d friends are not afraid of each
other." "We are good Karalits," was the universal rejoinder, "and now
we see you are not Kablunat, but Innuits, and our friends; for you
come to see us without weapons, we will do you no harm." The Esquimaux
then gave the brethren fish, water and some bread they had got from
the sailors, and in about half an hour prepared for rest, Segulliak
kindly covering them with two other skins. The conjurer himself did
not, however, appear inclined for repose: falling into an ecstacy he
first sung with his wives, then muttered some unintelligible jargon,
made strange gestures, blew and foamed at the mouth, twisted his limbs
and body together as if convulsed, throwing himself into every
possible posture; and at intervals emitting the most frightful
shrieks, then again he held his hand on Drachart's face, who was next
him, and concluded the first act of his demoniacal pantomime by
groaning out, "Now is my Torngak come!" Observing Drachart, who was
awake, appear startled when he came near him, as often as he laid his
hand on his face he kissed him. He then lay still for a while as if
dead--after a little began to moan, and at last raised himself up, and
requested that they would kiss him, as that gave him some relief,
after which he sat down and began to sing. The brethren told him they
would sing something better, and accordingly sung some Greenland
hymns--to these the Esquimaux were very attentive, and repeated every
word, observing, "We know only a little of what you say."

Wearied and restless, the brethren lay down, but could not sleep; they
therefore frequently arose and went out of the tent: but Segulliak,
who appeared to view their motions with suspicion, always took care to
go out along with them: in the morning, at his desire, they divided
among his people glass-beads, fish-hooks, sewing needles, &c as
payment for their night's lodging. At parting, Segulliak addressed
them, "You may tell your countrymen in the east that you have slept a
night with me in safety--you are the first foreigners that ever
remained a night in my tent--yet you are not foreigners but men, our
friends, with whom all dread is at an end, for we know each other."
Drachart being taken ill, it was not till the 21st September that the
brethren were able to take their final departure, on which occasion
Jans Haven, when bidding the natives farewell, made them promise that
they would not forget what Drachart had spoken to them