Discovery of the Siberian Islands—HedenstrÖm—Anjou and Wrangell—Migration of reindeer—Animals and plants of the tundra—The northward migration of the native tribes—The voyage of the Jeannette—Her drift in the pack—Jeannette Island—Henrietta Island—The ship crushed and sunk—Landing on Bennett Island—The boat voyage—The boats separate in a storm—De Long lands on the Lena Delta—Nindemann and Noros in search of assistance—Safety of the whale-boat—Fate of De Long and his companions—Baron Toll's discoveries.

The Siberian Islands, lying north of the delta of the Lena, answer to the Parry Islands on the American side, the two groups being separated by that wide stretch of the Arctic Ocean communicating with the Pacific through Bering Strait. At first the Asiatic group was officially named after Liakhoff, then it was called after the unwisely named New Siberia, but, under any designation, it took half a century to find the different islands, and considerably more to land on them.

When Liakhoff discovered the one named after him by the Empress Catherine, he also went north to Moloi, and he seems to have visited Kotelnoi to the north-west. In 1775 Chvoinof was sent to survey these three, but he devoted most of his attention to Liakhoff Island—fifty miles across—which he found to consist, as reported, of hills of granite rising from a mass of mammoth bones, sand, and ice, some of the ice ancient enough to carry a deep covering of moss. Though he stated that other islands could be made out in the distance, nothing was done to verify his discoveries, real or imaginary, until thirty years had passed, when Thaddeus and Stolbovoi were reached. Next year (1806) New Siberia, to the eastward, was discovered by Sirovatskof, and two years afterwards Bjelkof was added to the southerly portion of the archipelago.

In 1809 HedenstrÖm, assisted by Sannikof, began his series of surveys extending over all these, and cleared up much of the mystery concerning them. From Thaddeus, Sannikof sighted, away to the northward, what is now known as Bennett Island; and, from New Siberia, HedenstrÖm sighted Henrietta and Jeannette Islands, and set out for them, and would have reached them had his sledges not been stopped by open water. Like his predecessors he was astonished at the mammoth remains on Liakhoff Island.

According to his account, "these bones or tusks are less large and heavy the further we advance towards the north, so that it is a rare occurrence on the islands to meet with a tusk of more than 108 lbs. in weight, whereas on the continent they are said often to weigh as much as 432 lbs. In quantity, however, these bones increase wonderfully to the northward, and as Sannikof expresses himself, the whole soil of the first of the Liakhoff Islands appears to consist of them. For about eighty years the fur-hunters have every year brought large cargoes from this island, but as yet there is no sensible diminution of the stock. The tusks on the islands are also much more fresh and white than those on the continent. A sandbank on the western side was most productive of all, and the fur-hunters maintain that when the sea recedes after a long continuance of easterly winds, a fresh supply of mammoth bones is always found to have been washed from this bank, proceeding apparently from some vast store at the bottom of the sea." Besides these multitudinous remains of the mammoth HedenstrÖm found numerous remains of rhinoceros, the horn of which was then thought to be a bird's claw three feet long.

To clear up the wide discrepancies in the maps the Emperor Alexander, in 1820, equipped two expeditions to proceed by land to the northern coast of Siberia and properly survey it, the work to be carried as far east as Cape Chelagskoi, whence a sledge party was to start for the north in search of the inhabited country reported to exist in the Polar Sea in that direction. One of these expeditions, under Lieutenant P. F. Anjou, was to commence its operations from the mouth of the Yana; the other, under Lieutenant Ferdinand Vrangel' (or, as he is generally known amongst us, Wrangell or Von Wrangell), was to start from the mouth of the Kolyma, his chief assistant being Midshipman Matiuschkin. Both parties did good survey work, but neither made any striking discovery. Anjou reached 76° 36´ to the north of Kotelnoi; Wrangell reached 72° 2´ (north-east of the Bear Islands, one hundred and seventy-four miles out on the sea from the great Baranoff rock), beyond which progress was impossible owing to the thinness of the ice, which was covered with salt water.

Wrangell had many perilous experiences. In his fourth journey over the sea the ice broke up around him and he found himself on a floe with a labyrinth of water lanes hemming him in on every side and a storm coming on from the westward. The storm rapidly increased in fury, and the masses of ice around him were soon dashing against each other and breaking in all directions. On the floe, which was tossing to and fro on the waves, he gazed in painful inactivity on the conflict, expecting every moment to be swallowed up. For three long hours he had remained unable to move, the mass of ice beneath him holding together, when it was caught by the storm and hurled against a large field of ice. The crash was terrific, as it was shattered into little pieces. At that dreadful moment, when escape seemed impossible, he was saved by the impulse of self-preservation. Instinctively the party sprang on to the sledges and urged the dogs to full speed, and as hard as they could gallop they skimmed across the yielding fragments to the field on which they had been stranded, and safely reached a stretch of firmer ice, where the dogs ceased running among the hummocks, conscious that the danger was past.

