"Oh! nothing very bad," replied Bonney, laughing and looking to the captain.

"Splinter hit him," said Capt. Mazard significantly.

"You don't say!" Kit exclaimed. "Did they come so near you as that?"

"So near's that!" blustered old Trull. "Guess you'd 'a' said so! Why, look at the after-bulwarks! and look at the windlass!"

The taffrail was gone, sure enough, and the stern bulwarks broken and patched up down to the deck. The windlass was torn up too.

"Whew!" from all of us.

"Only one shot hit us," explained the captain. "Glanced up from the water through the stern, knocked up the taffrail, and then went forward: just missed the mast, but hit the windlass. Haven't been able to anchor since."

"Well, I'll be blamed!" exclaimed Wade. "Hurt you much, Bonney?"

"Broke his arm!" said the captain.

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, sir. But we've set it; and it's doing well, I think."

"Well, you must have been short-handed here!" cried Donovan.

"Bet you, we have been! Had to have Palmleaf on deck half the time. We've made quite a sailor of him."

We all praised the darky. Even Wade cried, "Well done, old snowball! How's that under your wool?"

"I tinks," said the negro, grinning all over, "dat dis am a bery j'yful 'casion!"

"So 'tis!"

"But how far did they chase you?" Raed inquired.

"Clean out into the Atlantic," replied Capt. Mazard. "I should have given them a circular race about that ice-island where we were when 'The Rosamond' fired into us; but the tide has broken up the ice there now. We've come back just as quick as we could. But how have you fared? Why, I've had dismal fears of finding only one or two of you alive, devouring the bodies of the rest."

We thereupon gave the captain a brief account of our sojourn on the island, and how we had managed the Huskies.

"That only demonstrates that you are natural-born sovereign Yankees," remarked the captain, laughing heartily.

"But you must come ashore and see our subjects!" exclaimed Kit.

"I'll do it!"

"But not before you've ben ter brackfus', sar?" said Palmleaf. "Coffee all hot, sar."

"Bully for you, Palmleaf!" shouted Weymouth. "Don't care if I do!"

"It seems an age since I last tasted coffee," said Raed.

That we did justice to Palmleaf's coffee and buttered muffins I have no need to assure the reader.

Breakfast over, we went back to our island, taking the captain along, and Hobbs in the place of Weymouth. The savages were gathered on the shore, watching the oomiak-sook rather disconsolately; for, roughly as we had used them, I think they had somehow gotten up a regard for us. Seeing us coming toward the shore again, they began to shout and hop about in a most extravagant manner. Landing, we sent the boat back after the iron, knives, flannel, etc. We then took the captain with us to see their huts and our walrus-skin tent. We had thoughts of taking the hides away with us; but as they were very heavy, and withal emitted a rather disagreeable odor, we finally gave them to Shug-la-wina. Our spider, off which we had eaten so many fried eggs and broiled ducks, we left set in our arch.

The captain was formally presented to Wutchee and Wunchee, and bowed very low. Their little black eyes sparkled; but, at a nod from Kit, they bowed in turn,—lower than the captain even: so that, on the whole, the ceremony was a rather grotesque one.

"But, my stars!" exclaimed Capt. Mazard, turning to us. "Which is which? Twins, to a dead certainty!"

"Bi-coit-suk," replied Wade.

Shortly after, we went back to the beach, making signs for them all to follow, which they did; our fair twins smiling on the arms of two of our party, whose names we forbear to give. The boat had come. A general distribution of presents was the next thing in order. To each of the men we gave a long bar of iron. Their exclamations of surprise and delight were only surpassed by those of the women when we gave them each two yards of red flannel. We next gave to each one of them a jack-knife; then to each one of the women a butcher-knife, for cutting up their seals. They were in ecstasies. Kit then gave a hatchet to each man and each boy. Raed gave to Shug-la-wina an extra knife for one of his dog-whips, which he wished to keep for a curiosity; and Kit gave to little Twee-gock an extra knife and hatchet for the walrus-tusk dagger with which he had tried to stab him. The little dark chap was too much astonished at that to do anything but stare.

The boat was then sent back after a load of four-foot wood, and returned, bringing each one a stick. Nothing else seemed wanting to make the poor creatures regard us as objects worthy of worship. Meanwhile the pretty twins, and also Igloo-ee and Coo-nee, were not forgotten by any means. Kit and Wade had brought off for each of them a green pea-jacket; which, considering the fact that they wore jackets, were not incongruous gifts. Then there were scarfs, scarf-pins, and big darning-needles; in short, a most munificent variety of presents: for though we must needs pronounce Kit and Wade a trifle unscrupulous in their way of getting possession of the island, yet they were now princely in their generosity.

The captain now got into the boat: Raed and I followed him. Wade turned to the girls, pointing to himself, then off to the schooner, and, shaking his head, said, "Annay, annay!" Kit did the same. They then both shook hands with them, shaking their heads all the time very mournfully, and still repeating the sad "Annay!" It is no poetic fiction to add, that the little black eyes of the pretty savages were glistening with tears. Kit and Wade then got into the boat, and we shoved off amid sorrowful cries from the entire group.

"Hold on a bit!" said Raed. "I like to observe them now their feelings are wrought upon."

