On Wednesday, September 27th, we again took the field, with two Cossacks, a Korak interpreter, eight or ten men, and fourteen horses. A little snow fell on the day previous to our departure, but it did not materially affect the road, and only served as a warning to us that winter was at hand, and we should not expect much more pleasant weather. We made our way as rapidly as possible along the coast of the Okhotsk Sea, partly on the beach under the cliffs, and partly over low wooded hills and valleys, extending down to the coast from the central mountain range. We passed the settlements of Amanina (ah-man'-in-ah), Vaempolka (vah-yem'-pol-kah), Kakhtana (kakh'-tan-ah'), and Polan (po-lahn'), changing horses and men at every village and finally, on the 3d of October, reached Lesnoi—the last Kamchadal settlement in the peninsula. Lesnoi was situated2, as nearly as we could ascertain3, in lat. 59° 20', long. 160° 25', about a hundred and fifty versts south of the Korak steppes, and nearly two hundred miles in an air line from the settlement of Gizhiga, which for the present was our objective point.
We had hitherto experienced little difficulty in making our way through the peninsula, as we had been especially favoured by weather, and there had been few natural obstacles to stop or delay our progress. Now, however, we were about to enter a wilderness4 which was entirely5 uninhabited, and little known even to our Kamchadal guides. North of Lesnoi the great central range of the Kamchatka mountains broke off abruptly6 into the Okhotsk Sea, in a long line of tremendous precipices8, and interposed a great rugged9 wall between us and the steppes of the Wandering Koraks. This mountain range was very difficult to pass with horses, even in midsummer, and was of course infinitely10 worse now, when the mountain streams were swollen11 by the fall rains into foaming12 torrents13, and the storms which herald15 the approach of winter might be at any moment expected. The Kamchadals at Lesnoi declared positively16 that it was of no use to attempt to cross this range until the rivers should freeze over and snow enough fall to permit the use of dog-sledges, and that they were not willing to risk fifteen or twenty horses, to say nothing of their own lives, in any such adventure. The Major told them, in language more expressive19 than polite, that he didn't believe a word of any such yarn20; that the mountains had to be crossed, and that go they must and should. They had evidently never had to deal before with any such determined21, self-willed individual as the Major proved to be, and, after some consultation22 among themselves, they agreed to make the attempt with eight unloaded horses, leaving all our baggage and heavy equipage at Lesnoi. This the Major at first would not listen to; but after thinking the situation over he decided23 to divide our small force into two parties—one to go around the mountains by water with the whale-boat and heavy baggage, and one over them with twenty unloaded horses. The road over the mountains was supposed to lie near the seacoast, so that the land party would be most of the time within signalling distance of the whale-boat, and in case either party met with any accident or found its progress stopped by unforeseen obstacles the other could come to its assistance. Near the middle of the mountainous tract24, just west of the principal ridge25, there was said to be a small river called the Samanka (sa-mahn'-kah), and the mouth of this river was agreed upon as a rendezvous26 for the two parties in case they lost sight of each other during storms or foggy weather. The Major decided to go with Dodd in the whale-boat, and gave me command of the land party, consisting of our best Cossack, Viushin, six Kamchadals, and twenty light horses. Flags were made, a code of signals was agreed upon, the heavy baggage was transferred to the whale-boat and a large sealskin canoe, and early on the morning of October 4th I bade the Major and Dodd good-bye at the beach, and they pushed off. We started up our train of horses as the boats disappeared around a projecting bluff27, and cantered away briskly across the valley toward a gap in the mountains, through which we entered the "wilderness." The road for the first ten or fifteen versts was very good; but I was surprised to find that, instead of leading us along the seashore, it went directly back into the mountains away from the sea, and I began to fear that our arrangements for cooperation would be of little avail. Thinking that the whale-boat would not probably get far the first day under oars28 and without wind, we encamped early in a narrow valley between two parallel ranges of mountains. I tried, by climbing a low mountain back of our tent, to get a sight of the sea; but we were at least fifteen versts from the coast, and the view was limited by an intervening range of rugged peaks, many of which reach the altitude of perpetual snow. It was rather lonely to camp that night without seeing Dodd's cheerful face by the fireside, and I missed more than I thought I should the lively sallies, comical stories and good-humoured pleasantry which had hitherto brightened the long hours of camp life. If Dodd could have read my thoughts that evening, as I sat in solitary29 majesty30 by the fireside, he would have been satisfied that his society was not unappreciated, nor his absence unfelt. Viushin took especial pains with the preparation of my supper, and did the best he could, poor fellow, to enliven the solitary meal with stories and funny reminiscences of Kamchatkan travel; but the venison cutlets had lost somehow their usual savour, and the Russian jokes and stories I could not understand. After supper I lay down upon my bearskins in the tent, and fell asleep watching the round moon rise over a ragged31 volcanic32 peak east of the valley.