But it is not so much for adventures like this that his account of his work is of continuing interest as for the abundance of its notes and reflections on the country and its life and climate. Once, for instance, when on the Baranicha he was fortunate enough to witness a migration of reindeer. "I had hardly finished the observation," he says, "when my whole attention was called to a highly interesting, and to me a perfectly novel, spectacle. Two large migrating bodies of reindeer passed us at no great distance. They were descending the hills from the north-west and crossing the plain on their way to the forests, where they spend the winter. Both bodies of deer extended further than the eye could reach, and formed a compact mass, narrowing towards the front. They moved slowly and majestically along, their broad antlers resembling a moving wood of leafless trees. Each body was led by a deer of unusual size, which my guides assured me was always a female. One of the herds was stealthily followed by a wolf, who was apparently watching for an opportunity of seizing any one of the younger and weaker deer which might fall behind the rest, but on seeing us he made off in another direction. The other column was followed at some distance by a large black bear, who, however, appeared only intent on digging out a mouse's nest every now and then, so much so that he took no notice of us. We had great difficulty in restraining our two dogs, but happily succeeded in doing so; their barking, or any sound or motion on our part, might have alarmed the deer, and by turning them from their course, have proved a terrible misfortune to the hunters, who were awaiting their passage, on which they are entirely dependent for support. We remained for two hours whilst the herds of deer were passing by, and then resumed our march."

The way in which the deer are dealt with by the hunters was seen by Matiuschkin when despatched by Wrangell to survey the Anyui. "The true harvest, which we arrived just in time to see, is in August or September, when the reindeer are returning from the plains to the forests. They are then healthy and well fed, the venison is excellent, and as they have just acquired their winter coats the fur is thick and warm. The difference of the quality of the skins at the two seasons is such, that whilst an autumn skin is valued at five or six roubles, a spring one will only fetch one or one and a half roubles. In good years the migrating body of reindeer consists of many thousands; and though they are divided into herds of two or three hundred each, yet the herds keep so near together as to form only one immense mass, which is sometimes from thirty to seventy miles in breadth. They always follow the same route, and in crossing the river near Plotbischtsche, they choose a place where a dry valley leads down to the stream on one side, and a flat sandy shore facilitates their landing on the other side. As each separate herd approaches the river, the deer draw more closely together, and the largest and strongest takes the lead. He advances, closely followed by a few of the others, with head erect, and apparently intent on examining the locality. When he has satisfied himself, he enters the river, the rest of the herd crowd after him, and in a few minutes the surface is covered with them. Then the hunters, who have been concealed to leeward, rush in their light canoes from their hiding-places, surround the deer, and delay their passage, whilst two or three chosen men armed with short spears dash into the middle of the herd and despatch large numbers in an incredibly short time; or at least wound them so, that, if they reach the bank, it is only to fall into the hands of the women and children. The office of the spearman is a very dangerous one. It is no easy thing to keep the light boat afloat among the dense crowd of swimming deer, which, moreover, make considerable resistance; the males with their horns, teeth, and hind legs, whilst the females try to overset the boat by getting their fore-feet over the gunwale; if they succeed in this the hunter is lost, for it is hardly possible that he should extricate himself from the throng; but the skill of these people is so great that accidents very rarely occur. A good hunter may kill a hundred or more in less than half an hour. When the herd is large, and gets into disorder, it often happens that their antlers become entangled with each other; they are then unable to defend themselves, and the business is much easier. Meanwhile the rest of the boats pick up the slain and fasten them together with thongs, and every one is allowed to keep what he lays hold of in this manner. It might seem that in this way nothing would be left to requite the spearmen for their skill, and the danger they have encountered; but whilst everything taken in the river is the property of whoever secures it, the wounded animals which reach the bank before they fall, belong to the spearman who wounded them. The skill and experience of these men are such that in the thickest of the conflict, when every energy is taxed to the uttermost, and their life is every moment at stake, they have sufficient presence of mind to contrive to measure the force of their blows so as to kill the smallest animals outright, but only to wound the larger and finer ones, so that they may be just able to reach the bank. Such proceeding is not sanctioned by the general voice, but it seems nevertheless to be almost always practised. The whole scene is of a most singular and curious character, and quite indescribable. The throng of thousands of swimming reindeer, the sound produced by the striking together of their antlers, the swift canoes dashing in amongst them, the terror of the frightened animals, the danger of the hunters, the shouts of warning advice or applause from their friends, the blood-stained water, and all the accompanying circumstances, form a whole which no one can picture to himself without having witnessed the scene."

