Notwithstanding the natural anxiety to return again to our native land after so long an absence, it was with genuine regret that we parted from our poor savage friends on Depot Island to embark upon the vessel that was to carry us home. Nor was the sorrow to us alone, for these simple children of the ice have warm hearts. Some of the old women embraced us tenderly, while the salt tears cut deep furrows through the dirt upon their faces. The younger ones exclaimed, and evidently with truth, "Watcheow oounga keeieyoot amasuet" (By and by me cry plenty).

"Papa," Armow, and Ishnark - better known as "Jerry," or "Jelly," as they pronounce it - held our hands as if reluctant to let go, and gazing wistfully into our faces said, "Shoogarme watcheow tukko" (I hope by and by to see you). It is impossible to translate exactly their meaning in this short sentence, but it is more as if they would say, "Surely it seems impossible that we shall never see you again."

That they were in earnest in the expression of their grief I have every reason to believe, for they had shown their kindly interest and affection at a time that if ever one's affection is put to the test theirs was. They had, so to speak, adopted us as their children. Not merely had they divided their last morsel of food, but had given to us and their children, and had gone without themselves. It was merely some walrus hide that had been saved to make soles for their shoes, but nevertheless it was literally their last mouthful, and when that was gone we all went hungry until the long-continued storm abated and an opportunity was afforded to kill a walrus, which appeased our hunger for the time being. Is it unnatural that we should absolutely love these kind friends, or was it a thing to be ashamed of that theirs were not the only tears that fell at parting? Of all savages - I was going to say of all people - commend me to these simple-hearted Esquimaux, with all their dirt and gluttony, for genuine, self-sacrificing hospitality. As we were being rowed out to the ship by an Inuit crew at ten o'clock on the night of the 1st of August, our faces were turned toward the land, where the sky was still brilliant with the light of a gorgeous sunset. Lieutenant Schwatka sat beside me in the bow of the boat, and neither of us had spoken since we left the shore, until he turned to me and said, "I was not prepared for this."

"Prepared for what?" said I.

"I was not prepared to feel the pain of parting from these people and this country as I feel it now. Even the near prospect of getting back to civilization, and of meeting friends and hearing news scarcely ameliorates the pang at this moment. But it will soon be over, I suppose."

At last we were all on board the ship, and when the men began to weigh anchor, merrily singing over their work, the three boat-loads of Inuits put off hastily, though they paddled around the vessel and seemed loath to depart.

"Where is Toolooah - did he bid you good-by, governor?" said I to Lieutenant Schwatka.

"No," he replied, "but you can see him here;" and stepping up to the side of the ship I saw our Toolooah seated in the bow of Armow's boat, his head bent down and his face buried in his hands.

"I can understand his feelings exactly," said the governor. "He dare not trust himself to go through the ordeal, poor fellow. He knew he would break down when it came to that, and I am glad he didn't, for I am afraid I should too."

Until the morning that we left, it had been confidently expected that Toolooah and his family, consisting of his wife and two children, would accompany us to the United States. It had been the great ambition of his life to visit the wonderful white men's country, and Lieutenant Schwatka had promised to take him home, provided he could obtain the consent of the captain of the vessel in which we returned. Captain Baker had already given his consent, and there seemed nothing to interfere with their plans. Toolooah and his wife were busy in securing suitable clothing in which to appear abroad when occasion should arise for wearing it, and the faithful services he had rendered on our sledge journey were to be recompensed in the United States, from which he would take home an outfit that should last as long as he lived. But the last day we were on shore some of the old men came to Lieutenant Schwatka, and begged he would not be angry if they said that a long and anxious consultation had resulted in the conclusion that it would be running too great a risk for Toolooah to go to the United States. No man of their tribe had ever been to a civilized country but "Esquimau Joe," who, by the bye, had also made up his mind to remain in the Arctic a year or two longer. He had told them of the great mortality attending those of his people from Cumberland Sound who had gone to England and America, and they were afraid. I think that Toolooah, personally, would have willingly encountered the risk; but with these people, such government as they have is patriarchal, and the young men submit with the best grace to the decision of their elders. It was a matter of regret both to Lieutenant Schwatka and myself that we did not have an opportunity to bestow the attention upon him in our own land that his constant care for our safety and comfort in his country entitled him to at our hands.

