they generally went out cruising for whales just when they pleased, came back when they pleased, and did as they pleased. If one or several took an idea to go off deer-hunting, or for any other object, away he or they would go. They would be independent in the fullest sense of the word, and restraint was what they could not brook.

We Americans talk about "freedom and independence," but we are far behind these Northerners. While we are pleased with shadows, the dusky sons of an arctic clime enjoy the substance. They will do as they please, without any one having the acknowl edged right or power to say to them, "Why do you so?"

I could say much, very much upon this subject, but perhaps it may be considered out of place, therefore leave it for another opportunity. Still, I must make one remark. The Esquimaux really deserve the attention of the philanthropist and Christian. Plant among them a colony of men and women having rightminded principles, and, after some patient toil, glorious fruits must follow. I can not realize the fact that here is a people having much of nobleness and even greatness in their composition, yet unvisited and apparently uncared-for by the missionary world. Nothing, however, could be done toward their good until a course is adopted similar to that pursued by the King of Denmark with Greenland. It is a painful, but too evident fact, that the Esquimaux on the west of Davis's Straits are wofully debased, and fallen from their original virtues—though possessing many still—owing to the visits of reckless white men on their coasts. In Greenland the case is different. There, under the Danish king's control, Christian colonies, churches, schools, store-houses, and stores of every needful variety, are to be found interspersed from Cape Farewell to Upernavik, and the inhabitants comfortable and happy. Priests and catechists, schoolmasters and schoolmistresses, are educated to their several posts, and are well paid for their services from his majesty's coffers. Danes emigrate to the land, marry and intermarry with the Esquimaux. Knowledge and virtue, industry and prosperity, are the results. And, notwithstanding the expenses for the support of all this, including the salaries of inspectors, governors, and several scores of employés, yet the net proceeds of this apparently desolate land exceed ten thousand dollars, federal money, per annum! This is well for Greenland. Paying for all her imports; paying the expenses of some ten ships annually from and to Copenhagen; paying all the other expenses

named, including missionaries, and yet realizing an annual return of net profit for the King of Denmark of ten thousand dollars! How many nations of this modern day do better? And, with this fact before us, why shall not the same occur (adopting the same plan) in the land of the Esquimaux on the west side of Davis's Straits? Let my countrymen look to it whenever the first opportunity arrives.

On the 27th day of September (1860) there broke upon us that fearful gale which caused the loss of my expedition boat and the far-famed Rescue, drove the Georgiana on shore, and came near proving the destruction of the George Henry and all on board. As it was of so serious a character, I will here give the particulars in detail.

Wednesday, the 26th, commenced with light winds from the N.E. At noon it began to snow, with an increasing breeze. At 1 P.M. all the boats came on board from their cruising-ground, and preparations were made for bad weather. The wind now rapidly increased to a gale, and at 8 P.M. the second anchor was let go, with all the cable given that could be allowed without letting the George Henry get too near the rocky island astern of us. The schooner Rescue, at this time, was about fifty fathoms distant on our starboard bow, and the brig Georgiana a little more easterly. At 9 P.M. the gale was still increasing, and a heavy sea rising. At this time the deck watch came in the cabin and reported that the Rescue was dragging her anchors, and as we looked upon her dark form through the thick darkness of the night, it seemed, as she kept moving by, that her destruction was inevitable and immediate. But, when abeam of us, she held on, though pitching and surging heavily. The Georgiana was seen but faintly, and it appeared as if she, too, was in great danger. At 11 P.M. it was blowing a perfect hurricane, with thick snow, and just then we could perceive the brig driving astern toward the island. She had, as we afterward learned, broken her small anchor, and dragged her large one. On she went, driving heavily, amid the wild stir of the elements, and the awful darkness of that snow-storm night—on and on, with nothing to save her, until presently we could see she had struck upon the island leeward of us, where, after "worrying" her anchor round a point of land, she got into some slightly smooth water, and there continued pounding her larboard side on the rocks. The crew now left her and went on to the island, expecting every moment that she would part her

remaining chain, and so be driven out into the bay, where there would be no possible chance of saving their lives.

Meanwhile, we ourselves were momentarily expecting destruction. It did not seem possible that our anchors could hold. Wind, and storm, and a raging sea appeared to be combined against us. Thirty souls, besides near a score of natives, were on board, and all preparing for the moment when it was probable the George Henry would be adrift on the rocks. But, thanks to Providence and our good anchors, we did not stir, though at no time very far from the rocks. Every now and then I was on deck, not to hear the howling winds, for the whole cabin below resounded with their roar, but to gaze upon the terrible scene. And what a scene! It was truly awful. Never before had I seen its like—never had I pictured to my imagination the reality of such a night. As I tried to steady myself by holding fast to some fixed rope, my eyes were spell-bound by the fearful sight before me. There behind was the brig, pounding away upon the rocks; and here, closer to us, was our consort, the schooner, plunging and chafing at her anchors as if mad at the restraint put upon her, and insanely desirous of letting go her hold to rush upon the shore. Ever and anon would she throw her bows low down, taking up the briny sea, and then, swiftly surging to and fro, spring fearfully on her chains. On the rocky, desolate island astern, the moving figures of those belonging to the brig could be discerned, evidently doing their best to keep warm in that bitter night. Through the rigging of our ship came the howling wind and the driving snow, while the fierce waves played and leaped about in the wildest fury. Yes, it was indeed a fearful sight, especially as it was increased in horror by the dread uncertainty of our own and our consort's continued safety.

At length these our fears were in part fulfilled. Toward morning the hurricane became stronger. Every blast seemed as if about to tear us from our hold, then lift us into the air and hurl us upon the rocks for destruction. Presently our eyes caught sight of the Rescue in a moment dashing before the storm toward the dreaded shore. She had parted chain, and, with one bound, went hopelessly broadside on, amid the breakers at her lee. Thump! thump! crash! crash! away the tottering masts! the ropes, the bulwarks, the all of what was once the noble-looking, beautiful, and renowned schooner Rescue! In and among the rocks, with their jagged tops tearing her to pieces, and the boil