George Kennan's "Tent Life in Siberia" is a travelogue written by the author, who joined an expedition of the Russian-American Telegraph Company. It describes his experiences in the northern Pacific, Kamchatka, and northeastern Siberia during the 1860s. This series will publish the full text of each chapter, following the 1910 revised and expanded edition, which was significantly augmented by the author after the first publication.

The author's observations include evaluations and biases based on the knowledge and values of that time. In this text, these are preserved as the author's descriptions without being rewritten to reflect modern perspectives, and annotations will be added where necessary for understanding. The original illustrations will not be included.

Chapter 1: The Land Telegraph Line to Russia - The First Siberian Expedition, Departing from San Francisco

The Russian-American Telegraph Company, also known as the "Western Union Extension," was established in New York City during the summer of 1864. The idea of connecting America and Europe by telegraph cable across the Bering Strait had long existed among several prominent telegraph engineers. Perry McD. Collins had already proposed this plan as early as 1857, when he crossed northern Asia. However, it was only after the failure of the first transatlantic submarine cable that it began to be seriously considered. Subsequently, there were heated discussions about whether or not it was feasible to connect the two continents with overland telegraph lines. The plan submitted by Mr. Collins to Western Union Telegraph Company in New York in 1863 seemed to be the most practical among the proposals for intercontinental communication. It involved a telegraph line that would pass through British Columbia, Russian America, and northeastern Siberia, connecting the American and Russian telegraph networks. This line was intended to connect with the Russian telegraph lines at the mouth of the Amur River on the Asian coast, forming an almost continuous band of telegraph cables around the globe.

Item	Content
Perry McD. Collins	The original text is written as Perry McD. Collins. In this translation, we have retained the abbreviation because we do not expand names that were omitted in the original text without confirmation.

This plan had several obvious advantages. Long submarine cables were not required. Except for a short section across the Bering Strait, all telegraph lines would run on land, making them easily repairable if damaged by accidents or storms. It was also expected that it could eventually be extended along the Asian coast to Beijing, opening up a large and profitable communication business with China. These factors strongly appealed to investors and practical telephone engineers. In 1863, the Western Union Telegraph Company finally adopted this plan. Of course, there was an expectation that the next transatlantic cable would succeed. If it succeeded, it could significantly damage or even fatally undermine the prospects of this land telegraph line. However, such success did not seem likely, and the company decided to accept the unavoidable risks after considering all circumstances.

An agreement was reached with the Russian government to extend telegraph lines through Siberia to the Amur River estuary, granting the company certain special rights within Russia. In 1864, similar privileges were obtained from the British government, and assistance was promised by the United States Congress. Thus, the Western Union Extension Company, with a nominal capital of $10 million, was immediately organized. The shares were rapidly subscribed to, and the main subscribers were the shareholders of the original Western Union company. To raise funds for the project, an immediate 5% payment was required. At that time, the ultimate success of this venture was not so strongly believed. Within two months, stocks that had only been paid for once at $5 per share began to be traded at $75 per share.

In August 1864, Colonel Charles S. Barkley, who had previously served as the military telegraph supervisor for the Gulf Division, was appointed chief engineer of this telegraph line project. In December, he organized an expedition team, prepared equipment, and traveled by ship from New York to San Francisco in order to begin actual operations.

I, too, was driven by the desire to participate in such new and important ventures. Moreover, I had always loved travel and adventure, but until then, there had been no opportunity to fulfill that longing. Therefore, shortly after the telegraph line project was planned, I offered my services as an explorer. My application was received favorably, and on December 13th, I departed from New York with the chief engineer, heading towards San Francisco, where the company's headquarters were to be located. Upon arrival, Colonel Buckley immediately opened an office on Montgomery Street and began organizing an expeditionary team to conduct preliminary surveys of the telegraph line route. Rumors spread throughout town that the company was recruiting personnel to explore unknown regions of British Columbia, Russian America, and Siberia, and applicants eager to join in any capacity flocked to the company's offices.

For a long time, adventurous Michober people have been waiting for such an opportunity. Fallen miners are pinning their hopes on the gold mine that will soon be discovered in the north, hoping to rebuild their lives. Returning soldiers seeking new stimulation. Everyone quickly volunteered to work as pioneers in this great undertaking. Highly skilled and trained engineers were in high demand. On the other hand, ordinary people who would make up for their lack of experience with enthusiasm could easily be found.