On the second day we travelled through a narrow tortuous33 valley among the mountains, over spongy swamps of moss34, and across deep narrow creeks35, until we reached a ruined subterranean36 hut nearly half way from Lesnoi to the Samanka River. Here we ate a lunch of dried fish and hardbread, and started again up the valley in a heavy rain-storm, surrounded on all sides by rocks, snow-capped mountains, and extinct volcanic peaks. The road momentarily grew worse. The valley narrowed gradually to a wild rocky ca?on, a hundred and fifty feet in depth, at the bottom of which ran a swollen mountain torrent14, foaming around sharp black rocks, and falling over ledges18 of lava37 in magnificent cascades38. Along the black precipitous sides of this "Devil's Pass" there did not seem to be footing for a chamois; but our guide said that he had been through it many times before, and dismounting from his horse he cautiously led the way along a narrow rocky ledge17 in the face of the cliff which I had not before noticed. Over this we carefully made our way, now descending39 nearly to the water's edge, and then rising again until the roaring stream was fifty feet below, and we could drop stones from our outstretched arms directly into the boiling, foaming waters. Presuming too much upon the sagacity of a sure-footed horse, I carelessly attempted the passage of the ravine without dismounting, and came near paying the penalty of my rashness by a violent death. About half way through, where the trail was only eight or ten feet above the bed of the torrent, the ledge, or a portion of it, gave way under my horse's feet, and we went down together in a struggling mass upon the rocks in the channel of the stream. I had taken the precaution to disengage my feet from the treacherous40 iron stirrups, and as we fell I threw myself toward the face of the cliff so as to avoid being crushed by my horse. The fall was not a very long one, and I came down uppermost, but narrowly escaped having my head broken by my animal's hoofs41 as he struggled to regain42 his feet. He was somewhat cut and bruised43, but not seriously hurt, and tightening44 the saddle-girth I waded45 along through the water, leading him after me until I was able to regain the path. Then climbing into the saddle again, with dripping clothes and somewhat shaken nerves, I rode on.
Just before dark we reached a point where further progress in that direction seemed to be absolutely cut off by a range of high mountains which ran directly across the valley. It was the central ridge of the Samanka Mountains. I looked around with a glance of inquiring surprise at the guide, who pointed46 directly over the range, and said that there lay our road. A forest of birch extended about half way up the mountain side, and was succeeded by low evergreen47 bushes, trailing-pine, and finally by bare black rocks rising high over all, where not even the hardy48 reindeer-moss could find soil enough to bury its roots. I no longer wondered at the positive declaration of the Kamchadals, that with loaded horses it would be impossible to cross, and began to doubt whether it could be done even with light horses. It looked very dubious49 to me, accustomed as I was to rough climbing and mountain roads. I decided to camp at once where we were, and obtain as much rest as possible, so that we and our horses would be fresh for the hard day's work which evidently lay before us. Night closed in early and gloomily, the rain still falling in torrents, so that we had no opportunity of drying our wet clothes. I longed for a drink of brandy to warm my chilled blood, but my pocket flask51 had been forgotten in the hurry of our departure from Lesnoi, and I was obliged to content myself with the milder stimulus52 of hot tea. My bedding, having been wrapped up in an oilcloth blanket, was fortunately dry, and crawling feet first, wet as I was, into my bearskin bag, and covering up warmly with heavy blankets, I slept in comparative comfort.
