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CHAPTER XXXVIII.

KAMTSCHATKA.

AFTER the failure and loss of the first Atlantic Cable, an American telegraph company conceived the idea of laying an overland line to Europe via Alaska, Behring's Straits, and Siberia. The idea was a bold one, for it necessitated in the first instance, the exploration of nearly six thousand miles of unbroken wilderness, extending from Vancouver's Island to Behring's Straits, and from the western side of the straits to the Chinese frontier, over a great part of which frost and snow reigned supreme for nine months in the year. But, notwithstanding the difficulties in the way even of the preliminary surveys, a company was readily formed, and exploring-parties were organised to undertake the survey of the different portions of the proposed line. Some were despatched to find a practicable route through British Columbia and Alaska, and another expedition started to explore the almost unknown regions of North-eastern Siberia.

A very interesting book, entitled Tent Life in Siberia,' by Mr. Kennan, gives a graphic narrative of the adventures of the explorers in North-eastern Asia.

In the summer of 1865, the party consisting of but four travellers, sailed from San Francisco for Petropaulskoi. Here they separated, two of the travellers continuing their voyage to the Amoor River with orders to explore the country northwards between that point and the Russian seaport of Okhotsk; while Mr. Kennan, one of his companions, and an American fur-trader named Dodd (whose services had been enlisted at Petropaulskoi), started overland through the peninsula of Kamtschatka.

The stay made by the travellers at Petropaulskoi was only long enough to allow them to make the necessary preparations for their overland journey. A

visit to the monument of La Perouse, and to the entrenchments which were thrown up to resist the attack of the Allies during the Crimean War, exhausted the sights of the village of St. Peter and St. Paul, which would seem quite to fulfil the promise of internal dreariness indicated by its outward appearance. The author thus describes his first view of it from the sea: "A little cluster of red-roofed and bark-thatched loghouses; a Greek church of curious architecture with a green-painted dome; a strip of beach, a half-ruined wharf, two whale-boats, and the dismantled wreck of a half-sunken vessel."

The peninsula of Kamtschatka measures in extreme length about seven hundred miles. It is almost entirely of volcanic origin, and the huge rugged chain of mountains by which it is longitudinally divided comprises at the present day five or six volcanoes in a state of almost uninterrupted activity. The climate of its central and southern portion is, strange to say-for the latitude is about that of Moscow-comparatively mild and equable, and in the deep sequestered valleys formed by the spurs of the central range of mountains, the vegetation has an almost tropical freshness and luxuriance. The population consists of Russians, Kamtschadals, and Wandering Koraks, and is estimated at about 5000. The Kamtschadals, who constitute by far the largest class, are a good-tempered unsophisticated race, in appearance shorter and less active than the Siberians, and presenting in their features unmistakable signs of Mongolian origin.

From these people the exploring-party received every civility, and found no difficulty in hiring men, horses, or boats, as occasion required, along their route. From Petropaulskoi their route lay across the mountains in rear of that port to Sharon, on the head-waters of the Kamtschatka River. Here they found rafts prepared for them, on which they were to glide down

the Kamtschatka to the village of Kloochay. Stretched on the open decks of these boats, which were covered to a depth of six inches with fragrant flowers and freshly-cut hay, they floated slowly down the river, · through ranges of snow-clad mountains, past forests glowing with yellow and crimson, and vast steppes waving with tall wild grass; while ever and anon a bend of the river would disclose to them some sheltered nook where cowslips, violets, and wild roses clustered round the neat garden-fences of a waterside village. On the eleventh day from Petropaulskoi they arrived at Kloochay, a village which nestles at the foot of the volcano Kloochefskoi, and is destined, in the opinion of the author, to become at some future day the Pompeii of this Eastern Vesuvius.

Up to this point, the means of travelling had been comparatively luxurious, and the difficulties of the route insignificant; but now the hardships of the undertaking began. They were about to enter a wilderness, of which little was known even by the Kamtschadal guides; snow, although it was only September, had already begun to fall, and their route lay immediately over the central range of mountains, where it breaks off abruptly in a long line of tremendous precipices into the Okhotsk Sea. After innumerable perils, and one fruitless attempt, they succeeded in crossing this formidable barrier in dog-sleighs, and, worn-out with fatigue and benumbed with cold, were at length safely landed at a Korak encampment on the northern steppes.

The Wandering Koraks, whose acquaintance the author now made for the first time, are, in spite of their dirt and filthy habits, endued with many admirable qualities. Their nomadic life has developed in them a boldness, an impatience of restraint, and a perfect selfreliance, which distinguish them from their more settled neighbour, while their perfect freedom from the contaminating evils of civilization has left them honest,

truthful, and sincere. They know no law, recognise no chief, and, in bands of six or eight families accompanied by their herds of reindeer, wander over the steppes, halting wherever sufficient pasture or their own inclination may direct.

Their sole available property consists in reindeer, to secure pasture for which is the main object of their lives. In return for this care the reindeer supplies all their wants. Besides carrying them from place to place, he furnishes their clothes, food, and covering for their tents; his antlers are made into rude implements of all sorts; his sinews are dried and pounded into thread; his bones are soaked in seal-oil, and burned for fuel; his entrails are cleaned, filled with tallow, and eaten; his blood, mixed with the contents of his stomach, is made into "Manyalla" (or Korak bread); his marrow and tongue are considered the greatest of delicacies; the stiff bristly skin of his legs. is used to cover snow-shoes; and finally, his whole body, sacrificed to the Korak god, is supposed to bring down upon his owners all the spiritual and temporal blessings which they need.

At the second encampment visited by the travellers on their northward journey, they were fortunate enough to arrive just as a Korak wedding was about to be celebrated; and certainly, in the history of marriages, the Korak stands alone as regards quaintness of idea and ceremonial. On the occasion referred to, the travellers were invited to join an assembly of Koraks sitting in solemn conclave in the largest tent in the encampment. After a long consultation among the elders of the party, a signal was given, and a stern-looking Korak entered with an armful of willow and alder branches, which he proceeded to distribute opposite the "pologs," or compartments formed of skins, which surround the inner circumference of all Korak tents.

At a further signal, a party of women took up the

rods and stationed themselves in twos and threes at the entrance of each of the pologs. When all were ready, the bride, accompanied by the bridegroom, was led in by her father, and without more ado suddenly darted into the nearest polog, and began a rapid flight from polog to polog round the tent. The bridegroom instantly followed in hot pursuit; but the women who were stationed at the various pologs "threw every impediment in his way-tripping up his unwary feet, holding down the curtains to prevent his passage, and applying the willow and alder switches unmercifully to him as he stooped to raise them." To overtake the bride against such obstacles was of course hopeless.

By the time the bridegroom had got halfway round the tent, his bride had reached the last polog by the door, where, to the surprise of the American spectators, instead of making good her escape from the tent, she remained quietly concealed, and allowed the battered bridegroom to rejoin her; at the conclusion of this ceremony the company dispersed, and the wedding was over. The object of this quaint custom, as explained to the author, is to give the bride a chance of changing her mind at the last moment, but of course it really is a relic of the “form of capture in marriage."

At Kamenoi, in the extreme north of the peninsula, the travellers left the territory of the Wandering Koraks, and entered the country of their settled brethren. In many respects the change was for the worse. Instead of the simplicity and truthfulness of the wanderers of the steppes, they found among the settled Koraks nothing but brutality, insolence, and dishonesty. Fortunately, the travellers' stay among these degenerate people was short, and after a few days' travelling in the covered sledges of the country, they arrived at the Russian town of Geezhega. The cold on this part of the route was intense; the ther

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