Our Little Cossack Cousin in Siberia

I jumped up, waved my arms, and with my mouth full of bread, shouted: "Hurrah!"

My mother stopped me. "Sit down, you foolish boy. You can't go. I need you."

But, after a long argument, mother agreed to my going. Then father and I cleaned the horses and tied their tails up as high as possible, for at this time of the year the roads were very muddy. I placed a light saddle on the horse I was to ride, and father's military saddle with its high trees on the other horse. As father put some sacks with forage behind these, Katia came out with something that mother was sending Dimitri. I was very glad to see this, for it meant that we were going to visit the Cossack barracks.

Half an hour later we had left home and were making our way through the deep mud. It was a beautiful Spring morning. The air was fresh and clear, and, despite the heavy road, the horses were full of spirit and went on with a light and springy gait.

At a turn of the road I suddenly saw two rabbits sitting about a hundred feet from us. Pointing to them, I called to my father to look. Here my horse jumped to one side and I was all but thrown from the saddle.

My father was quite angry. He turned to me exclaiming roughly: "What's the matter with you? A Cossack should always watch his horse. He must never be taken by surprise even should the horse leap a fence. You almost fell like a sack."

Since that lesson I have never failed in watchfulness, never "fallen asleep," as the Cossacks say, even when trying to ride a mule or an ox.

We did not meet many travelers. Once a company of dusky, flat-featured natives of the Lake Baikal region, passed us, splendidly mounted on their horses. Their large, squat bodies gave them a somewhat forbidding air, but I knew how peaceful and harmless they really are. The Russians call them Bratskie (brotherly people). One was dressed in a long, purplish blue cloak, lined with fur, and had on a curious blue cone-shaped hat. The others were evidently Cossacks, for they had on the distinguishing uniform. They may have been on their way to some Buddhist shrine, for the Russian Government, severe with its own people, allows those born into other religions to worship as they please. "God gave us our religion. He gave them theirs," expresses the attitude taken.

It was just here that we were overtaken by a man mounted like ourselves on a shaggy Siberian pony. When he had come up, both he and my father gave expression to surprised greetings. He proved to be an old-time acquaintance. There was no end of questions and answers for he rode with us as far as our destination. He had just come from the city of Vladivostok,14 the great growing seaport of Siberia. As he gave a glowing description of the place, I was reminded of the meaning of the name Vladi-vostok – possessor of the East.

"We may build a great trade with the United States through Vladivostok," he remarked among other things. "It has a splendid, land-locked harbor, large enough for any number of vessels, – and a beautiful one as well."

"But isn't it frozen a large part of the year?" my father asked.

"From the latter part of December to April. It's really too bad so great a country as ours hasn't an outlet further south. But all trade isn't stopped on account of the ice. There is a channel kept open for the largest ships all winter by means of ice-breakers."

"What kind of people are there in Vladivostok?" I ventured to ask, half fearful of saying something ridiculous.

The man turned to me with a smile. "Many exactly like those in your village. Then people from different parts of Europe, and Chinese and Japanese. Also quite a number of Koreans, whom you can tell by their white dress. You'll see those in Habarovsk, also." After a moment's pause, he went on, "The bay is called the Golden Horn (Zolotoy Rog). The town rises up from it in terraces. It is very picturesque."

"I suppose there is a fort there," I again ventured.

This time the man laughed. "If you visited this seaport you might think it all forts. There are defenses, – forts and guns, – whole lines of them, everywhere. The greater part of the population consists of soldiers and sailors."

Here my father broached the subject of which his mind seemed so full these days. "I suppose there are fine schools," he said.

I was so stiff by this time, and my back ached so much from the long unusual ride, that I was no longer able to concentrate my mind on anything except that I must not disgrace my father and myself by showing fatigue.

At last we approached the great Amur River. Across it we could just make out a few black spots and the shining roof of a church.

After a half hour ride we came to a place on the bank where a raft was stationed. A few people were already aboard, desiring, like ourselves, to be taken across. Two soldiers had the boat in charge, and as soon as we were on, every one helped them in making the somewhat difficult trip.

