Their Relationship to the Mantchou.—Dreadful Condition of the outcast Nomads.—Character of the Tungusi.—Their Outfit for the Chase.—Bear-hunting.—Dwellings.—Diet.—A Night’s Halt with Tungusi in the Forest.—Ochotsk.

Though both belonging to the same stock, the fate of the Tungusi and Mantchou has been very different; for at the same time when the latter conquered the vast Chinese Empire, the former, after having spread over the greatest part of East Siberia, and driven before them the Jakuts, the Jukahiri, the Tchuktchi, and many other aboriginal tribes, were in their turn subjugated by the mightier Russians. In the year 1640 the Cossacks first encountered the Tungusi, and in 1644 the first Mantchou emperor mounted the Chinese throne. The same race which here imposes its yoke upon millions of subjects, there falls a prey to a small number of adventurers. However strange the fact, it is, however, easily explained, for the Chinese were worse armed and less disciplined than the Mantchou, while the Tungusi had nothing but bows and arrows to oppose to the Cossack fire-arms; and history (from Alexander the Great to Sadowa) teaches us that victory constantly sides with the best weapons.

In their intellectual development we find the same difference as in their fortunes between the Mantchou and the Siberian Tungusi. Two hundred and fifty years ago the former were still nomads, like their northern kinsfolk, and could neither read nor write, and already they have a rich literature, and their language is spoken at the court of Peking; while the Tungusi, oppressed and sunk in poverty, are still as ignorant as when they first encountered the Cossacks.

According to their occupations, and the various domestic animals employed by them, they are distinguished by the names of Reindeer, Horse, Dog, Forest, and River Tungusi; but although they are found from the basins of the Upper, Middle, and Lower Tunguska to the western shores of the Sea of Ochotsk, and from the Chinese frontiers and the Baikal to the Polar Ocean, their whole number does not amount to more than 30,000, and diminishes from year to year, in consequence of the ravages of the small-pox and other epidemic disorders transmitted to them by the Russians. Only a few rear horses and cattle, the reindeer being generally their domestic animal; and the impoverished Tunguse, who has been deprived of his herd by some contagious disorder or the ravages of the wolves, lives as a fisherman on the borders of a river, assisted by his dog, or retires into the forests as a promyschlenik, or hunter. Of the miseries which here await him, Wrangell relates a melancholy instance. In a solitary hut in one of the dreariest wildernesses imaginable, he found a Tunguse and his daughter. While the father, with his long snow-shoes, was pursuing a reindeer for several days together, this unfortunate girl remained alone and helpless in the hut—which even in summer afforded but an imperfect shelter against the rain and wind—exposed to the cold, and frequently to hunger, and without the least occupation. No wonder that the impoverished Tungusi not seldom sink into cannibalism. Neither the reindeer nor the dogs, nor the wives and children of their more fortunate countrymen, are secure from the attacks and voracity of these outcasts, who, in their turn, are treated like wild beasts, and destroyed without mercy. A bartering trade is, however, carried on with them, but only at a distance, and by signs; each party depositing its goods, and following every motion of the other with a suspicious eye.

The Russian Government, anxious to relieve the misery of the impoverished nomads, has given orders to settle them along the river-banks, and to provide them with the necessary fishing implements; but only extreme wretchedness can induce the Tunguse to relinquish the free life of the forest. His careless temper, his ready wit, and sprightly manner, distinguish him from the other Siberian tribes—the gloomy SamoÏede, the uncouth Ostiak, the reserved Jakut—but he is said to be full of deceit and malice. His vanity shows itself in the quantity of glass beads with which he decorates his dress of reindeer leather, from his small Tartar cap to the tips of his shoes. When chasing or travelling on his reindeer through the woods, he of course lays aside most of his finery, and puts on large water-tight boots, or sari, well greased with fat, to keep off the wet of the morass. His hunting apparatus is extremely simple. A small axe, a kettle, a leathern bag containing some dried fish, a dog, a short gun, or merely a bow and a sling, is all he requires for his expeditions into the forest. With the assistance of his long and narrow snow-shoes, he flies over the dazzling plain, and protects his eyes, like the Jakut, with a net made of black horse-hair. He never hesitates to attack the bear single-handed, and generally masters him. The nomad Tunguse naturally requires a movable dwelling. His tent is covered with leather, or large pieces of pliable bark, which are easily rolled up and transported from place to place. The yourt of the sedentary Tunguse resembles that of the Jakut, and is so small that it can be very quickly and thoroughly warmed by a fire kindled on the stone hearth in the centre. In his food the Tunguse is by no means dainty. One of his favorite dishes consists of the contents of a reindeer’s stomach mixed with wild berries, and spread out in thin cakes on the rind of trees, to be dried in the air or in the sun. Those who have settled on the Wiluj and in the neighborhood of Nertschinsk, likewise consume large quantities of brick tea, which they boil with fat and berries into a thick porridge, and this unwholesome food adds no doubt to the yellowness of their complexion.