The tundra has no more characteristic animal than the reindeer. Over the mossy hillocks and the matted tops of the dwarf birches he runs, or through the rivers and lakes he swims, with his broad-hoofed, spade-like feet never at a loss to find a footing. In the long winter he is protected by his thick skin against the influence of the cold, and is seldom at starvation point, as he digs for food in the deepest snow, and is by no means particular what he eats; and in the short summer he is in luxurious ease, for the tundra, as we have seen, is not always as bad as it is painted. In exposed places near the coast it is little else than gravel beds interspersed with patches of peat and clay, with scarcely a rush or a sedge to break the monotony, but by far the greater part of it is a gently undulating plain, broken up by lakes, rivers, swamps, and bogs; the lakes with patches of green water-plants, the rivers flowing between sedges and rushes, the swamps the breeding haunts of ruffs and phalaropes, the bogs dotted with the white fluffy seeds of the cotton-grass. Almost everywhere the birds are in noticeable numbers, among the commonest being the golden plover (who wears the tundra colours), the bluethroat, the fieldfare, the whooper swan, and the ducks and divers—particularly the divers—and, among the birds of prey, the falcons and the rough-legged buzzards, which, with the owls, find such abundant provision in the lemmings that migrate in myriads compared with which the reindeer troops are insignificant.

"The groundwork of all this variegated scenery," says Seebohm, "is more beautiful and varied still—lichens and mosses of almost every conceivable colour, from the cream-coloured reindeer-moss to the scarlet-cupped trumpet-moss, interspersed with a brilliant alpine flora, gentians, anemones, saxifrages, and hundreds of plants, each a picture in itself, the tall aconites, both the blue and yellow species, the beautiful cloudberry, with its gay white blossom and amber fruit, the fragrant Ledum palustre and the delicate pink Andromeda polifolia. In the sheltered valleys and deep water-courses a few stunted birches, and sometimes large patches of willow scrub, survive the long severe winter, and serve as cover for willow-grouse or ptarmigan. The Lapland bunting and red-throated pipit are everywhere to be seen, and certain favoured places are the breeding-grounds of plovers and sandpipers of many species. So far from meriting the name of Barren Ground, the tundra is for the most part a veritable paradise in summer. But it has one almost fatal drawback—it swarms with mosquitoes."

The beauty of the tundra is, however, transient and skin deep; it is only such plants as can live in the soil that thaws that survive. Wherever the ground is dug into, ice is sure to be reached; in fact, it may be said that ice is one of the rocks of the subsoil, and in some places these strata of ice that never melts have been found to be three hundred feet thick—ice that has remained in block since the mammoths got into cold storage in it ages ago, for otherwise they would not have lasted intact in skin and flesh as many have done, like the very first discovered in a complete state, that chipped out by Adams in 1807.

In such a climate, whose winter terrors are only too prominent, all along the north of Siberia live the ancient peoples driven towards the sea by those mighty movements from the land of the Turk and Mongol which, north and south, east and west, flooded Europe and Asia with invaders—Ostiaks and Samoyeds west of Chelyuskin; Yakuts, Chukches, and others to the east of it, the descriptions of whose unpleasant manners and customs appear to be written with a view to showing how curiously local are the laws of health. One may well ask, as Wrangell did, why they should remain in so dreary a region and take life so contentedly. And the answer may be that they might go further north and fare worse, as their predecessors in the eastern section would seem to have done. Once, according to the legend, there were more hearths of the Omoki on the shores of the Kolyma than there are stars in the clear sky, and these Omoki, or some other departed race, appear to have left as their traces the remains of the timber forts and the tumuli that are found on the coast, especially near the Indiyirka, and the huts of earth and stones and bones found all along from Chelagskoi to the straits, similar remains of a departed people now existing in the Parry Islands, over a thousand miles away. According to another legend of more recent date, there was an intervening land, the land that Wrangell went to seek and the Jeannette went to winter at, and the supposed site of which she drifted through, in her last and longest imprisonment in the ice.

