HOMEWARD.
Notwithstanding the natural anxiety to return again to our native land
after so long an absence, it was with genuine regret that we parted
from our poor savage friends on Depot Island to embark upon the vessel
that was to carry us home. Nor was the sorrow to us alone, for these
simple children of the ice have warm hearts. Some of the old women
embraced us tenderly, while the salt tears cut deep furrows through the
dirt upon their faces. The younger ones exclaimed, and evidently with
truth, "Watcheow oounga keeieyoot amasuet" (By and by me cry plenty).
"Papa," Armow, and Ishnark--better known as "Jerry," or "Jelly," as
they pronounce it--held our hands as if reluctant to let go, and gazing
wistfully into our faces said, "Shoogarme watcheow tukko" (I hope by
and by to see you). It is impossible to translate exactly their meaning
in this short sentence, but it is more as if they would say, "Surely it
seems impossible that we shall never see you again."
That they were in earnest in the expression of their grief I have every
reason to believe, for they had shown their kindly interest and
affection at a time that if ever one's affection is put to the test
theirs was. They had, so to speak, adopted us as their children. Not
merely had they divided their last morsel of food, but had given to us
and their children, and had gone without themselves. It was merely some
walrus hide that had been saved to make soles for their shoes, but
nevertheless it was literally their last mouthful, and when that was
gone we all went hungry until the long-continued storm abated and an
opportunity was afforded to kill a walrus, which appeased our hunger
for the time being. Is it unnatural that we should absolutely love
these kind friends, or was it a thing to be ashamed of that theirs were
not the only tears that fell at parting? Of all savages--I was going to
say of all people--commend me to these simple-hearted Esquimaux, with
all their dirt and gluttony, for genuine, self-sacrificing hospitality.
As we were being rowed out to the ship by an Inuit crew at ten o'clock
on the night of the 1st of August, our faces were turned toward the
land, where the sky was still brilliant with the light of a gorgeous
sunset. Lieutenant Schwatka sat beside me in the bow of the boat, and
neither of us had spoken since we left the shore, until he turned to me
and said, "I was not prepared for this."
"Prepared for what?" said I.
"I was not prepared to feel the pain of parting from these people and
this country as I feel it now. Even the near prospect of getting back
to civilization, and of meeting friends and hearing news scarcely
ameliorates the pang at this moment. But it will soon be over, I
suppose."
At last we were all on board the ship, and when the men began to weigh
anchor, merrily singing over their work, the three boat-loads of Inuits
put off hastily, though they paddled around the vessel and seemed loath
to depart.
"Where is Toolooah--did he bid you good-by, governor?" said I to
Lieutenant Schwatka.
"No," he replied, "but you can see him here;" and stepping up to the
side of the ship I saw our Toolooah seated in the bow of Armow's boat,
his head bent down and his face buried in his hands.
"I can understand his feelings exactly," said the governor. "He dare
not trust himself to go through the ordeal, poor fellow. He knew he
would break down when it came to that, and I am glad he didn't, for I
am afraid I should too."
Until the morning that we left, it had been confidently expected that
Toolooah and his family, consisting of his wife and two children, would
accompany us to the United States. It had been the great ambition of
his life to visit the wonderful white men's country, and Lieutenant
Schwatka had promised to take him home, provided he could obtain the
consent of the captain of the vessel in which we returned. Captain
Baker had already given his consent, and there seemed nothing to
interfere with their plans. Toolooah and his wife were busy in securing
suitable clothing in which to appear abroad when occasion should arise
for wearing it, and the faithful services he had rendered on our sledge
journey were to be recompensed in the United States, from which he
would take home an outfit that should last as long as he lived. But the
last day we were on shore some of the old men came to Lieutenant
Schwatka, and begged he would not be angry if they said that a long and
anxious consultation had resulted in the conclusion that it would be
running too great a risk for Toolooah to go to the United States. No
man of their tribe had ever been to a civilized country but "Esquimau
Joe," who, by the bye, had also made up his mind to remain in the
Arctic a year or two longer. He had told them of the great mortality
attending those of his people from Cumberland Sound who had gone to
England and America, and they were afraid. I think that Toolooah,
personally, would have willingly encountered the risk; but with these
people, such government as they have is patriarchal, and the young men
submit with the best grace to the decision of their elders. It was a
matter of regret both to Lieutenant Schwatka and myself that we did not
have an opportunity to bestow the attention upon him in our own land
that his constant care for our safety and comfort in his country
entitled him to at our hands.
