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WILD LIFE AND SCENES 


IN 
MANY LANDS 


= << SS 
SRSH 
eS 
= 


\ 
\ 


BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED LONDON, GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH. 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR: 


STUDIES OF 


WILD LIFE AND SCENES 


IN 


MANY LANDS 


BY THE NATURALIST-TRAVELLER 


ALFRED EDMUND BREHM 


AUTHOR OF “‘BIRD-LIFE”, “ TIERLEBEN”, ETC, ETC. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY MARGARET R. THOMSON 


EDITED BY 


J. ARTHUR THOMSON, ™.a., F.RS.E. 


WITH EIGHTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS 


BLACKIE & SON, Limrrep 
LONDON, GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN 


6 


PREFACE 


TO THE GERMAN EDITION. 


Six years have passed since the grave at Renthendorf 
closed over the remains of my esteemed father, whose death 
—all too early—was as great a loss to Science as to those 
who loved and honoured him. It was strange that his 
eventful and adventurous life, in the course of which he 
visited and explored four quarters of the globe, should have 
ended at the little spot in green Thuringia where he was 
born. He had just reached his fifty-fifth year when his lips, 
so apt in speech, were silenced, and the pen which he held so 
masterfully dropped from his hand. He was full of great plans 
as to various works, and it is much to be regretted that the 
notes which he had collected towards the realization of these 
were too fragmentary for anyone but their author to utilize. 
But the manuscripts which he left contained many a treasure, 
and it seemed to me a duty, both to the author and to all 
friends of thoughtful observation, to make these available to 
the reading public. 

The following pages form the first book of the kind, and 
contain the most valuable part of the legacy—Alfred Edmund 
Brehm’s lectures, once so universally popular. I believe that, 
in giving these pages to the world, I am offering a gift which 
will be warmly welcomed, and I need add no commendatory 
words of mine, for they speak adequately for themselves. 
Writing replaces spoken words very imperfectly, and my 


vi FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


father, who was never tied down to his paper, may often 
have delivered the same matter in different forms according 
to the responsiveness of his audience, abbreviating here, 
expanding there—yet to anyone who has heard him the 
following pages will recall his presence and the tones of his 
sonorous voice; everyone will not only recognize in them the 
individuality of the author of the Zierleben (Animal Life) 
and Bird Life, but will learn to know him in a new and 
attractive side of his character. For it is my father’s lectures 
almost more than any other of his works which show the 
wealth of his experiences, the many-sidedness of his know- 
ledge, his masterly powers of observation and description, 
and not least his delicate kindly humour and the sympa- 
thetic interpretation of animate and inanimate nature which 
arose from his deeply poetic temperament. 

Therefore I send these pages forth into the world with 
the pleasant confidence that they will add many to the 
author’s already numerous friends. May they also gain new 
and unprejudiced sympathizers for the animal world which 
he loved so warmly and understood so thoroughly; and may 
they, in every house where the love of literature, and of the 
beautiful is cherished, open eyes and hearts to perceive the 
beauty of nature, the universal mother; then will the highest 
and noblest aim of their author be achieved. 

So may all success attend these pages, may they receive 
a joyful welcome, and wherever they gain an entrance may 
they remain as a prized possession. 


HORST BREHM, 


Doctor of Medicine. 
BERLIN, September, 1890, 


PREFATORY NOTE 


TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION. 


It has been a privilege to make available to English readers 
a book which shows a great naturalist at his best—a book that 
presents the reader with a series of vivid pictures of wild life and 
scenery, painted from actual observation, and with all the truth 
and accuracy that belong to the artist and man of science combined. 
It consists of a number of papers or articles that were originally 
read as public lectures and were afterwards collected into a volume 
that has met with much success in Germany. The subjects treated 
range over a wide and varied field. Some of them are unfamiliar 
to the ordinary reader, and besides their inherent interest have the 
added charm of novelty; others, if more familiar, are here invested 
with a freshness and charm that such a trained observer and prac- 
tised writer as the author could alone impart. 


To the translation of the German original have been added an 
introductory essay, showing Brehm’s position among naturalist- 
travellers, an extended table of contents, an appendix containing a 
number of editorial notes, and an index. The number of pictorial 
illustrations has also been increased. 


For a notice of the Author and his labours see the concluding 
part of the Introductory Essay. 
M. R. T. 
J. A. T, 


UNIVERSITY HALL, 
EprmpurcuH, December, 1895. 


CONTENTS. 


Prerace To German Epition, - = = - - - 
Preratory Nore To THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION, : - : - 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE EDITOR, - : 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 


The legend of Scandinavia’s origin—The harvest of the sea—The doves 
of Scandinavia—Eider-holms and bird-bergs—The nesting of tha 
eider-duck—Razor-bills and robber-gulls— Millions of birds—(Notes, 
pp. 565-566), - - - - - - - - - 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 


High tundra and low tundra—The jewels of the tundra—The flora of the 
tundra—The Arctic fox—The lemming—The reindeer—The birds of 
the tundra— Mosquitoes—(Notes, pp. 566-568), - - - 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 


The steppe in summer and in winter—The coming of sprig—The rendez- 
vous in the reeds—The marsh-harrier—The home of larks—Jerboa 
and souslik—The archar sheep—The kulan and the ancestry of the 
horse—(Notes, pp. 568-571), - - - - - - 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 


An ice-wilderness or not—The forest zone—Axe and fire—The pines— 
Hunting and trapping—The elk, the wolf, and the lynx—Sable 
and other furred beasts— Bear-hunting and bear-stories—(Notes, 
pp. 571-573), - ee ee ee ee 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 


The progress of the seasons—A tropical thunderstorm—Night in the 
steppes—Spiders, scorpions, and snakes—Mudfish and other sleepers 
—Cleopatra’s asp—Geckos—The children of the air—The bateleur 
eagle—The ostrich—The night-jar—The mammals of the steppe— 
Stampede before a steppe-fire—(Notes, pp. 573-576), - 


33 


63 


86 


120 


168 


x FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 


Spring in the forest—The beautiful Hassanie—The bacbab—Climbers and 
twiners—The forest birds and their voices—Sociable birds—Conjugal 
tenderness—Salt’s antelope—River monsters—A. rain-lake—Hosanna 
in the highest—(Notes, pp. 576-578), - - - - - 


MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 


Black rats and brown—Cousin man’s kindness to the monkeys—Migration 
of mountain animals—The restlessness of the reindeer— Wandering 
herds of buffaloes—The life of the kulan—Travellers by sea—Flights 
of bats—The march of the lemmings—(Notes, pp. 578-581), - - 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 


Are birds automata?—The battles of love—Different modes of courtship 
—Polygamy—Life-long devotion—(Notes, p. 581), - - - - 


APES AND MONKEYS. 


Sheikh Kemal’s story—The monkey question—A general picture of 
monkey life—Marmosets and other New World monkeys—Dog-like 
and man-like Old World monkeys—Monkeys as pets—The true 
position of monkeys—(Notes, pp. 581-583), - - - - - 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 


An appreciation of the desert—The start of the caravan—The character 
of the camel—A day’s journey—Oases—Simoom and sand storms— 
Fata morgana—The peace of night—(Note, p. 583), - - - 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 


Egypt and Nubia contrasted—Wady Halfa and Phile—The three great 
cataracts—Journey up and down stream—The Nile boatmen—History 
of Nubia—(Notes, pp. 583-584), a oe ee re a 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 


Russian hospitality —A tedious journey— An excursion into Chinese 
territory —Sport among the mountains—Journeying northwards—On 
the track of splenic fever—(Notes, p. 584), - s 2 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 


Racial affinities—Christians and heathen—The dress of the Ostiaks—The 
tshum of the wandering Ostiaks—The life of the herdsmen—A fishing 
village—The Ostiak at the fair—An Ostiak wedding—An interview 
with a Shaman—Funeral rites—(Notes, pp. 584-585), - 


Page 


201 


234 


259 


282 


318 


356 


390 


416 


CONTENTS. 


NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 


The name Kirghiz—Conditions of life on the steppe—Winter dwellings— 
Breaking up the camp—In praise of the yurt—The herds of the 
Kirghiz — The Kirghiz horse —Summer wanderings — “A sheep’s 
journey ”—Returning flocks—Evening in the aul—(Note, p. 585), 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 


The Kirghiz as horsemen—Racing and wrestling—Hunting with eagles 
and greyhounds—A sheep-drive—The “red tongue ”—Kirghiz bards— 
Education and character— Kirghiz etiquette—The price of a bride— 
The children—Funeral ceremonies, - - 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 


Mistaken impressions—Impartial observation—The emancipation of the 
serfs—The Altai—Compulsory service—Condition of the peasants— 
The superabundant harvest—Romance in Siberia—Domestic life open 
to the convicts—The way of sighs—General picture of Siberian life— 
Runaways—(Notes, pp. 585-586), - - - 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 


Twenty eyries—The voyage down the river—The woods on the banks—A 
heronry—Sea-eagles—A paradise of birds—The marsh of Hullo— 
The black vultures of Fru’kagora—Homeward once more—(Note, 
p. 586), - - ‘ a es 


In DEX, . ° es - . . - . - = - 


Page 


451 


482 


510 


540 


587 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Fie. 
Portrait or ALFRED Epmunp Bream, . - - 
1. Scene on the Sogne Fjord, Norway, - - - - - 
2. Colony of Hider-ducks, - - - - = 3 
3. The Bird-bergs of Lapland, : : - - - 
4, Razor-bills, - - - - - fs B 
5. The High Tundra in Northern Siberia, - - - ee 33 
6. Peregrine Falcons and Lemmings, - o¢ 7 
7. The White or Arctic Fox (Canis lagopus), - - : - 
8. The Reindeer (Tarandus rangifer), - - - - 
9. Skuas, Phalathrope, and Golden Plovers, - : - - 
10. View in the Asiatic Steppes, - - = . 
11. A Salt Marsh in the Steppes, - - 
12. A Herd of Horses during a Snowstorm on the Asiatic Steppes 


13. Lake Scene and Waterfowl in an Asiatic Steppe, - - 
14. The Souslik (Spermophilus citillus), - - - 
15. The Jerboa (Alactaga jaculus), - . . - 
16. Archar Sheep or Argali (Ovis Argali), - - - : 
17. Pallas’s Sand-grouse (Syrrhaptes paradoxus), - - - 
18. The Kulan (Equus hemionus), - : - : . 
19. Reindeer Flocking to Drink, ~~ 2 - 
20. Elk and Black-cock in a Siberian Forest, - - : 
21. The Maral Stag, - : : : . 
22. The Elk Hunter—A Successful Shot, - - - . 
23. A Siberian Method of Wolf-shooting, - - 
24, Sable and Hazel-grouse in a Siberian Forest, - : 
25. The Bed of an Intermittent River, Central Africa, - 
26. Hills of African Termites, or White Ants, - . 
27. Secretary-bird and Aspis, - § - - - 
28. On an Ostrich Farm in South Africa, - - . 
29. Hyena-dogs pursuing Antelope, 

30. Zebras, Quaggas, and Ostriches flying before a Steppe Fire, 
31. The Baobab Tree, Central Africa, - 

32. Long-tailed Monkeys, - - : - - - 


. Salt’s Antelope (Antilope Saltiana), - - 

. Crocodile and Crocodile-birds (Pluxianus egyptius), 

. A Wild Duck defending her Brood from a Brown Rat, 
. A Herd of American Bison or Buffalo, - 

. Wild Horses crossing a River during a Storm, - 


y 


Frontispiece. 


Page 


35 
44 
51 
61 
65 
70 
73 
76 
80 
89 
90 
94 
99 
108 
108 
111 
113 
118 
133 
137 
145 
148 
153 
159 
175 
179 
184 
190 
196 
199 
211 
222 
224 
228 
236 
243 
246 


xiv 
Fia. 
38. 
39. 
40. 
41, 
42, 
43, 
44, 
45. 
46. 
47, 
48. 
49. 
50. 
Bl. 
52. 
53. 
54, 
55. 
56. 
57. 
58. 
59. 
60. 
61. 
62. 
63. 
64, 
65. 
66. 
67. 
68. 
69. 
70. 
71. 
72. 
73. 
74. 
75. 
76. 
77. 
78, 
79. 
80. 
81. 
82. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, 


Flying Foxes, - : - 

Springbok Antelopes, 

The Strutting of the Tragopan in Pairing-time, 

Cock Chaffinches Fighting, - : 

Entellus Monkeys (Semnopithecus Entellus), : 
Common Marmoset or Ouistiti (Hapale Jacchus), 

Red Howling Monkeys (Mycetis seniculus), 

Old Baboon Rescuing Young One, 

Macaque or Bonnet-monkey (Macacus sinicus) and Snake, 
The Hoolock (Hylobates leuciscus), one of the Gibbons, 


Chimpanzee (Troglodytes niger), 

Caravan in the African Desert, - 
An Encampment in the Sahara, - - 
Gazelles lying near a Mimosa, : : 
An Oasis in the Desert of Sahara, - : 
Band of Mounted Bedouins, - 

An Egyptian Sakieh or Water-wheel, . 

A Nubian Village on the Nile, 

Nubian Children at Play, - : 
A Passage through the Nile Rapids, - : 
A Post Station in Siberia, : - 

Imperial Eagle, Marmot, and Souslik, - : 
An Ostiak Settlement on the Banks of the Obi, - 
Huts and Winter Costume of the Christian Ostiaks, 


“Heathen” Ostiaks, Reindeer, and Tshums, 

Ostiaks with Reindeer and Sledge, : 
Interior of an Ostiak Dwelling (Tshum), : 

The Burial of an Ostiak, - 
The Home of a Wealthy Kirghiz, 


Life among the Kirghiz—the Return from the Chase, 
Kirghiz with Camels, - - 

Kirghiz and their Herds on the March in the Mountains, 
Kirghiz Aul, or Group of Tents, 

Hunting the Wolf with the Golden Eagle, : 
Kirghiz in pursuit of Wild Sheep, - 

Frolic at a Kirghiz Wedding, - - 

Miners in the Altai returning from Work, 

Exiles on the Way to Siberia, 

Interior of a Siberian Peasant’s Dwelling, 

Types of Siberian Convicts—‘ Condemned to the Mines”, 
Flight of an Exile in Siberia, 

Herons and their Nests, 

Rooks and their Nests,- - a : 
Sea-eagles and Nest in a Danube Forest, - 
Nest of the Penduline Titmouse (Parus Pendulinus), - 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 


BY J. ARTHUR THOMSON. 


BREHM’S PLACE AMONG NATURALIST-TRAVELLERS. 


Though Brehm’s lectures might well be left, as his son has said, 
to speak for themselves, it seems useful to introduce them in their 
English dress with some notes on the evolution of the naturalist- 
traveller and on Brehm’s place in the honourable list; for an adequate 
appreciation of a book like this depends in part on a recognition 
of the position it occupies among analogous works, and on having 
some picture of the illustrious author himself. 

In sketching the history of the naturalist-traveller it is not 
necessary to go very far back; for though it is interesting to recall 
how men of old followed their migrating herds, as the Lapp or 
Ostiak does his reindeer, and were led by them to fresh fields and 
new conquests, or how others followed the salmon down the rivers 
and became the toilers of the sea, this ancient lore is full of uncer- 
tainty, and is, besides, of more moment to the sociologist than to the 
naturalist. What we attempt here is merely to indicate the various 
types of naturalist-traveller who have in the course of time succeeded 
one another in the quest for the new. 


I. 


The foundations of zoology were laid by Aristotle some three 
hundred years before Christ, but they remained unbuilt on for 
nearly eighteen centuries. Here and there some enthusiast strove 
unaided, but only a fragmentary superstructure was reared. In fact, 
men were pre-occupied with tasks of civilization more serious than 
the prosecution of zoology, though that is not trivial. Gradually, 


xvi FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


however, great social movements, such as the Crusades and the 
collapse of Feudalism; great intellectual and emotional movements, 
such as those of the Renaissance; great inventions, such as that 
of printing, gave new life to Europe, and zoology shared in the 
re-awakening. Yet the natural history of the Middle Ages was in 
great part mystical; fancy and superstition ran riot along paths 
where science afterwards established order, and, for all practical 
purposes, the history of zoology, apart from the efforts of a few 
pioneers, may be said to date from the sixteenth century. 

Now, one indubitable factor in the scientific renaissance of the 
sixteenth century was the enthusiasm of the early travellers, and 
this stimulus, periodically recurrent, has never failed to have a 
similar effect—of giving new life to science. But while science, and 
zoology as a branch of it, has been evolving during the last three 
centuries, the traveller, too, has shared in the evolution. It is this 
which we wish to trace. 

I. Toe Romantic Type. Many of the old travellers, from 
Herodotus onwards, were observant and enthusiastic; most were 
credulous and garrulous. In days when the critical spirit was 
young, and verification hardly possible, there could not but be a 
strong temptation to tell extraordinary “travellers tales”. And 
they did. Nor need we scoff at them loudly, for the type aes hard; 
every year such tales are told. 

Oderico de Pordenone and other medieval travellers who give 
some substance to the mythical Sir John de Maundeville were 
travellers of this genial type. Oderico describes an interesting 
connecting link between the animal and vegetable kingdom, a 
literal “zoophyte”, the “vegetable lamb”, which seems to have 
been a woolly Scythian fern, with its counterpart in the large fungus 
which colonials sometimes speak of as the “vegetable sheep”, 
As for the pretended Sir John, he had in his power of swal- 
lowing marvels a gape hardly less than that of the great snakes 
which he describes. But even now do we not see his snakes in at 
least the picture-books on which innocent youth is nurtured? The 
basilisk (one of the most harmless of lizards) “sleyeth men beholding 


it”; the “cocodrilles also sley men”—they do indeed—“and eate 
(1170) 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xvii 


them weeping, and they have no tongue”. “The griffin of Bactria 
hath a body greater than eight lyons and stall worthier than'a 
hundred egles, for certainly he will beare to his nest flying, a horse 
and a man upon his back.” He was not readily daunted, Sir John, 
for when they told him of the lamb-tree which bears lambs in its 
pods, his British pluck did not desert him, and he gave answer that 
he “held it for no marvayle, for in his country are trees which bear 
fruit which become birds flying, and they are good to eate, and that 
that falleth on the water, liveth, and that that falleth on earth, 
dyeth; and they marvailed much thereat”, The tale of the barnacle- 
tree was a trump card in those days! 

Another example of this type, but rising distinctly above it in 
trustworthiness, was the Venetian Marco Polo, who in the thir- 
teenth century explored Asia from the Black Sea to Pekin, 
from the Altai to Sumatra, and doubtless saw much, though not 
quite so much as he describes. He will correct the fables of his 
predecessors, he tells us, demonstrating gravely that the unicorn 
or rhinoceros does not allow himself to be captured by a gentle 
maiden, but he proceeds to describe tailed men, yea, headless men, 
without, so far as can be seen, any touch of sarcasm. Of how many 
marvels, from porcupines throwing off their spines and snakes with 
clawed fore-feet, to the great Rukh, which could bear not merely 
a poor Sinbad but an elephant through the air, is it not written in 
the books of Ser Marco Polo of Venezia? 

II. Tae Encycitopzpist Typr.—This unwieldy title, suggestive 
of an omnivorous hunger for knowledge, is conveniently, as well as 
technically, descriptive of a type of naturalist characteristic of the 
early years of the scientific renaissance, Edward Wotton (d. 1555), 
the Swiss Gesner (d, 1565), the Italian Aldrovandi (d, 1605), the 
Scotsman Johnson (d. 1675), are good examples. These encyclo- 
pedists were at least impressed with the necessity of getting close 
to the facts of nature, of observing for themselves, and we cannot 
blame them much if their critical faculties were dulled by the 
strength of their enthusiasm. They could not all at once forget 
the medizval dreams, nor did they make any strenuous effort to 


rationalize the materials which they so industriously gathered, 
(£70) 2 


Xvi FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


They harvested but did not thrash. Ostrich-like, their appetite was 
greater than their power of digesting. A hasty judgment might 
call them mere compilers, for they gathered all possible information 
from all sources, but, on closer acquaintance, the encyclopeedists 
grow upon one. Their industry was astounding, their ambition 
lofty; and they prepared the way for men like Ray and Linnzus, 
in whom was the genius of order. 

Associated with this period there were many naturalist-travellers, 
most of whom are hardly now remembered, save perhaps when we 
repeat the name of some plant or animal which commemorates its 
discoverer. José d’Acosta (d. 1600), a missionary in Peru, described 
some of the gigantic fossils of South America; Francesco Hernanded 
published about 1615 a book on the natural history of Mexico with 
1200 illustrations; Marcgrav and Piso explored Brazil; Jacob Bontius, 
the East Indies; Prosper Alpinus, Egypt; Belon, the Mediterranean 
region; and there were many others. But it is useless to multiply 
what must here remain mere citations of names. The point is 
simply this, that, associated with the marvellous accumulative in- 
dustry of the encyclopzdists and with the renaissance of zoology 
in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, there were numerous 
naturalist-travellers who described what they saw, and not what 
they fancied might be seen. . 

III. THe GeneraL Naturauist Type.—As Ray (d. 1705) 8 and. 
Linnezus (d. 1778) began to reduce to order the accumulations of 
the encyclopeedists, and as the anatomists and physiologists began 
the precise study of structure and function, the naturalist-travellers 
became more definite in their aims and more accurate in their 
observations. Linneus himself sent several of his pupils on pre- 
cisely scientific journeys. Moreover, in the eighteenth century there 
were not a few expeditions of geographical and physical purpose 
which occasionally condescended to take a zoologist on board. 
Thus Captain Cook was accompanied on his first voyage (1768- 
1781) by Banks and Solander, and on his second voyage by the 
Forsters, father and son. On his third voyage he expressly forbade 
the intrusion of any naturalist, but from all that we can gather it 
would have been. better for himself if he had not-done so. In 

‘ ; 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. © xix 


these combined voyages there was nascent the idea of co-operative 
expeditions, of which the greatest has been that of the Challenger. 

In illustration of travellers who were not specialists, but in 
varying degrees widely interested naturalists, it will be sufficient to 
cite three names—Thomas Pennant, Peter Pallas, and, greatest of all, 
Alexander von Humboldt. 

Of Thomas Pennant (1726-1798) we may note that he was one 
of the early travellers in Scotland, which was then, as he says, 
almost as unknown as Kamchatka, and that he extorted from Dr. 
Johnson the admission, “He’s a Whig, sir, a sad dog; but he’s the 
best traveller I ever read; he observes more things than any one 
else does”. He knew Buffon and corresponded with Linnzus, and 
was the author of several works on British and North American 
zoology. His so-called Arctic Zoology is mainly a sketch of the 
fauna in the northern regions of North America, begun “when the 
empire of Great Britain was entire, and possessed the northern part 
of the New World with envied splendour”. His perspective is 
excellent! the botanist, the fossilist, the historian, the geographer 
must, he says, accompany him on his zoological tours, “to trace the 
gradual increase of the animal world from the scanty pittance given 
to the rocks of Spitzbergen to the swarms of beings which enliven 
the vegetating plains of Senegal; to point out the causes of the 
local niggardness of certain places, and the prodigious plenty in 
others”. It was about the same time (1777) that E. A. W. Zimmer- 
mann, Professor of Mathematics at Brunswick, published a quarto 
in Latin, entitled Specimen Zoologie Geographice Quadrupedum, 
“with a most curious map”, says Pennant, “in which is given the 
name of every animal in its proper climate, so that a view of the 
whole quadruped creation is placed before one’s eyes, in a manner 
perfectly new and instructive’. It was wonderful then, but the 
map in question looks commonplace enough nowadays. 

Peter Simon Pallas (1741-1811) was a student of medicine and 
natural science, and did good work as a systematic and anatomical 
zoologist. He was the first, we believe, to express the relationships 
of animals in a genealogical tree, but his interest for us here lies in 
his zoological exploration of Russia and Siberia, the results of which 


xx FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR, 


are embodied in a series of bulky volumes, admirable in their careful 
thoroughness. We rank him rather as one of the forerunners of 
Humboldt than as a zoologist, for his services to ethnology and 
geology were of great importance. He pondered over the results of 
his explorations, and many of his questionings in regard to geogra- 
phical distribution, the influence of climate, the variation of animals, 
and similar problems, were prophetic of the light which was soon to 
dawn on biological science. 

Alexander von Humboldt (1769-1859) was undoubtedly one of 
the greatest naturalists of the century which his life well nigh 
covered. Geologist, botanist, zoologist, and more, he was almost 
the last of the all-round naturalists. In this indeed lay his weak- 
ness as well as his strength, for great breadth of view is apt to 
imply a lack of precision as to details. In boyhood, “when life”, 
as he says, “appears an unlimited horizon”, he had strong desires 
after travel, which were in part gratified by excursions with George 
Forster and by Swiss explorations with the sagacious old geographer 
Leopold von Buch, These, however, only whetted his enthusiasm 
for journeys with a larger radius. At length, after many dis- 
couragements, he sailed in 1799 from Corunna, with Aimé Bon- 
pland as companion, and spent five years in exploring the equinoc- 
tial regions of the New World. The full record of his voyage one 
cannot be expected to read, for there are about thirty volumes of it 
in the complete edition, but what we should all know is Humboldt’s 
Personal Narrative, in which the chief results of his explorations 
are charmingly set forth. Later in life (1829) he went with Ehren- 
berg and Rose to North Asia, and his crowning work was the 
publication of Cosmos (1845-58), which originated in a series of 
lectures delivered in the University of Berlin. In front of that 
building his statue now stands, along with that of his not less 
famous brother Wilhelm. 

We think of Humboldt not so much as an early explorer of 
tropical America, nor because he described the habits of the condor 
and made observations on electric eels, nor because he furnished 
Cuvier and Latreille with many new specimens, but rather as a 
magnificent type of the naturalist-traveller, observant, widely iu- 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xxi 


terested, and thoughtful, who pointed forward to Darwin in the 
success with which he realized the complexity of intet-relations 
in nature. Many a traveller, even among his contemporaries, dis- 
covered more new plants and animals than the author of Cosmos, 
but none approached him as an all-round naturalist, able to look 
out on all orders of facts with keenly intelligent eyes, a man, more- 
over, in whom devotion to science never dulled poetic feeling. His 
work is of real importance in the history of geographical distri- 
bution, for he endeavoured to interpret the peculiarities of the 
various faunas in connection with the peculiar environment of the 
different regions—a consideration which is at least an element in 
the solution of some of the problems of distribution. It is especially 
important in regard to plants, and one may perhaps say that Hum- 
boldt, by his vivid pictures of the vegetable “physiognomy” of 
different regions, and by his observations on the relations between 
climate and flora, laid the foundations of the scientific study of the 
geographical distribution of plants. We find in some of his Char- 
akterbilder, for example in his Views of Nature, the prototype 
of those synthetic pictures which give Brehm’s popular lectures 
their peculiar interest and value. 

IV. Tue Specrauist Typz.—It would say little for scientific 
discipline if it were true that a man learned, let us say, in zoology, 
could spend years in a new country without having something 
fresh to tell us about matters outside of his specialism—the rocks, 
the plants, and the people. But it is not true. There have been 
few great travellers who have been narrow specialists, and one 
might find more than one case of a naturalist starting on his travels 
as a zoologist and returning an anthropologist as well. Yet it is 
evident enough that few men can be master of more than one craft. 
There have been few travellers like Humboldt, few records like 
Darwin’s Voyage of the Beagle (1831-6). Hence we recognize more 
and more as we approach our own day that naturalist-travellers 
have been successful either as specialists, or, on the other hand, in 
so far as they have furnished material for generalization (Type V.). 
The specialism may of course take various forms: a journey may 
be undertaken by one who is purely an ornithologist, or it may 


xxii FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


be undertaken with one particular problem in view, or it may be 
organized, like the Challenger expedition, with the co-operation of a 
number of specialists. 

The French took the lead in organizing zoological expeditions. 
As early as 1800 they sent out the Géographe, Naturaliste, and 
Casuarina, zoologically conducted by Bury de St. Vincent, Péron, 
and Lesueur. Further expeditions followed with Quoy and Gaimard, 
Lesson, Eydoux, Souleyet, Dupetit-Thouars, and others as zoological 
guides. The English whaling industry gave early opportunity to 
not a few naturalists; and it is now a long time since Hooker went 
with Sir James Ross on the South Polar expedition and Huxley 
went on the. Rattlesnake to the Australian Barrier Reef. The 
Russians were also active, one of the more famous travellers being 
Kotzebue, who was accompanied on one of his two voyages (1823-6) 
round the world by Chamisso and Eschscholtz. In the early part 
of this century the Americans were also enterprising, the work of 
Dana being perhaps the most noteworthy. It would require several 
pages to mention even the names of the naturalists who have had 
their years of wandering, and have added their pages and sketches 
to the book of the world’s fauna and flora, but such an enumeration 
would serve no useful purpose here.. 

There is, however, one form of zoological exploration which 
deserves a chapter to itself, that is the exploration of the Deep Sea. 
Several generations of marine zoologists had been at work before 
a zoology of the deep sea was dreamed of even as a possibility. It 
is true that in 1818 Sir John Ross had found a star-fish (Astro- 
phyton) at a depth of 800-1000 fathoms, but this was forgotten; 
and in 1841 Edward Forbes dredged to no purpose in fairly deep 
water in the Agean Sea. Indeed those who thought about the. 
great depths at all deemed it unlikely that there could be life there, 
and if it had not been for the practical affair of laying the ocean 
cables, we might possibly have been still in ignorance of the abyssal 
fauna. 

But the cables had to be laid—no easy task—and it became 
important to know at least the topography of the depths. Cables 
broke, too, and had to be fished up again, and when that which ran 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Xxill 


between Sardinia and Algiers was lifted, in 1860, from a depth of 
60-1000 fathoms, no less than 15 different species of animals were 
found on it. This was a discovery to fire enthusiasm, and Britain 
led the way in following it up. In 1868 Wyville Thomson began 
his explorations on the Lightning, and proved that most of the 
types of backboneless animals were represented at depths of at least 
600 fathoms. Soon followed the similar cruise of the Porcupine, 
famous inter alia for the discovery of Bathybius, which many 
sceptics regard as a mare’s nest. From various quarters the quest 
after the deep-sea fauna began to be prosecuted. 

It is now more than a score of years since the world-famous 
Challenger sailed from Portsmouth with Wyville Thomson, Moseley, 
John Murray, and Willemoes-Suhm as naturalists. During three 
and a half years the explorers cruised over 68,900 nautical miles, 
crossed the Atlantic no less than five times, reached with the long 
arm of the dredge to depths equal to reversed Himalayas, raised 
treasures of life from over 500 stations, and brought home spoils 
over which the savants of Europe have hardly ceased to be busy, 
and the records of which, now completed under Dr. Murray’s editor- 
ship, form a library of about forty huge volumes. 

The Challenger expedition was important not only in itself, but 
in the wave of scientific enthusiasm which it raised. From Germany 
went forth the Gazelle; Norway sent the Viringen to Spitzbergen ; 
America has despatched’ the Tuscarora, the Blake, and the Alba- 
tross; from Sweden the Vega and the Sophia sailed to Arctic seas; 
Count Liechtenstein’s yacht Hertha explored Adria; the Prince of 
Monaco’s Hirondelle darted hither and thither; the French sent 
forth the Travailleur and Talisman ; the Italians the Vettor Pisani 
and Washington; Austria and Hungary organized the Poli for 
work in the Mediterranean; the Germans again have recently 
specialized in investigating the Plankton, or surface-life of the ocean; 
and so, with a range even wider than we have indicated, the wave 
of enthusiasm has spread, one of the latest barques which it has 
borne being the Prince of Monaco’s, which was specially built for 
marine exploration. 

Specialism in travelling has, of course, gone much further. 


XXx1V FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Thus to cite only three examples, we have Semper’s zoological 
work on the Philippines, the researches of the Sarasins in Ceylon, 
and the first results of Semon’s recent visit to Australasia, all of 
them passing far beyond records of zoological exploration into 
monographs on the structure and development of characteristic 
members of the fauna of these countries. And it is no exaggera- 
tion to say that private enterprise, Royal Society subsidies, British 
Association grants, and the like have sent scores of naturalists from 
Britain half round the world in order to solve special problems, as 
to the larva of a worm, for instance, or as to the bird-fauna of some 
little island. 

VY. THE Brotocicat Type. In some ways the most important 
scientific journey ever made was Darwin’s voyage on the Beagle. 
It was the Columbus-voyage of zoology. There is a great deal to 
be said for the Wanderjahre of the old students, for to have time 
to think is one of the conditions of intellectual progress. Not 
that the Beagle voyage was one of idleness, but it gave Darwin, at 
the age of twenty-two, a wealth of impressions and some measure 
of enforced leisure wherein to gloat intellectually over what he 
saw. He has said, indeed, that various sets of facts observed on 
his voyage, such as the aspect of the Galapagos Islands, started him 
on paths of pondering which eventually led to his theory of the 
origin of species. 

We take Darwin as the type of the biological, or, we may almost 
say, evolutionist travellers; but he must share this position with 
his magnanimous colleague, Alfred Russel Wallace, whose journey- 
ings were more prolonged and not less fruitful. Before Darwin 
the naturalist-travellers had been, for the most part, describers, 
systematists, and analysts, and it goes without saying that such 
work is indispensable, and must continue; but in the light of the 
conception of evolution all things had become new; the present 
world of life was henceforth seen as a stage in a process, as a passing 
act in a drama, not merely as a phantasmagoria to be admired and 
pictured, but as a growth to be understood. 

It is within this group of biological travellers, which includes 
such men as Bates and Belt, that we must also place Brehm. For 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXV 


although he perhaps had not the firmness of grasp or the fineness 
of touch necessary for the successful handling of the more intricate 
biological problems, especially those which centre around the factors 
of evolution, he had unusual power as an observer of the habits of 
animals. His contributions, which must be judged, of course, from 
his great Tierleben,) as well as from his popular lectures, were 
rather to the old natural history than to biology in the stricter 
sense. His works show that he was as much interested in men as 
in beasts, that he was specially an ornithologist, that he was beneath 
the naturalist a sportsman; but so scores of other travellers have 
been. His particular excellence is his power of observing and 
picturing animal life as it is lived in nature, without taking 
account of which biology is a mockery and any theory of evolu- 
tion a one-sided dogma. 

Let us now bring together briefly the outstanding facts of this 
historical outline. 

In early days men followed their wandering herds or pursued 
their prey from region to region, or were driven by force of com- 
petition or of hunger to new lands. Many of the most eventful 
journeys have been among those which had to be taken. 

I. Gradually, intellectual curiosity rather than practical need 
became the prompter, and men travelled with all manner of mixed 
aims seeking what was new. When they returned they told tra- 
vellers’ tales, mostly in as good faith as their hunting ancestors had 
done in the caves of a winter night, or as the modern traveller does 
after dinner still. We pass insensibly from Herodotus to Marco 
Polo, from “Sir John Maundeville” to Mr. X. Y. Z., whose book was 
published last spring. This is the type romantic. 

II. But when science shared in the renaissance there ensued the 
extraordinary industry of the encyclopedist school, with which 
many naturalist-travellers were associated. Some of these were 
great men—perhaps Gesner was greatest of all—but all had the 

1 This well-known treasure-house of Natural History appeared originally in 1863-69 in six 
big volumes, which have since increased to ten. Even the first edition took a foremost place 
among similar works on the Natural History of Animals. With a wealth of personal observa- 


tion on the habits of animals in their native haunts, it combined the further charm of very 
beautiful pictorial illustration. 


Xxvi FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


defects of their qualities. They gathered into stackyards both 
wheat and tares, and seldom found time to thrash. The type 
survives afield in the mere collector, and its degenerate sedentary 
representatives are called compilers. 

III. Just as Buffon represents the climax of the encyclopzdists, 
and is yet something more, for he thrashed his wheat, so Humboldt, 
while as ambitious as any encyclopzedist traveller, transcended them 
all by vitalizing the wealth of impressions which he gathered. He 
was the general naturalist-traveller, who took all nature for his 
province, and does not seem to have been embarrassed. Of successful 
representatives of this type there are few, since Darwin perhaps 
none. ~  s . 

IV. Meanwhile Linneus had brought order, Cuvier had founded 
his school of anatomists, Haller had re-organized physiology, the 
microscope had deepened analysis, and zoology came of age as a 
specialism. Henceforth travellers’ tales were at a discount; even 
a Humboldt might be contradicted, and platitudinarian narratives 
of a voyage round the world ceased to find the publisher sympa- 
thetic. or the public appetized. The naturalist-traveller was now 
a zoologist, or a botanist, or an ornithologist, or an entomologist; 
at any rate, a specialist. But it was sometimes found profitable to 
work in companies, asin the case of the Challenger expedition. 

- Y. Lastly, we find that on the travellers, too, “evolution” cast 
its spell, and we have Darwin and’ Wallace as the types of the 
biological travellers, whose results go directly towards the working 
out of a ‘cosmology. From Bates and Belt and Brehm there is a 
long list down to. Dr. Hickson, The Naturalist in Celebes, and, Mr.. 
Hudson, The Naturalist in La Plata. Not, of course, that most 
are not specialists, but the particular interest of their work is 
biological or bionomical. 

Ihave added to this.essay a list of some of the most important 
works of the more recent naturalist-travellers with which I am 
directly acquainted, being convinced that it is with these that the 
general, and perhaps also the professional student of natural history 
should begin, as it is with them that his studies must also end. 
For, not only do they introduce us, in a manner usually full of 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXVIi 


interest, to the nature of animal life, but they lead us to face one 
of the ultimate problems of biology—the evolution of faunas. 


Il. 


Alfred Edmund Brehm (1829-1884) was born at Unter-Renthen- 
dorf in Sachsen-Weimar, where his father—an accomplished orni- 
tholcgist—was pastor. Brought up among birds, learning to watch 
from his earliest boyhood, accompanying his father in rambles 
through the Thuringian forest, questioning and being questioned 
about all the sights and sounds of the woods, listening to the 
experts who, came to see the famous collection in the Pfarr-haus, 
and to argue over questions of species with the kindly pastor, young 
Brehm was almost bound to become a naturalist. And while the 
father stuffed his birds in the evenings the mother read aloud from 
Goethe and Schiller, and her poetic feeling was echoed in her son. 
Yet, so crooked are life’s ways, the youth. became an architect’s 
apprentice, and acted as such for four years! 

But an opportunity presented itself which called him, doubtless 
most willing, from the desk and workshop. Baron John Wilhelm 
von Miiller, a keen sportsman and lover of birds, sought an assistant. 
to accompany him on an ornithological expedition to Africa, and 
with him the youth, not yet out of his teens, set forth in 1847. It 
was a great opportunity, but the price paid for it was heavy, for 
Brehm did not see his home again for full five years, and was forced 
to bear strains, to incur responsibilities, and to suffer privations, 
which left their mark on him for life. Only those who know the 
story of his African journeys, and what African travel may be 
with repeated fevers and inconsiderately crippled resources, can 
adequately appreciate the restraint which Brehm displays in those 
popular lectures, here translated, where there is so much of every- 
thing but himself. 

After he returned, in 1852, rich in spoils and experience, if 
otherwise poor, he spent several sessions ‘at the universities of Jena 
and Vienna. Though earnestly busy in equipping himself for further 
work, he was not too old to enjoy the pleasures of a student life. 


XXVili FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


When he took his doctor’s degree he published an account of his 
travels (Retseskizzen aus Nordostafrica. Jena, 1855, 3 vols.). 

After a zoological holiday in Spain with his like-minded brother 
Reinhold—a physician in Madrid—he settled for a time in Leipzig, 
writing for the famous “Gartenlaube”, co-operating with Ross- 
massler in bringing out Die Tiere des Waldes, expressing his very 
self in his Bird-Life (1861), and teaching in the schools. It was 
during this period that he visited Lapland, of whose bird-bergs the 
first lecture gives such a vivid description. In 1861 he married 
Matthilde Reiz, who proved herself the best possible helpmeet. 

In 1862, Brehm went as scientific guide on an excursion to 
Abyssinia undertaken by the Duke of Coburg-Gotha, and subse- 
quently published a characteristic account of his observations 
Ergebnisse einer Reise nach Habesch: Results of a Journey to 
Abyssinia (Hamburg, 1863). On his return he began his world- 
famous Tierleben (Animal Life), which has been a treasure-house to 
so many naturalists. With the collaboration of Professors Taschen- 
berg and Oscar Schmidt, he completed the first edition of this great 
work, in six volumes, in 1869. 

Meanwhile he had gone to Hamburg as Director of the Zoologi- 
cal Gardens there, but the organizing work seems to have suited 
him ill, and he soon resigned. With a freer hand, he then under- 
took the establishment of the famous Berlin Aquarium, in which he 
partly realized his dream of a microcosmic living museum of nature. 
But, apart from his actual work, the business-relations were ever 
irksome, and in 1874 he was forced by ill-health and social friction 
to abandon his position. 

After recovery from serious illness he took up his réle as popular 
lecturer and writer, and as such he had many years of happy 
success. A book on Cage Birds (1872-1876), and a second edition 
of the Tierleben date from this period, which was also interrupted 
by his Siberian journeys (1876) and by numerous ornithological 
expeditions, for instance to Hungary and Spain, along with the 
Crown Prince Rudolph of Austria. But hard work, family sorrows, 
and finally, perhaps, the strain of a long lecturing tour in America 
aged Brehm before his time, and he died in 1884. 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY, xxix 


For these notes I am indebted to a delightful appreciation of 
Brehm which Ernest Krause has written in introduction to the third 
edition of the Tierleben, edited by Pechuel-Loesche, and as regards 
the naturalist’s character I can only refer to that essay. As to his 
published work, however, every naturalist knows at least the 
Tierleben, and on that a judgment may be safely based. It is a 
monumental work on the habits of animals, founded in great part 
on personal observation, which was always keen and yet sympa- 
thetic. It is a classic on the natural history of animals, and readers 
of Darwin will remember how the master honoured it. 

Doubtless Brehm had the defects of his qualities. He was, it is 
said, too generous to animals, and sometimes read the man into the 
beast unwarrantably. But that is an anthropomorphism which 
easily besets the sympathetic naturalist. He was sometimes extra- 
vagant and occasionally credulous, He did not exactly grip some 
of the subjects he tackled, such as, if I must specify, what he calls 
“the monkey-question ”. 

It is frankly allowed that he was no modern biologist, erudite as 
regards evolution-factors, nor did he profess to attempt what is 
called zoological analysis, and what is often mere necrology, but his 
merit is that he had seen more than most of us, and had seen, 
above all, the naturalist’s supreme vision—the vibrating web of life. 
And he would have us see it also, 


Til. 


The success of the pictures which Brehm has given us—of bird- 
bergs and tundra, of steppes and desert, of river fauna and tropical 
forest—raises the wish that they had been complete enough to 
embrace the whole world. As this ideal, so desirable both from an 
educational and an artistic standpoint, has not been realized by any 
one volume, we have ventured to insert here a list of some more 
or less analogous English works by naturalist-travellers, sportsmen, 
and others— 

Adams, A. Leith. Motes of a Naturalist in the Nile Valley and Malta (Edin- 


burgh, 1870). 
Agassiz, A. Three Cruises of the “ Blake” (Boston and New York, 1888). 


XXX FROM -NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Baker, 8. W. Wild Beasts and their Ways: Reminiscences of Europe, Asia, Africa, 
and America (London, 1890). 

Bates, H. W. Naturalist on the Amazons (6th Ed. London, 1893) 

Belt, T. Naturalist in Nicaragua (2nd Ed. London, 1888). 

Bickmore, A. 8. Travels in the East Indian Archipelago (1868). 

Blanford, W. T. Observations on the Geology and Zoology of Abyssinia (London, 
1870). 

Bryden, H. A. Gun and Camera in Southern Africa (London, 1893). Aloof and 
Karroo (1889). 

Burnaby, F. A Ride to Khiva (8th Ed. London, 1877). 

Buxton, E.N. Short Stalks, or Hunting Camps, North, South, East, and West 
(London, 1898). 

Chapman, A. and C. M. Buck. Wild Spain (London, 1892). 

Cunningham, R. 0. Wotes on the Natural History of the Straits of Magellan 
(Edinburgh, 1871). 

Darwin, C. Voyage of the “ Beagle” (1844, New Ed. London, 1890). 

Distant, W. L. A Naturalist in the Transvaal (London, 1892). 

Drummond, H. Tropical Africa (London, 1888). 

Du Chaillu, P. B. Explorations and Adventures in ae tal Africa (London, 
1861). Ashango Land (1867). 

Eha. A Naturalist on the Prowl, or in the Jungle (Londen, 1894). 

Forbes, H. O. A Naturalist’s Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago (London, 
1885). 

Guillemard. Cruise of the “ Marchesa ” (London, 1886). 

Heilprin, A. The Bermuda Islands (Philadelphia, 1889). 

Hickson, 8. J. A Naturalist in North Celebes (London, 1889). 

Holub, Emil. Seven Years in South Africa (1881). 

Hudson, W. H. The Naturalist in La Plata (London, 1892). 
Idle Days in Patagonia (London; 1893). 

Humboldt, A. von. Personal Narrative of Travels to the Equinoctial Regions of 
America. Views of Nature (Trans. 1849). Cosmos (Trans, 1849-58). 

Johnston, H. H. Kilima Ndjaro Expedition (1885). 

Kingsley, C. At last! A Christmas in the West Indies (1889). 

Lumholtz. Among Cannibals (London, 1889). 

Moseley, H. N. Wotes by a Naturalist on the “ Challenger” (London, 1879. New 
Ed. 1892). 

Nordenskiéld, A. E. Voyage of the “ Vega” (London, 1881). 

Oates, F., Ed. by C. G. Oates. Matabele Land, the Victoria Falls, a Naturalist’s 
Wanderings in the Interior of South Africa (1881). 

Phillipps-Wolley. Big-Game Shooting (Badminton Libr. London, 1893). 

Rodway, J. In the Guiana Forest mie 1894). British Guiana (London, 
1893). 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Xxxi 


Roosevelt, Th., and G. B. Grinell. American Big-Game Hunting (Edinburgh, 
1893). 

Schweinfurth, G. The Heart of Africa (1878). 

Seebohm, H. Siberia in Europe (London, 1880), Siberia in Asia (London, 1882). 

Selous, F.C. A Hunter's Wanderings (1881). Travel and Adventure in South- 
East Africa (London, 1893). 

Sibree, Rev. J. The Great African Island (1879). 

Solymos, B. (B. E. Falkenberg). Desert Life (London, 1880). 

Stanley, H. M. How I Found Livingstone (1872, New Ed. 1885). The Congo 
(1885). Through the Dark Continent (1890). Jn Darkest Africa (1890). 

Swayne, H.G.C. Seventeen Trips through Somaliland (London, 1895). 

Tennent, J. E. Natural History of Ceylon (London, 1861). 

Thomson, Wyville. The Depths of the Sea (London, 1873). Narrative of the 
Voyage of the “ Challenger” (1885). And, in this connection, see 8S. J. 
Hickson. Fauna of the Deep Sea (London, 1894). 

Tristram, H. B. The Land of Israel (1876). The Land of Moab (1873). The 
Great Sahara (1860). 

Wallace, A. R. Malay Archipelago (London 1869). Tropical Nature (1878). 
Island Life (1880). Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro (1889). 

Waterton, Ch. Wanderings in South America (Ed. by J. G. Wood, 1878). 

Woodford, C. M. Naturalist among the Head-hunters (London, 1890). 


FROM 


NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 


“WHEN the Creator of the worlds had made the earth, best loved 
of all, and was rejoicing in His perfect work, the devil was seized 
with a desire to bring it all to nought. Not yet banished from 
heaven, he lived among the archangels in the abodes of the 
blessed. Up to the seventh heaven he flew, and, seizing a great 
stone, hurled it with might down on the earth exulting in the 
beauty of its youth. But the Creator saw the ruthless deed, and 
sent one of His archangels to avert the evil. The angel flew even 
more swiftly than the stone to the earth beneath, and succeeded in 
saving the land. The huge stone plunged thundering into the sea, 
and hissing waves flooded all the shores for many a mile. The 
fall shattered the crust of the stone, and thousands of splinters 
sank on either side, some disappearing into the depths, and some 
rising above the surface, bare and bleak like the rock itself. Then 
God took pity, and in His infinite goodness resolved to clothe even 
this naked rock with life. But the fruitful soil was all but ex- 
hausted in His hand; there remained scarce enough to lay a little 
here and there upon the stone.” 

So runs an ancient legend still current among the Lapps. The 
stone which the devil threw is Scandinavia; the splinters which fell 
into the sea on either side are the skerries which form a richly varied 
wreath around the peninsula. The rents and cracks in the rock are 
the fjords and the valleys; the sprinkling of life-giving soil which 
fell from the gracious Creator's hand forms the few fertile tracts 
which Scandinavia possesses. To appreciate the full depth and 


meaning of the childish story one must one’s self have visited 
(3070) 3 


34 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Scandinavia, and especially Norway, have steered a boat among 
the skerries, and have sailed round the country from the extreme 
south to the farthest north. Marvellous, indeed, is the country; 
marvellous are its fjords; still more marvellous is the encircling 
wreath of islands and reefs. 

Scandinavia is an alpine country like Switzerland and the Tyrol, 
yet it differs in a hundred ways from both of these. Like our Alps 
it has lofty mountains, glaciers, torrents, clear, still alpine lakes, 
dark pine and fir forests low down in the gorges, bright green birch 
woods on the heights, far-stretching moors—or more strictly tundras 
—on the broad shoulders of the mountains, log-huts on the slopes, 
and the huts of the cowherds in the upland valleys. And yet all is 
very different from our Alps, as is obvious to anyone who has seen 
both. The reason of this difference lies in the wonderful way in 
which two such grand and impressive features of scenery as lofty 
mountains and the sea are associated and harmonized. 

The general aspect of Scandinavia is at once grave and gay. 
Stern grandeur and soft beauty go hand in hand; gloom alternates 
with cheerfulness; with the dead and disquieting is linked the living 
and exhilarating. Black masses of rock rear themselves perpen- 
dicularly out of the sea, rise directly from the deeply-cut fjords, 
and, riven and cleft, tower precipitously upwards and lean threaten- 
ingly over. On their heads lie masses of ice stretching for miles, 
covering whole districts and scaring away all life save the torrents 
to which they themselves have given birth. These torrents spread 
themselves everywhere in ribbons of silver over the dark masses, 
and not only give pleasure to the eye, but murmur to the ear the 
sublime melody of the mountains. They rush down through every 
cleft to the depths below, they burst forth from every gorge, or 
plunge in mad career from rock to rock, forming waterfall after 
waterfall, and awakening echoes from the farthest mountain sides. 
These rushing mountain-streams which hurry down to the valley 
through every channel, the gleaming bands of water on every wall 
of rock, the ascending smoke-like spray which betrays the most 
secluded falls—these call forth life even in the most dread wilder- 
ness, in places‘where otherwise nought can be seen but rocks and 


———S = 


Norway. 


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THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 37 


sky—and they are most truly characteristic of the scenery of the 
interior. : 

But, majestic as this beauty is, bewildering and overwhelming 
as are the fjords with their precipitous walls, their ravines and 
valleys, headlands and peaks, they are yet less characteristic than 
the islands and skerries lying out in the sea, stretching from the 
south of the country up to the far north, and forming a maze of 
bays, sounds, and straits such as can hardly be seen elsewhere in 
the wide world. 

The larger islands reproduce more or less faithfully the char- 
acters of the mainland; the smaller ones and the skerries present, 
under all circumstances, an aspect of their own. But, as one travels 
towards the north, this aspect changes more or less with every degree 
of latitude. Like the sea, the islands lack the richness of the south, 
but are, nevertheless, by no means devoid of beauty. Especially in 
the midnight hours, when the low midsummer sun stands large and 
blood-red on the horizon, its veiled brilliance reflected alike from 
the ice-covered mountain-tops and from the sea, they have an irre- 
sistible charm. This is enhanced by the homesteads which are 
dotted everywhere over the landscape—dwellings built of wood and 
roofed with turf, glowing in a strange, blood-red colour which con- 
trasts sharply with the green turf roof, the black darkness of the 
adjacent mountain-side, and the ice-blue of the glaciers in the 
background of the picture. 

The southerner remarks, with some surprise, that these home- 
steads become larger, handsomer, and more roomy the farther north 
he travels; that, though no longer surrounded by fields, but at the 
most by small gardens, they far excel in size and equipment the 
hut-like buildings of southern Scandinavia; and that the most 
pretentious of all may be on comparatively small islands, where the 
rocks are covered only with turf, and where not even a little 
garden can be won from the inhospitable soil. 

The seeming riddle is solved when we remember that in Nor- 
land and Finland it is not the land but the sea that is ploughed; 
that there men do not sow and wield the scythe in summer, but 
reap in midwinter without having sowed; that it is in the months 


38 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


in which the long night holds its undisputed sway, when the light 
of the sun has given place to that of the moon, and the rosy flush 
of dawn and sunset to the glow of the Northern Lights, that the 
dwellers in the far north gather in the rich harvest of the sea. 

About the time of the autumnal equinox strong men are prepar- 
ing themselves all along the coasts of Norway to secure the harvest 
of the North. Every town, every village, every hamlet sends one 
or more well-manned ships to the islands and skerries within the 
Polar Circle, to anchor for months in every suitable bay. Making 
the ships or the homesteads on shore their head-quarters, the fisher- 
men proceed to gather in the abundant booty. In the height of 
summer the whole country is still and deserted, but in winter the 
bays, islands, and sounds are teeming with busy men, and laborious 
hands are toiling night and day. Spacious as the dwelling-houses 
appear, they cannot contain the crowds of people who have as- 
sembled; many must remain in the ships, or even seek a rough- 
and-ready shelter in rudely-constructed turf-covered huts on the 
shore. 

The bustle is at its height about the time of the winter solstice, 
when we celebrate our Christmas, and the Norsemen their Yule 
festival. For weeks the sea has been yielding its treasures. Impelled 
by the strongest impulse which moves living beings, guided by 
irresistible instinct to sow the seed of future generations, there rise 
from the depths of the sea innumerable shoals of fishes—cod, 
haddock, and the like. They ascend to the upper strata of the water, 
approach the coasts, and throng into the straits, sounds, and fjords 
in such numbers that they cover the surface of the sea for many 
miles. Animated, almost maddened, by one impulse, the fish swim 
so thickly that the boat has literally to force a way among them, 
that the overweighted net baffles the combined strength of the 
fishermen or breaks under its burden, that an oar placed upright 
among the densely packed crowd of swimmers remains for a few 
moments in its position before falling to one side.t Wherever the 
rocky islands are washed bare by the raging high tides, from the 
mean tide-mark to the lower edge of the turf which covers their 
summits, the naked rocks are covered by an unbroken ring of fish 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 39 


split open and laid out to dry, while trestles are also erected that 
other fish may be exposed for the same purpose to the sharp and 
drying air. From time to time the rocks and frames are cleared 
of dried fish, which are packed in bundles and stored in sheds, but 
only that room may be found for others which in the meantime 
have been caught and prepared. 

For months the bustle continues, and the traffic is uninterrupted; 
for months the North continues to exchange its treasures with the 
South. Then in the days when about noon a clear light in the 
south heralds the coming of the sun still hidden, or when the first 
rays of sunlight fall for a brief space upon the land, the rich catch 
comes gradually toan end. The dried cod and ling are carried from 
the storing sheds to the ships, all available space from keel to deck is 
filled up, and the fishermen prepare to journey homewards, or abroad 
into the wide world. One ship after another hoists its brown-edged 
sails and steers away. 

The North becomes quieter again, more deserted the land, deso- 
late the sea. At last, by the time of the spring equinox, all the 
migrant fishermen have left the fishing grounds, and all the fish 
have returned to the depths of the sea. But the sea is already 
sending forth other children to people afresh the straits and sounds, 
and along with them the skerries and islands; and soon from those 
same cliffs, at whose base there was but lately all the bustle of the 
winter, millions of bright bird eyes look down upon the waves. 

It is a deeply-affecting trait in the life of all true sea-birds that 
only two causes can move them to visit the land: the joyous spring- 
time sense of new-awakening love, and the mournful foreboding of 
approaching death. Not even Winter with its long night, its 
cold, and its storms can drive them to the land; they are proof 
against all the terrors of the North, and seek their food upon or 
under the waves; not even the threatening jaws of voracious fish 
scare them ashore. They may alight occasionally, but only for a 
short time, often on a solitary island in the sea, to oil their feathers 
more thoroughly than can be done in the water. But when, with 
the sun’s first brightness, love stirs in their breasts, all, old and 
young alike, though they may have to swim and fly thousands of 


40 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


miles, strive to reach the place where they themselves first saw the 
light of day. And if, in mid-winter, months after the breeding- 
places have been left desolate, a sea-bird feels death in his heart, he 
hastens as long as his strength holds out, that he may, if possible, 
die in the place where he was cradled. 

The annual assembling of innumerable birds at the breeding- 
places fills these for several months with a most marvellous life. 
The communities differ like the sea-birds themselves, and the places, 
or bergs (as the Norsemen call them), which they people vary also. 
While some choose only those reefs which rise just above the high- 
tide mark, and bear no more vegetation than is enough to provide 
scanty material for the nest hollowed out in the sea-weed heaps, 
others select islands which rear themselves straight and steep for 
several hundred feet above the sea, and are either rich in shelves, 
ledges, cavities, fissures, and other hiding-places, or are covered by 
a thick layer of peat-like plant remains. The Norseman calls the 
lower islets ‘eider-holms’ (or eider bird-hills, as the German would 
say), for they are the favourite brooding-places of what is to him 
the most valuable, and, what is the same thing, the most useful of 
all sea-birds. The higher islands which rise precipitously from the 
sea, and are chiefly peopled by auks and gulls, are included under 
the general name of bird-bergs. 

The observant naturalist is of course tempted to study and 
describe in detail each individual brooding bird of the sea, but the 
rich variety of the inhabitants of the bird-bergs of the far north 
and the variety of their habits impose certain limits. Similarly, 
lest I exceed the time allowed to me, I must refrain from giving 
detailed pictures of the habits of all the berg birds, though I think 
it well at least to outline those of a few in order to bring into promi- 
nence some of the chief characteristics of sea-bird life. Selection is 
difficult, but one, at any rate—the eider-duck, which returns every 
spring to these islands, and helps to beautify them and their sur- 
roundings so marvellously—must not be left undescribed. 

Three species of these beautiful ducks inhabit or visit European 
shores; one of these, the true eider-bird, is to be found every 
summer, even on the north-western islands of Germany, especially. 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND 41 


Sylt. Its plumage is a faithful mirror of the northern sea. Black 
and red, ash-gray, ice-green, white, brown, and yellow are the colours 
harmoniously blended in it. The eider-duck proper is the least 
beautiful species, but it is nevertheless a handsome bird. The neck 
and back, a band over the wings, and a spot on the sides of the 
body are white as the crests of the waves; throat and crop have a 
white ground faintly flushed with rose-colour as though the glow 
of the midnight sun had been caught there; a belt on the cheeks 
is delicate green like the ice of the glacier; breast and belly, wings 
and tail, the lower part of the back and the rump are black as the 
depths of the sea itself. This splendour belongs only to the male; 
the female, like all ducks, wears a more modest yet not less pleas- 
ing garb, which I may call a house-dress. The. prevailing rust- 
coloured ground, shading more or less into brown, is marked with 
longitudinal and transverse spots, lines and spirals, with a beauty 
and variety that words cannot adequately describe. 

No other species of duck is so thoroughly a child of the sea as 
the eider-duck; no species waddles more clumsily on land, or flies 
less gracefully, but none swims more rapidly or dives more deftly 
and deeply. In search of food it sinks fully fifty yards below the 
surface of the sea, and is said to be able to remain five minutes— 
an extraordinarily long time—under water. Before the beginning 
of the brooding season it does not leave the open sea at all, or 
does so very rarely; following a whim rather than driven by 
necessity. Towards the end of winter the flocks in which they 
congregate break up into pairs, and only those males who have not 
succeeded in securing mates swim about in little groups. Between 
two mates the most perfect unanimity reigns. One will, undoubt- 
edly that of the duck, determines the actions of both. If she rises 
from the surface of the water to fly for a hundred yards through 
the air, the drake follows her; if she dives into the sea, he dis- 
appears directly afterwards; wherever she turns he follows faith- 
fully; whatever she does seems to express his wishes. The pair 
still live out on the sea, though only where the depth is not greater 
than twenty-five fathoms, and where edible mussels and other 
bivalves are found in rich abundance on the rocks and the sea- 


42 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


bottom. These molluscs often form the sole food of eider-ducks, 
and to procure them they may have to dive to considerable depths. 
But it is the abundance of this food which preserves the eiders 
from the scarcity from which so many other species of duck often 
suffer severely. 

In April, or at the latest in the beginning of May, the pairs 
approach nearer and nearer the fringe of reefs and the shores of 
the mainland. Maternal cares are stirring in the breast of the 
duck, and to these everything else is subordinated. Out at sea the 
pair were so shy that they never allowed a ship or boat to get 
near them, and feared man, if he ever happened to approach them, 
more than any other living creature; now in the neighbourhood of 
the islands their behaviour changes entirely. Obeying her maternal 
instincts, and these only, the duck swims to one of the brooding- 
places, and paying no attention to the human inhabitants, waddles 
on to the land.. Anxiously the drake follows her, not without 
uttering his warning “ Ahua, ahua”, not without visible hesitation, 
for every now and then he remains behind as if reflecting for a 
while, and then swims forward once more. The duck, however, 
pays no heed to all this. Careless of the whole world around 
her, she wanders over the island seeking a suitable brooding-place. 
Being somewhat fastidious, she is not satisfied with the first good 
heap of sea-weed cast up by the tide, with the low juniper-bush 
whose branches straggling on the ground offer safe concealment, 
with the half-broken box which the owner of the island has placed 
as a shelter for her, or with the heaps of twigs and brushwood 
which he has gathered to entice her, but approaches the owner's 
dwelling as fearlessly as if she were a domestic bird. She enters 
it, walks about the floor, follows the housewife through rooms and 
kitchen, and capriciously selects, it may be, the inside of the oven as 
her resting-place, thereby forcing the housewife to have her bread 
baked for weeks on another island. With manifest alarm the faith- 
ful drake follows her as far as he dares; but when she, in his 
opinion, so far neglects all considerations of safety as to dwell under 
the same roof with human beings, he no longer tries to struggle 
against her wayward whim, but leaves her to follow it alone, and 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 43 


flies out to the safety of the sea, there longingly to await her daily 
visit. His mate is in no wise distracted by his departure, but pro- 
ceeds to collect twigs and brushwood—a task in which she willingly 
accepts the Norseman’s help—and to pile up into a heap her nest 
materials, which include sea-weed as well as twigs. She hollows 
out a trough with her wings and makes it circular by turning 
round and round in it with her smooth breast. Then she sets 
about procuring the lining and incorporating it with the nest. 
Thinking only of her brood, she plucks the incomparably soft 
down from her breast and makes with it a sort of felt, which not 
only lines the whole hollow but forms such a thick border at its 
upper edge that it serves as a cover to protect the eggs from cold 
when the mother leaves the nest. Before the work of lining is 
quite completed, the duck begins laying her comparatively small, 
smooth-shelled, clouded-green or grayish-green eggs. The clutch 
consists of from six to eight, seldom more or fewer. 

This is the time for which the Norseman has been waiting, 
for it was self-interest that prompted all his hospitality to the bird. 
The host now becomes the robber. Ruthlessly he takes the eggs 
and the nest with its inner lining of costly down. From twenty- 
four to thirty nests yield about two pounds of down, worth at least 
thirty shillings on the spot. This price is sufficient explanation of 
the Norseman’s way of acting. 

With a heavy heart the duck sees the downfall of her hopes 
for that year. Perturbed and frightened, she flies out to sea, 
where her mate awaits her. Whether he takes the opportunity 
of repeating his warnings more urgently I cannot say, but I can 
testify that he very soon succeeds in consoling her. The joy and 
spirit of the spring-time still live in the hearts of both; and in a 
very few days our duck waddles on land again as though nothing 
had happened, to build a second nest! This time she probably 
avoids her former position and contents herself with the first avail- 
able heap of tangle which is: not fully taken up by other birds. 
Again she digs and rounds a hollow; again she begins to probe 
among her plumage in order to procure the lining of down which 
seems to her indispensable. But, however much she exert herself, 


44 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


stretching her neck and twisting it in intricate snake-like curves, 
she can find no more. Yet when was a mother, even a duck 
mother, at a loss when her children had to be provided for? Our 
duck is certainly at none. She herself has no more down, but her 
mate bears it untouched on his breast and back. Now it is his 


Fig. 2.—Colony of Eider-ducks. 


turn. And though he may perhaps rebel, having a lively recollec- 
tion of former years, he is the husband and she the wife, therefore 
he must obey. Without compunction the anxious mother rifles his 
plumage, and in a few hours, or at most within two days, she 
has plucked him as bare as herself. That the drake, after such 
treatment, should fly out to the open sea as soon as possible, and 
associate for some months only with his fellows, troubling himself 
not in the least about his mate and her coming brood, seems to me 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 45 


quite comprehensible. And -when, as happens on every nesting 
island, a drake is to be seen standing by the brooding duck, I think 
he must be one who has not yet been plucked! ? 

Our duck broods once more assiduously. And now her house- 
dress is seen to be the only suitable, I might say the only possible, 
garment which she could wear. Among the tangle which surrounds 
the nest she is completely hidden even from the sharp eyes of the - 
falcon or the sea-eagle. Not only the general colouring, but every 
point and every line is so harmonious with the dried sea-weed, that 
the brooding-bird, when she has drawn down her neck and slightly 
spread out her wings, seems to become almost a part of her sur- 
roundings. Many a time it has happened that I, searching with 
the practised eye of a sportsman and naturalist, have walked across 
eider-holms and only become aware of the brooding duck at my 
feet, when she warned me off by pecking at my shoes. No one 
who knows the self-forgetting devotion with which the birds 
brood will be surprised that it is possible to come so near an eider- 
duck sitting in her nest, but it may well excite the astonishment 
of even an experienced naturalist to learn that the duck suffers 
one to handle the eggs under her breast without flying away, and 
that she does not even allow herself to be diverted from her brood- 
ing when one lifts her from the nest and places her upon it again, 
or lays her on the ground at some little distance in order to see the 
charmingly quaint way in which she waddles back to her brood. 

The eider-duck’s maternal self-surrender and desire for offspring 
show themselves in another way. Every female eider-duck, perhaps 
every duck of whatever species, desires not only the bliss of bearing 
children, but wishes to have as many nestlings as possible under 
her motherly eye. Prompted by this desire, she has no scruples 
in robbing, whenever possible, other eiders brooding near her. 
Devoted as she is in her brooding, she must nevertheless forsake 
her nest once a day to procure her own food, and to cleanse, 
oil, and smooth her plumage, which suffers considerably from the 
heat developed in brooding. Throwing a suspicious glance at her 
neighbours to right and left, she rises early in the forenoon, after 
having perhaps suffered the pangs of hunger for some hours, stands 


46 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


beside her nest and carefully spreads the surrounding fringe of 
down with her bill, so that it forms a concealing and protecting 
cover for the eggs. Then she flies quickly out to the sea, dives 
repeatedly, and hastily fills crop and gullet to the full with mussels, 
bathes, cleans, and oils herself, and returns to land, drying and 
smoothing her feathers continuously as she walks towards her 
nest. Both her neighbours sit seemingly as innocent as before, but 
in the interval a theft has been perpetrated by at least one of 
them. As soon as the first had flown away, one of them rose from 
her nest, and lifting the cover of her neighbour's nest, quickly rolled 
one, two, three, or four eggs with her feet into her own nest, then 
carefully replaced the cover, and resumed her place, rejoicing over 
her unrighteously-increased clutch. The returning duck probably 
notices the trick that has been played, but she makes not the 
slightest sign, and calmly settles down to brood again as though she 
thought, “Just wait, neighbour, you must go to the sea, too, and 
then I'll do to you what you have done tome”. As a matter of 
fact, the eggs of several nests standing close together are shifted 
continuously from one to another. Whether it is her own or 
another’s children that come to life under her motherly breast 
seems to matter very little to the eider-duck—they are children, 
at any rate! 

The duck sits about twenty-six days before the eggs are hatched. 
The Norseman, who goes to work intelligently, lets her do as she 
pleases this time, and not only refrains from disturbing her, but 
assists her as far as possible by keeping away from the island all 
enemies who might harass the bird. He knows his ducks, if not 
personally, at least to this extent, that he can tell about what time 
this or that one will have finished brooding, and will set out with 
her ducklings to seek the safety of the sea. The journey thither 
brings sudden destruction to many unwatched young eider-ducks. 
Not only the falcons breeding on or visiting the island, but even 
more the ravens, the skuas, and the larger gulls watch for the first 
appearance of the ducklings, attack them on the way, and carry off 
one or more of them. The owner of the island seeks to prevent 
this in a manner which enables one to appreciate how thoroughly 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. AT 


the duck, ordinarily so wild and shy, has become « domestic bird 
during the breeding season. Every morning towards the end of 
the brooding-time he inspects the island in order to help the mothers 
and to gather in a second harvest of down. On his back hangs a 
hamper, and on one arm a wide hand-basket. Going from nest to 
nest he lifts each duck, and looks to see whether the young are 
hatched and are sufficiently dry. If this be the case, he packs the 
whole waddling company in his hand-basket, and with adroit grasp 
divests the nest of its downy lining, which he throws into his 
hamper, and proceeds to another nest. Trustfully the duck waddles 
after him or rather after her piping offspring, and a second, third, 
tenth nest is thus emptied, in fact the work goes on as long as 
the basket will accommodate more nestlings, and one mother after 
another joins the procession, exchanging opinions with her com- 
panions in suffering on the way. Arrived at the sea, the man turns 
the basket upside down and simply shakes the whole crowd of 
ducklings into the water. Immediately all the ducks throw them- 
selves after their piping young ones; coaxing, calling, displaying all 
manner of maternal tenderness, they swim about among the flock, 
each trying to collect as many ducklings as possible behind herself. 
With obvious pride one swims about with a long train behind her, 
but soon a second, less favoured, crosses the procession and seeks 
to detach as many of the ducklings as she can, and again a third 
endeavours to divert a few in her own favour. So all the mothers 
swim about, quacking and calling, cackling and coaxing, till at length 
each one has behind her a troop of young ones, whether her own 
or another’s who can tell? The duck in question certainly does not 
know, but her. mother-love does not suffer on that account—they 
are in any case ducklings who are swimming behind her! 

In every case the flock thus collected follows the mother or 
foster-mother faithfully even in the first hours of free life. The 
mother leads them to places where edible mussels cover the rocks 
up to low-water mark, gathers as many as she and her family 
require, breaks the shells of the smallest and lays the contents 
‘before her brood. On the first day of their lives the ducklings are 
able to swim and dive as well as their parents, and they even excel 


48 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


them in one respect, for they are incomparably more nimble on 
land, being able to move about with surprising activity. If they 
become tired near an island the mother leads them on to it, and 
they run about like young partridges, and, by simply crouching 
down at the first warning cry, conceal themselves so effectively 
that they can only be found after long searching. If they get 
fatigued when they are far from land, the mother spreads out her 
wings a little and offers them these and her bac as a resting-place. 
As they never know want they grow with extraordinary rapidity, 
and at the end of two months will have attained nearly the size, 
certainly all the adroitness, of their mother. The father soon joins 
them in order to pass the winter with his family—usually in com- 
pany with many other families, so that a flock of thousands may 
occasionally be formed. 

The high and annually increasing price of its incomparable 
down makes the eider-duck the most valuable of all berg-hirds. A 
thousand pairs of ducks form a possession well worth having. At 
least three or four thousand pairs brood on each island, and the 
fortunate possessor of still more numerously visited breeding-places 
derives revenues through his birds which many a German land- 
owner might envy. But besides the eider-ducks there breed also 
on the holms oyster-catchers and black guillemots, whose eggs are 
preserved and used for food for months, or are exported to a distance. 
Furthermore, the flesh of the young birds is sometimes salted for 
winter use, and thus the holms yield a rich harvest. They are 
therefore strictly preserved and protected by special laws.® 

A brooding island peopled by eider-ducks and other sea birds 
presents a spectacle as unique as it is fascinating. A more or less 
thick cloud of brilliantly white sea-gulls veils such an island. With- 
out intermission troops and swarms of brooding birds arrive and 
fly out to sea again, visiting the neighbouring reefs also, and some- 
times marvellously adorning the drained moorland, now covered 
with green turf, in front of the red log-huts. With justifiable 
pride a dweller on the Lofodens pointed to several hundred gulls 
which were assembled directly before his door seeking for insects. 
“Our land is too poor, too cold, and too rough”, he said, “for us to 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 49 


be able to keep domestic birds as you do in the south. But the sea 
sends us our doves, and, I ask, have you ever seen more beautiful ?” 
I could but answer in the negative, for the picture of the dazzling 
white and delicate blue-gray gulls on the luxuriant green turf amid 
the grand environment of the northern mountains was indeed mag- 
nificent. It is these gulls chiefly which make the brooding holms 
conspicuous from a distance, and distinguish them from others which 
are physically the same. The other members of the feathered popu- 
lation are but little noticed, though they number many thousands. 
Only when one of the admirable light boats of the country is pushed 
off from the inhabited shores and rowed towards the holm does the 
quiet life of the birds change. Some oyster-catchers, which have been 
feeding directly above the high-water mark, have observed the boat 
and fly hastily towards it. These birds, which are absent from none 
of the larger islands, scarcely from any of the skerries, are the guar- 
dians of the safety and welfare of the peacefully united colony. More 
inquisitive and active than any other birds known to me, self-possessed, 
cautious, and deliberate, they possess all the qualities necessary to 
make them the sentinels of a mixed colony. Every new, unusual, or 
extraordinary event arouses their curiosity, and incites them to make 
closer examination. Thus they fly to meet the boat, sweep round it 
five or six times in ever-narrowing circles, screaming uninterruptedly 
the while, thus attracting others of their own species to the spot, 
and rousing the attention of all the cautious birds in the colony. 
As soon as they have convinced themselves of the presence of actual 
danger, they fly quickly back, and, with warning notes, communicate 
the result of their investigation to all the other birds on the berg 
who will pay any attention, as indeed many do. Some gulls now 
resolve to investigate the cause of the disturbance for themselves. 
Five or six of them fly towards the boat, hover falcon-like in the 
air, perhaps even dart boldly down upon the intruders, and return 
to the holm more quickly than they came. Just as if their report 
was mistrusted, twice, three, four—ten times the number take wing, 
proceeding exactly as the first spies had done, and soon a cloud of 
birds forms above the boat. This cloud becomes thicker and thicker, 


more and more threatening, for the birds not only endeavour with 
(2170) 4 


50 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR, 


continually increasing boldness to strike against the intruders in the 
boat, but they bestow upon them stuff which does not exactly tend 
to adorn faces and clothing. In the neighbourhood of the breeding- 
place the excitement increases to an apparently distracted con- 
fusion, the cries of individuals unite to form a maddening noise a 
thousand times repeated. Before the boat has touched the land the 
eider-drakes, who have been visiting their mates, have waddled to 
the shore and are now swimming out to sea with a warning “Ahua- 
ahua”. The cormorants and mergansers follow them, but the 
oyster-catchers, plovers, black guillemots, eider-ducks, gulls, and 
terns, as well as the stone-chats and water-wagtails, cannot make 
up their minds to forsake the island. Running birds innumerable 
rush up and down the shore as if pursued by the evil one; the 
black guillemots, which had glided up the slanting blocks of rock, 
squat flat down upon them and stare in innocent wonder at the 
strangers, and the eider-ducks prepare to make themselves invisible 
after their fashion when the right moment comes. 

The boat touches the shore. We step upon the holm. A screech 
rises from thousands of voices at once, the cloud of flying birds 
thickens to opaqueness; hundreds of brooding gulls rise croaking to 
join those in flight; dozens of oyster-catchers scream loudly, and 
the maze of moving birds and the noise of their screeching become 
so bewildering that one feels as if one perceived with the bodily 
senses the din and riot of the witches’ revel on the Blocksberg. 

“Voices o’er us dost thou hear? 
Voices far, and voices near? 


All the mountain-range along 
Streams a raving Witches’ Song.” 


Mephisto’s words are realized. The noise and tumult, the confusion 
of forms and cries, fatigue all the senses; everything swims and 
flickers before our eyes; there is singing and ringing in our ears, 
till at length we are conscious of neither colour nor noise, scarcely 
even of the usually very penetrating odour. In whatever direction 
we may turn the cloud covers the island; nothing is to be seen but 
birds, and when thousands alight to rest thousands more take wing, 
their care and anxiety for their brood making them forget their 


Fig. 3.—The Bird-bergs of Lapland. 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 53 


own powerlessness, and encouraging them to a defence which, though 
not dangerous, is certainly embarrassing to the explorers. 

Essentially different from the life—after all very inoffensive— 
on an eider-holm is the picture presented by an island peopled by 
silver, herring, or great black-backed gulls. These also congregate 
on certain islands for the breeding season in hundreds and hundreds 
of pairs, one such island being sometimes inhabited by from three to 
five thousand pairs. The island presents quite as beautiful and 
noble a spectacle as the eider-holm. The large, dazzling white, and 
light or dark gray forms contrast wonderfully with the whole sur- 
roundings, and their movements possess much of the grace which 
characterizes all gulls. But these strong, powerful, rapacious gulls, 
though gregarious, are not peaceable neighbours. No member of 
such a colony trusts any other. Each pair lives by itself, marks 
out a definite brooding-ground, however small its diameter, allows 
no other pair within its boundaries, and both birds never leave 
the nest at the same time. If they have been disturbed by a power- 
ful common enemy they hasten back as quickly as possible to 
the nest to protect it from others of their own species. 

Less noisy, but certainly not less impressive, is the life on the 
real bird-bergs, the breeding-grounds of razor-bills, guillemots, and 
puffins, with at most here and there one or other of the gulls or 
of the cormorants. It will suffice if I attempt to describe one such 
berg in narrative form. 

To the north of the large island belonging to the Lofoden group, 
and about three hundred yards from its shore, lie three bell-shaped 
rocky islands (the Nyken), rising rugged and steep for about three 
hundred feet above the surface of the sea, and closely surrounded 
by a circle of little reefs. One of these rocky cones is a bird-berg, 
and one can hardly imagine a finer of its kind. 

We prepared to visit the island on a beautiful summer day 
when the sea was unusually smooth and calm, the sky clear and 
blue, the air warm and pleasant. Powerful Norsemen rowed our 
light boat in and out among innumerable skerries. Look where 
we would, we saw birds. Almost every rock which rose above the 
surface of the water was peopled with them. Some of the reefs 


54 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


were coated with white by the excrement of the cormorants which 
regularly spent a portion.of each day there in rest. Arranged in 
rows, like soldiers drawn up, they sat in tens, twenties, or hun- 
dreds, in the most extraordinary positions, their necks stretched, 
their wings spread out so that every part of their bodies might 
have full benefit of the sunshine, waving their wings also as if to 
fan each other, and all the while casting watchful glances in every 
direction. On our approach, they threw themselves heavily with 
hollow cries into the sea, and then, swimming and diving, defied 
all our attempts to get near them. Other reefs were covered with 
gulls, hundreds and thousands of the same species; or with male 
eiders, which had probably come from some eider-holm or other, 
to amuse themselves after the fashion of their sex while their 
mates were busied with maternal cares. Around other rocky 
islands the dazzling eider-birds, perhaps newly-plucked males, had 
congregated and arranged themselves in a circle, suggestive of the 
great white water-lilies of our quiet freshwater lakes. In the 
sounds that were not too deep one could see the fishing mergansers 
and divers, one or other of which would every now and then 
give full vent to its shrill, far-reaching cry—a ery so long-drawn- 
out and so varied in tone that one might call it a song, were it 
not rather a wild melody such as can only be executed by a child 
of the North Sea who has listened to the howling and blustering 
of winter storms, and has echoed the roar of the surging waves. 
Proud as a prince upon his throne sat here and there a sea-eagle, 
the terror of all the feathered creatures of the sea; sometimes we 
saw a whole company of these robbers gorged with prey; the 
jerfalcon, who had his eyrie on one of the steep precipices, 
flew through his wide domain with the swiftness of an arrow; 
fluttering gulls and kittiwakes and fishing terns darted up and 
down; oyster-catchers greeted us with their trilling cries; razor- 
bills and guillemots appeared and disappeared all about us as they 
rose to the surface or dived underneath. 

In such company we proceeded on our way. When we had 
traversed about ten nautical miles we came within range of the 
Nyke. In whatever direction we looked we saw some of the 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 55 


temporary dwellers on the berg, fishing and diving in the sea, or, 
startled by our boat, flying along so close to the surface of the 
water that their bright red webbed feet struck spray from the 
waves. We saw swarms of from thirty to fifty or a hundred birds 
streaming from or towards the berg, and we could not doubt that 
we were approaching a very populous breeding-colony. But we 
had been told of millions of brooding birds, and as yet we could 
see nothing of such numbers. At length, after we had rowed round 
a projecting ridge, the Nyke lay before us. In the sea, all around, 
were black points, at the foot of the hill white ones. The former 
were without order or regularity, the latter generally in rows, or 
sharply defined troops; the one set consisted of razor-bills swim- 
ming, with head, throat, and neck above the water, the others were 
the same birds sitting on the hill with their white breasts turned 
towards the sea. There were certainly many thousands, but not 
millions. 

After we had landed at the opposite island and refreshed our- 
selves in the house of the proprietor of the Nyke, we crossed over 
to it, and choosing a place round which the seething waves did 
not surge too violently, we sprang out on the rock and climbed 
quickly up to the turf which covers the whole Nyke, with the 
exception of a few protruding peaks, ledges, and angles. There 
we found that the whole turf was so pierced with nest-hollows 
something like rabbit holes, that on the whole hill not a single 
place the size of a table could be found free from such openings. 
We made our way upwards in a spiral, clambering rather than 
walking to the top of the berg. The undermined turf trembled 
under our feet, and from every hole there peeped, crept, glided, 
or flew out birds rather larger than pigeons, slate-coloured on the: 
upper part of the body, dazzlingly white on breast and belly, with 
fantastic bills and faces, short, narrow, pointed wings, and stumpy 
tails. Out of every hole they appeared and even out of the fissures 
and clefts in the rocks. Whichever way we turned we saw only 
birds, heard only the low droning noise of their combined weak 
eries. Every step onwards brought new flocks out of the bowels 
of the earth. From the berg down to the sea, from the sea up to 


56 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the berg there flew swarms innumerable. The dozens became hun- 
dreds, the hundreds became thousands, and hundreds of thousands 
sprang incessantly from the brown-green turf. A cloud not less 
thick than that over the holm enveloped us, enveloped the island, so 
that it—magically indeed, but in a way perceptible by the senses— 
seemed transformed into a gigantic bee-hive, round which not less 
gigantic bees, humming and buzzing, hovered and fluttered. 

The farther we went, the more magnificent became the spectacle. 
The whole hill was alive. Hundreds of thousands of eyes looked 
down upon us intruders. From every hole and corner, from every 
peak and ledge, out of every cleft, burrow, or opening, they hurried 
forth, right, left, above, beneath; the air, like the ground, teemed 
with birds. From the sides and from the summit of the berg 
thousands threw themselves like a continuous cataract into the sea 
in a throng so dense that they seemed to the eye to form an almost 
solid mass. Thousands came, thousands went, thousands fluttered 
in a wondrous mazy dance; hundreds of thousands flew, hundreds 
of thousands swam and dived, and yet other hundreds of thousands 
awaited the footsteps which should rouse them also. There was 
such a swarming, whirring, rustling, dancing, flying, and creeping 
all about us that we almost lost our senses; the eye refused duty, 
and his wonted skill failed even the marksman who attempted to 
gain a prize at random among the thousands. Bewildered, hardly 
conscious, we pushed on our way until at length we reached the 
summit. Our expectation here at last to regain quietness, com- 
posure, and power of observation, was not at once realized. Even 
here there was the same swarming and whirring as further down 
the slope, and the cloud of birds around us was so thick that we 
only saw the sea dimly and indefinitely as in twilight. But a pair 
of jerfalcons, who had their eyrie in a neighbouring precipice, and 
had seen the unusual bustle, suddenly changed the wonderful 
scene. The razor-bills, guillemots, and puffins were not afraid of us; 
but on the appearance of their well-known and irresistible enemies, 
the whele cloud threw themselves with one accord, as at the com- 
mand of a magician, into the sea, and the outlook was clear and 
free. Innumerable black points, the heads of the birds swimming 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 57 


in the sea, stood out distinctly from the water, and broke up 
the blue-green colouring of the waves. Their number was so great 
that from the top of the berg, which was over three hundred feet 
high, we could not see where the swarm ended, could not discover 
where the sea was clear from birds. In order to make a calcula- 
tion, I measured out a small square with my eye, and began to 
count the points in it. There were more than a hundred. Then 
I endeavoured mentally to place several similar squares together, 
and soon came to thousands of points. But I might have imagined 
many thousands of such squares together and yet not exhausted 
the space covered by birds. The millions of which I had been 
told were really there. This picture of apparent quiet only lasted 
for a few moments. The birds soon began to fly upwards again, 
and as before, hundreds of thousands rose simultaneously from the 
water to ascend the hill, as before a cloud formed round it, and 
our senses were again bewildered. Unable to see, and deafened 
by the indescribable noise about me, I threw myself on the ground, 
and the birds streamed by on all sides. New ones crept constantly 
out of their holes, while those we had previously startled now crept 
back again; they settled ali about me, looking with comical amaze- 
ment at the strange form among them, and approaching with 
mincing gait so close to me that I attempted to seize them. The 
beauty and charm of life showed themselves in every movement of 
these remarkable birds. With astonishment I saw that even the 
best pictures of them are stiff and cold, for I remarked in their 
quaint forms a mobility and liveliness with which I had not credited 
them. They did not remain still a single instant, their heads and 
necks at least were moved incessantly to all sides, and their 
contours often showed most graceful lines. It seemed as though 
the inoffensiveness with which I had given myself up to observing 
them, had been rewarded by unlimited confidence on their part. 
The thousands just about me were like domestic birds; the millions 
paid me no more attention than if I had been one of themselves. 

I spent eighteen hours on this bird-berg in order to study the 
life of the auks.t When the midnight sun stood large and blood-red 
in the sky and cast its rosy light on the sides of the hill there came 


58 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the peace which midnight brings even in the far North. The sea 
was deserted; all the birds which had been fishing and diving in it 
had flown up to the berg. There they sat wherever there was room 
to sit in long rows of tens, of hundreds, of hundreds of thousands, 
forming dazzling white lines as all, without exception, sat facing the 
sea. Their ‘arr’ and ‘err’, which had deafened our ears notwith- 
standing the weakness of the individual voices, were silent now, 
and only the roar of the surf breaking on the rocks far below 
resounded as before. Not till the sun rose again did the old be- 
wildering bustle begin anew, and as we at length descended the hill 
by the way we had climbed it, we were once more surrounded by a 
thick cloud of startled birds. 

It is not because of their enormous numbers alone that the auks 
are so fascinating; there is much that is attractive in their life and 
habits. During the brooding time their social virtues reach an 
extraordinary height. Till the beginning of that season they live 
entirely on the open sea, defying the severest winter and the wildest 
storms. Even in the long night of winter very few of them forsake 
their northern home, but they range, in flocks of hundreds and thou- 
sands, from one fishing-ground to another, finding all the open spaces 
among the ice as unfailingly as they do other promising feeding- 
grounds in the open sea. But when the sun reappears they are 
animated by one feeling—love, by one longing—to reach as soon as 
possible the hill where their own cradle stood. Then somewhere 
about Easter-time they all set out, swimming more than flying, for 
the bird-berg. But among the auks there are more males than 
females, and not every male is fortunate enough to secure a wife. 
Among other birds such a disproportion gives rise to ceaseless strife, 
yet among these auks peace is not disturbed. The much-to-be- 
pitied beings whom, making use of a human analogy, we may call 
bachelors, migrate to the berg as well as the fortunate pairs, who 
coquette and caress by the way; they fly up with these to the 
heights and accompany them on their hunting expeditions to the 
surrounding sea. As soon as the weather permits, the pairs begin 
to get the old holes in order; they clear them out, deepen them, 
enlarge their chambers, and, if necessary, hollow out a new brooding- 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 59 


place. As soon as this has been done the female lays, on the bare 
ground at the further end of the hollowed-out brooding-chamber, a 
single very large, top-shaped, brightly-spotted egg, and begins to 
brood alternately with the male. The poor bachelors have a sad 
time of it now. They, too, would dearly like to take parental cares 
upon themselves if they could only find a mate who would share 
them. But all the females are appropriated, and wooing is in vain. 
So they resolve to give practical proof of their good-will, at least in 
so far that they force themselves on the fortunate pair as friends of 
the family. In the hours about midnight, when the female broods 
on the nest, they sit with the male as he keeps watch before it, and, 
when the male relieves his mate that she may fish in the sea, they 
mount guard in his stead. But when both parents visit the sea at 
once the bachelors hasten to reap some reward for their faithfulness. 
Without delay they thrust themselves into the interior of the cavity, 
and sit for the time upon the forsaken egg. The poor birds who 
are condemned to celibacy want at least to brood a little! This 
unselfish devotion has one result for which men might envy the 
auks—there are no orphans on these bird-bergs. Should the male 
of a pair come to grief, his widow immediately consoles herself with 
another mate, and in the rarer case of both parents losing their lives 
at once the good-natured supernumeraries are quite ready to finish 
hatching the egg and to rear the young one. The young ones differ 
materially from those of the ducks and gulls. They are ‘altrices’, 
not ‘preecoces’ as the ornithologists say;° in plain language, they are 
not ready for active life as soon as they are hatched. In a dress of 
thick gray down the young auk slips from the egg in which it 
awakes to life, but it must spend many weeks in the hole before it 
is ready to attempt its first flight to the sea. This first flight is 
always a hazardous undertaking, as is proved by the countless dead 
bodies on the cliffs at the foot of the berg. The young bird, ner- 
vously using its unpractised legs, hardly less timidly its newly- 
developed wings, follows its parents as they lead the way down the 
hill towards some place from which the leap into the sea may be 
attempted with as little danger as possible. On a suitable ledge 
the parents often remain a long time with their young one before 


60 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


they can induce it to take a spring. Both father and mother per- 
suade it coaxingly; the little one, usually obedient like all young 
birds, pays no heed to their commands. The father throws himself 
into the sea before the eyes of his hesitating offspring; the inex- 
perienced young one remains where he was. More attempts, more 
coaxing, urgent pressure: at length he risks the great leap and 
plunges like a falling stone deep into the sea; then, unconsciously 
obeying his instincts, he works his way to the surface, looks all 
around over the unending sea, and—is a sea-bird who thenceforth 
shuns no danger. 

Different again is the life and activity on the bergs chosen as 
brooding-places by the kittiwakes. Such a hill is the promontory 
Swartholm, high up in the north between the Laxen and the Por- 
sanger fjord, not far from the North Cape. I knew well how these 
gulls appear on their brooding-places. Faber, with his excellent 
knowledge of the birds of the far North, has depicted it, as usual, 
in a few vivid words: 

“They hide the sun when they fly, they cover the skerries when 
they sit, they drown the thunder of the surf when they cry, they 
colour the rocks white when they brood.” I believed the excellent 
Faber after I had seen the eider-holms and auk-bergs, and yet I 
doubted, as every naturalist must, and therefore I ardently desired 
to visit Swiartholm for myself. An amiable Norseman with whom 
I became friendly, the pilot of the mail steamer by which I travelled, 
readily agreed to row me over to the breeding-place, and we ap- 
proached the promontory late one evening. At a distance of six or 
eight nautical miles we were overtaken by flocks of from thirty to 
a hundred, sometimes even two hundred kittiwakes flying to their 
nesting-place. The nearer we approached to Swartholm the more 
rapid was the succession of these swarms, and the larger did they 
become. At last the promontory became visible, a rocky wall about 
eight hundred yards long, pierced by innumerable holes, rising almost 
perpendicularly from the sea to a height of from four hundred and 
fifty to six hundred feet. It looked gray in the distance, but with a 
telescope one could discern innumerable points and lines. It looked 
as though a gigantic slate had been scratched all over with all sorts 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 61 


of marks by a playful giant child, as though the whole rock bore a 
wondrous decoration of chains, rings, and stars. From the dark 
depths of large and small cavities there gleamed a brilliant white; 
the shelving ledges stood out in more conspicuous brightness. The 
brooding gulls on their nests formed the white pattern, and we 


Fig. 4.—Razor-bills. 


realized the truth of Faber’s words, “they cover the rocks when 
they sit”. 

Our boat, as it grated on the rocky shore, startled a number of 
the gulls, and I saw a picture such as I had seen on many eider- 
holms and gull-islands. A shot from my friend’s gun thundered 
against the precipice. As a raging winter storm rushes through 
the air and breaks up the snow-laden clouds till they fall in 
flakes, so now it snowed living birds. One saw neither hill nor 
sky, nothing but an indescribable confusion. A thick cloud darkened 


62 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the whole horizon, justifying the description “they hide the sun 
when they fly”. The north wind blew violently and the icy sea 
surged wildly against the foot of the cliffs, but more loudly still 
resounded the shrill cries of the birds, so that the truth of the last 
part also of Faber’s description was fully proved, “they drown the 
thunder of the surf when they ery”. At length the cloud sank 
down upon the sea, the hitherto dim outlines of Swartholm became 
distinct again, and a new spectacle enchained our gaze. On the 
precipices there seemed to sit quite as many birds as before, and 
thousands were still flying up and down. A second shot scared 
new flocks, a second time it snowed birds down upon the sea, and 
still the hillsides were covered with hundreds of thousands. But 
on the sea, as far as the eye could reach, lay gulls like light 
foam-balls rocking up and down with the waves. How shall I 
describe the magnificent spectacle? Shall I say that the sea had 
woven millions and millions of bright pearls into her dark wave- 
robe? Or shall I compare the gulls to stars, and the ocean to the 
dome of heaven? I know not; but I know that I have seen nothing 
more gorgeous even on the sea. And as if the charm were not 
already great enough, the midnight sun, erewhile clouded over, 
suddenly shed its rosy light over promontory and sea and birds, 
lighting up every wave-crest as if a golden, wide-meshed net had 
been thrown over the water, and making the rose-tinted dazzling 
gulls appear more brilliant than before. We stood speechless at the 
sight! And we, with all our company, even the sailors of our boat, 
remained motionless for a long, long time, deeply moved by the 
wonderful picture before us, till at last one of us broke the silence, 
and, rather to recover himself through the sound of his own voice 
than to express his inner feeling, softly uttered the poet’s words: 
Over the bergs the sun blood-red 
Shone through the night; 


Nor day nor dark was over head, 
But weird twilight. 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 63 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 


Around the North Pole lies a broad belt of inhospitable land, a 
desert which owes its special character rather to the water than to 
the sun. Towards the Pole this desert gradually loses itself in fields 
of ice, towards the south in dwarfed woods, becoming itself a field 
of snow and ice when the long winter sets in, while stunted trees 
attempt the struggle for existence only in the deepest valleys or 
on the sunniest slopes. This region is the Tundra.® 

It is a monotonous picture which I attempt to sketch when I 
seek to describe the tundra, a picture gray on gray, yet not devoid 
of all beauty; it is a desert with which we have to do, but a desert 
in which life, though for many months slumbering and apparently 
banished, stirs periodically in wondrous fulness. 

Our language possesses no synonym for the word tundra, 
because our Fatherland possesses no such tract of country. For the 
tundra is neither heath nor moor, neither marsh nor fen, neither 
highlands nor sand-dunes, neither moss nor morass, though in many 
places it may resemble one or other of these. “Moss-steppes” some- 
one has attempted to name it, but the expression is only satisfactory 
to those who have grasped the idea of steppe in its widest sense. 
In my opinion the tundra most resembles one of those moors which 
we find—and avoid—on the broad saddles of our lofty mountains; 
but it differs in many and important respects even from these 
boggy plateaus; indeed its character is in every respect unique. 
The region is sometimes divided into low and high tundra, though 
the differences between the land under three hundred feet above 
sea-level and that above this line are in the tundra more apparent 
than real. 

The low tundra is bounded by flat, wavy outlines; its valleys are 
shallow troughs, and even the heights, which, from a distance, look 
like hills or even mountains, turn out to be only flat hillocks when 
one approaches their base. Flatness, uniformity, expressionlessness 
prevail, yet that there is a certain variety in the landscape, a diver- 
sity in some of its individual features, cannot be disputed. As one 


64 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


wanders through the tundra for days ata time, one’s attention is 
often arrested by dainty, even charming little pictures, but such 
pictures rarely stamp themselves on the memory, since on closer 
examination they prove, in all important details, in setting and 
surroundings, in contour and colour, like too many other scenes to 
make a distinct impression. Notwithstanding this monotony, the 
general aspect of the tundra has little unity, still less grandeur, and 
on this account one does not become enthusiastic about the region, 
does not reach to the heights of emotion which other landscapes 
awaken, perhaps does not even attain to full enjoyment of the real 
beauties which, it must be admitted, even this desert possesses. 

The tundra receives its greatest beauty from the sky, its 
greatest charm from the water. The sky is seldom quite clear and 
bright, though even here the sun, shining uninterruptedly for months 
together, can beat down hot and oppressive on the flat hills and 
damp valleys. The blue sky is usually seen only in isolated places 
through light, white, loose-layered clouds; these are often massed 
together into cloud-banks which form on all sides of the apparently 
immeasurable horizon, continually changing, shifting, assuming new 
forms, appearing and vanishing again, so ravishing the eye with 
their changeful briiliance that one almost forgets the landscape 
underneath. When a thunder-storm threatens after a hot day the 
sky darkens here and there to the deepest gray-blue, the vapour- 
laden clouds sink beneath the lighter ones, and the sun shines 
through, clear and brilliant; then the dreary, monotonous landscape 
is magically beautified. For light and shade now diversify the hill- 
tops and valleys, and the wearisome monotony of their colour gains 
variety and life. And when, in the middle of a midsummer night, 
the sun stands large and blood-red in the heavens, when all the 
clouds are flushed with purple from beneath, when those hill-tops 
which hide the luminary bear a far-reaching flaming crown of rays, 
when a delicate rosy haze lies over the brown-green landscape, 
when, in a word, the indescribable magic of the midnight sun casts 
its spell over the soul: then this wilderness is transformed into 
enchanted fields, and a blissful awe fills the heart. 

But variety and life are also given by the jewels of the tundra 


Fig. 5.—The High Tundra in Northern Siberia. 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 67 


—its innumerable lakes. Distributed singly or in groups, lying 
beside or rising above each other, stretching out into water-basins 
miles in breadth, or shrinking into little pools, they occupy the centre 
of every hollow, beautify every valley, almost every glen, sparkle 
in the all-enlivening sunshine, and gray and colourless though they 
may be, assume, if seen from the top of a hill, the deep blue of 
mountain lakes. And when the sunlight flashes and twinkles on 
their mirroring waves, or when they, too, are touched by the rosy 
glow of midnight, they stand out from the surrounding gloom like 
living lights, on which the eye delights to linger. 

Much grander, though still gloomy and monotonous, is the 
spectacle presented by the high tundra. Here the mountains—for 
such they are—have all the charms of height. They almost always 
rise precipitously, and the chains they form have much-broken 
lines, and in all suitable places the snowy sheets which cover them 
become glaciers. Tundra in the strict sense is only to be found 
where the water does not find rapid outlet; the whole remaining 
country seems so different from the low grounds that only the essen- 
tially similar vegetation proclaims it tundra. The boulders, which 
in the low grounds are turfed over with thick layers of dead plant 
remains, are here almost everywhere exposed; endless heaps of 
gigantic blocks cover the slopes and fill the valleys; boulders form 
the substratum of wide, almost flat surfaces on which the traveller 
treads hesitatingly, as he ponders over the difficult riddle regarding 
the forces which have distributed the blocks over these vast surfaces 
with almost unvarying regularity. But everywhere between them the 
water trickles and glides, ripples and swells, rushes and roars, rages 
and thunders down to the low ground. From the slopes it flows in 
trickling threads, converging runlets, and murmuring brooklets; 
from the crevices of the glaciers it breaks forth in milky torrents; 
it enters the water-basins in turbid rivulets; it escapes from the 
purifying lakes in crystalline streams, and whirling and foaming, 
hissing and raging, it hurries onwards down the valleys, forming 
alternate waterfalls and whirlpools, till it reaches the low tundra, a 
river, or the sea. But the sun, as often as it breaks through the 
clouds, floods this unique mountain region also with its magic colours, 


68 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


defines every hill and valley, illumines every snowfield, makes every 
glacier and ravine conspicuous and telling, gives effect to every peak, 
ridge and cliff, shows every lake as a clear and smiling mountain 
eye, spreads, morning and evening, the blue haze of distance like a 
delicate veil over the background of the picture, and, at midnight, 
floods the whole with its deepest rays, so that it is bathed in rosy 
light. Surely even the tundra is not without its charms. 

In some places, though very rarely, the vegetation gives a 
certain form and beauty to the scenery. Pines and firs, if not 
altogether confined to the south, are only to be found in the most 
sheltered valleys. The few firs which are to be seen look as if they 
had been seized by a giant hand and twisted like a screw, and 
they do not thrive in the higher districts. The birches penetrate 
farther, but even they are stunted and bent like grizzled dwarfs. The 
larches alone here and there hold the field, and grow to be really 
trees, but they cannot be described as characteristic of the tundra. 
The most characteristic plant is certainly the dwarf-birch. Only 
under exceptionally favourable circumstances attaining to a yard . 
in height, it predominates over by far the greater part of the 
tundra so absolutely that all other bushes and shrubs seem only 
to have sprung up between the birches. It spreads over all tracts 
where it can take root, from the shore of the sea or river to the 
tops of the mountains, a more or less thick covering so equal in 
height that great stretches look as if they had been shorn along 
the top; it recedes only where the ground is so soaked with water 
that it forms swamp or morass; it is stunted only where the heights 
are covered with infertile quartz or with stiff clay, which hardens 
readily in the sun; but it strives for mastery with the bog-moss 
on all the low grounds and with the reindeer-moss on every 
height. Areas of many square miles are so thickly clothed—one 
might almost say felted—that only the indestructible bog-moss 
ventures to assert its claim to the soil beside, or rather under the 
birches. In other less moist places we find dwarf-birches, sweet- 
willow, and marsh-andromeda mixed together. In the same way 
various berry-bearing bushes are often mixed, especially cowberries, 
erowberries, cranberries, and whortleberries. 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 69 


If the ground lies below the level of the surrounding plains, and 
is therefore very moist, the bog-moss gains the day, and, gradually 
crowding out the dwarf-birch, forms great swelling cushions. As 
the root-parts rapidly die away into peat, these cushions become 
higher and more extensive until the water impedes any further 
advance, or else they break up into dome-like hillocks. If the 
basin be very flat, the accumulated water rarely forms a lake or 
pond, scarcely even a pool, but soaks through the soil to an indefinite 
depth, and so forms a morass whose thin but tough covering of 
interlacing sedge-roots can only be trodden in safety by the broad- 
hoofed reindeer; and even his steps, and the deeply-sinking runners 
of the sledge, make it yield and tremble like jelly. 

When the depression becomes a short confined trough, without 
outlet, into which a streamlet flows, however slowly, the morass 
becomes a bog, or lower down, a swamp. In the first of these, reeds, 
in the second downy willows (sallows), a second characteristic 
plant of the tundra, attain to luxuriant growth. Though only in 
very favourable circumstances becoming as’ tall as a man, these 
plants form thickets which may be literally impenetrable. Their 
branches and roots interlace to an even greater extent than do 
those of the dwarf-firs on the mountains, forming an inextricable 
maze which can best be compared to a felt compacted out of all the 
different parts of the willow. It withstands the strongest arm, 
when one tries to clear a path through it, and it offers so much 
obstruction to the foot that the most persistent explorer soon gives 
up the attempt to pierce it, and turns aside, or retraces his steps. 
This he does the more readily as the substratum is in most cases 
morass or an almost continuous series of marshy, slimy pools whose 
fathomableness one is unwilling even to try. 

As the traveller journeys through the tundra, he recognizes that 
the whole region presents to the eye the individual features already 
described, in regular alternation and monotonous repetition. Only 
where a large river of considerable volume flows through the low 
tundra is there any real change. Such a river deposits on its 
banks the masses of sand it has carried down; and the wind, which 
blows constantly and usually violently, piles these gradually up 


70 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR, 


into dunes along the banks; thus a soil foreign to the tundra is 
formed. On these sand-hills the larch grows, even in the tundra of 
Siberia, to a stately tree, and becomes, in association with willows 
and dwarf alder bushes, an ornament to the landscape. In the 
neighbourhood of small lakes the trees may even be grouped 
together, and, with the shrubs already named, form a natural 


Fig. 6.—Peregrine Falcons and Lemmings. 


park which would not escape observation even in a much richer 
and more fertile district, and is here so very remarkable that it 
leaves a lasting impression. 

When the larch has taken root in the sand-hills, there grow up 
under its sheltering branches other tall-stemmed plants such as 
sharp-leaved willows, mountain ash, black alder, and woodbine 
bushes, and there spring from the sand many flowers which one 
thought to have left far behind in the south. The surprised 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 71 


southerner is cheered by the red glory of the willow-herb; the 
charming wild rose clings close to the motherly earth, decorating 
it with its slender stems and its flowers; the bright forget-me-not 
looks up with home-like greeting; here hellebore and chives, 
valerian and thyme, carnations and blue-bells, bird-vetch and 
alpine vetch, ranunculus and immortelles, lady’s-smock, Jacob’s- 
ladder, cinquefoil, love-lies-bleeding, and others find a home in the 
desert. In such places more plants grow than one had expected, 
but the traveller is certainly modest in his expectations when he 
has seen the same poverty all around for days and weeks together, 
always dwarf-birches and sallows, marsh andromeda and sedge, 
reindeer-moss and bog-moss; has refreshed himself with the stunted 
crowberries and cranberries half-hidden in the moss, half-creeping 
on the ground, and has been obliged to take the cloudberries which 
decorate the moss-cushion as flowers; when he has tramped over 
them and among them for days together always hoping for a 
change, and always being disappointed. Every familiar plant from 
the south reminds him of happier regions; he greets it as a dear 
friend whose value is only realized when he has begun to fear 
losing him.’ 

It seems strange that the plants above-named and many others 
should spring only from the dry sand of the dunes, but the apparent 
riddle is solved when we know that it is only the sand thus piled 
up, that becomes sufficiently warmed in the months of uninterrupted 
sunshine for these plants to flourish. Nowhere else throughout the 
tundra is this the case. Moor and bog, morass and swamp, even 
the lakes with water several yards in depth only form a thin 
summer covering over the eternal winter which reigns in the 
tundra, with destructive as well as with preserving power. Wher- 
ever one tries to penetrate to any depth in the soil one comes—in 
most cases scarcely a yard from the surface—upon ice, or at least 
on frozen soil, and it is said that one must dig about a hundred 
yards before breaking through the ice-crust of the earth. It is this 
crust which prevents the higher plants from vigorous growth, and 
allows only such to live as are content with the dry layer of soil 
which thaws in summer. It is only by digging that one can know 


72 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the tundra for what it is: an immeasurable and unchangeable ice- 
vault which has endured, and will continue to endure, for hundreds 
of thousands of years. That it has thus endured is proved indisput- 
ably by the remains of prehistoric animals embedded in it, and thus 
preserved for us. In 1807 Adams dug from the ice of the tundras 
the giant mammoth, with whose flesh the dogs of the Yakuts sated 
their hunger, although it must have died many thousands of years 
before, for the race became extinct in the incalculably distant past. 
The icy tundra had faithfully preserved the carcase of this primitive 
elephant all through these hundreds of thousands of years. 

Many similar animals, and others of a more modern time, are 
embedded in the ice, though it is not to be supposed that the tundra 
was ever able to sustain a much richer fauna than it has now. 
Bison and musk-ox traversed it long after the time of the mammoth, 
giant-elk and moose belonged to it once. Now its animal life is as 
poor and monotonous as its vegetation—as itself. This holds true, 
however, only with regard to species, not to individuals, for the 
tundra is, at least in summer, the home of numerous animals. 

The year is well advanced before the tundra begins to be visibly 
peopled. Of the species which never leave it one sees very little in 
winter. The fish which ascend its rivers from the sea are concealed 
by the ice; the mammals and birds which winter in it are hidden by 
the snow, under which they live, or whose colour they wear. Not 
until the snow begins to melt on the southern slopes does the animal 
life begin to stir. Hesitatingly the summer visitors make their ap- 
pearance. The wolf follows the wild reindeer, the army of summer 
birds follows the drifting ice blocks on the streams. Some of the 
birds remain still undecided in the regions to the South, behave as if 
they would breed there, then suddenly disappear from their resting- 
place by the way, fly hastily to the tundra, begin to build directly 
on their arrival, lay their eggs, and brood eagerly, as though they 
wished to make up for the time gained by their relatives in the 
South. Their summer life is compressed into few weeks. They 
arrive already united, paired for life, or at least for the summer; their 
hearts stirred by all-powerful love, they proceed, singing and rejoic- 
ing, to build a nest; unceasingly they give themselves up to their 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 73 


parental duties, brood, rear, and educate their young, moult, and 
migrate abroad again. 

The number of species which may be looked upon as native to 
the tundra is small indeed, yet it is much greater than that of those 
which may be regarded as characteristic of the region. As the first 
of these, I should like to place the Arctic fox. He ranges over the 
whole extent of the tundra, and is sure of maintenance and food 
in the south at least, where he occurs along with our fox and other 


Fig. 7.—The White or Arctic Fox (Canis lagopus). 


allied species. Like some other creatures he wears the colours of 
his home, in summer a rock-coloured dress, in winter a snow-white 
robe, for the hairs of his thick fur coat are at first stone-gray or 
grayish-blue, and become snow-white in winter. He struggles 
through life with ups and downs like other foxes, but his whole 
character and conduct are quite different from those of our reynard 
and his near relatives. One scarcely does him injustice in describing 
him as a degenerate member of a distinguished family, unusually 
gifted, intelligent, and ingenious. Of the slyness and ingenuity, 
the calculating craft, the never-failing presence of mind of his 
congeners he evinces hardly any trace. His disposition is bold and. 


74 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


forward, his manner officious, his behaviour foolish. He may be a 
bold beggar, an impudent vagabond, but he is never a cunning thief 
or robber, weighing all circumstances, and using all available means 
to attain his end. Unconcernedly he stares at the huntsman’s gun; 
unwarned by the ball, which passes whistling over his body, he 
follows his worst enemy; unhesitatingly he forces his way into the 
birch-bark hut of the wandering reindeer-herdsmen; without fear 
he approaches a man sleeping in the open, to steal the game he has 
caught, or even to snap at a naked limb. On one occasion an Arctic 
fox at which I had several times fired in vain in the dusk, kept fol- 
lowing my steps like a dog. My old sporting friend, Erik Swenson 
of Dovrefjeld, relates that one night a fox nibbled the fur rug on 
which he lay, and old Steller vouches for many other pranks which 
this animal plays, pranks which every one would declare incredible 
were they not thoroughly guaranteed by corroborating observations. 
An insufficient knowledge of human beings, so sparsely represented 
in the tundra, may to some extent account for the extraordinary 
behaviour of this fox, but it is not the only reason. For neither the 
red fox nor any other mammal of the tundra behaves with so little 
caution; not even the lemming approaches him in this respect. 

A strange creature certainly is this last inhabitant of our region 
whatever species of his family we consider. He, or at least his 
tracks, may be seen everywhere throughout the tundra. The tracks 
run in all directions, often through places overgrown by dwarf- 
birches, narrow, smooth, neatly-kept paths in the moss, going 
straight for several hundred yards, then diverging to right or left, 
and only returning to the main path after many circuits. On these 
we may often see, in great numbers during a dry summer, a little, 
short-tailed, hamster-like animal nimbly pattering along and soon 
disappearing out of sight. This is the lemming, a rodent smaller 
than a rat, but larger than a mouse, and with brightly but irregu- 
larly marked skin, usually brown, yellow, gray, and black. If we 
dissect the animal we see, not without surprise, that it consists 
almost entirely of skin and viscera. Its bones and muscles are fine 
and tender; its viscera, especially the alimentary and the repro- 
ductive organs, are enormously developed. This state of things 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 75 


explains some phenomena of its life which were long considered 
unintelligible: the almost abrupt occurrence of well-nigh unlimited 
fertility, and the vast, apparently organized migrations of the 
animal. In ordinary circumstances the lemming leads a very com- 
fortable life. Neither in summer nor in winter has he any anxiety 
about subsistence. In winter he devours all sorts of vegetable 
matter,—moss-tips, lichen, and bark; in summer he lives in his 
burrow, in winter in a warm, thick-walled, softly -lined nest. 
Danger indeed threatens from all sides, for not only beasts and 
birds of prey, but even the reindeer devour hundreds and thousands 
of lemmings;’ nevertheless they increase steadily and rapidly, until 
special circumstances arise when millions, which have come into 
existence within a few weeks, are annihilated within a few days. 
Spring sets in early, and a more than usually dry summer prevails 
in the tundra. All the young of the first litter of the various 
lemming females thrive, and six weeks later, at the most, these also 
multiply. Meantime the parents have brought forth a second and 
a third litter, and these in their turn bring forth young. Within 
three months the heights and low grounds of the tundra teem with 
lemmings, just as our fields do with mice under similar circum- 
stances. Whichever way we turn, we see the busy little creatures, 
dozens at a single glance, thousands in the course of an hour. They 
run about on all the paths and roads; driven to extremity, they 
turn, snarling and sharpening their teeth, on the defensive even 
against man, as if their countless numbers lent to each individual 
a defiant courage. But the countless and still-increasing numbers 
prove their own destruction. Soon the lean tundra ceases to afford 
employment enough for their greedy teeth. Famine threatens, per- 
haps actually sets in. The anxious animals crowd together and 
begin their march. Hundreds join with hundreds, thousands with 
other thousands: the troops become swarms, the swarms armies. 
They travel in a definite direction, at first following old tracks, 
but soon striking out new ones; in unending files—defying all com- 
putation—they hasten onwards; over the cliffs they plunge into 
the water. Thousands fall victims to want and hunger; the army 
behind streams on over their corpses; hundreds of thousands are 


76 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


drowned in the water, or are shattered at the foot of the cliffs; 
the remainder speed on; other hundreds and thousands fall victims 
to the voracity of Arctic and red foxes, wolves and gluttons, rough- 
legged buzzards and ravens, owls and skuas which have followed 
them; the survivors pay no heed. .Where these go, how they end, 
none can say, but certain it is that the tundra behind them is as if 


Fig. 8.—The Reindeer (Tarandus rangifer). 


dead, that a number of years pass ere the few who have remained 
behind, and have managed to survive, slowly multiply, and visibly 
re-people their native fields." 

A third animal characteristic of the tundra is the reindeer. 
Those who know this deer, in itself by no means beautiful, only in 
a state of captivity and slavery, can form no idea of what it is under 
natural conditions. Here in the tundra one learns to appreciate 
the reindeer, to recognize and value him as a member of a family 
which he does not disgrace. He belongs to the tundra, body and 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 77 


soul, Over the immense glacier and the quivering crust of the 
unfathomable morass, over the boulder-heaps and the matted tops 
of the dwarf-birches or over the mossy hillocks, over rivers and lakes 
he runs or swims with his broad-hoofed, shovel-like, extraordinarily 
mobile feet, which crackle at every step. In the deepest snow he 
uses his foot to dig for food. He is protected against the deadly 
cold of the long northern night by his thick skin, which the arrows 
of winter cannot pierce, against the pangs of hunger by the indis- 
criminateness of his appetite. From the wolf, which invariably 
follows close on his heels, he is, in some measure at least, saved by 
_the acuteness of his-senses, by his speed and endurance. He passes 
the summer on the clear heights of the tundra, where, on the 
slopes just beside the glaciers, the soil, belted over with reindeer- 
moss, also brings forth juicy, delicate alpine plants; in winter he 
ranges through the low tundra from hill to hill seeking spots from 
which the snow has been cleared off by the wind.” Shortly before 
this, having attained to his full strength and fully grown his branch- 
ing antlers, he had in passionate violence engaged in deadly combat 
with like-minded rivals as strong as himself until the still tundra 
resounded with the clashing of their horns. Now, worn out with 
fighting and with love, he ranges peacefully through his territory 
with others of his kind, associated in large herds, seeking only to 
maintain the struggle with winter. The reindeer is certainly far 
behind the stag in beauty and nobility, but when one sees the great 
herds, unhampered by the fetters of slavery, on the mountains of 
their native tundra, in vivid contrast to the blue of the sky and 
the whiteness of the snowy carpet, one must acknowledge that he, 
too, takes rank among noble wild beasts, and that he has more 
power than is usually supposed to quicken the beating of the 
sportsman’s heart. 

The tundra also possesses many characteristic birds. Whoever 
has traversed the northern desert must have met one, at least, of 
these, the ptarmigan: 


“In summer gay from top to toe, 
In winter whiter than the snow”. 


78 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


I do not allude to the ptarmigan of our mountains, which is here 
also restricted to the glacier region, but to the much more abundant 
willow-grouse. Wherever the dwarf-birch thrives it is to be found, 
and it is always visible, but especially when the silence of night has 
fallen upon the tundra, even though the sun be shining overhead. It 
never entirely forsakes its haunts, but, at the most, descends from 
the heights to the low grounds in winter. It is lively and nimble, 
pert and self-possessed, jealous and quarrelsome towards its rivals, 
affectionate and devoted towards its mate and young. Its life 
resembles that of our partridge, but its general behaviour has a 
much greater charm. It is the embodiment of life in the desert. 
Its challenging call rings out through the still summer night, and 
the coveys enliven the wintry tundra, forsaken by almost all other 
birds. Its presence gladdens and charms naturalist and sportsman 
alike. 

During summer the golden plover, which also must be described 
as a faithful child of the tundra, is to be met almost everywhere. 
As the swift ostrich to the desert, the sand-grouse to the steppes, the 
rock-partridge to the mountains, the lark to the corn-fields, so the 
golden plover belongs to the tundra. Gay as its dress may be, they 
are the colours of the tundra which it wears; its melancholy cry is 
the sound most in keeping with this dreary region. Much as we 
like to see it in our own country, we greet it without pleasure here, 
for its ery uttered day and night makes us as sad as the tundra 
itself. 

With much greater pleasure does one listen to the voice of 
another summer guest of the region. I do not refer to the tender 
melodies of the blue-throated warbler, which is here one of the 
commonest of brooding birds and justly named the “hundred- 
tongued singer”, nor to the ringing notes of the fieldfare, which 
also extends to the tundra, nor to the short song of the snow 
bunting, nor to the shrill cries of the peregrine falcon or the rough- 
legged buzzard, nor to the exultant hooting of the sea-eagle or the 
similar cry of the snowy owl, nor to the resounding trumpet-call of 
the musical swan or the plaintive bugle-like note of the Arctic duck, 
but to the pairing and love cry of one or other of the divers—a wild, 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 79 


unregulated, unrestrained, yet sonorous and tuneful, resonant and 
ringing northern melody, comparable to the roar of the surge or to 
the thunder of a waterfall as it rushes to the deep. Wherever a lake 
rich in fish is to be found, with a secret place in the reeds thick 
enough to conceal a floating nest, we find these children of the 
tundra and the sea, these soberly-joyous fishers in the calm fresh 
waters and fearless divers in the northern sea. Thence they have 
come to the tundra to brood, and back thither they will lead their 
young as soon as these are able, like themselves, to master the waves. 
Over the whole extent of the tundra they visit its waters, but 
they prefer to the broad inland lakes the little ponds on the hills 
along the coast, whence they can daily plunge, with their wildly jubi- 
lant sea song, into the heaving, bountiful ocean, which is their home. 

From the sea come other two birds very characteristic of the 
tundra. The eye follows every movement of the robber-gulls with 
real delight, of the phalarope with actual rapture. Both breed in 
the tundra: the one on open mossy moors, the other on the banks 
of the most hidden ponds and pools among the sallows. If 
other gulls be the “ravens of the sea” the skuas may well be called 
the “sea-falcons”. With full justice do they bear the names of 
robber and parasitic gulls, for they are excellent birds of prey 
when there is no opportunity for parasitism, and they become 
parasites when their own hunting has been unsuccessful. Falcon- 
like they fly in summer through the tundra, in winter along the 
coast regions of the North Sea; they hover over land or sea to find 
their prey, then swoop down skilfully and gracefully and seize 
without fail the victim they have sighted. But even these capable 
hunters do not scruple, under some circumstances, to become bold 
beggars. Woe to the gull or other sea-bird which seizes its prey 
within sight of a skua! With arrow-like swiftness he follows 
the fortunate possessor uttering barking cries, dances, as if play- 
fully, round him on all sides, cunningly prevents any attempt at 
flight, resists all defence, and untiringly and ceaselessly teases him 
till he gives up his prize, even though it has to be regurgitated 
from his crop. The life and habits of the Arctic skua, its skill and 
agility, its courage and impudence, untiring watchfulness and irre- 


80 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


sistible importunity are extraordinarily fascinating; even its begging 
can be excused, so great are its charms. Yet the phalarope is still 
more attractive. It is a shore bird, which unites in itself the quali- 
ties of its own order and those of the swimming birds, living, as it 
does, partly on land, partly in the water, even in the sea. Buoyant 
and agile, surpassing all other swimming birds in grace of motion, 


Fig. 9.—Skuas, Phalarope, and Golden Plovers. 


it glides upon the waves; quickly and nimbly it runs along the 
shore; with the speed of a snipe it wings its zigzag flight through 
the air. Confidently and without fear it allows itself to be observed 
quite closely, and in its anxiety for the safety of its brood usually 
betrays its own nest, with the four pear-shaped eggs, however care- 
fully it has been concealed among the reeds. It is perhaps the 
most pleasing of all the birds of the tundra. 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE, 81 


Likewise characteristic of the tundra are the birds of prey, or, 
at least, their manner of life there is characteristic. For it is only 
on the southern boundary of the region or among the heights that 
there are trees or rocks on which they can build their eyries, and 
they are perforce obliged to brood on the ground. Among the 
winding branches of the dwarf-birch is the nest of the marsh-owl, 
on its crown that of the rough-legged buzzard; on the bare ground 
lie the eggs of the snowy-owl and the peregrine falcon, though the 
latter chooses a place as near as possible to the edge of a gully, as 
though he would deceive himself by vainly attempting to make up 
for the lack of heights. That it and all the others are fully con- 
scious of the insecurity of their nesting-place is shown by their 
behaviour on the approach of man. From a distance the traveller 
is watched suspiciously and is greeted with loud cries; the nearer 
he approaches the greater grows the fear of the anxious parents. 
Hitherto they have been circling at a safe distance, about twice as 
far as a shot would carry, over the unfamiliar but dreaded enemy; 
now they swoop boldly down, and fiy so closely past his head that 
he distinctly hears the sharp whirr of their wings, sometimes indeed 
he has reason to fear that he will be actually attacked. Meanwhile 
the young birds, which are visible even from a distance as white 
balls, bend timidly down and await the approach of this enemy,— 
suspected at least, if not known as such,—sitting so still in their 
chosen, or perhaps forced position that one can sketch them without 
fear of being disturbed by a single movement—a charming picture! 

Many other animals might be enumerated if I thought them 
necessary to a picture of the tundra, At least one more is charac- 
teristic—the mosquito. To call it the most important living creature 
of the tundra would be scarcely an exaggeration. It enables not 
a few of the higher animals, especially birds and fishes, to live; it 
forces others, like man, to periodic wanderings; and it is in itself 
enough to make the tundra uninhabitable in summer by civilized 
beings. Its numbers are beyond all conception; its power conquers 
man and beast; the torture it causes beggars description. 

It is well known that the eggs of all mosquitoes are laid in the 


water, and that the larve which creep forth in a few days remain 
(370) 6 


82 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


in the water till their metamorphosis is accomplished. This explains 
why the tundra is more favourable than any other region to their 
development, and to their occurrence in enormous numbers. As 
soon as the sun, once more ascending, has thawed the snow, the ice, 
and the upper crust of the earth, the life of the mosquito, latent in 
winter but not extinguished, begins to stir again. The larve escape 
from the eggs which have been buried, but not destroyed, in the 
frozen mud; in a few days these larvee become pupe, the pupz be- 
come winged insects, and generation follows generation in quick 
succession. The heyday of the terrible pests lasts from before the 
beginning of the summer solstice until the middle of August. 

