The merchants visited the villages on the route and bargained their goods for furs.  There was an annual fair at the Gilyak village of Pul, below Mariensk, and this was made the center of commerce.  The fair lasted ten days, and during that time Pul was a miniature Nijne Novgorod.  Manjour and Chinese merchants met Japanese from the island of Sakhalin, Tunguse from the coast of the Ohotsk Sea, and others from, the head waters of the Zeya and Amgoon.  There were Gilyaks from the lower Amoor and various tribes of natives from the coast of Manjouria.

A dozen languages were spoken, and traffic was conducted in a patois of all the dialects.  Cloth, powder, lead, knives, and brandy were exchanged for skins and furs.  A gentleman who attended one of these fairs told me that the scene was full of interest and abounded in amusing incidents.  Of late years the navigation of the Amoor has discontinued the fair of Pul.  The Manjour traders still descend the river, but they are not as numerous as of yore.

With a good glass from the deck of the steamer I watched the native process of catching salmon.  The fishing stations are generally, though not always, near the villages.  The natives use gill nets and seines in some localities, and scoop nets in others.  Sometimes they build a fence at right angles to the shore, and extend it twenty or thirty yards into the stream.  This fence is fish-proof, except in a few places where holes are purposely left.

The natives lie in wait with skiffs and hand-nets and catch the salmon, as they attempt to pass these holes.  I watched a Gilyak taking fish in this way, and think he dipped them up at the rate of two a minute; when the fish are running well a skiff can be filled in a short time.  Sometimes pens of wicker work are fixed to enclose the fish after they pass the holes in the fence.  The salmon in this case has a practical illustration of life in general:  easy to get into trouble but difficult to get out of it.

[Illustration:  GILYAK MAN.]

For catching sturgeon they use a circular net five feet across at the opening, and shaped like a shallow bag.  One side of the mouth is fitted with corks and the other with weights of lead or iron.  Two canoes in mid stream hold this net between them, at right angles to the current.  The sturgeon descending the river enters the trap, and the net proceeds of the enterprise are divided between the fishermen.

It requires vision or a guide to find a fishing station, but the sense of smell is quite sufficient to discover where salmon are dressed and cured.  The offal from the fish creates an unpleasant stench and no effort is made to clear it away.  The natives and their dogs do not consider the scent disagreeable and have no occasion to consult the tastes or smell of others.  The first time I visited one of their fish-curing places I thought of the western city that had, after a freshet, ’forty-five distinct and different odors beside several wards to hear from.’