Viushin waked me early in the morning with the announcement that it was snowing. I rose hastily and putting aside the canvas of the tent looked out. That which I most dreaded53 had happened. A driving snowstorm was sweeping54 down the valley, and Nature had assumed suddenly the stern aspect and white pitiless garb55 of winter. Snow had already fallen to a depth of three inches in the valley, and on the mountains, of course, it would be deep, soft, and drifted. I hesitated for a moment about attempting to cross the rugged range in such weather; but my orders were imperative56 to go on at least to the Samanka River, and a failure to do so might defeat the object of the whole expedition. Previous experience convinced me that the Major would not let a storm interfere57 with the execution of his plans; and if he should succeed in reaching the Samanka River and I should not, I never could recover from the mortification58 of the failure, nor be able to convince him that Anglo-Saxon blood was as good as Slavonic. I reluctantly gave the order therefore to break camp, and as soon as the horses could be collected and saddled we started for the base of the mountain range. Hardly had we ascended59 two hundred feet out of the shelter of the valley before we were met by a hurricane of wind from the northeast, which swept blinding, suffocating60 clouds of snow down the slope into our faces until earth and sky seemed mingled61 and lost in a great white whirling mist. The ascent62 soon became so steep and rocky that we could no longer ride our horses up it. We therefore dismounted, and wading63 laboriously64 through deep soft drifts, and climbing painfully over sharp jagged rocks, which cut open our sealskin boots, we dragged our horses slowly upward. We had ascended wearily in this way perhaps a thousand feet, when I became so exhausted65 that I was compelled to lie down. The snow in many places was drifted as high as my waist, and my horse refused to take a step until he was absolutely dragged to it. After a rest of a few moments we pushed on, and after another hour of hard work we succeeded in gaining what seemed to be the crest66 of the mountain, perhaps 2000 feet above the sea. Here the fury of the wind was almost irresistible67. Dense68 clouds of driving snow hid everything from sight at a distance of a few steps, and we seemed to be standing69 on a fragment of a wrecked70 world enveloped71 in a whirling tempest of stinging snowflakes. Now and then a black volcanic crag, inaccessible72 as the peak of the Matterhorn, would loom50 out in the white mist far above our heads, as if suspended in mid-air, giving a startling momentary73 wildness to the scene; then it would disappear again in flying snow, and leave us staring blindly into vacancy74. A long fringe of icicles hung round the visor of my cap, and my clothes, drenched75 with the heavy rain of the previous day, froze into a stiff crackling armour76 of ice upon my body. Blinded by the snow, with benumbed limbs and chattering77 teeth, I mounted my horse and let him go where he would, only entreating78 the guide to hurry and get down somewhere off from this exposed position. He tried in vain to compel his horse to face the storm. Neither shouts nor blows could force him to turn round, and he was obliged finally to ride along the crest of the mountain to the eastward79. We went down into a comparatively sheltered valley, up again upon another ridge higher than the first, around the side of a conical peak where the wind blew with great force, down into another deep ravine and up still another ridge, until I lost entirely the direction of our route and the points of the compass, and had not the slightest idea where we were going. I only knew that we were half frozen and in a perfect wilderness of mountains.
I had noticed several times within half an hour that our guide was holding frequent and anxious consultations80 with the other Kamchadals about our road, and that he seemed to be confused and in doubt as to the direction in which we ought to go. He now came to me with a gloomy face, and confessed that we were lost. I could not blame the poor fellow for losing the road in such a storm, but I told him to go on in what he believed to be the direction of the Samanka River, and if we succeeded in finding somewhere a sheltered valley we would camp and wait for better weather. I wished to caution him also against riding accidentally over the edges of precipices in the blinding snow, but I could not speak Russian enough to make myself understood.
