Under considerable disadvantages did Sakalar, Ivan, and their friends
prepare for the conclusion of their journey. Their provisions were
very scanty, and their only hope of replenishing their stores was on
the banks of the Vchivaya River, which being in some places pretty
rapid might not be frozen over. Sakalar and his friends determined to
strike out in a straight line. Part of the ivory had to be concealed
and abandoned, to be fetched another time; but as their stock of
provisions was so small, they were able to take the principal part. It
had been resolved, after some debate, to make in a direct line for the
Vchivaya river, and thence to Vijnei-Kolimsk. The road was of a most
difficult, and, in part, unknown character; but it was imperative to
move in as straight a direction as possible. Time was the great enemy
they had to contend with, because their provisions were sufficient for
a limited period only.
The country was at first level enough, and the dogs, after their
rest, made sufficiently rapid progress. At night they had reached the
commencement of a hilly region, while in the distance could be seen
pretty lofty mountains. According to a plan decided on from the first,
the human members of the party were placed at once on short allowance,
while the dogs received as much food as could be reasonably given.
At early dawn the tent was struck, and the dogs were impelled along
the banks of a small river completely frozen. Indeed, after a short
distance, it was taken as the smoothest path. But at the end of a
dozen miles they found themselves in a narrow gorge between two
hills; at the foot of a once foaming cataract, now hard frozen. It
was necessary to retreat some miles, and gain the land once more. The
only path which was now found practicable was along the bottom of some
pretty steep rocks. But the track got narrower and narrower, until the
dogs were drawing along the edge of a terrific precipice with not four
feet of holding. All alighted, and led the dogs, for a false step was
death. Fortunately the path became no narrower, and in one place it
widened out and made a sort of hollow. Here a bitter blast, almost
strong enough to cast them from their feet, checked further progress,
and on that naked spot, under a projecting mass of stone, without
fire, did the whole party halt. Men and dogs huddled together for
warmth, and all dined on raw and frozen fish. A few hours of sleep,
however, were snatched; and then, as the storm abated, they again
advanced. The descent was soon reached, and led into a vast plain
without tree or bush. A range of snow-clad hills lay before them, and
through a narrow gully between two mountains was the only practicable
pathway. But all hearts were gladdened by the welcome sight of some
_argali_, or Siberian sheep, on the slope of a hill. These animals are
the only winter game, bears, and wolves excepted. Kolina was left with
the dogs, and the rest started after the animals, which were pawing in
the snow for some moss or half-frozen herbs. Every caution was used
to approach them against the wind, and a general volley soon sent them
scampering away to the mountain-tops, leaving three behind.
But Ivan saw that he had wounded another, and away he went in chase.
The animal ascended a hill, and then halted. But seeing a man coming
quickly after him, it turned and fled down the opposite side. Ivan was
instantly after him. The descent was steep, but the hunter saw only
the argili, and darted down. He slid rather than ran with fearful
rapidity, and passed the sheep by, seeking to check himself too late.
A tremendous gulf was before him, and his eyes caught an instant
glance of a deep distant valley. Then he saw no more until he found
himself lying still. He had sunk, on the very brink of the precipice,
into a deep snow bank formed by some projecting rock, and had only
thus been saved from instant death. Deeply grateful, Ivan crept
cautiously up the hill-side, though not without his prize, and
rejoined his companions.
The road now offered innumerable difficulties, it was rough and
uneven--now hard, now soft. They made but slow progress for the next
three days, while their provisions began to draw to an end. They had
at least a dozen days more before them. All agreed that they were now
in the very worst difficulty they had been in. That evening they dined
on the last meal of mutton and fish; they were at the foot of a lofty
hill, which they determined to ascend while strength was left. The
dogs were urged up the steep ascent, and after two hours' toil, they
reached the summit. It was a table-land, bleak and miserable, and the
wind was too severe to permit camping. On they pushed, and camped a
little way down its sides.
