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JUNE 1.—Yesterday the fog cleared and disclosed to us the snowy peaks of the Siberian coast far to the northwest, and in front to the north of us the long coast line of St. Lawrence Island. We headed for the west end of the island, intending to pass up the channel between it and the Siberian coast. Saw two vessels in the distance returning from that direction. After we had beat against a bad wind all day we found ourselves almost surrounded by icebergs. With the field glass we could see the whole horizon a solid mass of ice. Our way was blocked. Turning eastward, we tried the passage between St. Lawrence Island and the Alaskan coast. The wind was blowing bitterly cold from the Siberian shore. Beating eastward along the south side of the island, we have now left the ice behind. This afternoon a two-masted schooner spoke us on her way to try the passage we had just abandoned. She turned and sailed with us. She carried a pretty tough-looking crowd of miners. They, like ourselves, are bound for Kotzebue. We gave them the "Penelope" yell, which they returned with three cheers. In sizing up their piratical appearance we forgot to look in the glass.

June 25.—Seventy-five miles southeast of Bering Strait. The Alaskan mainland north of Norton Sound in plain view. Have spent five days trying to get around St. Lawrence. Are still in sight of the east end. It is calm. We need more wind. Entered Boring Sea two weeks ago, and the days have been like a yachting cruise. Everyone is in good spirits. Several of the boys are witty and jokes fly. And the singing!—we exhaust the words we know and then make up as we go along, like plantation negroes. Are playing several tournaments in games. Only one so far has been concluded—the domino game. Dr. Coffin and Jett were the unlucky ones, and last night they entertained the crowd. Captain was master of ceremonies and dressed in a most ludicrous manner. He made a mock speech and read a poem. The two unlucky victims were treated to burnt cork and wore great Eskimo muckluks (sealskin boots), murre-skin hats, and red calico decorations. Doctor beat the big tin washpan and Jett blew the foghorn. The captain's wand was a boat-hook with a shining red onion on the tip and bearing a red pasteboard banner with the motto. "On to Kotzebue." They were to march fifty times around the deck. Casey, our Irishman, was appointed policeman by the captain "to keep the small boys and the carriages off the street." And so, to the tune of the foghorn and the dish-pan, they tramped their penalty. Then the captain gave an exhibition of clog dancing, with a fife and harmonica accompaniment. So one can see there is always something going on to break the monotony and keep the blues away. We suffer little from dull times. Whales are now as common as seals. One we saw looked as large as the "Penelope." Clyde took its picture. I got out our Winchester to-day. Am on the lookout for polar bears, which are expected to frequent the ice packs. The cook has just yelled "Supper!" and everyone is singing "Beulah Land."

Sighting a Vessel.

Arctic Ocean, July 7.—The next morning after my last date we sailed to within a mile of King's Island. This is a precipitous point of rock scarcely a mile in diameter, and yet more than two hundred Indians live upon it. Before we were within three miles of the island the natives began to come alongside of the "Penelope" in their skin canoes, or kyaks, wanting to trade. These were the first natives we had seen, and our interest in them was unbounded. Fully fifteen canoes, some singly, but mostly lashed together in pairs, reached us, and their occupants came on board with their sealskin bags full of articles to trade. They had a large quantity of walrus tusks, some of large size, weighing probably ten pounds, and very valuable. There were polar bear skins and fox skins beautifully tanned, also sealskin coats and muckluks (skin boots).

They wanted in exchange clothes, flour, tobacco, knives, etc, and, if we had prepared ourselves, we could have obtained many valuable things. Most of us saved what things we had to trade with later on.

Natives of King's Island Coming to Trade.

Beyond King's Island our way was again blocked with ice. We then turned east towards Port Clarence, but in a couple of hours encountered the ice pack extending out full twenty miles from the Alaskan shore. We thought our way was blocked, but the captain thought we could keep along the shore ice, and did so, the passage opening as we advanced. After skirting the ice all day we entered the straits at midnight June 26, and found ourselves between the Diomede Islands and Cape Prince of Wales. Everyone was on deck enjoying the scene until 2 a. m. The sun loitered along the horizon four hours and at midnight barely disappeared. The clouds and water were gorgeously tinted in the manner so often described by Arctic travelers. No words can do the scene justice. To the right rose the mountains of Alaska, extending far back from Cape Prince of Wales, the shores broken by their blue-tinted ice pack. Dark blue shadows stood the mountains out in beautiful distinctness. On our left were the precipitous Diomede Islands and Fairway Rock, with the snowy mountains of the Siberian shore rising further in the distance.

Ahead, our progress would soon be stopped by the long line of ice extending under the Arctic horizon, where the sun was vainly endeavoring to set. Just at midnight a spot of blazing light appeared at Cape Prince of Wales, fully eight miles away. It was the reflection of the fiery red sun on the window of the mission which has been established at that point. These shores are not inviting, and yet we know that here on this bleak coast are living, the whole year through. American missionaries, whose purpose is as eternal as the icebergs.

