Some Heroes of Travel, or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and Enterprise

The river Ob, which flows past Barnaoul, is described as a magnificent stream, running in a valley twelve versts broad; its numerous small branches divide this valley into islands, on which large trees are growing. In May the melting of the snow swells the stream into a great flood, which inundates much of the valley, and gradually widens from one bank to the other, with the tops of the trees rising above the swirl of waters like islands. At this time many of the scenes along the Ob are very grand, especially if seen at sunrise or sunset, when the various colouring of the luminous sky is mirrored in the mighty stream, which, flashing with golden and crimson lights, rolls through the deep purple masses of the forest, to terminate its course in the Arctic Ocean.

The neighbourhood seems to be an attractive one for the sportsman; snipe abound in June and July, blackcock in August, and rebchicks, or tree partridges, in September. Wild hen are also plentiful, and in winter, hares. Or if the hunter care for more venturous sport, he may sally out against the wolves and bears.

The bears are dangerous antagonists. A very large one was seen by some woodcutters about fifteen versts from the gold mine; and two men, one of whom was known as a bold, skilful, and veteran hunter, started in pursuit. They found the beast’s track quite fresh in the long dewy grass, and cautiously followed it up, until a low growl warned them of his presence. He sprang out of a thicket, about thirty-five paces distant, and confronted his pursuers. The hunter fired, and his shot told, but not in a vital part. The wounded animal charged immediately, the other man reserving his shot until he was within twenty paces. Then, unfortunately, his rifle missed fire. The bear at once stood on his hind legs, and sprang forward against his first assailant, striking him to the earth with a blow that stripped his scalp and turned it over his face; then, seizing his arm, he began to gnaw and crush it to the bone, gradually ascending to the shoulder. The sufferer called to his companion to load and fire; but, losing heart when he saw his friend so terribly mangled, the craven took to flight.

Returning to the gold mine, he related what had happened; but it was then too late to despatch a party in search of the unfortunate hunter. At daylight next morning, however, they set out, with the craven as guide. On arriving at the scene of the affray, no remains of the victim could be found but some torn clothing and his rifle; and the trampled grass showed that he had been carried off into the thick covert. The trail was pursued with the utmost diligence, and at length, under a heap of branches, in a dense thicket of trees and bushes, the hunter’s body was discovered, and, strange to say, though grievously mutilated, it still throbbed with life. With tender care the miserable victim was conveyed to the gold mine and taken to the hospital, where he was treated with the utmost kindness, and all was done that medical skill could do. For a long time he remained unconscious; but at the end of two months a slight improvement was noticeable, and he recovered his reason. His first question was about the bear; his next, about his own defeat. In truth, his conversation turned only upon these subjects: he seemed possessed by a monomania; was continually asking for his rifle, that he might go and kill “Michael Ivanitch” (the bear). As his strength returned, it was thought necessary to place him under restraint, lest his desire to contend with his fierce and powerful enemy should lead him into some dangerous enterprise.

But when autumn arrived, and laid its magical finger on the forest, the monomaniac seemed to have forgotten his hate, so that he was watched with less rigour. He took advantage of his comparative freedom to steal from the hospital, gain his own cottage, and, in the absence of his family, arm himself with his rifle and axe, and stow away in his wallet a loaf of black bread. Then, as the shades of evening began to fall, he started for the forest, and soon disappeared in the gathering gloom.

As soon as his absence from the hospital was known, a close search for him was instituted; but in vain. A week passed by, and it was supposed that he had perished, when one day he strode into the hospital, carrying on his shoulders the skin of a huge black bear. Throwing it down, he exclaimed, “I told you I would have him.” Thenceforward he rapidly recovered; both his physical and mental health were re-established, and he lived to bring down many another “Michael Ivanitch” with his deadly rifle.

A curious incident befell a Cossack officer in the woods of Barnaoul.

Alone and unarmed, he was sauntering through the forest glades, gathering specimen plants, when, at a distance of about eight versts from the gold mine, he emerged into an open space, where stood a few isolated trees; and the same moment he descried, not more than two hundred yards off, a she-bear and her two cubs gambolling together. She, too, recognized his presence; and, with a fierce growl, drove her young ones into a tree as an asylum, and, resolute to defend them, mounted guard at its foot.

