MATTHIAS ALEXANDER CASTRÉN.
His Birthplace and first Studies.--Journey in Lapland, 1838.--
The Iwalojoki.--The Lake of Enara.--The Pastor of Utzjoki.--
From Rowaniémi to Kemi.--Second Voyage, 1841–44.--Storm on the
White Sea.--Return to Archangel.--The Tundras of the European
Samojedes.--Mesen.--Universal Drunkenness.--Sledge Journey to
Pustosersk.--A Samojede Teacher.--Tundra Storms.--Abandoned
and alone in the Wilderness.--Pustosersk.--Our Traveller’s
Persecutions at Ustsylmsk and Ishemsk.--The Uusa.--Crossing
the Ural.--Obdorsk.--Second Siberian Journey, 1845–48.--
Overflowing of the Obi.--Surgut.--Krasnojarsk.--Agreeable
Surprise.--Turuchansk.--Voyage down the Jenissei.--Castrén’s
Study at Plachina.--From Dudinka to Tolstoi Noss.--Frozen Feet.--
Return Voyage to the South.--Frozen fast on the Jenissei.--
Wonderful Preservation.--Journey across the Chinese Frontiers,
and to Transbaikalia.--Return to Finland.--Professorship at
Helsingfors.--Death of Castrén, 1855.
Matthias Alexander Castrén, whose interesting journeys form the subject
of the present chapter, was born in the year 1813, at Rowanièmi, a
Finland village situated about forty miles from the head of the Gulf
of Bothnia, immediately under the Arctic Circle; so that, of all
men who have attained celebrity, probably none can boast of a more
northern birthplace. While still a scholar at the Alexander’s College
of Helsingfors, he resolved to devote his life to the study of the
nations of Finnish origin (Fins, Laplanders, Samojedes, Ostjaks, etc.);
and as books gave but an insufficient account of them, each passing
year strengthened his desire to visit these tribes in their own haunts,
and to learn from themselves their languages, their habits, and their
history.
We may imagine, therefore, the joy of the enthusiastic student, whom
poverty alone had hitherto prevented from carrying out the schemes of
his youth, when Dr. Ehrström, a friend and medical fellow-student,
proposed to take him as a companion, free of expense, on a tour in
Lapland. No artist that ever crossed the Alps on his way to sunny Italy
could feel happier than Castrén at the prospect of plunging into the
wildernesses of the Arctic zone.
On June 25, 1838, the friends set out, and arrived on the 30th at the
small town of Muonioniska, where they remained six weeks--a delay
which Castrén put to good account in learning the Lapp language from a
native catechist. At length the decreasing sun warned the travellers
that it was high time to continue their journey, if they wished to
see more of Lapland before the winter set in; and after having, with
great difficulty, crossed the mountain ridge which forms the water-shed
between the Gulf of Bothnia and the Polar Sea, they embarked on the
romantic Iwalojoki, where for three days and nights the rushing waters
roared around them. In spite of these dangerous rapids, they were
obliged to trust themselves to the stream, which every now and then
threatened to dash their frail boat to pieces against the rocks. Armed
with long oars, they were continually at work during the daytime to
guard against this peril; the nights were spent near a large fire
kindled in the open air, without any shelter against the rain and wind.
The Iwalo River is, during the greater part of its course, encased
between high rocks; but a few miles before it discharges itself into
the large Lake of Enara, its valley improves into a fine grassy plain.
Small islands covered with trees divide the waters, which now flow more
tranquilly; soon also traces of culture appear, and the astonished
traveller finds in the village of Kyrö, not wretched Lapland huts,
but well-built houses of Finnish settlers, with green meadows and
cornfields.
The beautiful Lake of Enara, sixty miles long and forty miles broad, is
so thickly studded with islands that they have never yet been counted.