The anchor soon swung at the bow of the 'George and Mary', and her yards were squared for Marble Island, where we were to take on board water for the homeward-bound voyage. Our Inuit friends shouted their last farewells, and we were actually "en route" home.

Fortunate was it for us that there was a kind-hearted whaler in Hudson's Bay, or we would have been compelled to spend at least one more winter in the polar regions. But Captain Baker treated us with the greatest consideration not only while we were his guests during the spring at Marble Island, but when we returned to Depot Island he gave us such provisions from his stores as he could spare, and without this assistance we would have suffered considerably, for twice again after our return the natives were entirely without food for several days. But instead of our starving with them, we were enabled to save these poor people much suffering by sharing our slender stock with them. We left the ship in her winter quarters on the 3d of May, and on the 11th pitched our tent on the highest rock on Depot Island. The natives soon came from their igloos on the ice about a mile away, and gathered around us. Whenever they killed a walrus or a seal they brought us some of the meat, for which we paid them, as usual, with powder, caps, or lead. But from the 22d of May, when they killed two walrus, until the 7th of June, when the ship hove in sight from her winter quarters, the weather had been such that they had killed nothing but two small seals. The consequence was that for several days they were without food, and our provisions were gone the day before, so that when the ship was seen we were waiting patiently until the Inuits returned from the pursuit of some walrus that were seen on the ice, in order to break our fast. It was not only a joyful sight to see the ship at this time, but an additional pleasure to note the cloud of thick black smote that hung over her deck, denoting that they had killed a whale and were boiling out the blubber. This was good luck for the officers and crew, and fortunate for us, because the black skin of the whale is exceedingly palatable and wholesome food, and there would in all probability be enough of it on board to keep us and our Inuit allies from hunger for a long time, at least until they could secure food by hunting.

We were pleased to learn that the whalers had killed the only whale they saw, which augured a successful season for them. It eventually proved, however, that the augury was delusive, for from that time forward they did not see another whale, though they cruised the bay until the 9th of August. Subsequently we learned that the whales had all gone out of Hudson's Bay through the strait in the early spring, owing to the entire absence of whale food, which had probably been destroyed by the intense severity of the winter. The natives living near North Bluff and Hudson's Strait had seen plenty of whales passing eastward early in the season, when the ice was still thick, or, as one of them told me, "when the young seal are born," which is in the latter part of March and early in April. They had killed three large whales and struck two others that escaped. We went into North Bay and found these Inuits encamped on the main-land, about fifteen miles from the mouth of the bay, and Captain Baker bought from them a head of whalebone, which they said was at Akkolear, which was still further up the bay, or strait, as it proved to be.

Mr. Williams, first officer of the 'George and Mary', went with two boats and some Inuit guides, sailing directly up the bay toward the north-west until it debouched again upon Hudson's Strait, about fifty miles above where we were anchored, or about sixty-five miles north-west of North Bluff. Here he found the whalebone as described by the natives, and brought it on board after an absence of four days.

The large island, or, in fact, two islands that are thus formed, as there is another passage into the sea about twenty-five miles north of North Bluff, are called by the natives "Kigyuektukjuar," in view of their insular character. Kigyuektuk means island, and especially a large island, King William Land being thus distinguished by them as the island. A "small island" is Kigyuektower, and "long island" Kigyuektukjuar.

The land on the north and east of North Bay is called Queennah, which means "all right," and was given to it in view of the fact that in winter it is filled with reindeer, who can go no farther south in their migration, and spend the winter on the Meta Incognita of Queen Elizabeth, or the Queennah of the Esquimaux. Akkolear means a narrow passage or channel, where the land is visible on both sides as you pass through. The natives we met here are more cleanly in their persons and dress than any others we saw on the Arctic, but there their superiority ends. They are most persistent beggars, and indeed require watching, or they will sometimes steal, a vice to which the Esquimaux as a nation are little given. I saw two of their women, while sitting in our cabin, comb their hair without discovering a single specimen of the genus pediculosum; while, should any one of the other tribes we met have done the same thing, the result would have been most overwhelmingly satisfactory. But though they are dirty they will neither lie nor steal, except in rare instances. The natives of the north shore of Hudson's Strait were spoken of by the early explorers of the present century - Parry, Back, and Lyon - as rude, dirty, and unreliable, and they have not improved much since that day, except in regard to dirt. They are certainly more cleanly - one good trait they have learned from association with white people, to counterbalance many vices thus acquired. But never was I more confounded than when an old woman, who brought a pair of fine fur stockings to Captain Baker, asked for a pack of cards in exchange. The captain had brought her to me to act as interpreter for him, but though the word she used sounded familiar to me I could not for the life of me remember what it meant in English until she made motions of dealing cards and said, "Keeng, kevven, zhak." Then the light burst upon me, but nothing had been further from my mind than playing-cards as an article of trade.

