Read Ebook: Robert Merry's Museum Volumes I and II (1841) by Various Goodrich Samuel G Samuel Griswold Editor

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AUGUST TO DECEMBER, 1841.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by S. G. GOODRICH, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.

MERRY'S MUSEUM.

The Siberian Sable-Hunter.

In the northern part of Asia, there is a vast country called Siberia. It is nearly destitute of mountains, and consists of a great plain, stretching out to an immense extent, and being in many parts almost as level as the sea. In some places it is barren and bare, but in others it is covered with forests. Sometimes these are of pine, cedar, hemlock, and other evergreens, and grow so thickly as to make it difficult to pass between the trees.

Several great rivers cross this country, the chief of which are the Irtish and Obi, the Yenisei, and the Lena. These are almost as large as our great rivers of America. They flow from south to north, and empty themselves into a wide sea called the Arctic Ocean.

Siberia is a cold and desolate region, where the summer is short, and where winter reigns about two thirds of the year. There are few towns or cities, especially in the north, and thus large portions of the country are both uncultivated and uninhabited. There are vast tracts given up to solitude, or visited only by wolves, bears, and other savage animals, or are occasionally crossed by wandering parties of Tartars, who are the chief inhabitants of the country, and who are almost as wild as our American Indians.

This great country, which is more extensive than the whole of Europe, and about three times as large as the entire territory of the United States, belongs to Russia. It is under the government of the emperor of that country, who, you know, reigns over a larger portion of the earth than any other ruler.

It would seem that it could be no great advantage to hold possession of such a cold and dreary land as Siberia; but yet it produces a good deal of gold, silver, and copper, and the southern portions, having a rich soil, yield vast quantities of grain. The Tartars are fond of rearing horses and cattle, and so abundant are these creatures in some places, that a horse sells for two dollars and a half, and an ox for a dollar and a quarter! Oatmeal is sold for five cents a bushel, and a man may live for ten dollars a year! But though articles seem so very cheap, it must be remembered that a man must labor for about four cents a day; so that, after all, he has to work pretty hard for a good living.

But what I have been saying relates to the southern part of Siberia, where the climate is milder and the soil rich; as you go northward, the cold increases, and vegetation diminishes. At last you come to a country where there are few people, and where, as I have said before, the whole region seems to be given up to savage animals. In the loneliness of the forests here, the wolf and bear roam at their pleasure, being the sovereigns of the country. Yet it is in these very regions that a great source of wealth is found--for here are various animals which yield fine and beautiful furs. The most celebrated and valuable are produced by a species of weasel, called the sable--one skin of which sometimes sells for a hundred and fifty dollars. Beside the sable, the black fox, whose skin sells for twenty to seventy-five dollars, martens of two or three kinds, and other animals, are found, which produce valuable furs; and it is to be considered that it is the very coldness of the country which renders the furs so excellent. Creatures living here have need of very warm shirts and jackets, and nature, like a kind mother, takes good care of her children. Considering that the animals of the north of Siberia live among regions of snow and frost, where summer comes only for a few weeks in the year, and winter holds almost perpetual sway, she gives the sable, and the marten, and the fox, and even the wolf and bear, such nice warm clothes, that kings and queens envy them, and hunters are sent two thousand miles to procure these luxuries.

Thus it is that Siberia, after all, yields a great deal of wealth, and the emperor of Russia therefore holds on to it with a greedy grasp. But it is not for its productions alone that he holds it; for the emperor has a large family--about fifty millions in Europe and Asia--and as he is a hard master, some of them are pretty often rebellious; and to punish them, he sends them to Siberia. This is a kind of prison,--though a large one,--where those are banished who have incurred the displeasure or dislike of his majesty. So numerous are these exiles, that Tobolsk, one of the largest towns, and lying in the western part of the country, is to a great extent peopled by them and their descendants. It is about some of these exiles that I am going to tell you a story.

