We anchored at sunset, and did not move till daybreak.  At the hour of sunset, on this vessel as on the corvette, we had the evening chant of the service of the Eastern church.  While it was in progress a sentinel on duty over the cabin held his musket in his left hand and made the sign of the cross with his right.  Soldier and Christian at the same moment, he observed the outward ceremonial of both.  The crew, with uncovered beads, stood upon the deck and chanted the prayer.  As the prayer was uttered the national flag, lowered from the mast, seemed, like those beneath it, to bow in adoration of the Being who holds the waters in the hollow of His hand, and guides and controls the universe.

While passing the straits of Tartary we observed a mirage of great beauty, that pictured the shores of Sakhalin like a tropical scene.  We seemed to distinguish cocoa and palm trees, dark forests and waving fields of cane, along the rocky shores, that were really below the horizon.  Then there were castles, with lofty walls and frowning battlements, cloud-capped towers, gorgeous palaces, and solemn temples, rising among the fields and forests, and overarched with curious combinations of rainbow hues.  The mirage frequently occurs in this region, but I was told it rarely attained such beauty as on that occasion.

Sakhalin island, which separates the Gulf of Tartary from the Ohotsk sea, extends through nine degrees of latitude and belongs partly to Russia and partly to Japan.  The Japanese have settlements in the Southern portion, engaging in trade with the natives and catching and curing fish.  The natives are of Tunguze origin, like those of the lower Amoor, and subsist mainly upon fish.  The Russians have settlements at Cape Dui, where there is excellent coal in veins eighteen feet thick and quite near the coast.  Russia desired the entire island, but the Japanese positively refuse to negotiate.  Some years ago the Siberian authorities established a colony near the Southern extremity, but its existence was brief.

At three o’clock in the afternoon of September eleventh we entered the mouth of the Amoor, the great river of Asiatic Russia.  The entrance is between two Capes or headlands, seven miles apart and two or three hundred feet high.  The southern one, near which we passed, is called Cape Pronge, and has a Gilyak village at its base.  Below this cape the hills border the Gulf and frequently show precipitous sides.  The shallow water at their base renders the land undesirable for settlement.  The timber is small and indicates the severity of the cold seasons.  In their narrowest part the Straits are eight miles wide and frozen in winter.  The natives have a secure bridge of ice for at least four months of the year.  De Castries Bay is generally filled with ice and unsafe for vessels from October to March.

From the time we entered the Gulf of Tartary the water changed its color, growing steadily dirtier until we reached the Amoor.  At the mouth of the river I found it a weak tea complexion, like the Ohio at its middle stage, and was told that it varied through all the shades common to rivers according to its height and the circumstances of season.  I doubt if it ever assumes the hue of the Missouri or the Sacramento, though it is by no means impossible.