along the shore, and the number of fish caught annually is almost
beyond computation.

Some years ago the fishery failed, and more than half the dogs in
Kamchatka starved. The following year there was a bountiful supply,
which the priests of Petropavlovsk commemorated by erecting a cross
near the entrance of the harbor. The supply is always larger after a
scarcity than in ordinary seasons.

The fish designed for preservation are split and dried in the sun. The
odor of a fish drying establishment reminded me of the smells in
certain quarters of New York in summer, or of Cairo, Illinois, after
an unusual flood has subsided. One of our officers said he counted
three hundred and twenty distinct and different smells in walking half
a mile.

In 1865 one of the merchants started the enterprise of curing salmon
for the Sandwich Island market. He told me he paid three roubles,
(about three greenback dollars,) a hundred (in number) for the fresh
fish, delivered at his establishment. Evidently he found the
speculation profitable, as he repeated it the following year.

[Illustration: A SCALY BRIDGE.]

When the salmon ascend the rivers they furnish food to men and
animals. The natives catch them in nets and with spears, while dogs,
bears, and wolves use their teeth in fishing. Bears are expert in this
amusement, and where their game is plenty they eat only the heads and
backs. The fish are very abundant in the rivers, and no great skill
is required in their capture. Men with an air of veracity told me they