During the whole of this time they are present on the heights 
as in the low grounds, on the mountains or hills as in the valleys, 
among the dwarf-birches and sallow bushes as on the banks of 
rivers and lakes. Every grass-stalk, every moss-blade, every twig, 
every branch, every little leaf sends forth hundreds and thousands 
of them all day long. The mosquitoes of tropical countries, of the 
forests and marshes of South America, the interior of Africa, India, 
and the Sunda islands, so much dreaded by travellers, swarm only at 
night; the mosquitoes of the tundra fly for ten weeks, for six of these 
actually without interruption. They form swarms which look like 
thick black smoke; they surround, as with a fog, every creature 
which ventures into their domains; they fill the air in such numbers 
that one hardly dares to breathe; they baffle every attempt to drive 
them off; they transform the strongest man into an irresolute’weak- 
ling, his anger into fear, his curses into groans. 

As soon as the traveller sets foot on the tundra their buzzing is 
heard, now like the singing of a tea-kettle, now like the sound of a 
vibrating metal rod, and, a few minutes later, he is surrounded by 
thousands and thousands. A cloud of them swarms round head 
and shoulders, body and limbs, follows his steps, however quickly 
he moves, and cannot possibly be dispersed. If he remain standing, 
the cloud thickens; if he move on, it draws itself out; if he run as 
quickly as possible, it stretches into a long train, but does not remain 
behind. If a moderate wind is blowing against them, the insects 
hasten their flight to make headway against the current of air; 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 83 


when the wind is more violent all the members of the swarm strain 
themselves to the utmost so as not to lose their victim, and pounce 
like pricking hailstones on head and neck. Before he knows, he 
is covered from head to foot with mosquitoes. In a dense swarm, 
blackening gray clothes, giving dark ones a strange spotted appear- 
ance, they settle down and creep slowly about, looking for an 
unappropriated spot from which to suck blood. They creep noise- 
lessly and without being felt to the unprotected face and neck, the 
bare hands and the feet covered only with stockings, and a moment 
later they slowly sink their sting into the skin, and pour the irritant 
poison into the wound. Furiously the victim beats the blood-sucker 
to a pulp, but while the chastising hand still moves, three, four, ten 
other gnats fasten on it, while others begin work on the face, neck, 
and feet, ready to do exactly as the slain ones had done. For when 
blood has once flowed, when several insects have met their death on 
the same place, all the rest seek out that very spot, even though the 
surface becomes gradually covered with bodies. Specially favourite 
points of attack are the temples, the forehead just under the hat- 
brim, the neck and the wrist, places, in short, which can be least 
well protected. 

If an observer can so far restrain himself as to watch them at 
their work of blood, without driving them away or disturbing them, 
he notices that neither their settling nor their moving about is 
felt in the least. Immediately after alighting they set to work. 
Leisurely they walk up and down on the skin, carefully feeling 
it with their proboscis; suddenly they stand still and with sur- 
prising ease pierce the skin. While they suck, they lift one of the 
hind-legs and wave it with evident satisfaction backwards and 
forwards, the more emphatically the more the translucent body 
becomes filled with blood. As soon as they have tasted blood they 
pay no heed to anything else, and seem scarcely to feel though 
they are molested and tortured. If one draws the proboscis out of 
the wound with forceps, they feel about for a moment, and then 
bore again in the same or a new place; if one cuts the proboscis 
quickly through with sharp scissors, they usually remain still as 
if they must think for a minute, then pass the forelegs gently over 


84 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the remaining portion and make a prolonged examination to assure 
themselves that the organ is no longer present; if one suddenly 
cuts off one of their hind-legs, they go on sucking as if nothing had 
happened and continue to move the stump; if one cuts the blood- 
filled body in half, they proceed like Miinchausen’s horse at the 
well, but at length they withdraw the proboscis from the wound, 
fly staggeringly away and die within a few minutes. 

Careful observation of their habits places it beyond doubt that, in 
the discovery of their victim, they are guided less by sight than by 
smell, or perhaps, more correctly, by a sense which unites smell and 
tactile sensitiveness.* It can be observed with certainty that, if a 
human being approach within five yards of their resting-place, they 
rise and fly to their prey without hesitating or diverging. If anyone 
crosses a bare sand-bank usually free from them he can observe how 
they gather about their victim. Apparently half carried by the 
wind, half moving by their own exertions, but at any rate wander- 
ing aimlessly, some float continually over even this place of pil- 
grimage, and a few thus reach the neighbourhood of the observer. 
At once their seeming inactivity is at an end. Abruptly they alter 
their course, and make straight for the happily-found object of their 
longing. Others soon join them, and before five minutes have 
passed, the martyr is again surrounded by a nimbus. They find 
their way less easily through different strata of air. While observing 
them on a high dune I had been followed and tormented for some 
time by thousands, so I led the swarm to the edge of the steep slope, 
let it thicken there, and then sprang suddenly to the foot. With 
much satisfaction I saw that I had shaken off the greater number of 
my tormentors. They swarmed in bewildered confusion on the top 
of the dune, forming a dense cloud for some time over the place 
from which I had leaped. A few hundreds had, however, followed 
me to the lower ground. 

Though the naturalist knows that it is only the female mos- 
quitoes which suck blood, and that their activity in this respect is 
indubitably connected with reproduction, and is probably necessary 
to the ripening of the fertilized eggs, yet even he is finally over- 
come by the tortures caused by these demons of the tundra, 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 85 


though he be the most equable philosopher under the sun. It is 
not the pain caused by the sting, or still more, by the resulting 
swelling; it is the continual annoyance, the everlastingly recurring 
discomfort under which one suffers. One can endure the pain 
of the sting without complaint even at first, still more easily when 
the skin has become less sensitive to the repeatedly instilled poison; 
thus one can hold out for a long time. But sooner or later every 
man is bound to confess himself conquered and beaten by these 
terrible torturing spirits of the tundra. All resistance is gradually 
paralysed by the innumerable, omnipresent armies always ready for 
combat. The foot refuses its duty; the mind receives no impres- 
sions; the tundra becomes a hell, and its pests an unutterable tor- 
ture. Not winter with its snows, not the ice with its cold, not 
poverty, not inhospitality, but the mosquitoes are the curse of the 
tundra. 

During the height of their season the mosquitoes fly almost 
uninterruptedly, during sunshine and calm weather with evident 
satisfaction, in a moderate wind quite comfortably, in slightly 
warm weather gaily, before threatening rain most boisterously 
of all, in cool weather very little, in cold, not at all. A violent 
storm banishes them to the bushes and moss, but, as soon as it 
moderates, they are once more lively and active, and in all places 
sheltered from the wind they are ready for attack even while 
the storm is raging. A night of hoar-frost plays obvious havoc 
among them, but does not rid us of them; cold damp days thin 
their armies, but succeeding warmth brings hosts of newly developed 
individuals on the field. The autumn fogs finally bring deliverance 
for that year. 

Autumn in the tundra comes on as quickly as spring came 
slowly. A single cold night, generally in August, or at the latest 
in September, puts an end to its summer life. The berries, which, 
in the middle of August, looked as if they would scarcely ripen 
at all, have become as juicy and sweet as possible by the end 
of the month; a few damp, cold nights, which lightly cover the 
hills with snow, hasten their ripening more than the sun, which is 
already clouded over all day long. The leaves of the dwarf-birch 


86 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


become a pale but brilliant lake-red on the upper surface, a bright 
yellow beneath; all the other bushes and shrubs undergo a similar 
transformation: and the gloomy brown-green of the tundra becomes 
such a vivid brown-red that even the yellow-green of the rein- 
deer-moss is no longer conspicuous. The winged summer guests 
fly southwards or towards the sea, the fishes of the tundra swim 
down the rivers. From the hills the reindeer, followed by the 
wolf, comes down to the low grounds; the ptarmigan, now con- 
gregated in flocks of thousands, fly up to the heights to remain 
until winter again drives them down to the low tundra, 

After a few days this winter, as much dreaded by us as by 
the migratory birds, yet longed for by the human inhabitants 
of the tundra, sets in on the inhospitable land, to maintain its 
supremacy longer, much longer than spring, summer, and autumn 
together. For days and weeks in succession snow falls, sometimes 
coming down lightly in sharp-cornered crystals, or sometimes in 
large flakes, driven by a raging storm. Mills and valleys, rivers 
and lakes are gradually shrouded in the same winter dress. A brief 
ray of sunshine still gleams occasionally at mid-day over the snowy 
expanse; but soon only a pale brightness in the south proclaims 
that there the sunny day is half-gone. The long night of winter 
has begun. For months only the faint reflection of the stars 
twinkles in the snow, only the moon gives tidings of the vitalizing 
centre of our system. But when the sun has quite disappeared 
from the tundra another light rises radiant: far up in the north 
there flickers and flashes “Soweidud”, the fire of God, the flaming 
Northern Light. 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 


There is perhaps monotony, but there is also the interest of a 
well-marked individuality in that immense tract of country which 
includes the whole of Central Asia, and extends into Southern 
Europe, and which forms the region of the steppes. To the 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA, 87 


superficial observer it may seem an easy thing to characterize these 
steppes, but the difficulty of the task is soon felt by the careful 
observer. For the steppes are not so invariably uniform, so ab- 
solutely changeless as is usually supposed. They have their time 
of blooming and their time of withering, their summer and their 
winter aspects, and some variety at every season is implied in the 
fact that there are mountains and valleys, streams and rivers, lakes 
and marshes. The monotony is really due to the thousand-fold 
repetition of the same picture, what pleased and even charmed 
when first seen becoming tame by everyday familiarity. 

The Russian applies the word steppe, which we have borrowed 
from his language, to all unwooded tracts in middle latitudes, when 
they are of considerable extent, and bear useful vegetation. It mat- 
ters not whether they be perfectly flat or gently undulating plains, 
highlands or mountains, whether there be patches of fat, black soil, 
admitting of profitable agriculture, or merely great tracts of poor 
soil covered with such vegetation as grows without man’s aid, and 
is useful only to the nomadic herdsman. This wide usage of the 
term is convenient, for throughout the whole region we find the 
same plants rising from the ground, the same types of animal life, 
and approximately the same phenomena of seasonal change. 

Unwooded the steppe-lands must be called, but they are not 
absolutely treeless. Neither shrubs nor trees are awanting where 
the beds of the streams and rivers form broad and deep valleys. 
In very favourable circumstances, willows, white and silver poplars, 
grow to be lofty trees, which may unite in a thick fringe by the 
river banks, or birches may establish themselves and form groves 
and woods, or pines may plant their feet firmly on the sand-dunes, 
and form small settlements, which, though not comparable to true 
forests, are, at least, compact little woods, like the growths along the 
river-banks. But, after all, such wooded spots are exceptions, they 
constitute to some extent a foreign element in the steppe scenery, 
and suggest oases in a desert. ; 

At one place the steppe may stretch before ‘the eye as a bound- 
less plain, here and there gently undulating; at another place 
the region has been much upheaved, is full of variety, and may 


88 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


even be mountainous. Generally the horizon is bounded on all 
sides by ranges of hills of variable height, and often these hills 
inclose a trough-like valley from which it seems as if the water 
must be puzzled to find its way out, if, indeed, it does so at all. 
From the longer cross valleys of the often much-ramified ranges 
a small stream may flow towards the lowest part of the basin and 
end in a lake, whose salt-covered shores sparkle in the distance 
as if the winter snow still lay upon them. Viewed from afar, 
the hills look like lofty mountains, for on these vast plains the 
eye loses its standard for estimating magnitude; and when the 
rocks stand out above the surface and form domes and cones, sharp 
peaks and jagged pinnacles on their summits, even the practised 
observer is readily deceived. Of course there are some genuinely lofty 
mountains, for, apart from those near the Chinese boundary, there 
are others on the Kirghiz steppes, which even on close view lose little 
of the impressiveness that the ruggedness of their peaks and slopes 
gives them when seen from a distance. The higher and more rami- 
fied the mountains, the more numerous are the streams which they 
send down to the lower grounds, and the larger are the lakes that 
occupy the depressions at their base—basins which their ‘feeders 
are unable to fill, even though unable to find a way through the 
surrounding banks. The more extensive, also, are the salt-steppes 
around these lakes—salt because they have no outlet. But apart 
from these variations, the characteristics of the steppes are uniform, 
though the composition of the picture is often changed, its theme 
remains the same. 

We should convey a false impression if we denied charm, or 
even grandeur, to the scenery of the steppes. The North German 
moorland is drearier, Brandenburg is more monotonous. In the 
gently undulating plain the eye rests gratefully on the lakes which 
fill all the deeper hollows; in the highlands or among the loftier 
mountains the gleaming water-basins are a real ornament to the 
landscape. It is true that the lake is, in most cases, though not 
invariably, without the charm of surrounding verdure, often 
without so much as a fringe of bushes. But, even when it lies 
naked and bare, it brightens the steppes. For -the blue sky, 


l 


We 


HT 
it 


NA 
| | 
l 


Al 


LAA 
AACA 
Ahh 

HA ARV 


ll 


Fig. 10.—View in the Asiatic Steppes. 


90 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


mirrored on its surface, smiles kindly towards us, and the en- 
livening effect of water makes itself felt even here. And when 
a lake is ringed round by hills, or framed, as at Alakul, by lofty 
mountains; when the steppes are sharply and picturesquely con- 
trasted with the glittering water-surface, the dark mountain-sides, 
and the snowy summits; when the soft haze of distance lies like a 
delicate veil over hill and plain, suggesting a hidden beauty richer 


Fig. 11.—A Salt Marsh in the Steppes. 


than there really is; then we acknowledge readily and gladly that 
there is a witchery of landscape even in the steppes. 

Even when we traverse the monotonous valleys many miles 
in breadth, or the almost unbroken plains, whose far horizon is but 
an undulating line, when we see one almost identical picture to 
north, south, east, and west, when the apparent infinitude raises a 
feeling of loneliness and abandonment, even then we must allow 
that the steppes have more to show than our heaths, for the 
vegetation is much richer, more brillant, and more changeful. In- 
deed, it is only here and there, where the salt-steppes broaden out 
around a lake, that the landscape seems dreary and desolate. In 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 91 


such places none of the steppe plants flourish, and their place is 
taken by a small, scrubby saltwort, not unlike stunted heather, 
only here and there attaining the size of low bushes. The salt lies 
as a more or less thick layer on the ground, filling the hollows 
between the bushes so that they look like pools covered with ice. 
Salt covers the whole land, keeping the mud beneath permanently 
moist, adhering firmly to the ground, and hardly separable from it. 
Great balls of salt and mud are raised by the traveller’s feet and 
the horses’ hoofs at every step, just as if the ground were covered 
with slushy snow. The waggon makes a deep track in the tough 
substratum, and the trundling wheels sometimes leave marks on 
the salt like those left on snow in time of hard frost. Such regions 
are in truth indescribably dismal and depressing, but elsewhere it is 
not so. 

The vegetation of the steppes is much richer in species than is 
usually supposed, much richer indeed than J, not being a botanist, 
am able to compute. On the black soil, the tschi-grass, the thyrsa- 
grass, and the spirea in some places choke off almost all other 
plants; but in the spaces between these, and on leaner soil, all sorts 
of gay flowers spring up. In the hollows, too, the vegetation becomes 
gradually that of the marsh, and reeds and rushes, which here pre- 
dominate, leave abundant room for the development of a varied 
plant-life. But. the time of blooming is short, and the time of 
withering and dying is long in the steppes."® 

Perhaps it is not too much to say that the contrasts of the 
seasons are nowhere more vivid than in the steppes. Wealth of 
bright flowers and desert-like sterility, the charms of autumn and 
‘the desolation of winter, succeed one another; the disruptive forces 
are as strong as those which recreate, the sun’s heat destroys as 
surely as the cold. But what has been smitten by the heat and 
swept away by raging storms is replaced in the first sunshine of 
spring; and even the devouring fire is not potent enough wholly to 
destroy what has been spared by the sun and the storms. The 
spring may seem more potent in tropical lands, but nowhere is it 
more marvellous than in the steppes, where in its power it stands— 
alone—opposed to summer, autumn, and winter. 


92 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


The steppes are still green when summer steals upon them, but 
already their full splendour has sped. Only a few plants have yet 
to attain their maturity, and they wither in the first days of the 
burning heat; soon the gay garment of spring is exchanged for 
one of gray and yellow. The sappy, green thyrsa-grass still with- 
stands the drought; but its fine, flowing, thickly-haired beards 
have already attained their full growth, and wave about in the 
gentlest breeze, casting a silvery veil over the green beneath. A 
few days more, and both leaves and awns are as dry as the already 
yellowed tschi-grass, which appears in spring like sprouting corn, 
and is now like that which awaits the sickle. The broad leaves 
of the rhubarb lie dried on the ground, the spirea is withered, the 
Caragan pea-tree is leafless, honeysuckle and dwarf-almond show 
autumnal tints; the thistle tops are hoary; only the wormwoods 
and mugworts preserve their gray-green leaves unchanged. Bright 
uninterrupted sunshine beats down upon the thirsty land, for it is 
but rarely that the clouds gather into wool-packs on the sky, and 
even if they are occasionally heavy with rain, the downpour is 
scarce enough to lay the whirling dust which every breath of wind 
raises. The animals still keep to their summer quarters, but the 
songs of the birds are already hushed. Creeping things there are 
in abundance, such as lizards and snakes, mostly vipers; and the 
grasshoppers swarm in countless hosts, forming clouds when they 
take wing over the steppes. 

Before the summer has ended, the steppes have put on their 
autumnal garb, a variously shaded gray-yellow, but without variety 
and without charm. All the brittle plants are snapped to the 
ground by the first storm, and the next blast scatters them in a 
whirling dance over the steppes. Grappling one another with their 
branches and twigs, they are rolled together into balls, skipping 
and leaping like spooks before the raging wind, half-hidden in 
clouds of drifting dust with which the dark or snow-laden packs 
in the sky above seem to be running a race. The summer land- 
birds have long since flown southwards; the water-birds, of which 
there are hosts on every lake, are preparing for flight; the migratory 
mammals wend in crowded troops from one promise of food to 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 93 


another; the winter-sleepers have closed the doors of their retreats; 
reptiles and insects have withdrawn into their winter hiding- 
places. 

A single night’s frost covers all the water-basins with thin ice; 
a few more days of cold and the fetters of winter are laid heavily 
on the lakes and pools; and only the rivers and streams, longer able 
to withstand the frost, afford a briefly prolonged shelter to the 
migratory birds which have still delayed their farewell. Gentle 
north-west winds sweep dark clouds across the land, and the snow 
drizzles down in small flakes. The mountains have already thrown 
on their snowy mantles; and now the low ground of the steppes 
puts on its garment of white. The wolf, apprehensive of storms, 
leaves the reed-thickets and the spirea shrubberies which have 
hitherto served him well as hiding-places, and slinks hungrily 
around the villages and the winter quarters of the nomad herds- 
man, who now seeks out the most sheltered and least exhausted of 
the low grounds, in order to save his herds, as far as may be, from 
the scarcity, hardship, and misery of the winter. Against the 
greedy wolf the herdsman acts on the aggressive, as do the Cossack 
settlers and peasants; he rides out in pursuit, follows the thief’s 
tell-tale track to his lair, drives him out, and gives chase. With 
exultant shouts he spurs on his horse and terrifies the fugitive, all 
the while brandishing in his right hand a strong sapling with 
knobbed roots. The snow whirls around wolf, horse, and rider; 
the keen frost bites the huntsman’s face, but he cares not. After a 
chase of an hour, or at most of two hours, the wolf, which may have 
run a dozen or twenty miles, can go no further, and turns upon its 
pursuer. Its tongue hangs far out from its throat, the ice-tipped 
hairs of its reeking hide stand up stiffly, in its mad eyes is expressed 
the dread of death. Only for a moment does the noble horse hesi- 
tate, then, urged on by shout and knout, makes a rush at the fell 
enemy. High in the air the hunter swings his fatal club, down 
it whizzes, and the wolf lies gasping and quivering in its death 
agony. Wild horses and antelopes, impelled by hunger, like the 
wolf, shift their quarters at this season, in the endeavour to eke out 
a bare subsistence; even the wild sheep of the mountains wend from 


94 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


one hillside to another; only the hares and the imperturbable sand- 
grouse hold their ground, the former feeding on stems and bark, the 
latter on seeds and buds, but both finding only a scant subsistence. 
For many days in succession the fall of snow continues; then 
the wind, which brought the clouds, dies away, but the sky remains 
as dark as ever. The wind changes and blows harder and harder 
from east, south-east, south, or south-west. A thin cloud sweeps 
over the white ground—it is formed of whirling snow; the wind 


Fig. 12.—A Herd of Horses during a Snowstorm on the Asiatic Steppes. 


becomes a tempest; the cloud rises up to heaven; and, maddening, 
bewildering even to the most weather-hardened, dangerous in the 
extreme to all things living, the bwran rages across the steppes, a 
snow-hurricane, as terrible as the typhoon or the simoom with its 
poisonous breath. For two or three days such a snow-storm may 
rage with uninterrupted fury, and both man and beast are ab- 
solutely storm-stayed. A man overtaken in the open country is 
lost, unless some special providence save him; nay, more, even in 
the village or steppe-town, he who ventures out of doors when the 
buran is at its height may perish, as indeed not rarely happens. 
When February is past, man and beast are fairly safe, and may 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 95 


breathe freely, though the winter still continues to press heavily 
on the steppes. 

The sun rises higher in the heavens; its rays fall more warmly 
on the southern slopes of the mountains and hills, and dark patches 
of clear ground appear everywhere, growing larger day by day, 
except when an occasional fresh fall of snow hides them for a little. 
The first breath of spring comes at last, but only slowly can it free 
the land from winter’s shackles. Only when the life-giving sun- 
shine is accompanied by the soft south wind, at the earliest in the 
beginning of April, usually about the middle of the month, does the 
snow disappear quickly from the lower slopes of the mountains and 
from the deep valleys rich in black earth. .Only in gorges and 
steep-walled hollows, behind precipitous hills, and amid thick bushes, 
do the snow-wreaths linger for almost another month. In all other 
places the newly-awakened life bursts forth in strength. The 
thirsty soil sucks in the moisture which the melting snow supplies, 
and the two magicians—sun and water—now unite their irresistible 
powers. Even before the last snow-wreaths have vanished, before 
the rotten ice-blocks have melted on the lakes, the bulbous plants, 
and others which live through the winter, put forth their leaves and 
raise their flower-stalks to the sun. Among the sere yellow grass 
and the dry gray stems of all herbs which were not snapped by the 
autumnal storm, the first green shimmers. It is at this time that the 
settlers and the nomads set fire to the thick herbage of various sorts, 
and what the storms have spared the flames devour. But soon after 
the fire has cleared the ground, the plant-life reappears, in patches 
at least, in all its vigour. From the apparently sterile earth 
herbaceous and bulbous growths shoot up; buds are unpacked, 
flowers unfold, and the steppe arrays itself in indescribable splen- 
dour. Boundless tracts are resplendent with tulips, yellow, dark 
red, white, white and red. It is true that they rise singly or in 
twos and threes, but they are spread over the whole steppe-land, 
and flower at the same time, so that one sees them everywhere. 
Immediately after the tulips come the lilies, and new, even more 
charming colours appear wherever these lovely children of the 
steppes find the fit conditions for growth, on the hillsides and in 


96 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the deep valleys, along the banks of all the streams, and in the 
marshes. More gregarious and richer in species than the tulips, 
they appear in much more impressive multitudes; they completely 
dominate wide stretches of country, and in different places remind 
one of a rye-field overgrown with corn-flowers, or of a rape-field in 
full blossom. Usually each species or variety is by itself, but here 
and there blue lilies and yellow are gaily intermingled, the two 
complementary colours producing a most impressive effect—a vision 
for rapture. 

While these first-born children of the spring are adorning the 
earth, the heavens also begin to smile. Unclouded the spring sky 
certainly is not, rather it is covered with clouds of all sorts, even in 
the finest weather with bedded clouds and wool-packs, which stretch 
more or less thickly over the whole dome of heaven, and around the 
horizon appear to touch the ground. When these clouds thicken the 
heavens darken, and only here and there does the sunlight pierce 
the curtain and show the steppes warmed by the first breath of 
spring, and flushed with inconceivable wealth of eolour. 

But every day adds some new tint. There is less and less of 
the yellowish tone which last year’s withered stalks give even in 
spring to the steppes; the garment already so bright continues to 
gain in freshness and brightness. After a few weeks, the steppe- 
land lies like a gay carpet in which all tints show distinctly, from 
dark green to bright yellow-green, the predominant gray-green of 
the wormwoods being relieved by the deeper and brighter tones of 
more prominent herbs and dwarf-shrubs, The dwarf-almond, which, 
alone or in association with the pea-tree and the honeysuckle, covers 
broad stretches of low ground, is now, along with its above-mentioned 
associates, in all its glory. Its twigs are literally covered all over 
with blossom; the whole effect is a shimmer of peach-red, in lively 
contrast to the green of the grass and herbage, to the bloom of the 
pea-trees, and even to the delicate rose-red or reddish-white of the 
woodbine. In suitable places the woodbine forms quite a thicket, 
and, when in full bloom, seems to make of all surrounding colour 
but a groundwork on which to display its own brilliancy. Various, 
and to me unknown, shrubs and herbs give high and low tones to 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 97 


the picture, and the leaves of others, which wither as rapidly as 
they unfold, become spots of yellow-green and gold. Seen from a 
distance, all the colours do indeed merge into an almost uniform 
gray-green; but near at hand each colour tells, and one sees the 
countless individual flowers which have now opened, sees them 
singly everywhere, but also massed together in more favourable 
spots, where they make the shades of the bushes glorious. Amid 
the infinite variety of bulbous plants there are exquisite vetches ; 
among many that are unfamiliar there are old friends well known 
in our flower-gardens; more and more does the feeling of enchant- 
ment grow on one, until at last it seems as if one had wandered 
into an unending, uncared-for garden of flowers. 

With the spring and the flowers the animal life of the steppes 
appears also to awaken. Even before the last traces of winter are 
gone, the migratory birds, which fled in autumn, have returned, and 
when the spring has begun in earnest the winter sleepers open the 
doors of the burrows within which they have slumbered in death- 
like trance through all the evil days. As the migratory birds rejoin 
the residents, so the sleepers come forth and join those mammals 
which are either careless of winter or know how to survive it at least 
awake. At the same time the insects celebrate their Easter, hasten- 
ing from their hidden shelters or accomplishing the last phase of 
their metamorphosis; and now, too, the newts and frogs, lizards and 
snakes leave their winter quarters to enjoy in the spring sunshine 
the warmth indispensable to their activity and full life, and to 
dream of the summer which will bring them an apathetic happiness. 

The steppe now becomes full of life. Not that the animal life 
is of many types, but it is abundant and everywhere distributed. 
The same forms are met with everywhere, and missed nowhere. 
There are here no hosts of mammals comparable to the herds of 
antelopes on the steppes of Central Africa, nor to the troops of 
zebras and quaggas”’ in the South African karoo, nor to the immea- 
surable trains of buffaloes on the North American prairies;** nor are 
the birds of the steppes so numerous as those on the continental 
shores or on single islands, or on the African steppes, or in equatorial 


forests. But both birds and mammals enter into the composition of 
(20703 7 


98 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


a steppe landscape; they help to form and complete the peculiarity 
of this region; in short, the steppes also have their characteristic 
fauna. 

The places at which the animals chiefly congregate are the lakes 
and pools, rivers and brooks. Before the existence of a lake is 
revealed by the periodically or permanently flooded reed-forests sur- 
rounding it, hundreds and thousands of marsh-birds and swimmers 
have told the practised observer of the still invisible sheet of water. 
In manifoldly varied flight, fishing-gulls, common gulls, and herring- 
gulls sweep and glide over its surface; more rapidly and less steadily 
do the terns pursue the chase over the reeds and the pools which 
these inclose; in mid-air the screaming eagles circle; ducks, geese, 
and swans fly from one part of the lake to another; kites hover over 
the reeds; even sea-eagles and pelicans now and then show face. 
As to the actual inhabitants of these lakes, as to the number of 
species and individuals, one can only surmise until one has stationed 
oneself on the banks, or penetrated into the thicket of reeds. In 
the salt-steppe, as is readily intelligible, the animal life is sparser. 
With hasty flight most of the water-birds pass over the inhospitable, 
salt-covered shores, as they wend from lake to lake; only the black- 
headed gulls and fishing-gulls are willing to rest for a time by the 
not wholly dry, but shallow, briny basins; only the sheldrake fishes 
there in company with the charming avocet, who seeks out just 
these very places, and, living in pairs or small companies, spends 
his days stirring up the salt water, swinging his delicate head with 
upturned bill from side to side indefatigably. Of other birds I only 
saw a few, a yellow or white wagtail, a lapwing, a plover; the rest 
seem to avoid the uninviting desolateness of these brine pools, 
all the more that infinitely more promising swamps and pools are 
to be found quite near them. About the lake itself abundant food 
seems to be promised to all comers. Thus not only do thousands of 
marsh and water birds settle on its surface, but even the little 
songsters and passerine birds, unprovided for by the dry steppes, 
come hither. Not the fishers alone, but other hungry birds of prey 
find here their daily bread. The steppe-lakes cannot indeed be 
compared with those of North Africa, where, during winter, the 


Laid 
ii | i iyi Kl Mn 
[| ti | | i 


tH i Mi Way iY ree 


| Mt i (i Hl ier je 
V 
i | i Wi Ht i) i) ili " 
i 
il a ie 


Fig. 13.—Lake Scene and Water-fowl in an Asiatic Steppe, 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 101 


feathered tribes of three-quarters of the globe have their great 
rendezvous, nor with the equatorial water-basins, which are thronged 
by hundreds of thousands of birds at every season, nor even with 
the marsh-lands of the Danube, where, all through the summer, 
countless children of the air find rest; in proportion to the extent 
of water in the steppes the number of winged settlers may seem 
small, but the bird-fauna is really very considerable, and the lakes 
of the steppes have also a certain uniqueness in regard to the nest- 
ing-places chosen by the birds. 

Here every creature has its home among the reeds: the wolf and 
the boar, the eagle and the wild-goose, the kite and the swan, the 
raven and the mallard, the gadwall or teal, the thrush and the 
white-throat, the reed-tit and the sparrow, the reed-bunting and 
the ortolan, the willow wren and the blue-throated warbler, the 
lesser kestrel and the red-footed falcon, the crane and the lapwing, 
the shrike and the snipe, the starling, the yellow and white wagtails, 
the quail and the kingfisher, the great white heron and the spoon- 
bill, the cormorant and the pelican. The reed-thickets afford home 
and shelter to all; they take the place of woods in affording hiding 
and security; in their retreats the secrets of love are told, and the 
- joys of family life are expressed, exuberant rejoicings are uttered, 
and the tenderest cares are fulfilled; they are the cradles and the 
schools of the young. 

Of the mammals which congregate among the reeds one usually 
sees only the tracks, provided, of course, that one does not resort to 
forceful measures and ransack the thicket with dogs. Of the flitting 
bird-life, however, in its general features at least, the practised eye 
of the naturalist may at any time obtain a lively picture. 

When we leave the dry steppes and approach a lake, the 
widely-distributed larks disappear, and their place is taken by the 
plovers, whose plaintive cries fall mournfully on the ear. One of 
them may be seen running by fits and starts along the ground, with 
the characteristic industry of its race, stopping here and there to 
pick up some minute booty, and then running off again as swiftly 
as ever. Before we reach the reeds we see the black-headed gulls, 
probably also the common gulls, and, in favourable circumstances, 


102 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


even a great black-backed gull. The first fly far into the steppes 
to seek out the grazing herds, and are equally decorative whether 
they sweep gracefully over and around them in thick crowds, 
catching in their flight the insects which the grazing beasts have 
disturbed, or whether they run behind the herd like white pigeons 
seeking their food in the fields. Near the reeds we also see one or 
other of the wild-geese—a male who for a short time has left his 
mate sitting upon the eggs, to graze, while it is still possible, on the 
grassy patches near the reed-thicket. Soon, however, parental cares, 
in which all ganders share, will recall him to the recesses of the 
willows close by the lake, to the nook where the careful parents 
have their gray-greenish-yellow goslings well hidden. Over all the 
flooded shallows there is a more active life. On the margins of the 
pools small littoral birds have their well-chosen fighting-grounds. 
Fighting-rufts,’® now arrayed in their gayest dress, meet there in 
combat; with depressed head each directs his beak like a couched 
lance against the bright neck-collar which serves his foe for shield. 
The combatants stand in most defiant attitudes, irresistibly amusing 
to us; for a moment they look at one another with their sharp eyes 
and then make a rush, each making a thrust, and at the same time 
receiving one on his feathery shield. But none of the heroes is in 
any way injured, and none allows the duelling to interfere with 
less exciting business; for if, during the onslaught, one see a fly just 
settling on a stem, he does not allow it to escape him, and his oppo- 
nent is equally attentive to the swimming beetle darting about 
on the surface of a small pool; hastily they run, one here and 
the other there, seize the booty which they spied, and return re- 
freshed to the fray. Meantime, however, other combatants have 
taken the field, and the fight seems as if it would never have an end. 
But suddenly a marsh-harrier comes swooping along, and the heroes 
hastily quit the field; they rise together in close-packed flight, and 
hurry to another pond, there to repeat the same old game. The 
dreaded harrier is the terror of all the other birds of the lake. At 
his approach the weaker ducks rise noisily, and, a moment later, 
their stronger relatives, more disturbed by the ducks than by the 
bird of prey, rise impetuously, and with whizzing beating of wings, 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 103 


circle several times over the lake and sink again in detachments. 
With trilling call the redshanks also rise, and with them the snipe, 
whose ery, though tuneless, is audible from afar. The robber sweeps 
past all too near, but both redshank and snipe forget his menace 
as soon as they reach a safe height; they seem to feel only the 
golden spring-tide and the joy of love which now dominates them. 
For the redshank sinks suddenly to the water far beneath, flutters, 
and hovers with his wings hanging downwards and forwards, rises 
again with insistent calls and sinks once more, until a response from 
his mate near by invites him to cease from his love-play and to 
hasten to her. So is it also with the snipe, who, after he has ended 
his zigzag flight, and ascended to twice the height of a tower, lets 
himself fall suddenly. In the precipitous descent he broadens out 
his tail, and opposes the flexible, narrow, pointed lateral feathers to 
the resisting air, thus giving rise to that bleating noise to which he 
owes his quaint name of sky-goat.”” Only a pair of the exceedingly 
long-legged black-winged stilts, which were pursuing their business 
in apparently aristocratic isolation from the throng, have remained 
undisturbed by the marsh-harrier; perhaps they saw the bold black- 
headed gulls hastening to drive off the disturber of the peace. 
Moreover, a Montagu’s harrier and. a steppe-harrier have united 
their strength against the marsh-harrier, whom they hate with a 
bitterness proportionate to his near relationship. Without hesita- 
tion the robber makes for the open country, and next minute there 
is the wonted whistling and warbling, scolding and cackling over 
the water. Already there is a fresh arrival of visitors, drawn by 
that curiosity common to all social birds, and also, of course, by 
the rich table which these lakes afford. 

When at length we reach the thicket of reeds the smaller birds 
become more conspicuous, the larger forms being more effectively 
concealed. The crane, which breeds on the most inaccessible spots, 
the great white heron, which fishes on the inner margin of the 
thicket, the spoonbill, which forages for food on the shallowest 
stretches among the reeds, all these keep themselves as far as 
possible in concealment, and of the presence of the bittern in the 
very heart of the reeds we are aware only by his muffled booming. 


104 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


On the other hand, all the small birds to which I have referred 
expose themselves to view almost without any wariness, singing 
and exulting in their loudest notes. The yellow wagtails run about 
confidently on the meadow-like plots of grass around the outer 
margin of the thicket; that marvel of prettiness, the bearded tit- 
mouse, climbs fearlessly up and down on the reeds, whose tops are 
graced here by a redbreast and there by a gray shrike. From all 
sides the cheerful, though but slightly melodious song of the sedge- 
warblers strikes the ear, and we listen with pleasure to the lay of 
the black-throated thrush, to the lovely singing of the blue-throat, 
the wood-wren, and the icterine warbler, and to the call of the cuckoo. 
On the open pools among the reeds there is sure to be a pair of coots 
swimming with their young brood, and where the water is deeper 
there is perchance an eared grebe among the various kinds of ducks. 
When it draws to evening the red-footed falcon, the lesser kestrel, 
the starlings and the rose-starlings also seek the thicket for the 
night, and of chattering and fussing there is no end. Even the 
spotted eagle, the raven, and the hooded-crow appear as guests 
for the night, and, on the inner margins at least, the cormorant and 
the pelican rest from their fishing. 

Finally, over the surface of the lake the gulls fly and hover, the 
terns dart hither and thither, the ernes and ospreys pursue their 
prey, and, where the water is not too deep, the pelicans and swans 
vie in their fishing industry with the greedy cormorants and 
grebes. 

The beds of streams fringed with trees and bushes are hardly 
less rich in life. The trees bear the nests of large and small birds 
of prey, and serve also for their perches. From their tops may be 
heard the resonant call of the golden oriole, the song of the thrush, 
the laughter of the woodpecker, and the cooing of the ring-dove 
and stock-dove; while from the thick undergrowth the glorious 
song of the nightingale is poured forth with such clearness and 
power, that even the fastidious ear of the critic listens in rapture to 
the rare music. On the surface of the stream many different kinds 
of water-birds swim about as on the lake; among the bushes on the 
banks there is the same gay company that we saw among the reeds; 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 105 


the lesser white-throat chatters, the white-throat and the barred 
warbler sing their familiar songs. 

When we traverse the dry stretches of the steppes we see an- 
other aspect of animal life. Again it is the bird-life which first 
claims attention. At least six, and perhaps eight species of larks 
inhabit the steppes, and give life to even the dreariest regions. 
Uninterruptedly does their song fall on the traveller’s ear; from 
the ground and from the tops of the small bushes it rises; from 
morning to evening the rich melody is poured forth from the sky. 
It seems to be only one song which one hears, for the polyphonous 
calandra lark takes the strophes of our sky-lark and of the white- 
winged lark and combines them with its own, nor despises certain 
notes of the black lark, the red lark, and the short-toed lark, but 
blends all the single songs with its own, yet without drowning the 
song of its relatives, no matter how loudly it may pour forth its 
own and its borrowed melodies. When, in spring, we listen enrap- 
tured to our own sky-larks in the meadows, and note how one sweet 
singer starts up after another in untiring sequence, heralding the 
spring with inspired and inspiring song, we hardly fancy that all 
that we can hear at home is surpassed a hundredfold on the steppes. 
Yet so it is, for here is the true home of the larks; one pair close 
beside another, one species and then another, or different kinds living 
together, and in such numbers that the broad steppes seem to have 
scarce room enough to hold them all. But the larks are not the 
only inhabitants of these regions. For proportionately numerous 
are the lark’s worst enemies, full of menace to the dearly loved 
young brood—the harriers, characteristic birds of the steppes. 
Whatever region we visit we are sure to see one or another of 
these birds of prey, in the north Montagu’s harrier, in the south 
the steppe-harrier, hurrying over his province, sweeping along near 
the ground in wavy, vacillating flight. Not unfrequently, over a 
broad hollow, four, six, eight or more may be seen at once absorbed 
in the chase. Even more abundant, but not quite so widely dis- 
tributed, are two other children of the steppes, almost identical in 
nature and habits, and vieing with one another in beauty, grace of 
form, and vigour of movement,—the lesser kestrel and the red-footed 


106 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


falcon. Wherever there is a perching-place for these charming 
creatures, where a telegraph-line traverses the country, or where 
a rocky hillock rises from the plain, there they are sure to be seen. 
As good-natured as they are gregarious, unenvious of each other's 
gain, though they pursue the same booty, these falcons wage inde- 
fatigable war against insects of all sorts, from the voracious grass- 
hopper to the small beetle. There they sit, resting and digesting, 
yet keeping a sharp look-out meanwhile; as soon as they spy booty 
they rise, and after an easy and dexterous flight begin to glide, 
then, stopping, they hover, with scarce perceptible vibrations, right 
over one spot, until, from the height, they are able to fasten their 
eyes surely on their prey. This done, they precipitate themselves 
like a falling stone, seize, if they are fortunate, the luckless insect, 
tear it and devour it as they fly, and, again swinging themselves 
aloft, proceed as before. Not unfrequently ten or twelve of both 
species may be seen hunting over the same spot, and their animated 
behaviour cannot fail to attract and fascinate the observer's gaze. 
Every day and all day one comes across them, for hours at a time 
one may watch them, and always there is a fresh charm in studying 
their play; they are as characteristic parts of the steppe picture as 
the salt lake, the tulip or the lily, as the dwarf shrub, the tschi- 
grass, or the white wool-packs in the heavens. Characteristic also 
is the rose-starling, beautifully coloured representative of the familiar 
frequenter of our houses and gardens. He is the eager and success- 
ful enemy of the greedy grasshopper, the truest friend of the grazing 
herds, the untiring guardian of the crops and thus man’s sworn ally, 
an almost sacred bird in the eyes of those who inhabit the steppes. 
Notable also is the sand-grouse, a connecting link between fowl and 
pigeon,” which, with other members of its family, is especially at 
home in the desert. Not less noteworthy are the great bustard, its 
handsomer relative the ruffed bustard, and the little bustard. The 
last-named is of special interest to us, because a few years ago it 
wandered into Germany as far as Thuringia, where it now, as in 
the steppe, adds a unique charm to the landscape as it discloses its 
full beauty in whizzing flight. Other beautifully coloured, and 
indeed really splendid birds inhabit the steppes—the lovely bee- 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 107 


eater and roller, which live on the steep banks of the streams along 
with falcons and pigeons, the bunting and the scarlet bullfinch, 
which shelter among the tschi-grass and herbage, and many others. 
Even the swallows are not absent from this region in which stable 
human dwellings are so rare. That the sand-martin should make 
its burrows in all the steeper banks of the lakes will not seem 
strange to the ornithologist, but it is worthy of note that the swallow 
and martins are still in process of transition from free-living to 
semi-domesticated birds, that they still fix their nests to the cliffs, 
but leave these to establish themselves wherever the Kirghiz rear a 
tomb, and that the martins seek hospitality even in the tent or 
yurt.” They find it, too, when the Kirghiz is able to settle long 
enough to allow the eggs to hatch and the young to become fledged, 
in a nest fixed to the cupola ring of his hut. 

But in these regions, whose bird-life I have been describing, there 
are other animals. Apart from the troublesome mosquitoes, flies, 
gadflies, wasps, and other such pests, there are only a few species 
of insects, but most of these are very numerous and are distributed 
over the whole of the wide area. The same is true of the reptiles; 
thus in the region which we traversed we found only a few species 
of lizards and snakes. Among the latter we noted especially two 
venomous species, our common viper and the halys-viper; neither 
indeed occurred in multitudes like the lizards, but both were none 
the less remarkably abundant. Several times every day as we rode 
through the steppe would one and the other of the Kirghiz who 
accompanied us bend from his horse with drawn knife, and slash 
the head off one of these snakes. I remember, too, that, at a little 
hill-town in the northern Altai, a place called “Schlangenberg” [or 
Snakemount], we wished to know whether the place had a good 
right to its name, and that the answer was almost embarrassingly 
convincing, so abundant was the booty with which those whom 
we had sent in quest soon returned. We had no longer any reason 
to doubt the truth of the tale according to which the place owed 
its name to the fact that, before the town was founded, the people 
collected thousands and thousands of venomous snakes and burned 
them. Amphibians and small mammals seem much rarer than 


108 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


reptiles; of the former we saw only a species of toad, and of the 
latter, several mice, a souslik, two blind mole-rats, and the dainty 
jerboa, popularly known as the jumping-mouse. 

The sousliks and the jerboas are most charming creatures. The 
former especially are often characteristic features of steppe-life, for 
in favourable places they readily become gregarious, and, like the 
related marmots, form important settlements. It is usually towards 
evening that one sees them. each sitting at the door of his burrow. 


Fig. 14.—The Souslik (Spermannitine citillus). Fig. 15.—The Jerboa calimapa jaculus). 
(} natural size.) (4 natural size.) 

On the approach of the waggon or train of riders they hastily beat a 
retreat, inquisitively they raise their heads once more, and then, at 
the proper moment, they vanish like a flash into their burrows, only 
to reappear, however, a few minutes later, peering out cautiously 
as if to see whether the threatened danger had passed safely by. 
Their behaviour expresses a continual wavering between curiosity 
and timidity, and the latter is fully justified, since, apart from man, 
there are always wolves and foxes, imperial eagles and spotted 
eagles, on their track. Indeed one may be sure that the sousliks 
are abundant when one sees an imperial eagle perching on the 
posts by the wayside or on the trees by a village. The jerboa 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 109 


—by far the prettiest of the steppe-mammals—is much less fre- 
quently seen, not indeed because he occurs less frequently, but 
because, as a nocturnal animal, he only shows himself after sunset. 
About this time, or later if the moon be favourable, one may see 
the charming creature steal cautiously from his hole. He stretches 
himself, and then, with his pigmy fore-limbs pressed close to his 
breast, trots off on his kangaroo-like hind-legs, going as if on stilts, 
balancing his slim erect body by help of his long hair-fringed tail. 
Jerkily and not very rapidly the jerboa jumps along the ground, 
resting here and there for a little, sniffing at things and touching 
them with its long whisker-hairs, as he seeks for suitable food. 
Here he picks out a grain of seed, and there he digs out a bulb; 
they say of him also that he will not disdain carrion, that he will 
plunder a bird’s nest, steal the eggs and young of those which nest 
on the ground, and even hunt smaller rodents, from all which 
accusations I cannot venture to vindicate him. Precise and de- 
tailed observation of his natural life is difficult, for, his senses 
being keen and his intelligence slight, timidity and shyness are 
his most prominent qualities. As soon as man appears in what 
seems dangerous proximity, the creature takes to flight, and it is 
useless to try to follow; even on horseback one could scarce over- 
take him. With great bounds he hurries on, jerking out his long 
hind-legs, with his long tail stretched out as a rudder; bound after 
bound he goes, and, before one has rightly seen how he began or 
whither he went, he has disappeared in the darkness.” 

The fauna of the steppe-mountains differs from that of the low- 
grounds, differs at least, when, instead of gentle slopes or precipitous 
rocky walls, there are debris-covered hillsides, wild deeply-cut 
gorges, and rugged plantless summits. In the narrow, green valleys, 
through which a brook flows or trickles, the sheldrake feeds—an 
exceedingly graceful, beautiful, lively bird, scarce larger than a 
duck—the characteristic duck of the central Asiatic mountains. 
From the niches of the rocks is heard the cooing of a near relative 
of the rock-dove, which is well known to be ancestor of our 
domestic pigeons; from the rough blocks on which the wheatear, 
the rock-bunting, and the rock-grosbeak flit busily, the melodious 


110 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


song of the rock-thrush streams forth. Around the peaks the 
cheerful choughs flutter; above them the golden-eagle circles by 
day, and the horned ow] flies silently as a ghost by night, both bent 
on catching one of the exceedingly abundant rock ptarmigan, or, it 
may be, a careless marmot. More noteworthy, however, is the 
Archar of the Kirghiz, one of the giant wild sheep of Central Asia, 
the same animal that I had the good fortune to shoot on the Arkat 
mountains. 

According to the reports which I gathered after careful cross- 
examination of the Kirghiz, the archar occurs not only here, but 
also on other not very lofty ranges of the western Siberian steppes. 
They are said to go in small troops of five to fifteen head, rams 
and ewes living in separate companies until the breeding season. 
Each troop keeps its own ground unless it be startled or disturbed; 
in which case it hastens from one range to another, yet never 
very far. Towards sunset the herd ascends, under the guidance of 
the leader, to the highest peaks, there to sleep in places scarce acces- 
sible to other creatures; at sunrise, both old and young descend to the 
valleys to graze and to drink at chosen springs; at noon, they lie 
down to rest and ruminate in the shade of the rocks, in places 
which admit of open outlook; towards evening they descend again 
to graze. Such is their daily routine both in summer and winter. 
They eat such plants as domesticated sheep are fond of, and they 
are, when needs must, easily satisfied; but even in winter they 
rarely suffer from want, and in spring they become so vigorous 
that from that season until autumn they are fastidious, and will 
eat only the most palatable herbs. Their usual mode of motion is 
a rapid, exceedingly expeditious trot; and even when frightened 
they do not quicken their steps very markedly unless a horseman 
pursue them. Then they always take to the rocks and soon make 
their escape. When in flight either on the plain or on the moun- 
tains they almost always keep in line, one running close’ behind 
another, and, if suddenly surprised and scattered, they re-form in 
linear order as speedily as possible. Among the rocks they move, 
whether going upwards or downwards, with surprising ease, agility, 
and confidence. Without any apparent strain, without any trace of 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 111 


hurry, they clamber up and down almost vertical paths, leap wide 
chasms, and pass from the heights to the valley almost as if they 
were birds and could fly. When they find themselves pursued, they 
stand still from time to time, clamber to a loftier peak to secure a 
wider prospect, and then go on their way so calmly that it seems 
as if they mocked their pursuer. Consciousness of their strength 


Fig. 16,—Archar Sheep or Argali (Ovis Argali). 


and climbing powers seems to give them a proud composure. They 
never hurry, and have no cause to regret their deliberation except 
when they come within shot of the lurking ambuscade or the 
stealthy stalker. 

The sheep live at peace together throughout the year, and the 
rams only fight towards the breeding season. This occurs in the 
second half of October and lasts for almost a month. At this time 
the high-spirited, combative rams become greatly excited. The 
seniors make a stand and drive off all their weaker fellows. With 
their equals they fight for life or death. The rivals stand opposed 


112 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


in menacing attitudes; rearing on their hind-legs they rush at one 
another, and the crash of powerful horns is echoed in a dull rumble 
among the rocks. Sometimes it happens that they entangle one 
another, for the horns may interlock inseparably, and both perish 
miserably; or one ram may hurl the other over a precipice, where 
he is surely dashed to pieces. 

During the last days of April or the first of May the ewe brings 
forth a single lamb or a pair. These lambs, as we found out from 
captive ones, are able in a few hours to run with their mother, and 
in a few days they follow her over all the paths, wherever she leads 
them, with the innate agility and surefootedness characteristic of 
their race. When serious danger threatens, the mother hides them 
in the nooks of the rocks, where the enemy may perchance overlook 
their presence. She returns, of course, after she has successfully 
eluded the foe. The lambkin, pressed close to the ground, lies as 
still as a mouse, and, looking almost like a stone, may often escape 
detection; but not by any means always is he safe, least of all from 
the golden eagle, which often seizes and kills a lamb which the 
mother has left unprotected. So we observed when hunting on the 
Arkat Mountains. Captive archar lambs which we got from the 
Kirghiz were most delightful creatures, and showed by the ready 
way in which they took to the udders of their foster-mothers that 
they might have been reared without special difficulty. Should it 
prove possible to bring the proud creatures into domestication the 
acquisition would be one of the greatest value. But of this the 
Kirghiz does not dream, he thinks only of how he may shoot this 
wild sheep or the other. Not that the chase of this powerful 
animal is what one could call a passion with him; indeed the sheep’s 
most formidable enemy is the wolf, and it is only in the deep snow 
in winter that even he manages to catch an archar. 

As on the mountains, so on the driest, dreariest stretches of the 
steppes, which even in spring suggest African deserts, there are 
characteristic animals. In such places almost all the plants of the 
highlands and valleys disappear except the low tufted grass and 
diminutive bushes of wormwood. Here, however, grows a remark- 
able shrub which one does not see elsewhere, a shrub called ram- 


rouse (Syrrhaptes paradoxus). 


s Sand-g 


Fig. 17.—Pallas 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 115 


wood on account of its extreme hardness and toughness, which baffles 
the axe. It roots on those rare spots in the wilderness where the 
rain-storms have washed together some poor red clay. There it 
sometimes grows into bushwork of considerable extent, affording 
shelter and shade to other plants, so that these green spots come to 
look like little oases in the desert. But these oases are no more 
lively than the dreary steppes around, for apart from a shrike, the 
white-throat, and a wood-wren, one sees no bird, and still less any 
mammal, On the other hand, amid the desolation there live some 
of the most notable of the steppe animals, along with others which 
occur everywhere; besides the short-toed lark and calandra lark 
there is the coal-black Tartar lark, which those aware of the general 
colour-resemblance between ground-birds and the ground would 
naturally look for on the black earth. Along with the small plover 
there is the gregarious lapwing, along with the great bustard the 
slender ruffed bustard, which the Kirghiz call the ambler, along with 
the sand-grouse there is Pallas’s sand-grouse or steppe-grouse.* It 
was this last bird which some years ago migrated in large num- 
bers into Germany and settled on the dunes and sandy places, but 
was so inhospitably received by us, so ruthlessly persecuted with 
guns, snares, and even poison, that it forsook our inhuman country 
and probably returned to its home. Here, too, along with the 
specially abundant souslik, there are steppe antelopes and the Kulan, 
the fleet wild horse of the steppes. I must restrict myself to giving 
a brief sketch of the last, so as not to overstep too far the limits of 
the time allowed me. 

If Darwin’s general conclusions be reliable, we may perhaps 
regard the kulan as the ancestor of our horse, which has been 
gradually improved by thousands of years of breeding and selec- 
tion. This supposition is more satisfactory than the vague and 
unsupported assertion that the ancestor of our noblest domestic 
animal has been lost, and to me it is more credible than the 
opinion which finds in the Tarpan which roams to-day over the 
Dnieper steppes an original wild horse, and not merely one that has 
reverted to wildness.” As recent investigations in regard to our 
dogs, whose various breeds we cannot compute with even approxi- 


116 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


mate accuracy, point to their origin from still existing species of 
wolf and jackal, my conclusion in regard to the horse acquires col- 
lateral corroboration. Moreover, the ancestor of our domestic cat, 
now at last recognized, still lives in Africa, and the ancestor of our 
goat in Asia Minor and in Crete.* As to the pedigree of our sheep 
and cattle we cannot yet decide with certainty, but I have consist- 
ent information from three different quarters, including the report 
of a Kirghiz who declared that he had himself hunted the animal, 
to the effect that in the heart of the steppes of Mongolia there still 
lives a camel with all the characteristics of wildness.” I cannot 
doubt the truth of the reports which I received, and the only ques- 
tion is, whether this camel represents the original stock still living 
in a wild state, or whether, like the tarpan, it be only an offshoot of 
the domesticated race which has returned to wild life. As the veil 
is slowly being lifted which hid, and still hides, the full truth from 
our inquiring eyes, as the ancestors of our domesticated animals are 
being discovered one after the other, and that among species still 
living, why should we suppose that the ancestor of the horse, the 
conditions of whose life correspond so thoroughly with those of the 
broad measureless steppes, has died out without leaving a trace? 
It is, I maintain, among the still living wild horses of the Old 
World that we must look for the progenitor of our horse, and among 
these none has more claims to the honour of being regarded as the 
ancestor of this noble creature than the kulan. It may be that the 
tarpan more closely resembles our horse, but, if it be true that the 
Hyksos brought the horse to the ancient Egyptians (from whose stone 
records we have our first knowledge of the domesticated animal), or 
that the Egyptians themselves tamed the horse before the time of the 
Hyksos, and therefore at least one and a half thousand years before 
our era, then certainly the race had not its origin in the steppes of 
the Dnieper and the Don. For nearer at hand, namely in the 
steppes and deserts of Asia Minor, Palestine, and Persia, and in 
several valleys of Arabia and India, they had a wild horse full of 
promise, one which still lives, our kulan. This differs indeed 
in several features from our horse, but not more than the grey- 
hound, the poodle, or the Newfoundland differs from the wolf 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 117 


or any other wild dog, not more than the dachshund, the terrier, 
or the spaniel from the jackal, not more than the pony from 
the Arabian horse, or the Belgian-French cart-horse from the Eng- 
lish racer. The differences between our domesticated horse and the 
wild form which seems to me its most probable ancestor are indeed 
important, but horse and kulan seem to regard themselves as be- 
longing to the same blood, since they seek each other's company. 
When, on the 3rd June, 1876, we were riding through the dreary 
desert steppes between the Saisan lake and the Altai—a region 
from which I have drawn the main features of the above sketch— 
we saw in the course of the forenoon no fewer than fifteen kulans. 
Among these we observed one pair in particular. They stood on 
the broad crest of a near hillock, their forms sharply defined against 
the blue sky, and powerfully did they raise the desire for the chase 
in us and in our companion Kirghiz. One of them made off as we 
appeared, and trotted towards the mountain; the other stood quietly, 
and seemed as if considering a dilemma, then raised its head once and 
again, and at last came running towards us. All guns were at once 
in hand; the Kirghiz slowly and carefully formed a wide semicircle 
with the intention of driving the strangely stupid and inconceivably 
careless creature towards us. Nearer and nearer, halting now and 
then, but still steadily nearer he came, and we already looked upon 
him as a sure captive. But a smile broke over the face of the Kirghiz 
riding beside me; he had not only discovered the motive of the crea- 
ture’s apparently foolish behaviour, he had recognized the animal 
itself. It was a Kirghiz horse, dappled like a kulan, which, having 
strayed from his master’s herd, had fallen in with wild horses, and, for 
lack of better company, had stayed with them. In our horses he had 
recognized his kin, and had therefore forsaken his friends in need. 
Having come quite near to the Kirghiz, he stopped again as if to 
reflect whether he should once more yield his newly-healed back to 
the galling saddle; but the first steps towards return were followed 
by others, and without an attempt at flight he allowed them to 
halter him, and in a few minutes he was trotting as docilely by the 
side of one of the horsemen as if he had never known the free life 
of his ancestors. Thus we were able to confirm by personal experi- 


118 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


ence the already accepted fact, that horse and kulan do sometimes 
keep company. 

The kulan is a proud, fascinating creature, full of dignity, 
strength, and high spirits. He stares curiously at the horseman 
who approaches him; and then, as if deriding the pursuer, trots off 
leisurely, playfully lashing his flanks with his tail. If the rider 
spurs his horse to full speed, the kulan takes to a gallop as easy as 


Fig. 18.—The Kulan (Equus hemionus). 


it is swift, which bears him like the wind over the steppes and soon 
carries him out of sight. But even when at full speed he now and 
again suddenly pulls himself up, halts for a moment, jerks round 
with his face to the pursuer, neighs, and then, turning, kicks his 
heels defiantly in the air, and bounds off with the same ease as 
before. A fugitive troop always orders itself in line, and it is 
beautiful to see them suddenly halt at a signal from the leader, 
face round, and again take to flight. 

As among all horses, each troop of kulans has a stallion for 
leader, and he is the absolute master of them all. He leads the 
troop to pasture as well as in flight, he turns boldly on carnivores 


THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 119 


which are not superior in force, he permits no quarrelling among 
his followers, and tolerates no rival, indeed no other adult male in 
the herd. In every district which the kulans frequent, solitary 
individuals are to be seen unaccompanied by any troop; they are 
stallions which have been vanquished and driven off after furious 
and protracted combats, and which must roam about alone until 
the next breeding season. In September they again approach the 
herds, from which the old stallion now drives off the newly-matured 
stallions, and a fierce battle begins when they catch sight of an 
opponent. For hours at this season they stand on the crests of 
steep ridges, with widely-open nostrils raised to the wind, with 
their eyes on the. valley before them. As soon as the banished 
one sees another stallion, he rushes down at full gallop, and fights 
to exhaustion with both teeth and hoofs. Should he conquer the 
leader of a herd, he enters upon his rights, and the mares follow 
him as they did his predecessor. After the battles are over 
comes the time of wandering, for the hard winter drives the herds 
from one place to another, and it is only when spring has fully 
come that they return to their old quarters. Here, in the end of 
May or in the beginning of June the mare brings forth her foal, 
which in every respect resembles that of the domestic horse—a 
somewhat awkward-looking, but very nimble and lively creature. 
We had the good fortune to be able to make its acquaintance. 

On climbing one of the elongated hillocks of these desert- 
steppes, we suddenly saw at a short distance three old kulans and 
a foal, which seemed to be only a few days old. Our Russian com- 
panion fired a shot, and away rushed the wild horses, with their 
hoofs scarce touching the ground, yet exerting their incomparable 
agility almost with the ease of play, and obviously keeping them- 
selves in check for the sake of the foal. Down rushed all the 
Kirghiz and Cossacks of our company; our attendants, carried away 
with the general excitement, also gave chase; and down we also 
rushed. It was a wild chase. Still playing with their strength, 
the wild horses made for the distant mountains, while all the riders 
urged on their steeds to their utmost, till their bellies seemed almost 
to touch the ground. The desert resounded with the jubilant 


120 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


eries of the Kirghiz, the thundering of their horses at full gallop, 
the neighing of our slower horses which gnashed at their bridles; 
fluttering cloaks and kaftans and whirling clouds of dust filled and 
enlivened the solitudes. Further and further rushed the chase. 
Then the foal separated itself from its older companions and fell 
behind; the distance increased between it and the anxious glance 
which the mother repeatedly cast back; the distance between it 
and our horsemen decreased; and in a few minutes it was taken. 
Without resistance it gave itself up to its pursuers; it showed no 
trace of the characteristic qualities of the adults—wildness, hardly 
governable self-will, and inconquerable roguishness, which often 
degenerates into downright spite. Innocently it gazed at us with its 
large lively eyes, with apparent pleasure it allowed us to stroke its 
soft skin, without resistance it allowed itself to be led along with a 
halter, in child-like carelessness it lay down beside us seeking obvi- 
ously much-needed rest after the heat of the chase. The charm- 
ing creature at once captivated every one. But who was to find a 
milk-mare to be its foster-mother, who was to give it rest and care? 
Both were impossible, and on the second day the lovable creature 
was dead. With the passion of sportsmen would we have killed a 
full-grown kulan, but to see the foal die gave us genuine sorrow. 

In vain we tried to capture one of the adults; in vain we lay in 
ambush beside the bound foal in hopes of inveigling its mother; 
in vain we tried to effect something by driving; none of us had any 
luck. As a sportsman, I left the dreary solitudes with regret, but 
as a naturalist I was in the highest degree satisfied, for there I had 
come to know the noblest creature of the steppes. 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 


Siberian scenery gives one an impression of uniformity and 
monotony, which is mainly due to the fact that the whole country 
consists of three zones, each more or less homogeneous within itself, 
though distinct from the other two. Each of these zones preserves 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 121 


its special character everywhere, and the same picture is repeated a 
hundred times, satiating and blunting the senses till one becomes 
almost incapable of recognizing or appreciating the charms of any 
scene. Thus it is that we seldom hear anyone speak with apprecia- 
tion, much less with enthusiasm, of the scenery of this wide region,— 
although it certainly deserves both—and, thus, gradually there has 
become fixed in our minds an impression of Siberia which refuses 
correction with an obstinacy proportionate to its falseness. Siberia 
is thought of as a terrible ice-desert, without life, without variety, 
without charm, as a frozen land under the curse of heaven and of 
miserable exiles. But it is entirely forgotten that Siberia includes 
a full third of Asia, and that a region which is almost twice as large 
as the whole of Europe, which extends from the Ural to the Pacific 
Ocean, from the Arctic sea to the latitude of Palermo, cannot 
possibly be excessively monotonous nor uniform in all its parts. 
But people usually picture only one district of Siberia, and even that 
in a false light. 

In truth the country is richer in variety than any one has hither- 
to described it. Mountains interrupt and bound the plains, both 
are brightened by flowing and standing water, the sun floods hills 
and valleys with shimmering light and gleaming colour, lofty trees 
and beautiful flowers adorn the whole land, and men live happily, 
joyous in their homes. 

Of course there are undeniable wildernesses even now in Siberia, 
and these, along with the likewise real ice-deserts, the tundras, do, 
to a certain extent, justify the popular impression. Dreary also 
are the forests which lie between the tundra and the steppes, and 
form the third zone. In them man never ventures to establish him- 
self; on them the industry of the settlers along their borders make 
relatively little impression; within them the forces of nature hold 
absolute sway, creating and destroying without interference. The 
flame of heaven sets the trees ablaze, the raging winter-storm 
hurls them to the ground; the forests rise and disappear without 
any human control, and may in the fullest sense of the word be 
called primeval. Full of mystery they attract, and at the same 
time inhospitably repel; inviting they seem to the hunter, but 


122 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


resistant they bar his steps; rich gain they promise the eager 
merchant, but postpone the fulfilment of his wishes to the future. 
This girdle of forest extends, as we have mentioned, between the 
steppes and the tundra. Here and there it encroaches on both; 
here and there they intrude upon it. At certain places in both the 
unwooded zones, a compact wood “may dispute possession with the 
characteristic vegetation of steppes or of tundra, as the case may 
be, but such isolated woods are almost always like islands in the 
sea, for whose presence there is no obvious justification. In the 
steppes they are restricted to the northern slopes of the mountains 
and to the valleys, in the tundra to the deepest depressions. But 
in both cases they are unimportant in comparison with the measure- 
less extent of the forest zone, in which it is only here and there that 
a stream, a lake, or a swamp interrupts the continuity of the 
wilderness of trees which extends on all sides. A conflagration 
may make a clearing, or, at the extreme fringe, man may make a 
gap, but otherwise there is no interruption, Whole countries, as we 
know them, might find space in one of these immense forest tracts; 
and there are kingdoms of smaller area than some of them. What the 
interior is like no one can tell, for not even by the streams which 
flow from them can one penetrate far, and even the boldest sable- 
hunters do not know more than a margin of at most fifty or sixty 
miles. 

The general impression which the Siberian forests make on the 
German traveller is by no means favourable. At the apparently 
boundless tracts which are wooded, he is of course astonished, but 
he cannot be enthusiastic, or at least very rarely. The creative, 
productive, renewing power of the North does not seem to be 
adequate to balance the destructive forces. Hoary age stands side 
by side with fresh youth, but somehow there is no vitality in the 
combination ; incomputable wealth appears in beggar’s garb; and 
moribund life without any promise of vigorous rejuvenescence 
inhibits any feeling of joy. Everywhere we seem to perceive the 
hard struggle for existence, but nowhere are we really fascinated or 
attracted by the spirit of the woods, nowhere does the interior fulfil 
the expectations which the external aspect suggested. The splen- 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 123 


dour of the primitive forests in lower latitudes is entirely and 
absolutely lacking in this derelict, uncared-for woodland. The life 
which stirs within them seems as if it had already fallen under the 
shadow of death.* 

True forest, full of fresh life, with continuance amid a regular 
succession of changes, is rare. The devastation wrought by fire 
is a much more frequent spectacle. Sooner or later a lightning- 
flash, or the culpable carelessness of the Siberian, sets the forest in 
a blaze. Favoured by the season and the weather the conflagration 
spreads in a manner scarce conceivable. Not for hours, but for 
days, or even for weeks, the destruction rages. On the mossy and 
turfy ground the flames smoulder and creep further and further; the 
quantities of dry and mouldy débris on the ground feed them, dry 
branches hanging down to the ground, or dead trunks, still upright, 
lead them to the tops of the living trees. Hissing and cracking the 
resinous needles fall, and a gigantic spray of sparks rises to heaven. 
In a few minutes the giant tree is dead, and the destruction spreads; 
the rockets which radiate from it fall in thousands of sparks, and 
all around fresh flames spring from the glowing seed. Thus every 
minute the fire gains ground, and destruction spreads on all sides 
uncontrolled. In a few hours square miles of the forest are ablaze. 
Over hundreds of square versts steaming clouds of smoke darken 
the sun; slowly, but thickly, and ever more thickly, the ashes 
drizzle down, and tell by day to distant settlers, as the glow re- 
flected in the sky proclaims by night, that there is a fire in the forest. 
Affrighted animals carry terror into the surrounding townships. 
Immediately after great forest-fires, bears appear in districts where 
they have not been seen for years; wolves wander over the open 
country in formidable troops as if it were winter; elks, stags, 
roedeer and reindeer seek new homes in distant forests; and 
squirrels in countless swarms hurry through wood and plain, field 
and meadow, village and town. How many of the terror-stricken 
beasts fall victims to the fire no one can estimate, but it has been 
found that woodlands desolated by conflagration remain for many 
years thereafter without fresh settlers, and that the valuable beasts 
of the chase have entirely disappeared from many of these desolated 


124 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


districts. The devastation is sometimes on a scale of vast magni- 
tude; thus, in 1870, a fire which raged for about fourteen days 
destroyed a million and a quarter acres of valuable forest in the 
government of Tobolsk, while clouds of smoke and showers of ashes 
were borne to a distance of a thousand miles from the seat of the 
conflagration. 

For many years the devastated woodland remains like an 
immense succession of ruins; even after a generation or two the 
limits of the conflagration may be recognized and defined. The 
flames destroy the life of almost all the trees, but they devour only 
those which were already dry; thus stems more smoked than charred 
remain standing, and even their tops may remain bereft only of 
their needles, young shoots, and dry twigs. But they are dead and 
their destruction is in process. Sooner or later they are bound to 
fall before the storm. One after another is hurled to the ground, 
and one after another is robbed of its branches, its crown, or a third 
or a fourth of the trunk is broken off from the top. Across one 
another, at all angles, and at different levels, thousands of these 
tree-corpses lie prostrate on the ground already thickly covered with 
piles of débris. Some rest on their roots and top-branches, others 
lean on the still upright stems of their neighbours, and others 
already lie crumbling among the fallen branches, their tops often 
far from their trunks, their branches scattered all around. To the 
lover of the woods, those stems which still withstand the storm 
have perhaps an even more doleful appearance than those which 
have fallen. They stand up in nakedness like bare masts. Only a 
few retain their tops, or parts of them, for several years after the 
fire; but the weather-beaten twigless branches of the crowns rather 
increase than lessen the mournfulness of the picture. Gradually all 
the crowns sink to the ground, and the still upright trunks become 
more and more rotten. Woodpeckers attack them on all sides, 
chisel out nesting-holes, and make yard-long passages leading into 
the tree’s heart, thus allowing the moisture free entrance and 
accelerating the process of decay. In the course of years even the 
largest trunk has mouldered so completely that it is really one huge 
homogeneous mass of rotten tinder which has lost all stability. 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 125 


Indeed, a rough shake from a man’s hand is sufficient to make it 
fall into a heap of shapeless débris. Finally, even this disappears, 
and there is left a treeless expanse, broken only here and there by 
the last traces of a trunk. 

But even here a new life begins to rise from amid the ruins. 
Some years after the conflagration, the charred ground, manured by 
ashes and decayed débris, begins once more to be adorned. Lichens 
and mosses, ferns and heaths, and above all various berry-bearing 
bushes cover the ground and the débris of the trees. These flourish 
more luxuriantly here than anywhere else, and they begin to attract 
animals as various as those which the flames had banished. Seeds of 
birch borne by the wind germinate and become seedlings, which 
gradually form, at first exclusively, a thicket as dense as if it had 
sprung from man’s sowing. After some years a young undergrowth 
has covered the field of the dead; after a longer interval other forest 
trees gradually arise in the room of their predecessors. Every forest- 
fire spares some parts of the region which it embraces; even isolated 
trees may survive in the midst of the burned area, and effect the re- 
sowing of the desolated tract. Sheets of water and deep gorges may 
set limits to the fire, and it may even happen that the flames, leap- 
ing over a gulley, continue their devastation on the opposite bank 
without injuring the trees in the depths beneath. Moreover, indi- 
vidual larch-trees which have been attacked by the fire may escape 
destruction. The bases of the trunks are charred and all the needles 
are shrivelled up, but often the crown bursts forth afresh, and for 
a time the tree continues, though somewhat miserably, to live. 

In comparison with the ravages of the flames, the devastations for 
which man is directly responsible seem trivial, but in themselves 
they are of no slight importance. Of forest-culture the Siberian 
has no conception. The forest belongs to God, and what is His is 
also the peasant’s; thus, in view of the practically infinite wealth, 
he never thinks of sparing, but does what he pleases, what the 
needs of the moment seem to him to demand. Every Siberian fells 
and roots out, where and as he pleases, and everyone destroys infin- 
itely more than he really requires. For a few cones he will fell a 
pine, even if it be in the prime of growth; to obtain building wood 


126 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


he will cut down three or four times the quantity required, leaving 
the residue without a thought, often not even using it for fuel. 
Already, such careless procedure has entailed serious consequences. 
The woods in the neighbourhood of townships, and here and there 
even those near the highways, are worked out, and appear scarce 
better than those which the fire has devastated; and still the work 
of destruction goes on. It is only since 1875 that there have been 
forest-officers in Western Siberia, and even they give their attention 
rather to the exploitation than to the renewal of the woods. 

Even where neither man nor fire has ravaged them the forests 
present an appearance essentially different from ours—an appear- 
ance of complete, absolutely uncontrolled naturalness. It is but 
rarely, however, that this attracts us. At first, perhaps, we are im- 
pressed by seeing at one glance all stages of growth and decay; but 
the dead soon becomes more conspicuous than the living, and this 
depresses instead of stimulating.” In forests thus left in their natural 
state, thick growth alternates with clearing, tall trees with mere 
thicket, hoary senility with vigorous youth. Mouldering trees stand 
or lean, hang or lie everywhere. From the remains of fallen stems 
young shoots sprout; gigantic corpses bar the way within the thickets. 
Willows and aspens, which, with the birch, are the most abundant 
foliage-trees of Western Siberia, appear at times in irreproachable 
perfection, and at times as if they had been persistently hindered 
from full growth. Stems thicker than a man’s waist bear tangled 
crowns of small size, on which, year after year, fresh twigs break 
forth without being able to grow into branches; other apparently 
aged trees remain not more than bushes; and others, broken across 
the middle, have their split, cracked, and twisted upper parts con- 
nected to the trunk only by the splintered bark. Rarely does one 
get a complete picture; everything looks as if it were going to ruin, 
and could advance only in decay. 

Yet this sketch is not true of all the woods in this vast region; 
there are indeed woodlands, especially in the south of the zone, on 
which the eye rests with satisfaction. Locality, situation, soil, and 
other conditions are sometimes alike propitious and combine to pro- 
duce pleasing results. The growth of the individual trees becomes 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 127 


vigorous, and the general composition of the wood changes; the 
undergrowth, which is luxuriant everywhere, becomes diversified in 
the most unexpected manner. Gladly one welcomes each new species 
of tree or bush which reduces the marked poverty of species in 
these forests, but even from the richest tracts many trees are awant- 
ing which we rarely miss in Europe at the same latitude. It must 
be confessed that the forests of Siberia are uniform and monotonous, 
like the steppes, and like the tundra. 

In the river-valleys of the forest zone the uniformity is perhaps 
most conspicuous. Here the willows predominate, forming often 
extensive woods by the banks and on the islands, almost to the com- 
plete exclusion of other trees. Over wide stretches willows alone 
form the woods of the valley, and in many places the trees rise to a 
stately height, yet even then without often gaining in impressive- 
ness or charm. For the isolated willow-tree is not more, but rather 
less picturesque than the willow bushes; its crown is always thin 
and irregular, it is not close-set but loose and open, in fact almost 
scraggy. On frequent repetition it becomes wearisome. When the 
willows stand, as is usual, close beside one another, they form a 
dense thicket, and then, even more than the isolated tree, they lack 
character, for all the stems rise like posts and all the crowns fuse 
into a close, straight-contoured mass of foliage, suggestive of a 
clipped hedge, in which the individual trees are entirely merged. As 
pleasing additions to such monotonous woods we welcome the sprink- 
ling of poplars, the silver poplar in the south, the aspen in the north, 
both of them giving some animation to the willows. In the valley 
of the stream too, but only in those places which are not subject 
to regularly-recurring floods, the birch appears in addition to the 
trees already noticed; indeed birch-covered tracts occur with some 
constancy as connecting links between the willow-woods and the 
pine-forests, But it is only in the south of the zone that the birch 
attains its full size and vigour; it is as unresisting a victim to the 
flames as the most resinous pine, and is therefore incapable of greatly 
affecting the general aspect of the forest. More or less unmixed birch 
woods bound the forest zone to the south, and sometimes intrude 
far into the steppes, yet it is but rarely that they form thick, com- 


128 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


pact, well-established stretches of timber; and they are, when one 
sets foot in them, disappointing. 

On the other hand, the pine-forests which cover all the regions 
between the river-courses often fascinate and satisfy the traveller 
from the west. If the tundra has not gained upon them or begun 
to make its desolating mark, they consist in the main of vigorous 
pines and Norway spruce firs, the pichta or Siberian silver fir, 
the cembra pine, and more rarely larches. Among these there are 
aspens and willows, with occasional mountain-ash and bird-cherry, 
while birches often appear in as great vigour as in woods which 
consist exclusively of this accommodating tree. The pichta and 
the cembra pine are the characteristic trees of all West Siberian 
pine-forests, and vie with one another in beauty and vigour 
of growth. The pichta is a particularly beautiful tree. Nearly 
related to our silver fir, and representing it in all East Russian and 
West Siberian woodlands, even from a distance it catches the eye, 
standing out impressively from among all the other conifers. From 
the silver fir and from the Norway spruce fir the pichta is distin- 
guished by the stateliness of its slender conical crown and by the rich, 
delicate, bright green needles. Almost always it overtops the other 
trees of the forest; usually, indeed, the topmost third is above the 
crowns of its neighbours, thus effectively breaking the sky-line of 
the forest and giving an individual character to certain regions. The 
cembra or stone pine, which flourishes especially in the south of the 
forest zone, though it also occurs far to the north, has round, smooth, 
usually compact tops which contrast well with those of the other 
pines and firs; and it also contributes not a little to the external 
adornment of the forest, towards making it seem more attractive 
than it is. Pines and spruce firs are nowhere absent, but they do 
not flourish everywhere as they do in the mountains of Central 
Germany; towards the north they sink rapidly into crippled senility. 
And so is it also with the larches, whose true home is Siberia; it is 
only in the south of the forest zone, especially on the mountains, 
that they attain the stately height of those in our country. 

The above-named species include almost all those which occur 
regularly in the woodlands of Western Siberia. There seems to be 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA, 129 


a complete absence of oak and beech, elm and ash, lime and maple, 
silver fir and yew, hornbeam and black poplar. On the other hand, 
there are many kinds of bushes and shrubs in abundance every- 
where. Even in the north the undergrowth of the forests is sur- 
prisingly rich and luxuriant. Currants and raspberries flourish to 
a latitude of 58°, a species of woodbine occurs up to 67°; juniper, 
white alder, sallow, crowberry, bilberry, cranberry, and cloud- 
berries increase rather than decrease as one goes north; and even on 
the margins of the tundra, where dwarf-birches and marsh-andro- 
medas, mosses, and cowberries insinuate themselves into the interior 
of the woods, the ground is still everywhere thickly covered, for the 
mosses thrive the more luxuriantly the poorer the woods become. 
The steppes also contribute to enrich the woods, for in the south 
of the forest zone, not only most of the steppe-bushes and shrubs, 
but also various herbs and flowers, enter or fringe the forest. Thus 
certain wooded stretches of this border-land become natural parks, 
which in spring and early summer display a surprising splendour 
of blossom. 

As an instance of a forest glorious in such charms, I may men- 
tion that region known as “ Taiga,”8° which lies between the towns 
Schlangenberg and Salain, in the domain of Altai. In the broad 
tract which this beautiful forest covers there is a most pleasing 
succession of long ridges and rounded hills, valleys, troughs, and 
basins. One hill rises beyond and above another, and everywhere 
one sees a sky-line of forest. Pines and pichta firs, aspen and 
willow, mountain-ash and bird-cherry, are in the majority among 
the high trees, and are mingled in most pleasing contrasts of bright 
and dark colour, of light and shade. The soft lines of the foliage 
trees are pleasingly broken by the conical summits of the pichta 
firs which overtop them. The two species of Siberian pea-tree, 
guelder-rose and woodbine, wild rose and currant are combined in 
the brightly blooming undergrowth; Umbellifers as tall as a 
man, especially hemlock; spireea; ferns such as maidenhair, lark- 
spur and foxglove, bluebell and hellebore all shooting up in un- 
paralleled luxuriance, weave a gay carpet, from which the wild 


hops climb and twine up to the tall trees. It is as if the art of the 
(3170) 9 


130 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


landscape gardener had been intelligently exercised, as if man had 
fashioned the whole with an eye to scenic effect. 

In the south, the forests show their greatest beauty in spring, 
in the north, in autumn. By the first days of September the leaves 
of the foliage trees begin to turn yellow here, and by the middle 
of the month the north Siberian forest is more brilliant than any 
of ours. From the darkest green to the most flaming red, through 
green and light green, light yellow and orange yellow, pale red and 
carmine, all the shades of colour are represented. The dark Norway 
spruce firs and pichta firs are followed by the cembra pines and 
larches; and next in order come the few birches which are not yet 
yellowed. The white alders display all gradations from dark to 
light green and to greenish yellow; the aspen leaves are bright 
cinnabar red, the mountain-ash and the bird-cherry are carmine. 
So rich and yet so harmonious is the mingling of all these colours 
that sense and sentiment are satisfied to the full. 

Such are the pictures which the woodlands of Western Siberia 
display to the traveller. But all the sketches we have attempted 
to give have been taken from within a narrow fringe. To penetrate 
further into the primeval forests, in summer at least, seems to the 
western traveller absolutely impossible. On the slopes of the 
mountains he is hindered by thickets and masses of débris, on high- 
land and plain alike by prostrate trees and a tangle of bushes, in 
the hollows and valleys by standing and flowing water, by brooks 
and swamps. Wide-spread talus from the rocks, blocks and boulders 
rolled into heaps and layers form barriers on all the hills; lichens 
and mosses form a web over the rocks, and treacherously conceal 
the numerous gaps and clefts between them; a young undergrowth 
is rooted between and upon the old possessors of the soil; and the 
old trees as well as the young increase the risk of attempting 
to traverse these regions. On the low ground the obstacles which 
the forests present are hardly less formidable. Literally impene- 
trable thickets such as exist in the virgin forests of equatorial 
countries there are none, but there are obstacles enough. The 
prostrated trunks are all the more troublesome because most of 
them lie, not on the untrodden path, but at an inconvenient height 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 131 


above it; they are turnpikes in the most unpleasant sense of the 
word. Sometimes it is possible to climb over them or to creep 
under them; but equally often neither is possible, and one is forced 
to make a circuit, which is the more unwelcome, since, without con- 
stant reference to the compass, it is only too easy to stray from the 
intended direction. Real clearings are met with but rarely, and if 
one tries to walk across them, deep holes and pools full of mud and 
decayed débris soon show that here also the greatest caution is 
necessary. If the traveller trusts to one of the many cattle-tracks, 
which, in the south of the forest-zone, lead from every village to the 
forest, and penetrate into it for some distance, even then sooner or 
later he finds himself at fault. It is impossible to tell, or even to 
guess, whither such a path leads, for it intersects hundreds of others, 
and runs through tangled brushwood, through tall grass concealing 
unpleasant débris of trees, through moss and marsh; in short, they 
are not paths for human foot. Thus, though there are not every- 
where insuperable obstacles, one meets everywhere and continuously 
with hindrances so numerous and so vexatious, that even where the 
plague of mosquitoes is not intolerable, the traveller is apt to return 
much sooner than he had intended. Only in winter, when hard 
frost has covered all the pools, bogs, and swamps with a trustworthy 
crust, when deep snow has smoothed off most of the roughnesses, 
and is itself coated with a hard layer of ice, only then are the 
forests accessible to the hunter equipped with snow-shoes, and 
accompanied by weather-hardened dogs; only then can even the 
natives think of making long expeditions. 

Siberian forests are dumb and dead, “dead to the point of 
starvation”, as Middendorf most justly says. The silence which 
reigns within them is a positive torture. When the pairing of the 
black-cock is past one may hear the song of the fieldfare and the 
black-throated thrush, the warbling of the white-throat, the linnet, 
and the pine grosbeak, the melody of the wood-wren, and the call of 
the cuckoo, but hardly ever all these voices at once. The trilling call 
of the greenshank and redshank becomes a song, the chattering of 
the magpie gains a new charm, even the cawing of the hooded crow 
and the raven seem cheerful, and the call of a woodpecker or a 


132 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


titmouse most refreshing. The silence expresses the desolateness 
of the woods. He who hopes to be able to lead in them a joyous 
sportsman’s life will be bitterly disappointed. Doubtless all the 
immense woods of this region have more tenants, especially birds 
and mammals, than we are at first inclined to believe, but these 
animals are so unequally distributed over the immeasurable area, and 
probably also wander so widely, that we can arrive at no standard 
for estimating their numbers. Miles and miles are, or appear to be 
for a time at least, so lifeless and desolate that naturalist and sports- 
man alike are almost driven to despair, their expectations are so 
continually disappointed. All the reports of even experienced ob- 
servers who have sojourned there leave one still in the dark. 
Districts which seem to combine all the conditions necessary for 
the vigorous and comfortable life of certain species of animals, 
shelter, to all appearance, not a single pair, not even a male, naturally 
fond of roving. In such woods, far from human settlements, and 
to some extent beyond the limits of human traffic, one cannot but 
hope at length to fall in with the species which should frequent 
such places, but the hope is as fallacious as the supposition that 
one is more likely to meet with them in the heart of the forest than 
on its outskirts. The fact is that the regions under man’s influence, 
which he has modified, and to some extent cultivated, seem often. 
to exhibit a more abundant and diverse life than the interior of the: 
forest-wilderness. Wherever man has founded stable settlements, 
rooted out trees, and laid out fields and pasture-lands, there 
gradually arises a greater diversity of animal life than is to be seen 
in the vast untouched regions which remain in their original mono- 
tony. It seems as if many animals find suitable localities for settle- 
ment only after the ground is brought under cultivation. Of course 
the fact that certain animals are more abundant in the neighbour- 
hood of man, where they are ruthlessly hunted, than they are 
in the inaccessible forest, where danger scarce threatens them, im- 
plies a gradual reinforcement from without. At certain seasons. 
at least there must be migrations of more or less considerable extent, 
and in these most of the West Siberian animals take part. All the 
observations hitherto made corroborate this view. 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 133 


The only stationary animals, in the usual sense of the word, 
seem to be certain mountain species and those which hibernate in 
caves and holes; all the rest migrate more or less regularly. At the 
pairing and nesting time all the West Siberian animals segregate 
themselves, except those which are gregarious during the breeding 


SSAC 


(El 


Fig. 19.—Reindeer Flocking to Drink. 


season. Later on, the parents and their young combine with their 
fellows in herds or flocks, which, impelled by the need for more 
readily obtainable food, and perhaps also driven off by the plague 
of mosquitoes, set out on their wanderings together. Localities rich 
in fodder attract the herbivorous creatures, which are the first to 
arrive, but on their heels come others, and finally their enemies. 
Thus certain parts of the woodland are depopulated and others are 


134 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


peopled, and there occur actual blocks in the migratory stream, which 
must be the more striking in contrast to the usual desolateness and 
emptiness of the forest. The scenes of old conflagrations are 
favourite rendezvous, for, on the fertilized soil, berry-bearing bushes 
of various sorts have sprung up and attained luxuriant growth. 
Here, in autumn, the Siberian herbivores find a rich harvest, and not 
only they, but wolves and foxes, martens and gluttons, sables and 
bears, primarily attracted by the collected herds, may be seen ban- 
queting, devouring the berries with evident pleasure. The different 
animals thus brought together seem to remain for a time in a cer- 
tain correlation. The herbivores, as observant sportsmen have 
noticed, keep with unmistakable constancy to the berries; and the 
carnivores follow closely in their tracks. 

These migrations explain how it is that during certain years 
some of the woods are filled with all kinds of beasts of the chase, 
while during other years they are entirely forsaken. The traveller 
from the west, who journeys in late winter or early spring in 
Western Siberia, beholds with astonishment a flock of three to five 
hundred black-game rise in crowded flight from the highway through 
the forest, and learns with not less astonishment a little later that 
the same or even more favourable woods are but sparsely stocked 
with these birds. In summer he searches in the most suitable 
localities for the hazel-grouse, and is discouraged because his search 
is continually futile; in autumn he is pleasantly surprised to see, on 
the same places, abundance of the same game. 

So peculiar are the conditions due to the monotonous uniformity 
of wide stretches, that the huntsman who will make sure of his 
booty must be very familiar with them; indeed, even the most 
skilful and experienced sportsman is always and everywhere in the 
measureless forests at the mercy of chance. Whatever be the game 
he pursues, he never can predict where he will find it. Yesterday 
the goddess of the chase was kind to extravagance; to-day she 
refuses him every aid. There is no lack of game, but the huntsman 
who had to live on what he shot would starve. A sportsman’s life, 
such as is possible in other latitudes, is inconceivable in Western 
Siberia; the profit to be derived from the forest chase is incon- 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 135 


siderable. Some animals, for example the beaver,?! seem already 
to have been exterminated; and others, especially the much-prized 
sable, have withdrawn from the inhabited districts into the interior 
of the forest. Everywhere in Siberia one hears the common com- 
plaint, that game becomes scarcer every year; and it is certain that 
from one decennium to another the diminution is perceptible. For 
this man is not wholly responsible; the forest-fires and the devas- 
tating epidemics which now and then break out are probably as 
much, if not more, to blame. At the same time, no Siberian ever 
realizes that a temporary sparing of the game is the first condition 
of its preservation. Sportsman-like hunting is unknown; the 
most varied means are used to kill as many animals as possible. 
Gun and rifle are mere accessories; pitfalls and nets, spring-guns 
and poison are the most important agents employed by natives and 
immigrants alike. 

“Game” to the Siberian means every animal which he can in 
any way use after its death, the elk and the flying squirrel, the 
tiger and the weasel, the capercaillie and the magpie. What the 
superstition of one race spares falls as a booty to the other; animals 
whose flesh the Russians despise are delicacies to the Mongolian 
palate. Ostiaks and Samoyedes take young foxes, martens, bears, 
owls, swans, geese, and other creatures, treat them tenderly as long 
as they are young, care for them sedulously until the fur or plumage 
is fully developed, and then kill them, eating the flesh and selling 
the skin. The number of skins brought from Siberia to the 
markets there and in Europe is computed in millions: the number 
used in the country itself is much smaller, but still very consider- 
able. The quantity of furred, and especially of feathered game, 
which is transported to a distance in a frozen state, also mounts up 
to many hundreds of thousands. Along with the furs of mammals 
the skins of certain birds are at present much exported, especially 
those of swans, geese, gulls, grebes, and magpies, which, like the 
furs, are used in making muffs, collars, and hat trimmings. A 
single merchant in the unimportant town of Tjukalinsk passes 
through his hands every year thirty thousand plover-skins, ten 
thousand swan-skins, and about a hundred thousand magpies; and 


136 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


some years ago his sale was much larger.*? That the total traffic in 
skins must involve a yearly diminution of the animals is certain; 
and that only the inaccessibility of the wildernesses of forest and 
water preserves the affected species from utter destruction will be 
plain to everyone who knows the unsparing hand of the Siberian 
huntsman. 

Although it is plain from what we have said that the Siberian’s 
conception of game is a very wide one, the animals looked upon as 
worthy of hunting are really those which we ourselves regard as 
furred and feathered game, or would so regard if they occurred in 
Germany. In our sense of the term, the game of the forest girdle 
includes the Maral stag and the roe-deer, the elk and the reindeer, 
the wolf, the fox, the Arctic fox, the lynx and the bear, the Arctic 
hare, the squirrel, the striped and flying squirrel, but above all, 
the martens, viz., sable, pine-marten and stone-marten, pole-cat, 
kolonok, ermine, weasel, glutton, and otter; besides the capercaillie, 
black-grouse, and. hazel-grouse. In the south must be added the 
tiger, which now and then prowls within this region, the ounce, the 
musk-deer, and the wild boar of the mountain forest; while the 
north also yields the willow grouse, occasionally found at least on 
the outskirts of the forest. These animals everyone hunts, and the 
more civilized do so in a regular, if not always sportsmanlike, 
fashion; for most of them ingenious and effective snares are also 
laid. 

Of the latter the much-used “fall-trap” is most worthy of 
notice. Its arrangement is as follows:—Across clear spaces in the 
‘forest, especially those which afford a clear view, a low and very 
inconspicuous fence is stretched, and in the middle of this an 
opening is left, or there may be two or three if the fence be long. 
Each opening is laterally bounded by two firm stakes which bear a 
cross-beam above, and are meant to guide the falling beam, which 
consists of two long, moderately thick tree-stems, bound side by 
side. A long lever rests on the cross-beam, on its short arm the 
falling beam is suspended, while a cord from the long arm forms the 
connection with a peg-arrangement. The latter is contrived as 
follows. A short stick, forked at one end and pointed at the other, 


Fig. 20.—Elk and Black-cock in a Siberian Forest. 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 139 


is fixed with the fork against a notch in one of the stakes, and with 
its pointed end fastened against another longer peg whose forked 
end rests lightly on the other stake. The two pegs keep one 
another in position, but on the slightest pressure they fall asunder. 
When the trap is set, the peg arrangement which corresponds to 
the trigger is covered with numerous light, dry twigs, not so much 
to conceal it, as to form a larger surface of possible contact. When 
an animal, even a small bird, steps upon the twigs, the two pegs 
fall asunder, and the beam drops, killing the animal under it. If 
it be set for a beast of prey, bait is laid beside the triggers; all 
other kinds of game are simply guided to the trap by the direction 
of the fence. In many woods all the haunts, paths, and clear spaces 
are beset with these traps in hundreds and thousands, so that the 
huntsman is often compensated by abundant booty for the slight 
trouble which it takes to arrange his effective apparatus. Grouse, 
hares, squirrels, and ermine are the commonest victims; polecat, 
pine marten, and sable, the rarest. Gluttons also and wolves often 
lose their lives, but the survivors learn like dogs, and anxiously 
avoid the set traps, though neither is at all afraid to steal or gnaw 
at and thus destroy the booty caught in one which has sprung. 
Besides the “fall-trap”, the Ostiaks and Samoyedes are fond of 
using a spring-gun arrangement, fitted with bow and arrow or 
automatic cross-bow. As the bow is very strong and the arrow 
well made, the murderous contrivance is very effective, and exceed- 
ingly dangerous to the inattentive explorer. Ingenious arrange- 
ments hold the bow stretched, and keep it and the arrow in position; 
a wooden clasp relaxes the bow whenever a line stretched across the 
animal's run is touched. In order to direct the arrow so that it may 
pierce the heart of the victim, the ingenious people use a pillar-like 
perforated target the size of the desired booty. When this is placed 
on the run it has the perforation at the precise level of the beast’s 
heart, and according to the distance between the heart and the 
collar-bone, the hunters determine the distance between the mark 
and the trigger. As all the natives are well acquainted with the 
tracks of various kinds of game, the spring-gun only fails when a 
creature comes along entirely different in size from that for which 


140 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the arrow was destined. Usually they are set for foxes, and with 
hardly less success for wolves, or even for elk and reindeer, while 
the automatic cross-bow is arranged for smaller game, especially 
ermine and squirrels. For both of these, bait is spread which can 
only be got at when the animal creeps through a narrow hole in 
front of the lower part of the set cross-bow. In so doing the 
creature touches a trigger, and is forthwith crushed by a broad, 
chisel-like arrow which the cross-bow shoots forcibly down on its 
appointed course. 

As an important addition to these old-fashioned contrivances, 
fire-arms have recently come more and more into vogue among the 
natives of Western Siberia, but they do not displace the bow and 
arrow. Powder and bullets are dear, and the people prefer small- 
bored matchlocks and flint-locks, which are exceedingly bad; but they 
use these defective weapons with remarkable skill. A fork fastened 
in front to the barrel, and used as a rest, is to be seen on every gun, 
and even the educated sportsmen use it as indispensable to the 
effective use of the matchlock. Fowling-pieces are used by the officials 
and well-to-do townsfolk, but not by the natives, who have to make 
a profit by the chase, and to measure their powder, as it were, by the 
grain. They fill a small horn with the expensive material, wind a 
‘leaden wire of the diameter of their bore twice or thrice round their 
waists, and thus equipped set out on the chase. The leaden wire 
serves for making bullets, which are not cast but simply cut, or, 
even more simply, bitten off the wire; the resulting peg-like shot is 
laid without any wad directly on the powder, and thus the gun is 
loaded. Of course the native huntsmen do not shoot from a distance 
except when forced to, but to the height of medium-sized trees their 
aim is so sure that they take the eye of the sable or squirrel for 
their mark and seldom miss it. 

The various species of grouse are more generally hunted than any 
other creatures, and are caught and killed in hundreds of thousands. 
During the pairing season capercaillie and black-grouse are almost 
everywhere left unmolested. The sportsman’s joy as we know it 
when the pairing grouse take wing can scarcely be experienced in 
Siberia, owing to the inaccessibility of the woodland; not even for 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 141 


the pairing black-grouse does one rise betimes in May; the hazel- 
grouse alone is sought after by mimicking his love-call. But who 
would put himself to so much trouble and discomfort for so uncer- 
tain a prize? Only in autumn and winter does the chase reward 
the Siberian as he desires and expects; when the young birds 
change their plumage, when the coveys unite in large flocks, and 
when these wander through the forest in search of berries, then is 
the huntsman’s opportunity. Whoever is not afraid of discomforts 
of all kinds pursues the migrating flocks with his dogs—usually 
pitiable helpers—and generally returns with rich booty; those who 
know how to use snow-shoes hunt capercaillie and black-game 
even in winter. After the first heavy snowfall the migrations 
are stopped, and each flock seeks out a resting-place which 
promises abundant food for a few days at least. In the begin- 
ning of winter the still ungathered cranberries afford sufficient. 
food, and afterwards the juniper berries; when both these supplies 
are exhausted the easily satisfied birds take to the leaves of larch, 
and finally of pine and fir, and to the young cones of all these 
conifers. As long as possible they continue their wanderings on 
foot, and often cover seven or eight miles in a day; occasionally 
they come within a few hundred paces of a settlement, and leave 
such distinct footprints on the fresh snow that the huntsman is bound 
to discover them. When they are forced to take to a diet of pine- 
needles, the sportsman is able to track them, at first by their drop- 
pings, and eventually by their sleeping-places. For the Siberian 
capercaillie and black-game differ in habit from their relatives in 
Germany, and make more or less deep burrows, usually reaching 
from the surface of the snow down to the ground. They leave 
these in the morning, or when danger threatens, breaking with: 
beating wings through the coverlet of snow. These shelters are, 
therefore, readily recognizable, and as they also afford sure indica- 
tion of the night on which they were used, they are most valuable: 
guides to the experienced sportsman. Amid continuous snowfall the: 
birds sometimes remain beneath the snow till towards mid-day, and 
then, after they have taken to the trees and are eating, they will 
allow the huntsman to come within range, for they are not scared by 


142 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the barking of his dogs, and, while watching the cur at the foot of 
the tree, often overlook the marksman. The first condition of 
success in such hunting is, that the snow have not only smoothed off 
most of the roughness of the ground, and thus removed the greatest 
obstacles to progress, but that it be sufficiently firm to afford the 
necessary resistance to the huntsman’s snow-shoes. 

With incomparably greater comfort, and usually with more 
success, the black-grouse may be hunted by means of the decoy or 
bulban. When using this the huntsman sets out before dawn in 
autumn, hides in the forest in a previously-prepared or rapidly-con- 
structed hut, and there fixes up the bulban. This is a stuffed decoy- 
bird or one fashioned of wood and tow, with black, white, and red 
cloth at appropriate places, a deceptive imitation of the living bird. 
It is perched by means of a pole on the highest of the surrounding 
trees, with its head to the wind, and while the sportsman hides in 
the hut, men and dogs drive the adjacent forest. All the young 
black-game, or all which have not learned wisdom from previous 
experience, fly, when disturbed, to the bulban, which, to all appear- 
ance, is a fellow-bird sitting in reassuring security. They crowd 
on to the same tree, and the sportsman beneath, equipped with a 
small-bored and but slightly noisy rifle, or sometimes also with a 
fowling-piece, often has the pick of dozens of silly birds. In woods 
which are undisturbed throughout the summer, the black- grouse 
are so heedless of the slight report of the rifle, that after a bird has 
fallen dead from the tree the others do not fly away, but stretching 
their necks gaze at their fallen comrade, and wait quietly until the 
marksman has reloaded and claimed a second or a third victim. So 
abundant are these birds that the assertion that a single sportsman 
may, in the course of the morning, bring down twenty or more 
without leaving his hut is perfectly credible. 

Not less effective than the decoying of black-game, fascinating 
moreover, and satisfactory to every sportsman, is the hunting of 
the hazel-grouse as practised in Siberia. No special equipment of 
any kind is required, not even trained dogs—useful auxiliaries none 
the less—are indispensable. The hazel-grouse is very abundant in 
all suitable parts of the West Siberian forests, perhaps more abun- 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA, 143 


dant than the capercaillie and black-grouse, but it is so noiseless 
that one may often miss it although there are numerous coveys in the 
wood. It never forms such large flocks as its relatives, nor does 
it undertake such long migrations, but it is more uniformly dis- 
tributed throughout the wide forest-wilderness, and the sportsman 
who knows its ways gets more readily within shot of it than in the 
case of any other bird of the woods. During spring and summer it 
seems to the inexperienced to have wholly disappeared; but in 
autumn it occurs everywhere, even in those places where, a few 
months before, it might have been sought for in vain. It is as fond 
of berries as are its relatives, and to secure these it visits the larger 
clearings, which, in spring and summer, it seems to avoid. But even 
there it knows how to escape observation. It lies much more 
closely than capercaillie or black-cock, and, without anxiously conceal- 
ing itself on the approach of an intruder, remains as long as possible 
motionless, only rising when the enemy is almost touching it. 
Even then its flight is so noiseless and inconspicuous that one may 
readily fail to hear or see it; even a partridge or a wood-cock makes 
more noise than this charming bird, of whose flight only a gentle 
whirring is perceptible. When startled, it usually, though by no 
means always, flies to the nearest fir-tree and alights on the first 
convenient branch, but there it sits so quietly that it is once more 
as inconspicuous as it was on the ground. The sportsman often 
tries for a long time in vain to discover the bird’s whereabouts, and 
when he has finally decided that it has secretly flown off, he is 
suddenly nonplussed by a start or movement which betrays its 
presence on the very branch on which he had looked for it repeatedly. 
The cleverness with which all birds of this sort hide themselves from 
observation has reached a rare perfection in the hazel-grouse. For its 
haunts it prefers the boggy and mossy parts of the forest, which 
abound in bilberries and cranberries and are surrounded by old 
dead trees and young growths. Here it knows so skilfully how to 
use the cover, that one rarely perceives it until it has flown for 
security to one of the lifeless giants. When it does not move, it 
appears most deceptively like a knot on the tree, and it behaves as if 
it knew that it could trust to the colour-resemblance between its 


144 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


plumage and its surroundings. Nevertheless, whenever it shows 
itself freely it keeps looking anxiously all round, and, if it suspects 
danger, leaves its perch as silently as it gained it. Hazel-grouse 
shooting is a true pleasure to the sportsman. He may expect the bird 
almost everywhere in the forest, and can never tell how it will show 
itself; he must usually dispense with all auxiliaries, but his success 
is not prejudiced by awkward companions; and he is even more richly 
rewarded by the continuous tension and pleasurable excitement than 
by the exquisite dish afforded by this best-flavoured of game-birds, 

Compared with the importance of game-birds to the sportsman, 
and indeed to the community generally, the chase and exploitation 
of big game in West Siberia must seem inconsiderable. The four 
species of stag found in this region are for various, but equally unsatis- 
factory reasons, much less appreciated than they deserve. They are 
treated in a manner which, if not actually barbarous, seems to us 
disagreeable or even repulsive. This is especially true in regard to 
the Maral stag. This splendid creature, according to some natu- 
ralists a large-sized red-deer, according to others a nearly related 
species with larger body. and stronger antlers, lives in all the 
southern forests, especially on the mountains, and is probably by 
no means so rare as the untiring lust for the chase on the part of 
both natives and strangers has made it seem. For a strange reason 
the said lust for the chase endangers this stag most seriously just 
at the time when he needs most to be spared. For he is hunted by 
all the North Asiatic hunters not for his flesh nor his skin, nor for 
his fully-branched head, but solely and wholly for the growing, 
incompletely tined, and still velvety antlers.% Out of this the 
Chinese physicians or quacks prepare a specific, which is greatly 
sought after by rich debilitated Celestials, and is sold for its weight 
in gold. It is esteemed as a stimulant of rare virtue, and believed 
to be replaceable by no other. Most sought after are the half- 
branched, six-tined antlers, still richly filled with blood; for these 
the price is from £10 to £15, while completely formed antlers, with 
twelve or fourteen tines, and bared of their velvet, may be bought 
for six to twelve shillings. Not only the Mongols of North and 
Central Asia, but also the Siberians of Russian origin, exert them- 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 145 


selves to procure these valuable antlers, which, when obtained in 
the proper condition, are despatched as quickly as possible, especially 
by post, to Kiachta, whence, through special merchants, thousands are 
sent every year to China without satisfying the demand. Siberian 
peasants also keep the Maral stag in captivity for the sole purpose 
of cutting off the blood-charged antlers at the proper time and 


Fig. 21.—The Maral Stag. 


selling them. Now, since all stags when growing their antlers 
avoid the dense thickets, and are less wary than at other seasons, 
and as the one- and two-year-old stags are as little spared as those 
with crown antlers, it is obvious that the numerical strength of the 
race must be notably impoverished, and that the breeding must also 
be appreciably affected. The flesh and the skin obtained in the 
slaughter are but rarely taken into consideration; if it would in- 
volve any trouble to remove the carcase, it is usually left without 


reluctance to the wolves and foxes. 
(™ 70) 10 


146 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


As the Maral stag excels ours, so is it with the Siberian or large 
roe-deer, which differs from ours in its larger growth and by the 
high antlers with weakly developed burrs. Its specific independence, 
however, is still a subject of controversy among taxonomists. In 
Siberia it prefers the stretches of woodland which have begun to 
recover from the effects of a conflagration, and in which the pichta 
fir is abundant. It also frequents the fringes of the forest and 
small woods, and ascends the mountains to considerable heights, not 
unfrequently above the forest-line; it may likewise pass into the 
open steppes, associating on the heights with the steinbock and wild 
sheep, and on the plains with the antelope. According to the nature 
of the country, it undertakes more or less regular migrations, even 
without being forced to these by forest fires, and in its wanderings 
it will traverse wide stretches and cross broad rivers without hesi- 
tation. In certain circumstances it appears in regions in which it 
has not been seen for years, and from these centres it makes excur- 
sions round about. In its wanderings it usually keeps to definite 
roads, but is now and then forced to follow narrow paths. The 
rocky and precipitous river-banks of the larger streams compel it 
to make its way through a few cross-valleys and gorges, and this 
necessity is often the animal’s ruin, for the trapper rarely omits to 
stretch his leading-fence across these runs, and to lay his pitfalls 
fatally. Wolf and lynx press upon it at every season; Russians 
and native Siberians likewise. Like other game it is hunted un- 
sparingly; every circumstance is utilized and every trick is tried to 
effect its capture. At the beginning of the thaw, when cold nights 
have frozen the top layer of snow into a thin crust of ice, the hunter 
sets off on horseback or on snow-shoes with a pack of nimble dogs; 
he rouses the stag with his shouts and runs it down, fatiguing it 
the sooner the harder the ice is, for, as the stag bounds, the crust 
breaks under its slender hoofs, and its ankles are cut. In spring, 
the hunters entice the doe by imitating the cry of the fawn, and the 
buck is similarly allured in the leafy season by a skilful echo of 
the doe’s call; in the intermediate season and later, both sexes are 
inveigled by special dainties; in autumn a drive is organized, or the 
migrating deer is pursued in boats as he swims across the streams, 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 147 


and is killed in the water; in early winter he is shot from the swift 
sledge. In fact the only method of capture which is not resorted to 
is that of snaring, so common a practice with knavish hunters at 
home; but in all probability the reason for this abstinence is simply 
that the spring-bow is more effective. 

The elk* exists under decidedly more favourable conditions, and 
has a firmer footing in the struggle for existence. Its haunts and 
habits, its strength and power of self-defence, secure it from many, 
if not most pursuers. A forest animal in the full sense of the 
word, as much at home in swamp and bog as in thicket or wood, 
overcoming with equal ease all obstacles of forest and morass, 
assured by the nature of its diet from the scarcity of winter, it 
escapes more readily than any other beast of the chase from 
pursuit either by man or by other dangerous enemies. The latter 
include wolves, lynxes, bears, and gluttons; but it may be doubted 
whether all these beasts of prey together very seriously affect the 
elk. For it is as strong as it is courageous, it has in its sharp 
hoofs even more formidable weapons than its antlers, and it knows 
right well how to use both of them. It may fall victim to a bear who 
surprises and overcomes it; but it undoubtedly hurls a single wolf 
to the ground, and may even be victorious over a pack of these 
eternally hungry creatures. As to lynx and glutton, the old story 
that these are able to leap on the elk’s neck and sever the jugular 
vein does not seem to have been proved. Only against human 
weapons are the elk’s resources ineffective. But its pursuit in 
Siberian forests is a precarious undertaking, and is little practised 
except by the natives. During summer the water-loving beast is 
hardly to be got at; it spends the greater part of the season in the 
marsh, browsing by night and resting by day among the high marsh- 
plants in a place accessible only to itself. The juicy water-plants 
and their roots suit it better than the sharp sedges, and it therefore 
browses in the deeper parts of the bog, where it pulls the plants out 
of the water, dipping its uncouth head in the muddy moisture as 
far as the roots of its donkey-like ears. When it lifts its head it 
blows from its nose and mouth the mud and moisture which neces- 
sarily entered its nostrils as it grubbed, and this makes a loud 


148 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


snorting noise which can be heard from afar. Experienced hunters 
have based a peculiar trick of the chase on the elk’s method of 


Fig. 22.—The Elk Hunter—A Successful Shot. 


feeding. They listen to the usually watchful animal for several 
nights in succession, and mark his whereabouts; thither in the day- 
light they quietly carry a light, shallow-water boat; by night, guided 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 149 


by the snorting, they row with muffled oars towards the browsing 
creature, whose scent and hearing are dulled by his grubbing; at 
close range they send a bullet through him. The clearness of the 
northern summer night facilitates operations, though it renders 
close approach more difficult; yet the sport is all the more exciting, 
and by eager lovers of the chase it is pursued passionately, and 
usually with success. On the advent of frost the elk leaves the 
swamps, for the brittle coat of ice hinders his movements, and hies 
to the drier parts of the forest until the thickly falling snow forces 
him to wander in search of specially favourable localities. At this 
season the chase of the elk, with well-trained and, above all, silent 
dogs, is preferred to all other sport. In its wanderings the elk does 
not avoid human settlements, and betraying itself by its unmis- 
takable footprints, soon has the huntsman on its heels. Now is the 
time to send the dogs after it. Their duty is to keep the creature 
continually agog, but never to chase it. They must never attack it 
in the rear, nor ever come too near it, but must rather bark at 
it continually, and keep its attention unceasingly engrossed. When 
the elk sees itself thus threatened in front it stops after a short 
trot, looks angrily at the dogs, seems trying to make up its mind to 
attack them, but only in rare cases succeeds in carrying out the 
resolution so slowly arrived at, and thus gives the sportsmen time 
to get within easy range, and to take sure aim. Ifa small herd of 
elk is suddenly surprised by the dogs and driven into a narrow 
defile, they may be so nonplussed that several may fall before a 
well-handled rifle. But when old experienced elks are pursued for 
some time during a heavy snowfall they take the first trodden path 
which they come across, and trot along it whether it lead to the 
recesses of the forest or to the township; thus they are not unfre- 
quently led quite close to inhabited houses, on seeing which they 
diverge into the woods. A hard crust of snow is not less dangerous to 
the elks than to the roe-deer; and then the spirited and experienced 
huntsmen pursue them even with boar-spears, speeding along on 
snow-shoes, outrunning and fatiguing the impeded animals till they 
can use the ancient weapons to good effect. The flesh is readily 
eaten both by immigrants and natives, but it has no great market 


150 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


value; the skin, on the other hand, finds ready sale at six to eight 
roubles® a hide, and affords the professional huntsman sufficient 
recompense for his trouble and exertions. 

The wild reindeer belongs strictly to the tundra, but it also 
occurs throughout the whole extent of the forest-zone. Along the 
eastern slopes of the Urals it is frequent both in the depths of the 
forest and on the mountain heights, and the huntsmen of these 
parts accordingly speak with a certain emphasis of forest-reindeer 
and mountain-reindeer, and seem inclined to attribute different 
characteristics to the two kinds, though they cannot define their 
distinctive marks. The reindeer is less shy of populated districts 
than any other deer, which perhaps best explains the fact that 
every year among those living in freedom individuals are captured 
with slit ears and brand-marks. These have probably escaped from 
the herds of the Samoyedes and Ostiaks during the breeding 
season, and have wandered southwards till they met a wild stock 
to which they attached themselves. Once free from bondage, they 
very rapidly assume all the habits of wild life. But neither these 
escaped truants nor the wild forms are regarded by the forest-folk 
as of much moment among the beasts of the chase. Reindeer are 
indeed captured wherever, whenever, or however that may be 
possible; but apart from a few specially keen hunters of Russian 
origin only the natives pursue them with persistence and eager- 
ness. 

Excepting the Semites and the Russians, all sensible people 
include hares among edible game. In consequence of this exception, 
the variable hare of Western Siberia is hunted only by educated 
and unprejudiced Siberians of Russian origin, and by the natives of 
the North, who are uninfluenced by any laws of diet. Even the 
skin of the snowy hare, since it loses its fur very readily, has little 
value in the eyes of the huntsman, and perhaps for this reason is 
presented by the heathen peoples as an offering to the gods. Yet 
in spite of the indifference with which the forest-folk regard this 
rodent so highly prized by us, the hare is nowhere plentiful. Many 
perish in the traps; the majority are caught by wolves, foxes, and 
lynxes; and the severe winter, which often impels them to long 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 151 


migrations, thins them sadly. The hare is certainly not important 
among the beasts of the chase. 

Among the non-edible furred beasts of the ee the first place 
may be given to the wolf, since it is most bitterly hated and most 
generally hunted. For although it is said that the direct injury 
which it does to man is not very considerable, or at any rate 
not insufferable, he misses no opportunity of destroying it. It is 
certain that in West Siberia wolves only exceptionally appear in 
large packs, and that they even more rarely venture to attack man, 
but it is equally certain that they do much damage to domestic 
animals. This is very considerable when we take into account the 
destruction caused by wolves among the herds of the nomads on the 
steppes and the tundra. There is no possibility of computing the 
numbers of wolves in the forest-zone. They are found everywhere 
and yet nowhere; to-day they fall upon the herds of a village, where 
there has been no trace of them for years, and to-morrow they 
ravage the sheepfolds somewhere else; they leave certain districts 
suddenly, and establish themselves in them again just as unex- 
pectedly; here they defy their persecutors, and there precautions 
against them are almost superfluous. 

Broad, much-used highways and settlements rich in meadows 
attract them, for on the former they find the carcasses of horses, and 
by the latter they find an easy booty in the herds which wander 
unhindered by any herdsman, and often stray far into the woods. 
But they are not absent from those parts of the forest which lie 
beyond the limits of traffic. Sometimes in broad daylight they are 
seen ‘singly or in small packs prowling near the settlements; by 
night they not unfrequently pass through villages or even towns. 
In a single night they destroy dozens of sheep, attack horses and 
cattle also, and more rarely dogs (for which in other countries they 
show a preference). The only animals which they avoid are the 
courageous swine, for here and elsewhere these at once show fight, 
and invariably get the best of it. 

Like the Russians, the Siberians hold to the’superstition that the 
she-wolf suckling young carefully avoids ravaging in the neighbour- 
hood of her litter, but that if she be robbed of her whelps, she avenges 


152 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


herself terribly, following the robber to his village home, and falling 
with unbounded rage upon all his herds. For fear of this revenge, 
every Siberian passes by any wolf-litter which he finds, and only 
now and then does he dare to cut the Achilles tendon of the whelps, 
thus laming them and keeping them near their birthplace until the 
time of the autumn hunt. For, as they grow up, the mother’s love 
is supposed to disappear, at least her thirst for revenge grows less, 
and the skins of the young wolves caught in autumn reward the 
clever foresight of the cunning peasant. 

According to locality and opportunity, the methods employed in 
the capture of the wolf vary greatly. Pitfalls, traps, strychnine, 
and the spring-bows already described do good service; actual 
driving is seldom successful. A favourite method is to pursue the 
wolf with sledges, and to shoot him from the sledge. To attract 
the wolf within range an ingenious device is resorted to. An old, 
steady, or worn-out horse is yoked to a large sledge, in which four 
comrades—the driver, two marksmen, and a fair-sized sucking- 
pig—take their places. The driver, whose sole duty is to look after 
his horse, takes the front seat; the marksmen sit behind, and the 
pig les in a bag between their feet. Towards evening the mixed 
company sets off along a well-beaten road to a part of the forest 
where during the day fresh wolf-tracks were seen. On to the 
track one of the hunters throws a bag stuffed with hay, and fastened 
to the sledge by a long line; while this trails along, the other hunter 
teases the young pig, and makes it squeal. Isegrim hears the 
complaint, and probably thinking that it comes from a young boar 
separated from its mother, draws near quietly and carefully, that is, 
as far as possible hidden from the road. He perceives the bundle 
trailing behind the sledge, supposes this to be the squealing pig, 
and, after some consideration, determines to put an end to its 
sufferings. With a great bound he leaps upon the course, and 
eagerly rushes after the sledge. What does he care for the threaten- 
ing forms which it bears? Such he has often inspected close at 
hand, and robbed before their very eyes. Nearer and nearer he 
comes, gaining on the now quickened sledge; crueller tormenting 
makes the pig utter louder and more clamant squeals; they are 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 153 


maddening to the robber; just another bound, and—two rifles ring 
out, and the wolf rolls gasping in death. 

Equally artful is the circular trap much used in the Ural 
district. At a short distance from the village a circular space 
about two yards in diameter is enclosed with close-set deep- 
sunk stakes; around this is formed a second similar circle at an 


Fig. 23.—A Siberian Method of Wolf-shooting. 


interval of about a foot anda half from the first. Two specially 
strong posts support a solid deal door moving on firm hinges, 
furnished with a spring-catch, and so arranged that it opens only 
inwards, pressure outwards causing the spring-catch to shut. Both 
circles are roofed over, not thickly, indeed, but firmly, and a trap- 
door in the roof admits to the inner circle. When it is perceived 
that the wolves are beginning to visit the village by night, the trap 
is set by placing a live goat in the inner enclosure and opening the 


154 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


door of the outer ring. The pitiful bleating of the goat, frightened 
by being taken from his usual surroundings, attracts Isegrim. He 
does not in the least like the look of the strange enclosure, but the 
frantic behaviour of the goat, still more terrified by the wolf’s 
appearance on the scene, makes him forget his habitual caution, 
and he begins to try to get at the welcome booty. Several times 
does he prowl round the outer fence, ever more quickly and eagerly, 
twisting and snuffing, sometimes coming quite near, and again re- 
treating, till at last he discovers the only door by which it is possible 
for him to get near the goat. His appetite gets the better of his 
natural cunning. Still hesitating, but yet advancing, he pushes his 
head and body through the narrow doorway. With despairing cries 
the goat springs to the opposite side of the inner fence. Without 
further consideration or hesitation the robber follows. The goat 
rushes round in a circle, and the wolf does the same, with this 
difference, that he has to move between the two rows of stakes, 
Then the projecting door impedes his progress. But the victim is 
now so near, and apparently so sure, that the wolf dashes furiously 
forwards, pressing the door outwards; the spring-catch falls with a 
snap into its groove, and the distrustful, cautious dupe is trapped— 
trapped without being able to get a step nearer the tempting booty. 
Unable to turn round, boiling over with rage, he runs and trots and 
jumps, ever forwards, ever in a circle, hurrying without a pause on 
his endless circuit. The intelligent goat soon appreciates the situation, 
and though still crying and trembling, remains standing in the middle 
of the inner circle. The wolf also begins to see the fruitlessness of 
his circling, and tries to recover his freedom, tearing splinters a foot 
long out of the stakes with his teeth, howling with rage and fear, 
but all in vain. After a night of torment, the daylight appears— 
the wolf’s last morning. The villagers begin to move about, and 
voices mingle with the barking of dogs. Dark men, accom- 
panied by noisy dogs, approach the scene of the tragedy. 
Motionless, like a corpse, the wolf lies; scarce a wink of his eyes 
betrays that there is still life in him. With furious barking the 
dogs press round the outer fence, but he does not move; with mock- 
ing welcome the men call to him, but he heeds not. But neither dogs 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 155 


nor men are deceived by his shamming death. The former, pressing 
between the stakes, try to get a grip of him; the latter slip the 
much-used horse-noose or arkan over his head. Once more the 
beast springs up, once more he rages on his path of torture, howling 
he seeks to terrify, gnashing his teeth he attempts defiance, but in 
vain—there is no escape from the dread noose, and in a few minutes 
he is throttled. 

The fox is everywhere attacked, hunted, killed, and devoured, 
or at least hard pressed, by the wolf, and is therefore not abundant 
in Siberia, but neither his hostile relative nor man have as yet been 
able to exterminate him. In the eastern parts of the forest-zone 
he sometimes undertakes long migrations, following the hares or 
the grouse; in the west, observations on this point do not appear to 
be recorded. They do not complain in Siberia of the damage he 
does, nevertheless they hunt him eagerly, for his fur is prized by 
natives and Russians alike, and is always dear. It fetches an 
especially high price when it is of a certain much-appreciated 
colour. As a beast of the chase, only the sable takes higher rank. 
For the sake of the fox alone professional hunters undertake winter 
expeditions which often take them as far into the heart of the forest 
as the sable-hunters are wont to penetrate. Especially for it do the 
Ostiaks and Samoyedes set their spring-bows, and they spare no 
trouble in their search for the burrow where the young are hidden, 
not in order to kill them, but that they may rear them carefully 
and tenderly till they become large and strong, and gain, in their first 
or second winter, their beautiful fur. For that the fosterers care 
more than for the life of their winsome charges, and they give them 
over remorselessly to the fatal noose. 

The Arctic fox may be. included conditionally among the forest 
animals, but it never actually penetrates into the forest. Sometimes, 
however, in winter, in pursuit of hares and moor-fowl, it follows the 
course of the large rivers beyond the southern limits of the tundra, 
its true home. 

The lynx, on the other hand, is a forest animal in the strictest 
sense of the word. But in Siberia it only occurs singly, and is very 
rarely captured. .Its true home is in the thickest parts in the 


156 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


interior of the forest, and these it probably never leaves except when 
scarcity of food or the calls of love prompt it to wander to the 
outskirts. Experienced hunters of the Eastern Ural say that the 
lynxes not only live in the same locality as the bear, but that they 
remain in the neighbourhood of the bear’s winter-quarters after he 
has gone to sleep. They assert, moreover, that the preference the 
lynxes show for these winter-quarters betrays the bears, since search 
has only to be made where most lynx-tracks cross, and especially 
where there is a circular track, for that always surrounds a bear’s 
sleeping-place. The lynx’s habit of keeping to his old paths with 
almost anxious carefulness must greatly facilitate the discovery of 
the bear’s quarters. Moreover, it may be added that in Siberia the 
lynxes show themselves very fond of fresh meat, and that they 
possibly seek the neighbourhood of a bear in the hope of occasion- 
ally sharing his booty. For, although it may be urged that the 
lynx is able enough on his own account to bring down big game 
without any help from so doubtful a friend as the bear, and that he 
hunts the reindeer and the roe, and may in a short time overpower 
them, yet the fact remains that his booty chiefly consists of small 
animals, such as hares, ground-squirrels, tree-squirrels, black-cock, 
capercaillie, hazel-grouse, young birds, mice, and the like. Of this 
there is no doubt, and it explains satisfactorily why the lynx is so 
rare in the fringes of the forest which are accessible to man. As 
long as squirrels and game birds abound in the interior of the 
forest, the lynx has no temptation to stray from this unvisited 
wilderness; when his prey migrates, he is forced to follow. How 
much he is feared by the game birds one can discern from the fact 
that every wooing capercaillie or black-cock is instantaneously 
dumb when a lynx lets himself be heard. 

Both immigrants and natives hold the hunting of the lynx to 
be right noble sport. This proud cat’s rarity, caution, agility, and 
powers of defence raise the enthusiasm of every sportsman, and 
both skin and flesh are of no small value. The former is preferably 
sent from West Siberia to China, where it fetches a good price; the 
latter, when roasted, is highly esteemed not only by the Mongolian 
peoples but also by most of the Russian settlers. The lynx is but 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 157 


seldom captured in the fall-traps, but he often renders them useless 
by walking along the beam and stepping on the lever; he is but rarely 
a victim to the spring-bow, and he usually leaps over the steel traps 
in his path. So there is only the rifle left. Only in winter can he be 
hunted, when the snow betrays his tracks and admits of the use of 
snow-shoes. The courageous dogs, having sighted their game, drive 
it with difficulty to a tree or bait it on the ground, but they often 
suffer cruelly, or may even be killed. The hunter himself runs a 
risk of being attacked by a furious lynx at bay. 