Three of these women wore calico skirts, but they looked as much out of place on them as they would on the men, and I came to the conclusion that it does indeed require some art to look well in a "pinned back." These women, when their skirts were in the way of climbing up the side of the vessel, either gathered them up out of the way or took them off and passed them up separately. Their clothing was complete without this civilized inconvenience, which had no more to do with their costume than the buttons on the back of a man's coat.

The temperature in Hudson's Strait was much lower than in the bay, and we felt the cold intensely. I began to imagine that my acclimatization had not been complete, until I noticed that the Inuits who came on board complained of the cold as much as we did. Indeed, I believe that one feels the cold in an Arctic summer much more disagreeably than in the winter. The low temperature in the strait is in all probability attributable to the ice that is constantly there, either local ice or the pack brought down from Fox Channel by the wind and current. The great Grinnell Glacier, on Meta Incognita, which Captain Hall estimated to be one hundred miles in extent, must also have considerable effect upon the climate. As we passed down toward Resolution Island we could see this great sea of ice from the deck of the vessel in all its solemn grandeur, surrounded by lofty peaks clad in their ever-enduring mantles of snow.

I did not go on shore while our vessel lay at anchor in North Bay, for I had no anxiety to encounter the mosquitoes which abound there, though not to the extent that makes life such a burden as upon the eastern shores of Hudson's Bay. While our water-casks were being filled at Marble Island in the early part of August, Captain Baker and I went in one of the ship's boats to the main-land, about fifteen miles to the south-west, to secure a lot of musk-ox skins and other articles of trade at a Kinnepatooan encampment there, and though we spent but one night on shore, I never before endured such torture from so small a cause as the mosquitoes occasioned us. Indeed, my hands and his for a month afterward, were swollen and sore from the venom of these abominable little pests. They are not like civilized mosquitoes, for no amount of brushing or fanning will keep them away. Their sociability is unbounded, and you have absolutely to push them off, a handful at a time, while their places are at once filled by others, the air teeming with them all the time. The natives keep their tents filled with smoke from a slow, smouldering fire in the doorway, which is the only plan to render them habitable at all; but the remedy is only one degree better than the disease, as Captain Baker remarked to me, with his eyes filled with tears. The only relief from these torments is a strong breeze from the water, which carries them away; but even then it is not safe to seek shelter in the lee of a tent, for there they swarm and are as vigorous in their attacks as during a calm. The men wear mosquito-net hoods over their heads and shoulders while in camp or hunting, and women and children live in the smoke of their smouldering peat fires.

The shores of Hudson's Bay are low and barren, and abound in lakes of every size and shape. They are too low to produce glaciers, but are just right for the production of the finest crop of mosquitoes to be found in the world, as has previously been remarked by Franklin, Richardson, Back, and, indeed, all the explorers of this territory. After leaving Marble Island we sailed toward Depot Island, Cape Fullerton, and Whale Point, so that we might see any other ships that had come in this season and get some news from them. We found plenty of ice in Daly Bay and the entrance to Rowe's Welcome, the ice bridge still extending from near Whale Point to Southampton Island.

