At
night we showed them some distress rockets and some red and blue port
flares. The way those Indians fled from the port flares was really
amusing, and no one enjoyed it more than they did, for the shouting
and laughter, after they had picked themselves out of the scuppers
where they had been rolling on top of one another, wakened the very
hills with their echoes. Next morning one lonely-looking brave came on
board, and explained to me by signs and grunts that during the
entertainment a white counter, or Hudson Bay dollar, had rolled out of
the lining of his hat into our woodpile. An elaborate search failed to
reveal its whereabouts, but as there was no reason to doubt him, I
decided to make up the loss to him out of our clothes-bag. Fortunately
a gorgeous purple rowing blazer came readily to hand, and with this
and a helmet, both of which he put on at once, the poor fellow was
more than satisfied. Indeed, on the wharf he was the envy of the whole
band.

At night they slept in the bunkhouse, and they presented a sight which
one is not likely to forget--especially one lying on his back on the
table, with his arms extended and his head hanging listlessly over the
edge. One felt sorely tempted to put a pin into him to see if he
really were alive, but we decided to abstain for prudential reasons.

We had among the garments on board three not exactly suited to the
white settlers, so I told the agent to let the Indians have a rifle
shooting match for them. They were a fox huntsman's red broadcloth
tail-coat, with all the glory of gilt buttons, a rather dilapidated
red golf blazer, and a white, cavalryman's Eton coat, with silver
buttons, and the coat-of-arms on. Words fail me to paint the elation
of the winner of the fox hunting coat; while the wearer of the cavalry
mess jacket was not the least bit daunted by the fact that when he got
it on he could hardly breathe. I must say that he wore it over a
deerskin kossak, which is not the custom of cavalrymen, I am led to
believe.

The coast-line from Ramah to Cape Chidley is just under one hundred
miles, and on it live a few scattered Eskimo hunters. Mr. Ford knew
every one of them personally, having lived there twenty-seven years.
It appears that a larger race of Eskimos called "Tunits," to whom the
present race were slaves, used to be on this section of the coast. At
Nakvak there are remains of them. In Hebron, the same year that we met
the Indians at Davis Inlet, we saw Po