We wandered on aimlessly for two hours, over ridges81, up peaks, and down into shallow valleys, getting deeper and deeper apparently82 into the heart of the mountains but finding no shelter from the storm. It became evident that something must be done, or we should all freeze to death. I finally called the guide, told him I would take the lead myself, and opening my little pocket compass, showed him the direction of the sea-coast. In that direction I determined to go until we should come out somewhere. He looked in stupid wonder for a moment at the little brass box with its trembling needle, and then cried out despairingly, "Oh, Barin! How does the come-páss know anything about these accursed mountains? The come-páss never has been over this road before. I've travelled here all my life, and, God forgive me, I don't know where the sea is!" Hungry, anxious, and half frozen as I was, I could not help smiling at our guide's idea of an inexperienced compass which had never travelled in Kamchatka, and could not therefore know anything about the road. I assured him confidently that the "come-páss" was a great expert at finding the sea in a storm; but he shook his head mournfully, as if he had little faith in its abilities, and refused to go in the direction that I indicated. Finding it impossible to make my horse face the wind, I dismounted, and, compass in hand, led him away in the direction of the sea, followed by Viushin, who, with an enormous bearskin wrapped around his head, looked like some wild animal. The guide, seeing that we were determined to trust in the compass, finally concluded to go with us. Our progress was necessarily very slow, as the snow was deep, our limbs chilled and stiffened83 by their icy covering, and a hurricane of wind blowing in our faces. About the middle of the afternoon, however, we came suddenly out upon the very brink84 of a storm-swept precipice7 a hundred and fifty feet in depth, against the base of which the sea was hurling85 tremendous green breakers with a roar that drowned the rushing noise of the wind. I had never imagined so wild and lonely a scene. Behind and around us lay a wilderness of white, desolate86 peaks, crowded together under a grey, pitiless sky, with here and there a patch of trailing-pine, or a black pinnacle87 of trap-rock, to intensify88 by contrast the ghastly whiteness and desolation of the weird89 snowy mountains. In front, but far below, was the troubled sea, rolling mysteriously out of a grey mist of snowflakes, breaking in thick sheets of clotted90 froth against the black cliff, and making long reverberations, and hollow, gurgling noises in the subterranean caverns91 which it had hollowed out. Snow, water, and mountains, and in the foreground a little group of ice-covered men and shaggy horses, staring at the sea from the summit of a mighty92 cliff! It was a simple picture, but it was full of cheerless, mournful suggestions. Our guide, after looking eagerly up and down the gloomy precipitous coast in search of some familiar landmark93, finally turned to me with a brighter face, and asked to see the compass. I unscrewed the cover and showed him the blue quivering needle still pointing to the north. He examined it curiously94, but with evident respect for its mysterious powers, and at last said that it was truly a "great master," and wanted to know if it always pointed toward the sea! I tried to explain to him its nature and use, but I could not make him understand, and he walked away firmly believing that there was something uncanny and supernatural about a little brass box that could point out the road to the sea in a country where it had never before been!
We pushed on to the northward95 throughout the afternoon, keeping as near the coast as possible, winding96 around among the thickly scattered97 peaks and crossing no less than nine low ridges of the mountain range.
I noticed throughout the day the peculiar98 phenomenon of which I had read in Tyndall's Glaciers99 of the Alps—the blue light which seemed to fill every footprint and little crevice100 in the snow. The hole made by a long slender stick was fairly luminous101 with what appeared to be deep blue vapour. I never saw this singular phenomenon so marked at any other time during nearly three years of northern travel.
About an hour after dark we rode down into a deep lonely valley, which came out, our guide said, upon the sea beach near the mouth of the Samanka River. Here no snow had fallen, but it was raining heavily. I thought it hardly possible that the Major and Dodd could have reached the appointed rendezvous in such a storm; but I directed the men to pitch the tent, while Viushin and I rode on to the mouth of the river to ascertain whether the whale-boat had arrived or not. It was too dark to see anything distinctly, but we found no evidence that human beings had ever been there, and returned disappointed to camp. We were never more glad to get under a tent, eat supper, and crawl into our bearskin sleeping-bags, than after that exhausting day's work. Our clothes had been either wet or frozen for nearly forty-eight hours, and we had been fourteen hours on foot and in the saddle, without warm food or rest.
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1
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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48
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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