Climate.—Fertility.—Luxuriant Vegetation.—Fish.—Sea-birds.—Kamchatkan Bird-catchers.—The Bay of Avatscha.—Petropavlosk.—The Kamchatkans.—Their physical and moral Qualities.—The Fritillaria Sarrana.—The Muchamor.—Bears.—Dogs.

The peninsula of Kamchatka, though numbering no more than 6000 or 7000 inhabitants, on a surface equalling Great Britain in extent, has so many natural resources that it could easily maintain a far greater number. The climate is much more temperate and uniform than that of the interior of Siberia, being neither so excessively cold in winter, nor so intensely hot in summer; and though the late and early night-frosts, with the frequent fogs and rains, prevent the cultivation of corn, the humid air produces a very luxuriant herbaceous vegetation. Not only along the banks of the rivers and lakes, but in the forest glades, the grass grows to a height of more than twelve feet, and many of the CompositÆ and UmbelliferÆ attain a size so colossal that the Heraclium dulce and the Senecio cannabifolius not seldom overtop the rider on horseback. The pasture-grounds are so excellent that the grass can generally be cut thrice during the short summer, and thus a comparatively small extent of land affords the winter supply for all the cattle of a hamlet. Though the cold winds prevent the growth of trees along the coast, the more inland mountain slopes and valleys are clothed with woods richly stocked with sables and squirrels. No country in the world has a greater abundance of excellent fisheries. In spring the salmon ascend the rivers in such amazing numbers, that on plunging a dart into the stream one is almost sure to strike a fish; and Steller affirms that the bears and dogs of Kamchatka catch on the banks more fish with their paws and mouths than man in other countries, with all his cunning devices of net or angle. As the various birds of passage do not all wander at the same time to the north, so also the various kinds of fishes migrate, some sooner, others later, and consequently profusion reigns during the whole of the summer. Ermann was astonished at this incalculable abundance of the Kamchatkan rivers, for in one of them, when the water was only six inches deep, he saw multitudes of Chaekos (Slagocephalus) as long as his arm partly stranded on the banks, partly still endeavoring to ascend the shallow stream. As the waters contain such an incredible multitude of fishes, we can not wonder that the rocky coasts of the peninsula swarm with sea-fowl, whose breeding and roosting places are as densely peopled as any others in the world. At the entrance of the Avatscha Bay lies a remarkable labyrinth of rocks, separated from each other by narrow channels of water, like the intricate streets of an old-fashioned city. The flood has everywhere scooped out picturesque cavities and passages in these stupendous masses of stone, and the slightest wind causes the waves to beat with terrific violence against their feet. Every ledge, platform, and projection, every niche, hollow, and crevice is peopled with sea-birds of strange and various forms. In the capture of these birds the Kamchatkans display an intrepidity equal to that of the islanders of St. Kilda or Feroe, and trust solely to their astonishing agility in climbing. Barefooted, without ropes or any other assistance, they venture down the steepest declivities, which are frequently only accessible from the top, as the foaming breakers cut off all access from below. The left arm clasps a basket, which they fill with eggs as they advance, while the right hand grasps a short stick with an iron hook to drag the birds from the crevices of the rock. When a bird is caught, a dexterous grip wrings its neck, and it is then attached to the girdle of the fowler. In this manner an expert climber will kill in one day from seventy to eighty birds, and gather above a hundred eggs.

Thus the population of Kamchatka is quite out of proportion to the riches of its pastures and waters. Its scanty inhabitants are moreover concentrated on a few spots along the chief rivers and bays, so that almost the whole peninsula is nothing but an uninhabited wilderness.

Before the conquest of the country by the Russians it had at least twenty times its present population, but the cruelty of the Cossacks and the ravages of the small-pox caused it to melt away almost as rapidly as that of Cuba or Hayti after the arrival of the Spaniards. At that time the sable and the sea-otter were considered of far greater importance than man; and unfortunately Russia has too many deserts to people, before she can think of repairing past errors and sparing inhabitants for this remotest corner of her vast Asiatic empire.

As the peninsula is too distant from the highways of the world to attract the tide of emigration, it is also seldom visited by travellers. The few strangers, however, who have sailed along the coasts, or made excursions into the interior of the country, speak with enthusiasm of the boldness of its rocky promontories, the magnificence of its bays and mountains, and only regret that during the greater part of the year an Arctic winter veils the beauties of the landscape under mists and snow.