A few years since, a Polish officer, by the name of Ludovicus Pultova, was banished to Siberia, by Nicholas, the present emperor of Russia. His offence was, that he had engaged in the struggle of 1830 to liberate Poland, his native country, from the tyranny exercised over it by its Russian masters. The Poles had hoped for aid in their efforts from other nations; but in this they were disappointed, and they were overwhelmed by the power of the emperor. Thousands of them fled to other lands, to escape the fate that awaited them at home; others were shot, or shut up in dungeons; and others, amounting to many hundreds, were sent to Siberia.

The wife of Pultova was dead, but he had a son and daughter, the first about eighteen years of age, and the other sixteen, at the time of his banishment. It was no small part of his misery that they were not permitted to accompany him in his exile. After a year, however, they contrived to leave Warsaw, where they had lived, and, passing through many dangers and trials, they at last reached their father at Tobolsk.

This city is about as large as Salem in Massachusetts, and consists of a fort and citadel, with numerous dwellings around them, on a hill, and another portion on the low ground, bordering on the river Obi. The people, as I have said before, are chiefly exiles, or their descendants; and as it has been said that tyranny never banishes fools, so the society embraces many persons of talent and merit. Some of them, indeed, were celebrated for their genius, and numbers of them were of high rank and character. But what must a city of exiles be?--composed of people who have been separated from their native land--from their homes, their relatives--from all they held most dear; and that, too, with little hope of return or restoration to their former enjoyments? Most of them, also, are stripped of their property, and if they possessed wealth and independence before, they come here to drag out a life of poverty, perhaps of destitution.

Such was in fact the condition of Pultova. He was, in Warsaw, a merchant of great wealth and respectability. When his countrymen rose in their resistance, he received a military commission, and distinguished himself alike by his wisdom and bravery. In the fierce battles that raged around the walls of the city before its fall, he seemed almost too reckless of life, and in several instances hewed his way, at the head of his followers, into the very bosom of the Russian camp. He became an object of admiration to his countrymen, and of equal hatred to the Russians. When Warsaw fell, his punishment was proportioned to the magnitude of his offence. He was entirely stripped of his estates, and perpetual banishment was his sentence.

It is not easy to conceive of a situation more deplorable than his, at Tobolsk. The friends that he had there, like himself, were generally oppressed with poverty. Some shunned him, for fear of drawing down the vengeance of the government; for the chief officer of the citadel was of course a spy, who kept a vigilant watch over the people: and there are few persons, reduced to servitude and poverty, who do not learn to cower beneath the suspicious eye of authority. What could Pultova do? Here was no scope for his mercantile talents, even if he had the means of giving them exercise. His principles would not allow him to join the bands of men, who, driven to desperation by their hard fate, took to the highway, and plundered those whom they could master. Nor could he, like too many of his fellow-sufferers, drown his senses in drunkenness. Could he go to the mines, and in deep pits, away from the light of heaven, work for three or four cents a day, and that too in companionship with convicts and criminals of the lowest and most debased character? Could he go forth to the fields and labor for his subsistence, where the wages of a man trained to toil, were hardly sufficient for subsistence?

These were the questions which the poor exile had occasion to revolve in his mind; and after his son and daughter joined him, and the few dollars he had brought with him were nearly exhausted, it became necessary that he should decide upon some course of action. Nor were these considerations those alone which occupied his mind. He had also to reflect upon the degradation of his country--the ruin of those hopes of liberty which had been indulged--the wreck of his personal fortunes--and the exchange, in his own case, of independence for poverty.

It requires a stout heart to bear up against such misfortunes, and at the same time to support the heavy burden which is added in that bitter sense of wrong and injustice, which comes again and again, under such circumstances, to ask for revenge or retribution. But Pultova was not only a man of energy in the field--he was something better--a man of that moral courage which enabled him to contend against weakness of heart in the hour of trouble. I shall best make you understand his feelings and character by telling you how he spoke to his children, a few weeks after their arrival.