Everyone was happy and exerting himself to express what he felt. Some yelled wildly, and, taking off their shoes and stockings, threw them into the ocean. Others sang with might and main. "Beulah Land" and "Nearer, My God, to Thee" were followed by "Yankee Doodle" and "My Country, 'tis of Thee." with every body dancing and running about like a lot of Indians. "Penelope, Penelope, zip, boom, bah! Going up to Kotzebue, rah! rah! rah!" was yelled till all were hoarse. Finally, about 3 p. m., we began to quiet down for a little sleep.

Nearing the Great Ice Pack.

In the night a small schooner like our own, the "Acret," caught up with us, having found the passage we had followed. We passed through scattering ice and sailed about fifteen miles beyond the straits, but here were confronted by the solid ice pack of the Arctic which extended on all sides. After sailing about in circles in this limited area of water all day, the "Acret" was seen to be heading through a break in the shore side of the ice, and we followed. Both boats dropped anchor about a mile from the Alaskan shore in shallow water, where the ice had left a clean anchorage. The "Acret" and "Penelope" were so far the first boats to pass through the straits.

We were all eager to land. As soon as the dinky was overboard, five of the boys, with little thought for anyone else, as was quite natural under the circumstances, jumped in and moved for shore. And what was exasperating beyond description to us who were obliged to wait our turn, they did not bring the boat back for two hours. We have forgiven them, but they'll have to pay for it.

At 6 p. m., Dr. Coffin and I, and others, landed and started on our first tramp. Our feet were for the first time on Alaskan soil. But we saw none of the soil. Moss everywhere, and flowers and wild strawberries. It was a queer sensation to set one's feet down on what looked like substantial ground and sink a few inches to solid ice, crushing the flowers beneath.

I was all eyes and ears for what new birds might cross my path. Almost the first thing a flock of Emperor geese flew past me and were out of range. These are the rarest geese in North America and found only in Alaska. I saw but one land bird, a species of sparrow, but there were large numbers of water birds. I obtained some rare eggs, such as phalarope, western sandpiper, etc. A snowy owl was flushed, the first I ever saw alive, and it was at once mobbed by a dozen Arctic terns which had their nests near by. The land here is low and rolling, with little knolls and lakes. The ground in places Mas thawed about a foot—that is, taking the depth from the top of the spongy moss. On the dryer knolls several kinds of flowers were blooming and the grass was luxuriant in places. I searched for insects, but found only two bumblebees, which I could not catch, having no net with me.

We stayed on shore until midnight, tramping over the tundra and collecting birds and eggs. At 1 a. m. rowed back to the schooner. A canoe load of Indians had come alongside, and they had one Emperor goose. I coveted it. Tried to trade for it, offering several articles, but failed to offer the right thing. Afterwards one of the "Acret" men obtained it for an old tin tomato can. The "Acret" fellows had also been on shore and succeeded in shooting another goose, so they now had a pair of them, which they allowed me to have for the skinning, provided I returned the bodies in time for breakfast. I was happy. I immediately went to work, having the usual experience in skinning sea birds with the enormous amount of fat which must be peeled, rubbed, scraped and picked off. It took me until three o'clock in the morning, and I was then glad to crawl into my bunk for a little sleep. By night the next day the water seemed almost clear of ice, so we heaved anchor and started northeast along the shore towards Kotzebue. Soon came to the ice again, scattered and in blocks. Keeping right on between the blocks, we came to a big, fatherly iceberg which had run aground. The water here was very shallow, and we had to be careful not to run aground ourselves. The "Penelope" draws eleven feet of water, and a mile from shore it is often scarcely three fathoms, and of course shallower towards shore.

It was very exciting sometimes when the ice blocks became too Thick. And they choked and moaned and snored and heaved against each other in a fit of passion, and challenged one another to "come on." and ground their teeth in rage, and swished calmly, and chuck-a-lucked through the water. It was a grand sight to remember.

At times several of the boys had to take poles—driftwood which we had taken possession of for just such an emergency—and, standing at the bow, push off the ice. Even then several of the larger blocks got the better of us and would stop our progress by a sturdy crunch against the "Penelope," scraping along her side and taunting her with piratical intention. But she was firm and answered not a word, giving only a few scales of her weather-beaten paint as a sort of peace-offering.

Anchored to a Grounded Iceberg.

The "Acret" was all the while accompanying us, most of the time ahead, for she drew only eight feet, so she could sail nearer shore than we could, where the water was clearer of ice. We anchored two nights and a day, again sheltered behind a grounded iceberg.

