and as the refrain was echoed back to us over the waters from hill and dale, it struck the fancy more and more that human voices came to us from the depths of those solitudes.
Five hours of this pleasant experience brought us near the end of the fiord, where the water is narrowed to about two miles; but long before this the solemnity of the day had been at times broken by incidents very different from those above described. In fact, there was a great deal of liveliness mingled with the seriousness which every body felt at times, perhaps in spite of himself. The Prince was, as usual, at the bottom of the most of it. That young gentleman had come out to enjoy himself, and have a good time of it generally, and his disposition was not to be restrained by any of the ghosts of ancient Northmen who might haunt the fiord. He attached himself to Concordia as a matter of course. Speaking metaphorically, there can be no doubt that he had had his eye upon that pantalooned lady (now bow-oar) ever since he first discovered her peeping around the corner of the house in Julianashaab. It was not to be supposed, therefore, that he would on the present occasion relax his visual energies, and his first procedure was to place himself beside her on the thwart, where he carried his admiration so far as to insist upon relieving the fair oarswoman of her oar, which resulted in a great deal of sport between the parties immediately interested, and filled the minds of the other damsels with immense disgust—whether because no one offered them the same gallant attentions, or whether because the bow-oar was constantly interfering with the stroke, was not discovered; but I greatly suspect it was the latter rather than the former.
Thus, with alternate gayety and solemnity, did we speed on through the pleasant sunshine. In a general way we might say that there was universal enjoyment in that oomiak; but outside of it there was not altogether so happy a condition of affairs. The lively proceedings of Concordia and the Prince struck terror into one heart which beat its troubled discord in the confinement of a native kayak. The unhappy possessor of this discordant heart was a half-breed, whose name was Marcus, and who, although a half-savage, was yet wholly a Christian in the matter of name and baptism.
This Marcus was a fine-looking fellow, with brown hair and eyes, a frank open face, the complexion, though not the features, leaning rather to the Esquimaux than the Danish hue. The only trouble with him was—and this appeared to distress him greatly—that he loved Concordia. Judging from that distress, he must have loved her desperately.
Marcus was a great favorite with the pastor, and he always accompanied him everywhere he went. His duty was a simple one enough, but a very necessary one, as boating is performed in the Greenland fiords. It was to paddle along beside the oomiak in the capacity of courier, if occasion made it necessary to use one; or, in case of need, to act as outrider—two functions which at once suggest the dangers of oomiak navigation. Suppose, for instance, Mr. Anthon is caught in a heavy blow, and is broadside to the wind. His boat is liable to be blown over, owing to its lightness. Marcus is near at hand; he pulls up quickly alongside, seizes the gunwale of the boat, bears his weight upon it, and prevents a catastrophe. Again, the oomiak runs against a sharp piece of ice, which the steersman has not seen in time to avoid; a hole is cut in the skin, and in rushes the water. The boat is headed for the land, and the pastor and his ladies get ashore with their lives. But where shall they go, or what shall they do? They are, perhaps, on an island, or, if not, they have to scale a mountain and descend again before they can reach a settlement. Marcus saves them this labor, and very likely their lives, by flying away in his kayak and bringing succor.
Twice during the day it seemed to me that we had met with a fatal accident of this nature. The skin of the boat was cut and the water entered, but the circumstance caused no alarm. The cuts proved to be small, and one woman only left her oar to repair them. This she did, and very speedily, by thrusting into the cut a small piece of blubber, which answered every purpose until we reached a convenient landing-place, when the boat was drawn up on the beach far enough for the woman to get at the hole with the sinew-threaded needle, when a patch was quickly fastened over it, and the skin was as good as ever.
That Marcus was jealous of the Prince, any body could see with half an eye. But a kayak is a most inconvenient place for a jealous lover. It is only a little over a foot wide, and does not weigh half as much as the man himself. If he meditates mischief to his rival, his own situation becomes a very dangerous one, since the least indiscretion in his movements, or the imprudent withdrawal of his eyes from his frail boat, would very likely cause him to find himself suddenly floating head down, with his bladder-like kayak inextricably fastened to his heels—a position that would very speedily cure the most ardent lover in the world of the highly ridiculous passion of jealousy.
Compromising, therefore, between the impulse of jealousy and the restraints of prudence, Marcus paddled close to the forward part of our oomiak, where the Prince and Concordia were seated, as if he would overhear their conversation, and so possess himself of some remark of the fickle lady to treasure up against her, thus the more effectually to insure the destruction of his peace of mind—a pastime, by-the-way, in which lovers are very apt to indulge themselves.
If this was, however, his design, he unfortunately failed in it, since there was no conversation audible. Like Hai-dee, our heroine had long since discovered that her Don did not understand a word she said. Yet, judging from his liveliness of manner, the Prince must have learned something agreeable to his feelings; and it was clear enough that he was being instructed after a fashion quite equal, if not superior, to the ordinary forms of speech, for this fair lady of the oar
“Had recourse to nods, and signs,