the czar of horses

…time & space ARE KNOWN on the back of a horsE…

Nikolai Nikolayevich Chernov - 1901

Verigen Village Yorkton, Saskatchewan

            It was a time of firm beginnings, hard landings and the heart ache of an uncertain exodus. The land was cold and harsh and unwelcoming. The locals were of an equal quality to the land. There was no food and next to no work. Our lot was desperate, we had no choice but to dig down into the soil to survive. The men would take whatever work was available. Initially there was none. Eventually some worked in lumber yards, most found work throwing axes for the railway, others did whatever was asked. All work was accepted regardless of the wages offered. At times we laboured for free just to prove our worth in the hopes of earning work. With little work available we had next to no money and little means to acquire lumber for shelter or grain for food. Spiritually we were at odds with how to organize ourselves upon this new land.

            We dug sod houses in the soil to curb the northern winds from freezing us to death. Ever so slowly we made progress, better said, we managed to remain alive. There was a pressing need for draught animals in those early years on the plains. We had been allotted plenty of land, yet none of it was broken or ready for seed. Initially we had no seed, but this was to change with community resources and outside support coming from the Tolstoyans, Quakers, Molokans and Mennonites. Once we were able to acquire seed some of our men and women began to pull ploughs to break the soil. Most of the men were off working on the railway. Everybody sought work wherever they could to earn money for community purchases. Anyone with a skill or ability was assigned a relative duty. This is how it was at first. After a few years of such difficulties we began to organize and acquire the needed resources to farm, feed and settle ourselves.

            There was a pressing and endless need to acquire beasts of burden to pull the ploughs and lead the wagons. At first several cattle had been acquired and also several horses, however, being a community of seventy-five hundred people, this need for animals was persistent. To the task of finding and acquiring horses I was assigned. This was due to our family’s reputation among the Slavyanka community in Azerbaijan as well as our prosperous stables in Ekaterinoslav before the exile from the Milky Waters area of the Tavrida Oblast[1]near the Don River Basin. 

            Being able bodied I was tasked by Peter the Lordly[2] from afar in Siberia, via his chosen administrators, to pursue the activity of securing and training horses for our community villages. Peter the Lordly was our neighbour in Azerbaijan and he knew well of my capacities. I felt the strong desire to be of service and to put my knowledge to good use. I was given a quarter horse for travel along with a map of the Assiniboine and North West territories. It was in English so I couldn’t understand the names. The landmarks on the prairie were easy enough to interpret as they were few and far between, although the lengths were in unfamiliar units as well. Nonetheless I endeavoured to navigate the endless open spaces of the plains. It was unlike the mountains of Azerbaijan and Georgia but it reminded me of my travels east of Tsaritsyn[3] and the open skies of Kazakhstani Steppe. My task was to establish contacts with the local directors of trading company outposts. The main outfitter of such services in our area was the Hudson’s Bay Company, another was the Northwest Trading Company. I attempted to make inroads with both.

            Surrounding these forts there were always encampments of the Assiniboine and Cree Natives. They were a desolate and nomadic lot, they lived on horseback as did the Tatars, but they rode with less rebellion in their souls. The Natives were unwanted and neglected, yet persistently, they camped on the fringes of any fort, serving as a vital component to the supply and functioning of the trading outfits. These Natives were often treated poorly. Considerate neighbourly customs were not typical upon the Canadian Prairies, tea and greetings were not exchanged ceremoniously. The customs surrounding violence and honour were also rather odd, it was unlike the Caucasus. Here neighbours offered little hospitality and the etiquette was most strange or better said, somewhat absent. Many men were drunkenly and some were disheveled, although this was nothing new for my eyes. The Natives that set up camp around the forts appeared to seek gunpowder for their rifles and whiskey for their bellies. They brought furs and occasionally wild mustangs to the forts for barter. Theirs was a lot becoming ever more lost upon their own lands. I had seen this pattern before.

            Fort Pelly was a trading post located north of the settlement they named Verigen[4], our first settlement in Canada, which was named after Peter the Lordly Verigen. Fort Pelly was the first trading post where I sought to secure horses for our people. I soon found the situation to be untenable as we had little money to purchase the horses and the proprietors were unwilling to extend any credit to Natives or to us Doukhobors. In addition, many of the proprietors were initially hesitant to sell to us on account of our language and our communal predilections. The difficulty in obtaining horses and draught animals from the trading posts was consistent no matter where I travelled.

            There was one instance on the edges of the Petaigan River outpost that was to change our fate. It was late September and the ground had its first frost. Among the camp of Assiniboine Natives, a gathering among their people was under way. A few chiefs were in attendance and there appeared to be some outstanding contention regarding several horses that the outpost commander was at issue with. I drew closer to pay heed to the proceedings.  There were a few hundred people gathered in a circle. The outpost commander was flanked by several armed militia men, they had oddly shaped felt hats and held rifles at the ready. A few Native women were bundled in blankets and sat on furs. There were a few fires smoldering behind the congregation. Two young Assiniboine men stood in the center of the crowd. One of them held the reins of a horse that clearly was possibly injured, distraught and untrained.

