“They’re all mad, ivery mother’s son o’ them,” exclaimed O’Riley, who for some time had been endeavouring to barter an old rusty knife for a pair of seal-skin boots.

“They looks like it,” said Grim, who stood looking on with his legs apart and his arms crossed, and grinning from ear to ear.

To add to the confusion, the dogs became affected with the spirit of excitement that filled their masters, and gave vent to their feelings in loud and continuous howling which nothing could check.  The imitative propensity of these singular people was brought rather oddly into play during the progress of traffic.  Buzzby had produced a large roll of tobacco—­which they knew the use of, having been already shown how to use a pipe—­and cut off portions of it, which he gave in exchange for fox-skins, and deer-skins, and seal-skin boots.  Observing this, a very sly, old Esquimau began to slice up a deer-skin into little pieces, which he intended to offer for the small pieces of tobacco!  He was checked, however, before doing much harm to the skin, and the principles of exchange were more perfectly explained to him.

The skins and boots, besides walrus and seal flesh, which the crew were enabled to barter at this time, were of the utmost importance, for their fresh provisions had begun to get low, and their boots were almost worn out, so that the scene of barter was exceedingly animated.  Davie Summers and his master, Mivins, shone conspicuous as bargain makers, and carried to their respective bunks a large assortment of native articles.  Fred, and Tom Singleton, too, were extremely successful, and in a few hours a sufficient amount of skins were bartered to provide them with clothing for the winter.  The quantity of fresh meat obtained, however, was not enough to last them a week, for the Esquimaux lived from hand to mouth, and the crew felt that they must depend on their own exertions in the hunt for this indispensable article of food, without which they could not hope to escape the assaults of the sailors’ dread enemy, scurvy.

Meetuck’s duties were not light upon this occasion, as you may suppose.

“Arrah! then, don’t ye onderstand me?” cried O’Riley, in an excited tone, to a particularly obtuse and remarkably fat Esquimau, who was about as sharp at a bargain as himself.—­“Hallo!  Meetuck, come here, do, and tell this pork-faced spalpeen what I’m sayin’.  Sure I couldn’t spake plainer av I wos to try.”

“I’ll never get this fellow to understand,” said Fred.—­“Meetuck, my boy, come here and explain to him.”

“Ho!  Meetuck,” shouted Peter Grim, “give this old blockhead a taste o’ your lingo, I never met his match for stupidity.”

“I do believe that this rascal wants the ‘ole of this ball o’ twine for the tusk of a sea-’oss.—­Meetuck! w’ere’s Meetuck?  I say, give us a ’and ’ere, like a good fellow,” cried Mivins; but Mivins cried in vain, for at that moment Saunders had violently collared the interpreter and dragged him towards an old Esquimau woman, whose knowledge of Scotch had not proved sufficient to enable her to understand the energetically-expressed words of the second mate.