Six days after our departure, we had to cross the Pouhain-Gol, a river which derives its source from the slopes of the Nan-Chan mountains, and throws itself into the Blue Sea. Its waters are not very deep, but being distributed in some dozen channels, very close to one another, they occupy altogether a breadth of more than a league. We had the misfortune to reach the first branch of the Pouhain-Gol long before daybreak; the water was frozen, but not thickly enough to serve as a bridge. The horses which arrived first grew alarmed and would not advance; they stopped on the bank, and gave the cattle time to come up with them. The whole caravan thus became assembled at one point, and it would be impossible to describe the disorder and confusion which prevailed in that enormous mass, amid the darkness of night. At last, several horsemen, pushing on their steeds and breaking the ice, actually and figuratively, the whole caravan followed in their train: the ice cracked in all directions, the animals stumbled about and splashed up the water, and the men shouted and vociferated; the tumult was absolutely fearful. After having traversed the first branch of the river, we had to manœuvre, in the same way, over the second, and then over the third, and so on. When day broke, the Holy Embassy was still dabbling in the water: at length, after infinite fatigue and infinite quaking, physical and moral, we had the delight to leave behind us the twelve arms of the Pouhain-Gol, and to find ourselves on dry land; but all our poetical visions had vanished, and we began to think this manner of travelling perfectly detestable. And yet everybody about us was in a state of jubilation, exclaiming that the passage of the Pouhain-Gol had been admirably executed. Only one man had broken his legs, and only two animals had been drowned. As to the articles lost or stolen, during the protracted disorder, no one took any heed to them.