The wild cat, which the lynx persecutes as pitilessly as the 
wolf does the fox, is absent from the forest-zone of West Siberia, 
but now and then the region is visited by the most perfect of all 
cats,—the tiger. Two which were killed in 1838 and 1848 at Baesk 
and Schlangenberg now stand stuffed in the museum of Barnaul, 
another, killed in the beginning of the seventies, is preserved in the 
school museum at Omsk. Towards the end of the sixties a tiger 
terrified the inhabitants of the Tschelaba district (on the European 
boundary of the Ural) by attacking, without provocation, a number 
of peasants, from whom it was only frightened off when one of 
the men threw his red cap in its face. In the steppe-mountains of 
Turkestan, and throughout the south of East Siberia, the “king of 
beasts”, as the Daurs call the tiger, is found everywhere and per- 
manently in suitable localities, and from both sides it may pass, 
oftener than can be proved, to the western forest-zone, remaining 
perhaps for some time unobserved and retiring unnoticed. Yet on 
the whole it occurs so rarely and irregularly that we cannot do 
more than name it, without reckoning it among the beasts of this 
region. 

It is far otherwise with the most precious of the furred beasts, 
the various species of marten. Their decrease is more lamented 
than that of all other beasts of the chase, but most of them are 
still regularly caught, if not everywhere, at any rate in certain parts 
of the forest region. Only the sable has in the last few decennia 
become really rare. Old huntsmen of the middle Ural remember 
having caught sable every winter in the vicinity of Tagilsk; nowa- 
days, at this latitude of the mountain-land, only an occasional stray - 


158 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR, 


specimen is to be met with. A great forest fire in the central part 
of Kast Ural is said to have driven off the highly-prized and much- 
hunted creature. We hear the same story in the forest villages of 
the lower Ob, where the hunting of the sable is still pursued, and 
yields, for instance, at the Yelisaroff market, about a score of skins 
every winter. 

In all the forests of West Siberia the pine-marten is notably more 
abundant than the sable. In the fairly extensive hunting-ground 
around the already-mentioned town of Tagilsk from thirty to eighty 
are still captured every winter. It is said that the pine-marten, 
much more than the sable, is associated with the squirrel, and that 
the two appear and disappear together. But the greedy marten is 
by no means content with making the beautiful squirrel its prey; 
indeed it kills every creature which it can master, and is an espe- 
cially dangerous foe of black-cock and capercaillie. Even in summer 
a clever spring often enables him to capture the watchful bird; while 
in winter the habit the black game birds have of sleeping in holes 
in the snow greatly facilitates his stealthy operations. Sneaking 
almost noiselessly from branch to branch, he comes within springing 
distance of the buried bird, and springs on it from above, crush- 
ing down the snowy roof by the force of his bound, and seizing 
the sleeper by the neck before it has any chance to escape. The 
stone-marten also occurs everywhere in the mountain forests, but it 
is rarer than its relative. Polecat, ermine, and weasel are also 
widely distributed and locally very abundant; the mink is con- 
fined to the western side of the Ural, and is also absent from its 
tributaries, the Irtish and Ob, which harbour the otter in consider- 
able numbers; the badger is hardly ever mentioned in West Siberia; 
and the universally distributed glutton is less thought of than any 
other of the martens, being hunted not so much for his skin as 
because of his thefts from the traps. 

Although the west of Siberia is regarded as altogether over-shot, 
the forest-folk prepare every year to hunt for sable and other mar- 
tens. Some huntsmen undertake expeditions and explorations, which 
compare with those of the North American trappers. Of course, they 
do not confine their attention to martens, but are prepared to bag 


i 


| 
j 


: | 


ch 


| 


\\ 


Fig. 24.—Sable and Hazel-grouse in a Siberian Forest. 


4) 
| ‘We | 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 161 


all kinds of game; the main objects of their quest, however, are mur- 
tens and squirrels. According to the time of colour-change in the 
latter the huntsmen arrange their departure from the village home, 
for the change of colour in the squirrels is regarded as an indication 
of the approaching winter, whether it is to be early or late, severe 
or mild. 

Armed and equipped as we have already described, the sable- 
hunters set out, after the first snowfall, in companies of three to five. 
Besides gun and ammunition each of them carries a sack on his 
back, snow-shoes and a hatchet on his shoulders, and a whip in his 
girdle. The sack contains the indispensable provisions :—bread, 
meal, bacon, and “brick-tea”,*® also a few utensils, such as a pan, 
tea-kettle, drinking-vessel, spoons, and the like, and less frequently 
a flask of spirits. The whip is used to drive out the squirrels and 
to bring them into sight. Four to six dogs, which offend the eye of 
every German sportsman, join the company.. 

Guided by the sun, which, however, is often hidden for days, and 
by the known stars, the weather-beaten huntsmen traverse the in- 
hospitable wilds, camping out at night, feeding themselves and their 
dogs on the flesh of the game they shoot, and sparing their small 
store of provisions as carefully as possible. The ungainly but clever 
and wide-awake dogs not only scent the tracks of game, but, spying 
unfailingly the martens or squirrels hidden on the trees, bark at 
them and keep them in sight till the huntsman is on the spot. He 
approaches with the imperturbable quietness of all forest sports- 
men, rests his long musket carefully on a branch, or, if need be, on 
the fork fastened to the barrel, takes a slow aim, and fires. At the 
outset of the hunt, the squirrels and even the pine-martens are so 
much disturbed by the dogs that they allow the sportsman to 
approach to within a few yards; soon, however, they become wiser, 
and a sure and steady aim becomes difficult. If the huntsman gets 
this, and succeeds in sending a ball through the animal’s eye, then 
he is well-pleased, for not only has he secured an undamaged skin, 
but he can recover his precious leaden shot. As soon as he has got 
possession of his fallen booty he skins it, in the case of martens 


and squirrels forcing the viscera through the mouth opening. The 
(31 70) 11 


162 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


skull is broken open to recover the shot, and skin and body, 
separated from one another, are consigned to the bag. 

When squirrels are plentiful, the hunt is as profitable as it is 
entertaining. Everyone utilizes the short day to the utmost; one 
shot quickly follows another; and the pile of skins rapidly grows. 
Loading the gun is a tedious matter, but the skinning is done all 
the more quickly; and every huntsman faithfully does his utmost. 
Without resting, without eating, without even smoking, the hunts- 
men go forward while they may. As the dogs call, the comrades 
draw together or separate; the sharp report of their guns and the 
cheerful barking of the dogs is to them a stimulating entertainment. 
They. count the shots, and welcome or envy their neighbours’ luck. 
But if the winter's yield be a poor one, if the oft-repeated cracking 
of the whip calls forth no squirrel, if there be no tracks of sable 
or noble marten, of elk or reindeer to be seen, huntsmen and dogs 
trudge silently and moodily through the forest, and short commons 
put the finishing touch to their ill-humour. 

When night comes on, our sportsmen have to think of preparing 
their beds. From under an old, thick, fallen tree each shovels out 
the snow, makes a trough the size of a man, and kindles a strong 
fire in it. One of them then clears the snow from a circular patch 
as nearly as possible in the middle of all the hollows, and under 
the shelter of thick firs or pines; another gathers fuel; a third 
heaps up in the clearing a still stronger fire, and a fourth prepares 
supper. So many squirrels have been shot that there is no lack of 
strong meat soup with which to give a relish to the porridge and 
bread. The sportsmen have their supper and go shares with the 
dogs, refresh themselves with tea and a pipe made of twisted paper 
and then, after the fashion of their kind, discuss the exploits and 
experiences of the day. Meantime the fire in each hole has melted 
the snow, dried up the moisture, caught hold of the old tree-trunk 
above, and thus thoroughly warmed the chamber. Carefully each 
sleepy hunter pushes the still glowing fragments of wood to one 
end of the hole, and into this, avoiding the side-wall of snow, he 
creeps, calling his dogs after him that they too may. share the warm 
bed, and soon he is asleep. It is true that glowing sparks from the 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 163 


smouldering tree-trunk fall throughout the night alike on the 
hunter and his dogs, but a Siberian’s fur hunting-coat can stand as 
much as a Siberian dog’s skin; and it is evident that a log like this 
will give much more heat than a much larger free fire. It is to the 
hole what the stove is to the room; it alone makes it possible for 
the sportsman to camp out in the forest. 

In the gray dawn the huntsmen arise refreshed, have breakfast, 
and go on their way. If they reach a good hunting-ground, which 
is visited every winter, they stay as long as they think fit. Here 
and there they find a log-hut built in previous years and still service- 
able for shelter; in any case there are old and new fall-traps, 
which have to be put in order and visited every morning. This 
takes time, for the traps are often distributed over a wide range, 
and so it may be that the company stay a week or more in one 
part of the forest, and hunt it thoroughly, before they continue 
their wanderings. 

On these hunting expeditions many Siberians pass the greater 
part of the winter in the forest. Before he sets out, the huntsman 
usually makes a bargain with a merchant. He promises the mer- 
chant all the skins he gets at a certain average price, provided the 
merchant will buy all without selection. If the hunter has good 
luck he may, even nowadays, make enough out of it to keep him 
alive, or at least to defray the expenses of the winter; usually, how- 
ever, he has little recompense for his hardships and privations, and 
no one less modest in his demands than the Siberian huntsman could 
make it a means of livelihood. 

Hunting the bear is regarded by the West Siberians as the most 
honourable and the most arduous kind of sport. For in this region 
Bruin is by no means the good-natured, simple creature he still is 
here and there in East Siberia; he is rather, as in most regions, a 
rough, uncouth fellow, who usually runs away from man, but who, 
when wounded or driven into a corner, will show fight savagely 
and prove himself exceedingly formidable. In spite of all persecu- 
tion, he is still far from extermination; his occurrence may be spoken 
of as frequent, or, at any rate, as not uncommon. Always and every- 
where, however, he goes his own way, and does not too often cross 


164 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


man’s path. Not that he is shy of human settlements, for he often 
stations himself not far from these, and sometimes falls upon domes- 
tic animals under the very eyes of their possessors; but he shows 
himself so sporadically that many Siberians have never seen him face 
to face, nor met him in the forest. It seems likely that he goes 
a-touring all the summer. He traverses the woods with a disregard 
of paths, but keeps to more or less beaten tracks when he ascends 
to the heights of the mountains in late summer, or returns to lower 
ground at the beginning of winter. When the corn is ripe, he 
stations himself in the fringes of the forest that he may steal com- 
fortably from the adjacent fields; sometimes he leaves the wood 
entirely and visits the steppes, or the mountain-sides with steppe 
characters; he will stay a long time in one district and hurry 
through another without stopping, always and everywhere keeping 
a sharp look-out for the constantly recurring opportunities of securing 
his favourite foods. In most districts he is emphatically a vege- 
tarian; here and there he becomes a formidable carnivore; in other 
places he seeks after carrion. In spring he is on short commons, 
and takes what he can get; he sneaks stealthily on the herds graz- 
ing in the woodland, makes a sudden bound on a victim, or pursues 
it with surprising rapidity, seizes it, drags it to the ground, kills it, 
and, after satiating himself, buries the remainder for a future meal. 
When a cattle plague rages, he visits the burial-places in order to 
secure the carcasses, and he is even accused of being a body-snatcher. 
In summer he plunders the fields of rye, wheat, and oats, robs bee- 
hives, and the nests of wild-bees and wasps, destroys ant-hills for 
the sake of the pup, rolls old trunks over to get at the beetles and 
grubs beneath, and even breaks up mouldering trees to capture the 
larvee which live in rotting wood. In autumn he lives almost ex- 
clusively on berries of all sorts, and even on those fruits which he can 
gather from such trees as the bird-cherry; when the cembra-cones 
are ripe he goes after these, climbing lofty trees, and breaking off not 
only branches but the very tops; nor can he refrain from persistently 
prowling round the stores in which the cones are temporarily 
collected, or from trying to find his way in. Moreover, at all 
seasons he tries his hand at fishing, and not unfrequently with 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 165 


success. From man he usually runs away, but sometimes he will 
attack him without further ado, not hesitating even at superior 
force. According to the weather he times his winter-sleep. For 
his bed he selects a suitable place under a fallen giant tree; there 
he scrapes out a shallow hole, covers the floor with fine pine-twigs 
and moss a foot and a half deep, cushions the side-walls with the same 
material, covers the outside with branches and pieces of stem, creeps 
into the interior, and allows himself to be snowed up. If the first 
snowfall surprise him on the mountains, he does not always 
descend, but hides in a rock-cave which he furnishes as best he 
can, or else expands a marmot’s burrow till it is just big enough to 
hold him, and there sleeps through the winter. Once sunk into deep 
sleep, he lies dormant so obstinately that many efforts are often 
necessary to rouse him; he bites savagely at the poles with which 
the huntsman tries to poke him up, he growls and roars, and only 
surrenders when rockets or fire-brands are thrown on his refuge. 
Then, if he be not wounded, he rushes forth like a startled boar, 
and seeks safety in rapid flight. According to the consistent 
evidence of all experienced huntsmen, the she-bear brings forth 
young only every second winter, and does not awake from her deep 
sleep until a short time before the birth; she licks her cubs clean 
and dry, sets them to suck, and continues her sleep in snatches. At 
the end of May or in June she seeks out her older children, of two 
or even four years’ growth, and compels them to do service as 
nurses.*7 

Although the flesh of the bear is by no means unpalatable, it is 
but little esteemed in West Siberia, where bear-hams are served up 
rather in obedience to fashion than from appreciation of the dish. 
Nevertheless, the bear-hunt brings in rich gain. The skin is in great 
demand for sledge-rugs and fetches a high price; teeth and claws 
serve not only among the Ostiaks and Samoyedes, but also among 
the West Siberian peasants, as potent charms; even the bones are 
now and then used. The canine of a pear slain in honourable 
combat brings to the Ostiak hunter, so he believes, supernatural 
gifts, especially courage, strength, and even invulnerability. A 
claw, especially the fourth of the right fore-foot, which corresponds 


166 FROM NORTE POLE TO EQUATOR. 


to the ring finger, is prized by the love-lorn maiden of the Ural, 
for the youth whom she secretly scratches with it is bound to 
return her love ardently. Teeth and claws have, therefore, a high 
value, and have more effect in inciting the huntsman to pursue the 
most formidable carnivore of the forest, than any damage which 
Bruin does. But the chase is neither easy nor without danger. 
Traps do not seem to be of any avail. The hunter must seek out 
the bear, and, weapon in hand, helped by his practised dogs, must 
do battle. During the summer the restless habits of the bear make 
the chase very difficult; during winter there is the chance of finding 
a lair and of killing the sleeper in or near it. The poor peasant 
who discovers a lair sells the bear in sitw to any well-to-do sports- 
man, who, on a suitable day, goes with him and the requisite 
associates and surrounds the sleeper with sure marksmen. Beaters 
rouse the creature from his slumbers and bring him into view, and 
the huntsman shoots from the nearest possible distance. It is thus 
that the great majority of the bears are secured, and to good shots 
there is little danger. In summer and autumn they track the bear 
with small dogs, and while these bait him on all sides, the sports- 
man seizes a good opportunity for a telling shot. Or he may use 
the bear-spear, as the bold Ostiaks do, and charge the animal. Or 
else he may wind birch-bark several times round his left arm, and, 
holding this as a shield against the angry bear, may plunge a long, 
broad knife into his heart as he snaps at the bark. In these modes 
of attack accidents do, indeed, often happen; but in the course of 
time some hunters become so expert and cold-blooded that they 
prefer the spear or knife to any other weapon. Indeed, a peasant 
girl in the village of Morschowa is famous all over West Siberia for 
having killed more than thirty bears with the knife. 

Of undesired encounters with bears many stories are told. A 
hunter, armed only with a pea-rifle, came across a large bear in the 
forest, but did not dare to shoot, knowing that his weapon was 
too small for such big game. He therefore remained still, so as 
not to irritate the bear. But Bruin came along, raised himself, 
snuffed at the huntsman’s face, and then gave him a blow which 
stretched him senseless on the ground. Thereupon the bear ran 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 167 


away as quickly as possible, just as if he thought that he had 
played a naughty trick. Two Swedes, Aberg and Erland, were 
hunting hazel-grouse on the Urals. The former approached a 
bramble bush in the hope of raising a bird, when to his surprise 
a huge bear jumped up and made for him at once. As flight was 
impossible, Aberg raised his fowling-piece to his shoulder, aimed 
at the bear’s eye, fired, and was fortunate enough to blind him. 
Maddened with the pain, the bear covered the bleeding eye with 
his paw, roared loudly, and rushed on at the undismayed hunts- 
man. But the latter coolly took aim at the other eye and fired again 
with equal effect. Then he called for his comrade, and they fired 
alternately at the blinded bear until he was dead. 

But the merriest tale had its scene in the village of Tomski Sawod 
in the district of Salair. One of the peasants was leading a load of 
cembra-cones through the forest, and did not notice that the cones 
were falling out of one of his sacks. A bear, who was wandering 
through the forest in the rear of the cart, crossed the road, and 
finding some of the cones looked for more, and followed the track 
unnoticed. After a time the peasant left the horse and cart standing, 
and diverged into the wood to fetch another sack which he had left 
filled with cones. But before he returned with his burden, the 
bear, still gathering cones, had reached the cart and climbed into it, 
there to feast to his heart’s content. With no little dismay the 
peasant perceived as he drew near what passenger had taken posses- 
sion, and not daring to dispute his right, left him with the horse and 
cart. The horse, becoming uneasy, looked back, recognized the 
bear, and forthwith trotted off as fast as he could go. But the 
undesired jolting frightened the bear and prevented him from 
leaping off. He was forced to sit still and hold on, venting his 
increasing discontent in loud roars. The roaring only served to 
increase the pace; the more the bear stormed, the faster the horse 
hastened to the village. Now the village-folk had been for several 
hours expecting a visit from the bishop, and were standing at their 
doors in holiday attire, ready to greet his reverence when he 
appeared. Already sharp-eyed boys had been posted on the outlook 
on the church-tower, with instructions to toll the bells when the 


168 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


bishop’s company came in sight. In the distance was seen a whirl- 
ing cloud of dust; the boys sprang to the bells, men and women 
arranged themselves in rows, the priest appeared with incense 
before the door of the church, every soul stood ready to give a 
worthy reception to the dignitary of the church. On came the 
rattling cart, and right through the festive village tore horse and 
driver, the former covered with dust, sweating and panting, the 
latter roaring and snorting, their mad career only ending when they 
reached the peasant’s yard. Instead of the beautiful Russian psalm, 
the terrified cries of half-senseless women rang out through the air, 
and the men, instead of doing dutiful reverence, rushed about aston- 
ished and affrighted. Only the church bells continued to peal. 
Before these had ceased, the men had recovered presence of mind 
and got hold of their weapons. The cart was followed, and the 
bear, who seemed to have lost all his wits, was soon stretched dead 
on the throne which he had himself chosen. 

Those who know the ways of bears will allow that all might 
have happened as I have described, though we may be inclined to, 
regard the humorous story as one of the sportsman’s budget. For 
even the most serious and honourable forest-folk sometimes mingle 
truth and fancy when they tell of the forests and wooderaft of 
Siberia. 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 


The north of Africa is desert, must be desert, and will be desert 
for ever. For between the Red Sea and the Atlantic, the land-area 
exposed to the scorching sun is so extensive that the surrounding 
seas have not their usual climatic importance. The Red Sea is out 
of account altogether; even the Mediterranean is too small to have 
great influence, and the Atlantic Ocean affects only a narrow belt 
along the west coast. Over regions so vast and so hot, every cloud 
is dispersed without moistening or fertilizing the parched ground. 
Only when we go much further south, near the equator, do the condi- 
tions change. On the one side, the Atlantic Ocean sweeps in with a 
great curve; on the other side, the Indian Ocean washes the African 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 169 


shores, the two oceans, as it were, stretching their hands across the 
continent. Here, moreover, at certain times, thunder-storms bring 
downpours of rain so heavy that the desert has to give way to the 
more living steppe, and the year is divided into two essentially 
different seasons—of life and of death, of rain and of drought, 
whereas in the barren desert only the periodic winds bear tidings of 
the seasonal changes in progress elsewhere. 

In order to understand the steppe-lands it is necessary to give a 
rapid sketch of their seasons. For every country reflects its domi- 
nant climate, and the general aspect of a region is in great part an 
expression of the conflicting forces of its seasons, apart from which 
it cannot be understood. 

Almost as soon as the rains are over, the season of destruction 
and death begins—the long and terrible winter of the African 
interior—a winter which brings about by heat the same dire effects 
as are wrought in the North by cold. Before the sky, hitherto 
often clouded, has become quite clear, some of the trees, which had 
become green in spring, throw off their foliage, and with the wind- 
swept leaves go the wandering birds. These had brooded here in 
the spring, but now they seek other fields. The stems of the 
cereals turn yellow before the rains have ceased; the low grasses 
wither and dry. The intermittent water-courses cease to have any 
flow; the rain-filled pools are dried up; and not only the reptiles 
and amphibians, but even the fishes peculiar to them, are forced to 
burrow and seek winter-quarters in the damp clay. The seeds of 
plants, and the eggs or larve of insects are also hidden away in the 
earth. 

As the sun travels to the north, the winter sets in rapidly. 
Autumn lasts but for a few days. It causes no withering nor 
gradual death of leaves, no glow of red and gold such as we see 
at home, but exercises, through its hot winds, such a destructive 
power that the leaves are dried up like mown grass under the sun’s 
rays, and either fall to the ground green, or crumble away on the 
stalk, so that the trees, with few exceptions, assume their winter 
aspect with extreme suddenness. Over the plains, on which, a few 
days before, the tall grass still waved in the wind, dust clouds 


170 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


now whirl; in the partially or wholly dried up water - courses 
and water-basins the ground gapes in deep cracks. Everything 
that is pleasing vanishes; everything that is unpleasing becomes 
painfully obtrusive: leaves and flowers, birds and _ butterflies 
fade away, or migrate, or die; thorns, spines, and burs are left; 
snakes, scorpions, and “tarantulas” have their heyday. Inde- 
scribable heat by day and enervating sultriness by night make 
this season almost unbearable, and against neither heat nor sultri- 
ness is there any remedy. The torments are inconceivable to 
those who know nothing of such weather, when the thermometer 
registers up to 122° Fahr. in the shade;** when one is in a constant 
sweat, yet without being conscious of it, so drying is the heat; 
when one cloud of dust after another whirls up to heaven, 
or parching thirst weighs on one like lead. Nor can anyone 
who has not groaned through these nights, when one tosses on 
the couch, prevented by the sultriness from resting or sleeping, 
adequately sympathize with the torments to which men and animals 
are subjected at this season. Even the sky exchanges its hitherto 
but rarely clouded blue for a dun colour, for the vapour often hides 
the sun for half a day at a time, yet without diminishing the oppres- 
sive heat; indeed the sultriness seems to increase when the horizon 
is obscured by such mists. One day follows another without any 
refreshing of body or soul. No cooling breeze from the north fans 
the forehead; and the soul is not refreshed by any fragrance of 
flowers, or song of birds, or enchanting pictures with bright colour 
and deep shade, such as the flooding light of heaven elsewhere paints 
in the equatorial regions. Everything living, everything coloured, 
everything poetical, is gone, sunk into death-like sleep—too dismal 
to awaken any fancy. Men and beasts seem to wither as the grass 
and leaves withered ; and like them many a man and many a beast 
sinks down for ever. In vain does manly courage endeavour to 
bear up under the burden of these days: the most resolute will give 
way to sighs and moans. Every piece of work fatigues, even the 
lightest covering is too heavy, every movement is an effort, every 
wound becomes a virulent sore. 

But even this winter must at length yield to spring, yet the 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 172 


incoming of this season also is terrible. For the same wind, which, 
in the desert, becomes the simoom, raises its wings as herald of the 
spring. It rages through the fissures in the ground, sweeps out 
more dust, whirls it aloft in thick masses, and builds it into wall- 
like clouds, which it drives roaring and howling through the land, and 
forces through the latticed windows of the comfortable town-houses 
as well as through the low doorways of the native huts, adding a 
new plague to the existing torments. At last the wind gains com- 
plete mastery and exerts its force without restraint, as though it 
would annihilate everything that still resisted; but it is this same 
wind that, farther south, piles up the clouds heavy with rain, and 
sweeps them towards the scorched land. Soon it seems as if the 
sultriness began to grow less oppressive as the wind gathered 
strength; it seems even as if it sometimes blew no longer hotly but 
refreshingly. And this is no deception; the spring is preparing for 
its coming, and on the wings of the storm the rain-clouds are borne. 
In ashort time, in the south, they darken the dome of heaven; in a 
few days quivering flashes lighten the dull cloud-banks; in a few 
weeks the distant thunder heralds the life-giving rain. 

Then all the streams from the south rise and surge and overflow. 
They are scarcely yet turbid, but they have life now; they continue 
to rise, and through all the deeper rents and fissures of their muddy 
banks the life-giving moisture is diffused into the adjacent country. 
The birds of passage begin to appear, and day by day their numbers 
increase. To the lands of the Upper Nile the storks return to take 
possession of their old nests on the conical straw huts of the natives, 
and with them comes the sacred ibis to perform to-day the duty 
which has been his for thousands of years,—to be the messenger and 
herald assuring all that the old Nile-god will again open the foun- 
tain of his mercy, and pour forth his horn of blessing on the lands 
which own his sway. 

At length the first thunder-storm draws near. Sultriness more 
painful than ever oppresses the dead, scorched land. An eerie still- 
ness fills man and beast with uneasiness. Every song, nay, almost 
every voice of birds is hushed, and they hide themselves amid the 
thickest foliage of the evergreens. In the camp of the nomad 


172 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


herdsmen, in the village, in the town, all life seems as if under a 
spell. The dogs, usually so lively, slink quietly away to some safe 
hiding-place; the other domestic animals become uneasy or else wild, 
the horses have to be hobbled, and the cattle are driven into the pen. 
In town, the merchant closes his stall, the artisan his workshop, the 
officials their divan; everyone takes refuge at home. And yet not 
a breeze stirs the air; there is not a rustle among the leaves of the 
few trees which still have foliage. But everyone knows that the 
storm is gathering and is drawing near. 

In the south is built up a great wall of cloud, dark and at the 
same time lurid, like the fire-cloud over a burning town or over a 
forest in flames. Fiery red, purple, dark red, and brown, dull yel- 
low, deep blue, and black seem to move in a dance of colour; they 
mingle and separate; they fade into the darkness and appear again 
in vivid prominence. The great cloud-bank rests upon the earth 
and reaches up to the heavens; now it seems to stand still, and now 
it rushes on like a tempest; from minute to minute it narrows the 
range of vision; more and more completely it throws an impene- 
trable shroud over all. A whistling, hissing sound issues from it, 
but around the observer all is still, quiet, and noiseless. 

Then suddenly a brief and violent blast of wind bursts forth. 
Strong trees bend before it like weak reeds; the slender palms bow 
down their crowns. With ever-increasing rapidity one blast follows 
another; the wind becomes a tempest, and the tempest a hurricane, 
raging with unexampled fury. Its noise is so terrible that the 
spoken word does not reach the speaker's ear; every other sound is 
drowned and lost. It rages and roars, blusters and hisses, pipes and 
howls, rumbles and rattles, in the air, along the ground, among the 
tops of the trees, as if all the elements were in battle, as if the 
heavens were falling, as if the very foundations of the earth itself 
were being shattered. The irresistible storm dashes against the 
trees, and tears off half of the leaves, if there are any left; while 
stems as thick as a man’s waist are snapped like brittle glass. Break- 
ing off the crowns, the hurricane whirls them like light balls over - 
the plain, and buries them head downwards in the loose earth or 
sand, with the miserable fragment of trunk sticking up, a prey to 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 173 


the destructive termites. Hungrily the wind rushes through the 
clefts and fissures of the earth, sweeps out dust, sand, and gravel, 
hurls this even into the clouds, and bears it onwards with such 
force that it recoils stinging and rattling from hard surfaces. With 
this dust the tempest hides the heavens and covers the earth, and 
turns the day into dread night, while the anxious inhabitants in 
their dust-filled houses light lanterns to gain what encouragement 
and consolation they may from the sight of living flame. 

But even the roaring hurricane may be out-roared. The crash- 
ing, rumbling thunder is yet more mighty; it drowns the howling 
and bellowing of the wind. The clouds of dust are still too thick 
to allow the lightning flashes to be seen; but soon to the confusion 
of sounds and noises a hitherto unheard rattling is added, and the 
unnatural night begins to be relieved by gleams of light. It seems 
as if heavy hailstones were rattling down, but they are only rain- 
drops which bear with them in falling the up-whirled dust and sand. 
Now the flashes are seen. One follows so quickly upon another that 
we are forced to close our dazzled, well-nigh blinded, eyes, and to 
follow the storm only by listening to the uninterrupted roll of the 
thunder. The downpour becomes a cloud-burst; from the hills the 
water rushes down everywhere in streams; in the hollows it forms 
lakes; in the valleys there are rivers in flood. For hours the down- 
pour continues, but with the coming of the rain the tempest abates, 
and a fresh cooling breeze refreshes man and beast and plant. 
Gradually the flashes become fewer and the peals of thunder less 
violent, the rain-spout becomes a shower, and this ends in a gentle 
drizzle; the sky clears, the clouds scatter, and the sun breaks forth 
in splendour. Mirthfully the brown children, naked as they were 
born, run out from the houses and huts to bathe in the pools which 
the spring rain has filled; and not less gladly do the reptiles, 
amphibians, and fishes rise from their muddy beds. Even the first 
night after the rain one hears everywhere the clear, loud voice of a 
little frog, of whom one saw nothing before, for he, like some of the 
crocodiles, many turtles, and all the fishes, had sought winter- 
quarters deep in the mud bottom of the periodically dried-up lakes, 
and had just been. awakened by the first spring rain.” 


174 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Everywhere the newly-awakened life arises in strength. The 
thirsty earth eagerly sucks in the moisture which has been bestowed 
upon her; but after a few days the heavens again open their flood- 
gates and a fresh supply of rain awakens any germs which are still 
slumbering. A second thunder-storm causes the buds to burst on 
all the trees which shed their leaves, and liberates the sprouting 
grasses from the ground. A third downpour of rain calls forth 
blossoms and flowers, and clothes the whole land in luxuriant 
green. Magical as spring’s coming is the subsequent rush of life. 
What with us requires a month here completes its life-cycle in a 
week; what develops but slowly in temperate zones here unfolds 
itself in days and hours. 

But within a few weeks the spring is once more past; the hardly 
distinguishable summer follows in the annual pageant; and is as 
rapidly succeeded by the short autumn; so that, strictly speaking, 
all three—spring, summer, and autumn—make but one season. 
Again the destructive winter is at the doors, and prevents that 
continuous germinating, growing, and flourishing which is possible 
in other equatorial countries where the water-supply is more 
abundant. Here, however, the rainfall is at least sufficient to keep 
the barren desert from gaining the mastery, and to spread a more 
or less rich carpet of vegetation over the ground—in other words, to 
produce steppe-land instead of desert. 

I use the word steppe to designate those lands peculiar to the 
interior of Africa which the Arabs call “Chala”, which means 
“lands bearing fresh green plants”. It is true that the chala is as 
little like the steppes of South Russia and Central Asia as the 
prairies of North America, or the pampas or llanos of South 
America, yet in certain important respects it does resemble the first- 
named, so that I need scarcely make any excuse for preferring a 
known to an unknown term. The steppe extends over the whole 
interior of Africa, from the Sahara to the Karroo," from east coast 
to west, surrounding all the high mountains and enclosing all the 
extensive virgin forests which stretch on their slopes, or occupy in 
greater luxuriance the low grounds where water is plentiful. In 
fact it includes all the lands in the heart of Africa, beginning a few 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 175 


hundred paces beyond the last house of the towns, and directly 
behind the last houses of the villages; it includes the fields of the 
settlers, and supports the flocks of the nomads. Where the desert 
ends to the south, where the forest ceases, where the mountain 
flattens, there is steppe-land; where the forest is destroyed by fire, 


Fig. 25.—The Bed of an Intermittent River, Central Africa. 


the steppe first gains possession of the clearing; where men abandon 
a village the steppe encroaches, and in a few years destroys every 
trace of habitation; where the farmer relinquishes his fields the 
steppe impresses its character upon them in the space of a year 
or two. 

Inhospitable and monotonous the steppe seems to one who sees 
it for the first time. A wide, often immeasurable plain stretches 
before his eye; only exceptionally is this interrupted by isolated 
conical hills, yet more rarely do these unite to form mountain ranges. 
More frequently, low, undulating hills alternate with flat valleys; 
or sometimes they combine in a strange mazy network of ranges 


176 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


which enclose deep-sunk basins, where pools, ponds, and lakes are 
formed during the rainy season, while during winter the clayey soil 
is rent with thousands of fissures. In the deepest and longest 
depressions there is, instead of standing water, a “Chér” or rain- 
torrent, that is to say, a water-course which even in the spring is 
only occasionally in flow, but which, under specially favourable 
circumstances, may be flooded to the brim in a few hours, and does 
not merely flow, but rushes—a moving wall of water—hissing and 
thundering down the valley, often, however, disappearing before it 
reaches a true river. Except where there are these water-basins 
and water-courses, a relatively rich vegetation covers the whole 
surface of the steppe. Grasses of various kinds, from lowly plants 
which creep along the ground to great cereal-like stems as tall as a 
man, form the basis of the vegetation. Trees and shrubs, espe- 
cially mimosas, baobabs, doum-palms, and christ-thorns, combine 
here and there, especially near the water, to form thickets or groves, 
but elsewhere they are but sparsely scattered amid the grasses 
which so uniformly cover the flats, and it is only at a few spots 
that they form even a thin wood. Never do the trees show vigour 
of growth like that seen in the valleys with true river courses, 
where the blessings of spring are always retained; on the contrary, 
they are often stunted, usually low and with scraggy crowns with 
rarely even a twiner struggling upwards. They all suffer from the 
severity of the long torrid winter, which hardly allows them to 
gain subsistence, and keeps off almost all parasitic plants. It is 
different with the grasses which, in the short but abundantly moist 
spring, shoot up luxuriantly, bloom, and ripen their seeds, and in 
fact attain to a thoroughly vigorous life. To them the monotonous 
aspect of the steppe is in great part due, for, humble as they are, 
they obliterate many of the contrasts which would otherwise be 
apparent, and the uniformity of their colouring becomes oppres- 
sively wearisome. Not even man succeeds in introducing variety 
into this eternal sameness, for the fields which he tills in the midst 
of the grass-land seem from a distance so like their surroundings 
that one can scarce distinguish grain from grass. Even the round 
huts made of slender stakes, with conical roofs thatched with 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 177 


steppe-grass, are, in the dry season at least, so closely congruent 
with the surrounding flats that one must come very near before 
one sees that they are there. Only the seasons can change the 
sameness of the picture, and even they do not remove much of its 
monotony. 

Inhospitable, too, is the reception which awaits the traveller in 
the steppe. Perched on a camel he rides through the fields. Some 
game or other invites him to the chase, and induces him to pene- 
trate into the grass-forest. Then he finds out that between the 
apparently smooth grasses there grow plants much more formidable 
than the thorny mimosas. On the ground flourishes the “tarba ”, 
whose seed-capsules are so sharp that they cut through the soles of 
light riding-boots; above it grows the “essek ”, whose burrs insinu- 
ate themselves almost inextricably into all clothing; and somewhat 
higher the “askanit” rises, most formidable of the three, for its 
fine prickles are loosened by -the slightest touch, and, penetrating 
one’s clothes, bore into the skin and cause ulcerations small enough 
individually, but in their incomputable numbers most oppressive. 
These three plants make any prolonged sojourn or extensive ex- 
ploration impossible, and are such a torture to man and beast that 
one can readily understand why the natives always carry, as an 
indispensable instrument, a fine pair of pincers. As among the 
monkeys, the greatest kindness which one man can do his neighbour 
is to pull out the fine, hardly-visible, needle-like spines from his 
skin. Apart from the three formidable antagonists which we have 
mentioned, most of the other steppe-plants, especially the trees and 
shrubs, are covered with more or less repellent thorns and spines, as 
one soon discovers if one tries to penetrate a thicket or even comes 
to close quarters with a tree. 

Other even more unpleasant characteristics of the steppes make 
themselves felt at night. It is often necessary to ride for days 
without reaching a village, and one must therefore camp out on the 
plain. A suitable sandy place free from obnoxious plants is sought 
out, the beasts are unloaded and hobbled, a bed is made by spread- 
ing a mat on the ground, and a huge fire is lighted to scare off 


beasts of prey. The sun goes down, and a few minutes later the 
(1170) 12 


178 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


night falls on the steppes; only the fire lightens the camp. But by 
the fire and about the couch things soon become lively. Attracted 
by the light, noxious creatures come running and creeping, first one 
and then another, but soon in tens and in hundreds. First appear 
gigantic spiders, which, with their eight legs spread out, cover a 
surface as large as an outstretched hand. After the spiders, or some- 
times along with them, the scorpions come hurrying. Both spiders 
and scorpions rush with sinister rapidity to the fire, clambering 
over carpet and coverlet, among the dishes of our simple supper, 
retreating when the radiating heat becomes too strong for them, 
turning back again under its mesmeric influence—in truth a fear- 
some invasion. For these spiders, with their dangerous, or at least 
painful bites, are not less dreaded than the scorpions, and they are 
as ready to bite as the scorpions are to sting. Angrily we seize 
another instrument which an experienced traveller had forewarned 
us was indispensable—a long-legged pair of tongs, and with these 
we grip as many of the intruders as possible, and throw them 
without mercy into the crackling fire. By the united efforts of the 
party most of the hellish brood are soon in the flames; their suc- 
cessors are similarly treated, until the invasion slackens, and we 
begin to breathe—but it is too soon! For new and more uncanny 
visitors draw near the fire—venomous snakes, apparently fasci- 
nated like the spiders. Among them the naturalist recognizes as 
the most abundant species an exceedingly interesting creature well 
deserving his attention: it is the sandy-yellow horned viper, the 
famous or infamous Cerastes of the ancients, the Fi engraved on so 
many Egyptian monuments, the asp from whose fangs Cleopatra 
sought death. It may be interesting to the zoologist, but the 
wearied traveller consigns it to the depths of hell. The whole 
company becomes lively when this visitor is announced; everyone 
seizes his tongs with much greater haste and anxiety than before. 
Whoever sees the snake approaches it cautiously, grips it behind 
the neck, presses the tongs firmly lest it escape, and throws it into 
the glowing fire. There its destruction is watched with no small 
satisfaction. In many parts of the steppe these vipers drive one 
almost to despair. Thanks to their scaly coat, whose markings corre- 


‘ 


ii 


i 


ly 


! \ i Ni 
i 


ries 


a 


Wy) 


Fig. 26. -Hills of African Termites, or White Ants, 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 181 


spond to a jot with the sandy soil, thanks also to their habit of bury- 
ing themselves during the day, or during their resting hours, with 
only their short tactile horns protruding from the sand, one usually 
searches for them in vain during daylight. But as soon as night 
comes, and the camp-fire burns brightly, they are unmistakably 
on the spot, coiling and hissing all around. Sometimes they appear 
in terrifyimg numbers and keep the tired traveller awake till 
towards midnight, for all those which have been resting within the 
range of the fire, or have been attracted to it on their nocturnal 
rambles, come gliding towards the flames. At last, wearied out 
and heavy with sleep, we throw down the tongs and betake our- 
selves to bed, but we never know how many of the reptiles will 
come creeping over us in the night, and we often discover evidence 
of their visits when the carpet is lifted in the morning. For under 
its folds one or more may be found lurking, or may be seen quickly 
disappearing into the sand. Little wonder that it was on this 
steppe-land that I first became impressed with the fact, which no 
one had at that time stated, that, with few exceptions, the venom- 
ous snakes, and certainly all the vipers and crotaline snakes, are 
nocturnal in habit. 

But the above-mentioned animals do not by any means complete 
the list of those which are troublesome in the steppe. There is one, 
among the smallest of all, which, though giving no direct cause for 
anxiety as far as life is concerned, is of immense importance in 
relation to the property of those who live or travel in this region. 
I mean the termite, a little insect not unlike an ant, which, in spite 
of its minuteness, does more damage than the voracious locust (still 
able to constitute a plague), and may work more destruction than 
a troop of elephants devastating the fields. It is one of the most 
omnipresent and persistent of injurious insects. Whatever the 
vigour of plant life creates will fall before the sharp jaws of the 
termites, and they are not less unsparing of the products of human 
art and industry. High above the grass-forest of the steppe they 
rear their conical earthen towers; on the ground and on the trees 
they make their tunnels and passages. They begin and end their 
destructive work at night or in darkness. First they cover the 


182 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


object of their attack with a crust of earth which shuts out the 
light, and under this cover they go about their work, whose end 
and object is always destruction. Things lying on the ground or 
hung on mud walls are most likely to be attacked. The careless 
traveller, oppressed by the overpowering sultriness, throws one of 
his garments on the ground which forms his bed, and finds it in 
the morning perforated like a sieve and rendered quite useless! 
The naturalist who is unaware of the ways of the land shuts up 
his hard-won spoils in a wooden box, and neglects to place this 
on stones or the like so as to raise it off the ground; in a few 
days his treasures are gone! The sportsman hangs his rifle on 
a clay wall, and discovers to his disgust that the destructive 
insects have covered butt and barrel with their tunnels, and have 
already gnawed deep channels in the stock. The tree which they 
select is lost; the woodwork of houses in which they effect a 
settlement is doomed. From the ground to the highest branches 
they make their covered ways; they eat through stem, branches, 
and twigs, and leave but a dead honey-combed skeleton, which be- 
comes the prey of the first storm, and is scattered abroad in dust. 
On the earth-walls or on the supporting beams of the houses the 
termites likewise ascend, riddling the woodwork, and in a short 
time making a wreck of everything. Even under the firmly 
stamped floors of the better-class houses they form a maze of 
branched burrows whence they occasionally break forth in millions 
bent on destruction. In these and many other ways they work 
ruin, and are among the most troublesome plagues of the interior 
of Africa, and especially of the steppe-land.* 

Did this region offer nought else, were it not one of the most 
thickly populated and most frequented of animal haunts, the natu- 
ralist would perhaps avoid it as carefully as does the mercantile 
traveller, who knows only its repellent aspects and none of its 
attractions. 

But he who sojourns here for a time and really explores the 
region is soon reconciled. For the steppe abounds in life; it is not 
poor like the desert, but rather rich like the primitive forest. For 
it too shelters a fauna abounding alike in species and in individuals, 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 183 


and including many forms which are regarded as distinctive of this 
geographical region. Of some of these we shall give rapid sketches. 

Among the most remarkable steppe animals are those fishes 
found in the water-courses and water-basins which are only periodi- 
cally filled. Even Aristotle speaks of fishes which burrow in the 
mud when the pools are dried up, and though Seneca sought to 
throw ridicule on the statement by suggesting scoffingly that one 
should henceforth go a-fishing not with hook and line but with pick 
and shovel, Aristotle recorded a fact which is beyond either doubt 
or ridicule. 

The mud-fish,“* which lives in the steppe basins and streams in the 
interior of Africa, is an eel-like creature, about 3 feet in length, 
with a long dorsal fin continuous with that of the tail, with two 
narrow pectoral fins far forward, and two long pelvic fins far back, 
and with this most important characteristic, that, besides the gills, 
there are also functional lung-sacs. This remarkable connecting 
link between fish and amphibian lives, even in the wet season, more 
in the mud than in the water, and likes to hide in holes which it 
seems to dig out for itself. When the supply of water threatens to 
disappear, the fish burrows deeply in the mud, rolls itself into the 
smallest possible bulk, and forms, apparently by frequent turning, 
an air-tight capsule, shut in on all sides, and lined internally with 
mucus. Within this the animal remains motionless throughout the 
winter. If we carefully dig out these capsules and pack them well, 
we can send the fish without risk where we please, and it may be 
readily recalled to life by placing the capsule in lukewarm water. 
As the reviving water soaks in, the creature still remains quiet, just 
as if it were heavy with sleep; but in the course of an hour or so it 
becomes quite lively, and in a few days its voracious hunger also 
awakes. For some months its behaviour remains unaltered, but at 
the season when it prepares in its native haunts for winter-sleep, it 
seeks to do the same in captivity, or at least becomes restless, and 
secretes an extraordinary quantity of mucus. If opportunity be 
afforded, it burrows; if not, it soon masters its inclination, and con- 
tinues to thrive as before in the open water. 

Sheat-fish or siluroids also pass the winter in the steppe as the 


184 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


mud-fish does. The amphibians too, along with some reptiles, 
especially water-turtles and crocodiles, burrow in the mud, and 
wile away the deadly winter in sleep. On the other hand, all the 
terrestrial reptiles are at their liveliest throughout the torrid season, 


and contribute not a little to enliven the dreary steppe which they 
inhabit in extraordinary numbers. Besides the vipers which we 
have already mentioned, there is another venomous snake of the 
steppe—the royal Aspis or Uriius—one of the deadliest of all. It 
was with this creature, more famous or infamous than the horned 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 185 


viper, that Moses juggled before Pharaoh, as the snake-charmers 
still do; the same, too, whose image in gold the ancient kings of 
Egypt wore as a diadem to express their irresistible power, and 
which they used in the punishment of criminals, or in executing 
revenge on enemies,—a creature in regard to which the old authors 
tell many gruesome, and not always untrue, tales. In contrast to 
other venomous snakes it is active during the day; when unexcited 
it looks very harmless, but it is extremely agile, irritable, and bold, 
and combines all the qualities which render venomous serpents 
dangerous. Usually unseen, for its colour closely resembles that 
of the sand and the withered grass, it glides, often with uncanny 
rapidity, through the grass-forest, conscious of its terrible weapons, 
and ready for attack whenever it fancies danger. In attitude of 
defence it raises the anterior fifth or sixth of its body, and expands 
the neck ribs so as to form a sort of shield, above which lies the 
small head, with lively sparkling eyes. It fastens its sharp gaze on 
its opponent, and prepares for the bite which is quick as lightning 
and almost without exception fatal. Then its appearance is dread- 
ful but yet beautiful, bewildering and terrifying to man and beast. 
It is generally asserted that this snake may kill without biting, by 
spitting or shooting its venom at its enemy;“* and it is at any rate 
true that the poison-glands secrete the dread juice so copiously that 
great drops trickle from the openings of the perforated fangs. 
Little wonder that both natives and Europeans are much more 
afraid of this asp than of the sluggish horned viper which visits their 
bed by night. Nor is it difficult to understand why the stranger 
fires at every snake, even the most harmless, which comes within 
his sight, or why every rustling in the grass or foliage gives one a 
slight shock, or at least induces careful circumspection. But the 
rustling is continually to be heard in the steppe, for there are many 
other snakes no less common than the asp—many, from the huge 
python or hieroglyphic snake, sometimes nearly twenty feet in 
length, down to harmless grass-snakes of minute size. Besides 
these there is a countless host of lizards of all kinds. 

Whoever has a horror of snakes may perhaps be reconciled to 
the class of reptiles by the agile, beautifully-coloured lizards, for 


186 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


creatures more attractive than these are not to be found in the 
steppe. They dart to and fro on the ground; they clamber on the 
branches of the shrubs and trees, they look down from the hills of 
the termites and from the roofs of the houses; they make their way 
even under the sand. Some species vie with the humming-birds 
in the brightness and glitter of their colours; others fascinate by 
the swiftness and grace of their movements; others attract by 
the quaintness of their forms. Even after the sun, in whose light 
they live and move, has set, and most of these active creatures 
have gone to rest, the geckos are still left to the naturalist. During 
the day these lizards remain quietly fixed to the tree-boles and the 
rafters, but as night sets in they begin their activity. With loud 
and musical calls (to which they owe their name “ Gecko”) they hunt 
about without any fear of man. The ancients libelled them and 
placed them among the most venomous of animals, and even to-day 
this superstition lurks in the minds of the ignorant. They are noc- 
turnal animals, and as such somewhat different from the diurnal 
members of the lizard race. Thus one of their peculiar characteris- 
tics is the cushion-like expansion of the fingers and toes, whose soles 
are furnished with numerous closely appressed plaits of skin, which 
act like suckers and give the geckos extraordinary climbing powers. 
These plaited cushions were long ago erroneously interpreted as 
poison-secreting glands,—an idea which now seems absurd enough.” 
In truth the geckos are as harmless as they are attractive, and in a 
very short time they win the affection of every unprejudiced ob- 
server. Most valuable domestic pets they are, for they pursue with 
eagerness and success all kinds of troublesome insects. In every room 
of the mud and straw houses their nightly activity may be observed; 
they climb about with all but unfailing security, adhering by their 
plaited feet to almost anything; head up or head down they run on 
vertical or on horizontal surfaces, teasing and chasing one another 
in pleasant fashion, making one merry too with their musical notes; 
they give one nothing but pleasure and do nothing but good; what 
reasonable man can fail to become their friend? 

But they are reptiles still, and must remain under the curse; 
they cannot vie with the children of the air—the birds. And one 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 187 


may perhaps say that the birds are the first creatures to make a 
thoroughly favourable impression on the visitor to the steppe, and 
to reconcile him to the forbidding aspects of other animals. 

The bird-fauna of the steppes is rich alike in species and in 
individuals. Wherever we wander we are sure to hear and see 
birds. From the densest forest of grasses resounds the loud call 
of a bustard; from the thickets by the water-courses is heard the 
trumpeting of the guinea-fowl or the loud ery of the francolin; 
from the trees comes a medley of sound—the cooing and moaning 
of the doves, the shouts and hammering of the woodpecker, the 
melodious call of the barbets, the simple music of various weaver- 
finches and thrush-like songsters. The high branches of trees or 
other prominent positions serve as watch-towers for serpent-eagles, 
chanting goshawks, rollers, drongos, and bee-eaters, which sit there 
on the outlook for prey. The secretary-bird, which the natives call 
the Bird of Fate, runs about among the tall grass stems or hovers 
above them; in higher strata of the air one sees the whirling swal- 
lows and other birds which catch their prey on the wing; higher still 
the eagles and vultures are circling. No spot is untenanted, in fact 
almost every place is thickly peopled; and when our winter begins 
to reign it sends hither many of our birds, especially kestrels and 
harriers, shrikes and rollers, quails and storks, who find in the 
steppe a hospitable refuge during the evil days in the north. 

Few of the birds which live in the steppes can be regarded as 
distinctive, nor is the general character of the bird-fauna so clearly 
and sharply defined that one could at once recognize a steppe bird, 
as is possible with those of the desert. To some extent, however, 
the careful observer will notice that the birds of the steppe are 
congruent with their environment. The secretary-bird—a great 
bird of prey in the guise of a crane; the “snake-harrier”—a sluggish, 
slow-flying hawk clothed in rich, soft, large-feathered plumage; a 
straw-yellow night-jar, and another with decorative wing-feathers, 
a guinea-fowl or a francolin, a bustard or an ostrich: of these 
we might perhaps venture to say that they belong to the steppe, 
and are only there at home. It is not the case that the steppe is 
richer in colour than the desert, but it affords much more cover, and 


188 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


its tenants are therefore more freely coloured and marked, There 
are two colours to which it seems as if a preference were given; the 
one is a more or less shaded straw-yellow, the other is a hardly 
definable gray-blue. Both appear on the plumage of birds of prey 
and game-birds alike, but without, of course, excluding other darker, 
lighter, or more vivid colours. It seems to me worthy of note that 
the greater freedom of colouring and marking is also observable on 
those birds whose near relations are characteristic of the desert. 

We should like to give a more detailed description of some of 
the steppe birds which are most distinctive of the region, but selec- 
tion is difficult, for almost every one of those which we have men- 
tioned claims and merits close attention. But my limits force me 
to a choice, and it must suffice if I select a bird of the upper ar, a 
bird of the ground, and a bird of the night, in order through them 
to add a few touches to our general picture of the steppe. 

No one who stays for any length of time in the steppe-land can 
fail to observe a large bird of prey, whose appearance as he flies, 
owing to the beautiful contour of the long pointed wings and ex- 
ceedingly short tail, mark him off from every other feathered 
robber, whose flight moreover surpasses that of all creatures which 
fly. High above the ground he flies, hovers, glides, tumbles, 
flutters, dances, and throws himself headlong. As large as an 
eagle, he expands his great wings, and remains for a moment in 
the same position without any movement; he beats them violently, 
raises them high above his body, twists them and whirls them; he 
closes them and is precipitated almost to the ground; he gives a 
few powerful strokes, and in a few minutes has ascended to 
immeasurable heights. As he approaches the ground we see his 
vividly contrasted colours—the velvet black of the head, neck, 
breast, and belly, the silver white on the under surface of his wings, 
the light chestnut-brown of his tail; he throws himself headlong, 
and we notice the bright colour of the back resembling that of the 
tail and a broad light band on the wings; he comes still nearer, and 
we may perhaps detect the coral-red beak and cheeks and talons. 
If we question one of the nomad herdsmen observant of the animal 
life of the steppe in regard to this striking and altogether remark- 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 189 


able bird of prey, we may hear from his lips this significant and 
suggestive story. “To him,” he says, “the goodness of the All- 
merciful has given rich gifts, and, above all, high wisdom. For he is 
a physician among the birds of heaven, familiar with the diseases 
which visit the children of the Creator, and knowing all the herbs 
and roots with which to heal them. From far-off lands thou mayest 
see him bear the roots, but in vain dost thou seek to discover whither 
he is summoned to heal the sick. The working of his remedies is 
unfailing; to partake of them brings life, to reject them is to invite 
death; they are as the Hedijah written by the hand of God’s 
messenger, a precept of Mohammed, whom we reverence in humility. 
To the poor in the eyes of the Lord, to the sons of Adam, it is not 
forbidden to make use of them. Take note of where the physician- 
eagle has his dwelling, refrain from injuring his eggs, wait till the 
feathers of his young no longer draw any blood, and then go to his 
home and wound the body of one of his children. Thereupon shalt 
thou perceive the father fly towards morning in the direction in 
which thou turnest to pray. Be not discouraged in waiting for his 
return, have patience! He will appear bearing with him a root; 
frighten him so that he may leave it to thee, take it without fear; 
for it comes from the Lord, in whose hand are the ‘issues of life, and 
it is free from all witchcraft. Then hasten to heal thy sick; they shall 
all recover, for so it is appointed to them by the Father of Mercies.” 

The bird which forms the subject of this poetic legend is the 
bateleur or short-tailed African eagle—the “ Heaven’s ape” of the 
Abyssinians. The roots which, according to the legend, it carries, 
are snakes, which it picks up. Seldom does one see the bird rest; 
usually it flies, as has been described, until the sight of a snake 
induces it to hurl itself downwards and to engage in battle. Like 
all the snake-eating birds of prey, it is well protected against the 
venomous fangs by the thick horny plates on its talons and by its 
dense plumage; it is therefore unafraid of the most deadly snake, 
and is a true benefactor of the steppe-land. It is not this beneficence, 
however, but its marvellous flight that has won renown for the 
African eagle in the eyes of all the peoples among whom it has its 
home. 


190 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


The ostrich, which is bound to the earth, stands in striking con- 
trast to the short-tailed eagle. He also is the hero of an Arabian 
legend, which, however, instead of glorifying him, brings him down 
to the dust; for the story is that the ostrich wished, in the exuber- 
ance of his vanity, to fly to the sun, but was in his attempt miser- 
ably burned, and hurled in his present form to the ground. To us 


Fig. 28.—On an Ostrich Farm in South Africa. 


his life is all the more worthy of consideration, that many false ideas 
still prevail both in regard to it and in regard to the bird himself. 
Although occurring in those low grounds of the African and 
West Asiatic deserts which are richest in vegetation, the ostrich 
becomes abundant only in the steppe. Here one is almost continu- 
ally crossing his unmistakable “spoor”, though it is but rarely that 
one sees the bird. He is tall enough to see over the lofty grasses 
which conceal him, he is far-sighted and shy, and can therefore 
usually conceal himself from the approaching traveller. If one 
succeeds in observing him from a distance, one sees that, except 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 191 


at the breeding season, he is fond of a comfortable and easy-going 
life. In the early morning, and in the evening, the troop feed busily; 
at noon they all lie resting and digesting on the ground; sometimes 
they go together to water or to bathe (even in the sea); later on, 
they amuse themselves with marvellous dances,** jumping round in 
a circle as if out of their senses, fanning with their wing-plumes 
as if they would attempt to fly; at sunset they betake themselves 
to rest, but without neglecting to secure their safety. If a formid- 
able enemy threaten them they rush off in wild flight, and soon 
leave him far behind; if a weaker carnivore sneak upon them, they 
strike him to the ground with their extremely powerful legs. Thus 
the course of their life runs smoothly, provided that there be no 
lack of food. Of this they require an enormous quantity. Their 
voracity is astounding, and not less is the capacity of their stomach 
to receive vast quantities of all sorts of things, which are either 
digested, or are retained without injury. Almost everything vege- 
table, from root-tubers to fruits, is accepted by their stomachs, 
which have now become proverbial; and so is it with small animals, 
both vertebrate and invertebrate. But such things by no means ex- 
haust their menu. The ostrich swallows whatever can be swallowed, 
gulping down stones a pound in weight, and in captivity not disdain- 
ing pieces of tiles, oakum, rags, knives, single keys and bunches of 
keys, nails, pieces of glass and crockery, leaden balls, bells, and 
many other such things. Indeed, it may fall a victim to its indis- 
criminating appetite by devouring such stuff as unslaked lime. In 
the stomach of one which died in captivity there was found a hetero- 
geneous mass weighing in all about nine pounds. In the poultry- 
yard the greedy bird swallows ducklings and chickens as if they 
were oysters; it dismantles walls to fill its gizzard with the loose 
mortar; in short, it will eat anything which is not a fixture. In 
proportion to the amount of food which it requires—and that is 
not out of proportion to its size and activity—so is its thirst. Thus 
it frequents those places where it finds not only abundance of 
nutritious plants, but also water-basins or springs. If both fail, 
the ostriches are forced to migrate, and in such cases they often 
cover great distances. 


192 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


With the coming of spring the mating instinct awakens in the 
heart of the ostrich, and then it changes its habit of life in a 
remarkable manner. The troops or herds break up into small 
groups, and the adult males begin their long-continued combats for 
mates. Excited to the highest pitch, as is outwardly indicated by 
the vivid reddening of neck and legs, two rivals stand opposed; they 
fan their wings so that the full splendour of their fluffy white 
plumes is displayed; they move their long necks in a scarce describ- 
able fashion, twisting and bending now forwards, now sideways; 
they utter deep and hoarse sounds, sometimes suggestive of a 
muffled drum, sometimes even of the roaring of lions; they stare at 
one another; they bend down on the soles of their feet, and move 
their necks and wings more rapidly and persistently than before; 
then they spring up again and rush at one another, seeking, in the 
swift encounter, to strike their opponent a powerful blow with the 
foot, and with the sharp-cutting toe-nail to make long, deep gashes 
on body and legs. The victor in the combat is not more gentle to 
the mate or mates which he has won, in fact he abuses them shame- 
fully with bullying and blows. It is not at present perfectly 
certain whether a male keeps company with one female or with 
several; it may be accepted as a fact, however, that several females 
often lay in the same nest, and it has been observed that the female 
does not undertake the whole responsibility of sitting on the eggs, 
but leaves much of this to the male, who, after about eight weeks’ 
brooding, also leads about the young and tends them. In both 
brooding and tending, the female does assist, but the male always 
has the larger share, and in leading about the young brood he 
shows more carefulness and solicitude than does the mother-bird. 
The young ostriches, when hatched, are about the size of an average 
hen, and come into the world with a remarkable suit of feathers, 
more like the bristly coat of a mammal than the customary down 
of young birds. As they exhibit the characteristic voracity of their 
race from the day of their birth, they grow quickly, and after two 
or three months they change their plumage and put on a garb 
resembling that of the female. At least three years must pass, 
however, before they are fully grown or ready for pairing. 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 193 


Such, in briefest statement, are the essential facts in regard to 
the life-history of the giant bird of the steppe; all the stories which 
are inconsistent with my summary are more or less fabulous. 

The bird of the night in regard to which I wish to say a few 
words is the night-jar or goat-sucker, whose race is represented 
at home by one species, but in the steppe by several somewhat 
remarkable forms. When the first star is seen in the evening sky 
these gayest and most charming of nocturnal birds begin to be 
active. During the day it is only by chance that we ever see one, 
and we scarce believe in its powers of enlivening the steppe-land. 
But, when night falls, at least one is sure to make its appearance. 
Attracted to the camp-fire like the scorpion and the viper, the 
softly-flying bird flits in ever-changing course around the watchers, 
alights near them for a moment, delivers a few strophes of its 
whirring night-song, which reminds one of a cat’s purring, is off 
again into the dusk, only to reappear in a few minutes, and so on 
until morning. One species is especially fascinating, the flag- 
winged night-jar, or “four-winged bird” of the natives. Its decor- 
ative peculiarity consists of a long feather which grows out between 
the primaries and secondaries™® of each wing, without any vane 
except at the broad tip, and far exceeding all the other feathers in 
length, being in fact almost exactly half a yard in length. Eerily, 
like some ghost, this night-jar flies and flutters. It looks as if it 
were being constantly pursued by two others of smaller size, or as 
if it could divide itself into two or three birds, or as if it had indeed 
four wings. But it has all the charms of its race, and soon becomes 
a welcome visitor, contributing, like its fellows, not a little to 
alleviate most pleasantly the discomforts of the night. 

Like the birds, the mammals of the steppe are rich alike in 
numbers and in species. The abundant vegetation supports not 
only countless herds of antelopes, which are justly regarded as most 
characteristic of this region, but also buffaloes and wild boars, zebras 
and wild asses, elephants and rhinoceroses, the “serafe ”, or giraffes, 
as we call them, besides a host of rodents with which we have only 
a general acquaintance. Against this dense population of herbi- 


vores, the numerous carnivores of the steppe wage unceasing war, 
(1 70) 13 


194 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


and this is probably even to the advantage of the former, since, 
without some such check, the ruminants and rodents would tend to 
multiply beyond the limits of subsistence afforded even by the rich 
vegetation of this region. The uniformity of the North African 
steppes and the relatively (though not really) frequent occurrence 
of standing and flowing water hinder the formation of those im- 
mense mobs of antelopes which are observed in the Karroo of South 
Africa; everywhere, however, we come across these elegant, fine- 
eyed ruminants, singly, in small herds, or in considerable companies, 
and they seem to keep to approximately the same spots in summer 
and winter. Zebras and wild asses, on the other hand, are 
only found on the dry heights; the giraffe lives exclusively in the 
thin woods, while the rhinoceros almost always seeks the densest 
growths; the elephant entirely avoids broad open tracts, and the 
ill-tempered buffaloes cling to the moist low ground. On these last, 
as on the tame herds of cattle, the lion preys, while the cunning 
leopard and the nimble, untiring cheetah, are more given to stalk- 
ing the antelopes; the jackals and steppe-wolves prefer the hares; 
the foxes, civets, and polecats seek the small rodents and those birds 
which live on the ground. 

From this abundant fauna I must select some for special notice, 
but I shall withstand the temptation of choosing lion or cheetah, 
hyena or ratel, zebra or other wild horse, giraffe or buffalo, elephant 
or rhinoceros, for there are some others which seem to me more 
truly distinctive of the steppe. Among these I place in the first rank 
the ant-eater, or aard-vark, and the pangolin—the old-world repre- 
sentatives of the Edentates—which have their head-quarters in the 
western hemisphere, and belong to an order whose golden age lies 
many ages behind us. Both aard-vark and pangolin are, in North 
Africa at least, distinctively steppe animals, for it is only there that 
the ant-hills and termitaries are sufficiently numerous to afford 
them comfortable maintenance. Like all ant-eaters they lie 
during the day rolled up almost in a ball, sleeping in deep burrows 
which they have dug out, and which one sees opening alike on the 
broad, treeless, grass plain and among the sparse trees and shrubs. 
Only when night has set in do they become lively; with clumsy 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 195 


gait they hobble and jump about in search of food, progressing 
chiefly by means of their powerful hind-limbs, resting on the great 
burrowing claws of their fore-limbs and on their heavy tail. Their 
food consists exclusively of small creatures of all kinds, but especially 
of the larvee of ants and termites, and of worms. Continually jerking 
its depressed nose and snuffing about, the ant-eater trots along, and, 
having discovered a pathway of the ants or termites, follows this 
home. Without much difficulty it makes an opening for its long 
snout, pushes this into the hole, and feels about with its tongue for 
the passages along which the insects hurry and scurry. Having 
stretched the tongue, which is viscid and thread-like, along one of 
the chief passages, it waits until it is covered with ants or termites, 
and then retracts it into the narrow mouth. So minute are the 
individual morsels that this may seem a somewhat miserable mode 
of making a meal, but the tongue is, in its way, just as effective as 
the powerful claws, and the ant-eater makes its way through life 
very comfortably. Nor are the animals by any means so helpless 
as they seem. The weak pangolin is protected more effectively by 
his armour, which is strong enough to turn a sword, than by the 
weapons on its feet; the aard-vark is able to use its claws most 
effectively, and can also give such smart side-blows with its heavy 
tail that it readily gets rid of an antagonist who is not of superior 
strength. But if a really formidable enemy draws near and is 
detected in time, the aard-vark burrows with the utmost rapidity, 
throwing out sand and dust with such force and in such quantities 
that an almost impenetrable, because blinding, veil saves it from 
attack until it is at a safe depth underground. Only to man with 
his far-reaching weapons does it fall an easy prey, for he stabs it 
asleep in its burrow, and kills it almost infallibly if the entrance 
to the hole be fairly straight and not too long. Thus, fate is too 
strong for even this old-world creature, and will sooner or later 
wipe out its name from the book of the living. 

Among the steppe beasts of prey one of the best known and 
most distinctive is a dog. A connecting link between the dogs and 
the hyzenas, not only in form but to a certain extent in its mark- 
ings, this animal—the hyena-dog or Cape hunting-dog—is one of 


196 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the most noteworthy figures in the steppe-picture, and also in its 
nature and habits one of the most interesting of all the carnivores 
of this region. Excepting certain monkeys, I know of no mammal 
so self-assertive, so wantonly aggressive, so emulous of exploits as 
this dog is, or, at any rate, seems to be. There is no limit to his 
ambition; no other mammal is quite secure from his attack. In 
large packs they traverse the broad steppe-land on eager outlook 


pte a = a 


Fig, 29. —Hyzena-dogs pursuing Antelope. 


for booty. They ravage the sheep-flocks of the settlers and 
nomads; they follow persistently at the heels of the swiftest and 
most agile antelopes; audaciously they press in even upon men; 
fearlessly they dislodge, thanks perhaps to their noisy bravado, the 
other carnivores of the region which they frequent. Behind the 
strongest and most formidable antelope a pack rushes in full ery, 
barking, howling, whining, and now and then uttering a clear note 
of triumph. The antelope exerts all its strength, but the murderous 
dogs lose no ground, they cut off corners and prevent it doubling 
back, they come nearer and nearer and force it to stand at bay. 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 194 


Conscious of its strength and of its powers of defence, the antelope 
uses its pointed horns with skill and good effect; one dog after 
another may be hurled to the ground fatally transfixed; but the 
others fix on its throat and body, and the noble creature’s death- 
rattle soon puts an end to their howling. Without fear of man 
these dogs fall upon domestic animals of all kinds, tearing up the 
smaller sorts with the bloodthirstiness of martens, and mutilating 
those which are too large to be readily mastered. Nor are they 
afraid of domestic dogs, but fight with them to the death and leave 
them lifeless on the field. Thoroughly broken in and tamed, trained 
for several generations, they should become the most excellent of 
sporting-hounds; but the task of subjugation is certainly not an 
easy one. They do indeed become used to their master, and display 
some liking, even a certain fondness for him, but all in their own 
way. When called from their kennel, they jump up and down in 
the highest of spirits, fight with one another out of sheer joy, rush 
at their approaching master, leap up on him, try to show their 
gladness in the most extravagant ways, and are finally unable to 
express it except by biting him. A boisterous mischievousness and 
an uncontrollable impulse to bite are characteristic of almost all 
their doings. More excitable than almost any other creature, they 
move every member, they quiver in every fibre, when any novel 
occurrence attracts or occupies them; their mercurial vivacity is 
expressed in exaggerated gaiety and next moment in savage wild- 
ness. For they bite whatever comes in their way, without any 
provocation, probably without any ill-will, simply for fun. They 
are the most marvellous creatures in all the steppes. 

In those parts of the steppe which I have been more particu- 
larly considering —the Kordofan, Sennaar, and Taka regions—the 
animal life is not subject to destructive or disturbing influences 
to the same extent as in the south of Africa or in Central Asia. 
To those animals which do not migrate, or do not lie in death- 
like sleep for months, the winter may bring privations or even 
sharp want, but it does not involve the pangs of starvation or 
the torments of thirst; it does not force desperate creatures to 
leave an impoverished home, or seek for happier lands in mad 


198 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


flight. It is true that the animals of the North African steppes 
have their migrations and journeyings; but they do not flee in 
a panic as do those which inhabit other steppe-lands, and forsake 
them in hundreds of thousands before a threatened destruc- 
tion. Of the immense herds of antelopes, such as crowd together 
in the south of Africa, one never hears in the north. All the gre- 
garious mammals and birds gather together when the winter sets 
in, and disband when the spring draws near; all the migratory birds 
go and come about the same time; but all this takes place in an 
orderly, old-established fashion, not spasmodically nor without 
definite ends. There is, however, one power from whose influence 
the animal life of these steppe-lands is not exempt,—and that is 
fire. 

Every year, at the time when the dark clouds in the south and 
the lightning which flashes from them announce the approach of 
spring, during days when the south wind rages over the steppe, the 
nomad herdsman takes a firebrand and hurls it into the waving grass. 
Rapidly and beyond all stopping the.fire catches. It spreads over 
broad stretches; smoke and steam by day, a lurid cloud by night, 
proclaim its destructive and yet eventually beneficial progress. Not 
unfrequently it reaches the primeval forest, and the flames send their 
forked tongues up the dry climbing-plants to the crowns of the 
trees, devouring the remaining leaves or charring the outer bark. 
Sometimes, though more rarely, the fire surrounds a village and 
showers its burning arrows on the straw huts, which flare up 
almost in a moment. 

Although a steppe-fire, in spite of the abundance of combustible 
material, is rarely fatal to horsemen or to those who meet fire by 
fire, and just as rarely to the swift mammals, it exerts, nevertheless, 
a most exciting influence on the animal world, and puts to flight 
everything that lives hidden in the grass-forest. And sometimes the 
flight becomes a stampede, to hasten which the panic of the fugitives 
contributes more than the steady advance of the flames. Antelopes, 
zebras, and ostriches speed across the plain more quickly than 
the wind; cheetahs and leopards follow them and mingle with them 
without thinking of booty; the hunting-dog forgets his lust for 


Fig. 30.—Zebras, Quaggas, and Ostriches flying before a Steppe-fire. 


il 


WMT 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 201 


blood; and the lion succumbs to the terror which has conquered the 
others. Only those which live in burrows are undismayed, for they 
betake themselves to their safe retreats and let the sea of fire roll 
over them. Otherwise it fares hardly with everything that creeps 
or is fettered to the ground. Few snakes and hardly the most agile 
of the lizards are able to outrun the fire. Scorpions, tarantulas, and 
centipedes either fall victims to the flames, or become, like the 
affrighted swarms of insects, the prey of enemies which are able to 
defy the conflagration. For as soon as a cloud of smoke ascends to 
the sky and gradually grows in volume, the birds of prey hasten 
thither from all quarters, especially serpent-eagles, chanting gos: 
hawks, harriers, kestrels, storks, bee-eaters, and swifts. They come to 
capture the lizards, snakes, scorpions, spiders, beetles, and locusts, 
which are startled into flight before the flames. In front of the 
line the storks and the secretary-birds stalk about undaunted; 
above them amid the clouds of smoke sweep the light-winged fal- 
cons, bee-eaters, and swifts; and for all there is booty enough. 
These birds continue the chase as long as the steppe burns, and the 
flames find food as long as they are fanned by the storms. Only 
when the winds die down do the flames cease. 

It is thus that the nomad clears his pasture of weeds and vermin, 
and prepares it for fresh growth. The ashes remain as manure, the 
life-giving rains carry this into the soil, and after the first thunder- 
storm all is covered with fresh green. All the former tenants, 
driven away in fear, return to their old haunts, to enjoy, after the 
hardships of winter and the recent panic, the pleasures of ease and 
comfort. 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 


Rich as the African steppe really is, incomparably rich as it 
seems when compared with the desert, it nowhere exhibits the full 
luxuriance of tropical vegetation. It indeed receives everywhere 
the blessing of life-giving water; but this lasts too short a time 
to have a permanent influence. With the cessation of the rains 


202 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the power of growth comes to an end, and heat and drought de- 
stroy what the rains have produced. Therefore only those plants 
can flourish in the steppe the course of whose life is run within a 
few weeks; those which are capable of outlasting centuries never 
attain to full development. Only in the low grounds, traversed by 
streams which never dry up, and watered by these as well as by 
the rains, where sunlight and water, warmth and moisture, work 
together, does the magic wealth of tropical lands develop and en- 
dure. Here have arisen forests which, in magnificence and beauty, 
grandeur and luxuriance, are scarce inferior to those of the most 
favoured lands of lower latitudes. They are primeval forests in the 
true sense of the word, for they grow and disappear, become old 
and renew their youth without help of man; even to this day they 
are sufficient unto themselves, and they support an extraordinary 
wealth of animal life. 

The storms of spring carry the rain-laden clouds from the south 
over the African countries lying north of the equator. Accordingly, 
these forests do not burst suddenly on the eye of the traveller 
journeying from the north, but become gradually more characteris- 
tic the farther south he penetrates. The nearer he approaches to 
the equator the more brilliantly the lightning flashes, the louder 
and more continuously the thunder rolls, the more noisily the rain- 
torrents fall, so much the more luxuriantly do all plants thrive, so 
much the richer in forms does the fauna become; the earlier the 
rainy season sets in the longer it lasts, and so much the greater 
is the charm it works. In exact proportion to the increase of 
moisture, the forest becomes denser, loftier, and more extensive. 
From the banks of the streams the plant-growth spreads into the 
interior, and takes possession of every available space, from the 
thickly-covered ground to the tops of the highest trees. Trees 
which are only dwarfs elsewhere, become giants here; known species 
become the hosts of still unknown parasites, and between them a 
plant-world hitherto unseen struggles towards the light. Even here, 
however, at least in the northern belt of the forest, the heat and 
drought of winter have still so strong an influence that they periodi- 
cally destroy the foliage of the trees and condemn at least most of 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 203 


them to some weeks of complete inactivity. But the awakening 
call of spring rings the more clearly through the sleeping wood; the 
life which the first rains of the fertilizing season call forth stirs the 
more powerfully after the rest of winter. 

I shall select spring-time in these countries to depict the primeval 
forest as best Ican. The south wind, herald and bearer of the rain- 
clouds, must still be in contest with the cooling breezes from the 
north if the forest is to reveal all its possible magnificence, and one 
must penetrate to its heart by one of its arteries, the rivers, if one 
wishes to see the fulness of its life. Let us take the Azrek or 
“Blue Nile”, rising in the mountains of Habesh, as our highway; 
for with it are linked the most exquisite pictures which a long life 
of travel have won for me, and I may prove a better guide on it 
than on another. I very much doubt, however, whether I shall 
prove such an interpreter of the forest as I should like to be. For 
the primeval forest is a world full of splendour, and brilliance, and 
fairy-like beauty; a land of marvels whose wealth no man has been 
able fully to know, much less to carry away; a treasure-house which 
scatters infinitely more than one can gather; a paradise in which 
the creation seems to take shape anew day by day; an enchanted 
circle which unfolds before him who enters it pictures, grand and 
lovely, grave and gay, bright as daylight and sombre as night; a 
thousand integral parts making up a whole infinitely complex, yet 
unified and harmonious, which baffles all description. 

One of the light little craft which one sees at Khartoum (the 
capital of the Eastern Soudan, lying at the junction of the two Nile 
streams) is transformed into a travelling boat, and bears us against 
the waves of the much-swollen Azrek. The gardens of the last 
houses of the capital disappear, and the steppe reaches down to the 
very bank of the river. Here and there we still see a village, or 
isolated huts lying prettily under mimosas and often surrounded by 
creeping and climbing plants which hang from the trees; nothing 
else is visible save the waving grass-forest and the few steppe trees 
and shrubs which rise from its midst. But after a short journey the 
forest takes possession of the bank, and spreads out its thorny or 
spine-covered branches even beyond it. Thenceforward our pro- 


204 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


gress is slow. The wind blowing against us prevents sailing, the 
forest renders towing impossible. With the boat-hook the crew pull 
the little craft foot by foot, yard by yard, farther up the stream, till 
one of their number espies a gap where he can gain a foothold in 
the thick hedge-wall of the bank, and, committing his mortal body 
to the care of Muhsa, the patron-saint of all sailors, and praying for 
protection from the crocodiles which are here abundant, he takes the 
towing-rope between his teeth, plunges into the water, swims to the 
desired spot, fastens the rope round the trunk of a tree, and lets 
his companions pull the boat up to it. Thus the boatmen toil from 
early morning till late in the evening, yet they only speed the 
traveller perhaps five, or at most ten miles on his way. Nevertheless 
the days fly past, and none who have learned to see and hear need 
suffer from weariness there. To the naturalist, as to every thought- 
ful observer, every day offers something new; to the collector, a 
wealth of material of every kind. 

Every now and again one comes upon traces of human beings. 
If one follows them from the bank, along narrow paths hemmed in 
on either side by the dense undergrowth, one arrives at the abodes 
of a remarkable little tribe. They are the Hassanie who dwell there. 
Where the forest is less dense, and where the trees do not form a three- 
or four-fold roof with their crowns, but consist of tall, shady mimosas, 
Kigelias, tamarinds, and baobabs, these folk erect their most delight- 
ful tent- or booth-like huts, so different from all the other dwellings 
one sees in the Soudan. “Hassanie” means the descendants of Hassan, 
and Hassan means the Beautiful; and not without reason does this 
tribe bear this name. For the Hassanie are indisputably the hand- 
somest people who dwell in the lower and middle regions of the 
river-basin, and the women in particular surpass almost all other 
Soudanese in beauty of form, regularity of feature, and clearness of 
skin. Both men and women faithfully observe certain exceedingly 
singular customs, which among other people are, with reason, con- 
sidered immoral. The Hassanie are therefore at once famous and 
notorious, sought out and avoided, praised and scoffed at, extolled 
and abused. To the unprejudiced traveller, eager to study manners 
and customs, they afford much delight, if not by their beauty at 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 205 


least by their desire for approbation, which must please even the 
least susceptible of men. This trait is much more conspicuous in 
them than even the self-consciousness which beauty gives: they 
must and will please. The preservation of their beauty is their 
highest aim, and counts for more than any other gain. To avoid 
sunburning, which would darken their clear brown skins, they live 
in the shade of the forest, contenting themselves with a few goats, 
their only domestic animals except dogs,and foregoing the wealth that 
numerous herds of cattle and camels afford their nomadic relatives. 
That their charms may be in no way spoiled, they strive above all 
to become possessed of female slaves, who relieve them of all hard 
work; to decorate face and cheeks they endure heroically, even as 
little girls, the pain inflicted by the mother as she cuts with a knife 
three deep, parallel, vertical wounds in the cheeks, that as many thick, 
swollen scars may be formed, or as she pricks forehead, temples, and 
chin with a needle and rubs indigo powder into the wounds, so pro- 
ducing blue spirals or other devices; to avoid injury to their dazzling 
white, almost sparkling teeth, they eat only lukewarm food; to pre- 
serve as long as possible their most elaborate coiffure, which consists 
of hundreds of fine braids, stiffened with gum arabic and richly 
oiled, they use no pillow save a narrow, crescent-shaped, wooden 
stand, on which they rest their heads while sleeping. To satisfy 
their sense of beauty, or perhaps in order that they may be seen 
and admired by every inhabitant or visitor, they have thought out 
the singular construction of their huts. 

These huts may be perhaps best compared to the booths to be 
seen at fairs. The floor, which consists of rods as thick as one’s 
thumb bound closely together, rests upon a framework of stakes 
rising about a yard from the ground, thus making the dwelling 
difficult of access to creeping pests, and raising it from the damp 
ground. The walls consist of mats; the roof, overhanging on the 
north side, which is left open, is made of a waterproof stuff 
woven from goat’s hair. Neatly plaited mats of palm-leaf strips 
cover the floor; prettily-wrought wicker-work, festoons of shells, 
water-tight plaited baskets, earthen vessels, drinking-cups made 
from half a bottle-gourd, gaily-coloured utensils also plaited, lids, 


206 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


and other such things decorate the walls. Each vessel is daintily 
wrought and cleanly kept; the order and cleanliness of the whole 
hut impress one the more that both are so uncommon. 

In such a hut the Hassanie dreams away the day. Dressed in 
her best, her hair and skin oiled with perfumed ointment, a long, 
lightly-woven, and therefore translucent piece of cloth enveloping 
the upper part of her body, a piece of stuff hanging petticoat-like 
from the waist, her feet adorned with daintily-worked sandals, neck 
and bosom hung with chains and amulets, arms with bracelets of 
amber, her nose possibly decorated with a silver, or even a gold ring, 
she sits hidden in the shade and rejoices in her beauty. Her little 
hand is busy with a piece of plaiting, some house utensil or article 
of dress; or perhaps it holds only her tooth-brush, a root teased out 
at both ends, and admirably adapted to its purpose. All the work 
of the house is done by her slave, all the labour of looking after the 
little flock by her obliging husband. The carefully thought-out 
and remarkable marriage-relations customary in the tribe, and ad- 
hered to in defiance of all the decrees and interference of the ruler 
of the land, guarantee her unheard-of rights. She is mistress in the 
most unlimited sense of the word, mistress also of her husband, at 
least as long as her charms remain; only when she is old and 
withered does she also learn the transitoriness of all earthly pleasure. 
Till then, she does what seems good in her eyes, her freedom bounded 
only by the limits which she has herself laid down. As long as the 
crowns of the trees do not afford complete shade around her hut 
she does not go out of doors, but offers every passer-by, particularly 
any stranger who calls upon her, a hearty welcome, and with or 
without her husband’s aid, does the honours of the tribe with almost 
boundless hospitality. Yet it is only when the evening sets in that 
her real life begins. Even before the sun has set, there is a stir and 
bustle in the settlement. One friend visits her neighbour, others 
join them; drum and zither entice the rest, and soon slender, lithe, 
supple figures arrange themselves for a merry dance. Delicate 
hands dip the drinking-cups into the big-bellied urn, filled with 
Merieza or dhurra beer, that the hearts of the men also may be 
glad. Old and young are assembled, and they celebrate the evening 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 207 


festival the more joyfully that it is honoured by the presence of 
strangers. The hospitality of all the Soudanese is extraordinary, 
but in no other race is it so remarkable as among the Hassanie. 

In the course of our journey we come upon other settlements of 
these forest-shepherds, sometimes also on the villages of other Sou- 
danese, and at length, after travelling nearly a month, we reach 
the desired region. The dense forest on both banks of the river 
prevents our searching gaze from seeing farther into the country. 
In this region there are no settlements of men, neither fields nor 
villages, not even temporarily inhabited camps; the ring of the 
axe has not yet echoed through these forests, for man has not yet 
attempted to exploit them; in them there dwell, still almost unmo- 
lested, only wild beasts. Impenetrable hedges shut off the forests, 
and resist any attempt to force a way from the stream to the 
interior. Every shade of green combines to form an enchanting 
picture, which now reminds one of home, and again appears entirely 
foreign. Bright green mimosas form the groundwork, and with 
them contrast vividly the silver glittering palm-leaves, the dark 
green tamarinds, and the bright green Christ-thorn bushes; leaves 
of endless variety wave and tremble in the wind, exposing first one 
side and then the other, shimmering and glittering before the sur- 
feited and dazzled eye, which seeks in vain to analyse the leafy 
maze, to distinguish any part from the whole. For miles both 
banks present the same appearance, the same denseness of forest, 
the same grandeur, everywhere equally uninterrupted and impene- 
trable. 

At last we come upon a path, perhaps even on a broad road, 
which seems to lead into the depths of the forest. But we search 
in vain for any traces of human footprints. Man did not make this 
path; the beasts of the forest have cleared it. A herd of elephants 
tramped through the matted thicket from the dry heights of the 
bank to the stream. One after another in long procession the 
mighty beasts broke through the undergrowth, intertwined a thou- 
sand-fold, letting nought save the strongest trees divert them from 
their course. If branches or stems as thick as a man’s leg stood in 
the way they were snapped across, stripped of twigs and leaves, all 


208 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


that was eatable devoured, and the remainder thrown aside, the 
bushes which covered the ground so luxuriantly were torn up by 
the roots, and used or thrown aside in the same manner, grass and 
plants were trodden under foot. What the first comers left fell 
to those behind, and thus arose a passable road often stretching 
deep into the heart of the forest. Other animals have taken advan- 
tage of it, treading it down more thoroughly, and keeping it in 
passable condition. By it the hippopotamus makes his way at night 
when he tramps from the river to feed in the woods; the rhinoceros 
uses it as he comes from the forest to drink; by it the raging buffalo 
descends to the valley and returns to the heights; along it the lion 
strides through his territory; and there one may meet the leopard, 
the hyena, and other wild beasts of the forest. We set foot on it, 
and press forwards. 

After a few steps the magnificent forest surrounds us on all 
sides. But, here also, it seems in vain to attempt to unravel the 
confusion of stems and branches, twigs and shoots, tendrils and 
leaves. The forest hems in such a path on both sides like a wall. 
The ground is everywhere covered with thickly-matted bushes, 
which one cannot even seé through; but, struggling through these, 
all sorts of grasses have sprung up, forming a second undergrowth; 
just above that, tall-stemmed bushes and low trees spread their 
branches on all sides; over these again rise taller trees, and above 
them all tower the giants of the forest. By far the greater number 
of bushes in the undergrowth are thickly covered with thorns, 
while the mimosas towering above them are armed with long, hard, 
sharp spines, and even the grasses have burr-like seed-capsules 
covered with fine prickles, or ears set with sharp hooks, so that 
every attempt to penetrate the forest from the path is foiled by a 
thousand obstacles. The bird the huntsman’s gun has brought 
down is lost to him because in falling it is caught in a bush 
which he cannot reach without an amount of exertion quite out 
of proportion to the object; the game which conceals itself in a 
shrub before our very eyes is saved because we can no longer per- 
ceive it; a crocodile about three yards long, which we startled in 
the wood, escapes us by withdrawing itself into an isolated bush so 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 209 


completely that we cannot see a scale of it, and accordingly cannot 
fire a shot to any purpose. 

Still we continue striving vainly to master the wealth of impres- 
sions, to separate one picture from another, to see any one tree from 
the ground to its top, to distinguish the leaves of one from those of 
another. From the stream it had been possible to distinguish some 
of the fresh green tamarinds from the mimosas of various species 
surrounding them, to recognize the magnificent kigelias, reminding 
us slightly of our own elms, to delight in the palm-crowns towering 
over the rest of the trees: here, in the depths of the forest, all the 
individual parts are fused into an inseparable whole. All the 
senses are claimed at once. From the leafy dome which the eye 
attempts to penetrate is wafted the balsamic fragrance of some 
mimosas now in bloom; and hence also there rings continually 
in the ear a medley of the most varied sounds and notes, from the 
guttural cries of the monkeys or the screeching of parrots, to the 
modulated songs of birds and the buzzing of the insects flying about 
the blossoming trees. The sense of touch is no less fully, if not 
quite agreeably stimulated by the innumerable thorns, while that 
of taste may regale itself with the few attainable, but more or less 
unpalatable fruits. 

But at last we do come upon a distinct and definite picture. 
A tree, mighty in its whole structure, gigantic even in its minor 
branches, rises above the innumerable plants surrounding its base; 
like a giant it presses upwards and takes possession of space for its 
trunk and crown. It is the elephant, the pachyderm among the 
trees, the Adansonia, the tabaldie of the natives, the baobab. We 
stand in amazement to gaze on it; for the eye must become accus- 
tomed to the sight before it can take in the details. Picture a tree, 
the circumference of whose trunk, at a man’s height from the 
ground, may measure a hundred and twenty feet, whose lower 
branches are thicker than the trunks of our largest trees; whose 
twigs are like strong branches, and whose youngest shoots are 
thicker than one’s thumb; remember that this mighty giant of the 
plant-world rises to a height of about one hundred and thirty feet, 


and that its lowest branches spread out to almost sixty, and you 
(3170) 14 


210 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


will be able to form some idea of the impression it makes on the 
beholder. Of all the trees of the primeval forests in this region, 
the baobab is the first to lose its leaves, and it remains longest in its 
winter repose; during this season all its branches and twigs stretch 
out leafless into the air, while from most of them there hang, by 
long flexible stalks, fruits about the size of a melon, containing 
a mealy, slightly sour pulp between the seeds—the whole a 
sight which stamps itself ineffaceably on the memory. But, 
after the first rains of spring, great, five-lobed leaves unfold, 
enhancing the charm of this wondrous tree, and when, between 
the leaves, the long-stalked buds disclose white flowers as large as 
roses, this incomparable giant is transformed, as if by magic, 
into an enormous rose-bush of indescribable beauty, the sight of 
which stirs the heart of even the most matter-of-fact of men with 
admiration. 

No other tree in the forest can be compared with the baobab; 
even the duleb-palm, which raises its head above all the surrounding 
trees, cannot bear comparison with it in charm and impressiveness. 
Yet the duleb-palm is one of the most splendid trees found in the 
interior of Africa, and one of the finest palms in the world; its trunk 
is a pillar which no artist could have surpassed; its crown a capital 
worthy of such a pillar. The upright trunk thickens just above 
the ground, and thins in a remarkable manner to about half its 
height, then begins to bulge out, then again diminishes, and swells 
out once more just under the crown. This consists of broad, fan-like 
leaves, hardly less than a square yard in extent, whose stalks stand 
out straight on all sides round a middle point, thus giving the tree 
a most impressive individuality. The fruits attain to about the size 
of a child’s head, and the clusters hanging among the leaves greatly 
enhance the beauty of the crown, which is, indeed, an ornament to 
the whole forest. 

The legendary always clings about the gigantic; it lives on it, 
and takes form and meaning from it. This thought occurs to one 
when one sees, as frequently happens, the baobab overgrown with 
the tendrils of one of the climbing plants which beautify these 
forests in rich abundance. Climbing plants have always seemed to 


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Fig. 31.—The Baobab Tree—Central Africa, 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 213 


me a fitting emblem of the Arabian fairy tales. For as they appear 
to require no soil, although they have sprung from it, but to take 
their chief nourishment from the air; as they wind their flexible 
stems from tree to tree, attaching themselves firmly to each, yet 
struggling on, until, at length, they unfold on some flowerless tree- 
top, covering it with radiant, fragrant blossoms: so the fairy tale, 
though it may have been firmly rooted in fact, is not sustained 
by any real connection therewith, but reaches up to heaven for 
strength, and sends its poetry over all the world until it finds 
a heart which beats responsive. When I speak of climbing plants 
I do not mean any one species, but include under the term all 
those plants which here thickly cover a trunk with their tor- 
tuous coils, and there spread their tendrils over a bare tree-top; 
which in one place link many trees together, and in another cover 
a single tree with wreaths of green; which in one part of the 
forest link branch to branch with bridges of naked tendrils, and in 
another region combine to render the way impassable; occurring in 
a hundred different forms, but always twining and climbing. Their 
beauty, the charm they exercise on the northerner may be felt but 
cannot be described, for words to begin or end a satisfactory 
description would be as difficult to find as the beginnings and ends 
of the climbers themselves. These climbing plants, though within 
reach of one’s hand, yet do not allow of close observation; one 
follows the course of their tendrils admiringly, but without being 
able to say whence they come and whither they go; one revels in 
the sight of their flowers without being able to reach them, or 
often do more than guess to what plants they belong. These 
climbers, above all else, impress on the woodlands the stamp and 
seal of the primitive forest. 

But they have other ornaments than the blossoms which they 
themselves unfold. Their tendrils are the favourite perches of many 
of the most beautiful birds of the forest, living flowers which far 
surpass those of the plant in beauty and charm. Sometimes it 
happens that a sudden flash, like a sun-ray reflected from a smooth, 
bright surface, catches the eye and guides it to the spot from which 
itemanated. The shimmer is indeed a sunbeam—a sunbeam reflected 


214 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


from the glossy plumage of a metallic starling, now in one direc- 
tion, now in another, with every movement. Delighted by the won- 
derful beauty of this bird, one would gladly observe it carefully, 
and learn something of its life and habits; but one’s attention is 
continually being claimed by new phenomena. For here, too, pic- 
ture crowds upon picture. Where the metallic starling sat a few 
moments before, there appears a no less brilliant golden cuckoo, a 
sun-bird or honey-sucker rivalling the humming-birds in beauty of 
plumage, a pair of charming bee-eaters, a roller displaying his bril- 
liant feathers, a halcyon no less beautiful, a paradise fly-catcher, 
whose long, drooping, median tail-feathers give the little creature 
such a surprising splendour, a turaco unfolding his deep purple-red 
feathers at every stroke of his wings, a shrike whose flaming red 
breast excels even these wings in brightness, a quaintly-shaped 
hornbill, a golden weaver-bird, a vidua or “widow-bird”, a wood- 
hoopoe with its metallic brilliance, a dainty woodpecker, a leaf- 
green dove, a flight of similarly coloured parrots, and many other 
feathered inhabitants of the forest. This is a specially favoured 
home of birds, affording food and shelter to many hundreds and 
thousands of different species, so that one sees them much sooner 
and much more frequently than any of the other creatures which 
have their home in the forest. Birds animate every part, from the 
ground to the tops of the tallest trees, from the most impenetrable 
bushes to the leafless branches of the baobab. Among the grasses 
and other plants growing luxuriantly on the ground the well-trodden 
paths of francolin and perhaps also guinea-fowl twine and inter- 
twine in every direction; the leafy spaces just above the root-stocks 
of the bushes are occupied by little doves, the spreading portion of 
their tops by various beautiful birds, especially sun-birds and finches, 
while families of colies shoot down, like arrows from a bow, to 
where the bush-tops are so thickly matted and thoroughly inter- 
woven that they seem quite impenetrable, and, by creeping and 
clinging, pushing through every possible gap and opening, succeed 
in forcing their way into the centre, there to seek for food; wood- 
hoopoes, titmice, and woodpeckers hang or climb about, examining 
every crevice in the bark of the trunks which rise just above the 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 215 


bushes; delightful bee-eaters or rollers, paradise fly-catchers and 
drongos sit on the lower twigs of the second layer of tree-tops 
awaiting their flying prey; on the stronger branches of the third 
layer turacos hop about, small herons walk with dignity backwards 
and forwards, horned and other owls cling closely to the stems and 
sleep; parrots and barbets flit about among the thick foliage of the 
tallest trees, while eagles, falcons, and vultures have settled on their 
topmost boughs. Wherever one casts one’s eye there is a bird. 

As might be expected from this universal distribution, or indeed 
omnipresence, we hear continually the most varied bird - voices. 
They coax and call, pipe and whistle, chirp and twitter, trill and 
warble, coo and chatter, scream and crow, screech and cackle, cry 
and sing on all sides of us, above and beneath, early and late, and all 
day long. A hundred different voices sound together, now blending 
into a wonderful harmony, now into a bewildering maze of sounds 
which one seeks in vain to analyse, in which only long practice 
enables one to differentiate individual voices. With the excep- 
tion of thrushes, bulbuls, several species of warblers, and drongos, 
there are no true songsters, but there are many pleasing babblers 
and delightful chatterers, and an endless number who scream, cackle, 
croak, and utter various more or less shrill sounds. Taken collec- 
tively, therefore, the bird-notes of the primitive forest cannot for a 
moment compare in tunefulness and sweetness with the spring songs 
of our own woods, but the individual voices are most remarkable. 
Wild doves coo, moan, laugh, and call from the tree-tops and the 
thickest bushes, francolins and guinea-fowl cackle loudly from their 
midst, parrots screech, ravens croak, plantain-eaters succeed in most 
accurately mimicking the strange guttural cries of a troop of long- 
tailed monkeys, while the turacos utter sounds like those made by 
a ventriloquist; barbets whistle loudly in slurred notes, their voices 
together making a ringing song, so intricate, yet so full of expres- 
sion that it must be reckoned one of the most distinctive sounds 
of the forest; the shimmering metallic starlings sing, and though 
they can only compass a few rough sounds, now croaking, now 
screeching, now squeaking, these are arranged, combined, blended, 
and allowed to die away in endless repetition; the magnificent 


216 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


screaming sea-eagle, resident beside all the water-courses and water- 
basins of the forest, justifies his name. High on a tree-top sits the 
“abu tok” (producer of the sound “tok”) of the natives, a small 
hornbill, calling his “tok” loudly and accompanying each sound with 
a nod of his head, weighted with its disproportionately large bill. 
Only this one sound does his unpliant voice produce, yet with it he 
expresses his love to the mate he is wooing, or has won, as intelli- 
gibly as the nightingale tells its tale in its bewitching song. The 
emotion swelling in his breast struggles for expression. The cries 
follow each other in more and more rapid succession, the appropriate 
movements become more and more rapid, until the heavy head is 
too tired to accompany any longer, and one phrase of this singular 
love-song comes to an end, to be begun and sung through again in 
precisely the same manner a few minutes later. From the unap- 
proachable thicket sounds the voice of the hagedash or wood-ibis, 
and a slight shudder seizes the listener. The song of this bird is a 
lamentation of the most pitiful kind; it sounds as if a little child 
were being painfully tortured, perhaps slowly roasted over a small 
fire, and were crying out in its anguish; for long-drawn plaintive 
sounds alternate with shrill cries, sudden shrieks with faint moanings. 
From the high-lying parts of the forest, where there are small bare 
patches, resound the far-reaching metallic trumpet-tones with which 
the crested crane accompanies his graceful, lively dances in honour 
of his mate, and these awaken an echo in the forest, as well as in 
the throat of every bird possessed, like himself, of a ringing voice, so 
that his cry is the signal for a simultaneous outburst of song from 
a large number of other birds. Thus incited, every bird with 
any voice at all gives utterance to it, and for a time a flood of 
varied sounds drowns the individual voices. But it is not only the 
different species of feathered inhabitants of the forest who thus take 
different parts in the piece; sometimes even the two sexes of one 
species each sing a different part. The babbling thrushes, plantain- 
eaters, francolins, and guinea-fowl scream together like the barbets 
already described, and thus evoke those strange complex phrases, 
which ring out distinctly from the general confusion of voices. But 
in a few species, particularly in the bush-shrikes, the male and 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 217 


female each sing a distinct part. In one species which I observed 
—the scarlet shrike—the male sings a short strophe, reminding one 
of the intricate whistle of our golden oriole. In another—the flute- 
shrike—the male utters three bell-like flute-notes, striking third, 
key-note, and octave. Immediately following comes the answer of 
the female, in both cases a disagreeable croaking not easily described, 
but as unfailingly correct in time as if the birds had been instructed 
by a musician. Sometimes it happens that the female begins, and 
croaks four or five times before the answer comes; then the male 
strikes in again, and they alternate with their usual regularity. I 
have convinced myself experimentally as to this co-operation of the 
sexes, by shooting now the male and now the female, and in every 
case only the notes of the surviving sex could be heard. It 
must be allowed that these notes, enchanting as they are at first, 
lack the richness and variety, as the collective voices lack the 
tunefulness and harmony, of the bird songs in our woods at home; 
nevertheless it is a grand and impressive melody which one hears 
in the primitive forest in spring-time when hundreds and thousands 
of voices mingle together, millions of insects swarm with loud bum- 
ming and buzzing round the blossom-laden trees, countless lizards 
and snakes rustle through the dry foliage, and every now and then 
the shrill yet sonorous call of the eagle sounds down from above, 
the trumpet notes of the crested crane or the guinea-fowl are heard 
for the time above all other voices, immediately afterwards a 
warbler sings his charming song quite close to the listener’s ear, and 
again, one of the screamers gives the key-note, which awakes an 
echo from a thousand throats. 

If the naturalist succeeds in becoming more at home in the 
forest than he had at first ventured to hope, he gets many delightful 
glimpses of the domestic life of animals, and more particularly of 
birds. It is still spring-time, and love reigns in all hearts. The 
birds sing and caress, build their nests, and brood. Even from the 
boat one can observe the brooding colonies of some species. 

On a perpendicular part of the river bank, at a safe distance 
above the high-water mark, the bee-eaters have hollowed out their 
deep brooding burrows, narrow at the entrance, but widening out 


218 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


into an oven-like form at the inner end. The whole colony only 
covers a few square yards, though it consists of at least thirty, and 
more frequently from eighty to a hundred pairs. The circular 
openings to the various holes, measuring only from one and a 
half to two inches in diameter, are not more than six inches dis- 
tant from each other. It is difficult to understand how each pair 
knows the entrance to its own hole; yet even when they come from 
a distance the delicately-winged active birds fly straight to the 
proper holes without hesitation or apparent consideration; their 
incomparably sharp eyes, which can detect a passing fly a hundred 
paces away, never mislead them. The bustling life about the colony 
is a fascinating sight. Every tree or bush in the neighbourhood 
is decorated with at least one pair of the beautiful, sociable birds; 
on every branch which affords an outlook sits a pair, and each mate 
takes a tender interest in all that concerns the other. In front of 
the nest-holes the bustle is like that about a bee-hive; some glide 
in, others glide out; some come, others go; many hover continually 
around the entrance to their brooding-places. Only when night 
draws on do they disappear into their holes; then all is quiet and 
still. 

At a different part of the bank, where tall trees droop over the 
water, or are surrounded by it when it is very high, the golden 
weaver-birds have established a colony. They, too, brood in com- 
panies, but they build hanging nests cleverly plaited from stalks 
or fibres, and attached to the points of the outermost branches 
of the trees. No covetous monkey or other egg-robber, not even 
a snake, can approach these nests without running a risk of 
falling into the water. At least thirty, but more frequently forty 
to sixty, weaver-birds build on a single tree, and their nests give 
it a most characteristic aspect; indeed, they have a striking effect 
on the whole landscape. Unlike other birds, it is in this case not 
the females but the males who build the nest, and they do it with 
such unstinted eagerness that they make work for themselves after 
they have finished what is really necessary. Carrying in their 
bills a stalk newly bitten off, or a teased-out fibre, they hang by 
their feet to a twig, or to the nest itself, keep themselves in position 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 219 


by fluttering their wings, and work in their material, singing all the 
while. When one nest is built and finished inside, they proceed to 
make a second and a third; indeed, they may even pull a finished 
work to pieces again to satisfy their love of building. Thus they go 
on until the female, who has meanwhile been brooding, claims their 
assistance in the rearing of the young ones. This activity animates 
the whole colony, and the golden-yellow, mobile, active birds sitting 
or hanging in the most varied positions, are an ornament to the tree 
already decorated with their nests. 

On the mimosas, which are leafless just at the general brooding 
time, the cow-weaver birds have erected structures very large for 
the size of the birds, which are scarcely so large as our starlings. 
Their nests are placed among the thickest branches at the top of 
the thorny mimosas, and as they are made entirely of thorny twigs 
on the outside, they have much the appearance of a scrubbing- 
brush; they are often more than a yard long, half as high and 
broad, and enclose roomy brooding-chambers entered by winding 
tunnels corresponding to the size of the birds, and impassable to 
other animals. On these trees, and about these nests, too, there is 
much lively and noisy bustle. 

In the heart of the forest itself an attentive observer finds nests 
everywhere, though it is often difficult to recognize them. Little 
finches, for instance, build nests which are deceptively like heaps 
of dried grass blown together by the wind, but inside there is a 
soft, warm brooding-chamber lined with feathers; other birds choose 
building materials the colour of which is deceptively like that of the 
surroundings, while others do not build at all, but lay their earth- 
coloured eggs on the bare ground. Every cavity in the trees is now 
inhabited, and woodpeckers, barbets, and parrots are constantly at 
work making new chambers, or widening and adapting already 
existing cavities into brooding-holes, while the hornbills, on the 
other hand, busy themselves plastering up the too-wide entrances. 
The last-named birds are specially distinctive in their brooding 
habits, and deserve to be mentioned first. 

When the hornbill by ardent wooing has won a mate, he helps her 
to seek out a suitable hole to serve as a nest. This found, he labours 


220 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


painfully with his clumsy bill to enlarge it to the required size. Then 
the female prepares to lay her eggs, and both mates plaster up the 
entrance, the female working from the inside, the male from the 
outside, until all is closed up save an opening large enough for the 
female to force her bill through. Shut off from the outer world 
in this isolated brooding-chamber, the female sits on her eggs, and 
the male has to feed not only his imprisoned mate, but later the 
quickly-growing ever hungry young ones, which remain in captivity 
until they are fully fledged. Then the mother breaks open the 
entrance from within, and the whole family emerges to the world 
fat and in good feather, thereby relieving from further toil the hus- 
band and father, who is reduced to a skeleton with the labour and 
anxiety of filling so many mouths. 

Similar conjugal and paternal tenderness is exhibited by the 
umber-bird, a stork-like bird about the size of a raven, which leads 
a quiet, nocturnal life in the forest,and builds an enormous nest, one 
of the most remarkable built by any bird. These nests are usually 
placed at but a short distance from the ground, in forks of the trunk, 
or on any thick boughs of the lower part of the crown that are strong 
enough to bear them; for they exceed the nests of the largest birds 
of prey in circumference and weight, being often from one and a 
half to two yards in diameter and not much less in height, and con- 
sisting of fairly thick branches and twigs, which are neatly stuck 
together or mortared with clay. If one does not happen to notice 
how the umber-bird slips out and in one would never imagine that 
these structures were hollow, but would rather take them for the 
eyrie of a bird of prey, especially as eagles and horned owls fre- 
quently nest on the top of them. But when one has seen the real 
owner enter, and has inspected the nest closely, one finds that the 
interior is divided into three compartments, connected by holes 
which serve as doors, and further observation reveals that these three 
compartments answer the purpose of hall, reception or dining room, 
and brooding-chamber. This last room, the farthest back, is slightly 
higher than the rest, so that if any water should get in it can flow 
away; but the whole structure is so excellently built that even 
heavy and long-continuing showers of rain do very little damage. 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 221 


Within the brooding-chamber, on a soft cushion of sedge and other 
materials, lie the three, four, or five white eggs on which the 
female sits; in the middle chamber the male meantime stores up all 
sorts of provisions, a bountiful supply of fish, frogs, lizards, and 
other dainties which he has caught, so that his mate can choose from 
these stores, and has only to reach forward to satisfy her hunger; 
in the entrance chamber the male stands or sits, whenever he is not 
busy hunting for food, to keep guard and to cheer his mate with 
his society, until the growing offspring take up the whole attention 
of both.” 

The association of umber-bird and eagle or horned owl is not a 
solitary instance of friendly companionship on the part of birds 
belonging to different species and totally unlike in their habits. 
On the broad, fan-like leaves of the magnificent duleb-palm, which 
stand out horizontally from the trunk, the nests of the dwarf pere- 
grine falcon and the guinea-dove often stand so close together that 
the faleon could easily grasp one of his neighbour's young ones. 
But he does not touch them, for he is only accustomed to attack 
birds on the wing, and thus the little doves grow up in safety beside 
the little falcons, and the parents of both often sit peacefully beside 
each other, near their respective nests.* 

Another palm gave me an opportunity of observing birds whose 
brooding surprised and fascinated me greatly. Round a single tom- 
palm there flew, with constant cries, small-sized swifts, nearly re- 
lated to our own swifts, and my attention was thus directed to the 
tree itself. On close observation I saw that the birds frequently 
repaired between the leaves, and I then discovered on the grooves 
of the leaf-stalks light points which I took to be nests. I climbed 
the tree, bent one of the leaves towards me, and saw that each nest, 
which was made chiefly of cotton, was plastered firmly in the angle 
between the stalk and the midrib of the leaf, cemented by salivary 
secretion, after the method usually followed by swifts. But the 
hollow of the nest appeared to me so flat that I wondered how the 
two eggs could remain lying when the leaf was shaken by the wind. 
And it must have shaken with the slightest breath, not to speak of 
the storms which often raged here! Carefully I reached out my 


222 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


hand to take out the eggs; then I saw with astonishment that the 
mother had glued them firmly to the nest. And as I examined 
newly-hatched, tiny, helpless young birds, I saw, with increasing 
astonishment, that they, too, were attached to the nest in the same 
way, and were thus secured from falling out. 

Apart from the birds, which continually attract the naturalist’s 


Fig. 32.—Long-tailed Monkeys. 


attention by their omnipresence, beauty, vivacity and nimbleness, 
as well as by their songs, or rather cries; apart also from the very 
numerous lizards and snakes, or the abundant insects, even a care- 
ful observer can see very little of the other denizens of the primeval 
forest, and especially little of its mammals. But one can hardly fail to 
see a band of long-tailed monkeys, for the liveliness and restlessness 
characteristic of these and of all the African monkeys is sure to 
bring them sooner or later before the most unobservant eye, and 
their continual gurgling noises must reach the ear; yet one may 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 223 


pass within a few yards of most of the other mammals without 
having any idea that they are near. The great majority of the 
mammals inhabiting the primeval forest become active only after 
sundown, and return to their lairs before daybreak; but even those 
which are active and busy in full sunlight in the morning and 
evening are by no means so easily seen as might be imagined, for 
the thickness of the forest stands them in good stead. A European 
with whom I hunted in the primeval forest said to me: “Did you 
see that leopard that bounded from me towards you a few minutes 
ago? I could not shoot for I had not my gun in order; but you 
must have seen him.” He was wrong; I had not seen the great 
beast, so dense was the undergrowth in the forest. Where it is less 
dense another fact has its importance: the colour-resemblance 
between the mammals and their surroundings. The grayish lemur, 
which sits or sleeps huddled up high up on a branch spun over with 
lichens, resembles a knob or protuberance so clearly and convinc- 
ingly that its form is only made out when the sportsman, taught 
by former experience, uses his glass and observes it keenly; the bat, 
which hangs high up in the crown of another tree, also looks like 
an outgrowth or a withered leaf; even the spotted skin of the 
leopard may be a faithful mimicry of the dry leaves and flowering 
euphorbias, and I myself once had to advance with cocked rifle 
to within fifteen paces of a bush in which a leopard had taken 
shelter before I could distinguish the animal from his surroundings. 
The same holds true of the forest antelopes, and indeed of all the 
mammals, and they know that this is so.o* Not everywhere, but 
here and there throughout the forest, and then always abundantly, 
there lives a little antelope, the bush or Salt’s antelope. It is one of 
the most charming of all ruminants, most gracefully built, not 
bigger than a fawn a few days old, and of a foxy, gray-blue colour. 
It lives with a mate in the thickest undergrowth of the forest, 
choosing for its lair or habitual resting-place a bush which is 
branched and leafy to the ground, and thence treading out narrow 
paths in all directions through the thicket. I have often shot the 
animal; but at first it escaped me as it escapes all the travellers and 
sportsmen who. make its acquaintance. I could never see it except 


224 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


when, if startled, it flew past me like an arrow. “Look, sir, there, 
in front of you in the nearest bush is a little antelope; it is down 
there in the gap between the two thickly-leaved branches,’ whis- 
pered my native guide in my ear. I strained every nerve, penetrated 
every part of the bush with my gaze, and saw nothing but branches 
and leaves, for the graceful legs had become twigs, the head and 
body a leafy bough. But 
the sportsman’s eye be- 


comes accustomed in time 
even to the primeval 
forest. When one has 
become familiar with the 
dainty creature’s habits, 
one learns to find it as 
well as the sharp-sighted 
natives do. Its acute 
hearing warns it of the 
approach of a man long 
before he can see any 
trace of its presence. 
Scared by the rustle of 
heavy human footsteps it 


starts up from its lair, 
takes a few steps for- 
wards, and steps into some 


Fig. 33.—Salt’s Antelope (Antilope Saltiana). 
gap from which to see 


what happens. Like a bronze statue it stands stiff and motion- 
less, without even moving an ear or turning an eye, but looking 
and listening; the leg which was raised to step onwards remains in 
that position, not a sign betrays life. Now is the time for the 
sportsman to raise his gun quickly, take aim and shoot; a moment 
later the cunning antelope has gained the cover of a neighbouring 
bush at a single bound, or has bent slowly down and crept away so 
quietly that scarcely a leaf stirs, scarcely a blade of grass moves. 
The primeval forest thus presents a succession of varied pictures 
to the traveller’s eye. If one has learnt to see, and attempts to 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 225 


understand, one finds more in every part of the forest at every 
season than one can master. But one does not see the same things 
at every spot, and at every season. Here, where spring lasts only 
a few weeks, and summer and autumn are counted by days, the long 
reign of winter sets in directly after the rainy season, just as in the 
steppe, and the full, rich, overflowing life of animals and plants is 
crowded into a very short time. As soon as the birds have finished 
brooding they begin to migrate; as soon as the mammals have 
exhausted the food-supply in one part of the forest they betake 
themselves to another. Consequently one meets different animals 
in the same spot at different times, or at least one sees different 
aspects of animal life. The river, for instance, becomes animated in 
proportion as the forest becomes depopulated. 

While the river is high, one does not see much of the animals 
which live in and about the water. All the islands are deeply 
buried under the water, the banks are likewise flooded, and the 
birds which usually inhabit them are crowded out for the time. 
And if a crocodile should raise his head and part of his scaly back 
above the water, he must be close to the boat if one sees him at all. 
Strictly speaking, there remain only the hippopotamuses, which are 
comparatively abundant in some parts, the birds flying about over 
the water, and perhaps a few diving-birds to prove that any higher 
vertebrates live in and about the river. But, when the rain has 
ceased, the river falls, and all the islands, sand-banks, and the river- 
banks themselves stand out once more. The scene is changed also 
as far as the animal world is concerned. The hippopotamuses retire 
to the deepest parts of the river, associating in troops sometimes of 
considerable strength, and making themselves very conspicuous as 
they come to the surface to breathe, each breath being inhaled with 
a snort which can be heard a long way off. During the day they 
land on islands or sand-banks to rest or stretch themselves in the sun, 
and they can then be seen from a distance of more than half a mile. 
The crocodiles eagerly enjoy a pleasure they had to forego while 
the river was high, that of sunning themselves for hours in the 
heat of the day. To this end they creep out about mid-day on a 


flat, sandy island, fall heavily with an audible plump on the sand, 
(370) 15 


226 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


open their formidably-toothed jaws wide, and sleep till evening; 
there may be ten, twenty, or thirty of them on a single sand-bank. 
Now the sand-banks, both river-banks, and the shores of the larger 
islands are covered with flocks of birds whose numerical strength 
is most impressive. For, by this time of year most of the native 
shore-birds and swimming-birds have ended their brooding labours, 
and frequent the shores of the river with their young to enjoy, while 
they are moulting, the abundant and easily-procured food. About 
the same time, too, the migratory birds from the north arrive to 
pass the winter here. The last-named are also to be found in every 
part of the primeval forest, but are not nearly so much in evidence 
there as by the river, whose banks and islands are covered by the 
largest and most conspicuous species. It may even happen that the 
available space by the river is too small, the rich supply of food 
insufficient for the number of claimants. Thus every space is more 
than fully occupied, every promising hunting-ground is visited by 
thousands, every sleeping-place even is fought over. For three 
days I sailed, in an excellent boat and with a very good wind, up 
the White Nile, and during the whole long journey both banks 
were uninterruptedly covered with a gay and motley throng of 
littoral and aquatic birds. In the midst of the forests about the 
Blue Nile one can see a similar sight. Extensive sand-banks are 
completely covered by gray and demoiselle cranes, but they only 
serve these winter visitors as resting, sleeping, and moulting places, 
from whence they fly out every morning into the steppe in search of 
food, returning about mid-day to drink, bathe, dress their feathers, 
and to spend the night, though they are in continual danger from 
the crocodiles. Regularly about mid-day they are joined by several 
crowned cranes whose visit always causes lively excitement, for 
they are, if not better, at least more ardent dancers than the other 
cranes, and on their arrival they never fail to exhibit their skill, 
and thus to incite the others to rivalry. On the same sand-banks 
one may often see tantalus-ibises, magnificent stork-like birds, with 
rosy-white plumage and brilliant rose-red wings, which take posses- 
sion of the extreme edge of the island or the neighbouring damp 
places. Ina good light they literally glow, and they are at all times 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 227 


beautiful, contrasting wonderfully with the light gray cranes, and 
decorating the whole neighbourhood. Splendid giant or saddle-billed 
storks step proudly along the shores; ugly, but curiously-formed 
marabous walk up and down with an air of dignity; glittering, open- 
bill storks stand in large companies; giant and great white herons 
wade about in search of fish; and everywhere standing and lying, 
swimming and diving, grazing and grubbing, cackling and chatter- 
ing are thousands of Spur-winged, Egyptian, and other geese, 
widow and pintail ducks, African darters, ibises, curlews, sandpipers, 
dunlins, redshanks, and many more, a motley throng which 
decorates the stream even more than the tantalus ibises. But, in 
addition to all those mentioned, some of whom are constantly 
coming and going, there fly terns and gulls, sand-martins and _ bee- 
eaters, while splendid sea-eagles wheel in circles high up in the air. 

There are some members of this bird-fauna, so rich in every 
respect, who have to wait till the water is at its lowest before they 
can begin to brood, for, when the river is full, they are quite unable 
to find such nesting-places as they desire. Among these is a running 
bird, prettily and gaily coloured, clever and vivacious by nature, 
which was well known to the ancients as the Crocodile-bird or the 
Trochilus of Herodotus. Of it the old historian relates, as Pliny 
repeats on his authority, that it lives in true friendship with the 
crocodile. And this old story is no fable, as one might be inclined 
to suppose, but is based on solid facts, which I have myself been 
able to verify.°° The crocodile-bird, whose image is so often repre- 
sented on the ancient Egyptian monuments, and stands for U in the 
hieroglyphic alphabet, occurs in Egypt and Nubia, but nowadays 
it seems to be only in the Soudan that it discharges, on the croco- 
dile’s behalf, those sentinel duties for which it was famous among 
the ancient peoples. But the service it renders is not to the croco- 
dile alone, but to all other creatures who are willing to take advan- 
tage of its watchfulness. Observant, inquisitive, excitable, clamor- 
ous, and gifted with a far-reaching voice, it is well fitted to serve 
as watchman to all less careful creatures. No approach, whether of 
beast of prey or of man, escapes its suspicious observation; every 
sailing-boat or rowing-boat on the river attracts its attention; and 


228 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


it never fails to tell of its discovery in loud cries. Thus it brings 
under the notice of all the other creatures who share its home or 
resting-place the unusual occurrence, enabling them either to find 
out for themselves if there is really any danger, or to make good 
their escape on the strength of its warning. Thus it discharges the 
duties of a sentinel. Its friendly relations with the crocodile can 
hardly be called mutual, for to credit the crocodile with friend- 
ship is going rather far. Certainly the reptile treats the bird as 
a harmless creature, but this is not out of any benevolence, 


Fig. 34.—Crocodile and Crocodile-birds (Pluxianus egyptius). 


but simply because he has a thorough knowledge and a correct 
estimate of his partner. And as to the bird, it is at home on the 
sand-banks where the crocodile is wont to rest, and has been from 
its youth accustomed to the monster; it busies itself about him and 
associates itself with him, as if he were the master and itself the 
servant. Without hesitation it hops on his back as he rests; without 
apprehension it approaches his gaping jaws to see if there be per- 
chance a leech sucking his lips, or if there be some morsel of food 
sticking between his teeth; and without misgiving it darts off with 
either. All this the crocodile quietly allows, for doubtless he has 
learned by experience that he cannot get at the ever watchful, agile, 
and clever little rogue. I once saw a crocodile-bird having a meal 
along with a screaming sea-eagle off a fish, which the latter had 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 229 


caught and borne to a sand-bank. While the eagle, which held its 
booty firmly in its talons or stood upon it, was breaking off pieces 
of the flesh, the parasite at the lordly bird’s table kept at a respect- 
ful distance; but as soon as the eagle raised its head to swallow, the 
crocodile-bird ran forward, seized one of the prepared fragments, 
and was off again to his old position, there to enjoy his stolen goods. 
Not less astonishing than this self-possessed audacity is the way in 
which the crocodile-bird hides its eggs from prying eyes. For long 
I searched in vain for the nest. When the brooding period set in 
was readily enough discovered by dissecting a specimen which I 
killed; and that the bird must nest on the sand-bank I was already 
convinced from my observation of its mode of life. But it was in 
vain that I searched their favourite spots; not a hint of a nest could 
I find. At last I observed a pair, one sitting on the ground, the other 
busying itself round about; I brought my field-glass to bear upon 
the sitting bird and made straight for it. As I came near it rose, 
hastily scraped some sand together, and flew off, uttering its usual 
ery, but without any other signs of excitement. I was not diverted 
from my purpose, but advanced carefully, keeping the exact spot 
always in view. But even when I reached the place I could see no 
nest, and it was not till I noticed a slight unevenness in the sand, and 
dug carefully with my fingers, that I found what I sought, two eggs 
most deceptively like the sand in their colour and markings. Had the 
mother-bird been allowed more time than I gave her, it is not likely 
that I should ever have noticed the slight unevenness in the sand. 

Even richer, if that be possible, than the fauna of the river, and 
at any rate more diverse, is that to be found at the proper season 
on the shores and surface of all the lakes and larger water-pools 
which lie within the forest and are filled either by the spring rains 
or by the full floods of the river. Surrounded by the forest, and 
not unfrequently so thickly hedged round that one cannot reach 
them without great difficulty, and more immediately fringed by a 
scarcely less rich vegetation of canes and reed-thickets, where the 
papyrus and the lotos still flourish, these rain-lakes, or Fulat as the 
natives call them, afford most excellent resting-stations and breed- 
ing-places for the most diverse kinds of beasts and birds. 


230 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Their safe seclusion pleases even the hippopotamus so well that 
it seeks them out as fit places where to bring forth and suckle, 
tend and rear its young, safe from dangerous intruders, and without 
trouble as to food, which the water supplies in abundance. Wild 
hogs and buffaloes are also attracted to the luxuriant fringe of vege- 
tation and to the creeks which gradually pass into swamp and bog. 
To all the thirsty race of antelopes the quiet pools afford welcome 
supplies, On the surface thousands of pelicans gather in the even- 
ings, and fish greedily before they go to roost on the tall trees near 
by; all day long the darters dive; many ducks and geese swim about, 
both native species and those which have come from the north to 

hese comfortable winter-quarters; in the creeks and shallows the 
giant-herons and the beautiful little bush-herons secure rich booty 
at small cost of exertion; countless hosts of little birds are sheltered 
among the green, sappy herbage of the shore, and many other shore- 
and water-birds find resting-places and build their nests on the over- 
towering trees of the forest. 

It is no wonder, then, that these lakes should periodically swarm 
with birds; and it is likewise plain that such great wealth of booty 
must also attract all sorts of enemies. The smaller birds are fol- 
lowed by the falcons and owls, the larger birds by the eagle and 
horned owl, the mammals by the fox and jackal, the leopard and the 
lion. Sometimes, too, an army of voracious locusts coming in from 
the steppe falls upon the fresh green girdle around such a lake and 
ravages it in a few days, devouring all the leaves. Or one should 
rather say threatening to devour, for at such a time the assemblage 
of birds becomes even larger than before. From far and near they 
come flocking—falcons and owls, ravens and rollers, francolins and 
guinea-fowl, storks and ibises, coots and ducks. Every bird that 
ever eats insects now confines itself exclusively to the pertinacious 
visitors. Hundreds of kestrels and lesser kestrels, which are then 
in these winter-quarters, sweep over the invaded forest, and swoop 
down upon the locusts, seizing and devouring them, with scarce an 
interruption in their flight. Ravens, rollers, hornbills, ibises, and 
storks pick them off the branches of the trees and shake down hun- 
dreds which fall victims to the guinea-fowl, ducks, and other birds 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 231 


waiting underneath. Harriers and chanting hawks circle around 
the trees on which the “defoliating” insects soon take the place of 
the leaves that were. Even the sedate marabous and saddle-billed 
storks do not disdain to avail themselves of booty whose abundance 
compensates for the paltry size of the individual victims. All this 
bustle greatly enhances the liveliness of a scene which is at no time 
dull, and makes the lake more than ever a rendezvous of the most 
diverse forms of life. 