Item	Content
Mikober	A character name from Dickens' "David Copperfield." Here, it is used to refer to people who are waiting for a good opportunity.

While selecting personnel, organizing teams, and preparing equipment, time passed slowly. And finally, in June 1865, a report arrived stating that the company's ship had completed preparations for its voyage.

At that time, the activity plan that had been decided stipulated that one team would be landed in each of the following locations: near the Fraser River estuary in British Columbia, Norton Sound in Russian America, and the Anadyr River estuary on the Asian side of the Bering Strait. Each team was to be led by Pope, Kennicott, and McClure, respectively. Each team was instructed to proceed inland as far as possible along rivers close to the landing sites, gather as much information as possible about the climate, soil, timber, and inhabitants of the areas they passed through, and determine the approximate location of telegraph lines.

The two American teams were able to establish relatively advantageous operational bases at Fort Victoria and Fort St. Michael. However, if the Siberian team was to land on the Asian coast, it would have to be near the Bering Strait. This area was on the edge of a barren and desolate region, nearly 1,000 miles from any known settlement. Surrounded by hostile indigenous nomadic tribes in unknown territory, with no means of transportation inland other than canoes. In such circumstances, the safety and success of this team, which could only rely on itself, were not guaranteed. Many who supported the venture even argued that leaving members of the expedition in such a place, under such conditions, was practically sentencing them to certain death. The Russian Consul in San Francisco also sent a letter to Colonel Barkley, strongly advising against landing the team on the Asian coast of the North Pacific, and instead suggesting sending it to one of Russia's ports facing the Sea of Okhotsk. There, supply bases could be established, information about the interior could be gathered, horses and dog sleds could be obtained, and overland exploration in the desired direction could be carried out.

Item	Content
Indigenous people with hostile intentions	This expression is a translation of the author's description of the situation in which the expedition was placed, and it does not represent an evaluation made by modern translators regarding all indigenous peoples.

It was clear to everyone that this advice was wise and reasonable. However, unfortunately, the chief engineer did not have a ship capable of carrying the expedition to the Sea of Okhotsk. If they were going to land the members of the expedition on the coast of Asia during that summer, there was no other choice but to do it near the Bering Strait.

However, in late June, Colonel Barclee learned that a small Russian merchant ship called the Olga was preparing to sail from San Francisco to Kamchatka and the southwestern coast of the Sea of Okhotsk. He persuaded the owner to take four people as passengers to the Russian settlement of Nikolaevsk at the mouth of the Amur River. This location, while not ideal for initiating operations compared to other points on the north shore, was still far better than any other available point along the Asian coast of the North Pacific. Soon after, a team was organized aboard the Olga, bound for Kamchatka and the mouth of the Amur River. The members included S. Abaza, a Russian appointed as supervisor of operations in Siberia and commander of the team; James A. Mahood, a well-regarded civil engineer from California; R.J. Bush, who had recently completed three years of service in both North and South Carolina; and myself. In terms of numbers and experience, it was not much of a team. However, we were filled with hope, confidence, and enthusiasm.

On June 28th, we were informed that the ship "Olga" of the Briggs Company had almost completed loading all its cargo and was scheduled to depart immediately.

Later, I learned that this sailor's figurative expression simply meant "setting sail sometime during the summer." However, we, being naive and trusting people, mistakenly thought that it meant "we are already in the process of releasing the mooring ropes." Upon hearing this news, we were caught up in excitement and confusion, rushing to prepare for departure. We readily discarded or gave away formal attire such as suits and linen shirts, and expensive boots. We bought large quantities of blankets, sturdy shoes, and flannel jackets, and our rooms became disorganized armories filled with rifles, pistols, and a terrifyingly large Bowie knife. Enthusiastic naturalists provided us with containers of arsenic, bottles of alcohol, butterfly nets, snake bags, small medicine chests, and about ten other types of scientific instruments and equipment that we had no knowledge of. We packed them into large boxes. Our small collection of books was supplemented by Wrangell's "Travels," Gray's "Botany," and several volumes of scientific literature. By nightfall, we were able to report that preparations were complete. We were equipped with weapons and gear ready for any adventure, from catching new species of insects to conquering Kamchatka!