The anchor soon swung at the bow of the 'George and Mary', and her
yards were squared for Marble Island, where we were to take on board
water for the homeward-bound voyage. Our Inuit friends shouted their
last farewells, and we were actually "en route" home.
Fortunate was it for us that there was a kind-hearted whaler in
Hudson's Bay, or we would have been compelled to spend at least one
more winter in the polar regions. But Captain Baker treated us with the
greatest consideration not only while we were his guests during the
spring at Marble Island, but when we returned to Depot Island he gave
us such provisions from his stores as he could spare, and without this
assistance we would have suffered considerably, for twice again after
our return the natives were entirely without food for several days. But
instead of our starving with them, we were enabled to save these poor
people much suffering by sharing our slender stock with them. We left
the ship in her winter quarters on the 3d of May, and on the 11th
pitched our tent on the highest rock on Depot Island. The natives soon
came from their igloos on the ice about a mile away, and gathered
around us. Whenever they killed a walrus or a seal they brought us some
of the meat, for which we paid them, as usual, with powder, caps, or
lead. But from the 22d of May, when they killed two walrus, until the
7th of June, when the ship hove in sight from her winter quarters, the
weather had been such that they had killed nothing but two small seals.
The consequence was that for several days they were without food, and
our provisions were gone the day before, so that when the ship was seen
we were waiting patiently until the Inuits returned from the pursuit of
some walrus that were seen on the ice, in order to break our fast. It
was not only a joyful sight to see the ship at this time, but an
additional pleasure to note the cloud of thick black smote that hung
over her deck, denoting that they had killed a whale and were boiling
out the blubber. This was good luck for the officers and crew, and
fortunate for us, because the black skin of the whale is exceedingly
palatable and wholesome food, and there would in all probability be
enough of it on board to keep us and our Inuit allies from hunger for a
long time, at least until they could secure food by hunting.
We were pleased to learn that the whalers had killed the only whale
they saw, which augured a successful season for them. It eventually
proved, however, that the augury was delusive, for from that time
forward they did not see another whale, though they cruised the bay
until the 9th of August. Subsequently we learned that the whales had
all gone out of Hudson's Bay through the strait in the early spring,
owing to the entire absence of whale food, which had probably been
destroyed by the intense severity of the winter. The natives living
near North Bluff and Hudson's Strait had seen plenty of whales passing
eastward early in the season, when the ice was still thick, or, as one
of them told me, "when the young seal are born," which is in the latter
part of March and early in April. They had killed three large whales
and struck two others that escaped. We went into North Bay and found
these Inuits encamped on the main-land, about fifteen miles from the
mouth of the bay, and Captain Baker bought from them a head of
whalebone, which they said was at Akkolear, which was still further up
the bay, or strait, as it proved to be.
Mr. Williams, first officer of the 'George and Mary', went with
two boats and some Inuit guides, sailing directly up the bay toward
the north-west until it debouched again upon Hudson's Strait, about
fifty miles above where we were anchored, or about sixty-five miles
north-west of North Bluff. Here he found the whalebone as described by
the natives, and brought it on board after an absence of four days.
The large island, or, in fact, two islands that are thus formed, as
there is another passage into the sea about twenty-five miles north of
North Bluff, are called by the natives "Kigyuektukjuar," in view of
their insular character. Kigyuektuk means island, and especially a
large island, King William Land being thus distinguished by them as the
island. A "small island" is Kigyuektower, and "long island"
Kigyuektukjuar.
