_Tuesday, August 14th._--We are nearing the second station. Leaving
Hopedale about dawn yesterday we made good progress northward, sailing
quietly between innumerable islets, all bleak, bare, uninhabited
rocks. We saw many small icebergs. In the evening one singularly
shapely and beautiful berg floated past us, tipped with violet, which
contrasted with the curious yellow tint of one side, the pure white of
the mass and the living green of the waves rippling at its base. The
sunset and the northern lights were very fine.
When I went on deck this morning the island of Ukalek, or "The Hare,"
was astern, various rocky islets, imperfectly marked, or altogether
omitted on the chart, were on both sides of us, and Zoar far ahead
among the distant hills. Our vessel was almost imperceptibly gliding
in that direction. May the Lord, who alone knows the rifts and rocks
of this marvellous coast, bring us safely thither, and guide me aright
amid the difficulties of the present situation there! These people
have learned no wisdom or thrift, in spite of all the love and
patience shown them, and they have made the past winter a most trying
time for their devoted missionaries.
The mirage yesterday and to-day is a wonderful freak of nature. At
times, nothing can be seen as it really is. Icebergs and islands are
flattened to one dead level, or doubled, so as to appear now like long
bridges, now like high towers. The rapid changes in the appearance of
solid masses are marvellous. All day we have been slowly sailing
westward, new prospects of distant hills ever opening up as we passed
headland after headland. Presently the barren rocks began to be
clothed with firs here and there, but the lifelessness of the scene
was striking. Once we caught sight of two or three Eskimo tents on a
little island, but no human beings were visible. Only a solitary
grampus made the circuit of our ship.
At length we round the last cape, and enter Zoar Bay. Presently we
come in sight of the station buildings between the fir-clad slope and
the shore. There is the store, now the mission-house and church appear
from behind yonder rock. The Eskimoes are firing their shots of
welcome, answered by rockets from the ship. Thank God, the station
flag is flying at the mast-head! That tells us that neither illness
nor accident have been permitted to carry off any of the missionaries.
Look behind you. The hills are glowing with a glorious
"Alpenglühen"--an evening effect as splendid as it is surprising.
Now we are nearer. They are launching the "Emily," the station boat.
Rowed by natives, she comes alongside almost as soon as our anchor is
down, and all the resident missionaries climb on board, followed by a
number of Eskimoes.
Soon our hosts carry us off to the hospitable little mission-house,
which somehow or another manages to find comfortable quarters for all
the visitors. I am writing up my diary in Mr. and Mrs. Rinderknecht's
pleasant rooms, which I am to share with Mr. Kaestner, who is on his
way to Nain to take part in our conference there. Mr. and Mrs. Martin
are occupying the spare room below us, and the Lundbergs have also
turned out to make room for Mr. and Mrs. Dam. Where our hosts have
taken up their abode meanwhile remains a riddle for the present. (The
riddle was solved in a subsequent tour of inspection of the house,
when I found that the one resident couple had retired to the garret
and the other to a workshop on the ground floor.)