CANOE TRAVEL ON THE YOLOFKA--VOLCANIC CONVERSATION--"O
SUSANNA!"--TALKING "AMERICAN"--A DIFFICULT ASCENT
There was a great variety in the different methods of transportation
which we were compelled to adopt in our journey through Kamchatka; and
to this fact was attributable perhaps, in a great degree, the sense
of novelty and freshness which during our three months' travel in
the peninsula never entirely wore off. We experienced in turn the
pleasures and discomforts of whale-boats, horses, rafts, canoes,
dog-sledges, reindeer-sledges, and snow-shoes; and no sooner did we
begin to tire of the pleasures and ascertain the discomforts of one,
than we were introduced to another.
At Kluchei we abandoned our rafts, and took Kamchadal log canoes,
which could be propelled more easily against the rapid current of
the Yolofka River, which we had now to ascend. The most noticeable
peculiarity of this species of craft, and a remarkable one it is, is a
decided and chronic inclination to turn its bottom side upward and its
upper side bottomward without the slightest apparent provocation.
I was informed by a reliable authority that a boat capsized on the
Kamchatka, just previous to our arrival, through the carelessness of a
Kamchadal in allowing a jack-knife to remain in his right-hand pocket
without putting something of a corresponding weight into the other;
and that the Kamchadal fashion of parting the hair in the middle
originated in attempts to preserve personal equilibrium while
navigating these canoes. I should have been somewhat inclined to doubt
these remarkable and not altogether new stories, were it not for the
reliability and unimpeachable veracity of my informant, Mr. Dodd. The
seriousness of the subject is a sufficient guarantee that he would not
trifle with my feelings by making it the pretext for a joke.
We indulged ourselves on Saturday morning in a much later sleep than
was consistent with our duty, and it was almost eight o'clock before
we went down to the beach.
Upon first sight of the frail canoes, to which our destinies and
the interests of the Russian-American Telegraph Company were to
be intrusted, there was a very general expression of surprise and
dissatisfaction. One of our party, with the rapid _à priori_ reasoning
for which he was distinguished, came at once to the conclusion that a
watery death would be the inevitable termination of a voyage made in
such vessels, and he evinced a very marked disinclination to embark.
It is related of a great warrior, whose _Commentaries_ were the
detestation of my early life, that during a very stormy passage of the
Ionian Sea he cheered up his sailors with the sublimely egotistical
assurance that they carried "Caesar and his fortunes"; and that,
consequently, nothing disastrous could possibly happen to them. The
Kamchatkan Caesar, however, on this occasion seemed to distrust his
own fortunes, and the attempts at consolation came from the opposite
quarter. His boatman did not tell him, "Cheer up, Caesar, a Kamchadal
and his fortunes are carrying you," but he _did_ assure him that he
had navigated the river for several years, and had "never been drowned
_once_." What more could Caesar ask!--After some demur we all took
seats upon bearskins in the bottoms of the canoes, and pushed off.
All other features of natural scenery in the vicinity of Kluchei sink
into subordination to the grand central figure of the Kluchefskoi
volcano, the monarch of Siberian mountains, whose sharp summit, with
its motionless streamer of golden smoke, can be seen anywhere within a
radius of a hundred miles. All other neighbouring beauties of scenery
are merely tributary to this, and are valued only according to their
capability of relieving and setting forth this magnificent peak, whose
colossal dimensions rise in one unbroken sweep of snow from the grassy
valleys of the Kamchatka and Yolofka, which terminate at its base.
"Heir of the sunset and herald of morning," its lofty crater is
suffused with a roseate blush long before the morning mists and
darkness are out of the valleys, and long after the sun has set behind
the purple mountains of Tigil. At all times, under all circumstances,
and in all its ever-varying moods, it is the most beautiful mountain I
have ever seen. Now it lies bathed in the warm sunshine of an Indian
summer's day, with a few fleecy clouds resting at the snow-line and
dappling its sides with purple shadows; then it envelops itself in
dense volumes of black volcanic smoke, and thunders out a hoarse
warning to the villages at its feet; and finally, toward evening, it
gathers a mantle of grey mists around its summit, and rolls them
in convulsed masses down its sides, until it stands in the clear
atmosphere a colossal pillar of cloud, sixteen thousand feet in
height, resting upon fifty square miles of shaggy pine forest.