On the opposite bank we parted from our companion, and then, for the first time, I fully realized that we had reached our destination, – the important garrison town of Habarovsk.

CHAPTER XII

A GARRISON TOWN

This was my first visit to a city, and I gazed with very wide wonder at the wooden sidewalks, the big stores, the many two-story houses, the well-dressed women and the numerous soldiers on the street. I could hardly understand what father said to me, so absorbed was I in the entirely new scenes before me.

Suddenly we heard the sound of trumpets, cymbals, and tambourines, accompanied by a lively song. Then a company of Cossacks on horseback issued from a side street. At the head of the column rode a group of special singers, —pesenniki.

Father and I stationed ourselves near the edge of the street, and tried to find a familiar figure. The long row of faces splashed here and there with mud; the similar uniforms, with rifles protruding from leather straps at the back and swords at the side; the hats tipped to the right, all exactly at the same angle; every left hand holding the bridle reins, every right hand placed on the hips; – how was it possible to distinguish among them?

I soon decided that my only chance of finding Dimitri was to look for his horse, which I knew to be gray, while the majority were bay. It was not long before I shouted: "Father, look at the eighth row! Dimitri!" Then still louder: "Dimitri! Dimitri! Look! Here we are!"

Brother turned and nodded, but, to my great astonishment, did not come to us, but followed the others without giving any other expression of recognition.

Then I heard father saying, "Why can't you be quiet? Dimitri can't come to us until his company is dismissed."

Meanwhile the Cossacks, six abreast, continued to ride past us whistling and singing.

The entire population of the place now seemed to gather on the sidewalk. There were merchants in front of their stores, boys who tried hard to keep step with the horses, women returning from market with baskets on their arms, all gazing with appreciation at what was a daily sight. How very desirable it seemed to me to be one of such a company. How glad I was that my brother belonged to it, and that my father was a Cossack. Hoping to impress a pretty little girl who stood near me, I took off my felt cap with its yellow cloth top, symbolic of the East Siberian Cossacks, and then having looked at it, slowly put it on again.

The Cossack officers rode on one side of the men. They were distinguished not only by their brighter uniforms but also by the half Arabian horses on which they were mounted. Many of them had silver-plated belts around their waists. They had no rifles, only swords that shone brightly, while revolvers hung from their left sides. The bridles of their horses glimmered with silver. All the horses were covered with foam, showing that the drill had been no easy one.

When we reached the barracks, the commanding officer gave an order, and the whole company leaped like one man from their horses to the ground. Another order, and the horses were led to the stables, adobe buildings covered with thatched roofs.

After the horses were rubbed down and fed, Dimitri at last came and embraced us, saying: "Wait for me at the rooms of the second platoon, where I'll join you as soon as I am free."

Then he ran with others to wash before taking his place in the dining-room. As we made our way to the dormitory, my attention was again attracted by singing, but of a different kind. It was the solemn prayer which was always chanted before dinner.

Soon we found ourselves in a long room in a brick building. Everything about it was exceedingly neat. High windows admitted plenty of light, and as all were open there was a fine circulation of fresh air. The walls were apparently freshly white-washed, the floors painted. In one corner hung a big ikon with a lamp under it. About fifty iron beds placed in two rows were down the middle. Each bed was covered with a gray blanket and each was marked with the name of the owner. Along the inside of the wall stood racks for the rifles.

When, after a half hour, we heard the chanting of the prayer of thanks in the dining-room near by, we looked expectantly at the door. The company soon filed in. Some stretched themselves on their beds, some sat down to read, and some began to mend their clothes.

When Dimitri came, one of father's first inquiries was regarding schools and the promotion to officer rank. My brother was not well posted and so called the sergeant-major to help him. Time passed quickly until the hour for drill. Then the first Cossack who noticed that an officer had entered the room, exclaimed, "Silence! Rise!"