After the travellers had spent a few days among the Fisher Lapps who
sojourn on its borders, they proceeded northward to Utzjoki, the limit
of their expedition, and one of the centres of Lapland civilization,
as it boasts of a church, which is served by a man of high character
and of no little ability. On accepting his charge, this self-denying
priest had performed the journey from Tornea in the depth of winter,
accompanied by a young wife and a female relation of the latter,
fifteen years of age. He had found the parsonage, vacated by his
predecessor, a wretched building, distant some fifteen miles from the
nearest Lapp habitation. After establishing himself and his family in
this dreary tenement, he had returned from a pastoral excursion to find
his home destroyed by a fire, from which its inmates had escaped with
the loss of all that they possessed. A miserable hut, built for the
temporary shelter of the Lapps who resorted thither for divine service,
afforded the family a refuge for the winter. He had since contrived to
build himself another dwelling, in which our party found him, after
five years’ residence, the father of a family, and the chief of a happy
household. Gladly would the travellers have remained some time longer
under his hospitable roof, but the birds of passage were moving to the
south, warning them to follow their example.
Thus they set out, on August 15, for their homeward voyage, which
proved no less difficult and laborious than the former. At length,
after wandering through deserts and swamps--frequently wet to the skin,
and often without food for many hours--they arrived at Rowanièmi, where
they embarked on the Kemi River.
“With conflicting feelings,” says Castrén, “I descended its stream;
for every cataract was not only well-known to me from the days of my
earliest childhood, but the cataracts were even the only acquaintances
which death had left me in the place of my birth. Along with the
mournful impressions which the loss of beloved relations made upon my
mind, it was delightful to renew my intercourse with the rapid stream
and its waterfalls--those boisterous playfellows, which had often
brought me into peril when a boy. Now, as before, it was a pleasant
sport to me to be hurried along by their tumultuous waters, and to
be wetted by their spray. The boatmen often tried to persuade me to
land before passing the most dangerous waterfalls, and declared that
they could not be answerable for my safety. But, in spite of all their
remonstrances, I remained in the boat, nor had I reason to repent of my
boldness, for He who is the steersman of all boats granted us a safe
arrival at Kemi, where our Lapland journey terminated.”[9]
In 1841 Castrén published a metrical translation, into the Swedish
language, of the “Kalewala,” a cycle of the oldest poems of the
Fins; and at the end of the same year proceeded on his first great
journey to the land of the European Samoïedes, and from thence across
the northern Ural Mountains to Siberia. In the famous convent of
Solovetskoi, situated on a small island in the White Sea, he hoped to
find a friendly teacher of the Samoïede language in the Archimandrite
Wenjamin, who had labored as a missionary among that savage people,
but the churlish dignitary jealously refused him all assistance; and
as the tundras of the Samoïedes are only accessible during the winter,
he resolved to turn the interval to account by a journey among the
Terski Lapps, who inhabit the western shores of the White Sea. With
this view, in an evil hour of the 27th June, 1842, though suffering
at this time from illness severe enough to have detained any less
persevering traveller, he embarked at Archangel in a large corn-laden
vessel, with a reasonable prospect of being landed at Tri Ostrowa in
some twenty-four hours; but a dead calm detained him eight days, during
which he had no choice but to endure the horrible stench of Russian
sea-stores in the cabin or the scorching sun on deck. At length a
favorable wind arose, and after a few hours’ sailing nothing was to be
seen but water and sky. Soon the Terski coast came in view, with its
white ice-capped shore, and Castrén hoped soon to be released from his
floating prison, when suddenly the wind changed, and, increasing to a
storm, threatened to dash them on the cliffs of the Solovetskoi Islands.
“Both the captain and the ship’s company began to despair of their
lives; and prayers having been resorted to in vain, to conjure the
danger, general drunkenness was the next resource. The captain, finding
his own brandy too weak to procure the stupefaction he desired, left me
no peace till I had given him a bottle of rum. After having by degrees
emptied its contents, he at length obtained his end, and fell asleep
in the cabin. The crew, following his example, dropped down one by one
into their cribs, and the ship was left without guidance to the mercy
of the winds and waves. I alone remained on deck, and gloomily awaited
the decisive moment. But I soon discovered that the wind was veering
to the east, and, awaking the captain from his drunken lethargy, sent
him on deck, and took possession of his bed. Exhausted by the dreadful
scenes of the day, I soon fell into a deep slumber; and when I awoke
the following morning, I found myself again on the eastern coast of the
White Sea, at the foot of a high sheltering rock-wall.”
