II This page intentionally left blank [54.144.233.198] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:00 GMT) Karajak Fiord Julyi-jtk, 1929 'EST GREENLAND, mountainous and wild. A raging storm; cold rain in torrents from low hanging clouds. Streams pouring down the mountain side are turned to vapor by the gale; and the whole face of nature, land and sea, smokes as from internal fires. Across the rough, grass matted foreland between seaand mountain move three figures, men; the only living things in all that wilderness. Leaning against the wind they labor on. They climb a rise of land; and from its ridge look down into a sheltered basin. There lies a lake round as the moon. Its pebbly shore shows smooth and clean and bright against the deep green water. They descend to it and, standing there, look over at the mountain wall that bounds it. The dark cliff rises sheer from lake M3 W [ii] to sky. From its high edge pours a torrent. And the gale, lifting that torrent in mid-air, disperses it in smoke. The three men stand there looking at it all: at the mountains, at the smoking waterfall, at the dark green lake with wind puffs silvering its plain, at the flowers that fringe the pebbly shore and star the banks. And at last one of them speaks.«It's right,» he says, «that we should pay for beautiful things. And being here in this spot, now, is worth traveling a thousand miles for, and all that that has cost us. Maybe we have lived only to be here now.» 144 July \<)th 'TER some preliminary exploration of the immediate wilderness in which we found ourselves, we returned to the vicinity of the wreck and chose a spot for the erection of a temporary shelter. An overhanging cliff that faced to leeward offered itself as one side of such a tent as we could complete with the spinnaker. After contriving to secure the canvas to the land above, despite much hindranceby the wind, we drew it down and weighted it with rocks. And although the floor was too uneven and encumbered with boulders to permit of much comfort we found fair shelter from the wind and rain, and ample space for the assembling of our small store of worldly goods. These precious goods we proceeded to carry over; and it was our good fortune that the wind, which still raged A M5 Afiernoon II ] unabated, now helped our tired backs to bear their saturated loads. Soon, however, I set about preparing dinner, for we had been so far that day without a meal. And as, presently, we sprawled about in the orange twilight of our rock and canvas home, and sipped hot soup from scalding metal cups, and nibbled chocolate and wet hard-bread, it may have been that childhood memories stirred in us without our knowing it, memories of some house contrived with shawls over a table top, the glamorous light of that, the far away contentment of some special day when, being children, poor and free, we played that we were robbers or shipwrecked men: here, at any rate, we were, shipwrecked and poor; and the warm golden light of the wet canvas was on us and on our goods that lay spread out like robbers' booty all around us; and if ever in this so-called vale of tears men can be happy we there, that hour, were. 146 The Wreck r WAS once, not very long ago, my earnest intention to submit to the authorities of the great Guggenheim Foundation a plan for the sending of me at random round about the world to search among the rich and poor, the wise and foolish, good and bad, among the whites and reds and browns and blacks and yellows everywhere, for what made people happy. Only, I think, when I read of the financing of a scholar to study what was called the Graveyard Poetry of England, did I realize that all men must make their quest of happiness alone. Now it was only a littlewhile after that sweet hour in Greenland of which I have told that we bestirred ourselves from our contentment and visited the wreck again. Some hours had passed, the tide had fallen; and although the gale still raged and the sea ran 147 [III ] Low tide I high, it was clear to us that the boat would remain on the ledge and even be, at low tide, partly out of water. She appeared to have been completely gutted, not only of those articles of her contents as would float but of all such woodwork as formed no integral part of her frame. The forecastle hatch now stood uncovered and every sea came spouting through it like a geyser, bearing each time some quaint contribution to the picturesque assortment that littered the rocks and water. Books, paper, painting canvas, shoes, socks, eggs, potatoes: we fished up what we could.«I've got a book!» cried the mate, wielding a long pole like a fishing rod and throwing his catch high on the rocks. He recovered it.