At one of these rain-lakes—a very treasure-house of the forest’s 
riches—we spent several days, hunting, observing, and collecting, 
almost wild with delight in, and admiration of the splendid flora and 
fauna. We amused ourselves with hunting hippopotamus, and exe- 
cuted justice on the crocodile; we enjoyed to the full the pleasures of 
exploration and of the chase, forgetful of everything else, even of the 
time we spent. But when the sun went down and tinged with gold 
the varied greens of the forest; when the chattering of the parrots 
was hushed and only the ecstatic song of a thrush floated down to 
us; when, over there on the opposite bank, the sea-eagle, which a 
moment ago had seemed like some wonderful blossom on the top of 
his green perch, drowsily drew his white head between his shoulders; 
when silence fell even on the guttural gossip of a band of long-tailed 
monkeys, who had gone to rest on the nearest lofty mimosa; when 
the night came on with its clear pleasant twilight, cool and mild, 
melodious and fragrant, as it always is at this season: then would 
all the wealth of colour, all the splendour and glamour of to-day’s 
and yesterday’s pictures fade away. Our thoughts flew homewards, 
and irresistible home-sickness filled our hearts, for in the Fatherland 
they were celebrating Christmas. We had prepared our punch and 
filled our pipes with the most precious of tobaccos; our Albanian 
companion sang his soft melancholy song; the beauty of the night 
soothed our hearts and senses; but the glasses remained unemptied, 
“the clouds of smoke did not bear the clouds of melancholy with 
- them”; the songs awoke no responsive echo, and the night brought 
no solace. But it must bring us a Christmas gift, and it did! 

Night in the primeval forest is always grand: the sky above 
may be illumined with flaming lightning, the thunder may roll, and 


232 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the wind may rage through the trees; or it may be that the dark 
starless heaven is relieved only by the slender rays of far-distant 
suns, while no leaf or blade of grass is stirred. A few minutes 
after sunset, night descends upon the forest. What was clearly seen 
by day is now veiled by darkness, what was seen in its true propor- 
tions in the sunlight now becomes gigantic. Familiar trees become 
phantasms, the hedge-like bushes thicken to dark walls. The noise 
of a thousand voices is stilled, and for a few minutes a deep silence 
prevails. Then life begins to stir again, the river and the forest are 
again alive. Hundreds of cicadas raise their chirping, like the 
jingle of many badly-tuned little bells heard from a distance; thou- 
sands of restless beetles, some very large, whirr about the flowering 
trees with a deep humming, fit accompaniment to the cicadas’ chirp- 
ing. Frogs add their single note, surprisingly loud for their size, 
and their voices ring through the forest, like the sound of a slowly- 
beaten Chinese gong. A great owl greets the night with its dull 
hooting; a little screech-owl responds with shrill laughter; a goat- 
sucker spins off the single strophe of his rattling song. From the 
river come the plaintive cries of a nocturnal member of the gull 
family, the skimmer or shearwater, which begins to plough the 
waves, skimming along the surface of the water; from the islands 
and banks sound the somewhat screeching cries of the thickknee or 
stone-curlew, and the rich, melodious, song-like trills of the red- 
shank or the plover; among the reeds and sedges of a neighbouring 
pool croaks a night-heron. Hundreds of glowworms sparkle among 
the bushes and the tree-tops; a gigantic crocodile, which had left 
its sand-bank before sundown to bathe its heated coat of mail in the 
tepid water, is swimming half beneath and half above the surface 
of the water, and making long streaks of silver which shine in 
the moonlight, or at least glitter in the flickering light of the 
stars. Above the tallest trees float noiseless companies of horned 
and other owls; long-tailed night-jars fly with graceful curves 
along the river bank; bats describe their tortuous course among 
the trees; fox-bats and fruit-eating bats cross from bank to 
bank, sometimes in flocks. This is the time of activity among the 
other mammals too. A jackal utters its varied call, now plaintive, 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 233 


now merry, and continues with equal expressiveness and persistence; 
a dozen others join in at once, and strive in eager rivalry for the 
victor’s crown; some hyenas who seem just to have been waiting 
for these unrivalled leaders to begin, join the chorus. They howl 
and laugh, moan piteously, and shout triumphantly; a panther 
grunts, a lion roars; even a hippopotamus in the river lifts up his 
paltry voice and grunts. 

Thus does night reveal itself in the primeval forest; thus did it 
claim ear and eye on that never-to-be-forgotten day. Beetles and 
cicadas, owls and goat-suckers had begun: then a loud, rumbling 
noise, as of trumpets blown by unskilful mouths, resounded through 
the forest. At once the songs of our Albanian, and the chattering 
of our servants and sailors were hushed; all listened as we did. 
Once more came the trumpeting and rumbling from the opposite 
bank. “Hl fiwhl, el fiwhl!” called the natives; “Elephants, ele- 
phants!” we, too, exclaimed triumphantly. Jt was the first time 
that we had seen and heard the giant pachyderms, though we had 
constantly trodden their paths and followed their traces. From the 
opposite bank the great forms, which could be plainly enough seen 
in the twilight, descended leisurely and confidently to the water, to 
drink and bathe. One after another dipped his supple trunk in the 
water, to fill it, and discharge it into his wide mouth, or over his 
back and shoulders; one after another descended into the river to 
refresh himself in the cooling flood. Then the noises became so great 
that it seemed as if the elephants’ trumpeting had acted as an awake- 
ning call. Earlier than ever before, the king of the wilderness raised 
his thundering voice; a second and a third lion responded to the 
kingly greeting. The sleep-drunken monkeys and the timid ante- 
lopes cried out in terror. A hippopotamus reared his uncouth head 
quite close to our boat, and growled as if he would emulate the lion’s 
roar; a leopard also made himself heard; jackals gave vent to the 
most varied song we had ever heard from them, the striped hyzenas 
howled, the spotted ones uttered their hellish, blood-curdling laugh- 
ter, and, careless of the uproar which the heralds and the king of 
the forest had conjured up, the frogs continued to utter their mono- 
tonous call, and the cicadas their bell-like chirping. 


234 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Thus was the “ Hosanna in the Highest” sung in our ears by the 
primeval forest. 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 


The love of travel, as we understand it, is not found among ani- 
mals, not even among the birds, whose sublime powers of flight over 
land and sea so much excite our envy. For no animals wander, 
careless and free, like the travellers who go forth to study the 
manners and customs of other lands; they cling to the soil even 
more closely than we do, and they are bound to the place of their 
birth, by habit or indolence, more closely than we are by our love of 
home. When it does happen that they forsake their birthplace, it 
is in obedience to stern necessity,—to escape impending starvation. 
But want and misery are too often their lot in the joyless lands to 
which they migrate, and so they experience little but the pain and 
toil of travel. 

This holds true of wandering fishes and of migrating birds, 
but more particularly of those mammals which undertake periodic 
migrations. Few of them do this with the same regularity, but all 
do it for the same reasons, as fishes and birds. They migrate to 
escape from scarcity of food, already felt or at least threatening, and 
their journeying is therefore rather a flight from destruction than a 
striving to reach happier fields. 

By the migrations of mammals I mean neither the excursions 
which result in an extension of their range of distribution, nor the 
ordinary expeditions in search of food, but those journeys which 
lead certain mammals, at regular or irregular intervals, far beyond 
the boundaries of their home, into countries where they are com- 
pelled to adopt a mode of life which is foreign to them, and which 
they will abandon as soon as it is possible, or seems possible to do 
so. Such journeys correspond closely to the regular migrations of 
fishes and birds, and a knowledge of the former helps us to an 
understanding of the latter. 

Excursions beyond their actual place of sojourn are made by all 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 235 


mammals for various reasons. Males, particularly old males, are 
more inclined to roam about than the females and the young of 
their species, and forsake one district for another without apparent 
reason; the younger males among gregarious species are often driven 
out and forced to wander by the old leaders of the herd; mothers 
with their young are fond of rambling about the neighbourhood 
where the latter were born; and the two sexes wander about in 
search of one another.. During such expeditions the animal chances 
to light on what seems to him a promising dwelling-place, a district 
rich in food, a sheltering thicket, or a safe hiding-hole. He stays 
there for some time, and, finally, it may be, settles down in this new 
Canaan. Experienced sportsmen know that a preserve in which all 
the game has been shot will sooner or later receive reinforcements 
from without, and, under favourable circumstances, will be peopled 
anew; and all must have noticed that a fox or badger burrow is not 
easily destroyed, for it finds new occupants again and again, how- 
ever ruthless the persecution to which they may be subjected. As 
it is with game, whose coming and going, appearing and disappear- 
ing are noted by thousands, so is it with other mammals which are 
less eagerly watched. A constant emigration and immigration can- 
not be denied. In consequence of this, the range of distribution of 
any species is constantly being extended, unless hindered by physical 
conditions, or by human and other enemies. 

Till the end of the first half of last century our forefathers 
shared their dwellings with the black rat, and knew the brown rat 
only by hearsay, if at all. The first was a rat with many, but not 
all the vices of its race. It lived in our houses, ate grain, fat, and 
all kinds of provisions, gnawed doors, boards, and furniture, racketed 
at night like a noisy ghost through old castles and other spook- 
favouring buildings, caused much annoyance, many a fright, 
strengthened superstition and the fear of ghosts in many a mind; but 
it was possible to live with it, one could manage to get along. A 
capable eat held it in check; a skilful rat-catcher was more than a 
match for it. Then its most terrible enemy appeared, and its star 
began to wane. In 1727, swarms of brown rats, which seem to have 
come from India, either directly or by way of Persia, were seen to 


236 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


swim the Volga, and we soon learned what awaited Europe. Follow- 
ing canals and rivers, the brown rats reached villages and towns, 


entered, in spite of men and cats, the lower stories of our dwellings, 
filled vaults and cellars, ascended gradually to the garrets, ousted its 
relative after long and inexorable warfare, made itself master in our 
own houses, and showed us in a thousand ways what a rat could 


Fig. 35.—A Wild Duck defending her Brood from a Brown Rat. 


do. It possessed and exercised all the vices of its family, mocked 
at all our attempts to drive it away, and remained in possession of 
the field, which, up till now, we have tried to wrest from it with 
dogs and cats, by traps and snares, poison and shooting. Almost at 
the same time as it swam over the Volga, it reached Europe by an- 
other route, corning from the East Indies to England on board ship. 
Then began its world-wanderings. In East Prussia it appeared as 
early as 1750, in Paris three years later, Central Germany was con- 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 237 


quered in 1780, and here, as everywhere else, the towns were first 
colonized, and the flat country round taken in by degrees. Villages 
not easily reached, that is to say, not lying on river-banks, were 
only invaded in the last decade of this century: in my boyhood it 
was still unknown in my native village, and the black rat, now 
being crowded out even there, held undisputed possession of many 
places where its rival now reigns supreme. Many isolated farms 
were only reached later, about the middle of the present century, 
but the victorious march still goes on. Not content with having 
discovered and conquered Europe, towards the end of last century 
the brown rat set out on new journeys. In the sea-ports already 
colonized, the rats swam out to the ships, climbed on board by the 
anchor chains, cables, or any other available ladders, took possession 
of the dark, protecting hold, crossed all seas, landed on all coasts, 
and peopled every country and island, where its chosen protector 
and compulsory host—civilized man—has founded homesteads. 
Against our will we have helped it, or at any rate made it possible 
for it, to carry out a greater extension of range than has been at- 
tained by any other mammal not in subjection to man. 

Another remarkable illustration of wandering is afforded by the. 
souslik, a destructive rodent about the size of a hamster, belonging 
to the family of squirrels and sub-family of marmots. Eastern 
Europe and Western Siberia are its head-quarters. Albertus Magnus 
observed it in the neighbourhood of Ratisbon, where it is now no 
longer found, though it has recently appeared in Silesia. Forty or 
fifty years ago it was unknown here, but, at the end of the forties 
or beginning of the fifties, it appeared no one could tell whence, and 
from that time it has pressed slowly westward. Its migrations, too, 
have been helped by man, for, though it is not confined to cultivated 
fields, these afford the habitat most suited to its taste. 

The same holds true of many species of mice, which extend their 
territories as the soil is cultivated. On the other hand, man narrows 
the possible range of many mammals by deforesting, by draining 
marshes, and by otherwise changing the character of whole tracts of 
country. In this way, far more than by direct persecution, he does 
much to influence the migration of the mammals which have estab- 


238 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


lished themselves in these areas. For the fundamental law holds 
good for mammals as for other creatures, that suitable districts, and 
these only, will be colonized sooner or later, notwithstanding the 
arbitrary and usually rough and cruel interference of man. 

Quite different from such wanderings are the expeditions made 
by mammals to secure a temporary betterment. These are probably 
undertaken, if not by all species, at least by representatives of every 
family in the class; they vary in duration and distance, and may 
even have the character of true migrations, but they always come 
to an end after a certain time, and the wanderer ultimately returns 
to his original place of abode. The intention or hope of reaching 
better grazing or hunting grounds, the desire to profit by some 
casual opportunity for making life more comfortable, may be said 
to be the chief motive of such expeditions. They take place all the 
year round, in every latitude and longitude, even in districts where 
the conditions of life do not vary materially at different times. The 
mammal begins and ends them either alone or in bands, companies 
or herds, according as it is wont to live with its fellows; it follows 
the same routes with more or less regularity, and appears at certain 
places at approximately the same time, yet it is always guided by 
chance circumstances. 

When the fruits of the sacred fig and other trees surrounding 
the temples of the Hindoos are beginning to ripen, the Brahmizis 
who tend temple and trees await with unctuous devotion the arrival 
of their four-footed gods. And not in vain, for the two divinities, 
Hulman and Bunder, two species of monkey, unfailingly appear to 
strip the luscious fruits from the trees piously planted and tended 
for their benefit, and also to rob and plunder in the neighbouring 
fields and gardens as long as it is worth while. Then they disappear 
again, to the sorrow of their worshippers and the joy of the other 
inhabitants of India, whose possessions they have ravaged, as they 
gathered in their spoils in their usual ruthless fashion. In Central 
Africa, when the chief cereal of that country, the dhurra or Kaffir- 

" millet, comes to maturity, a dignified and inventive baboon, tried 
and experienced in all the critical situations of life, leads down the 
flock of which, as leader, he is justifiably proud, to see whether 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 239 


Cousin Man has been good enough to sow the nutritive grain for 
him this year also. Or, about the same time, a band of long-tailed 
monkeys, under not less excellent leadership, approaches the edge of 
the forest in order not to miss the right moment for a profitable, 
and, as far as possible, undisturbed ravaging of the fields). When 
the golden orange glows among the dark foliage in South American 
plantations, the capuchin monkeys make their appearance, often 
from a great distance, to share the fruit with the owner. Other 
plant-eaters too are led by the hope of gaining an easier livelihood 
into regions and districts which they usually avoid; insectivores 
periodically follow the insects when they are for the time abundant 
at this place or that, and large beasts of prey keep in the wake of 
herbivorous mammals, especially of the herds belonging toman. The 
lion journeys from place to place, following the wandering herds- 
men on the steppes of Africa; Russian wolves followed close on 
the retreat of Napoleon’s defeated army, pursuing the unfortunate 
fugitives as far as the middle of Germany. Otters undertake 
land journeys to get from one river-basin to another; lynxes and 
wolves in winter often traverse very wide stretches of country. 
Such journeys bring about a change of residence, but they do not 
constitute a migration in the true sense of the word. It is only 
exceptionally, too, that they are undertaken from real necessity, 
which we must look upon as the cause of all true migrations; in 
most cases they are undertaken simply to gratify a passing desire. 

Quite otherwise is it with those mammals which, every year 
about the same time, leave their habitat for some other region often 
far distant, from which at a definite time they will return to their 
former abode. These migrate; for they do not seize a chance oppor- 
tunity, but obey, consciously or unconsciously, a compelling necessity. 

The fundamental cause of all true migration among mammals, 
is some very distinct and decided seasonal change. In countries of 
everlasting spring true migrations do not take place, for want is 
never imminent. Summer must contrast with winter, whether the 
latter bring frost and snow, or heat and drought; scarcity must 
alternate with superfluity before the sluggish mammal makes up its 
mind to migrate. 


240 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


To a slight extent migrations take place among all mountain 
animals. The chamois, the steinbock, the Alpine hare, the marmot 
all migrate when the snow begins to melt, or a little later; they 
clamber over hillsides and glaciers to the heights above, where the 
pasturage, now laid .bare, promises rich and abundant nourishment, 
and they return to the lower slopes of the mountain before winter 
sets in. The bear, by nature omnivorous, by habit a thief, under- 
takes a similar migration at the same season, and completes it before 
winter sets in—at least so it is in the mountains of Siberia; the 
various wild cats and dogs which live among the mountains do the 
same. Such changes of residence occur also on the mountains of 
southern countries, even of those lying within the tropics. In India 
and Africa certain species of monkey ascend and descend the moun- 
tains at regular intervals; elephants seek the high grounds on the 
approach of summer, the low grounds in winter; on the Andes in 
South America the guanacos flee before the snow into the valleys, 
and before the summer-heat to the shoulders of the mountains. All 
these migrations are confined by the mountains within compara- 
tively narrow limits. They only involve a change of altitude of 
from three to nine thousand feet, or a journey which may be 
accomplished in a few hours, or, at most, in a few days. They have, 
however, the regularity characteristic of true migrations, especially 
in the precise periodicity of their occurrence, and not less in the 
constant choice of the same routes. 

Highlands and plain, sea and air, offer a much wider field than 
the mountains, and therefore the migrations of the animals inhabit- 
ing, or temporarily traversing these can be more easily observed, 
and they are more appropriately termed migratory animals than 
the dwellers among the mountains. In the tundras of Russia and 
Siberia, the reindeer, which, in Scandinavia, never leaves the moun- 
tains, migrates to a great distance every autumn and returns the 
following spring to his former summer haunts.” About the same 
time it leaves Greenland, and, crossing the sea on a bridge of ice, 
reaches the continent of America, where it spends the whole winter, 
only returning to the hills of its native peninsula the following April. 
In both cases, dread of the approaching winter does not seem to 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 241 


be the sole cause of migration; there is at the same time a further 
incentive supplied by a plague much feared in the far north. For 
the short summer on these expanses calls to life an insect-world 
poor in species, but endlessly rich in individuals, particularly an 
indescribable number of mosquitoes and bot-flies, which make life 
a burden to the reindeer, as well as to man. To escape these the 
reindeer forsakes the marshy tundra, over which dense clouds of 
mosquitoes hover during summer, and hies to where the scourge is 
less severely felt—to the Alpine heights, which, in the summer season 
afford their most fragrant pasturage. From inherited habit, the rein- 
deer migrate not only at the same time, but along the same paths, 
thus forming tracks which may be distinctly traced, traversing the 
tundra for many miles, and crossing streams and rivers at definite 
places. At the beginning of the journey, the cows with their calves 
arrange themselves in herds of from ten to a hundred, and precede 
the young stags and hinds, which are followed again by the old 
stags. One troop follows directly behind another, and the observer 
can count thousands as they pass. All hurry incessantly on, turning 
aside neither for the mountains nor the broad streams which cross 
their path, and resting only when they have reached their winter- 
quarters. Packs of wolves, bears, and gluttons follow close on their 
heels and often pursue them no small part of the way. In spring, 
on the return journey, the animals keep to the same order, but the 
herds are much smaller, and they travel in a much more leisurely 
fashion, and keep less strictly to the paths by which they went. 
Journeys still longer than those of the reindeer are taken by 
the American bison, the “buffalo” of the prairies. What distance 
individual animals travel cannot be stated with certainty, but herds 
in course of migrating have been met from Canada to Mexico, from 
the Missouri to the Rocky Mountains, and it may be assumed that 
a single herd traverses a considerable part of the country lying 
between these limits. The bisons have been seen in summer scat- 
tered over the boundless prairie, and in winter in the same places, but 
assembled in many thousands; their migrations have been observed, 
for they have been followed for hundreds of miles along the tracks 


—the so-called “buffalo-paths”, trodden out straight across plains 
(1170) 16 


242 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


and over mountains. We learn from eye-witnesses that a stream a 
mile wide is to them no barrier, scarcely even a hindrance, for they 
throw themselves into it like an irresistible avalanche, so that the 
water is covered with the dark, moving throng; that the animals 
associate and separate again, the herds increase and diminish; that 
old, surly, tyrannous, malevolent bulls avoid the other bisons, 
having perhaps been expelled from the herd, and compelled, probably 
only after protracted struggles, to live in hermit-fashion until the 
following summer; and that, during heavy snowfalls, the herds take 
shelter in the forests or on the slopes of the mountains. From July 
onwards they begin their migrations from the north towards the 
south. Small companies, which, till then, have been leading a com- 
fortable summer life, combine with others and set out on the journey 
with them; other troops join the band, which grows as it presses on, 
until there is, at length, formed one of those extraordinary herds 
which, united till the next spring, moves and acts as if animated by 
one soul. When the winter is safely past, the army gradually breaks 
up, probably in exactly reverse order, into herds, and these divide 
more and more until at length only small companies are left. This 
breaking-up takes place during the course of the return journey. 
Both in going and returning, one herd follows another at some dis- 
tance, but more or less along the same paths. Specially favourable 
places, such as low grounds covered with rich grass, cause a tem- 
porary damming up of the living stream. In such places incalculable 
herds assemble together, spend days in the same spot, and break 
up only again when all the grass has been eaten, and hunger urges 
them to continue their journey. As they march the wolves and 
bears follow their track, while eagles and vultures, birds of ill omen, 
circle over their heads. 

Scarcity of water, as well as of food, is often a cause of regular 
migrations. When winter approaches in the south-east of Siberia, 
more particularly in the high Gobi steppe, all the non-hibernating 
mammals are compelled, by the peculiar circumstances of these high- 
lands, to seek refuge in lower-lying regions. The winter in these 
high grounds of Central Asia is not more severe than in districts 
lying further to the north or north-east, but it is usually almost 


Fig. 36.—A Herd of American Bison or Buffalo. 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 245 


snowless, and such pools of water as have been formed by the 
extremely slight fall of rain or snow, are covered with a thick sheet 
of ice. As soon as this sheet becomes so strong that the animals 
inhabiting the Gobi are unable to break it, they are obliged to 
change their quarters, and they travel not only to southern but to 
northern lands, whose only advantage is that they are covered with 
snow, for this affords ready refreshment to the parched tongues of 
the wanderers, and offers less resistance to their weak feet than 
the hard, unbreakable, and less easily melted ice. This is the 
explanation of the fact that the antelope, of which great numbers 
are found in the Gobi, forsakes a land which, save for the lack of 
snow and therefore of available water, is exactly the same as that 
which it chooses for its winter quarters. Not hunger, but thirst, 
drives it from its home. At the beginning of winter, the antelopes, 
at all times gregarious, assemble in herds of many thousands, spread- 
ing over all the low grounds around their native plateau; they 
often travel at the rate of fifty or sixty miles in a single night, 
and extend their wanderings many hundreds of miles beyond the 
boundaries of their proper habitat. The observer who follows them 
can detect their tracks everywhere, and in such numbers that it 
seems as though vast herds of sheep, far exceeding in number any 
ordinary flock, had just passed by. 

Before the Chinese antelope begins its migration, restlessness 
seizes the kulan or dziggetai, probably the ancestor of our horse, 
and certainly the most beautiful and the proudest of all wild horses. 
The foals of the summer are by autumn strong enough to be able to 
endure a long journey with quick marches, and to bid defiance to 
all the accidents and dangers of a wandering life. The young 
stallions attain their full strength at the end of their fourth year, 
and towards the end of September they leave the parent-herd and 
press forward. Finally, the impulse to mate begins to animate the 
older stallions and mares, and with it comes unrest and the desire 
to wander. Thus the fleet, enterprising animals begin their annual 
migration long before winter has set in, before even its approach 
has become at all apparent; and on this account their migrations 
at first lack steadiness and regularity, and have something of the 


246 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


character of journeys in search of adventure. With the intention 
of shaking off the burdensome yoke of the leader and absolute 
lord of the herd, and of becoming independent and in their turn 
equally despotic, the young stallions forsake the herd, and thence- 


Fig. 37.—Wild Horses crossing a River during a Storm. 


forward traverse the sandy steppes singly. All the younger mares 
who are mature, and even many of the older ones, seem to be 
animated by the same feeling as the young stallions, and they 
attempt to escape from the rule of their tyrant and join his young 
rival, to. fall immediately under his dominion. But not without a 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 247 


struggle does the new candidate for leadership gain his troop of 
mares; the old leader does not readily relinquish his rights. For 
hours together the stallion stands on the top of a hill or on the 
shoulder of a ridge, keenly scanning the country around. His eye 
wanders over the desert, his dilated nostrils are turned towards the 
wind, his ears are directed forwards on the alert. Eager for battle, 
he rushes at full gallop towards every herd which approaches, every 
adversary who shows himself; and a furious struggle takes place for 
the possession of the mares, who always attach themselves to the 
victor. Such combats and strife set the herd in motion, detach it 
from the place where the summer has been spent, and lead on to 
migrations which become gradually regular, prolonged, persistent, 
and almost uninterrupted. In the course of these, if not before 
the end of the combats just described, the kulan troops assemble 
in ever-growing numbers, until at length herds of more than a 
thousand head set out together for fields which give promise of 
pasturage. They do not break up while in their winter quarters, 
and they are thus compelled to be continually on the move in order 
to find sufficient nourishment. The combined tread of the army, as 
they gallop on in their usual furious fashion, ‘rings dully out, and 
more than once, in Russia, the sound has called the Cossacks of the 
military cordon to arms. No wolf ventures to attack such a herd, 
for the courageous wild horses know so well how to use their hoofs 
against him that he soon gives up any attempt; it is only the sick 
and exhausted horses which become his prey, as he follows the 
wandering herd. Even man can do them no great damage, for their 
caution and shyness render them difficult of approach. But winter, 
especially if much snow falls, brings them much suffering. The 
pasture, at all times scanty, is exhausted the more quickly the more 
numerous the herd which feeds on it. Then the animals devour indis- 
criminately all the vegetable substances they can find. For months 
together they have to maintain life on leafless shoots. Their bodies 
cease to be fat and plump, till at length they are like wandering 
skeletons. The mother, herself starving, is no longer able to nourish 
her foal, for the milk-yielding udder dries up in times of such need. 
Many a one whose tender youth is unable to endure the hard fare 


248 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


dies of starvation. Even the old horses suffer from the poverty and 
treachery of the winter. Snow-storms blowing over their feeding- 
ground for days at a time depress their usually cheerful courage, 
and increase the boldness of the wolves, which, even if they do not 
fall upon the already exhausted horses, persecute and annoy to the 
utmost those who are not yet worn out. But as-soon as circum- 
stances begin to improve, the wiry, weather-hardened, enduring 
creatures recover their high spirits, and, when the snow begins to 
melt, they set out on the return journey, reaching their summer 
home in about a month’s time. There they break up into single 
herds, recuperate among the luxuriantly sprouting, fragrant pasture, 
and, in a surprisingly short time, become fat and plump again. Soon 
the want and misery of the winter are forgotten. 

Great as are the distances often traversed by all the mammals 
already mentioned, they can scarcely be compared with those 
covered by seals and whales. The water favours all the movements 
of animals adapted to aquatic life, and offers everywhere the same 
general conditions of life and the same amenities. Thus it renders 
the migrations of its inhabitants easier, less toilsome and hazardous 
than those of any other wanderers. Nevertheless it is somewhat 
surprising to learn that many sea-mammals, and particularly the 
whales, are among the most nomadic of all creatures; in fact that 
many, if not most of them, pass their whole life in travelling. 
Strictly speaking, no whale has a permanent place of sojourn for 
the whole year, but passes singly, in pairs, with its young, or in 
more or less numerous companies—the so-called schools—from one 
part of the ocean to another, visiting certain favourite haunts in 
regular order, and choosing different haunts in summer and in 
winter. The seas inhabited by the same species of whale in winter 
and in summer often lie farther apart than people seem to suppose, 
for some whales travel, twice a year, more than a quarter of the 
earth’s circumference; they are to be found in summer among the 
ice-floes of the Arctic Ocean, and in winter on the other side of 
the Equator. The female whales, who are in the highest degree 
sociable, and attached to their young with the tenderest, most de- 
voted love, assemble together in surprising numbers, and under the 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 249 


guidance of a few males, traverse the ocean by definite routes and 
at definite times, some keeping to the open sea, others making their 
way along the coasts. Storms may force them to change their 
route, or delay in the appearance of the animals on which they feed, 
whose occurrence and disappearance is obviously the chief cause 
of their migration, may to some extent influence their course and 
the time of their visiting certain spots; but, as a general rule, their 
migrations are so systematic that on northern and southern coasts 
people look for the arrival of the whale on a particular day, and 
place watches so that they may be able to begin the long-desired 
chase without loss of time. Whales, which are recognized by the 
dwellers on the coast by some mark, such as mutilated fins, and 
which have been several times pursued in vain, have been known to 
appear several years in succession at the same time and at the same 
place; and the chase after these most valuable and therefore increas- 
ingly persecuted animals takes place with the same regularity as 
do hare-hunts on land, though at any other time of the year it 
would be vain to look for them. “After Twelfth Day,” says old 
Pontoppidan, “the Norwegians watch from all the hills for the 
whale, whose arrival is announced by the herring.” First appears 
the killer, then, three or four days, or at the most a fortnight later, 
the rorqual, though, apparently, one comes from Davis Straits and 
the other from Greenland. On the south coasts of the Faroé Islands, 
and especially in the Qualbenfjord, from three to six bottle-nose 
whales still appear every year about Michaelmas, as they did a 
hundred and ninety years ago. In a Scottish bay there appeared 
twenty years in succession a rorqual, which was generally known 
by the name of “Hollie Pyke”, and was pursued every year and 
finally captured. On the coast of Iceland single whales choose the 
same bays for a temporary sojourn every year in the same months, 
and even weeks, so that the inhabitants have got to know them 
individually, and have given them special names. Certain well- 
known mother-whales visit the same bays every year to bring forth 
their young, and they themselves are spared, but they have to 
purchase their own lives, dearly enough, at the cost of that of their 
young ones, which are regularly taken captive. It is very unusual 


250 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


for the migrating whales to keep neither to time nor to route; in 
general, their journeys are as regular as if they were arranged 
according to the position of the stars, and as if they took place 
along laid-out paths bounded on both sides. No other mammal 
migrates more regularly; indeed, their wanderings may be compared 
with the migrations of birds. 

The seals, like the whales, migrate every year, on the whole with 
great regularity, though not to such a distance. Those species which 
inhabit inland seas cannot, of course, leave these, but they traverse 
them every year in regular order, or at certain times ascend the 
rivers flowing into them; all the ocean species, on the other hand, 
set out every autumn and spring, by definite routes, to certain 
regions or localities. All the seals in the far north, as well as those 
in the seas about the South Pole, are forced to migrate by the exten- 
sion of the ice in winter, and may travel with it towards temperate 
zones, returning towards the poles again as the ice melts. But they, 
like all other members of their order, are impelled to travel for an- 
other not less weighty reason; they require the mainland, or at least 
large, spreading, fixed masses of ice, on which to bring forth and 
nurture their young, until these are able to follow them into the 
water, there to shift for themselves. Thus every year thousands 
and hundreds of thousands of seals appear on certain islands and 
ice-banks, covering some of these birth-places of their race in such 
crowds that every available spot must be utilized in order to secure 
space for all to bring forth their young. They pass weeks, even 
months, on land or on the ice without hunting, descending into the 
sea, or taking food; they suckle their young, then mate, and by 
degrees break up their great assemblage, distributing themselves 
over the wide ocean to resume their former manner of life, or setting 
out with their young, who still require training, on more or less 
extensive foraging expeditions.” 

As is well known, there are many mammals which have the habit 
of hibernating, which pass the severe part of the year well protected 
in deep and carefully closed burrows, and are thus spared the neces- 
sity of leaving their haunts. Even among these, however, at least 
among those living in the temperate zones, there are some which 


* 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 251 


migrate during their waking time, namely, the bats. Defective as 
the wing of a bat must appear when compared with that of a bird, 
it is nevertheless of such assistance in flight, that it makes journeys 
possible which seem out of all proportion to the size of the animal. 
Another fact makes travelling easier to the restless bat; it is not 
tied down by its offspring to any particular spot, for the young one 


Mh 
ii AS 
Fig. 38, —Flying Foxes. 


attaches itself directly after birth to the breast of the mother, and 
is borne by her through the air till it is capable of independent life. 
The bat is thus one of the best-adapted of migratory mammals, 
and, under some circumstances, it makes full use of its advantages. 
As a general rule, the wanderings of the different species of bat are 
to be regarded simply as excursions made with a view to taking 
advantage of any district which is, for the time being, particularly 
‘rich in food; but they do sometimes become really long journeys, 
which lead some species to far distant lands, and they are then not 


252 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


without the regularity characteristic of all true migrations. The 
largest bats, the flying foxes, fly long distances every evening in 
search of the fruits on which they chiefly subsist; they do not hesi- 
tate to cross an arm of the sea fifty or sixty miles in breadth, and 
they must even have traversed the distance between Southern Asia 
and the East of Africa, as certain species occur in both these regions. 
The bats proper accomplish at least as much. Following the reappear- 
ance of the insects, which occurs at different times in regions of 
different altitude, they ascend from the plains to the mountain heights, 
and descend in autumn to the low grounds again; they pursue the 
numerous flies which congregate about the wandering cattle-herds . 
of Central Africa, and they migrate also from the south towards the 
north and return southwards again, or in reverse order. The boreal 
bat appears at the beginning of the bright nights in the north of 
Scandinavia and Russia, and leaves these districts, which may be 
considered its head-quarters, towards the end of summer, to spend 
the winter among the mountains of Central Germany and the Alps. 
The pond-bat is regularly seen on the plains of North Germany 
during summer, but only exceptionally at that period among the 
mountains of Central Germany, in whose caverns it spends the 
winter. That other species of bat occurring in Germany change 
their place of abode in a similar manner can scarcely be 
doubted. 

In the cases cited, which have been selected from a mass of 
available material, I have given examples of those migrations of 
mammals which we may call voluntary, because of their regularity; 
but in so doing I have by no means completed my task. Hunger 
and thirst, the poverty and temporary inhospitableness of a parti- 
cular region, sometimes press so severely on certain mammals that 
they endeavour, as if despairing, to save themselves by flight. 
Abundant nourishment and good weather favour the increase of 
all animals, and affect that of a few plant-eating mammals to such 
an extraordinary degree, that, even under propitious conditions, their 
habitat must be extended. But if one or more rich years—in some 
cases a few favourable months—be followed by a sudden reverse, 
the famine soon passes all bounds, and robs the creatures not only 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 253 


of the possibility of subsistence, but also of all hope, or at least of 
all presence of mind. 

It is under circumstances such as these that the field-voles of 
our own country, and the Siberian voles, assemble in enormous 
multitudes, leave their native haunts and migrate to other dis- 
tricts, turning back for no obstacles, avoiding the water as little as 
the forbidding mountains or the gloomy forest, fighting to the last 
against hunger and misery, but perishing hopelessly from diseases 
and epidemics which rage among them like plagues, reducing armies 
of millions to a few hundreds. Thus, too, the squirrels of Siberia, 
which, in ordinary years, undertake, at the most, only short excur- 
sions, assemble in vast armies, hurry in troops or companies from 
tree to tree, in compact masses from forest to forest, swim across 
rivers and streams, throng into towns and villages, lose their lives 
by thousands; but suffer no obstacle or hindrance—not even the 
most obvious dangers—to delay them or divert them from their 
path. The soles of their feet become worn and cracked, their nails 
ground down, the hairs of their usually smooth fur rough and 
matted. Through the forest lynxes and sables, in the open fields 
gluttons, foxes and wolves, eagles, falcons, owls and ravens follow 
them closely; pestilence claims more victims from their ranks than 
the teeth and claws of beast of prey or the guns and cudgels of 
men, yet they press on and on, apparently without hope of return. 
A Siberian sportsman of my acquaintance gave me a verbal account 
of the appearance of such an army of squirrels, in August 1869, in 
the town of Tapilsk, among the Ural Mountains. It was only one 
wing of a migrating army, of which the main body travelled 
through the forest about five miles farther north. Sometimes in 
single file, sometimes in companies of varying strength, but in 
unbroken succession, the animals pressed on, crowding as densely 
through the town as through the neighbouring forest; used the 
streets, as well as the hedges, and the roofs of buildings as paths; 
filled every court-yard, thronged through windows and doors into the 
houses, and created quite an uproar among the inhabitants—much 
more among the dogs, which killed thousands of them, evincing an 
unbridled bloodthirstiness till then unsuspected. The squirrels, 


254 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


however, did not seem to concern themselves in the least about the 
innumerable victims falling in their midst; in fact, they took no 
notice of anything, and allowed nothing to divert them from their 
route. The procession lasted for three whole days, from early 
morning till late in the evening, and only after nightfall each day 
was there a break in the continuity of the stream. All travelled 
in exactly the same direction, from south to north, and those that 
came last took the same paths as their predecessors. The rushing 
Tchussoveia proved no obstacle, for all that reached the bank of 
that rapid mountain-river plunged without hesitation into its 
whirling and seething waters, and swam, deeply sunk and with 
their tails laid across their backs, to the opposite bank. My 
informant, who had been watching the procession with growing 
attention and sympathy, rowed out into the midst of the throng. 
The tired swimmers, to whom he stretched out an oar, climbed up 
by it into the boat, where, apparently exhausted, they sat quietly 
and confidingly, until it came alongside a larger vessel, when they 
climbed into that, and remained on it for some time as indiffer- 
ent as before. As soon as the boat touched the bank they sprang 
ashore, and proceeded on their journey as unconcernedly as if it 
had suffered no interruption. 

It must be similar circumstances which compel the lemmings to 
the migrations which have been known for centuries. - For many 
successive years the heights in the tundras of Scandinavia, North 
Russia, and the North of Siberia afford them comfortable quarters 
and abundant nourishment; for the broad ridges of the fjelds and 
the extensive plains between them, the highlands and the low 
grounds, offer room and maintenance for millions of them. But 
not every year do they enjoy the accustomed abundance for the 
whole summer. If a winter in which much snow falls, and which 
is therefore favourable to them, as they live safely below the snow, 
be followed by an early, warm, and agreeable spring, their extra- 
ordinary fertility and power of increase seem to have almost no 
bounds, and the tundra literally teems with lemmings. A fine 
warm summer increases their numbers past computing, but it also 
accelerates the life-course of all the plants on which they feed, and 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 255 


before it is over these are partly withered, partly devoured by the 
greedy teeth of the insatiable rodents. Scarcity of food begins to 
be felt, and their comfortable life comes to an end in panic. Their 
fearless, bold demeanour gives place to a general uneasiness, and 
soon a mad anxiety for the future takes possession of them. Then 
they assemble together and begin to migrate. The same impulse 
animates many simultaneously, and from them it spreads to others; 
the swarms become armies; they arrange themselves in ranks, and 
a living stream. flows like running water from the heights to the 
low grounds. All hurry onwards in a definite direction, but this 
often changes according to locality and circumstances. Gradually 
long trains are formed in which lemming follows lemming so closely 
that the head of one seems to rest on the back of the one in front 
of it; and the continuous tread of the light, little creatures hollows 
out paths deep enough to be visible from a long distance in the 
mossy carpet of the tundra. The longer the march lasts, the greater 
becomes the haste of the wandering lemmings. Eagerly they fall 
upon the plants on and about their path and devour whatever is 
edible; but their numbers impoverish even a fresh district within 
a few hours, and though a few in front may pick up a little food, 
nothing is left for those behind; the hunger increases every minute, 
and the speed of the march quickens in proportion; every obstacle 
seems surmountable, every danger trifling, and thousands rush on 
to death. If men come in their way they run between their legs; 
they face ravens and other powerful birds of prey defiantly; they 
gnaw through hay-stacks, climb over mountains and rocks, swim 
across rivers, and even across broad lakes, arms of the sea, and 
fjords. A hostile company, like that behind the migrating squirrels, 
follows in their wake: wolves and foxes, gluttons, martens and 
weasels, the ravenous dogs of the Lapps and Samoyedes, eagles, 
buzzards, and snowy owls, ravens and hooded crows fatten on the 
innumerable victims which they seize without trouble from the 
moving army; gulls and fishes feast on those which cross the water. 
Diseases and epidemics, too, are not awanting, and probably destroy 
more than all their enemies together. Thousands of carcasses lie 
rotting on the wayside, thousands are carried away by the waves; 


256 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


whether indeed any are left, and whether these return later to their 
native Alpine heights, or whether all, without exception, perish in 
the course of their journey, no one can say with certainty; but so 
much I know, that I have traversed great tracts of the tundra of 
Lapland where the paths and other traces of a great migrating 
army were to be seen almost everywhere, while not a single 
lemming could be discovered. Such tracts, I have been told, remain 
thus for several successive years, and only after long periods become 
gradually repeopled with the busy little rodents.” 

What hunger causes in the North is brought about by the tor- 
tures of thirst in the richer South. As the brackish pools which 
have afforded water to the zebras, quaggas, antelopes, buffaloes, 
ostriches, and other animals of the steppes, dry up more and more 
under the burning heat of a South African winter, all the animals 
whose necessities have hitherto been supplied by the steppes 
assemble about the pools which still contain a little water, and 
these become scenes of stirring, active life. But when these, too, 
evaporate, the animals which have congregated around them are 
compelled to migrate, and it may happen that despair takes posses- 
sion of them, as it did of the little rodents already described, and 
that, collecting in herds like the wild horses and Chinese antelopes 
(dzieren) of the steppes of Central Asia, or the bisons of the North 
American prairies, they rush straight on for hundreds of miles, to 
escape the hardships of winter. 

In the South, too, the wild horses are the first to turn their backs 
on the inhospitable country. ‘Till the drought sets in, these beauti- 
fully-marked, strong, swift, self-confident children of the Karroo, the 
zebra, quagga, and dauw, wander careless and free through their vast 
domain, each herd going its own way under the guidance of an old, 
experienced, and battle-tried stallion. Then the cares of the winter 
season begin to make themselves felt. One water-pool after another 
disappears, and the herds which gather about those which remain 
become more and more numerous. The general distress makes even 
the combative stallions forget to quarrel and fight. Instead of small 
companies, herds of more than a hundred head are formed, and these 
move and act collectively, and finally forsake the wintry region 


THE MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 257 


altogether before want has enfeebled their powers or broken their 
stubborn wills. Travellers describe with enthusiasm the spectacle 
presented by such a herd of wild horses on the march. Far into 
the distance stretches the sandy plain, its shimmering red ground- 
colour interrupted here and there by patches of sunburnt grass, its 
scanty shade supplied by a few feathery-leaved mimosas, and, as far 
away as the eye can reach, the horizon is bounded by the sharp lines 
of mountains quivering in a bluish haze. In the midst of this land- 
scape appears a cloud of dust which, disturbed by no breath of air, 
ascends to the blue heavens like a pillar of smoke. Nearer and 
nearer the cloud approaches, until at length the eye can distinguish 
living creatures moving within it. Soon the brightly-coloured and 
strangely-marked animals present themselves clearly to the specta- 
tor’s gaze; in densely thronged ranks, with heads and tails raised, 
neck and neck with the quaintly-shaped gnus and ostriches which 
have joined their company, they rush by on their way to a new, 
and possibly far-distant feeding-ground, and ere the onlooker has 
recovered himself, the wild army has passed by and is lost from 
view in the immeasurable steppe. 

The antelopes, which are also driven out by winter, do not 
always follow the same paths, but usually travel in the same direc- 
tion. None is more numerous or more frequently seen than the 
springbok, one of the most graceful and beautiful gazelles with 
which we are acquainted. Its unusual beauty and agility strike 
everyone who sees it in its wild state, now walking with elastic step, 
now standing still to feed, now springing about in playful leaps, 
and thus disclosing its greatest ornament, a mane-like snow-white 
tuft of hair, which at a quieter pace is hidden in a longitudinal 
groove of the back. None of the other antelopes, when forced to 
migrate, assemble in such numerous herds as this one. Even the 
most vivid description cannot convey to one who has not seen a herd 
of springboks on their journey any adequate idea of the wonderful 
spectacle. After having congregated for weeks, perhaps waiting for 
the first shower of rain, the springboks at last resolve to migrate. 
Hundreds of the species join other hundreds, thousands other thou- 


sands, and the more threatening the scarcity, the more torturing 
(3170) 17 


258 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the thirst, the longer the distances which they cover; the flocks 
become herds, the herds armies, and these resemble the swarms of 
locusts which darken the sun. In the plains they cover square 
miles; in the passes between the mountains they throng together in 
@ compact mass which no other creature can resist; over the low 
grounds they pour, like a stream which has overflowed its banks 


and carries all before 
it. Bewildering, in- 
toxicating, and stupe- 
fyingeventhecalmest 
of men, the throng 
surges past for hours, perhaps days together." Like the greedy 
locusts, the famishing animals fall upon grass and leaves, grain, 
and other fruits of the field; where they have passed, not a blade is 


Fig. 39.—Springbok Antelopes. 


left. The man who comes in contact with them is at once thrown 
to the ground, and so sorely wounded by the tread of their hoofs, 
light indeed, but a thousand times repeated, that he may be glad if 
he escapes with his life; a herd of sheep feeding in the way is 
surrounded and carried off, never to be seen again; a lion, who 
thought to gain an easy prey, finds himself forced to relinquish his 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 259 


victim, and to travel with the stream. Unceasingly those behind 
press forward, and those in front yield slowly to the pressure; those 
cooped up in the middle strive continually to reach the wings, and 
their efforts are strenuously resisted. Above the clouds of dust 
raised by the rushing army the vultures circle; flanks and rear are 
attended by a funeral procession of various beasts of prey; in the 
passes lurk sportsmen, who send shot after shot into the throng. 
So the tortured animals travel for many miles, till at length spring 
sets in and their armies are broken up. 

Shall I go on to consider other compulsory migrations, such as 
those of the arctic foxes and polar bears when an ice-floe on which 
they were hunting is loosened and floated off by the waves till, under 
favourable circumstances, it touches some island? I think not, for 
journeys such as these are not migrations, they are simply passive 
driftings. 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 


‘ An irresistible instinct, an all-compelling law of nature, moves 
every living creature to seek a mate of its own species but of oppo- 
site sex, to unite a second existence with its own, to awaken respon- 
sive emotions through complete self-surrender, and thus to form the 
closest bond which links being to being, life to life. No power is 
strong enough to set aside this law, no command authoritative 
enough to influence it. Yielding to no hindrance this instinct over- 
comes every obstacle, and presses victorious to its goal. 

The almighty power through which this law works we call Love, 
when we speak of its influence on man; we describe it as Instinct 
when we discuss its operation on the lower animals. But this isa 
mere play upon words, nothing more; unless by the former word 
we intend to imply that every natural instinct in man should by 
man himself be ennobled and moralized. If it be not so, it will be 
difficult to distinguish between the two. Man and beast are subject 
to the same law, but the beast yields it a more absolute obedience. 
The animal does not weigh or reflect, but gives itself up without 


260 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


resistance to the sway of love, which man often fondly imagines 
he can withstand or escape. 

Of course, he who ventures at the outset to dispute man’s be- 
longing to the animal world at all, sees in an animal nothing more 
than a machine which is moved and guided, stimulated to action, 
incited to sue for the favour of the opposite sex, impelled to songs 
of rejoicing, provoked to combat with rivals, by forces outside of 
itself; and, naturally enough, he denies to such a machine all free- 
dom and discretion, all conflict between opposing motives, all emo- 
tional and intellectual life. Without raising himself by thus claiming 
a monopoly of intelligent action, or at least of intellectual freedom, 
he degrades the lower animals to false creations of his own hollow 
vanity, suggesting that they lead a seeming rather than a real life, 
and that they are without any of the joys of existence.” 

An exactly contrary position would be undoubtedly more just, 
as it certainly is more accurate. Indeed, it is scarcely too much to 
say that he who refuses to credit the lower animals with intelligence 
raises anxiety on the score of his own, and that he who denies 
them all emotional life has himself no experience of what emotional 
life is. Whoever observes without prejudice is sooner or later forced 
to admit that the mental activity of all animal beings, diverse as its 
expression may be, is based upon the same laws, and that every 
animal, within its own allotted life-circle and under the same cir- 
cumstances, thinks, feels, and acts like any other, and is not, in 
contrast to man, impelled to quite definite actions by so-called 
higher laws. The causes of the actions of animals may perhaps be 
termed laws, but, if so, we must not forget that man is subject to 
the same. His intellect may enable him to make some of these 
laws of nature subservient to his purposes, to modify others, some- 
times even to evade them, but never to break or annul them. 

Let me attempt to prove the correctness of these opinions by 
giving examples to show how essentially the expressions of life in 
man and in the lower animals may resemble each other, how both 
are alike all-powerfully influenced by the most important of the 
laws of nature, that which has for its aim, or its consequence, the 
continuance of the species. Man and bird: how wide the gulf which 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 261 


separates them and their lives! how vast the differences between 
their habits and behaviour! Is there a power which can bridge 
over this gulf? Are conditions conceivable which can incite them 
to essentially similar expressions of life? We shall see. 

The birds are more unreservedly dependent on the rotation of 
the seasons than man is. “They sow not, neither do they‘reap, nor 
gather into barns”, and they must perforce adapt themselves to the 
seasons if they are to find sufficient food, if they are to live at all. 
Therefore they blossom in spring, bring forth their fruits in summer, 
conceal these and themselves in autumn, and rest in winter like the 
motherly earth. The chapters of their life-history are closely bound 
up with the seasonal progress of the year. 

In this respect they are indeed governed by an iron law which, 
within a certain limit, renders anything like freedom and caprice 
impossible. But whither should spontaneity tend save to want and 
misery, to the imperilling of their own lives and those of their 
young? So they bow submissively to nature’s law, and enjoy, in 
consequence, a freedom which we men might envy them, and should 
envy them, were we not more capable of withdrawing ourselves 
from the influence of the seasons than they. But do not we also 
blossom in spring, and rest in winter? And must not we, too, bow 
before iron necessity? 

If the birds are in bondage in certain respects, they preserve 
their freedom and power of choice in others, and they exercise both 
more joyously and unrestrainedly than man himself. 

No bird voluntarily renounces the joys of love; very few evade 
the bonds of marriage; but everyone seeks to attain to and enjoy 
love as early as possible. Before it has laid aside its youthful dress 
the young bird has learnt to recognize and respect the distinctions 
of sex; much earlier than that, the young male fights with his fellows 
as if in boyish wantonness; as soon as he is full-grown he woos 
ardently and persistently some female of his own species. No male 
bird condemns himself to bachelorhood, no female bird hardens her 
heart against a deserving suitor. For lack of a mate, the male 
wanders restlessly and aimlessly over land and sea; for a worthy 
mate the female forgets pain and oppressive grief, however deep 


262 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


these may have been; for the wooer who seems to her most worthy 
she breaks even her conjugal bonds. 

Every female bird attains to the possession of a husband, but 
not every male readily succeeds in gaining a wife. Even among 
birds so great a good must be sought after and striven for. On an 
average, there are more males than females, and many males are 
obliged to suffer the severest misfortune which can befall them, and to 
live, at least temporarily, unmated. For the great majority of birds, 
celibacy is a state of torment from which they strive with all their 
strength to escape. So they traverse wide tracts in search of a mate, 
seeking diligently, and when they imagine they have found one, 
wooing with equal ardour, whether she be maid, wife, or widow. 
If these wanderings were usually fruitless, they would not take 
place so regularly as they do. 

In wooing their mates, the males exhaust all the charms with 
which nature has endowed them. According to his species and 
capacity each brings his best gifts into play, each seeks to show his 
best side, to reveal all his amiability, to surpass in brilliance others 
of his kind. This desire increases with the hope of fulfilment; his 
love intoxicates him, throws him into ecstasies. The older he is 
the more remarkably does he conduct himself, the more self-confi- 
dent does he appear, the more impetuously does he strive for the 
reward of love. The proverb, “There are no fools like old fools”, 
does not apply in his case, for it is but rarely that age condemns 
him to weakness and incapacity; on the contrary, it strengthens 
all his capabilities and increases his energy by mature experience. 
Little wonder then than at least the younger females prefer the 
older males, and that these woo, if not more ardently, at least more 
confidently than their younger rivals. 

The means by which a male bird declares his love and con- 
ducts his courtship are very various, but, naturally, they always 
accord with his most prominent gifts. One woos with his song, 
another with his wings, this one with his bill, and that with his 
foot; one displays all the magnificence of his plumage, another some 
special decoration, and a third some otherwise unused accomplish- 
ment. Serious birds indulge in play and joke and dignified pranks; 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 263 


silent ones chatter, quiet ones become restless, gentle ones combative, 
timid ones bold, cautious ones careless: in short, all show themselves 
in an unwonted light. Their whole nature appears changed, for 
all their movements are more active, more excited than usual, and 
their conduct differs from their ordinary behaviour in every respect; 
they are possessed by an intoxication which increases the elasticity 
of their nature to such a degree that no flagging is ever perceptible. 
They deprive themselves of sleep, or reduce it to a minimum with- 
out weariness, and while awake they exert all their powers to the 
utmost without fatigue. 

All birds with a voice utter clear, articulate notes in their court- 
ship, and their song is nothing more than a supplication or exultation 
of love. Our poet’s words: 


“ Hushed is the nightingale’s lay, 
Which gladdened our hearts in spring; 
Tis only in love’s heyday 
That we hear its minstrels sing”, 


are literally true; for the song of the nightingale, and those of all 
other birds which delight us with their lays, begin with the first 
stirrings of love, and come to an end when the intoxication is past, 
and other emotions and cares have taken its place. Singing, the 
bird flies forth on his quest for a mate; in song he tells the female 
of his approach, and invites her to join him; in passionate song he 
gives expression to his delight when he has found her, and to his 
desires, and longings, and hopes; through his song he reveals his 
strength, and exalts his own bliss to the heavens; and through it, 
too, he challenges all other males of his species who would presume 
to disturb his happiness. Only so long as he is inspired by the 
intoxication of love is the bird’s song full of fire and strength, and 
if he sing at other times, his lay is certainly a reminiscence of the 
great joy which once was his. Whoever maintains, as has really 
been maintained, that a bird sings without any personal feeling 
whatever, that it sings at a given time simply because it must, and 
that at another time it could not if it would, has never understood, 
or sought to understand, the song of birds, but has simply given 


264 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


petulant expression to his own prejudice. A dispassionate observer 
must soon perceive that a bird’s song, though it remains essentially 
the same, varies with every emotion, that it flows quietly on, ascends, 
bursts out triumphantly, and dies away again, according to the pre- 
vailing mood, and that it awakens an echo in the breast of other 
males. If the view referred to were correct, each bird would sing 
exactly like every other of the same species; it would pour forth its 
appointed lay as mechanically as a musical box emits the tunes 
plugged up in its rotating cylinder; none could change or improve 
his song, or strive to surpass his fellows. Our own view is exactly 
the opposite, for we are convinced that a bird sings with perfect 
consciousness, that in his song he lays bare his soul. He is 
a poet, who, within his own limits, invents, creates, and struggles 
for utterance; and the motive throughout is love for the opposite 
sex. Dominated by this love, the jay sings, whistles, and mur- 
murs, the magpie chatters, the croaking raven transforms its rough 
sounds into gentle, soft notes, the usually silent grebe lets its 
voice be heard, the diver sings its wild yet tuneful ocean-song, the 
bittern dips its bill under water that the only ery at its command 
may become a dull, far-sounding booming. A bird does indeed sing 
only at a certain season, but it is not because it cannot do so at 
other times, but because it has then no inducement, no inclination 
to sing. It is silent when it no longer loves; to speak more pro- 
saically, when the pairing-time is past. This is clearly proved in 
the case of the familiar cuckoo. Three-fourths of the year go by 
and its call is not once heard; spring comes round in the revolution 
of the seasons and it sounds forth almost incessantly from early 
morning till late in the evening, as long as the pairing-time lasts. 
But it is silent sooner in the south than in the north, sooner in the 
plains than in the mountains, exactly corresponding to the brooding- 
time of the foster-parents, which begin their nest-building earlier, 
and finish the rearing of their young sooner in the south and in the 
plains than in the north and in the highlands. 

During courtship many birds supplement their vocal efforts by 
pleasing movements, whether executed with the help of the wings 
or of the feet; others by peculiar attitudes in which they display 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 265 


themselves, or strut before the females; others, again, by special 
noises which they produce. ; 

While a few falcons, and all owls, express their desires chiefly, 
if not exclusively, by means of loud cries, other birds of prey 
indulge, either alone or in company with their mates, in a mag- 
nificent play of wings, which is now a kind of round dance, and 
anon becomes a perfect frenzy. Eagles, buzzards, peregrine falcons, 
kestrels, and lesser kestrels circle round each other for hours at a 
time, ascend spirally to giddy heights, exercise, obviously to their 
mutual pleasure and satisfaction, all the arts of flight of which they 
are capable, utter shrill cries from time to time, spread out their 
plumage in the sunlight, and, finally, glide slowly down and assume 
a dignified sitting posture, there to resume their caressings. Kites, 
which behave in an essentially similar manner, let themselves sud- 
denly down, with half-closed wings, from a very considerable height, 
until they are just over the ground, or a sheet of water, then begin, 
more quickly than usual, to describe a series of curves, remain 
hovering for some time over a particular spot, or execute other 
wonderful movements, then slowly soar again to their former height. 
Harriers fly for some time with apparent indifference behind the 
desired mate, then begin to circle round her, describe with her a 
series of intersecting curves, and, suddenly leaving her, soar, with 
head directed upwards, almost perpendicularly up to a considerable 
height, increasing, at the same time, the speed of their ordinarily 
leisurely flight to a surprising rapidity; then, tumbling precipitately 
over, fall with almost closed wings to near the ground, circle there 
once, twice, or oftener, ascend again and proceed as before, till at 
last the female makes up her mind to follow their example. But 
all these which we have mentioned are surpassed by the bateleur, 
or mountebank, a harrier about the size of an eagle, living in the 
interior of Africa, and one of the most remarkable of birds of prey in 
form and behaviour (p. 188). Its marvellous flight is at all times 
likely to attract the attention of observers, but during the pairing- 
time this becomes an incomparable mountebank performance in the 
air, a bewildering acrobatic display, which seems to unite in itself 
all the arts of flight practised by the other birds of prey. 


266 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Many other birds which are not specially skilful in flight act in 
much the same way as the wooing birds of prey. That they call in 
the aid of their wings when they strive to win the love of a mate, 
or wish to express their delight in a possession already won, is 
intelligible enough after what has been related. The swallow, 
sitting beside his desired or chosen mate, eagerly warbles his melo- 
dious lay; but the emotion within his breast is much too strong 
to allow him to sit still during the progress of his song, so he flies 
upwards, singing in his flight, and hovers and circles about the 
female who has followed him. The goatsucker sits for a time 
lengthwise on a bough, often at some distance from his mate, spins 
off his whirring strophes for some minutes, then rises, flies about 
his mate in graceful curves, flapping his wings, and calling to her 
such a tender “hait”, that one wonders how a sound so soft can 
possibly be produced by his rough throat. The bee-eater, whose 
voice is also unmelodious, sits for a long time on his perch, pressing 
closely to his mate, uttering scarcely a sound, sometimes none 
whatever, but apparently contenting himself with casting tender 
glances from his beautiful bright red eyes; but he, too, takes fire, 
moves his wings abruptly, rises high into the air, describes a circle, 
utters a jubilant cry, and returns to his mate, who has remained 
sitting where he left her. In the midst of its most ardent love- 
song—call it cooing, murmuring, moaning, or what you will—the 
dove breaks off suddenly as if inspired by its own music, then claps 
its wings loudly and sharply several times, soars aloft, spreads its 
wings and floats slowly down to a tree-top, there to begin its song 
anew. ‘Tree-pipits and rock-pipits, white-throats, and garden 
warblers behave exactly like the doves; the wood-warblers precipi- 
tate themselves from their high perches without ceasing to sing, fly 
up again to another branch, where they finish their song, to begin 
it again a few minutes later, and bring it to a conclusion with a 
similar play of wings. Greenfinches, siskins, and common buntings, 
in the enthusiasm of love, tumble through the air as if they had no 
control over their wings; the larks soar to heaven singing their song 
of love; the serin behaves as if it had taken lessons from a bat. 

A similar intoxication possesses those birds which declare their 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 267 


love by dancing. They, too, act contrary to all their usual habits 
during the dance, and fall finally into a transport which makes them 
almost forget the outside world. Few birds dance silently, most of 
them utter peculiar sounds, never heard at other times, at the same 
time displaying all their adornments, and often bringing the perfor- 
mance to a close with a sort of round dance. 

Particularly zealous dancers are the scratchers or fowls in the 
widest acceptation of the term. Our domestic cock contents himself 
with strutting proudly about, crowing and flapping his wings; his 
companions in the yard, the peacock and the turkey, do more, 
for they dance. Much more vigorous dancers than either of these 
are all the grouse-like birds and some pheasants. Whoever has 
watched the dance of the capercaillie in the grey morning hours, 
has listened to the liquid cooing of the black-grouse, has seen the 
willow-grouse dancing on the snowy plains of the tundra in the 
dusk of a northern spring, will agree with me that such homage as 
these cocks offer to the hens must be as irresistible as that paid by 
our own peacock when he transforms his chief ornament into a 
canopy for his desired mate. More remarkable than all the rest is 
the behaviour of the male tragopans or horned pheasants of Southern 
Asia, magnificently decorative birds, distinguished by two brightly- 
coloured horn-like tubes of skin on the sides of the head, and by 
brilliantly-coloured extensible wattles. After the cock has walked 
round the hen several times without appearing to pay any attention 
to her, he stands still at a particular spot, and begins to bow. More 
and more quickly the courtesies follow each other, the horns mean- 
time swelling and tossing, the wattles dilating and collapsing again, 
till all are literally flying about the head of the love-crazed bird. 
Now he unfolds and spreads his wings, rounds and droops his tail, 
sinks down with bent feet, and, spitting and hissing, lets his wings 
sweep along the ground. Suddenly every movement ceases. Bent 
low, his plumage ruffled, his wings and tail pressed against the 
ground, his eyes closed, his breathing audible, he remains for a 
while in motionless ecstasy. His fully-unfolded decorations gleam 
with dazzling brightness. Abruptly he rises again, spits and hisses, 
trembles, smooths his feathers, scratches, throws up his tail, flaps 


268 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


his wings, jerks himself up to his full height, rushes upon the 
female, and, suddenly checking his wild career, appears before her 
in olympic majesty, stands still for a moment, trembles, twitches, 
hisses, and all at once lets all his glory vanish, smooths his feathers, 
draws in his horns and wattles, and goes about his business as if 
nothing had happened. 

With head slightly bent, with wings and tail spread out, the 
former moving tremulously, the wagtails trip with dainty steps 
about their chosen mates, bowing, advancing, and retreating again; 
the fire-finch looks like a brilliant flame of incense as he turns 
about, singing gaily and spreading his beautiful feathers in the 
sunlight, on the top of an ear of the Kaffir millet, among which he 
and his loved one have made their home; tenderly, with mouth 
pressed to mouth and breast to breast, like the children of men, the 
dove and his mate together execute a slow dance; the cranes dance 
passionately, with nimble leaps; not less ardently, even in sight of 
apparently admiring spectators, does the beautiful cock of the rock 
of Tropical America disport himself; even the condor, whose powers 
of flight are of the first order, who sails through the air thousands 
of feet above the highest peaks of the Andes, whom one would 
scarcely expect to conduct his wooing otherwise than with his wings, 
ventures on a little dance, and with head sunk upon his breast, and 
with wings fully spread, circles slowly and with mincing steps 
around his mate, to an accompaniment of strange drumming, mur- 
muring sounds. 

Other birds, again, instead of dancing, spring impetuously up 
and down, and hop hither and thither among the branches, at the 
same time displaying whatever beauty they possess: thus, the male 
birds-of-paradise assemble in crowds on certain trees during the 
early morning hours, and with the aforesaid movements and tremu- 
lous quivering of their wings, display their wonderful plumage in 
honour of the other sex. Others even build bower-like structures, 
which they decorate with all kinds of coloured, shimmering, and 
glittering objects, and within which they perform their dances. 
Finally, a few birds with no special accomplishments either of voice 
or of flight or of dance, make use of their bills to produce singular 


\y 
AN 
mh 


i \Y 

Ny 
NN, 
a 


Fig. 40.—The Strutting of the Tragopan in Pairing-tima 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 271 


sounds. Thus all the storks woo by quickly clapping the two halves 
of the bill together, so producing a clatter which makes up for 
their lack of voice; thus, too, the woodpeckers hammer so fast on 
a dry tree-top or branch that the wood flies about in splinters, 
and a drumming sound is caused which resounds throughout the 
forest. 

Although it cannot be said that the female coquettishly repels 
any advances and declarations of love, it is only in cases of necessity 
that she accepts a suitor without exercising selection. At first 
she listens to the tenderest love-songs apparently with the greatest 
indifference, and looks on unconcernedly at all the play of wings, 
the dances executed in her honour, and all the beauty displayed 
to do her homage. For the most part she behaves as if all the 
display of fascinations on the part of the males had no relation 
to her at all. Leisurely, and seemingly quite uninterested in their 
doings, she goes about her daily business of seeking food. In many, 
though by no means in all cases, she is ultimately enticed by the 
song in her glorification, the dances to her praise, but by no action 
does she give a sign of complaisant response. Many female birds, 
especially the hens of all polygamous species, do not even come to 
the “playing” grounds of the cocks, though they are anything but 
coy, and often by their inviting cries inflame the strutting cocks to 
the height of passion. Ifa male becomes more importunate than is 
agreeable to the female she takes refuge in flight. In very rare 
cases this may perhaps be meant in earnest, but it is usually con- 
tinued with such energy and persistence that it is not always easy 
to determine whether it takes place without any secondary intention 
or whether it is merely a pretence. If it aims at nothing, it certainly 
achieves something: a heightening of the desire, a straining to the 
utmost of all the powers and resources of the wooing male. More 
excited than ever, regardless of all considerations, and bent only on 
attaining his object, he pursues the flying female as if he meant to 
force her to grant his suit; he sings with more fire, struts, dances, 
and plays with more agility than ever, and exercises his arts of 
flight whenever the female stops to rest, and more eagerly than ever 
he follows her if she takes to fresh flight. 


272 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Probably the females would be more compliant than they gener- 
ally are if one male were the only suitor. But the fact that the 
males are in most species in the majority gives the female bird the 
boon of freedom of choice. Several males, sometimes even a con- 
siderable number of them, pay court to her at the same time, and 
thus justify her deliberation and selectiveness. Intentionally or 
unintentionally, she obeys the law of selection; among several she 
tries to pick out the best, the strongest, the healthiest, the most 
excellent in every respect. She can afford to be fastidious. The 
reaction of her conduct on the males finds expression in boundless 
jealousy, which results, not unnaturally, in prolonged, often mortal, 
combat. Every bird, harmless as he may appear to us, is a hero in 
fighting for his loved one, and everyone understands so well how to 
use the weapons he is provided with, whether bill, claws, spurred 
feet, or even wings armed with horny spines, that the battle in 
many cases comes to an end only with the death of one of the 
combatants. 

The combat takes place in the air, on the ground, among the 
branches, or in the water, according to the species of bird. Eagles 
and falcons fight their adversaries in the air with beak and talons. 
Magnificent curves, rival flights to attain to a height suitable for 
attack, swift thrust, brilliant parry, mutual persecution and courage- 
ous persistence are the chief features of such duels. If one of the 
kingly champions succeeds in seizing his foe, the latter strikes his 
talons into his opponent’s breast, and both, unable properly to use 
their wings, fall whirling through the air. When the ground is 
reached the fight is, of course, interrupted; but, as soon as one 
rises, the other follows him, and hostilities begin anew. If one 
becomes exhausted, perhaps in consequence of wounds received, he 
beats a retreat, and, hotly pursued by the victor, flies hastily and 
without attempting resistance, beyond the limits of the domain which 
the female bird has chosen for herself; but, in spite of defeat, he 
does not finally relinquish the strife until she has declared decidedly 
in favour of the conqueror. Such duels sometimes, though not 
very often, have a fatal issue, for the eagle, whose jealousy is 
provoked by love and ambition, shows no mercy towards a con- 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 273 


quered foe, but remorselessly kills the adversary who has been 
incapacitated for further combat or for flight. Even those appa- 
rently most harmless creatures, the swifts, occasionally kill their 
rivals, for in their struggles, which are precisely like those of the 
eagles and falcons, they strike their sharp claws into the breasts of 
their foes, and tear the flesh so that the death of the wounded one 
often results. 

Among all birds with voices the combat is preceded by a definite 
challenge. Even the song of a singing bird is a weapon with which 
he may gain a bloodless victory; the pairing-cry, which so well 
expresses wooing, always excites jealousy. Whoever can imitate 
the cail of the cuckoo may entice the usually cautious bird to the 
very tree under which he is standing. Whoever can adequately 
mimic the complex whistle of the golden oriole, the cooing of the 
wild pigeon and turtle-dove, the drumming of the woodpeckers— 
in a word, the wooing song or call-note of any bird—may achieve 
a similar result. When a second suitor appears on the scene he 
announces his arrival by calling or singing. But he soon proceeds 
to action; and thenceforward there rages between him and his rival 
a strife as violent as those already described. In mad fury, calling, 
screaming, and screeching, one chases the other hither and thither, 
high in mid-air or in lower strata of the atmosphere, between tree- 
tops or among the bushes, and just as in the pursuit of the female, 
so in this chase one male provokes the other to passionate rage by 
challenging calls, and even by song, by displaying his decorations, 
and by other mocking behaviour. If the pursuer succeeds in catch- 
ing his flying foe, he pecks him so hard with his bill that the 
feathers fly about; if he lets him go, the pursued one turns in a 
trice and renews the attack; if neither gives way they maul one 
another thoroughly, whether they are in the air, among the branches, 
or on the ground. Among them, too, the struggle is finally aban- 
doned only when the female declares for one or other of the com- 
batants. 

Ground-birds always fight on the ground, swimming-birds only 
in the water. How obstinately the gallinaceous birds may do battle 


is known to everyone who has watched two cocks fighting. Their 
(at 70) 18 


Q74 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


duels, too, are a matter of life and death, though a fatal result does 
not often take place except when the natural weapons have been 
sharpened and the means of protection weakened by man’s cruel inter- 


Me 
AR 


Fig. 41.—Cock Chaffinches Fighting. 


ference. Rival ostriches fight with their strong legs, and, striking 
forwards, tear deep wounds with their sharp toe-nails in the breast, 
body, and legs of their opponent. Jealous bustards, after spending 
a long time challenging each other with throat inflated, wings and 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 275 


tail outspread, and much grumbling and hissing, make use of their 
bills with very considerable effect. Sandpipers and other shore- 
birds, particularly the fighting ruffs, which fight about everything, 
about a mate or about a fly, about sun and light, or about their 
standing-ground, run against each other with bills like poised 
lances, and receive the thrusts among their breast-feathers, which 
in the case of the ruffs are developed into what serves as a shield. 
Coots rush at each other on an unsteady surface of water-plants, 
and strike each other with their legs. Swans, geese, and ducks chase 
each other till one of the combatants succeeds in seizing the other 
by the head and holding him under water, till he is in danger of 
suffocating, or at least until he is so much exhausted that he is 
unable to continue the struggle. Swans, like spur-winged birds, 
seem also to use the hard, sharp, thorn-like horny quills at the 
angle of the wing to give effective strokes. 

As long as the female has not decided for either of the combat- 
ants, she takes no part in such struggles, does not appear even to 
be interested, though she must observe them closely, as she usually 
declares for the winner, or at least accepts his suit. How her 
decision or declaration is actually brought about I cannot say, I 
cannot even guess. While the battles described are in progress 
she makes her choice, and from thenceforward she gives herself 
unreservedly to the favoured male, follows him wherever he goes, 
accepts his demonstrations of affection with obvious pleasure, and 
returns his caresses with the most self-forgetting tenderness. She 
calls longingly after him, greets him joyously, and submits unresist- 
ingly to his desires and fondlings. Parrot pairs sit with their 
bodies closely pressed together, though hundreds may have settled 
on the same tree; the most complete unison is observable in all their 
doings; they are as if guided by one will. Does the husband take 
food, the wife takes it too; does he seek a new perch, she follows 
him; does he utter a cry, she joins her voice to his. Caressingly 
they nestle in each other’s plumage, and the passive female willingly 
offers head and neck to the eager male, thus to receive proofs of his 
tenderness. Every other female bird receives the caresses of her mate 
with similar, if somewhat less obvious devotion. She knows neither 


276 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


moods nor vexatious humours, neither sulking nor anger, neither 
scolding nor upbraiding, neither displeasure nor discontent—nothing 
but love, tenderness, and devotion, while the male thinks of nothing 
but his happiness in his newly-acquired treasure, and has no desire 
but to retain it. While he sometimes arranges or decides for her, 
he yields to the wishes of his mate; when she rises, he, too, leaves 
his perch; when she wanders abroad, he follows her; when she 
returns, he also comes back to the home of his youth. Little 
wonder that the wedlock of birds is happy and blameless. If the 
birds united for life grow old themselves, their love does not grow 
old with them, but remains ever young; and every spring-time 
fresh oil is poured upon the flame; their mutual tenderness does not 
diminish during the longest wedded life. Both mates faithfully 
take their share of the domestic cares at the time of nest-building, 
hatching the eggs, and bringing up the young. The male devotedly 
assists the female in all the labours required by their brood; he 
defends her courageously, and will unhesitatingly rush into obvious 
danger, even to death, to rescue her. In a word, from the beginning 
of their union they share each other’s joys and sorrows, and, except 
in unusual circumstances, this intimate bond lasts throughout life. 
There is no lack of direct evidence in proof of this. Keen-eyed 
naturalists, who have observed certain birds for many successive 
years, and have at length come to know them so well that they 
could not confuse them with others of the same species, have given 
us their guarantee for the birds’ devotion, and all of us who have 
given special attention to the birds which have come under our 
notice must be led to the same conclusion. A pair of storks on the 
roof of a house give the owner so many opportunities for observing 
them and distinguishing them from other storks that error is almost 
out of the question; and whoever watches his storks will find that 
the same pair occupy the nest every year as long as both live. And 
every naturalist or sportsman, who carefully notes wandering bird- 
pairs, or shoots them if the differences of sex are not readily dis- 
tinguishable, will find that they are really male and female. In the 
course of my travels in Africa I often saw pairs of migrating birds 
which there, too, lived in the close fellowship so characteristic of 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 277 


bird-wedlock, and were as inseparable as in the thicket at home, 
doing all and enduring all in common. Pairs of booted eagles were 
easily recognizable as mates even when they travelled or took 
shelter in company with others of their species; the whistling 
swans which I saw on the Menzaleh Lake in Egypt appeared in 
pairs and flew away again in pairs; all the other united pairs 
which I observed on my way illustrated the same habit. That they 
share misfortunes as well as pleasures together, I learned from 
a pair of storks I observed on a pool in South Nubia, to whom my 
attention was attracted because they were there at a time long after 
all others of their species had sought a refuge in the interior of 
Africa. To discover the cause of this prolonged stay I had them 
shot, and I found that the female had a broken wing which pre- 
vented her travelling farther, and that the male, himself thoroughly 
sound, had remained, for love of her, in a region where all the con- 
ditions of comfortable wintering were awanting. The close and 
faithful bond between pairing birds is severed only by death. 

This is the rule, but it is subject to exceptions. Even among 
monogamous birds unfaithfulness occurs sometimes, though rarely. 
Firmly as the females are wont to keep faith with their mates, and 
little as they are inclined to cast furtive glances at other males, or 
even to accept them as friends when they obtrude themselves, the 
specially brilliant gifts of some stranger may exercise a seductive 
influence. A master-singer who far surpasses the husband in song, 
an eagle who excels in all or at least in many respects the one 
selected by a female, may seriously disturb the happiness of a night- 
ingale or eagle marriage, may perhaps even entice the female away 
from her rightful spouse. This is evidenced by the bachelors who 
fly about before and during the brooding-time, intruding audaciously 
into the domain of a wedded pair and boldly sueing for the favour 
of the female, and by the jealous fights which begin at once between 
the lawful husband and the intruder, and which are usually fought 
out without the aid of the female. The conduct of a suddenly 
widowed female, who not only immediately consoles herself by 
pairing again, but sometimes even accepts the assassin of her first 
mate, points, at least to a certain extent, in the same direction. On 


278 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the roof of the manor of Ebensee, near Erfiirt, there brooded for years 
a pair of storks who, though they lived in complete harmony, were 
never without contests, suffering perpetually from the intrusion 
of strangers, who attempted to get possession of nest and female. 
One spring there came upon the scene a male who far surpassed 
all previous suitors in assertiveness and persistence, and forced the 
paterfamilias to be always fighting, or at least to be constantly on 
the watch. One day, wearied with his struggles, he sat upon the 
nest apparently asleep, with his head under his wing, when sud- 
denly the intruder swooped down upon him, transfixed him with 
his bill, and hurled him lifeless from the roof. And the widow? 
She did not drive the infamous assassin from her, but unhesitat- 
ingly allowed him to fill his victim’s place, and went on with her 
brooding as if nothing had happened. 

This and the facts already mentioned are not to the credit of 
the females, but I should like to emphasize that they are so much 
outweighed by the evidence on the other side, that they must be 
considered as exceptions which prove the rule. And if the females 
should be judged apparently or actually guilty, it must not be for- 
gotten that the males, with far more reason to be faithful than the 
less numerous females, sometimes forget their conjugal ties. Who- 
ever thoroughly knows pigeons, which are erroneously regarded as 
the type of all conceivable virtues, is aware that they are far from 
deserving the reputation which has been handed down in the 
legends of the ancients. Their tenderness is captivating, butit is not 
constant; their faithfulness to wife and children is extolled, but it 
does not stand a test. Quite apart from their unfatherliness, the 
male pigeons are only too often guilty of transgressions against 
the inviolable laws of marriage, and not seldom employ the time 
in which their mates are brooding in dallying with other females. 
Drakes are even more blamable, and the male red-legged partridges 
are no better. As soon as the ducks have settled down to brood, 
the drakes assemble and pass the time together as best they can, 
leaving their mates to toil, and worry, and undertake all the cares 
for the coming generation, and only returning to the ducks, 
perhaps not to their own mates, when the young have grown big 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 279 


and self-reliant and no longer need their help. But the red-legged 
partridges, and probably our partridges also, during the pairing- 
time, put in an appearance wherever another cock announces him- 
self in order to fight a round with him, and they are often allured 
and killed by the Spaniards, with the help of tame cocks of their 
own species. Later, however, when brooding has begun and they 
have no longer any inclination to fight, they respond to the call of 
the hens, if possible, more readily than before. 

But, as has been said, such cases form exceptions to the rule, and 
cannot be compared in any way with what occurs among poly- 
gamous birds. Many have tried in vain to explain the polygamy of 
cowbirds, cuckoos, pheasants, woodcocks, turkeys, quails, peacocks, 
and ruffs, but as yet no satisfactory explanation has been offered. 
To say that the cuckoo and its nearest relations do not brood nor 
live in wedlock and rear their own offspring because they must 
always be ready to direct their flight towards a caterpillar horde, 
wherever that may appear, is to talk at large, not to explain—for 
the cowbirds, too, intrust their brood to the care of foster-parents; 
and with regard to the supposition that polygamy, occurring among 
a few exceptionally persecuted species of fowl, is a provision of 
Nature for securing to these a numerous progeny, it is difficult to 
see why that end might not have been attained in the same way as 
among other fowls, which, though monogamous, are not less prolific. 

While employing the expression polygamy, I am quite aware 
that it is usual to speak of plurality of wives among birds. Such a 
state is unknown to me, and its existence, to my knowledge, is not 
corroborated by any observations of indisputable accuracy. For 
the passion is mutual, and the longing of the females is as bound- 
less as that of the males. The female cuckoo mates with one male 
to-day and another to-morrow, may indeed bestow her affections on 
several in the course of an hour, and the hen yields herself to one 
cock as readily as to another. It is simply out of the question to 
talk of mating among them at all. The males only concern them- 
selves temporarily about the females, and the females about the 
males; each sex goes its own way, even separating entirely from 
the other, and taking no interest in its lot beyond the limits of the 


280 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


pairing-time. Boundless desire, and consequently excessive jealousy, 
imperious demands submissively acceded to, mad wooing readily 
accepted, and thereafter complete indifference towards each other, 
are the main characteristics of the intercourse between the sexes of 
these birds. These explain, too, the fact that among them much 
oftener than among other birds crossing takes place, and mongrels 
or hybrids are produced, which lead a miserable existence, and 
either pine away without progeny, or, by mating with the true 
offspring of the race, lead back to the type again. Cross-pairing 
does indeed occur among other, that is monogamous, birds, but only 
when the absence of a mate of their own species impels them to 
seek one of another; whereas among polygamous birds chance and 
tempting opportunity seem as determinative as such a dilemma. 

It may be necessity, the absolute necessity of providing for the 
brood just hatched or still slumbering within the egg, which compels 
the female of monogamous birds to change her widowhood for a 
new alliance more quickly than the male can console himself for the 
loss of his wife. Whether her grief is really less than the widower’s 
may be doubted, emphatically against her though appearances are. 
Other female birds act exactly like the stork on the Ebensee. A 
pair of magpies brooding in our garden were to be killed because: 
we feared for the safety of the numerous singing-birds which we 
protected and encouraged in the same garden. At seven o’clock in 
the morning the male bird was shot, and barely two hours later the 
female had taken another mate; in an hour he too fell a victim; at 
eleven o'clock the female had contracted a third alliance. The same 
thing would have occurred again, but that the alarmed female, with 
her last-annexed mate, flew away from the garden. One spring my 
father shot a cock partridge; the hen flew up, but soon alighted 
and was immediately wooed by another cock, whom she accepted 
without more ado. Tchusi-Schmidthofen took away no fewer than 
twenty males from the nest of a black redstart within eight days, 
and only then left the twenty-times widowed and just as often 
consoled bird to the undisturbed enjoyment of her connubial bliss. 

Exactly the opposite of such apparent inconstancy is seen in the 
case of a male bird that has lost his mate. Screaming loudly, com- 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 281 


plaining piteously, demonstrating his grief by voice and actions, he 
flies about the corpse of his loved one, touches it perhaps with his 
bill as though he would move it to rise and fly away with him, 
raises anew his heart-rending cries, which are intelligible even to 
man; wanders within his range from place to place, pausing awhile, 
calling, coaxing, and complaining, now in one favourite spot, now 
in another; neglects to take food, throws himself angrily on other 
males of his species as if he envied them their happiness and would 
make them share his own misfortune; finds no rest anywhere, 
begins without finishing, and acts without knowing what he does. 
So he goes on for days, perhaps weeks, in succession, and often he 
remains as long as possible on the scene of his misfortune, without 
making any expeditions in search of a fresh mate.® Certain species, 
by no means only those parrots so appropriately named “ insepar- 
ables”, but finches and others, even horned owls, after such a severe 
blow lose all joy in life, mourn quietly, and literally pine away 
until released by death. 

One of the chief causes, if not the sole cause, of such deep grief 
may be the great difficulty, sometimes the impossibility, of finding 
and winning another mate. _The female has often no time for grief, 
for, sooner or later, sometimes immediately, new suitors appear and 
so overwhelm her with attention and tenderness that she must let 
herself be consoled whether she will or not. And if, in addition, 
anxiety about her brood fills her motherly heart, all other thoughts 
give place to that, and no room is left for enduring grief. But if 
she, too, has a difficulty in replacing her loss, she expresses her sorrow 
no less distinctly than the male. But sometimes she does even more, 
for she may voluntarily forego a new alliance. A sparrow widow, 
carefully observed by my father, though she had eggs to hatch, and, 
later, young ones to rear, accepted none of her suitors but remained 
unmated, and fed her clamouring brood alone with indescribable 
toil. Another touching incident proving the grief of widowed birds 
is vouched for by Eugen von Homeyer. The wedded bliss of a pair 
of storks, nesting on the roof of that experienced naturalist’s house, 
was brought toa sudden end by one of those detestable bird-shooters 
or would-be sportsmen who killed the male. The sorrowing widow 


282 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


fulfilled her maternal duties without choosing another mate, and 
migrated in autumn to Africa with her brood and others of her 
species. The following spring she reappeared on the old nest, un- 
mated as she had left. She was much wooed, but drove all suitors 
away with vicious digs of her bill; she mended her nest busily, but 
only to preserve’ her right to occupy it. In autumn she migrated 
with the rest, returning in spring, and proceeding as before. This 
occurred eleven years in succession. In the twelfth, another pair 
attempted to take forcible possession of her nest; she fought bravely 
for her property, but did not attempt to secure it by taking another 
mate. The nest was seized, and she remained single. The inter- 
lopers retained and made use of the nest, and the rightful owner 
was seen no more, but, as afterwards transpired, she passed the 
whole summer alone in a district about ten miles distant. Scarcely 
had the other storks departed, when she returned to her nest, spent 
a few days in it, and then set out on her journey. She was known 
throughout the whole district as “the solitary”, and her misfortune 
and behaviour won for her the friendly sympathy of all kind- 
hearted men. 

And such behaviour is only the movement of a machine 
obedient to some external guiding force? All these expressions of 
a warm and living emotion which we have depicted occur without 
consciousness? Believe that who can, maintain it who will. We 
believe and maintain the opposite; the conscious happiness of the 
love and wedded life of birds appears to us worthy of our envy. 


APES AND MONKEYS. 


Sheikh Kemal el Din Demiri, a learned Arab, who died at 
Damascus about the year 1405, according to our reckoning, relates 
in his book, Heiat el Heivan; or, The Life of Animals, the follow- 
ing wonderful story, which is based on one of the Prophet’s utter- 
ances :— 

“Long before Mohammed, the Prophet and Messenger of God 


APES AND MONKEYS. 283 


the All-merciful, had kindled the light of Faith, before Issa or Jesus 
of Nazareth had lived and taught, the town Aila, on the Red Sea, 
was inhabited by a numerous population who professed the Jewish 
faith. But they were sinners and unrighteous in the eyes of the 
Lord, for they desecrated continually the sacred day of the All- 
merciful, the Sabbath. In vain did pious and wise men warn 
the sinful inhabitants of the godless city; they disregarded the 
command of the Almighty as before. Then those who had warned 
them forsook the unholy place, shook the dust off their feet, and 
resolved to serve Elohim elsewhere. But, after three days had 
passed, the longing for home and friends drove them back to Aila. 
There a wonderful sight met their gaze. The gates of the town 
were shut, but the battlements of the walls were unguarded, so 
that they were not hindered from climbing over them. But the 
streets and market-place of the unhappy town were deserted. 
Where formerly the restless sea of human life had surged and 
swelled, where buyers and sellers, priests and officials, artisans and 
fishermen, had mingled in a motley throng, gigantic baboons now 
sat and crouched, ran and climbed; and from the windows and 
recesses, the terraces and roofs, where dark-eyed women had tarried, 
she-baboons now looked down upon the streets. And all the giant 
monkeys and their comely mates were sad and downcast, and they 
gazed with troubled eyes on the returned pilgrims, pressing closely 
to them with complaining moans and prayerful cries. With sur- 
prise and sadness the pious pilgrims gazed upon the strange sight, 
until to one of them came the comfortless thought that these might 
be their former relatives degraded to monkeys. To make certain, 
the wise man went straight to his own house. In the door of it, 
likewise, there sat a baboon; but this one, when he saw the right- 
eous man, cast his eyes with pain and shame to the ground. ‘Tell 
me, by Allah the All-merciful, O Baboon,’ said the wise man, ‘art thou 
my son-in-law Ibrahim?’ And sadly the baboon answered, ‘Eva, 
Eva’ (I am). Then all doubt vanished from the mind of the pious 
man, and he recognized that, by God’s heavy judgment, the impious 
Sabbath-breakers had been transformed into ‘ monkeys’.” 

Sheikh Kemal el Din does not indeed venture to call this 


284 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


miracle in question, but as a thinking man he cannot refrain from 
expressing the opinion that perhaps the baboons may have existed 
before there were any Jews. 

We, for our part, prettily imagined and related as the story is, 
accept this interpretation the more readily, that the apes with which 
the pious zealots of Aila may have had to do are old acquaintances 
of ours. For in Arabia there occur only the Hamadryas or sacred 
baboons; and we find the same excellently depicted on very ancient 
Egyptian monuments. It was the arrangement of their hair which 
appeared to the ancient Egyptians so remarkable that they chose it 
as a model for their sphinxes; while to this day it serves as a pattern 
for the coiffure of the dusky beauties of the Eastern Soudan. The 
sacred baboon holds a very important place in ancient Egyptian 
theology, as we learn, among other things, from Horapollon, inter- 
preter of hieroglyphs. According to him the monkey was kept 
in the temples and embalmed after death. He was considered the 
inventor of writing, and was therefore not only sacred to Thoth or 
Mercury, the founder of all science, but a near relative of the 
Egyptian priests, and, on his ceremonious entrance into the 
sanctuary, he was subjected to an examination, in which the priest 
thrust a writing tablet, ink, and pen into his hand, and called upon 
him to write, that they might see whether he were worthy to be 
received or not. It was also maintained that he stood in secret 
relations with the moon, and that the latter exercised an extra- 
ordinary influence over him; and, finally, he was credited with the 
faculty of dividing time in so obvious a manner, that Trismegistus 
took his actions as the model after which he constructed his water- 
clock, which, like the monkey, divided day and night into twelve 
equal parts. 

It is worthy of note that, while the ancient Egyptians regarded 
a relationship with the monkeys as probable, they did not deem it 
possible that they should be descended from a monkey stock. Such 
a view of the degree of relationship between man and monkey is 
first met with among the Indians. From very ancient times until 
the present day there has prevailed among them a belief that at 
least a few royal families are descended from one of the sacred 


APES AND MONKEYS. 285 


monkeys, the Hanuman or Entellus, which, in India, is held as 
sacred, in a certain sense even as divine, and that the souls of 
departed kings return to the bodies of these monkeys. One of the 
reigning families, in particular, shows its pride in this descent 
through its adopted title of honour— tailed Rana ”. 

Similar views to those prevailing among the Indians have 


UA, 
Za WN 


Fig. 42.—Entellus Monkeys (Semnopithecus Entellus). 


come into vogue among ourselves in recent times, and the monkey 
question, which I should like to discuss shortly, yet so as to be 
generally understood, has raised much dust. A scientific question, 
of little general interest to the laity, has not only fanned pious 
anger to blazing flames, but has divided serious naturalists into two 
different parties who defend their respective positions with excited 
warmth. Circles, altogether alien to scientific investigation, have 
taken up the strife, without knowing or suspecting its real import 


286 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


and bearing, have even carried it into realms where it could only be 
productive of mischief, and have thereby caused a confusion which 
will not readily be cleared up. To discuss monkeys at all has 
therefore become a bold undertaking, for, in speaking of them, one 
runs a risk either of degrading the reputed ancestor, or, through 
him, of offending the supposed descendants—to say nothing of the 
inevitable abuse of the most pitiable kind which ill-mannered 
fanatics, blindly struggling against the spirit of the age, hurl at 
him who ventures to utter the word monkey. Nevertheless, the 
monkey question will not readily disappear from the order of the 
day; for these animals, so evidently our nearest relatives in the 
animal kingdom, are much too deserving of our sympathy, to allow 
of our being deterred by sentimental considerations from investi- 
gating their life and habits and comparing them with our own, that 
we may so enlarge our knowledge at once of monkeys and of men. 

The following is a contribution to such knowledge:— 

A general life-picture such as I wish to sketch is not easily con- 
densed into few words, since the different species of monkeys vary 
so widely. There are about four hundred, or, at any rate, consider- 
ably more than three hundred species, and they inhabit every part 
of the world with the single exception of Australia; but they are 
found chiefly in the countries within the tropics. In America their 
range extends from twenty-eight degrees of southern latitude to the 
Caribbean Sea; in Africa it stretches from thirty-five degrees southern 
latitude to the Straits of Gibraltar; in Europe their occurrence is 
limited to the Rock of Gibraltar, where, from time immemorial, a 
troop of about twenty magots or Barbary macaques have existed, 
and are now protected and preserved by the garrison of the Fort.” 
Forests and rocky mountains, which they ascend to a height of more 
than 8000 feet, are their favourite habitats. In such places they 
remain, with the exception of a few species, year in year out, giving 
heed to the rotation of the seasons only to the extent of undertaking 
more or less extensive expeditions through the forest in search 
of ripening fruits, or ascending the mountains at the beginning of 
the warm season, and descending again before cold weather sets in; 
for, though they may be met with even in snow-covered regions, 


APES AND MONKEYS. 287 


they are as fond of warmth as they are of abundant and varied diet. 
Something to bite and crack there must be if they are to remain 
permanently or for any length of time in a place; failing that, they 
shift their quarters. Woods in the neighbourhood of human settle- 
ments are to them a paradise; the forbidden tree therein troubles 
them not at all. Maize and sugar-cane fields, orchards, banana, 
plantain, and melon plantations they regard as their rightful and 
peculiar feeding-grounds, and districts where they are protected by 
the piety of the inhabitants they also consider very agreeable places 
of abode. 

All monkeys, with perhaps the exception of the so-called anthro- 
poid apes, live in bands of considerable strength under the leadership 
of an old male. The occupant of this post of dignity rises to it by 
recognized all-round ability; the strongest arms and longest teeth 
decide the matter. While among those mammals which are led by 
a female member of the herd the rest obey willingly, the monkey- 
leader is an absolute despot of the worst type, who compels his 
subjects to unconditional obedience. If anyone refuses submission, 
he is brought to a sense of his duty by bites, pinchings, and blows. 
The monkey-leader requires the most slavish submission from all 
the monkeys of his herd, females as well as males. He shows no 
chivalry towards the weaker sex—* In Sturm erringt er der Minne 
Sold”. 

His discipline is strict, his will unbending. No young monkey 
dare presume to make love to one of the females of his herd; no 
female may venture to show favour to any male except himself. 
He rules despotically over his harem, and his seed, like that of 
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, is like the sand of the sea-shore for 
multitude. If the herd becomes too large, a troop separates itself, 
under the leadership of a full-grown male, to form a new community. 
Till then the leader is obeyed by all, and is as much honoured as 
feared. Old experienced mothers, as well as young scarcely grown- 
up females, strive to flatter him; exerting themselves especially to 
show him continually that highest favour one monkey can render 
to another—cleansing his hairy coat from all things not appertaining 
thereto. He, on his part, accepts such homage with the demeanour 


288 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


of a pasha whose favourite slave tickles his feet. The esteem which 
he has been able to evoke gives him confidence and dignity of bear- 
ing; the battles in which he has constantly to take part give him 
watchfulness, courage, and self-control; the necessity of maintaining 
his authority develops circumspection, astuteness, and cunning. 
These qualities are certainly used in the first place for his own 
advantage, but the rest of the community also benefit by them, and 
his unchallenged supremacy thus receives some justification and 
stability. Ruled and guided by him, the herd, though violent storms 
may rage within it, leads on the whole a very secure, and therefore 
a comfortable life. 

All monkeys, except the few nocturnal species, are active by day 
and rest at night. Some time after sunrise they awake from sleep. 
Their first business is to sun and clean themselves. If the night is 
cold and inhospitable, they attempt to improve their comfortless 
couch by thronging together in a heap, or rather a cluster; but are 
still so cold in the morning that a long sun-bath seems absolutely 
necessary. As soon as the dew is dry, they leave their sleeping- 
places, climb to the tree-top or to the highest point of the rock, select 
a sunny seat, and leisurely turn themselves about on it till every 
part of their bodies has been exposed to the sun. When the fur is 
dried and thoroughly warm it is ready for cleaning, and each 
monkey sets to work eagerly and carefully, or requests and receives 
from one of his fellows the service which he, in his turn, is always 
ready to do to others. 

When the fur has been cleaned, and, if necessary, brushed into 
sleekness, the monkeys begin to think of breakfast. This presents 
no difficulty, for they refuse nothing that is edible, and a tax is 
levied on the animal and the vegetable kingdom alike. Forest 
and mountainous districts afford fruits, leaf and flower buds, birds’ 
nests with eggs or young, snails and grubs; gardens yield fruit and 
vegetables, fields supply cereals and pulses. Here a ripening ear is 
broken off, there a juicy fruit is gathered, in the tree a bird’s nest 
is plundered, on the ground a stone is turned over, in a settlement 
a garden is stripped or a field robbed, and something is carried away 
from all. If he has time, every single monkey destroys ten times as 


APES AND MONKEYS. 289 


much as he eats, and can therefore very materially damage the pro- 
duce of the farmer, gardener, or fruit-grower. At the beginning of 
an expedition each monkey, in his anxiety to secure himself a meal 
whatever may happen, devours almost indiscriminately whatever 
he can reach; then, if he possesses cheek-pouches, he stuffs these 
as full as possible; but as soon as his most pressing necessities are 
relieved, he selects and criticises every bite, carefully examining and 
smelling every fruit he plucks, every ear he breaks, before eating it, 
and indeed in most cases simply throwing one thing after another 
carelessly away to seize something different, which as often as not 
is rejected in its turn. “We sow, and the monkeys reap,’ the 
inhabitants of the Eastern Soudan complained to me, and with justice. 
Against thieves like these, neither fence nor wall, lock nor bolt, 
are sufficient protection; they climb the first, and open the last; 
and what they cannot eat they carry away. It is at once amusing 
and painful to watch them feeding, for then, as at all times, their 
behaviour is a mixture of boldness and artfulness, bravado and 
cunning, love of enjoyment and caution, and indeed also of trickery 
and spitefulness, impudence and malevolence. All their skill and 
dexterity is brought into play when an undertaking seems dangerous. 
They run, climb, leap, if need be even swim to overcome obstacles; 
but in no case do they forget their care for their individual safety. 
The commander always leads the way, and coaxes, calls, chides, 
warns, cries, scolds, and punishes as seems to him good; the herd 
follows and obeys, but without ever entirely trusting him. In 
danger every member of the herd looks out for its own safety, 
rejoining the leader after that is assured; the mothers with a young 
one at their breasts, or on their backs, are an exception, for they are, 
or seem to be, less concerned about their own safety than that of 
their child. 

When their expeditions are not attended with danger they often 
rest, and give the young ones opportunity to amuse themselves 
together; but when there is any danger they finish their expedition 
and then enjoy a period of rest and relaxation, during which they 
often indulge in a siesta to help their digestion. In the afternoon 


they set out on another foraging expedition; towards sundown they 
(at 70) : 9 


290 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


repair to their usual sleeping-place, which is as far as possible out 
of the reach of beasts of prey, and, after prolonged wrangling and 
disputing, scolding and brawling, they seek their well-earned rest. 
Apart from occasional compulsory or apparently profitable 
migrations, the order of the day above described suffers little 
change. Reproduction, which brings about such marked changes 
in the lives of other animals, has very little influence on that of the 
monkeys, for it is limited to no special time, and the mothers carry 
their young ones with them wherever they go. The young ones, of 
which most species produce only one at a birth, come into the world 
as well-developed creatures, with open eyes, but according to our 
ideas they are extremely ugly, and, notwithstanding their compara- 
tively advanced development, very helpless creatures.® They appear 
ugly because their wrinkled faces and wide open, lively eyes give 
them the expression of an old man, and their short hair makes 
their long fore limbs look longer than they really are; they show 
themselves helpless in that they can make no use of these limbs 
except to attach themselves to their mother’s breast. Here they 
hang, with arms and hands round her neck, legs and feet round her 
hips, without seeming to move anything but their heads for weeks 
together, and the mother is therefore able, without being appreciably 
burdened, to go about her ordinary affairs, and wanders as usual 
along the most breakneck paths, or indulges in the boldest leaps. 
After some time, rarely within a month, the little ones begin to 
attempt some movements, but perform them so awkwardly that 
they excite pity rather than laughter. Perhaps because of this very 
helplessness, the little monsters are watched and handled by their 
mothers with such tenderness that the expression “monkey-love” is 
fully justified. Every monkey mother finds constant occupation in 
looking after her baby. Now she licks it, now cleans its coat, now 
lays it to her breast, now holds it in both hands as if she wished to 
feast her eyes on it, and now she rocks it as if to lull it to sleep. 
If she sees that she is watched she turns away, as if she grudged 
anyone else a sight of her darling. When it is older and able to 
move about it is sometimes allowed to leave its mother’s breast for a 
little, and to play with others like itself, but it remains meanwhile 


APES AND MONKEYS. "991 


under strict control, and, if it does not obey instantly, is punished 
with slaps and pinches. The maternal care extends even to the 
food. Greedy as the mother generally is, she divides every bite with 
her young one, yet she does not allow it to hurt itself by too hasty 
or immoderate eating, but interferes, in such a case, with motherly 
prudence. But there is rarely any necessity for such interference 
or for severe punishment, for the monkey-child is obedient enough 
to be held up as an example to many a human one. Very touching 
is the conduct of the mother when her little one is obviously suffer- 
ing; if it dies she is in despair. For hours, even days, she carries 
the little corpse about with her, refuses all nourishment, sits indif- 
ferently in the same spot, and often literally pines to death. The 
young monkey itself is incapable of such deep grief, and it is also 
better taken care of than most other animals if it loses its mother. 
For the next best member of the band, whether male or female, 
possessed by that love of mothering something, which is strong in 
all monkeys, takes charge of the little orphan and caresses it 
warmly. Unfortunately, however, the foster-parent is often at war 
with its better self about its beloved food, and it may leave a young 
one, not old enough to help itself, to pine with hunger, perhaps even 
to die of starvation. 

It is difficult, if not impossible, to say anything of general appli- 
cation about the talents of monkeys, because these vary as widely 
as the animals themselves. Some traits are indeed common to all, 
but most of their characteristics vary considerably in the different 
species. A disposition which in one is scarcely observable is pro- 
nounced in another, a trait which is prominent here is sought for in 
vain there. But if we compare the different families, groups, and 
species together, we shall observe a surprising, because unsuspected 
gradation of talents and abilities. It is instructive to proceed in 
this way. 

We must regard the graceful, little, clawed monkeys or marmosets 
of South and Central America as the least developed members of 
the monkey order. They have the same dentition as the higher 
monkeys, but they have flat nails only on the large toe, while on all 
the other toes and the fingers they have narrow claw-like nails, 


292 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


which place their hands and feet, or the former av any rate, on the 
level of paws. These outward features correspond to their mental 
endowments. Monkeyhood, we may say, has not reached its full 
development in the family of marmosets. Not only in form and 
colour, but in their carriage, in their whole character and behav- 


iS 


Fig. 48.—Common Marmoset or Ouistiti (Hapale Jacchus). 


iour, even in their voice, they remind us of the rodents. They 
seldom sit upright, and at the best are rather like squirrels than 
like other monkeys; they prefer to stand on all-fours with the 
body horizontal; they do not climb easily and freely, with hands 
and feet clasping the branch, like others of their order, but, stick- 
ing their claws into it, they press close to it and glide along, not 


APES AND MONKEYS. 293 


of course slowly or unskilfully, but rather as rodents than as 
monkeys. Their voice, too, is quite different from that of all 
the higher monkeys; it is a whistling in high notes which now 
reminds one of the chirping of a bird, now of the squeaking of 
rats and mice, but perhaps most of all of the sound made by 
the guinea-pig. Their behaviour generally is decidedly rodent- 
like. They exhibit the uneasiness and restlessness, the curi- 
osity, shyness, and timidity, the inconstancy of squirrels. Their 
little heads only remain a few seconds in one position, and their 
dark eyes are directed now towards this object now towards that, 
but always hastily, and obviously without comprehension, although 
they seem to look out on the world intelligently enough. Every 
action they perform shows their slight power of judgment. As if 
without will, they act on the suggestion of the moment; they forget 
what they have just been doing as soon as their attention is diverted, 
and they prove just as fickle in the expression of their content- 
ment as of their displeasure. At one moment they are good- 
humoured, apparently quite satisfied with their lot, perhaps grate- 
ful for caresses from a friendly hand, the next they are snarling at 
their keeper just as if their lives were in danger, showing their 
teeth, and trying to bite. As irritable and excitable as all monkeys 
and rodents, they yet lack the individuality which every higher 
monkey exhibits, for one acts exactly like another, without origi- 
nality and always in a somewhat commonplace fashion. They have 
all the attributes of cowards—the complaining voice, the reluctance 
to adapt themselves to the inevitable, the whining acceptance of all 
circumstances, the morbidly suspicious habit of finding in every 
action of another creature some hostility to themselves, the desire 
to swagger while in reality they carefully keep out of the way of 
every real or supposed danger, and an incapacity either to make 
resolutions or to carry them out. Just because there is so little 
of the true monkey about them they are preferred by women and 
despised by men. 

On a decidedly higher level stand the Broad-nosed or New- World 
monkeys, which also inhabit America, though even in these, the full 
character of the true monkey is not attained. The dentition num- 


294 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


bers a molar more on each side of the jaws than in the higher apes, 
thus there are thirty-six teeth instead of thirty-two; all the fingers 
and toes have flat nails; the body seems more slender than it is, 
because the limbs are very long; the tail is used, in many cases, as a 
powerful grasping-organ. The one-sidedness of their development 
is very characteristic. Exclusively arboreal like the marmosets, 
they are awkward, even clumsy when away from the branches of 
the trees. On the ground their gait is extremely ungainly, uncer- 
tain, and tottering, particularly in those species which have a pre- 
hensile tail, but even their climbing does not come at all near that 
of the Old-World monkeys. For increase of the number of organs 
of locomotion does not necessarily result in increased power, still 
less in greater variety of movement; on the contrary, it often 
means one-sidedness, and it certainly does so in the case of the New- 
World monkeys. Their prehensile tail is not to them a fifth, but a 
first hand, used in hanging or fixing the body, in lifting things or 
dragging them along, and so on; but it does not make their move- 
ments more rapid or free, it adds to safety but not to agility. 
Thanks to the constant use of the tail, its owner never runs a risk 
of falling from the lofty branches—safe because high—to the 
dangerous ground beneath, but neither is he able to make any free 
or daring movement. Slowly he sends his prehensile tail in advance 
of every step, always catching hold with it first, and only then 
letting go with hands or feet. Thus he binds himself to the branch 
rather than climbs upon it, and never thinks of attempting a leap 
whose success is in the least doubtful. In this constant careful- 
ness for his own precious person the broad-nosed monkey impresses 
one not so much with his prudence as with his slowness, and it 
is noteworthy that the whole character of the New-World 
monkeys bears this out. Their voice is not quite so monotonous 
as that of the marmosets, but it is unpleasant; not to say tiresome. 
It runs through many grades, from a whine to a roar, but it has, 
invariably, a mournful character, and the whole demeanour of the 
animal, when it cries, is pessimistic. After a cool, dewy night, the 
morning sun shines warm and golden through the trees, and a 
thousand-toned song of joy and greeting leaps forth in welcome 


APES AND MONKEYS. 295 


from a million throats. The howlers prepare to offer their tribute 
of praise also. But how? They have climbed to the dry top 
branches of a giant tree which rises high above its fellows, have 
fastened themselves securely by their tails, and are warming them- 
selves comfortably in the sunshine. Then a feeling of well-being 
moves them to raise their voices. One of them, distinguished, it is 


Fig. 44.—Red Howling Monkeys (Mycetes seniculus). 


said, by a specially high, shrill voice, acts as leader, and, looking 
fixedly at his companions, begins to chant. The rest look at him 
with the same motionless vacant stare and join in; and frightfully 
their song resounds through the forest, now grunting, now howling, 
now snarling, now rattling, as if all the beasts of the forest were 
waging deadly warfare. The astounding performance begins with 
a bellowing solo; these bellowings become louder, follow each other 
more rapidly as the excitement of the singer——which is probably 
present though not apparent — increases and spreads to other 


296 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


members of the community; then they change into howling and 
roaring, and they end as they began. If one looks at the long- 
bearded, serious singers one can scarcely keep from smiling; but 
soon the indescribable discords they produce become as wearisome 
as their monotonous climbing, or rather creeping movements. What 
one does another imitates, but whatever they may do, howsoever 
they may act, their behaviour is always monotonous. Very much 
like these, or not essentially different, are all the monkeys with 
prehensile tails; though a few prominent members of the family, 
the Capuchin monkeys for instance, are rather more free and in- 
dependent. In general, they are as heavy mentally as physically— 
usually very gentle, good-natured, and confiding, but stupid, peevish, 
fretful, and some of them obstinate, malicious, and spiteful. They 
thus stand considerably higher than the marmosets, but far below 
the Old-World monkeys. Probably it would hardly be doing them 
injustice to say that they possess the bad qualities without the good 
qualities of their Old-World cousins. Their gentleness and good- 
nature—apart from the fact that these are not found in all the 
species, do not in the least make up for their general lack of enter- 
prise, boldness, cheerfulness, liveliness, and decision, circumspection 
and ingenuity—qualities which place the Old-World monkeys so high 
—while their everlasting whining and complaining counterbalance, 
in our eyes, all the qualities which might attract us to them. 

The monkeys of the Old World, like those of the New, fall into 
two groups to which the rank of families may perhaps be gcranted, 
although the dentition is essentially alike in both. ’ We call the one 
type Dog-like, the other Man-like, and we may go the length of 
saying that the former teach us what monkeyhood really is, while 
the latter rise above it. For the first group especially, my opening 
remarks hold good. Among them we find monkeys beautiful and 
ugly, attractive and repulsive, lively and serious, good-natured and 
malicious. Really misshapen monkeys there are none, for we must 
admit that even those which appear to us ugly are symmetrical in 
form. Yet some of them are, in many respects, odd-looking creatures. 
Their chief external characteristics are, the more or less protruding 
muzzle, reminding one of a dog’s, the proportionately short arms, 


APES AND MONKEYS. 297 


the tail, always present though often shortened to a mere stump, 
the more or less developed ischial callosities, and the cheek-pouches 
present in most species. The dentition includes the usual number of 
thirty-two teeth arranged in an unbroken series. They occur in all 
three continents of the Old World, and are most numerous in Africa. 

Their endowments and characteristics place them far above the 
marmosets and New-World monkeys. They usually walk very 
well, though some of them hobble along in a comical fashion; they 
are able, without difficulty, to stand on their legs alone, thus raising 
themselves to their full height, and in that position they can walk 
more or less easily. ‘They climb well under all circumstances, 
though some do so only among trees, others among the rocks; some 
of them are also excellent swimmers. The climbing of the arboreal 
species is almost like flight, if I may so speak—for their skill among 
the branches surpasses all expectation. Leaps of from eight to ten 
yards are to them quite possible achievements. From the topmost 
boughs of a tree they leap to a lower one, which is forcibly bent 
downwards by the shock, from this at the moment of rebound they 
give themselves a strong impetus, and, stretching tail and hind-legs 
out behind them to steer their course, shoot like an arrow through 
the air. The branch of a tree, even if it be covered with the sharpest 
thorns, is to them a well-made road, a climbing plant is a path or a 
ladder according to its position. They climb forwards or backwards, 
on the under or upper side of a branch; in leaping or falling they 
catch a thin twig with one hand, and remain hanging as long as 
they please in every imaginable position; then they climb leisurely 
on the branch, and proceed on their way as coolly as if they were 
on level ground, If the hand misses the desired twig it is caught 
by the foot; if it breaks under the sudden shock they catch in fall- 
ing at a second, a third, and if all break they spring to the ground, 
no matter the distance, and climb up again by the first available 
trunk or climbing-plant. Compared with the clinging and creeping 
of their relatives in the New World theirs appears, and really is, 
a free, unfettered motion which surmounts all obstacles. The 
former are blunderers, the latter finished artists; the former slaves 
of the trees, the latter lords of the branches. 


298 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Their voice is as highly developed as their power of movement. 
Theirs is no chirping or whistling, no whining or howling; on the 
contrary, they utter many different sounds expressing the mood of 
the moment, and quite intelligible even to us. Comfort or dis- 
comfort, desire or satisfaction, good-will or ill-will, love or hate, 
indifference or anger, joy or pain, confidence or mistrust, attraction 
or repugnance, affection or dislike, submissiveness or defiance, but 
above all any sudden emotion, such as fear or horror, find adequate 
expression, comparatively limited though the voice may be.” 

What we may call their mental endowments correspond to their 
physical powers. It may be well to emphasize that the hand, 
which among them first attains to full development, gives them a 
considerable advantage over other animals, and makes some of their 
actions appear more remarkable than they really are; for instance, 
it renders them capable of many skilful devices which would be 
impossible to a dog and to any of those animals which we are wont 
to reckon among the cleverest of mammals. A high degree of 
deliberateness must be conceded to them. Their excellent memory 
treasures up the most various impressions, and their discriminating 
intelligence makes these a store of experiences, which are turned to 
good account as opportunity offers. Thus they act with full con- 
sciousness of what they are doing, according to circumstances, and 
not as impotent slaves of a power outside themselves, but with 
independence, freedom, and variety, cunningly seizing every advan- 
tage, and making use of every expedient which they believe will 
further their end. They distinguish between cause and effect, and 
attempt to achieve or nullify the latter by applying or removing 
the former. They not only recognize what benefits or injures them, 
but they know whether they do right or wrong, judging either from 
the standard of some loved one, or that of some master.” It is not 
blind chance, but a recognition of what is profitable that regulates 
and guides their actions, makes them submit to the judgment of 
the most capable, moves them to live and act together, teaches them 
to form communities for the weal or woe of the individual, to share 
joy and sorrow, good fortune and misfortune, safety and danger, 
plenty and scarcity,—in other words, to form an alliance based on 


APES AND MONKEYS 299 


reciprocity—which teaches them to employ powers and means not 
theirs by inheritance, and, finally, presses into their hands weapons 
with which Nature did not supply them. Passions of all kinds, it 
is true, often gain a victory over their circumspection; but these 
very passions are proof of the liveliness of their sensations, or, 
what comes to the same thing, of their mental activity. They are 
as susceptible as children, as irritable as weak-minded men, and 
thus very sensitive to every kind of treatment they may receive; to 
love and dislike, to encouraging praise and chilling blame, to pleasant 
flattery and wounding ridicule, to caresses and chastisement. Never- 
theless they are not so easily managed, still less so easily trained to 
anything, as a dog or any other clever domestic animal, for they are 
self-willed in a high degree, and almost as conceited as human beings. 
They learn without difficulty, but only when they wish to, and by 
no means always when they ought to, for their self-conceit rebels 
against any submission which they do not see to be to their own 
advantage. They are quite aware that they are liable to be punished, 
and may loudly express their disapprobation of the expected chas- 
tisement beforehand, yet still refuse to do what is required of 
them; while, on the other hand, they will execute it willingly and 
with the liveliest expressions of understanding, when the task 
happens to suit their humour. Whoever ventures to doubt their 
self-esteem has only to watch their way of treating other animals. 
Unless terrified by their strength and dangerousness, they invari- 
ably regard other animals as playthings, whether they tease them 
and play tricks upon them, or fondle them and load them with 
caresses. 

Some examples, for which I myself can vouch, or which I know 
to be thoroughly authentic, may strengthen the assertions I have 
just made. 

As I was travelling in Bogosland, on my first ride into the moun- 
tains I fell in with a large band of the Hamadryas baboons, referred 
to by Sheikh Kemal el Din Demiri in his narrative. Drying their 
streaming hair in the sunshine, they sat picturesquely grouped on 
the highest points of a cliff, and, on being greeted with rifle bullets, 
they beat an organized retreat and fled. Continuing my journey 


300 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


through the narrow, winding, rocky valley of the Mensa, I came 
upon them some time later, this time in the valley itself, just as 
they were preparing to ascend the rocky wall of the other side to 
seek safety from such annoying disturbances. A considerable num- 
ber had already crossed the valley; the majority were in the act of 
crossing. Our dogs, beautiful, slender greyhounds, accustomed to 
fight successfully with hyenas and other beasts of prey, rushed 
towards the baboons, which, from a distance, looked more like beasts 
of prey than monkeys, and drove them hastily up the precipices to 
right and left. But only the females took to flight; the males, on 
the other hand, turned to face the dogs, growled, beat the ground 
fiercely with their hands, opened their mouths wide and showed 
their glittering teeth, and looked at their adversaries so furiously 
and maliciously that the hounds, usually bold and battle-hardened, 
shrank back discomfited, and almost timidly sought safety beside 
us. Before we had succeeded in stirring them up to show fight, 
the position of the monkeys had changed considerably, and when 
the dogs charged a second time nearly all the herd were in safety. 
But one little monkey about half a year old had been left behind. 
It shrieked loudly as the dogs rushed towards it, but succeeded in 
gaining the tup of a rock before they had arrived. Our dogs placed 
themselves cleverly, so as to cut off its retreat, and we hoped that 
we might be able to catch it. But that was not to be. Proudly 
and with dignity, without hurrying in the least, or paying any heed 
to us, an old male stepped down from the security of the rocks 
towards the hard-pressed little one, walked towards the dogs with- 
out betraying the slightest fear, held them in check with glances, 
gestures, and quite intelligible sounds, slowly climbed the rock, 
picked up the baby-monkey, and retreated with it, before we could 
reach the spot, and without the visibly disconcerted dogs making 
the slightest attempt to prevent him. While the patriarch of the 
troop performed this brave and self-sacrificing deed, the other mem- 
bers, densely crowded on the cliff, uttered sounds which I had never 
before heard from baboons. Old and young, males and females, 
roared, screeched, snarled, and bellowed all together, so that one 
would have thought they were struggling’ with leopards or other 


Fig. 45.—Old Baboon Rescuing Young Oue, 


APES AND MONKEYS. 303 


dangerous beasts. I learned later that this was the monkeys’ battle- 
cry: it was intended obviously to intimidate us and the dogs, pos- 
sibly also to encourage the brave old giant, who was running into 
such evident danger before their eyes.” 

A few days later I learned by experience that these self-reliant 
animals are a match even for men. On our return from the Bogosland, 
we fell in with a large herd, possibly the same one, and we opened 
fire upon them from the valley with seven double rifles. Our shots 
had an indescribable effect. The same battle-cry which I had heard 
before rang out again, and, as if at the command of a general, they 
prepared for resistance. While the screaming females with the 
young ones fled in all haste over the crest of the rock beyond range 
of our guns, the adult males, casting furious glances, beating the 
ground with their hands, and barking rather than roaring, sprang 
upon projecting stones and ledges, looked down on the valley for a 
few moments, continually growling, snarling, or screaming, and then 
began to roll stones down upon us with so much vigour and adroit- 
ness that we immediately saw that our lives were in danger and 
took to flight. If it had not been possible for us to clamber up the 
opposite wall of the narrow valley, and so to escape the monk~ys’ 
fire, we should have been utterly routed. The clever animals not 
only conducted their defence on : definite plan, but they acted in 
co-operation, striving for 4 common end, and exerting all their 
united strength to attain it. One of our number saw one monkey 
drag his stone up a tree that he might hurl it down with more 
effect; I myself saw two combining their strength to set a heavy 
stone a-rolling. 

No animals but the higher apes adopt such means of defence, 
and no other male animal runs into danger to rescue a helpless 
young one of his species. Such traits must not be ignored, and can- 
not be misinterpreted, for they speak for themselves better and more 
loudly than all the sophistical analysis which refuses to admit that 
animals have intelligence and the power of spontaneous action. 

That the dog-like monkeys recognize and distinguish between 
cause and effect can be certified by every unprejudiced observer. 
They open doors and windows, drawers, cupboards, and boxes, untie 


304 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


knots, and overcome other obstacles when they have once seen how 
to set about it; but they also invent means to attain similar ends. 
A female baboon, which I brought up in my family, got hold of a 
kitten with the intention of making a pet of it and mothering it, 
but was scratched by the terrified foundling. The monkey carefully 
examined the kitten’s paws, pressed the claws forward, looked at 
them from above, from beneath, and from the side, and then bit 
them off to secure herself against further scratches. My brother 
and I used to startle the same baboon by pouring a little heap of 
powder on the ground in front of her, and setting it alight by means 
of a piece of burning tinder. The sudden blazing up of the powder 
gave our baboon such a fright every time that she screamed loudly 
and sprang back as far as her tether would allow. After this trick 
had been played upon her several times in succession, she protected 
herself from further annoyance by beating the glowing tinder with 
her hand till the spark was extinguished, and then eating up the 
powder. In another case she conjured up fear and horror for her- 
self. Like all monkeys without exception, she regarded creeping 
things, and above all snakes, with a boundless horror which was 
most amusing. We often teased her by putting a snake, live, dead, 
or stuffed, into a broad tin box, which was handed to her closed. 
After a time she knew the box and its contents perfectly, but her 
curiosity always mastered her, and she opened it every time, to run 
away screaming directly afterwards.- 

Not content with recognizing causes really present, this monkey, 
when she suffered any annoyance, sought for probable ones. Some- 
thing or someone must bear the blame of her discomfort. Thus her 
anger was directed against the first person who came in sight. If 
she was chastised, she was not angry with her master and keeper, 
but with anyone else who was present during her punishment; such 
a one must have been the cause of the harsh treatment she received 
from her usually kind master. She had thus exactly the same 
suspicions as small-minded human beings are apt to have in like 
circumstances. 

Notwithstanding her own extreme sensitiveness to any punish- 
ment, even if only threatened, and also to quizzing and teasing, the 


APES AND MONKEYS. 305 


baboon in question could never refrain from tormenting, annoying, 
and even ill-treating other animals. Our crabbed old badger-dog 
was lying comfortably in the sun enjoying his mid-day nap. The 
baboon saw this, slipped quietly up to him, looked with a sly twinkle 
of her little eyes into the dog’s face to make sure that he was really 
asleep, then suddenly seized the sleepev’s tail and brought him back 
with a violent pull from dreamland to reality. The dog angrily 
rushed at the disturber of his peace to avenge the insult. But the 
monkey escaped the threatened punishment with a single leap over 
the advancing dog, and in the next instant she had seized the tail 
and repeated the outrage, obviously enjoying the powerlessness of her 
furious opponent, until the latter, almost beside himself with anger 
and excitement, unable even to bark, but gasping and foaming, 
tucked his tail between his legs and fled, leaving the enemy in 
possession of the field. If the baboon could have laughed, the 
parallel between her behaviour and that of a mischievous boy would. 
have been complete. As it was, the scorn and ridicule with which. 
the vanquished dog was overwhelmed were intelligible enough. 
The baboon herself took teasing very ill, would even become furious. 
if laughed at by an unprivileged person, and never omitted to take 
her revenge on the first opportunity, even if that should not occur 
for weeks. But then she was a monkey, and felt herself such,. 
therefore regarded a dog as a creature of a lower order, her inso- 
lence towards which was as pardonable as that of every other 
creature towards herself was reprehensible and worthy of punish- 
ment. 

Of this self-esteem, or rather over-esteem, the dog-like monkeys. 
give daily proofs to every careful observer. The baboon in ques- 
tion, like all monkeys, was exceedingly fond of pets, and in particu- 
lar of a long-tailed monkey which shared her cage, and could be 
trusted even out of the cage with it, because it was always by the: 
baboon’s side as if under a charm. It slept in her arms, and obeyed 
her slavishly. The baboon expected such obedience and took it as. 
a matter of course; but she demanded the most absolute subjection 
at meal-times. While the good-natured and obedient long-tailed 


monkey unresistingly allowed its foster-mother to pick out all the tit- 
(70) 20 


306 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


bits, the latter only left for the little one what was absolutely neces- 
sary, and if it did succeed in storing something in its pouches, simply 
opened these again and appropriated the contents to her own use. 
Unbounded as is the arrogance and self-esteem of the dog-like 
monkeys, they are thoroughly well aware when they have done 
wrong, that is, have done something deserving of punishment. 
Schomburgk gives a most instructive example of this. In the Zoo- 
logical division of the Botanic Gardens at Adelaide an old sacred 
macaque lived in a cage with two younger members of the same 
species, over whom, as a matter of course, he ruled despotically. 
One day, irritated by something or other, he attacked his keeper 
and wounded him dangerously by biting through an artery on 
the wrist. For this Schomburgk condemned him to death, and 
commissioned another keeper to carry out the sentence by shooting 
him. The monkeys were quite accustomed to fire-arms, which 
were often used in the gardens for killing injurious animals, and 
though they knew their effect they were not disquieted in the least 
when these were brought into their immediate neighbourhood. 
The day after the misconduct of the old tyrant the two young 
monkeys remained quietly at the food-trough on the appearance of 
the keeper intrusted with the execution of their comrade, but the 
criminal himself fled with the utmost haste into his sleeping cage, 
and no amount of coaxing could entice him out of it. An attempt 
was made to lure him forth by setting down food; but he did what 
he had never done before, saw his two subjects eat up the dainty 
fare and did not venture to take part in the meal. Not till the 
suspected keeper had retired did he venture to creep forth, seize a 
few crumbs, and retire in fear and trembling to his hiding-place 
again, At length he was persuaded to come out a second time, and 
the door of his retreat was closed. When he saw the keeper with 
his weapon approaching, he knew that he was lost. Frantically he 
threw himself on the door of his sleeping cage to open it if possible, 
and not succeeding he rushed through the whole cage examining 
every corner and space in the hope of finding a means of escape; at 
last, seeing that there was no possibility of flight, he threw himself 
despairingly on the ground and surrendered himself, his whole body 


APES AND MONKEYS. 307 


trembling and shuddering, to the fate which overtook him a moment 


later. 
It must be admitted that no mammal of any other order, not 


even the dog, who has associated with us, and been educated, and, 


Fig. 46.—Macaque or Bonnet-monkey (Macacus sinicus) and Snake. 


strictly speaking, formed by us for thousands of years, acts in the 
manner described, or exhibits such a high degree of intelligence. 
And yet a wide gulf lies between the dog-like monkeys and the 
anthropoid apes, of which I have said that they rise even above the 
average of monkeyhood. 