To carry off the cubs as trophies was the Cossack’s resolve, but he wanted a weapon. Retiring into the wood a few steps, he came to a place where the woodmen had felled several young birch trees, and from one of these he selected four feet of a stout, strong, but manageable stem, with which he returned to the scene of action. At his approach the old bear resumed her growling, and moved uneasily to and fro in front of the tree, but carefully keeping within a few feet of it. He continued his advance. She growled more savagely, and plainly suspected his hostile intentions. Still he moved forward, with his eyes steadfastly fixed upon her. When he was within about fifty paces, she made a fierce rush that would have put most men to flight. He held his ground, and as the cubs began to whine, she trotted back towards the tree, in a mood of uncontrolled rage. The Cossack followed; she turned; the two antagonists stood face to face at a distance of twenty yards.

Retreat was now impossible; and there they stood, gazing keenly on each other, and each waiting for an opportunity to attack. The bear, with fiery eyeballs, made a second rush, and at a few paces from her daring enemy, rose on her hind legs, either to fell him with her heavy paws or crush him in her cruel embrace; but, with wonderful coolness, he brought down his club and toppled her over. In a second she sprang to her feet, and prepared to renew the charge; another tremendous stroke laid her on the ground. The combat assumed a desperate and deadly character, and several “rounds” were determinedly fought. Eventually, the Cossack’s well-directed blows subdued her courage, and when she could neither charge him in front nor get in his rear, she fell back towards the tree, still fighting desperately. Under the tree a fresh spirit was infused into the affray, and every time she heard her cubs whine, she returned with increased fury to the assault. She was received, however, with such a shower of blows, that, at last dispirited and exhausted, she retreated hastily towards the forest, and entered its shades; contriving, nevertheless, whenever the gallant Cossack moved towards the refuge of her cubs, to make a rush in that direction.

All this time the cubs remained perched among the branches, and the officer, considering himself victorious, longed to take possession of his prize. But he could devise no plan of getting at them, and it was evident they would not come down at his call. Luckily, a woodman, on his way to the gold mine, rode into the arena. The Cossack hailed him; ordered him to dismount, to take from his saddle the zumka, or leather saddle-bags, and, climbing the tree, to thrust the cubs into them, while he himself kept watch over the mother bear. This was done, though not without several sharp encounters between the she-bear and the officer; and, finally, the peasant threw his heavy bags across his horse, and led the way to the ravine, the Cossack covering the rear. In this fashion they marched into Barnaoul; first, the woodman and his horse, next the Cossack officer, and behind him the bear. The march occupied two hours, and the unfortunate mother persevered to the very last, not abandoning her young ones until their captor had reached the cottages. Then she hastily returned into the forest, and was seen no more.

III

There is much to attract and impress in the scenery of the lakes of the Altai. Lake scenery in a mountainous country is always picturesque, always striking, from the variety of forms which it presents, and its endless contrasts of light and shade, and its magical combinations of colours. Moreover, it passes so rapidly from the calmly beautiful to the sublime! for at one moment the silver waters sleep as profoundly as a babe on its mother’s breast; at another, the storm-wind issues from the savage glen, and lashes them into a white wrath. In the genial days of summer it shines and sparkles with a peculiar radiance; a golden glory seems to hang upon the mountain sides, and a purple light rests on the bosom of the lake. In the dreary winter, nothing can be grander in its gloom; the hollows and the glens are heavy with an eery darkness, through which the white peaks show like sheeted phantoms. In truth, it appeals to us by its twofold features of the mountain and the water. The former awakens our awe, lifts us out of our commonplace lives, and fills us with a sense of the wonder and mystery of God’s work; it is an embodiment of majesty and power, a noble and sublime architecture, the study of which awakens the higher and purer impulses of the soul. Beauty of colour, perfection of form, an endless change in the midst of what seems to us an everlasting permanency – all those are the mountain’s; all these belong to that great cathedral of the earth, with its “gates of rock,” its “pavements of cloud,” its snow-white altars, and its airy roof, traversed by the stars. Then as to water; has it not a wonder and a beauty of its own? “If we think of it,” says Ruskin, “as the source of all the changefulness and beauty which we have seen in clouds; then as the instrument by which the earth we have contemplated was modelled into symmetry, and its crags chiselled into grace; then as, in the form of snow, it robes the mountains it has made, with that transcendent light which we could not have conceived if we had not seen; then as it exists in the foam of the torrent, in the iris which spans it, in the morning mist which rises from it, in the deep crystalline peaks which mirror its hanging shore, in the broad lake and glowing river; finally, in that which is to all human minds the best emblem of unwearied, unconquerable power, the wild, various, fantastic, tameless unity of the sea; what shall we compare to this mighty, this universal element, for glory and for beauty? or how shall we follow its eternal changefulness of feeling?” Bring the two together, the water and the mountain, and the landscape attains its highest character; the picture is then as consummate in its mingled beauty and grandeur as Nature can make it; and hence it is, I think, that lake scenery has always such a power over the imagination.