At once there was deep quiet as all arose. I was amazed at the sudden change, and looked with respect and fear at the man who could produce it. It was father's old-time friend, Captain Mongalov. I watched everything that he did with great intentness, noted how his worn-out uniform was tightly buttoned, how erect he held his body. Even the curves of his legs, probably caused from living so much on horseback, and the way he swayed from side to side as he walked, attracted me. And how splendid and fierce I thought his big black mustache reaching almost to his ears.

His face was a peculiar mixture of the Russian and Asiatic types, occasionally met among Siberian Cossacks. When he smiled, he showed two rows of perfect ivory, and he smiled often. Yet even with his comrades his expression could change to one of great sternness at the least break of discipline.

When he saw us he turned to my father with, "From where do you hail, friend?"

Father slowly and smilingly replied, "Don't you recognize me, Ivan Petrovitch? I have just come from the Ussuri."

"What! Is it you, Alexis Pavlovitch!" Mongalov exclaimed. "It's ages since I last saw you." And he embraced my father.

After a short exchange of reminiscences, he turned to me. "Is this your son? He promises to make a fine Cossack! Are you keeping in mind, my son, Cossack ideals of bravery and honor?"

Drawing myself to my full height in imitation of the bearing of those around me, I answered as well as I could, looking straight into his eyes as I did so.

"Good!" he exclaimed, and taking hold of me under the elbows he tossed me, like an old acquaintance, high into the air.

Then, suddenly, he turned to my father. "You must excuse me now. I want to see more of you some evening at my house." And, in a flash, the genial friend had changed into the stern commander of a company who, at a single word from him, proceeded to do the various tasks necessary before retiring.

CHAPTER XIII

A COSSACK DRILL

The night was spent at the home of an aunt, whose husband, a grocer, was also a retired Cossack. Their home was a very humble one, but what it lacked in luxury it made up in the hospitality of its owners.

Fresh straw for beds was brought in and put in a room set apart. This straw was covered with heavy home-spun bed linen, some feather pillows, and two big fur coats as comforters. After a fire had been kindled in the stove, we were invited to partake of supper, which consisted of deer meat, pancakes heavily buttered, and sour cream.

After eating very heartily I became so sleepy that I was ordered to bed. When I awoke, the sun was streaming directly into my face. Father, who was already dressed, tried to hurry me by saying, "You are a nice Cossack! They must be half through the drill which you were so anxious to see. Mongalov has promised to give you a horse so that you can follow the sotnia" (a company of from one hundred and twenty to one hundred and sixty horsemen).

This was news to me. Burning my mouth in my haste to swallow my hot tea, I was ready to follow my father in a few minutes.

When we came to the barracks the Cossacks, holding on to the reins of their horses with their right hands, were assembled in the front yard, and the sergeant-major was calling the roll. "We came too late for the morning prayer," my father whispered to me as the roll was ended.

Here came an order from the sergeant-major. "Seat yourselves." At once every man leaped upon his horse.

"Line up," came next, and the horses arranged themselves in two straight lines, head to head and breast to breast.

"Silence!" was the next order, and all gazed mutely ahead, immovable as statues.

Some long command, the words of which I did not catch, followed, and the company changed positions to six in a row. A moment after, all were trotting along the road out of town.

As we started to follow, the sergeant-major hailed me. "Good morning! Are you the young fellow whom Captain Mongalov wishes to have a horse?"

"Yes," answered my father for me, adding, "But I'm afraid he isn't a good enough rider to follow the company."

"Never fear," returned the sergeant-major. "I'll bet he's a true Cossack and will take to horses as a duck does to a lake."

A soldier now held a horse until I had climbed into its saddle. When he let it go, it started so fast to catch up with the others that I had difficulty in keeping my seat. However I did this, and also managed to prevent the horse from joining the ranks.

After we had left the city, the company was halted in a big plain which stretched far out before us. It was somewhat rolling, with here and there washed-out places. The sergeant-major rode along the line inspecting the ammunition and appearance of the men. While he was doing this, horses were heard approaching at full speed. On the foremost sat Mongalov. A little behind came two other officers.

