bouring coal-mines, I often emerged from the forest and came out on the shores of either the Ussuri or Amur Bay. These shores were almost uninhabited, with only an occasional Chinese or Korean fishing hamlet isolated here and there. Back of these the taiga remained virgin and difficult to traverse without an axe or a heavy hunting knife. These bays enclosing the peninsula were rarely visited except by occasional big junks, arriving with cargoes of dried fish, seaweed, crabs or smuggled goods. Once a year, however, the Ussuri Bay was thrown into unwonted contrast to its usual tranquillity by the visit of men-o'-war coming here for gunnery and torpedo practice. At such times the junks and fishing-boats of the yellow seamen deserted the bay as though it were a place possessed, to return and set up ownership again, however, the moment the fleet has left.
After the departure of the Minister of War great changes took place in both bays. Russian torpedo-boats and scout ships frequently cruised these waters, while the Chinese and Korean three-masted junks with their ribbed and wrinkled sails almost never visited them, fearing encounters with the men-o'-war.
One day in the autumn of 1904, when I was hunting heath-cock, I came out on the shore of Ussuri Bay and was witness to a very interesting and significant occurrence. The sun was already sinking behind the forest-covered mountains across the bay. Pink and golden traces of evening's blush still lingered on the surface of the sea. Suddenly a strange-looking ship appeared from behind a small headland. The whole craft, from the water-line to half-way up her masts, was loaded with, and enveloped by, bales of hay and bundles of kaoliang-stalks (Chinese sorghum). But my attention was caught by the masts and their equipment, which were a bit too
