fog was beginning to break away, and in a moment it rose slowly like a
huge grey curtain, unveiling the sea and the deep-blue sky, letting in
a flood of rosy light from the sinking sun, and revealing a picture of
wonderful beauty. Before us, stretching for a hundred and fifty miles
to the north and south, lay the grand coast-line of Kamchatka, rising
abruptly in great purple promontories out of the blue sparkling sea,
flecked here with white clouds and shreds of fleecy mist, deepening in
places into a soft quivering blue, and sweeping backward and upward
into the pure white snow of the higher peaks. Two active volcanoes,
10,000 and 16,000 feet in height, rose above the confused jagged
ranges of the lower mountains, piercing the blue sky with sharp white
triangles of eternal snow, and drawing the purple shadows of evening
around their feet. The high bold coast did not appear, in that clear
atmosphere, to be fifteen miles away, and it seemed to have risen
suddenly like a beautiful mirage out of the sea. In less than five
minutes the grey curtain of mist dropped slowly down again over the
magnificent picture, and it faded gradually from sight, leaving us
almost in doubt whether it had been a reality, or only a bright
deceptive vision. We are enveloped now, as we have been nearly all
day, in a thick clammy fog.

HARBOUR OP PETROPAVLOVSK, KAMCHATKA.
_August 19, 1865._

At dark last night we were distant, as we supposed, about fifteen
miles from Cape Povorotnoi (po-vo-rote'-noi) and as the fog had closed
in again denser than ever, the captain dared not venture any nearer.
The ship was accordingly put about, and we stood off and on all night,
waiting for sunrise and a clear atmosphere, to enable us to approach
the coast in safety. At five o'clock I was on deck. The fog was colder