Continued bad weather and increasing illness now forced Castrén to give
up his projected visit to the Lapps, and when he returned to Archangel,
both his health and his purse were in a sad condition. He had but
fifteen roubles in his pocket, but fortunately found some Samoïede
beggars still poorer than himself, one of whom, for the reward of an
occasional glass of brandy, consented to become at once his host, his
servant, and his private tutor in the Samoïede language. In the hut
and society of this savage he passed the remainder of the summer, his
health improved, and soon also his finances changed wonderfully for
the better--the Government of Finland having granted him a thousand
silver roubles for the prosecution of his travels. With a light heart
he continued his linguistic studies until the end of November, when he
started with renewed enthusiasm for the land of the European Samoïedes.
These immense tundras extend from the White Sea to the Ural Mountains,
and are bounded on the north by the Polar Sea, and on the south by the
region of forests, which here reaches as high as the latitudes of 66°
and 67°.
The large river Petschora divides these dreary wastes into two unequal
halves, whose scanty population, as may easily be imagined, is sunk in
the deepest barbarism. It consists of nomadic Samoïedes, and of a few
Russians, who inhabit some miserable settlements along the great stream
and its tributary rivers.
To bury himself for a whole year in these melancholy deserts, Castrén
left Archangel in November, 1842. As far as Mesen, 345 versts north
of Archangel, the scanty population is Russ and Christian. At Mesen
civilization ceases, and farther north the Samoïede retains for
the most part, with his primitive habits and language, his heathen
faith--having, in fact, borrowed nothing from occasional intercourse
with civilized man but the means and practice of drunkenness. Castrén’s
first care, on his arrival at Mesen, was to look for a Samoïede
interpreter and teacher; but he was as unsuccessful here as at Somsha,
a village some forty versts farther on, where drunkenness was the order
of the day. He took the most temperate person he could find in all
Somsha into his service, but even this moderate man would, according
to our ideas, have been accounted a perfect drunkard. He now resolved
to try the fair sex, and engaged a female teacher, but she also could
not remain sober. At length a man was introduced to him as the most
learned person of the tundra, and at first it seemed as if he had at
length found what he wanted; but after a few hours the Samoïede began
to get tired of his numerous questions, and declared himself ill. He
threw himself upon the floor, wailed and lamented, and begged Castrén
to have pity on him, until at length the incensed philologist turned
him out-of-doors. Soon after he found him lying dead drunk in the snow
before the “Elephant and Castle” of the place.
Thus obliged to look for instruction elsewhere, Castrén resolved to
travel, in the middle of winter, to the Russian village of Pustosersk,
at the mouth of the Petschora, where the fair annually attracts a
number of Samoïedes. During this sledge-journey of 700 versts, he had
to rest sometimes in the open air on the storm-beaten tundra, and
sometimes in the rickety tent of the Samoïede, or in the scarcely less
wretched hut of the Russian colonist--where the snow penetrated through
the crevices of the wall, where the flame of the light flickered in
the wind, and a thick cloak of wolf-skin afforded the only protection
against the piercing cold of the Arctic winter.
For this arduous tour, two sledges, with four reindeer attached to
each, were employed--the traveller’s sledge, which was covered, being
attached to an uncovered one occupied by the guide. The Kanin Tundra
stretched out before them, as they flew along, almost as naked as the
sea, of which they saw the margin in the east; and had not the wind
here and there driven away the snow which Heaven in its mercy strews
over this gloomy land, they might have been in doubt on which element
they were travelling. Daily, from time to time, some dwarf firs made
their appearance, or clumps of low willows, which generally denote the
presence of some little brook slowly winding through the flat tundra.
The village of Ness, on the north coast, was the first halting-place,
and here Castrén flattered himself he had at length found what his
heart desired, in the person of a Samoïede teacher who knew Russian,
and was gifted with a clearer head than is usually possessed by his
race.
“The man was conscious of his superiority, and while acting as a
professor looked down with contempt upon his weaker brethren. Once,
some other Samoïedes venturing to correct one of his translations, he
commanded them to be silent, telling them they were not learned. I
tried by all possible means to secure the services of this Samoïede
phenomenon. I spoke kindly with him, I paid him well, gave him every
day his allowance of brandy, and never once forbade him to get drunk
when he felt inclined to do so. Yet, in spite of all my endeavors to
please, he felt unhappy, and sighed for the liberty of the tundra.