The land on the north and east of North Bay is called Queennah, which
means "all right," and was given to it in view of the fact that in
winter it is filled with reindeer, who can go no farther south in their
migration, and spend the winter on the Meta Incognita of Queen
Elizabeth, or the Queennah of the Esquimaux. Akkolear means a narrow
passage or channel, where the land is visible on both sides as you pass
through. The natives we met here are more cleanly in their persons and
dress than any others we saw on the Arctic, but there their superiority
ends. They are most persistent beggars, and indeed require watching, or
they will sometimes steal, a vice to which the Esquimaux as a nation
are little given. I saw two of their women, while sitting in our
cabin, comb their hair without discovering a single specimen of the
genus pediculosum; while, should any one of the other tribes we met
have done the same thing, the result would have been most
overwhelmingly satisfactory. But though they are dirty they will
neither lie nor steal, except in rare instances. The natives of the
north shore of Hudson's Strait were spoken of by the early explorers of
the present century--Parry, Back, and Lyon--as rude, dirty, and
unreliable, and they have not improved much since that day, except in
regard to dirt. They are certainly more cleanly--one good trait they
have learned from association with white people, to counterbalance many
vices thus acquired. But never was I more confounded than when an old
woman, who brought a pair of fine fur stockings to Captain Baker, asked
for a pack of cards in exchange. The captain had brought her to me to
act as interpreter for him, but though the word she used sounded
familiar to me I could not for the life of me remember what it meant in
English until she made motions of dealing cards and said, "Keeng,
kevven, zhak." Then the light burst upon me, but nothing had been
further from my mind than playing-cards as an article of trade.
Three of these women wore calico skirts, but they looked as much out of
place on them as they would on the men, and I came to the conclusion
that it does indeed require some art to look well in a "pinned back."
These women, when their skirts were in the way of climbing up the side
of the vessel, either gathered them up out of the way or took them off
and passed them up separately. Their clothing was complete without this
civilized inconvenience, which had no more to do with their costume
than the buttons on the back of a man's coat.
The temperature in Hudson's Strait was much lower than in the bay, and
we felt the cold intensely. I began to imagine that my acclimatization
had not been complete, until I noticed that the Inuits who came on
board complained of the cold as much as we did. Indeed, I believe that
one feels the cold in an Arctic summer much more disagreeably than in
the winter. The low temperature in the strait is in all probability
attributable to the ice that is constantly there, either local ice or
the pack brought down from Fox Channel by the wind and current. The
great Grinnell Glacier, on Meta Incognita, which Captain Hall estimated
to be one hundred miles in extent, must also have considerable effect
upon the climate. As we passed down toward Resolution Island we could
see this great sea of ice from the deck of the vessel in all its solemn
grandeur, surrounded by lofty peaks clad in their ever-enduring mantles
of snow.
I did not go on shore while our vessel lay at anchor in North Bay, for
I had no anxiety to encounter the mosquitoes which abound there, though
not to the extent that makes life such a burden as upon the eastern
shores of Hudson's Bay. While our water-casks were being filled at
Marble Island in the early part of August, Captain Baker and I went in
one of the ship's boats to the main-land, about fifteen miles to the
south-west, to secure a lot of musk-ox skins and other articles of
trade at a Kinnepatooan encampment there, and though we spent but one
night on shore, I never before endured such torture from so small a
cause as the mosquitoes occasioned us. Indeed, my hands and his for a
month afterward, were swollen and sore from the venom of these
abominable little pests. They are not like civilized mosquitoes, for no
amount of brushing or fanning will keep them away. Their sociability is
unbounded, and you have absolutely to push them off, a handful at a
time, while their places are at once filled by others, the air teeming
with them all the time. The natives keep their tents filled with smoke
from a slow, smouldering fire in the doorway, which is the only plan to
render them habitable at all; but the remedy is only one degree better
than the disease, as Captain Baker remarked to me, with his eyes filled
with tears. The only relief from these torments is a strong breeze from
the water, which carries them away; but even then it is not safe to
seek shelter in the lee of a tent, for there they swarm and are as
vigorous in their attacks as during a calm. The men wear mosquito-net
hoods over their heads and shoulders while in camp or hunting, and
women and children live in the smoke of their smouldering peat fires.
The shores of Hudson's Bay are low and barren, and abound in lakes of
every size and shape. They are too low to produce glaciers, but are
just right for the production of the finest crop of mosquitoes to be
found in the world, as has previously been remarked by Franklin,
Richardson, Back, and, indeed, all the explorers of this territory.
After leaving Marble Island we sailed toward Depot Island, Cape
Fullerton, and Whale Point, so that we might see any other ships that
had come in this season and get some news from them. We found plenty of
ice in Daly Bay and the entrance to Rowe's Welcome, the ice bridge
still extending from near Whale Point to Southampton Island.
