THE KAMCHATKA RIVER--LIFE ON A CANOE RAFT--RECEPTION AT
MILKOVA--MISTAKEN FOR THE TSAR
To a person of an indolent disposition there is something particularly
pleasant in floating in a boat down a river. One has all the
advantages of variety, and change of incident and scenery, without any
exertion; all the lazy pleasures--for such they must be called--of
boat life, without any of the monotony which makes a long sea voyage
so unendurable. I think it was Gray who said that his idea of paradise
was "To lie on a sofa and read eternally new romances of Marivaux and
Crebillon." Could the author of the "Elegy" have stretched himself out
on the open deck of a Kamchadal boat, covered to a depth of six inches
with fragrant flowers and freshly cut hay; could he have floated
slowly down a broad, tranquil river through ranges of snow-clad
mountains, past forests glowing with yellow and crimson, and vast
steppes waving with tall, wild grass; could he have watched the
full moon rise over the lonely, snowy peak of the Kluchefskoi
(kloo'-chef-skoi') volcano, bridging the river with a narrow trail
of quivering light, and have listened to the plash of the boatman's
paddles, and the low melancholy song to which they kept time--he would
have thrown Marivaux and Crebillon overboard, and have given a better
example of the pleasures of paradise.
I know that I am laying myself open to the charge of exaggeration by
thus praising Kamchatkan scenery, and that my enthusiasm will perhaps
elicit a smile of amusement from the more experienced traveller who
has seen Italy and the Alps; still, I am describing things as they
appeared to me, and do not assert that the impressions they made were
those that should or would have been made upon a man of more extensive
experience and wider observation. To use the words of a Spanish
writer, which I have somewhere read, "The man who has never seen the
glory of the sun cannot be blamed for thinking that there is no glory
like that of the moon; nor he who has never seen the moon, for talking
of the unrivalled brightness of the morning star." Had I ever sailed
down the Rhine, climbed the Matterhorn, or seen the moon rise over
the Bay of Naples, I should have taken perhaps a juster and less
enthusiastic view of Kamchatka; but, compared with anything that I had
previously seen or imagined, the mountain landscapes of southern and
central Kamchatka were superb.
At Sherom, thanks to the courier who had preceded us, we found a boat,
or Kamchatkan raft, ready for our reception. It was composed of three
large dugout canoes placed parallel to one another at distances of
about three feet, and lashed with sealskin thongs to stout transverse
poles. Over these was laid a floor or platform about ten feet by
twelve, leaving room at the bow and stern of each canoe for men with
paddles who were to guide and propel the unwieldy craft in some
unknown, but, doubtless, satisfactory manner. On the platform, which
was covered to a depth of six inches with freshly cut grass, we
pitched our little cotton tent, and transformed it with bearskins,
blankets, and pillows into a very cosy substitute for a stateroom.
Rifles and revolvers were unstrapped from our tired bodies, and hung
up against the tent poles; heavy riding boots were unceremoniously
kicked off, and replaced by soft buckskin _torbasses_ [Footnote:
Moccasin boots.]; saddles were stored away in convenient nooks for
future use; and all our things disposed with a view to the enjoyment
of as much luxury as was compatible with our situation.
After a couple of hours' rest, during which our heavy baggage was
transferred to another similar raft, we walked down to the sandy
beach, bade good-bye to the crowd which had assembled to see us off,
and swung slowly out into the current, the Kamchadals on the shore
waving hats and handkerchiefs until a bend in the river hid them from
sight. The scenery of the upper Kamchatka for the first twenty miles
was comparatively tame and uninteresting, as the mountains were
entirely concealed by a dense forest of pine, birch, and larch,
which extended down to the water's edge. It was sufficient pleasure,
however, at first, to lie back in the tent upon our soft bearskins,
watching the brilliantly coloured and ever varying foliage of the
banks, to sweep swiftly but silently around abrupt bends into long
vistas of still water, startling the great Kamchatkan eagle from
his lonely perch on some jutting rock, and frightening up clouds of
clamorous waterfowl, which flew in long lines down the river until out
of sight. The navigation of the upper Kamchatka is somewhat intricate
and dangerous at night, on account of the rapidity of the current and
the frequency of snags; and as soon as it grew dark our native boatmen
considered it unsafe to go on. We accordingly beached our rafts and
went ashore to wait for moonrise.
A little semicircle was cut in the thick underbrush at the edge of the
beach, fires were built, kettles of potatoes and fish hung over to
boil, and we all gathered around the cheerful blaze to smoke, talk,
and sing American songs until supper time. The scene to civilised eyes
was strangely wild and picturesque. The dark, lonely river gurgling
mournfully around sunken trees in its channel; the dense primeval
forest whispering softly to the passing wind its amazement at this
invasion of its solitude; the huge flaming camp-fire throwing a
red lurid glare over the still water, and lighting up weirdly the
encircling woods; and the groups of strangely dressed men lounging
carelessly about the blaze upon shaggy bearskins--all made up a
picture worthy of the pencil of Rembrandt.