‘Thou art kind, and I love thee,’ said he one day to me, ‘but I can not
endure confinement. Be therefore merciful, and give me my freedom.’
“I now increased his daily pay and his rations of brandy, sent for his
wife and child, treated his wife also with brandy, and did all I could
to dispel the melancholy of the Samoïede. By these means I induced him
to remain a few days longer with me.
“While I was constantly occupying him, the wife was busy sewing
Samoïede dresses, and sometimes assisted her husband in his
translations. I often heard her sighing deeply, and having asked for
the reason, she burst into tears, and answered that she grieved for
her husband, who was thus imprisoned in a room. ‘Thy husband,’ was my
reply, ‘is not worse off than thyself. Tell me, what do you think of
your own position?’ ‘I do not think of myself--I am sorrowful for my
husband,’ was her ingenuous reply. At length both the husband and the
wife begged me so earnestly to set them at liberty that I allowed them
to depart.”
On the way from Pjoscha to Pustosersk, after Castrén had once more
vainly endeavored to discover that _rara avis_, a Samoïede teacher,
he became thoroughly acquainted with the January snow-storms of the
tundra: “The wind arose about noon, and blew so violently that we
could not see the reindeer before our sledges. The roof of my vehicle,
which at first had afforded me some protection, was soon carried away
by the gale. Anxious about my fate, I questioned my guides, whenever
they stopped to brush off the snow which had accumulated upon me, and
received the invariable answer, ‘We do not know where we are, and see
nothing.’ We proceeded step by step, now following one direction,
now another, until at length we reached a river well known to the
guides. The leader of the first sledge hurried his reindeer down the
precipitous bank, and drove away upon the ice to seek a more convenient
descent; but as he did not return, the other guide likewise left me
to look after his companion, and thus I was kept waiting for several
hours on the tundra, without knowing where my guides had gone to.
“At first I did not even know that they had left me, and when I became
aware of the fact, I thought that they had abandoned me to my fate. I
will not attempt to describe my sensations; but my bodily condition
was such, that when the cold increased with the approach of night, I
was seized with a violent fever. I thought my last hour was come, and
prepared for my journey to another world.”
The re-appearance of the guides relieved Castrén of his anxiety, and
when the little party reached some Samoïede huts, the eldest of the
guides knelt down at the side of our traveller’s sledge and expressed
his joy in a prayer to God, begging Castrén to join him in his
thanksgivings, “for He, and not I, has this night saved thee.”
The next morning, as the weather seemed to improve, and the road (along
the Indiga River) to the next Russian settlement was easy to find,
Castrén resolved to pursue his journey. “But the storm once more arose,
and became so dreadfully violent that I could neither breathe nor
keep my eyes open against the wind. The roaring of the gale stupefied
my senses. The moist snow wetted me during the day, and the night
converted it into ice. Half frozen, I arrived after midnight at the
settlement. The fatigues of the journey had been such that I could
scarcely stand; I had almost lost my consciousness, and my sight had
suffered so much from the wind that I repeatedly ran with my forehead
against the wall. The roaring of the storm continually resounded in my
ears for many hours after.”