«The Triumph of Death'!» he read aloud. Of the long diary of our trip that I had written, only one page was found, the last: «And tomorrow I paint!» I read again. And knowing that all the wherewithal for that most probably was lost I thought how little—pictures and diaries and books and all that kind of thing—amounted to. But it was clear to us that we must eventually recover no small part of what remained on board. And whether it was the thought that these promised riches made us that moment relatively poor, or that this lavish increment to our supplies robbed what I'd done in saving things of its heroic flavor, something destructive of my own late perfect happiness had entered. And so, instead of dreaming of life there for weeks or for a season, I came to have no thought but how to leave that place. [48 Karajak Fiord T WAS approaching midnight. Among the boulders that lay heaped at the foot of the cliff that sheltered our camp burned a great fire. Its light falling luridly upon the nearer objects deepened the gloom of the surrounding wilderness and hid the storm. Blanketsand clothes were hung about theblaze to dry; they made a wall against the night, and stopped the puffs of wind that found their way around the cliff; and while one side of the blankets steamed in the heat, the outer side became quite saturated by the drifting rain spray. But it was warm there at the fireside;and although the others stillwere busy at the wreck, there I sat huddled against a rock, privileged to dry myself and rest. The few reflections that I did allow myself during that part of an hour of self-engendered coma were of so pleasant a nature as 149 I ^Midnight, July 15 th-\6th I V 3 [54.144.233.198] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:00 GMT) to make their concealment from my companions imperative. A shipwreck is after all one of those occasions which, like death, impose upon us, as gentlemen and heroes, the observance of a mien of suffering fortitude, of tragedy redeemed and ennobled by courage. We may not weep; yet must our smile, if we incline to smile, be so gracefully tempered with the mark of effort as to leave no question of an underlying misery of soul. It was my secret shame that I rejoiced. I had rejoiced, a little, even as we lay there pounding on the rocks; there, like an evil voice, my own, «You're glad!» was whispered to me. And though for decency I fought it down, it was the truth—that thought—sinful and true; and doubly powered it lived on and worked within me, grew. And as I sat there by the fireside it flowered; and I dared to look at it and call it me. So when in a little while the others came back from the wreck bringing with them more pathetic, salvaged things I said: «How wonderful!»—and only thought how tasteless fate had been to rob us thus of our disaster's fine completeness. But now, with one o'clock, the hour of my liberation from such disheartening dedramatizationof tragedy has come. Already, despite the storm, gray daylight creeps over the mountains, and reveals again that dreary wilderness and the far-extending broken line of shore along which I look forward, hopefully, to plod my way. My pack-sack is ready. It contains: food for a week; a tent; spare socks; a sweater; a Primus stove; a cooking pot and a cup; two blankets; a large and cumbersome boat compass. The outfit is heavy, fifty pounds at least, for its contents are wet. I raise it onto my shoulders and put the tump-line over my forehead. Ready. 150 Prayer is a useful thing—as ritual. We need such ritual. Prayer is self measurement—for God's delight. My ritual centered upon my chronometers. They were very beautiful chronometers— loaned to me by their famous makers. They had been on other voyages and served great navigators. The chronometer is an instrument for measuring God in terms of time—for man's small need and pleasure. «Remember,» I said to the mate, «to wind the chronometers at noon.» And to those who value prayer I may proclaim that not until I reached Denmark two months later were those watches left to stop. 15* Julyi6th,r.ooA.M. £and Journey TARTING off at a merry pace, lightly leaping the tussocks of that boggy land, dancing along and singing, I came in no time to where the land dipped down. Here at the edge I turned for a last look behind me. How far I'd come! There was the fire, a tiny star in the half light of that hour; and standing on the rocks two littlefigureswaving goodbye.