The Altin-Kool, or Golden Lake, measuring about one hundred versts in length, and from three to twelve in breadth, lies in an enormous chasm, with peaks and precipices all around it, some of them two thousand feet in height, and so perpendicular as to afford no footing even for a chamois. On the west side of the lake, the mountain pinnacles rise to 10,500 feet, and on the south several are even loftier. On the east side their elevation is less, but still they reach far above the line of vegetation into the region of perpetual snow. Having engaged some Kalmucks, or boatmen, Mr. Atkinson and his companions set out in canoes to explore the lake, beginning on the east. For the first ten versts the mountains do not rise very abruptly; they slope to the north, and green cedar forests cover them to the very summit, while the banks on the opposite side are almost treeless. Winding round a small headland, the lake expands into a splendid basin, with picturesque mountains grouped on either shore. Early in the evening the voyagers stopped near a torrent, which poured its foam and din down a narrow gorge, and the Kalmucks recommended it as a favourable site for an encampment. A bed of clean white sand, about fifteen feet wide, sloped gradually to the water-side. Between the upper rim of the sand and the rocks, large cedars were growing, and under these a bulayan, or wigwam, was constructed. Though consisting only of a few bare poles, covered with birch bark, open in front, and the ends filled up with branches, it was warm, and it kept out the mosquitoes; and within its welcome covert Mr. Atkinson and his party contentedly passed the night.

At daybreak, a fresh wind was blowing, and until this subsided the Kalmucks could not be induced to move. Satisfied at last with the promise both of sky and mountains, they pushed off, and doubling round a rocky point, entered a broad and beautiful bay, curving gracefully in the shadow of snow-capped mountains. At Tasck-tash, a bold headland, the lake turns directly south. Climbing to its summit, Mr. Atkinson enjoyed a noble view of the expanse of shining waters – one of those views which rests in the memory for ever, and is at all times a beauty and a joy. The general character of the landscape is boldness. Along the west shore the rocks dip to the east, at a very sharp angle, while upon their foundations the crags rise perpendicularly, and, above all, a snow-crowned summit shines like silver against the sapphire sky. On the east, as already stated, the mountains are less abrupt; but one, a conspicuous peak, rears a lofty and rounded crest far into the clouds, with white vaporous billows clinging to its rugged sides, and the eternal snow whitening its remote crest.

As the voyage progressed, the voyagers came upon such mysteries of colour as filled them with delight. Out of the chinks and clefts in the deep red granite bloomed bright plants and flowers with tropical luxuriance. Some slate rocks, grey, purple, and orange, intervened; the bright yellow of the birches lighted up the distant rocks; and the background was filled in with the deep purple mountains. The whole was a wonder of rich harmonious colouring, like a symphony of Beethoven’s. At another point a gleaming waterfall leaped boldly over a succession of picturesque rocky terraces, the colours of which were bright as those of the rainbow, green, yellow, purple, and glowing red. There was also a white marble, spotted with purple; another, white, with veins of bluish purple; and a mass of exquisite, deep plum-coloured jasper. On the third day of their exploration, the voyagers entered one of the wildest parts of the lake – a deep circular recess in the Karakorum Mountains, into which three streams fling their heedless waters, uniting near the brink of a mighty precipice, and then tumbling down from ledge to ledge, to pass through a natural arch and fall into the lake. Prom the summit of the cliff, where the water takes its first leap, to the level of the lake, is not less than two thousand feet. “Avalanches must sometimes sweep over this place, and large trees are bent down and stripped of their branches. Huge rocks are torn up and hurled along, crushing and grinding everything in their course, as they rush on into the lake. No man can conceive the chaotic confusion into which the mass of ice and rocks has been heaped. One enormous stone, weighing not less than a hundred and fifty tons, had been placed on its end, on the edge of the rock, in an overhanging position towards the lake.”

