the tiny settlement been half a mile
further we could never have reached it. Here again we disposed of three
dogs for more seal-meat, and went on the next morning rejoicing,
notwithstanding a stiff gale from the eastward accompanied by snow.

At Cape North the natives were the friendliest we had yet seen, and we
actually obtained flour and molasses, priceless luxuries. Pancakes fried
in seal oil may not sound appetising, but to us they tasted like the
daintiest of _petits fours_. And the welcome news that Koliutchin Bay
would remain frozen until late in May enabled me to hope that we might
now reach Bering Straits, a contingency which only a few days before had
seemed extremely remote. This information was furnished by a Tchuktchi
named Yaigok, whose home was within a few miles of Bering Straits, and
who spoke a few words of English picked up from the American whalemen.
This man was returning with a sled-load of bearskins and fox furs, to
trade to the whaling fleet. He was a fine, strapping fellow, and I
gladly accepted his offer to guide us as far as his village, for twelve
dogs, some tobacco and a couple of clasp-knives. Several natives here
had travelled as far as the Bering Straits, which they called the "Big
River," the land beyond it, Alaska, being known as "Nagurok" in the
Tchuktchi dialect.

The village at Cape North is known to the natives as Irkaipien. From a
distance the promontory presents almost the appearance of an island, as
it is joined to the low land by a landspit hidden in winter by stranded
ice. This is probably the point seen in 1777 by Captain Cook, from whom
it received its present name, but I rechristened it Cape Despair, on
account of the difficulty we experienced in reaching it from the time
when it was first sighted. Mentioning the fact to Stepan, I was much
entertained by an anecdote related by the Cossack in connection with the
names of places. He had once accompanied a German traveller, who was
compiling a volume of his experiences, down the Yenisei River in
Siberia. On several occasions the tourists' inquiries as to
topographical names were met with the reply, "Imia niet," for the
country they were travelling was new to Stepan. When, however, the book
of travel was published in Berlin, a mountain, two rivers and a village
were carefully described under the title of the above two words which in
Russian signify: "It has no name!"

[Illustration: CAPE DESPAIR.]

I was rather disturbed wh