The next morning the dogs had no food, while the men had nothing but
large draughts of warm tea. But it was impossible to stop. Away they
hurried, after deciding that, if nothing turned up the next morning,
two or three of the dogs must be killed to save the rest. Little was
the ground they got over, with hungry beasts and starving men, and
all were glad to halt near a few dried larches. Men and dogs eyed each
other suspiciously, The animals, sixty-four in number, had they not
been educated to fear man, would have soon settled the matter. But
there they lay, panting and faint--to start up suddenly with a fearful
howl. A bear was on them. Sakalar fired, and then in rushed the dogs,
savage and fierce. It was worse than useless, it was dangerous, for
the human beings of the party to seek to share this windfall. It was
enough that the dogs had found something to appease their hunger.
Sakalar, however, knew that his faint and weary companions could not
move the next day if tea alone were their sustenance that night. He
accordingly put in practice one of the devices of his woodcraft. The
youngest of the larches was cut down, and the coarse outside bark was
taken off. Then every atom of the soft bark was peeled off the tree,
and being broken into small pieces, was cast into the boiling pot,
already full of water. The quantity was great, and made a thick
substance. Round this the whole party collected, eager for the moment
when they could fall to. But Sakalar was cool and methodical even in
that terrible hour. He took a spoon, and quietly skimmed the pot,
to take away the resin that rose to the surface. Then gradually the
bark melted away, and presently the pot was filled by a thick paste,
and looked not unlike glue. All gladly ate, and found it nutritive,
pleasant, and warm. They felt satisfied when the meal was over, and
were glad to observe that the dogs returned to the camp completely
satisfied also, which, under the circumstances, was matter of great
gratification.
In the morning, after another mess of larch-bark soup, and after a
little tea, the adventurers again advanced on their journey. They were
now in an arid, bleak, and terrible plain of vast extent. Not a tree,
not a shrub, not an elevation was to be seen. Starvation was again
staring them in the face, and no man knew when this dreadful plain
would end. That night the whole party cowered in their tent without
fire, content to chew a few tea-leaves preserved from the last meal.
Serious thoughts were now entertained of abandoning their wealth in
that wild region. But as none pressed the matter very hardly, the
ledges were harnessed again next morning, and the dogs driven on. But
man and beast were at the last gasp, and not ten miles were traversed
that day, the end of which brought them to a large river, on the
borders of which were some trees. Being wide and rapid, it was not
frozen, and there was still hope, The seine was drawn from a sledge,
and taken into the water. It was fastened from one side to another of
a narrow gut, and there left. It was of no avail examining it until
morning, for the fish only come out at night.
There was not a man of the party who had his exact sense about him,
while the dogs lay panting on the snow, their tongues hanging out,
their eyes glaring with almost savage fury. The trees round the bank
were large and dry, and not one had an atom of soft bark on it. All
the resource they had was to drink huge draughts of tea, and then
seek sleep. Sakalar set the example, and the Kolimsk men, to whom such
scenes were not new, followed his advice; but Ivan walked up and down
before the tent. A huge fire had been made, which was amply fed by the
wood of the river bank, and it blazed on high, showing in bold relief
the features of the scene. Ivan gazed vacantly at everything; but he
saw not the dark and glancing river--he saw not the bleak plain of
snow--his eyes looked not on the romantic picture of the tent and its
bivouac-fire: his thoughts were on one thing alone. He it was who
had brought them to that pass, and on his head rested all the misery
endured by man and beast, and, worst of all, by the good and devoted
Kolina.
There she sat, too, on the ground, wrapped in her warm clothes, her
eyes, fixed on the crackling logs. Of what was she thinking? Whatever
occupied her mind, it was soon chased away by the sudden speech
of Ivan. "Kolina," said he, in a tone which borrowed a little of
intensity from the state of mind in which hunger had placed all of
them, "canst thou ever forgive me?"
"What?" replied the young girl softly.
"My having brought you here to die, far away from your native hills?"
"Kolina cares little for herself," said the Yakouta maiden, rising and
speaking perhaps a little wildly; "let her father escape, and she is
willing to lie near the tombs of the old people on the borders of the
icy sea."
"But Ivan had hoped to see for Kolina many bright, happy days; for
Ivan would have made her father rich, and Kolina would have been the
richest unmarried girl in the plain of Miouré!"
"And would riches make Kolina happy?" said she sadly.
