“They row me about from place to place, as my pastoral duties call me; they gather hay for the cows, and bring home the fish (principally capelin and cod) that the fishermen catch and dry at distant places. Besides this, they do any thing they are told to do, and do not hesitate to expose themselves in any weather, unless it should blow too hard for the safety of the boat.”
“Has such a boat any particular name?” the captain asked.
“We call it an oomiak, which signifies, simply, a woman’s boat; while the man’s boat is called a kayak.”
Here the Prince, who was growing somewhat impatient over this long catechizing, broke in with a query as to whether they pulled the oomiak to-morrow, in case we should conclude to go in her?
“Certainly,” replied the pastor.
“Just that same precious crew?”
“The same crew exactly.”
“Including the bow-oar you call Concordia?”
“Including her, of course. She is the life of the crew, and I could never get along without Concordia.”
“Nor I,” replied the Prince. “The boat will do for me. Sink or swim, survive or perish, I ship in that craft for one. Pipe the dear creatures back.”