308 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


By the anthropoid apes we understand those which in their 
structure most resemble man, but are externally distinguished from 
him by the very prominent canine teeth, the relatively long arms 
and short legs, the structure of the hand, the ischial callosities 
present in some species, and the hairy covering of the body. They 
inhabit the tropical countries of Asia and Africa (the former being 
richer in species), and they are divided into three families, of which. 
one is confined to Africa. Each of these families embraces only a 
few species, but probably we do not know nearly all of them as 
yet. 

The structure of the anthropoid apes points to an arboreal life; 
they are most excellent climbers, though by no means slaves to 
the tree any more than the langurs, long-tailed monkeys, and 
macaques. Their movements, however, both among the branches 
and on the ground, are quite different from those of all other 
monkeys. In climbing up a tree, particularly a smooth trunk with- 
out branches, they take the same position as a man would do, but, 
thanks to their long arms and short legs, they make much more 
rapid progress than the most expert human climber; and when they 
have reached the branches they put every gymnast to shame by the 
variety and security of their movements. With outstretched arms 
they seize one branch, with the feet they clasp a parallel one, about 
half their height lower down, and, using the upper branch as a rail, 
they walk along the lower one so quickly, though without the least 
sign of effort, that a man walking underneath must exert himself 
vigorously to keep pace with them. On reaching the end of the 
branch, they seize any available bough or twig of the next tree and 
proceed on their way in the same manner, with undiminished speed, 
yet without hurry. In ascending they seize hold of any branch 
strong enough to bear their weight, and swing themselves upwards 
with equal ease whether they are holding the branch with both 
hands or only with one; in descending, they let themselves hang 
with both arms and search about for a new foothold. Sometimes 
they amuse themselves by swinging freely for some minutes; some- 
times, clasping a branch with arms and feet, they walk, for a 
change, on its lower surface; in short, they assume every imagin- 


APES AND MONKEYS. 309 


able position, and execute every possible movement. Quite un- 
rivalled masters of climbing are the long-armed apes or gibbons, 
anthropoid apes with arms so disproportionately long that, when 
outstretched, they measure thrice as much as their upright bodies. 
With incomparable speed and security they climb up a tree or 
bamboo-stem, set it, or a suitable branch swinging, and on its re- 
bound spring over spaces of from eight to twelve yards, so lightly 
and swiftly, that they seem to fly like a shot arrow or an alighting 
bird. They are also able to alter the direction of a leap while 
actually springing, or to cut it suddenly short by seizing a branch 
and clinging to it—swinging, rocking, and finally climbing up by it, 
either to rest for a little, or to begin the old game anew. Some- 
times they spring through the air in this manner three, four, or five 
times in succession, so that one almost forgets that they are subject 
to the law of gravity. Their walking is as awkward as their 
climbing is excellent. Other anthropoid apes are able to traverse 
a considerable distance in an upright position—that is, on their 
feet alone, without special difficulty, though when in haste they 
always fall on all-fours, resting on the inturned knuckles of the 
fingers and the outer edges of the feet, and throwing the body 
laboriously and clumsily forward between the extended arms. But 
the long-armed apes move in an upright position only in cases of 
extreme necessity, and then they hop rather than walk. When the 
distance to be covered is a short one they raise themselves to their 
full height, and preserving their balance by extending their arms, 
now more, now less, spread out the great toes as far as possible, and 
patter pitiably along with short, quick steps. Their power of 
movement must therefore be characterized as one-sided, for their 
superiority over the other anthropoid apes in climbing does not 
counterbalance their helplessness on the ground. 

The voice-power of the anthropoid apes is very noteworthy. 
We find that the most active and agile species have the loudest 
voices, while those of the more widely developed, though less 
nimble, anthropoid apes are capable of greater variety of expression. 
I do not say too much when I assert that I have never heard the 
voice of any mammal—man, of course, always excepted—which was 


310 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


more full-toned and sonorous than that of a long-armed ape which 
I observed in captivity. I was first astonished, then delighted, with 
these deep notes, uttered with full strength, and by no means dis- 
agreeable, because perfectly clear and well-rounded. In one species 
the ringing call, which I should describe as a song rather than a 


Fig. 47.—The Hoolock (Aylobates leuciscus), one of the Gibbons. 


ery, begins on the key-note E, ascends and descends in semitones 
through the chromatic scale for a full octave, sometimes ending 
with a shrill ery, which seems to be uttered with the animal’s whole 
strength. The key-note remains audible throughout, and serves as 
a grace-note to each of the succeeding ones, which, in ascending the 
scale, follow each other more and more slowly, in descending more 
and more quickly, at last with extreme rapidity, but always with 
perfect regularity. The notes of some species of the group are said 


APES AND MONKEYS. 311 


to be less clear, but all are so loud that, in the open air, one can hear 
them distinctly at a distance of an English mile. The same correla- 
tion between agility of motion and voice-power can be observed in 
other anthropoid apes. The slow-moving, awkward-looking orang- 
utan utters, as far as I know, only a strong, deep throat sound; 
the lively, active, sprightly chimpanzee, with only a few notes, 
understands so well how to give them variety of emphasis and 
intelligible expression that one is tempted to concede to him the 
power of speech. He does not indeed speak with words, but with 
sounds, and even syllables, of the constancy of whose meaning the 
observer who has much acquaintance with the chimpanzee can have 
no doubt. Other anthropoid apes of the same family are probably 
not far behind him in this respect. 

Anyone who wishes to learn to what a height the mental quali 
ties of a monkey may reach must select the chimpanzee or one of 
his nearest relatives for observation, and must associate closely 
with it for a lengthened period, as I have done. He will then dis- 
cover with wonder and amazement, perhaps with slight horror, how 
much the gulf between man and beast can be diminished. The 
other anthropoid apes, too, are highly gifted creatures; they, too, 
surpass all other monkeys in this respect; but the talents of the 
long-armed gibbons or the orang-utans do not attain to the same 
universally intelligible expression—I may say, the same impres- 
siveness, as those of the chimpanzees and their relatives. They— 
the pongos, the gorilla, the tschiego, and the chimpanzee—cannot 
be treated as animals, but must be associated with as men, if their 
mental powers are to be known and appreciated. Their intelli- 
gence is not far behind that of a rude, undisciplined, uneducated 
human being. They are, and remain animals, but they behave so 
humanly that one can almost lose sight of the beast. 

For years in succession I have kept chimpanzees, have observed 
them closely and, as far as possible, without prejudice, have asso- 
ciated intimately with them, taken them into my family, brought 
them up as playmates for my children, let them eat at my table, 
taught and trained them, waited upon them in sickness, and not 
forsaken them in the hour of death. I have therefore a right to 


312 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


believe that I know them as well as anyone, and that I am justified 
in pronouncing an authoritative opinion. For these reasons I select 
the chimpanzee, in order to show to what height the mental power 
of an animal may rise. 

The chimpanzee is not only one of the cleverest of all creatures, 
he is a being capable of deliberation and judgment. Everything he 
does is done consciously and deliberately. He imitates, but he does 
so with intelligence and on due consideration; he allows himself to 
be taught, and learns. He knows himself and his surroundings, and 
he can appreciate his position. In association with man he yields 
submission to superior intelligence; in his relations with animals 
he exhibits a self-conceit similar to our own. What is merely 
hinted at among other apes is quite pronounced in him. He regards 
himself as better, as standing higher than other animals, even other 
monkeys; he rates even human beings exactly according to their 
standing; thus he treats children quite differently from grown-up 
people; the latter he respects, the former he looks upon as comrades 
and equals. He shows an interest in animals with which he can 
form no friendship or other tie, and also in objects which have no 
connection with his natural wants; for he is not merely inquisitive, 
he is greedy of knowledge; an object which has attracted his atten- 
tion increases in value in his eyes when he has found out its use. 
He can draw conclusions, can reason from one to another, and apply 
the results of experience to new circumstances, is cunning, even 
wily, has flashes of wit, and indulges in practical jokes, exhibits 
humours and moods, is entertained in one company and bored in 
another, enters into the spirit of some jokes and scorns others, is 
self-willed but not stubborn, good-natured but not wanting in inde- 
pendence. He expresses his emotions like a human being. When 
in a gay mood he smirks with satisfaction, when depressed his face 
is drawn into wrinkles which speak for themselves, and he gives 
utterance to his grief by plaintive sounds. In sickness he behaves 
like one in despair, distorts his face, screams, throws himself on his 
back, beats with his hands and feet, and tears his hair. To a 
friendly voice he responds with sounds expressive of pleasure, to 
chiding with cries of distress. He is active and busy from morning 


APES AND MONKEYS. 313 


till late in the evening, seeks constant occupation, and when he 
comes to an end of his usual employments he invents new ones, 
even if it should only be slapping his feet with his hands, or knock- 
ing against hollow boards, and thus producing sounds which give 
him evident pleasure. In a room he occupies himself with carefully 


Fig. 48. —Chimpanzee (Troglodytes niger). 


examining everything that attracts his attention, opens drawers and 
rummages among their contents, opens the stove door to look at the 
fire and shuts it again, holds a key properly, stands before the 
mirror and amuses himself with the reflection of his own gestures 
and grimaces, uses brush and duster as he has been taught, puts on 
blankets and clothing, and so on. 

His acuteness of observation is strikingly proved by his almost 
unfailingly correct judgment of persons. Not only does he recog- 


314 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


nize and distinguish his friends from other people, but well-meaning 
from evil-intentioned persons so thoroughly that the keeper of a 
chimpanzee was convinced that anyone with whom his protégé re- 
fused to make friends was really a good-for-nothing or a scoundrel. 
A thorough but accomplished hypocrite who deceived me and others 
was all along a horror to our chimpanzee, just as if he had seen 
through the red-headed rascal from the first. Every chimpanzee 
who has been much in human society likes best to be a member of 
a family circle. There he behaves as though he felt himself among 
equals. He carefully observes the manners and customs of the 
house, notices immediately whether he is being watched or not, and 
does in the former case what he ought to, in the latter what pleases 
him. In contrast to other monkeys, he learns very easily and with 
real eagerness whatever is taught to him, as, for instance, to sit 
upright at table, to eat with knife, fork, and spoon, to drink from 
a glass or cup, to stir the sugar in his tea, to touch glasses with his 
neighbour, to use his napkin, and so on; with equal ease he becomes 
accustomed to clothing, beds, and blankets; without great difficulty 
he gains after a time an understanding of human speech which far 
surpasses that of a well-trained dog, for he follows not merely the 
emphasis but the meaning of words, and executes commissions or 
obeys commands with equal correctness. Exceedingly appreciative 
of every caress and flattery, and even of praise, he is equally sensi- 
tive to unfriendly treatment or blame; he is also capable of deep 
gratitude, and he expresses it by shaking hands or kissing without 
being asked to do so. He evinces a special fondness for children. 
Being neither spiteful nor vicious, he treats children with great 
friendliness as long as they do not tease him, and behaves to help- 
less infants with really touching tenderness, though towards others 
of his own species, monkeys of a different species, and animals 
generally, he is often rough and harsh. I lay special stress on this 
characteristic, which I have observed in every chimpanzee I have 
brought up, because it seems to prove that the chimpanzee recog- 
nizes and respects the human even in the youngest child. 

The behaviour of a sick and suffering anthropoid ape is most 
touching. Begging piteously, almost humanly, he looks into his 


APES AND MONKEYS. 315 


keeper's face, receives every attempt to help him with warm thanks, 
and soon looks upon the physician as a benefactor, holds out his arm 
to him, or stretches out his tongue as soon as he is told, and even 
does so of his own accord after a few visits from the physician. 
He swallows medicine readily, submits even to a surgical operation, 
and, in a word, behaves very like a human patient in similar circum- 
stances. As his end approaches he becomes more gentle, the animal 
in him is lost sight of, and the nobler traits of his character stand 
out prominently. 

The chimpanzee which I kept longest, and with the help of an 
intelligent, animal-loving keeper educated most carefully, was 
taken ill with inflammation of the lungs, accompanied by suppura- 
tion of the lymphatic glands of the neck. Surgical treatment of the 
glands was found necessary. Two surgeons, friends of mine who 
were on good terms with the chimpanzee, undertook to open the 
tumour on the neck, the more readily that the monkey believed 
that to be the cause of his suffering, and continually guided the 
surgeon’s hand towards it. But how was the necessary operation 
in such a dangerous spot to be performed without imperilling the 
monkey’s life? Anzsthetics were out of the question because of the 
lung disease, and the attempt to have the chimpanzee held down by 
several strong men had to be abandoned because of his intense 
excitement, and the strenuous resistance he offered. But where 
force failed persuasion succeeded. When the monkey was quieted 
and reassured by the coaxing and endearments of his keeper, he 
allowed a further examination of the swelling, and even submitted, 
without twitching an eyelid or uttering a complaint, to the use of 
the knife, and other painful treatment, including the emptying of 
the opened tumour. When this was done the distressingly laboured 
breathing became instantly less oppressive, an unmistakable ex- 
pression of relief passed over the sufferer’s face, and he gratefully 
held out his hand to both physicians, and embraced his keeper, 
without having been asked to do either. 

Unfortunately, the removal of the one trouble did not succeed 
in saving the animal’s life. The neck wound healed, but the inflam- 
mation of the lungs increased and killed him. He died fully 


316 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


conscious, gently and peacefully, not as an animal, but as a man 
dies. 

These are features of the character and conduct of anthropoid 
apes which can neither be misunderstood nor cavilled at. When 
one considers that they can be observed in all anthropoids not yet 
full-grown but beyond the stage of childhood, one must undoubtedly 
grant those animals a very high place. For the opinion expressed 
by some one incapable observer, and thoughtlessly repeated by hun- 
dreds, that the monkey loses mental power with increasing age, 
that he retrogrades and becomes stupid, is completely false, and is 
disproved by every ape which is observed carefully, and without 
prejudice, from youth to age.”3 Even if we knew nothing more 
about full-grown anthropoids than that they erect shelters resem- 
bling huts rather than nests, in which to pass a single night, 
and that they drum on hollow trees for amusement, it would be 
enough to lead us to the same conclusion as we have arrived at by 
observation of the young members of this group; that is, that they 
must be regarded as by far the most gifted and highly developed of 
animals, and as our nearest relatives. 

And the ape question? I might say that I have just answered it 
in what I have said; but I have no hesitation in expressing a more 
definite opinion. , 

Everyone must admit that man is not the representative of a 
new order of being, but is simply a member of the animal king- 
dom, and every unprejudiced person will also describe apes as the 
creatures most resembling man. If we compare them with one 
another, and then with man, the conviction is forced upon us, how- 
ever we may strive against it, that there is a greater difference 
between the marmosets and the anthropoid apes than between the 
latter group and man. Zoologically, therefore, one cannot even 
relegate the apes and man to different orders of the highest class 
of animals. This has indeed been done, and is still done, man 
being classed as two-handed and monkeys as four-handed animals, 
but this leaves the most important aid to the classification of a 
mammal, the dentition, out of the question. For the dentition of 
man and monkeys is so essentially similar that it points impera- 


APES AND MONKEYS. 317 


tively to the necessity of placing the two types together. Nor 
is the distinction between two-handed and four-handed tenable, for 
although as regards the structure of hands and feet man and 
monkeys are certainly different, the difference does not imply any 
opposition; and the monkeys are just as much two-handed as we 
are. If we keep to the basis of classification adhered to without 
exception elsewhere, we are forced to place both in one order. I 
have given to it the name Hochtiere. 

But though the characteristics which belong to all the higher 
animals as members of one order correspond thus accurately, a 
closer comparison reveals differences between man and apes which 
absolutely forbid a fusion of the two groups such as has been at- 
tempted in modern times. The symmetry of form, the comparative 
shortness of the arms, the breadth and mobility of the hands, the 
length and strength of the legs, as well as the flatness of the feet, 
the naked skin, and the less-developed canine teeth are external 
marks of man which must not be under-estimated, for they are 
important enough to justify putting him and the apes in different 
families, perhaps even different sub-orders. If, in addition, we take 
man’s endowments into due consideration, compare his movements, 
his articulate speech, his mental capacities with the corresponding 
gifts in the ape, the need for insisting on the boundaries between 
the two is confirmed. 

Blind disciples of the Doctrine of Descent, as Darwin founded it 
and others developed it, do indeed cross these boundaries without 
hesitation, but they cannot possibly be regarded as giving a care- 
fully thought-out and authoritative judgment on the actual state 
of the case. Satisfactory, not to say probable, as this doctrine is, 
it has not yet risen above the level of an ingenious hypothesis; and 
incontrovertible evidence for the correctness of this hypothesis has 
not yet been produced. Variation within the limits of species and 
breed can be proved, can even be brought about; but transformation 
of one species into another cannot be established in any case. As long 
as this is so we are justified in regarding man and apes as creatures 
of different nature, and disputing the descent of one from the other. 
No attempt to discover or establish a common ancestor, no under- 


318 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


taking to draw up a pedigree for man, alters this in the slightest; 
for true natural science is not satistied with interpretative theories, 
it demands proofs; it does not want to believe, but to know.” 

So we may without scruple give the apes the place in the scale 
of being which unprejudiced investigation points out. We may 
look upon them as the animals most resembling ourselves, and as 
our nearest relatives in the zoological sense; anything more than 
this we must deny. Much that is characteristic of man is to be 
found in the apes also; but a wide gulf still remains between them 
and true humanity. Physically and mentally they have many of 
the characteristics of man, but by no means all. 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 


On the fringe of the desert, under a thick group of palms, a 
small tent is pitched. Around it is a motley collection of bales and 
boxes, built into a sort of barricade. Outside this some Nubian 
boys are lounging or squatting. They are in holiday garb, so to 
speak, for their glossy skins have been freshly smeared with grease. 

The travellers whom the tent shelters have come so far on a 
Nile boat, but as the river now describes a huge curve and abounds 
in rocks and rapids, they have decided to cut across the desert. 

Itis about noon. The sun stands almost vertically above the tent, 
in a cloudless deep blue sky, and his scorching rays are but slightly 
warded off by the loose open foliage of the date-palms. On the 
plain between the river and the desert the heat is oppressive, and 
the strata of air above the burning ground are heaving unsteadily, 
so that every picture is distorted and blurred. 

A troop of horsemen, evidently hailing from the desert, appears 
on the horizon. They pay no heed to the village which lies further 
inland, but make straight for the tent. The horses are thin, but 
plainly of no ignoble breed; the riders are dark brown and poorly 
clad, with long loose burnooses more gray than white. Reaching 
the cluster of palms they dismount. One of them approaches the 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 319 


tent and enters with the dignity of a king. He is the chief of the 
camel-drivers (Sheikh el Djemali), to whom we, the travellers, had 
sent a messenger, asking him to provide us with the necessary 
guides, drivers, and camels. 

“Peace be with you,” he says on entering, and lays his hand on 
his mouth, his forehead, and his heart. 

“ Peace be with thee, O Sheikh,” we answer, “the mercy of God 
and his blessing.” 

“Great has been my desire to see you, ye strangers, and to learn 
your wishes,” he assures us, as he takes his seat on a cushion in the 
place of honour at our right hand. 

“May God, the Almighty, reward thy goodness, O Sheikh, and 
bless thee,” we answer; and we order our servants to bring him 
coffee and a freshly lit pipe before serving ourselves. 

With half-shut eyes he comforts his mortal body with the coftee 
and his immortal soul with the pipe; and thick clouds of smoke 
veil his expressive features. There is almost perfect stillness in the 
tent, which is pervaded with the fragrance of the exquisite Djebelit 
tobacco and a thin smoke by no means unpleasant. At last we think 
that we may venture to begin business without violating any of the 
rites of hospitality. 

“Ts it well with thee, O Sheikh?” 

“The Giver of all Good be praised, it is well with your servant. 
And how is it with thee?” 

“To the Lord of all be honour and glory, it is well with me. 
Great was our longing to see thee, O Sheikh.” 

“May God in His compassion fulfil your desire and bless you. 
Are ye in your state of health well content?” 

“Glory be to Allah and to His Prophet, on whom is His grace.’ 

“ Amen, be it as thou hast said.” 

Fresh pipes revive the immortal soul; renewed, almost inter- 
minable courtesies are interchanged; and at last the rigid con- 
ditions of etiquette have been fulfilled, and it is permissible to turn 
to business matters. 

“O Sheikh, with the help of the All-merciful, I would travel 
through this stretch of desert.” , 


320 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


“May Allah give thee good speed.” 

“Art thou in possession of camels both to run and to carry 
burdens?” we ask. 

“Tam. Is it well with thee, my brother?” 

“The Almighty be praised, it is well. How many camels canst 
thou provide for me?” 

Instead of an answer only countless clouds of smoke issue from 
the Sheikh’s mouth, and it is not until we repeat our question that 
he lays aside his pipe for some moments and says with dignity, 
“Sir, the number of the camels of Beni Said is known to Allah 
alone; no son of Adam has ever counted them.” 

“ Well, then, send me twenty-five beasts, and among them six 
trotters. And I have besides need of ten large water-bags.” 

The Sheikh smokes afresh without giving answer. 

“ Wilt thou send the beasts we desire?” we repeat with emphasis. 

“TI shall do so to serve thee,” he answers, “but their owners 
require a high price.” 

“How much?” 

“At least four times the customary wages and hire will be 
necessary.” 

“But Sheikh, Allah, the Most High, preserve thee: these are 
demands which no one will be willing to grant. Praise the Prophet!” 

“God, the Preserver of all, be glorified and His messengers 
blessed! Thou art in error, my friend: the merchant who has his 
camp over there has offered me double what I ask; only my friend- 
ship for thee has allowed me to make so small a demand.” 

In vain seems all haggling, all further business. Fresh pipes 
are brought and are smoked; renewed courtesies are exchanged; 
the names of Allah and His Prophet are freely misused on both 
sides; most precise inquiries after health and comfort are made 
mutually; until at length the studied courtesy of the native begins 
to waver and the traveller from the North loses patience. 

“Then know, Sheikh, that I am in possession of a letter author- 
izing a demand for means of convoy from the Khedive and likewise 
one from the Sheikh Soliman; here are both of them, what dost 
thou demand now?” 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 321 


“ But, sir, if thou holdest a safe-conduct from his high majesty, 
why dost thou not demand the head of thy slave? It is at thy 
service, on his orders. I take thy wishes on my eyes and on my 
head. Command and thy servant obeys. Thou knowest the 
government prices. Allah protect thee; in the morning I shall send 
thee men, beasts, and water-skins.” 

If any one imagines that all the preparations for the desert. 
journey were thus brought to a satisfactory conclusion, he is indeed 
totally ignorant of the manners and customs of the people. In the 
morning none of the promised drivers or beasts had put in their 
appearance; only by afternoon did they begin to come in; not even. 
on the following morning, but at soonest about the time of after- 
noon prayer, could one think of starting. “Bukra inshallah— 
to-morrow, if God will”—is their motto, and it baffles all com- 
mands. Indeed, there is much to do, much to arrange, and much 
to be planned before the journey can be undertaken. 

In course of time the tent is the centre of a gay and lively pic- 
ture. The sunburnt children of the desert bustle about among the 
baggage. Their activity is unbusiness-like to a degree, but they 
seem to try to make up for this by incredible noisiness. The 
baggage, which had been arranged in a sort of barricade, is scattered 
about; individual pieces are lifted and tested as regards both 
weight and bulk; one package is compared with another, selected. 
and then rejected, strapped together and then pulled apart again. 
Each driver tries to outwit his neighbour, each endeavouring to: 
secure the lightest load for his own beast; each one rushes about. 
in opposition to the rest, and all are shouting and roaring, scream- 
ing and scolding, swearing and cursing, entreating and execrating. 
In anticipation of what is coming the camels also add to the noise: 
right lustily, and if, instead of roaring, and growling and grumbling, 
they should keep silence for a while, that only means: Our time 
has not yet come, but it is coming! Anyhow, with or without the 
camels’ accompaniment, the stranger’s ear is harassed, literally 
tortured, by all the medley of sounds which fall upon it at once. 
For hours together the bustle, the racket, the uproar continues; 


the men scold and quarrel over the loads until they have had 
(™ 70) 21 


322 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


enough or more than enough; and at last the prelude comes to an 
end. 

After peace is concluded they begin to twist the bast fibres of the 
date-palm into cords and ropes. With these they sling the bales 
and boxes cleverly together; they make hooks and eyes so that the 
two bundles may be fastened quickly to the saddle and as quickly 
loosened; they mend the ready-made nets which they have brought 
to hold the smaller packages; and they test the large and small 
skin bags, patching them where need be, and finally smearing them 
with ill-smelling varnish of colocynth. Lastly, they examine the 
sun-dried flesh, fill several bast bags with Kaffir-millet or dhurra, 
others with wood-charcoal, and some perhaps with camels’ dung, 
rinse out the skin-bags and fill them with water fresh from the 
stream. As the tedious business is brought to a close one hears 
each utter a hearty “ Thank God”—“ El hamdu lillahi”. 

To look after all these preparations is the duty of the Chabir or 
leader of the caravan. According to its importance is his rank, 
but in all cases he must be what his title signifies—one who knows 
the way and the existing conditions. Experience, honesty, clever- 
ness, mettle, and bravery are the requirements of his difficult, and 
not rarely dangerous office. He knows the desert as a mariner the 
sea, he can read the stars, he is familiar with every oasis and every 
spring on the course of the journey, he is welcome to the tent of 
every Bedouin or nomad chief, he understands all sort of precau- 
tions against break-down or peril by the way, he can cure snake-bite 
and scorpion-sting, or at least alleviate the sufferings of the injured, 
he wields the weapons of the warrior and of the huntsman with 
equal skill, he has the word of the Prophet not only on his lips but 
in his heart, he utters the “Fatiha” at starting, and discharges the 
obligations of Mueddin and Iman at the appointed times; in a word, 
he is the head of the many-membered body which travels through 
the desert. In the solitudes where nothing seems to point the 
way which other caravans have taken, where the wind obliterates 
every track almost as soon as the last camel has passed, he finds 
signs unseen by others which guide him aright. When the dry, 
ill-boding dust of the desert hides the everlasting heavens, his 


Fig. 49.—Caravan in the African Desert. 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 325 


genius is his guiding star; he tests the drifting sand, measures its 
waves, and estimates their direction; he reads the points of the 
compass on a stem of grass. On him every caravan, every traveller 
depends without mistrust. Ancient and in part most remarkable 
laws, inscribed in no charter, yet known to all, make him re- 
sponsible for the welfare of the journey and for the life of each 
traveller, except in so far as any inevitable dispensation of the 
Ordainer of destiny may decree otherwise. 

At the sacred hour, the time of afternoon prayer, the leader 
announces to travellers and drivers that all is ready for the start. 
The brown men rush around, catching, leading, saddling, and load- 
ing the camels. Resisting to the utmost the beasts are forced to 
obey; they seem to have a vivid foreboding of a stretch of toil- 
some days. Their timehasnowcome. Roaring, screaming, snarling, 
and grumbling, in obedience to the inimitable guttural commands of 
their masters and sundry gentle hints from the whips, they sink down 
on their bended knees; bellowing they adjust themselves to receive 
the unwelcome burden on their humped backs, and still bellowing 
they rise with their load. Not a few kick and bite in their 
efforts to resist being loaded, and it indeed requires all the 
inexhaustible patience of the drivers to subdue the obstinate 
creatures. But patience and tact master even camels. As soon as 
the rebellious beast has consented to kneel, one of the drivers stands 
up on its bent fore-legs, and with a quick grip seizes the upper part 
of the muzzle so that by pressing the nose he can stop the camel’s 
breathing; meanwhile two others from opposite sides lift the 
equally poised burden on to the saddle; a fourth runs fastening 
pegs through the loops of the ropes; and the fractious camel is 
loaded before he has quite regained his senses. As soon as all are 
loaded, the march begins. 

It is now the turn of the well-saddled trotting camels. Each 
traveller fastens his weapons and indispensable personal luggage 
to the high, trough-shaped saddle fixed over the hump. He then 
proceeds to mount his steed. For the novice this is usually a 
critical business. With a bold spring he must leap into the saddle, 
and, as soon-as he touches this, the camel bolts up. He rises back- 


326 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


wards, first on his fore-knees, immediately afterwards on his long 
hind-legs, and finally on his fore-legs. To the second jerk the 
novice in camel-riding usually falls a victim, he is hurled out of 
the saddle and either kisses mother earth or falls on the beast’s 
neck and holds on tightly. The camel is much too ill-humoured 
to treat this as a joke or an accident. An angry cry bursts from its 
ugly lips; it flies into a passion with the poor traveller, hanging 
in a most unenviable position on its neck, and proceeds to shake 
itself free both of him and his baggage. It takes some time before 
the traveller from the North learns to bend his body forwards and 
backwards at the right moment so as to keep his seat as the camel 
springs up. 

For our own part, we swing ourselves into the saddle with 
the agility of natives. Urging on our steed with a few strokes of 
the whip, and keeping it in due check by means of a fine nose-rein, 
we hasten after the leader. Our camel, a lank, loosely-built, 
long-legged creature, falls at once into that uniform, persistent, 
long-stepping, and most effective trot, to which it is trained from 
earliest youth, and which raises it high above all beasts of burden, 
and closely follows the leaders. The small head is stretched far 
in front; the long legs swing quickly backwards and forwards; 
behind them sand and small stones rise into the air. The burnooses 
of the riders flutter in the wind; weapons and utensils clatter 
together; with loud calls we spur on the beasts; the joy of travel 
seems to give our spirits wings. Soon we overtake the caravan of 
baggage-camels which had preceded us; soon every trace of human 
settlement disappears; and on all sides there stretches in apparent 
infinitude—the desert. 

Sharply defined all around,this immense and unique region covers 
the greater part of North Africa, from the Red Sea to the Atlantic, 
from the Mediterranean to the Soudan, including whole countries in 
its range, embracing tracts of fertile land; presenting a thousand 
varieties, and yet always and everywhere the same in its essential 
features. In area, this wonderful region is nine or ten times larger 
than the whole of the German Empire, and three or four times larger 
than the Mediterranean. No mortal has thoroughly explored or 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 327 


even traversed it; but every son of earth who has set foot on it. 
and crossed some part of it, is in his inmost heart impressed with 
its size and grandeur, its charm and its horror. Even on the most 
matter-of-fact Northerner who sojourns in the desert a lasting, 
ineffaceable impression is left by the glowing splendour of the sun- 
light and the parching heat of its days, by the heavenly peacefulness: 
and the magical phantoms of its nights, by the witchery of the 
radiant atmosphere, by the dreadfulness of its mountain-moving 
storms; and many a one may have experienced, what the children 
of the desert so acutely feel—a longing to return, to breathe its air 
for a day, an hour, to see its pictures again with the bodily eye, to 
experience again that “unutterable harmony” whose echoes the 
desert awakens in the poetic soul. In short, there is a home-sick- 
ness for the desert. 

It is literally and truly “El Bahhr bela maa ”—the sea without: 

water—the sea’s antithesis. To the sea the desert is not subject as 
are other parts of the earth; the might of the vitalizing and sustain- 
ing element is here annulled. “ Water silently embraces all things” 
—the desert alone excepted. Over the whole earth the winds bear the 
clouds, the sea’s messengers, but these fade away before the glow 
of the desert. It is rarely that one sees there even a thin, hardly 
perceptible vapour; rarely can one detect on a leaf in the morning 
the damp breath of the night. The flush of dawn and the red glow 
of sunset are indeed seen, but only, as it were, in a breath which is 
scarce formed when it passes away. Wherever water gains the 
mastery, the desert changes into fertile land, which may, indeed, be 
poor enough, but the limits between them are always sharply 
defined. Where the last wave of the sacred Nile, raised above its 
‘level by man’s ingenuity, loses itself in the sand, the contrast is 
seen; the traveller, whose way lies from the river to the hills 
adjacent, may stand with one foot on a field of sprouting grain, and 
with the other touch the desert. It is not the sand itself which 
hinders the growth of plants, but solely the scorching heat which 
radiates through it. For, wherever it is irrigated or periodically 
watered, there, amid the otherwise plantless desert, a green carpet 
of vegetation is spread, and even shrubs and trees may grow, 


328 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Barren, pitifully barren is the desert, but it is not dead—not, at 
least, to those who have eyes to see its life. Whoever looks with a 
dull eye sees nothing but sandy plains and rocky cones, bare low 
grounds and naked hills, may even overlook the sparse reed-like 
grasses and shrubby trees of the deeper hollows, and the few 
animals which occur here and there. But he who really wishes to 
see can discover infinitely more. To the dull-eyed the desert is a 


Fig. 50.—An Encampment in the Sahara. 


land of horrors; they allow themselves to be so depressed by the 
glowing heat of the day that the blissfulness of the night brings 
them no comfort or strength; they ride into the desert trembling, 
and leave it shuddering; their sensations are all for the terrible, 
their feelings for the annoyances attendant on the journey; for the 
infinite sublimity of the desert such hearts are too small. But 
those who have really learned to know the desert judge otherwise. 
Barren the desert is, we confess, but it is not dead. Thus, 
although the general aspect is uniform, the nature of the surface 
varies greatly. For wide stretches the desert is like a rocky sea, 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 329 


with strangely-shaped cones, abrupt precipitous walls, deeply-riven 
gorges, sharp-angled ridges, and wondrous towering domes. Over 
these the ceaselessly-blowing wind drifts the sand, now filling up 
hollows, now emptying them again, but always grinding, polishing, 
hollowing out, sharpening, and pointing. Black masses of sandstone, 
granite, or syenite, more rarely of limestone or slate, and here and 
there of volcanic rock glow in the sun, and rise in expressively- 
outlined ranges. On one side the wind robs these of every covering, 
driving the fine sand uninterruptedly over their summits, com- 
pletely enveloping them in a veil in times of storm, and leaving no 
particle of sand at rest until it has been blown across the ridge. 
On the lee side, protected from the wind, lie golden yellow beds of 
the finest rolled sand, which form terraces one above another, each 
about a yard in height. But they also are in ceaseless movement, 
continually displacing one another from above downwards, and 
being renewed from the other side of the range. Strikingly con- 
trasted with the black walls of the exposed side, these terraces of 
sand are visible from afar, and in certain lights they sparkle like 
broad golden ribbons on the hills. We may venture to call such 
ranges the regalia of the desert. No one unacquainted with the 
glowing South can picture the marvellous wealth of colour, the 
splendour and glamour, and the infinite charm which the overflow- 
ing sunlight can create on the dreariest and wildest mountains of 
the desert. Their sides are never clothed with the welcome green 
of woodland, at most the highest peaks bear a scant covering of 
bushes, to which the precipitation of vapour at this height allows a 
bare subsistence and a stunted growth. One misses the whispering 
of the beeches, and the rustling of the firs and pines; there is none 
of the familiar murmuring, or joyous chatter, or echoing roar of 
running water, which lays silver ribbons on our mountains at home, 
fringing them here with verdure, while in another place the sun 
shining upon rushing waterfall and whirlpool enhaloes them with 
rainbow colours; there is no mantle of ice and snow which the sun 
can transfigure into purple at dawn and sunset, or into glowing 
brightness at noon; and there is no fresh green from any mead. 
In short, all the witchery and charm of Northern mountain scenery 


330 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


is absent; and yet the desert mountains are not deficient in wealth 
of colour, and certainly not in majesty. Every individual layer 
and its own peculiar colour comes into prominence and has its effect. 
And yet, brilliant as may be the brightly-coloured and sometimes 
sharply-contrasted strata, it is on the continuously sand-polished, 
grandly-sculptured cones, peaks, gullies, and gorges that the light 
of heaven produces the finest play of colour. The alternations of 
light and shade are so frequent, the flushing and fading of colours 
so continuous, that a very intoxication of delight besets the soul. 
Nor do the first and last rays of the sun fail to clothe the desert 
mountains in purple; and distance sheds over them its blue ethereal 
haze. They, too, live, for the light gives them life. 

In other regions the desert is for wide stretches either flat or 
gently undulating. For miles it is covered with fine-grained, 
golden-yellow sand, into which man and beast sink for several 
centimetres. Here one often sees not a single stem of grass nor 
living creature of any kind. The uniformly blue sky roofs in this 
golden surface, and contributes not a little to suggest the sea. In 
such places the track of the “ship of the desert” is lost as it is 
made; they are pathless as the sea; for them as for the ocean was 
the compass discovered. Less monotonous, but not more pleasant, 
are those regions on which loose, earthy, or dusty sand forms a soil 
for poisonous colocynth-gourds and the wholesome senna. Long low 
hills alternate with shallow and narrow hollows, and a carpet of the 
above-named plants, which from a distance seems green and fresh, 
covers both alike. Such places are avoided by both man and beast, 
for the camel and his driver often sink a foot deep into the loose 
surface-soil. Other tracts are covered with coarse gravel or flints, 
and others with hollow sand-filled balls, rich in iron, which look 
almost as if they had been made by human hands, and whose origin 
has not yet been very satisfactorily explained.” On such stretches, 
where the camel-paths are almost like definite highways, thousands 
of quartz crystals are sometimes exposed, either singly or in groups, 
like clusters of diamonds set by an artist hand. With these the 
sun plays magically, and such stretches gleam and sparkle till the 
dazzled eye is forced to turn away from them. In the deepest 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 331 


hollows, finally, the dust forms a soil, and there one is sure to find 
the reed-like, but very hard, dry, sharp, dark-green alfa, umbrella- 
shaped mimosas, and perhaps even tom-palms, pleasant assurances 
of life. 

But of animal life also there is distinct evidence. To think of 
the desert as a dead solitude is as erroneous as to call it the home 
of lions. It.is too poor to support lions, but it is rich enough for 
thousands of other animals. And all these are in a high degree 
remarkable, for in every respect they prove themselves the true 
children of the desert. 

It is not merely that their colouring is always most precisely 
congruent with the dominant colour of the ground, that is generally 
tawny, but the desert animals are marked by their light and 
delicate build, by their strikingly large and unusually acute eyes 
and ears, and by a behaviour which is as unassuming as it is self- 
possessed. It is the lot of al] creatures born in the desert to be 
restless wanderers, for sufficient food cannot be found all the year 
round at one place, and the children of the desert are endowed 
with incomparable agility, indefatigable endurance, untiring per- 
sistence; their senses are sharpened so that the pittance which is 
offered is never overlooked, and their clothing is adapted to conceal 
them alike in flight or in attack. If their life is perhaps somewhat 
hard, it is certainly not joyless. 

The fact that almost all the desert animals agree in colouring 
with their surroundings explains why the traveller, who is not an 
experienced observer, often sees, at first at least, but little of the 
animal life. Moreover, the desert seems far poorer than it is, since 
it is not till dusk that most of its tenants leave their places of rest 
and concealment and begin to be lively. Some, however, force 
themselves on the attention of the least observant. Even though 
the traveller may fail to notice the various species of desert-lark 
which cross his path everywhere, and are noteworthy for their 
likeness to the ground and for their extraordinarily developed 
powers of flight, he cannot possibly overlook the sand-grouse; and 
though he may ride unobserving over the burrows of the jerboas, 
he is sure to observe a gazelle feeding not far from his path. 


332 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


This antelope may be regarded as typically a desert animal. 
Although it is proportionate in all its parts, the head and sense- 
organs seem almost too large, and the limbs too delicate, in fact 


Fig. 51.—Gazelles lying near a Mimosa. 


almost fragile. But this head carries a brain of unusual cleverness 
for a ruminant, and those limbs are as if made of steel, exceedingly 
strong and elastic, admirably suited for agility and untiring endur- 
ance. One must not judge the gazelle of the desert from its ap- 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 333 


pearance in captivity, cooped up in a narrow space. What activity, 
adroitness, suppleness, grace, and spirit, it displays in its native 
haunts! How well it deserves to have been chosen alike by the 
Oriental and by the native of the desert as the image of feminine 
beauty. Trusting to its tawny coat, as well as to its incomparable 
agility and speed, it gazes with clear, untroubled eyes at the camels 
and their riders. Without seeming to be disturbed by the ap- 
proaching caravan, it continues to browse. From the blossoming 
mimosa it takes a bud or a juicy shoot; between the sharp alfa 
leaves it finds a delicate young stem. Nearer and nearer comes the 
caravan. The creature raises its head, listens, sniffs the air, gazes 
round again, moves a few steps, and browses as before. But sud- 
denly the elastic hoofs strike the ground, and the gazelle is off, 
quickly, lightly, and nimbly, as if its almost unexcelled speed were 
but play. Over the sandy plain it skims, quick as thought, leaping 
over the larger stones and tamarisk bushes as if it had wings. It 
seems almost to have left the earth, so surprisingly beautiful is its 
flight; it seems as if a poem of the desert were embodied in it, so 
fascinating is its beauty and swiftness. A few minutes of per- 
sistent flight carry it out of reach of any danger with which the 
travellers can threaten it, for the best trotter would pursue in vain, 
and not even a greyhound could overtake it. Soon it slackens its 
speed, and in a few moments it is browsing as before. And if the 
bloodthirsty traveller begins the chase in earnest, the sly creature 
has a tantalizing way of allowing him to get near it again; a second 
and a third time it cleverly gets out of range of his murderous 
weapons, until at length, becoming scared, it leaves all danger far 
behind. The further it gallops the more slender seem its body 
and limbs; its outline begins to swim before the eyes; at length it 
disappears on the sandy flat, merging into it and seeming to melt 
away like a breath of vapour. Its home has received and con- 
cealed the fugitive, removed it, as if magically, from vision, and 
left not a trace behind. But if the vision is lost to the eye it 
remains in the heart, and even the Western can now understand 
why the gazelle has become such a richly-flowering bud in the 
poesy of the East, why the Oriental gives it so high a rank among 


334 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


beasts, why he compares the eyes which kindle fires in his heart 
to those of the gazelle, why he likens the neck around which he 
throws his arms in love’s secret hour to that of the swiftest of 
the desert’s children, why the nomad brings a tame gazelle to the 
tent of his gladly-expectant spouse, that she may gaze into its 
tender eyes and reflect their beauty on the hoped-for pledge of their 
wedlock, and why even the sacred poet finds in the fair creature 
a visible emblem of his longing after the Most High. For even 
he, removed from the world, must have felt a breath of the passion 
which has purified the words and made smooth the verses and 
rhymes of the fiery songs in praise of the gazelle. 

Less attractive, but by no means less interesting, are some other 
desert animals. Among the sparsely sprouting alfa there is a 
numerous flock of birds about the size of pigeons. Tripping hither 
and thither, scratching and scraping with their bills, they seek for 
food. Without anxiety they allow the rider to approach within a 
distance of a hundred paces. A good field-glass enables one to see 
not only every movement, but also the more prominent colours of 
their plumage. With depressed head, retracted neck, and body held 
almost horizontally, they run about in search. of seeds, the few 
grains which the desert grasses bear, freshly unfolded panicles, and 
insects. Some stretch out their necks from time to time and peer 
circumspectly around, others, quite careless, paddle in the sand, 
preening their feathers, or lie at ease, half sideways, in the sun. 
All this one can distinctly see, and one can count that there are over 
fifty, perhaps nearly a hundred. What sportsman would their pre- 
sence not excite? Sure of his booty, the inexperienced traveller 
shuts up his field-glass, gets hold of his gun, and slowly approaches 
the gay company. But the birds disappear before his eyes. None 
has run or flown, yet none is to be seen. It seems as if the earth 
had swallowed them. The fact is that, trusting to the likeness 
between their plumage and the ground, they have simply squatted. 
In a moment they have become stones and little heaps of sand. 
Ignorant of this, the sportsman rides in upon them, and is startled 
when they rise with simultaneous suddenness, and loudly calling 
and scolding, take wing and fly noisily away. But if he should 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 335 


succeed in bringing one down, he will not fail to be struck by their 
colouring and marking, which is as remarkable as their behaviour. 
The sand-coloured upper surface, shading sometimes into gray, 
sometimes towards bright. yellow, is broken and adorned by broad 
bands, narrower bars, delicate lines, by dots, spots, points, streaks, 
and blurs, so that one might fancy at first sight that birds so 
marked must be conspicuous from a distance. But all this colour- 
medley is simply the most precise copy of the ground; every dark 
and light spot, every little stone, every grain of sand seems to have 
its counterpart on the plumage. It is no wonder then that the 
earth can, as it were, make the bird part of itself, and secure its 
safety, which is further assured by the creature’s strong wings, 
which are capable of incomparably swift flight. And so it is that 
the poetic feeling of the Arabs has idealized these sand-grouse in 
luxuriant fancy and flowery words, for their beauty fascinates the 
eye, and their marvellous swiftness awakens longing in the heart 
of mortals who are bound to the earth. 

All other desert animals display characters like the two which 
we have described. Thus there is a lynx, the caracal, leaner and 
lanker, with longer ears and larger eyes than the rest of his race, 
moreover not striped nor spotted, but sand-coloured all except his 
black ear-tips, eye-stripes, and lip-spots. His hue varies slightly, 
being lighter or darker, and with more or less red, according to the 
locality in which he lives. There is also a desert fox, the fenec, 
the dwarf of the dog family, with dun-yellow fur, and extra- 
ordinarily large ears. The desert also harbours a small rodent, the 
so-called jumping-mouse, the jerboa: he suggests a miniature kan- 
garoo, and has exceedingly long hind-legs, diminutive fore-legs, and 
a tail longer than the body with hairs in two rows. He is more 
harmless and good-natured, but also swifter and more agile than any 
other rodent. 

The birds, the reptiles, and even the insects show the same 
stamp, though form and colouring may vary greatly. When 
any other colour besides sandy-yellow becomes prominent, if hair, 
feather, or scale be marked with black or white, ashy-gray or 
brown, red or blue, such decorations occur only in places where 


336 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


they are not noticeable when looked at from above or from the side. 
But where a mountain rises in the midst of the desert, it shows its 
varied character also in the animal life. On the gray rocks of the 
mountains in Arabia the steinbok clambers, the hyrax has its home, 
the bearded vultures nest, and not a few other birds are to be found 
on the peaks and cliffs, in the chasms and valleys. But from the 
dark rocks of more low-lying deserts the only sound one hears is 
the loud but tuneful song of the deep-black wheatear. 

Thus the desert exhibits harmony in all its parts and in every 
one of its creatures, and this fact goes far to strengthen the impression 
made on every thoughtful, sensitive, and healthy mind—an impres- 
sion received on the first day in the desert, and confirmed on every 
succeeding one. 

If one would really know the desert and become in any measure 
at home there, one must have a vigorous constitution, a receptive 
mind, and some poetic feeling. Whoever shrinks from enduring 
the discomforts of the journey, whoever fears either sun or sand, 
should avoid the desert altogether. Even if the sky be clear, and 
the atmosphere pure and bright, even if a cooling breeze come from 
the north, the day in the desert is hard to bear. Almost suddenly, 
with scarce any dawn, the sun begins to exert his masterful power. 
It is only near the sea or large rivers that the dawn is heralded 
by a purple flush on the eastern horizon; amid the vast sand-plains 
the sun appears with the first reddening in the east. It rises over 
the flats like a ball of fire, which seems as if it would burst forth 
on all sides. The coolness of the morning is at once past. Directly 
after sunrise the glowing beams beat down as if it were already 
noon. And though the north wind, which may blow for months at 
a time and is often refreshing, may prevent the unequally expanded 
layers of air from shaping themselves into a mirage, yet it does not 
bring sufficient cooling to annul the peculiar heaving and quivering 
of the atmosphere which is seen over the sand. Heaven and earth 
seem to float in a flood of light, and an indescribable heat streams 
from the sun, and is reflected again from the sand. With each hour 
the light and heat increase, and from neither is there any escape. 

The caravan starts at daybreak and proceeds without a sound. 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 337 


The baggage-camels step out briskly and their drivers keep pace 
with elastic steps; the riding-camels hasten at full trot, urged accord- 
ing to their strength, and soon leave the burden-bearers far behind. 
With unslackened speed they hurry on. All one’s bones seem to 
erack with the jerks and jolting caused by the rapid pace of the 
riding-camels. The sun beats down, piercing through all the gar- 
ments with which one tries to protect oneself. Under the thicker 
clothing perspiration pours all over the body, on the more lightly 
clad arms and legs it evaporates as it is formed. The tongue cleaves 
to the roof of the mouth. Water, water, water! is the one idea left 
to those unaccustomed to these discomforts. But the water, instead 
of being in iron vessels or flasks, is in the characteristic skin-bags. 
of the country; it has been carried for days in the full sun on 
the camel’s back, it is more than lukewarm, of evil odour, thick,,. 
brown in colour, and tastes so vilely of leather and colocynth varnish 
that it produces nausea or even vomiting. But it seems as impos- 
sible to improve it as to do without it. Its penetrating taste 
and smell baffle all attempts to enjoy it in coffee or tea, or mixed 
with wine or brandy. Undiluted wine or brandy simply increase 
the burning thirst and oppressive heat. The traveller’s condition 
becomes one of torture before the sun reaches the zenith, and his. 
distress is the greater the worse the water. But it has to be and is. 
endured. And although the Northerner can never conquer his repug- 
nance to the kind of water which we have described, he grows used 
to the heat, at first so unbearable, and, as he begins to be at home- 
with his steed, other discomforts are also lessened. In the future he- 
will make sure of water which is at least clean, and will soon cease: 
to complain of its warmth or of any other inevitable inconveniences. 
of his journey. 

Resting comfortably, though rudely wakened by the loud grum-. 
bling of the baggage-camels, the experienced travellers allow the- 
caravan to go on ahead while they comfort body and soul with 
coffee and tobacco. Thereafter they mount the dromedaries and 
speed along as quickly as these trotters will go. Not a word is. 
exchanged, the only sounds are the crunching of the sand under the 


elastic hoofs, the loud breathing, and hollow, deep grunting of the 
(3170) 22 


338 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


camels. In a short time the baggage-train is overtaken, and we 
shoot on ahead. A gazelle browses near our course and raises hopes 
of welcome booty. With spirited movements the graceful creature 
—image of the desert poet’s fancy—skips and dances before its 
pursuers; the gasping, sharply-spurred camels rush on with gigantic 
strides. The gazelle seems careless and allows near approach; the 
riders act as if they would pass it, they rein in their beasts and ride 
more moderately. But one slips from the saddle to the ground, stops 
his beast for a moment, and from under cover of its body fires a 
deadly shot. Ina trice the leader has sprung from his saddle to make 
sure of the fallen game; triumphantly he drags it along, fastens it 
dexterously to his saddle, and on goes our cavalcade. 

Towards noon a halt is called. If there is a hollow near, it will 
probably contain an umbrella-like mimosa, whose thin foliage will 
afford some slight shade; but if the sandy plain stretches unbroken 
on all sides, all that can be done is to fix four lances in the sand 
and stretch a blanket over them. Though the sand on which one 
must lie is glowing, and the air one breathes is oppressive, languor 
and weariness overpower even the natives, how much more the 
Northerner. One seeks rest, but it comes not, and refreshment, but 
one cannot enjoy it. Blinded by the overflowing light and the 
tremulous atmosphere, we shut our eyes; but, tormented by scorch- 
ing heat, and tortured by feverish thirst, we toss about sleepless. 
The hours go by on leaden feet. 

The baggage-train winds slowly past and disappears in a vapour- 
ous sea on whose heaving waves the camels seem to float. Still one 
lingers, and continues to suffer the same agonies. The sun has long 
since passed the zenith, but his glowing beams are as fierce as ever. 
It is not till late in the afternoon that a fresh start is made. And 
again there is a rapid ride, whose swiftness seems almost to create 
a cooling breeze of air. The baggage-camels come in sight again, 
and are soon overtaken. The drivers stride behind them, singing; 
one leads the song, and the rest join in at the end of each verse in 
regular refrain. 

When one knows the toilsome labour of the camel-driver in the 
desert, one wonders indeed to hear him singing. Before daybreak 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 339 


he loaded his camel, after he had shared with it a few handfuls of 
soft-boiled dhurra grains—the sole food of both; all through the 
long day he strides behind his beast, without a bite to eat, with 
at most an occasional mouthful of ill-smelling water; the sun 
scorches his head, the glowing sand burns his feet, the hot air 
parches his sweating body; for him there is no time to pause or 
rest; he may perhaps have had to change the loads of some of the 
beasts, or to catch one or other which had bolted; and yet he sings! 
It is the approach of night which inspires him. 

When the sun goes to rest, the limbs of these wizened children of 
the desert seem to become supple again; in this, as in all else, they 
are like their mother. Like her they are parched at noon, like her 
they revive at night. As the sun declines, their poetic gifts weave 
golden dreams even in waking hours. The singer praises the well-. 
springs rich in water, the groups of palms around them, and the dark 
tents in the shade; he greets a brown maiden in one of the tents, 
who hails him with welcome; he extols her beauty, likens her eyes 
to those of the gazelle, and her mouth to a rose, whose fragrance 
is as her words, and these as pearls in his ear; for her sake he 
rejects the sultan’s eldest daughter, and longs for the hours when 
fate shall permit him to share her tent. But his comrades admonish 
him to seek after higher joys, and raise his thoughts to the Prophet, 
“ who satisfies all longing”. 

Such is the song which falls on the Northerner’s ears, and the 
songs of home rise to his lips, and when the last rosy flush of the 
setting sun fades away, when night stretches her robe of witchery 
over the desert, then it seems to him as if the hardest had been 
easy, as though he had suffered no thirst in the heat, nor discomfort 
by the way. Cheerfully he leaps from the saddle, and while the 
drivers unload and tether the camels, he heaps and smooths the 
sand for his bed, spreads his carpet and coverlet, and gives himself 
over with delight to the rest he had longed for. 

The small camp-fire illumines the plain only for a few paces. 
Around it the dark, half-naked sons of the desert move about 
busily; the flame casts a weird light on them, and in the half- 
darkness they look like shadows. The bales and boxes, saddles and 


340 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


utensils assume strange shapes; and the camels, lying in a wide 
circle outside the baggage, become ghostly figures when their eyes 
gleam with the reflection of the firelight. It becomes quieter and 
quieter in the camp. One driver after another leaves the camels, 
with whom he has shared his frugal supper, wraps himself in his 
long body-cloth, sinks to the ground, and becomes one with the 
sand. The fire flares up for the last time, loses its glow, and goes 
out. It is night in the camp. 

He who would describe a night in the desert should be, by the 
grace of God, a poet. For how can its beauty be described, even by 
one who has watched, revelled, and dreamed through it all? After 
the heat of the day it comes as the gentle, compensating, reconciling 
bestower of unspeakable comfort and inspiration, bringing peace 
and joy, for which a man longs as for his beloved who atones to him 
for his long waiting. “Leila”, the starry night of the desert, Leila 
is with justice the Arab’s image of all that is fair and joyous. 
Leila he calls his daughter; with the words, “my starry night”, he 
embraces his beloved; “ Leila, O Leila!” is the musical refrain of his 
songs. And what a night it is, which here in the desert, after all 
the burden and discomfort of the day, soothes every sense and feel- 
ing! In undreamt-of purity and brightness the stars shine forth 
from the dark dome of heaven: the light of the nearest is strong 
enough to cast slight shadows on the pale ground. With full chest 
one breathes the pure, fresh, cooling, and invigorating air; with 
delight one gazes from star to star, and as their light seems to 
come nearer and nearer, the soul breaks through the fetters which 
bind it to the dust and holds converse with other worlds. Not a 
sound, not a rustle, not even the chirping of a grasshopper inter- 
rupts the current of thought and feeling. The majesty, the sub- 
limity of the desert is now for the first time appreciated; its 
unutterable peace steals into the traveller’s heart. But what proud 
self-consciousness also fills his breast: here, in the midst of the 
infinite solitude, so alone, apart from all human society and help, 
reliant on himself only, his confidence, courage, and hope are 
strengthened. Dream-pictures full of infinite charm pass before his 
wakeful eyes, and merge in ever fresh and fascinating combinations, 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 341 


and as the stars begin to twinkle and tremble, his thoughts become 
dreams, and his eyes close in sleep. 

After the refreshment which the desert night brings both to 
body and soul, the discomforts of the next day seem lighter, how- 
ever much effort it may require to drink the water, which becomes 
more vile every hour. Perfect rest, unclouded comfort is only to be 
had at one of the desert wells. Always menaced by dearth of the 
most essential necessaries of life, every desert journey is a ceaseless 
anxiety, a restless hastening on; it is therefore entirely devoid of 
that ease and comfort with which one would prefer to travel. 
One day passes like another; each night, in favourable seasons at 
least, is like that which I have described. But in the oasis, the day 
becomes a holiday, the evening is a joyous festival, and the night 
brings perfect rest. 

The essential condition for the formation of an oasis is a basin- 
like or valley-like depression. Without a gushing spring, without 
at least an artificial well, rich vegetation is impossible, and water is 
found in the desert only on the lofty mountains or in the deepest 
hollows. As the sea of sand is in so many respects the counterpart 
of the ocean, so its oases are counterparts of islands, but they do not 
rise above the surface, they are sunk beneath it. The water may 
either rise in a visible spring, or it may be found at a slight depth 
below the surface. Its abundance and its quality determine the 
character of the oasis, In the minority the water is pure and cool, 
but in most cases it is salt, ferruginous, or sulphurous, and on that 
account probably very healthful. But it is by no means always 
drinkable or conducive to fertility. Perhaps there is hardly one oasis 
which produces fresh, green sward. And it is only in very favourable 
places that the water is evident at all; in most cases it collects drop 
by drop in clefts of the rock or in shafts which have been dug for 
it; at times at least it has to be artificially forced. Even where the 
water wells up copiously it would soon lose itself in the sand, if it 
were not carefully collected and distributed. At the same time it 
always evokes a refreshing life, doubly welcome amid such sterility. 

Around the spring, long before men appeared to take possession, 
a company of green plants had effected settlement. Who can tell 


342 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


how they got there? Perhaps the sand-storm sowed the seeds, 
which first germinated by the well, and grew into plants, with 
leaves, flowers, and another generation of seeds which were scattered 
through whole valleys. It is certain, at least, that they were not 
planted by men, for the mimosas which form the greater part of the 
little colony occur also in springless hollows, where one sees them 
sometimes singly, sometimes forming a small thicket of ten or 
twenty. They alone are able to keep life awake in the desert; 
they put forth green leaves, they blossom and send forth fragrance 
—how fresh and balmy! In their pleasant shade the gazelle rests; 
from their tops resound the songs of the few feathered songsters of 
the desert. The sappy leaves, seen amid the stiff masses of lime- 
stone, the cones of black granite, and the dazzling sand, do the eyes 
good like a meadow in May; their flowers as well as their shade 
refresh the soul. 

In the larger, more copiously watered oases, men have planted 
palms, which lend a fresh charm to the settlement. The palm is here 
all in all: it is the queen of trees, the giver of fruit which sustains 
man and binds him to his little spot of earth, the tree around which 
saga and song are twined, the tree of life. What would an oasis be 
without palms? A tent without a roof, a house without inmate, a 
well without water, a poem without words, a song without tune, a 
picture without colour. The palm’s fruits feed the nomad herdsman 
and the settler alike, they become wheat or barley in his hand, they 
satisfy even the tax-gatherer of his lord and master. Its stems, its 
crown, its narrow leaves supply him with shelter and utensils, mats, 
baskets, and sacks, ropes and cords. In the sandy desert one first 
appreciates its full worth and importance, it becomes the visible 
emblem of Arabian poetry, which rises like it from frequently 
barren ground, which grows strong and fades not, which raises 
itself on high, and there only bears sweet fruit. 

Mimosas and palms are the characteristic trees of all oases, and 
are never absent from those which have so many springs or wells 
that gardens and fields become possible. Here they are restricted, 
like outposts against the invading sand, to the outer fringe of the 
desert island, while the interior is adorned with more exacting plants 


2.—An Oasis in the Desert of Sahara, 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 345 


which require more water. Thus around the springs or wells there 
are often charming gardens in which grow almost all the fruit- 
bearing plants of North Africa. Here the vine clambers, the orange 
glows amid its dark foliage, the pomegranate opens its rosy mouth, 
the banana expands its fan-shaped leaf clusters, the melons straggle 
among the beds of vegetables, prickly-pears and olives, perhaps 
even figs, apricots, and almonds, complete the picture of fruitfulness. 
At a greater distance from the centre lie the fields, bearing at least 
Kaffir-millet, and, in favourable conditions, wheat, or even rice. 

In oases so rich man finds a permanent home, while in those 
which are poorer he is but a sojourner, or a more or less periodic 
guest. The village or small township of a large oasis is essentially 
like that of the nearest cultivated country; like it it has its mosques, 
its bazaars, its coffee-houses; but the inhabitants are children of a 
different spirit from that which marks the peasants or townsfolk 
in the Nile valley or along the coast. Although usually of diverse 
race among themselves they all exhibit the same customs and habits. 
The desert has shaped and fashioned them. Their slender build, 
sharply-cut features, and keen eyes, gleaming from under bushy 
brows, mark them at once as sons of the desert; but their habits 
and customs are even more characteristic. They are unexacting 
and readily contented, energetic and full of resource, hospitable 
and open-hearted, honourable and loyal, but proud, irritable, and 
passionate, inclined to robbery and acts of violence, like the 
Bedouins, though not their equals either in good or evil. A cara- 
van entering their settlement is a welcome sight, but they expect 
the traveller to pay them toll. 

Very different from such oases are those valleys in which a much- 
desired well is only to be found at times. The Arabian nomads are 
well pleased if the supply of drinking-water for themselves and their 
herds is sufficient for a few months or even weeks; and the caravan, 
which rests in such a place, may be content if its demands are 
satisfied within a few days. The well is usually a deep shaft, 
from whose walls the water oozes rather than trickles. A few tom- 
palms rise among the sparse mimosas and saltworts which surround 
the well; a few stems of grass break through the hard ground. 


346 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Unutterably poor are these nomad herdsmen, who pitch their 
tents here as long as their small flocks of goats can find anything 
to eat. Their struggle for existence is a continuous succession of 
toil, and want, and misery. Their tent is of the simplest; a long 
dark web of cloth, made of goats’ hair, is laid across a simple frame- 
work, and its ends pinned to the ground; a piece of the same stuff 
forms the back-wall, and a mat of palm-leaves forms the door in 
front. The web is the wife’s self-made dowry, the materials for 
which she gathered, spun, and wove from her eighth to her sixteenth 
year. A few mats which serve as beds, a block of granite and a 
grindstone for pounding the grain got in barter, a flat plate of 
clay to roast the cakes, two large jars, some leather sacks and skins, 
an axe and several lances, form the total furnishings. A herd of 
twenty goats is counted a rich possession for a family. But these 
people are as brave as they are poor, as lovable as they are 
well-built, as good-natured as they are beautiful, as generous as 
they are frugal, as hospitable as they are honourable, as chaste 
as they are devout. Ancient pictures rise in the mind of the 
Occidental who meets with these folk for the first time; he sees 
biblical characters face to face, and hears them speak in a manner 
with which he has been familiar from his childhood. Thousands of 
years have been to these nomads of the desert as one day; to-day 
they think, and speak, and act as did the patriarchs of old. The 
very greeting which Abraham uttered meets the stranger's ear; 
the very words which Rebecca spoke to Abraham’s servant were 
addressed to me, when, tortured with thirst, I sprang from my 
camel at the well of Bahiuda, and begged a beautiful brown damsel 
for a drink of fresh water. There she stood before me, the 
Rebecca of thousands of years ago, alive and in unfading youth, 
another and yet the same. 

On the arrival of the caravan the whole population of the 
temporary settlement assembles. The chief steps forward from 
their midst, and utters the greeting of peace; all the rest bid the 
strangers welcome. Then they offer the most precious of gifts, 
fresh water; it is all that they have to give, and it is given with 
dignified friendliness, ungrudgingly, yet without urgency. Eagerly 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 347. 


the travellers drink in long refreshing draughts; the camels also 
press in riotously upon the watering-place, although they might 
know from experience that they must first be unloaded, tethered, 
and turned on the grass before they are allowed to quench an 
unbroken thirst of four or six days. Even at the well not a drop 
is wasted, therefore the camels first get any water that remains in 
the skins, and it is not till these are filled up again that the beasts 
get a fresh draught, and that with more respect to the existing 
supplies than their actual needs. Only at the copious wells can one 
satisfy their apparently unbounded desires, and see, not without 
amusement, how they swallow without ever looking up, and then 
hasten from the well to the not less eagerly desired pasture, forced 
by their hobbles to grotesque and clumsy movements, which make 
their stomachs rumble like half-filled casks. 

And now begins a festival both for travellers and settlers. The 
former find fresh water, perhaps even milk and meat, to increase 
the delight of the longed-for resting-time ; the latter gladly welcome 
any break in their life, which, in good seasons, is very monotonous. 
One of the camel-drivers finds in the nearest tent the favourite 
instrument of those who live in the desert, the tambura or five- 
stringed zither, and he knows right well how to use it in accom- 
paniment to his simple song. The music allures the daughters of 
the camp, and slim, beautiful women and girls press inquisitively 
around the strangers, fastening their dark eyes on them and 
their possessions, inquiring curiously about this and that. Steel 
thy heart, stranger; else these eyes may set it on fire. They 
are more beautiful than those of the gazelle, the lips beneath 
put corals to shame, and the dazzling teeth excel any pearls which 
thou couldst give these daughters of the desert. And soon all 
yields to music and to song. Around the zither-player groups 
arrange themselves for the dance; hands both hard and soft beat 
time to the tune, the words, and the regular swaying movements. 
New forms come and those we have become familiar with disappear; 
there is a constantly changing bustle and crowd around the 
strangers, who are wise if they regard all with the same innocence 
and simplicity which their hosts display. All the discomforts of 


348 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the journey are forgotten, and all longings are satisfied, for water 
flows abundantly and takes the place of all that one might desire in 
other places or at other seasons. 

Such a rest revives body and soul. Strengthened and encour- 
aged the caravan goes on its way, and if the days bring nothing 
worse than scorching, thirst, and fatigue, a second, and a third well 
is safely reached, and finally the goal of the journey—the first 
township on the other side of the desert. But the desert—the sea 
of sand—is like the all-embracing ocean also in that it is fickle. 
For here too there are raging storms, which wreck its ships 
and raise destruction-bringing billows. When the north wind, 
which blows continuously for months, comes into conflict with 
currents from the south, or yields them the mastery, the traveller 
suddenly sees the sand become alive, rising in huge pillars as thick 
as they are high, which whirl more or less rapidly over the plain. 
The sun’s rays sometimes lend them the ruddy gleam of flames, at 
another time they seem almost colourless, yet again, portentously 
dark, the furious storm weakens them and strengthens them, splits 
them and unites them, sometimes merging two or more into one 
huge sand-spout which reaches to the clouds. Well might the 
Occidental exclaim at the sublimity of the spectacle, did not the 
anxious looks and words of his escort make him dumb. Woe to the 
caravan which is overtaken by one of these raging whirlwinds, 
it will be good fortune if man and beast escape alive. And even if 
the inexorable messenger of fate pass over the party without doing 
harm, danger is by no means over, for behind the sand-spouts 
usually comes the Simoom or poisonous storm. 

This ever-dreaded wind, which blows as the Chamasin through 
Egypt, as the Strocco towards Italy, as the Féhn through the Alps, 
as the Zawwind in North Europe, does not always rise into a 
storm; not unfrequently it is hardly noticeable, and yet it makes 
many a man’s heart tremble. Of course much that is fabulous is 
told of it, but this much is true, that it is in certain conditions 
extremely dangerous to the caravan, and that it is responsible for 
the bleached skeletons of camels and the half-buried, half-mummi- 
fied, corpses of men that one sees by the wayside. It is not its 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 349 


strength, but its character, its electric potential, which brings 
suffering and destruction to man and beast wandering on the sandy 
sea. 

The natives and the observant can foretell the coming of the sand- 
storm at least one day, often several days, ahead. Unfailing symp- 
toms tell of its approach. The air becomes sultry and oppressive; a 
light, grayish or reddish vapour obscures the sky; and there is not 
a breath of wind. All living creatures suffer visibly under the 
gradually increasing sultriness; men grumble and groan; the wild 
animals are shyer than usual; the camels become restless and cross, 
jostling one another, jibbing stubbornly, even lying down on the 
ground. The sun sets without any colour; no red-glow fringes the 
evening sky; every light is veiled in a vaporous shroud. Night 
brings neither coolness nor refreshment, rather an aggravation of 
the sultriness, the lassitude, the discomfort; in spite of all weari- 
ness one cannot sleep. If men and beasts are still able to move, no 
rest is taken, but they hurry on with the most anxious haste as 
long as the leader can see any of the heavenly bodies. But the 
vapour becomes a dry fog, obscuring one constellation after another, 
hiding moon and sun, though in the most favourable conditions 
these may be visible, about half their normal size, pale in colour 
and of ill-defined contour. 

Sometimes it is at midnight that the wind begins to raise its 
wings; more commonly about noon. Without a watch no one could 
tell the time, for the fog has become so thick that the sun is com- 
pletely hidden. A gloomy twilight covers the desert, and everything 
even within a short radius is hazy and indistinct. Gently, hardly 
perceptibly the air at length begins to move. It is not a breeze, but 
the merest breath. But this breath scorches, pierces like an icy 
wind into bone and marrow, producing dull headache, enervation, 
and uneasiness. The first breath is followed by a more perceptible 
gust, equally piercing and deadening. Several brief blasts rage 
howling across the plain. 

It is now high time to encamp. Even the camels know this, 
for no whip will make them take another step. Panic-stricken 
they sink down, stretch out their long necks in front of them, press 


350 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


them closely on the sand, and shut their eyes. Their drivers unload 
them as rapidly as possible, build the baggage into a barricade, and 
heap all the water-bags closely together, so as to present the least 
possible surface to the wind, and cover them with any available 
mats, This accomplished, they wrap themselves as closely as may 
be in their robes, moisten the part which surrounds the head, and 
take refuge behind the baggage. All this is done with the utmost 
despatch, for the sand-storm never leaves one long to wait. 

Following one another in more rapid succession, the blasts soon 
become continuous, and the storm rages. The wind roars and 
rumbles, pipes and howls in the firmament; the sand rushes and 
rages along the ground; there is creaking and crackling and crash- 
ing among the baggage as the planks of the boxes burst. The 
prevailing sultriness increases till the limit. of endurance seems all 
but reached; all moisture leaves the sweat-covered body; the 
mucous membranes begin to crack and bleed; the parched tongue 
lies like a piece of lead in the mouth; the pulse quickens, the heart 
throbs convulsively; the skin begins to peel, and into the lacerations 
the raging storm bears fine sand, producing new tortures. The 
sons of the desert pray and groan, the stranger murmurs and 
complains. 

The severest raging of the sand-storm does not usually last long, 
it may be only for an hour, or for two or three, just like the analogous 
thunder-storm in the north. As it assuages the dust sinks, the air 
clears, perhaps a counter-breeze sets in from the north; the caravan 
rearranges itself and goes on its way. But if the Simoom last for 
half a day or for a whole day, then it may fare with the traveller 
as it did with an acquaintance of mine, the French traveller Thibaut, 
as he journeyed through the Northern Bahiuda desert. He found 
the last well dry, and with almost exhausted water-bags he was 
forced to push on towards the Nile, four days’ journey off. On him 
and his panic-stricken caravan, which had left every dispensable 
piece of baggage at the dry well, the deadly storm broke loose. 
The unfortunate company encamped, hoped for the end of the storm, 
but waited in vain, mourning, desponding, desperate. One of 
Thibaut’s servants sprang up maddened, howled down the storm, 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 351 


raged, and raved, and at last, utterly spent, fell prostrate on his 
master, gasped, and died. A second fell victim to sunstroke, and 
when the storm at last abated was found dead in his resting-place. 
A third lingered behind the rest after they had started again on 
their life-or-death race, and he also perished. Half of the camels 
were lost. With the remnant of his company Thibaut reached the 
Nile, but in two days his coal-black hair had become white as 
snow. 

To such storms are due the mummied corpses which one sees by 
the path of the caravan. The storm which killed them also buries 
them in the drifting sand; this removes all moisture so quickly 
that the body, instead of decaying, dries up intoa mummy. Over 
them one wind casts a shroud of sand, which another strips away. 
Then the corpse is seen stretching its hand, its foot, or its face 
towards the traveller, and one of the drivers answers the petition of 
the dead, covers him again with sand, and goes on his way, saying, 
“Sleep, servant of God, sleep in peace.” 

To such storms are also due the dream-pictures of the Fata 
Morgana which arise in the minds of the survivors. As long as a 
man pursues his way with full, undiminished strength and with 
sound senses, the mirage appears to him merely as a remarkable 
natural phenomenon, and in no wise as Fata Morgana. During the 
hot season, especially about noon, but from nine in the morning 
until three o'clock, the “ devil’s sea” is to be seen daily in the desert. 
A gray surface like a lake, or more accurately like a flooded district, 
is formed on every plantless flat at a certain distance in front of or 
around the traveller; it heaves and swells, glitters and shimmers, 
leaves all actually existing objects visible, but raises them apparently 
to the level of its uppermost stratum and reflects them down again. 
Camels or horses disappearing in the distance appear, like the angels 
in pictures, as if floating on clouds, and if one can distinguish their 
movements, it seems as if they were about to set down each limb on 
a cushion of vapour. The distance which limits the phenomenon 
remains always the same, as long as the observer does not change 
his angle of vision; and thus it varies for the rider and the pedestrian. 
The whole phenomenon depends on the well-known law, that a ray 


352 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


of light passing through a medium which is not homogeneous is re- 
fracted, and thus it is inevitable, since the lower strata of air become 
expanded by reflection of heat from the glowing sand. No Arab 
hides his face when he sees a mirage, as fanciful travellers assure 
their credulous readers; none puts any deep interpretation on the 
phrase which he likes to use—“the devil’s sea”. But when the 
anxiety, distress, enervation, and misery consequent on a sand-storm 
beset and weaken him, and the mirage appears, then it may become 
a Fata Morgana, for the abnormally excited imagination forms 
pictures which are in most perfect harmony with the most urgent 
desire of the moment—the desire for water and for rest. Even to 
me, who have observed the mirage hundreds of times, the Fata 
Morgana appeared once. It was after four-and-twenty hours of 
torturing thirst that I saw the devil’s sea sparkling and gleaming 
before me. I really thought I saw the sacred Nile and boats with 
full-bellied sails, palm-groves and woods, and country-houses. But 
where my abnormal senses perceived a flourishing palm-grove, 
my equally abnormal comrade saw sailing-boats, and where I 
fancied I recognized gardens, he saw not less imaginary woodland. 
And all the deceptive phantasms vanished as soon as we were 
refreshed with an unexpected draught of water; only the nebulous 
gray sea remained in sight. 

Perhaps every one who crosses a stretch of desert in the Nile- 
lands sees the devil’s sea; but there is a real and most living desert 
picture, a sight of which is not granted to all. On the extreme 
limit of vision, raised perhaps by the mirage and veiled in vapour, 
a number of riders appear; they are mounted on steeds swift as the 
wind, with limbs like those of deer; they approach rapidly, and 
urging to full gallop the steeds which till then they had restrained, 
they rush down upon the caravan. It always gave me pleasure to 
meet these haggard, picturesquely-clad men; they and their horses 
seemed to be so thoroughly harmonious with the desert. The 
Bedouin is indeed the true son of the desert, and his steed is his 
counterpart. He is stern and terrible as the desert day, gentle and 
friendly as the desert night. True to his pledged word, unswerving 
in obedience to the laws and customs of his race, dignified in 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 353: 


bearing, lofty in discourse, unsurpassed in self-restraint and endur- 
ance, more sensitive than almost any other man to deeds of prowess,. 
to glory and honour, and not less to the golden web of fancy into: 
which his poetic genius weaves such wondrous pictures and twines 
such tender fragrant flowers; yet is he cunning and crafty towards 
his enemies, a bounden slave to his customs, unscrupulous in his 


Fig. 63.—Band of Mounted Bedouins. 


demands, mean and paltry in his exactions, greedy in his pleasures,. 
unrestrained in cruelty, terrible in revenge, to-day the noble host, 
to-morrow a threatening and shameless beggar, now a proud robber 
and again a pitiable thief. In short he is to the stranger as fickle 
and changeful as the desert itself. His horse has the same keen,. 
fiery, expressive eyes, the same strength and agility in its thin, 
almost fragile limbs, the same endurance, the same frugality, the 
same nature as his master, for they grew up together under the 


same tent, they rest and dwell beneath the same roof. The animak 
(3 70) 23 


354 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


is not the slave but the companion, the friend of its master, the 
playmate of his children. Proud, spirited, and even savage in the 
open desert, it is as quiet as a lamb in the tent; it seems altogether 
inseparable from its master. 

In all the deserts which are, in name at least, under the sway 
of the Khedive of Egypt, the Bedouins no longer fill the réle which 
was theirs in earlier times, and still belongs to them in Arabia and in 
North-west Africa. For between them and the Egyptian govern- 
ment there is a strict treaty which binds them to allow caravans to 
pass through their haunts unmolested. Thus robberies in the desert 
are of the rarest occurrence, and an encounter with the Bedouins 
raises the less apprehension, since these children of the desert are 
usually the owners of the hired camels. At the same time the true 
lords of the waste still love to cling to the old customs and to retain 
a semblance of their dominion, so that it is prudent before setting 
out on a desert journey to claim safe-conduct from some recognized 
chief. With this in possession, an encounter took form somewhat 
as follows. 

One of the sunburnt horsemen sprang forward from the troop, 
and turned to the leader or head of our caravan. 

“ Peace be with thee, O stranger!” 

“And with thee, O chief, be the grace of God, His mercy, and 
His compassion!” 

“Whither journey ye, sirs?” 

“To Belled-Aali, O Sheikh.” 

“Do ye journey under protection?” 

“We journey under the safe-conduct of his Excellency, the 
Khedive.” 

“ And no other?” 

* Also Sheikh Soliman, Mohammed Cheir Allah, Ibn Sidi Aulad 
Aali, has granted us protection and peace.” 

“Then are ye welcome and blessed.” 

“The Giver of all blessings bless thee and thy father, O chief!” 

“Have ye need of ought? My men will supply it. In Wadi 
Ghitere are our tents, and ye are welcome there if ye seek rest. 


1? 


If not, may Allah grant a prosperous journey 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 355 


“He will be with us, for He is merciful.” 

“ And the Guide on all good ways.” 

“ Amen, O chief!” 

And the troop wheels off; rider and steed become one; the light 
hoofs seem scarce to touch the sand, the white burnooses flutter in 
the wind, and the poet’s words rise into memory— 


“Bedouin, on thy steed, thou art a poem in thyself !” 


Such are some of the fascinating pictures shown to the receptive 
eye. The more intimately one comes to know the desert, the more 
it grows upon one, alleviating and lessening all toil and discomfort. 
Yet the last hours of the journey are those of greatest joy. When 
the first palm-village of cultivated land appears in sight, when the 
silver line of the sacred river is once more visible, gladness fills 
the heart. Men and beasts hasten as if to prove that the glad 
reality is not an illusion which may vanish in the mist. But the 
goal becomes more and more distinct; it seems as if we had never 
seen fresher colours, we fancy that nowhere else can there be trees 
so green, water so cool. With a final effort the camels push on, far 
too slowly for their impatient riders. Friendly greetings reach our 
ears. The village on the Nile is reached at last. From all the huts 
throng men and women, the aged and the children. Inquisitively 
they crowd around the camp, men and women curiously questioning, 
youths and maidens eager for the dance. Tambura and tarabuka, 
the zither and drum of the country, invite to motion; and the 
dancing-girls gladden the eyes of strangers and countrymen alike. 
Even the creaking of the water-wheel on the river, formerly a thou- 
sand times cursed, seems musical to-day. The evening brings fresh 
joys. Comfortably couched on the cool and elastic divan, the 
foreigner pledges the native in palm-wine or merieza—the nectar of 
the land; while the sound of zither and drum, and the rhythmic 
hand-clapping of the dancing youths and maidens form a merry 
accompaniment to the dainty banquet. But at length the approach- 
ing night begins to press its claims. Tambura and tarabuka sink 
into silence and the dance comes to an end; one after another, 
refreshed and well-content, the travellers seek rest. At length only 


356 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


one is left, a son of Khahira, the mother of the world, whom sleep 
still refuses to bless. From beside the flickering camp-fire comes 
his simple, tremulous song— 
Sweet night, dear night, thou mak’st me sad, 
Longer thou seem’st and alway longer ; 


No peace from thee I ever had, 
With thee day’s pain grows ever stronger. 


Oh, gentle night, how long, how long, 

Since these poor eyes last saw her beauty! 
Seeing aught else they do her wrong ; 

When will she come to claim their duty? 


Oh, tender night, now hovering near, 
Lighten Love’s load, and my undoing! 

Bring Peace to me, Peace to my Dear, 
Shelter my Sweet, and speed my wooing! 


But this lover’s plaint, also dies away, and the silence of the night is 
unbroken save by the murmurings of the wavelets on the sacred 
river. 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS* 


Egypt and Nubia, though immediately adjacent, and closely 
connected by a river common to both, are essentially different 
countries. Through Egypt the sacred Nile flows with leisurely 
dignity, through Nubia it rushes in furious haste; over Egypt it 
distributes its blessings widely, in Nubia it is hemmed in by high 
rocky banks; in Egypt it triumphs over the desert, in Nubia the 
desert is supreme; Egypt is a garden which the river has formed 
after thousands of years of ceaseless labour, Nubia is a desert 
which it cannot conquer. Of course this desert has its oases like 
any other, but they are few and scarcely worth considering in com- 
parison with the lands on both sides of the stream which remain 


*Tn order to understand and appreciate this chapter the reader should bear 
in mind that the Nile is in flood from June to about the end of September, being 
at its highest in the latter month, and at its lowest in April. At low, Nile the 
rapids present a very different appearance from what they do at high Nile. 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 357 


in unchangeable sterility and desolation. Throughout the greater 
part of the long winding valley which forms what we call Nubia, 
dark, gleaming masses of rock rise from the bed of the river or from 
its immediate vicinity, and over wide tracts prevent the growth of 
almost all vegetation. They have for their sole adornment the 
waves of golden yellow sand which are blown from the deserts on 
east and west, and gradually slide down the rocks into the river. 
The sun beats from the deep-blue and rarely cloudy sky; for 
many years together not a single shower refreshes the thirsty 
ground. In the deeply cut gorges the life-giving waves of the 
fertilizing stream contend in vain with the unimpressionable rocks, 
on which they hurl themselves roaring and foaming, blustering 
and thundering, as if enraged that their generosity is met with 
ingratitude and their beneficence with disdain. The field on which 
this battle is waged is the region of the rapids. 

Very few travellers who visit the lower valley of the Nile ever 
reach the rapids of its middle course. A few go beyond the so- 
called first cataract, scarcely one in a hundred passes the second. 
Wady Halfa, a village immediately below the second group of 
rapids, is the usual goal of travellers; only purposes of exploration, 
the passion for the chase, or some commercial enterprise, leads 
any one further south. For it is at Wady Halfa that the difficul- 
ties of a journey into the interior really begin, and it is therefore 
not surprising that the great majority turn the prow of the boat 
homewards at that village of palms. But no one who is young 
and vigorous, energetic, and not too luxuriously inclined, will ever 
regret if he pushes farther south. In the Nile valley, which is by 
no means rich in picturesqueness, the region of the rapids is quite 
unique. Grandeur and beauty, sombreness and gaiety, desolation 
and overflowing life mark the scenes that here follow one another 
in quick succession; but they are all desert pictures which this 
landscape presents, and one must forget conventional standards in 
order to appreciate them as they deserve. The man who is unable to 
appreciate the desert, to revel in its wealth of colour, to endure its 
scorching heat, and to find refreshment in its solemn night, would 
do well to avoid the desert of the Nile. But he who travels 


358 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


through the country of the rapids with open eye and receptive 
heart, who in his frail boat engages, wherever possible, in the 
struggle with the furiously foaming waves, will have his whole 
life enriched with precious memories. For never will the im- 
pressive spectacle that his eye has looked on fade from his mental 
vision, never will the sublime melody the stream has sung in his 
ear cease to echo in his soul. Such, at least, is my experience, and 
I have journeyed through the rocky valley of Nubia on land and 
on water, up the river and down, contending with the waves, ay, 
and with hunger and want, and looking down on the rapids from 
the tops of high cliffs as well as from the camel’s back. 

It is customary to speak of three cataracts. Each consists of a 
series of rapids, which, for about a mile, make navigation in the 
highest degree difficult and dangerous. At the first cataract there 
is properly but one rapid; taking the second and third together 
there are about thirty which the Nubian boatmen call by special . 
names. There are no waterfalls which make navigation of any 
kind impossible, not at least on the regular route where, in addition 
to passing vessels, there ply boats specially built and equipped for 
the rapids.” . 

When the traveller in his progress up the sacred river has 
traversed the north-easterly tract where the river is hemmed in 
between the Rocks of the Chain (Jebel Silsileh), the scenery 
changes abruptly. Behind him hes Egypt, in other words the low- 
lying valley, broadening seawards into a boundless plain; before 
him rises the rocky threshold of Nubia. The contrast is most 
striking. Monotony is replaced by diversity. It is indeed true 
that even the scenery of Egypt presents many a picture which 
is stimulating to the eye and refreshing to the soul; it is true 
that its beauty is enhanced, especially in the morning and evening 
hours, by the wondrous brilliance of southern light; but taken 
as a whole it seems monotonous, for everywhere the prospect is 
alike, whether the eye rests on rocks of sandstone and limestone 
by the margin of the valley, or takes a wider survey over the 
river and the fields. One and the same picture, with little variety, 
is repeated a hundred times: hills and fruitful plains, river-banks 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 35 


and islands, thickets of mimosa, groves of palms and sycamores, 
towns and villages, everywhere bear essentially the same stamp. 
But at the rock-masses of the first cataract, which form the last. 
barrier overcome by the stream as it presses towards the sea, 
Egypt really ends and Nubia begins. No longer does the boat. 
glide smoothly on a surface majestically calm; it has to fight its 
way among low masses of rock, and among rocky cones that rear 
themselves above the waves. 

Nearing the first cataract, we see, high on a precipitous head- 
land on the left bank, a wretched and yet impressive piece of 
Arabic architecture, the sepulchre of Sheikh Musas, the patron 
saint of the first rapids. Further on lies the island of Elephantine, 
rich in palms, and immediately beyond is Assuan. The way is 
hemmed in by masses of rock, from whose surface the waves, 
storming for thousands of years, have not succeeded in obliterating 
hieroglyphics graven in the time of the Pharaohs. These rocks 
compel the boat to follow a tortuous course, till at length it finds a 
safe landing-place in a calm creek, which is, however, so near the 
rapids that it is resonant with their raging. 

It is venerable ground on which we stand. Through the 
inscriptions in the sacred characters of the ancient Egyptian people, 
past ages converse with us in intelligible speech. “Ab”, or ivory- 
store, was the name of the town Elephantine on the island of 
that name, and the island remains though even the ruins of the 
town have almost completely disappeared: “Sun” or Syene was 
the township on the right bank where the modern Assuan stands. 
Elephantine was the most southerly harbour of the old Egyptians 
and the capital of the southern Nile district; it was the ancient. 
depot for produce from the interior, especially for ivory, highly 
prized thenasnow. “Sun” was probably only a village of working 
people, but as such by no means of less importance than Elephan- 
tine. For near here, from the earliest times, the “Mat” or “ Ethio- 
pian stone” of Herodotus was quarried, and was brought to the 
river-banks to be loaded on the boats, which bore it to its destination. 
It was from this place that the valuable stone derived the name of 
Syenite, which it still bears.” Inscriptions which are found on monu- 


360 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


ments dating from the oldest dynasties of Egyptian kings, that is 
to say from two or three thousand years before the Christian era, 
make repeated mention of “Sun”, and countless other hieroglyphics 
in the adjacent quarries testify to the importance of this industrial 
village. These quarries extend over many square miles of the desert 
to the east of the cataract. From them were hewn those immense 
blocks which form the columns, obelisks, cornices, and lintels of 
the temples, and fill us with wonder and admiration. With them, 
too, the ancients roofed in the sepulchral chambers of the pyramids, 
confident that they would bear the stupendous burden piled above 
them. “All around us here”, says my learned friend Diimichen, 
““we see how human hands laboured to loosen the valuable stone 
from the wall of rock, and to immortalize this or that event in 
sculpture or inscription. Everywhere the rock has become a 
memorial of the past, and numerous inscriptions, often on the 
highest peaks of the mountains, proclaim the glory of the divine 
trinity worshipped by the first province of Upper Egypt—the 
Cataract-god Chnum-Ra, and his two consorts Sati and Anuke—or 
celebrate the exploits of Egyptian kings and high officers of state. 
Some of these go back to the oldest historic times, and yet how 
young they seem in comparison with the work, which through 
innumerable ages the Egyptian Sun-god Ra has wrought upon the 
stone. For the rocks, all around which are as yet untouched by 
human hand, present to us a surface covered with a dark crust 
gleaming like enamel; while the cut surfaces of the syenite (to 
many of which we may certainly ascribe an age of four thousand 
years) still show, like the blocks in the quarries, the character- 
istic red of the granite in its pristine vividness—they are still too 
young to show the impress of Time’s hand.” 

From any of the higher peaks on the banks one can get a survey 
of a part of the cataract. Two deserts meet at the Nile, and join 
hands across it by means of hundreds of small rocky islands. Every 
island splits the stream, forcing it into a narrower channel, through 
which, however, it rushes all the more violently, ceaselessly 
dashing against the ruins of the rocky barrier through which it 
burst hundreds of thousands of years ago. The river seems to be 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 361 


intent on sweeping them away to utter destruction, and to be 
enraged at finding its opponents still invincible. The thunder of its 
waters resounds in the ears of the spectator above, and seems to 
him a fit accompaniment to the magnificent scene beneath him. 
Restless as the ever-flowing waves, the eye travels over the chaos of 
rocks; it embraces hundreds of single pictures in one glance, and 
then combines these into one sublime, harmonious whole, the 
stiff masses of gleaming rock contrasting sharply with the white 
foam of the hissing water, the golden-yellow deserts that bound 
them on either side, and the dark, cloudless sky overhead. The 
upper region of the rapids is especially charming. A chain of 
black rocks, the natural boundary-wall between Egypt and Nubia, 
stretches obliquely across the river, and sweeps out on both right 
and left bank in a wide curve, thus forming before the eye of the 
spectator a great basin almost completely surrounded by rocky 
ramparts. These walls consist in part of continuous masses, but in 
part also of loose blocks—round, oval, and angular—lying one upon 
the other as though piled up by the hand of some giant. Here and 
there portions of this wonderful rampart project and again recede; 
here and there they rise like islands from the bed of the ancient 
lake which they encircled before the mighty stream broke its way 
through. 

In the midst of these prehistoric ruins lies the green, palm-clad 
island of Phile with its stately temple. I know of no more im- 
pressive picture than this. Surrounded by dark, rugged rocks, 
encompassed by the ceaseless roar of the waves as they beat on its 
foundations, bedecked with fruitful palms and fragrant mimosas, 
the temple stands—a striking emblem of inner peace amid raging 
strife. The river shouts its mighty battle-song; the palms wave 
back an answer of peace. A worthier place could scarcely be 
found for the worship of the great god to whom it was dedicated. 
Amid such solitude, and in such an environment, the spirit of the 
youths whom the wise priests taught must surely have found both 
nurture and life, must surely have turned to what is high and 
holy, have recognized the kernel within the sensory symbolism of 
their cult, and have beheld the veiled image of Sais. 


362 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


In the sacred trinity—Isis, Osiris, and Horus—to whom the 
temple of Phile was dedicated, Isis stood supreme. “Isis, the great 
goddess, the queen of heaven, sovereign of all gods and goddesses, 
who with her son Horus and her brother Osiris is worshipped in 
every city; the exalted, divine mother, the spouse of Osiris, she is 
the queen of Phil.” Such is the tenor of the inscriptions in the 
temple itself. But records in all the different kinds of writing that 
were in use at various epochs of Egyptian history tell also of the 
changes which have befallen the temple in the course of ages, down 
to the time when the Christian priests, who had succeeded the 
servants of Isis, were driven from the sanctuary by hordes of 
immigrant Arabs. 

To-day the greater part of Phile is in ruins. Instead of the 
solemn chant of the priests, one hears only the simple song of the 
desert-lark; but the waves of the stream still roar in their strength 
as they did thousands of years ago. The island is desolate, but the 
peace of the temple has remained to it. And, in spite of all changes, 
island and temple are still the jewel of the first cataract.’ 

For some distance upwards from this point the Nile is free from 
rocks, yet quite incapable of bestowing its blessing upon the shore. 
Laboriously man endeavours to force from the stream what is else- 
where so lavishly bestowed. Wheel after wheel creaks as it raises 
the life-giving water to the narrow fringe of cultivation along the 
banks. But in most places the desert and the rocks press so closely 
on the river that no space is left for field or grove of palms. For long 
stretches one sees nothing but stunted weeds, between which the 
yellow drift-sand rolls ceaselessly down, as though it would help 
the desert even here to a victory over the sacred giver of fruitful 
land. 

To the south of Wady Halfa, the most southern village of the 
tract above mentioned, the stream again rages among impeding 
rocky islands. Countless masses of stone, blocks and cones of rock, 
compel the river to divide its forces; the eye is bewildered by a 
chaos of rock and water, the like of which is to be seen nownere else. 
When the water is high, the roar of the waves whirling and surging 
between the rocks drowns the human voice; the river rumbles and 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 363 


thunders, rages and blusters, dashes and hisses, so that the very 
rocks appear to quake. 

Beyond the rapids and whirlpools, which at this point are almost 
continuous, the full-swollen Nile lies like a broad, calm lake; but 
this pleasant picture, enhanced by the presence of several green 
islands, is circumscribed by narrow limits. For, further up, the bed 
of the stream is again divided by countless rocky islands, which 
mark the beginning of the “ Batte el Hadjar”, or “rocky valley” of 
the boatmen, in which lie no less than ten considerable rapids. It 
is by far the dreariest region in Nubia, or in the whole Nile valley. 
From the river there is usually nothing to be seen but sky and 
water, rock and sand. The rocks rise steeply, sometimes almost 
vertically, on either bank, and between them and the countless 
islands the Nile is so cooped up that during its flood-time it reaches 
a height of 40 to 50 feet above its lowest level. 

The rocky banks of the stream are as smooth as if they had 
been polished; they gleam and glow by day as if they had just 
left the earth’s fiery interior. The beneficent stream rushes over 
them, leaving scarcely a trace behind; indeed, only in a very few 
places can it possibly exercise its prerogative of blessing. Here 
and there, in receding creeks, or behind projecting bastions, which 
divert the violent current, the river deposits its fertile mud and may 
carry a few seeds to a resting-place. Then, even in this wilder- 
ness, there is germination and growth, foliage and flowers. On all 
the islands in whose rocky clefts mud has been caught and kept, 
and in all the inlets which the current does not sweep, there is a 
growth of willows and scattered mimosas, evidences of life in the 
realm of death. When a willow has found a foothold it sends out 
root after root, shoot after shoot, and soon the naked ground is 
clothed in enlivening green. While the water is low the willows 
gradually spread; when the flood comes the waves roll over both 
island and willow-beds. Higher and higher rises the stream, fiercer 
and stronger press the waves; the willows bow before them, but 
keep firm hold of the rocks. For months the flood buries them, 
all but a few twigs which project above the boiling, hissing waves; 
yet the roois hold fast, and the shrubs sprout with renewed vigour 


364 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


as soon as the flood subsides. In such pleasant spots, amid the dreary 
waste, signs of animal life are to be seen, as in some other parts of 
the Nile valley. Here and there among the willows a pair of Nile- 
geese have settled, lively and clamorous; on the rock above, the pretty 
water-wagtail has made its home; from the shore cliffs sounds the 
song of the blue rock-thrush or the black wheatear; on the blos- 
soming mimosas a gorgeous sun-bird-—the first tropical bird one 
meets—is busily at work; and now and then one may come upon 
a flock of pretty little rock-partridges. These, and a few others, 
form the sparse fauna of the rocky valley, but during the migrating 
season they are often joined by large flocks of birds, who make 
the course of the stream their highway to the interior, and rest 
here and there on the journey. But they hasten on again at their 
utmost speed, since the rocky valley is incapable of supporting 
them even for a few days; indeed, it is often difficult to understand 
where they find their daily bread. 

But these are not the only settlers in this wilderness of waters. 
Even men are able to find a home here. At intervals of a mile 
or more one comes upon a miserable straw hut, in which a Nubian 
and his family eke out a meagre subsistence. A small creek be- 
tween the precipices on the shore filled with fertile mud, or it may be 
only a deposit of mud upon the rocks themselves, forms the paltry 
farm which he cultivates. The owner of a creek is rich com- 
pared with his poor neighbour who can call himself master only 
of a mere mud-bed. At the risk of his life the latter swims 
to spots which are inaccessible on foot, and sows some beans on 
the mud-plot from which the falling stream has just reeeded. 
Some days later, when the river has sunk still lower, he repeats 
his visit and his sowing operations, and so proceeds on the parts 
of the mud-bank successively uncovered as long as the river con- 
tinues to fall. Thus at such places one sees fields of beans at all 
stages of growth, becoming broader as the water sinks; and the 
frugal husbandman is engaged at once with sowing and reaping. 
In the most favourable circumstances a deeply receding inlet, filled 
with Nile mud, makes it possible for the farmer to erect a 
water-wheel and to irrigate a field a few acres in extent. The 


Fig. 64.—An Egyptian Sakieh or Water-wheel, 


366 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


fortunate possessor is then able to keep a cow, and to live at least 
in tolerable comfort, although he is still so poor that even the 
Egyptian government does not venture to burden him with taxes. 
But such places are-rare oases in this forbidding waste. The boat- 
man, fighting his way up-stream, welcomes every bush; he greets 
a palm-tree with manifest joy, a bean-field, perhaps hoped for all 
day long, with exultation, a water-wheel with thanks to the All- 
merciful. For it is not merely that his bold spirit has learned to 
know fear in this valley of rocks, but also because he knows well 
that, should his supply of provisions fail, bitter want would befall 
him, and starvation stare him in the face. -Down-stream the 
well-steered boat speeds rapidly through this land of desolation 
and poverty; but sailing up-stream it often lies, as if spell-bound, 
for hours, or even days, at a time, waiting for a favourable wind, 
sheltered by a rock from the force of a rapid. The boatman, who 
becomes “sea-sick” with the incessant rocking of his craft, may 
roam or swim for miles without coming upon men or fields. 

At its southern limit the rocky valley passes almost abruptly 
into the fertile country of middle Nubia. Before the traveller lies 
a narrow basin shut in by two deserts, and with several large 
islands in its midst. The basin is filled with mud, and of this the 
islands are composed. Though we do not yet find all the wealth 
of tropical life, there are hints of it in the freshness and vigour of 
both fauna and flora. Almost continuous palm-groves, in which 
ripen the most delicious dates in the world, border this pleasant 
oasis in which the labours of the husbandman are rewarded by rich 
harvests. Christ-thorns and various mimosas, not hitherto seen, give 
evidence that we have crossed the equator. Besides the sun-bird 
already mentioned, there are now other birds characteristic of the 
interior of Africa. In the first dhurra-field which one carefully 
observes, the eyes are gladdened by a sight of the fiery weaver-bird, 
as beautiful as it is agile, which has its home among the stems, and 
from time to time appears like a flash of fire on the top of an ear, 
uttering from this perch its simple whirring and buzzing song, and 
inciting others of its kind to a like display. In the holes and 
crevices of the mud-huts other members of the family, especially 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 367 


steel-finches and blood-finches, have established themselves; in the 
gardens round the houses the cape-pigeons have settled; on the 
sand-banks in the stream have been hollowed out the shallow 
mud-nests of the shear-waters or skimmers—night-terns, of peculiar 
habit, who do not begin to seek their prey until the twilight, and 
fish, not by diving, but by skimming over the waves and rapidly 
ploughing the water with their bills, thus catching small creatures 
which swim on or near the surface. 

But this cheerful region has narrow limits. Below the ruined 
temple of Barkal the desolate and barren hills again encroach on 
the river, excluding fertile land and steppe alike. The last group 
of rapids now lies before the traveller who is making his way 
up-stream. The region of the third group of cataracts is not so 
unutterably poor as the rocky valley. Well-tilled, though narrow, 
strips of land lie on either bank, and there are fertile islands in 
mid-stream; thus there is not that look of hopeless poverty which 
is characteristic of the region already traversed. The masses of rock 
on the banks are more broken up than those in the rocky valley, and 
there are many of the so-called “ stone-seas”, hillocks and walls of 
wildly jumbled blocks and rolled stones, such as mighty streams 
leave behind when they dig their bed deeper in the valley. On each 
side, usually on the top of the cliff next the stream, there are great 
blocks of more than a hundred cubic yards in bulk, which rest so 
loosely on their substratum that they oscillate in violent wind, and 
could be hurled down by a few men with levers. In many places 
these stone-seas present a most extraordinary appearance. It seems 
just as if giants had for a whim amused themselves by erecting 
cones and pyramids, mounds and ramparts to form a weirdly-dis- 
ordered parapet on the river’s rocky embankment. But it is not so 
much to this strange natural architecture as to ancient works of 
man’s own hand, that the third group of rapids owes its charac- 
teristic appearance. On all suitable rock-projections, and especially 
on the larger islands, rise buildings with inclosing walls, towers, 
and jagged battlements, such as are not seen elsewhere in the Nile 
valley. These are fortifications of ancient days, castles of the river- 
chiefs, erected for protection and defiance, to secure life and property 


368 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


against the invasions of hostile neighbouring tribes. The ramparts 
and battlements are built of unhewn stones, rudely piled one upon 
the other, usually cemented only with Nile mud; the thick walls of 
the superstructure, roofed with sun-dried mud-tiles, have for the 
most part fallen or are still falling. These fortresses impress 
one not so much by their architecture as by the boldness of their 
position. A naked, deep-black, glistening rock rises from the midst 
of the rushing waters, and bears on its summit one of these forts. 
The waves beat wildly around its base, but it stands absolutely un- 
shaken by any flood, and towers aloft, an impregnable refuge. On 
the down-stream side, in the shelter of the rock, the life-giving 
stream has added beauty to sublimity. For in the course of ages 
the mud accumulated in the still-water, and an island gradually 
rose above the flood. On this fertile island man planted palms and 
laid out fields; and thus, among the rocks there arose a pleasing 
scene of security and comfort, all the more impressive in its contrast 
to the wilderness of restless water and barren rock. 

At the southern boundary of the third group of rapids begin the 
steppes and forests of tropical Africa, in which rocks are found only 
here and there on the banks of the main stream and its great tribu- 
taries. For over 450 miles the Bahr-el-Abiad and Bahr-el-Azrek, the 
White and the Blue Nile, flow through a fruitful and almost flat 
country; thereafter there are again some rapids. But they do not 
belong to the picture whose chief outlines I have been endeavouring 
to sketch: Nubia alone is the land of the Nile cataracts. 

While it is difficult to tell to what degree the Nubian has been 
influenced by his surroundings, or made by them the manner of 
man he is, this at least may be safely said, that he is as markedly 
differentiated from his neighbour, the modern Egyptian, as his 
home is different from the land of Egypt. The truth is, they have 
nothing in common, neither race nor speech, neither customs nor 
habits, scarcely even religion, although both to-day repeat the creed, 
“There is but one God, and Mohammed is His prophet”. 

The modern Egyptians are of mixed blood, being descended from 
the ancient Egyptians and the immigrant Arabic hordes from 
Yemen and Hedjaz, who amalgamated with the earlier inhabitants 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 369 


of the lower Nile valley. The Nubians are descendants of the 
“wild Blemyes”, with whom the Pharaohs of the ancient, middle, 
and more recent dynasties, as well as the Egyptian governors of the 
Ptolemies, contended ceaselessly, and by no means always success- 
fully. The former use the language in which the “ Revelations” of 
Mohammed are recorded, the latter use an old Ethiopian speech 
now split up into several dialects; the former employ an ancient: 
mode of writing, the latter never have had any which has taken 
organic root in their own language. The former still preserve the 
seriousness at once characteristic of the old Egyptians, and of the 
sons of the desert from whom they sprang. Like all Orientals they 
give themselves, throughout their whole life, deep anxiety about. 
the world to come, and order their customs and habits according to 
their fantastic notions of it. The Nubians, on the other hand, have 
preserved the cheerful joyousness of the Ethiopians, living like 
children for the present, taking what is pleasant without thanks 
and what is painful with loud complainings, and under the influ- 
ence of the moment readily forgetting both. The yoke of foreign 
masters rests heavily on both alike; the Egyptian bears it with 
groaning and grumbling, the Nubian with equanimity and without. 
resistance; the former is a sullen slave, the latter a willing servant. 
Every Egyptian fancies himself high above the Nubian, regards 
himself as nobler in race, speech, and customs; boasts of his cul- 
ture, though that is restricted to but a few of the people, and 
seeks to oppress the dark-skinned race as completely as he himself 
is oppressed. The Nubian recognizes the general physical supe- 
riority of the Egyptian, and thoroughly acknowledges the intel- 
lectual culture of the prominent members of the neighbour-people, 
but he seems to be scarcely conscious of his own deficiency in 
culture, and is even inclined, in his turn, to enslave the less strong 
or less gifted people of the interior. Yet even with the purchased 
negro he is on a brotherly footing, and seems to have patiently 
submitted to his burdensome fate, after having tried in vain to 
contend successfully against a superior force. In every fibre of his 
being he is still a child of nature, while the Egyptian seems the 


sad type of a decayed and still decadent people. The Nubian, in the 
(1170) 24 


370 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


most barren country in the world, still retains a measure of freedom; 
the Egyptian, on the richest of soils, has become a slave, who is not 
likely ever to venture to shake off his chains, though he still talks 
vaingloriously of the greatness of his past. 

In point of fact, the Nubian has as much right, if not more, to 
glory in the exploits of his ancestors and to fortify his soul in 
recounting their prowess. For these ancestors fought bravely not 
only with the Pharaohs and the Romans, but also with the Turks and 
the Arabs—the governing and subject races of modern Egypt”— 
nor would they have been overcome had they not been without fire- 
arms. At the time of my first visit to the Nile, eye-witnesses of 
some of the last battles were still alive, and from their lips I learned 
enough to enable me to do justice, in one respect at least, to a manly, 
much misjudged people. The events to which I refer took place in 
the beginning of the third decade of this century. 

After Mohammed-Aali, the energetic but unscrupulous and even 
cruel founder of the family now ruling in Egypt, had, in March 
1811, treacherously fallen upon and massacred the chiefs of the 
Mamelukes whom he had invited to meet him, his mastery of the 
Lower Nile seemed assured. But the proud warriors, whose leaders 
had been done to death by shameful stratagem and unworthy breach 
of faith, were not completely subjugated. Brooding revenge, the 
Mamelukes chose new leaders and betook themselves to Nubia, 
there to collect their forces, to renew the combat with their artful 
foe, or at least to threaten him. Mohammed-Aali recognized the 
danger, and delayed not to meet it. His army followed the still- 
scattered troops of the Mamelukes. The latter, too weak to venture 
open battle, were forced to take to the river-forts, where, fighting 
desperately and defiant of death, they fell toa man. The Nubians 
were conquered at the same time, and, submitting to their fate, 
were condemned to servitude. Only the brave race of the warlike 
Sheikier resisted. In 1820 they met the Turkish-Egyptian army 
near the village of Korti—an heroic but undisciplined people, 
accustomed to win victory with lance, sword, and shield, against 
well-drilled soldiers equipped with fire-arms. According to ancient 
custom the women were present at the battle to stimulate the 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 371 


combatants with their shrill battle-cry, to raise the children aloft 
in their arms, that the fathers, seeing them, might be fired to deeds 
defiant of death. 

The Nubians fought in a manner worthy of their sires; bravely 
they pressed forward against the artillery, which wrought fell 
destruction in their ranks. Mightily they smote with their long 
swords at the supposed monsters, leaving the deep impress of their 
sharp blades on the brazen barrels of the cannons; but the Egyptians 
conquered. Not bravery, but superiority of weapons won the day. 
Amid screams of woe from the women, the brown warriors took 
to flight. But the former, possessed by a wild despair, preferring 
glorious death to shameful servitude, pressed their children to their 
breasts and threw themselves in hundreds into the river, which the 
blood of their husbands had reddened. The deserts on both sides 
of the stream prevented the fugitives from reaching any refuge, 
and finally there was nothing left to them but to surrender and to 
bend their hitherto unbowed necks under the yoke of the conqueror. 

Only once again did the old heroic spirit burst into clear flames. 
One of the chiefs, who is already celebrated in the saga of Melik el 
Nimumr, or ‘‘the panther-king”, collected his people at Shendy in 
South Nubia, for the lash of the cruel conqueror had become unbear- 
able. Suspicious of his intentions, Ismael Pasha, son of the Egyptian 
governor and commander of the forces, set out against him, and 
making use of all available boats, appeared at Shendy before Melik 
Nimmr had by any means completed his preparations. Impossible 
demands were made in order to compel Melik Nimmr to absolute 
subjection. He, recognizing the impending ruin, braced himself for 
action. While he feigned submission, his messengers hastened from 
hut to hut stirring into flames the sparks of insurrection which 
glimmered everywhere beneath the ashes. By crafty representations 
he induced Ismael Pasha to leave the security of his ship. He 
lured him to the roomy though straw-thatched royal dwelling, 
surrounded by a thick hedge of thorns and by immense heaps of 
straw which, according to the panther-king’s assurance, were in- 
tended to supply the camel-fodder which the Pasha demanded. 

A splendid feast, such as Ismael has never seen, will Melik 


372 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Nimmr give to his lord and master. He begs leave to invite all 
the officers of the Egyptian army, and receives the Pasha’s per- 
mission. Captains, officers, and staff are gathered to the feast in 
the king’s humble palace. Outside the fence of thorns sounds the 
tarabuka, the drum of the country which calls to the dance, as also 
to the battle. The young folk, festively anointed, engage in a 
merry war-dance. Hurled lances whirr through the air, and are 
deftly caught on the small shields of the company of dancers ranged 
opposite. Long swords are whirled dexterously, and as skilfully 
warded off. Ismael is mightily delighted with the handsome, 
dusky youths, the graceful movements of their supple limbs, the 
boldness of their attack, the security of their defence. Thicker 
and thicker becomes the whirling throng in front of the banquet- 
hall, more and more sword-dancers appear, more violent and riotous 
become their movements, and more rapidly beat the drums. Then 
suddenly the tarabuka changes its tone; it is echoed a hundred-fold 
in all quarters of Shendy, and not less in the neighbouring villages 
on this side and on that side of the river. A great cry of rage in 
the highest notes of women’s voices fills the air; and women naked 
to the loins, with dust and ashes on their oil-soaked hair, bearing 
firebrands in their hands, rush upon the king’s hall, hurling their 
brands on the walls and on the surrounding heaps of straw. A 
monstrous sheaf of fire shoots up to heaven, and amid the flames, 
resounding with cries of horror and woe, of execration and rage, 
the death-dealing lances of the dancers fly in thousands. Neither 
Ismael Pasha nor any of his feasting comrades escape a horrible 
death. 

It was as if champions of the down-trodden people had risen 
from the ground. Whoever could bear weapons turned against the 
cruel enemy; women, forgetful of their sex, joined the ranks of 
the combatants; girls and boys strove with the strength and endur- 
ance of men towards the common end. Shendy and Metamme 
were in one night freed of all their foes. Only a few of the 
Egyptians, quartered in the distant villages, escaped the bath of 
blood, and brought the gruesome news to the second commander, 
then stationed in Kordofan. 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 373 


He, Mohammed-Bei el Defterdar, still spoken of by the Nubians 
as “el Djelad” or the devil, hastened with all his forces to Shendy, 
defeated the Nubians for the second time, and glutted his revenge 
by the slaughter of more than half the population of the unhappy 
country. The “panther-king” succeeded in escaping to Abyssinia; 
but his subjects had to bow under the foreign yoke, and their 
children “grew up”, to use the expression of my informant, “in 
the blood of their fathers”. Since these misfortunes the Nubians 
have remained submissive thralls of their oppressors. 

The Nubians, or, as they call themselves, the Barabra, are a 
people of medium height, slim, and well-proportioned, with rela- 
tively small, well-formed hands and feet, with generally pleasant 
features, characterized by almond-shaped eyes, a high, straight or 
curved nose, slightly broadened only at the lobes, a small mouth, 
fleshy lips, an arched forehead, and a long chin. Their hair is fine, 
slightly curled but not woolly; the colour of their skin varies from 
bronze to dark-brown. They have a good carriage, their walk is 
light and elastic, and their other movements nimble and graceful. 
Thus they contrast very favourably with the negroes of the Upper 
Nile valley, and even with the Fungis of Eastern Soudan. The men 
shave the hair of the head either altogether, or all but a tuft at the 
top, and wear a tightly-fitting white cap, the takhie, over which on 
holidays a white cloth may be twisted like a turban. The clothing 
consists of a shawl, six to nine yards in length, wound around the 
upper part of the body, short breeches and sandals, and an additional 
blue or white robe-like garment on holidays. A dagger is carried 
on the left arm, and, when journeying, they also carry a lance. 
Leather rolls, which are said to contain amulets, and a little pocket, 
hung round the neck with cords, are the only ornaments worn by 
the men. The women arrange their hair in hundreds of small thin 
plaits, which they soak with mutton fat, butter, or castor-oil, thus 
diffusing an odour which to our nostrils seems almost unendur- 
able; they tattoo various parts of their face and body with indigo; 
their lips are often dyed blue, and their palms always red. They 
adorn their necks with beads of glass, amber, and cornelian, amulet- 
pockets, and the like, their ankles with bangles of tinware, ivory, 


374 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


or horn, their ears, nostrils, and fingers with rings of silver. An 
apron reaching to the ankle is worn round the loins instead of 
trousers, and the shawl is wound in picturesque folds around breast 
and shoulders. The boys go naked until their sixth or eighth year; 
the girls wear from their fourth year an exceedingly becoming 
tassel-apron, made of fine strips of leather, and often decorated 
with glass-beads or shells. 


Fig. 65.—A Nubian Village on the Nile. 


All the Nubians settled in the valley of the river live in four- 
cornered huts, more or less cubical in form. The walls are some- 
times built of sun-dried bricks, and then they slope slightly inwards 
as they ascend, or the house may consist of a light wooden frame- 
work covered with straw. Usually there is but one room with a 
low door, and often the windows are represented only by air-holes; 
in fact the whole arrangements are of the simplest. The furnish- 
ings consist of a raised couch—the aukareb—with a cover of inter- 
woven strips of leather or bast; simple chests; well-finished, even 
water-tight baskets; leather-bags; vessels for holding water, dhurra 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 375 


beer, and palm wine; hand-mills or stones for grinding the grain; 
iron or earthen plates, slightly hollowed on the surface, for baking 
bread; hollow gourds, a hatchet, a gimlet, several mattocks, and 
the like. Mats, curtains, screens, and coverlets are accessories; 
bowls, flat woven dishes and their lids are luxuries which not every 
house possesses. The food consists chiefly, sometimes almost ex- 
clusively, of vegetable produce, milk, butter, and eggs. The grain, 
which is more frequently rubbed than ground, is worked into 
dough, and baked into a doughy bread. This may be eaten alone 
without any relish, or along with milk, or with thick mucilaginous 
soups made of various plants. To the latter may be added numer- 
ous pungent spices and some shreds of flesh, which has been dried 
in strips in the sun. The Nubian is more keen for drink than for 
food, and of every intoxicating liquor, whether of native or foreign 
origin, he always shows an eager, not to say excessive, appreciation. 

The habits and customs of the inhabitants of the middle Nile 
valley display a remarkable amalgamation of inherited and acquired 
characters. Taciturn and carelessly pliant, the Nubian seems as 
willing to adapt himself to what is new as to forget the traditions 
of his home. Worshipper of Islam more in name than in reality, 
he is as innocent of strict adherence to the tenets of his creed as 
of intolerance towards those of another faith. Until he has reached 
mature manhood or old age, he seldom or never respects the com- 
mandments of the Prophet with the conscientiousness of Arab or 
Turk. He circumcises his boys, gives his daughters in marriage, 
treats his wives, buries his dead, and celebrates the feasts according 
to the laws of Islam; but he thinks that he has done quite enough 
if he observes the external regulations of his cult. Song and dance, 
amusing conversation, jokes, and a drinking revel, please him better 
than the precepts and commandments of the Koran; he has no 
mind to engage in monastic exercises of faith and penitence, nor 
even in the fasts which other Mohammedans hold so sacred. 

At the same time, no one can call the Nubian weak-willed, fickle, 
servile, untrustworthy, treacherous, or, in short, bad. In lower 
Nubia, where he constantly meets with hundreds of travellers, rich 
in his eyes, and free-handed, he of course frequently becomes a 


376 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


shameless, indeed an unendurable beggar; and the strangers whom 
he importunes, because his poor land will not support him, do not 
tend to ennoble him. On the whole, however, he may fairly be 
called an honest fellow. One misses, it is true, the strength of will 
characteristic of his fathers, but spirit and courage are by no means 
lacking. He is gentler and more good-natured than the Egyptian, 
and not less trustworthy and enduring when he has to face difficult 
or dangerous tasks. In his poor, unproductive country his whole 
being is rooted. Of it he thinks with pathetic constancy when in 
a strange land; he labours, pinches, and saves with the one desire to 
pass his manhood and old age at home; and this desire, which com- 
pels him to a ceaseless struggle for existence, gives strength to both 
body and soul. The raging stream, with which he contends not less 
persistently than with the rocky land, arouses and preserves his 
courage and self-reliance, just as it develops his calm confidence in 
face of danger. Thanks to the qualities thus acquired, the Nubian 
is a trusty servant, a reliable companion, a restless djellabi or 
merchant, and, above all, an adventurous, fearless boatman. 

It almost seems as if the parents disciplined their sons from their 
earliest years in all the services which they may have to discharge 
when grown up. As in Egypt, soin Nubia the children of the poor 
are hardly educated at all; they are at most urged to work, or rather 
are utilized according to the measure of their strength. However 
small the boy, he must do his work and fulfil his allotted task; 
however tender the girl, she must help her mother in the many 
duties which are laid upon the women of the land. But whereas 
in Egypt they scarcely allow the children any recreation, in Nubia 
merry games are as far as possible encouraged. In Egypt the boy 
becomes a thrall and the girl his slave, without ever knowing the 
joys of childhood; in Nubia even those who are more than half 
grown-up are often still children alike in their disposition and in 
their ways. Thus the Egyptian youths seem to us as unnaturally 
serious as their fathers, while the Nubians are as joyous as their 
mothers. 

Every traveller becomes familiar with a favourite game, which 
he cannot watch without delight, for it displays agility and grace 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 377 


of movement in combination with endurance and the spirit of 
adventure. It is the universal game of “Hare and Hounds” or 
“Follow my leader”. After their work is done the boys and girls 
unite in play. The boys leave the water-wheel around which they 


| vl ——— 


Fig. 56.—Nubian Children at Play. 


have driven the oxen from early morning till dusk, or the field in 
which they have worked with their father, or the young camel 
which they have been teaching to trot. The girls leave the younger 
brothers and sisters whom they have dragged rather than carried 


378 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


about all day, or the dough whose leavening they had to super- 
intend, or the grinding-mill over which they have exerted their 
young strength. All hasten to the bank of the river. The boys 
are naked; the girls wear only their tasselled aprons. Laughing 
and chattering they go; like black ants they swarm on the golden 
yellow sand, running over and between the dark rocks. Those who 
are to chase stand picturesquely grouped, until the fugitive gets the 
requisite start. He gives the sign for the chase to begin, and they 
are all at his heels. Like a gazelle he speeds over the sandy plain 
to the nearest rocks, and like hounds in full ery his comrades give 
chase; like a chamois he climbs aloft upon the rocks, and not less 
nimbly do his pursuers follow; like a startled beaver he plunges 
into the stream to hide himself by diving, to escape by swimming, 
but there too they follow excitedly, both boys and girls, kicking 
like swimming dogs, halloing and screaming, chattering, laughing, 
chuckling, like a flock of gabbling ducks. For long the result re- 
mains undecided, and it not unfrequently happens that the bold 
fugitive swims right across the broad river before he falls into the 
hands of his pursuers. The parents of the merry company look on 
from the banks, and rejoice in the agility, courage, and endurance 
which their children display, and even the European is compelled 
to admit that he never saw creatures more joyous or more vigorous 
than those slim, dusky, sleek-skinned Nubian children. 

From boys who play thus boldly come the men who dare to ply 
the boatman’s craft among the rapids, to steer their boat down the 
river hurrying through the valley, with rushing, swirling, boiling, 
raging waves, and even to sail upwards against these. On many of 
their journeyings they do not even use a boat, but trust to frail 
floats of dhurra-stems, or swim with the help of inflated, air-tight 
skin-bags. These Nubian boatmen and swimmers have looked 
danger in the face so firmly, and so often, that the waves have 
never whispered either myth or saga in their ears. They know of 
no nixies or water-sprites, of no genii, good or bad, and the pro- 
tecting powers whose help they ask before or during dangerous 
journeys have but the solemn might of fate, none of the spite of 
fickle spirits. Thus the saga is dumb in the rapids, in “ the Belly of 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 379 


the Rocks”, in the plunging, whirling “Mother of Stones”, in the 
“Shatterer”, the “Camel’s Neck”, the “Coral”, or whatever the rapid 
may be called; the saga is dumb, though the whole region seems the 
fittest home of legends, and the boatman has too often reason to be 
tempted to believe in spirits who wish ill to human kind. 

The rapids are navigated down-stream at high and middle 
water, up-stream at middle and low water. When the Nile is lowest 
any boat going down-stream would be shattered; when the flood 
comes not even the largest sail would impel a vessel of considerable 
size against the current. At low water hundreds of men are requi- 
sitioned to haul one of the all-powerful government’s medium-sized 
barks up-stream; at the time of flood, they would scarcely be able 
to find footing on the few unflooded rock-islands on either side of 
the navigable channel. Full flood is the best time for going down- 
stream, and middle-water is best for going up, since at this time the 
regular north winds have set in and render practicable the use 
of sails. 

All the craft specially intended for the rapids are distinguished 
from other Nile boats by their small size and by peculiarities of build 
and of rigging. The hull has but few timbers, and the boards are 
held together by nails driven in obliquely. The sail is not tri- 
angular, but four-sided, and fastened to two yards in such a way 
that from the lower more or less canvas can be unfurled, or spread 
to the wind. The build and rigging are thoroughly adapted to the 
conditions. The smallness, especially the shortness of the boat, is 
adapted to the necessity for sharp turnings; the manner in which 
the boards are joined gives the hull an elastic flexibility and pliancy 
which are valuable when the vessel runs aground; the adaptability 
of the canvas to the strength of the wind and of the current makes 
it possible to maintain a fairly successful contest against a most 
variable resistance. Nevertheless no one would willingly go up or 
down stream alone; the boatmen wisely prefer to go in companies, 
so that they may aid one another whenever occasion demands. 