«Goodbye!» And I plunge down the ravine to the river's edge. The little river is swift and deep. I dare not cross it there. I follow it up stream. I come presently to the round lake that we had seen before; the river is its overflow. It is wider and shallower here. I start to ford it and the water rises to my boot tops. Those rubber boots are my only footgear and I will not fill them at the commencement [ V ]] /^l' 152 of my journey. I return to the shore and undress. It is raining; and here where it is sheltered are mosquitoes—thick. Rather than risk everything at one time in the swift current of the stream I first carry the pack-sack over. The water rises to my waist—no higher, fortunately. But it is icy cold. When I have returned and fetched my clothes I pull my wet clothes onto my wet body, shoulder my pack again and march. But I am no longer singing. The coast must be my guide so I return to it. But now the land is steeper; it is hilly, rough and boggy. Traveling is difficult. And the land forms are so huge and simple as to deceive the eye: what seems a little way proves long. I feel myself suddenly to be a very small creature creeping ever so slowly over a vast terrain. Yet it is profoundly moving in its grandeur! I look down upon the dark, storm-swept fiord, and at the farther mountains looming immense through the gray veil of rain; and I look upward at near mountains towering over me withhere and there such glimpses of snow and ice as to suggest that in that region it is still winter. But underfoot is long green grass matted by wind and rain; and everywhere are bright flowers. And the thought comesto me to pick the flowers as I go, and gather them into a bouquet for my sweetheart; it would be so curious a thing to do! So I begin to pick them. And from that moment the gathering of those wild flowers becomes to me a fixed idea, a purpose to my being there more real and tangible and, strangely, more important than my journey's goal. So, as through those long heart-breaking hours I plod on, I'll often leave my path to pick some new bright specimen, and add it to my growing handful. Oh there are lots of people who go through life like that—clutching bunches of wild flowers in their hands. 153 T^arsak Peninsula West Cjreenland STROVE to follow the shore, and yet its steepness drove me always farther inland. At last I stood on the bare rock ledge of an important rise that I'd laboriously climbed, and looked far down on sea-invaded flats. Here was a new detour! And that indented, broken, hilly, mountainous coast beyond held little promise of good going. Discouraged for a moment and tired, I crouched in the shelter of a boulder—to rest, to eat some chocolate, and to read my chart. And yet there was little in that chart that I could not have memorized . Assuming that we had been wrecked in Karajak Fiord we were now less than thirty miles by sea from Godthaab, yet out of reach of Godthaab overland. On the point of that peninsula on which we found ourselves the chart indicated a settlement. But of 154 [ VI H I the nature of that settlement, winter or all-year-round, it told us nothing. And we had read too much of the ancient migratory habits of the Greenland natives and too little of their stable modern ways to feel assured of finding people at the spot named Narsak on the chart. But whether or not there was really a Narsak could, I had figured, be soon known, for by the chart it lay but eight miles from our camp. Therefore—to settle that, to learn beyond a doubt our whereabouts, to find some way of getting out of a predicament that had at last somehow to be gotten out of—I'm standing on a Greenland hill-top in the pouring rain, with my house and a week's provisions on my back. And if I am a bit refreshed by the few minutes' rest and the bite to eat that I have had, my mind is far from cheered by that most dreary landscape now confronting me. 155 The Sea Coast REARY! To tell about it as I came to know it, feel it, step by step over the winding, weary miles I made of it; down hillsides steep and slippery or strewn with shale and boulders, or intercepted by ravines and sheer descents; down, down to those sea-flooded flats to wade and wallow through them laden and heavy shod; to search the shores of deep rain-swollen torrents for some place to cross, to wade them or to hazard leaping with my load from slimy rock to rock; to climb more hillsides to avoid some bog or pond; plod miles to gain a hundred rods; all this what use to tell about but to convey some sense of the interminablehours and miles I walked, and of the utter weariness that came to me. Now I have wandered inland; the way is mountainous and I am [ vii] 156 Mooorannmoutain DD D [54.144.233.198] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:00 GMT) off my course. Down to the sea again to try a plain that lures me. Good! it is firm and smooth. With strength renewed I stride along. Then suddenly it ends with a sheer drop to a deep inlet of the sea. Following that inlet to its head I come to where between steep canyon walls a cataract pours in; I follow that up stream. At last I come to a place where it seems possible to cross. I shed my pack and carefully investigate each foothold, plan each