e tracks of a man and dog the second day, and
got along the shore to one of those far missionary stations that the
Moravians support. They were very poor themselves, and in distress;
'twas a useless place. There were but few Esquimaux left in that region.
There we remained for some time, and I became acquainted with strange
events."

The captain lifted his head and gave me a questioning glance. I could
not help noticing that the dulled look in his eyes had gone, and there
was instead a clear intentness that made them seem dark and piercing.

"There was a supply ship expected, and the pastor, an excellent
Christian man, made no doubt that we should get passage in her. He was
hoping that orders would come to break up the station; but everything
was uncertain, and we got on the best we could for a while. We fished,
and helped the people in other ways; there was no other way of paying
our debts. I was taken to the pastor's house until I got better; but
they were crowded, and I felt myself in the way, and made excuse to join
with an old seaman, a Scotchman, who had built him a warm cabin, and had
room in it for another. He was looked upon with regard, and had stood by
the pastor in some troubles with the people. He had been on one of those
English exploring parties that found one end of the road to the north
pole, but never could find the other. We lived like dogs in a kennel, or
so you'd thought if you had seen the hut from the outside; but the main
thing was to keep warm; there were piles of bird-skins to lie on, and
he'd made him a good bunk, and there was another for me. 'Twas dreadful
dreary waitin' there; we begun to think the supply steamer was lost, and
my poor ship broke up and strewed herself all along the shore. We got to
watching on the headlands; my men and me knew the people were short of
supplies and had to pinch themselves. It ought to read in the Bible,
'Man cannot live by fish alone,' if they'd told the truth of things;
'taint bread that wears the worst on you! First part of the time, old
Gaffett, that I lived with, seemed speechless, and I didn't know what to
make of him, nor he of me, I dare say; but as we got acquainted, I
found he'd been through more disasters than I had, and had troubles that
wa'n't going to let him live a great while. It used to ease his mind to
talk to an understanding person, so we used to sit and talk together
all day, if it rained or blew so that we couldn't get out. I'd got a bad