The Jeannette was the old Pandora, bought from Sir Allen Young by James Gordon Bennett, and accepted by and fitted out, officered, and manned under the orders of the Navy Department of the United States, her commander being Lieutenant George Washington De Long. She left San Francisco on the 8th of July, 1879, and two months afterwards had been run into the pack and was fast in the ice off Herald Island, drifting to her doom. Her route, in the main, was north-westerly, with many complicated loops, at first at the rate of half a mile a day, then at two miles, then at three, showing that the current from Bering Strait had been reinforced by some other current as she went further west, and, from its direction, there seemed to be land to the northward which was never sighted.

Wrangell Land, passed to the south, proved to be not a continent but a small island. No other land was seen for a monotonous twenty months, and then, in May, 1881, the ship drifted, stern first, past that sighted by HedenstrÖm from New Siberia, which was found to consist of two islands, to be henceforth known as Jeannette and Henrietta. On the 12th of June, in latitude 77° 14´ 57?, the Jeannette was crushed and sank, her fore yardarms breaking upwards as she slipped down through the rift in the pack, and a start was made for the Siberian Islands over the ice; but the drift had taken the party to 77° 36´, before they got on their proper course, and after a most laborious journey, lasting up to the 28th of July, they were safe ashore on the land sighted by Sannikof from Thaddeus, which De Long named Bennett Island.

Bennett Island was left on the 7th of August, the party of thirty-three being in three boats, thirteen under De Long in the first cutter, ten under Lieutenant Chipp in the much smaller second cutter, and ten, under Engineer George W. Melville, whose skill and resourcefulness had been conspicuous throughout, were given the whale-boat, the most suitable of the three. Sail was made for Thaddeus Island, which was reached in safety; after a halt of some days it was left on the 31st of August. Then Kotelnoi Island was reached and rested at; then the boats made for Semonovski, which was left on the 12th of September.

The same day a gale came on in which the first cutter had great difficulty in keeping afloat, the second cutter disappeared never to be heard of again, and the whale-boat, behaving excellently, went off before the wind straight for the continent to reach in safety one of the eastern mouths of the Lena, up which Melville arrived at a Russian village on the 26th of September. De Long's party ran their boat aground in shallow water, on the 17th of September, and rafted and waded ashore to one of the most inhospitable spots on the globe. Heavily laden they made their way down the dreary delta, toiling through the snow, delayed by the tributaries which were not frozen over hard enough to bear, hampered by sickness and disablement, and finally dying one by one of starvation.

On the 9th of October De Long sent two of the seamen, Nindemann and Noros, ahead in search of relief. They had no food but what they could find, and on the second day out their dinner consisted of a little willow tea and a burnt boot sole. Next morning they burnt another sole of a boot, and they spent the day struggling through a morass in drifting snow, crossing streams of all sizes, and halting for the night in so high a wind that they were unable to light a fire and took refuge in a hole in the snow from which they emerged with difficulty in the morning, owing to the wind having piled up the snow against the opening. At the end of the third day they reached a deserted hut in which were some deer bones, which they grilled and tried to eat, and in the morning a gale was blowing and the wild drifting snow was so thick that they had to remain where they were and continue their diet of charred bones and willow tea.

Next day, Thursday, the 13th of October, they began against a strong head wind. In the afternoon they sighted a hut on the west bank of the river. "They had seen one in the morning, but had in vain attempted to cross the ice to it. Now they tried to reach this, but were turned back by the brittle ice. They kept it in sight as they moved southward, and made another attempt to cross the ice, but it broke and they came back. Then they saw that there was no further progress possible to the southward on that side of the water, and they returned to the ice. It broke again, but they kept on. They went in up to their waists, but managed to pull themselves up on the stronger ice." The wind was blowing against them and the ice was like glass, so that they were driven back. They looked about for ice which had been roughened by the ripples beneath, and finding some they succeeded at length in reaching the other side, where were two wooden crosses beneath a bank, which rose fifty feet above them. They pulled themselves up the bank, but when they came to the hut which they had kept in sight they found it a ruin nearly full of snow. "While Noros was trying to make a place in it for shelter, Nindemann saw a black object farther along to the south and went to it. It was a small peaked hut without a door, but large enough to hold two men. There were some fresh wood shavings outside the hut and higher up on the hill two boxes. On going to them Nindemann found them old and decayed, and he began to break one of them open. When he had ripped off the top he discovered that there was another box enclosed; breaking into it he found a dead body, and hastily left it. Doubtless the two crosses below on the river bank were memorials of the two beings left high up above the reach of the floods."