"Young girl of the Yakouta, hearken to me! Let Ivan live or die this
hour; Ivan is a fool. He left home and comfort to cross the icy seas
in search of wealth, and to gain happiness; but if he had only had
eyes, he would have stopped at Miouré. There he saw a girl, lively as
the heaven-fire in the north, good, generous, kind; and she was an old
friend, and might have loved Ivan; but the man of Yakoutsk was blind,
and told her of his passion for a selfish widow, and the Yakouta
maiden never thought of Ivan but as a brother!"
"What means Ivan?" asked Kolina, trembling with emotion.
"Ivan has long meant, when he came to the yourte of Sakalar, to lay
his wealth at his feet, and beg of his old friend to give him his
child: but Ivan now fears that he may die, and wishes to know what
would have been the answer of Kolina?"
"But Maria Vorotinska?" urged the girl, who seemed dreaming.
"Has long been forgotten. How could I not love my old playmate and
friend! Kolina--Kolina, listen to Ivan! Forget his love for the widow
of Yakoutsk, and Ivan will stay in the plain of Vchivaya and die."
"Kolina is very proud," whispered the girl, sitting down on a log near
the fire, and speaking in a low tone; "and Kolina thinks yet that the
friend of her father has forgotten himself. But if he be not wild, if
the sufferings of the journey have not made him say that which is not,
Kolina would be very happy."
"Be plain, girl of Miouré--maiden of the Yakouta tribe! and play not
with the heart of a man. Can Kolina take Ivan as her husband?"
A frank and happy reply gave the Yakoutsk merchant all the
satisfaction he could wish; and then followed several hours of those
sweet and delightful explanations which never end between young lovers
when first they have acknowledged their mutual affection. They had
hitherto concealed so much, that there was much to tell; and Ivan
and Kolina, who for nearly three years had lived together, with a bar
between their deep but concealed affection, seemed to have no end of
words. Ivan had begun to find his feelings change from the very hour
Sakalar's daughter volunteered to accompany him, but it was only in
the cave of New Siberia that his heart had been completely won.
So short, and quiet, and sweet were the hours, that the time of rest
passed by without the thought of sleep. Suddenly, however, they were
roused to a sense of their situation, and leaving their wearied and
exhausted companions still asleep, they moved with doubt and dread to
the water's side. Life was now doubly dear to both, and their fancy
painted the coming forth of an empty net as the termination of all
hope. But the net came heavily and slowly to land. It was full of
fish. They were on the well-stocked Vchivaya. More than three hundred
fish, small and great, were drawn on shore; and then they recast the
net.
"Up, man and beast!" thundered Ivan, as, after selecting two dozen of
the finest, he abandoned the rest to the dogs.
The animals, faint and weary, greedily seized on the food given them,
while Sakalar and the Kolimsk men could scarcely believe their senses.
The hot coals were at once brought into requisition, and the party
were soon regaling themselves on a splendid meal of tea and broiled
fish. I should alarm my readers did I record the quantities eaten. An
hour later, every individual was a changed being, but most of all the
lovers. Despite their want of rest, they looked fresher than any of
the party. It was determined to camp at least twenty hours more in
that spot; and the Kolimsk men declared that the river must be the
Vchivaya, they could draw the seine all day, for the river was deep,
its waters warmer than others, and its abundance of fish such as to
border on the fabulous. They went accordingly down to the side of
the stream, and then the happy Kolina gave free vent to her joy.
She burst out into a song of her native land, and gave way to some
demonstrations of delight, the result of her earlier education, that
astonished Sakalar. But when he heard that during that dreadful night
he had found a son, Sakalar himself almost lost his reason. The old
man loved Ivan almost as much as his own child, and when he saw the
youth in his yourte on his hunting trips, had formed some project of
the kind now brought about; but the confessions of Ivan on his last
visit to Miouré had driven all such thoughts away.
"Art in earnest, Ivan?" said he, after a pause of some duration.
"In earnest!" exclaimed Ivan, laughing; "why, I fancy the young men of
Miouré will find me so, if they seek to question my right to Kolina!"
Kolina smiled, and looked happy; and the old hunter heartily blessed
his children, adding that the proudest, dearest hope of his heart was
now within probable realization.
