I saw in the edge of the town a large building surrounded with a palisaded wall.  “What is that?” I asked, pointing to the structure new to my eyes.

“It is a station for exiles,” was my friend’s reply, “when they pass through the town.  They generally remain here over night, and sometimes a few days, and this is their lodging.  You will see many such on your way through Siberia.”

“Is it also the prison for those who are kept here permanently?” “No; the prison is another affair.  The former prison at Shilikinsk has been converted into a glass manufactory.  Just behind it is a large tannery, heretofore celebrated throughout Eastern Siberia for its excellent leather.”

As we proceeded the country became more open and less mountainous, and I saw wide fields on either side.  A road was visible along the northern bank of the river, sometimes cut in the hillside where the slope was steep.  On the southern bank there was no road beyond that for local use.  The telegraph followed the northern side, but frequently left the road to take short cuts across the hills.

We struck a rock ten miles from our journey’s end, and for several minutes I thought we should go gracefully to the bottom.  We whirled twice around on the rock before we left it, and our captain feared we had sprung a leak.  When once more afloat Borasdine and I packed our baggage and prepared for the shore.  We ate the last of our preserves and gave sundry odds and ends to the Cossacks.  As a last act we opened the remaining bottles of a case of champagne, and joined officers and fellow passengers in drinking everybody’s health.

Late in the afternoon of the 20th October we were in sight of Stratensk.  The summer barracks were first visible, and a moment later I could see the church dome.  In nearly all Russian towns the churches are the first objects visible on arriving and the last on departing.  Tho house of worship is no less prominent in the picture of a Russian village than the ceremonies of religion in the daily life of the people.

There was a large crowd on the bank to welcome us.  Officers, soldiers, merchants, Cossacks, peasants, women, children, and dogs were in goodly numbers.  Our own officers were in full uniform to make their calls on shore.  The change of costume that came over several passengers was interesting in the extreme.

At last the steamer ceased her asthmatic wheeze and dropped her anchor at the landing.  We gave our baggage to a Cossack to take to the hotel.  Soon as the rush over the plank was ended I walked ashore from the Korsackoff for the last time.

So ended, for the present, my water journeying.  I had zig-zagged from New York a distance, by my line of travel, not less than fifteen thousand miles.  The only actual land route on my way had been forty-seven miles between Aspinwall and Panama.  I had traveled on two ocean passenger-steamers, one private steamer of miniature size, a Russian corvette, a gunboat of the Siberian fleet, and two river boats of the Amoor flotilla.  Not a serious accident had occurred to mar the pleasure of the journey.  There had been discomforts, privations, and little annoyances of sufficient frequency, but they only added interest to the way.