BY SNOW-CLAD VOLCANOES 169 



party shooting birds and caribou on the shore where they 

 had left our friends. Meanwhile I was trying to secure 

 an eagle with a shotgmi, but, though I brought one 

 down as he was flying overhead, he caught his balance 

 just before striking the ground and flapped triumphantly 

 away, none the worse. Another rose from the rocks 

 overhanging the bay, and at close range I knocked him 

 into the water. There he pufled himself together and 

 rested on the surface. Then, to my astonishment, he 

 swam against the breeze by beating his wings into the 

 water, until he clambered out and preened himself on a 

 low-lying rock. I got within seventy yards and fijed as 

 he rose. Surely some of the big pellets must have struck 

 him, but with long laboring strokes he saved himself 

 from tumbling, gained strength as he flew and was soon 

 out of sight. 



The launch had not come back by early morning. 

 Captain Larsson was somewhat worried, as a fresh breeze 

 had blown all night, but waited through the morning 

 while we took on water. The crew dammed a rivulet 

 flowing from a spring among the alders, fixed a pipe in 

 the dam and thus, with buckets, filled two barrels in the 

 dory. When full these made the boat very unsteady and 

 had to be emptied carefully by buckets over the ship's 

 side. 



The launch arrived at 2.30, laden with a caribou (the 

 Grant variety, which is confined to the Alaska Peninsula), 

 many of the beautiful and rare emperor geese, and hun- 

 dreds of snipe and other birds. Mike, too, was in it, 

 ready to help us. He was a tall, spare man, like a 

 Russian in feature, though he said he had been born in 

 Germany, and quietly confident that he could find some 

 bear for us. 