After supper we amused ourselves by building an immense bonfire of
driftwood on the beach, and hurling blazing firebrands at the leaping
salmon as they passed up the river, and the frightened ducks which had
been roused from sleep by the unusual noise and light. When nothing
remained of our bonfire but a heap of glowing embers, we spread our
bearskins upon the soft, yielding sand by the water's edge, and lay
staring up at the twinkling stars until consciousness faded away into
dreams, and dreams into utter oblivion.
I was waked about midnight by the splashing of rain in my face and the
sobbing of the rising wind in the tree-tops, and upon crawling out of
my water-soaked blankets found that Dodd and the Major had brought the
tent ashore, pitched it among the trees, and availed themselves of
its shelter, but had treacherously left me exposed to a pelting
rain-storm, as if it were a matter of no consequence whatever whether
I slept in a tent or a mud-puddle! After mentally debating the
question whether I had better go inside or revenge myself by pulling
the tent down over their heads, I finally decided to escape from the
rain first and seek revenge at some more propitious time. Hardly had
I fallen asleep again when "spat" came the wet canvas across my face,
accompanied by a shout of "Get up! it is time to start"; and crawling
out from under the fallen tent I walked sullenly down to the raft,
revolving in my mind various ingenious schemes for getting even with
the Major and Dodd, who had first left me out in the rain, and then
waked me up in the middle of the night by pulling a wet tent down
over my head. It was one o'clock in the morning--dark, rainy, and
dismal--but the moon was supposed to have risen, and our Kamchadal
boatmen said that it was light enough to start. I didn't believe that
it was, but my sleepily expressed opinions had no weight with the
Major, and my protests were utterly ignored. Hoping in the bitterness
of my heart that we _should_ run against a snag, I lay down sullenly
in the rain on the wet soaking grass of our raft, and tried to forget
my misery in sleep. On account of the contrary wind we could not put
up our tent, and were obliged to cover ourselves as best we could with
oilcloth blankets and shiver away the remainder of the night.
About an hour after daylight we approached the Kamchadal settlement of
Milkova (mil'-ko-vah), the largest native village in the peninsula.
The rain had ceased, and the clouds were beginning to break away, but
the air was still cold and raw. A courier, who had been sent down in a
canoe from Sherom on the previous day, had notified the inhabitants of
our near approach, and the signal gun which we fired as we came round
the last bend of the river brought nearly the whole population running
helter-skelter to the beach. Our reception was "a perfect ovation."
The "city fathers," as Dodd styled them, to the number of twenty,
gathered in a body at the landing and began bowing, taking off their
hats, and shouting "Zdrastvuitie?" [Footnote: How do you do?] while we
were yet fifty yards from the shore; a salute was fired from a dozen
rusty flint-lock muskets, to the imminent hazard of our lives; and
a dozen natives waded into the water to assist us in getting safely
landed. The village stood a short distance back from the river's bank,
and the natives had provided for our transportation thither four
of the worst-looking horses that I had seen in Kamchatka. Their
equipments consisted of wooden saddles, modelled after the gables of
an angular house; stirrups about twelve inches in length, patched up
from discarded remnants of sealskin thongs; cruppers of bearskin,
and halters of walrus hide twisted around the animals' noses. The
excitement which prevailed when we proceeded to mount was unparalleled
I believe in the annals of that quiet settlement. I don't know how the
Major succeeded in getting upon his horse, but I do know that a
dozen long-haired Kamchadals seized Dodd and me, regardless of our
remonstrances, hauled us this way and that until the struggle to get
hold of some part of our unfortunate persons resembled the fight over
the dead body of Patroclus, and finally hoisted us triumphantly into
our saddles in a breathless and exhausted condition. One more such
hospitable reception would forever have incapacitated us for the
service of the Russian American Telegraph Company! I had only time to
cast a hurried glance back at the Major. He looked like a frightened
landsman straddling the end of a studdingsail-boom run out to leeward
on a fast clipper, and his face was screwed up into an expression of
mingled pain, amusement, and astonishment, which evidently did not
begin to do justice to his conflicting emotions. I had no opportunity
of expressing my sympathetic participation in his sufferings; for
an excited native seized the halter of my horse, three more with
reverently bared heads fell in on each side, and I was led away in
triumph to some unknown destination! The inexpressible absurdity of
our appearance did not strike me with its full force until I looked
behind me just before we reached the village. There were the Major,
Viushin, and Dodd, perched upon gaunt Kamchadal horses, with their
knees and chins on nearly the same level, half a dozen natives in
eccentric costumes straggling along by their sides at a dog-trot, and
a large procession of bareheaded men and boys solemnly bringing up
the rear, punching the horses with sharp sticks into a temporary
manifestation of life and spirit. It reminded me faintly of a Roman
triumph--the Major, Dodd, and I being the victorious heroes, and the
Kamchadals the captives, whom we had compelled to go _sub jugum_,
and who now graced our triumphal entry into the Seven-hilled City. I
mentioned this fancy of mine to Dodd, but he declared that one would
have had to do violence to his imagination to make "victorious heroes"
out of us on that occasion, and suggested "heroic victims" as equally
poetical and more in accordance with the facts. His severely practical
mind objected to any such fanciful idealisation of our misery. The
excitement increased rather than diminished as we entered the
village. Our motley escort gesticulated, ran to and fro, and shouted
unintelligible orders in the most frantic manner; heads appeared and
disappeared with startling kaleidoscopic abruptness at the windows
of the houses; and three hundred dogs contributed to the general
confusion by breaking out into an infernal canine peace jubilee which
fairly made the air quiver with sound. At last we stopped in front of
a large one-story log house, and were assisted by twelve or fifteen
natives to dismount and enter. As soon as Dodd could collect his
confused faculties he demanded: "What in the name of all the Russian
saints is the matter with this settlement; is everybody insane?"