A few days later Castrén arrived at Pustosersk, undoubtedly one of
the dreariest places in the world. With scarcely a trace of arboreal
vegetation, the eye, during the greater part of the year, rests on an
interminable waste of snow, where the cold winds are almost perpetually
raging. The storms are so violent as not seldom to carry away the roofs
of the huts, and to prevent the wretched inhabitants from fetching
water and fuel. In this Northern Eden our indefatigable ethnologist
tarried several months, as it afforded him an excellent opportunity
for continuing his studies of the language, manners, and religion of
the Samoïedes, who come to the fair of Pustosersk during the winter,
to barter their reindeer skins for flour and other commodities, and at
the same time to indulge in their favorite beverage--brandy. At length
the Samoïedes retired, the busy season of the place was evidently at an
end, and Castrén, having no further inducement to remain at Pustosersk,
left it for the village of Ustsylmsk, situated 150 versts higher up the
Petschora, where he hoped still to find some straggling Samoïedes. The
road to Ustsylmsk leads through so desolate a region, that, according
to the priests of the neighborhood, it can not have been originally
created by God with the rest of the world, but must have been formed
after the Deluge. Near Ustsylmsk (65° 30´ N. lat.) the country
improves, as most of the northern trees grow about the place; but,
unfortunately, a similar praise can not be awarded to its inhabitants,
whom Castrén found to be the most brutal and obstinate Raskolniks (or
sectarians) he had ever seen. Without in the least caring for the Ten
Commandments, and indulging in every vice, these absurd fanatics
fancied themselves better than the rest of mankind, because they made
the sign of the cross with the thumb and the two last fingers, and
stood for hours together before an image in stupid contemplation. Our
homeless traveller soon became the object of their persecutions; they
called him “wizard,” “a poisoner of rivers and wells,” and insulted
him during his walks. At length they even attempted to take his life,
so that he thought best to retreat to Ishemsk, on the Ishma, a hundred
versts farther to the south. But, unfortunately, his bad reputation
had preceded him, and although the Isprawnik (or parish official) and
his wife warmly took his part, the people continued to regard him with
suspicion.
Towards the end of June Castrén ascended the Petschora and its chief
tributary, the Uusa, as far as the village of Kolwa, where he spent the
remainder of the summer, deeply buried as usual in Samoïede studies.
Beyond Kolwa, which he left on September 16 for Obdorsk, there is not a
single settlement along the Uusa and its tributaries.
As he ascended the river, the meadows on its low banks appeared colored
with the gray tints of autumn. Sometimes a wild animal started from
its lair, but no vestige of man was to be seen. Countless flocks of
wild ducks and geese passed over the traveller’s head, on their way
southward.
After many a tedious delay, caused by storms and contrary winds,
Castrén reached (on September 27) a wretched hut, about forty versts
from the Ural, where he was obliged to wait a whole month, with
fourteen other persons, until the snow-track over the mountains became
practicable for sledges.
The total want of every comfort, the bad company, the perpetual rain,
and the dreary aspect of the country, made his prolonged stay in this
miserable tenement almost unbearable. At length, on October 25, he was
able to depart, and on November 3 he saw the Ural Mountains raising
their snow-capped summits to the skies. “The weather is mild,” said
his Samoïede driver, “and thou art fortunate, but the Ural can be
very different.” He then described the dreadful storms that rage over
the boundary-chain which separates Europe from Asia, and how they
precipitate stones and rocks from the mountain-tops.
This time the dreaded pass was crossed in safety, and on November 9,
1843, Castrén arrived at Obdorsk, on the Obi, exhausted in strength
and shattered in health, but yet delighted to find himself in Asia,
the land of his early dreams. Obdorsk--the most northerly colony in
Western Siberia, and, as may easily be imagined, utterly deficient in
all that can be interesting to an ordinary traveller--was as much as a
university to the zealous student, for several thousands of Samoïedes
and Ostiaks congregate to its fair from hundreds of versts around.
No better place could possibly be found for the prosecution of his
researches; but the deplorable condition of his health did not allow
him to remain as long as he would have desired at this fountain-head of
knowledge. He was thus obliged to leave for Tobolsk, and to return in
March, 1844, by the shortest road to Finland.
In the following summer (1845) we again find him on the banks of the
Irtysch and the Obi, plunged in Ostiak studies with renewed energy and
enthusiasm. After having sojourned for several weeks at Toropkowa, a
small island at the confluence of these two mighty streams, he ascended
the Obi in July as far as Surgut, where he arrived in the beginning of
August.
In consequence of the overflowing of its waters, the river had spread
into a boundless lake, whose monotony was only relieved, from time to
time, by some small wooded island or some inundated village. The rising
of the stream had spread misery far and wide, for many Ostiak families
had been obliged to abandon their huts, and to seek a refuge in the
forests. Those who had horses and cows had the greatest difficulty
to keep them alive; and as all the meadows were under water, and the
autumn, with its night-frosts, was already approaching, there was
scarcely any hope of making hay for the winter.
As Castrén proceeded on his journey, the low banks of the river rose
above the waters, and appeared in all their wild and gloomy desolation.
