That night and all next day a gentle gale sent our ship plowing through the waves, the log registering an average speed of eight knots. At eight o'clock the next morning a drizzling shower came on, which continued throughout the day. The mercury in the graduated tube registered 40 degrees above zero. An overcoat was now quite comfortable. The ship rolled and pitched, sending many of the boys to their bunks with a second attack of nausea.

At four o'clock in the afternoon a four-mast schooner was sighted about three leagues to windward. Emerson says somewhere that every ship at sea is a romantic object except the one we are sailing in. The minute we embark, he says the romance quits our vessel and hangs on every other sail in the horizon. When the announcement was made that a ship had been sighted the passengers instantly crowded on deck and shivering in the rain, gazed eagerly at the vessel in the distance. Truly that simple schooner was for the time being a fascinating object.

In a long ocean voyage there is little to divert the mind or attract the eye. It is usually one dreary round of dull routine, and anything that will change the similarity in the slightest degree is a boon to the weary voyager.

From the 10th to the 14th we encountered head winds and sailed during the interim in a southwesterly direction. The weather was inclement. The waves breached the Catherine's deck; dense clouds mantled the heavens; the sun refused to emit his rays; the atmosphere was depressing; and a melancholy mien pervaded the ranks of the wearied passengers.

The next morning was ushered in by a light fall of snow. At the noon hour the captain took an ob

servation which showed the ship's position to be in latitude 45 deg. 37 min. north and longitude 151 deg. 31 min. west. While the four bells were ringing out the dog watch, a little bird of the plover family suddenly alighted on the port rail and viewing the surroundings for a moment, sought refuge on the main mast. The plover is a land bird which frequents the banks of rivers and seashores. We were about one thousand miles from the nearest point of land. Our little visitor had traveled this distance without an intermission and was nearly worn out when it reached the vessel, and the ship's main mast for a perch was to it, indeed, a haven of rest. The bird reposed itself there for two hours, then took its flight toward the eastern shore.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PEACEFUL OCEAN-"LAND IN SIGHT"-A GREAT FISHING BANK-FISHING IN THE NORTH PACIFIC THE BURNING ISLAND OF UNIMAKVOLCANOES ON THE ALEUTIAN ISLANDS-DEATH OF "KOTZEBUE," THE DOG.

The morning of the 24th opened bright and cheerful. The weather had changed for the better. The sky was serene, the sun shone with renewed luster, and the sea was as smooth as a piece of polished marble. Our ship scarcely moved upon the peaceful waters. She lay

"As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean."

“Land, land, land in sight! Come, boys, and see the land!" some one shouted at the top of his voice, and the cry reached every bunk in the ship and had the effect of an electric shock. One who has never been to sea for any length of time cannot conceive what the sight of land means to the weary and seasick voyager who has not had a glimpse of blessed mother earth for twenty-eight long, prosy, tedious days. An attempt to describe the sensations of that eagerly anticipated moment would end in failure.

As the cry "Land, land, land in sight!" echoed and re-echoed throughout the sleeping apartments every man was out of his bunk in an instant and hurriedly dressing, made a stampede for the main deck, and sure enough just a little way across the blue waters to the northwest, land could be seen,-the beautiful Islands of Sannak. "All hail thou noble land," as

chanted by half a hundred men that day, had a meaning for them different from any they had ever given the words before.

The Sannak Islands are three in number and belong to the Aleutian group, situated near latitude 55About twelve miles a little west of north of Sannak Islands lies Cape Pank, one of the many great fishing banks of the northern coast. Cape Pank borders on the Alaskan Peninsula.

In a little while the Catherine Sudden had drifted into the "fish belt" off the shore of Cape Pank. One of the sailors threw out a cod-line and in the twinkling of an eye he had a beautiful cod, weighing not less than twenty pounds, floundering on the quarter deck. The passengers were all excitement now. Fish lines. by the score were brought into play and during that beautiful day in June one hundred and fifty-seven cod and halibut were caught, weighing in the aggregate fifteen hundred pounds, and when dressed filled five 44-gallon barrels.

Our larder was now well supplied with fresh cod and halibut for a number of days, and these delicious fish were a welcome substitute for the fat salt pork which had been served us three times a day for thirty consecutive days by our amiable steward with that persistency and regularity for which he was noted.

Some time during the night or early next morning the wind began to blow from the northwest, and our ship slowly beat her way toward the Bering Sea. At 10 o'clock, ship's time, the sun dipped below the horizon. Twilight hovered about for an hour, then darkness covered the face of the deep.

Standing on the quarter deck intensely interested in the gorgeous panorama unrolling before me, I saw, probably eight leagues to the north, what appeared to

be a living volcano. It towered heavenward for several thousand feet, and flames of fire and clouds of smoke seemed gushing from its throat.

The sun was up early the next morning. At three o'clock his warm rays played upon the water. At half past six I was on the starboard deck, and with the aid of a marine glass was making an observation of the rugged cliffs ashore. And standing there twenty marine miles to the north was a burning mountain, a living volcano holding its fire-capped head grandly in the sky.

We were nearing the Unimak Pass, the main entrance to the Bering Sea. Unimak Pass lies midway between the two islands Unimak and Akun, of the Aleutian chain, the former bordering on the Alaskan Peninsula. It is on the Island of Unimak that the great fire-breathing volcano is located.

We beat about the Aleutian Isles all day, night came on and we had not yet passed through the narrow inlet to the sea. This gave an opportunity to view the burning island under cover of darkness, and also at shorter range. And there, from the main deck of the vessel, in the closing hour of that summer night, was seen the flame of liquid fire as it rolled out from the summit of the volcano, sending fragments of lava hundreds of feet into the air.

The name of this volcano is Shisholdin. The ocean chart gives its height as eight thousand nine hundred and fifty-three feet above the level of the sea It is one of the few living volcanoes left in the world today, and one of those remarkable examples which show the immense titanic forces still lurking in the interior of the earth.

Standing near the living volcano Shisholdin on the Unimak Island is a dead volcano called Ogiomni.