On Sunday the 8th of August, while moving slowly through the ice-pack
off Cape Fullerton, we saw a she-bear and cub asleep on a large cake of
ice about a quarter of a mile from the ship, and one of the boats was
lowered to go in pursuit. Lieutenant Schwatka, Mr. Williams, and I went
in the boat, and quite enjoyed the exciting chase. Before the boat was
lowered the bears seemed aware of the presence of danger, and took to
the water, the old one in her motherly anxiety for the safety of her
cub carrying it on her back most of the time. When they found the boat
gaining upon them, and close at hand, they left the water and stood at
bay on a cake of ice. A bullet from Lieutenant Schwatka's rifle broke
the mother's backbone and she dropped, when Mr. Williams gave her the
"coup de grace" with a bullet through her head at close range. We
were quite anxious to capture the little fellow alive, but found it
difficult to kill the mother without wounding him, as he clung to her
poor wounded body with the most touching tenacity. It was heartrending
to see him try to cover her body with his own little form, and lick her
face and wounds, occasionally rising upon his hind legs and growling a
fierce warning to his enemies. At this juncture Lieutenant Schwatka got
out upon the ice, and, after several ineffectual attempts, at last
succeeded in throwing a rope over the head of the cub, which put him in
a towering passion. Nevertheless he was towed alongside the ship and
hoisted on deck, together with the carcass of his mother, but he never
ceased to growl and rush at every one who approached him. We would
gladly have brought him alive to the United States, for he was a
handsome little rascal, but the vessel was small and devoid of
conveniences for that purpose; so the captain ordered him killed, and
his fate was, consequently, sealed with a bullet from Mr. Williams's
pistol.
We met the whaler 'Isabella' in Fisher's Strait, and the 'Abbott
Lawrence' near Charles Island, and from both got some later news, but no
letters from either. We learned from them that the 'Abby Bradford' had
gone in already, and must have passed us in Fisher's Strait the day
before we met the 'Isabella', in a thick fog that prevailed. We were
sorry not to have met the 'Abby Bradford' also, for we felt pretty
certain that she must have letters for us; but it seemed scarcely worth
while to go back in search of her. The 'Isabella' and 'Abby Bradford'
had been in company for twenty-seven days from Resolution Island to
Nottingham Island, surrounded by ice all the time and narrowly escaping
destruction. The 'Isabella' was carried by the current right upon a
large iceberg, which would most certainly have wrecked the vessel; but,
when just about to strike, the eddy swept them around and past the berg,
though they had entirely lost control of the ship. They were both
"nipped" by the ice several times, and on one of these occasions the
'Abby Bradford' suffered such a severe strain that her timbers creaked
and groaned terribly, and her deck planks were bowed up. So imminent did
their peril appear that the boats and provisions were got out upon the
ice preparatory to abandoning the vessel, when, just as it seemed as if
she must succumb, the pressure was relaxed and the crew returned to
their ship. We had head winds before reaching Resolution Island, but
after passing Cape Best the winds were fair, and we made a fine run of
six days to the latitude of St. John, N. F. We saw a brig off Hamilton
Inlet, evidently trying to beat into that harbor; but saw no more
vessels until the 2d of September, when we saw a heavily laden bark
some distance ahead of us making toward the west. We changed our course
so as to endeavor to head her off, but though we gained upon her
considerably, could not overtake her before dark. On the 3d we saw a
number of vessels, including one steamer, all, except one large
merchantman, bound eastward.
A little humpback whale that came playing around our ship, as if trying
to get a harpoon in him, prevented our heading off the steamer and
getting some late papers. But as soon as a boat was lowered into the
water the fishy representative of King Richard thought it began to look
too much like business at this time, and hastened off to look for his
mother. We saw quite a large school of humpbacks during the same
afternoon, but there was too much wind, with the near prospect of a
gale, to render it worth while to hunt them. We had some pretty heavy
blows on our way home, and on the last day of August we were struck by
a squall that gave us a very good idea of what a gale would be like
should it have continued for a day or two; but within twenty minutes of
the time it struck us it had passed off, the sun was shining brightly,
and we were making sail again, with nothing to indicate what had just
taken place save a few barrels of immense hailstones that still covered
the deck like so much coarse salt and a chilliness in the atmosphere
that made you shiver in spite of yourself. It was fearful, though,
while it lasted; the lightning and thunder crashes were almost
synchronous, indicating a most unpleasant proximity. Since the night of
the 2d of September we had been cut off by southwest winds and
enveloped with fogs of varying density. Everything on deck was as wet
as if a heavy rain-storm had just passed over, and great drops of water
kept dropping from the sails and rigging, making it very unpleasant to
venture beyond the cabin.
