VII A MOVE TO THE WEST AND BERING SEA 123 



received a friendly welcome from Mr. Scott, the local post- 

 master, storekeeper, and petty king of Popoff Island. Here 

 I bid adieu to the good ship Alice, her pleasant owner Mr. 

 J. Folstad, and her skipper Pavloft', who, by the way, is a 

 grandson of the last Russian Governor of Alaska, and is now 

 in somewhat reduced circumstances when compared with the 

 position held by his ancestors. To him we owed the safe 

 termination of a journey extending several hundred miles 

 along one of the most dangerous and treacherous coasts in 

 the world, of which as yet no correct charts have been made, 

 but where each pilot or skipper relies entirely on his own 

 knowledge of the route, and only a lifetime spent as Pavloff's 

 had been, sailing this coast in all kinds of craft from youth 

 upwards, qualifies a man to undertake the navigating of a 

 vessel in those waters. 



Arrived at Sand Point, I began to make arrangements to 

 cross over to a spot called Portage Bay, which lay opposite, 

 on the Peninsula, some fifteen miles distant. I took up my 

 abode in a palatial wooden hotel, which had been built in the 

 palmy days of the great fishing and seal-catching industry. 

 Owing to the sudden falling-off in the profits of these under- 

 takings, the great fleet of boats formerly seen at Sand Point 

 no longer existed. The hotel in consequence remained 

 empty, most of the costly furniture which had originally 

 adorned it having been sold, and thus I found myself the 

 sole occupant of the house, and slept under a roof once more 

 for the first time during many weeks. 



One day sufficed me to obtain a few stores, to engage the 

 services of an excellent native called Nikita, and to strike a 

 bargain with the owner of a small sloop who undertook to 

 convey me, the two natives, and my bidarki, across to Portage 

 Bay for the sum of $10. Once again we had all our work 



