Leaving Petropaulovski on November 1st, a fortnight of what sailors term “dirty weather” culminated in a gale from the south-east. It was no “capful of wind,” but a veritable tempest, which broke over the devoted ship. At its outset, the wind was so powerful that it blew the main-boom from the ropes which held it, and it swung round with great violence against the “smoke-stack” (funnel) of the steamer, knocking it overboard. The guys, or chains by which it had been held upright, were snapped, and it went to the bottom. Here was a dilemma; the engines were rendered nearly useless, and a few hours later were made absolutely powerless, for the rudder became disabled, and the steering-wheel was utterly unavailable. During this period a very curious circumstance happened; the sea driving faster than the vessel—itself a log lying in the trough of the waves, which rose in mountains on all sides—acted on the screw in such a manner that in its turn it worked the engines at a greater rate than they had ever attained by steam! After much trouble the couplings were disconnected, but for several hours the jarring of the machinery revolving at lightning speed threatened to make a breach in the stern. No one on board will soon forget the night of that great gale. The vessel, scarcely larger than a “penny” steamer, and having “guards,” or bulwarks, little higher than the rail of those boats, was engulfed in the tempestuous waters. It seemed literally to be driving under the water. Waves broke over it every few minutes; a rope had to be stretched along the deck for the sailors to hold on by, while the brave commander, Captain Marston, was literally _tied_ to the aft bulwark, where, half frozen and half drowned, he remained at his post during an entire night. The steamer had the “house on deck,” so common in American vessels. It was divided into state-rooms, very comfortably fitted, but had doors and windows of the lightest character. At the commencement of the gale, these were literally battered to pieces by the waves dashing over the vessel; it was a matter of doubt whether the whole house might not be carried off bodily. The officers of the expedition took refuge in the small cabin aft, which had been previously the general ward-room of the vessel, where the meals were served. A great sea broke over its skylight, smashing the glass to atoms, putting out the lamps and stove, and filling momentarily the cabin with about three feet of water. A landsman would have thought his last hour had come. But the hull of the vessel was sound; the pumps were in good order, and worked steadily by a “donkey” engine in the engine-room, and the water soon disappeared. The men coiled themselves up that night amid a pile of ropes and sails, boxes, and miscellaneous matters lying on the “counter” of the vessel, _i.e._, that part of the stern lying immediately over the rudder. Next morning, in place of the capital