Setting out on a voyage without even seeing the ship was unprecedented. Therefore, Bush and I appointed ourselves as members of the investigating committee for the unit and walked to the pier where the ship was moored. The German captain, who had become accustomed to American ways, greeted us at the gangway and showed us around the small brig from bow to stern. We, with our limited experience in sailing, were not qualified to make an authoritative judgment on whether a flat-bottomed barge used for mud transport could safely navigate. However, Bush displayed his characteristic boldness and versatility. He spoke eloquently to the captain about how beautiful the "lines" of the ship were – although I didn't know what that meant – and discussed the size of the sails and the overall construction of the ship. We even debated the merits of single-pole versus double-pole top masts, new patented sail rigging devices, and winches for furling the sails. I was completely overwhelmed by his display of nautical knowledge, to the point where the captain seemed impressed.

I strongly suspected that Bush's knowledge of nautical terms was largely acquired by skimming through Bodichon's "Navigation." I had seen that book on the desk in his office. Therefore, as soon as I returned to land, I secretly resolved to obtain a small edition of Marriott's sea novels and overwhelm him with my vast nautical knowledge, forcing him to feel ashamed and retract his words. I vaguely remembered reading about the deadhead or cat's eye (or perhaps it was the cat's head and dead eye) on a ship in Cooper's novel. I can't recall which one it was. As an inexperienced landlubber, I felt that I shouldn't be ignored, so I vaguely glanced at the rigging and offered a few general opinions about things like dead eyes and spanker booms. However, the captain immediately overwhelmed me by asking if I had ever seen a spanker boom caught on the topsul yard of the foremast in strong winds. I quietly replied that I probably hadn't witnessed such a major accident myself. The captain smiled pityingly at my ignorance, turned to Bush, and I clenched my teeth as I went below deck to search the galley for food. It was more comfortable there. The long rows of canned goods, beef broth, condensed milk, pie fillings, and a small barrel labeled with the strange characters "Zante cur." quickly soothed my troubled mind. And it gave me absolute confidence that the Olga was sturdy, seaworthy, and built with the latest and most advanced shipbuilding technology.

Item	Content
Deadhead and Cat's Eye	The narrator is speaking, but they are not accurately remembering the terms used on ships. I have left the misinterpretations in the text as part of the author's self-deprecation.
Zante cur.	I have retained the abbreviation written on the barrel of food from the original manuscript.

There, I went back up and carefully and thoroughly examined the lower part of the boat, and told Bush that this boat was definitely okay. I didn't say what conclusions were based on which observations. He also didn't ask any troublesome questions, and we returned to the office and made a favorable report about the construction, capacity, and equipment of the boat.

On Saturday, July 1st, the Olga loaded its final cargo and was towed to a location offshore.

We hastily wrote farewell letters to our hometown and completed the final preparations. And on Monday morning at 9 o'clock, we gathered at the pier on Howard Street, where a steam tugboat was waiting to tow us out to sea.

A large number of friends came to see me off. The pier, filled with brightly colored dresses and blue uniforms, looked like a festival in the warm and clear California morning sunlight.

Colonel Barkley, with heartfelt and repeated prayers for our health and success, gave us his final instructions. To those comrades who remained behind, less fortunate than ourselves, he said with a smile, "Come visit." His requests to send back specimens of the North Pole and auroras were mixed in with instructions about preserving birds and collecting insects. Amidst expressions of congratulations, wishes for good luck, warnings, playful challenges, and tearful farewells, the steamship's bell rang. Darla, who always remembered that it was for the sake of beloved science, held my hand warmly and said, "Goodbye, George. May God bless you! Be sure to look out for land snails and animal skulls!"

B-chan said, clinging to me, "Please take good care of my precious brother." I promised that I would cherish him just as much as I cherished my own brothers and sisters, while thinking of another sister who was far away. If she were here, she too would say, "Please take good care of my precious brother." As a handkerchief was waved and farewell words were repeated, we slowly left the pier. The steamship made a large arc towards where the Olga was anchored, and we boarded the small brig that would be our home for the next two months.

The steamship towed us to the outside of the promontories on both sides of the Golden Gate and then released the rope. As the steamship turned around and passed by our side, a small group of friends gathered on the forward deck, with the Colonel at the head, and gave three heartfelt cheers for the "First Siberian Expedition." We responded with three cheers as well. It was a final farewell to civilization. We silently watched as the steamship receded into the distance, becoming smaller and smaller. Eventually, even the white handkerchief tied to the stern post by Arnold disappeared from view, and we were alone, tossed about in the long swells of the Pacific Ocean.