"Greetings to you, little brothers!" he shouted as he rode along the line without reining in his horse.

Then I was almost dumbfounded by the suddenness of a gigantic answer. "Good Day to Your Honor," came from the company as from one man.

Mongalov noticed me and kindly stopped to say: "Keep close to the trumpeter and you'll see everything. Only don't get into anybody's way or I'll have to arrest you." With a smiling nod he rode to the front.

At a word from him, the officers took their places. Then followed several changes of position, all done with great rapidity and precision. I learned later that Captain Mongalov's men were unusually well trained even for Cossacks. The Captain loved his profession and the men were devoted to him. There was something fatherly in the great care that he took of the Cossacks under him. On the other hand, he was severe in punishing any breach of discipline. No one resented this since he was just and endeavored to make the punishment corrective.

At the conclusion of the drill Mongalov called out in a voice resounding with warm approval: "Well done, little brothers, well done. Thank you!"

And again, as one man, the company responded: "We were glad to do our best, Your Honor."

"Down!" was the next order.

All leaped together to the ground.

"Rest and smoke," came again, and he and his officers jumped off their own horses and stood together discussing the next drill.

The company followed their example, and soon burst into loud talk and laughter, while clouds of smoke arose from pipes and cigarettes.

In the meantime I didn't know what to do. I was afraid that if I climbed down I couldn't get up again on my horse, who seemed unusually lively and disobedient to me. But I was not left long in this awkward position, for after a quarter of an hour of rest the Cossacks were again on their horses, every man ready to obey any order.

To judge by the alert look on their faces, the most important part of the drill was now to come. Every eye was turned toward their commanding officer as if trying to guess what new trick would be required of them.

Mongalov sat on his steed, his right hand twirling his mustache, his eyes directed far down the field as if surveying the distance or estimating the difficulties before his men. Then his voice rang out abruptly: "Company, build lava!"

These words produced an effect like a discharge of ammunition in the midst of the Cossacks. The horses rushed madly forward and to each side of the center, forming a kind of fan. Only by putting forth the full strength of my arm did I keep my horse in place, the proud animal trying so hard to show that she understood the command.

In the wink of an eye the compact body of horses was transformed into a long line of separate riders, stretched so that there was about twenty feet between each. All were still, the men with swords drawn out of their scabbards.

Mongalov no longer shouted orders but indicated what was to be done by waving his sword in different directions. As if charmed by its motions, the long line moved, now to the right, now to the left, now forward, now backward.

Once Mongalov, evidently dissatisfied, ordered the trumpeter to repeat through the trumpet the order given with the sword. Since that time I have loved the harmonious sounds of the Cossack trumpet which in a very short time I grew to understand as plainly as spoken words.

Here something happened. Mongalov again made a sign to the trumpeter. A short, disagreeably false tone was the result. At this the Cossacks acted like mad. With swords outstretched, they bent down to their horses' manes and with a terrible yell, "Whee-ee!" they rushed wildly to the front against an imaginary enemy. My horse with ears back, took her bit between her teeth, and flew after them. Here I learned how rapidly a horse can travel. The air whistled in my ears; my hat was blown off; my feet flew from the stirrups; and not to be thrown off, I grabbed the horse by the mane, uttering a short prayer.

I did not know what was happening around me until I found myself, perhaps because of my light weight, among the other Cossacks. Around me were excited faces with wild expressions; faces that had lost their humanity; faces such as demons might possess, or Christian fanatics who would lay down their lives for their faith.

As we rode, a big washout suddenly loomed before us. Most of the horses immediately jumped over and disappeared in a mad rush forward. But my horse and those of three men, perhaps through some fault on our part, did not make the proper jump. I felt a shock as the hoofs of my horse struck the opposite banks of the ravine, and then the horse fell to the ground, throwing me over its head into the middle of a mud-hole.

