the glint of bayonets often flashed in the foliage. At the end of this reach the river broadens out to a width of a mile or more, but only for a short distance, and then divides around a perfect maze of islands with no marks anywhere to indicate the best passage. According to our map, which for this part of the river was very inaccurate and almost useless, the northern arm along the frontier would be scarcely navigable, and, withal, much the longest route. Noticing the roof of a small house among the reeds just after we had entered the middle branch, we stopped to inquire the way and to find out the distance. The whole peasant family trooped down to greet us, and took the friendliest interest in the canoes and in the journey we were making. The boys ran and gathered melons which they forced upon us, and the father gave us most accurate directions for our navigation, much too intricate and detailed to be remembered, and told us it was about forty versts (twenty-five miles) to the sea. CHAPTER XXI For the next two hours we paddled steadily between banks covered with tall reeds, waving and rustling in the wind, occasionally startling broods of young ducks out of their hiding-places, but seeing no other living thing. About noon we came out into a stream at right angles with the one we had followed, and seeing the familiar figure of a Russian soldier among the willows, knew we were on the right road. In a few minutes more we saw a row of white sand-dunes glistening in the sun beyond grassy meadows, and to the right and below the green domes of two churches. Rounding a low point we were shortly off the village of Vilkoff, the last settlement on the Kilia arm. Very little of the place was visible from the river as we came down, for it extends some distance back, and only the roofs of two large fish warehouses and a few fishermen’s huts are seen among the trees near the river. There was no landing-place, and not even a boat along the shore, so we pushed on against the wind, now blowing a gale, and shortly came to the mouth of a narrow inlet, forming the tiny harbor of the place. Along both sides of this passage we saw, jumbled together in confusion, many rambling wooden structures, quite like those at any remote fishing village in New England, and a fleet of boats, large and small, moored to rotting, neglected landing-stages. We grounded once or twice on a mud-bank on our way into the harbor, but presently were in sheltered waters, and, following the directions of some fishermen, came alongside the steps in front of a low white building which we found was the Custom-house. With the exception of the lotkas, or native boats, all our surroundings, from the unpainted shanties and the shaky wharves to the rough boots and tarpaulins of the fishermen, suggested Cape Ann or Cape Cod; but the appearance on the quay of a very short and stout official with an extraordinary bottle nose and wearing the Russian uniform, located the place instantly.