the points of the compass for some time. It did not seem that the morning sun could thus early be approaching in the east, nor did it seem that the brightening before me was either east or west. But I soon found the cause that so attracted my attention was the northern sun! I was indeed delighted; for, though familiar with the theory of our planetary system, yet I had little thought of the beauty and variety of sun scenes presented to the view of man between the latitudes of Cincinnati and that of 581⁄2°, where we then were.

"Early in the morning the captain came to my berth and called me, saying that a sail was in sight, and that he was holding up for her. I was on deck in an instant with spy-glass in hand. All the men were on the alert, and every eye strained to discover what vessel it was. Our own colors were soon run up, and they were answered by the unknown showing the Danish flag. This immediately enlightened us, and we at once knew that the stranger was one of the government vessels of Denmark annually visiting Greenland. We laid-to for her, and, when she came near, ascertained her name to be the Mariane, from Copenhagen, bound to Disco. Our captain then sang out, 'What's your longitude?' Whereupon the lusty old Dane hung over the brig's side a ponderous ebony board, upon which was chalked in white '49° 20'.' Thus holding it a moment, we saw him turn his head broadside to us, and encircle his massive ear by his trumpet-shaped hand, as if to say, 'Now let us have yours.' In stentorian voice, the answer was '53° 30'. If a forty-pounder had been shot from the George Henry, the old Scandinavian commander could not have jumped higher than on this announcement. Then giving our ship to the glorious breeze that was dancing to do us service, away she bounded on her course. As long as we could see the Mariane of Copenhagena vessel bearing the royal F. R., wreathed by laurel branches, and crested by the imperial crown —she was still following in our wake."

It may be as well here to mention that this Mariane was the identical vessel in which Dr. Kane and his party, after their memorable escape on the second Grinnell Expedition, took passage from Upernavik, intending to proceed home in her via England. But, on touching at Goodhavn, Captain Hartstene, in the Relief Squadron, arrived in time to receive them, and thus prevented a longer voyage in the Danish brig.

"Friday, June 29th. During the night a smart breeze sprung up

from the N.N.W., which now continues, doing us much service in putting us to the north. There is rain, and it is chilly; but what of this to a determined soul? Oh, to be strong from the circumstances; to be excited by the powers of the mind; to be inspired, as it were, by the divine Spirit, that I may continue to the end. of life in my studies of Nature and her laws! May I be strong in the day of battle; may I not forget that I am a child of Deity —a humble instrument created for work!

"Saturday, June 30th. In a conversation with Captain B― and his first officer, Mr. Rogers, this morning, I learned their views of the scurvy. They both understand the cause, the nature of it, and its cure. The former said he had gained his knowledge from dearly acquired experience. This is truly a fact, for in 1855, while in command of the Georgiana, on a whaling voyage, he lost thirteen of his men by scurvy. But, said he, 'I am not afraid of losing any more men by scurvy while I have command over them. Whenever there are appearances of it aboard, I will have every pork and beef barrel—salt provision of every kind— headed up at once, and every man shall live upon bread and fresh provision, such as whale, walrus, seal, deer, bear, ptarmigan, duck, etc., etc.'"

Mr. Rogers stated that in 1856 he went on a whaling voyage to the South Sea, and that during the year scurvy broke out among the crew. Nine were seriously affected, and one died of it, all from eating salt provisions. Said he, "Those who had it seemed determined to die, for, against all reasoning and advice, they would have salt pork in preference to fresh game, such as ducks, eggs, etc., which they had in abundance."

It may be here stated as a fact that the person who has the scurvy desires just that kind of food which he should not have, and, as a general rule, the same person affected will go almost any length to obtain it, notwithstanding he is well aware that death must follow in this contumacious course.

I now approach a subject that, even at this present time, in dwelling upon it, affects me greatly. I allude to the death of Kudlago, which occurred on Sunday morning, the 1st of July. Hitherto I have said but little concerning him, owing to an intention of confining my remarks to what I should have to narrate here.

