the island I placed
in a cairn a bottle containing written information of our landing and a
copy of the New York _Herald_ of April 23.[1]

Beyond the extraordinary bird life, no signs of life appeared, except a
small fox, and a Polar bear. The latter put in an appearance just after
we had returned on board at three o'clock in the morning, and the
circumstances attending his slaughter, which were about as enlivening as
shooting a sheep, put an end to this episode of our mission.

After great difficulty in getting out of the ice we ran all day on
Sunday, July 31, along the edge of the pack with Wrangel Island in
sight, but were unable to find a favorable lead that would take us
nearer the land than twelve or fifteen miles. The principal events that
go to make up the record of our cruise for the next ten days were the
finding of a ship's lower yard; the fabulous numbers of eider ducks seen
off the Siberian coast, and the usual encounters with fogs, bears, and
ice.

On the morning of August 11, we were so near the unexplored land that we
were most sanguine about getting ashore, although it seemed as if a
journey would have first to be made over the ice. In the afternoon the
chances were so good that I volunteered to go ashore on the ice on the
morning of the 12th in company with Lieutenant Reynolds, Engineer Owen,
and two men. Preparations were made accordingly; the skin boat, rations,
etc., being got ready, and we spent a restless night in anticipating the
events of the coming day. We were called at five o'clock on the morning
of the 12th, and while eating a hurried breakfast the ship steamed
inshore. We were fully prepared for the undertaking; but finding the
leads in the ice more favorable than on the preceding evening, the
little steamer jammed and crashed along in a labyrinthine course not
without great difficulty, for at times she was completely beset by great
masses of ice, which she steamed against at full speed for several
minutes before they showed sign of giving way, and it seemed that all
endeavors to get out of the pack would be futile. Happily, all these
difficulties yielded, and a clear way being seen to a water hole just
off the mouth of a river, we anchored in ten fathoms near some grounded
floebergs, about a quarter of a mile off shore. A boat was then got
away, and on the calm bright morning of August 12, 1881, the first
landing on Wrangel Island was accomplished!

On the beach, composed of black sla