The number of inhabitants along the Obi is utterly insignificant
when compared with the wide extent of the country; and as hunting
and fishing are their chief occupations, nothing is done to subdue
the wilderness. The weary eye sees but a dull succession of moors,
willow bushes, dry heaths, and firs on the higher grounds. Near every
flourishing tree stands another bearing the marks of decay. The young
grass is hemmed in its growth by that of the previous year, which even
in July gives the meadow a dull ash-gray color. Cranes, wild ducks, and
geese are almost the only living creatures to be seen. From Siljarski
to Surgut, a distance of 200 versts, there are but three Russian
villages; and the Ostiaks, who form the main part of the population,
generally live along the tributary rivers, or erect their summer huts
on the smaller arms of the Obi, where they can make a better use of
their very imperfect fishing implements than on the principal stream.
Surgut, once a fortress, and the chief town of the Cossack conquerors
of Siberia, is now reduced to a few miserable huts, scattered among the
ruins of repeated conflagrations.
Here Castrén remained till September 24, occupied with the study
of the various dialects of the neighboring Ostiak tribes, and then
ascended the Obi as far as Narym, a distance of 800 versts. Most of
the fishermen had already retired from the banks of the river, and a
death-like stillness, rarely interrupted by an Ostiak boat rapidly
shooting through the stream, reigned over its waters.
Fortunately the weather was fine, at least during the first days of the
journey; and the green river-banks, the birds singing in the trees,
and the sunbeams glancing over the wide mirror of the Obi, somewhat
enlivened the monotony of the scene.
After having enjoyed at Narym a _remarkably mild_ Siberian winter, as
_no crows had been frozen to death_, and having increased his knowledge
of the Ostiak dialects, Castrén proceeded in the following spring,
by way of Tomsk, to Krasnojarsk, on the Jenissei, where he arrived
in April, 1846, and was welcomed in a most agreeable and unexpected
manner. It will be remembered that during his stay at Ishemsk, in the
tundra of the Samoïedes, he found warm-hearted friends and protectors
against the insane bigotry of the Raskolniks in the Isprawnik and his
young and amiable wife. Of the latter it might truly be said that
she was like a flower born to blush unseen in the desert. Remarkably
eloquent, she was no less talented in expressing her thoughts by
writing; and yet she was only the daughter of a serf who had been
exiled to Krasnojarsk, and had spent a great part of a small property,
acquired by industry and economy, in the education of his gifted
daughter. The Isprawnik, a young Pole of insinuating manners, having
gained her affections, she had accompanied him to Ishemsk as his wife.
From what Castrén had told her three years since about his future
plans, she knew that he would probably arrive about this time at
Krasnojarsk, and had written a letter, which reached its destination
only a few hours before him. It was to her father, earnestly begging
him to pay every attention to the homeless stranger. The feelings of
Castrén may easily be imagined when the old man knocked at his door,
and brought him these friendly greetings from a distance of 6000
versts.[10]
But his stay at Krasnojarsk was not of long duration, for he was
impatient to proceed northward, for the purpose of becoming acquainted
with the tribes dwelling along the Jenissei, after having studied their
brethren of the Obi. From June till the end of July, his literary
pursuits detained him at Turuchansk, where, in the vicinity of the
Arctic Circle, he had much to suffer from the heat and the mosquitoes.
In the beginning of August the signs of approaching winter made
their appearance, the cold north wind swept away the leaves from the
trees, the fishermen retired to the woods, and the ducks and geese
prepared to migrate to the south. And now Castrén also took leave of
Turuchansk--not however, like the birds, for a more sunny region, but
to bury himself still deeper in the northern wilds of the Jenissei.
Below Turuchansk the river begins to flow so languidly, that when the
wind is contrary, the boat must be dragged along by dogs, and advances
no more than from five to ten versts during a whole day. Thus the
traveller has full time to notice the willows on the left bank, and
the firs on the right; the ice-blocks, surviving memorials of the last
winter, which the spring inundations have left here and there on the
banks of the vast stream; and the countless troops of wild birds that
fly with loud clamor over his head.