I have mentioned in the Introduction that he had been brought to the United States in the previous fall, and when I first saw him

he appeared to be, what I always found him, a remarkably modest and unassuming man. From what I was then informed, he was quick to learn, and always endeavored to do as other people did. He never expressed surprise at any thing. He looked upon the works of civilization with interest, but never with wonder. The first time he saw a locomotive no words escaped his lips, nor did he exhibit any signs but what were consistent with the idea of his having seen the same a thousand times before. One day, while riding in the cars toward New York, a boy passed through distributing circulars, giving one to Kudlago. He took it, looking attentively to see what others might do, and then, as they did, so, to all appearance, did he! Others held the circulars up before them and read. Kudlago held his up before his eyes and appeared to read. Though he could not read a word, yet he looked learned. Solomon may have been wiser, but surely not sharper than Kudlago.

On securing his services as my interpreter, I was in hopes that he would long remain with me; but, though apparently in good health on leaving New London, the fogs we encountered when crossing the Banks of Newfoundland gave him a severe cold, and, though every attention was paid to him, he was evidently failing very fast. One day we shot an eider-duck, and lowered a boat to get it, purposely that Kudlago might have a generous meal in his accustomed way. The bird was skinned and carried to the poor sick Esquimaux, who dissected it at once, eating only the heart and liver, both raw. He seemed to relish it greatly, but

could eat no more. As he expressed a desire to be on deck, a tent was erected there, that he might enjoy the sunshine and the air. But nothing availed to save him. The following day he was again taken below, and never again left his berth alive. He died about half past four on Sunday morning. His last words were, "Teik-ko se-ko? teik-ko se-ko?"—Do you see ice? do you see ice? His prayer was that he might arrive home, and once more look upon his native land—its mountains, its snows, its ice. —and upon his wife and his little ones; he would then ask no more of earth. We had sighted the Labrador coast on our way, and after that we sailed several days without seeing ice. Kudlago kept incessantly asking if we saw the ice, thinking, if so, we must be near to his home; but, poor fellow, he was still far away when his final moments came. He died in lat. 63° N., when near the coast of Greenland, and about 300 miles from his native place.

Suitable preparations were soon made for his burial in the sea, and as I had always thought a "burial at sea" must be a scene of great interest, the one I now witnessed for the first time most strongly impressed itself upon me. Never did I participate more devoutly in what then seemed to me the most solemn scene of my life. There before us was the "sheeted dead," lying amidships on the gangway board, all in readiness for burial. The whole ship's company, save a solitary man at the wheel, had assembled in sorrowful silence around our departed friend, to pay the last respect we could to him. By the request of Captain Bwho was bound by strong ties of friendship to Kudlago, I had consented to take an active part in the services. I therefore proceeded to make such remarks as were deemed proper for the occasion. These were succeeded by my reading portions of appropriate exhortations from the "Masonic Manual," after which I read a prayer from the same excellent work. In this all seemed deeply, solemnly interested.

During these services the breezes of heaven were wafting us on -silently, yet speedily to the north. At a given signal from the captain, who was standing on my right, the man at the helm luffed the ship into the wind and deadened her headway. William Sterry and Robert Smith now stepped to the gangway, and holding firmly the plank on which was the shrouded dead—a short pause, and down sank the mortal part of Kudlago, the noble Esquimaux, into the deep grave-the abyss of the ocean!

Oh

what a scene! How solemn in its grandeur and its surroundings! The Sabbath morning; a cloudless sky; the sun shining in all its glory; the cold, dark blue ocean, its heaving bosom whitened over, here and there, with high pinnacled bergs; the

lofty peaks of "Greenland's icy mountains" peering down from a distance in the east—these were some of the impressive features in the scene attending the burial of Kudlago at sea.

An hour after the George Henry had been given to the leading