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the former busy making a sledge, while I acted as cook. As our party was the first to organize a household, I also performed the duty of bringing warm soup to some of our sick, until they had so far recovered as to be able to help themselves.

"The barracks being this day ready to receive the sick, many of them. were transported under roof; but for want of room, they lay everywhere on the ground, covered with rags and clothes. No one could assist the other, and nothing was heard but lamentations and curses-the whole affording so wretched a sight, as to make even the stoutest heart lose courage. On November 15 all the sick were at length landed. We took one of them, named Boris Sänd, into our hut, and by God's help he recovered within three months.

"The following days added to cur misery, as the messengers we had sent out brought us the intelligence that we were on a desert island, without any communication with Kamchatka. We were also in constant fear that the stormy weather might drive our ship out to sea, and along with it all our provisions, and every hope of ever returning to our homes. Sometimes it was impossible to get to the vessel for several days together, so boisterous was the surge; and about ten or twelve men, who had hitherto been able to work, now also fell ill. Want, nakedness, frost, rain, illness, impatience, and despair, were our daily companions."

Fortunately the stormy sea drove the ship upon the strand, better than it could probably have been done by human efforts. Successively many of the scorbutic patients died, and on December 8 the unfortunate commander of the expedition paid his debt to nature.

Titus Bering, by birth a Dane, had served thirty-six years with distinc tion in the Russian navy, but age and infirmities had completely damped his energies, and his death is a warning to all who enter upon undertakings above their strength.

In the mean time the whole ship's company had established itself for the winter in five subterranean dwellings; the general health was visibly improving, merely by means of the excellent water, and by the fresh meat furnished by sea-otters, seals, and manatees; and the only care now was to gain sufficient strength to be able to undertake the work of deliverance in spring.

In April the shipwrecked mariners began to build a smaller ship out of the timbers of the "St. Peter," and, such was the alacrity with which all hands set to work, that on August 13 they were able to set out.

"When we were all embarked," says Steller, "we first perceived how much we should be inconvenienced for want of room; the water-casks, provisions, and baggage taking up so much space, that our forty-two men (the three ship's officers and myself were somewhat better off in the cabin) could. hardly creep between them and the deck. A great quantity of the bedding and clothing had to be thrown overboard. Meanwhile we saw the foxes sporting about our deserted huts, and greedily devouring remnants of fat and meat.

"On the 14th, in the morning, we weighed anchor, and steered out of the

bay. The weather being beautiful, and the wind favorable, we were all in good spirits, and, as we sailed along the island, pointed out to each other the well-known mountains and valleys which we had frequently visited in quest of game or for the purpose of reconnoitring. Towards evening we were opposite the farthest point of the island, and on the 15th, the wind continuing favorable, we steered direct towards the Bay of Avatscha. About midnight, however, we perceived, to our great dismay, that the vessel began to fill with water from an unknown leak, which, in consequence of the crowded and overloaded state of the vessel, it was extremely difficult to find out. The pumps were soon choked by the shavings left in the hold, and the danger rapidly increased, as the wind was strong and the vessel badly built. The sails were immediately taken in; some of the men removed the baggage to look for the leak, others kept continually pouring out the water with kettles, while others again cast all superfluous articles overboard. At length, after the lightening of the ship, the carpenter succeeded in stopping the leak, and thus we were once more saved from imminent danger. . . . On the 17th we sighted Kamchatka, but as the wind was contrary, we did not enter the harbor before the evening of the 27th.

"In spite of the joy we all felt at our deliverance, yet the news we heard on our arrival awakened in us a host of conflicting emotions. We had been given up for lost, and all our property had passed into other hands, and been mostly carried away beyond hope of recovery. Hence joy and sorrow alternated within a few moments in our minds, though we were all so accustomed to privation and misery, as hardly to feel the extent of our losses."

In the year 1744 Steller was ordered to return to St. Petersburg; but his candor had made him powerful enemies. Having reached Novgorod, and rejoicing in the idea of once more mixing with the civilized world, he was suddenly ordered to appear before the imperial court of justice at Irkutsk, on the charge of having treacherously sold powder to the enemies of Russia. Thus obliged to return once more into the depths of Siberia, he was at length dismissed by his judges, after waiting a whole year for their verdict.

Once more on his way to St. Petersburg, he had already reached Moscow, when he was again summoned to appear without delay before the court of Irkutsk. A journey to Siberia is, under all circumstances, an arduous undertaking; what, then, must have been Steller's feelings when, instead of enjoying the repose he had so well merited, he saw himself obliged to retrace his steps for the fourth time, for the purpose of vindicating his conduct before a rascally tribunal? On a very cold day his Cossack guards stopped to refresh themselves with some brandy at an inn by the road-side, and Steller, who remained in the sledge waiting for their return, fell asleep, and was frozen to death.

He lies buried near the town of Tjumen, and no monument apprises the naturalist, whom the love of knowledge may lead into the Siberian wilds, that his unfortunate predecessor was thus basely requited after years of exertion in the interests of science.

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Climate. Fertility.-Luxuriant Vegetation.-Fish.-Sea-birds.-Kamchatkan Bird-catchers.-The Bay of Avatscha.-Petropaylosk.-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 Composite 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 Chackos (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 peninsala 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 stran

gers, 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."

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