A fleet of boats plying up-stream presents a beautiful, inspiring 
picture as it sails away from a landing-place, or from some quiet 
ereek, in which it has rested by night. All the navigable portions 


380 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


of the river show white sails, of which one can see twenty or more . 
gliding among the dark rocks; at first all the craft are about the 
same distance apart, but soon the variable currents and breezes 
break their order. One and then another lags farther and farther 
behind, one and then another shoots ahead of the main body of 
the fleet, and in the course of an hour there is a wide interval 
between the first boat and the last. Yet, even with a strong and 
constant wind, the progress of the voyage is much less than it 
seems. The waves, indeed, break impetuously on the bow, but the 
boat has to contend with so strong an opposing current that its 
forward movement is really slow. It is an art to steer under such 
conditions, so that the boat may sail as straight as possible, consistent 
with avoiding the rocks hidden beneath the surface. For every tack 
means a change in the position of the unwieldy sail, and every time 
the boat touches a rock a leak is caused. Captain and crew have thus 
constant employment. Yet their work only begins in earnest when 
they near one of the countless rapids which have to be overcome. The 
sail, hitherto but partially unfurled, is now given fully to the wind; 
the bark pushes its way like a strong steamship through the chaos 
of rocks and reaches the whirlpool which is found beneath almost 
all rapids. All the men stand with oars outstretched and ropes in 
readiness, awaiting the inevitable moment when the boat will be 
gripped by the whirlpool and drawn into its vortex. At the skip- 
per’s bidding the oars on one side dip into the water, on the other 
side long poles are thrust out to keep the boat off the rocks, while 
the sail, skilfully handled by the most experienced sailors, is taken 
in or let out, turned and twisted, as the circumstances demand. 
Once, twice, six times, ten times, they try in vain to cut through 
the whirlpool; at last they succeed and the boat reaches the lower 
end of the water-rush. But here it stops as if spell-bound; the 
pressure of the current equals that on the sails. The wind rises, 
and the vessel moves on a few yards; the pressure on the sail 
slackens again, and the waves drive it back to its former place. The 
contest with the whirling waves recommences, and again the boat is 
worsted. At last it reaches the desired goal, and must hold to it. 
One of the crew grips a rope in his teeth, plunges into the midst of 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 381 


the wild surge, and dragging the heavy rope behind him seeks to gain 
a rock which rises above the raging waves some little distance ahead. 
The waves hurl him back, cover and overwhelm him, but he con- 
tinues his efforts, until it becomes plain that he must yield to the 
superior force of the stream. He gives up the struggle and is pulled 
by the rope back to the boat. Again the whirling waves, so strong 
to destroy, play with the frail structure which ventures to oppose 
them; and at last the wind gives the victory to the boat. But sud- 
denly a portentous crash is heard; the steersman loses his footing 
and is projected into the stream; the boat has struck on one of 
the hidden rocks. With the utmost speed one of the crew gets 
hold of the rudder, a second throws a rope and a bladder to the 
struggling steersman, and without a mument’s delay the rest jump 
into the hold, and with hammer, chisel, and tow seek to repair the 
leak which they are sure to find. The man at the rudder endeavours 
to save the vessel from further mischance; the drenched steersman 
clambers up with an “El hamdz lillahi!” or “Thank God!” more 
grumbling than grateful; the rest hammer and plug the gaping 
leak, one even surrendering his shirt to eke out the scanty tow. 
Once more the boat sails through whirl and wave, rocking, creak- 
ing, groaning like a storm-tossed ship; once more it reaches the 
rapids; once more it is arrested between wind and current. Two 
sailors spring overboard at once, and, fighting against the stream 
with all their strength, at last succeed in gaining the rock. They 
surround it with one end of the rope and signal to the others to 
pull the boat up. This done, the vessel is moored to the rock, and 
there it hangs in the midst of the wild rush of waters, rocking so 
violently and continuously that it causes nausea. A second boat 
draws near and asks for assistance. A rope is floated down on a 
bladder, and thus time and trouble are saved. Soon the second 
also reaches the rock, a third follows, and a fourth, and all dance up 
and down together in the tumult. And now the united strength of 
the crews is sufficient to effect a successful passage. One of the boats 
is manned with double the normal crew; the other boatmen swim, 
and wade, and climb, dragging the rope to another rock further 
ahead, and, with all the help that the sail can give, one boat after 


382 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


another is pulled through the rushing waters of the rapid. Now 
and then at certain places the sail alone is sufficient to carry the 
boat up, but in such cases a lull of the wind not unfrequently 
endangers both craft and crew. Often, too, boats are forced to 
linger in the midst of the tumult for hours or even days, waiting 
for a favourable wind. Then one may see a tiny bark hanging 
behind every jagged rock, all alike unable to help their neighbours. 

Several times I have been forced to make my bed on one of the 
black rocks amid-stream, for the violent rocking of the boat in the 
rapids made sleep an impossibility. A stranger sleeping-place can 
scarcely be imagined. The ground on which one lies seems to tremble 
before the assaults of the flood; the roaring and bellowing, hissing 
and splashing, rumbling and thundering of the waves drowns every 
other sound; one sits or lies on a rug with his comrades without 
uttering a word. Every blast of wind drives the spray like a fleeting 
mist across the rock island. The glowing camp-fire throws a weird 
light on the rock, and on the dark water foaming around its ragged 
edges; the falls and whirlpools in the shade seem even more grue- 
some than they are. At times one cannot help fancying that they 
open a hundred jaws to engulf the poor child of man. But his 
confidence is firm as the rock on which he rests. The mighty stream 
may thunder as it will, the seething waves may rage and foam, he 
is safe on a rock which has defied the flood for ages. But what if 
the rope break, and the boat be hurled and shattered on the nearest 
rocks? Then another will come to take the shipwrecked crew 
ashore! In spite of these and similar thoughts, and in spite of the 
ceaseless roar, the traveller can sleep, and sleep tranquilly too. For 
danger lends courage, and courage brings confidence, and the thunder 
of the waves becomes at length a lullaby to the wearied ear. And 
on the ensuing morning what an awakening! In the east the sky 
is suffused with red, the ancient giant-rocks wear a purple cloak on 
their shoulders, and shine in gleaming light, as if they were clad in 
burnished steel. Sunshine and shadow flit over the dark reefs and 
through the gullies filled with golden-yellow sand, and over all is 
thrown the marvellous, indescribably beautiful, colour-garment of 
the desert. Thousands and thousands of water-pearls shine and 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 383 


sparkle, and the mighty river rolls out its mighty melody, which is 
ever the same and yet eternally new. Such a glory, such a harmony, 
fills the heart with contentment and rapture. The morning is 
spent in devotional contemplation of this glorious spectacle, for it 
is not till forenoon that the wind begins to blow from the north 
and fill the sails. Work and danger, toil and struggle, hazard and 
anxiety, begin anew; and thus one day follows another, and rapid 
after rapid is at length overcome. 

The voyage up-stream is dangerous and tedious; the voyage 
down-stream has no parallel in perilousness, such a mad rush is it 
through flood and rapid, whirlpool and eddy, cataract and gorge,— 
an exciting game in which life is the stake. 

Voyages down-stream through the region of the rapids are only 
undertaken by the special boats which are made for the purpose 
in the Soudan. About ten per cent are smashed on the voyage, 
and that the percentage of deaths is not equally high is simply due 
to the matchless swimming powers of the Nubian boatmen. Even 
when they are dashed by the waves against a rock they do not 
always drown; usually they are like ducks in the water, and reach 
the shore in safety. 

Let me try to give a faithful picture of one of these down-stream 
voyages, 

Six new boats, built of the much-prized heavy mimosa-wood 
which sinks in water, are moored to the shore at the southern limit 
of the third group of rapids. The men who compose their crews 
are lying on sandy places between the black rocks, where they have 
spent the night. It is still early morning and the camp is quiet; 
only the river roars and murmurs in the solitude. As day dawns 
the sleepers awake; one after another descends to the stream, and 
performs the ablutions ordained to accompany morning prayer. 
After the prescribed prayer has been uttered from “preface” to 
“eonclusion”, they refresh themselves with a frugal breakfast. 
Then old and young betake themselves to the tomb of a sheikh or 
saint, whose white dome gleams among the light-green mimosas, 
there to offer a special petition for a fortunate voyage. In this they 
are led by the oldest Reis, or steersman, who represents the Imam. 


384 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Returning to the river, they observe an ancient heathen custom of 
throwing some dates, as an offering, into the waves. 

At length each skipper orders his men to their posts. “Let go 
the sail! Row, men, row—row in the name of God, the All- 
Merciful,” he shouts. Thereupon he strikes up a song, with an 
ever-recurring refrain; one of the rowers takes it up and sings verse 
after verse; and all the rest accompany him with the rhythmically 
repeated words: “Help us, help us, O Mohammed, help us, God’s 
messenger and prophet!” 

Slowly the bark gains the middle of the stream; quicker and 
ever quicker it glides onwards; in a few minutes it is rushing, 
more swiftly than ever, among the rocky islands above the rapid. 
“O Said, give us good cheer,” says the Reis, while the sailors’ go on 
singing as before. More and more quickly the oars dip into the 
turbid flood; the men, who were freshly anointed yesterday, are 
naked to the loins, and the sweat pours down their bodies as they 
strain every muscle. Praise and blame, flattery and reproaches, 
promises and threats, blessings and curses, fall from the skipper’s 
mouth according as the boat fulfils or disappoints his wishes. The 
strokes of the oars, pulled at full strength, follow each other more 
quickly still, though their purpose is solely to direct the otherwise 
exceedingly rapid course of the boat, and, as they often increase 
the danger they seek to avoid, the Reis may be excused if he 
exhausts all the hortatory vocabulary at his command in his 
desire to stimulate his crew. “Bend to your oars; work, work, 
my sons: show your strength, ye children and grandchildren of 
heroes; display your prowess, ye brave; exert your strength, ye 
giants; do honour to the prophet, all ye faithful! Oh, for the 
merieza! Oh, for the scented damsels of Dongola! Oh, for the 
delights of Cairo; all shall be yours. Larboard, I say, ye dogs, ye 
children of dogs, ye grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and 
litter of dogs, ye Christians, ye heathen, ye Jews, ye Kaftres, ye fire- 
worshippers. Ah! ye rascals, ye swindlers, ye thieves, ye villains, 
ye vagabonds, do you call this rowing? First oar, starboard! are 
there women hanging about you? Third oar, larboard! throw over- 
board the weaklings who are misleading you. That’s right, well 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 385: 


done; bravo, ye strong, supple, clever youths; God bless you, brave 
fellows, and give your fathers joy and your children His blessing. 


iD vs 
l Iii: : 


‘y 


Better, better, better yet, ye cowards, ye strengthless, ye sapless, ye 
miserable, ye pitiable—Allah damn you all in His righteous wrath, 


ye—ye— Help us, help us,O Mohammed.” Such is the torrent which 
(ar 70) 25 


386 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


rushes uninterruptedly from the skipper’s lips, and all his commands 
and cries, entreaties and execrations, are uttered with the utmost 
seriousness, and enforced with appropriate gestures of hand, and 
foot, and head. 

The boat sweeps into the first part of the rapid. The rocks on 
both sides seem to whirl round; the surge floods the deck, and its 
thunder drowns every order. Unresisting the frail craft is borne 
towards a neck of rock—fear, anxiety, dismay may be read on every 
face, but there—the dreaded spot is already behind the stern, the 
foaming backwash has saved the imperilled boat, only a couple of 
oars have been shivered like thin glass. Their loss hinders the 
right management of the bark, and it sweeps on without answering 
to the rudder, on to a formidable waterfall. A general cry, express- 
ing horror and despair; a sign from the Reis standing in the bow 
with trembling knees, and all throw themselves flat on the deck, and 
hold on like grim death; a deafening crash and an overwhelming 
rush of hissing, gurgling waves; for the space of a moment nothing 
but water, and then the boat gives a leap upward; they have passed 
the cataract and escaped the jaws of death. “El hamdi lillahi!” 
(God be thanked) rings out from every breast; some hurry to the 
hold to find the leak and plug it, others lay out new oars, and on 
they go. 

Behind the first boat comes a second, hurrying through the 
dangerous rapid. The oarsmen are labouring with extraordinary, 
ever-accelerating velocity; then, suddenly, all are thrown prostrate, 
all but one, who describes a high curve through the air into the 
river. He seems lost, buried in the raging depth; but no, while his 
comrades wring their hands in dismay, the matchless swimmer 
appears on the surface in the middle of the foaming whirlpool 
beneath the rapid. Asa third boat shoots past the second, which 
has stuck on a rock, and reaches the whirlpool, the swimmer catches 
one of the oars, swings himself cleverly on board, and is saved. A 
fourth boat also hurries past; the beseeching gestures from the crew 
of the second boat implore for help; but a hand raised to heaven is 
the only answer. In truth, no human help could be given, for no 
craft is here under man’s control; the stream itself must help, if it 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 387 


will not destroy,—and it does help. The boat oscillates violently 
on the rock; its prow and stern dip deep in the water; but suddenly 
there is a whirl, and once more it is borne on through the surging 
current. Some of the crew row, others bale out the water, as do 
two women journeying with them, others hammer, and plug, and 
caulk in the attempt to repair the damage done. Half-full of water, 
scarce keeping afloat at all, the boat reaches the shore and is emptied 
of her cargo. But half of this, consisting of gum-arabic, is spoilt, 
and the owner, a poor merchant, tears his beard, moaning, lament- 
ing, weeping, and cursing the two women passengers. The two 
women are to blame for all. How could they, who brought ruin 
to the first man in paradise, bring any blessing to faithful Mussul- 
mans? Woe, woe upon the women and all their kind! 

Next day the bark is repaired, new caulked, and reloaded; it 
speeds on with the rest to the next rapids, passes through these with- 
out further mischance, and reaches the fertile valley of middle Nubia, 
which is free from rocks and gives a hospitable welcome to every 
voyager. The cares, lately so grievous, are as soon forgotten; like 
children, the brown men laugh and joke, and drink with content 
great draughts of palm wine and merteza. Much too quickly for 
their taste does the stream bear the boat through this happy land. 

Again the desert spreads its golden-yellow sand over the rocky 
banks; again rocky islands narrow, divide, and impede the river; 
the barks are entering the second group of rapids. One after 
another the dangerous currents, the dreaded whirlpools, the peril- 
ous straits and corners, are safely passed and left behind; only 
the last and wildest of the rapids lie between the boats and the 
palmy Wady Halfa. And below that village all is smooth sailing 
except at one place below Philz, where the river is once more 
broken up by rocks. Above these last rapids—Gaskol, Moedyana, 
Abu-sir, and Hambol—which are truly dreadful, the boats seek for 
a quiet bay; and here all encamp to gain strength for the work and 
warfare, cares and trials of the coming day. The northerners also 
enjoy the prospect of a quiet night’s rest. 

Night draws its veil over the desert land. The rushing waves 
thunder in the rocky valley; the stars are reflected in the peaceful 


388 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


creek; the blossoming mimosas make the shore fragrant. An old 
gray-haired Reis, born and bred among the rapids, approaches the 
strangers from the north. A snow-white beard ennobles his im- 
pressive features; his flowing cloak suggests a priest’s robe. “Sons 
of strangers,” he says, “men from the land of the Franks, difficult 
things have ye overcome along with us, but there is harder still 
before you. I am a child of this land, seventy years has the sun 
shone upon me, and at last he has whitened my hair: I am an old 
man, and ye might be my children. . Therefore take ye heed to my 
warning, and draw back from what ye propose—to accompany us 
on the morrow. Witless ye go to the danger, but I know it. Had 
ye seen, as I have seen, those rocks which bar the way of the 
waves; did ye know, as I know, how these waves storm and rage 
for entrance and passage, how they overwhelm the rocks, and hurl 
themselves roaring into the depths below, ye would see that only 
the grace of God, whom we praise and glorify, can guide our poor 
boat aright, ye would yield to me. Would not the heart of your 
mother break should the All-merciful refuse us His compassion? 
Ye will not stay? Then may the grace of the Father of mercies be 
with us all.” 

Before sunrise the shore becomes a scene of activity. Devoutly 
as before the boatmen offer the prayer of the dawn. Serious, 
experienced steersmen, who know the river well, and young, strong- 
limbed, adventurous oarsmen, offer their services to the ancient. 
Carefully he chooses the most skilful steersmen and the strongest 
oarsmen; he sets three men to the rudder; and then he gives orders 
to start. “Men and sons of the land, children of the river, pray 
the Fatiha,” he orders. And all repeat the words of the first Sura 
of the Koran. “Praise and honour to the Lord of the world, the 
All-merciful, He who ruleth at the day of judgment. Thee would 
we serve, to Thee would we pray, that Thou wouldest guide us in 
the way that is right, in the way of those who enjoy Thy favour, 
and not in the way of those with whom Thou art displeased.” 
“Amen, my children, in the name of the All-merciful! Let go the 
sail, and bend to the oars.” With rhythmic stroke these dip into 
the water. 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 389 


Slowly the pent-up stream bears the boat towards the first 
rapid. Again, as it nears the rocks, the boat refuses to obey either 
rudder or oars, but creaking and groaning in every joint, it rushes 
through the overwhelming waves and boiling foam, through eddy 
and whirlpool, through narrow channels and abruptly-winding 
courses, drenched and flooded with water, shaving rocky corners 
by an arm’s-length, almost touching the teeth of hidden reefs. On 
it rushes to the second rapid. 

From the height of the cataract the eye looks down with 
dismay at the dreadful violence of the torrent, and one sees at the 
lower end of the rapid a round block of rock surrounded by foam- 
ing waves as if it were the head of a white-haired giant rising 
above the surface. Like an arrow to its mark our fragile ungovern- 
able boat rushes towards this giant’s head. “In the name of the 
All-merciful, row, row, ye men, ye strong, brave, noble men, ye 
children of the stream!” cries the steersman. “Larboard, larboard 
the rudder with all your strength!” But the boat answers neither 
to oars nor to rudder. It is not indeed the giant block which 
endangers the craft, but a narrow channel to the starboard into 
which we are swept and in which we are hurried on towards a 
labyrinth of rocks through which no possible pathway can be seen. 
The men already leave their oars, and throw off any clothes they 
have on, so that they may be unhampered in swimming. A fearful 
crash turns all eyes backward: the giant’s head has caught the 
next boat, which was longer and less pliant, and holds it oscillating 
" over the seething flood. This increases the dismay. All our men 
regard the crew of the second boat as doomed, and as for them- 
selves they prepare to plunge into the torrent. Then the voice of 
the ancient pilot rings out sharp and clear: “Are ye mad, are ye 
God-forsaken, ye children of heathen? Work, work, ye boys, ye 
men, ye heroes, ye giants, ye faithful! In the hand of the Almighty 
rests all power and strength; give Him the glory, and bend to your 
oars, ye sons of heroes!” And he himself takes the rudder, and in 
a few minutes directs the misguided boat from the “way of sinners” 
into the “right way”. One boat after another appears in the open 
water: but not all. The giant’s head still bears his victim, and wil] 


390 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


most likely bear it until next year’s flood. The ill-fated boat with 
the women on board was shivered to pieces at the uppermost of 
this group of rapids. With the crews, happily saved, the skipper 
prays, as he did before departure, “Glory and honour to the Lord 
of the World.” 

Before the village of Wady Halfa, overshadowed with palms, 
the boats are moored; the men have gone ashore, and lie in 
picturesque groups around the camp-fire. Big- bellied flagons, 
filled with merieza, invite the thirsty; in other vessels the flesh of 
new-killed sheep is boiling under the care of women and girls who 
have quickly gathered round. Reeking of castor-oil, they are by 
no means welcome visitors to Europeans. The notes of the zither 
and the beating of the drum announce the beginning of the “ fan- 
tasia”’, the feast and the revel. Unutterable comfort takes posses- 
sion of the boatman’s heart, joyous contentment is expressed in 
every look and gesture. At length, however, the inevitable fatigue 
after the heavy anxious work of the day asserts itself. The tara- 
buka sinks from the wearied arm, the tambura falls from sleepy 
fingers, and all the voices, which but a few moments ago were so 
loud, become silent. 

Then the voices of the night are heard. The thunder of the rapids 
resounds down the valley, there is whispering among the crowns 
of the palm-trees with which the night-wind plays, and on the 
flat shore the waves splash in rhythmic cadence. The thundering 
waves and the rippling water, the rushing wind and the whispering 
palms unite their music in an exquisite lullaby, which leads all 
the sleepers to the happy land of golden dreams. 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 


We had left the populous streets of St. Petersburg and the 
gilded domes of Moscow far behind us; and before us rose the 
towers of Nijni-Novgorod on the further bank of the Oka. We 
had reason to be grateful for the manner of our reception in the 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. . 391 


two capitals of the Russian Empire. We had respectfully taken 
leave of his Majesty our own noble Emperor in Berlin, had 
received cordial recommendations from the German Foreign Office, 
and had met with a friendly welcome from the German Embassy 
in St. Petersburg, so we had hoped for a favourable reception in 
Russia, but the hospitality accorded us far exceeded our boldest. 
expectations. His Majesty the Czar was pleased to give us an 
audience; princes and princesses of the imperial house deigned to: 
receive us; the chancellor, the ministers, and high officers of 
state, had all met us with that thoughtful courtesy and obliging 
complaisance for which educated Russians are noted; and we were 
furnished with the introductions whose importance we afterwards. 
realized. 

As far as Nijni-Novgorod we had enjoyed the modern con- 
veniences of travel; thenceforward we were to learn how Russians. 
traverse distances of thousands of kilometres or versts, how they 
travel in summer and in winter, by day and by night, in furious 
storm and in smiling sunshine, in splashing rain, icy snow, and 
dusty drought, in sledges and in wagons. Before us stood a 
huge and massive travelling sledge, clamped at all its joints, with 
broadly projecting stays to guard against overturning, with a hood 
to shelter the travellers from rain and snow, and drawn by three 
horses on whose yoke a little bell tinkled. 

On the 19th of March we began a rapid journey over the 
frozen surface of the Volga, but it was not without its hindrances. 
For a thaw had accompanied us from Germany to Russia, and had 
warned us to hasten from St. Petersburg and Moscow, and a thaw 
remained our constant companion, as if we were heralds of the 
spring. Holes in the ice filled with water, warning us of the yawn- 
ing depth beneath, drenched the horses, the sledge, and ourselves, or 
forced us to make tiresome circuits; the cracking and groaning of 
the ice made the danger seem worse than it really was, and both 
drivers and postmasters became so anxious, that after a short. 
journey we were forced to exchange the smooth surface of ice for 
the as yet unbeaten summer highway. But this highway, traversed 
by thousands and thousands of freight wagons and by an equal 


392 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


number of exiles to dread Siberia, soon became to us, as to the 
prisoners, a way of sighs. Loose or slushy snow about three feet 
deep, covered the road; to right and left rushed little streams, 
wherever, in fact, they could find a course; the horses, now yoked in 
a line, one behind the other, strove, in a pitiable way, to keep their 
footing; with leaps and bounds they would try to keep the tracks 
of those who had gone in front, and at every false step they would 
sink up to the breast in the snow or in the icy water. Behind them 
floundered the sledge, creaking in every joint, as it plunged with a 
jerk from height to hollow; for hours sometimes it remained stuck 
in a hole, baffling the most strenuous exertions of the horses. On 
such occasions the wolf-scaring bell, the gift of the mysterious 
Faldine, seemed to sound most eerily. In vain the driver threatened, 
entreated, swore, groaned, yelled, cried, roared, cursed, and whipped; 
in most cases we did not get under weigh again until other travellers 
came to our assistance. 

Painfully the journey lengthened to four and five times the 
proper time for the distance. To look out of the sledge to right or 
left was scarce worth the trouble, for the flat country was dreary 
and featureless; only in the villages was there anything visible 
and interesting, and that only to those who knew how to look. 
For the winter still kept the people in their small, neatly built, but 
often sadly dilapidated log-huts; only fur-clad boys ran barefoot 
through the slushy snow and filthy mud which older boys and 
girls sought to avoid by help of stilts; only some old, white- 
bearded beggars loafed round the post-houses and taverns, 
beggars, however, whom every artist must have found as charm- 
ing as I did. When they asked for alms, and stood in the 
majesty of old age, with uncovered bald heads and flowing hoary 
beards, disclosing the filthiness of their body and the raggedness of 
their clothes, they seemed to me such marvellous pictures and 
types of world-renouncing saints, that I could not keep myself from 
giving to them again and again, if only to get in thanks the sign 
of the cross, repeated from three to nine times in a manner so 
expressive and devout that only a real saint could equal it. 

In the villages we also saw more of the animal life than we did 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 393 


in the fields or even in the forests which we traversed. For in the 
open country winter still kept its fetters on life and all was quiet 
and death-like; we saw hardly any birds except the hooded crow 
and the yellow bunting; and the snow showed scarce any tracks of 
mammals. In the villages, however, we were welcomed at least by 
the delightful jackdaws, which adorned the roofs of the log-houses, 
by the ravens, which with us at home are the shy frequenters of 
mountain and forest, but are here the most confident companions 
of the villagers, by magpies and other birds, not to speak of 
domestic animals, among which the numerous pigs were especially 
obtrusive. 

After an uninterrupted journey of four days, without refreshing 
sleep, without any real rest, without sufficient food, we felt as if 
we had been beaten in every limb, and were, indeed, glad to reach 
Kazan—the old capital of the Tartars. We crossed the Volga on 
foot, picking our steps over the much-broken ice, and drew near to 
the city of sixty towers, which we had seen the day before shining 
in the distance. I fancied myself once more in the East. From 
the minarets and the spire-like wooden towers I heard again the 
notes which call every faithful follower of Islam to prayer; dark- 
eyed women bustled about among the turbaned men, veiling them- 
selves anxiously from their country folk, but unveiling inquisitively 
before us, and picking their steps, on account of their dainty but 
not waterproof saffron shoes, along the steps of the houses protected 
by the overhanging eaves. In the uproar of the bazaar young and 
old thronged and bustled without restraint. Everything was just 
as it is in the East. Only the numerous stately churches—among 
which we saw the convent of “the black Madonna of Kasan not 
made by human hands”, conspicuous both in site and architecture— 
were out of keeping with the Eastern picture, though they showed 
plainly enough that Christians and Mohammedans were here living 
in mutual tolerance. 

On lighter sledges, but over even more unsubstantial highways, 
we journeyed onwards towards Perm and the Ural. The road led 
through Tartar and Russian villages and the fields around them, 
and again through extensive forests. The Tartar villages usually 


394 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


compared favourably with those of the Russians, not only in the 
absence of swine, which the Tartars hold unclean, but even more in 
the always well-cared-for cemeteries, usually surrounded by lofty 
trees. For the Tartar respects the resting-place of his dead, the 
Russian at most those of his saints. The woodlands, though divided 
up, are really primeval forests, which rise and flourish, grow old 
and disappear, without human interference, for they are too far 
from navigable rivers to be as yet of much commercial value. 

Two large rivers, however, the Viatka and the Kama, cross our 
route. The winter holds them bound, though the approach of 
spring is beginning to loosen their fetters. The banks are flooded, 
and the horses of the carriers, who scorn the temporary bridges, are 
now and then forced to swim and to drag the sledge like a boat 
behind them. 

Before we reached Perm we had to exchange the sledge for the 
wagon, and in this we trundled along towards the Ural, which sepa- 
rates Europe from Asia. The highway leads over long ranges of 
hills, with easy slopes, but gradually ascending. The landscape 
changes; the mountain scenery presents many pictures, which are 
beautiful if they are not grand. Small woods, with fields and 
meadows between, remind us of the spurs of the Styrian Alps. 
Most of the woods are thin and scraggy, like those of Brandenburg, 
others are more luxuriant and varied, and cover wide areas without 
interruption. Here they consist of low pines and birches, and there 
of the same trees mingled with limes, aspens, black and silver poplars, 
above whose rounded crowns the cypress-like tops of the beautiful 
pichta or Siberian silver-fir tapers upwards. On an average the 
villages are larger and the houses more spacious than in the dis- 
tricts previously traversed, but the roads are bad beyond all descrip- 
tion. Thousands of freight wagons creep wearily along, or rather 
in, the deep miry ruts; slowly and painfully we also jog along until, 
after three days’ journeying, we reach the watershed between the 
two great basins of the Volga and the Ob, and learn from the mile- 
stone, which bears “ Europe” on the west side and “ Asia” on the 
east, that we have reached the boundary. Amid the clinking of 
glasses we think of our loved ones at home. 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 395 


The pleasant town of Yekaterinburg, with its gold-smelting and 
gem-cutting industries, could not long detain us in spite of the 
hospitality of its inhabitants. For the spring was gaining strength, 
and the bridges of ice on the rivers and streams, which we had to 


eross on our way to distant Omsk, were melting and crumbling. 
So we pushed hastily onwards through the Asiatic region of the 


Fig. 58.—A Post Station in Siberia. 


Perm government till we reached its boundary and entered Western 
Siberia. 

Here, at the first post-house, we were met by the district officer 
of Tiumen, who greeted us in the name of the governor, and offered 
us escort through his district. In the chief town of the district we 
found the house of one of the rich inhabitants prepared for our 
reception. Thenceforth we were to learn what Russian hospitality 
meant. Hitherto, indeed, we had been everywhere received and 
treated most hospitably, but now the chief officials of the district 
or province exerted themselves unsparingly on our behalf, and 
the best houses were thrown open to us. In fact, we were treated 


396 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


like princes, simply on account of our scientific mission. Words 
fail me to express our gratitude with adequate warmth. Beyond 
Tiumen, in which we stayed three days, inspecting the prisons of 
the exiles, the tanneries, and other sights of this first Siberian town, 
the peasants showed us their mastery even of the rivers. For 
the approaching spring had melted the ice on the Pyshma and the 
blocks had begun to move; we, however, had to get across before 
this happened. At the village of Romanoffskoye the inhabitants 
with bared heads stood waiting for us on the bank of the Pyshma, 
and even the river had to wait before it was permitted to shake off 
its icy bonds. Boldly and cleverly the peasants had thrown a 
makeshift bridge across the half-melted stream, using a large boat 
as a centre pier, above and around which they had fettered the 
treacherous ice with strong hawsers and ropes. Willing hands un- 
yoked the team of five required for our day’s journey, seized spokes 
and axles, and bore one wagon after another across the yielding 
bridge, which groaned and creaked under its burden. The task was 
safely accomplished, and on we went merrily through water and 
snow, mud and mire, over log-roads and ice. 

The Tobol, which we wished to cross on Good Friday, the 14th 
April, the first day of true spring, was less accommodating. Here 
also all requisite arrangements had been made to secure our passage: 
one of the wagons was unyoked and rolled on to the ice, but this 
suddenly cracked and split, and forced a hasty retreat. The bells 
on the cross-trees had tinkled merrily when we left Yalutoroftsk; 
they sounded sadly as we drove back again, and it was not till 
Easter-day that we were able to cross the great river with the help 
of a ferry-boat. 

So we continued on our way. Before and behind us the rivers 
threw off the yoke of winter; only the dreaded Irtish lay still 
hard-bound and secure under our feet, and thus, after more than a 
month’s journey without further adventure, we reached Omsk, the 
capital of Western Siberia. 

After we had seen what was to be seen in Omsk,—the streets 
and the houses, the military academy, the museum, the hospital, 
the military prison, and so on, we continued our journey toward 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 397 


Semipalatinsk, along the highway which runs along the right bank 
of the Irtish, connecting the villages of the so-called Cossack line. 
Already, in passing from Yalutoroffsk to Omsk, we had journeyed 
through a steppe—that of Ishim; now the steppe surrounded us 
on all sides, and almost every night the heavens were red with the 
flames of last year’s grass and herbage, which was now being burnt. 
Troops of migrating birds followed the river directly behind the ice 
as it drifted northwards; crowds of aquatic birds peopled all the 
steppe streams and lakes; various species of lark flew hither and 
thither in flocks; the dainty falcons of the steppe had already betaken 
themselves to their summer quarters; the spring had indeed come. 

In Semipalatinsk we had the good fortune to find in the governor, 
General von Poltoratski, a warm friend, ready to aid us in all our 
endeavours, and in his lady the most amiable of hostesses. Not 
content with having secured our hospitable reception, the general 
most kindly proposed to make us acquainted with the Kirghiz, who 
form a great part of the population of his district, and to this end 
organized a great hunting expedition after archars, the wild sheep 
of Siberia, which are almost twice the size of our domestic animals. °° 

On the 3rd of May we started on the chase, crossing the Irtish 
and following the post-road to Taschkent, in the Kirghiz steppe. 
After a journey of sixteen hours we reached the region of the chase 
—a rocky part of the steppe, and soon we were standing before the 
aul or yurt-camp which had been prepared for us. There we were 
welcomed by the general’s wife, who had gone on ahead of us the 
day before, and cordially also by about a score of Kirghiz sultans 
and district governors, and their numerous followers. 

During the next three days there was great sport on the Arkat 
mountains. It was holiday with the Kirghiz, who are always eager 
for fun, and it was not less so for us. Hill and valley resounded 
with the hoofs of fourscore or more horsemen, who took part in the 
two-days’ hunt; the sun, when he was pleased to show himself, 
shone down on strange, gay garments which had been hitherto 
hidden under furs; there was a merry bustle over hill and dale. 
The Kirghiz, once so much dreaded, whose very name means robber, 
are now the most faithful and contented Russian subjects, and there 


398 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


they were with their best horses—their most precious pacers, their 
tamed golden-eagles, greyhounds, and camels, their zither-musicians 
and impromptu poets, their wrestlers and other gymnasts—a merry 
crew. They sat together in groups and companies; they darted 
hither and thither, singly or in troops, wheeling their horses in 
sheer high spirits; with the keenest interest they watched the 
wrestling bouts or the boys racing on horseback; they led the chase 
with astuteness and good judgment, and listened with delight to the 
words of the extempore singer who celebrated its fortunes. One of 
the Kirghiz had already killed an archar before our arrival; good 
luck brought a second victim to my rifle. It was this good fortune 
which inspired the poet. His verses were not particularly full of 
ideas, but they were none the less so characteristic that I recorded 
them as a first sample of Kirghiz poetry. While the poet sang, an 
interpreter translated his words into Russian, and the General 
rendered them in German, while I took them down in shorthand :— 


“Speak, red tongue, speak while thou hast life, for after death thou shalt be 
dumb. 

Speak, red tongue, which God hath given me, for after death thou shalt be 
silent. 

Words such as thou now utterest will no longer flow from thee after death. 

I see before me people rising like the mountains, to them I will declare the 
truth. 

I seem to see the rocks and mountains, to the reindeer I would liken them. 

Greater are they than boats, like a steamship on the waves of Irtish. 

But I see in thee, oh Ruler, after the majesty of the Emperor, the highest, to be 
compared to a mountain, precious as an ambling reindeer. 

It was my mother who bore me, but my tongue hath God given. 

If I should not now speak before thee, to whom should I ever speak ? 

Full freedom have I to speak, let me speak as if to my own folk. 

Prosperity to thee, sir, all hail and blessing to thy guests, among them noble 
men, though they have thus unbent among us. 

Each guest of the General is also ours, and assured of our friendship. 

God alone gave me my tongue, let me speak further. 

On the mountains we saw huntsmen, marksmen, and drivers, but with one 
only was there good fortune. 

As the top of the highest mountain towers above all others, so did he excel all, 
for he sent two well-aimed balls into the body of the archar and 
brought it to the yurt. 

Every huntsman wished to bring in booty, but only one had his wish fulfilled: 
to us was joy, and to thee, noble lady, whom I now address. 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 399 


All the people are delighted, not the men only, to see thee, to greet thee; all 
of us wish thee joy, and a thousand years of life and health. 

And of thy good pleasure receive our homage. Thou mayest well have seen 
a better people, but no truer has ever offered greeting and welcome. 

May God bless thee, thee and thy house and thy children. I cannot find 
words enough to praise thee, but God has given me my tongue, and it 
has spoken, the red tongue, what sprang from the heart.” 


We left the Arkat mountains, and soon thereafter the district 
governed by our kind host, whom we left at the hunting-ground; 
and very shortly afterwards we were welcomed in Sergiopol, the 
first town in Turkestan, by Colonel Friedrichs, who greeted us in 
the name of the governor of this great province, and gave us escort 
on our way. Kirghiz chiefs became our guard of honour, and sup- 
plied us with draught-horses which could never before have done 
duty as such, so madly did they at first try to run off with the 
heavy wagon. Kirghiz sultans showed us hospitality, looked after 
our food and shelter, and erected yurts at every place where we 
wished to rest, or were expected to do so. Kirghiz also caught 
snakes and other creeping things for our collections, threw their 
nets on our behalf into the steppe-lakes, and followed us like 
faithful dogs on our hunting expeditions. Thus we journeyed 
through the steppe-land, now gorgeous in the full beauty of spring, 
delaying for a time to hunt and collect at Alakul (“the shining 
lake”), crossing valleys full of blossom and smiling hills, to Lepsa, 
the Cossack settlement on the Alatau, one of the grandest of the 
steppe mountains. We traversed the settled region, a little paradise, 
flowing with milk and honey; ascended the high mountains, rejoic- 
ing in the rushing torrents, the green Alpine lakes, and the lovely 
vistas, and finally directed our course to the north-east towards the 
Chinese frontier, for the shortest and most convenient route to the 
Altai led us through a portion of the Celestial Empire. 

In Bakti, the last Russian outpost, news was brought to us that 
His Ineffability the Jandsun Dyun, the Governor of the province 
Tarabagatai, sent to greet us in the name of China, and invited us 
to a banquet. To meet the hospitable wishes of the noble mandarin, 
we rode on the 21st May to Tchukutchak or Tchautchak, the capital 
of the said province. 


400 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


The company which rode through the summer glory of the 
steppe was larger and more splendid than ever. Partly in order to 
have a quite necessary security in a country disquieted by insurrec- 
tion, partly in order to appear with dignity, not to say with pomp, 
before his Highness, we had added to our ranks. For, besides the 
thirty Cossacks from Sachan, under the leadership of our new 
escort, Major Tichanoff, and besides our old Kirghiz friends, we had 
with us a half sotnia of Cossacks from Bakti. The beating hoofs of 
our small army sounded strangely in the otherwise desolate steppe. 
All our Kirghiz were arrayed in holiday dress, and their black, blue, 
yellow, and red kaftans, covered with gold and silver braid, vied 
in sheen and splendour with the uniforms of the Russian officers. 
At the boundary, which had recently been agreed upon, a Chinese 
warrior of high rank waited to greet us. Thereupon he wheeled 
round and galloped off as fast as his horse would bear him to 
inform his commander of our approach. Stumbling over rubbish 
heaps, between half-ruined and half-built houses, but also between 
blossoming gardens, our horses bore us towards the town. There 
apish Mongolian faces grinned at us, and appallingly ugly women 
outraged my sense of beauty. Our cavalcade drew up in front of 
the Governor's house, and we craved admission at the broad portal. 
Opposite it rose a wall of beautiful workmanship, with some 
strange animal figure in the centre; while to right and left on the 
ground lay some Chinese instruments of torture. An official of the 
house bade us enter, but indicated at the same time that the Cossacks 
and Kirghiz were to remain outside. The governor received us with 
the greatest solemnity in what seemed at once his sitting-room, 
office, and court of justice. . Preserving all the dignity of a high 
mandarin, sparse of speech, in fact, uttering but a few disjointed 
words, always accompanied, however, with a cheerful, grinning 
smile, he gave us his hand, and bade us sit down at the breakfast- 
table. This gave promise of tea, and bore innumerable small dishes 
with strange delicacies, and “we raised our hands to the daintily 
prepared meal”. The food consisted of rice, various fruits dried 
and preserved in oil, slices of ham as thin as parchment, dried shrimp- 
tails, and a multitude of unknown, or, at any rate, unrecognizable 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 401 


tit-bits and sweets; the drinks consisted of excellent tea and sick- 
eningly sweet rice-brandy of the strength of spirits of wine. After 
the meal, which I, at least, managed to get through with impunity, 
having fortified myself beforehand with a substantial snack of a 
less doubtful kind, the hookahs were produced, and we were shown 
various intelligible and unintelligible objects of interest in that room 
and the one adjoining. Among these were landscapes and pictures of 
animals, commendatory letters from the government, the great seal 
of state wrapped up with comical carefulness in brightly coloured 
silk, extraordinary arrows of an import which only a Chinese mind 
can fathom, samples of European industry, and so forth. The con- 
versation was extremely limited, and unspeakably dignified. Our 
addresses had to be translated from French to Russian, from Russian 
to Kirghiz, and from Kirghiz into Chinese; and the answers had to. 
pass through the reverse process. Little wonder, then, that the 
speeches acquired a tone of great solemnity! After breakfast some 
Chinese archers came in to display their warlike valour and skill; 
thereafter the Jandsun himself in all his glory led us to his 
kitchen-garden to let us taste its produce. At length he bade us 
farewell, and we rode again through the streets and markets of the 
town, and found hospitality in the house of a Tartar, where we 
enjoyed an exéellent meal, especially graced by the presence of a 
young wife, as pretty as a picture, who was summoned to the men’s 
apartments to do us honour. It was towards sunset that we left. 
the town, which is not without historic interest. 

Tchukutchak is that town which in 1867, after a prolonged 
siege, fell into the hands of the Dungani, a Mongolian tribe, of 
Mohammedan faith, who had been for long in persistent insurrec- 
tion against the Chinese rule. It was razed to the ground and no 
living creature spared. Of the thirty thousand souls who are said 
to have inhabited the town, over a third had found refuge in flight; 
the rest, confident in the success with which repeated assaults had 
been repulsed, remained to their destruction. When the Dungani 
succeeded in storming the town, they showed the same inhuman 
cruelty which the Chinese had shown to them. What the sword 


did not claim was destroyed by fire. When our escort, Captain 
(1.70) 26 


402 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Friedrichs, visited the place some fourteen days after the town had 
been stormed, the clouds of smoke had cleared from the charred 
ruins. Wolves and dogs, with bellies swollen from eating human 
flesh, slunk away sated, or refused to be disturbed in their horrible 
festival, and continued to gnaw at the bones of their old foes or 
masters. Eagles, kites, ravens, and crows shared the spoil. In 
places where the insurgents had made space for themselves, the 
corpses were thrown together in heaps, dozens and hundreds to- 
gether, in other parts of the town, in the streets, courts, and houses, 
corpses lay singly, in couples, in tens,—husband and wife, great- 
grandparents, grandmothers, mothers, and children, whole families 
and neighbours who had sought refuge with them. Their fore- 
heads were gashed with sword-cuts, their features decayed and 
burned, their limbs gnawed and torn by the teeth of dogs and 
wolves, their bodies headless and handless. Whatever horror the 
maddest imagination ever pictured was here realized. 

At the present day there are at most a thousand inhabitants in 
Tchukutchak, and the newly-erected battlemented fort is actually 
under the protection of the small Russian picket of Bakti. That 
the Dungani have not yet laid down their arms nor been subdued, 
was sufficiently proved by the recent march of a Chinese army into 
the valley of the Emil, where insurrection is again threatened. 

Under the escort of Major Tichanoff and his thirty Cossacks we 
traversed this valley without seeing a single Dungani, indeed with- 
out meeting a human being for days. The Emil, arising from the 
Zaur, flows between the Tarabagatai and Semistan—two mountain 
ranges which meet at an acute angle—and receives numberless small 
tributaries on either side. The genius which the Chinese have for 
irrigation had utilized all the streams, and made a fruitful garden 
of the whole valley till the Dungani broke into and devastated the 
fertile land, and surrendered it once more to the steppe-land from 
which it had been won. In the neighbourhood of the town we 
passed through several small villages, and we came across a Kalmuck 
aul, but apart from these we saw only the ruin of former possession, 
comfort, and industry. Over the fields Nature herself had drawn 
a veil with gentle hand, but the ruined villages, not yet destroyed 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 403 


by storm and tempest, cried aloud to heaven. When we visited 
these villages, the tragedy of bygone days was appallingly clear. 
Between the crumbling walls, whose roofs had been burnt and 
whose gables had wholly or partially fallen in, on the mouldering 
rubbish over which poisonous fungi ran riot, amid remnants of 
Chinese porcelain, and half-charred and thus preserved plenishings, 
we came everywhere on human remains, crumbling skulls, bones 
broken by the teeth of carnivores, and certain parts of the skeletons 
of domesticated animals, especially of the dog. The skulls still bore 
traces of the heavy blows which shattered them. The inhabitants 
had fallen before the rage of their murderous foes, and the dogs had 
shared the fate of their masters whom they may have been trying 
to protect; the other domestic animals had been driven away, 
plundered like the rest of the useful property, and the apparently 
useless residue had been broken up and burnt. Only two semi- 
domesticated animals remain, the swallow and the sparrow; the rest 
are replaced by ruin-loving birds. 

We passed cheerlessly through the desolate valley. Not one of 
the Dungani was to be seen, for behind our thirty Cossacks was the 
great power of Russia. The first human beings we came across 
were Russian Kirghiz, who, though in Chinese territory, were 
pasturing their flocks and tilling their fields as usual, and had even 
erected a monument to one of their dead. 

From the valley of the Emil we crossed the Tarabagatai by 
one of the lowest passes of the range, and thence descended to 
the almost flat plateau of Tchilikti, which lies over five thousand 
feet above the sea, surrounded by the Tarabagatai, Zaur, Manrak, 
Terserik, Mustau, and Urkashar. Crossing the plateau, passing some 
enormously large Kwrgans or sepulchral mounds of the natives, we 
followed the serpentine valleys of the infinitely irregular Manrak 
mountains in order to reach the plain of Zaizan and the delightful 
town of the same name which had been erected as an outpost some 
four years previously. Here, close to the Chinese-Russian boundary, 
we found European comfort and civilization for the first time since 
leaving Lepsa. In the society which we enjoyed we seemed to be 
back again in St. Petersburg or Berlin. There was talking, playing, 


404 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


singing, and dancing both within the family circle and in the public 
gardens. The melody of nightingales accompanied the dance and 
song; one forgot where one was. 

T used the time of our sojourn here to hunt “ullars”, mountain- 
fowl resembling partridges, but as large as black-cock, and in so 
doing not only became acquainted with the wild grandeur of the 
Manrak mountains, but saw the life of the poorer Kirghiz herds- 
men in a light new to me, and returned much satisfied with my 
excursion. 

On the afternoon of the 31st May we again set off in our wagon, 
making for the Black Irtish in order to meet General Poltoratski at 
an appointed rendezvous in the Altai mountains. We drove rapidly 
through the rich steppe-land, over coal-black soil, and afterwards 
over the drier high-steppes till we came to the river, whose rolling 
waves bore us next day to the lake of Zaizan. Hitherto all the 
Siberian rivers and streams had seemed rather tedious; but on the 
Black Irtish it was far otherwise. We got lovely views of the two 
great mountains—Zaur and Altai—and the adjacent ranges, while 
the fresh green banks, cheerful with singing birds, gladdened our 
eyes and ears. A rapid cast of the net brought us an abundant 
catch of delicious fishes, and proved that the river was as rich as it 
was beautiful. On the 2nd June we crossed the shallow and muddy 
lake, exceedingly rich in fishes, but attractive only in the peeps of 
distant scenery which were to be got from its surface, and on the 
next day we traversed the dreariest part of the steppe which we 
had yet seen. Here, however, we made the acquaintance of three 
most noteworthy steppe animals—the wild horse or kulan, the 
saiga antelope, and Pallas’ sand-grouse. Our Kirghiz secured a kulan 
foal and shot one of the birds. In the evening we rested among 
the spurs of Altai, and next day we met our former hosts at the 
appointed place, and continued our journey under their guidance. 

It was a delightful journey, though wind, snow, and rain were 
all too frequent, and robbed the pleasant yurt (which we carried 
with us) of much of its comfort, though torrents barred our path, 
and though we had to find our way along precipitous slopes such as 
at home a chamois-hunter, but certainly no horseman would attempt. 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 405 


A Russian Governor does not travel like an ordinary mortal, least of 
all when he journeys through uninhabited territory. He is accom- 
panied by the district-officers and their subordinates, by the elders 
and clerks of the community, by the elite of the district which he 
visits, by a troop of Cossacks and their officers including the captain, 
by his own servants and those of his escort, &. And when, as in 
this case, the expedition is to a comparatively unknown country, 
when it is necessary to consult with Kirghiz communities, the 
cavaleade is enormously increased. For not only have yurts and 
tents to be carried, as is usual on steppe journeys, but flocks of 
sheep have to go on in front of the little army to feed the hundreds 
on their way through the barren wilderness. Since leaving the 
Zaizan lake we had been once more in China, and a journey of 
several days had to be faced before we could hope to come across 
human settlements, which are confined to the deeper valleys among 
the mountains. 

At first we were accompanied by more than two hundred men, 
mostly Kirghiz, who had been summoned to receive an imperial order 
relating to the suspension of their pasture-rights in the crown-lands 
of the Altai, and to come to an agreement as to consequent changes 
in their wanderings. But even after the deliberations were ended, 
our retinue still numbered over a hundred horses and sixty men. 
In the early morning the yurts were raised from over our heads 
and sent on in front with the baggage; then we followed in com- 
panies, riding slowly until the ladies, the General's amiable wife 
and daughter, overtook us. We breakfasted at some suitable spot, 

waited till the last of the pack-horses had gone ahead, and then went 
“on, usually reaching our halting-place along with the daily dwind- 
ling flock of sheep which always started first. Thus, every evening, 
we had an opportunity of watching the pleasant picture of camp- 
life take form before us. Lovely verdant valleys full of spring’s 
fragrance invited us; from the lofty precipitous mountains, still 
snow-capped, we got glimpses of the distant highlands and of the 
steppe-land, which we had traversed, stretching to the Zaur and the 
Tarabagatai; and at last we caught sight of Markakul—the pearl 
among the mountain lakes of the Altai—and entered the highlands 


406 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


proper. For three long days we journeyed along the lake, hindered 
by bad roads and bad weather, and delayed by a Chinese embassy 
sent to the Governor; then we rode through dense forests and over 
scarce surmountable passes, and down by breakneck paths towards 
the Russian frontier, and into the fertile valley of the Buchtarma. 
There in the newly-established Cossack settlement the Altaiskaya- 
Stanitza, we were again able to enjoy Russian hospitality and to 
rest in comfort. 

The officers of the Stanitza were kind enough to present us with 
samples of the produce of the district, and we continued our journey 
on the 12th of June. The sun shone cheerfully down from a cloud- 
less sky on the splendid landscape, now for the first time unveiled. 
Immense park-like valleys, surrounded by steeply towering, snow- 
capped mountains, suffused with bewitching colours, beautiful trees 
on the meadows, blossoming bushes on the slopes, and an infinite 
wealth of flowers, beautiful beyond description, and as it were 
exultant in the sunlight long denied to them, newly unfolded wild 
roses, the call of the cuckoo and songs from a hundred throats, 
the auls of the Kirghiz in the broader valleys, and the Russian 
villages surrounded by green shrubs, grazing herds, fruitful fields, 
rushing brooks, and jagged rocks, mild air and the balmy fragrance 
breathing of spring—such were some of the elements which 
intoxicated the senses and made our journey a continual delight. 
Soon we crossed the boundaries of the crown-lands of the Altai, 
a property not much smaller than France! At the end of a 
day’s journey we reached the little town of Serianoffsk with its 
silver mines. After we had been hospitably entertained and had 
inspected all the works, we turned again to the Irtish, and were 
borne by the rapid stream through deep and picturesque gorges 
past Buchtarminsk to Ustkamenogorsk, whence we journeyed in 
wagons once more through these crown-lands which give promise 
of a rich future. Steppe-like plains adjoin the pleasant tracts 
which lie along the spurs of the mountains; extensive forests 
alternate with cultivated land. Large prosperous villages; valu- 
able, fertile fields of coal-black soil; well-built men with a 
look of conscious prosperity, beautiful women in picturesque 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 407 


costume, both child-like in their inquisitiveness and in their 
good-nature; excellent, serviceable, untiring horses, and powerful, 
shapely oxen lying at ease in large herds; an endless succession of 
caravans bearing ore and coal along well-made roads, marmots on 


— SS 
Se ,, 


Fy 


Fig. 59.—Imperial Eagle, Marmot, and Souslik. 


the slopes of the mountains, souslik on the plains, imperial eagles 
on the guide-posts by the highway, charming little gulls on the 
water-basins and about the townships—such cheerful pictures 
enlivened our route. We hastened through the country as if in 
flight, paying a passing visit to the mining town appropriately 


408 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


called Schlangenberg (Snake-town), and allowing ourselves but a 
short rest in the country-town of Barnaul. Thence we journeyed 
to the little hill-town of Zalair, and thence to the great govern- 
ment-town of Tomsk. 

Before we came to Barnaul we had reached the Obi; at Barnaul 
we crossed it, and at Tomsk we embarked on board a boat. 
Through its tributary the Tom we entered this giant river, whose 
basin is larger than that of all the west European rivers taken 
together, and’ sailed for about 1700 miles, towards the north. 
For four days and nights the river—flooded to its highest 
water-mark—bore us at a rate almost twice as quick as a 
steamboat hastening up-stream; we required eleven full days and 
nights to cover the distance between the mouth of the Irtish and 
that of the Shtchutshya, although we only rested a few hours in 
Samarowo and Bereosoff, and did not include in our reckoning the 
two days which we spent in Obdorsk, the last Russian village on 
the river. The river is gigantic and most impressive, dreary and 
monotonous though it be called. In one valley, whose breadth 
varied from six to sixteen miles, it split up into numerous 
branches surrounding countless islands, and often broadening out 
into extensive lake-like shallows; near its mouth the depth of 
water in the main stream—miles in breadth—was on an average 
about 90 feet. Primeval forests, hardly broken by clearings, into 
whose heart not even the natives have penetrated, clothed the true 
banks of the river; willow-woods in all stages of growth covered 
the islands, which are continually carved at by the floods, eaten 
away, and built up afresh. The further down we went the poorer 
became the land, the thinner and more scanty the woods, the more 
miserable the villages, though as the river nears its mouth the water 
liberally supplies the food which the land itself denies. Not far 
below Tomsk, beyond Tobolsk, the soil ceases to reward cultivation, 
further down the grazing of cattle gradually ceases; but the river 
teems with shoals of valuable fishes, and the primeval forests along 
its shores yield rich spoil to the huntsman. Fisher-folk and hunts- 
men replace the peasants, and the reindeer herdsmen the cattle 
tenders. Russian settlements become more and more rare, the homes 


‘IO Ot Jo syuLg at] Uo JUaTUATIIag ALISO UV—"09 “Bla 


410 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


of the Ostiaks become more frequent, until at length the only 
visible signs of man’s presence are the movable, conical, birch-bark 
huts or “tshums” of the Ostiaks, and occasional exceedingly 
miserable log-huts, the temporary shelters of Russian fishermen. 

We had determined to explore a tundra or moss-steppe, and 
had therefore fixed upon the Samoyede peninsula between the Ob 
and the Kara Sea, all the more because a solution of certain import- 
ant commercial problems was to be looked for in this portion of 
the broad treeless zone which encircles the pole—a region, moreover, 
on which Europeans had scarcely as yet set foot. In Obdorsk and 
further down-stream we hired for this journey several Russians, 
Syryanians, Ostiaks, and Samoyedes, and set out on the 15th of 
July. 

From the northern heights of the Ural range, which is here 
represented by lofty mountains, three rivers arise near one another, 
the Ussa, a tributary of the Petchora, the Bodarata, which enters 
the Kara Sea, and the Shtchutshya, which flows into the Obi. It 
was the basin of the last, Shtchutshya, which we determined to 
visit. But no one could tell us what the country was like, how we 
should fare, whether we might hope to find reindeer or be forced to 
go afoot. 

To the mouth of the Shtchutshya river we journeyed in the 
usual fashion, paying off our oarsmen at each Ostiak settlement 
and hiring others; when we reached the river our own followers 
began their work. For eight days we worked slowly up the stream, 
following its countless serpentine windings further into the mono- 
tonous, indeed dismally tedious tundra, now approaching the Ural 
range, and again diverging from it. For eight long days we saw 
no human beings, but only traces of their presence,—their necessary 
property packed on sledges for the winter, and their burial-places. 
Treacherous swamps on both sides of the river prevented us from 
making inland excursions, and millions of bloodthirsty mosquitoes 
tormented us without ceasing. On the seventh day we saw a dog 
—quite an event for us and our crew; on the eighth day we came 
upon an inhabited tshum, and in it the only man who could tell us 
about the country before us. We took him with us as a guide, 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 411 


and with him, three days later, we set out on an expedition which 
proved as dangerous as it was fatiguing. 

We were told that reindeer were to be found nine full days’ 
journey from us, on the pasturage of Saddabei in the Ural range; 
at this season there was not one to be got near the Shtchutshya. 
There was nothing for it but to set off on foot, and to face, as best 
we might, the difficulties and hardships of a journey through a 
pathless, barren, mosquito - plagued district, altogether hostile to 
man, and worst of all—unknown! 

After careful and prolonged consultation with the natives our 
preparations were made, the burdens which each one was to bear 
were carefully weighed, for the spectre of starvation loomed before 
us. Full well we knew that only the nomad herdsman—but no 
huntsman—was able to keep body and soul together on the tundra; 
well we knew by previous experience all the trials of the pathless 
way, all the torments which the army of mosquitoes promised, the 
inconstancy of the weather, and the general inhospitability of the 
tundra, and we made our preparations with due consideration of 
all these. But we could not prepare for what we did not know and 
could not foretell, and for what, in fact, eventually befell us. Not 
that we wished to turn back, though, had we foreseen what was to 
happen, we might well have done so. 

Dressed in short fur, heavily laden with knapsack, weapons, 
and ammunition, we set off on the 29th of July, leaving our boat in 
the charge of two of our company. Painfully we tramped, gasping 
under our burdens, stopping every hour and half hour, and at length 
every thousand paces, but finding no rest on account of the 
mosquitoes, which tortured us day and night without ceasing. We 
ascended countless hills, and traversed as many valleys, we waded 
through as many marshes and morasses; we passed by hundreds of 
nameless lakes, and crossed a multitude of swamps and streams. 

As it happened, the tundra could not well have been more 
inhospitable. The wind beat the drizzling rain into our faces; 
drenched to the skin we lay down on the soaking soil, without roof 
to cover us, or fire to warm us, and unceasingly tormented by mos- 
quitoes. But the sun dried us again, gave us new courage and 


412 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


strength, and on we went. A piece of good news did us more good 
than sun or sleep. Our followers discovered two tshums, and 
with our field-glasses we distinctly saw the reindeer around them. 
Heartily delighted, we already pictured ourselves stretched com- 
fortably in the sledge, the only possible vehicle in such a district, 
and we seemed to see the quickly-stepping antlered team. We 
reached the tshum and the reindeer; a dismal sight met our eyes. 
For among the herds splenic fever was raging—the most dreadful, 
and for man also the most dangerous of plagues, the most inexorable 
messenger of death, unsparing and merciless. Against its ruin- 
bringing attacks man is powerless; it reduces peoples to poverty, 
and claims its victims as surely from among men as among beasts.*! 

I counted seventy-six dead reindeer in the immediate neigh- 
bourhood of the tshum. Wherever the eye turned it lighted on 
carcasses or on beasts, both young and old, lying at their last gasp. 
Others came, with death at their heart, to the sledges already 
loaded for departure, as if they hoped to find help and safety in 
the neighbourhood of man. They would not be driven away, but 
remained stock-still for a couple of minutes with staring eyes and 
crossed fore-legs, then swayed from side to side, groaned and fell; 
a white foam issued from mouth and nose, a few convulsions, and 
another was dead. Milk-giving mothers and their calves separated 
themselves from the herd; the mothers succumbed with similar 
symptoms; the calves looked on curiously, as if amazed at their 
mother’s strange behaviour, or grazed unconcernedly beside the 
death-bed. When they came near, and found instead of their 
devoted mother a corpse, they snuffed at this, recoiled in terror, 
and hastened away, straying hither and thither and crying. They 
sought to approach one or other of the adults, but were repulsed 
by all, and continued lowing and searching until they found what 
they did not seek—death, from an arrow sped by the hand of their 
owner, who sought to save at least their skin. Death was equally 
unsparing of old and young; before the destroying angel the 
strongest and stateliest stags fell as surely as the yearlings of both 
sexes. 

Schungei, the owner of the herd, his relatives and servants, 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 413 


hurried to and fro among the dead and dying beasts, seeking with 
mad eagerness to save whatever was possible. Although not un- 
aware of the dreadful danger to which they exposed themselves if 
the minutest drop of blood or a particle of the infected foam should 
enter their system, knowing well that hundreds of their race had 
died in agony from the incurable plague, they worked with all 
their strength skinning the poisoned corpses. A blow from a 
hatchet ended the sufferings of the dying deer, an arrow killed the 
calves, and in a few minutes the skin—which for weeks is quite 
capable of spreading the infection—was off and lying beside the 
others. With blood-stained hands the men dipped morsels cut 
from the bodies of the calves into the blood collected in the chest- 
cavity, and swallowed them raw. The men seemed like execution- 
ers, the women like horrible harpies, and both like blood-smeared 
hyenas wallowing in carrion. Careless of the sword of death 
which hung over their heads, rather by a gossamer thread than by 
a hair, they grubbed and wallowed, helped even by their children, 
from half-grown boys down to a little girl hardly more than a 
suckling. 

The tshums were shifted to an adjacent hill. The unfortunate 
herd, which had started from the Ural two thousand strong, and had 
now dwindled to a couple of hundred, whose path was marked by a 
line of carcasses, was collected afresh around the tshum; but next 
morning there were again forty corpses around the resting-place. 

We knew the danger of infection from animals with splenic 
fever or anthrax, but we had not adequately appreciated its extent. 
Thus we bought some fresh, apparently quite healthy reindeer, 
harnessed them to three sledges, loaded these with our baggage, 
and striding beside them went on our way lightened. The plague 
forbade us from getting reindeer flesh to eat, as we had hoped, 
and we began to look around more carefully and anxiously for some 
small game, a willow grouse, a great snipe, a golden plover, or a 
duck. Sparing our slender supplies to the utmost, we crouched 
around the miserable fire, whenever the least of Diana’s nymphs had 
been propitious, and collectively roasted our paltry spoil as best we 
might. Of satisfying our hunger there was no longer any possibility. 


414 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


After we had crossed the way of death which Schungei had 
followed, we reached the first goal, the Bodarata. There we had 
the inestimable good fortune to find more tshums and reindeer. 
Thus aided we made for the sea, but we were forced to turn without 
setting foot on the shore. For before us lay not only a pathless 
morass, but again a countless heap of reindeer carcasses; we were 
once more on the path by which Schungei had fled homewards, and - 
our new acquaintance, the herdsman Zanda, would not dare to 
cross it. 

For in his herd also death had been busy with his scythe; the 
destroyer had visited his house, and yet more disastrously those 
of his neighbours. The man who had been his companion on his 
wanderings had eaten of an infected fat reindeer which he had 
hastily killed, and he had paid for his rashness with his own life 
and that of his family. Thrice had the herd Zanda shifted his 
tshum, and thrice he had dug a grave among the corpses of the 
reindeer. First, two children fell victims to the dread disease, then 
the thoughtless man’s servant, on the third day the man himself. 
Another child was still ill, groaning in its agony, when we set out 
on our journey to the sea; its cries were silenced when we returned 
to the tshum, for the grave had received a fifth victim. And this 
was not to be the last. 

One of our men, the Ostiak Hadt, a willing, cheerful fellow, 
who had endeared himself to us, had been complaining since the 
day before of torturing pains which became ever more severe. He 
complained especially of an increasing sensation of cold. We had 
placed him on one of the sledges when we reached the herdsman’s 
tshum, and thus we bore him when the tshum was shifted for 
the fifth time. He lay at the fire moaning and whining in our 
midst. From time to time he raised himself and bared his body to 
the warmth of the fire. Similarly he pushed his numb feet against 
the flames, and seemed to care not that they singed. At length we 
fell asleep, perhaps he did also, but when we awoke next morning 
his bed was empty. Outside, in front of the tshum, he sat quietly 
leaning on a sledge, with his face to the sun, whose warmth he 
sought. Hadt was dead. 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 415 


Some hours later we buried him according to the customs of 
his people. He was a true “heathen”, and in heathenish fashion 
he should be buried. Our “orthodox” companions hesitated to do 
this; our “heathen” followers helped us in the ceremony, which, 
though not Christian, was at any rate dignified and human. The 
grave received its sixth victim. 

Should this be the last? Involuntarily this question arose; it 
was gruesome for us all to have death as a travelling companion. 
Fortunately for us, Hadt’s grave was the last on this journey. 

Seriously, very seriously, still oppressed by increasing dearth of 
provisions, we turned again towards the Shtchutshya. Zanda pro- 
vided a scant diet for our followers, while we relied on what we 
could shoot, and were pinched enough. But one forenoon we cap- 
tured a family of geese, and shot several willow grouse, snipe, and 
plovers, and celebrated a feast, for it was pleasant to be able to eat 
without counting the mouthfuls. But without the help of our host 
it would hardly have been possible for us to have survived. 

We reached the river, and, almost at the end of our stores, we 
regained our boat. Here we feasted on fare which was poor enough, 
though, after a fortnight’s privation, it seemed most sumptuous. 
We said farewell for ever to the tundra. 

A Shaman, whom we had found busy fishing further up the 
Obi, and had asked to give us a sample of his art and wisdom, had 
duly beaten his dull-sounding drum to summon Yamaul, the mes- 
senger of the gods, who befriended him, and had told us that we 
should next year revisit the inhospitable country which we had 
just left, but that we should then go to the region where the 
Shtchutshya, Bodarata, and Ussa have their source. For two 
emperors would reward us, and the elders of our people would be 
satisfied with our report, and send us forth again. Moreover, on our 
journey no further misfortune would befall us. So the messenger 
of the gods, perceived by him alone, had said. 

The last part of his prophecy was true enough. Slowly but 
without mishap or accident we journeyed for twenty-three days up 
the Obi, and after long delay we fortunately reached a steamboat, 
on which we ascended the Irtish for three days. Without misfor- 


416 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


tune, though not without hindrance, we crossed the Ural, in a com- 
fortable steamer we glided swiftly down the Kama, more slowly 
we ascended the Volga. In Nijni-Novgorod, in Moscow, in St. 
Petersburg, we were hospitably received, as before, and were joy- 
ously welcomed at home. Our “elders” seem to have been well 
pleased with our report, but to the tundra I at least shall never 
return, 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 


The struggle for existence which man has to maintain in 
Siberia is easy and toilless now, and will probably remain so for 
centuries to come—easy and toilless especially among the lavishly 
endowed lands in the south of the country, and not too hard or 
laborious even in those regions which we are wont to picture as an 
icy waste, an inhospitable desert, which we still regard in this 
light if we only travel hastily and unwillingly through them. In 
the far north of West Siberia the climate is harsh and severe; the 
earth which, a little below the surface, is frozen and stiffened for 
ever, refuses to bring forth fruit; the sun will not ripen the bread- 
yielding grain;. but even here Nature has bountifully shaken her 
horn of plenty, for what the land denies, is yielded by the water. 
The people who have dwelt for centuries in these latitudes, which 
we so carefully avoid, may appear poor and miserable in our eyes; 
in reality they are neither. They are able to procure all they 
need; they can even secure many luxuries, for their country yields 
them much more than is enough merely to sustain life. They do 
of course struggle, more or less consciously, for “an existence 
worthy of man”, but not with any grudge, outspoken or suppressed, 
against those whose lot is happier. Indeed they are happier than 
we think, for they are more modest, more easily satisfied than we 
are; they are utterly ignorant of what we call passion in the 
stricter sense; they accept the pleasures within their reach with a 
childlike joy, and the sorrows which visit them, with that deeply 
felt but quickly forgotten grief which is characteristic of childhood. 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 417 


Black care may stand beside their bed; but they banish it whenever 
they perceive a ray of joy, and they forget affliction whenever the 
sun of good fortune once more shines upon them. They rejoice in 
wealth and complain of poverty, but they see their riches disappear 
without giving way to despair, and their poverty turn to wealth 
without losing their equanimity. Even in mature age they remain 
children in thought, feeling, and behaviour; they are happier than 
we. 

The Ostiaks with whom we came most frequently in contact 
on the lower Obi, whose society we preferred, and whom we learned 
to know best, belong to the Finnish family, and profess the same 
religion as another branch of the same family, the Samoyedes, 
while their manners, customs, and way of life generally, are 
approximately the same as those of all the Finns in a restricted 
sense, and therefore also of the Lapps. They are wandering herds- 
men and fisher-folk, huntsmen and fowlers, like the Samoyedes. 
and like the Lapps. Apart from their religion, and perhaps also. 
their language, they resemble the Lapps more than the Samoyedes, 
for there are among them dwellers in fixed homes as well as nomadic 
herdsmen, while the Samoyedes, even when engaged in fishing, very 
rarely exchange their movable hut for a fixed log-house, at least. 
in the parts of Siberia through which we travelled. 

It may be that the Ostiak tribe was more numerous at one 
time than it is now, but it was probably never a people in our 
sense of the word. In some parts of the territory inhabited, or at 
least traversed by them, the population is said to be continually 
decreasing, while in others it is slightly on the increase; but the 
extent of increase or decrease seems inconsiderable. To reckon 
the whole number of these people at fifty thousand individuals is. 
probably a high estimate. In the whole of the great district of 
Obdorsk, which extends from 65 degrees northern latitude to the 
northern end of the Samoyede peninsula, and from the Ural to the 
upper Chass river, there live at present, according to official statistics, 
not more than five thousand three hundred and eighty-two male 
Ostiaks, of whom not more than one thousand three hundred and 


seventy-six are able-bodied or assessable men. If we take for 
(170° 27 


418 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


granted that there are as many women and girls, the whole num- 
ber does not reach eleven thousand; and the above estimate is 
rather too high than too low, even though the tract inhabited by 
‘our people extends up the Obi to the district of Surgut, and up the 
Irtish to the neighbourhood of Tobolsk. 

All the Ostiaks on the upper Irtish and middle Obi live in fixed 
log-houses, very simple, but resembling those of the Russians, and only 
here and there among these permanent dwellings, which indicate a 
higher degree of civilization, do we come upon a birch-bark tent 
or tshum. On the other hand, on the lower Obi, and especially 
between Obdorsk and the mouth of the stream, only birch-tents are 
to be seen, and they are, naturally, the only homes of the nomadic 
reindeer herdsman. Almost, if not exactly in agreement with this 
difference in dwelling, is the difference in religion, for the Ostiaks 
inhabiting settled villages belong to the Orthodox Greek Catholic 
Church, and are reckoned among its members, as they have been 
baptized, while those dwelling in the tshum are still true to their 
ancient faith, which, although regarded by the Russian priests and 
their followers as blind heathenism, is by no means devoid of poetic 
grandeur, still less of moral worth. The tent-dwellers certainly 
practise their religion with more ardour and conviction than the 
settled villagers do their so-called Christianity, which, as far as can 
be observed, seems to an unbiassed onlooker rather a superstitious 
idolatry than a nobler substitute for the religion which grew out of 
a childlike mood, and finds expression in childlike ways. With the 
adoption of log-houses and of Christianity, the Ostiaks of the 
central Obi and lower Irtish regions have, to a certain extent, given 
up their own dress in favour of that of the neighbouring Russian 
fisher-folk, and in their intercourse with these, have adopted many of 
their manners and customs. In part, too, they have lost their 
purity of race, and have retained only the inalienable characteristics, 
the language and all peculiarities preserved by it, perhaps also the 
skill, dexterity, and harmless good-nature common to all the 
Ostiaks. But one cannot venture to assert that their morals have 
improved with their civilization, or that their purity of life has 
increased with Christianity; and in any case it is more satisfactory 


‘SYLISO ULYSIYD otf} JO auINysO0N JazUTAA PUL SIN_— ‘TO ‘SLT 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 421 


to get to know the heathen Ostiaks, and to come into close contact 
with a still primitive people, than to concern ourselves with that 
portion of the tribe which gives us but a dim picture of what they 
once were, or others still are. I shall, therefore, limit my remarks 
to a consideration of those Ostiaks who worship the divinity Ohrt, 
who live in polygamy when their means permit, who bury their 
dead exactly as their fathers did. My sketch will lose nothing, and 
will gain in unity, if it takes account of these alone, and leaves the 
others out. 

It is difficult to speak of a common type among the Ostiaks, 
and still more difficult to describe it. I have repeatedly attempted 
to-do this, but have always been forced to recognize the impos- 
sibility of adequately describing a face in words, or of satisfactorily 
delineating with the pen those tribal peculiarities which are evident 
enough to the eye. In shape of face, colour of skin, hair, and eyes, 
they vary greatly; their racial affinity, that is, their Mongol origin, 
is by no means always very apparent, in fact, it is often difficult to 
detect, and when at last one imagines one has formulated certain 
definite average characteristics, one learns from other members of 
the same stock that their applicability is only relative and by no 
means unconditional. In what follows I shall attempt to give a 
comprehensive idea of what I saw among the Ostiaks whom we 
observed. 

The Ostiaks are of middle height, somewhat slender in general 
build, their hands, feet, and limbs generally well-proportioned, the 
hands perhaps rather large, the calves of the legs almost always thin; 
their features seem intermediate between those of the other Mongols 
and those of the North American Indians: for their brown eyes are 
small and always set obliquely, though by no means very strikingly 
so; the cheek-bones are not very prominent, but the lower portion of 
the face is so compressed towards the narrow pointed chin that the 
whole has an angular appearance, indeed, as the lips are also sharply 
cut, it is often really cat-like, especially among women and children, 
though the nose is, on the whole, slightly, and in many cases not at 
all flattened. The rich, smooth, but not stiff, hair is usually dark 
brown or black, rarely light brown, and still more rarely blonde; the 


422 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


beard is scanty, but this is chiefly in consequence of the habit young 
dandies have of pulling out the hairs; the eyebrows are thick, often 
bushy. The colour of the skin is not much less white than that of 
a European who is much in the open air and exposed to wind and 
weather, and the yellowish look which it usually has is sometimes 
entirely awanting. 

Though the above holds good of most Ostiaks, I do not mean to 
imply that one can have any doubt about their racial affinities if 
one examines them closely. In a few individuals the Mongolian 
traits are apparent on the most cursory glance; these types are 
small in stature, the lively brown eyes are elongated and obliquely 
set, the cheek-bones are very prominent, the stiff hair is deep black, 
and all the exposed parts of the body have a decided copper-red or 
leather-brown colour. 

I can offer no opinion as to the language of the Ostiaks; I can 
only say that it embraces two dialects which can be readily distin- 
guished even by strangers. That in use on the middle Obi is 
euphonious, if somewhat drawling and sing-song, while that pre- 
vailing on the lower Obi, probably because of the general habit of 
preferring the softer Samoyede tongue, is much more rapid and 
flowing, though there is still distinct enunciation of the syllables. 

The Christian Ostiaks, as has already been mentioned, imitate 
the dress of the Russians, and the clothing of their women only 
differs from that of the Russian fisher-women in being decorated in 
many places with glass beads, and in the addition of special sash- 
like ribbons, like the stole of a Catholic priest, embroidered all over 
with such beads. The heathen Ostiaks, on the other hand, use nothing 
but the skin of the reindeer for clothing, and only employ the furs 
of other animals for the occasional decoration of the reindeer, or, as 
the Russians call them, stag skins. Their dress consists of a close- 
fitting skin coat reaching to the knee; in the men it is slit down the 
breast, in the women it is open down the whole front, but held 
together with leather thongs; a hood of the same material is usually 
attached to or forms part of the dress; mittens also are sewn on; 
leather breeches reach below the knee; and leather stockings, 
which fasten over the knee, complete the attire. The fur garment 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 423 


worn by the women is edged down the sides of the opening 
with a carefully pieced border of variously-coloured little squares 
of short-haired fur, and has always a broad band of dog-skin 
round the foot; that worn by the men has at most a border of 
dog-skin, and has always a hood; the leather stockings, if they 
are decorated at all, are composed of many prettily-combined, 
diversely-coloured stripes of skin from the leg of a reindeer, with 
a stout shoe partly sewn on, partly laced over the foot. A broad 
leather belt, usually studded with metal buttons, confines the man’s. 
garment at the waist and holds his knife; a gaily-coloured head- 
wrap, with long fringes, which replaces the hood in summer, falls. 
down over the woman's dress. Shirts are unknown; but, on the 
other hand, the woman wears a girdle, of a kind unknown among 
us. By way of ornament, the woman puts on her fingers as many 
brass, or, where circumstances permit, silver rings as the lower joint. 
will wear, so that that portion of the hand is literally mailed ; a 
more or less handsome string of glass beads is hung round the neck, 
and very heavy tassel-like ear-rings of glass beads, twisted wire, 
and metal buttons, are hung rather over than in the ear; finally, 
the hair is plaited into two rope-like braids reaching to the middle 
of the calf, and interwoven with woollen threads. The Ostiak 
dandy dresses his hair in the same way-—a proof that fools are alike 
all the world over—while the ordinary man usually wears his hair 
long, but loose. 

Still simpler than the dress, but equally well adapted to its pur- 
pose,—for their costume, though not beautiful, is suited alike for 
summer and winter use,—is the dwelling of the Ostiak, a cone- 
shaped, movable hut covered with birch-bark, the tshum of the 
fisher-folk and wandering herdsmen. The framework is formed of 
twenty or thirty thin, smooth poles, from four to six yards in 
length, and pointed at both ends. These are fixed in a circle, which 
is very exact though measured only by the eye, two of them bent 
towards each other are fastened near their tops with a short cord, 
and serve as a support for all the rest. The outer covering con- 
sists of from five to eight sheets cut to the convex curve of the cone, 
and composed of little pieces of birch-bark previously boiled and 


424 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


thus rendered pliant. On the least exposed side is an opening 
which serves as a door, and which can be closed at will with 
another sheet of bark; the pointed top of the tent is always 


— 


Fig. 62,—‘‘ Heathen” Ostiaks, Reindeer, and Tshums. 


left uncovered to admit of the free passage of smoke. From the 
door straight to the opposite side of the hut runs a passage, in the 
middle of which the fire is built; over this two horizontal poles, 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 425 


fastened to the supports of the hut, serve as a drying-stand, from 
which also the cooking-kettle hangs. To right and left of the 
passage, boards, or at least mats, are laid down, and serve as floor- 
ing and also to mark off the sleeping places, whose head-end is 
towards the wall. Mats, made of bundles of sedge, long-haired, 
soft reindeer skins, and cushions stuffed with reindeer hair or dried 
moss, form the bed, and its coverings are of fur. A mosquito tent, 
under which the whole family creeps in summer, protects the sleepers 
more effectually against the winged tormentors than the smoky 
fire of rotten willow wood which is kept constantly burning in the 
entrance of the tshum. Cooking vessels, tea and drinking kettles, 
bowls, leather bags for holding flour and hard-baked bread, little 
chests with locks for holding the most valuable possessions, especi- 
ally the tea-set, an axe, a gimlet, leather scrapers, a bowl-like work- 
box, a bow, crossbow or gun, snow-shoes, and various implements 
of the chase, make up the domestic plenishings. A household god 
replaces the crucifix, which is rarely absent from the huts of the 
Christian Ostiaks. 

The tshum is protected against the cold and storms of winter 
by a leather covering of worn-out skins sewn together, or, more 
effectually, by spreading a second layer of sheets of birch-bark over 
the first. 

If the owner of the tshum be a fisherman, one may see in front 
of his dwelling drying-stands for hanging up the nets, and others 
for drying fish, all very carefully made; also exceedingly light, 
daintily-wrought fishing-baskets, several excellent little boats, and 
other fishing apparatus; if he be also a huntsman there are in 
addition all kinds of implements of the chase, such as bows and 
spring-crossbows; if he be a reindeer-herdsman there are several 
well-made sledges with their appropriate harness, and the boat 
which is also indispensable. 

Every Ostiak is experienced in fishing, almost all hunt or set 
snares, but not all are herdsmen. To possess reindeer means, among 
them, to be well-to-do, to possess many is to be rich; to live by fish- 
ing alone is poverty. Horses and cows are to be seen in some of 
their settlements, though in very small numbers, and only in the 


426 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


district about the middle of the river-basin; sheep, and sometimes 
even a cat may be kept; but the real domestic animals are the rein- 
deer and dog. Without these, especially without the reindeer, a 
well-to-do man would scarcely think life possible, and it is indeed 
to them he owes all that makes up what he looks on as the joy of 
existence. As the Bedouin, the wandering herdsman of Central 
Africa, deems himself superior to those of his race who till the 
fields; as the Kirghiz looks down almost contemptuously on those 
who strive to wrest subsistence from the soil, so the possessor, or 
even the herdsman of reindeer, only uses net and hook to supply his 
own necessities, while the fisherman casts his nets and sets his 
baskets not for himself alone, but in the service of others. The 
wealth of a man is calculated by the number of his reindeer; with 
them his prosperity and his happiness are alike bound up. And 
when the deadly murrain annihilates his herds, he loses not wealth 
and happiness alone, but much more: esteem and rank, self-respect 
and confidence, even, it may be, his religion, manners, and morals, 
in short—himself. “As long as the plague did not ravage our 
herds,” said the district governor, Mamru, the most intelligent 
Ostiak whom we met, “we lived joyously and were rich, but since 
we have begun to lose them, we are gradually becoming poor fisher- 
men; without the reindeer we cannot hold out, we cannot live.” 
Poor Ostiaks! in these words your doom is pronounced. Even now 
the reindeer, which once were counted by hundreds of thousands, 
have dwindled to a total of fifty thousand, and still the Destroying 
Angel passes almost yearly through the antlered herds. What will 
be the end? The Russian priests will gain more and more Christians, 
the Russian fishermen more and more hirelings, but the Ostiaks will 
be Ostiaks only in name, and that at no far distant time. 

The reindeer of Northern Asia is an essentially different creature 
from that of Lapland, for it is not only larger and more stately, but 
it is a domestic animal in the best sense of that term. We all ima- 
gined we knew the reindeer; for in Lapland we had examined it 
precisely and carefully with the eye of the naturalist; but in Siberia 
we were obliged to admit that till then we had gained a very imper- 
fect idea of this most remarkable of domestic animals. In Lapland 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 429 


we had known the deer ceaselessly resisting, submitting with visible 
reluctance to the yoke of the little men, and always apparently bent 
on regaining its freedom; here in Siberia we found a docile, willing 
animal, attached to man, and trusting in him. Certainly the Ostiak 
knows well how to deal with it. Though he does not treat it with 
the tenderness he bestows on his dog, he is, on the whole, not 
unkind to it, and he is very rarely rough or brutal. Unlike the 
Laplander, he refrains from milking it, but he harnesses it more 
frequently; for, winter and summer, it must draw him and his 
family, the tshum with its appurtenances, and all the other requisites 
for the continual migrations. The Lapp, on the other hand, only 
harnesses the reindeer to his sledge in winter. Like the Lapp, the 
Ostiak makes use of every portion of the carcase of a slaughtered 
animal, with the sole exception of the stomach and intestines. The 
flesh serves him as food, the bones and horns make all sorts of 
implements, the tendons supply twine for sewing his clothing, that, 
and whatever else he requires in the way of leather, is furnished 
by the skin; even the hoofs are utilized. On a light sledge, drawn 
by the reindeer, the Ostiak travels, in summer and in winter, from 
place to place—to weddings, to festivals, to the chase, and to the 
burial of his friends; with it he draws his dead to their last resting- 
place; he slaughters the reindeer and eats it with his guests, or in 
honour of his dead, whom he wraps up in its skin, as he does 
himself. Truly, without the reindeer he cannot endure, cannot live. 

Of scarcely less importance than his horned herds is the Ostiak’s 
second domestic animal, the dog. It is possessed and cared for not 
only by the wandering herdsman, but by. every Ostiak—fisher as 
well as huntsman, settler as well as nomad. The Ostiak dog is 
represented by two different breeds, whose chief difference, however, 
is only in size. Whether our dog-fanciers would find it beautiful I 
cannot say. For my part, I must pronounce it beautiful, because, 
with the sole exception of the colour, it possesses all the character- 
istics of a wild dog. It most resembles the Pomeranian dog, but is 
usually larger; indeed, it is often so large as to approach the wolf 
in size; and its slender build also distinguishes it from the Pomer- 
anian. The head is elongated, the muzzle moderately long, the neck 


430 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


short, the body long, the limbs slender, the tail moderately long, the 
brassy eyes obliquely set, the short pointed ears held erect, the hair 
extraordinarily long and thick, consisting of a mixture of decidedly 
woolly and bristly hairs. The colour varies, but is predominantly 
pure white, or white with deep black, usually regular markings on 
both sides of the head, including the ears, on the back and on the 
sides of the body; or it may be wolf or mouse gray, or dun-coloured, 
watered and waved, but never striped. The slightly bushy tail is 
always carried hanging, or extended, but never curled, and the re- 
semblance to a wild dog is thereby greatly increased. 

Constant and intimate association with man has transformed 
the Ostiak dog into an exceedingly good-natured animal. He is 
watchful but not given to biting, brave but not pugnacious, faithful 
and eager but not hostile to strangers nor violent. Though he hastens 
suspiciously, if not exactly with unfriendliness, towards a stranger, 
he becomes confiding as soon as he hears him speak with his master, 
or sees him step into the tshum. He is in no way pampered, for 
though he loves to share the dwelling of his master or mistress, he 
exposes himself without apparent discomfort to wind and weather, 
throws himself unhesitatingly into the cold water of the river and 
swims straight across a broad arm, or, when on a journey, trots on 
uncomplainingly under the sledge to which he is chained, whether 
the way lead over bog or morass, among dwarf-birch bushes or 
through water. Intelligent and cunning, ingenious and inventive, 
clever and active, he knows how to make his life comfortable, and 
to adapt himself to all situations. In the tshum he lies self-deny- 
ingly beside much-desired foods; outside of his master’s hut he is a 
bold and greedy thief; among the dwarf-birches of the tundra he 
trots indifferently under the sledge, but over smooth or other easy 
ground he places himself with all four legs together on the runners 
of the sledge and lets himself be carried. While hunting he is a 
faithful and useful assistant to his master, but he snaps away the 
game which he has scented and a stranger shot, and devours it 
with such an air of inoffensive enjoyment that one cannot be angry 
with him. In tending the herds he shows himself acquainted with 
all the peculiarities and tricks of the reindeer, and he is docile enough; 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 431 


but he is never quite so trustworthy as our sheep-dog, for he allows 
himself an opinion of his own, and only yields his services without 
resisting when it appears to him absolutely necessary. 

The Ostiak dog is at once playmate, sentinel of the tshum, 
guardian of the herds, and draught animal, and he is made use of 
even after death. He is only harnessed to the sledge in winter, but 
the harness is so awkward that if he has to exert himself much he 
becomes in a few years weak in the loins or hip-shot. After death 
his splendid coat is much prized; indeed, many of the Ostiaks 
evidently keep a disproportionately large number of dogs solely to 
have skins at their disposal every winter. 

It is probably for the same or some similar reason that the 
various mammals and birds, such as foxes, bears, owls, crows, cranes, 
swans, &c., which one sees chained in or before the tent of the fisher- 
man or the herdsman, are taken from the nest and reared. As long 
as they are young they are tended carefully and kindly; whenever 
they are full-grown and in good fur or feather they are killed, the 
edible parts are eaten, and the skin or feathers made use of 
or sold, the former especially often fetching an astonishingly high 
price. 

Here, as everywhere else, the dog submits to man’s will, but man 
must adapt himself to the requirements of the reindeer. These re- 
quirements, and not the will or humour of the herdsman, determine 
the wanderings of the nomad Ostiak, as the coming and going of the 
fishes influences the doings of his relatives in fixed abodes, to a con- 
siderable extent at least. The migrations of the reindeer herdsmen 
and their herds take place for almost the same reasons and in the 
same direction as those of the Kirghiz, and are distinguished from 
them chiefly by the fact that they do not cease in winter, but 
rather become more constant and varied. When the snow begins 
to melt, the Ostiak herdsman travels slowly towards the mountains; 
when the mosquito plague begins he ascends their sides, or at least 
betakes himself to the shoulders of the ranges; when it ceases again 
—and even the open heights are not entirely free from it—he 
gradually descends to the low tundra to pass the winter, if possible 
on his native river-bank. This is the course of his life one year 


432 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


after another, unless he is visited by that most terrible of disasters, 
the reindeer plague. 

Before the short summer comes to the inhospitable land, before 
even the first breath of spring is stirring, when a thick sheet of ice 
lies still unbroken over the mighty river, its tributaries, and the 
innumerable lakes of the tundra, the reindeer bring forth their 
calves; it is therefore more than ever necessary to seek out a place 
which offers sufficient pasture for both mothers and young. Our 
herdsman migrates, therefore, not to the deepest valleys, but to the 
heights from whose crests the raging storms of winter have blown 
away much of the snow, and here, in the best available spot, he 
erects his tshum. For days, even weeks, he remains there until all 
the exposed reindeer moss has been eaten up, and the broad hoof of 
the reindeer itself, which has been used to clear away the snow, 
almost refuses duty. Then the herdsman breaks up his camp, and 
wends his way to some not far distant spot, which offers the same 
attractions as the first. Here, too, he remains until pasturage 
becomes too scarce, for this is still what he looks on as the good 
season. The herds feed in dense troops; among the stags, whose 
antlers have just begun to sprout, the deepest peace reigns; the 
calves are never lost sight of by their anxious parents; the herd 
neither scatters nor wanders out of hearing of the loud call which 
summons them to the tshum at sundown. At night, indeed, the 
greedy wolf, which has been driven by winter from the mountains, 
prowls around them, but the brave dogs keep sharp watch, and 
resist the cowardly robber; and our herdsman therefore is as little 
troubled about the wolves as he is about winter, which he, like all 
the peoples of the far north, looks on as the best season of the year. 
The days—still very short —are gradually lengthening, the nights 
becoming shorter, and the dangers threatening his defenceless 
herds are gradually diminishing. The river throws off its winter 
covering; and with the floods warmed in the steppes of the south, 
soft winds blow through the land; one hill-top after another is laid 
bare of snow, and here, as well as in the valleys, where the buds 
are sprouting luxuriantly, the weather-hardened animals find food 
in abundance. The low tundra has become a paradise in the eyes 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 433 


of our herdsman. But this comfortable life lasts only a short time. 
The quickly-rising sun, which shines longer and becomes hotter 
every day, soon melts the snow in the more level valleys and the 
ice in the broad lakes, thaws even the surface of the frozen earth, 
and calls into life, along with other harmless children of the spring, 
milliards of torturing gnats and persecuting gadflies, whose larvee 
were snorted out of the reindeers’ nostrils only a few weeks 
before. Now wandering begins in earnest; the herdsman travels, 
in short daily marches, but still hastily, towards the mountains. 

As soon as the dew is dry on the moss, lichens, grasses, and the 
young leaves of the dwarf bushes, the women take to pieces the 
tshum they erected only the day before, and load the sledges which 
were only then unladen. In the meantime the herdsman himself, 
on his light sledge drawn by four strong stags, goes in search of 
the herd scattered about to find pasture, or resting contentedly in 
groups, collects them and drives them towards the camping ground, 
where the rest of the family are prepared to receive them. Hold- 
ing in their hands a thin rope, over which the reindeer seldom 
venture to jump, they form a circle round the herd; the herdsman, 
with his lasso in his right hand, goes in among the reindeer, throws 
his noose almost unfailingly round the neck or antlers of the chosen 
stags, secures and harnesses them, orders that all the others be let. 
loose, mounts his sledge again and drives away in the direction of 
the next camping-ground. All the other sledges, driven by differ- 
ent members of the family, follow him in a long train, the whole 
free herd follows them, lowing or grunting, their hoofs crackling 
at every step. The dogs run about the whole procession, barking 
continually and collecting the animals that are inclined to wander. 
They cannot, however, prevent a few from breaking off from the 
sides of the herd and remaining behind. The herd spreads out. 
more and more, picturesquely adorning all the heights; now and 
again they pause in groups over some favourite food; importuned 
by the calves the mother deer perform their maternal duties, and 
then, to please their satisfied offspring, lie down beside them till 
the eagle eye of the herdsman spies them, and, taking’ a wide 


circuit round the laggards, he drives them by a word of command, 
(3070) 28 


434 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


or by the help of the dogs, to join their fellows trotting briskly 
on ahead. Amid renewed general grunting, and loud barking 
from the dogs, the reassembled herd surges onwards; a very forest 
of antlers presses forwards, and something akin to sportsman’s 
joy stirs the heart of the spectator who is unfamiliar with the 
sight. 

The sun is declining; the draught animals groan heavily, their 
tongues hanging far out of their mouths; it is time to allow them 
rest. At a short distance, beside one of the innumerable lakes, 
there rises a low flat hill. Towards it the herdsman directs his 
course, and on its summit he brings his antlered team to a stand. 
One sledge after another arrives; the herd also soon comes up and 
immediately betakes itself to the best grazing-ground, quickly 
followed by the unharnessed draught animals. 

The women select a suitable spot for erecting the tshum, place 
the poles upright in a circle, and cover them with the sheets of 
bark; the herdsman in the meantime takes his already prepared 
noose, and with experienced eye picks out a young, fat stag from 
the herd. Quickly he casts the lasso over its horns and neck. In 
vain the animal struggles for his freedom; the huntsman comes 
nearer and nearer, and the reindeer follows him unresisting towards 
the tshum, which has now been erected. An axe-stroke on the 
back of the head fells the victim to the ground, and a knife is 
plunged into his heart. In a couple of minutes the animal is 
skinned and dexterously cut up. A minute later all the members 
of the family, who have assembled hastily, are dipping strips of 
cut-up liver into the blood collected in the breast-cavity, and the 
“bloody meal” begins. Crouching in a circle round the still warm 
stag, each cuts himself a rib or a piece of the back or haunch; lips 
become red as if they had been badly painted; drops of blood flow 
down over chin and breast; the hands, too, are stained, and, dripping 
with blood, they smear the nose and cheeks; and blood-stained 
countenances meet the astonished stranger's gaze. The baby 
leaves its mother’s breast to share in the meal, and after he has 
swallowed a piece of liver, and reddened face, hands, and whatever 
else he can reach, he crows with joy as his careful mother breaks 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 435 


a marrow-bone and gives it to him to suck. The dogs sit ina circle 
behind the feasting company, ready to snap up the bones which 


Fig. (4,—Interior of an Ostiak Dwelling (T'shum). 


are thrown to them. One after another rises satisfied from 
the meal, wipes his blood-stained hands on the moss, cleans his 
knife in the same way, and retires into the tshum to rest. But 
the housewife fills the cooking-kettle with water, puts into it as 


436 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


much of the flesh of the half-eaten animal as it will hold, and lights 
the fire to prepare the evening meal. 

Meantime the herdsman has thrown off his upper garment and 
looked through it hastily, yet not without result, and he has drawn 
near the fire so that the flames may play with full effect on the 
naked upper portion of his body. He feels comfortable, and begins 
to think of another enjoyment. A wonderful man who is travelling 
towards the mountains in his company, a German, perhaps even 
a member of the Bremen exploring expedition to West Siberia, has 
not only presented him with tobacco—horrible stuff, it is true, yet 
at any rate strong—but he has also given him a great sheet of paper, 
a whole Kélnische Zeitung. From this he carefully tears off 
a small square piece, twists it to a pointed cornet, fills this with 
tobacco, bends it in the middle, and the pipe is ready. A moment 
later it is alight, and it smells so pleasant that the wife distends 
her nostrils, and begs to share the enjoyment. Her wish is at once 
granted, and the little pipe wanders round so that every member 
of the family may enjoy it in turn. 

But the contents of the pot begin to bubble, the supper is ready, 
and all “raise their hands to the daintily prepared meal”. Then 
the herdsman stands outside the door and utters a far-sounding call 
of long-drawn notes, to collect the restless herd once more. This 
done, he returns content into the tshum. Here his wife has spread 
the mosquito tent and is still busy stuffing its lower edge under the 
coverlets. While waiting for this work to be finished the man on 
his couch amuses himself by seizing one of the dogs and nursing it 
like a baby, the dog enduring it patiently in the consciousness that 
it is a high honour. Then the man creeps half-naked under the 
mosquito net, his fifteen-year-old son follows his example, the little 
thirteen-year-old wife of the latter does the same, the anxious 
mother sees to the safety of the little one in the cradle, the nursling 
already mentioned, lays more decayed wood on the smoky fire at 
the. entrance to the tshum, shuts the door, and lies down like the 
rest. A few minutes later loud snoring announces that all are 
sleeping the sleep of the just. 

The next morning the same daily round begins again, and so it 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 437 


goes on until the mountain heights permit of a longer sojourn in 
one place. The snow, which falls very early, warns them to return 
even in August, and again, this time more slowly and leisurely, 
herdsmen and herds journey back to the low grounds. 

With the disappearance of the ice the activity of the fishermen 
on the river begins. Many of the Ostiak fishermen work in the 
pay of, or at least in partnership with the Russians, others only sell 
to them the superfluous portion of their catch, and fish on their 
own account. Immediately after the ice has broken up, the former 
class pitch their tshums beside the fisher huts of the Russians, and 
the others settle by the river banks in their summer dwellings— 
log-huts of the simplest construction. Where a tributary flows 
into the river, they raise across it, or across the mouth of an arm of 
the stream, a barricade which leaves only one channel, and in the 
deep water they place baskets and set bottom-lines; beyond that 
they use only drag- and seine-nets. 

Bustling activity prevails about all the fishing-stations when 
the catch is good. On a shaky stand above the opening in the 
barricade the young men, more boys than men, are crouching, 
peering keenly into the dark flood beneath them to see whether 
the fish are going into the draw-net which they are holding 
so as to close the channel. From time to time they lift their 
burdened net, and empty its contents into their little boat. The 
men fish together on a sand-bank with the drag-net, or in shallower 
parts of the river with the seine. In the afternoon, or towards 
evening the fishermen return home, and the fish are distributed 
among the different households. Next morning the women’s work 
begins. Singly, or in groups, they sit beside a great fish heap, each 
provided with a board and a sharp knife, and scale, gut, split, and 
crimp the fish, afterwards stringing them on long thin sticks, 
which are hung up on the drying-stands to dry. With dexterous 
and certain strokes the abdominal cavity is opened and the side 
muscles separated from the backbone, a few touches more separate 
the liver and other viscera from the head, ribs, and more 
valuable side portions of the body. Liver after liver slips between 
the smacking lips; for the women have not yet broken their fast. 


438 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


and they take the titbits as a preliminary snack. If they are still 
unsatisfied, a fish is scaled, gutted, and cut in long strips, the end 
of one of these is dipped into the trickling blood and, thus seasoned, 
is put into the mouth, divided into suitable mouthfuls with quick 
knife-strokes which seem to pass perilously near the point of the 
eater’s nose. The children playing about their busy mothers 
receive pieces of liver or strips of muscle according to their size; 
four-year-olds use the knife to cut the pieces almost as cleverly as 
their elders, who invariably divide their fish or strips of reindeer 
flesh in this manner. Soon the faces of mothers and children 
shine with fish blood and liver oil, and the hands glisten with 
adhering fish-scales. When all the fishes are scaled, split, and 
“ hung up to dry, the dogs which have been sitting, covetous but not 
importunate, beside the women, receive their portion also—the 
scales and debris, which are thrown into a heap amid which the 
black muzzles burrow eagerly. 

The morning work is over, and a short period of rest has been 
earned. The mothers take their children on their laps, suckle the 
nurslings, and then proceed to a work which is absolutely necessary, 
not only to the little ones’ comfort but to their own—the hunt for 
parasites. One child after another lays its head in its mother’s 
lap, and finally she lays her own in that of her eldest daughter or 
of a friend who hopes for a similar service, and the hunt proves 
productive. That the booty secured is put between the lips, and 
if not actually eaten, at least bitten to death, is nothing new toa 
naturalist who has observed monkeys, and it confirms those who 
see more than a mere hypothesis in Darwin’s doctrine, or in the 
belief that men may exhibit atavism, or a reversion to the habits 
of a remote ancestor. 

The sun is sinking, the men, youths, and boys come back with 
a new and rich harvest. They have eaten raw fish as they required, 
but now their souls long for warm food. A great steaming kettle 
of cooked fish, delicious salmonoids (genus Coregonus), the nearest 
relative of the salmon, is set before them; its accompaniment is 
bread dipped in and thoroughly saturated with fish fat. Brick-tea,™ 
put on the fire with cold water and boiled for a long time, brings 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 439 


the meal to an end. “But when the desire for food and drink is 
appeased” the spirit also longs for satisfaction, and the musician 
with harp or zither of his own manufacture is eagerly welcomed, 
whether to play one of their strange, old, indescribable melodies, or 
an accompaniment to the quaint dance of the women, in which they 
raise themselves and sink again, throw one arm round the other, 
stretch both out, and drop them to their sides. These amusements. 
last until the mosquito-curtain is prepared, then here, too, old and 
young disappear beneath its folds. 

The summer is past, and winter follows the short autumn. A 
new activity comes into play with the migration of the birds; a 
new, indeed the full, true life of the Ostiaks begins with winter. 
For the departing summer guests the treacherous net is spread. 
Gaps are cut in the dense willow growth of the banks on the direct 
course between two large sheets of water, and in each space is 
spread a thin, easily-moved limed net, into which fly not only 
ducks, but geese, swans, and cranes. These are welcome booty, both 
on account of flesh and feathers, for birds of all kinds form a 
considerable portion of the food not only of the Ostiaks but. 
of all the dwellers in the river-basin. At the time when the 
bird-catcher begins his work the nomad herdsman sets out on the 
chase, and sets his fall-traps in the tundra for the red and Arctic 
foxes, or in the forest, in company with his more settled relatives, 
he sets snares, spring-bows, and self-acting cross-bows for wolves 
and foxes, sables and ermines, gluttons and squirrels. If snow has 
fallen, the experienced huntsman buckles on his snow-shoes, puts 
on his snow-spectacles, and betakes himself with his fleet dog to 
the tundra or the forest to seek out the bear in his den, to follow 
the track of the lynx, to chase the elk and the wild reindeer, now 
impeded by the snow, which will not bear their weight though it 
bears the huntsman’s. He has never lied, never sworn falsely by 
the bear’s tooth, never done a wrong, and the bear is therefore 
powerless against him, the elk and the reindeer are not fleet enough 
to escape him! When a bear has been shot he returns triumphantly 
to the village, neighbours and friends gather round him in the 
tshum, rejoicing, and as the general jubilation infects him, he slips 


440 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


quietly away, disguises himself, puts on a mask, and begins the 
bear-dance, executing wonderful movements, which are meant to 
mimic and illustrate those of the bear in all the varied circum- 
stances of his life 

The huts of the fisher-folk soon contain a rich treasure of skins, 
the tshum of the herdsman a still richer, for he has stored up the 
skins of all the reindeer slaughtered throughout the year. Now 
it is time to get rid of them. Everyone, far and near, prepares for 
the fair which is held every year, in the second half of January, 
in Obdorsk, the last Russian village, and the most important 
trading centre on the lower Obi. The fair is attended by natives 
and strangers, and during its progress the Russian government 
officials collect taxes from the Ostiaks and Samoyedes, settle 
disputes, and deal out justice generally; the Russian merchants are 
on the outlook for buyers and sellers, the dishonest ones among 
them, and the swindling Syryani, for thoughtless drunkards, and 
the clergy for heathen to be converted. Among the Ostiaks and 
Samoyedes all sorts of agreements are made, weddings arranged, 
enemies reconciled, friends gained, compacts with the Russians 
formed, debts paid and new ones contracted. From all sides appear 
long trains of sledges drawn by reindeer, and’ one tshum after 
another grows up beside the market-place, each tshum surrounded 
by heavily-laden sledges containing the saleable acquisitions of 
the year. Every morning the owner, with his favourite wife in 
gala attire, proceeds to the booths to sell his skins and buy other 
commodities. They bargain, haggle, and attempt to cheat, and 
Mercury, as powerful as of yore, shows his might not only as the 
god of merchants but of thieves. Alcohol, though its retail sale 
is forbidden by the government, is to be had not only at every 
merchant’s, but in almost every house in Obdorsk, and it blunts 
the senses and dulls the intelligence of Ostiak and Samoyede, and 
impoverishes them even more than the much-dreaded reindeer 
plague. Brandy rouses all the passions in the ordinarily calm, good- 
tempered, inoffensive Ostiak, and transforms the peaceable, friendly, 
honest fellows into raging, senseless animals. Man and wife alike 
long for brandy; the father pours it down his boy’s throat, the 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 44] 


mother forces it on her daughter, should they begin by rebelling 
against the destructive poison. For brandy the Ostiak squanders 
his laboriously-gained treasures, his whole possessions; for it he 
binds himself as a slave, or at least as a servant; for it he 
sells his soul, and denies the faith of his fathers. Brandy is an 
indispensable accompaniment to the conclusion of every business, 
even to conversion to the orthodox church. With the help of 
brandy a dishonest merchant can get possession of all an Ostiak’s 
skins, and without these, with empty purse and confused head, the 
man who arrived in Obdorsk full of hope and pride, returns to 
his tshum cheated, not to say plundered. He repents his folly and 
weakness, makes the best of resolutions, becomes tranquil in doing 
so, and soon remembers nothing except that he enjoyed himself 
excellently with his fellow tribesmen. First they had drunk 
together; then men and women had kissed each other, then the 
men had beaten their wives, had tried their strength on each other, 
had even drawn their sharp knives, and, with flashing eyes, had 
threatened each other with death; but no blood had been shed; 
there had been a reconciliation; the women who had fallen on the 
ground, stupefied with blows and brandy, were lifted up tenderly, 
and were tended by other women; to celebrate the reconciliation 
an important compact had been made, a bridegroom was sought for 
the daughter, a little bride for the son; even a widow had been 
married, and they drank again to the occasion; in short, they had 
had a splendid time. That the government officials had shut up all 
those who were dead drunk, that all, all their money had gone the 
way of things perishable, had certainly been disagreeable, very dis- 
agreeable. However, the prison had opened again; after a time, 
the loss of the money had been got over, and only the golden 
recollection, over which they could gloat for a whole year, and the 
betrothal, so satisfactory to all parties, remained as permanent gain 
from the delightful festival. 

The bridegroom and bride had also been at the fair, had drunk 
with the rest, and thus made each other's acquaintance, and the 
bridegroom had agreed with his parents to choose the maiden as 
his wife, or rather had agreed to receive her. For it is the parents’ 


442 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


decision, not the consent of the couple themselves, that concludes a 
marriage among the Ostiaks. They may perhaps have some regard 
for the bridegroom’s wishes, may allow him to cast his affections on 
one or other of the daughters of his people, but they only send 
an agent to treat with the girl’s father if their own circumstances 
correspond with his. The maiden herself is not consulted, perhaps 
because, at the time of her betrothal, she is much too young to be 
able to decide upon her own future with discretion. Even the 
future husband has not reached his fifteenth year when the agent 
begins to treat for the twelve-year-old bride. In this case the 
general exhilaration of fair-time had considerably hastened the 
course of proceedings. The matrimonial agent had gained an im- 
mediate consent; the negotiations, often very protracted, had been 
at once begun, and thanks to brandy, which usually proves an evil 
demon, but in this case expedited matters, they were brought toa 
speedy conclusion. It had been agreed that Sandor, the young 
bridegroom, should pay for his little bride, Malla, sixty reindeer, 
twenty skins of the white and ten of the red fox, a piece of coloured 
cloth, and various trifles such as rings, buttons, glass beads, head- 
dresses, and the like. That was little, much less than the district 
governor, Mamru, who was scarcely better off, had to give for his 
wife; for his payment consisted of a hundred and fifty reindeer, 
sixty skins of the Arctic and twenty of the red fox, a large piece of 
stuff for clothes, several head-dresses, and the customary trifles. 
But times were better then, and Mamru might well: pay what was 
equivalent to more than a thousand silver roubles for his wife, who 
was stately, rich, and of good family. 

The amount agreed on is paid; the nuptials of the young couple 
are celebrated. The relatives of the bride’s family come to her 
father’s tent to bring presents and to receive others from the bride- 
groom’s gift, which is laid out for everyone to see. The bride is 
arrayed in festive garments, and she and her friends prepare for the 
drive to the tshum of the bridegroom or of his father. Beforehand 
they have eaten abundantly of the flesh of a reindeer, fresh killed, 
according to custom. Only a few fish caught under the ice have 
been cooked to-day; the flesh of the reindeer was eaten raw, and 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 443 


when one began to grow cold a second was slaughtered. The bride 
weeps, as becomes departing brides, and refuses to leave the tshum 
in which she was brought up, but she is consoled and coaxed by all, 
and at last she is ready. <A prayer before the domestic idol solicits 
the blessing of the heavenly Ohrt, whose sign, the divine fire 
Sornidud—in our eyes only the flaming northern light—had shone 
blood-red in the sky the evening before. The daughter is accom- 
panied by her mother, who keeps close by her side, and even 
remains near her during the night. Mother and daughter mount 
one sledge, the rest of the invited kinsfolk mount theirs, and, in 
festive pomp, to the sound of the bells which all the reindeer wear 
on their harness, the wedding procession sets forth. 

In his father’s tent the bridegroom awaits the bride, who 
modestly veils her face with her head-dress in the presence of her 
future father and brothers-in-law. This she continues to do after 
the marriage is consummated. A new banquet begins, and the 
guests, who have been joined by the bridegroom’s relatives, do not 
disperse till late at night. But the next day the mother brings the 
young wife back to her father’s tent. A day later all the bride- 
groom’s relatives appear to demand her back again for him. Once 
more the low hut is filled with festive sounds; then the bride leaves 
it for ever, and is again conducted with pomp to the tshum which 
she is thenceforward to share with her husband, or with him and 
his father and brothers and sisters, or later on with another wife. 

The sons of poor people pay at most ten reindeer for their brides; 
those of the fisher-folk only the most necessary furnishings of the 
tshum, and even these are often shared among several families; but 
their weddings, too, are made the occasion of a joyful festival, and 
there is as much banqueting as circumstances will allow. 

The poorer Ostiaks marry only one wife, but the rich look upon it 
as one of the rights of their position to have two or more. But the 
first wife always retains her privileges, and the others appear to be 
rather her servants than her equals. It is otherwise, however, if she 
should have no children; for childlessness is a disgrace to the ian, 
and a childless wife in the tshum, as elsewhere, is much to be pitied. 

The parents are proud of their children, and treat them with 


444 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


great tenderness. It is with unmistakable happiness in look and 
gesture that the young mother lays her first-born in her bosom, or 
on the soft moss in the neat birch-bark cradle with its lining of 
mouldered willow-wood and shavings; carefully she fastens the 
cover to both sides of the cradle, and envelops the head-end of the 
little bed with the mosquito curtain; but her ideal of cleanliness 
leaves much to be desired. As long as the baby is small and help- 
less she washes.and cleanses it when she thinks it absolutely 
necessary. But when it grows bigger she only washes its face and 
hands once a day, using a handful of fine willow fibres as sponge, and 
a dry handful as towel, and afterwards looks on quite complacently 
when the little creature, who finds many opportunities for soiling 
itself, goes about in a state of dirt, to us almost inconceivable. This 
state of things comes gradually to an end when the young Ostiak is 
able to take care of himself; but even then, hardly anyone considers 
it necessary to wash after every meal, even should it have left stains 
of blood. The children are as much attached, and as faithful to their 
parents as these are to them, and their obedience and submission is 
worthy of mention. To reverence parents is the first and chief 
commandment among the Ostiaks, to reverence their god is only the 
second. When we advised Mamru, the district governor already 
mentioned, to have his children taught the Russian language and 
writing, he replied that he saw the advantage of such knowledge, 
but feared that his children might forget the respect due to their 
father and mother, and thus break the most important command- 
ment of their religion. This may be the reason why no Ostiak, 
who clings to the faith of his fathers, learns to do more than make. 
his mark, a sort of scrawl binding on him and others, drawn upon 
paper, or cut in wood or reindeer-skin. Yet the Ostiak is capable 
and dexterous, able to learn whatever he is taught so quickly and 
easily that, at the early age at which he marries, he understands 
everything connected with the establishment and maintenance of 
his household. It is only in religious matters that he seems un- 
willing to trust to his own judgment, and on this account he, in 
most cases, shows unmerited respect for the shamans,* who profess 
to know more about religion than he does. 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 445 


For our part, we regard the shaman, who claims the status of 
a priest among the Ostiaks as among the other Mongolian peoples 
of Siberia, as nothing short of an impostor. The sole member of the 
precious brotherhood with whom we came in contact, a baptized 
Samoyede, bore the sign of Christianity on his breast; according to 
report he had even been a deacon in the orthodox church, and yet 
he did duty as a shaman among the heathen Ostiaks. I learned 
later, on good authority, that he was no exception to the general 
rule; for all the shamans met with by my informant, Herr von 
Middendorf, during years of travel in Siberia, were Christians. I 
have already mentioned in the report of my travels that the shaman 
whom we met took us also for believers; but I have reserved my 
account of his performances and prophecies for to-day, as this de- 
scription seems to me a fitting frame for such a picture. 

To begin with, he demanded brandy as a fee, but was satisfied 
with the promise of a gift, and retired into a tent, saying that he 
would let us know when his preparations were finished. Among 
these preparations, apparently, was the muffled beating of a drum 
which we heard after a considerable time; of other arrange- 
ments we discovered nothing. On a given signal we entered the 
tshum., 

The whole space within the birch-bark hut was filled with 
people, who sat round in a circle pressing closely against the walls. 
Among the Ostiaks and Samoyedes, who were there with wives 
and children, there were also Russians with their families. On a 
raised seat to the left of the entrance sat the shaman Vidli; at his 
right, crouching on the floor, was an Ostiak, the master’s disciple at 
the time. Vidli wore a brown upper garment, and over it a kind 
of robe, originally white, but soiled and shabbily trimmed with gold 
braid; in his left hand he held a little tambour-like drum, in such 
a way that it shaded his face; in his right hand was a drum-stick; 
his head was uncovered, his tonsured hair freshly oiled. In the 
middle of the tshum a fire was burning, and now and again it 
blazed up and shed bright light on the motley throng, in the midst 
of which we sat down in the places reserved for us. A thrice- 
repeated, long-drawn cry, like a song from many voices, preluded by 


446 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


beating of the drum, greeted our entrance, and marked the beginning 
of the proceedings. 

“That you may see that I am a man of truth,” said the master’s 
voice, “I shall now adjure the messenger of the heavenly will, who 
is at my behest, to appear among us and communicate to me what the 
gods have determined concerning your future. Later, you yourselves 
will be able to determine whether I have told you the truth or not.” 

After this introduction, which was translated to us by two 
interpreters, the favourite of the gods struck the calf-skin, or rather 
reindeer-skin of his drum, with quick strokes which followed one 
another at equal intervals, but were indefinitely grouped, and accoin- 
panied his drumming with a song which, in the usual Samoyede 
fashion, was half-spoken, or rather muttered, and half-sung, and 
was faithfully repeated by the youth, whom we may call the clerk. 
The master held the drum so as to keep his face in shadow, and 
he also shut his eyes that nothing might distract his inward vision; 
the clerk, on the other hand, smoked even while he sang, and 
spat from time to time, just as he had been doing before. Three slow, 
decided strokes brought the drumming and the song to an end. 

“T have now,” said the master with dignity, “adjured Yamaul, 
the heavenly messenger, to appear among us, but I cannot say how 
much time must pass before he arrives, for he may be far off.” 

And again he beat his drum and sang his incantation, concluding 
both song and accompaniment as before. 

“JT see two emperors before me; they will send you a writing,” 
spoke the messenger of the gods through his lips. 

So Yamaul had been kind enough to appear in the tshum to 
oblige his favourite. Then the individual sentences of the heavenly 
message, with the invariable prelude of drumming and song, were 
uttered as follows:— : 

“Once again, next summer, you will traverse the same route as 
this year.” 

“Then you will visit the summit of the Ural, where the rivers 
Ussa, Bodarata, and Shtshutshya begin their course.” 

“On this journey something will befall you, whether good or 
evil I cannot tell.” 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 447 


“Nothing is to be achieved at the Bodarata, for wood and pasture 
are lacking; here something might be accomplished.” 

“You will have to render an account to your superiors; they 
will examine you and will be satisfied.” 

“You will also have to answer to the three elders of your tribe; 
they also will examine your writings, and then come to a decision 
about the new journey.” 

“The course of your journey will henceforward be happy and 
without accident; and you will find your loved ones at home in the 
best of health.” 

“If the statements of the Russians who are still at Bodarata 
corroborate yours, two emperors will reward you.” 

“T see no other face.” 

The performance was at an end. On the Ural Mountains lay 
the last glow of midnight. Everyone left the tent, the faces of the 
Russians showing the same credulity as those of the Ostiaks and 
Samoyedes. But we invited the shaman to accompany us to our 
boat, loosened his tongue and that of his disciple with brandy, and 
plied him with all manner of cross-questions, some of them of the 
subtlest kind. He answered them all, without exception, without 
ever getting into a difficulty, without hesitation, without even 
reflection; he answered them full of conviction, and convincingly, 
clearly, definitely, tersely, and to the point, so that we recognized 
more clearly than before the extreme craftiness of the man with 
whom we had to deal. 

He described to us how, even in his boyhood, the spirit had 
come upon him and had tortured him till he became the disciple 
of a shaman; how he had become more and more intimate with 
Yamaul, the messenger of the gods, who appears to him as a friendly 
man, riding on a swift horse, and carrying a staff in his hand; how 
Yamaul hastened to his help, and even, if need were, called down 
aid from heaven when he, the shaman, was struggling with evil 
spirits often for several days at a time; how the messenger of the 
gods must always communicate the message to him just as he 
received it, for that otherwise he felt every drum-beat as a painful 
stroke; how Yamaul, even to-day, though visible to him only, sat 


448 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


behind him in the tshum and whispered the words in his ear. He 
also informed us that, by his own art, or by the grace bestowed 
upon him, which even his conversion to Christianity could not 
weaken, he could reveal what was hidden, find what was stolen, 
recognize diseases, prophesy the death or recovery of the sick, see 
and banish the ghosts of the dead, work much evil, and prevent 
much evil, but that he did nothing but good, because he feared the 
gods; he gave us a clear and detailed, if not quite correct picture 
of the religion of the Ostiaks and Samoyedes; he assured us that 
all his people, as well as the Ostiaks, came to him in their troubles 
to ask advice, or to have the future unveiled, and that they did not 
doubt, but trusted in him and believed him. 

The last statement is not correct. The great mass of the people 
may regard the shaman as a wise man, perhaps even as an inter- 
mediary between men and the gods, and possibly as the possessor 
of mysterious power; but many believe his words and works as 
little as other races do those of their priests. The real faith of the 
people is simpler and more child-like than the shaman approves of. 
It is here as elsewhere; the priest, or whoever acts as such, peoples 
heaven with gods, and councillors and servants of the gods, but the 
people know nothing of this celestial court. 

According to the belief of the people there is enthroned in 
heaven Ohrt, whose name signifies “the end of the world”. He 
is an all-powerful spirit, who rules over everything but Death, and 
he is benevolently inclined towards men. He is the giver of all 
good, the bestower of reindeer, fish, and furred animals, the pre- 
venter of evil, and the avenger of lies, severe only when promises 
made to him are not fulfilled. Feasts are held in his honour, 
sacrifices and prayers are offered to him; the suppliant who pros- 
trates himself before a sacred symbol thinks of him. The symbol, 
called a longch, may be of carved wood, a bundle of cloth, a stone, 
a skin, or anything else: it possesses no powers, affords no protec- 
tion, it is in no sense a fetish! People assemble before a longch, 
place it in front of the tshum, lay dishes of fish, reindeer flesh, or 
other offering before it, place valuables before it, or even pack 
them inside it; but they always look up to heaven, and both 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 449 


their offerings and their prayers are intended for their god. Evil 
spirits dwell in heaven as on earth; but Ohrt is more powerful 


Fig. 65.—The Burial of an Ostiak. 


than they all; only Death is mightier than he. There is no ever- 
lasting life after death, and no resurrection; but the dead still 
wander as ghosts over the face of the earth, and have still power 


to do good or evil. 
(M70) 29 


450 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


When an Ostiak dies his spirit-life begins at once; so his friends 
proceed immediately to arrange for his burial. They had all 
assembled before his death, and as soon as life is extinct they kindle 
a fire in the tshum in which the body lies, and keep it burning 
until they set out for the burial-place. A shaman is called to ask 
the dead where he wishes to lie. This is done by naming a place, 
and attempting to raise the head of the corpse. If the dead man 
approves he lets his head be raised; if he does not, three men can- 
not move it. Then the question must be repeated until the man 
gives his consent. Skilled persons are despatched to the chosen 
spot to prepare the grave, for this work often requires several 
days. 

The burial-places are always in the tundra, on elevated spots, 
usually on a long ridge; the coffins are more or less artistically 
wrought chests, which are placed above the ground. Failing solid 
planks to construct the coffin, a boat is cut up and the corpse is 
laid in that; only the very poor people dig in the ground a shallow 
hollow in which to bury their dead. 

The corpse is not washed, but is arrayed in festive garments, 
the hair anointed, and the face covered with a cloth. All the rest 
of the deceased’s clothing is given to the poor. The Ostiaks never 
touch the dead body of a stranger with their hands, but they do not 
hesitate to touch a loved relative, and even to kiss his cold face 
with tears in their eyes. The corpse is brought to the burial-place 
on a sledge, or in a boat, and is accompanied by all the relatives 
and friends. A reindeer-skin, on which the dead is to rest, is laid 
in the chest or coffin. At the head and sides are placed tobacco, 
pipes, and all manner of implements which the dead man was wont 
to use in his lifetime. Then the corpse is lifted with cords, carried 
to the chest, and laid on the bed thus prepared; the face is covered 
for the last time, a piece of birch-bark is spread over the open top 
of the chest, which, if the family be a rich one, is perhaps first 
covered with costly skins and cloths, the lid of the chest is put on 
above the sheet of bark, or at least heavy branches are laid close 
together upon it. Around and under the chest are laid such imple- 
ments as could not be placed within it, but they are first broken 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 451 


up and thus rendered useless for the living, or, according to Ostiak 
ideas, made the ghosts of what they were. 

Meanwhile, a fire has been kindled in the neighbourhood of the 
grave, and one or more reindeer slaughtered, and now the flesh is 
eaten, raw or cooked, by the funeral company. After the meal, the 
skulls of the slaughtered reindeer are fixed upon a pole, their har- 
ness is hung on the pole or on a tree, the bells they have worn on 
this, as on all solemn occasions, are hung on the top of the coffin 
itself, the sledge is broken to pieces and thrown beside the grave as 
its last ornament. Then the company travels homewards. Mourning 
is now silenced, and the daily round of life begins again. 

But in the shades of night the ghost of the dead, equipped with 
his ghostly tools, begins his mysterious spirit-life. What he did 
while he walked among the living, he continues to do. Invisible to 
all he leads his reindeer to pasture, guides his boat through the 
waves, buckles on his snow-shoes, draws his bow, spreads his net, 
shoots the ghosts of former game, catches the ghosts of former 
fishes. During night he visits the tshum of his wife and children, 
causing them joy or sorrow. His reward is to be able to show 
beneficence to his own flesh and blood; his punishment, to be obliged 
continually to do them injury. 

Such in outline is the religion of the Ostiaks, whom the Greek 
Catholics despise as heathen. But a just estimate of these honest 
people, with their child-like nature, inclines us rather to wish that 
they may ever remain heathen, or at least may never be other than 
they are. 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE 
STEPPES. 


Though the steppe of Central Asia is really rich, and may even 
seem gay to one who visits it in spring, and though it contains 
much fruitful land, it is nevertheless only its most favoured por- 
tions which admit of a settled life, of a continued residence on any 
one particular spot. Constant wandering, coming and going, appear- 


452 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


ing and disappearing, is the lot of all the children of the steppe, 
men and animals alike. Certain portions submit to the labours of 
the husbandman; in others, towns and villages may be established, 
but the steppe as a whole must for ever remain the possession of 
the nomadic herdsman, who knows how to adapt himself to all its 
conditions of life. 

Among these nomadic herdsmen the Kirghiz take the first rank, 
by virtue both of numbers and of civilization. Their domain ex- 
tends from the Don and the Volga to the mountains of Thian- 
shan, and from the middle Irtish to south of the Balkhash Lake, 
indeed, almost to Khiva and Bokhara; they are divided into tribes 
and hordes, into steppe and mountain herdsmen, but they are one 
in descent, in language and religion, in manners and customs, 
however much the various tribes may appear to differ. The smallest 
or youngest horde wanders throughout the steppe of Orenburg; a 
branch of the same, calling itself the Buka tribe, traverses the 
steppe between the Volga and Ural rivers, especially in the govern- 
ments of Turgai and Ural; the middle or elder horde inhabits the 
steppes and mountains of the Irtish and Balkhash regions; and 
finally, extending from beyond the river Ili towards Khiva and 
Bokhara are to be found the ever-changing dwelling-places of the 
mountain Kirghiz, who describe themselves as the great, or eldest 
horde. No branch of these people applies the name Kirgis or Kirghiz 
to itself, for that is a term of infamy equivalent to “freebooters”. 
The proper designation of our people is Kaisak, Kasak, or, as we 
should read it, Cossack, although even the Russians apply the name 
Cossack to a people quite distinct from the inhabitants of the 
steppe. 