Various rivers flow into the Altin-Kool, such as the Tchoulishman, the Kamga, and the Karbou. They are navigated by the Kalmucks in light canoes, each constructed from the trunk of a single tree. The poplar is much used for this purpose; but, notwithstanding the softness of its wood, the labour of canoe-building is very great, owing to the rude character of the tools employed. The sides are cut down to a thickness of about three-quarters of an inch; but the bottom, which is usually made flat and without a keel, is nearly double the thickness.

Having completed his circumnavigation of the Altin-Kool, Mr. Atkinson, with his thirst for new scenes unquenched, started on a visit to the source of the river Katounaia. His route lay past Kolyvan, a town where the population is principally employed in cutting and polishing jasper and porphyry, and across the river Tchenish. He then crossed into the valley of the Koksa, and descended upon the Yabagan steppe, where he met with some Kalmuck auls, and was present at a curious pseudo-religious ceremony, the offering up of an annual sacrifice to the Kalmuck deity. A ram was presented by its owner, who desired a large increase to his herds and flocks. It was handed to an assistant of the priest, who duly killed it. Meanwhile, the priest, looking eastward, chanted a prayer, and beat on a large tambourine to attract the attention of his god, while he petitioned for multitudes of sheep and cattle. When the ram had been flayed, the skin was hoisted on a pole above the framework of the bulayan, and placed with its head to the east. The tambourine was loudly beaten, and the wild chant continued. Then the flesh was cooked in the large caldron, and all the tribe partook of the dainty – “there was a sound of revelry by night.”

The Kalmuck priest wears a leather coat, over the laps of which impend hundreds of strips, with leather tassels on the breast. He fastens a girdle round his waist; and an assortment of brass balls on his back, and scraps of iron in front, produces a continuous jingle. His crimson velvet cap is ornamented over the forehead with brass beads and glass drops, and at the back with feathers from the tail of the crane.

The Kalmucks who inhabit these steppes own large herds of horses and oxen, and flocks of sheep. Some of the men are sturdy fellows and perfect Nimrods; they live by the chase, and spend months alone in the mountain wilds. Mr. Atkinson speaks of them as brave, honest, and faithful. “I have slept at their bulayan, and partaken of their venison. A City alderman would be horrified to see the haunch of a fine buck cut into small pieces an inch square and half an inch thick, through twenty of which a sharp-pointed stick is run, and the thick end stuck into the ground in a leaning position near the fire. Every man here is his own cook, and attends to the roast. The upper piece is first done, when it is slipped off, dipped in salt, and eaten quite hot – without currant jelly.”

At Ouemonia Lake, the last village in the Altai, Mr. Atkinson halted in order to obtain a sufficient number of men and horses for his ascent to the source of the Katounaia, and the Bielouka, the highest point in the Altai chain. He was provided by the chief official, or magistrate, with an escort of six Kalmucks and two Russians (one of them a veteran hunter), and at seven o’clock on Wednesday morning sprang into his saddle and rode away. Including himself and his attendant, the party consisted of ten men, with sixteen horses and one dog. Crossing a little steppe, about six versts long, they entered the forest belt which surrounds the lower declivities of the forest-range, and through groves of pine, cedar, birch, and poplar, began their ascent of the first chain. Emerging from the thick leafy covert, they came upon the bare mountain-side, with a storm of rain and sleet beating in their faces, and pursued their way to the foot of a lofty acclivity, across which lay their track. Here they rested, in a “cedarn shade,” until the gale had subsided: then en avant! Through masses of fallen granite and jasper, interspersed with a few giant cedars, they slowly made their way, until they began in earnest to climb the great steep; a slow operation and a dangerous, for great crags, hurled from the upper heights, hung here and there so insecurely as, apparently, to need but a breath to send them crashing downwards in an avalanche, and at other places the ledges along which they rode were so narrow, that the slightest stumble on the part of their patient horses must have precipitated them into destruction! A painful ride of two hours brought them to the summit, which commanded a noble view of the Katounaia valley and the mountains to the north.

