oenberg-Cotta
Family,_ and wondered that the latter had already found its way to the
distant shores of Kamchatka.

As new-comers, it was our first duty to pay our respects to the
Russian authorities; and, accompanied by Mr. Fluger and Mr. Bollman,
we called upon Captain Sutkovoi (soot-ko-voi'), the resident "Captain
of the port." His house, with its bright-red tin roof, was almost
hidden by a large grove of thrifty oaks, through which tumbled, in
a succession of little cascades, a clear, cold mountain stream. We
entered the gate, walked up a broad travelled path under the shade of
the interlocking branches, and, without knocking, entered the house.
Captain Sutkovoi welcomed us cordially, and notwithstanding our
inability to speak any language but our own, soon made us feel quite
at home. Conversation however languished, as every remark had to be
translated through two languages before it could be understood by the
person to whom it was addressed; and brilliant as it might have been
in the first place, it lost its freshness in being passed around
through Russian, German, and English to us.

I was surprised to see so many evidences of cultivated and refined
taste in this remote corner of the world, where I had expected barely
the absolute necessaries of life, or at best a few of the most common
comforts. A large piano of Russian manufacture occupied one corner of
the room, and a choice assortment of Russian, German, and American
music testified to the musical taste of its owner. A few choice
paintings and lithographs adorned the walls, and on the centre-table
rested a stereoscope with a large collection of photographic views,
and an unfinished game of chess, from which Captain and Madame
Sutkovoi had risen at our entrance.

After a pleasant visit of an hour we took our leave, receiving an
invitation to dinner on the following day.

It was not yet decided whether we should continue our voyage to the
Amur River, or remain in Petropavlovsk and begin our northern journey
from there, so we still regarded the brig as our home and returned,
every night to our little cabin. The first night in port was strangely
calm, peaceful, and quiet, accustomed as we had become to the rolling,
pitching, and creaking of the vessel, the swash of water, and the
whistling of the wind. There was not a zephyr abroad, and the surface
of the miniature bay lay like a dark mirror, in which were obscurely
reflected the high hills which formed its s