You think nothing can be more beautiful than the delicate tender
colour, like that of a wild-rose leaf, which tinges its snows as the
sun sinks in a swirl of red vapours in the west; but "visit it by the
pale moonlight," when its hood of mist is edged with silver, when
black shadows gather in its deep ravines and white misty lights gleam
from its snowy pinnacles, when the host of starry constellations seems
to circle around its lofty peak, and the tangled silver chain of the
Pleiades to hang upon one of its rocky spires--then say, if you can,
that it is more beautiful by daylight.
We entered the Yolofka about noon. This river empties into the
Kamchatka from the north, twelve versts above Kluchei. Its shores are
generally low and marshy, and thickly overgrown with rushes and reedy
grass, which furnish cover for thousands of ducks, geese, and wild
swans. We reached, before night, a native village called Harchina
(har'-chin-ah) and sent at once for a celebrated Russian guide by the
name of Nicolai Bragan (nick-o-lai' brag'-on) whom we hoped to induce
to accompany us across the mountains.
From Bragan we learned that there had been a heavy fall of snow on
the mountains during the previous week; but he thought that the warm
weather of the last three or four days had probably melted most of it
away, and that the trail would be at least passable. He was willing
at all events to try to take us across. Relieved of a good deal of
anxiety, we left Harchina early on the morning of the 17th, and
resumed our ascent of the river. On account of the rapidity of the
current in the main stream, we turned aside into one of the many
"protoks" (pro-tokes') or arms into which the river was here divided,
and poled slowly up for four hours. The channel was very winding and
narrow, so that one could touch with a paddle the bank on either
side, and in many places the birches and willows met over the stream,
dropping yellow leaves upon our heads as we passed underneath. Here
and there long scraggy tree-trunks hung over the bank into the water,
logs green with moss thrust their ends up from the depths of the
stream, and more than once we seemed about to come to a stop in the
midst of an impassable swamp. Nicolai Alexandrovich, our guide, whose
canoe preceded ours, sang for our entertainment some of the monotonous
melancholy songs of the Kamchadals, and Dodd and I in turn made
the woods ring with the enlivening strains of "Kingdom Coming" and
"Upidee." When we tired of music we made an amicable adjustment of our
respective legs in the narrow canoe, and lying back upon our bearskins
slept soundly, undisturbed by the splash of the water and the scraping
of poles at our very ears. We camped that night on a high sandy beach
over the water, ten or twelve miles south of Yolofka.
It was a warm still evening, and as we all sat on our bearskins around
the camp-fire, smoking and talking over the day's adventures, our
attention was suddenly attracted by a low rumbling, like distant
thunder, accompanied by occasional explosions. "What's that?" demanded
the Major quickly. "That," said Nicolai soberly, as he emptied his
lungs of smoke, "is the Kluchefskoi volcano talking to the peak of
Suveilich" (soo-veil'-itch). "Nothing private in the conversation, I
suppose," observed Dodd dryly; "he shouts it out loud enough."
The reverberations continued for several minutes, but the peak of
Suveilich made no response. That unfortunate mountain had recklessly
expended its volcanic energies in early life, and was now left without
a voice to answer the thundering shouts of its mighty comrade. There
was a time when volcanoes were as numerous in Kamchatka as knights
around the table of King Arthur, and the peninsula trembled to the
thunder of their shoutings and midnight jollity; but one after
another they had been suffocated with the fiery streams of their own
eloquence, until at last Kluchefskoi was left alone, calling to its
old companions throughout the silent hours of long winter nights, but
hearing no response save the faint far-away echoes of its own mighty
voice.
I was waked early on the following morning by the jubilant music of
"Oh, Su-_san'_-na-a-a, don't ye cry for me!" and crawling out of the
tent I surprised one of our native boatmen in the very act of drumming
on a frying-pan and yelling out joyously:
"Litenin' struck de telegraf,
Killed two thousand niggers;
Shut my eyes to hole my breff,
Su-_san'_-na-a-a, don't ye cry!"
A comical skin-clad native, in the heart of Kamchatka, playing on a
frying-pan and singing, "Oh, Susanna!" like an arctic negro minstrel,
was too much for my gravity, and I burst into a fit of laughter,
which, soon brought out Dodd. The musician, who had supposed that he
was exercising his vocal organs unheard, stopped suddenly, and looked
sheepishly around, as if conscious that he had been making himself
ridiculous in some way, but did not know exactly how.
"Why, Andrei," said Dodd, "I didn't know you could sing in English."
"I can't, Barin," was the reply; "but I can sing a little in
_American_."
Dodd and I went off in another roar of laughter, which puzzled poor
Andrei more and more.
"Where did you learn?" Dodd asked.
"The sailors of a whaling-ship learned it to me when I was in
Petropavlovsk, two years ago; isn't it a good song?" he said,
evidently fearing that there might be something improper in the
sentiment.
