Contrary winds-Aground on a sandbank-Ost'-yaks to the rescue-Visit on shore-Nest of the Siberian Chiffchaff-Birds in the forest-Under weigh again-Wreck of the ill-starred Thames-Arrangements for the future.

ON Saturday, the 30th of June, we sailed down the river with a somewhat contrary wind, which obliged us to tack more or less, but the current helped us to the extent of at least three knots an hour. In the evening we cast anchor, about one hundred and ten versts below the Koo-ray'-i-ka. I went on shore and found a third nest of the Little Bunting, with five eggs somewhat incubated. The nest was lined

with the hair of reindeer. We had a heavy thunderstorm late at night, and, after we had turned in, the rain came down in torrents.

Sunday morning, the 1st of July, was almost a calm, with rising fog, which cleared off before noon. We were crossing the river to get to the west of one of the islands, when the current unexpectedly drifted us too near the shore, and we found ourselves suddenly aground on a sand bank, with a light wind and a strong current driving us against the point of the island. We spent the whole morning throwing overboard the ballast, and putting the wood and cargo on board the Ibis, but as quickly as we lightened the ship the water fell. Every now and then we took an anchor out from the vessel in a boat, and hauled in the cable with the steam winch. All our efforts proved vain, the anchors all came home, the bottom was evidently smooth ice, and the part of the anchor which trailed on the ground was polished like steel. All the afternoon we worked away, without apparently the ghost of a chance. We tossed half the wood overboard, filled the Ibis, hauled first at the bow and then at the stern, ran the engines full speed ahead, and then tried full speed astern, but the vessel was aground somewhere about midships, and we vibrated on a pivot, not gaining a single point.

In the evening a few Ost'-yaks came across in a boat, to see what was the matter, and we set them to work to clear the bunkers of wood, and move the remaining ballast forward, hoping thus to raise the ship by the stern. Meanwhile the sailors took out an anchor, with three lengths of

cables, and dropped it at a greater distance from the ship than they had hitherto done. It was eleven o'clock by this time, the men were exhausted, and this was our forlorn hope. We had all worked hard since five o'clock (eighteen hours), in a hot sun and amidst virulent mosquitoes (the Culex damnabilis of Rae); the Captain now decided that if he failed in this endeavour nothing more could be done; in the morning the ship would, no doubt, be high and dry on a daily enlarging sandbank, we must dismantle her, sell her as a wreck in Doo-din'-ka, and go down the river in the Ibis. To our great surprise and delight, our last manœuvre succeeded. The anchor held sufficiently to draw us off; we steamed into deep water, and at one o'clock cast anchor in safety. From the Ost'-yaks we bought a sturgeon a yard long for half-a-crown, and sterlet half that length for a penny a piece.

The following morning, whilst the Captain was taking in fresh ballast, I went on shore and had a few hours' shooting and bird-nesting. The mosquitoes were swarming in clouds; there were so many between the eye and the sight of the gun, that it was almost impossible to see a small bird. I came upon an encampment consisting of three Ost'-yak chooms, and about fifty reindeer. The shore was very muddy, and between the river and the forest was a long, gently sloping bank, sprinkled over with willows. In these trees wisps of dry grass were hanging, caught between the forks of the branches, and left there after the high water had subsided. In one of these, about two feet from the ground, a bird had built its nest, or rather it had appropriated one of these

wisps for its nest. There was scarcely any attempt at interlacing stalks. It was undoubtedly the most slovenly and the most loosely-constructed nest I remember to have seen. It was not much more than a hole, about two and a half inches in diameter, with one side a little higher than the other, the entrance somewhat smaller than the greatest size inside, which was globular in form, and carefully lined with Capercailzie and Willow-Grouse feathers. The tree in which it was built was about fifty yards from the small encampment, and the feathers of both these birds would naturally be found outside an Ost'-yak's choom. As I approached, a little bird flew out of it, and began to fly uneasily from tree to tree, uttering the plaintive note, which I at once recognised as that of the Siberian Chiffchaff. I looked into the nest and saw it contained three eggs, pure white, with dark red, almost black, spots. I retired about twenty yards. The bird came back to the tree, and, having apparently satisfied itself that its treasures were safe, it began once more flying from tree to tree, still uttering its plaintive alarm-note. To be perfectly certain it was a Siberian Chiffchaff I shot it, and returned to the ship with the first identified eggs of this species ever taken. I found, besides, two solitary Fieldfares' nests, about a mile from each other, from one of which I shot the bird. So far as I could judge, the Fieldfare was rather a rare thrush there, and it did not appear to be at all gregarious. During migration they were in small flocks of about half-a-dozen birds, but afterwards I saw them only in pairs. I found, also, three nests of Temminck's Stint, from two of which I shot the birds. Sedge-Warblers were very abundant, and a few

pairs of Bluethroats frequented the willow. I saw both the White Wagtail and the Yellow-headed Wagtail. In the pine forests the Arctic Willow-Warbler was very numerous. Most of these birds were in full song, and apparently thought that there was no occasion whatever to hurry about nest building. One pair, however, were chasing each other through the forest, uttering a note I had not heard before, a plaintive scream. I shot one, expecting to procure a new bird. Our Willow-Warbler, and also the Yellow-browed Warbler, were thinly sprinkled through the trees, the former preferring the birches, and the latter the pines. I shot a Scarlet Bullfinch, and heard several singing.

SAMOYADE PIPE.

On Tuesday, the 3rd of July, we weighed anchor early in the morning, with a fair breeze, which at noon became strong enough to clear the decks of mosquitoes. The cabin we made habitable by a vigorous application of brown paper smoke. We found the sterlet and the sturgeon delicious eating, the former the richer of the two. Now and then we passed, on the banks, small encampments of Ost'-yak chooms. The men were busy fishing, in their usual lazy fashion. They frequently boarded us, wanting to buy salt and to sell fish. We saw many birds as we steamed along, a large flock of Ducks, a small party of Swans, occasionally a Gull, once a pair of Terns, and once an Eagle.

After dinner I turned in for an hour's nap; when I came