"Of Macaulay," St. Vincent laughed, good-naturedly. "You know I am a
journalist, and he has strongly influenced my style. But I promise you
I shall tone down. However, to return, had it not been for these
Mongol tribes, I should not have been halted in my travels. Instead of
being forced to marry a greasy princess, and to become proficient in
interclannish warfare and reindeer-stealing, I should have travelled
easily and peaceably to St. Petersburg."
"Oh, these heroes! Are they not exasperating, Frona? But what about
the reindeer-stealing and the greasy princesses?"
The Gold Commissioner's wife beamed upon him, and glancing for
permission to Frona, he went on.
"The coast people were Esquimo stock, merry-natured and happy, and
inoffensive. They called themselves the Oukilion, or the Sea Men. I
bought dogs and food from them, and they treated me splendidly. But
they were subject to the Chow Chuen, or interior people, who were known
as the Deer Men. The Chow Chuen were a savage, indomitable breed, with
all the fierceness of the untamed Mongol, plus double his viciousness.
As soon as I left the coast they fell upon me, confiscated my goods,
and made me a slave."
"But were there no Russians?" Mrs. Schoville asked.
"Russians? Among the Chow Chuen?" He laughed his amusement.
"Geographically, they are within the White Tsar's domain; but
politically, no. I doubt if they ever heard of him. Remember, the
interior of North-Eastern Siberia is hidden in the polar gloom, a terra
incognita, where few men have gone and none has returned."
"But you--"
"I chance to be the exception. Why I was spared, I do not know. It
just so happened. At first I was vilely treated, beaten by the women
and children, clothed in vermin-infested mangy furs, and fed on refuse.
They were utterly heartless. How I managed to survive is beyond me;
but I know that often and often, at first, I meditated suicide. The
only thing that saved me during that period from taking my own life was
the fact that I quickly became too stupefied and bestial, what of my
suffering and degradation. Half-frozen, half-starved, undergoing
untold misery and hardship, beaten many and many a time into
insensibility, I became the sheerest animal.
"On looking back much of it seems a dream. There are gaps which my
memory cannot fill. I have vague recollections of being lashed to a
sled and dragged from camp to camp and tribe to tribe. Carted about
for exhibition purposes, I suppose, much as we do lions and elephants
and wild men. How far I so journeyed up and down that bleak region I
cannot guess, though it must have been several thousand miles. I do
know that when consciousness returned to me and I really became myself
again, I was fully a thousand miles to the west of the point where I
was captured.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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