We met here a boat from St. Michael with Mr. Frank P. Williams, the well-known postmaster and trader of St. Michael, who comes for the two men, my fellow passengers. We get acquainted and, to escape the gases of the _Agnes_, I go with them. The boat is heavier and free from fumes, though without accommodation. At about 7 p. m. we arrive at Kotlik, at the mouth of the river--an abandoned wireless station, a store, and four tents of natives. But the old wireless building, now the storekeeper's house, is the dwelling place of a clean white man, Mr. Backlund, who is now "outside," but with whom Mr. Williams is in some partnership; so we occupy the building. Outside the wind has risen to half a gale and there are squalls of rain and drizzle. The _Agnes_ has to "tie to," as she would be swamped in the open. My boxes and bedding, which were on the roof of the _Agnes_, are soaked, though the contents will be dry. So both boats are fastened to a little "dock," and we soon have fire in the stove, supper, and then--it is 11 p. m.--a bed, not overclean, somewhat smelly, but a bed and free from mosquitoes, rain, wind, and cold. July 10. Up at 6.30. Outside a storm and rain--just like one of the three-day northeasters with us, and cool. Both boats were to leave, but are unable to do so. I find that Mr. Williams's tug will come back here and go to St. Michael on the 13th, so arrange with Mr. Williams to take me and leave the _Agnes_ for good. This partly because I learn of two graveyards near, one 1½, the other 4½ miles distant. After lunch, rain for a while ceasing, I set out for the nearer burial place. This is already a tundra country--treeless and bush-less flats overgrown with a thick coat of moss, into which feet bury themselves as in a cushion, and dotted with innumerable swampy depressions with high swamp grass. Walking over all this is very difficult--lucky I have rubber boots. Even so, it is no easy matter, except where a little native trail is encountered. The graveyard, belonging to the now abandoned little village above Kotlik, consists of only about half a dozen adult graves. These consist of boxes of heavy lumber laid on a base raised above the ground level, and covered with other heavy boards. Some of the burials are quite recent. Open three older ones. In two the remains are too fresh yet, but from one secure a good female skeleton, which I pack in a practically new heavy pail, thrown out probably on the occasion of the last funeral. Then back, farther out, to avoid notice, through swamps and over moss, and with a recurring wind-driven drizzle against which my umbrella is but a weak protection. Reach home quite wet and a bit tired. Have to undress and, wrapped in a blanket, dry my clothes and underwear about the stove. Nothing further this day and evening--just wind and heavy low clouds and rain.