When we made known to the people of Anadyrsk our intention of going to the Pacific coast, and called for volunteers to make up a party, we met with the most discouraging opposition.  The natives declared unanimously that such a journey was impossible, that it had never been accomplished, that the lower Anadyr was swept by terrible storms and perfectly destitute of wood, that the cold there was always intense, and that we should inevitably starve to death, freeze to death, or lose all our dogs.  They quoted the experience of Lieutenant Phillippeus, who had narrowly escaped starvation in the same region in 1860, and said that while he started in the spring we proposed to go in midwinter, when the cold was most intense and the storms most severe.  Such an adventure they declared was almost certain to end in disaster.  Our Cossack Gregorie, a brave and trustworthy old man, had been Lieutenant Phillippeus’s guide and Chukchi interpreter in 1860, had been down the river about a hundred and fifty miles in winter, and knew something about it.  We accordingly dismissed the natives and talked the matter over with him.  He said that as far as he had ever gone towards Anadyr Bay there was trailing-pine enough along the banks of the river to supply us with firewood, and that the country was no worse than much of that over which we had already travelled between Gizhiga and Anadyrsk.  He said that he was entirely willing to undertake the trip, and would go with his own team of dogs wherever we would lead the way.  The priest also, who had been down the river in summer, believed the journey to be practicable, and said he would go himself if he could do any good.  Upon the strength of this encouragement we gave the natives our final decision, showed them the letter which we brought from the Russian governor at Gizhiga authorising us to demand men and sledges for all kinds of service, and told them that if they still refused to go we would send a special messenger to Gizhiga and report their disobedience.  This threat and the example of our Cossack Gregorie, who was known to be an experienced guide from the Okhotsk Sea to the Arctic Ocean, finally had the desired effect.  Eleven men agreed to go, and we began at once to collect dog-food and provisions for an early start.  We had as yet only the vaguest, most indefinite information with regard to the situation of the American party, and we determined to wait a few days until a Cossack named Kozhevin (ko-zhay’-vin), who had gone to visit a band of Wandering Chukchis, should return.  The priest was sure that he would bring later and more trustworthy intelligence, because the wandering natives throughout the whole country knew of the arrival of the mysterious white men, and would probably tell Kozhevin approximately where they were.  In the meantime we made some additions to our heavy suits of furs, prepared masks of squirrelskin to be worn over the face in extremely low temperatures, and set all the women in the village at work upon a large fur tent.