Viushin was ordered to send for the _starosta_, or head man of the
village, and in a few moments he made his appearance, bowing with the
impressive persistency of a Chinese mandarin.
A prolonged colloquy then took place in Russian between the Major and
the _starosta_, broken by explanatory commentaries in the Kamchadal
language, which did not tend materially to elucidate the subject. An
evident and increasing disposition to smile gradually softened the
stern lines of the Major's face, until at last he burst into a laugh
of such infectious hilarity that, notwithstanding my ignorance of the
nature of the fun, I joined in with hearty sympathy. As soon as he
partially recovered his composure he gasped out, "The natives took you
for the Emperor!"--and then he went off in another spasm of merriment
which threatened to terminate either in suffocation or apoplexy.
Lost in bewilderment I could only smile feebly until he recovered
sufficiently to give me a more intelligible explanation of his mirth.
It appeared that the courier who had been sent from Petropavlovsk
to apprise the natives throughout the peninsula of our coming, had
carried a letter from the Russian governor giving the names and
occupations of the members of our party, and that mine had been put
down as "Yagor Kennan, Telegraphist and _Operator_." It so happened
that the _starosta_ of Milkova possessed the rare accomplishment of
knowing how to read Russian writing, and the letter had been handed
over to him to be communicated to the inhabitants of the village. He
had puzzled over the unknown word "telegraphist" until his mind was in
a hopeless state of bewilderment, but had not been able to give even
the wildest conjecture as to its probable meaning. "_Operator_,"
however, had a more familiar sound; it was not spelled exactly in the
way to which he had been accustomed, but it was evidently intended
for "Imperator," the Emperor!--and with his heart throbbing with the
excitement of this startling discovery and his hair standing on end
from the arduous nature of his exegetical labours, he rushed furiously
out to spread the news that the Tsar of all the Russias was on a visit
to Kamchatka and would pass through Milkova in the course of three
days! The excitement which this alarming announcement created can
better be imagined than described. The all-absorbing topic of
conversation was, how could Milkova best show its loyalty and
admiration for the Head of the Imperial Family, the Right Arm of the
Holy Orthodox Church, and the Mighty Monarch of seventy millions of
devoted souls? Kamchadal ingenuity gave it up in despair! What could a
poor Kamchatkan village do for the entertainment of its august master?
When the first excitement passed away, the _starosta_ was questioned
closely as to the nature of the letter which had brought this news,
and was finally compelled to admit that it did not say distinctly,
"Alexander Nikolaivitch, _Imperator_," but "Yagor" something
"_Operator,_" which he contended was substantially the same thing,
because if it didn't mean the Emperor himself it meant one of his
most intimate relations, who was entitled to equal honour and must be
treated with equal reverence. The courier had already gone, and had
said nothing about the rank of the travellers whom he heralded, except
that they had arrived at Petropavlovsk in a ship, wore gorgeous
uniforms of blue and gold, and were being entertained by the governor
and the captain of the port. Public opinion finally settled down into
the conviction that "_Op_-erator", etymologically considered, was
first cousin to "_Im_-perator," and that it must mean some dignitary
of high rank connected with the imperial family. With this impression
they had received us when we arrived, and had, poor fellows, done
their very best to show us proper honour and respect. It had been a
severe ordeal to us, but it had proved in the most unmistakable manner
the loyalty of the Kamchadal inhabitants of Milkova to the reigning
family of Russia.
The Major explained to the _starosta_ our real rank and occupation,
but it did not seem to make any difference whatever in the cordial
hospitality of our reception. We were treated to the very best that
the village afforded, and were stared at with a curiosity which showed
that travellers through Milkova had hitherto been few and far between.
After eating bread and reindeer meat and tasting experimentally
various curiously compounded native dishes, we returned in state to
the landing-place, accompanied by another procession, received a
salute of fifteen guns, and resumed our voyage down the river.
[Illustration: War and Hunting Knives.]
[Illustration: Snowbeaters used for beating snow from the clothing.]