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.