step and place to jump. It canbe done. And if I slip and fall it is all over —forever! I think about it. And then, wearily and with some shame, I lift my pack again and shoulder it, and heavily continue on my inland way. And yet if I had known where that at last would lead me I might have dared the leap. 157 July i6th, Inland r IS hours later; evening, I judge. I am on a high plateau in the midstof minor mountain peaks. It is cold uphere and desolate . Snow lies on the northern slopes; there's little vegetation anywhere,just rock. It rains unceasingly; and thewhole face of nature streams with water. How have I come here? Why? I followed the tortuous windings of that cataract till it became a river, deep and wide. Still following along low marshy banks I came at last to a broad lake that spread behind me back along the way I'd come. I followed it. Then, where it seemed to end, a small gorge interposed through which from higher land another lake poured in. At last I circumnavigated all and reached the shore of the first lake again. It was firm going there. «Soon I'll be round it!» I rejoiced. I 158 [viii] narsak peninsu;a I But at one spot a mountain spur reached out and rested in the lake. Straight from deep water it stood up, a wall of rock. «Oh I can never go back all those miles!» I thought. And so instead of starting on a long, safe, gradual ascent I climbed it there. Maybe nothing that I shall have to do in all my life will approach in toil my climbing of that little mountain side; I was so tired! It was the pack that made it difficult. I couldn't bear it on my back; its weight would overbalance me. I dragged it. I'd get a foothold and then pull it up; and hang it for a moment on some little point of rock while I again found foothold. Or sometimes I'd deposit it upon a ledge above me and climbup to it. And once I tossed it up beyond my reach—to find I couldn't climb there! So I went round about and came toward it from above, where, reaching down, I just could capture it. «What,» I sometimes thought, «if it should escape me and roll down again! I never could go back for it.» And the foolish idea came to me that I with my burden was Christian. And that all this journey with its labors, roundabouts and hazards was contrived to try the faith and fortitude of Man through me, his type and symbol. And this thought became an obsession; so that against the clamoring voices of despair I muttered crazily, «I will, I will!» So by the grace of madness I attained the summit. There, like one who'd passed through ordeal or great sickness, lean and holy, I lay back on the grass. And past my eyes, wide open to the sky, the low clouds moved. Smoothly they moved and silently. It was so quiet there, so high and peaceful! Then presently I got up. I shouldered my pack that now seemed light, and descended the other side to the lake. And looking back *59 from there along the shore I saw that by climbing the mountain I had gained a hundred yards. It seemed a lot. So, setting my Primus in the shelter of a rock, I made a meal of soup and hardbread . I had not continued far, after this refreshment, before I came to the main tributary of the lake, a stream swollen like every other to a formidable size. It now occurred to me that I'd do better to abandon the coast route and trust by following the watershed to circumvent the torrents that had proven such obstacles to progress . It meant hard, uphill work; but since, as I had observed, the mountains extended to the coast they had in any event to be crossed. How long it took to climb that steep ascent I had no way of knowing; it seemed eternity. My route was rough and tortuous. There's an advantage to a pack and tump-line: you're in harness. Your neck and head are rigid, eyes to the ground ahead; your back is bent to an exact angle of equilibrium, held there; you grip your belt or clasp your hands behind you to sustain the load and rest your tired spine. Your legs are free for nothing but to plod. And looking neither behind you nor ahead, unthinking as a treadmill mule, rhythmic as clock-work, you put the miles and hours step by step behind.«And this,» I thought—for still I had the hallucination of being Christian—«is how most labor must be done; for all they tell us now-a-days of loving work!» Well, I have reached the top and turned; and looking backward wondered how I'd ever come so far. I've made myself some tea and rested a few minutes; but it is cold up here! I go on cheerfully until a chain of lakes confronts me. Now that's been passed. i6o And I stand in this dreary place wondering what's next, and where. I lay my compass on some moss and, guessing at where I am, take bearings. Good! A broad defile between steep rocks shall be my road. It is a gentle upward slope that soon trends downward. As if I were passing the gateway to my journey's end I hurry through. And there, as far as I can see through gathering gloom and falling rain, the land trends downward; I have crossed the watershed. Now for a cup of broth, a moment's rest! I feel new-born.