On Sunday the 8th of August, while moving slowly through the ice-pack off Cape Fullerton, we saw a she-bear and cub asleep on a large cake of ice about a quarter of a mile from the ship, and one of the boats was lowered to go in pursuit. Lieutenant Schwatka, Mr. Williams, and I went in the boat, and quite enjoyed the exciting chase. Before the boat was lowered the bears seemed aware of the presence of danger, and took to the water, the old one in her motherly anxiety for the safety of her cub carrying it on her back most of the time. When they found the boat gaining upon them, and close at hand, they left the water and stood at bay on a cake of ice. A bullet from Lieutenant Schwatka's rifle broke the mother's backbone and she dropped, when Mr. Williams gave her the "coup de grace" with a bullet through her head at close range. We were quite anxious to capture the little fellow alive, but found it difficult to kill the mother without wounding him, as he clung to her poor wounded body with the most touching tenacity. It was heartrending to see him try to cover her body with his own little form, and lick her face and wounds, occasionally rising upon his hind legs and growling a fierce warning to his enemies. At this juncture Lieutenant Schwatka got out upon the ice, and, after several ineffectual attempts, at last succeeded in throwing a rope over the head of the cub, which put him in a towering passion. Nevertheless he was towed alongside the ship and hoisted on deck, together with the carcass of his mother, but he never ceased to growl and rush at every one who approached him. We would gladly have brought him alive to the United States, for he was a handsome little rascal, but the vessel was small and devoid of conveniences for that purpose; so the captain ordered him killed, and his fate was, consequently, sealed with a bullet from Mr. Williams's pistol.

We met the whaler 'Isabella' in Fisher's Strait, and the 'Abbott Lawrence' near Charles Island, and from both got some later news, but no letters from either. We learned from them that the 'Abby Bradford' had gone in already, and must have passed us in Fisher's Strait the day before we met the 'Isabella', in a thick fog that prevailed. We were sorry not to have met the 'Abby Bradford' also, for we felt pretty certain that she must have letters for us; but it seemed scarcely worth while to go back in search of her. The 'Isabella' and 'Abby Bradford' had been in company for twenty-seven days from Resolution Island to Nottingham Island, surrounded by ice all the time and narrowly escaping destruction. The 'Isabella' was carried by the current right upon a large iceberg, which would most certainly have wrecked the vessel; but, when just about to strike, the eddy swept them around and past the berg, though they had entirely lost control of the ship. They were both "nipped" by the ice several times, and on one of these occasions the 'Abby Bradford' suffered such a severe strain that her timbers creaked and groaned terribly, and her deck planks were bowed up. So imminent did their peril appear that the boats and provisions were got out upon the ice preparatory to abandoning the vessel, when, just as it seemed as if she must succumb, the pressure was relaxed and the crew returned to their ship. We had head winds before reaching Resolution Island, but after passing Cape Best the winds were fair, and we made a fine run of six days to the latitude of St. John, N. F. We saw a brig off Hamilton Inlet, evidently trying to beat into that harbor; but saw no more vessels until the 2d of September, when we saw a heavily laden bark some distance ahead of us making toward the west. We changed our course so as to endeavor to head her off, but though we gained upon her considerably, could not overtake her before dark. On the 3d we saw a number of vessels, including one steamer, all, except one large merchantman, bound eastward.

A little humpback whale that came playing around our ship, as if trying to get a harpoon in him, prevented our heading off the steamer and getting some late papers. But as soon as a boat was lowered into the water the fishy representative of King Richard thought it began to look too much like business at this time, and hastened off to look for his mother. We saw quite a large school of humpbacks during the same afternoon, but there was too much wind, with the near prospect of a gale, to render it worth while to hunt them. We had some pretty heavy blows on our way home, and on the last day of August we were struck by a squall that gave us a very good idea of what a gale would be like should it have continued for a day or two; but within twenty minutes of the time it struck us it had passed off, the sun was shining brightly, and we were making sail again, with nothing to indicate what had just taken place save a few barrels of immense hailstones that still covered the deck like so much coarse salt and a chilliness in the atmosphere that made you shiver in spite of yourself. It was fearful, though, while it lasted; the lightning and thunder crashes were almost synchronous, indicating a most unpleasant proximity. Since the night of the 2d of September we had been cut off by southwest winds and enveloped with fogs of varying density. Everything on deck was as wet as if a heavy rain-storm had just passed over, and great drops of water kept dropping from the sails and rigging, making it very unpleasant to venture beyond the cabin.