The Kirghiz, as I shall call them nevertheless, are a Turkish 
people, about whose racial affinities different opinions are ‘held. 
Many, if not most, travellers look upon them as true Mongolians, 
while others regard them, probably more correctly, as a mixed race, 
suggestive of the Mongolians in some particulars, but, on the whole, 
exhibiting the characteristics of Indo-Germans, and especially 
resembling the Turkomans. All the Kirghiz I saw belonged to the 
middle horde, and were well-built people, small, or of medium 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 453 


height, with faces, not beautiful indeed, but not of the caricature- 
like Mongolian type, neat hands and feet, clear or transparent 
light-brown or yellowish complexions, brown eyes, and black hair. 
The cheek-bones are seldom so prominent, or the chin so pointed, 
as to give an angular or cat-faced appearance; the eye, of medium 
size, is usually most arched centrally, and drawn out horizontally at 
the outer angle; it is thus almond-shaped, but not obliquely set; the 
nose is usually straight, more rarely hooked; the mouth moderate 
in size and sharply cut, the beard thin, without being actually 
scanty. True Mongolian features are certainly to be met with also, 
more especially among the women and children of the poorer class; 
but, though I have seen very few really beautiful Kirghiz women, 
IT have met with quite as few of the grotesque faces so common 
among other undoubted Mongols. The characteristics are unmis- 
takably more suggestive of a mixed race than of any one sharply 
defined stock. I have seen men whom I should unhesitatingly 
have pronounced to belong to the nobler Indo-Germans if I had 
known nothing of their kinship, and I have become acquainted 
with others about the Mongolian cut of whose faces there could 
be no possible doubt. The members of the older families usually 
possess all the essential marks of the Indo-Germans, while men of 
lower descent and meaner extraction often remind one of the 
Mongols in many details, and may sometimes resemble them com- 
pletely. The power of Islam, which permits to slaves who have 
become converts all the rights of the tribe, may in the course of 
time have made Kirghiz out of many heathen Mongols, and thus 
not only have influenced, but actually destroyed the racial charac- 
teristics of the Kirghiz. 

Although the chief features of the Kirghiz dress are Turkish, it 
is, as a whole, by no means suited for displaying their figure to 
advantage. In winter the fur cap, fur coat, and thick-legged 
boots hide all the details of the figure, and even in summer these do 
not come into prominence. The poorer Kirghiz, in addition to his 
fur coat and the inevitable fur cap, wears a shirt, kaftan, and wide 
trousers; the higher class rich man, on the other hand, wears a 
great many articles of dress one above the other, like the Oriental; 


454 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


but he stuffs all those which envelop the lower part of his body 
with the exception of his fur coat, into his wide trousers, so that 
he may not be impeded in riding. Consequently, the more richly 
attired he is the more grotesque he looks. They prefer dark 
colours to light or bright ones, though they do not despise these, 
and they are fond of decorations of gay embroideries or braiding. 
Nearly every Kirghiz wears at his girdle a dainty little pocket, 
richly decorated with iron or silver mountings, and a similarly 
ornamented knife; beyond these, and the indispensable signet- 
ring, he wears no decoration unless the Emperor has bestowed one 
upon him, in the shape of a commemorative medal. 

Of the dress of the women I can say little, first, because modesty 
forbade me to ask about more than I could see, and secondly, 
because I did not see the women of the upper class at all, and 
never saw the others in their gala attire. In addition to the fur 
coat, boots and shoes, which are exactly like those of the men, the 
women wear trousers which differ very slightly, a shift, and over it 
a robe-like upper garment, falling below the knee and clasped in the 
middle; on the head they wear either a cloth wound in turban- 
fashion, or a nun-like hood which covers head, neck, shoulders, and 
breast. 

The clothing of both sexes is coarse, except the riding-boots and 
shoes, which are always well made. Very characteristic, and ob- 
viously adapted to the climatic conditions, are the extraordinarily 
long sleeves which both men and women wear on their upper gar- 
ment; these fall far beyond the hands, and cover them almost 
completely. 

The roving life to which the Kirghiz are compelled by the neces- 
sity of. finding sufficient pasturage for their numerous herds, in- 
volves a style of dwelling which is easily constructed, can be taken 
down at one spot and erected again at another without special diffi- 
culty, and which must yet afford a sufficient protection against the 
hardness and inclemency of the climate. These requirements are 
fulfilled more thoroughly by the yurt than by any other movable 
dwelling, and it is not too much to say that this is the most perfect 
of all tents. Thousands of years of experience has made the yurt 


-—-The Home of a Wealthy Kirghiz 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 457 


what it is—a home for the nomadic herdsman, or any other wan- 
derer,—which, in its own way, cannot be surpassed. Light and 
easily moved, readily closed against storms, or thrown open to admit 
air and sunshine, comfortable and commodious, simple, yet admitting 
of rich decoration without and within, it unites in itself so many 
excellent qualities that one appreciates it ever more highly as time 
goes on, and finds it more and more habitable the longer one lives 
in it. It consists of a movable lattice-work which can be extended 
or contracted, and which forms the lower upright circular walls of 
the framework, a coupling ring which forms the arch at the top, 
spars inserted into both these, and a door in the lattice-work; light 
mats of tschi-grass, and large wads or sheets of felt, cut to shape, 
and most ingeniously laid on, compose the outer covering of the 
whole framework, and thick carpets of felt cover the floor. With 
the exception of the door-frames, which are mortised together, 
and of the spars, the upper ends of which are inserted into holes in 
the coupling-ring, the whole structure is held together simply by 
means of cords and bands; and it is thus easily taken to pieces, 
while its form—circular in cross section, and cupola-like longitud- 
inally—renders it capable of great resistance to violent storms and 
bad weather of all sorts. The work of putting it up scarcely 
requires more than half an hour, that of taking it down even less; 
the strength of a single camel conveys it from place to place, but 
its construction and decoration take up much of the time and all 
the ingenuity of the housewife, to whose share falls the chief work 
of making it, and the whole labour of setting it up. 

The yurt forms an important part of the movable property of 
a Kirghiz. A rich man owns six or eight, but he spends money 
rather on the decoration of a few than on the construction of many, 
for he is assessed and taxed not according to the size of his herds 
but the number of his yurts. The high-class Kirghiz certainly 
shows his wealth through his yurt, by fitting it up as richly as 
possible, making it out of the most valuable felt, and decorating it 
without and within with coloured pieces of cloth; but he sets store 
rather by the possession of costly rugs, and beautifully sewn and 
embroidered silken coverlets, with which he decorates the interior 


458 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


of the living-room on festive occasions. Such rugs are handed down 
from father to son, and the possession of them ranks scarcely below 
that of uncoined silver. 

The real wealth of the nomadic herdsman cannot, however, be 
estimated by such secondary things; it must be calculated by his 
herds. Even the poorest owner of a yurt must possess numerous 
beasts to enable him to live, or survive in the struggle for existence; 
for the herds he tends form the one indispensable condition of life; 
they alone stand between him and ruin. The rich man’s herds 
may number thousands upon thousands, those of the poor man at 
least hundreds; but the richest may become poor, if disease breaks 
out among his herds, and the poor man may starve if death visits 
his beasts. Wide-spreading murrain reduces whole tribes to desti- 
tution, causes thousands of human beings literally to die of starva- 
tion. Little wonder, then, that every thought and aspiration of the 
Kirghiz is bound up with his herds, that his manners and customs 
correspond to this intimate connection between man and beast, that 
the man is, in short, dependent on the animal. 

Not the most useful, but the noblest and the most highly prized 
of all the domesticated animals of the Kirghiz is the horse, which in 
the eyes of its owner represents the sum and essence of domestica- 
tion, and the climax of all beauty; it is a standard by which to 
reckon, according to which wealth or poverty is determined. He 
does not call it a horse, but simply the domestic animal; instead of 
the words “left and right” he uses the expressions, “the side on 
which one mounts a horse”, and “the side on which one carries the. 
knout”. The horse is the pride of youth and maiden, of man and 
woman, whether young or old; to praise or find fault with a horse 
is to praise or blame its rider, a blow given to a horse one is not 
riding is aimed not at the horse but at its owner. 

A large number of the Kirghiz songs refer to the horse; it is 
used as a standard of comparison to give an estimate of the worth 
of men and women, or to describe human beauty. 


“Little bride, little bride, 
Dear foal of the dark brood-mare!” 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 459 


the singer calls to the bride who is being led into the bridegroom’s 


yurt; 
“Say where is the play of the white locks 
And where the play of the foals, 
For kind as is the new father, 
He is not the old father to me,” 


the bride answers to the youths who sing the “Jarjar”, the song of 
consolation to the departing bride, referring by the words “ Foal- 
play” to the time of her first love. 

The wealth of a man is expressed in the number of horses he 
possesses; payment for a bride is made in the value of so many 
horses; the maiden who is offered as a prize to the winner in a 
race is held as being worth a hundred mares; horses are given as 
mutual presents; with horses atonement is made for assassination 
or murder, limbs broken in a struggle, an eye knocked out, or for 
any crime or misdemeanour; one hundred horses release from ban 
and outlawry the assassin or murderer of a man, fifty, of a woman, 
thirty, of a child. The fine imposed by the tribe for injuring 
any one’s person or property is paid in horses; for the sake of a 
horse even a respectable man becomes a thief. The horse carries 
the lover to his loved one, the bridegroom to the bride, the hero to 
battle, the saddle and clothing of the dead from one camping-place 
to another; the horse carries man and woman from yurt to yurt, 
the aged man as well as the child firmly bound to his saddle, or 
the youthful rider who sits for the first time free. The rich man 
estimates his herds as equivalent to so many horses; without a 
horse a Kirghiz is what a man without a home is among us; with- 
out a horse he deems himself the poorest under the sun. 

The Kirghiz has thoroughly studied the horse, he knows all its 
habits, its merits and defects, its virtues and vices, knows what 
benefits and what injures it; sometimes, indeed, he expects an 
incredible amount from it, but he never exacts it unless necessity 
compels him. He does not treat it with the affectionate care of the 
Arab, but neither does he ever show the want of consideration of 
many other peoples. One does not see anything of that careful. 
and intelligent breeding of horses which is practised by Arabs and 


460 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Persians, English and Germans, but he does constantly endeavour 
to secure the improvement of his favourite breeds by only placing 
the best stallions with the mares, and castrating the rest. Un- 
fortunately his choice of breeding-horses is determined solely 
by form, and does not take colour into consideration at all, the 
consequence being that many of his horses are exceedingly ugly, 
because their colouring is so irregular and unequal. The training of 
the horse leaves much to be desired; our wandering herdsman is 
much too rich in horses for this to be otherwise. 

We found the Kirghiz horse a pleasant and good-natured crea- 
ture, although it by no means fulfilled our ideal of beauty in all 
respects. It is of medium size and slender build, with a head not 
ugly though rather large, decidedly ram-nosed, and noticeably 
thickened by the prominent lower jaw-bones, a moderately long 
and powerful neck, a long body, fine limbs, and soft hair. Its eyes 
are large and fiery, its ears somewhat large, but well-shaped. Mane 
and tail have fine, long hair, always abundant, the hair of the tail 
growing so luxuriantly that it sweeps the ground; the legs are well 
formed, but rather slim, the hoofs are upright, but often rather 
too high. Light colours prevail and very ugly piebalds often offend 
the eye. The commonest colours are brown, light-brown, fox- 
coloured, dun, and bay, more rare are dark-brown and black, and 
one only occasionally sees a gray. The mane and tail greatly 
increase the beauty of all the light-coloured horses, because they 
are either black or much lighter than the body hairs. 

The temper of the animal is worthy of all praise. The Kirghiz 
horse is fiery, yet extremely good-natured, courageous in the 
presence of all known dangers, and only nervous, skittish, and 
timid when it is bewildered for a moment by something unusual; 
it is spirited and eager in its work, obedient. docile, willing, ener- 
getic, and very enduring, but it is chiefly valuable for riding, and 
requires long breaking-in to make it of use as a draught animal, in 
which capacity it is much less valuable than as a riding-horse. 

It has a particularly disagreeable habit, for which the Kirghiz is 
certainly more to blame than the animal, of constantly eating or at 
least nibbling on the way; it even attempts to satisfy its appetite in 


t 


} 4 i WH i] 
APS 


the Return from the Chase. 


7.—Life among the Kirghiz 


as 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 463 


the most difficult situations, as in wading through rocky mountain 
torrents or climbing steep precipices. It is as insatiable as all other 
domesticated animals accustomed to roam freely over the steppe, 
but in its association with others of its species, except in the 
breeding season, it is as peaceable as it is obedient and submissive 
to its master. 

The poorer Kirghiz possess only horses enough to provide a 
mount for each member of the family, and to ensure the continu- 
ance of their stock. The richer dwellers on the steppe, on the 
other hand, have four or five, indeed I have often been assured as 
many as ten or twelve thousand head, which feed in separate herds, 
and at different places, and therefore, naturally enough, thrive 
better than those of their poorer brethren. Each herd consists of 
at least fifteen, or at most fifty individuals; in the latter case it 
comprises one fully-grown stallion, nine brood-mares, and as many 
young foals, eight two-year-olds, six or eight three-year-olds, and 
five or six four-year-olds, besides some older animals or geldings. 
The stallion is absolute lord and master, guide, leader, and protector 
of the herd, and he never lets himself be deprived of a single foal 
by the wolf, but attacks that cowardly robber boldly and successfully, 
striking him to the ground with his hoofs if he shows fight. But 
he will not tolerate a rival, and drives out all other stallions from 
the herd as soon as they come to maturity; when he enters on 
his leadership he drives away his own mother, and later his own 
daughters. This proud wilfulness necessitates the greatest watch- 
fulness on the part of the herdsman during the pairing time, lest 
he lose the expelled mares which are seeking a new sultan, or the 
stallions which are striving for their own independence. The 
young mare reaches maturity in her fifth year, and the following 
spring, usually in March, she brings forth her first foal. She is 
not at once separated from the rest of the herd, but in May she 
and her foal are brought into the neighbourhood of the yurt, and 
for four months she is regularly milked to provide the famous 
koumiss or milk-wine. In autumn, mother and young are allowed 
to rejoin the herd. Both are received without hesitation, and they 
enjoy their newly-recovered freedom to the full. 


464 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Apart from the horse, the most useful, and therefore the most 
important domestic animal of our nomadic herdsman, is the sheep. 
This animal is very large and well-built, but very much disfigured 
by the protuberances of fat on the rump. The massive body rests 
upon long but powerful legs; the head is small, the nose narrow 
and blunt, the ears pendulous or erect, the horns weak, the skin 
hard but thick, the udder very much developed, the fat rump often 
so enormous that the creature can no longer carry it, but bending 
its knees lets it drag on the ground, unless the herdsman comes 
to its aid by fixing a little two-wheeled cart under the tail, and 
placing the burdensome appendage on that. When the Kirghiz 
rams are crossed with sheep without this protuberance, their 
descendants acquire the singular appendage in two or three genera- 
tions, while if smooth-tailed rams be paired continuously with fat- 
rumped sheep the reverse takes place. 

Though the character of the Kirghiz sheep resembles that of 
our sheep in all important respects, it cannot be disputed that the 
free life on the steppes, the long journeys which have to be made, 
and the difficulties which have to be surmounted in the course of 
these have developed its physical and mental capacities to an 
incomparably higher degree than is attained by our domestic sheep. 
Nevertheless, even in the steppe the clever goat acts as leader and 
guide to the relatively stupid sheep, and it is therefore only right 
that I should describe the goat next. 

The Kirghiz goat is of medium size, massive and well-built, the 
body powerful, the neck short, the head small, the limbs well-pro- 
portioned, the eye large and bright, the glance full of expression, 
the erect ear pointed, the horns comparatively weak, and either 
directed backwards and outwards or half turned on their axes, the 
hair abundant, especially on beard and tail, that on the forehead 
being long and curled; the prevailing colouring is beautiful pure 
white with black markings. 

The Kirghiz always treat sheep and goats exactly alike, and 
they feed together in flocks. The poor Kirghiz of one aul make 
up a flock among them, the rich man, whose beasts are numbered 
by many thousands, has often several. The shepherd, usually a 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 465. 


biggish boy, rides on an ox beside his flock, but he understands so 
well how to manage his steed and make it trot, that he can over- 
take the fleetest goat. Once as we were returning from a hunting 
expedition, we met a shepherd who, by way of amusement, rode 
along for quite a quarter of an hour beside our briskly-trotting 
horses, yet his singular steed showed no signs of fatigue. Only 
the shepherds belonging to the Tartar sheep-owners ride on horses. 
In hazardous parts of their journeys, such as crossing a rapid 
stream, or climbing among the mountains, the goats take the lead, 
and here, as everywhere else, the sheep follow them blindly. 

As hay can only be gathered and stacked in the most favoured 
spots, the birth of lambs and kids in autumn is prevented; it there- 
fore always takes place in spring, and the young ones have thus 
every chance to thrive well and grow rapidly. New-born lambs 
and kids are taken into the yurt at once, and they soon become so: 
well accustomed to it that they only quit the comfortable tent with 
piteous bleatings when circumstances render it necessary. Later 
on they are put into a shelter near the winter-dwelling. In the 
open steppe this shelter is a simple hollow in the ground, over 
which the cold wind blows almost unfelt; finally they are secured 
to the rope called a kégén, which is stretched between strong poles. 
in front of every yurt. As soon as they begin to graze they are 
driven out in flocks by themselves to the open steppe, and brought. 
back to the yurt towards evening. Thus they become accustomed 
from their earliest youth to the free life of the steppes, to wind 
and tempest, storm and rain. 

In comparison with horses, sheep, and goats, cattle play a very 
subordinate part. Herds of them are certainly to be seen in the 
neighbourhood of every aul, but they are quite out of proportion to. 
the numbers of sheep and goats. The ox is larger and better built 
than that of the Russian and Siberian peasants, but it is far behind 
the Chinese ox, and cannot for a moment be compared with any 
noteworthy breed of Western Europe. It is of medium size and 
fleshy, its coat is short and smooth-haired, its horns long and 
curved, its prevailing colour a beautiful, warm red-brown. The 


cattle are sent out to graze in rather large herds, with no super- 
(at 70) 30 


A66 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


vision of any kind, the milch cows being enticed back to the yurt 
solely by the calves which are tied up and tended there, while the 
bulls roam about as they please, and often remain away from the 
aul for several days at a time. 

Though all the large auls possess camels, by no means every 
Kirghiz owns one, and even the richest among them seldom possess 
more than fifty head. For the camel is rightly considered the most 
perishable of all the stock owned by the nomadic herdsmen of this 
steppe; its real home lies farther to the south and east. In the 
part of the steppe through which we travelled only the two-humped 
camel is reared, but south of the Balkhash Lake and in Central 
Asia preference is given to the dromedary. The two species cross 
here and produce strange hybrids in which the two humps are 
almost fused into one. 

The camel of the central steppe belongs to one of the lighter 
breeds, and is therefore not nearly so massive and awkward as 
those which are to be seen in most zoological gardens, but it is 
quite as thickly covered with hair. Nevertheless, it does not stand 
cold nearly so well as the other domestic animals of the Kirghiz, 
and requires a felt mat to kneel down or rest on, and even then it 
often takes cold and dies. While shedding its hair it has to be envel- 
oped in a felt covering, and in summer it has to be protected from 
mosquitoes and gadflies else it will succumb; in short, it is the object 
of constant anxiety, and is therefore not suited to a poor man, who 
feels every loss with threefold force. It resembles the dromedary 
in being easily satisfied in the matter of food, and in displaying the 
blind rage characteristic of the pairing-time, when it menaces even 
its usually loved master, but, for the rest of the year, it differs from 
the dromedary, very much to its own advantage, in docility and 
gentleness. Having been accustomed to the dromedary for many 
years, I was particularly struck by these excellent qualities in the 
steppe camel; I hardly recognized the race. The camel allows itself 
to be caught without resisting, and kneels down to be laden, if not 
altogether without grumbling, at least without the horrible, nerve- 
shattering bellowing of the dromedary. Even at a trot it carries 
light burdens uncomplainingly, covering twenty miles or more in 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 467 


the course of a day; if its load slips, it stops of its own accord. 
With a rider it can cover about thirty miles a day; with a weight 
of eight cwts. on its back, compelling it to a slow but striding step, 
it should manage at least half that distance. It grazes almost 


Fig 68.—Kirghiz with Camels. 


always in the vicinity of the yurt, in company with all its fellows 
of the aul, and in the eyes of the Kirghiz it is to a certain extent a 
sacred animal. 

The dog, which is the least valued animal owned by the Kirghiz, 
is always large but not always beautiful, though the difference 


468 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


between it and the hideous curs to be met with elsewhere in Siberia 
and Turkestan is very marked and greatly in its favour. The head 
is long but rather heavy, the limbs more like those of a greyhound 
than a sheep-dog, the hair long and woolly, the colouring very varied. 

Watchful and courageous in the highest degree, he is a worthy 
adversary of the wolf, an efficient and careful protector of the 
weaker herds, a suspicious sentinel towards strangers, the faithful 
slave of his master, an unsociable recluse as far as grown-up people 
are concerned, but the willing playmate of the children. He has 
many of the virtues of his race, and is therefore to be found in 
every yurt or at least in every aul. 

The whole life of the Kirghiz centres in his herds,—making use 
of them and their products, and to that end tending them carefully. 
The former is the chief occupation of the women, the latter the most 
important work of the men. With the exception of the bones, 
which are thrown away unheeded, every portion of the body of 
every one of their animals is used, just as every female among the 
live stock is milked as long as possible. The quantity of vegetable 
food used by the Kirghiz is extremely small; milk and meat form 
his chief diet in all circumstances, and vegetable products are merely 
accessory. Bread, in the real sense of the word, he scarcely uses at 
all, and even the little lumps of dough which may be reckoned as 
such, are sodden in fat, not baked. Flour and rice,—the latter a 
frequent dish only among the rich,—also serve to give variety to 
the everlasting monotony of milk and meat dishes. Little wonder 
then that death from starvation threatens the Kirghiz, indeed too 
often overtakes him, when general murrain breaks out among his 
beasts in the midst of the steppe. 

The wealthier people keep the milk of sheep and goats separate 
from that of cows, and of mares and camels; poor people mix all the 
milk in one vessel, and thus get only the effect. of sheep’s milk, 
while the rich secure some differentiation of palatal pleasure. From 
the milk of sheep and goats, which is invariably milked into the 
same vessel and collected in the same leathern bottle, they prepare 
not only various dishes, which are eaten at once with or without 
flour, but also butter, small, sour or bitter, gritty cheeses, most 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 469 


distasteful to a European palate, and a yellow curd very agreeable 
even to our taste, which, like the cheese, is stored up for use in 
winter, when it is dissolved in water to make a sort of soup. Cow’s 
milk, on the other hand, they use chiefly as sour milk, and only 
rarely make into curds, cheese, or butter, while that of mares and 
camels is used for making the koumiss so often described. This is 
a milk-wine made by allowing milk to ferment for four days, and 
by constantly shaking and beating it. It is much appreciated, and 
indeed justly prized among the Kirghiz, and the well-to-do among 
them often drink it to intoxication on festive occasions. 

During summer even the wealthier Kirghiz live almost entirely 
on milk in various forms, for they only kill a member of their herd 
for a festival or on some specially important occasion. When winter 
sets in, however, sheep and goats, horses and cattle, even camels are 
killed. The flesh of the horse, especially of the mare, is looked on 
as the noblest, that of cattle as the worst and poorest food. The 
flesh of sheep ranks next to horse flesh; camel flesh is good for the 
soul’s health; goat flesh isa mark of poverty, or is set before a guest 
in expression of contempt. Of the slaughtered horse the loins are 
most highly prized, and the breast of the sheep. A dainty of the 
first order is the belly fat of a young horse; this is therefore salted, 
made into smoked sausages, and set before the honoured guest with 
as much ceremony as the koumiss itself. 

The Kirghiz turns to profit not only the edible portions but 
every usable part of the animals he rears. From the wool of the 
sheep he prepares the indispensable felt; he weaves and spins the 
hair of the camel, and the mother lays her new-born babe in its soft 
down-like under wool. The long hair of the goat is made into 
fringes for rugs and cloths, or into tassels or cords; the short woolly 
hair is spun and woven into bands for the yurt, and the hair of the 
horse’s mane and tail is plaited into much-prized leading-reins er 
cords for the yurt. Sheep-skin furnishes the ordinary winter fur 
coat; the skins of lambs and kids make valuable fur-trimmings; 
the flocks of wool rubbed off make good wadding for lining other 
garments, and the skins of all the animals supply leather of different 
kinds. The Kirghiz barters the superfluous or little-prized fat of 


470 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 

his beasts, and some of his sheep, cattle, and horses for various 
other commodities of the general market; with the proceeds of 
the sale of his herds he pays his taxes and tributes, buys the 
uncoined silver with which he loves to make a display, the iron 
which he works, the rugs, garments, and silk stuffs with which he 
decks his person and his yurt. The herds are and must remain 
the sole support and source of wealth of the nomadic herdsman; the 
little land which he occasionally ploughs, sows, waters, and reaps is 
hardly worth taking into account. 

It is not their own humour, but the necessity of satisfying the 
requirements of their stock, that regulates the roamings and sojourn- 
ings of the Kirghiz, that compels them to wander this way to-day and 
that to-morrow, to rest for a little in one place, and shortly afterwards 
to leave it for another. The journeyings of these people are there- 
fore by no means aimless wanderings about the vast steppe, but 
carefully-considered changes of residence determined by the season, 
and by the species of animal requiring fresh pasture. The steppe 
allows no planless roaming either in summer or winter, autumn or 
spring; aimless roving would expose the herds in winter to the 
most terrible storms, in summer to the danger of drought; in spring 
there would probably be an embarrassing superfluity of fodder, and 
by autumn the supply would have unpleasantly diminished. So 
the Kirghiz begins his journey from the low-lying plains, ascends 
slowly to the higher ground and even to the mountains, then moves 
slowly back to the low grounds again. But the various herds have 
different needs: sheep and goats like hard, fragrant plants such as 
are to be found on the salt steppe; horses prefer the mountain 
plants, especially those growing among masses of rock, while the 
favourite grazing-ground of cattle is soft meadow-land, and camels, 
besides eating the hard salt steppe plants, appear to look upon 
thorns and thistles as an indispensable part of their food. The well- 
to-do, who can group the different animals in separate herds, let 
each herd wander and feed by itself, and only the poorer people 
move from one place to another with all their stock together. 
Finally, the movements of one party are influenced by those of 
another. There are, indeed, no landmarks nor boundary stones, but 


Fig. 69.—Kirghiz and their Herds on the March in the Mountains. 


THE NOMAD HERD3MEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 473 


even in the open steppe rights of possession and definite boundaries 
are recognized by ancient agreement; every horde, every branch of 
a horde, every community, the members of every aul, claim a right 
to the land traversed by their forefathers, and suffer no strange 
herd or herdsman to encroach on it, but take to arms and wage 
bloody warfare with every intruder, even with other members of 
the same tribe. This explains the fact that the nomad herdsman 
not only travels along definite routes, but restricts himself to a 
strictly limited range. His path may occasionally cross that of 
another herdsman, but it is never the same, for each respects the 
rights of the other, and is prevented by the rest of his tribe from 
encroaching upon them. 

“Settled”, in our sense of the word, the Kirghiz never is, unless 
in the grave, but he is not without a home. In the wide sense, 
his home is the district through which he travels, in most cases the 
basin and valley of a small stream or brook, or, in a more restricted 
sense, his winter camping-ground from which he sets forth on his 
journeys, and to which he always returns. In the neighbourhood 
of this camping-ground rest nearly all, if not all his dead; here 
he may even have a fixed dwelling; hither the government sends its 
messengers to collect his taxes or appraise his possessions and count 
the members of his family and of his herds; here he spends, if not 
the happiest, at least the largest part of his life; here, gay and 
careless as he usually is, he passes through his severest and most 
serious trials. The exact locality of the winter dwelling may vary, 
but the camping-ground does not. Indispensable conditions are, 
that it be as much as possible protected from the cold, deadly, north 
and east winds, that the yurt can be erected on a sunny spot, that 
fixed houses may be built without much difficulty, that the necessary 
supply of water be certain, and that sufficient pasturage be avail- 
able within easy distance. These conditions are best fulfilled by 
the valley of a river whose tributaries have cut deeply into the 
surrounding country, where the grass does not dry up in summer, so 
that hay can be cut at the proper season and yet enough food be left 
for the herds in winter, and where, in addition to the dung used for 
fire-lighting, fuel may be procured from the willow-bushes and black 


474 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


poplars on the river-bank. Other localities are only selected when 
it is a question of taking advantage of some place, such as the salt 
steppe, which has to be avoided in summer because it lacks water, 
that being supplied in sufficient abundance for man and beast as 
soon as snow has fallen. Though the winter dwelling may be a 
fixed one, it is always truly miserable, a musty, damp, dark hut, so 
lightly built that the inmates depend on the snow for thickening 
the walls and roof, and protecting them from storms. These walls 
are occasionally made of piled-up tree-trunks, oftener of rough 
stones, but most frequently of plaited willows or bundles of reeds. 
The roof and thatch are always of reeds. Close beside the dwelling- 
house is a similarly-constructed stable for the young animals, and 
at some distance there is a shelter for the rest of the herds. 

In the beginning of winter the Kirghiz moves into such a winter 
dwelling, unless, as is perhaps usually the case, he prefers the much 
more comfortable yurt. The fuel for either has been long ago 
prepared, for in the preceding spring he, or rather his wife, upon 
whom falls all the heavier and more disagreeable work, mixed the 
dung of the herd animals with straw, and worked it into square 
cakes, which were then piled in heaps and dried in the sun. All the 
grass in the immediate neighbourhood has been carefully spared, so 
that the herds may graze as near the dwelling as possible; here, too, 
the hay which has been mown at a distance has been collected. If 
the winter be a good one, that is, if not much snow falls, the herds 
find food enough, but if it be severe, it often renders all precautions 
futile, and levies a toll on his herds heavier than is counterbalanced 
by the spring increase. Thus, in a good winter, cheerfulness pre- 
vails even in the dark hut of the wandering herdsman, but in a 
severe one, which reduces his beasts to walking skeletons, black 
care and grief visit even the pleasant yurt. In hut and yurt alike 
there is either comfort and plenty or bitter want during that 
much-dreaded season of the year. 

It is not till towards the end of April, in many years not before 
the end of May, that the herdsman leaves his winter camp and 
begins to travel. The horses, tended by special herdsmen, move on 
in advance, so as not to annoy the smaller animals. It is not the 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 475 


lively foals, born, like the kids, a few weeks before, that cause so much 
anxiety; it is the young stallions and mares which are just reaching 
maturity. The foals spring about the whole herd in wanton play- 
fulness, but they do not go far from the mother mares, who are 
quietly grazing, and only look up at them now and again. The 
young stallions and mares, on the other hand, cause continual 
uneasiness, and call for the greatest watchfulness on the part of the 
herdsmen, whose numbers are doubled for the time. Now the young 
males fight with the old, dignified, and domineering leader of the 
herd; now the young females throng about the sire till he is compelled 
to drive them away with bites; now one or another of them attempts 
to escape, and rushes, with head against the wind and dilated nos- 
trils, out into the steppe. The herdsman at once urges the horse he 
is riding to a gallop, and pursues the fugitive in mad haste up hill 
and down dale; in his right hand he holds the long herdsman’s crook, 
with a noose attached to one end; nearer and nearer he presses on 
the young mare. The dreaded lasso is thrown, and is about to 
descend on her head, when she suddenly swerves to one side, and 
throwing her hind-legs into the air, as if teasing or mocking her 
pursuer, she is off again with renewed speed, and the wild chase 
begins anew, and goes on, until at length the herdsman succeeds in 
catching her, and leading her slowly back to the herd. Entertaining 
though this spectacle may be for the unconcerned spectator, perhaps 
even for the herdsman himself, such mad hunts would disturb the 
quiet and regular progress of the smaller animals, and therefore the 
owner does not let his different herds travel together, if it can be 
avoided. Nor could sheep and goats cover such distances as the 
horses do, for not only are they much enfeebled by the hardships of 
winter, but the lambs and kids are not yet strong enough. Separa- 
tion of the herds is therefore doubly necessary. 

The Kirghiz, when journeying with his smaller animals, at first 
only traverses a short distance, a so-called “sheep’s journey” each 
day, and he stops wherever there is good pasture, as long as his 
flocks graze with avidity. On the journey the flock of sheep, with 
its shepherd riding on an ox, leads the way. The sheep proceed at 
a tolerably quick pace, now crowding close together, now scattering 


476 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


widely, here and there stopping their march to enjoy to the full some 
specially dainty plant, but eating, or at least nibbling, all the time, 
and the herdsman’s steed also grazes uninterruptedly. The flock of 
ewes and mother-goats follows that of the lambs and kids, but at 
such a distance that they see and hear nothing of each other. The 
flock of wethers, if such still exists, or has just been formed, takes a 
different route. After all the flocks and herds have set out, the 
women take down the yurt, load camels or oxen with it and the 
few household requisites, mount their own horses with their children 
and other members of the family, and ride slowly after the milk- 
giving flocks. By mid-day they overtake them, milk them, and, 
carrying the milk in leathern bottles, continue their journey till 
sundown, when they set up the yurt again. One day passes like 
another. When the spring has brought fresh verdure, they remain 
for days, later on for weeks, in the same spot, until the pasturage 
around is growing scarce; then they move on again. When ad- 
vancing spring calls to full life the slumbering insect larve, when 
swarms innumerable of gnats, flies, gadflies, and other pests fill the 
air, they direct their steps, if it be at all possible, towards the 
mountains, and climb gradually to the highest plateaus just below 
the snow-line. For the shepherd, who gets no assistance from the 
dogs, it is a hard enough task to guide the flocks over the plains; 
but in the mountains the difficulty of completing his daily “sheep's 
journey” is immense, and it is impossible for him to get over some 
obstacles without the aid of other riders. As long as there is a 
beaten track the journey goes smoothly on, whether the path winds 
through flowery plains or over slopes and precipices. The leading 
goats survey such places for a little, as if deliberating, then choosing 
their path they go on their way, and the sheep follow them trust- 
fully. But it is a different matter when, instead of a murmuring 
brook, a rushing torrent bars the way, and must be crossed. At 
sight of the decidedly hostile element even the bold goats hesitate, 
ready though they are to adapt themselves to all circumstances; but 
the sheep recoil from it in terror, and even climb the nearest rocks 
as if to save themselves. In vain the shepherd rides through the 
rushing flood; in vain he returns and collects his flock on the banks. 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 477 


The sheep express their anxiety in loud bleatings, even the goats 
bleat hesitatingly, till the shepherd’s patience is exhausted. For 
one moment the fateful sling hangs over the head of one of the 
sheep; the next, it feels itself caught by the neck, pulled up to the 
saddle, and hurled into the seething waters. Now it must shift for 
itself. Swimming spasmodically, or rather making a series of 
springs, it struggles on from one mass of rock to another, but before 
it can gain a footing, it is hurried on by the torrent, and kicks, 
flounders, leaps, and swims again, is every now and then carried 
away by the flood, but eventually reaches the opposite bank, ex- 
hausted more by terror than by exertion. Trembling in every limb, 
it satisfies itself that it is really on dry land again, shakes its drip- 
ping fleece, looks back timidly once more, and then begins to feed 
greedily to make up for the discomfort it has suffered. Meanwhile 
the rest of the flock have crossed the torrent one after another, 
either of their own accord or compulsorily, and when all have been 
collected again the march is resumed. In this manner the nomadic 
herdsman gradually reaches the mountains. When it begins to 
grow cold, when perhaps a slight fall of snow suggests the approach 
of winter, herdsman and herd turn downwards again, this time 
through the shadiest gorges, till the low-lying plain is reached, and 
the circle is completed at the winter camping-ground. This is the 
regular yearly routine. 

All the Kirghiz domestic animals accustom themselves very 
quickly to the different districts in which they graze, wherever the 
place may be. After having gone to a pasture once or twice, all 
know the way thither again, they find it unfailingly without the 
herdsman, and return of their own accord to the yurt to be milked. 
There is certainly a strong inducement for them to do so, for from 
May onwards the young of all milk-yielding animals are kept from 
their mothers, and yet allowed to graze in the neighbourhood of the 
aul, so that longing for their young is kept alive in the maternal 
hearts. Thus milking can always take place at the same hour, 
and the mistress of the yurt can regulate her work and portion out 
her day. 

With the exception of the mares, which are always milked by 


478 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


men, and often require the attention of at least two, and not rarely 
of three during the process, all the milking is done by the women. 


Hig. 70.—Kirghiz Aul, or Group of Tents. 


Karly in the morning the calves, lambs, and kids are allowed to suck 
a little under strict supervision, and are then separated from the 
mothers, old and young being driven to their respective pastures. 
At mid-day the mothers, without the young, are brought to the yurt 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 479 


to be milked, and again in the evening the mothers are brought in 
before the young for the same purpose. With the help of the doys, 
which render no other service, the whole flock is gathered into a 
limited space, and the work begins. The mistress and servants of a 
yurt, or those who live together as neighbours in an aul, appear with 
their milk vessels, and dexterously seizing one sheep after another, 
drag it to a rope stretched between poles, pass a sling formed by the 
rope itself round the neck of each, and thus force the animals to 
remain standing in rows with the heads turned inwards, the udders 
outwards. In this manner thirty or forty head of sheep and goats 
are fastened together in a few minutes, and the so-called “kégon” 
is formed. Taught by experience, the animals stand perfectly still 
as soon as they feel the string, and submit passively to all that 
follows. The women, sitting opposite each other, begin at one end, 
or if there are many sheep, at both ends of the double row, seize 
the short teats between forefinger and thumb, and exhaust the milk 
with rapid pulls. If it does not flow freely they shake the udder 
with a blow from the left hand, exactly as the sucking young ones 
do, and only when even by this means nothing more can be obtained 
do they proceed to the next sheep. The men of the yurt or aul, who 
may perhaps have helped to catch and fasten the sheep and goats, 
sit about in all sorts of positions, impossible and almost inconceiv- 
able to us, and allow their “red tongue” the fullest freedom. Some 
of the little boys make their first venture at riding on the sheep, 
unless they prefer the shoulders of their mothers for that purpose. 
The latter are as little distracted by these doings of their offspring 
as by any other little incidents. Whether they sit on the dry 
ground or in fresh sheep’s dung, whether some of that falls into 
their poplar-wood vessels, affects them little, for the vessel is in any 
case as dirty as the hand which milks; and though sheep’s dung may 
be unclean in our eyes it is not so in those of the Kirghiz, who 
believe in the Koran. At length the milking is at an end and the 
animals, which have been tethered all this time and have been 
ruminating for want of better employment, can be released ; a quick 
pull at one end of the cord, all the slings are undone, and the sheep 
and goats are free. 


480 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


A general, simultaneous bleating is the first expression of their 
delight in their newly-recovered freedom; a short, quickly-repeated 
shaking throws off the last recollections of their undignified servi- 
tude; and then they run off as quickly as possible, in the plains as 
far away from the yurt as the herdsman allows, in the mountainous 
districts towards the hills, as if they could only there breathe the air 
of freedom. In reality they are longing to meet their young ones 
as soon as possible. All day long they have been away from them, 
but now, according to all their experience, the little ones must 
appear. The sheep run about bleating continuously, and even the 
intelligent goats look longingly all around as if they wished to find 
out whether the expected flock is already on the way, or at least 
whether it is visible in the far distance. The bleating grows louder 
and louder, for every newly-released row excites all the sheep 
assembled in the neighbourhood of the aul; and the impatience of 
the mothers, which is increasing every minute, finds vent in piteous, 
almost moaning bleatings. The longer the suspense lasts the more 
restless do the mothers become. Aimlessly they wander hither and 
thither, sniff at every blade of grass on the way, but scarcely 
crop any, lift their heads expectantly and joyously, let them droop 
again in disappointed sadness, bleat, and bleat again. The restless- 
ness increases almost to frenzy, the bleating becomes a perfect 
bellowing. 

From the distance are heard weak, shrill, bleating sounds. They 
do not escape the attentive ears of the mothers. A loud and simul- 
taneous call from every throat is the answer; all the maternal 
longing, increased to the utmost by the long waiting, is condensed 
in a single cry. And from the distance, down from the hills towards 
the yurt, the eager lambs and kids come rushing to find their 
mothers; the biggest and strongest in front, the youngest and 
weakest behind, but all hurrying, running and leaping, almost 
enveloped in a cloud of dust; and stretching out into a longer 
procession the nearer they approach their goal. An apparently 
inextricable confusion arises, old and young, united at last, run 
hither and thither, touching each other lightly as they pass, to 
find out, by touch as well as by smell, whether they have found 


THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 481 


their own or not; both run on if this is not the case, the lambs 
and kids, however, in most cases only after they have been made 
aware of their mistake by a push or tread from the mother animal. 
Gradually the dense crowd dissolves, for by degrees, in a much 
shorter time than one would imagine, every mother has found her 
child, every child its mother, and the young one now kneels down 
under its parent, eagerly drawing from the udder what milk remains. 
And if the bleating still continues, the sounds are now indicative 
only of the liveliest satisfaction. 

But this state of mutual delight does not last long. The 
udders, already milked, are quickly exhausted, and, in spite of all 
the thrusts of the suckling, the fountain will flow no longer. But 
mother and young still enjoy the pleasure of being together. The 
mixed flock spreads out in all directions, the complaisant mother 
following the lively youngster as it climbs the nearest height after 
the manner of its kind, or looking contentedly on when a little kid 
tries its strength in playful combat with another of its own age. 
The whole space round the yurt is picturesquely decorated by the 
lively flocks, a most charming picture of peaceful and comfortable 
pastoral life lies before the eyes of those who have feeling and 
understanding to enjoy it. 

The women now allow themselves a short rest, take their chil- 
dren in their laps, and fulfil their maternal duties or desires. But 
more work awaits them. A lowing announces the approach of the 
cows, also eager for their share of maternal joy, and the industrious 
women rise hastily, bring the calves which were tied up beforehand 
to the cows, let them suck for a little, wrench them from the udder 
again, and only after milking allow the calves full freedom. Mean- 
while the shepherds and dogs have once more collected the sheep. 
and goats, and now old and young, men and women, boys and girls, 
unite in the work of catching the lambs and fastening them in rows, 
with nooses which are firm without being too tight, to a cord in 
front of the yurt, so that the mothers cannot suckle. As may be 
supposed, this is not completed without much bleating and noise, and 
mingled with it are the cries and wailings of the children wearying 


for their mothers, the lowing of cows, and the barking of dogs. 
(a 70) 31 


482. FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Only the lambs and kids just tied submit quietly to the inevitable. 
A few kids still try their sprouting horns in playful duels, but they 
soon tire, and lay themselves peaceably down opposite their quondam 
rivals. Before the long row is fastened most of the young ones have 
tucked in their legs and given themselves up to repose. One 
mother-sheep and goat after another sniffs at the little ones till she 
has found her own, but returns to the flock when she has satisfied 
herself that it is impossible to lie down beside her offspring. 

The sun has long since disappeared from the horizon, and twilight 
has given place to darkness. It becomes quieter and quieter in the 
yurt. Men and animals have sought and found rest; only the dogs 
begin their rounds under the guidance of a watchful herdsman; but 
even they only bark when there is a real reason for it, when it is 
necessary to scare away some prowling wolf or other thief. A cool, 
but fragrant, dewy summer night descends upon the steppe, and the 
refreshing slumber of this richest and most beautiful season blots 
out the hardships of winter from the memory of man and beast 
alike. 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 


To escape the threatening hand of justice, four thieves fled from 
the homes of honest men, and sought refuge and concealment in the 
vast steppe. On their flight, they fell in with two beggar-women, 
driven out, like themselves, from among their industrious fellows. 
The beggar-women found favour in the eyes of the thieves, and 
they married them, two thieves taking one woman. A great many 
children resulted from these alliances, so contrary to the laws of 
God and man, and the children became the parents of a numerous 
people who spread over the hitherto uninhabited steppe. But they 
were faithful to their origin—thieves like their fathers, beggars like 
their mothers, and like both in being without religion or morals. 
This people is the Kirghiz, whose name signifies “ Robber ”. 

Thus a religious Tartar poet pictures the origin, and describes the 
character of a people closely related to his own, who speak the same 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 483 


language, and worship the same God according to the precepts of 
the same prophet. He speaks thus, solely because the Kirghiz, in 
matters of religion, cling less slavishly to words, and think less 
narrowly than he does. His words simply illustrate the old and 
ever new story; the offence which the poet’s words express is con- 
stantly repeated among every people, the pious lie, which no sect 
has shrunk from uttering, to lower the credit of those who think 
differently from themselves. 

But the traveller who sojourns among the Kirghiz, the stranger 
who seeks and receives hospitality under the light roof of their 
yurt, the scholar who endeavours to investigate their manners and 
customs, the official who lives among them as guardian of the law, 
or as representative of the State; in a word, everyone who has 
much intercourse with them, and is unprejudiced, gives an account 
of them widely different from that of the Tartar poet. 

There was a time when the Kirghiz in general justified their 
name, but this time has long gone by, at least as far as most 
branches of the different hordes are concerned. The sentiments, 
the adventurous expeditions, and brigand exploits of their fathers 
may awaken an echo in the breast of every Kirghiz; but, on the 
whole, these horsemen of the steppe have submitted to the laws of 
their present rulers, live at peace among themselves, as well as with 
their neighbours, respect the rights of property, and do not rob and 
steal oftener or more than other people, but rather more rarely and 
less. Under Russian dominion the Kirghiz of to-day live in such 
satisfactory circumstances, that their fellow-tribesmen beyond the 
boundaries look with envy on the Russian subjects. Under the 
protection of their government they enjoy quietness and peace, 
security of property, and religious freedom; they are almost entirely 
exempt from military service, and are taxed in a manner which 
must be acknowledged as reasonable in every respect; they have 
the right of choosing their own district governors, and many other 
privileges to the enjoyment of which the Russians themselves have 
not as yet attained. Unfortunately, these governors are not so 
reasonable as the government, and they hamper, oppress, and over- 
reach the Kirghiz whenever and in whatever way they can. But, 


484 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


happily, they have not been able in any way to influence the man- 
ners and customs of the people. 

The Kirghiz are a race of true horsemen, and can scarcely be 
thought of apart from their horses; they grow up with the foal 
and live with the horse till death. It is not, indeed, on horseback 
only that the Kirghiz is at home, for he understands how to ride 
every kind of animal which can bear him at all: but the horse is 
always, and under all circumstances, his favourite bearer and most 
cherished companion. He transacts all his business on horseback, 
and the horse is looked upon as the only steed worthy of a man. 
Men and women ride in the same fashion, not a few of the women 
with the same skill as the men. The position of the rider is lazy 
and comfortable, not very pleasing to the eye of the spectator. The 
Kirghiz rides in short buckled stirrups, without a leg-yuard, 
touching the front edge of the saddle with the knees only, and thus 
balancing himself freely; trotting, he raises himself in the stirrups, 
often standing upright in them, and bending his head so far forward 
that it almost touches the horse’s neck; when the horse walks or 
gallops, as it usually does, he holds himself erect. He holds the 
reins with the whole hand. The knout, which is held by the loop or 
knot, he uses with the thumb, index and middle fingers. Falling out 
of the saddle is by no means a rare occurrence, for he takes not the 
slightest heed of ways and paths, but leaves the horse to find these 
for itself. And even if he be of more careful mood, he will take 
any path which the beast can tread, with as little hesitation as he 
mounts the wildest, most intractable horse. Difficult paths do not 
exist for him; in fact, path simply means the distance across a given 
area; what may lie between the beginning and the end of the 
journey is to him a matter of the utmost indifference. As long as 
he is in the saddle he expects incredible things of his steed, and 
gallops uphill or downhill, over firm ground or through bog, morass, 
or water; without giddiness or any of the fear which seizes him 
when afoot, he climbs precipices which any other rider would deem 
impassable, and looks calmly down from the saddle into the abyss 
by the side of the goat-track, which he calls a road, where even the 
most expert mountaineer would be unable to repress a shudder. 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 485 


When he has dismounted, he acts upon all the rules deduced from 
long experience for the care of an over-strained horse, and is as 
careful of it as he had previously been inconsiderate. On festive 
occasions the Kirghiz performs feats of horsemanship for the 
amusement of the spectators, who are never awanting; he raises 
himself erect in the stirrups, which are crossed over the saddle, and 
springs from them without falling, he holds fast to the saddle or 
stirrups with his hands, and stretches his legs into the air, or hangs 
from one side of the saddle, and attempts to pick up some object 
from the ground, but he does not seem to practise the military sports 
of his Turkish relatives. Racing is to him the greatest of all 
pleasures, and every festival is celebrated by a race. 

To the race, which is called “ Baika”, only the finest horses, and 
of these only amblers are usually admitted. The distances to be 
traversed are always considerable,—never less than twenty, and 
frequently forty kilometres: the riders make for a certain point in 
the steppe, such as a hillock, or a burial-place, and then return as 
they went. Boys of seven, eight, or at most ten years of age, sit 
in the saddle, and guide the horses with remarkable skill. The 
spectators ride slowly to meet the returning horses, give help, called 
“guturma”, to the steed which seems to have most chance of win- 
ning, by taking off the little rider, seizing reins, stirrups, mane, and 
tail, and leading, or rather dragging it to the goal between fresh 
horses. The prizes raced for consist of various things, but are always 
reckoned as equivalent to so many horses. ‘Two or three thousand 
silver roubles are frequently offered as the first prize: among the 
richer families the stakes are one hundred horses or their equivalent. 
Young girls, too, are sometimes offered as prizes, the winner of one 
being allowed to marry her without making the usual payment 
to her family. 

While the race-horses are on their way, the men often pass the 
time by exercising their own physical powers. Two men divest 
themselves of their outer garments, baring the shoulders and upper 
parts of the body, and begin to wrestle. The mode of attack varies. 
The combatants seize one another, bend towards one another, turn 
about in a circle, each always watching the other carefully, and 


486 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


seeking to parry every effort, real or feigned, till suddenly one of 
them exerts his full strength, and the other, if he has not fore- 
seen this, is thrown to the ground. Others begin the attack more 
impetuously, but meet with such strenuous resistance that the 
struggle lasts a long time before one succeeds in vanquishing his 
opponent. The spectators encourage them, praise and blame, cheer 
and scoff, betting among themselves the while, and becoming more 
and more excited as the balance inclines to one side or the other. 
At length, one lies on the ground, laughed at by the whole company, 
ashamed and humiliated, in his secret heart probably embittered. 
Cries from every throat fill the air, pieces of cloth, perhaps only 
rags of cotton, are torn up and distributed to balance accounts; 
reproaches mingle with shouts of applause, and the match is over, 
unless the vanquished one suddenly seeks his revenge, and attacks 
his opponent once more. A wrestling match never comes to an 
end without noise, screaming, and wrangling, but actual fighting 
seldom takes place. 

Hunting must be reckoned among the equestrian sports of the 
Kirghiz. When a sportsman gets on the track of a wolf, he follows 
it with such eagerness and persistence that he takes little heed though 
the cold, doubly felt when riding quickly, should seriously imperil 
him, that is, if his face and hands should become frozen; for, if his 
horse holds out, he almost certainly succeeds at length in throwing 
his heavy club at his victim’s head. But his favourite mode of 
hunting is with eagles and greyhounds. Like his forefathers, he 
understands how to tame and carry the golden eagle, and with the 
bird sitting on his thickly-gloved hand, which is supported on a 
wooden rest fastened to the saddle, he ascends some hillock from 
which he can command a wide view. Meanwhile, his companions 
beat the surrounding steppe for game. The game may be wolf or 
fox, unless the eagle is not yet thoroughly trained, in which case it 
is either a marmot or a fox. No very special training of the eagle 
is required; it is only necessary that it be taken young from the 
nest, that it be always fed by the sportsman himself, and that it be 
taught to return to its master at his call: inherited habit does the 
rest. As soon as the beaters have started a fox, the huntsman 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 487 


unhoods and unchains his bird, and lets it fly. The eagle spreads. 
its wings, begins to circle, and rises in a spiral higher and higher, 


Fig. 71.—Hunting the Wolf with the Golden Eagle. 


spies the hard-pressed fox, flies after him, descends obliquely upon 
him with half-closed wings, and strikes its outspread talons into 
its victim’s body. The fox turns round in a fury, and attempts 
to seize his foe with his sharp teeth; if he succeeds, the eagle is 


488 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


lost. But almost all these birds of prey, which are as strong as 
they are bold, have an instinctive feeling of such danger, and the 
skill to avoid it. The very moment the fox turns, the eagle lets go 
its hold, and an instant later its talons are fixed in its quarry’s face. 
Triumphant acclamations from its much-loved master, who now 
draws near, encourage the eagle to hold fast, and a few minutes 
later the fox, felled by the huntsman, lies dying on the ground. 
Many an eagle has to pay for the boldness of its first venture with 
its life; but if the first attempt is successful, it soon becomes so 
skilful that it can be flown at a wolf. Though the attack on the 
wolf is made in precisely the same manner, the eagle’s bearing is, 
from the very beginning, perceptibly more cautious; the size of the 
wolf teaches it that it has to do with a much more dangerous foe. 
But it learns to vanquish even the wolf, and its fame, as well as 
its master’s, spreads abroad among the people, and as its renown 
becomes greater its value increases. An eagle which can kill a fox 
is worth thirty or forty silver roubles; one which can vanquish 
a wolf is valued at twice or three times as much, if, indeed, its 
master would sell it at all. It is not possible to hunt with two 
eagles, as one would disturb the other; but one alone often enters 
into the chase with so much ardour that it makes it very difficult 
for its master to help, especially if it will not willingly let go 
its hold of the quarry it has seized. 

If the Kirghiz who is hunting with an eagle requires to bring 
all his powers of horsemanship into play, that is still more necessary 
when hunting antelopes with greyhounds. These rather long-haired 
dogs run like shot arrows when they have sighted the game, and 
the rider courses after them up hill and down dale until he and 
they have overtaken the fleet fugitive. If anyone falls on such 
a ride, he earns only a half-pitying, half-mocking smile, as the mad 
hunt rushes past him. 

Even when driving game among the mountains, the Kirghiz do 
not dismount from their horses. It was a magnificent sight to see 
the horsemen who were driving wild sheep for our guns in the 
Arkat mountains begin their break-neck ride. Here and there on 
the highest points, as well as in the hollows, valleys, and ravines 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 491 


between them, one horseman after another showed up clearly 
against the clouds, and was lost to view again between masses of 
rock, to appear shortly afterwards upon the stony slopes. None 
dismounted, none hesitated an instant to choose his path. It was 
easier for them to ride among the mountains than to walk. 

The sportsman’s endurance is on a par with his boldness. Not 
only on horseback, but while stalking and lying in wait for his 
game, he shows marvellous perseverance. That he follows a trail 
for several days is not remarkable, when we take his love of 
riding into account; but with the matchlock, which he still uses 
as often as the flintlock, in his hand, he will creep for five or six 
hundred yards along the ground like a stealthy cat, or lie in wait 
for hours in storm and rain until the game comes within range of 
his gun. He never shoots at long range, and never without resting 
the barrel of his gun on the fork attached to it, but he aims with 
certainty, and knows exactly where to send his bullet. 

Though the Kirghiz is thus persistent and untiring as horseman, 
sportsman, and herdsman, he is very unwilling to do any other kind 
of work. He tills the fields, but in the most careless manner, and 
never more than is absolutely imperative. ‘Tilling the soil appears 
to him as inglorious as every other employment not connected with 
his flocks and herds. He is remarkably skilful in turning water 
aside for purposes of irrigation, has a highly-developed sense of 
locality, and can mark out his drains without using a surveyor’s 
table or water-level. But it is only in his boyhood that he takes 
up such work with any willingness; after he has attained to pos- 
sessions of his own he never touches pick or shovel again. Still less 
does he like to work at any trade. He knows how to prepare 
leather, to fashion it into all kinds of straps and saddlery, and to 
decorate these very tastefully with iron or silver work, and he can 
even make knives and weapons, but when he does such work, it is 
always unwillingly and without taking any pleasure in it. Yet he 
is by no means a lazy or careless workman, but is diligent and con- 
scientious, and whoever has succeeded in gaining his skilful hand 
has seldom reason to be dissatisfied with it. 

He rates mental work much more highly than physical. His 


492 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


eager, active mind demands occupation, and thus he likes not only 
light conversation, but serious discussions of all kinds, chiefly, per- 
haps, because of the variety they give to his monotonous life. So 
he amuses himself in converse with others of his tribe, and he can 
become a perfect bore to a stranger with his glibness of speech, 
which often degenerates to mere chatter. With this love of talking 
is closely connected a thirst for knowledge, which in the same way 
often degenerates into inquisitiveness, for the “red tongue” is never 
allowed a holiday. Whatever the wind blows over the steppe the 
listening ear of the Kirghiz picks up and the “red tongue” clothes 
in words. If anything is discussed which the Kirghiz understands 
or does not understand, if any conversation takes place in a lan- 
guage with which he is acquainted, he has no hesitation in making 
his way to the yurt and, invited or otherwise, pressing his ear to 
its walls, so as to lose no syllable. To keep to himself an occur- 
rence which differs from the everyday routine by a hair’s-breadth, 
an event of any kind, a piece of information, or a secret, is to the 
Kirghiz an utter impossibility. Does the noble horse keep silence 
when he sees anything which excites his interest, or the sheep and 
the goat when they meet with their fellows? Does the lark soar 
up from its nest on the steppe in silence? And shall the lord of the 
steppe be more silent than they? Never! “Speak on, red tongue, 
while thou hast life, for after death thou shalt be still.” An unin- 
terrupted stream of speech flows from the lips of every Kirghiz. 
Two men never ride silently together, even though their journey 
lasts for days. The whole time they find something to talk about, 
some communication to make to each other. Usually it does not 
nearly satisfy them to ride in pairs; three or four of them ride 
abreast wherever the path admits of it. This way of riding is so 
deeply rooted in them that the horses press close together of their 
own accord, and a European is obliged to rein them in to prevent 
their domg so. In a yurt filled with Kirghiz there is a buzzing 
like that about a bee-hive, for everyone wishes to speak, and does 
everything he can to gain a hearing. 

One good result of this love of talking, so unusual among men, 
is the command of language which they acquire. In this they seem 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 493 


all alike, rich and poor, high and low, educated and uneducated. 
Their rich, sonorous, but rather hard language, though only a 
dialect of the Tartar, is remarkably expressive. Even a foreigner 
who is unacquainted with it can feel that every word is distinctly 
pronounced, every syllable correctly accented, so that one can 
almost make out the sense from the sound. Their way of speaking 
is very sprightly, the cadence of each phrase corresponding to its 
meaning, and the pauses correctly observed, so that a conversation 
sounds somewhat broken, though the flow of speech is never arrested 
for a moment. An expression of face which speaks for itself, and 
very lively gestures, add to the effect of their speech. If the subject 
be particularly interesting, their vivacity is apt to increase to such 
a pitch of excitement that one begins to fear that from words they 
will go on to blows. But even the most heated wordy strife invari- 
ably ends in quietness and peace. 

It will be readily understood that the bard holds a prominent 
place among such a people. Everyone who distinguishes himself 
above his fellows by his fluency of speech gains respect and honour. 
The presence of a singer who can improvise is indispensable to 
every festival. His creative power need not be of a very high 
order; but his words must flow without interruption and in a 
definite and familiar metre to gain him the reputation of a poet. 
But every Kirghiz bard has at his command a store of poetic ideas 
which is by no means scanty, and to clothe these ideas in words is 
easy enough to him. The nomadic pastoral life, though on the 
whole monotonous, has its charms, and certain chords only require 
to be struck to give keen pleasure to every hearer. Numerous 
sagas and legends, which live in the minds of all, yield abundant 
material for filling up blanks; and thus the bard’s narrative flows 
on like a calm stream whose springs never dry up: it is only neces- 
sary to keep it in the proper metre to make him a poet for ever. 
Even this is made easy to him; for every bard accompanies his 
recitative on the three-stringed Kirghiz zither, and as he links 
on each measure to the next by playing on this, he can make 
the interlude last until the next verse has taken shape in his mind. 
The speed and skill with which this is done determines his rank 


494 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


as a poet. But if a woman is inspired to poetry she is sure of 
universal admiration, and if she consents to sing in competition 
with a man, the enthusiastic listeners extol her above all others 
of her sex. 

The vast steppe is much less favourable to regular instruction 
than it is to poetry. This explains why so few Kirghiz are able to 
write, and why there is so little written literature. Only the sons 
of the wealthiest and highest in rank among them are taught to 
read and write. In the two schools founded by the government in 
Ustkamenegorsk and Zaizan Kirghiz boys are taught,—indeed, they 
only are admitted to that in the first-named town,—but the influ- 
ence of these institutions does not reach to the heart of the steppe. 
There a boy only learns if he happens to come in contact with a 
mollah who has as much desire to teach as the boy has to learn. 
But even then his instruction is confined to the simplest things, and 
consists chiefly in learning to read and form Arabic characters. 
The contents of the principal, if not the only text-book, the Koran, 
are not usually intelligible to the mollah himself; he reads the 
sentences without knowing their meaning. I have only known one 
Kirghiz who understood Arabic, and he was a sultan. Everyone 
else who was distinguished above his fellows by his knowledge of 
the sacred writings, and who, as a faithful adherent of Islam, per- 
formed the five prescribed prayers, understood at most the words of 
the call to prayer and of the first sentences of the Koran; the rest 
he repeated with the seriousness of all Mohammedans, but without 
understanding the meaning. And yet I was deeply impressed when, 
in the midst of the vast steppe, where no minaret towered up towards 
heaven, the voice of the mueddin uttered the call to prayer, and the 
faithful knelt in long rows behind the Iman or leader, and pressed 
their foreheads to the ground in prayer, as the law of the Prophet 
ordains. 

The consciousness of strength and dexterity, of skill in riding 
and hunting, of poetic talent and general mental activity, and the 
feeling of independence and freedom caused by the vastness of the 
steppe gives confidence and dignity to the bearing of the Kirghiz. 
The impression he makes upon an unprejudiced observer is therefore 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 495 


a very favourable one, and it increases the more intimately one 
becomes acquainted with him. So it was in my case, and it is also 
the opinion of Russians who have associated with Kirghiz for years, 
in particular, of the government officials, and of other travellers who 
have lived among them. It is scarcely too much to say that the 
Kirghiz possesses very many good qualities and very few bad ones, 
or reveals very few to strangers. Mentally wide-awake, shrewd, 
vivacious, intelligent where things known to him are concerned, 
good-humoured, obliging, courteous, kindly, hospitable and com- 
passionate, he is, of his kind, a most excellent man, whose bad 
qualities one can easily overlook if one studies him without preju- 
dice. He is polite without being servile, treats those above him 
respectfully but without cringing, those beneath him affably but not 
contemptuously. He usually hesitates a little before replying to a 
question, but his answer is quiet and clear, and his sharply-accented 
way of speaking gives it an expression of definiteness. He is 
obliging towards everyone, but does more from ambition than from 
hope of gain, more to earn praise and approval than money or 
money’s worth. The District Governor, Tamar Bey Metikoff, who 
gave us his escort for almost a month, was the most obliging, polite, 
kindly man under the sun, always ready to fulfil a wish of ours, 
untiring in our service or for our benefit, and all this solely in the 
hope of gaining our approval and that of the Governor-general. He 
told us so in the clearest language when we tried to force presents 
upon him. 

In harmony with such ambition is the pride of the higher-class 
Kirghiz in his descent and family. He boasts of distant ancestors, 
and occasionally traces back his pedigree to Chingis-Khan, only 
marries with those of equally good birth, suffers no spot on his 
honour, and forgives no insult to it. But in addition, he exhibits 
a personal vanity which one would scarcely expect of him. Not 
only authority and wealth, dignity and rank, but youth and beauty 
are, in his eyes, gifts to be highly esteemed. But he differs from 
many handsome young men among us in that he never descends to 
coxcombry. He boasts openly and without reserve of the gifts 
bestowed on him by nature or acquired by his own skili, but such 


496 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


boasting is quite natural to him, and is not distorted by any show 
of false modesty. As far as his means will permit he clothes 
himself richly, ornamenting his coat and trousers with braiding, his 
fur cap with the feathers of the horned owl; but he never becomes 
a mere dandy. The women, as may be imagined, are still more 
anxious to set their charms in the best possible light, and I was not 
at all surprised to learn that they prepare from the juice of a certain 
root a delicate, fragrant, and lasting colouring which they apply to 
their cheeks—in other words, that they paint their faces. 

As a natural outcome of his desire to please, the Kirghiz gives a 
willing adherence to all the manners and customs of his people. His 
culture and good breeding manifest themselves chiefly in a strict 
observance of all those customs which have been handed down to 
him from the past, and have been materially influenced by Islam. 
This implies a certain formality and ceremoniousness in all mutual 
intercourse, but it also puts a check on undue arrogance, and 
banishes everything unseemly, almost everything awkward, from 
their social relations, for everyone knows exactly what he has to 
do to avoid giving offence or making himself disagreeable. 

Even mutual greeting is attended with a certain amount of 
ceremony which is observed by everyone, and is therefore, of course, 
quite clearly defined. If two parties of Kirghiz meet, a considerable 
time is always taken up in the exchange of greetings. The mem- 
bers of both bands simultaneously lay their right hands over the 
region of the heart, and stretch the left hand towards the right of 
the other, whereupon each draws his right hand from his heart and 
joins it with the left, so that now for an instant all four hands are 
in contact. At the moment of embracing, both pronounce the 
Arabic word “Aman” (peace), while beforehand they exchanged the 
usual Mohammedan greeting, “Salam aléik” or “aléikum” (Peace 
be with thee, or with you), and the reply, “Aléikum el salam”. In 
this manner every member of one band greets every member of the 
other; both bands, therefore, when they meet, range themselves in 
rows, along which one after another runs hastily, so as to give the 
temporarily-restrained “red tongue” its full freedom as quickly as 
possible. The shorter method, which, however, is only used in the 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 497 


casé of large gatherings, is to stretch out the hands towards each 
other and clasp them together. 

If the Kirghiz visit each other in their auls, another form has 
to be gone through before the customary greeting takes place. 
Within sight of the yurt the approaching visitors rein in their 
horses, walk them for a little, and finally stand still, At this sign 
some one comes to meet them from the aul, greets them, and con- 
ducts them to the yurt, which the women have in the meantime 
decorated by spreading out their most valuable rugs. Strangers 
who are unknown in the aul must, before greeting, answer inquiries 
as to their name, station, and whence they have come; but they are 
received and hospitably treated in any case, for the Kirghiz shows 
hospitality towards everyone, irrespective of station and religion, 
though he always prefers distinguished guests. The guest enters 
the yurt with the customary greeting, pulls off his shoes at the 
door, but of course keeps on his soft riding-boots. If he is of equal 
standing with his host, he sits down in the place of honour; but if 
of humbler degree, he keeps modestly in the background, and lets 
himself down on the rug in a kneeling posture. 

In honour of an esteemed guest the host orders a sheep to be 
killed, but has it first brought to the yurt to be blessed by the 
guest. At this sign all the neighbours assemble to take part in the 
sumptuous feast. The head and breast of the sheep are roasted on 
the spit, the rest of the flesh is cut into pieces and boiled in a 
cauldron, and loin, ribs, shoulders, and haunches, whenever they are 
cooked, are set before the guest in a vessel. The guest washes his 
hands, cuts the flesh from the bones, dips it in the salt broth, and 
says to the host, who has till then remained standing, “It is only 
through the host that the meat gains flavour; sit down”; but the 
host replies, “ Thanks, thanks, but eat”, and does not at once accept 
the invitation of the guest. Thereupon the latter cuts a piece from 
the ribs, calls the host to him, and puts it into his mouth; then 
cutting a second piece, he lays it in a bowl and hands it to the 
housewife. The host then sits down, but it is still the guest who 
distributes the meat to the members of the company. He cuts it 


into pieces of a convenient size for the mouth, mixes them with fat, 
(70) 32 


498 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


dips three of them at a time into the broth, and puts them into the 
mouth of one of his fellow-feasters after another. It would be an 
insult to the giver if the receiver did not at once swallow the pieces, 
even though, if they be large, he chokes so frightfully that he 
becomes blue in the face, and urgently requires the assistance, 
which his neighbours immediately give by striking him on the back 
with their fists, to render the process of swallowing easier. The 
guest, on the other hand, must never give more than three pieces, 
for if he exceeds this number, if he stuffs five at a time into the 
mouth of a man, and if the man is choked in the attempt to 
swallow the too generous gift at once, the giver must compensate 
the bereaved family to the value of one hundred horses, while if 
anyone chokes over the three pieces, he is not held responsible. 
After the meat has been consumed, the chief guest hands round 
the vessel containing the broth, and each drinks from it according 
to his necessities or desires. At the close of the meal, though not 
until all have washed their hands, every well-to-do host, whose 
mares are ylelding milk at the time, hands round koumiss, and this 
much-loved beverage is received by everyone with obvious rever- 
ence. Jf anyone has not yet taken part in the meal, he comes now 
to refresh himself with this nectar. They drink to intoxication, for 
the Kirghiz has as great a capacity for drinking this highly-prized 
milk-wine as he has for eating, and in both respects he is anything 
but modest or moderate. 

But the ceremony attending ordinary visiting is nothing com- 
pared with that observed in connection with all important family 
events, such as weddings or burials. In the case of the former, the 
joy finds vent in much practical joking; in the latter, mourning is 
accompanied by ceremonies indicative of respect to the dead. 
Wooing and weddings, burial and memorial celebrations give rise to 
a whole chain of festivals. 

As among all Mohammedans, the father woos on behalf of his 
son, and pays the future father-in-law a varying, and often very 
considerable sum. A matrimonial agent, who is proclaimed as such 
by the fact that he wears one leg of his trousers over and the other 
under his boot, makes his appearance in the yurt in which a daughter 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 499 


is blossoming into womanhood, and prefers a request for her in the 
name of the father of a marriageable youth. If the bride’s father 
is agreeable, he demands that the sender of the message, with the 
elders of his aul, shall come to treat with him on the subject. These 
comply, and, according to custom, rein in their horses within sight 
of the aul. A messenger from the bride’s father rides to meet them, 
greets them formally, and conducts them to the festive yurt deco- 
rated in their honour. There they are at once regaled with koumiss, 
and a bard arrives to contribute to their entertainment. He is 
rewarded by loud applause, and incited to further effort by magnifi- 
cent promises. They praise the depth of his thought, the finished 
style of his execution; they promise him a horse, an Jamba, or four 
pounds of uncoined silver as his reward. The master of the yurt 
protests against this, insisting that he alone has the right to reward 
the singer; but the guests promise so much the more, for they know 
that their host will not permit the fulfilment of their promises. 
When the song is ended a lively conversation takes place between 
the host and his neighbours and guests; they talk about everything 
imaginable except the object of the visit, and at length they disperse, 
and the guests ride to their homes again. 

The next morning the father of the bride with his train return 
the visit, and after being greeted and feasted in the same manner, 
request to see the young man’s mother. They at once repair to the 
yurt of the housewife, and greet her with much ceremony and 
courtesy. Then the father produces the roasted brisket of a sheep, 
and distributes pieces of this much-prized meat to his guests with 
the words, “Let this sheep’s breast be a pledge that our plans will 
be successfully carried out”. Then begins a discussion over the 
amount of the “kaliim” or price to be paid for the bride. A mare of 
from three to five years of age is the unit of calculation; an ambler 
or a camel is considered equivalent to five mares, and six or seven 
sheep or goats make up the value of one. 

The bride’s father demands 77 mares, but lets himself be beaten 
down to 57, 47, 37, 27, according to his means and those of the 
bridegroom’s father. If both are poor they come even farther down 
till they are agreed. As soon as the bargain is concluded, the bride’s 


500 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


father declares the betrothal fixed, and prepares to go, leaving a 
present in or before the yurt. But the bridegroom’s father, if it is 
possible at all, sends half the kaliim with him, and pays the remain- 
ing half as soon as may be. 

A fortnight after payment of the kaliim, the bridegroom is at 
liberty to visit his bride for the first time. Accompanied by as 
many friends of his own age as possible, he sets out under the 
guidance of an older friend of the family, who is familiar with all 
the customs to be observed, but he dismounts in the neighbourhood 
of the bride’s aul, erects a small tent, and retires into it, or conceals 
himself in some other way. His followers go on to the aul, and, 
after having been ceremoniously welcomed, enter it and distribute, 
amid much jesting, all sorts of little presents, rings, necklaces, sweets, 
ribbons, and pieces of coloured cloth, among the crowd of women 
and children. Then they enter the festive yurt with all the young 
people of both sexes. The host provides meat and drink; first, the 
breast of a sheep, which he cuts with the words already mentioned, 
then “meibaur”—small pieces of the heart, liver, and kidneys 
smeared with fat. The dishes are placed before the elderly leader 
of the party, who, as chief guest, proceeds in the manner before 
described, but as he puts the pieces into the mouth of the first young 
man, he smears his face with the fat broth. This is the signal for 
the beginning of all manner of practical jokes, and the youths, 
maidens, and younger women indulge in them freely. A very 
common one among the girls is to sew the clothing of the young 
men with rapid stitches to the rugs on which they are sitting. 

When the meal is over the youthful guests are allowed a short 
interval of repose, but only to give them time to collect their 
ideas. Then the girls and women challenge the young men to a 
singing competition, and giving them the place of honour, sit down 
opposite them; then one begins her song. It fares ill with the 
youth whom she addresses if he is not ready with his reply. The 
merry troop falls upon him, they nip him and pinch him, drive him 
from the yurt, and hand him over to the young men of the aul, 
who are congregated outside on the watch for such victims. A 
bucket of water is poured over the unfortunate blunderer, and thus 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 501 


bathed and humiliated, he is led back to the yurt to undergo another 
trial. If he fails in this also he is condemned to be dressed as a 
woman, and put in the pillory. Woe to him if he is thin-skinned, 
it will be a day of torture for him. Joking is the order of the day, 
and no surly person will be tolerated. Whoever can best enter into 
the spirit of it is the hero of the day; whoever is unable to take his 
share is the general sacrificial lamb. 

During these amusements the bride sits concealed behind a 
curtain in the back of the yurt. The young people of the aul take 
advantage of her solitude to steal her away, while the bridegroom’s 
friends are occupied with the singing competition. They make 
an opening between the pieces of felt covering the yurt, drag her 
through it, put her on horseback, and carry her off unresisting to 
the yurt of one of her relatives, where she is given into the hands 
of the assembled older women. If the robbery succeeds, the robber 
challenges the youths to find the bride and to deliver her from the 
women. The company hastily breaks up, and they beg her guardians 
to restore the bride to them. But, however persuasive their words 
may be, their request is refused. The bride sits before their eyes in 
a yurt from which a portion of the felt cover has been removed, but 
violence is out of the question, so the youths begin to bargain. The 
women demand nine different dishes prepared by the young 
men’s own hands, but, after a time, they agree to accept nine gifts 
instead, and they give up the bride, stipulating that she shall be 
taken back to her father’s yurt. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom sits waiting in his tent. He has not 
been quite alone, for some of the young married women had gone to 
seek him as soon as his companions arrived, and had been received 
by him with a respectful greeting called “taschim”. He had 
bowed so low before them that his finger-tips had touched the 
ground, and had then raised himself slowly, letting his hands glide 
up his shins until he had reached his full height; the women had 
accepted his homage, and had borne him company all day, giving 
him food and drink, and whiling away the time with talk and 
jesting, but not allowing him to leave the tent. Not before sun- 
down, and only after much coaxing does he receive permission to 


502 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


sing a song within the aul and before the bride’s yurt. He mounts 
his horse, rides into the aul, sings his greeting to the inhabitants, 
and, stopping before the yurt of his bride-elect, expresses his lover's 
plaint in a song, original or otherwise. 


Sweetheart, my love brings me dule and pain, 
For it’s thrice that I’ve tried to win thee; 

Thou would’st not waken; my heart is fain; 
For it’s thrice thou would’st not hear me. 


But late in night, when the camels rest, 
All fixed by their hairy tether, 

My heart shall fly to its own warm nest, 
Our hearts shall be one together. 


Let me but see thy face, sweetheart, 
And I shall be brave and strong; 

Thou hast stolen away my peace, sweetheart, 
And left me with only a song. 


I pray for a draught of koumiss, love, 
For dry and parched is my soul; 

Thou wilt hearken and give me bliss, love, 
And make my bleeding heart whole. 


But should all my pleading tease thee, 
And thine ear be deaf to my song, 
The friends will help me to please thee, 
And the wedding shall be ere long. 


Without entering the yurt he returns to his tent. Soon an old 
woman comes to him and promises that she will take him to 
the bride if he will make her a present. He at once agrees, and 
they set out together. But they do not attain their object without 
having to overcome various obstacles. Another woman lays the 
fork which is used to lift the ring of the yurt to its place, across his 
path; to step over it would be unlucky, for the person who laid 
it down must take it away again. A gift overcomes this difficulty, 
but a second is met with very soon. A woman, apparently dead, 
lies on the path; but a second gift calls the dead to life again, 
and the way is clear to within a short distance of the yurt. But 
there stands a figure which snarls like a dog. Shall it be said that 
the dog snarled at the bridegroom? Never! A third gift closes the 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 503. 


snarling mouth, and the much-tried youth reaches the yurt without. 
further hindrances. Two women keep the door shut, but do not. 
refuse to open it when a gift is offered; within, two others hold 
the curtain fast; on the bride’s couch lies her younger sister; but 
he succeeds in getting rid of them all; the yurt is almost empty; 
the old woman lays the bridegroom’s hands in those of the bride and 
leaves them. At last they are alone together. 

Under the supervision of the old woman, who is called 
“dyenke”, the bridegroom visits the bride many times, without, 
however, presenting himself before her parents until what re- 
mains of the kaliim is paid. Then he sends a messenger to: 
the bride’s father to ask if he may take his bride to his own yurt. 
Permission is given, and the bridegroom sets out for the aul, once 
more with a large following and many gifts, pitches his tent at. 
a suitable distance, receives visits from the women as before, spends. 
the night alone in the tent, and, next morning, sends from it to the 
aul all the necessary woodwork for the erection of a yurt, which he 
has to provide. Thereupon the women assemble and hastily finish 
the sewing together of the felt covering supplied by the bride, if it. 
is not already done, and then they set to work to erect the new 
yurt. The favourite woman of the aul has the honour of lifting the 
roof-ring, and holding it in position until the spars are fitted into 
it; the others share the rest of the work of setting up and covering 
it. While this is going on the bridegroom makes his appearance; 
the bride, too, is brought upon the scene, and both are told to walk 
from their places to the yurt to decide the great question as to who 
shall be supreme within it. The mastery will fall to the lot of the 
one who reaches it first. 

A sheep brought by the bridegroom has been slaughtered, and 
a meal prepared to be eaten within the new yurt. During the 
course of the meal, the young master wraps up a bone in a piece of 
white cloth, and throws it, without looking upwards, through the 
hole at the top of the yurt into the open air. If he succeeds in 
doing so, it is a sign that the smoke from this yurt will always 
rise straight to heaven, which betokens happiness and prosperity 
for the inhabitants. 


B04 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


After the preliminary repast in the new yurt, the guests repair 
to that of the bride’s father, where a second meal awaits them. 
The younger people remain in the new yurt, and for them the 
bride’s mother prepares food and drink; and she must provide 
it bountifully, lest the young people should break up the light 
structure over their heads, and, to punish her niggardliness, scatter 
its parts in all directions far away in the steppe. Not even the 
abundantly filled dish itself is safe from the boisterous spirits of 
these unruly wedding guests; one of them pulls it from the hostess, 
and rides away with it; others attempt to catch him and secure 
the spoil, and so the fun goes on till the dishes are in danger of 
becoming cold. 

The following morning the bride’s father asks for the first time 
to see the bridegroom, invites him to his yurt, greets him warmly, 
praises his looks and talents, wishes him happiness in his married 
life, and gives him all sorts of presents as the bride’s dowry. This 
takes place in the presence of the whole company who had as- 
sembled in the yurt before the bridegroom’s entrance. Finally, the 
richly adorned bride enters it also. If there is a mollah in the 
aul, or if one can be procured, he pronounces a blessing over the 
young pair. 

Then the farewell song, the “jar-jar’ 


? 


, is sung to the bride, 
and, with tearful eyes, she responds to every verse, every strophe, 
with the lament of departing brides. 

When this is at an end, camels are brought up to be loaded with 
the yurt and the bridal presents, and gaily caparisoned horses to 
carry the bride and her mother to the bridegroom’s aul. The young 
man himself rides in advance of the procession, and, assisted by his 
companions, he urges the camels to their utmost speed, so as to have 
time to erect the yurt in his aul with the same ceremonies as had 
been previously observed. The bride, having taken tearful leave 
of her father, relatives, and companions, the yurt, and the herds 
and flocks, rides closely veiled by a curtain which completely 
envelopes her, and which is carried by her attendant riders, till she 
reaches the yurt in which she is henceforth to reign as mistress. 
Her father-in-law, who has meantime inspected the dowry, and 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 505 


praised or found fault with it, calls her soon after her arrival to 
his yurt, and she enters it with three such deep inclinations, that 


V4 


i 
4) 


. 
ill 


Ht 


she is obliged to support herself by laying her hands on her knees: 
these are to signify that she will be as obedient to her father and 
mother-in-law as to her lord and master. During this greeting, 
her face remains veiled, as it does thenceforward before her father 


506 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


and brothers-in-law, and for a year before every stranger. Later, 
she veils herself in the presence of her husband’s eldest brother, but 
of no one else, for she must marry the brother if her husband dies, 
and she must not rouse or foster evil desires in his heart. 

In the case of a second marriage, the Kirghiz woos for himself 
and without special formalities. If he marries a second wife 
during the life of his first, and lets her live in the same yurt, as 
usually happens where the man is not very well-to-do, her lot is a 
pitiable one. The first wife insists upon her rights, condemns the 
second to a certain part of the yurt, and only allows her lord 
himself to exercise his conjugal rights within strict limits. The 
wife is held in high esteem among the Kirghiz: “We value our 
wives as we do our ambling nags, both are priceless,” my Kirghiz 
friend Altibei said to me. The men seldom leave their wives, the 
women still more rarely run away from their husbands; but even 
in the steppe, love does sometimes break all the bonds of tradition 
and custom. Abductions also occur, and are not considered dis- 
graceful. To carry off a maiden whose father’s claims are exorbitant 
is considered by many as praiseworthy rather than blameworthy 
on the part of both the abductor and abducted. 

Among the Kirghiz, a new-born infant is washed in very salt 
water as soon as it opens its eyes on the world. The washing is 
repeated for forty days in succession, and then given up entirely. 
The suckling is laid at first in a cradle filled with warm, soft, down- 
like camel wool, so that it is completely covered, and does not 
suffer from cold in the severest winter; later, it is dressed in a little 
woollen shirt, which the mother holds over the fire about once in 
three days, to free it from the parasites abundant in every yurt, 
but she never changes it for another as long as it holds together. 
In winter, the careful mother adds a pair of stockings, and, as soon 
as the child can walk, it is dressed like a grown-up person. 

Both parents are exceedingly fond of their children, treat them 
always with the greatest tenderness, and never beat them, but they 
take a pleasure in teaching them all kinds of ugly and unseemly 
words as soon as they begin to speak, and when these are repeated 
by the child’s innocent lips, they never fail to cause general 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 507 


amusement. The different ages of the child are described by the 
name of some animal; thus it may be “as old as a mouse, a marmot, 
a sheep, or a horse”. When a boy reaches the age of four years, 
he is placed for the first time on the back of a horse about the same 
age, richly adorned and saddled with one of the children’s saddles 
which are usually heirlooms in a family. The happy parents 
promise all sorts of pretty things to the independent little rider, 
who has, for the first time, escaped from the protecting arms of his 
mother. Then they call a servant or some willing friend, and give 
horse and rider into his charge to be led from one yurt to another, 
to announce the joyful event to all their relatives and friends. 
Wherever the little boy goes, he is warmly welcomed and over- 
whelmed with praises and dainties. A festival in the father’s yurt 
celebrates the important day. 

The child’s instruction in all that he requires to know begins 
about his seventh year. The boy, who in the interval has become 
an accomplished rider, learns to tend the grazing herds, the girl 
learns to milk them, and to perform all the other work of a house- 
wife; the son of rich parents is taught to read and write by a 
mollah or anyone able to impart such knowledge, and later he is 
instructed in the laws of his religion. Before he has completed his 
twelfth year his instruction is at an end, and he himself is ripe for life. 

The Kirghiz honours his dead and their memory even more than 
he does the living. Every family is ready to make the greatest 
sacrifices to celebrate the funeral and memorial feast of a deceased 
member of the family with as much pomp as possible; everyone, even 
the poorest, strives to decorate as well as he can the grave of his 
departed loved ones; everyone would consider it a disgrace to fail 
in paying full respect to any dead person, whether relative or not. 
All this they have in common with other Mohammedans; but the 
ceremonies observed at the death and burial of a Kirghiz differ 
materially from those customary among others of the same faith, 
and they are, therefore, worthy of detailed description. 

When a Kirghiz feels his last hour approaching, he summons all 
his friends, that they may make sure that his soul gets into Paradise. 
Pious Kirghiz, who are expecting death, have the Koran read to 


508 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


them long before the end comes, though the words sounding in their 
ear may be quite unintelligible. According to the custom among 
true believers, the friends of a dying man gather round his bed and 
repeat to him the first phrase of the confession of faith of all the 
Prophet’s followers, “There is but one God”, until he responds with 
the second, “And Mohammed is his prophet”. As soon as these 
words have passed his lips the angel Munkir opens the gates of 
Paradise, and therefore all who have heard the words exclaim, “ El 
hamdu lillahi”,—Praise be to God! 

As soon as the master of a yurt has closed his eyes in death, 
messengers are sent in all directions to bear the tidings to his 
relatives and friends, and, according to the rank and standing of 
the dead man, these messengers may ride from ten to fifty or sixty 
miles across the steppe from aul to aul. A relative in one aul may 
also carry on the news to those in another. While the messengers 
are on their way, the corpse is washed and enveloped in its “lailach”, 
which last every Kirghiz procures during his lifetime, and stores up 
with his valuables. When this duty has been fulfilled, the corpse 
is carried out of the yurt and laid upon a bier formed by a half- 
extended yurt-trellis. The mollah, who has been sent for, pronounces 
a blessing over the dead; then the trellis with its burden is lifted 
up and fastened to the saddle of a camel, and the train of assembled 
friends and kinsmen sets out on its way to the burial-place, which 
is often far distant. 

Whenever the dying man has breathed his last, the women begin 
the lament for the dead. The one most nearly related to him begins 
the song and gives vent to her heart’s grief in more or less deeply- 
felt words; the others join in simultaneously at the end of every 
phrase or verse, and one after another does her best to clothe her 
ideas in fit words. ‘The dirge becomes more and more mournful up 
till the moment when the camel rises with his burden, and not 
by sounds and words only, but by their whole conduct the women 
testify to their increasing grief. At length they tear their hair and 
scratch their faces till blood flows. Not till the funeral procession, 
in which the women take no part, has disappeared from sight, do 
the cries and tears gradually cease. 


FAMILY AND SOCIAL LIFE AMONG THE KIRGHIZ. 509 


Some men on swift horses have been sent in advance of the funeral 
train to prepare the grave. This is an excavation, at most reaching 
only to a man’s breast; at the end which points towards Mecca, it is 
vaulted to receive the head and upper part of the body. When the 
corpse has been laid to rest, the grave is covered with logs, planks, 
bundles of reeds, or stones. It is not filled with earth, but a mound 
is heaped up on the top of the covering and decorated with flags or 
the like, unless when a dome-like structure of wood or bricks is 
built over the grave. When a child dies its cradle is laid upon its 
grave. After the burial the mollah pronounces a blessing over the 
corpse for the last time, and all take part in heaping up the mound 
of earth. But the ceremonies do not end here. 

Whenever the head of a family dies, a white flag is planted 
beside the yurt and left for a whole year in the same place. Every 
day during the year the women assemble beside it to renew their 
lamentations. At the time the flag is planted the dead man’s 
favourite horse is led up, and half of its long tail is cut off. From 
that time forward no one mounts it; it is “widowed”. Seven days 
after the death, all the friends and relatives, even those from a 
distance, assemble in the yurt, hold a funeral banquet together, 
distribute some of the dead man’s clothing among the poor, and 
consult as to the future of those he has left behind and the guardian- 
ship of the property. Then the bereaved family is left alone with 
its sorrow. 

When a woman dies almost the same ceremonies are observed, 
except that, of course, the body is washed and dressed by women. 
But even in this case the women remain within the aul to sing the 
mourning song. The departed woman’s riding-horse has its tail cut, 
but no flag is planted. 

When the aul is taken down, a youth selected for the honourable 
service leads up the “ widowed ” riding-horse, puts the saddle of its 
former master reversed on its back, loads it with his clothing, and 
leads it by the bridle to its destination, carrying in his right hand 
the lance which bears the mourning-flag. 

On the anniversary of the death all the friends and relatives are 
summoned once more to the bereaved yurt. After greeting and 


510 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


condoling with the women, who are still shrouded in mourning 
garments, they fetch the horse, saddle and load it in the same 
manner as when moving the aul, and lead it before the mollah to 
be blessed. This done, two men approach, seize its bridle, unsaddle 
it, throw it to the ground, and stab it through the heart. Its flesh 
serves as a meal for the poor of the company, its skin falls to the 
mollah. Immediately after the horse has been killed, the lance is 
handed to the most important man among the relatives; he takes 
it, pronounces a few words, breaks the shaft in pieces, and throws 
these into the fire. 

Now the horses come snorting up, eager to prove their speed in 
the race; the young riders who guide and bridle them start off at a 
given signal and disappear in the steppe. The bard takes the 
mollah’s place, and commemorates the dead once more, but also 
extols the living and seeks to gladden their hearts. The women lay 
aside the singular head-dress, which serves as a sign of mourning, 
and don their gala attire. After the abundant repast, the vessel of 
intoxicating milk-wine circulates freely, and sounds of joy mingle 
with the tones of the zither. 

Mourning for the dead is over; life asserts its rights once more. 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 


Those who regard Siberia as merely a vast prison are as far 
from the truth as those who look upon it as one immeasurable 
waste of ice. Russia does indeed send thousands of criminals or 
others under sentence of punishment to Siberia every year; and 
there are among these some who, having been convicted of serious 
crimes against life and property, are not free during the whole of 
their enforced sojourn. But only a very small proportion of all the 
criminals are really in confinement for the whole period of their 
sentence, and every one of them has it in his power to render this 
confinement less severe, or even to free himself from it altogether 
by his behaviour, and thus he enjoys advantages which do not fall 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 511 


to the lot of the inmates of our prisons and houses of correction. 
Wide tracts of the vast territory which is governed by the Russian 
sceptre, great countries according to our ideas, have never been used 
as penal colonies at all, and will probably always remain free of 
those forced immigrants, who cause the settled population much 
more disagreeableness, not to say suffering, than they have to 
endure themselves. And along the same paths, which formerly 
were never trodden save in sorrow, there now pass many free 
human beings, hoping and striving to better their lot in the distant 
Kast. Voluntary colonists join the compulsory ones even in such 
districts and tracts of country as were formerly dreaded and 
shunned as the most inhospitable regions on earth. A new era is 
opening for Siberia; for blinding fear is gradually being replaced by 
illuminating knowledge even among those classes of society which 
are more prone to fear than desirous of knowledge. 

The descriptions of Siberia with which we are familiar come, for 
the most part, from the mouth or the pen of educated exiles, that is 
to say, from people whom the settled inhabitants call “ unfortunate ”, 
and treat as such. Probably only a very small proportion of 
the descriptions in question are untrue, but they are, nevertheless, 
inaccurate in most cases. For misfortune clouds the eyes and the 
soul, and destroys that impartiality which is the only possible basis 
of a correct estimate of the conditions of life. These conditions are 
much better than we are accustomed to believe, much better, indeed, 
than they are in more than one of the mountainous districts of our 
Fatherland; for the struggle for existence in Siberia is an easy one 
as far as man is concerned. Want in the usual sense of the word, 
lack of the ordinary necessaries of life, is here almost unknown, or 
at least, only affects those whose power of work has been weakened 
by illness or other misfortune. Compared with the hardships 
against which many a poor German dwelling among the mountains 
has to contend during his whole life, without ever emerging victori- 
ous from the struggle, the lot of even the convict in Siberia appears 
in many cases enviable. Privation oppresses only the mental, not 
the bodily life of the residents in Siberia, for whoever is faithful to 
the soil receives from it more than he needs, and if any one forsakes 


512 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


it for some of the other occupations customary in the country, 
he can earn quite as much by the honest work of his hands as 
he could have reaped from the soil itself. Thus do the present con- 
ditions of life appear to one who studies them with unprejudiced 
eyes. 

I have honestly striven to form an unbiassed judgment on the 
present conditions of life among the inhabitants of the parts of 
Siberia through which we travelled. I have descended into the 
depths of misery, and have sunned myself on the heights of pros- 
perity, I have associated with murderers, highwaymen, incendiaries, 
thieves, swindlers, sharpers, vagabonds, scoundrels, insurgents and 
conspirators, as well as with fishermen and huntsmen, shepherds 
and peasants, merchants and tradesmen, officials and magistrates, 
with masters and servants, educated and uneducated, rich and poor, 
contented and discontented, so that I might confirm my observations, 
widen my knowledge, test my conclusions, and correct erroneous 
impressions; I have begged the police officers to describe the exiles’ 
lot to me, and have questioned the exiles themselves; I have sought 
out criminals in their prisons, and have observed them outside of 
these; I have conversed with peasants, trades-people, and colonists 
generally, whenever and wherever it was possible, and have com- 
pared the statements made to me by these people with the detailed 
communications made to me by the government officials: I may 
therefore believe that I gathered as much information as was 
possible, taking into account the speed and shortness of our journey. 
In any case, I have collected so much material that I may confine 
myself solely to the results of my own investigations in attempting 
to give a rapid sketch of the life of exiles in Siberia. My description 
will not be free from errors, but it will certainly be a just estimate 
of the state of affairs. 

With the exception of government officials, soldiers, and enter- 
prising trades-people, chiefly merchants, the stream of emigrants 
from Russia to Siberia was made up, until 1861, solely of those who 
went under compulsion: serfs of the Czar who worked in his own 
mines, and criminals who were sent, chiefly, to those of the state. 
With the suppression of serfdom, which had a deeper influence on the 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 513: 


state of society than was supposed, or than is even now recognized, 
the emigration of the former class ceased at once. Millions of men 
were set free by a word from their mild and large-hearted ruler, 
thousands of them forsook the mines and turned their attention to 
the fruitful soil, which their relatives had already been cultivating; 
the Czar’s mines were almost depopulated, and even now they have 
scarcely recovered from the effects of the blow. But the great 
imperial or crown-estate of the Altai gained, instead of its former 
colonists, a new element which it had lacked, a free peasantry, not. 
indeed possessing heritable property, but yet at full liberty to cul- 
tivate the rich soil. The suppression of serfdom also altered the 
condition of those tracts of country which had been chiefly colonized 
by convict exiles, for there, too, it became possible to establish a free 
peasantry. But here the continuous emigration-stream proves 
rather a hindrance than an advantage; for in most cases the convicts. 
who are exiled to parts of the country already peopled introduce an 
element of disquiet among the settled inhabitants, and prevent such 
hopeful and prosperous colonization as in the crown-estate of the 
Altai, which has never ‘been used as a convict settlement, and never 
will be so used as long as it remains the property of the Czar. On 
the other hand, many voluntary emigrants make their way to the 
Altai, and on that account the population increases more rapidly 
there than in the rest of Siberia. 

It is a magnificent tract of country this crown-estate of the 
Altai, and, as a landed property, it is also remarkable as being the 
largest which can be found anywhere. For its superficial area may 
be stated in round numbers at 400,000 square versts, or about. 
176,000 English square miles. It includes within itself mountain 
ranges and plains, hill chains and table-lands; it lies between 
navigable rivers, and contains others which could be made navi- 
gable without special difficulty; it still contains vast and utilizable 
forests, and wealth immeasurable above and beneath the ground. 
Ores of various kinds have been discovered at no fewer than eight. 
hundred and thirty different places within its boundaries, without. 
taking into account other two hundred and seventy spots at which 


it has been found, but which have never been thoroughly examined. 
(at 70) 33 


514 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR 


In the Altai, one literally walks upon silver and gold; for aurif- 
erous silver-ore as well as lead, copper, and iron intersect the 
mountains in veins, more or less rich, but usually worth working; 
and the rivers flowing from them carry down golden sand. A 
stratum of coal, whose extent has not yet been determined, but in 
which a depth of seven or eight yards has been proved in various 
places, underlies such an extensive tract, that, judging from the 
composition of the exposed masses of rock, one is justified in con- 
cluding that the whole northern portion of the estate stands above a 
great coal-basin.®® And yet the real wealth of the estate of the 
Altai lies, not in its subterranean treasures, but in its rich black 
soil, which spreads over mountain slopes and plains, and is swept 
together in river-basins and hollows, so that it covers them to the 
depth of a yard and a half. Beautiful, often grand, mountain 
districts alternate with pleasing hilly tracts of arable land, and 
gently-undulating plains, which the farmer prefers above all else, 
steppe-like landscapes with fruitful valleys watered by a brook or 
river, forests of luxuriantly sprouting trees, low and tall, with groves 
or park-like shrubbery. The climate, though not mild, is by no 
means intolerable, and nowhere hinders profitable cultivation of the 
exceedingly fertile, and, for the most part, virgin soil. Four months 
of hot, almost unvarying summer, four months of severe continuous 
winter, two months of damp, cold, and changeable spring, and a 
similar autumn, make up the year, and though the mean warmth 
of the best half of the year is not sufficient to mature the grape, it 
ripens all the kinds of grain which we grow in Northern and 
Central Germany; and in all the southern portions of the crown 
property the temperature is high enough to admit of melon culture. 

Such is the character of the land which has been free, for more 
than two generations, from exiled criminals, and which now harbours 
such colonists as, within certain limits, one would like to see 
throughout the whole remaining and not less rich and fertile 
southern portion of Siberia. Of course these farmers of the Altai 
cannot be compared with our peasants who inherit their land; but 
they compare favourably with any ordinary Russian peasants. One 
can see that their fathers and grandfathers have been serfs of the 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 515 


greatest and most exalted Lord of the Empire, not half-slaves of a 
master who, powerless himself, demands the most absolute subjec- 
tion; one can also assure oneself in many ways that the lack of 
landed property has in no wise hindered them from becoming pros- 
perous, that is, from earning more than enough to supply their 
necessities. 

From the time that the Altai was declared the property of the 
Czar, the lot of its inhabitants was comparatively fortunate, not to 
say happy. Until their release from serfdom, they had all been 
employed either in mining, or in some work connected therewith. 
Those who were not actually in the mines were occupied, some with 
the felling and charring of trees, others with conveying of the 
charcoal to the smelting-houses, and others again with the transport 
of the metal. With the increase of the population the burden of 
compulsory service became lighter. In the fifties, there were so 
many able-bodied men available, that the compulsory service to 
their lord, the Czar, was limited to one month in the year, with the 
condition, however, that each serf-workman should furnish a horse. 
The distance which a workman had to cover with his horse was 
taken into account according to its length. As compensation for 
absence from home, each serf-workman received 754 kopeks for 
the period of his work, but, in addition to this nominal pay, he had 
the right to cultivate as much of the Czar’s land as he could, and 
to till it as he pleased, as well as to cut down as much wood in the 
Czar’s forests as he required for building his house, and for fuel, 
and he was burdened with no taxes or tribute whatever. The 
number of workmen which a village was obliged to furnish was in 
proportion to the number of its inhabitants; the distribution of the 
burden of service among the different heads of families was left to 
the members of the community themselves. 

The work of the miners was less easy. They were drawn from 
the towns and villages of the crown-estate, instead of the soldiers 
levied elsewhere, were treated like soldiers in every respect, and 
were only freed after twenty-five years of service. They were 
divided into two classes: the miners proper, who worked in regular 
relays, and the workers connected with the mine, who were obliged 


516 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


to perform a certain prescribed amount of work each year, the time 
being left to their own choice. The latter were engaged in char- 
coal-burning, felling trees, making bricks, transport, and the like, 
and they received 14 roubles yearly. Having yielded the required 
service, they were free for the rest of the year, and might do as they 
pleased. Those who worked in the mines, on the other hand, were 
compelled to give their services year in, year out. They worked in 
twelve-hour relays, one week by day, the next by night, and every 
third week they were free. Each miner received, according to his 
capability, from six to twelve roubles a year for such necessaries as 
had to be paid for in money, but in addition he was allowed two 
pood (72 lbs.) of flour a month for himself, two pood for his wife, 
and one pood for each of his children. He was also at liberty to till 
as much land, and breed and keep as many cattle as he could. Each 
of his sons was obliged to attend school from his seventh to his 
twelfth year; from his twelfth to his eighteenth he was engaged as 
an apprentice, and rewarded at first with one, later with two roubles 
a year. At the age of eighteen his compulsory service in the mines 
began. 

On the first of March, 1861, the day of the emancipation of all 
the serfs in the Russian Empire, there were in the crown property 
of the Altai 145,639 males, of whom 25,267 were at work in the 
mines or smelting works. All these were released from their com- 
pulsory service, not indeed in a single day, but within two years. 
No fewer than 12,626 of them forsook the mines, returned to their 
native villages and began to till the soil; the rest remained in the 
mines as hired labourers. 

I do not think I am mistaken in referring the more comfortable 
conditions of life on the crown-property of the Altai, as compared 
with the rest of West Siberia, back to its own past. The parents and 
forefathers of the present inhabitants, notwithstanding their bondage, 
never felt oppressed. They were serfs, but of the lord and ruler of 
the vast land in which the cradle of their fathers stood. They were 
obliged to labour for their master, and to yield up their sons for 
nearly a generation to his service; but this master was the Czar, a 
being in their eyes almost divine. In return, the Czar maintained 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 517 


them, freed them from all the obligations of citizenship, permitted 
them to wrest from his land what it would yield, placed no hin- 
drances in the way of their prosperity, protected them, as far as 
possible, from the oppressions of unjust officials, and was, besides, a 


Day 


Fig. 74.—Miners in the Altai returning from Work. 


benefactor to their children in that he compelled at least some of 
them to attend school. The officials under whose superintendence 
they were, stood far above the majority of the servants of the 
crown as regards culture; nearly all had studied in Germany, not a 
few were even of German extraction, and brought, if not German 


518 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR, 


customs, at least widened views into the country over which they 
ruled in the name of the Czar. Even now, Barnaul, the capital of 
the ecrown-lands, is a centre of culture such as can be found nowhere 
else in Siberia; and, while the mining industry was at its best, it was 
the undisputed intellectual capital of Northern and Central Asia, and 
the light emanating from it shone the more brilliantly because it 
found in every mining centre a focus which helped to spread it more 
widely. Thus the royal domain of the Altai has always held a pro- 
minent position among the districts of Siberia. 

It was probably never the intention of the administration of 
the Altai to specially favour the peasant class. Until the suppression 
of serfdom, at all events, the class was regarded much as a necessary 
adjunct to the working of the mines. But times have changed. From 
the day on which the serfs were emancipated, mining has retro- 
graded as steadily as agriculture has advanced. The authorities have 
not yet been able to make up their minds to abandon the old routine 
of work, but they have to pay such high sums to get it carried on 
that the net profit from the mines is now inconsiderable. Throwing 
open the mines freely to energetic workers, probably the only thor- 
ough means of improving the present state of things, has been 
proposed in some districts, but is still far from being an accomplished 
fact. The free use of the soil, as far as the plough penetrates, has 
been customary so long that it has become, to a certain extent, a pre- 
scriptive right. To be sure, as I have already pointed out, no one 
owns the land he tills, not even the spot on which his house stands, 
but, in the peasants’ eyes, what belongs to the Czar belongs to the 
“good Lord God”, and the latter willingly permits every believer to 
make use of it. As a matter of fact, the administration of the 
crown-lands levies forty kopeks of annual rent on every hektar of 
land (24 acres) which is brought under the plough; but it is not 
particularly strict in the matter, and the peasant on his side does 
not feel it at all incumbent on him to be very precise. Thus each 
peasant, in reality, cultivates as much as he can, and chooses it 
wherever he pleases. 

It is doing the peasant of to-day on the crown-lands no more 
than justice to describe him as well-built, wide-awake, handy, skilful, 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 519 


intelligent, hospitable, good-natured and warm-hearted, and it is not 
too much to say that his prosperity has given him considerable self- 
esteem and a certain appreciation of freedom. His bearing is freer 
and less depressed than that of the Russian peasants. He is polite 
and obliging, submissive, and therefore easily managed; but he is. 
not servile, cringing or abject, and the impression he makes on a 
stranger is by no means unfavourable. But he possesses all the 
qualities which we call loutishness in a high degree, and several 
others as well, which are calculated to weaken the first impression. 
Although he has had more educational advantages than any others. 
of his class in Siberia, he is anything but in love with school. He is. 
strictly religious and ready to give up what he possesses to the 
Church, but he looks upon school as an institution which spoils men 
rather than educates them. With a lasting recollection of a former 
state of things, when the old discharged soldiers, who held the edu- 
cational sceptre in the times of his fathers, did not scruple to send 
the scholars for “ schnaps ’, and even to maltreat them while under its. 
influence, he is exceedingly suspicious of everything connected with 
“education”. He also clings, peasant-like, to whatever has been in 
the past, and imagines that more knowledge than he himself possesses. 
will be injurious to his children, and it is by no means easy to con- 
vert him from this opinion. The state of education is thus very 
low. It is only exceptionally that he has acquired the art of writing, 
and he invariably regards books as entirely superfluous articles. 
But he clings, on that account, so much the more firmly to the 
superstition which his Church countenances and promulgates. He 
rarely knows the names of the months, but can always tell off the 
names of the saints and their festivals on his fingers: God and the 
saints, archangel and devil, death, heaven, and hell occupy his 
mind more than all else. He cannot be described as easily satisfied, 
yet he is perfectly contented. He does not wish for more than the 
necessaries of life, and therefore only works as much as he absolutely 
must. But neither his farm premises nor the fields which he calls 
his can be too large, neither his family nor his flock too numerous. 

“ How is it with you here?” I asked, through an interpreter, one 
of the heads of a village whom we picked up on the way. 


520 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


“God still bears with our sins,’ was the answer. 

“ Are your wives good, faithful, kindly, and helpful to you?” 

“There are good and bad.” 

“ Are your children obedient, and do they cause you joy?” 

“We have nothing to complain of in regard to them.” 

“Ts the land you till fruitful; does it yield you a rich harvest?” 

“Tf it yields us corn tenfold, we are content.” 

“Do your cattle thrive?” 

“We are content.” 

“ How many horses have you?” 

“Thirty-two; there may perhaps be thirty-five.” 

« And how many of these do you require for your work?” 

« Hight, ten, and sometimes twelve.” 

“Then you bring up the rest to sell?” 

“T may perhaps sell one of them some day.” 

“ And what shall you do with the others?” 

“ Nitschewo.” 

“ How many cows and sheep have you?” 

“T do not know. My wife takes charge of the cows, sheep, and 
pigs.” 

“ Have you heavy taxes to pay?” 

“T am content.” 

“Have you anything to complain of?” 

“T am content.” 

“So you have no complaints whatever to make; everything is 
quite satisfactory ?” 

“No, not everything; I have one complaint.” 

“ What is that?” 

“The land is becoming uncomfortable.” 

“Uncomfortable; what does that mean?” 

“Why, it is getting too small for us.” 

“Too small; in what way?” 

“Oh, the villages are springing up everywhere like mushrooms 
from the soil. One has scarcely room to turn now, and does not 
know where to lay out one’s fields. If I had not been too old I 
should have left this part.” 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 521 


“The villages spring up like mushrooms from the soil? But 
where? Isee none. How far is the next village from yours?” 

“ Fifteen versts” (ten miles). 

Thus does the peasant of the crown estate speak and think. 
The vast land is not spacious enough for him, and yet the twentieth 
part of what he has at his disposal would suffice for him if he would 
cultivate it. For the land is so fertile that it richly rewards even a 
very small amount of labour. But if it does once fail, if the harvest 
does not turn out as well as usual, if the peasant suffers from want 
instead of from superfluity, he regards this not as the natural con- 
sequence of his own laziness, but as a dispensation of God, as a 
punishment laid upon him for his sins. 

In reality, however, he is very comfortable in spite of his sins 
and their punishment, and has more reason to talk of his reward. 
For not scarcity but superfluity troubles him. The government 
allows each peasant fifteen hektars of the best land, usually at his 
own choice, for every male member of his family; but of the 
400,000 square versts of the crown-estate, only 234,000 had been 
taken up till 1876, so it does not matter much even now whether a 
peasant restricts himself to what he has a right to or not. Some 
families use not less than twelve or fifteen hundred hektars, and to 
these it is certainly a matter of indifference whether they keep only 
the number of horses necessary for their work, or twenty or thirty 
more. In reality, it often happens that the superfluous animals 
relieve the peasants from a heavy care—that of turning to account 
the over-abundant harvest which the extremely deficient means of 
transport prevent his converting into money. In a country in whose 
capital, under ordinary circumstances, the pood or thirty-six pounds 
of rye-meal is sold at sixpence, of wheat-meal at ninepence, of beef in 
winter at about one shilling and twopence at most; where a sheep 
costs four shillings, a weaned calf ten, a pig eight, and an excellent 
horse seldom more than five pounds of English money, an unusually 
good season lowers prices so far that the too-abundant harvest 
becomes a burden. When the peasant, who in any case works only 
when he must, can only get about one shilling and twopence for 
about two hundredweights of grain, the flail becomes too heavy in 


522 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


his hand, and the harvest, according to his limited ideas, becomes 
a curse. 

These conditions, which apply to the present day, explain most 
of the vices as well as many of the virtues of our colonist: his 
laziness, his incorrigible contentment, his indifference to losses, his 
liberality to the needy, his compassion for the unfortunate. They 
also explain the intense desire, innate in all Siberians, to increase 
the population. The vast land is hungry for inhabitants, if I may 
so speak. Therefore even now the Siberian looks with pride on a 
numerous family; and there is no foundling asylum in the whole 
country. Why should there be? Every woman who cannot bring 
up the child she has borne, or who wants to be rid of it, finds some- 
one willing and anxious to take the little creature off her hands. 
“Give it to me,” says the peasant to the faithless mother: “I will 
bring it up;” and he looks as pleased as if a foal had just been 
added to his stock. In former times, when the population was 
considerably less than it is now, children were married while still 
immature, or scarcely mature, so that they might become parents 
as soon as possible and gain other hands to help them; now youths 
do not usually marry until the beginning of their eighteenth year, 
but they frequently wed older women who give promise of early 
child-bearing, and the designs of such women upon marriageable 
youths are not only winked at but encouraged by the bridegroom’s 
parents. 

In order that romance may not be altogether awanting, I may 
mention that elopements of young girls with love-struck youths, 
and secret marriages, are by no means rare occurrences among the 
peasants of the Altai. But the great majority of these elopements 
take place with the consent of all concerned, thus also of the parents 
of both bride and bridegroom—to avoid the customary entertaining 
of the whole village at a meal, simple in itself, but accompanied by 
a great deal of brandy. As may be imagined, however, love over- 
comes all obstacles, particularly the disapproval of parents, on the 
crown-lands as elsewhere. The maiden, like every other on the 
round earth, is soon won over by the youth who desires to run away 
with her; a holy servant of the Church can also be procured at ail 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 523 


times by the payment of an exorbitantly high fee; but the angry 
parents are not so easily reconciled. The mother curses her daughter, 
the father his son; both swear by all the saints never to see their 
depraved children again. 


“ And Heaven, full of kindness, 
Ts patient with man’s blindness.” 


But it is not from above that the reconciliation comes; that is 
brought about by a magic power beyond compare, known as 
schnaps among the races who inhabit German territory, as vodki 
among those living on the sacred soil of Russia. As soon as the 
father-in-law drinks, the young bridegroom has gained the day; 
for the mother-in-law drinks too, and the luscious nectar softens 
her inflexible heart also. If some friends arrive, as if by chance, to 
assist at the reconciliation festival, they are not denied admittance, 
for the cost of entertaining them is much less than if the whole 
village had assembled, and, drinking fervently, had called down the 
blessing of Heaven upon the newly-united pair. Who can deny 
after this that love, pure, holy love, makes even a peasant youth of 
the Altai inventive? 

The bride of the Altai receives no dowry; her mother, on the other 
hand, expects a gift from the bridegroom, and sometimes demands 
it with much storming, weeping and howling, after the manner of 
women. Only under special circumstances, as, for instance, when, 
on the morning after the wedding, the nuptial linen does not fulfil 
the expectations of the assembled guests, the contrary takes place. 
The intelligent and experienced father-in-law makes use of the 
magic means already mentioned, produces an inspiriting number 
of bottles thoughtfully laid in beforehand, promises the indignant, 
or at any rate downcast son-in-law a foal, an ox, a sucking-pig, and 
the like; the minds of all are made easy again, and the reconciliation 
is effected. 

And why should the bridegroom be angry for ever? Others 
have fared no better, and the future will equalize much. Paternal 
joys often blossom even under irregular circumstances, and they 
are paternal joys all the same. For even the poorest couple have 


524 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


no cares about their household expenses, if they will use their hands 
at all; people are willing to help them with this and that, and if a 
bountiful Heaven will only be moderate enough for a few years in 
the outpouring of its blessings, so that the price of grain and stock 
may not fall too low, a tea-caddy and cups will adorn a corner 
table, and silk coverlets the big double-bed, shining images the 
right-hand corner, and indescribably noble pictorial representations 
of the hunting of the lion, tiger, bear, wolf, elephant, stag, and 
crocodile the walls of the cleanly-kept “best room”, which is never 
awanting in the better class of peasant houses. 

A domestic life scarcely differing from that already described 
beckons to every convict who is exiled to Siberia, to one sooner, to 
another later, if he wishes to attain to it, if he lives long enough, 
and is to a certain extent favoured by fortune. While in Siberia 
I came to have views about exiles and banishment very different 
from those I had held before visiting the country; but I may 
remark at the outset that I am not one of those who bestow more 
sympathy upon a murderer, a robber, an incendiary, a thief, or any 
other scoundrel, than upon the industrious paterfamilias who 
strives, in the sweat of his brow, to bring up a numerous family 
honestly, and that I have never been able to soar to that loftiness 
of view which seeks to mitigate all punishment and relax all con- 
finement. 

On an average, fifteen thousand people are sent from Russia, 
“verschickt”, as the expression Is among the German Russians. 
Those who have been guilty of grave crimes are sentenced for life, 
of less serious offences for a number of years. It is not within my 
province to discuss the severities or deficiencies of the Russian penal 
code; but the fact that the penalty of death is imposed only for the 
gravest and rarest of all crimes does not suggest too great severity. 
But it is undoubtedly a hardship that exiles sentenced for political 
causes should be treated on the way to Siberia, and often when 
there, exactly like common criminals. 

Condemned exiles are first transferred from the prison in the 
district town to that in the capital of the government, and thence 
transported by rail or by the ordinary peasant-wagon to Nijni-Nov- 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 525 


gorod, Kasan, or Perm. Whether criminals are still forced to march 
in chains, two abreast, and thus to carry their fetters for the whole 
journey, I do not know; I have never seen this, and I am firmly 
convinced that the well-known mildness of the late Czar would 
never have suffered this barbarous proceeding. In the towns already 
mentioned, as well as in Tjumen and Tomsk, there are spacious 
prisons, and, at intervals along such routes as have not been deserted 
because of the railway, there are less roomy buildings for the safe 
housing of the exiles during night. Whenever it can be avoided, 
the exiles are not compelled to travel on foot, but are conveyed to 
their destination by rail, by the wagons already referred to, or by 
regularly plying steamers: thus from Nijni-Novgorod or Kasan to 
Perm, from Tjumen via Thura, Tobolsk, Irtish, Ob, and Tom, to 
Tomsk. The prisons are simple buildings, but thoroughly clean; 
‘the hospitals connected with, but sufficiently far apart from them, 
are model institutions; the river-boats are unusually long, two- 
decked vessels, which may best be described as gigantic floating 
cages, for the whole upper portion above the deck is latticed after 
the fashion of a bird-cage. Each of these boats, which is towed by 
a steamer, affords the necessary accommodation for six hundred 
persons, and contains also a large kitchen, a sick-room, a small 
dispensary, quarters for the accompanying soldiers and for the crew. 
Between Perm and Tjumen run wagons, which also resemble bird- 
cages, and which serve for the transport of dangerous criminals. 
Every exile receives from government a cloak of heavy gray 
woollen material, in the middle of the back of which is fastened 
a diamond-shaped piece of cloth of colours varying with the length 
of the sentence, so that the soldiers in charge may be acquainted 
with it as far as is necessary. For procuring food on the journey, ten, 
or in the case of “unfortunates” of higher social standing, fifteen 
kopeks a day are allowed to each; but during a prolonged stay 
in prison the rate is seven and fifteen respectively. This sum is so 
liberal that, if spent with care, it suffices to procure all the 
necessaries of life, although every day, except during Lent, three- 
quarters of a pound of meat are served out to each. If wife and 
children accompany a condemned criminal, each of these receives 


526 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


a similar sum. Additional earning is permitted, and money gained 
by work or begging flows, though perhaps not quite untaxed, into 
the pockets of the condemned himself, or down his throat in the 
form of vodki. 

I said that everyone was at liberty to take his wife and children 
with him into exile, and I may add that he usually does so. A long 
sentence of imprisonment for a serious crime is a ground of divorce 
even in Russia; every married woman is, therefore, free to choose 
whether she will accompany her husband into exile, or remain 
in her native land. Even children who have attained their four- 
teenth year have the right to decide for themselves whether they 
will leave Russia for Siberia with their parents or not. But the 
government prefer that wife and children should accompany the 
criminal, and they encourage it in every possible way, therefore they 
give much consideration to the question of how far it is practicable 
to lessen the difficulties and disagreeablenesses of the journey. 

That it is oppressive under all circumstances cannot be denied; 
but the journey of the exiles is by no means so indescribably dread- 
ful as it has been depicted. Only those convicted of the gravest 
crimes are conducted to their destination in chains; the rest enjoy 
more freedom than our convicts. The portion of the journey which 
has to be performed in the steamers or the boats they tow is 
the worst. Here all the exiles and their families are cooped up 
together, and excesses of all descriptions are committed by the most 
degraded criminals, who are only, or can only, be kept under 
sufficient restraint in rare cases. The expert thief steals from the 
bungler in the same disreputable calling, the more violent over- 
powers the weaker, or takes the soles off the boots of a sleeper 
to possess himself of the bank-notes supposed to be hidden there; 
the incorrigible shakes the resolution of the penitent, or destroys 
utterly those who had previously given ground for hopes of 
improvement, Male and female criminals are now separated from 
each other, but the members of a family remain with their head, 
and the wife and daughters of an exile are always in danger during 
the journey, no matter what attempts are made to avoid this. On 
the other hand, the steamer shortens the journey tenfold, and thus 


Fig. 75.—Exiles on the Way to Siberia. 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 529 


removes those who are not irretrievably ruined, and those who are 
not criminals, so much the sooner from evil influences. More diffi- 
cult, certainly, yet less dangerous to the more hopeful criminals, is. 
the journey by land. Driving along Russian roads in a Russian 
peasant-wagon drawn by galloping Russian horses is certainly a. 
species of torture according to our ideas; but it is not so to those 
who have, from their youth upwards, been accustomed to no better 
conveyances or smoother roads. To be sure, the exiles are more 
closely packed in a wagon holding six or eight people than the 
peasant packs his when he drives with his family; the driver or the 
accompanying soldier is in no way more comfortable than the 
convicts, with the exception of the worst criminals, whose chains 
jar more uncomfortably than usual on such a journey. An exile 
belonging to a cultured family, and convicted, for instance, on 
political grounds, cries out under the torture of such a journey, and 
is fully justified in depicting it in the blackest possible colours from 
his own point of view; but if we take into account the local 
conditions, and the customs of the country, we must at least. 
acquit the directors of these forced journeyings from the charge of 
cruelty under which they lie. And as for the journeys on foot, 
these never take place in winter, it is only strong and able men 
who are forced to make them, not more than forty versts a day are 
traversed, and every third day is spent in resting at one of the 
prisons on the way. The soldiers in charge walk too, they must 
keep constant watch over the prisoners for whom they are respon- 
sible, and must therefore exert themselves much more; for if the 
murderer has to drag his chains, the soldier has to carry his weapon,. 
baggage, and ammunition. He, however, is the irreproachable 
servant of the state, the other an outcast from society! 

But it is certainly unjust that an exile of higher social position. 
who has been convicted of a common crime should, if he has still 
means at his disposal, or can obtain them, be treated otherwise than 
one of lower degree, who is sentenced for the same crime. The 
former is permitted to travel to his place of banishment at his own. 
time, and with every comfort, guarded only by two Cossacks, whom 


he must pay for the double journey. 
(at 70) 34 


530 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


While every unbiassed Russian or Siberian admits this injustice 
frankly, officials and exiles alike deny that there is cruelty on the 
part of the escorting soldiers, or of any other persons, whether of 
high or inferior rank, who are intrusted with the guardianship and 
government of the convicts. It does happen that mutinous exiles 
are shot or killed in some way on the journey; but such events occur 
very rarely, and only when all other means of quelling insubordi- 
nation have failed. The Russian is not cruel like the Spaniard, the 
Turk, the Greek, or the Southern Slav; on the contrary, a mistaken 
-compassionateness and sluggishness makes him mild and considerate 
rather than severe and harsh; he may force men and animals to 
exert themselves to the utmost, but he does not torture them in 
order to gloat over their torments. Even the name “unfortunate”, 
by which it is customary to describe all exiles, originates in a feeling 
‘deeply rooted among the people, and this feeling of compassion is 
shared by everyone, including soldiers and police-officers, and the 
inspectors and warders of the prisons. That even the most long- 
suffering and lamblike patience may now and again be excited to 
angry rage by one or more miscreants is intelligible enough; that 
miserable wretches at the convict stations levy tax even on mis- 
fortune in order to gain more money than the state promises them 
in salary, I was informed by some of the exiles; that the rebels who 
were sentenced to exile after the last Polish rebellion were treated 
by the accompanying soldiers more harshly than other exiles, 
indeed with pitiless severity, was the complaint of a former gen- 
‘darme who told me the story of his life through a German-Russian 
interpreter. But to make the present government responsible for 
‘such excesses, to reproach them with constant barbarity, to persist 
in talking about the knout, which was abolished years ago, and in 
general to represent our Eastern neighbours as incorrigible bar- 
barians, is simply senseless, because in every respect untrue. 

All the laws, regulations, and arrangements in force at present 
prove that the government. takes all possible thought for the exiles, 
and strives to render their lot less hard, and moreover gives to each 
‘an opportunity of sooner or later improving his lot. To treat exiles 
with unjust severity is strictly forbidden and heavily punished; to 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 531 


take anything unjustly away from them is looked upon as a grave 
offence. Everywhere there reigns the desire to lessen the severity 
of the punishment if it can be done, to give the convict back to 
human society, if that be possible. But it is only those who really 
deserve help that receive it, not those who pretend improvement. 
For they do not make hypocrites in Siberia as we do in our prisons. 
The mania’ for making prisoners canting hypocrites, which is too 
often seen among us, is unknown among the Russians, for they 
take it for granted that everyone honours and reveres the Church 
and the “dear saints ”, fasts at the proper season, and generally per- 
forms what little is demanded by a church which is based wholly 
upon external forms. On the other hand, they deal with evil in the 
right way, and they achieve results which we might, nay, must envy. 

Of the fifteen thousand banished, scarcely one thousand are sent 
to work in the mines each year; the rest are distributed among 
the different governments, being, as it is called, exiled to become 
colonists. In the larger prisons not only are men and women 
separately confined, but Christians, Mohammedans, and Jews are 
kept apart, and religion is taken into consideration in distributing 
the colonists. Whenever the convict sentenced to one of the lighter 
penalties has reached the place of his destination, he is presented, on 
behalf of the government, with a certificate of permission to reside 
there, and is thenceforward free to pursue any lawful calling; but he 
may not leave his district, or even his village, without the permission 
of the authorities, and he is under the constant surveillance of the 
police. About the reason for his banishment, or about his earlier 
life, he is never questioned, at least never with malevolent inten- 
tions, for “in the house of the hanged one does not speak of the 
hangman”. The people among whom he lives are, or have been, 
themselves unfortunates, or are descended from exiles; the few free 
settlers adopt the manners and customs of the other Siberians. The 
“unfortunates” are helped in every justifiable way. Even in the 
‘prisons on the way there are workshops where industrious prisoners 
may earn a little; schools also are established to prevent the ruin of 
the rising generation, and the orphans of criminals are brought up 
at such an expenditure of time and money that only the wilfully 


532 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


blind can fail to see this gleam of light, only the maliciously dumb 
refrain from speaking of it. In the prison at Tjumen we visited 
the prison school, in which a young priest imparted instruction to 


Fig. 76.—Interior of a Siberian Peasant’s Dwelling. 


