322 THE BREAK-UP OF THE ICE 



before — so far as I could identify them, peregrine falcons 

 and rough-legged buzzards. Late in the evening a large 

 brown owl, probably the Ural owl, sailed up and down 

 the banks of the Kureika, but it never came within shot. 



On the morning of the following day the wind was 

 west, but before evening it turned round to the north, 

 accompanied with hard frost in the shade. My attention 

 was called to a pair of ravens, who seemed to have 

 excited the jealousy of the crows who had their nest 

 close by. The efforts of the latter birds to drive away 

 the new-comers were untiring. I shot the female raven, 

 which was a fresh bird for my list. I also picked up a 

 dead short-tailed field-mouse, nearly as large as a rat. 

 The migration of geese continued all day, and a further 

 migration of Ostiaks took place. Before night we had 

 three Ostiak chooms near the ship. 



On the 24th of May a great source of anxiety was 

 removed from our minds. When we turned into our 

 berths the previous night the water at the ship's bow 

 stood at eleven feet. At four o'clock in the morning we 

 were suddenly awoke by a convulsion like an earthquake. 

 We started from our berths, and found that the ship had 

 burst through the bands of ice, risen to her level, and 

 righted herself. Her bow showed eight feet only, so she 

 must have risen three feet. There was, however, no 

 change at the stern, which probably remained aground. 



A long round in the forest proved almost a blank; 

 my bag being but one solitary bird, a willow-grouse, with 

 traces of summer plumage on the head and neck. The 

 sun was warm, but the wind was north, and to all intents 

 and purposes it was still mid-winter. The succession of 

 partial thaws and frosts had made the crust of the snow 

 so hard that we could walk anywhere without snow-shoes. 

 My afternoon's ramble again produced only one bird, but 