«I'll never stop,» I cry as I start running on my way again. Then suddenly, I've hardly gone two hundred yards, I falter; I'm stumbling, and an incredibleweariness comes over me. There's a projecting shelf of rock that offers shelter. I reach it and let my load fall to the ground. I am utterly tired. It is near midnight, judging by the darkness. Here I shall sleep. i6i Construction [ix ] DME day a learned member of the great Expedition for Historical and Anthropological Researches in Greenland, wandering inquisitively about the highlands of Narsak Peninsula, will come upon such an example of ancient and primitive house construction as must convince him not only of the earlier existence in that region of a cave- or cliff-dwelling race but of the relatively high development of that race as displayed in the execution of its stone work. And what intelligent economy of means to have so used the natural ledges that by the building of one little piece of wall a three walled house roofed by the overhanging ledge had been contrived! There in the decaying moss that so deeply litters the shelf of rock that formed the floor he may discern that they were above all a pleasure-loving race, 162 ra-construction S fond of the comfort of soft beds, of nuptial happiness and sleep. And yet how small must they have been, those mountain men, to have inhabited so cramped a place, so narrow between floor and ceiling as to preclude the entrance even of a well-filled belly! Yes, they were poor and starved, the comfort-loving stone age men, here driven to these barren hills by the more warlike natives of the coast, subsisting here on God knows what! A hardy race! Oh, he will never know, this scientist, how pleasure loving, how possessed by dreams of fireside and food and nuptial ecstasy he was who built that house; how he evoked these naming dreams against the wet and cold that tortured him through one long, sleepless, miserable midnight hour to drive him, haggard for need of rest, to leave his bed to leap and dance and beat his arms and scream a song out in the darkness and the pouring rain. Strange things keep happening in the wilderness: is even God aware of them? :63 [54.144.233.198] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:00 GMT) july 17th T LAST I could stand it no longer. I forsook my miserable bed, lighted my Primus, made some soup; ate it. I packed my sack and, lifting the soaking thing, • dropped the broad tump-line band on to my forehead. Harnessed again!—and the gray light of that near midnight morning showed the way. Later: For a long time I have been putting my left foot ahead of my right and my right foot ahead of my left; and sometimes it has been uphill and sometimes down; and I've seen grassland and bog, and shale and slippery ledge, and little streams successively glide slowly by beneath my feet. And always the gleam of the lake at my left hand has been my guide. At last I've come to where that ends. So, resting, I look back- [ X ] 164 A A Dawn i:oo A .M. ward and see how very far I've come. And I look ahead and see that the land drops steeply off, and that there quite far below me lies another lake enclosed by hills. And midway on that lake's far shore, rising abruptly from the water, is a small, steep mountain higher than where I stand. And right and left of that, beyond the lower hills, the ocean! But Narsak? I turn and climb the last spur of the nearer mountain range. The rain clouds that had hung so low part at my coming and disperse; the sun breaks through—at last, so warm and beautiful! Up, up! Then suddenly a whole new world of land and searises to meet me as I cross the ridge: far snowy peaks and dazzling glimpses of the inland ice, mountains and headlands, islands, bays and inlets; and the ocean—blue and calm. Greenland! Oh God, how beautiful the world can be! i65 july 17 th r WAS again some hours later when having found my bearings from the mountain top I neared the sea. The way had been winding and difficult and there had been wet lands and streams to cross; I was dead tired. But the morning was so beautiful, the sun so warm, the whole scene so enchanting as a place to pitch a tent and settle down to live in for a time, that fatigue as a reason for stopping seemed somehow inappropriate and out of tune. I knew my whereabouts exactly and that my journey's goal,if Narsak,could not liefar away.Why every hilltop promised to disclose it! and as balm for successive disappointments there was each time a farther hill to climb. Once, having crossed a stream, I