At this interesting crisis we had surprised our Korak friends in the third encampment.  The tent which we had entered was an unusually large one, containing twenty-six pologs, arranged in a continuous circle around its inner circumference.  The open space in the centre around the fire was crowded with the dusky faces and half-shaven heads of the Korak spectators, whose attention seemed about equally divided between sundry kettles and troughs of manyalla, boiled venison, marrow, frozen tallow, and similar delicacies, and the discussion of some controverted point of marriage etiquette.  Owing to my ignorance of the language, I was not able to enter thoroughly into the merits of the disputed question; but it seemed to be ably argued on both sides.  Our sudden entrance seemed to create a temporary diversion from the legitimate business of the evening.  The tattooed women and shaven-headed men stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the pale-faced guests who had come unbidden to the marriage-feast, having on no wedding garments.  Our faces were undeniably dirty, our blue hunting-shirts and buckskin trousers bore the marks of two months’ rough travel, in numerous rips, tears, and tatters, which were only partially masked by a thick covering of reindeer hair from our fur kukhlankas. Our general appearance, in fact, suggested a more intimate acquaintance with dirty yurts, mountain thickets, and Siberian storms, than with the civilising influences of soap, water, razors, and needles.  We bore the curious scrutiny of the assemblage, however, with the indifference of men who were used to it, and sipped our hot tea while waiting for the ceremony to begin.  I looked curiously around to see if I could distinguish the happy candidates for matrimonial honours; but they were evidently concealed in one of the closed pologs.  The eating and drinking seemed by this time to be about finished, and an air of expectation and suspense pervaded the entire crowd.  Suddenly we were startled by the loud and regular beating of a native baraban or bass drum, which fairly filled the tent with a great volume of sound.  At the same instant the tent opened to permit the passage of a tall, stern-looking Korak, with an armful of willow sprouts and alder branches, which he proceeded [Illustration:  DRAWINGS OF THE KORAKS.  ILLUSTRATIVE OF THEIR MYTHS.] to distribute in all the pologs of the tent.  “What do you suppose that’s for?” asked Dodd in an undertone.  “I don’t know,” was the reply; “keep quiet and you’ll see.”  The regular throbs of the drum continued throughout the distribution of the willow sticks and at its close the drummer began to sing a low, musical recitative, which increased gradually in volume and energy until it swelled into a wild, barbarous chant, timed by the regular beats of the heavy drum.  A slight commotion followed, the front curtains of all the pologs were thrown up, the women stationed themselves in detachments of