an hour or two at our leisure to demolishing the few stragglers that remained within; or possibly the whole night, if an unknown breach had been found by the wily mosquito somewhere in our carefully made defenses.  A few bones were taken from the Eskimo graves that abound on the island, but the mosquitoes seriously interfered with such work and the party soon returned to the vessel.  The absolutely calm night allowed the mosquitoes to reach us and stay; and in spite of its brevity and the utter stillness of the vast solitude about us, broken only now and then by a noise from the little Halifax trader whose acquaintance we here made for the first time, and of whom we saw so much on our return voyage across the gulf, or by the howling of wolves and Eskimo dogs in the distance, we were glad when it was over and a morning breeze chased from our decks the invading hosts.

A short stop at Rigolette, to send about fifty letters ashore, a two days’ delay in a cold, easterly storm at Turner Cove, on the south side of the inlet, when the icy winds, in contrast to the warm weather we had lately enjoyed, made us put on our heavy clothes and, even then, shiver—­a delay, however, that we did not grudge, for we were in a land of fish, game and labradorite—­this of a poor quality, as we afterward learned—­and where the doctor had more patients than he could easily attend to.  At last a pleasant Sunday’s run to Indian Harbor got us clear of Hamilton Inlet.  There we found the usual complement of fish and fishing apparatus, but with the addition of a few Yankee vessels and a church service.

The latter we were quite surprised to find, and several went, out of curiosity, and had the satisfaction of finding a small room, packed with about fifty human beings, with no ventilation whatever, and of sitting on seats about four inches wide with no backs.  The people were earnest and respectful, but did not seem to understand all that was said, as, perhaps, is not to be wondered at, since they are the poorest class of Newfoundlanders.

Indian Harbor is like so many others on the coast, merely a “tickle” with three ticklish entrances full of sunken rocks and treacherous currents.  The small islands that make the harbor are simply bare ledges, very rough and irregular in outline.  The fishing village, also, like all others, consists of little earthen-covered hovels, stuck down wherever a decently level spot fifteen feet square can be found, and of fishing stages running out from every little point and cove, in which the catch is placed to be taken care of, and alongside of which the heavy boats can lie without danger of being smashed by the undertow that is continually heaving against the shore.

[Storm and fog] A two days’ run brought us up to Cape Harrigan, rounding which we went into Webeck Harbor, little thinking that in that dreary place storm and fog would hold us prisoners for five days.  That was our fate, and even now we wonder how we lived through that dismal time.