A native of Anadyrsk once happened to tell me, in the course of conversation, that he had only five days’ dog-food left.  “But,” said I, “what do you intend to do at the end of those five days?”—­“Bokh yevo znaiet”—­God only knows!—­was the characteristic response, and the native turned carelessly away as if it were a matter of no consequence whatever.  If God only knew, he seemed to think that it made very little difference whether anybody else knew or not.  After he had fed his dogs the last dried fish in his storehouse, it would be time enough to look about for more; but until then he did not propose to borrow any unnecessary trouble.  This well known recklessness and improvidence of the natives finally led the Russian Government to establish at several of the north-eastern Siberian settlements a peculiar institution which may be called a Fish Savings Bank, or Starvation Insurance Office.  It was organised at first by the gradual purchase from the natives of about a hundred thousand dried fish, or yukala, which constituted the capital stock of the bank.  Every male inhabitant of the settlement was then obliged by law to pay into this bank annually one-tenth of all the fish he caught, and no excuse was admitted for a failure.  The surplus fund thus created was added every year to the capital, so that as long as the fish continued to come regularly, the resources of the bank were constantly accumulating.  When, however, the fish for any reason failed and a famine was threatened, every depositor—­or, more strictly speaking, tax-payer—­was allowed to borrow from the bank enough fish to supply his immediate wants, upon condition of returning the same on the following summer, together with the regular annual payment of ten per cent.  It is evident that an institution once thoroughly established upon such a basis, and managed upon such principles, could never fail, but would constantly increase its capital of dried fish until the settlement would be perfectly secure against even the possibility of famine.  At Kolyma, a Russian post on the Arctic Ocean, where the experiment was first tried, it proved a complete success.  The bank sustained the inhabitants of the village through severe famines during two consecutive winters, and its capital in 1867 amounted to 300,000 dried fish, and was accumulating at the rate of 20,000 a year.  Anadyrsk, not being a Russian military post, had no bank of this kind; but had our work been continued another year, we intended to petition the Government for the organisation of such institutions at all the settlements, Russian and native, along the whole route of our line.

In the meantime, however, the famine was irremediable, and on December 1, 1867, poor Bush found himself in a deserted settlement 600 versts from Gizhiga without money, without provisions, and without means of transportation—­but with a helpless party of forty-four men, at the mouth of the Anadyr River, dependent upon him for support.  Building a telegraph line under such circumstances was out of the question.  All that he could hope to do would be to keep his parties supplied with provisions until the arrival of horses and men from Yakutsk should enable him to resume work.