But few of the Tungusi have been converted to Christianity, the majority being still addicted to Shamanism. They do not like to bury their dead, but place them, in their holiday dresses, in large chests, which they hang up between two trees. The hunting apparatus of the deceased is buried beneath the chest. No ceremonies are used on the occasion, except when a Shaman happens to be in the neighborhood, when a reindeer is sacrificed, on whose flesh the sorcerer and the relations regale themselves, while the spirits to whom the animal is supposed to be offered are obliged to content themselves with the smell of the burnt fat. As among the SamoÏedes or the Ostiaks, woman is a marketable ware among the Tungusi. The father gives his daughter in marriage for twenty or a hundred reindeer, or the bridegroom is obliged to earn her hand by a long period of service.

In East Siberia the Tungusi divide with the Jakuts the task of conveying goods or travellers through the forests, and afford the stranger frequent opportunities for admiring their agility and good-humor. On halting after a day’s journey, the reindeer are unpacked in an instant, the saddles and the goods ranged orderly on the ground, and the bridles collected and hung on branches of trees. The hungry animals soon disappear in the thicket, where they are left to provide for themselves. The men, who meanwhile have been busy with their axes, drag a larch-tree or two to the place of encampment. The smaller branches are lopped off and collected to serve as beds or seats upon the snow, while the resinous wood of the larger trunks is soon kindled into a lively fire. The kettle, filled with snow, is suspended from a strong forked branch placed obliquely in the ground over the fire, and in a few minutes the tea is ready—for the Tungusi proceed every evening according to the same method, and are consequently as expert as long and invariable practice can make them. Comfortably seated on his reindeer saddle, the traveller may now amuse himself with the dances, which the Tungusi accompany with an agreeable song; or if he choose to witness their agility in athletic exercises, it only costs him a word of encouragement, and a small donation of brandy. Two of the Tungusi hold a rope, and swing it with all their might, so that it does not touch the ground. Meanwhile a third Tunguse skips over the rope, picks up a bow and arrow, spans the bow and shoots the arrow, without once touching the rope. Some particularly bold and expert Tungusi will dance over a sword which a person lying on his back on the ground is swinging about with the greatest rapidity. Should our traveller be a friend of chess, the Tungusi are equally at his service, as they are passionately fond of this noblest of games, especially in the Kolymsk district. Like all other Siberian nomads, they visit at least once a year the various fairs which are held in the small towns scattered here and there over their immense territory—such as Kirensk, Olekminsk, Bargusin, Tschita, and Ochotsk, which, before the opening of the Amoor to trade, was the chief port of East Siberia.

Ochotsk is one of the dreariest places imaginable; at least no traveller who ever visited it has a word to say in its favor. Not a single tree grows for miles and miles around, and the wretched huts of which the town is composed lie in the midst of a swamp, which in summer is a fruitful source of malaria and pestilence. The River Ochota, at whose mouth Ochotsk is situated, does not break up before the end of May, and the ice-masses continue to pass the town till the 15th or 20th of June. Soon after begins the most unpleasant time of all the year, or “buss” of the Siberians, characterized by thick fog and a perpetual drizzling rain. The weather clears up in July, but as early as August the night-frosts cover the earth with rime. Salmon, of which no less than fourteen different species live in the Sea of Ochotsk, are the only food which the neighborhood affords; all other necessaries of life come from Jakutsk, and are of course enormously dear. Meat appears only from time to time on the tables of the wealthier merchants, and bread is an article of luxury. No wonder that the scurvy ravages every winter a place so ill-provisioned, and that at the time when the first caravan of pack-horses is expected to cross the Aldan Mountains, the people of Ochotsk, unable to restrain their impatience, go out a long way to meet it. As the former trade of the place has now no doubt been transferred to the settlements on the Amoor, it may well be supposed that Ochotsk has lost most of its former inhabitants, who can only be congratulated on their change of residence.