THE SNOW-DRIFT COMPASS--MARRIAGE BY CAPTURE--AN INTOXICATING
FUNGUS--MONOTONY OF KORAK LIFE
On the following morning at daybreak we continued our journey, and
rode until four hours after dark, over a boundless level steppe,
without a single guiding landmark to point the way. I was surprised
to see how accurately our drivers could determine the points of the
compass and shape their course by simply looking at the snow. The
heavy north-east winds which prevail in this locality throughout the
winter sweep the snow into long wave-like ridges called _sastrugi_
(sas-troo'-gee), which are always perpendicular to the course of the
wind, and which almost invariably run in a north-west and south-east
direction. They are sometimes hidden for a few days by fresh-fallen
snow; but an experienced Korak can always tell by removing the upper
layer which way is north, and he travels to his destination by night
or day in a nearly straight line.
We reached the third encampment about six o'clock, and upon entering
the largest tent were surprised to find it crowded with natives, as if
in expectation of some ceremony or entertainment. Inquiry through
our interpreter elicited the interesting fact that the ceremony of
marriage was about to be performed for, or rather by, two members
of the band; and instead of taking up our quarters, as we at first
intended, in another less crowded tent, we determined to remain
and see in what manner this rite would be solemnised by a wholly
uncivilised and barbarous people.
The marriage ceremony of the Koraks is especially remarkable for its
entire originality, and for the indifference which it manifests to the
sensibilities of the bridegroom. In no other country does there
exist such a curious mixture of sense and absurdity as that which is
dignified in the social life of the Koraks with the name of marriage;
and among no other people, let us charitably hope, is the unfortunate
bridegroom subjected to such humiliating indignities. The
contemplation of marriage is, or ought to be, a very serious thing
to every young man; but to a Korak of average sensibility it must be
absolutely appalling. No other proof of bravery need ever be exhibited
than a certificate of marriage (if the Koraks have such documents),
and the bravery rises into positive heroism when a man marries two or
three times. I once knew a Korak in Kamchatka who had four wives, and
I felt as much respect for his heroic bravery as if he had charged
with the Six Hundred at Balaklava.
The ceremony, I believe, has never been described; and inadequate as a
description may be to convey an idea of the reality, it will perhaps
enable American lovers to realise what a calamity they escaped when
they were born in America and not in Kamchatka. The young Korak's
troubles begin when he first falls in love; this, like Achilles'
wrath, is "the direful spring of woes unnumbered." If his intentions
are serious, he calls upon the damsel's father and makes formal
proposals for her hand, ascertains the amount of her dower in
reindeer, and learns her estimated value. He is probably told that he
must work for his wife two or three years--a rather severe trial of
any young man's affection. He then seeks an interview with the young
lady herself, and performs the agreeable or disagreeable duty
which corresponds in Korak to the civilised custom of "popping the
question." We had hoped to get some valuable hints from the Koraks as
to the best method which their experience suggested for the successful
accomplishment of this delicate task; but we could learn nothing that
would be applicable to the more artificial relations of civilised
society. If the young man's sentiments are reciprocated, and he
obtains a positive promise of marriage, he goes cheerfully to work,
like Ferdinand in _The Tempest_ for Miranda's father, and spends two
or three years in cutting and drawing wood, watching reindeer,
making sledges, and contributing generally to the interests of his
prospective father-in-law. At the end of this probationary period
comes the grand "experimentum crucis," which is to decide his fate and
prove the success or the uselessness of his long labour.
At this interesting crisis we had surprised our Korak friends in the
third encampment. The tent which we had entered was an unusually large
one, containing twenty-six _pologs_, arranged in a continuous circle
around its inner circumference. The open space in the centre around
the fire was crowded with the dusky faces and half-shaven heads of the
Korak spectators, whose attention seemed about equally divided between
sundry kettles and troughs of _manyalla_, boiled venison, marrow,
frozen tallow, and similar delicacies, and the discussion of some
controverted point of marriage etiquette. Owing to my ignorance of the
language, I was not able to enter thoroughly into the merits of the
disputed question; but it seemed to be ably argued on both sides.
Our sudden entrance seemed to create a temporary diversion from
the legitimate business of the evening. The tattooed women and
shaven-headed men stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the
pale-faced guests who had come unbidden to the marriage-feast, having
on no wedding garments. Our faces were undeniably dirty, our blue
hunting-shirts and buckskin trousers bore the marks of two months'
rough travel, in numerous rips, tears, and tatters, which were only
partially masked by a thick covering of reindeer hair from our fur
_kukhlánkas._ Our general appearance, in fact, suggested a more
intimate acquaintance with dirty _yurts_, mountain thickets, and
Siberian storms, than with the civilising influences of soap, water,
razors, and needles. We bore the curious scrutiny of the assemblage,
however, with the indifference of men who were used to it, and
sipped our hot tea while waiting for the ceremony to begin. I looked
curiously around to see if I could distinguish the happy candidates
for matrimonial honours; but they were evidently concealed in one of
the closed _pologs_. The eating and drinking seemed by this time to be
about finished, and an air of expectation and suspense pervaded the
entire crowd. Suddenly we were startled by the loud and regular
beating of a native _barabán_ or bass drum, which fairly filled the
tent with a great volume of sound. At the same instant the tent opened
to permit the passage of a tall, stern-looking Korak, with an
armful of willow sprouts and alder branches, which he proceeded
[Illustration: DRAWINGS OF THE KORAKS. ILLUSTRATIVE OF THEIR MYTHS.]