"It's a capital song," Dodd replied reassuringly; "do you know any
more American words?"
"Oh yes, your honour!" (proudly) "I know 'dam yerize,' 'by 'm bye
tomorry,' 'no savey John,' and 'goaty hell,' but I don't know what
they all mean."
It was evident that he didn't! His American education was of limited
extent and doubtful utility; but not even Cardinal Mezzofanti himself
could have been more proud of his forty languages than poor Andrei
was of "dam yerize" and "goaty hell." If ever he reached America, the
blessed land that he saw in his happier dreams, these questionable
phrases would be his passports to the first society.
While we had been talking with Andrei, Viushin had built a fire and
prepared breakfast, and just as the sun peered into the valley we sat
down on bearskins around our little candle-box and ate some "selánka,"
or sour soup, upon which Viushin particularly prided himself, and
drank tumbler after tumbler of steaming tea. _Selánka_, hardtack, and
tea, with an occasional duck roasted before the fire on a sharp stick,
made up our bill of fare while camping out. Only in the settlements
did we enjoy such luxuries as milk, butter, fresh bread, preserved
rose-petals, and fish pies.
Taking our places again in the canoes after breakfast, we poled on
up the river, shooting occasionally at flying ducks and swans, and
picking as we passed long branches full of wild cherries which drooped
low over the water. About noon we left the canoes to go around a
long bend in the river, and started on foot with a native guide for
Yolofka. The grass in the river bottom and on the plains was much
higher than our waists, and walking through it was very fatiguing
exercise; but we succeeded in reaching the village about one o'clock,
long before our canoes came in sight.
Yolofka, a small Kamchadal settlement of half a dozen houses, is
situated among the foot-hills of the great central Kamchatkan range,
immediately below the pass which bears its name, and on the direct
route to Tigil and the west coast. It is the head of canoe navigation
on the Yolofka River, and the starting-point for parties intending to
cross the mountains. Anticipating difficulty in getting horses enough
for our use at this small village, the Major had sent eight or ten
overland from Kluchei, and we found them there awaiting our arrival.
Nearly the whole afternoon was spent in packing the horses and getting
ready for a start, and we camped for the night beside a cold mountain
spring only a few versts away from the Village. The weather, hitherto,
had been clear and warm, but it clouded up during the night, and we
began the ascent of the mountains Tuesday morning the 19th, in a
cold, driving rain-storm from the north-west. The road, if a wretched
foot-path ten inches wide can be said in any metaphorical sense to
_be_ a road, was simply execrable. It followed the track of a swollen
mountain torrent, which had its rise in the melting snows of the
summit, and tumbled in roaring cascades down a narrow, dark,
precipitous ravine. The path ran along the edge of this stream, first
on one side, then on the other, and then in the water, around enormous
masses of volcanic rock, over steep lava slopes, where the water ran
like a mill-race through dense entangling thickets of trailing pine,
into ragged heaps of fallen tree-trunks, and along narrow ledges of
rock where it would be thought that a mountain sheep could hardly
pass. I would guarantee, with twenty men, to hold that ravine against
the combined armies of Europe! Our packhorses rolled down steep banks
into the stream, tore their loads off against tree-trunks, stumbled,
cut their legs in falling over broken volcanic rocks, took flying
leaps across narrow chasms of roaring water, and performed feats which
would have been utterly beyond the strength and endurance of any but
Kamchatkan horses. Finally, in attempting to leap a distance of eight
or ten feet across the torrent, I was thrown violently from the
saddle, and my left foot caught firmly, just above the instep, in the
small iron stirrup. The horse scrambled up the other side and started
at a frightened gallop up the ravine, dragging my body over the ground
by one leg. I remember making a desperate effort to protect my head,
by raising myself upon my elbows, but the horse kicked me suddenly in
the side, and I knew nothing more until I found myself lying upon the
ground with my foot still entangled in the broken stirrup, while the
horse galloped away up the ravine. The giving way of a single strap
had saved my skull from being crushed like an egg-shell against the
jagged rocks. I was badly bruised and very faint and dizzy, but no
bones seemed to be broken, and I got up without assistance. Thus far
the Major had kept his quick temper under strong control; but this was
too much, and he hurled the most furious invectives at poor Nicolai
for leading us over the mountains by such a horrible pass, and
threatened him with the direst punishment when we should reach Tigil.