The "Acret" and "Penelope" were tied up side by side, and we exchanged calling courtesies. This crew was intending to prospect in couples, each two men having a boat. Each person was independent of any other man, unless they should choose to form partnership among themselves. That is, they were not formed into a regular company as we were. We are no doubt better off individually as we are, though this remains to be proved.

After spending several days slowly making our way along the Alaskan coast towards Kotzebue, through the still breaking ice, on July 2 we found ourselves really in a dangerous position. The wind began to blow from out to sea, thus crowding the ice towards shore, making our sailing quarters more and more limited. We were already running too close in, from two to three fathoms, when suddenly the schooner ran aground, and we found ourselves stuck on a sandy bottom, with the ice rapidly moving down on us. An anchor was quickly towed out and dropped, so that by heaving in on the anchor chain the boat could be dragged out into deep water. This was slowly being accomplished, when a mass of ice too large to pole off caught against the schooner, causing a tremendous strain on the anchor chain.

Another ice cake floated against the first, and the "Penelope" would have been crowded deeper and deeper aground had not, after much chopping and prying, a crack opened up across the ice on our port bow. The two pieces swung apart, leaving the "Penelope" free. Again we tried to heave into deeper water, and finally with all sails set and all hands pulling on the chain, the boat slid off in time to escape another big sheet of ice. Of course this was one of the few times we did not feel like shouting and singing. We held our breath. It was an unpleasant experience, but one upon which we can look back with a sort of quiet satisfaction. We shall-at least have one hair-breadth escape to narrate to our friends at home. After dodging and threading our way, the captain finally sailed us into an open tract of water outside the ice.

Natives with Walrus-hide Canoe.

We have made little progress these last days. We have been sailing about in circles, at times coming within forty miles of Cape Blossom, but still blocked by the line of ice that closes the mouth of Kotzebue Sound. It is now rapidly breaking up and melting, and as soon as an off-shore wind sets in, the ice will be surely driven out to sea and our path will be clear. We are fifty days from San Francisco, and the majority of us are longing for land. Vessels are constantly coming In sight.

Last night twelve vessels besides our own were seen waiting for the ice to open. What a mad rush this is to a land nobody knows anything about, and whose treasure-trove, if she holds any, is far in the interior! There is plenty of country, if not of gold, for us all, and we can take our chances.

We have spoken the bark "Guardian" from Seattle with 130 on board. The barkentine "Northern Light" from San Francisco with 120 on board; the bark "Leslie D." with 58 on board, besides the "Catherine Sudden," and others whom we have not been near enough to speak.

While we were near shore natives. Eskimos, came on board in their skin canoes nearly every day, and often stayed several hours with us. Indeed they would remain with us all the time if allowed to. They are very greasy and not at all desirable in their present condition, dressed entirely in skins, and owning few civilized implements. Some were on summer hunting trips from as far as the Diomede Islands and the opposite Siberian shore. We have made some fine trades with them. Rivers, one of the boys, got a good skin kyak for a pair of overalls, a match safe and a few other trinkets. I got some nice seal (not the fur seal) skins for an outing shirt, and about one hundred yards of strong raw-hide rope, for soiled socks, undershirts, etc.

It is a good opportunity for obtaining spears, toys, implements, and clothing of Indian manufacture, etc., if only I could spare the stuff to trade. With all the hundreds of people coming to the coast this year, the trade will be spoiled by next year, or I would send home for a box of articles for trade.

Educated Natives.

These natives really require very little outside of their own resources, so it is hard to tell what articles would be likely to strike their fancy. Load, powder, tobacco, calico and clothes would be the best things.

The prince or chief of this tribe of Indians was an intelligent young man about twenty-five years old. He could not speak our language, but, strange to say, his wife, who accompanied him, was educated and refined. She had received some schooling at Port Clarence. It was she who interpreted for all of us during our trading hours.

The natives came in families, and the children were not uninteresting. Not a baby was heard to cry, although in the canoe for hours at a time, nor would they try to move. These canoes or kyaks are very strange boats, and prove quite treacherous to the novice. It looks easy rowing in one of them. I had learned the trick during my hunting about Sitka two years ago, and could not be induced to try my hand in a hurry. Not so Casey, who went out by himself in Rivers' new kyak. He started out all right, shouting that it was like riding a bicycle, "very hard to keep balanced in." He was getting along finely, keeping near the vessel, when he grew over-confident, and a misstroke with the paddle set him out of balance, and boat and poor Casey went rolling over together in the water. He struggled and kept to the surface long enough for a rope to be thrown out to him, but he could not get his legs out of the hole in the kyak for several seconds. Seconds are hours in this blistering ice-water, and had he been further from home he could not have survived the chill.

No one has tried kyaking since, but as soon as we reach shallow water I mean to practice until I have revived the lost art.

We are now inside the Arctic Circle, about 67 degrees north latitude. That is pretty well north for Southern Californians who, at home, rub their ears when the frost nips the tomato plants in January.