to distribute in all the _pologs_ of the tent. "What do you suppose
that's for?" asked Dodd in an undertone. "I don't know," was the
reply; "keep quiet and you'll see." The regular throbs of the drum
continued throughout the distribution of the willow sticks and at
its close the drummer began to sing a low, musical recitative, which
increased gradually in volume and energy until it swelled into a wild,
barbarous chant, timed by the regular beats of the heavy drum. A
slight commotion followed, the front curtains of all the _pologs_ were
thrown up, the women stationed themselves in detachments of two or
three at the entrance of each polog, and took up the willow branches
which had been provided. In a moment a venerable native, whom we
presumed to be the father of one of the parties, emerged from one of
the _pologs_ near the door, leading a good-looking young Korak and the
dark-faced bride. Upon their appearance the excitement increased to
the pitch of frenzy, the music redoubled its rapidity, the men in the
centre of the tent joined in the uncouth chant, and uttered at short
intervals peculiar shrill cries of wild excitement. At a given signal
from the native who had led out the couple, the bride darted suddenly
into the first _polog_, and began a rapid flight around the tent,
raising the curtains between the _pologs_ successively, and passing
under. The bridegroom instantly followed in hot pursuit; but the women
who were stationed in each compartment threw every possible impediment
in his way, tripping up his unwary feet, holding down the curtains
to prevent his passage, and applying the willow and alder switches
unmercifully to a very susceptible part of his body as he stooped
to raise them. The air was filled with drum-beats, shouts of
encouragement and derision, and the sound of the heavy blows which
were administered to the unlucky bridegroom by each successive
detachment of women as he ran the gantlet. It became evident at once
that despite his most violent efforts he would fail to overtake the
flying Atalanta before she completed the circuit of the tent. Even the
golden apples of Hesperides would have availed him little against such
disheartening odds; but with undismayed perseverance he pressed
on, stumbling headlong over the outstretched feet of his female
persecutors, and getting constantly entangled in the ample folds of
the reindeerskin curtains, which were thrown with the skill of a
matador over his head and eyes. In a moment the bride had entered the
last closed _polog_ near the door, while the unfortunate bridegroom
was still struggling with his accumulating misfortunes about half-way
around the tent. I expected to see him relax his efforts and give up
the contest when the bride disappeared, and was preparing to protest
strongly in his behalf against the unfairness of the trial; but, to my
surprise, he still struggled on, and with a final plunge burst through
the curtains of the last _polog_ and rejoined his bride. The music
suddenly ceased, and the throng began to stream out of the tent. The
ceremony was evidently over. Turning to Meranef, who with a delighted
grin had watched its progress, we inquired what it all meant. "Were
they married?"--"Da's," was the affirmative reply. "But," we objected,
"he didn't catch her."--"She waited for him, your honour, in the last
_polog_, and if he caught her there it was enough."--"Suppose he had
_not_ caught her there, then what?"--"Then," answered the Cossack,
with an expressive shrug of commiseration, "the _beidnak_ [poor
fellow] would have had to work two more years." This was pleasant--for
the bridegroom! To work two years for a wife, undergo a severe course
of willow sprouts at the close of his apprenticeship, and then have
no security against a possible breach of promise on the part of the
bride. His faith in her constancy must be unlimited. The intention of
the whole ceremony was evidently to give the woman an opportunity to
marry the man or not, as she chose, since it was obviously impossible
for him to catch her under such circumstances, unless she voluntarily
waited for him in one of the _pologs_. The plan showed a more
chivalrous regard and deference for the wishes and preferences of the
gentler sex than is common in an unreconstructed state of society; but
it seemed to me, as an unprejudiced observer, that the same result
might have been obtained without so much abuse of the unfortunate
bridegroom! Some regard ought to have been paid to his feelings, if
he _was_ a man. I could not ascertain the significance of the
chastisement which was inflicted by the women upon the bridegroom with
the willow switches. Dodd suggested that it might be emblematical of
married life--a sort of foreshadowing of future domestic experience;
but in view of the masculine Korak character, this hardly seemed to
me probable. No woman in her senses would try the experiment a second
time upon one of the stern, resolute men who witnessed that ceremony,
and who seemed to regard it _then_ as perfectly proper. Circumstances
would undoubtedly alter cases.
Mr. A.S. Bickmore, in the _American Journal of Science_ for May,
1868, notices this curious custom of the Koraks, and says that the
chastisement is intended to test the young man's "ability to bear up
against the ills of life"; but I would respectfully submit that the
ills of life do not generally come in that shape, and that switching
a man over the back with willow sprouts is a very singular way of
preparing him for future misfortunes of any kind.
