s a little shake it is all she does.

On Saturday, July 29th, we again headed eastward towards Yugor Strait
as fast as sails and steam could take us. We had open sea ahead, the
weather was fine and the wind fair. Next morning we came under the
south side of Dolgoi or Langoeia, as the Norwegian whalers call it,
where we had to stand to the northward. On reaching the north of the
island we again bore eastward. Here I descried from the crow's-nest,
as far as I could make out, several islands which are not given on
the charts. They lay a little to the east of Langoeia.

It was now pretty clear that the Urania had not made her way through
the ice. While we were sitting in the saloon in the forenoon, talking
about it, a cry was heard from deck that the sloop was in sight. It
was joyful news, but the joy was of no long duration. The next moment
we heard she had a crow's-nest on her mast, so she was doubtless a
sealer. When she sighted us she bore off to the south, probably fearing
that we were a Russian war-ship or something equally bad. So, as we
had no particular interest in her, we let her go on her way in peace.

Later in the day we neared Yugor Strait. We kept a sharp lookout
for land ahead, but none could be seen. Hour after hour passed as we
glided onward at good speed, but still no land. Certainly it would not
be high land, but nevertheless this was strange. Yes--there it lies,
like a low shadow over the horizon, on the port bow. It is land--it is
Vaigats Island. Soon we sight more of it--abaft the beam; then, too,
the mainland on the south side of the strait. More and more of it comes
in sight--it increases rapidly. All low and level land, no heights, no
variety, no apparent opening for the strait ahead. Thence it stretches
away to the north and south in a soft low curve. This is the threshold
of Asia's boundless plains, so different from all we have been used to.

We now glided into the strait, with its low rocky shores on either
side. The strata of the rocks lie endways, and are crumpled and broken,
but on the surface everything is level and smooth. No one who travels
over the flat green plains and tundras would have any idea of the
mysteries and upheavals that lie hidden beneath the sward. Here
once upon a time were mountains and valleys, now all worn away and
washed out.

We looked out for Khabarova. On the north side of the sound there
was a mark; a shipwrecked sloop lay on the shore; it was a Norwegian
seal