Throughout its whole length Kamchatka is traversed by an Alpine chain rising in some of its peaks to a height of 14,000 or 16,500 feet, and numbering no less than 28 active volcanoes along with many others whose fires are extinct. A land thus undermined with subterranean fires must be possessed of many mineral riches, but as yet no one has ever thought of seeking for them or putting them to use.

Owing to the great humidity of the climate and the quantities of rain attracted by the mountains, Kamchatka abounds in springs. In the lowlands they gush forth in such numbers as to render it very difficult to travel any distance on foot or horseback, even in winter, as they prevent the rivers from freezing. No doubt many a mineral spring—cold, tepid, or warm—that would make the fortune of a German spa, here flows unnoticed into the sea.

Kamchatka has many excellent harbors, and the magnificent Bay of Avatscha would alone be able to afford room to all the navies of the world. Its steep rocky shores are almost everywhere clothed with a species of beech (Betula Ermanni), intermingled with luxuriant grasses and herbs, and the higher slopes are generally covered with a dense underwood of evergreens and shrubs of deciduous foliage, whose changes of color in autumn tinge the landscape with yellow, red, and brown tints. But the chief beauty of the Bay of Avatscha is the prospect of the distant mountains, forming a splendid panorama of fantastic peaks and volcanic cones, among which the Streloshnaja Sopka towers pre-eminent to the height of 14,000 feet. Close to this giant, but somewhat nearer to the coast, rises the active volcano of Avatscha, which frequently covers the whole country with ashes.

The vast Bay of Avatscha forms several minor creeks: among others the haven of St. Peter and Paul, one of the finest natural harbors in the world, where the Russians have established the seat of their government in the small town of Petropavlosk, which hardly numbers 500 inhabitants, but has acquired some celebrity from the unsuccessful attack of the English and French forces in 1854.

Mr. Knox thus describes Petropavlosk: “To make a counterfeit Petropavlosk, take a log village in the backwoods of a western state in America, and place it near a little harbor, where the ground slopes gently to the water. Arrange most of the houses along a single unpaved street, and drop the rest in a higgledy-piggledy fashion on the sloping hillside. All buildings must be but one story high, and those of the poorer sort thatched with grass. The better class may have iron or board roofs painted for preservation. The houses of the officials and the foreign merchants may be commodious, and built of hewn timber, but the doors of all must be low, and heavily constructed, to exclude the winter cold. Every dwelling must contain a brick stove that presents a side to each of two or three rooms. In winter this stove will maintain a temperature of about 68 degrees in all the rooms it is intended to warm.”

Besides some Jakut immigrants, the chief stock of the scanty population of the country consists of the descendants of the primitive Kamchatkans, who, in spite of frequent intermarriages with their conquerors the Cossacks, have still retained many of their ancient manners. They are of a small stature, but broad-shouldered, their cheek-bones are prominent, their jaws uncommonly broad and projecting, their noses small, their lips very full, their hair black. The color of the men is dark brown, or sometimes yellow; the women have fairer complexions, which they endeavor to preserve by means of bears’ guts, stuck upon their faces in spring with fresh lime, so as not to be burned by the sun. They also paint their cheeks with a sea-weed, which, when rubbed upon them with fat, gives them a beautiful red color.

The Kamchatkans are a remarkably healthy race. Many of them attain an age of seventy or eighty years, and are able to walk and to work until their death. Their hair seldom turns gray before their sixtieth year, and even the oldest men have a firm and elastic step. The weight of their body is greater than that of the Jakuts, though the latter live on milk and flesh, while fish is the almost exclusive food of the Kamchatkans. The round tubercles of the Fritillaria sarrana, a species of lily with a dark purple flower, likewise play an important part in their diet, and serve them instead of bread and meal. “If the fruits of the bread-fruit tree,” says Kittlitz—who has seen both plants in the places of their growth—“are pre-eminent among all others, as affording man a perfect substitute for bread, the roots of the Sarrana, which are very similar in taste, rank perhaps immediately after them. The collecting of these tubers in the meadows is an important summer occupation of the women, and one which is rather troublesome, as the plant never grows gregariously, so that each root has to be sought and dug out separately with a knife. Fortunately the wonderful activity of the Siberian field-vole facilitates the labor of gathering the tubers. These remarkable animals burrow extensive winter nests, with five or six store-houses, which they fill with various roots, but chiefly with those of the Sarrana. To find these subterranean treasures, the Kamchatkans use sticks with iron points, which they strike into the earth. The contents of three of these nests are as much as a man can carry on his back. A species of fungus, called muchamor, affords a favorite stimulant. It is dried and eaten raw. Besides its exhilarating effects, it is said to produce, like the Peruvian Coca, a remarkable increase of strength, which lasts for a considerable time.