"My dear Alexis," said he, "you complain for want of books, that you may pursue your studies and occupy your mind: how can we get books in Siberia, and that without money? You are uneasy for want of something to do--some amusement or occupation;--think, my boy, how many of our countrymen are at this very hour in dungeons, their limbs restrained by chains, and not only denied books and amusement, but friends, the pure air, nay the very light of heaven! Think how many a noble Polish heart is now beating and fluttering, like a caged eagle, against the gratings that confine it--how many a hero, who seemed destined to fill the world with his glorious deeds, is now in solitude, alone, emaciated, buried from the world's view, and lost to all existence, save that he still feels, suffers, despairs--and all this without a friend who may share his sorrow! How long and weary is a single day to you, Alexis; think how tedious the hours to the prisoner in the prolonged night of the dungeon!"

"Dear father," said Alexis; "this is dreadful--but how can it help our condition? It only shows us that there is deeper sorrow than ours."

"Yes, Alexis; and from this contrast we may derive consolation. Whether it be rational or not, still, by contemplating these deeper sorrows of our fellow-men, and especially of our fellow-countrymen, we may alleviate our own. But let me suggest another subject for contemplation: what are we to do for food, Alexis? My money is entirely gone except five dollars, and this can last for only a few weeks."

"Why, father, I can do something, surely."

"Well, what can you do?"

"I do not know--I cannot say; I never thought of it before. Cannot you borrow some money?"

"No; and if I could I would not. No, no, Alexis, our circumstances have changed. It is the will of God. We are now poor, and we must toil for a subsistence. It is a grievous change--but it is no disgrace, at least. We are indeed worse off than the common laborer, for our muscles are not so strong as his; but we must give them strength by exercise. We have pride and long habit to contend with; but these we must conquer. It is weakness, it is folly, to yield to circumstances. If the ship leaks, we must take to the boat. Heaven may prosper our efforts, and bring us, after days of trial, to a safe harbor. But my greatest anxiety is for poor Kathinka."

"Fear not for me," said the lovely girl, rushing to her father and kneeling before him--"fear not for me!"

"Kathinka, I did not know you was in the room."

"Nor was I till this moment; but the door was ajar, and I have heard all. Dear father--dear Alexis--fear not for me. I will be no burthen--I will aid you rather."

"My noble child!" said the old man, as he placed his arms around the kneeling girl, and while his tears fell fast upon her brow, "you are indeed worthy of your mother, who, with all the softness of woman, had the energy of a hero. In early life, while contending with difficulties in my business, she was ever my helper and supporter. In every day of darkness, she was my guiding-star. She has indeed bequeathed her spirit to me in you, Kathinka."

"My dear father, this is indeed most kind, and I will endeavor to make good the opinion you entertain of me. See! I have already begun my work. Do you observe this collar? I have foreseen difficulties, and I have wrought this that I may sell it and get money by it."

"Indeed!" said Pultova, "you are a brave girl;--and who put this into your head?"

"I do not know--I thought of it myself, I believe."

"And who do you think will buy this collar, here at Tobolsk? Who can pay money for such finery?"

"I intend to sell it to the governor's lady. She at least has money, for I saw her at the chapel a few days since, and she was gaily dressed. I do not doubt she will pay me for the collar."

At these words a bright flush came to the old man's cheek, and his eye flashed with the fire of pride. The thought in his mind was--"And can I condescend to live upon the money that comes from the wife of the governor, the officer, the tool of the emperor, my oppressor? And shall my daughter, a descendant of Poniatowsky, be a slave to these cringing minions of power?" But he spoke not the thought aloud. A better and wiser feeling came over him, and kissing his daughter's cheek, he went to his room, leaving his children together.