The sailors stopped rowing, and the boat was allowed to lie at about twenty yards from the beach, while Wade sang "Dixie" in his rich, clear voice. We then waved our hands to them slowly and sorrowfully. Immediately little Coo-nee, with Wutchee and Wunchee and Igloo-ee, took their white bird-skin gloves from their boots, and drew them on. Then, coming down where the waves touched their feet, they raised their hands slowly, and began a low, clear chant. At the end of what appeared to be a stanza, the group on the shore behind them joined in a sort of chorus resembling the words Amna-ah-ya, amna-amna-ah-ya. The girls then began another stanza, extending their hands downward toward the sea, waving them slowly to and fro together. The chorus was then repeated. Their hands and faces were next directed, during a third stanza, to the west; then toward the far east. Finally they raised them to the sky, and, chanting clear and earnestly, seemed to be imploring the blessing of Heaven on us now departing from them over the wild seas. Kit took off his cap; and we all followed his example, as if impelled to it. It was really an affecting incident. Our hardy captain is not a soft-hearted man; but I saw him wipe a tear from his eye as the chant ceased. I have not sought to color the picture. There was a wonderful pathos about it. We had not heard the song before; and I am inclined to believe it extempore,—one of those musical efforts which persons in what we term the savage state will sometimes make when their feelings are touched by new and strange influences. Even after the song had ceased, the girls, as if under its spell, stood holding out their white hands to us. I can hardly express how much we were moved by it all. Farewell is, as we all know, a hard word to say. But we were leaving them forever; and the dark storm-clouds, the icy sea, and snowy ledges, seemed a pitiless fate for those whose voices had such power to touch our feelings. What if they were savage Huskies: they had human hearts, with all the beautiful possibilities of souls that might be made undying.

"Give 'way!" ordered the captain.

We went off with them gazing sadly after us in silence. Kit and Wade were in the bow, talking.

"Why need we leave them here?" I overheard Wade ask.

"Oh, nonsense, Wade!" said Kit.

"But to leave them to the cruel elements!" Wade whispered.

"Yes—I know—but they're happier here than they would be—in—in some great cotton-factory at home."

"Too true," Wade sighed, and fell to softly whistling "Dixie."

"I suppose," said the captain as we got aboard, "that it will be too late to get into Hudson Bay farther this season."

"Yes," replied Raed: "we are all a little home-sick, I expect. Let's go home."

The boat was taken up, and the schooner brought round. The sails swelled out in the stormy wind. "The Curlew" stood away, down the straits.

"Adieu to Isle Aktok!" cried Kit, looking off toward the snowy island. "Our reign ends here; but no one can say that we have not been kings in our day."

We were five days going out to the Atlantic. During most of that time, the wind blew hard and cold. We were glad to keep snug as we could in the cabin. The ice collected along the water-line of the schooner to the depth of several inches.

With the exception of a heavy gale of seventeen hours' duration while off Halifax, our voyage home to Boston was, though tedious, quite uneventful,—the mere monotony of the ocean, which has been so often and so well described.

Arrived in Boston harbor on the forenoon of the 9th of September. Raed went up to the bank where we had deposited our bonds, and, effecting an exchange of $1,600 worth, came back to pay off our men; viz.:—

Capt. Mazard, three months and a half, $350 The six sailors, three months each, 720 Palmleaf, three months, 90 Schooner, 300 Damage done by shot, 100 ——— In all, $1,560 Then the expense of outfit, 1,100 ——— Giving a total, for the voyage, of $2,660

The remaining $40 from the $1,600 we gave to Bonney in consideration of the wound received in our service.

"Wish that splinter had hit me!" laughed Donovan.

"Go with us next summer, and we will give you a chance for one," replied Kit.

"Do you really think of going up there another season?" said Capt. Mazard.

"Not into Hudson Straits, perhaps," replied Raed. "But we are going north again next spring. And, captain, I wish we might again be able to secure your services as well as those of the crew. 'The Curlew' just suits us. We have got her fitted up for our purpose. We intended to have built a schooner-yacht; but, if you will put a price on 'The Curlew,' we will consider it with a view to buying her."

Capt. Mazard was unwilling, however, to sell his vessel.

"But I will make you this proposition," said he: "I will place 'The Curlew,' with my own services as captain, at your disposal,—you to pay all expenses,—for the sum of fifteen hundred dollars per annum."

We went below to consult.

"I don't believe we could do better," remarked Kit. "It will relieve us of all the cares of building and ownership."

We were unanimous in that opinion, and immediately closed with the captain's offer.

Our big rifle, howitzer, in short, all our property, has been left on board. The services of Palmleaf, as cook, have been retained; and during the fall, thus far (Nov. 16), we have been making the schooner our floating home, off and on. We have got a good anchorage off from the wharves. Occasionally we make a short trip down the bay, and go on board to have dinner, chat, read, and write, at pleasure. Indeed, this humble narrative has been recorded mostly on board, sitting at the table-shelf in our "saloon." We all like the arrangement, and cheerfully recommend it to young gentlemen of similar tastes.



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- Typographical errors corrected in text: Page 56: conpanion-way replaced with companion-way Page 106: dulness replaced with dullness The term Esquimau is the singular form of Esquimaux, though the author is sometimes inconsistent with its' usage. -

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