The predictions of the Kolimsk men were realized. The river gave them
as much fish as they needed for their journey home; and as now Sakalar
knew his way, there was little fear for the future. An ample stock was
piled on the sledges, the dogs had unlimited feeding for two days, and
then away they sped toward an upper part of the river, which, being
broad and shallow, was no doubt frozen on the surface. They found it
as they expected, and even discovered that the river was gradually
freezing all the way down. But little caring for this now, on they
went, and after considerable fatigue and some delay, arrived at
Kolimsk, to the utter astonishment of all the inhabitants, who had
long given them up for lost.
Great rejoicings took place. The friends of the three Kolimsk men
gave a grand festival, in which the rum, and tobacco, and tea, which
had been left at the place for payment for their journey, played
a conspicuous part. Then, as it was necessary to remain here some
time, while the ivory was brought from a deposit near the sea,
Ivan and Kolina were married. Neither of them seemed to credit the
circumstance, even when fast tied by the Russian church. It had come
so suddenly, so unexpectedly on both, that their heads could not quite
make the affair out. But they were married in right down earnest, and
Kolina was a proud and happy woman. The enormous mass of ivory brought
to Kolimsk excited the attention of a distinguished exile, who drew
up a statement in Ivan's name, and prepared it for transmission to the
White Czar, as the emperor is called in these parts.
When summer came, the young couple, with Sakalar and a caravan of
merchants, started for Yakoutsk, Ivan being by far the richest and
most important member of the party. After a single day's halt at
Miouré, on they went to the town, and made their triumphal entry in
September. Ivan found Maria Vorotinska a wife and mother, and his
vanity was not much wounded by the falsehood. The _ci-devant_ widow
was a little astonished at Ivan's return, and particularly at his
treasure of ivory: but she received his wife with politeness, a little
tempered by her sense of her own superiority to a savage, as she
designated Kolina to her friends in a whisper. But Kolina was so
gentle, so pretty, so good, so cheerful, so happy, that she found her
party at once, and the two ladies became rival leaders of the fashion.
This lasted until the next year, when a messenger from the capital
brought a letter to Ivan from the emperor himself, thanking him for
his narrative, sending him a rich present, his warm approval, and the
office of first civil magistrate in the city of Yakoutsk. This turned
the scales wholly on one side, and Maria bowed low to Kolina. But
Kolina had no feelings of the parvenu, and she was always a general
favorite. Ivan accepted with pride his sovereign's favor, and by
dint of assiduity, soon learned to be a useful magistrate. He always
remained a good husband, a good father, and a good son, for he made
the heart of old Sakalar glad. He never regretted his journey: he
always declared he owed to it wealth and happiness, a high position in
society, and an admirable wife. Great rejoicings took place many years
after in Yakoutsk, at the marriage of the son of Maria, united to
the daughter of Ivan, and from the first unto the last, none of the
parties concerned ever had reason to mourn over the perilous journey
in search of the Ivory Mine.
* * * * *
For the information of the non-scientific, it may be necessary to
mention that the ivory alluded to in the preceding tale, is derived
from the tusks of the mammoth, or fossil elephant of the geologist.
The remains of this gigantic quadruped are found all over the northern
hemisphere, from the 40th to the 75th degree of latitude: but most
abundantly in the region which lies between the mountains of Central
Asia and the shores and islands of the Frozen Sea. So profusely do
they exist in this region, that the tusks have for more than a century
constituted an important article of traffic--furnishing a large
proportion of the ivory required by the carver and turner. The remains
lie imbedded in the upper tertiary clays and gravels; and these, by
exposure to the river-currents, to the waves of the sea, and other
erosive agencies, are frequently swept away during the thaws of
summer, leaving tusks and bones in masses, and occasionally even
entire skeletons, in a wonderful state of preservation. The most
perfect specimen yet obtained, and from the study of which the
zoologist has been enabled to arrive at an accurate knowledge of the
structure and habits of the mammoth, is that discovered by a Tungusian
fisherman, near the mouth of the river Lena, in the summer of 1799.