As I struggled to get up, there came a new signal of three long harmonious sounds. The lava was stopped. Once out of the hole, I saw a line of still excited horses far to the front. Two or three riderless horses, one of them mine, were running around them. Not far from me lay another breathing hard and trying vainly to rise. Near it a Cossack lay stretched out, while two others sat on the ground a short distance away.

In a short time Mongalov, the trumpeter, and two officers, came galloping to us. His first question was to me. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I replied, in a voice that sounded strange to me, so shaken was I with the new experience.

"Here," said Mongalov to a Cossack, "place this boy back of yourself." Then, throwing the reins of his horse to the trumpeter, he leaped down and turned his attention to the man lying stretched on the ground.

He proved to be alive but with a leg broken and was put into the ambulance which had come up. "What's the matter with you?" Mongalov asked the two bruised, scratched, and mud-covered men who sat on the ground.

"Nichevo,"15 they answered, smiling and shaking their heads. And as soon as their horses were caught and brought to them, they managed to leap on them as if in reality nothing had happened.

When my horse was led up, Mongalov looked at me where I sat ashamed to meet his gaze, holding tightly to the belt of the man before me. "You can stay where you are, my boy," he said kindly, "or ride your own horse. But let me congratulate you on being now a true Cossack. The man who has never fallen from his saddle can never make a satisfactory cavalryman!"

How much good these words did me! They not only made me feel at ease with myself, but taught me one of the best lessons of my life: that mistakes or mishaps do not down a man who can rise above them. With some difficulty I slipped from my safe position, and climbed as swiftly as possible into the saddle of my former horse.

It was not long before the entire company were again on their way back to town. At the call "Singers forward," several Cossacks left the ranks and took their places at the head of the column. One of these men was urged to sing and he responded with a Little Russian song about a Cossack who returned home from fighting the Turks. At the conclusion of each stanza those surrounding the soloist began the refrain which was taken up by the entire company. Listening to this story-telling song I almost forgot that I was in Siberia, so vividly did pictures of what took place far away a hundred years ago pass before me.

This song was followed by a boisterous rollicking one. The chorus was loud and accompanied by cymbals and tambourine. Any one glancing at the broadly smiling and yelling faces, would not have believed that their owners were just returning from the most strenuous kind of work, had it not been for the mud and perspiration visible and their foam-covered horses.

CHAPTER XIV

AN EVENING VISIT

As we approached the town, there was less talking and laughing and the singing became less boisterous. The crowds gathered as I had seen them before, and showed their appreciation of the songs by now and then joining in the chorus.

Before the barracks were reached, the men leaped down from the horses, loosened their saddle girths, and led them to the stables. Here they unsaddled them, gave them hay, and curried them, while the non-commissioned officers inspected their legs as well as the skin that had been under the saddles. This was done with much caution, for Captain Mongalov was particularly strict regarding the health and care of the horses. Where there was negligence, his usual reprimand was apt to end with: "Don't forget next time that the Cossack army's efficiency depends more on the sound legs of a good horse than on the blockhead who does not know enough to take care of them."

When all the horses had been inspected, cleaned, watered, and given their prescribed measure of oats, the men were allowed to go to get themselves ready for dinner, leaving, however, four men whose turn it was to take care of the stables.

I wish there were time to tell of all the wonders of that garrison visit, of the dinner in the big dining-room with Dimitri, of the lessons given the young men, of the instructing officers, and most of all of my first sight of the fascinating and difficult exercise called the jigatovka, which I saw that same afternoon, and which consisted of horse vaulting, dart throwing at a gallop and many other things.

Captain Mongalov invited us all to spend the evening at his house, and by six o'clock my father, my aunt, and I were at his front door. Being a little in advance of the others, I tried to open it, but, to my surprise, found it was not possible to do so. Could it be locked, I wondered. In our village such a thing was never done except under very unusual circumstances. Father, noting my surprise, pointed to a handle on the door which he bade me pull down. I did so and heard a loud ring within. In a moment the door was opened by an orderly, who greeted us like friends and invited us in.