Their ride was continued over a high plateau, on which huge rocks, rugged and curiously wrought, the remains of shattered peaks, stood in their awful grandeur; carrying back the imagination through the dim shadows of the past to a period long before the present forms of life existed, and speaking eloquently of the vast changes which earth has undergone. Their aspect was often that of colossal castles, grim with tower and battlement, which fancy peopled with the demons of the mountain and the wilderness. But the travellers could not stay to study them; signs of a terrible tempest were visible, and they dashed forward at a hard gallop to seek shelter in the valley of the Tschugash. A group of cedars, with a patch of smooth turf, was found on the river bank, and there they bivouacked. The night passed without accident or adventure; and early next morning they were again on horseback, and across ridge and valley, through scenes of the strangest picturesqueness, pursued their track. Across ridge and valley, but in a lofty region always – just below the line of perpetual snow, but above the region of vegetation; the eye unrelieved by branch of moss or blade of grass; until, towards evening, they descended into the valley of the Arriga. Then they wound over a low wooded ridge, and struck into a rugged pass, at the head of which they encamped for the night. The tents were pitched; a huge fire blazed; and the hunter having shot a very fine deer, a savour of venison speedily perfumed the cool night air. What with venison and wodky, the travellers feasted gloriously, and the echoes rang with the wild songs of the Kalmucks.

The morning came, and with it the signal “Forward!” They ascended the bank of the Arriga to its source – a small circular basin of about thirty feet diameter, at the foot of a precipice seven or eight hundred feet in height. The basin was deep, with a bed of white pebbles; the water, clear as crystal, issuing forth in a copious stream, rolled downward in a series of small and shining cascades. The path, from this point, lay across a high mountain, the upper part of which was deep shrouded in snow, and it toiled up to the summit in about a hundred bends and curves; a summit like a razor-back, not more than twenty-five feet wide. The ascent was arduous and perilous, but still worse the descent on the other side, owing to the exceeding steepness. Accomplishing it in safety, Mr. Atkinson found himself in the valley of the Mein. The river rises at the foot of a precipice which reaches far above the snow line, and winds its course through a morass which, in the old time, has been a lake, shut in by a barrier of rocks, except at one narrow gap, where the little stream finds an exit in a fall of about fifty feet deep. At the head of the lake is another cataract, which throws its “sheeted silver’s perpendicular” down the precipice in one grand leap of full five hundred feet.

Crossing another chain, and still ascending, the explorers reached another little lake, the Kara-goll, or “Black Lake,” with its waters shining a deep emerald green. This effect, however, is not produced by any surrounding verdure, for the lake is almost encompassed by high mountains, and crags of red and yellowish granite, that rise up into the region of eternal snow. At the upper end a huge mass of basaltic rocks, of a deep grey colour, forms a fine contrast to the yellow castellated forms at their base. On the opposite side of the lake high precipices of granite are backed by grand mountain summits, white with the snows of uncounted ages.

Fording the Kara-sou, or “black water” – a stream issuing from the lake – and crossing a beautiful valley, the riders entered a thickly wooded region which stretches over the lower mountain range down to the Katounaia, and arrived on the bank of the river Bitchuatoo. Thrice had they changed from summer to winter in the course of a day’s ride. Turning to the south, they ascended a steep and lofty summit, from which it was supposed the Bielouka would be visible. It proved to be a rocky height that towered above all the mountains to the west of the Katounaia, even above the loftiest crests of the Chelsoun; and vast and magnificent was the panorama which it commanded. In the foreground, a ridge of huge granite crags, tinted with mosses of almost every hue. In all directions rolled chains of snowy peaks, like the storm-tossed waves of a suddenly frozen sea; and as they rolled, they gradually ebbed, so to speak, down to the far steppes of Chinese Tartary, and were lost in a vapour-shrouded horizon.