It was in the season of curing fish, and the stench that greeted my
nostrils was by no means delightful. Visits to dwellings or magazines
would have been much easier had I possessed a sponge saturated with
cologne water. Fish were in various stages of preparation, some just
hung upon poles, while others were nearly ready for the magazine. The
manner of preparation is much the same as in Kamchatka, save that the
largest fish are skinned before being cut into strips. The poorest
qualities go to the dogs, and the best are reserved for bipeds.

Though the natives do the most of the fishing on the Amoor, they do
not have a monopoly of it, as some of the Russians indulge in the
sport. One old fellow that I saw had a boat so full of salmon, that
there was no room for more. Now and then a fish went overboard,
causing an expression on the boatman's face as if he were suffering
from a dose of astonishment and toothache drops in equal proportions.

There were dogs everywhere, some lying around loose, and others tied
to posts under the storehouses. Some walked about and manifested an
unpleasant desire to taste the calves of my legs. All barked, growled,
and whined in a chorus like a Pawnee concert. There were big dogs and
little dogs, white, black, grey, brown, and yellow dogs, and not one
friendly. They did not appear courageous, but I was not altogether
certain of their dispositions. Their owners sought to quiet them, but
they refused comfort.

[Illustration: ABOUT FULL.]

Those dogs had some peculiarities of those in Kamchatka, but their
blood was evidently much debased; they appeared to be a mixture of