Whatever may be the motive, it is certainly an infringement upon the
generally recognised prerogatives of the sterner sex, and should be
discountenanced by all Koraks who favour masculine supremacy. Before
they know it, they will have a woman's suffrage association on their
hands, and female lecturers will be going about from band to band
advocating the substitution of hickory clubs and slung-shots for the
harmless willow switches, and protesting against the tyranny which
will not permit them to indulge in this interesting diversion at least
three times a week. [Footnote: It is now well known that this ceremony
is a form of "marriage by capture" which is widely prevalent among
barbarous peoples.--G.K. (1909).]
After the conclusion of the ceremony we removed to an adjacent tent,
and were surprised, as we came out into the open air, to see three
or four Koraks shouting and reeling about in an advanced stage of
intoxication--celebrating, I suppose, the happy event which had just
transpired. I knew that there was not a drop of alcoholic liquor in
all northern Kamchatka, nor, so far as I knew, anything from which it
could be made, and it was a mystery to me how they had succeeded in
becoming so suddenly, thoroughly, hopelessly, undeniably drunk. Even
Ross Browne's beloved Washoe, with its "howling wilderness" saloons,
could not have turned out more creditable specimens of intoxicated
humanity than those before us. The exciting agent, whatever it might
be, was certainly as quick in its operation, and as effective in its
results, as any "tanglefoot" or "bottled lightning" known to modern
civilisation. Upon inquiry we learned to our astonishment that they
had been eating a species of the plant vulgarly known as toadstool.
There is a peculiar fungus of this class in Siberia, known to the
natives as "muk-a-moor," and as it possesses active intoxicating
properties, it is used as a stimulant by nearly all the Siberian
tribes. [Footnote: _Agaricus muscarius_ or fly-agaric.] Taken in large
quantities it is a violent narcotic poison; but in small doses it
produces all the effects of alcoholic liquor. Its habitual use,
however, completely shatters the nervous system, and its sale by
Russian traders to the natives has consequently been made a penal
offence by Russian law. In spite of all prohibitions, the trade is
still secretly carried on, and I have seen twenty dollars' worth of
furs bought with a single fungus. The Koraks would gather it for
themselves, but it requires the shelter of timber for its growth, and
is not to be found on the barren steppes over which they wander; so
that they are obliged for the most part to buy it, at enormous prices,
from the Russian traders. It may sound strangely to American ears, but
the invitation which a convivial Korak extends to his passing friend
is not, "Come in and have a drink," but, "Won't you come in and take a
toadstool?" Not a very alluring proposal perhaps to a civilised toper,
but one which has a magical effect upon a dissipated Korak. As the
supply of these toadstools is by no means equal to the demand, Korak
ingenuity has been greatly exercised in the endeavour to economise the
precious stimulant, and make it go as far as possible. Sometimes, in
the course of human events, it becomes imperatively necessary that a
whole band shall get drunk together, and they have only one toadstool
to do it with. For a description of the manner in which this band gets
drunk collectively and individually upon one fungus, and keeps drunk
for a week, the curious reader is referred to Goldsmith's _Citizen
of the World_, Letter 32. It is but just to say, however, that this
horrible practice is almost entirely confined to the settled Koraks of
Penzhinsk Gulf--the lowest, most degraded portion of the whole tribe.
It may prevail to a limited extent among the wandering natives, but I
never heard of more than one such instance outside of the Penzhinsk
Gulf settlements.
Our travel for the next few days after leaving the third encampment
was fatiguing and monotonous. The unvarying routine of our daily life
in smoky Korak tents, and the uniform flatness and barrenness of the
country over which we journeyed, became inexpressibly tiresome, and we
looked forward in longing anticipation to the Russian settlement of
Gizhiga, at the head of Gizhiginsk Gulf, which was the Mecca of our
long pilgrimage. To spend more than a week at one time with the
Wandering Koraks without becoming lonesome or homesick, requires an
almost inexhaustible fertility of mental resource. One is thrown for
entertainment entirely upon himself. No daily paper, with its fresh
material for thought and discussion, comes to enliven the long blank
evenings by the tent fire; no wars or rumours of wars, no _coup
d'état_ of diplomacy, no excitement of political canvass ever agitates
the stagnant intellectual atmosphere of Korak existence. Removed to an
infinite distance, both physically and intellectually, from all of the
interests, ambitions, and excitements which make up our world, the
Korak simply exists, like a human oyster, in the quiet waters of his
monotonous life. An occasional birth or marriage, the sacrifice of a
dog, or, on rare occasions, of a man to the Korak Ahriman, and the
infrequent visits of a Russian trader, are the most prominent events
in his history, from the cradle to the grave. I found it almost
impossible sometimes to realise, as I sat by the fire in a Korak tent,
that I was still in the modern world of railroads, telegraphs,
and daily newspapers. I seemed to have been carried back by some
enchantment through the long cycles of time, and made a dweller in
the tents of Shem and Japheth. Not a suggestion was there in all our
surroundings of the vaunted enlightenment and civilisation of the
nineteenth century, and as we gradually accustomed ourselves to the
new and strange conditions of primitive barbarism, our recollections
of a civilised life faded into the unreal imagery of a vivid dream.
[Illustration: Ice scratcher used in stalking seals]