A long and serious conversation ensued between them, the result of which was a mutual determination to seek some employment, by which they could obtain the means of support for their parent and themselves. A few days after this had elapsed, when Alexis came home with an animated countenance, and finding his sister, told her of a scheme he had formed for himself, which was to join a party of fur hunters, who were about to set out for the northeastern regions of Siberia. Kathinka listened attentively, and, after some reflection, replied--"Alexis, I approve of your scheme. If our father assents to it, you must certainly go."

"It seems to me that you are very ready to part with me!" said Alexis, a little poutingly.

"Nay, nay," said the girl; "don't be playing the boy, for it is time that you were a man. Think not, dear Alexis, that I shall not miss you; think not that I shall feel no anxiety for my only brother, my only companion, and, save our good parent, the only friend I have in Siberia."

Alexis smiled, though the tear was in his eye. He said nothing, but, clasping Kathinka's hand tenderly, he went to consult with his father. It is sufficient to say, that at last his consent was obtained, and in a few days the young hunter, by the active efforts of his sister, was equipped for the expedition. The evening before he was to set out, he had a long interview with Kathinka, who encouraged him to procure the finest sable skins, saying that she had a scheme of her own for disposing of them to advantage.

"And what is that precious scheme of yours?" said Alexis.

"I do not like to tell you, for you will say it is all a girl's romance."

"But you must tell me."

"Yes; I remember her well. But why was she there? and what became of her? And did father know that she was there? or was it only you and mother and me that saw her?"

"Too many questions at once, Lex! I will tell you all I know. The princess was accidentally captured by father's troop in one of its excursions to a neighboring village. She had fled from Warsaw a few days before, when the insurrection first broke out, and she had not yet found the means of going to St. Petersburgh. Father must have known who she was, though he affected not to know. He kept the secret to himself and his family, fearing, perhaps, that some harm would come to the lady if she were discovered. It was while she was at our house that our blessed mother died. Father, you know, was at that time engaged with the Russians, without the walls. The princess and myself only were at mother's bedside when she breathed her last. Her mind was bright and calm. Indeed, it seemed to me that there was something of prophecy in her spirit then. A look so beautiful I never saw. 'Sweet lady,' said she, taking the hand of the princess, 'I see how this dreadful strife will end. Poor Poland is destined to fall--and many a noble heart must fall with her. I know not that my gallant husband may survive; but if he do, he will be an exile and an outcast. For him, I have few fears, for I know that he has a spirit that cannot be crushed or broken. In Siberia, he will still be Pultova. But, princess, forgive if a mother's heart, in the shadow of death, sinks at the idea of leaving children, and especially this dear girl, in such circumstances. What will become of Kathinka, if my fears prove prophetic?'

"The lady wept, but answered not for some time. At last she said, looking into mother's face, which seemed like that of an angel--'I feel your appeal, dear lady, and I will answer it. Your husband has indeed put my life in peril, by bringing me here; but he did it in the discharge of duty, and in ignorance of my name and character. He has at least given me safety, and I owe him thanks. I owe you, also, a debt of gratitude, and it shall be repaid to your child. You know my power with the emperor is small, for I have been a friend to Poland, and this has almost brought me into disgrace at court. But fear not. If Kathinka should ever need a friend, let her apply to Lodoiska.'

"Such were the exact words of the princess. Our mother soon after died, and in a few days I contrived the lady's escape,--which was happily effected. Father never spoke to me on the subject. He must have known it, and approved of it, but perhaps he wished not to take an active part in the matter."

"This is very interesting," said Alexis; "but what has it to do with the sable skins?"

"A great deal--they must go to the princess, and she must make a market for them at court."

"And who is to take them to her?"

"You? This is indeed a girl's romance. However, there can be no harm in getting sable skins, for they bring the best price." After much further conversation between the brother and sister, they parted for the night; and the next day, with a father's blessing and a sister's tenderest farewell, the young hunter set out on his long and arduous adventures.

The Wolf that pretended to be robbed.

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