Some of the Russian miners on board were set to work making a large United States flag, with which to decoy natives on board, for they can scarcely be induced to go on board a Russian ship, because of the rough treatment they frequently receive. On June 14 the temperature of the water suddenly dropped from forty to thirty-four degrees, which showed plainly that we were nearing ice. We slowed down, and half an hour later sighted an iceberg through the mist. As our vessel was of steel and without compartments, a very slight blow would put us _hors de combat_, so we took every precaution. There were but two life-boats for a crew of seventy men in all, many of whom would be likely to make trouble in case of accident. The ship's officers and I always had our revolvers handy for any emergency. On the 16th we arrived off Cape Chaplain, or Indian Point, as the Americans usually call it. Between us and the shore there lay a band of ice at least thirty-five miles broad. We tried to discover an opening in it, but without success. We therefore headed for St. Lawrence Island, which lies near Bering Strait and belongs to Uncle Sam. As soon as we had cast anchor the natives came off to see us. The men were small but stocky, and looked much like North American Indians. Their women are rather good-looking, but are accustomed to tattoo as soon as they reach the age of womanhood. We found that about two thirds of the tribe were suffering either from the measles or the grippe. The mountains that loomed up in the background were used as burial-places. The dead were laid there, exposed, and the dogs and wild animals soon disposed of them. The higher the rank of the dead man the higher he was placed on the mountain. Dr. Lorego of the Presbyterian Mission came off to see us, and courteously invited us ashore. It was an invitation that I gladly accepted. Through him I learned from the natives they were unaware that any American miners had landed on the Siberian side. [Illustration: Picked up on the Ice off St. Lawrence Island.]