over which we had been cutting a
road came to an abrupt termination. Unsupported from beneath, the
whole escarpment had caved away into the sea, leaving a gap of open
water about thirty-five feet in width, out of which rose the black
perpendicular wall of the coast. There was no possibility of getting
across without the assistance of a pontoon bridge. Tired and
disheartened, we were compelled to camp on the slope of the escarpment
for the night, with no prospect of being able to do anything in the
morning except return with all possible speed to the Viliga, and
abandon the idea of reaching Yamsk altogether.

A wilder, more dangerous location for a camp than that which we
occupied could hardly be found in Siberia, and I watched with the
greatest uneasiness the signs of the weather as it began to grow dark.
The huge sloping snow-drift upon which we stood rose directly out of
the water, and, so far as we knew, it might have no other foundation
than a narrow strip of ice. If so, the faintest breeze from any
direction except north would roll in waves high enough to undermine
and break up the whole escarpment, and either precipitate us with
an avalanche of snow into the open sea, or leave us clinging like
barnacles to the bare face of the precipice, seventy-five feet above
it. Neither alternative was pleasant to contemplate, and I determined,
if possible, to find a place of greater security. Leet, with his usual
recklessness, dug himself out what he called a "bedroom" in the snow
about fifty feet above the water, and promised me "a good night's
sleep" if I would accept his hospitality and share his cave; but under
the circumstances I thought best to decline. His "bedroom," bed, and
bedding might all tumble into the sea before morning, and his "good
night's sleep" be indefinitely prolonged. Going back a short distance
in the direction of the Viliga, I finally discovered a place where a
small stream had once fallen over the summit of the cliff, and had
worn out a steep narrow channel in its face. In the rocky, uneven bed
of this little ravine the natives and I stretched ourselves out for
the night, our bodies inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees--our
heads, of course, up-hill.

If the reader can imagine himself camping out on the steep sloping
roof of a great cathedral, with a precipice a hundred feet high over
his head and three or four fathoms of open water at his feet, he will
be able, perhaps, to form some idea of