During the morning of the 7th the fog lifted a little and showed us
three fishing-smacks anchored about a mile away, and we directed our
course toward them, with the hope of getting some fresh fish as well as
some fresh news. Mr. Gilbert, second officer of the 'George and
Mary', took me in his boat on board the schooner 'Gertrude', of
Provincetown, Mass., whose master, Captain John Dillon, extended a
hearty welcome. In answer to our first question he told us who were the
Presidential candidates. Captain Dillon prevailed upon me to recount
some of the incidents of our sledge journey. He seemed very much
interested in the recital, brief as it necessarily was, and hospitably
pressed us to dine with him, as it was just about his dinner hour.
Desiring to impress upon his steward the importance of his guests he
said:--"Steward, it is a great treat to see these gentlemen. You ought
to take a good look at them. They have had one of the toughest times
you ever heard of. They have just come down from--where?" (aside to
me). "King William's Land," said I, scarcely able to retain my
composure. "King William's Land," he repeated, "and were looking for
Franklin." The doubt in his mind as to who this mythical "Franklin" was
seeming to add much to the interest that invested us.
We had a substantial meal of fried haddock, which was particularly
enjoyable, in the absence of fresh meat on board our ship since the
reindeer meat was exhausted. In the laudable pursuit of information I
felt interested in seeing how they lived on board these fishing
schooners, and had accepted the kind invitation to dinner as much on
that account as for the sake of the fresh fish I anticipated. I saw
that the cabin was too small to accommodate a dining-table, but had
four very wide bunks in it, one of which was the captain's, and the
others occupied by two men each. There is not the same amount of
discipline on board these vessels, which are out for so short a time,
as upon merchantmen or whalers, and all hands eat at the same table. We
found the feast spread in the forecastle, which was also used as the
galley, and was consequently oppressively warm to us from the north, in
this thick, sultry weather. On each side of the forecastle I observed
three large bunks, each of which accommodated at least two men. This
was their second voyage this summer, they having been fortunate enough
to fill up before their first three months had expired. The crews are
usually shipped for three months, and receive about $50 compensation
for the voyage. If they get full before the time is up, that is their
gain. Sometimes, however, they have an interest in the voyage the same
as whalers, but usually, I understand, are paid from $40 to $75 for a
season, which means three months unless sooner filled. The men do not
fish from the deck of the vessel, but from little flat-bottomed dories,
each man paddling his own boat and changing its location to suit his
whim. When brought on board the vessel the fish are immediately
cleaned, split open and salted right down in the hold, without the
formality of putting them in barrels or casks. After they are landed on
shore they are dried and assorted according to size and sold by the
quintal of 112 pounds, though 100 pounds is estimated as a quintal from
the hold of the smack. The 'Gertrude' had already 175 quintals on
her second cargo the day we were on board, but the captain seemed much
more desirous of hearing of our strange adventures than of imparting
the information that I sought. He appeared much impressed with the
circumstance that we were "worth looking at," as he said, and dwelt
much upon the fact that this summer was a good season for him to see
strange things.
"On my first voyage this summer," said he, "that little dory, thirteen
and a half feet long, in which two young men are going around the
world, came alongside my vessel, and I gave them some water and lucky
cake, and now I meet you gentlemen from--where?" (addressing me). "King
William's Land," said I. "Oh, yes, King William's Land. Let me have
some fish put into your boat before you go." And the kind-hearted
fisherman gave us about a barrel of fine fresh cod and haddock, besides
a fifty-fathom line and some hooks. He also gave us three late
newspapers; and we sent him in return a copy of Hall's "Life Among the
Esquimaux," and some other reading matter, besides a pair of sealskin
slippers, and a fine walrus skull with the ivory tusks in it. This was
a present from Mr. Gilbert. Just as we were about leaving I turned to
Mr. Gilbert and said, "The Governor will be glad to hear the news."
"What!" said the surprised skipper, "have you got a real Governor on
board?" And then I had to explain that it was merely a title we had
bestowed upon Lieutenant Schwatka in view of the faithful care he took
of his people, though, I believe, the youngest in the party. The
incident was only amusing as showing that the captain had heard so
many strange things this morning that he was prepared to believe
anything, no matter how absurd it might appear.