Being in the habit of collecting tusks among the debris of the
gravel-cliffs, (for it is generally at a considerable elevation in the
cliffs and river banks that the remains occur,) he observed a strange
shapeless mass projecting from an ice-bank some fifty or sixty feet
above the river; during next summer's thaw he saw the same object,
rather more disengaged from amongst the ice; in 1801 he could
distinctly perceive the tusk and flank of an immense animal; and in
1803, in consequence of an earlier and more powerful thaw, the huge
carcase became entirely disengaged, and fell on the sandbank beneath.
In the spring of the following year the fisherman cut off the tusks,
which he sold for fifty rubles (£7, 10s.;) and two years afterward,
our countryman, Mr. Adams, visited the spot, and gives the following
account of the extraordinary phenomenon:
"At this time I found the mammoth still in the same place, but
altogether mutilated. The discoverer was contented with his profit
for the tusks, and the Yakoutski of the neighborhood had cut off
the flesh, with which they fed their dogs. During the scarcity, wild
beasts, such as white bears, wolves, wolverines, and foxes, also
fed upon it, and the traces of their footsteps were seen around. The
skeleton, almost entirely cleared of its flesh, remained whole, with
the exception of a foreleg. The head was covered with a dry skin;
one of the ears, well preserved, was furnished with a tuft of hair.
All these parts have necessarily been injured in transporting them a
distance of 7,330 miles, (to the Imperial museum of St. Petersburgh,)
but the eyes have been preserved, and the pupil of one can still be
distinguished. The mammoth was a male, with a long mane on the neck.
The tail and proboscis were not preserved. The skin, of which I
possess three-fourths, is of a dark-gray color, covered with a reddish
wool and black hairs: but the dampness of the spot where it had lain
so long had in some degree destroyed the hair. The entire carcase,
of which I collected the bones on the spot, was nine feet four inches
high, and sixteen feet four inches long, without including the tusks,
which measured nine feet six inches along the curve. The distance from
the base or root of the tusk to the point is three feet seven inches.
The two tusks together weighed three hundred and sixty pounds, English
weight, and the head alone four hundred and fourteen pounds. The skin
was of such weight that it required ten persons to transport it to
the shore; and after having cleared the ground, upward of thirty-six
pounds of hair were collected, which the white bears had trodden while
devouring the flesh."
Since then, other carcases of elephants have been discovered, in
a greater or less degree of preservation; as also the remains of
rhinoceroses, mastodons, and allied pachyderms--the mammoth more
abundantly in the old world, the mastodon in the new. In every case
these animals differ from existing species: are of more gigantic
dimensions; and, judging from their natural coverings of thick-set
curly-crisped wool and strong hair, upward of a foot in length, were
fitted to live, if not in a boreal, at least in a coldly-temperate
region. Indeed, there is proof positive of the then more milder
climate of these regions in the discovery of pine and birch-trunks
where no vegetation now flourishes; and further, in the fact that
fragments of pine-leaves, birch-twigs, and other northern plants, have
been detected between the grinders and within the stomachs of these
animals. We have thus evidence, that at the close of the tertiary,
and shortly after the commencement of the current epoch, the northern
hemisphere enjoyed a much milder climate; that it was the abode of
huge pachyderms now extinct; that a different distribution of sea
and land prevailed; and that on a new distribution or sea and land,
accompanied also by a different relative level, these animals died
away, leaving their remains imbedded in the clays, gravels, and other
alluvial deposits, where, under the antiseptic influence of an almost
eternal frost, many of them have been preserved as entire as at the
fatal moment they sank under the rigors of external conditions no
longer fitted for their existence. It has been attempted by some to
prove the adaptability of these animals to the present conditions
of the northern hemisphere; but so untenable in every phase is this
opinion, that it would be sheer waste of time and space to attempt its
refutation. That they may have migrated northward and southward with
the seasons is more than probable, though it has been stated that the
remains diminish in size the farther north they are found; but that
numerous herds of such huge animals should have existed in these
regions at all, and that for thousands of years, presupposes an
exuberant arboreal vegetation, and the necessary degree of climate for
its growth and development. It has been mentioned that the mastodon
and mammoth seem to have attained their meridian toward the close of
the tertiary epoch, and that a few may have lived even in the current
era; but it is more probable that the commencement of existing
conditions was the proximate cause of their extinction, and that not
a solitary specimen ever lived to be the contemporary of man.
* * * * *
[FROM FRASER'S MAGAZINE.]