About 365 versts below Turuchansk is situated Plachina, the
fishing-station of a small tribe of Samoïedes, among whom Castrén
tarried three weeks. He had taken possession of the _best_ of the
three huts of which the place consisted, but even this would have been
perfectly intolerable to any one but our zealous ethnologist. Into his
study the daylight penetrated so sparingly through a small hole in the
wall, that he was often obliged to write by the light of a resinous
torch in the middle of the day.
The flame flickering in the wind, which blew through a thousand
crevices, affected his eyes no less severely than the smoke, which
at the same time rendered respiration difficult. Although the roof
had been repaired, yet during every strong rain--and it rained
almost perpetually--he was obliged to pack up his papers, and to
protect himself from the wet as if he had been in the open air. From
this delightful residence, Castrén, still pursuing his study of the
Samoïede dialects, proceeded down the river to Dudinka, and finally,
in November, to Tolstoi Noss, whose pleasant climate may be judged
of by the fact that it is situated in the latitude of 71°. This last
voyage was performed in a “balok,” or close sledge, covered with
reindeer skins. The tediousness of being conveyed like a corpse in a
dark and narrow box, induced him to exchange the “balok” for an open
sledge; but the freezing of his feet, of his fingers, and of part
of his face, soon caused him to repent of his temerity. As soon as
this accident was discovered at the next station, Castrén crept back
again into his prison, and was heartily glad when, after a nine days’
confinement, he at length arrived at Tolstoi Noss, which he found
to consist of four wretched huts. Here again he spent several weeks
studying by torchlight, for the sun had made his last appearance in
November, and the day was reduced to a faint glimmering at noon. In
January we find him on his return-voyage to Turuchansk, a place which,
though not very charming in itself, appeared delightful to Castrén
after a six months’ residence in the tundras beyond the Arctic Circle.
Turuchansk can boast at least of seeing some daylight at all seasons
of the year, and this may be enjoyed even within-doors, for Turuchansk
possesses no less than four houses with glass windows. Longing to
reach this comparatively sunny place, Castrén, against his usual
custom, resolved to travel day and night without stopping, but his
impatience well-nigh proved fatal to him. His Samoïede guide had not
perceived in the dark that the waters of the Jenissei, over which they
were travelling, had oozed through fissures in the ice, and inundated
the surface of the river far and wide. Thus he drove into the water,
which of course was rapidly congealing; the reindeer were unable to
drag the sledge back again upon the land, and Castrén stuck fast on
the river, with the agreeable prospect of being frozen to death. From
this imminent danger he was rescued by a wonderful circumstance.
Letters having arrived from the Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg, a
courier had been dispatched from Turuchansk to convey them to Castrén.
This courier fortunately reached him while he was in this perilous
situation, helped him on land, and conducted him to a Samoïede hut,
where he was able to warm his stiffened limbs.
After such a journey, we can not wonder that, on arriving at
Turuchansk, he was so tormented with rheumatism and toothache as to
be obliged to rest there several days. With sore joints and an aching
body, he slowly proceeded to Jeniseisk, where he arrived on April 3,
1847, in a wretched state of health, which however had not interrupted
his Ostiak studies on the way. I rapidly glance over his subsequent
travels, as they are but a repetition of the same privations and the
same hardships, all cheerfully sustained for the love of knowledge.
Having somewhat recruited his strength at Jeniseisk, he crossed the
Sajan Mountains to visit some Samoïedes beyond the Russian frontier--a
journey which, besides the usual fatigues, involved the additional risk
of being arrested as a spy by the Chinese authorities; and the year
after he visited Transbaikalia, to make inquiries among the Buriat
priests about the ancient history of Siberia.
Having thus accomplished his task, and thoroughly investigated the
wild nations of the Finnish race from the confines of the Arctic Sea
to the Altai--a task which cost him his health, and the best part of
his energies--he longed to breathe the air of his native country. But
neither the pleasures of home, nor a professorship at the University
of Helsingfors, richly earned by almost super-human exertions, were
able to arrest the germs of disease, which journeys such as these could
scarcely fail to plant even in his originally robust constitution.
After lingering some years, he died in 1855, universally lamented by
his countrymen, who justly mourned his early death as a national loss.
[Illustration: 76. A SAMOÏEDE PRIEST.]