The day following our visit to the fishing schooner was still foggy and
without a breath of wind stirring. We therefore availed ourselves of
the opportunity to use our fish-lines, and succeeded in securing about
fifty fine cod and haddock, besides one huge dogfish, which snapped
ferociously when hauled into the boat, and had to be despatched with a
boat-hook. We experienced considerable squally weather about the middle
of September, interspersed with head winds and calms. On the 15th there
were several vessels in sight, and a large iron bark came so near that
we concluded to send aboard for newspapers. The waist boat was cleared
away and the second mate started to intercept the stranger, but
scarcely had the boat been lowered into the water when a squall came up
and the sea became very rugged, so that in passing to the leeward of
the bark, though he shouted out that it was only papers that he wanted,
the captain did not hear him, and luffed up into the wind to deaden his
headway. But even then the bark drifted ahead so rapidly that it was
hard work for our boat to catch it by rowing in such a heavy sea. The
stranger then lowered his top-gallant sails and hauled his foreyards
aback, and in about twenty-five minutes Mr. Gilbert was alongside. He
sprang lightly up the side of the big vessel, and, standing before the
captain, with all the characteristic politeness of the French people,
presented Captain Baker's compliments and asked for some late papers.
The captain of the bark was a splendid old Scotchman who had grown gray
battling with stormy seas for many years. But when he found out that
all we wanted was newspapers, he was so completely overpowered with
surprise that all he could say was, "Well--I'll--be--blanked." This he
kept repeating all the way to his cabin as he went to gather some late
copies of the 'New York Herald'. When he again came upon deck he
had recovered his accustomed composure, and asked where we were from
and where bound. He said his vessel was the bark 'Selkirkshire',
of Glasgow, from New York the night of the 12th inst., and then turning
again to Mr. Gilbert said, "And is that all you wanted? And a fair
wind? Why, man, you'll be home to-night. Well--I'll--be--blanked."
Never before in all his experience had he known a vessel within two or
three days' sail of home, with a fair wind, take so much trouble to
stop another merely for the purpose of getting some newspapers. It was
rather "a stunner," that is a fact, but at the same time was
unintentional. The squall came up after our boat was lowered and
prevented Mr. Gilbert doing what he had intended, which was merely to
go alongside, get a few papers thrown overboard and drop back, without
causing more than five minutes' detention, if any. But the wind
prevented their hearing him, when he shouted to them that he only
wanted papers, and for them to go ahead, as they missed getting close
enough when they passed; so when he saw them taking so much trouble to
stop he felt it his duty to pull up and explain on board. Captain
Anderson, of the 'Selkirkshire', recovered his equanimity
sufficiently to send his best respects to Captain Baker, with the very
welcome papers--fresh for us, as there were some as late as the
'Herald' of the Saturday previous. I have no doubt, though, that
every time he recalls the episode on his voyage to England he will say
to himself, "Well, I'll be----"
Saturday, the 18th, we were becalmed on the George's Bank, about a
quarter of a mile from another large bark, bound the same way as we
were; and as it is so excessively monotonous at sea, especially in a
calm, and knowing that we could not be causing any delay this time, we
lowered a boat, and Captain Baker, Lieutenant Schwatka and I paid a
visit to Captain Kelly, of the bark 'Thomas Cochrane', of St.
John, N. B., fifty-seven days from Gloucester, England, bound for New
York. We found Captain Kelly a genial, whole-souled sailor, who
received us very cordially, and three hours slipped away most
pleasantly in his society. He had his family on board, and said he
would have been exceedingly comfortable had he not run short of
provisions in such an exceptionally long voyage between the two ports.
On the Banks of Newfoundland he had encountered a Norwegian bark loaded
with grain, to which he sent a boat with an explanation of his
necessities. The captain returned word that he was short himself, but
sent a bag of wheat, which he remarked would sustain their lives for
some time. Captain Kelly received the wheat graciously, and the next
day met an old friend, who sent him stores sufficient to carry him
home. Captain Baker told him he could supply him with ship's stores if
he desired it, but he said he was all right now and did not require
further assistance.
Tuesday noon, "Land, ho!" was shouted from the masthead, and soon the
low, white shore of Nantucket was plainly visible. A strong head wind
kept us out until Wednesday morning, when we took on board a pilot, and
before night were ashore in New Bedford. During the entire trip Captain
Baker had done everything in his power to promote the comfort of his
passengers, and earned for himself their lasting gratitude.