In the small hut they found a sort of floor, the boards of which they pulled up for firewood, and in a hole beneath was a box in which were a couple of fish and two fish heads; and, as these were discovered, a lemming came out of another hole and was promptly caught. On the lemming, roasted on the ramrod, and the fishes, which were so decayed that they dropped apart as they were handled, they made their meal for that day. Next day the snowstorm was so heavy that they were driven back here after striving in vain to make headway. On the Saturday, still without food, they rested for the night in a fissure in the river bank, where as a last resource Nindemann cut a piece off his sealskin trousers and soaked it in water and burnt it to a crust. Their breakfast consisted of the remains of this toasted sealskin. During the day they saw a crow flying across the river and in among the hills, and, as the crow in these regions is rarely found away from the haunts of men, Nindemann decided to cross the river in the hope of meeting with either natives or game on the other side. When darkness came on no shelter was discoverable, and so, after a meal of more sealskin and hot water, they went to rest in a hole in the snow. Next day, during which they recrossed the river, their experiences were similar and the end the same.

On Tuesday the 18th, after a terrible day, they came upon a hut with a pile of wood close by, which proved to be sledges, and these they broke up, as there was no other firing. Next day as they were struggling on they reached a place where there were three huts, in one of which was a half-kayak and in it was some blue mouldy fish; and here, attacked by dysentery, they remained until the Saturday, unable to go any further. About noon there was a noise outside like a flock of geese sweeping by. Nindemann, looking through the crack of the door, saw something moving which he took to be a reindeer, and was going out with his rifle when the door opened and a man entered, who promptly fell on his knees when he caught sight of the gun. Nindemann threw the rifle into a corner and, trying to make friends with the man by signs, offered him some of the fish, which the man by an emphatic gesture pronounced not fit to eat. After some more of the sign language it was clear that the native had no food with him, and holding up three or four fingers to show that he would return in so many hours or days he drove off. About six o'clock in the evening, while they were preparing their fish dinner, the visitor returned with two other men, one of whom brought in a frozen fish which he skinned and sliced, and while the sailors were eating it—the first healthy meal they had had for weeks—the natives invited them to accompany them, and brought in deerskin coats and boots and finally got them into the sledges and drove off to the westward for about fifteen miles. Here there were two tents, and Nindemann was taken into one, Noros into the other, and both were well looked after, the natives doing their very best to get them well.

This was intelligible on both sides, for the language of kindness is universal, but as the sailors knew not the language of their hosts, and the natives knew not the language of their guests, the difficulty of being understood by each other was great, and the delivery of the urgent message in signs was almost impossible. Nindemann did his best; he appealed to the man who seemed to be the head of the party, and drawing in the snow a map of the places where he had been, with every combination of signs he could think of, he tried to explain what he wanted. That he succeeded to a certain extent was clear, though he did not think so at first, for the natives loaded up their sledges, twenty-seven in number, with reindeer meat and skins and fish, and struck their tents, and, with over a hundred head of deer harnessed up, started for the south. At noon, when the deer were resting, the man for whom the map had been drawn in the snow took Nindemann to where he could show him a prominent landmark, and asked by signs if that was where he had left his friends. And on learning by signs that it was further to the north, he shook his head as if sorry, and resumed his journey to the south. During the next day they reached Ku Mark Surka, where there were a number of natives who were much interested in the new-comers, and again the sailors used every effort to deliver their message.

Immediately after breakfast on the morning of the 25th, Nindemann began talking to these people in signs and pantomime. Soon one of them showed that he had an idea of where the sailors came from, for he spoke to one of the boys, who ran off and returned with a model of a Yakutsk boat. Then they gathered round and evidently asked if the ship was anything like it. And in answer, Nindemann took up some sticks and placed three of them in the boat to show that his ship had three masts, and then he fastened smaller sticks across to show that she had yards, which seemed to surprise them greatly. Then he made a funnel out of wood and put it in position, and pointed to the fire and smoke to show that she was a steamer, and then he cut out a propeller with his knife and put it where the rudder was to show that she was a screw. Continuing his work he soon chipped out so many small boats to show how many she had; and then, signing to one of the men to get him two pieces of ice, he showed them how the ship had been crushed. Pointing to the northward he tried to tell them that the ship had been crushed up there; and then he put away the ship and kept only three of the little boats to tell that part of the story, and in the boats he put so many sticks to represent the number of men in each. When he had done this one of the men pointed to a dog that was looking on and asked if the ship had any, whereupon the sailor counted on his fingers to show there were about forty, and by pantomime explained that they had been shot. This being evidently understood, Nindemann drew a chart of the coast-line, and imitating a gale of wind showed that the boat he came from went to the land at a certain point and that he knew nothing of the others. Then he went on to show how they had all left the boat, waded ashore and walked along the river-bank, and he marked the huts where they had stopped, and then he indicated where one of the men had died and been buried in the river. This was understood, for all the audience shook their heads as if to say how sorry they were. But when he tried to tell them that he had left the captain two days afterwards and had been so many days on the way to ask for help, they showed that they either did not or would not understand; and really it was not easy to make such a matter clear.