It was of no use for Nicolai to urge in self-defence that there _was_
no other pass; it was his business to _find_ another, and not imperil
men's lives by leading them into a God-forsaken ravine like this,
choked up with landslides, fallen trees, water, lava, and masses of
volcanic rock! If anything happened to any member of our party in this
cursed gorge, the Major swore he would shoot Nicolai on the spot! Pale
and trembling with fright, the poor guide caught my horse, mended my
stirrup strap, and started on ahead to show that he was not afraid to
go where he asked us to follow.
I believe we must have jumped our horses across that mountain torrent
fifty times in an ascent of 2000 feet, to avoid the rocks and
landslides which appeared first on one side and then on the other.
One of our packhorses had given out entirely, and several others were
nearly disabled, when, late in the afternoon, we finally reached the
summit of the mountains, 4000 feet above the sea. Before us, half
hidden by grey storm-clouds and driving mist, lay a great expanse of
level table-land, covered to a depth of eighteen inches with a soft
dense cushion of arctic moss, and holding water like an enormous
sponge. Not a tree nor a landmark of any kind could be seen--nothing
but moss and flying scud. A cold piercing wind from the north swept
chilly storm-clouds across the desolate mountain top, and drove tiny
particles of half-frozen rain into our faces with blinding, stinging
force. Drenched to the skin by eight or nine hours' exposure to the
storm, tired and weak from long climbing, with boots full of icy
water, and hands numb and stiff from cold, we stopped for a moment
to rest our horses and decide upon our course. Brandy was dealt out
freely to all our men in the cover of a tin pail, but its stimulating
influence was so counteracted by cold that it was hardly perceptible.
The poor _starosta_ of Yolofka, with dripping clothes, blue lips,
chattering teeth, and black hair plastered over his white cheeks,
seemed upon the point of giving out. He caught eagerly at the
pail-cover full of brandy which the Major handed to him, but every
limb was shaking spasmodically, and he spilled most of it in getting
it to his mouth.
Fearing that darkness would overtake us before we could reach shelter,
we started on toward a deserted, half-ruined "yurt" (yoort) [Footnote:
A Mongolian name for a portable or permanent house-like shelter, made
of logs, skins, or felt.] which Nicolai said stood near the western
edge of this elevated plateau, about eight versts distant. Our horses
sank to the knee at every step in the soft, spongy cushion of wet
moss, so that we could travel no faster than a slow walk, and the
short distance of eight versts seemed to be interminable. After four
more dreary hours, spent in wandering about through grey drifting
clouds, exposed to a bitter north-west wind, and a temperature of just
32°, we finally arrived in a half-frozen condition at the _yurt_. It
was a low, empty hut, nearly square in shape, built of variously sized
logs, and banked over with two or three feet of moss and grass-grown
earth, so as to resemble an outdoor cellar. Half of one side had been
torn down by storm-besieged travellers for firewood; its earthen floor
was dank and wet with slimy tricklings from its leaky roof; the wind
and rain drove with a mournful howl down through its chimney-hole;
its door was gone, and it presented altogether a dismal picture of
neglected dilapidation. Nothing daunted, Viushin tore down another
section of the ruined side to make a fire, hung over teakettles, and
brought our provision boxes under such shelter as the miserable hut
afforded. I never could ascertain where Viushin obtained the water
that night for our tea, as there was no available stream within ten
miles, and the drippings of the roof were thick and discoloured with
mud. I have more than a suspicion, however, that he squeezed it out
of bunches of moss which he tore up from the soaking _tundra_
(toon'-drah). Dodd and I took off our boots, poured about a pint of
muddy water out of each, dried our feet, and, as the steam rose in
clouds from our wet clothes, began to feel quite comfortable.
Viushin was in high good humour. He had voluntarily assumed the whole
charge of our drivers during the day, had distinguished himself by
most unwearied efforts in raising fallen horses, getting them over
breakneck places, and cheering up the disconsolate Kamchadals, and
he now wrung the water out of his shirt, and squeezed his wet hair
absent-mindedly into a kettle of soup, with a countenance of such
beaming serenity and a laugh of such hearty good-nature that it was
of no use for anybody to pretend to be cross, tired, cold, or hungry.
With that sunny face irradiating the smoky atmosphere of the ruined
_yurt_, and that laugh ringing joyously in our ears, we made fun of
our misery and persuaded ourselves that we were having a good time.
After a scanty supper of _selánka_, dried fish, hardtack, and tea,
we stretched our tired bodies out in the shallowest puddles we could
find, covered ourselves with blankets, overcoats, oilcloths, and
bearskins, and succeeded, in spite of our wet clothes and wetter beds,
in getting to sleep.
[Illustration: Horn Spoon]
[Illustration: Drinking Vessel made of horn]