Christian, Jewish, and Tartar children alike, and it was a good face. 
a veritable head of Christ, that this long-haired and bearded, though 
still youthful ecclesiastic showed us. To be sure, the Jewish and 
Tartar boys had to read and repeat the catechism of the Orthodox 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 533 


Church as well as the Christian children, and a quiet hope of 
winning one or another of the former to Christianity may perhaps 
have lived in the breast of the priest; but what harm could priest 
or catechism do compared with the advantage gained? The boys 
learned to read Russian by means of the catechism, and they learned 
writing and arithmetic as well; that was the main thing. In the 
same place we visited an orphan asylum founded, built, and for the 
most part maintained and conducted, by a wealthy lady, and destined 
for the children of exiles who died on the journey or in the town 
prisons. Jt was a model institution in the best sense of the term, 
with happy child-faces, beautiful school-rooms and dormitories, 
workshops and play-rooms, a little theatre with all the necessary 
appurtenances, the whole a work of mercy whose value cannot be 
gainsaid. But we were to learn more than this. 

In Tjumen, Omsk, Tobolsk, and not only in the towns, but 
throughout the various governments, we lived among and had constant 
intercourse with exiles who had for the most part been convicted of 
lighter offences, thieves, cheats, sharpers, tramps, and vagabonds, as 
well as with seditious Poles and other rebels. The bank director 
who received us hospitably was a Polish rebel sentenced to twelve 
years’ banishment, and the joiner who made us some boxes had 
robbed the post; the coachman who drove us had been guilty of a 
serious theft; the waiter who served us had picked the pocket of a 
guest in an inn; the friendly man from Riga who helped us to cross 
the Irtish had forged a document; Goldmacher, our Jewish valet, 
had sold little Russian girls to Turkish harems; the maid who 
cleaned our room had killed her child; the chemist in Omsk was 
said to have dealt in poisons with no good intentions. After a time 
we looked at every one in the light of the crime or misdemeanour 
which he might have committed, and we had only to inquire of the 
superintendent of police about some worthy men, among whom were 
merchants, notaries, photographers, actors, to hear of false coining, 
embezzlement, fraud, and so on. Yet all these people earned their 
daily bread, and something over, and many a one who wished to 
remain unknown would not have suffered inquiries as to his past to 
go unpunished, because he had completely broken with it. 


534 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


That an exile who has been a criminal can thus break with 
his past is due entirely to his fellow-citizens and the, government, 
who strive, by every means in their power, to further all honest 
endeavours to begin a new life. Those who desire work get it 
without mistrust; they are taken into service without anxiety; the 
former thief is employed as groom, coachman, or cook; the child- 
murderess is hired to wait upon children; the convict artisan plies 
his own trade when his services are required. And we are assured 
that those who employ them have seldom reason to regret it. Thus 
many a criminal is gradually restored to society as a respectable 
citizen, and his sins are not visited upon his children to the fourth, 
indeed scarcely to the second generation. What is practically 
impossible with us is quite possible in Siberia—to transform a 
criminal into an honest man. That this does not always succeed, 
that there are incorrigibles in Russia as well as among us, is freely 
admitted by the Siberians themselves; but it is a noteworthy fact 
that the idler who is cast off by his community in Siberia falls 
into crime much more readily than the criminal who has suffered 
punishment relapses into his former habits. 

While the class of exiles whom we have hitherto considered are 
allowed to follow any occupation they may choose, those who have 
committed graver crimes are compelled to labour in the mines. 
With regard to Nertschinsk, in which on an average four thousand 
of these unfortunate exiles work, I have obtained through General 
von Kichwald, the present superintendent of the mines on the 
crown-lands, the most precise information, and what I learned about 
the convicts themselves may be shortly related as follows:— 

All the criminals who are condemned to the mines are brought 
thither in chains, and are obliged to perform the same amount of 
work in their fetters as the miners who are free. The intelligent 
overseer of the mine, under whose command and surveillance they 
are, treats them well if only to secure his own life and the lives of 
his family, for he has not sufficient forces at his disposal to quell an 
insurrection should one arise. The crime of each convict is made 
known to him; so he asks no questions of the convict himself with 
regard to his past. But after some time the great majority pour 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 535 


out their hearts to him and beg for a mitigation of punishment. 
The families of a criminal condemned to the mines are also allowed 
to follow him, or he is not prevented from forming family ties. If 
he is bound to humanity in this way, he often, very often, becomes 


nvicts—‘‘ Condemned to the Mines”. 


Fig. 77.—Types of Siberian C 


penitent, and with repentance awakens the hope that the past may 
be forgotten, followed by the endeavour to make it so. He works 
one, two years in chains, conducts himself well, and thus awakens 
confidence. His superior orders his fetters to be removed. He 


536 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


remains true to his resolutions, continues to work diligently, and 
begins to take thought for his family. This binds him fast to the 
land he had dreaded so unspeakably at first; it turns out not so bad 
as he had expected, and he begins to grow contented. Now is the 
time to restore him to society. The overseer gives him permission 
to till the soil. Years have passed since his crime was committed; 
he only remembers it like an evil dream. Before him he sees a 
growing peasant-estate, behind him his chains. His native land 
seems strange to him now, and he has become reconciled to the 
foreign one. He becomes a peasant, works, earns money, and dies 
a reformed man. With his death the bondage of his children ceases, 
and they continue as free Siberian subjects to till the piece of land 
with which the government presents them. This is no invention, 
but reality. : 

Not every criminal, however, thus submits to his fate. Full of 
resentment against it and against all mankind, discontented with 
everything and everyone, tired of work, perhaps also tortured by 
home-sickness, or at least pining for freedom, one finds out another 
in similar mood, and both, or several, resolve on flight. For weeks 
and months, perhaps for years, they watch for a favourable oppor- 
tunity; one relates to the other over and over again the story of 
his life; describes to him in the most minute detail his native 
village, the locality and the house in which he spent his childhood, 
teaches him the names of his relations, of the people in the village, 
of the neighbouring villages and the nearest towns, omitting 
nothing, and impressing it all deeply on the mind of his comrade, 
who does the same to him, for they intend to exchange names and 
histories to render identification less easy in case of capture. A 
smith is bribed, won, persuaded to flight, and a tool to break the 
fetters is found, or, if need be, stolen. Spring has become a reality, 
the day of flight has come, and escaping without much probability 
of being missed for a few hours is very easy under the present 
system in the mines. If the fugitives reach the forests they are 
safe from recapture, but by no means from other dangers. For a 
wandering native Yakoot or Tungus hunting in the forest may be 
tempted by the sight of a fur-coat better than his own, and for its 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 537 


sake his sure bullet remorselessly ends a human life. Apart from 
such misadventures, the fugitive meets with scarcely any hindrance. 
For every Siberian, from innate good-nature, or compassion 
wrongly bestowed, perhaps also from fear or laziness, is more ready 
to help a fugitive than to hinder his flight. In all, or at any rate 
in many of the villages on the route, the villagers place a can of 
milk, a large piece of bread, and perhaps even a piece of meat 
behind an open window to furnish the fugitive who may pass 
through their village by night with food, and thus to prevent his 
stealing. So long as the fugitive takes only what is freely offered 
to him, so long as he begs for what he needs, refrains from seizing 
things forcibly, and neither steals nor robs, even the district-gover- 
nor shuts an eye when unknown people travel by night through 
his village, appropriate the food intended for unfortunates, and seek 
and find a night’s rest in the baths, which are always warm, and 
always stand apart from the other buildings. And though an 
“unfortunate” should beg in broad daylight, no one will betray 
him; should the same “unfortunate” beg for a bridle, no one will 
refuse it who has one to spare. What he wants the bridle for they 
~ know well enough. Outside of the village the horses are grazing, 
untended by anyone notwithstanding wolves and bears. The 
fugitive walks up to the herd, throws the bridle over the head of 
a capable stallion, swings himself up on its broad back, and trots 
comfortably away. 

“ Nikolai Alexandrovitch,” someone announces to the owner of the 
horse, “an unfortunate has just seized hold of your best black horse, 
and ridden away towards Romanowskaja; shall we follow him?” 

“ Nitschewo,’ answers Nikolai, “the little horse will come back; 
it is probably an unfortunate. Let him ride.” 

And the little horse does come back; for in the meadow behind 
Romanowskaja the “ unfortunate” had exchanged it for a fresh one 
on which to continue his journey, while the black horse trots com- 
placently home along the familiar road. 

Thus aided and abetted, ninety out of a hundred fugitive exiles 
reach Tjumen, Perm, and even Kasan. If they were more experienced 
in travel, or had some idea of geography, if they did not always keep 


538 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


to the same routes by which they travelled from Russia, very many, 
if not most of them, would reach their goal in safety. But in Tjumen, 
Perm, or Kasan nearly all are recaptured. And even if those who 
have exchanged names do not forget their réle; or if others answer 


Fig. 78.—Flight of an Exile in Siberia. 


only “I don’t know” to every question, neither exchange of name 
nor obstinate ignorance will save them ultimately from the sentence 
to return to Siberia, nor trom the strokes of the rod which are meted 
out to every recaptured fugitive. The captive has to traverse a 
second time the penal route, possibly only to make another attempt 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 539 


at escape shortly after his arrival. I am told that many exiles have 
travelled thus four, five, even six times through the greater part of 
Siberia. 

Fugitives who yield to the temptation to steal or commit some 
other crime on the way, come to an untimely end. In such cases the 
good-nature of the peasant-villagers is transformed into revengeful 
anger. If he is taken, nothing will save him from an agonizing 
death. Then a corpse is found on which no marks of violence are 
noticed. The body is buried, and the finding and burial are duly 
notified to the magistrates, who inform the governor, and he, in his 
turn, communicates with the governor - general, but the unhappy 
victim of popular fury has rotted in his grave before the government 
medical officer could reach the spot, even if he wished to do so. 
Upon whom this vengeance has fallen no one knows. In this way, 
but not by order of the government, an exile may disappear, and no 
one can tell what has befallen him, no authorities are able to give any 
information. But every exile who is sent to Siberia knows what 
awaits him if he should steal or commit any crime when a fugitive. 
And for this reason it is possible to live here, in the midst of thou- 
sands of criminals, as securely as anywhere else, perhaps more 
securely than in our great towns which contain the scum of humanity. 

I have attempted to give a faithful picture of the conditions 
which hold now, or which held in 1876." It has not been my inten- 
tion to soften or embellish. Banishment to Siberia is in all cases a 
severe punishment. It is more severe in proportion to the culture 
of the person on whom it falls, and in the eyes of an educated man 
it must always seem terrible. But banishment to Siberia was never 
meant to be other than a punishment, and it was meant to fall more 
heavily on the educated than on the uneducated. The justice of 
such a principle may be disputed, but it cannot be entirely denied. 
It is only possible, however, to form a fair idea of the lot of exiles 
in Siberia when we compare it with that of our own criminals. 

What becomes of the unhappy beings who people our prisons? 
What becomes of their families, their wives, their children? What 
fate awaits the prisoners when their time of imprisonment has 
expired; what have their families to look forward to? 


540 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Answers to these questions can be given by all who are ac- 
quainted with our penal institutions. 

If the unhappy lot of our criminals be compared, honestly and 
without prejudice, with that of the exiles in Siberia, the result will 
not be doubtful. Every true friend of humanity must echo the 
wish which came to me in the distant East, and which has never 
since left me: 

“Tf only we had a Siberia too: it would be better for our crimi- 
nals, and better for ourselves”. 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 


Hungary was, and is, and will continue to be one of the goals 
of the German ornithologist’s ambition. Situated more favourably 
than any other country in Europe, lying as it does between the 
North Sea and the Black Sea, the Baltic and the Mediterranean, the 
great northern plain and the Alps—including within its boundaries 
both the North and the South, steppes and mountains, forests, rivers, 
and marshes—it offers great advantages and attractions to resident 
and wandering birds alike, and thus possesses a richer bird-fauna 
perhaps than any other country in our quarter of the globe. 
Enthusiastic descriptions of this wealth, from the pen of our most 
illustrious investigators and masters, have contributed not a little 
to increase and strengthen the longing—I would almost call it 
inborn—that all the bird-lovers of Germany have to see Hungary. 
It is strange, however, that this beautiful, rich country, lying so 
near to us, has been so rarely visited by Germans. 

I myself had seen only its capital and what one can see of the 
country from the railway; I therefore shared most thoroughly 
in the longing of which I have just spoken. It was to be fulfilled, 
but only to return even more ardently thereafter. “None walks 
unpunished beneath the palms”, and no lover of birds can spend 
May-tide in Fruskagora without having for ever after a longing to 
return. 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 541 


“ Would you like,” asked my gracious patron, the Crown Prince 
Rudolph, “to accompany me to South Hungary for some eagle- 
shooting? I have definite reports of perhaps twenty eyries, and I 
think that we should all be able to learn much, if we visited them 
and observed diligently.” 

Twenty eyries! One must have been banished for long years on 
the dreary flats of North Germany, one must have gloated over the 
bright pictures raised in one’s mind by the glowing reports of some 
roaming ornithologist, to appreciate the joy with which I agreed to go. 
Twenty eyries, at no very great distance from Vienna and not far 
from Pesth: I should not have been my father’s son had I remained 
indifferent. The days seemed hours when we were busy with all 
sorts of preparations, and again they seemed to lengthen out into 
weeks, such was my impatient desire to be off. 

It was but a small travelling party that started from Vienna on 
the second day of the Easter holidays (1878), but we were merry 
and hopeful, eager for sport and energetic. Besides the august 
lord of the chase and his illustrious brother-in-law, there were but 
three—Obersthofmeister Count Bombelles, Eugen von Homeyer, 
and myself. A day later, at Pesth, we got aboard the swift and 
comfortable vessel which carried us towards the mouth of the 
“blonde” Danube. In Lenten mist suffused with morning sunlight, 
the proud Kaiserburg stood out before us, and the gardens of the 
Bloxberg were bright with the first green of the young year, as 
we took leave of the capital of Hungary. 

With the scenery of the Rhine, of the Upper, or even, it is said, 
of the Lower Danube, the stretch of country through which we 
were now rapidly borne cannot be compared. A few kilometres 
below the sister towns the banks become flat, the hills on the right 
side of the stream sink into featureless heights, and only in the dim 
blue distance does the eye catch the gently curved lines of moder- 
ately high ranges. From the left bank extends the broad plain. 
Without end, without change, it stretches in uniform monotony; 
hardly one of the large, rich villages is conspicuous enough to catch 
the eye. Here and there a herdsman in shepherd’s dress leans 
on his strong staff, but his charge is not a flock of simple sheep; 


542 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


grunting, bristly pigs crowd around him—how brown with the sun 
he is!—or lie in rows about him enjoying comfortable rest. Around 
the pools filled by the floods the lapwing flutters; over the broad 
flats the hen-harrier wings its unsteady flight; the martins sweep in 
and out of their nests burrowed in the steep banks; dainty water- 
wagtails trip about on the shingle-roofs of the innumerable boat- 
mills; ducks and cormorants rise in noisy alarm from the stream; 
while kites and hooded crows fly in circles over its surface. Such is 
a picture of this region. 

Soon, however, the landscape changes. The alluvial plain, 
traversed by the river which made it, broadens out. Over the flats, 
not yet protected by dikes, and submerged by every flood, the river 
extends in numerous, for the most part nameless branches. A 
luxuriant growth of wood clothes the banks and islands, and as the 
fringe is too dense to allow any glimpse of the interior, this meadow- 
wood bounds the view for mile after mile. Variable and yet 
monotonous are the pictures which appear and disappear, as in a 
dissolving view, while the ship follows the windings of the stream. 
Willows and poplars—white, silvery, and black—elms and oaks, the 
first predominating, the last often sparse in their occurrence, form 
the material of these pictures. Above the dense fringe, which con- 
sists almost wholly of willow, there rise older trees of the same 
kind; beyond these in the woods, which often extend far inland, rise 
the impressive crowns of lofty silver poplars and black poplars, and 
the bald heads of old gnarled oaks. A single glance embraces all 
phases of tree-life from the sprouting willow-shoot to the dying 
giant—trees living, sprouting, growing, and exultant in the fulness 
of their strength; trees withered at the top, victims of fire from the 
heavens or from the earth and half reduced to tinder; trees pros- 
trate on the ground, crumbling and rotting. Between these we see 
the gleams of flowing or standing water; above all is the great dome 
of heaven. In the secret shades we hear the song of the nightingale 
and the finches, the lyrics of the thrush, the shrill ery of falcon 
or eagle, the laugh of the woodpecker, the raven’s croak, and the 
heron’s shrill shriek. 

Here and there is a glade not yet overgrown, a gap in the wood- 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 543 


land through which we catch a glimpse of the landscape in the 
background,—of the broad plain on the right bank of the stream, and 
the fringe of hills in the distance, of an apparently endless succession 
of fields, from which at distant intervals rise the church spires 
which mark the scattered villages or, it may be, townships. In 
summer, when all is of one predominantly green hue, in late 
autumn, winter, and early spring, when the trees are leafless, this 
shore landscape may seem almost dull; now it is monotonous, but yet 
not unattractive, for all the willows and poplars have young leaves, 
or in many cases catkins, and, here and there at least, they make 
the woods gay and gladsome. 

Only at a few places is such a wood as this accessible; for the 
most part it is a huge morass. If one attempts, either on land or 
by waterways, to penetrate into the interior, one, sooner or later, 
reaches a jungle which has no parallel in Germany. Only on those 
spots which are raised above the level of the river, and which have 
a rich, in part muddy soil, is one reminded of German vegetation. 
Here lilies of the valley, with their soft, green leaves and fragrant, 
white bells, form a most decorative carpeting, covering the ground 
for wide stretches; but even here the nettles and bramble-bushes 
grow in wanton luxuriance, and various climbing plants spread 
their tangled net over wide areas of the forest, so that almost 
insuperable obstacles and barriers prevent further progress. In 
other places the wood is literally a bog out of which the giant trees 
rear their stems. Mighty stems indeed, but many—victims of old 
age, tempest, thunderbolt, and the careless herdsman’s fire—lie 
rotting in the water, already forming, in many cases, the soil from 
which rises a younger and vigorous growth of underwood. Other 
trees, which have not yet succumbed to decay, lie prostrate and 
bar the way. The wind has swept the fallen wood, both thick 
branches and delicate twigs, into floating islands and obtrusive 
snags, which present to the small boat obstacles not less difficult 
than those which obstruct the explorer on foot. Similar floating 
islands, composed of reeds and sedges, form a deceptive covering 
over wide stretches of water. Raised mud-banks, on which willows 
and poplars have found a suitable soil for their seeds, have become 


544 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


impenetrable thickets, disputing the possession of the ground even 
with the forests of reeds which are often many square miles in 
extent. Dwarf willows, at once youthful and senile forests, form 
dark patches in the heart of the reed-beds. What may be con- 
cealed in the gloomy wood, with its bogs and thickets, or by the 
reeds, remains almost quite hidden from the searching eye of the 


SH 


SH 
SS il 


Fig. 79.—Herons and their Nests. 


naturalist, for he can see through no more than the fringe of this 
wilderness, nor traverse it except along the broader waterways. 
Such was the district in which our sport began. The eagles, 
the royal rulers of the air, which formed the primary object of our 
quest, did not, indeed, come within range, nor even within sight, 
on the first day of our journey; but, on the other hand, we visited 
the famous heronry on the island of Adony, and had abundant 
opportunities of observing the life of the brooding birds. For two 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 545. 


generations, herons and cormorants have nested on the tall trees of 
the island, among the much older residents—the rooks; and, though 
the cormorants have greatly diminished in numbers since the begin- 
ning of the sixties, they have not yet entirely disappeared. Forty 
years ago, according to Landbeck’s estimate, there nested here about. 
one thousand pairs of night-herons, two hundred and fifty pairs of 
common herons, fifty pairs of little egrets, and a hundred pairs of 
cormorants; but now the rooks, of which there are from fifteen. 
hundred to two thousand pairs, form the great bulk of the colony,, 
while the common herons have dwindled to about a hundred and 
fifty, the night-herons to thirty or forty pairs, the egrets have 
disappeared entirely, and only the cormorants remain in approxi- 
mately the same numbers as formerly. Yet at least an echo of the 
former life rang in our ears as we set foot on the island, and here 
and there the forest still presents the old picture almost unchanged. 

The various birds in such a mixed heronry appear to live in the 
best accord, yet there is neither peace nor friendliness among them. 
One oppresses and supports, plunders and feeds the other. The 
herons invade the rooks’ colonies to save themselves the labour of 
nest-building; the rooks collect twigs and build their nests, and the 
herons drive them away, that they may take forcible possession of 
the nests, or at any rate of the building material; the cormorants. 
dispute with the herons the possession of the stolen booty, and 
finally assume despotic authority over the entire colony. But even 
they, thieves and robbers as they are, are plundered and robbed in 
their turn, for the crows and kites—the last being seldom absent 
from such settlements—feed themselves and their young to no 
slight extent on the fish which the herons and cormorants have 
brought for the sustenance of their mates and young. ‘The first 
meeting of the various kinds of brooding birds is hostile. Violent. 
and protracted battles are fought, and the ten times vanquished 
renews hostilities for the eleventh time before he learns to submit. 
to the inevitable. But in time the inter-relations are better 
adjusted, as the individual members of the colony recognize that. 
there are advantages in social life, and that there is room enough 


for peaceable neighbours. Fighting and quarrelling never cease 
(3170) 35 


546 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


entirely, but the bitter war of species against species gives place gradu- 
ally to conditions which are at least endurable. The birds become 
accustomed to each other, and make use of the capabilities of their 
adversaries as far as may be. It may even happen, indeed, that 


those who have been plundered follow those who have robbed them 
when the latter find it necessary to change their brooding-places. 
The spectacle of a mixed heronry is fascinating in the highest 


2 


degree. “There is hardly anything”, writes Baldamus, “more 
varied, more attractive, more beautiful, than these Hungarian 


marshes with their bird-life, which is remarkable both for the 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 547 


number of individuals and for their variety of form and colouring. 
Let any one look at the most conspicuous of these marsh-dwellers 
in a collection, and then let him endeavour to picture them to 
himself standing, walking, running, climbing, flying, in short, 
living, and he will be obliged to admit that such bird-life is 
marvellously attractive.” This description is correct even if it be 
applied to the impoverished island of Adony. Much as its once 
teeming population has dwindled, there are still thousands and 
thousands of birds. For long stretches of the forest every high 
tree bears nests, many having twenty or thirty, and all about these 
is the noisy bustle of sociable bird-life. Upon the nests sit the 
female rooks, common herons, night-herons, and cormorants, looking 
out with dark, sulphur-yellow, blood-red, and sea-green eyes upon 
the intruder who has invaded their sanctuary; sitting and climbing 
on the topmost boughs of the giant trees, or fluttering, flying, 
floating above them are black, brown, gray,’ one-coloured and 
many-coloured, dull and shimmering bird forms; above these, kites 
are circling; on the trunks woodpeckers are hanging, hard at work; 
sleek, gleaming white-throats are seeking their daily bread among 
the blossom of a pear-tree, finches and willow-wrens among the 
fresh foliage of the bird-cherry. The beautiful carpet of woodruff 
which covers the ground in many places is spattered and soiled 
with the excrement of birds, and disfigured by broken eggs or their 
shells, and by decomposing fish which have fallen from the nests. 
The first shot from the gun of our gracious patron caused an 
indescribable confusion. The startled herons rose screaming, and 
the rooks with stupefying croaking; the cormorants, too, forsook 
their nests with angry screeches. A cloud of birds formed over 
the forest, drifted hither and thither, up and down, became denser 
and overshadowed the tree-tops, broke up into groups which sank 
hesitatingly down towards their forsaken nests, enveloped these 
completely for a little, and then united again with the main mass. 
Every single one screamed, croaked, cawed, and screeched in the 
most ear-piercing fashion; everyone took to flight, but was drawn 
back again by anxiety for nest and eggs. The whole forest 
was in an uproar; yet, careless of the terrifying noise, the finch 


548 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


warbled its spring greeting amidst the trees, a woodpecker called 
joyously, the nightingales poured forth their inspiring melody, 
and poetic souls revealed themselves even among the thieves and 
robbers. 

Richly laden with booty, we returned, after five hours’ sport, to 
our comfortable quarters on board ship, and occupied ourselves as 
we steamed further with the scientific arrangement of our newly- 
acquired treasures. For hours we travelled through forests such 
as I have depicted, now and then passing by large or small hamlets, 
villages, and towns, until the gathering darkness forced us to moor 
our vessel. In the early dawn of the following morning we reached 
Apatin. The firing of cannon, music, and joyous acclamation greet 
the much-loved heir to the throne. People of all sorts throng about 
the boat; native hunting-assistants, nest-seekers, tree-climbers, and 
bird-skinners come on board; more than a dozen of the little boats 
called “Ezikela” are loaded. Then our steamer turns up stream 
again, to land us in the neighbourhood of a broad arm of the river. 
Up this we penetrated for the first time into the damp meadow- 
forests. All the little boats which had joined us in Apatin followed 
our larger one, like ducklings swimming after a mother duck. 
To-day the chase is directed solely against the sea eagle which 
broods so abundantly in these forests that no fewer than five eyries 
could be found within a radius of a square mile. We separated 
with the sportsman’s salute, to approach these eyries from different 
directions. 

I was well acquainted with these bold and rapacious, if rather 
ignoble birds of prey, for I had seen them in Norway and Lapland, 
in Siberia and in Egypt, but I had never observed them beside their 
eyries; and the opportunity of doing so was most welcome. As his 
name implies, the favourite habitat of the sea-eagle is by the sea- 
coasts, or on the banks of lakes and rivers rich in fish. If winter 
drives him from his haunts, he migrates as far southwards as is 
necessary to enable him to pick up a living during the cold months. 
In Hungary, this eagle is the commonest of all the large birds of 
prey; he does not forsake the country even in winter, and only 
makes long expeditions in his earlier years before maturity, as 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. bAD 


though he wished to try the experiment of living abroad. During 
spring, therefore, one sees in that district only adult, or what comes 
to the same thing, full-grown birds capable of reproduction, while 
in autumn and winter there are, in addition, the young ones which 
left the nest only a few months before. Then also many wanderers 
who have not settled down come to enliven the forest-shores of the 
Danube. As long as the river is not covered with ice, they have 
no difficulty in finding food; for they hunt in the water not less, 
perhaps rather more skilfully than on land. They circle over the 
water until they spy a fish, then throw themselves down upon it 
like a flash of lightning, dive after it, sometimes disappearing com- 
pletely beneath the waves, but working their way quickly to the 
surface again by aid of their powerful wings, carry off their victim, 
whose scaly armour has been penetrated by their irresistible talons, 
and devour it at their leisure. As their depredations are not so 
severely condemned in Hungary as with us, and as they are treated 
generally with undeserved forbearance, they regularly frequent the 
neighbourhood of the fishermen’s huts, and sit among the trees close 
by until the fisherman throws them stale fish or any refuse which 
they can eat. Like the fishermen, the Hungarian, Servian, and Slav 
peasants help to provide them with food, for, instead of burying 
animals which have died, they let them lie exposed in the fields, and 
leave it to the eagles and the vultures, or to dogs and wolves, to 
remove the carrion. If a covering of ice protects his usual prey, and 
no carrion is available, the sea-eagle need not yet starve; for, like 
the nobler and more courageous golden eagle, he hunts all game 
which he has a chance of overpowering. He attacks the fox as well 
as the hare, the hedgehog and the rat, the diver and the wild goose, 
steals from the mother seal her sucking young, and may even carry 
his blind rapacity so far as to strike his powerful talons into the 
back of a dolphin or a sturgeon, by whom he is carried down into 
the sea and drowned before he can free his claws. Under some 
circumstances he will even attack human beings. Thus he need 
hardly ever suffer want; and as he is not systematically hunted, he 
leads quite an enviable life. 

Until near the breeding-time, the sea-eagle lives at peace with 


550 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


his fellows; but, as that season approaches, he becomes combative 
and quarrelsome, in most cases through jealousy. For the sake of 
mate and eyrie, he wages bitter war with others of his species. 


Fig. 81.—Sea-eagle and Nest in a Danube Forest. 


An eagle pair, once united, remain so for life, but only if the male 
is able to protect his mate from the wooing of others, and to defend 
his own eyrie. A male eagle, which has just reached maturity and 
is exulting in the consciousness of his strength, casts his eyes 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 55I 


longingly upon the mate and eyrie of another eagle, and both are 
lost to their owner if he allows himself to be vanquished in fight by 
the intruder. The rightful lord, therefore, fights to the death 
against everyone who attempts to disturb his marital and domestic 
happiness. The battle begins high in the air, but is often finished 
on the ground. With beak and claw, first one, then the other ven- 
tures an assault; at length one succeeds in getting a grip of his 
adversary, whose talons, in return, are promptly fixed in his rival’s 
body. Like balls of feathers, the two fall to the ground, or into the 
-water, when both let go their hold, but only to renew the attack. 
When they fight on the ground, the rivals challenge one another 
like enraged cocks, and blood and feathers left behind show the 
scene of the battle and bear witness to its deadly seriousness. The 
female circles above the combatants or watches them from her high 
perch with seeming indifference, but she never fails to caress the 
conqueror, whether he be her lawful spouse or the new-comer. 
Woe to the eagle if he does not succeed in repulsing the intruder! 
In the eyes of the female, none but the strong deserves the 
fair. 

After successfully repelled attacks and fights of that kind, from 
which no eagle is exempt, and which are said to be repeated in 
Hungary every year, the pair, probably long wedded, take possession 
of the old eyrie, and begin, in February, to repair it. Both birds set 
to work to collect the necessary material, picking it up from the 
ground, or from the water, or breaking it off the trees, and carrying 
it in their talons, often for a long distance, to the nest, to rebuild and 
improve this as well as an eagle can. As this building up of the old 
nest takes place every year, it gradually grows to a considerable 
height, and one can tell from it the age of the birds, and may also 
guess the probable duration of their wedded life; for the oldest nest 
contains the oldest pair of eagles. The nest is not always placed 
among the highest branches of the tree, but is in all cases high above 
the ground, more or less near the trunk, and always on strong 
boughs which can bear its heavy and ever-increasing weight. Both 
upper and lower tiers consist of sticks and twigs laid loosely above 
and across one another; and many pairs of hedge-sparrows, which 


552 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


approach the mighty birds quite boldly and confidently, find among 
these twigs cavities suitable for nesting or hiding. 

Towards the end of February, or in the beginning of March, the 
female lays two, or at most three eggs in the shallow nest-cavity, and 
begins brooding assiduously. The male meantime supplies her with 
food, not, however, making longer expeditions in search of it than 
are absolutely necessary, but spending whatever time he can spare 
from the work of providing for her and himself, sitting, a faithful and 
attentive guardian, on a tree in the neighbourhood, which serves him 
at once as perch and sleeping-place. After about four weeks of 
brooding, the young emerge from the eggs, looking at first like soft 
balls of wool, from which dark eyes peer forth, and a dark bill and 
very sharp claws protrude. Even in their earliest youth the little 
creatures are as pretty as they are self-possessed. Now there is work 
enough for both father and mother. The two take turns in going 
forth to seek for prey, and in mounting guard over the little ones; 
but it is the mother who tends them. The father honestly performs 
his part in the rearing of the brood; but the mother alone is capable 
of giving them that care and attention which may be described as 
nursing. If she were torn from them in the first days of their life, 
they would perish as surely as young mammals robbed of their suck- 
ling mother. With her own breast the eagle-mother protects them 
from frost and snow; from her own crop she supplies them with 
warmed, softened, and partly-digested food. The eagle-father does 
not render such nursing services as these, but if the mother perish 
when the young are half-grown, he unhesitatingly takes upon him- 
self the task of rearing and feeding them, and often performs it with 
the most self-sacrificing toil. The young eagles grow rapidly. In 
the third week of their existence the upper surface of the body is 
covered with feathers; towards the end of May they are full-grown 
and fully fledged. Then they leave the nest, to prepare, under the 
guidance of their parents, for the business of life. 

This is a picture, drawn with hasty strokes, of the life of the 
eagle, which, for the next few days, was the object of our expeditions. 
No fewer than nineteen inhabited eyries were visited by us with 
varying success. Now on foot, now in little boats, now jumping and 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 553 


wading, now creeping and gliding, we endeavoured, unseen and un- 
heard, to approach the trees bearing the nests; for hours we crouched 
expectantly beneath them in huts hastily built with branches, gazing 
eagerly up at the eagles, which, startled by us or others, were wheel- 
ing and circling high in the air, and showing no inclination to 
return to their nests, but. which we knew must return sometime, and 
would probably fall victims to us. We were able to observe them 
very accurately and fully, and this eagle-hunt gained, therefore, an 
indescribable charm for us all. 

Except for the eagles and other birds of prey which we secured, 
the forests, which looked so promising, proved, or at any rate seemed, 
to be poor in feathered inhabitants. Of course it was early in 
the year, and the stream of migration was still in full flood; nor did 
we succeed in investigating more than the outskirts of the forest. 
But even the number of birds which had returned and taken up 
their quarters on the outskirts of the forest did not come up to our 
expectations. And yet this apparent poverty disappointed me less 
than the lack of good songsters. The song-thrush did indeed pour 
forth its rich music through the woods fragrant with the breath of 
spring; here and there a nightingale sang; the finch warbled its 
spring greeting everywhere; and even a white-throat tried its notes, 
but none of these satisfied our critical ear. All who sang or warbled 
seemed merely bunglers, not masters. And at last we began to feel 
that real song did not belong to those dark woods at all, that 
the cries of eagles and falcons, the hooting of horned owls and 
screech-owls, the croaking of water-hens and terns, the shrill ery of 
herons and the laughter of woodpeckers, the cuckoos’ call and the 
cooing of stock-doves were the music best befitting them, and that, 
besides these, the only bird that had a right to sing was the sedge- 
warbler, who lived among the reeds and bulrushes, and who had 
borrowed most of his intricate song from the frogs. 

On the fourth day we hunted in the Keskender forest, a few miles 
from the banks of the Danube. As we left the forests on the river 
banks, we had to traverse a great plain bounded in the far distance 
by a chain of hills. Our route lay through well-cultivated fields 
belonging to the large estate of Bellye—a model of good manage- 


554 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


ment—and we made rapid progress on swift horses. Here and there 
marshy meadows, with pools and ditches, a little thicket, large farm- 
buildings surrounded by gnarled oaks, a hamlet, a village, but for 
the most part treeless fields; this was the character of the district 
through which we hastened. Larks innumerable rose singing from 
the fields; dainty water-wagtails tripped about the roads; shrikes 
and corn-buntings sat on every wayside hedge; brooding jackdaws 
and starlings bustled and clamoured about their nests in the crowns 
of the oaks; above the ponds ospreys were wheeling on the outlook 
for fish, and graceful terns skimmed along in zigzag flight; the lap- 
wing busied itself in the marshes. Apart from these, we observed 
very few birds. Even the Keskender wood, a well-kept forest, 
which we reached after two hours’ riding, was poor in species, 
notwithstanding its varied character. There, however, were the 
nests of spotted-eagles and ospreys, short-toed eagles and common 
buzzards, falcons, owls, and, above all, black storks in surprising 
numbers, and our expedition was therefore successful beyond all 
expectation. And yet the foresters, who, in anticipation of the 
Crown Prince’s visit, had, only a few days before, searched the 
woods and noted the position of the various eyries on a hastily con- 
structed map, did not know of nearly all the birds of prey and black 
storks nesting in the forest. “It is like Paradise here,” remarked 
the Crown Prince Rudolf, and these words accurately described the 
relations between men and animals in Hungary. Like the Oriental, 
the Hungarian is happily not possessed by the mania for killing 
which has caused the extreme shyness of the animals, and the pain- 
fully evident poverty of animal life in Western Europe; he does not 
grudge a home even to the bird of prey which settles on his land, 
and he does not make constant and cruel raids on the animal 
world, which lives and moves about him. Not even the low self- 
interest which at present prompts covetous feather-dealers to make 
yearly expeditions to the marshes of the lower Danube, and which 
sacrifices hundreds of thousands of happy and interesting bird-lives 
for the sake of their feathers, has had power to move the Magyar 
from his good old customs. It may be that indifference to the 
animal life around him has something to do with his hospitality; 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 555 


but the hospitality is there, and it has not yet given place to a 
thirst for persecution. Animals, and especially birds, remain quite 
confidently in the neighbourhood of men; they go about their own 
affairs quite unconcerned as to what men may be doing. The eagle 
has his eyrie by the roadside, the raven nests among the trees in 
the field, the black or wood stork is hardly more shy than the 
sacred house-stork; the deer does not rise from his lair when a 
carriage passes within rifle-range. Verily, it is like Paradise. 

But we found a state of paradise elsewhere than in the Keskender 
forest. After we had roamed through the forest in many directions, 
and had visited more than twenty eyries of buzzards and ospreys 
and black storks, and had refreshed and strengthened ourselves with 
an excellent breakfast provided for us, and still more with the 
delicious wine of the district, we set out on our return journey to 
the ship, urged to haste by threatening thunder-clouds, but still 
hunting and collecting as time and opportunity allowed. Our route 
was different from that which we had followed in coming to the 
forest; it was a good high-road connecting a number of villages. 
We passed through several of those, and again the road led us 
between houses. There was nothing remarkable about the buildings, 
but the people were stranger than my fancy could have pictured. The 
population of Dalyok consists almost solely of Schokazen or Catholic 
Servians, who migrated from the Balkan Peninsula, or were brought 
thither by the Turks, during the period of the Turkish supremacy. 
They are handsome, slender people these Schokazen, the men tall 
and strong, the women at least equal to the men, extremely well 
built and apparently rather pretty. We could form, a definite 
opinion with regard to their figures, but, as far as their faces were 
concerned, we had to depend to some extent on our own imagination. 
For the Schokaz women wear a style of dress which will hardly be 
found elsewhere within the boundaries of Europe at the present 
day: a dress which our princely patron, happy as usual in his 
descriptions, called mythological. When I say that head and face 
were almost entirely enveloped in quaintly yet not unpicturesquely 
wound and knotted cloths, and that the skirt was replaced by two 
gaily-coloured apron-like pieces of cloth, not connected with each 


556 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


other, I may leave the rest to the most lively imagination without 
fearing that it will be likely to exceed the actual state of things. 
For my own part I was reminded of a camp of Arab nomad herds- 
men which I had once seen in the primitive forests of Central 
Africa. 

At dusk, under pouring rain, we reached our comfortable vessel. 
Rain fell the following morning also, the whole day was gloomy, 
and our expedition was proportionately disappointing. All this 
impelled us to continue our journey, though we look back gratefully 
on those pleasant days on the Bellye estate, and though it would 
have been well worth while to have observed and collected there a 
few days longer. With warm and well-earned words of praise the 
Crown Prince bade farewell to the officials on the archducal estate; 
one glance more at the woods which had offered us so much, and our 
swift little. vessel steams down the Danube again. After a few 
hours we reach Draueck, the mouth of the river Drau, which thence- 
forward seems to determine the direction of the Danube bed. One 
of the grandest river pictures I have ever seen presented itself to our 
gaze. A vast sheet of water spread out before us; towards the 
south it is bounded by smiling hills, on all the other sides by 
forests, such as we had already seen. Neither the course of the 
main stream nor the bed of its tributary could be made out; the 
whole enormous sheet of water was like an inclosed lake whose 
banks were only visible at the chain of hills above mentioned; for 
through the green vistas of the forest one saw more water, thickets, 
and reed-beds, these last covering the great marsh of Hullo, which 
stretches out in apparently endless extent. Giant tree-trunks, 
carried down by both streams, and only partly submerged, assumed 
the most fantastic shapes; it seemed as if fabled creatures of the 
primitive world reared their scaly bodies above the dark flood. 
For the “blonde” Danube looked dark, almost black, as we sped 
through the Draueck. Grayish-black and dark-blue thunder-clouds 
hung in the heavens, apparently also amidst the hundred-toned 
green of the forests, and over the unvarying faded yellow of the 
reed-beds; flashes of lightning illumined the whole picture vividly; 
the rain splashed down; the thunder rolled; the wind howled 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 557 


through the tops of the tall old trees, lashed up the surface of the 
water, and crowned the dark crests of the waves with gray-white 
foam; but away in the south-east the sun had broken through the 
dark clouds, edged them with purple and gold, illumined them so 
that the black shadows grew yet blacker, and shone brightly down 
on the smiling hills, which lead up to a mountain range far away on 
the horizon. Below and beyond us lay hamlets and villages, but, 
where we were, at most a cone-shaped, reed-covered fisher-hut broke 
the primeval character of the magnificent scene, which, in its wild- 
ness and in the weird effect of the momentary flashes of light, was 
sublime beyond description. 

The scarcity of birds was striking, as indeed was the desolateness 
of the whole sheet of water. Not a gull floated over the mirror of 
the Danube, not a tern winged its zigzag flight up and down; at 
most a few drakes rose from the river. Now and then a common 
heron, a flight of night-herons, an erne, and a few kites, hooded 
crows and ravens, perhaps also a flock of lapwings, and the list of. 
birds which one usually sees is exhausted. 

From the following day onwards we hunted and explored a 
wonderful district. The blue mountains, upon which lay bright, 
golden sunlight during the thunder-storm of the previous day, are 
the heights of Fruskagora, a wooded hill range of the most delightful 
kind. Count Rudolf Chotek had prepared everything for the fitting 
reception of our Prince, and thus we enjoyed several days which 
can never be forgotten. From the village of Cerewi¥, on the upper 
side of which our vessel lay, we drove daily through the gorges, 
climbed the heights on foot or on horseback, to return homewards 
each evening delighted and invigorated. The golden May-tide 
refreshed heart and soul, and our host’s untiring attention, com- 
plaisance, courtesy, and kindness went far to make the days passed 
at Fruskagora the pleasantest and most valuable part of our whole 
journey. 

It was a charming district, about which we roamed every day. 
Around the village was a range of fields; beyond these a girdle of 
vineyards which reach to the very edge of the forest; in the valleys 
and gorges between them the innumerable fruit trees were laden 


558 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


with fragrant blossom, which brightened the whole landscape; on 
the banks, beside the road which usually led through the valleys, 
there was a dense growth of bushes, and the refreshing charm of 
the wealth of blossom was enhanced by the murmuring brooks 
and trickling runlets of water. From the first heights we reached 
the view was surprisingly beautiful. In the foreground lay the 
picturesque village of Gerewité; then the broad Danube, with its 
meadow-forests on- the opposite shore; behind these stretched the 
boundless Hungarian plain, exhibiting to the spectator its fields 
and meadows, woods and marshes, villages and market towns in an 
unsteady, changeful light, which gave them a peculiar charm; in 
the east lay the stronghold of Peterwardein. Larks rose singing 
fiom the fields; the nightingale poured forth its tuneful lay from 
the bushes; the cheery song of the rock-thrush rang down from the 
vineyards; and two species of vulture and three kinds of eagle were 
describing great circles high in the air. 

When we had gone a little farther we lost sight of river, villages, 
and fields, and entered one of the secluded forest-valleys. The 
sides of the mountain rise precipitously from it, and, like the ridges 
and slopes, they are densely wooded, though the trees are not very 
tall. Oaks and limes, elms and maples predominate in some places, 
copper-beeches and hornbeams in others; thick, low bushes, which 
shelter many a pair of nightingales, are scattered about the out- 
skirts of the forest. No magnificent far-reaching views reward the 
traveller who climbs to the highest ridge to see Hungary lying to. 
the north, and Servia to the south; but the mysterious darkness of 
the forest soothes soul and sense. From the main ridge, which is 
at most 3000 feet in height, many chains branch off on either side 
almost at right angles, and have a fine effect from whatever side 
one looks at them. Among them are valleys or enclosed basins 
whose steep walls make transport of felled wood impossible, and 
which therefore display all the natural luxuriance of forest growth. 
Gigantic beeches, with straight trunks smooth up to the spreading 
crown, rise from amid mouldering leaves in which the huntsman 
sinks to the knee; gnarled oaks raise their rugged heads into the 
air as if to invite the birds of prey to nest there; dome-like limes 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 559 


form such a close roof of leaves, that only a much-broken reflection 
of the sun’s rays trembles on the ground. In addition to the night- 
ingale, which is everywhere abundant, the songsters of this forest 
are the song-thrush and blackbird, golden oriole and red-breast, 
chaffinch and wood-wren; the cuckoo calls its spring greeting from 
hill to hill; black and green woodpeckers, nut-hatches and titmice, 
ring-doves and stock-doves may be heard in all directions. 

We had come here chiefly to hunt the largest European bird 
of prey, the black vulture, Fruskagora being apparently the 
northern boundary of its breeding region. The other large 
European vulture had recently appeared in the district, probably 
attracted by the unfortunate victims of the Servian war, and both 
species brooded here protected by the lord of the estate, who was 
an enthusiastic naturalist. I was already acquainted with both 
these species of vulture, for I had seen them on former journeys, 
but it was a great pleasure to me to observe them in their brooding- 
place, and hear the reports of my fellow-sportsmen and of Count 
Chotek; for on this expedition also our main desire was to increase 
our knowledge of animal life. Here again we were able to make a 
long series of observations, and many aspects of the life of both 
these giant birds, which had hitherto been obscure to us all, were 
cleared up and explained by our investigations. 

The crested black vulture, whose range of distribution is not 
confined to the three southern peninsulas of Europe, but extends 
also through West and Central Asia, to India and China, is resi- 
dent in Fruskagora, but after the brooding season he frequently 
makes long expeditions, which bring him regularly to Northern 
Hungary, and frequently to Moravia, Bohemia, and Silesia. His 
powerful wings enable him to undertake such expeditions without 
the slightest difficulty. Unfettered by eggs or helpless young, he 
flies early in the morning from the tree on which he has passed the 
night, ascends spirally to a height to which the human eye unaided 
cannot follow him, then with his incomparably keen, mobile eye, 
whose focal distance can be rapidly altered, he scans the horizon, 
detects unfailingly even small carrion, and alights to devour and 
digest it, or to store it in his crop. After feeding he returns to 


560 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


his accustomed place, or continues his pathless journeymg. Not 
only does he carefully scan the land lying beneath him, perhaps 
for many square miles, but he keeps watch on the movements 
of others of his species, or of any large carrion-eating birds, that 
he may profit by their discoveries. Thus only can we explain 
the sudden and simultaneous appearance of several, or even many 
vultures beside a large carcass, even in a region not usually inhabited 
by these birds. They are guided in their search for prey, not by 
their sense of smell, which is dull, but by sight. One flies after 
another when he sees that he has discovered carrion, and his swift- 
ness of flight is so great that he can usually be in time to share the 
feast, if he sees the finder circling above his booty. Certainly he 
must lose no time, for it is not for nothing that he and his kin are 
called “geier”; their greed beggars description. Within a few 
minutes three or, four vultures will stow away the carcass of a sheep: 
or a dog in their crops, leaving only the most trifling remains; the 
meal-time therefore passes with incredible rapidity, and whoever 
arrives late on the scene is doomed to disappointment. 

The country round Fruskagora yields a good deal more to the 
vultures than an occasional feast of carrion, for in the stomachs of 
those which we shot and dissected we found remains of souslik and 
large lizards, which are scarcely likely to have been found dead, but 
were more probably seized and killed. 

On account of the northerly situation of Fruskagora, and the 
well-ordered state of the surrounding country, which is not very 
favourable to vultures, the black vultures were still brooding 
during our visit, though others of the same species, whose haunts 
were farther south, must undoubtedly have had young birds by that 
time. The eyries were placed in the tallest trees, and most of them 
on the uppermost third of the mountain side. Many were quite 
well known to Count Chotek and his game-keepers, for they had 
been occupied as a brooding-place by a pair of vultures, possibly the 
same pair, for at least twenty years, and as they had been added to 
each year they had assumed very considerable proportions. Others 
seemed of more recent origin, but all were apparently the work of 
the vultures themselves. In the oldest and largest of them, a full- 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 561 


grown man could have reclined without his head or feet being seen. 
projecting over the edge. 

Under these eyries we sat watching, listening to the life and 
bustle of the woods, and waiting in the hope of getting a shot at 
the vultures which our approach had scared away. For four days. 
we went to the splendid woods every morning, and never did we 
return to our vessel empty-handed. No fewer than eight large 
vultures, several eagles, and numerous smaller birds fell to our 
guns, while valuable observations, which fascinated us all, added 
zest and interest to our sport. But when the last rays of the sun 
had disappeared, the younger portion of the population assembled 
about our ship. Violin and bagpipes joined in a wonderful but. 
simple melody, and youths and maidens danced the rhythmically 
undulating national round dances in honour of their august guest. 

After we had hunted successfully on both sides of the Danube, 
we took leave, on the fifth day after our arrival in Gerewié, of our 
most devoted host, the lord of the estates, and continued our journey 
down the river. In three-quarters of an hour we passed Peter+ 
wardein, a small, antiquated, but picturesquely situated stronghold,. 
and an hour and a half later we reached Carlowitz, near which we 
spent the night. The next morning we reached Kovil, the goal of 
our journey. 

In the neighbourhood of this large village, and girdled by culti- 
vated fields, there are woods in which the oak predominates, but: 
which have such a dense undergrowth, that notwithstanding the 
many villages about, the wolves and wild-cats lead a threatening 
but scarcely threatened existence in them. It is not to be wondered 
at, therefore, that birds of prey of all kinds, especially sea-eagles, 
imperial eagles, spotted eagles, and booted eagles, “short-toed eagles”, 
kites, hawks, horned and other owls should have chosen them as a 
nesting-place, and that they should also harbour all kinds of small 
birds. Sure of rich booty the Crown Prince and his brother-in-law 
directed their steps to these woods, while Eugen von Homeyer and 
I tried our luck up-stream beyond the village, in a marsh which the 
flood, then at its height, had transformed into a great lake. 


A surprisingly rich and varied life reigned in this marsh, 
(2170) 36 


562 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


though only a very small fraction of the feathered population 
could be seen, and indeed the tide of migration was still in full 


we 


y »\\ \ 
TW Rios XN 


Fig, 82.—Nest of the Penduline Titmouse (Parus pendulinus). 


flood. Great flocks of black terns flew in almost unbroken 
succession up the river, sometimes assembling in compact swarms, 
sometimes distributing themselves over the whole breadth of the 
flooded Danube; hundreds of glossy or dark ibises wandered up 
and down the stream, flying in the usual wedge-shaped order 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 563 


towards or away from the neighbouring river Theiss, apparently 
still in search of suitable nesting-places; purple herons, common 
herons, and squacco herons strode about fishing in all accessible 
parts of the great expanse of water; marsh-harriers flew along 
their accustomed routes carrying long reed-stalks to their nests; 
ducks, mating a second time because the flood had robbed them of 
their eggs, rose noisily from the water on the approach of our small 
flat boat, while grebes and dabchicks dived for safety—in short, 
every part of the vast expanse was peopled. A forester well 
acquainted with all the paths through the submerged wood, awaited 
us in a house which rose above the flood like an island, and acted 
as our guide through a forest-wilderness which far surpassed all 
that we had hitherto seen, for the water had added new obstacles 
to those always present. Brushing past many branches which 
must usually be high above the ground, often stooping beneath 
boughs which blocked our way, we attempted to find a route 
between half or wholly fallen trees, logs, and drift-wood, and to 
penetrate to the heart of the forest. Brooding mallards, whose 
nests in the tops of the willows had been spared by the flood, did 
not rise on our approach, even though we glided by within a yard 
of them. Eared grebes, which were out on the open water, when 
they saw us, swam sideways into the green thicket of tree-crowns, 
chiefly willows, which rose just above the surface; water-wagtails 
ran from one piece of drift-wood to another; spotted woodpeckers 
and nut-hatches clung to the tree-trunks close to the water, and 
searched for food as usual. One picture of bird-life crowded 
upon another; but all seemed unfamiliar, because altered by the 
prevailing conditions. To reach a sea-eagle’s eyrie we were 
obliged to wade a long distance; to visit a raven’s nest we had to 
make a wide détour. Hunting in the approved fashion was 
impossible under such circumstances, but our expedition rewarded 
us richly. To me personally it afforded the pleasure of seeing one 
of the best of the feathered architects of Europe, the penduline 
titmouse, at work on its nest, and of observing for the first time 
its life and habits. 

The following day our whole company assembled in one of the 


564 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


woods already mentioned. A Hungarian forester had made pre- 
parations for a wolf-drive on a grand scale, but had arranged it so 
unskilfully that Friend Isegrim succeeded in slipping away un- 
perceived. The unpromising chase was therefore soon abandoned, 
and the short time which remained to us was devoted to more pro- 
fitable observation of the bird-life in the forest. 

In the course of the same afternoon we left Kovil, reached 
Peterwardein the same evening, steamed past Fruskagora early in 
the night, left the vessel once more the following day to hunt in 
the marsh of Hullo, saw there the noble heron which we had until 
then sought for in vain, but were obliged to hurry onwards so as 
not to miss the fast train for Vienna. Gratefully looking back on 
the days we had spent, and lamenting the swiftness with which 
they had sped, we steamed rapidly past all the river forests, 
which had afforded us so much enjoyment, and, with the ardent 
wish that we might some day return to spend a longer time in it, 
we took leave of this rich and unique country. 


NOTES BY THE EDITOR. 


THE BIRD-BERGS OF LAPLAND. 


For other pictures of Arctic Natural History the reader may profitably 
consult the following works :— 


Collett, R. Bird Life in Arctic Norway. Trans. by A. H. Cocks (London, 
1894). 

Nordenskisld, A. E. The Voyage of the Vega” Round Asia and Europe, 
with a Historical Review of Previous Journeys along the North Coast 
of the Old World (Trans. by A. Leslie, 2 vols., London, 1881). 

Gilder, W. H. Ice-Pack and Tundra, an Account of the Search for the 
Jeanette, and a Sledge Journey through Siberia (8vo, London, 1883. 
Chiefly personal, not scientific). 

Hovgaard, A. Wordenskidld’s Voyage Round Asia and Europe, a Popular 
Account of the North-east Passage of the Vega, 1878-80 (Trans. by 
H. L. Breekstad, 8vo, London, 1882). 

Pennant’s Arctic Zoology (1785). 


Note 1. p. 38.—Dense masses of fish. 

I have consulted a Scandinavian pisciculturist, who, while not corro- 
borating the occurrence of such vast multitudes, admitted the periodic 
appearance of dense local swarms, such as are sometimes seen in the lochs 
in the west of Scotland. 


Note 2, p. 45.—-The female eider-duck plucking the male. 

The popular story of the male eider being made to furnish down for 
the nest, after the mother-bird’s supply is exhausted, must, we fear, be 
regarded as a misstatement. See Newton’s Dictionary of Birds (London, 
1893), and other authoritative works on ornithology. Perhaps the story 
has some basis in the fact that for a short time after the breeding season 
the males undergo a change of plumage, becoming less decorative and 
more like the females. 


Note 3, p. 48.—Economuic value of erder-down. 
According to Stejneger, each nest yields about an ounce and a third. 
“ From Greenland and Iceland alone, six thousand pounds, or the contents 
of seventy-two thousand nests, are yearly exported. Nordenskidld notes 
that the quantity of eider-down brought from the polar lands to Tromsiée 


566 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


amounted in 1868 to 540 kilogrammes, in 1869 to 963, in 1870 to 882, in 
1871 to 630, in 1872 to 306, and that the total annual yield may be pro- 
bably estimated at three times as much. 


Note 4, p. 57.—Auks. 
A graphic description of the King-auks (Alle alle), which breed in 
Spitzbergen, is given by Nordenskitld in the work above mentioned. 
The name auk is oftenest applied only to the razor-bills, but is also used 
collectively for other members of the family Alcidz, such as guillemots 
and puffins. 


Note 5, p. 59.—Altrices and Preecoces. 

Altrices or nidicole are those birds which are more or less helpless 
when hatched. They are often blind and naked, and unable to leave the 
nest. The food-yolk has been mostly or wholly used up before birth, and 
the young depend on what their parents bring them. Examples are 
doves, hawks, and passerine birds. 

Preecoces or nidifugee are those birds which are more or less able to run 
about when hatched. They are born with their eyes open, with a covering 
of down, and with much of their yolk still unused. Examples are running 
birds, fowl, gulls, and ducks. 


THE TUNDRA AND ITS ANIMAL LIFE. 


In addition to Nordenskidld’s voyage, and other works already cited, the 
following may be consulted by those who wish to amplify their picture of the 
Tundra and its life :— 


Seebohm. Siberia in Asia (1882). 

Jackson, F. G. The Great Frozen Land (Bolshaia Zemelskija Tundra). 
Narrative of a winter journey across the Tundras and a sojourn among 
the Samoyedes (ed. from the author’s journal by A. Montefiore, 8vo, 
London, 1895). 


Notes 6 and 7, pp. 63 and 71.—The Tundra. 


With Brehm’s picture of the Tundra, it is interesting to compare that 
given by Mr. Seebohm in his address to the Geographical Section of the 
British Association at Nottingham, 1893. (Scottish Geogr. Magazine, ix. 
(1893), pp. 505-23, with map.) 

“In exposed situations, especially in the higher latitudes, the tundra 
does really merit its American name of Barren Ground, being little else 
than gravel beds interspersed with bare patches of peat or clay, and with 
scarcely a rush or a sedge to break the monotony. In Siberia, at least, 
this is very exceptional. By far the greater part of the tundra, both east 
and west of the Ural Mountains, isa gently undulating plain, full of lakes, 
rivers, swamps, and bogs. The lakes are diversified with patches of green 
water plants, amongst which ducks and swans float and dive; the little 


NOTES. 567 


rivers flow between banks of rush and sedge; the swamps are masses of 
tall rushes and sedges of various species, where phalaropes and ruffs breed, 
and the bogs are brilliant with the white fluffy seeds of the cotton-grass. 
The groundwork of all this variegated scenery is more beautiful and varied 
still—lichens and moss of almost every conceivable colour, from the cream- 
coloured reindeer-moss to the scarlet-cupped trumpet-moss, interspersed 
with a brilliant alpine flora, gentians, anemones, saxifrages, and hundreds 
of plants, each a picture in itself, the tall aconites, both the blue and 
yellow species, the beautiful cloudberry, with its gay white blossom and 
amber fruit, the flagrant Ledum palustre and the delicate pink Andromeda 
polifolia. In the sheltered valleys and deep water-courses a few stunted 
birches, and sometimes large patches of willow scrub, survive the long 
severe winter, and serve as cover for willow-grouse or ptarmigan. The 
Lapland bunting and red-throated pipit are everywhere to be seen, and 
certain favoured places are the breeding grounds of plovers and sandpipers. 
of many species. So far from meriting the name of Barren Ground, the 
tundra is for the most part a veritable paradise in summer. But it has 
one almost fatal drawback—it swarms with millions of mosquitoes.” 


Note 8, p. 72.—The Mammoth. 


The Mammoth (Elephas primigenius) was a near relative of the Indian 
elephant, if not indeed a variety of the same species. One of its charac- 
teristics was a woolly covering of brownish hair, rudimentary traces of 
which have been found in the Indian species. 

It was abundant in Europe before the glacial epoch, and seems to have 
been especially common in Siberia. Lydekker’s Royal Natural History 
gives a good account of the finding of the mammoth, and the striking fact 
is noticed that the imports of fossil ivory into England prove that, within 
a period of twenty years, over 20,000 mammoths must have been dis- 
covered. 

As Brehm describes, the carcasses are found frozen in the soil, to all 
appearance just as the animals died, but the explanation of this is obscure. 
The particular case to which he alludes was one of the earliest finds—by 
Adams in 1806. Before Adams reached the carcass, which had been 
known for some years, the dogs of the yakuts had eaten most of the flesh. 

See also Vogt’s Natural History of Mammals. 


Note 9, p. 73.—Colour of the Arctic Fox. 
On the interesting question of the winter colour-change, Mr. Poulton’s 
Colours of Animals and Mr. Beddard’s Animal Coloration should be con- 
sulted. 


Note 10, p. '75.—Reindeer devouring Lemming. 
With reference to Brehm’s statement as to reindeer eating lemming, I 
may note a report on creditable authority that in the hard winter 1894-5 
stags in Aberdeenshire were known to have eaten rabbits. 


568 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Note 11, p. 76.—Migration of the Lemming. 


A careful discussion of the strange migratory instinct of the lemming 
will be found in the late Mr. Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals. 


Note 12, p. 77.—Food of the Reindeer. 


Though the reindeer may eat grasses and aquatic plants, its great 
resource is the so-called reindeer-moss, which is really a lichen, common on 
the mountain heights of the interior where the herds pass the winter. 


Note 13, p. 80.—The Phalurope. 


Of the Grey Phalarope (Phalaropus fulicarius) and the Red-necked 
Phalarope (Phalaropus hyperboreus), both occurring in Britain, Professor 
Newton says: “A more entrancing sight to the ornithologist can hardly 
be presented than by either of these species. Their graceful form, their 
lively coloration, and the confidence with which both are familiarly dis- 
played in their breeding-quarters, can hardly be exaggerated, and it is 
equally a delightful sight to watch the birds gathering their food in the 
high-running surf, or, when that is done, peacefully floating outside the 
breakers.” See also Collett’s Bird Life in Arctic Norway. 


Note 14, p. 84.—Sense of smell and touch. 


The somewhat mysterious reference which Brehm makes to a sense 
between smell and touch is thoroughly justifiable. To the senses of many 
of the lower animals—and even of fishes—it is exceedingly difficult to 
apply our fairly definite human conceptions of smell, taste, touch, &c. 


Note 15, p. 85.—Mosquitoes. 


This general term covers a large number of species belonging to the 
gnat genus (Culex). They are very various in size, and are widely distri- 
buted from the Tropics to the Poles. Their larve are aquatic, and for 
their abundance the tundra obviously offers every opportunity. 


' THE ASIATIC STEPPES AND THEIR FAUNA. 
ee— 
Bovalet,G. Through the Heart of Asia (trans. by C. B. Pitman, 2 vols, 
London, 1889). 
Jackson, F.G. The Great Frozen Land, cited above 


Note 16, p. 91.—Flora of the steppe. 


According to Seebohm (op. cit.), “The cause of the treeless condition of 
the steppes or prairies has given rise to much controversy. My own experi- 
ence in Siberia convinced me that the forests were rocky, and the steppes 
covered with a deep layer of loose earth, and I came to the conclusion that 
on the rocky ground the roots of the trees were able to establish themselves 
firmly, so as to defy the strongest gales, which tore them up when they were 
planted in loose soil. Other travellers have formed other opinions. Some 


NOTES. 569 


suppose that the prairies were once covered with trees, which have been 
gradually destroyed by fires. Others suggest that the earth on the treeless 
plains contains too much salt or too little organic matter to be favourable to 
the growth of trees. No one, so far as I know, has suggested a climatic ex- 
planation of the circumstances. Want of drainage may produce a swamp, 
and the deficiency of rainfall may cause a desert, both conditions being 
fatal to forest growth, but no one can mistake either of these treeless 
districts for a steppe or a prairie.” See also for general description of 
steppe vegetation Kerner’s Plant Life and Wiesner’s Biologie der Pflanzen. 


Note 17, p. 97.—The Quagga. 


The true quagga (Equus quagga), intermediate between zebras and 
asses, is no longer known to exist, though it was described by Sir Corn- 
wallis Harris in 18389 as occurring in immense herds. The name quagga 
is given by the Boers to Burchell’s zebra (Equus burchellt). 

The same sad fact of approaching extermination must be noted in regard 
to not a few noble animals, e.g. rhinoceros, hippopotamus, and giraffe. 

Selous writes in 1893: “To the best of my belief, the great white or 
square-mouthed rhinoceros (Rhinoceros simus), the largest of modern ter- 
restrial mammals after the elephant, will, in the course of the next few 
years, become absolutely extinct. Yet, twenty years ago, it was a common 
animal over an enormous extent of country in Central South Africa. 

“Never again will the traveller be able to stand upon his wagon-box, 
and, like Burchell, Andrew Smith, Cornwallis Harris, and Gordon Cum- 
ming, scan plains literally darkened by thousands upon thousands of wilde- 
beests, quaggas, Burchell’s zebras, blesboks, hartebeests, and spring-boks.” 


Note 18, p. 97.—The Buffalo. 


The American bison or buffalo (Bos americanus) is now practically 
exterminated. 

Two sentences from An Introduction to the Study of Mammals, by Sir 
W. H. Flower and Mr. R. Lydekker (London, 1891), put the case in a 
nutshell. 

“The multitudes in which the American bison formerly existed are 
almost incredible; the prairies being absolutely black with them as far as 
the eye could reach, the numbers in the herds being reckoned by millions.” 

With the completion of the Kansas Branch of the Pacific Railway in 
1871, the extraordinarily careless and ruthless slaughter began. In less 
than ten years bison-shooting ceased to be profitable. 

And now, “A herd of some two hundred wild individuals derived from 
the northern herd is preserved in the Yellowstone National Park; and 
it is believed that some five hundred of the race, known as Wood-Bison, 
exist in British territory ; but with these exceptions this magnificent species 
is exterminated”. 

A vivid account of the buffalo’s habits and of its rapid tragic extermina- 


570 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


tion will be found in Mr. Grinell’s essay “In Buffalo Days” in American 
Big-Game Hunting (Boone and Crockett Club), edited by Th. Roosevelt 
and G. B. Grinell, Edinburgh, 1893. 

See also Hornaday, The Extirpation of the American Bison, 1889, and a 
monograph by J. A. Allen, “The American Bisons, Living and Extinct”: 
Memoirs of the Museum of Comparative Zoology, Harvard, vol. iv., 1876. 


Note 19, p. 102.—Fighting-ruffs. 

The ruff (Machetes pugnax) is in many ways a most interesting bird. 
Thus, there is the rapid change of plumage, as the result of which the male 
acquires his characteristic frill or ruff before the breeding season. The 
indefatigable pugnacity of the males, the efficacy of their shield, their 
assiduous polygamous courtship, their subsequent carelessness as to the 
fate of the reeve and her young, and their extraordinary ‘* polymorphism ”, 
are very remarkable. While the individual peculiarities of plumage are 
very marked, each ruff is true season after season to its own idiosyncrasy. 
Visitors to the National Museum of Natural History in London will 
remember a beautiful case of ruffs in the Entrance Hall. 


Note 20, p. 103.—Shy-goat. 

Bleating of snipe. There has been much discussion as to the origin of 
the peculiar drumming or bleating sound made by the snipe, to which it 
owes its Scotch name of “heather-bleater”, but many at least agree with 
Brehm. 


Note 21, p. 106.—Sand-grouse. 

Sand-grouse (Pterocles and Syrrhaptes), a group of birds quite distinct 
from the grouse. One species, Syrrhaptes paradoxus, “ranging from 
Northern China across Central Asia to the confines of Europe”, has shown 
a tendency to extensive migration, visiting Britain, for instance, in 1859, 
1863, 1872, 1876, and abundantly in 1888. For a concise account of these 
irregular invasions see Newton’s Dictionary of Birds. 


Note 22, p. 107.—Yurt. 

According to Radloff “jurte” or “yurt” is a general name for a more 
or less transportable rough hut made of stakes, felt, bark, and the like, 
varying slightly in construction in different districts. The ring to which 
Brehm here refers is probably that through which the upper ends of the 
converging stakes are thrust. 


Note 23, p. 109.—The Jerboa. 
The rodent here referred to is the Kirghiz jerboa (Alactaga decumana). 
What Brehm says as to its eating eggs and young birds is confirmed by 
others. 


Note 24, p. 115.—The Sand-grouse or Steppe-grouse. 
Pallas’s Sand-grouse (Syrrhaptes paradoxus), see note 21. 


NOTES. 571 


Note 25, p. 115.—Ancestry of the horse. 


See Sir W. H. Flower’s little book on The Horse (Modern Science 
Series). The kulan or kiang is rather a wild ass than a wild horse, and 
the balance of evidence in favour of regarding the Tarpan as in the line 
of ancestry is greater than Brehm indicates. Flower suggests that Prze- 
walski’s horse, discovered some years ago in Central Asia, and looked upon 
as a distinct species, may be a hybrid between the kiang and the tarpan. 


Note 26, p. 116.—Ancestors of the cat and the goat. 


It is very generally believed that our domestic cat is descended from 
the sacred Egyptian or Caffre cat (Felts caffra). See St. George Mivart’s 
monograph on the cat. Similarly, the breeds of domestic goat are often 
referred to the Pasang or Capra egagrus, found in Crete, Asia Minor, 
Persia, &c. See a vivid essay by Buxton in his Short Stalks, entitled “The 
Father of all the Goats”. 


Note 27, p. 116.— Wild camels, 


An interesting note on wild camels in Spain—a strayed herd—is to be 
found in Wild Spain by Chapman and Buck. St. George Littledale has 
recently discussed (Proc. Zoological Society, 1894) the question whether 
the camels of Lob-nor, on the slope of Altyn Tag, are remains of a wild 
stock or strayed. No wild dromedaries are known, and the same is 
probably true of camels. 


THE FORESTS AND SPORT OF SIBERIA. 
See also— 


W. Radloff, Aus Sibirien, 2 vols., Leipzig, 1884. 
A. Th. von Middendorf, Voyage dans Vextréme Nord et dans Vest de la 
Sibérte (St. Petersburg, 1848). 


Note 28, p. 123.—The Life of the Forest. 


With Brehm’s description of this minor forest, the reader should com- 
pare that which Stanley gives of “The Great Central African Forest” 
(chap. xxiii. of 2nd vol. of In Darkest Africa). He computes the size of 
the main mass at 321,057 square miles. A few sentences from his 
description may be quoted. 

“Imagine the whole of France and the Iberian peninsula closely packed 
with trees varying from 20 to 180 feet high, whose crowns of foliage 
interlace and prevent any view of sky and sun, and each tree from a few 
inches to four feet in diameter. Then from tree to tree run cables from 
two inches to fifteen inches in diameter, up and down in loops and 
festoons and W’s and badly-formed M’s; fold them round the trees in 
great tight coils, until they have run up the entire height like endless 
anacondas; let them flower and leaf luxuriantly, and mix up above with 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


the foliage of the trees to hide the sun, then from the highest branches let 
fall the ends of the cables reaching near to the ground by hundreds with 
frayed extremities, for these represent the air roots of the epiphytes; let 
slender cords hang down also in tassels with open threadwork at the 
ends. Work others through and through as confusedly as possible, and 
pendent from branch to branch—with absolute disregard of material, and 
at every fork and on every horizontal branch plant cabbage-like lichens 
of the largest kind, and broad spear-leaved plants—these would represent 
the elephant-eared plant—and orchids and clusters of vegetable marvels, 
and a drapery of delicate ferns which abound. Now cover tree, branch, 
twig, and creeper with a thick moss like a green fur.” 

He goes on to describe the rush of life to fill up each gap—the struggle 
for existence—the crowding, crushing, and strangling—the death and 
disease. 

“To complete the mental picture of this ruthless forest, the ground 
should be strewn thickly with half-formed humus of rotting twigs, leaves, 
branches; every few yards there should be a prostrate giant, a reeking 
compost of rotten fibres, and departed generations of insects, and colonies 
of ants, half veiled with masses of vines and shrouded by the leafage of a 
multitude of baby saplings, lengthy briars and calamus in many fathom 
lengths, and every mile or so there should be muddy streams, stagnant 
creeks, and shallow pools, green with duckweed, leaves of lotus and lilies, 
and a greasy green scum composed of millions of finite growths.” 


Note 29, p. 126.—Appearance of Decay in the Forests. 


A closely similar picture is given by Mr. E. N. Buxton in recounting a 
journey in the Rocky Mountains. He says: “This bane of pack-trains is 
caused by forest fires, which have burnt out the life of the trees, leaving 
only gaunt stems and blackened ground, followed by tempests which have 
whirled these tottering giants in heaps to the ground. In places the 
stems lie parallel to one another, and piled to the height of many feet as 
though they had been laid in sheaves. Elsewhere, while some have 
stood the shock and are still erect, their neighbours lie prone at every 
conceivable angle to one another, and their branches pierce the air as 
weathered snags. This ghastly waste, whether brought about by natural 
causes, or the recklessness of man, will have to be paid for some day, for 
are we not within measurable distance of the inevitable world-wide 
timber-famine ” (E. N. Buxton, Short Stalks, 1893). 

See also Rodway’s In the Guiana Forest (London, 1895), and article 
“Death in the Forest” (Watural Science, Sept., 1892). 


Note 30, p. 129.—Taiga. 


“A strip of Alpine region, 100-150 miles in breadth, consisting of 
separate mountain-chains whose peaks rise from 4800-6500 feet above 
sea-level, and beyond the limits of forest vegetation.” According to 


NOTES. 573 


Radloff, the name taiga is also generally applied by the Kalmucks to 
wooded and rocky mountain-land. 


Note 31, p. 135.— Extermination of the Beaver. 

Mr. Martin, in his eulogy of the beaver (Castorologia, 1892), describes 
the rapid diminution of numbers in Canada, largely as the result of 
careless greed, but also through the spread of colonisation. He believes 
that by the end of the century, none will be found except in museums. 
Their rarity in Europe is well known. 


Note 32, p. 136.—E port of skins. 
Radloff notes, in 1884, that the yearly sale of furs at the Ivbitsch fair 
amounts to between three and four millions of roubles. 


Note 33, p. 144.— Velvet of antlers. 
An account of the various ways in which pounded antlers and the 
vascular velvet were once used in medicine will be found in Prof. W. 
Marshall’s recent Arzenei-Kdstlein, Leipzig, 1894. 


Note 34, p. 147.—The Elk. 


The elk (Alces machlis) is the largest of the land animals of Europe, and 
is the same as the ‘‘ moose” of Canada. 


Note 35, p. 150.—Rouble. 
This varies from 3s. 8d. to 3s. 10d., but is usually reckoned as 4s. Of 
the kopeks, afterwards referred to, a hundred go to the rouble. 


Note 36, p. 161.—Brick Tea. 
Broken or powdered tea-leaves mixed with the blood of the sheep or ox, 
and formed into cakes. Other fragrant leaves are sometimes added. 


Note 37, p. 165.—The Bear rearing her cubs. 
I have been unable to find any corroboration of this story as to the she- 
bear employing her children of a former year as nurses. 


THE STEPPES OF INNER AFRICA. 
See— 

Selous, F.C. Travel and Adventure in South-East Africa (1893). 

Solymos, B. (B. E. Falkenberg). Desert Life: Recollections of an Expedi- 
tion in the Soudan. London, 1880. 

Foa, E. Mes grandes Chasses dans V Afrique Centrale. Paris, 1895. 

Lichtenstein, M. H. K. Reise im Siidlichen Africa. Berlin, 1812. 

G. Schweinfurth. The Heart of Africa. 

J. Thomson. Through Masar Land. 

Emin Pasha in Central Africa. Edited by Schweinfurth, Ratzel, Felkin, 
and Hartlaub. London, 1885. 

Also well-known works by Livingstone, Stanley, &c. 


574 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Note 38, p. 170.—Heat in the Desert. 


50° Celsius, or Centigrade = 122° Fahrenheit. Temperatures of 121°, 
122°, 133° Fahr., and so on, have been repeatedly recorded in the desert. 
Solymos, in his Desert Life, notes 115° Fahr. in the shade as the maximum 
for his year. He also calls attention to the frost and ice! ‘“ Duveyrier 
registered frost twenty-six times between December and March in the 
plains of the Central Sahara.” His picture of the desert-well is much less 
optimistic than Brehm’s. 


Note 39, p. 173.—The Termites. 


Termites or “ white ants” are very characteristic, wood-eating insects of 
tropical Africa and other warm countries. Though not related to the true 
ants, they have somewhat similar social organizations. 

The reader will be rewarded who turns to Prof. Henry Drummond’s 
Tropical Africa, where there is not only a graphic description of the ways 
of the termites, but an interesting theory of their possible agricultural 
importance. As they avoid the light, and travel on the trees only under 
cover of their tunnels of finely-comminuted and cemented earth, they must 
be continually pulverizing the soil. When rain-storms come this fine dust 
is washed from the trees, and some of it may go to swell the alluvium of 
distant valleys. Hence the termite may be, like the earthworm, a soil- 
maker of considerable importance. Mr. H. A. Bryden, in his Gun and 
Camera in Southern Africa (London, 1893), writes as follows of the termites: 
“Our cases, portmanteaus, &., were arranged round, but not touching the 
walls. Every article reposed.on glass bottles, as the only known protec- 
tion against the depredations of white ants. . . . They will eat large 
holes in a thick tweed coat in one night, and anything softer than metal 
left to their tender mercies for a night or two is irretrievably ruined. . . . 
If the huts are inspected every few days, the tunnels of self-made mortar 
can be swept away, and the depredator kept at all events to the flooring. 

. . Most housewives have, at least once a year, to institute a crusade 
against the marauders, dig up the flooring, and attempt to find the queen. 
If the queen-ant can be successfully located and dug up, the nuisance is 
ended; the rest of the ants, bereft of their sovereign, at once quit the 
building, and for a season troublenomore. . . . In the forests to the 
north and west the mischief done by these insects is enormous. The tree 
is attacked, the tunnels are run up along the bole, the wood is pierced and 
riddled, and the work of destruction is soon completed.” 

There is, however, a lack of precise observation as to the extent to which 
termites attack trees which are altogether sound and living. In great 
measure they merely hasten and complete a destruction for whose initiation 
they are not responsible. 


Note 40, p. 173.—Summer Sleep. 


Summer-sleep in torrid regions, affecting a few fishes, amphibians, and 


NOTES. 575 


reptiles, is a phenomenon analogous to hibernation elsewhere, but its 
physiological explanation is even more obscure. 


Note 41, p. 174.—The Karroo. 
Karroo, a general name for the highland steppes of South Africa. See 
H. A. Bryden’s Kloof and Karroo (1889). 


Note 42, p. 178.—Cerastes (Vipera hasselquistit). 

The horned viper is the most common viper of Northern Africa. It is 
extremely poisonous. It is of a brownish-white colour with darker mark- 
ings, and has a scaly spine or horn over each eye. This species is usually 
supposed to have been Cleopatra’s asp. 


Note 43, p. 182. See Note 39. 


Note 44, p. 183.—The mud-fish. 


This remarkable animal (Protopterus) is one of the Double-breathers or 
Dipnoi, a member of a small class between Fishes and Amphibians, repre- 
sented by three genera—Ceratodus in Queensland, Lepidosiren in Brazil, 
and this Protopterus in Africa. They differ in many ways from other 
fishes, being physiologically intermediate between Fishes and Amphibians. 
Hundreds of specimens have been brought within their ‘nests’ from 
Africa to Europe. Brehm speaks of the complete enclosure of the capsule, 
but this is now known to communicate with the outer world by a tubular 
passage through the mud. At the foot of this tube the mud-fish keeps his 
nostrils. The lung is a specialization of the swim-bladder which is present 
in most fishes. 


Note 45, p. 184.—The Royal Aspis or Uréus. 


The Urius snake or Aspis is the well-known Egyptian jugglers’ snake 
(Naja haje). It may be over six feet in length, and is very deadly. 


Note 46, p. 185.—Spitting poison. 

The poison of a snake is contained in the secretion of a specialized 
salivary gland. The compression of this venom gland propels the fluid 
along a duct which leads to the groove or canal of the fang. Infection 
with the venom only occurs when, by more or less of a bite, the poison is 
injected into the victim. No spitting of poison is known, nor would it 
have effect without a wound. 


Note 47, p. 186.—The Gecko. 
Figures and a brief description of the gecko’s clinging foot will be found 
in Semper’s well-known Animal Life (International Science Series, 
1881). The clinging power is due to numerous long bristle-like hairs on 
the sole of the foot. These appear to be modifications of the “casting- 
hairs” which are used in “skin-casting ”. 


576 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Note 48, p. 191.—Dance of Ostrich. 


A vivid picture of the Ostrich dance will be found in Prof. Lloyd 
Morgan’s Animal Sketches (1892). 


Note 49, p. 192.—Ostrich. 


Prof. Newton, in his Dictionary of Birds, notes that Ostriches, though 
sometimes assembling in troops of 30-50, commonly live in companies of 
four or five—one cock and the rest hens. This is especially true at the 
breeding season. All the hens lay together; the cock broods during the 
night; the hens take turns during the day, more, it would seem, to guard 
their common treasure from jackals and small beasts of prey than directly 
to forward the process of hatching, for that is often left wholly to the sun. 
Some thirty eggs are laid in the nest, and round it are scattered perhaps 
as many more, which are said to be used as food for the newly-hatched 
chicks. 

Compare works cited in that article: M. H. K. Lichtenstein, Reise am 
stidlichen Africa (Berlin, 1812); Fursch and Hartlaub, Viégel Ost Afrikas; 
De Mosenthal and Harting, Ostrich and Ostrich Farming; also, Mrs. 
Martin, Home Life on an Ostrich Farm. 


Note 50, p. 193.—Primaries and Secondaries. 


Primary feathers are the longer quill-feathers of the wing, and are 
borne by the ‘hand’ of the bird; the secondaries are the quill-feathers 
higher up, borne by the ulna of the arm. 


THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 


Note 51, p. 220.—Hornbills. 


Members of the family Bucerotidz, including some 60 species whose 
generic arrangement is uncertain. Of their habits Prof. Newton says: 
“They breed in holes of trees, laying large white eggs, and when the hen 
begins to sit, the cock plasters up the entrance with mud or clay, leaving 
only a small window, through which she receives the food he brings her 
during her voluntary imprisonment”. He notes Mr. Bartlett’s discovery, 
confirmed by others, that the hornbills cast out at intervals the lining of 
their gizzard in the form of a bag, which is filled with the fruit that the 
bird has been eating, and asks whether “ these castings are’ really intended 
to form the hen-bird’s food during her confinement”. 


Note 52, p. 221.—Umber- or Umbre-bird. 


This bird, whose name refers to the earthy-brown colour, is the 
Hammer-head or Scopus umbretia of ornithologists. Of the nest, Prof. 
Newton says that “it is occasionally some six feet in diameter, a mass of 
sticks, roots, grass, and rushes compactly piled together, with a flat-topped 
roof, the interior being neatly lined with clay, and a hole of entrance and 


NOTES. 577 


exit”. It may be of interest to compare its nest with that of the South 
American Oven-birds (Furnarius, &c.). 


Note 53, p. 221.—Doves beside falcons. 


Those interested in the facts of nature which suggest the danger of 
exaggerating the Darwinian idea of the struggle for existence should con- 
sult two articles by Kropotkine, entitled “Mutual Aid Among Animals”, 
in the Wineteenth Century, 1889. Kropotkine cites from Dr. Coues, an 
American ornithologist, an observation in regard to some little cliff swallows. 
which nested quite near the home of a prairie falcon. “The little peaceful 
birds had no fear of their rapacious neighbour; they did not let it even 
approach to their colony. They immediately surrounded it and chased it, 
so that it had to make off at once.” 


Note 54, p. 223.—And they know that this is so. 


Brehm suggests here and elsewhere what it would be difficult to prove, 
that animals which have unconsciously acquired protective colouring, and 
which instinctively crouch or lie still instead of trying to escape by flight, 
are aware of their adaptation to concealment. There seem to be but few 
cases which give countenance to this supposition. 


Note 55, p. 227.—Crocodile Bird. 


This is usually regarded as Pluvanus or Hyas egyptius—oue of the 
“plovers” in the wide sense. Professor Newton observes, however, in a 
note to the article “ Plover” in his Dictionary of Birds that there is not per- 
fect unanimity on the matter, as some have supposed that the “crocodile 
bird” was a lapwing—Hoplopterus spinosus. But the elder Geoffroy St. 
Hilaire and Brehm, who both saw the bird enter the reptile’s mouth,. 
regarded it as Pluvnianus egyptius. 

Dr. Leith Adams notes (1870) that the crocodile is now rarely seen 
below Beni Hassan, and is evidently receding everywhere below the second 
cataract. Both Herodotus and Strabo speak of its domestication, and it is. 
tamed at the present day by certain religious sects in India. On the 
lower Nile it is shy and difficult even to shoot. 

“A sail, or the smoke and noise of a steamboat, suffice to warn the 
crocodiles basking on the sand-banks, or their common companions, the 
black-headed and spur-winged plovers (Pluvianus egyptius and Hoplopterus 
spinosus), which are frequently seen perched on their backs, and always 
prepared to give timely warning of approaching danger, just as the Father 
of History noticed them 2300 years ago, and, strange to say, his well-known 
story is current among the modern Egyptians, who, as usual, have put a 
tail to the narrative. They say, that in addition to its office of leech- 
catcher to the crocodile, it occasionally does happen that the zic-zac—so- 
called from its note of alarm—in searching for the leeches, finds its way 
into the reptile’s mouth when the latter is basking on a sand-bank, where 
it lies generally with the jaws wide apart. Now this is possible and 

(a 70) 37 


578 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


likely enough, but the captain of our boat added, that occasionally the 
crocodile falls asleep, when the jaws suddenly fall, and the zic-zac is shut 
up in the mouth, when it immediately prods the crocodile with its horny 
spurs, as if refreshing the memory of his reptilian majesty, who opens his 
jaws and sets his favourite leech-catcher at liberty” (Leith Adams). 


MIGRATIONS OF MAMMALS. 


Note 56, p. 237.—Rats. 


The brown rat (Mus decumanus) is much stronger than the black rat 
(Mus rattus), and gains an easy victory. The rivalry between the two 
species is one of the examples Darwin gives of his generalization that the 
struggle for existence is most severe between allied forms, and there seems 
no doubt that the brown rat has often ousted and will even devour the 
black rat. The latter is now rare in Britain. It should be noted, how- 
ever, (1) that the two species are said sometimes to live together on board 
ship, (2) that cases have been recorded where the black rat returned and 
defeated its conquerors, and (3) that the black rat keeps more about houses, 
stables, and barns, is therefore more readily exterminated by man, whose 
efforts were doubtless increased when a second species appeared on the 
scene. The case is of some importance in connection with the generatiza- 
tion referred to above. 


Note 57, p. 240.—Migrations of Reindeer. 


Of the reindeer in Spitzbergen, Nordenskiéld writes:—“ During the 
summer it betakes itself to the grassy plains in the ice-free valleys of the 
island; in the late autumn it withdraws—according to the walrus-hunter’s 
statements—to the sea-coast, in order to eat the seaweed that is thrown 
up on the beach. In winter it goes back to the lichen-clad mountain 
heights in the interior of the country, where it appears to thrive exceed- 
ingly well, though the cold during winter must be excessively severe; for 
when the reindeer in spring return to the coast they are still very fat, but 
some weeks afterwards, when the snow has frozen on the surface, and a 
crust of ice makes it difficult for them to get at the mountain sides, they 
become so poor as to be scarcely eatable. In summer, however, they 
speedily eat themselves back into condition, and in autumn they are so fat 
that they would certainly take prizes at an exhibition of fat cattle.” 

Wrangel describes migrations of thousands of reindeer in Eastern 
Siberia moving from the mountains to the forests, where they winter. He 
mentions his guide’s assertion that each body is led by a female of large 
size. 

Perhaps we may take the liberty of quoting, with a tribute of admira- 
tion, Mr. F. Marion Crawford’s eloquent description of a wild rush of 
reindeer from the inland country to the shore. We confess to incredulity 
in regard to the reindeer’s longing to drink of the Polar Sea, but the 
splendid vividness of the description may excuse some slight inaccuracy. 


NOTES. 579 


“Tn the distant northern plains, a hundred miles from the sea, in the 
midst of the Laplander’s village, a young reindeer raises his broad muzzle 
to the. north wind, and stares at the limitless distance while a man may 
counta hundred. He grows restless from that moment, but he is yet alone. 
The next day a dozen of the herd look up from the cropping of the moss, 
sniffing the breeze. Then the Laps nod to one another and the camp grows 
daily more unquiet. At times the whole herd of young deer stand at gaze, 
as it were, breathing hard through wide nostrils, then jostling each other 
and stamping the soft ground. They grow unruly, and it is hard to har- 
ness them in the light sledge. As the days pass, the Laps watch them 
more and more closely, well knowing what will happen sooner or later, 
and then at last, in the northern twilight, the great herd begins to move. 
The impulse is simultaneous, irresistible, their heads are all turned in one 
direction. They move slowly at first, biting still, here and there, at the 
rich moss. Presently the slow step becomes a trot, they crowd closely 
together, while the Laps hasten to gather up their last unpacked posses- 
sions—their cooking utensils and their wooden gods. The great herd 
break together from a trot to a gallop, from a gallop to a breakneck race, 
the distant thunder of their united tread reaches the camp during a few 
minutes, and they are gone to drink of the Polar Sea. The Laps follow 
after them, dragging painfully their laden sledges in the broad track left 
by the thousands of galloping beasts—a day’s journey, and they are yet 
far from the sea, and the trail is yet broad. On the second day it grows 
narrower, and there are stains of blood to be seen; far on the distant plain 
before them their sharp eyes distinguish in the direct line a dark motion- 
less object, another, and another. The race has grown more desperate 
and more wild as the stampede neared the sea. The weaker reindeer have 
been thrown down and trampled to death by their stronger fellows. A 
thousand sharp hoofs have crushed and cut through hide and flesh and 
bone. Ever swifter and more terrible in their motion, the ruthless herd 
has raced onward, careless of the slain, careless of food, careless of any 
drink but the sharp salt water ahead of them. And when at last the 
Laplanders reach the shore their deer are once more quietly grazing, once 
more tame and docile, once more ready to drag the sledge whithersoever 
they are guided. Once in his life the reindeer must taste of the sea in one 
long, satisfying draught, and if he is hindered he perishes. Neither man 
nor beast dare stand before him in the hundred miles of his arrow-like 
path.”—A Cigarette-Maker’s Romance, vol. ii. pp. 23-25. 


Note 58, p. 241.—Migrations of Bisons. 


In regard to the migration of the bison or buffalo, Mr. G. B. Grinnell 
writes:—“It was once thought that the butfalo performed annually 
extensive migrations, and it was even said that those which spent the 
summer on the banks of the Saskatchewan wintered in Texas. There 
ig no reason for believing this to have been true. Undoubtedly there 
were slight general movements north and south, and east and west, at 


580 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


certain seasons of the year; but many of the accounts of these move- 
ments are entirely misleading, because grossly exaggerated. In one 
portion of the northern country I know that there was a decided east- 
and-west seasonal migration, the herds tending in spring away from the 
mountains, while in the autumn they worked back again, seeking shelter 
in the rough, broken country of the foot-hills from the cold west winds of 
the winter.”—American Big-Game Hunting (Boone and Crockett Club), 
edited by Theodore Roosevelt and George Bird Grinnell, Edin., 1893. 


Note 59, p. 250.—Migrations of Seals. 


Much interesting information as to the migrations and habits of seals 
will be found in J. A. Allen’s History of North American Pinnipedia. The 
eared fur-seals (Otaria) and others travel periodically to the breeding-places 
or “rookeries”, where they spend a considerable time, but it should be 
noted that our common seal (Phoca vitulina) does not make seasonal 
migrations. 


Note 60, p. 256.—Jnstinct of the Lemming. 


A discussion of the strange instinct of the lemming, remarkable in its 
apparent fatality, will be found in Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals. 


Note 61, p. 258.—WNumbers of Springbok. 


“T beheld the plains and even the hillsides which stretched on every 
side of me thickly covered, not with herds, but with one vast mass of 
springboks; as far as the eye could strain the landscape was alive with 
them, until they softened down into a dim red mass of living creatures. 
To endeavour to form any idea of the number of antelopes which I had 
that day beheld were vain, but I have no hesitation in saying that 
some hundreds of thousands were within the compass of my vision.”— 
Gordon Cumming. With this should be compared what other sports- 
men and travellers have in recent years told us of rapidly diminishing 
numbers. 


Note 62, p. 260.—The Monkey Question. 


The position of evolutionists in regard to the relations of man and 
monkeys is conveniently stated in Huxley’s Man’s Place in Nature. A 
criticism of the thorough-going evolutionist position, from the philosopher's 
point of view, will be found in Professor Calderwood’s Evolution and 
Man's Place in Nature. A midway position is indicated in Wallace’s 
Darwinism. 

While most naturalists are now thoroughly evolutionist in regard to the 
descent or ascent of man, as in regard to other problems, most would pro- 
bably agree with Lloyd Morgan’s cautious conclusion :— 

“In denying to animals the perception of relations and the faculty of 
reason, I do so in no dogmatic spirit, and not in support of any precon- 
ceived theory or opinion, but because the evidence now before us is not, 
in my opinion, sufficient to justify the hypothesis that any animals have 


NOTES. 581 


reached that stage of mental evolution at which they are even incipiently 
rational.” 

Probably all naturalists allow that animals who profit by experience 
and adapt their actions to varying circumstances are intelligent. But 
cases which force us to credit animals with general ideas, with “thinking 
the therefore”, in short, with reason, are admitted by few. 


LOVE AND COURTSHIP AMONG BIRDS. 


While admiring the vigorous protest which Brehm makes in this 
chapter against the interpretation which regards animals as automata, 
I feel that he has hardly done justice to it. In general terms, the inter- 
pretation is that animals act as they do in virtue of an inherited organic 
mechanism which responds in a uniform manner to certain stimuli. That 
this is true of many animal and even human actions, especially in early 
youth, seems highly probable. That it only covers a small fraction of 
animal behaviour is certain. But even those who go furthest in extending 
the scope of animal automatism, do not say that an automatic act may not 
be accompanied’ by consciousness, they only say that it is not controlled by 
consciousness. See Huxley, Are Animals automata? in his collected Essays: 
and Lloyd Morgan, Introduction to Comparative Psychology. 


Note 63, p. 272. —Sexual Selection. 

For a statement of the doctrine of sexual selection, the original docu- 
ment—Darwin’s Descent of Man—should be consulted. But the theory 
has met with strong criticism, eg. on the part of Alfred Russel Wallace, 
see his Darwinism. See also The Evolution of Sex, by Geddes and 
Thomson, and Lloyd Morgan’s Animal Life and Intelligence. 


Note 64, p. 279.—Polygamous Birds. 


Darwin has discussed the question of polygamous birds in his Descent 
of Man. 


Note 65, p. 281.—The Widowed Bird. 
For one of the finest expressions in literature of the possible emotions 
of the widowed bird, we may be allowed to refer to Walt Whitman’s 
“Out of the cradle endlessly rocking” (Leaves of Grass). 


APES AND MONKEYS. 


Note 66, p. 285.—Descent from Monkeys. 

Hanuman, the sacred Hindoo long-tailed monkey, plays an important 
part in Hindoo mythology. He was the friend of Vishnu during his 
incarnation as Rama Chandra, and he aided the god greatly in the search 
for his wife Sita, who had been carried off by Ravan. <A female slave, 
who had tended Sita kindly during her captivity, was married to Hanu- 
man as a reward, and this pair some Indian noble families proudly claim 
as ancestors. 


582 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Note 67, p. 286.—Monkeys on the Rock of Gibraltar. 


A letter written in 1880 by an officer in Gibraltar to the Feld news- 
paper and quoted in vol. i. of the Royal Natural History gives the 
number living on the Rock at that time as twenty-five, among whom 
were ouly two adult males. There had been several gangs of them at one 
time, but they had done so much damage in the town gardens that they 
had been nearly exterminated by means of traps and poison. But in 
1856, when their numbers had been reduced to four or five, a garrison 
order was issued forbidding further destruction of them, and since that 
time they have been strictly preserved and regularly counted. In 1863, 
four were imported from Africa, and after a time were admitted as 
members of the band. Another attempt was made in 1872 to reinforce 
their numbers, but it was unsuccessful, 


Note 68, p. 290.—Habits of Monkeys. 


See Mr. Garner’s observations on monkeys (Speech of Monkeys, 1893); 
Hartmann’s Apes and Monkeys (Internat. Science Series), Romanes’s 
Animal Intelligence and Mental Evolution in Animals. H. A. Forbes, 
A Handbook to the Primates (Allen’s Naturalist’s Library; Lond. 1894). 
Mr. Havelock Ellis in his Man and Woman (Lond. 1894) has some inter- 
esting notes on the relation of young monkeys and young children to the 
adult forms. 


Note 69, p. 291.—Death from Grief. 


Instances of death from grief are given in Romanes’s Animal Intelligence. 
See also a paper by Mr. Garner in Harper’s Monthly, 1894. 


Note 70, p. 298.—Speech of Monkeys. 


See Mr. Garner’s Speech of Monkeys (Lond. 1893), which tends to 
support Brehm’s view. But in reference to Garner’s work, Lloyd Morgan 
says, “Of the nine sounds made by capuchins, not one is, so far as the 
observations go, indubitably indicative of a particular object of desire. 
All of them may be, and would seem to be, in the emotional stage, and 
expressive of satisfaction, discontent, alarm, apprehension, and so forth. 
Still they may be indicative of particular objects of appetence or aversion; 
and experiments with the phonograph, conducted with due care and 
under test-conditions, may do much to throw light upon an interesting 
and important problem.” After careful consideration, Prof. Lloyd Mor- 
gan says, “At present, however, there is not, so far as I am aware, any 
evidence that animals possess powers of descriptive intercommunication 
involving perception of relations”. 


Note 71, p. 298.— Right and Wrong in Monkeys. 


What is said here should be compared with the discussion of the 
subject in Darwin’s Descent of Man, Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals, 
or perhaps most conveniently in Lloyd Morgan’s Introduction to Compar- 


NOTES. 583. 


ative Psychology (Lond. 1894). According to the last-named authority 
the moral sense “involves a thinking of the ought; it involves a more or 
less definite perception of the relation of a given act to an ideal standard”. 
“In none of these cases (cited), is there sufficient evidence to justify a. 
belief that a standard of conduct takes form in the animal mind.” 


Note 72, p. 303.—Mutual Aid among Monkeys. 

Mr. Darwin quotes this case in his Descent of Man, and calls the 
monkey ‘fa true hero”. Similar examples of mutual aid will be found 
in the same work, as also in a couple of articles by Prince Kropotkine,. 
“Mutual Aid among Animals”, Wineteenth Century, 1889. 


Note 73, p. 316.—Zfect of age. 

There are some who hold that observation favours the opposite view, 
that the young ape is relatively more human and less simian than the 
adult. With these, rather than with Brehm, we agree. There is, how- 
ever, need of more precise physiological and psychological observation. 


Note 74, p. 318.—Man’s Place in Nature. 

It should be noted that the zoologist’s usual statement of his position is 
that he believes that men and the higher apes have arisen from a common 
stock. See Huxley's Man’s Place in Nature. As the anthropoid apes 
are believed to have diverged as distinct types in Miocene times, the com- 
mon stock is plainly in the almost inconceivably distant past. A belief in 
descent from a common stock does not in the least affect the demonstrable 
distinctiveness of man, nor does it explain how the evolution, whose results 
we are, took place. See Darwin’s Descent of Man, and Drummond’s. 
Ascent of Man. 


DESERT JOURNEYS. 


Note 75, p. 330.—Wodules in the Desert. 

These seem to be the now well-known manganese nodules. The puzzling 
question of their origin is discussed by Dr. John Murray in that part of 
the Challenger Reports which deals with marine deposits. Solymos thus 
describes them, “ Belted by higher hills, I have mounted one, apparently 
consisting entirely of a lofty pile of hardened equal sandstone balls, the 
size of peaches. They were as nearly globular as anything in nature—a. 
bubble, a drop, a planet.” 


NUBIA AND THE NILE RAPIDS. 


For some interesting geological and zoological observations see A. Leith 
Adams, Notes of a Naturalist in the Nile Valley and Malta (1870). J. H. 
Speke, Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile (1864). 


Note 76, p. 358.—On the Nile and its Cataracts. 
See Sir Samuel Baker’s The Nile and its Tributaries (1867), and Walter 
Budge, The Nile: Notes for Travellers in Egypt (1890). 


584 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Note 77, p. 359.—Syenite. 


Syenite, a hard crystalline rock, resembling granite, and well adapted 
for monuments. It is not known in Britain, but occurs in many parts of 
Europe and America, as well as at the place to which it owes its name. 


Note 78, p. 362.—Phile. 


Phile has recently been a centre of attention in connection with the 
Egyptian waterworks. See Sir Benjamin Baker, “Nile Reservoirs and 
Phile ”, Nineteenth Century, xxxv. (1894), pp. 863-72; J. P. Mahaffy, “The 
Devastation of Nubia”, pp. 1013-18; Frank Dillon, ‘““The Submergence 
of Phile”, pp. 1019-25; H. D. Pearsall, “The Nile Reservoirs”, Scottish 
Geographical Magazine (1895, August), pp. 393-402. 


Note 79, p. 370.—Government of Egypt. 


The reader must bear in mind that Egypt has had a somewhat complex 
political history since Brehm wrote. 


A JOURNEY IN SIBERIA. 


Note 80, p. 397.—Archar Sheep. 

Archar or arkal is the Kirghiz name for the Mongolian argali (Ovis 
ammon). The animal is almost as large as a donkey, has enormous horns 
and short coarse hair. It is said to be now restricted to Northern Mon- 
golia, and some districts of Southern Siberia. The Tibetan argali (Ovis 
hodgsont) is closely allied. See Sir V. Brooke, Proc. Zoological Society, 
1875. 


Note 81, p. 412.—Splenic Fever. 
Anthrax or splenic fever is a rapidly fatal disease due to a microbe, 
Bacillus anthracis. This was demonstrated by Koch, and corroborated by 
Pasteur. The latter discovered how to attenuate the virus, and secure 
immunity by inoculation. Cattle, sheep, and reindeer are among the 
commonest victims; but, as the narrative shows, man himself is not 
exempt. 


THE HEATHEN OSTIAKS. 


Note 82, p. 426.—Present state of Ostiaks. 


The Ostiak population was estimated in 1891 at about 27,000, and is 
believed to be still decreasing. There is some interesting information 
regarding them in Erman’s Travels in Siberia. 


Note 83, p. 4838.—Larve out of nostrils. 


The reindeer is excessively troubled by the attacks of several insects, 
related to the bot-flies (stride), which attack sheep, cattle, and horses 
in this country. One lays its eggs in the skin, another in the nostrils, 


NOTES. 585 


whence the larvee emerge. The reindeer have a great horror of these 
insects, and are said to become weak and emaciated in their efforts to avoid 
them. The disease due to the parasitic insects is sometimes referred to as 
“germ”, and may destroy most of a herd. 


Note 84, p. 438.—Brick Tea. 
See Note 36. 


Note 85, p. 444.—Shamans. 


Some interesting details as to these in Hofgaard’s Nordenskiold’s 
Voyage. He speaks of the preparatory asceticism: “solitude, watching, 
fasting, exciting and narcotic remedies work upon his imagination; he 
soon sees the spirits and the apparitions he heard about in his youth, and 
believes firmly in them”. . . “He is no cool, calculating deceiver, no 
common conjuror.” “Sometimes they have been thrashed in order that 
they might change a particular prophecy, but Wrangel relates a case in 
1814, when their orders to kill a beloved chief, in order to stay a plague, 
were at length obeyed. Though Christianity has been introduced for 
more than a century, the Shamans have still (1882) much power.” 

A scholarly account of the Shamans, which includes much interesting 
material in regard to the customs which Brehm describes in this chapter, 
will be found in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute, xxiv., August 
and September, 1894. “Shamanism in Siberia and European Russia”, 
being the second part of “ Shamantsvo,” by Professor V. M. Mikhailovskii, 
translated by O. Wardrop. 


NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES. 


See F. Burnaby’s Ride to Khiva (1876); H. Lansdell’s Through Siberia 
(1882), and Russian Central Asia (1885); A. de Levchine, Description des 
Hordes et des Steppes des Kirghiz-Kazaks (Paris, 1840); Zaleskie, La vie des 
Steppes Kirghizes (Paris, 1865). 


COLONISTS AND EXILES IN SIBERIA. 


Note 86, p. 514.—Geology of the Altai. 


“In the Altai the mountains are built up of granites, syenites, and 
diorites covered with metamorphic slates belonging to the Laurentian, 
Silurian, Devonian, and Carboniferous periods. The Jurassic strata on 
the outskirts are all fresh-water deposits, and contain coal.” 

“The Altai Mines (12,000 men) yielded in 1881, 16,670 lbs. of silver, 
13,140 cwts. lead, 6708 cwts. copper, 3200 cwts. iron, 240,000 cwts. coal, 
and 320,000 cwts. salt.” 


586 FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Note 87, p. 539.—The Exile System. 


The reader should consult Dr. Lansdell’s ThroughSiberta (London, 1882); 
H. de Windt’s Siberta As Jt Is (London, 1892); Seebohm’s Siberia in Asia 
(1882). While some, eg. de Windt, give an account of the exile system 
which agrees with Brehm’s, it should be noted that others think very 
differently; see Kennan’s Siberia and the Exile System (1891). 


AN ORNITHOLOGIST ON THE DANUBE. 


Note 88, p. 563.— The Penduline Titmouse. 


A very small species of titmouse occurring in Southern Europe and 
Africa. Its remarkable nest (see figure) is formed of a felt woven of hemp 
or wool often mixed with goat’s hair. It usually hangs on the extreme 
end of a branch just over water. Both birds share in the work of building, 
as also in that of hatching and rearing the young, of which there are 
usually seven. 


INDEX. 


Aard-vark or ant-eater, 194. 

Abiad, Bahr-el-, White Nile, 368. 

Abu tok, a small hornbill, 216. 

Adony, heronry on island of, 544. 

Altai, crown-estate of the, 513, 585. 

Altrices and preecoces, 59, 566. 

Antelope, migrations of the, 245. 

Anthropoid apes, 308. 

Apes and Monkeys, 282; an Arabic 
legend about baboons, 282; ancient 
beliefs of Egypt and India, 284; the 
“monkey question” discussed, 285, 
580; their distribution and habits, 
286, 582; talents and abilities, 291; 
New-World monkeys, 293; a concert 
of red howlers, 295; Old- World mon- 
keys, 296; two types, the Dog-like 
and Man-like, 296; endowments and 
characteristics of the Dog-like mon- 
key, 296, 582; examples of their 
bravery, intelligence, and self-esteem, 
299, 582; Man-like or anthropoid 
apes, 308; their structure, habits, 
and voice-power, 308; highest speci- 
mens of this type, 311; the chimpan- 
zee, 311; differences between man 
and the ape, 317, 583. 

Archar, a giant wild sheep, 110, 397, 584. 

Arctic fox, 78, 155, 567. 

Asiatic steppes, the, 86. 

Aspis, a venomous snake, 184, 575. 

Assuan, on the Nile, 359. 

Auk, life and habits of the, 57, 566. 

Aul of the Kirghiz, 464, 478, 497. 

Azrek, Bahr-el-, Blue Nile, 203, 368. 


Baboons in Central Africa, 238. 
Baobab-tree, 209. 

Bards among the Kirghiz, 493. 
Barnaul, town of, 518. 

Bat, migration of the, 251. 


Bateleur, or short-tailed African eagle, 
188; poetic legend regarding, 189; 
its remarkable flight during pairing- 
time, 265. 

Bear, habits of the, 163; value of its 
skin, 165; its teeth and claws con- 
sidered potent charms, 165; methods 
of its capture, 166; stories of en- 
counters with bears, 166. 

Beaver, extermination of the, 135, 573. 

Bedouins of the desert, 352. 

Bee-eater, courting of the, 266. 

Bird-bergs of Scandinavia, 40, 51. 

Birds, love and courtship among, 259; 
methods of their wooing, 262; com- 
bats of rival lovers, 272; unfaithful- 
ness among, 278. 

Bird voices of the primitive forest, 215. 

Bison, migrations of the, 241, 579. 

Brehm, Alfred E., sketch of, xxvii. 

Brick tea, 573, 585. 

Brooding islands of Scandinavia de- 
scribed, 48, 53; visits to, 49, 53. 

Buffalo, the, 97, 569. 

Bulban for decoying black grouse, 142. 

Buran or snow-hurricane, 94. 


Camel of the Kirghiz, 466, 571. 

Capuchin monkeys, 239, 296. 

Cat, ancestors of the, 116, 571. 

Cataracts of the Nile, 358, 583; naviga- 
tion of the, 379. 

Cattle of the Kirghiz, 466. 

Cembra or stone-pine of Siberia, 128. 

Cerastes or horned viper, 178, 575. 

Chabir or leader of a caravan, 322. 

Chimpanzee, character of the, 311; 
story of one, 315. 

Chinese breakfast, a, 400. 

Climbing plants in primitive forests, 
210. 


588 


Colonists and Exiles in Siberia, 510, 586; 
their conditions of life, 511; aboli- 
tion of serfdom, 512; the crown- 
estate of Altai, 513; condition of its 
inhabitants, 515; their character, 
518; a peasant’s views, 519; over- 
abundant harvests, 521; early mar- 
riages, 522; marriage customs, 523; 
the criminal classes, 524; their trans- 
port and government allowances, 
524; their considerate treatment, 
530; a prison school, 532; orphan 
asylum, 533; among the criminals, 
533; their reformation sought, 534; 
convict work in the mines, 534; at- 
tempted escapes, 536. 

Convicts in Siberia, 524. 

Crested crane, notes of the, 216. 

Crocodile, the, 225, 227, 577. 

Crocodile-bird, the, 227, 577. 

Cuckoo, courting of the, 264; its poly- 
gamy, 279. 


Danube, an Ornithologist on the, 540. 

Darwin, Charles, xxiv; his Doctrine 
of Descent, 317, 438. 

Dauw, flight of the, 256. 

Desert Journeys, 318; bargaining with 
a sheikh, 318; preparations for a 
start, 321; camel-riding, 325; the 
Sahara or Great Desert described, 
326 ; its animal life, 331; discomforts 
of the desert journey, 336; the 
camel-driver sketched, 338; a night 
in the desert, 340; the oasis, 341; 
life at a well in the desert, 345; a 
festival of nomads and travellers, 
347; coming of the Simoom, 348; 
the mirage, 351; an interview with 
Bedouins, 352; the Nile reached, 
355. 

Diving-birds in the tundra, 78. 

Dog-like monkeys, 296. 

Dogs, of the Ostiaks, 429; of the Kir- 
ghiz, 467. 

Domesticated animals, ancestors of our, 
115, 571. 

Dove, courting of the, 266. 

Dromedary, the, 466. 

Duleb-palm, the, 210. 

Dwarf-birch of the tundra, 68. 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Eagle, hunting with the, 486. 

Eider-duck, the, 40; its appearance 
and habits, 41; her search for a 
brooding-place, 42; the nest robbed 
by the Norseman, 43; she builds a 
second nest, 43; value of the down 
on her breast, 43, 48, 565; her remark- 
able tameness, 45; the birds steal 
each other’s eggs, 45; the ducklings 
protected and placed in the sea by 
the natives, 46. 

Eider-holms, 40. 

Elephant, the, 233. 

Elephantine, on the Nile, 359. 

Elk, hunting of the, 147; 573. 

Exiles. See Colonists. 


Faber’s description of a brooding-place, 
60. 

Fall-trap, used in Siberia, 136. 

Family and Social Life among the 
Kirghiz, 482; alleged origin of the 
people, 482; their true character, 
483; their expert horsemanship, 484 ; 
wrestling, 485; hunting, 486; their 
love of talking, 492; language, 493; 
bards, 493; education and religious 
feeling, 494; good qualities of the 
people, 494; family pride and vanity, 
495; social customs and hospitality, 
496; wedding ceremonies, 497; a 
lover’s song, 502; treatment of chil- 
dren, 506; funeral ceremonies, 507. 

Fata Morgana ox *‘devil’s sea”, 351. 

Fighting-ruffs, combats of, 102; 570. 

Forests of Siberia, 121; of Africa and 
America, 571, 572; forest-fires, 123. 

Fox, hunted for its valuable fur, 155; 
487. 

Fruskagora, hunting and exploring in, 
557. 

Funeral ceremonies among the Kir- 
ghiz, 507. 


Gazelle of the desert, 332. 

Gecko lizard, the, 186, 575. 

Goat of the Kirghiz, 464, 571. 
Goat-sucker or night-jar, 193, 266. 
Gobi steppe, migrations from the, 242. 
Golden plover of the tundra, 78. 
Gulls, breeding-places of, 53, 60. 


INDEX. 


Hare and Hounds, game of, in Nubia, 
377. 

Hare of Western Siberia, 150. 

Hassanie, a Soudanese tribe, 204; their 
appearance and singular customs, 
204; their huts, 205; life of a Has- 
sanie matron, 206. 

Hazel-grouse, hunting of the, 142. 

Heat in the desert, 170, 574. 

Hippopotamus, the, 225, 230. 

Hochtiere, an order including man and 
the monkey, 317. 

Hornbill, the, 219, 576. 

Horse, among the Kirghiz, 458, 484; 
horse-racing, 485. 

Hulman and Bunder, monkeys wor- 
shipped, 238. 

Humboldt, Alexander von, xx. 

Hungary, bird-fauna of, 540. 

Hyzena-dog of African steppes, 195. 


Instinct versus Love, 259. 
Isegrim, name for the wolf, 152, 154, 
564. 


Jerboa of the Asiatic steppes, 108, 570. 
Journey, in the Desert, 318; in Siberia, 
390. 


Kaisak, Kasak, or Cossack. See Hir- 
ghiz. 

Kaliim, price of a Kirghiz bride, 499. 

Kazan, town of, 393. 

Kirghiz, the, 397; a sample of their 
poetry, 398. See Vomad Herdsmen, 
and Family and Social Life. 

Kittiwake, brooding-places of the, 60. 

Korti, the Nubians defeated at, 370. 

Koumiss, 469, 498. 

Kulan, ancestor of the domestic horse, 
115, 404, 571; migrations of the, 245. 


Lark of the Asiatic steppes, 105, 115. 

Lemming of the tundra, 74; migrations 
of, 254, 568, 580. 

Lizards in Africa, 185. 

Locusts, 230. 

Lofodens and their bird-life, 48. 

Love and Courtship among Birds, 259; 
intelligence and emotional life in 
animals, 260; all birds seek to pair, 


589 


261; various methods of bird-wooing, 
262; their songs are love-songs, 263; 
their love-flights, 265; love-dances, 
266; coyness of the female birds, 271, 
581; combats among the rival males, 
272; devotion of birds to their chosen 
mates, 275; occasional unfaithful- 
ness, 277; polygamous birds, 279, 581; 
bird widows and widowers, 280, 581. 

Love versus Instinct, 259. 

Love-dances of birds, 266. 

Love-flights of kites, harriers, &c., 265. 

Love-song of birds, 263. 

Lynx in Siberia, 155. 


Mammals, migrations of, 234. 

Man-like apes, 308. 

Maral stag, hunting of the, 144; value 
of his antlers for preparing a Chinese 
quack specific, 144, 573. 

Marmoset, lowest of the monkey order, 
291. 

Marriage ceremonies among the Kir- 
ghiz, 498. 

Marsh-harrier, a bird of prey, 102. 

Melik el Nimmr, the “panther king”, 
371. 

Metallic starling, the, 214, 215. 

Migrations of Mammals, 234; causes 
of periodic migrations, 234; wander- 
ings of the brown rat, souslik, and 
mice, 235; expeditions to obtain bet- 
ter food, 238; fundamental cause of 
all true migration, 239; scarcity of 
water a cause of migrations, 242; 
migration of sea animals, 248; mad 
flight of zebras and other animals in 
South Africa, 256. 

Mines of Siberia, convicts in, 534. 

Mohammed Aali subjugates the Nu- 
bians, 370. 

Monkeys. See Apes and Monkeys. 

Monkeys, long-tailed, 222, 581. 

Mosquito, a terrible pest in the tundra, 
81, 568. 

Mud-fish of Africa, 183, 575. 


Naturalist-travellers, list of works by, 
xxix. 

Nests of birds, 217; of the bee-eaters, 
217; of the golden weaver-birds, 218; 


590 


of the cow weaver-birds, 219; of 
finches, 219; of the hornbills, 219; 
of the umber-bird, 220; of the dwarf 
peregrine falcon and guinea - dove, 
221; of the African swift, 221; of 
the crocodile-bird, 229. 

New-World or broad-nosed monkeys, 
293. 

Nomad Herdsmen and Herds of the 
Steppes, 451; domain and tribes of 
the Kirghiz, 452; their racial affini- 
ties, 452; physical features, 453; 
dress, 453; dwellings, 454; wealth 
reckoned by their herds, 458; impor- 
tance of the horse, 458; their sheep 
and goats, 464; cattle, 465; camels, 
466; dog, 467; food of the people, 
468; their constant roamings, 470; 
the winter camping-ground, 473; 
manner of travelling, 474; milking 
the animals, 477; a charming picture 
of pastoral life, 480. 

Northern Lights, the, 38, 86, 443. 

Norway, harvest of the sea, 38. 

Nubia and the Nile Rapids, 356; the 
region of the rapids, 357; its pre- 
historic ruins, 359; vegetation and 
fauna, 363; fertility of middle Nubia, 
366; the Nubian and Egyptian con- 
trasted, 368; Nubia subjugated by 
the Egyptians, 370; sketch of the 
Nubian people, 373; navigation of the 
rapids, 379; a night on one of the 
rocks, 382; the voyage down-stream, 
383, 388; a warning unheeded, 388. 

Nyke, visit to the, 53; its immense 
number of birds, 55. 


Oases of the desert, 341. 

Obdorsk, annual fair at, 440. 

Obrt, the Ostiak god, 421, 443, 448. 

Old-World monkeys, 296. 

Omsk, town of, 396. 

Ornithologist (an) on the Danube, 540; 
a tempting invitation, 541; scenery 
on the Danube, 541; a famous heron- 
ry, 544; bird-life in the marshes, 546; 
sea-eagie hunting, 548; fighting and 
pairing of the birds, 549; care for 
their young, 552; protection of ani- 
mal life in Hungary, 554; a grand 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


river picture, 556; a wonderful dis- 
trict, 557; vulture-shooting, 561; a 
sail through a forest - wilderness, 
563. 

Ostiaks, the Heathen, 416; condition of 
the people, 416; probable number of 
the tribe, 417, 584; contrasted with 
Ostiaks of the Greek Church, 418; 
their physical features, 421; language 
and dress, 422; dwellings, 423; em- 
ployments, 425; their reindeer and 
dogs, 426; constant migrations, 431; 
a “bloody meal”, 434; at night ina 
tshum, 436; at a fishing-station, 437; 
hunting for game, 439; the fair of 
Obdorsk, 440; evils of brandy-drink- 
ing, 440; marriage customs, 441; 
domestic life, 445; performances and 
prophecies of a shaman, 445; religion 
of the people, 448; their burial cus- 
toms, 450, 

Ostrich, legend regarding the, 190; ha- 
bits and omnivorous appetite of, 191, 
576; breeding of, 192. 

Ox of the Kirghiz, 465. 

Oyster-catcher, the, 49. 


Pairing-cry of birds, 273. 

Pallas’s sand-grouse or steppe-grouse, 
115, 404. 

Palm-tree of the desert, 342. 

Pangolin of North Africa, 194. 

Phalarope in the tundra, 80, 568. 

Phile, island of, 361, 584. 

Pichta fir of Siberia, 128, 394. 

Pine-marten, 158; hunting of the, 161. 

Polygamy of some birds, 279. 

Primeval Forests of Central Africa, 201; 
their magnificence in spring-time, 
203; sailing up the Blue Nile, 204; 
a remarkable tribe, 204; the forest 
reached, 207; difficulty of penetrating 
it, 208; the baobab-tree and duleb- 
palm, 209; bird-fauna of the forest, 
213; varieties of nests, 217; mam- 
mals of the forest, 222; animal life 
on the river-banks and islands, 225; 
rain-lakes and water-pools of the 
forest, 229; visits of the locust, 230; 
night in the primeval forest, 231. 

Ptarmigan of the tundra, 77 


INDEX. 


Quagga, flight of the, 256; 569. 


Ramwood of the Asiatic steppes, 112. 

Rat, invasion of the, 235; 578. 

Razor-bill or auk, 57, 61. 

Reindeer, 76, 150, 240, 578; ravages of 
disease among, 412, 426, 584. 

Roe-deer, hunting of the, 146. 

Rouble and kopek, 573. 


Sable, rarity of the, 157; hunting the, 
161. 

Sahara, the, 326. 

Salt-steppes, 90, 98. 

Salt’s antelope, 223. 

Samoyedes, 417, 440. 

Sand-grouse of the desert, 334, 570. 

Scandinavia, ancient legend concerning, 
33; general aspect of the land, 34; 
its fjords, 35; islands and skerries, 
37; fisheries, 38; bird-bergs, 40, 51. 

Schlangenberg or Snakemount, 107, 
129, 157, 408. 

Schohazen or Catholic Servians, 555. 

Sea-birds, habits of, 39; value of their 
eggs and flesh as food, 48. 

Sea-eagle hunting in Hungary, 548. 

Seal, migrations of the, 250, 580. 

Secretary-bird, 184, 187. 

Serfdom, abolition of, 512. 

Shaman or Ostiak priest, 445, 585. 

Sheep of the Kirghiz, 464. 

Shendy, massacre at, 371; Nubians de- 
feated at, 373. 

Shrikes, different notes of male and 
female, 216. 

Siberia, false ideas concerning, 120; its 
vast forests, 121; forest-fires, 123; 
limited variety of trees, 127; diffi- 
culty of traversing the primeval 
forests, 130; their desolateness, 131; 
uncertainty of finding game, 132; 
Siberian methods of hunting, 135; 
the trade in furs and birds’ skins, 135, 
573; game animals of the forests, 136; 
hunting of game birds, 140, and of 
big and smaller game, 144. 

Siberia, Journey in, 390; travelling in 
winter, 391; from Europe into Asia, 
394; Western Siberia reached, 395; 
Russian hospitality, 395; a great 


591 


hunting expedition, 397; entertained 
by a Chinese mandarin, 399; a hor- 
rible massacre, 401; at the Irtish 
river, 404; in the Altai Mountains, 
404; camp-life with a Russian gen- 
eral, 405; summer scene in the Altai, 
406; a voyage on the great river Obi, 
408; an unfortunate exploring expe- 
dition, 411; ravages of disease, 412, 
414; the return home, 415. 

Simoom, the, 171, 348. 

Skua in the tundra, 79. 

Sky-goat, 103, 570. 

Souslik, the, 108, 237, 407. 

Spiders and scorpions in a night-camp, 
178. 

Splenic fever, ravages of, 412, 584. 

Springbok, flight of the, 257; 580. 

Spring-gun of the Ostiaks and Samo- 
yedes, 139. 

Squirrels, migrations of, 253. 

Steppe, origin and usage of the term, 
87, 174. 

Steppe-fires, 397. 

Steppes, characteristics of the Asiatic, 
87; their scenery, 89; vegetation, 91, 
568; beauty of the flowers in spring, 
95; animal life in the steppes, 97, 109, 
115; insects and reptiles, 107; the 
giant wild sheep, 110; the kulan or 
wild horse, 115; a kulan hunt and 
capture of a foal, 119. 

Steppes of Inner Africa, 168; sketch of 
their seasons, 169; miseries of the 
winter, 170; spring heralded by ter- 
rible storm and rain, 171; definition 
of the African steppe, 174; inhospit- 
able character of the region, 175; its 
vegetation, 176; difficulties of travel- 
ling, 177; a night’s experience in 
camp, 177; fauna of the country, 182; 
the bird-fauna, 187; mammals, 193; 
stampede and destruction of animal 
life caused by the steppe-fire, 198. 

Stone-seas in the Nile, 367. 

Storks, stories regarding, 276, 277, 278, 
281. 

Swallow, courting of the, 266. 

Swirtholm brooding-place, 60, 62. 

Syene, or Sun, on the Nile, 359, 584. 


592 


Taiga region in Siberia, 129, 572. 

Tarpan of the Dnieper steppes, 115, 571. 

Tchukutchak stormed by the Dungani 
tribe, 401. 

Termite or white ant in Africa, 181, 574. 

Tiger, hunting of the, 157. 

Titmouse, the penduline, 563, 586. 

Tiumen, town of, 395. 

Tragopan, wooing of the, 267. 

Tshum or hut of the Ostiaks, 410, 423. 

Tundra of the Polar region, described, 
63, 566; its lakes, 67; vegetation, 68; 
prehistoric animals embedded in its 
ice-crust, 72, 567; fauna of the tundra, 
72; characteristic birds, 77; the mos- 
quito, 81; autumn and winter in the 
tundra, 85; an unhappy expedition 
to one, 411. 


Umber-bird, the, 220, 576. 
Ustkamenegorsk, school in, 494. 


FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 


Vodki in Siberia, 524. 
Voles, migrations of the, 253. 
Vulture, the crested black, 559, 


Wady Halfa, on the Nile, 357, 362, 
387, 390. 

Wallace, Alfred Russel, xxiv. 

Whale, systematic migrations of the, 
248. 

Wild sheep hunting on the Arkat 
Mountains, 488. 

Willows (sallows) of the tundra, 69. 

Wolf, 93, 151, 152, 486, 488, 564. 

Wood-ibis, song of the, 216. 


Yamaul, messenger of the gods, 446, 
447. 
Yurt or Kirghiz house, 454, 570. 


Zaizan, town of, 403, 494. 
Zebra, flight of the, 256. 
Zoology, history of, xv. 


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