            ‘If you can’t ride ‘em, we won’t buy ‘em,’ shouted the outpost commander, ‘we’ve had enough of this bullshit, y’all Injuns just be giving us your bad horses that kill our good men. Go on then, get on it, show me what it’s worth.’

            At that moment one of the young Native men motioned his hand to the circle. Another Assiniboine came forward. The Native holding the reins, tightened his grip and pulled the horse in closer towards himself. The horse jerked its head back, resisting the control. He gnawed at the bit, gnashing his teeth and punching his front hoofs in the dirt. In a fluid motion the first Native cupped his hands between his knees, while the other took a stride into his cupped hands and stepped up towards the horse’s back. I knew this would only frighten and further agitate the filly. The poor Native didn't so much as land on her back before she broke into a thrusting kick with her hind legs and sent him flying off. He looked to hurt himself pretty badly on the fall. When he landed it sounded that his wrist might have snapped. He did not get up right away, then slowly, he pulled himself up into a seated position. The man holding the reins let enough slack pass so as not to lose his grip of the straps. The filly continued to buck and snort, she was extremely distressed.

            ‘See what you’ve done!’ Shouted the outpost commander. ‘Now give me back my money!’

            There was a rolling noise among the crowd. The filly fought harder to earn its freedom. Another young Assiniboine Native jumped up to help the other man holding the reins. They tried to settle the horse, speaking to it in calmer tones. This helped a little but the horse was still very agitated. They struggled to settle it completely. It yanked on them as they gave it slack. An elder man approached the commander and stood before him. He stood in silence, then motioned with his palm for the younger Natives to bring the reins towards him and the commander. There was no urgency in this man. After a few moments, they were able to bring the reins forwards and pass them to the elder. The elder leaned forward and grabbed the commander’s hand. He placed the reins in his hand and said, ‘No, horse is yours.’

            He then raised his other hand and left the commander. The commander was upset and in an automatic reaction he clasped the reins with both hands. He anchored himself and pulled the reins tighter.

            ‘God damn Indians!’ He shouted, as be passed the reins off to another officer at his side.

            At this moment I approached the commander and said, ‘I will buy this horse from you for half of what you paid.’

            He looked at me and answered, ‘Who the hell might you be then?’

            ‘I am Nikolai Nikolayevich Chernov, from Verigen.’ I replied, then I continued, ‘if I can subdue this horse will you sell it?’

            ‘You can have this horse for ten dollars, but it would sooner kill you for free,’ stated the commander. 

            ‘Please hand me that bridle, over there, on the ground.’ I added.

            ‘This is not a horse that will take a bridle, but knock yourself out.’ The commander had his second in command retrieve and pass forward the bridle. It was made of leather and the bit was made of steel. I took the bridle and loosened the buckles so that it was wide and opened. Then I held my other hand out and motioned for the reins. The commander handed the reins over with a sense of grim satisfaction. Anticipating my failure, he smirked.

             I took a firm hold and began to gradually close the distance between myself and the filly. The horse was snorting and thrusting its head downwards trying to tug the reins out of my hands. It took me a while to coax it into proximity, but once I was close enough, I put my hand on its shoulder and whispered to it Release the Night, an old Russian lullaby we used in Slavyanka to calm wearied steeds. Everything began to fade away, the noises of the crowd, the contempt of the commander, even the smells of the campfire smoke and the drying skins. I began to lock eyes with the filly and seek that calm communion that was so familiar to my soul. There was blood from the sores around the horse’s neck, where the rope had torn into her skin. I knew that if I could get a bridle onto this filly there was a good chance it would be able to be tempered.

            Just as I was caressing the horse’s neck, there was a loud bang from beyond the encampment. Someone had fired a weapon. The filly was startled and began to heave backwards, I quickly flung my arms around its neck and collapsed all my weight downwards, bringing the filly to heel forwards onto its front knees. This was an extremely dangerous maneuver as the horse could easily trample or throw me. Fortunate for me it worked and I was able to maintain a semi-squatted position and calm the horse. We rose together and I allowed it enough space so that I could gently fix the bridle to its head. From here on, I took the time to ease the horse and continue with the lullaby. We must have stood together for thirty minutes as I continued to hold her neck and soothe her sores. This is how I bought my first horse in Canada and so began my trading relationship with the men at Petaigan River Trading post. I named that filly ‘Commander.’

            The Natives were also impressed with this incident. In time I was able to build a fraternity with several of the chiefs and I found that it was easier and often more conducive to deal with the Assiniboine and Cree peoples when seeking horses. I often would spend the months of July and August riding far into the Northwest territories with these people rounding up mustangs.

In time news of the event at the Petaigan River trading post had spread among the outposts and among my people. My reputation as a horse trainer and later as a horse breeder spread quickly, our Doukhobor people considered me the king of the horses. This is how I earned the nickname, Czar.

[1] Oblast is the Russian equivalent to a Canadian province or American state.

[2] Peter Vasilyevich Verigen was nicknamed Peter The Lordly by the Doukhobors to distinguish him as the personality that was pious and concerned with leading a spiritually purified lifestyle. 

[3] Old Russian name for the settlement that became Volgograd, then Stalingrad and is now again Volgograd.

[4] Verigen Saskatchewan is a small town located 50 km north east of Yorkton.