Next day Nindemann made another attempt to get them to understand the one essential, urgent fact that help was needed, or the men would die; but no, he could not do it. On the Thursday, despairing of the hopelessness of his task and the helplessness of his companions, he broke into tears and groans, and a woman in the hut took pity on him and spoke earnestly to one of the men, who came and said something about a commandant. Then the sailor, who had picked up a few words, asked him to take him to Bulun, to which the man replied by again saying commandant and holding up five or six fingers. Late in the evening there arrived a tall Russian, whom Nindemann supposed to be the commandant and addressed in English, but he was a Russian exile who could not understand him, though he seemed to know something about the matter, for in what he said he clearly mentioned Jeannette and Americansk. Nindemann tried him in German, but at this he shook his head. Then Nindemann showed him the chart given him by De Long, which the Russian evidently did not understand, though he said something that sounded like St. Petersburg and telegrams. While this apparently hopeless conversation was going on Noros was busy steadily writing out a note that the two sailors had drawn up, and the tall Russian—who we shall see was really a most intelligent man—giving over his talk with Nindemann in despair, coolly picked this up and put it in his pocket, and notwithstanding the protest of the Americans, walked off with it. In the morning he came in and gave them to understand that he was going to Bulun, and that they were to follow, and soon afterwards the natives fitted them out with clothing and boots and food and sent them off on a sledge. At Bulun they were taken to the commandant, who, after a little sign language from Nindemann, showed that he understood, and said something about a telegram. The sailors jumped at the idea, and one of them dictated to the other a despatch to the American Minister at St. Petersburg. This the Russian took, explaining that the captain should have it next day. Who the captain was the sailors could not make out; but three days afterwards, that is on the 3rd of November, while Nindemann lay on the bed and Noros was sitting on the table, a man came in dressed in fur.

"My God, Mr. Melville!" said Noros, recognising him as soon as he spoke. "Are you alive? We thought that the whale-boats were all dead!"

The exile had handed the note to Melville, whom he knew as the captain, and his difficulty in understanding the sailors had been in their speaking of one boat while he had only seen the other. The whale-boat crew had reached a village opposite to where he lived, and he had agreed to take them to Bulun, and he was on his way there to arrange for their transport when he heard of the sailors. Like a sensible man he ordered the men to be sent to Bulun, and had hurried there, made his arrangements with the commandant and returned to Melville, who, seeing the urgency of the case as soon as he read the letter, had started at once, leaving his party to follow.

Melville, as soon as possible, went off along the track of the two sailors, who were too weak to go with him, and eventually found the chronometer and the log-books and other records; but the winter was too far advanced for him to do more, and he had to return, after a journey of over six hundred miles, to try again in the spring. Then, accompanied by Nindemann, he went north, and came upon the bodies of the commander and those who had perished with him, and three or four feet behind De Long, as if he had tossed it over his shoulder, lay the journal in which the last page was but a chronicle of death after death.

This chapter must conclude with another tragedy. In 1885 Dr. Bunge and Baron Toll made some important investigations in the neighbourhood of the mouth of the Yana; and next year Bunge among the fossils of Liakhoff Island found not only mammoth and rhinoceros, but horse, musk-ox and deer, and two new species of ox. To these Toll, after discovering that there were flourishing trees on Kotelnoi in the time of the mammoth—nearly two hundred miles north of their present limit—added frozen carcases of musk-ox and rhinoceros, and bones of antelope and tiger.

In 1902 Toll, pushing his geological researches further north, reached Bennett Island, where he collected bones of the mammoth and other recent mammals, while the main mass of the plateau he identified as of Cambrian age. These discoveries he included in the record announcing his intention of leaving for Kotelnoi, which was found in 1904 by the expedition sent to his relief, for he was never seen alive again.