sat down in the soft grass bordering it and thought, «Here in the sunlight I'll spread out my I 166 [ xi ] a yodul things to dry; and here I'll go to sleep.» But when I had bathed my feet, and sat sunning myself a bit, and eaten some chocolate, up I got, shouldered my pack and tramped along. And, as before, I thought, «Just one more hill before I quit!» So firmly may a stubborn notion grip us, soul and body, that I might have continued that onward movement which is called walking until I had either dropped from exhaustion or circumnavigated the globe but that upon reaching a certain «one more last» ridge, and pausing there to rest, I saw far out on the calm surface of the ocean a little, scarcely moving, speck. All things in nature seemed to have united there, that morning after days of storm, to achieve tranquillity so perfect that one might say that there was neither sound nor movement beyond the sound and movement of the sunlight. When suddenly that utter silence was shattered by a prolonged, wild, screaming yodel. It filled the valleys, leaped the hills and beat against the mountain faces; its echoes following the scream rolled to the sea, tumbling in prolonged, disordered tumult over its calm plain. And I stood on a pinnacle of rock waving my arms like a madman. A Greenlander sat in his kayak fishing lazily for cod. The ocean was so still that day, the sun so warm, that all were contented —the cod contented not to eat, and the fisherman too satisfied to care. He even may have slept, the fisherman, so hypnotic on such a day may the rhythm of jigging with a hand-line be. And little did he think that he would hear so soon a sound so startling as a yodel from the wilderness. He not only heard the sound—to his amazement, fright or, possibly, delight—but he looked up and saw, far off on land,clear cut against the sky, that frantically waving figure, me. So, while 167 the figure came bounding over the landscape toward him, he drew in his hand-line, took up his paddle and turned his craft in timid curiosity to land. 168 This page intentionally left blank [54.144.233.198] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:00 GMT) Science and [ XII] ND here, on the very threshold of a new and great experience , the meeting in a solitary place of men not only strangers by a social fact but by ten thousand years of race environment; the meeting of one descended of the race of the Mayflower, of William the Conqueror, Charlemagne, Brian Boru, etc., and of the culture of Calvin Coolidge, Warren G. Harding, Dr. Crane, Lincoln, Melville, Goethe, Casanova, Mother Goose, Caesar and Jesus, Jupiter, Buddha, God, of one distilled in soul and mind of the fermented mash of all the wit and wisdom, beauty and virtue, culture and elegance of all the past, of a Christian Gentleman and Scholar with—God, the drama of it!—a stone-age man! Here on that threshold—is it to be wondered at?—I pause. 171 prescience A Earnestly I plead for that attention to the matter of my record which is accorded a wise traveler and competent observer. And yet that I must plead for that may well reveal that I am but too conscious of being without those recognized emoluments of scholarship—titles, degrees, connections and solemn purpose— that lend unquestioned authority to those who have them. It has occurred to me, in searching about for self justification, that despite the high pretentions of the industrious and learned skull measurers and wit weighers of science—biologists,morphologists, tectologists, psychologists, et al—of those who, armed with charts and tables, move to attack the wonder and the mystery of the living, a mere, quite sensitive and well intentioned mortal, I, with no equipment beyond that intuition and common sense which serves most men so well to mix, maintain themselves and mate in life, may hit as near the mark in human things as if I were at least a Ph.D. of Heidelberg. 172 C X I I I 3 JNNING, jumping, stumbling, slipping, running on again I reach the shore. I stand on the rocks of a small promontory, ten feet above the water and look down at the Greenlander in his kayak. And the Greenlander looks up at me. I am a tattered, dirty, haggard and unshaven creature. The Greenlander is dressed in a spotless white anarak, a hooded shirt. He is a dusky man and his brown skin glistens in the sun like polished bronze. His features are oriental: broad cheek bones, small nose, large full mouth and small, black, lustrous eyes. We exchange greetings, seriously, and proceed to conversation. The fact that he spoke only Eskimo and I spoke none, that speaking no common tongue we fell back upon prelingual callis- <-Jtfan and ijvlan 173 R A meeting thenics,is—apart from the evolutionary significanceof the universality of look and gesture—of no importance. I