CHAPTER III.


As one leaves the Pacific and enters Avatcha Bay he passes high rocks
and cliffs, washed at their base by the waves. The loud-sounding ocean
working steadily against the solid walls, has worn caverns and dark
passages, haunted by thousands of screaming and fluttering sea-birds.
The bay is circular and about twenty miles in diameter; except at the
place of entrance it is enclosed with hills and mountains that give it
the appearance of a highland lake. All over it there is excellent
anchorage for ships of every class, while around its sides are several
little harbors, like miniature copies of the bay.

At Petropavlovsk we hoped to find the Russian ship of war, Variag, and
the barque Clara Bell, which sailed from San Francisco six weeks
before us. As we entered the bay, all eyes were turned toward the
little harbor. "There is the Russian," said three or four voices at
once, as the tall masts aird wide spars of a corvette came in sight.
"The Clara Bell, the Clara Bell--no, it's a brig," was our exclamation
at the appearance of a vessel behind the Variag.

"There's another, a barque certainly,--no, it's a brig, too," uttered
the colonel with an emphasis of disgust. Evidently his barque was on
the sea.

Rounding the shoal we moved toward the fort, the Russian corvette
greeting us with "Hail Columbia" out of compliment to our nationality.
We carried the American flag at the quarter and the Russian naval
ensign at the fore as a courtesy to the ship that awaited us. As we