Fishing and hunting supply all the wants of the Kamchatkans, for they have not yet learned to profit in any degree worth mentioning by the luxuriance of their meadow-lands. They pay their taxes and purchase their foreign luxuries—meal and tea, tobacco and brandy—with furs. The chase of the costly sea-otter (which from excessive persecution had at one time almost become extinct) has latterly improved. Besides the fur animals, they also hunt the reindeer, the argali, the wolf, and the bear, whose skins supply them with clothing.

Bears abound in Kamchatka, as they find a never-failing supply of fishes and berries, and Ermann assures us that they would long since have extirpated the inhabitants, if (most probably on account of the plenty in which they live) they were not of a more gentle disposition than any others in the world. In spring they descend from the mountains to the mouths of the rivers, to levy their tribute on the migratory troops of the fishes, frequently eating only the heads. Toward autumn they follow the fishes into the interior of the country as they ascend the streams.

The most valuable domestic animal in Kamchatka is the dog, who has the usual characters of the Esquimaux race. He lives exclusively on fish, which he catches very dexterously. From spring to autumn he is allowed to roam at liberty, no one troubling himself about him; but in October, every proprietor collects his dogs, binds them to a post, and lets them fast for a time, so as to deprive them of their superfluous fat, and to render them more fit for running. During the winter they are fed with dried fish every morning and evening, but while travelling they get nothing to eat, even though they run for hours. Their strength is wonderful. Generally no more than five of them are harnessed to a sledge, and will drag with ease three full-grown persons, and sixty pounds’ weight of luggage. When lightly laden, such a sledge will travel from 30 to 40 versts in a day over bad roads and through the deep snow; on even roads, from 80 to 140. The horse can never be used for sledging, on account of the deep snow, into which it would sink, and of the numerous rivers and sources, which are either never frozen, or merely covered with a thin sheet of ice, unable to bear the weight of so large an animal.

Travelling with dogs is, however, both dangerous and difficult. Instead of the whip, the Kamchatkans use a crooked stick with iron rings, which, by their jingling, give the leader of the team the necessary signals. When the dogs do not sufficiently exert themselves, the stick is cast among them to rouse them to greater speed; but then the traveller must be dexterous enough to pick it up again while the sledge shoots along. During a snow-storm the dogs keep their master warm, and will lie quietly near him for hours, so that he has merely to prevent the snow from covering him too deeply and suffocating him. The dogs are also excellent weather prophets, for when, while resting, they dig holes in the snow, a storm may with certainty be expected.

The sledge-dogs are trained to their future service at a very early period. Soon after birth they are placed with their mother in a deep pit, so as to see neither man nor beast, and, after having been weaned, they are again condemned to solitary confinement in a pit. After six months they are attached to a sledge with other older dogs, and, being extremely shy, they run as fast as they can. On returning home, they are again confined in their pit, where they remain until they are perfectly trained, and able to perform a long journey. Then, but not before, they are allowed their summer liberty. This severe education completely sours their temper, and they constantly remain gloomy, shy, quarrelsome, and suspicious.

To return to the Kamchatkans: travellers praise their good-nature, their hospitality, and their natural wit. Of a sanguine disposition, they are happy and content in their poverty, and have no cares for the morrow. Being extremely indolent, they never work unless when compelled. They readily adopt strange manners, and no doubt education might produce valuable results in so pliable and sharp-witted a race. Unfortunately the Russians and Cossacks who have settled among them do not afford them the best examples. They have long since been converted to the Greek Church, but it is supposed that baptism has not fully effaced all traces of Shamanism. Formerly they had many gods, the chief of whom was Kutka, the creator of heaven and earth. But far from honoring Kutka, they continually ridiculed him, and made him the constant butt of their satire. Kutka, however, had a wife, Chachy, who was endowed with all the intelligence in which her spouse was supposed to be deficient, and who, as is the case in many mortal housekeepings, was constantly exerting her ingenuity in repairing the blunders of her lord and master.