THE TCHUKTCHI. . 265 



All preliminaries having been arranged, the orthodox Russians repair to 

 the chapel for the purpose of hearing a solemn mass, after which, the hoisting 

 of a flag on the tower of the ostrog announces the opening of the market. 

 At this welcome sign, the Tchuktchi, completely armed with spears, bows, and 

 arrows, advance with their sledges, and form a wide semicircle round the 

 fort, while the Russians, and the other visitors of the fair, ranged opposite to 

 them, await in breathless silence the tolling of the bell, which is to begin the 

 active business of the day. At the very first sound, each trader, grotesquely 

 laden with packages of tobacco, kettles, knives, or whatever else he supposes 

 best able to supply some want, or to strike some fancy of the Tchuktchi, rush- 

 es as fast as he can towards the sledges, and in the jumble not seldom knocks 

 down a competitor, or is himself stretched at full length on the snow. But, 

 unmindful of the loss of cap and gloves, which he does not give himself time 

 to pick up, he starts afresh, to make up for the delay by redoubled activity. 

 Before he reaches the first Tchuktch, his eloquence breaks forth in an inter- 

 minable flow, and in a strange jargon of Russian, Tchuktch, and Jakute, he 

 pi-aises the excellence of his tobacco or the solidity of his kettles. The imper- 

 turbable gravity of the Tchuktch forms a remarkable contrast with the greedy 

 eagerness of the Russian trader ; without replying to his harangue, he merely 

 shakes his head if the other offers him too little for his goods, and never for 

 an instant loses his self-possession: while the Russian, in his hurry, not sel 

 dom hands over two pouds of tobacco for one, or pockets a red fox instead of 

 a black one. Although the Tchuktch have no scales with them, it is not easy 

 to deceive them in the weight, for they know exactly by the feeling of the 

 hand whether a quarter of a pound is wanting to the poud. The whole fail- 

 seldom lasts longer than three days, and Ostrownoje, which must have but very 

 few stationary inhabitants indeed (as it is not even mentioned in statistical ac- 

 counts, which cite towns of seventeen souls), is soon after abandoned for many 

 months to its ultra- Siberian solitude. 



But before we allow the Tchuktchi to retire to their deserts, we may learn 

 something more of their habits by accompanying Mr. Matiuschkin Wrangell's 

 companion on a visit to the ladies of one of their first chiefs. " We enter the 

 outer tent, or ' namet,' consisting of tanned reindeer skins supported on a slen- 

 der frame-work. An opening at the top to let out the smoke, and a kettle in 

 the centre, announce that antechamber and kitchen are here harmoniously blend- 

 ed into one. But where are the inmates ? Most probably in that large sack 

 made of the finest skins of reindeer calves, which occupies, near the kettle, the 

 centre of the 'namet.' To penetrate into this ' sanctum sanctorum' of the 

 Tchuktch household, we raise the loose flap which serves as a door, creep on all 

 fours through the opening, cautiously re-fasten the flap by tucking it under the 

 floor-skin, and find ourselves in the reception or withdrawing room the ' polog.' 

 A snug box no doubt for a cold climate/but rather low, as we can not stand up- 

 right in it, and not quite so well ventilated as a sanitary commissioner would 

 approve of, as it has positively no opening for light or air. A suffocating 

 smoke meets us on entering, we rub our eyes, and when they have at length got 

 accustomed to the biting atmosphere, we perceive, by the gloomy light of a 