told him my story. I told of how we had sailed in a small boat from America, had come to Greenland, anchored in the fiord, been wrecked. How for almost thirty-six hours I had been walking over the mountains . How tired I was. I told it with all the drama of which I was capable; a great deal. I employed pathos and humor. At my pathos he looked compassionate; at my humor he smiled— beautifully. «Oh brother," I thought, «how just alike we are! But you are a rich man and I am a poor beach-comber. You're clean and neat and I am disgusting. You're in your native land, a citizen , at home; and I'm a homeless alien from God knows where! And while my clumsy hulk of a boat lies smashed up on the rocks and sunk, you sit there floating in as trim and beautiful a craft as ever man contrived!» And I knew then—if never I had known it before—that all that we call civilization,all the taming ennobling, refining forces of art, science, religion, romance, morals, is an achievement of no more than an environment into which immutably in endless line man's stone-age babies will be born.«There is a settlement a little farther on along the shore,» said the Greenlander. «There's a man there who speaks Danish. You go by land and I'll go around in my boat and meet you there.» And as he turned to paddle off I wearily lifted up my pack and shouldered it. There was a little inlet of the sea where we had stood conversing , and I had to return a short way inland to pass it. The Greenlander must have turned his head to watch me; he saw how heavily I trudged along. In a moment he appeared beside me again; passed me. At the head of the inlet he got out of his kayak, lifted it 174 dexterously from the water and placed it carefully on land. He came to meet me. We shook hands. He took the heavy pack from my shoulders and put it on his.«Have a cigarette," I said. Smoking together like old friends we set off at a nimble pace for Narsak. i?5 limble little figures, men and women, boys and girls and :rowds of little children. They poured out of the houses md popped out of the earth. And they all came together, formed a crowd and ran along our way to meet us. In the midst of all the little folk, running with the rest, was a large man like a giant. He had a round,jolly face,ablond mustache, one gold earring and wooden shoes. Here I thought, is a Dane if ever there was one. We met, shook hands; and I proceeded to tell them all the story of my life. Everyone found it diverting. Well they might! I pointed far to the south-westward over the sea and said, «America.» And that was understood. I cupped my hands to represent a boat. I Naaaarsak [xiv ] 176 july 17th A HEY came running from all directions—bright colored, blew on them and rolled them about to show the wind and sea. I made us enter Karajak Fiord and anchor there. And then, bursting my lungs, I gave a picture of the storm and wreck. The big man understood. «Come along,» he said in what I assumed to be Danish. And I went with him to the finest house in the village, his house. For he was the trader. He took paper and pen and ink and laboriously transcribed my story in a letter to the Governor at Godthaab. The story, here translated, read:«Dear Mr. Manager and Sheriff Ch. Simony, K. D. They came American overland from Karajak on their boat or ship it sinked with two men. Please be so kind come, and say to him about, I cannot spoke with him. Many happy returns, You and Mrs. Yours affection. Thorn Holm.n He blotted the letter, sealed it; and ran out with it in his hand. He gave it to the swiftest kayaker in the village to carry to Godthaab. Then beaming all over he returned to me. «Make yourself at home!» he said. His wife was a Greenland woman prematurely old; wrinkled and bowed. Their daughter was tall, lithe, dark and very beautiful . They were dressed in that most becoming costume of the Greenland women—brightly embroidered sealskin shorts, tall sealskin boots, and a gay colored calico shirt. I would wash and shave. They brought me hot water and soap and a Gillette razor, waiting upon me with such sweet grace that 177 [54.144.233.198] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 14:00 GMT) suddenly I realized my loneliness. So when I had made myself clean I went with the trader to the store and, taking off all my clothes, dressed myself anew in the rough, clean garments I could purchase there. Then, feeling quite refreshed and splendid, I went sauntering about the settlement hoping that the girls would fall in love with me. But whether I looked too old or too jaded or too plain or downright foolish, none of them, so far as I know, did. And I had at last to content myself with sitting on a knoll that overlooked the girls and boys, the settlement and the sea, lamenting that I was of none of it a part. I78