these details respecting the port of St. Peter and St. Paul, and its destined improvements, I shall add a few remarks upon the nature of the soil, the climate, and the rivers. The banks of the bay of Avatscha are rendered difficult of access by high mountains, of which some are covered with wood, and others have volcanos[9]. The valleys present a vegetation that astonished me. The grass was nearly of the height of a man; and the rural flowers, such as the wild roses and others that are interspersed with them, diffuse far and wide a most grateful smell.
The rains are in general heavy during spring and autumn, and blasts of wind are frequent in autumn and winter. The latter is sometimes rainy; but notwithstanding its length, they assured me that its severity is not very extreme, at least in this southern part of Kamtschatka[10]. The snow begins to appear on the ground in October, and the thaw does not take place till April or May; but even in July it is seen to fall upon the summit of high mountains, and particularly volcanos. The summer is tolerably fine; the strongest heats scarcely last beyond the solstice. Thunder is seldom heard, and is never productive of injury. Such is the temperature of almost all this part of the peninsula.
Two rivers pour their waters into the bay of Avatscha; that from which the bay is named, and the Paratounka. They both abound with fish, and every species of water fowl, but these are so wild, that it is not possible to approach within fifty yards of them. The navigation of these rivers is impracticable after the 26 November, because they are always frozen at this time; and in the depth of winter the bay itself is covered with sheets of ice, which are kept there by the wind blowing from the sea; but they are completely dispelled as soon as it blows from the land. The port of St. Peter and St. Paul is commonly shut up by the ice in the month of January.
I should doubtless say something in this place of the manners and customs of the Kamtschadales, of their houses, or rather huts, which they call isbas or balagans; but I must defer this till my arrival at Bolcheretsk, where I expect to have more leisure, and a better opportunity of describing them minutely.
We departed from the port of Saint Peter and Saint Paul the 7 October. Our company consisted of Messrs. Kasloff, Schmaleff[11], Vorokhoff[12], Ivaschkin[13], myself, and the suite of the governor, amounting to four serjeants, and an equal number of soldiers. The commanding officer of the port, probably out of respect to M. Kasloff, his superior, joined our little troop, and we embarked upon baidars[14] in order to cross the bay and reach Paratounka, where we were to be supplied with horses to proceed on our route.
In five or six hours we arrived at this ostrog, where the priest[15], or rector of the district resides, and whose church also is in this place[16]. His house served us for a lodging, and we were treated with the utmost hospitality; but we had scarcely entered when the rain fell in such abundance, that we were obliged to stay longer than we wished.
I eagerly embraced this short interval to describe some of the objects which I had deferred till my arrival at Bolcheretsk, where, perhaps, I may find others that will not be less interesting.
The ostrog of Paratounka is situated by the side of a river of that name, about two leagues from its mouth[17]. This village is scarcely more populous than that of St. Peter and St. Paul. The small pox has, in this place particularly, made dreadful ravages. The number of balagans and isbas seemed to be very nearly the same as at Petropavlofska[18].
The Kamtschadales lodge in the first during summer, and retreat to the last in winter. As it is thought desirable that they should be brought gradually to resemble the Russian peasants, they are prohibited, in this southern part of Kamtschatka, from constructing any more yourts, or subterraneous habitations; these are all destroyed at present[19], a few vestiges only remain of them, filled up within, and appearing externally like the roofs of our ice-houses.
The balagans are elevated above the ground upon a number of posts, placed at equal distances, and about twelve or thirteen feet high. This rough sort of colonnade supports in the air a platform made of rafters, joined to one another, and overspread with clay: this platform serves as a floor to the whole building, which consists of a roof in the shape of a cone, covered with a kind of thatch, or dried grass, placed upon long poles fastened together at the top, and bearing upon the rafters. This is at once the first and last story; it forms the whole apartment, or rather chamber: an opening in the roof serves instead of a chimney to let out the smoke, when a fire is lighted to dress their victuals; this cookery is performed in the middle of the room, where they eat and sleep pell-mell together without the least disgust or scruple. In these apartments, windows are out of the question; there is merely a door, so low and narrow, that it will scarcely suffice to admit the light. The staircase is worthy of the rest of the building; it consists of a beam, or rather a tree jagged in a slovenly manner, one end of which rests on the ground, and the other is raised to the height of the floor. It is placed at the angle of the door, upon a level, with a kind of open gallery that is erected before it. This tree retains its roundness, and presents on one side something like steps, but they are so incommodious that I was more than once in danger of breaking my neck. In reality, whenever this vile ladder turns under the feet of those who are not accustomed to it, it is impossible to preserve an equilibrium; a fall must be the consequence, more or less dangerous, in proportion to the height. When they wish persons to be informed that there is nobody at home, they merely turn the staircase, with the steps inward.
Motives of convenience may have suggested to these people the idea of building such strange dwellings, which their mode of living renders necessary and commodious. Their principal food being dried fish, which is also the nourishment of their dogs, it is necessary, in order to dry their fish, and other provisions, that they should have a place sheltered from the heat of the sun, and at the same time perfectly exposed to the air. Under the collonnades or rustic porticos, which form the lower part of their balagans, they find this convenience; and there they hang their fish, either to the ceiling or to the sides, that it may be out of the reach of the voraciousness of their dogs. The Kamtschadales make use of dogs[20] to draw their sledges; the best, that is the most vicious, have no other kennel than what the portico of the balagans affords them, to the posts of which they are tied. Such are the advantages resulting from the singular mode of constructing the balagans, or summer habitations of the Kamtschadales.
Those of winter are less singular; and if equally large, would exactly resemble the habitations of the Russian peasants. These have been so often described, that it is universally known how they are constructed and arranged. The isbas are built of wood; that is to say, the walls are formed by placing long trees horizontally upon one another, and filling up the interstices with clay. The roof slants like our thatched houses, and is covered with coarse grass, or rushes, and frequently with planks. The interior part is divided into two rooms, with a stove placed so as to warm them both, and which serves at the same time as a fire-place for their cookery. On two sides of the largest room, wide benches are fixed, and sometimes a sorry couch made of planks, and covered with bears skin. This is the bed of the chief of the family: and the women, who in this country are the slaves of their husbands, and perform all the most laborious offices, think themselves happy to be allowed to sleep in it.
Besides these benches and the bed, there is also a table, and a great number of images of different saints, with which the Kamtschadales are as emulous of furnishing their chambers, as the majority of our celebrated connoisseurs are of displaying their magnificent paintings.
The windows, as may be supposed, are neither large or high. The panes are made of the skins of salmon, or the bladders of various animals, or the gullets of sea wolves prepared, and sometimes of leaves of talc; but this is rare, and implies a sort of opulence. The fish skins are so scraped and dressed that they become transparent, and admit a feeble light to the room[21]; but objects cannot be seen through them. The leaves of talc are more clear, and approach nearer to glass; in the mean time they are not sufficiently transparent for persons without to see what is going on within: this is manifestly no inconvenience to such low houses.
Every
