded in fording the shallow stream
without getting wet, but in a moment we came to another of about the
same size. We forded that, and were confronted by a third. This we
also passed, but at the appearance of the fourth river the Major
shouted despairingly to Dodd, "Ay! Dodd! How many _pagánni_ rivers do
we have to wade through in getting to this beastly village?" "Only
one," replied Dodd composedly. "One! Then how many times does this
one river run past this one settlement?" "Five times," was the calm
response. "You see," he explained soberly, "these poor Kamchadals
haven't got but one river to fish in, and that isn't a very big one,
so they have made it run past their settlement five times, and by this
ingenious contrivance they catch five times as many salmon as they
would if it only passed once!" The Major was surprised into silence,
and seemed to be considering some abstruse problem. Finally he raised
his eyes from the pommel of his saddle, transfixed the guilty Dodd
with a glance of severe rebuke, and demanded solemnly, "How many times
must a given fish swim past a given settlement, in order to supply the
population with food, provided the fish is caught every time he goes
past?" This _reductio ad absurdum_ was too much for Dodd's gravity;
he burst into a laugh, and digging his heels into his horse's ribs,
dashed with a great splatter into the fourth arm or bend of the river,
and rode up on the other side into the village of Genal.
We took up our quarters at the house of the "starosta" (stah'-ro-stah)
or head man of the village, and spread our bearskins out on the clean
white floor of a low room, papered in a funny way with old copies
of the _Illustrated London News_. A coloured American lithograph,
representing the kiss of reconciliation between two offended lovers,
hung against the wall on one side, and was evidently regarded with
a good deal of pride by the proprietor, as affording incontestable
evidence of culture and refined taste, and proving his familiar
acquaintance with American art, and the manners and customs of
American society.
Dodd and I, notwithstanding our fatigue, devoted the evening entirely
to literary pursuits; searching diligently with tallow candles over
the wall and ceiling for consecutive numbers of the _Illustrated
London News_, reading court gossip from a birch plank in the corner,
and obituaries of distinguished Englishmen from the back of a door. By
dint of industry and perseverance we finished one whole side of the
house before bedtime, and having gained a vast amount of valuable
information with regard to the war in New Zealand, we were encouraged
to pursue our investigations in the morning upon the three remaining
sides and the ceiling. To our great regret, however, we were obliged
to start on our pilgrimage without having time to find out how that
war terminated, and we have never been able to ascertain to this day!
Long before six o'clock we were off with fresh horses for a long ride
of ninety versts to Pushchin (poosh´-chin).
The costumes of our little party had now assumed a very motley and
brigandish appearance, every individual having discarded from time
to time, such articles of his civilised dress as proved to be
inconvenient or uncomfortable, and adopted various picturesque
substitutes, which filled more nearly the requirements of a barbarous
life. Dodd had thrown away his cap, and tied a scarlet and yellow
handkerchief around his head. Viushin had ornamented his hat with a
long streamer of crimson ribbon, which floated gayly in the wind
like a whip-pennant. A blue hunting-shirt and a red Turkish fez had
superseded my uniform coat and cap. We all carried rifles slung
across our backs, and revolvers belted around our waists, and were
transformed generally into as fantastic brigands as ever sallied
forth from the passes of the Apennines to levy blackmail upon unwary
travellers. A timid tourist, meeting us as we galloped furiously
across the plain toward Pushchin would have fallen on his knees and
pulled out his purse without asking any unnecessary questions.
Being well mounted on fresh, spirited horses, the Major, Dodd,
Viushin, and I rode far in advance of the rest of the party throughout
the day. Late in the afternoon, as we were going at a slashing rate
across the level plain known as the Kamchatkan _tundra_, [Footnote: A
treeless expanse carpeted with moss and low berry-bushes.] the Major
suddenly drew his horse violently back on his haunches, wheeled half
round, and shouted, "Medveid! medveid!" and a large black bear rose
silently out of the long grass at his very feet.
The excitement, I can conscientiously affirm, was terrific. Viushin
unslung his double-barrelled fowling-piece, and proceeded to pepper
him with duck-shot; Dodd tugged at his revolver with frantic energy
while his horse ran away with him over the plain; the Major dropped
his bridle, and implored me by all I held sacred not to shoot _him_,
while the horses plunged, kicked, and snorted in the most animated
manner. The only calm and self-possessed individual in the whole party
was the bear! He surveyed the situation coolly for a few seconds, and
then started at an awkward gallop for the woods. In an instant our
party recovered its conjoint presence of mind, and charged with the
most reckless heroism upon his flying footsteps, shouting frantically
to "stop him!" popping away in the most determined and unterrified
manner with four revolvers and a shotgun, and performing prodigies
of valour in the endeavour to capture the ferocious beast, without
getting in his way or coming nearer to him than a hundred yards. All
was in vain. The bear vanished in the forest like a flying shadow;
and, presuming from his known ferocity and vindictiveness that he had
prepared an ambuscade for us in the woods, we deemed it the better
part of valour to abandon the pursuit. Upon comparing notes, we found
that we had all been similarly impressed with his enormous size, his
shagginess, and his generally savage appearance, and had all been
inspired at the same moment with an irresistible inclination to take
him by the throat and rip him open with a bowie-knife, in a manner
so beautifully illustrated by the old geographies. Nothing but the
fractiousness of our horses and the rapidity of his flight had
prevented this desirable consummation. The Major even declared
positively that he had seen the bear a long time before, and only
rode over him "to scare him up," and said almost in the words of the
redoubtable Falstaff, "that if we would do him honour for it, so; if
not, we might scare up the next bear ourselves." Looking at the matter
calmly and dispassionately afterward, I thought it extremely probable
that if another bear did not scare the Major up, he never would go
out of his way to scare up another bear. We felt it to be our duty,
however, to caution him against imperilling the success of our
expedition by such reckless exploits in the way of scaring up wild
beasts.
Long before we reached Pushchin it grew dark; but our tired horses
freshened up after sunset, with the cool evening air, and about eight
o'clock we heard the distant howling of dogs, which we had already
come to associate with hot tea, rest, and sleep. In twenty minutes we
were lying comfortably on our bearskins in a Kamchadal house.
We had made sixty miles since daybreak; but the road had been good.
We were becoming more accustomed to horseback riding, and were by
no means so tired as we had been at Malqua. Only thirty versts now
intervened between us and the head-waters of the Kamchatka River,
where we were to abandon our horses and float down two hundred and
fifty miles on rafts or in native canoes.
A sharp trot of four hours over a level plain brought us on the
following morning to Sherom (sheh-rome´), where rafts had already been
prepared for our use.
It was with no little regret that I ended for the present my horseback
travel. The life suited me in every respect, and I could not recall
any previous journey which had ever afforded me more pure, healthful
enjoyment, or seemed more like a delightful pleasure excursion than
this. All Siberia, however, lay before us; and our regret at
leaving scenes which we should never again revisit was relieved by
anticipations of future adventures equally novel, and prospective
scenery grander even than anything which we had yet witnessed.