to be great lumps of ice, necessitating a turn of the helm to avoid collision with them.  It was evident from the number of these, that a berg had recently broken up.  I was told that yesterday a large piece fell off one near us with a crack like a cannon shot.  I would like to see an iceberg turn over, as they sometimes do, but I do not wish to be too near it in that case.  Last night the wind fell and the currents drifted our little vessel perilously near one of the great bergs, which was probably aground.  It was an anxious time for those on the watch, but the Lord preserved us.

The headland to the north of us is Cape Uivak.  Uivak is simply the Eskimo word for promontory, and the names of Cape Webuck on this coast and Quebec in Canada, are evidently derived from it.  There is a board on that little island, and through the glass one can read the betters S.F.  What does that stand for?  Well, that identifies “Friday Island,” so-called after Sophia Freitag, the wife of a worthy missionary.  Once the captain of a steamer read it S.E., so he steered north-west, and safely entered Hebron Bay.  He afterwards congratulated our captain on having put up so good a way-mark.

To-day the wind has veered round a little to the north, which enables us, at last, to run straight in at the mouth of Kangertluksoak Fjord, past three great icebergs, which stand in a row as if to defend the entrance.  The sailors call them “men-of-war.”  Our rapid progress soon brings us in sight of the mission premises, whose red roofs stand out against the bare rocky background of the steep hillside, tinted a warm red-brown by the autumn hues of the mosses.  There is the church with its cupola in a line with the long one-storied mission-house.  The store buildings and the boat-house are nearer the landing stage.  Some skilful tacks bring us into the Hebron Bay, and ere long the “Harmony” lies at her anchorage, here farther from the station than at any other place on the coast.  What a lively scene!  Ten or a dozen boats have already came round us—­these Eskimoes are bold sailors—­and our anchor is scarcely down before we are boarded in friendly fashion by numerous natives.  Yonder white boat is the “Harp,” and it brings four good gentlemen in sealskin coats.  The patriarch of the band is our venerable Mr. Kretschmer, who came to Labrador in 1852.  This year he leaves his loved land after thirty-six years of service, during which he has been home once, twenty-seven years ago.  He is followed by the missionaries Kahle, Wirth, and Hlawatschek, who report their wives and children all well.

Ere long we visitors, Mr. and Mrs. Dam and myself, are ready to go ashore with them.  Landing from the boat, we climb the hill to the mission-house, farther from the shore than any other.  The sisters and children welcome us at the door, and for the sixth time I enjoy the hospitality of a Labrador mission family.