During the morning of the 7th the fog lifted a little and showed us three fishing-smacks anchored about a mile away, and we directed our course toward them, with the hope of getting some fresh fish as well as some fresh news. Mr. Gilbert, second officer of the 'George and Mary', took me in his boat on board the schooner 'Gertrude', of Provincetown, Mass., whose master, Captain John Dillon, extended a hearty welcome. In answer to our first question he told us who were the Presidential candidates. Captain Dillon prevailed upon me to recount some of the incidents of our sledge journey. He seemed very much interested in the recital, brief as it necessarily was, and hospitably pressed us to dine with him, as it was just about his dinner hour. Desiring to impress upon his steward the importance of his guests he said: - "Steward, it is a great treat to see these gentlemen. You ought to take a good look at them. They have had one of the toughest times you ever heard of. They have just come down from - where?" (aside to me). "King William's Land," said I, scarcely able to retain my composure. "King William's Land," he repeated, "and were looking for Franklin." The doubt in his mind as to who this mythical "Franklin" was seeming to add much to the interest that invested us.

We had a substantial meal of fried haddock, which was particularly enjoyable, in the absence of fresh meat on board our ship since the reindeer meat was exhausted. In the laudable pursuit of information I felt interested in seeing how they lived on board these fishing schooners, and had accepted the kind invitation to dinner as much on that account as for the sake of the fresh fish I anticipated. I saw that the cabin was too small to accommodate a dining-table, but had four very wide bunks in it, one of which was the captain's, and the others occupied by two men each. There is not the same amount of discipline on board these vessels, which are out for so short a time, as upon merchantmen or whalers, and all hands eat at the same table. We found the feast spread in the forecastle, which was also used as the galley, and was consequently oppressively warm to us from the north, in this thick, sultry weather. On each side of the forecastle I observed three large bunks, each of which accommodated at least two men. This was their second voyage this summer, they having been fortunate enough to fill up before their first three months had expired. The crews are usually shipped for three months, and receive about $50 compensation for the voyage. If they get full before the time is up, that is their gain. Sometimes, however, they have an interest in the voyage the same as whalers, but usually, I understand, are paid from $40 to $75 for a season, which means three months unless sooner filled. The men do not fish from the deck of the vessel, but from little flat-bottomed dories, each man paddling his own boat and changing its location to suit his whim. When brought on board the vessel the fish are immediately cleaned, split open and salted right down in the hold, without the formality of putting them in barrels or casks. After they are landed on shore they are dried and assorted according to size and sold by the quintal of 112 pounds, though 100 pounds is estimated as a quintal from the hold of the smack. The 'Gertrude' had already 175 quintals on her second cargo the day we were on board, but the captain seemed much more desirous of hearing of our strange adventures than of imparting the information that I sought. He appeared much impressed with the circumstance that we were "worth looking at," as he said, and dwelt much upon the fact that this summer was a good season for him to see strange things.

"On my first voyage this summer," said he, "that little dory, thirteen and a half feet long, in which two young men are going around the world, came alongside my vessel, and I gave them some water and lucky cake, and now I meet you gentlemen from - where?" (addressing me). "King William's Land," said I. "Oh, yes, King William's Land. Let me have some fish put into your boat before you go." And the kind-hearted fisherman gave us about a barrel of fine fresh cod and haddock, besides a fifty-fathom line and some hooks. He also gave us three late newspapers; and we sent him in return a copy of Hall's "Life Among the Esquimaux," and some other reading matter, besides a pair of sealskin slippers, and a fine walrus skull with the ivory tusks in it. This was a present from Mr. Gilbert. Just as we were about leaving I turned to Mr. Gilbert and said, "The Governor will be glad to hear the news."

"What!" said the surprised skipper, "have you got a real Governor on board?" And then I had to explain that it was merely a title we had bestowed upon Lieutenant Schwatka in view of the faithful care he took of his people, though, I believe, the youngest in the party. The incident was only amusing as showing that the captain had heard so many strange things this morning that he was prepared to believe anything, no matter how absurd it might appear.

The day following our visit to the fishing schooner was still foggy and without a breath of wind stirring. We therefore availed ourselves of the opportunity to use our fish-lines, and succeeded in securing about fifty fine cod and haddock, besides one huge dogfish, which snapped ferociously when hauled into the boat, and had to be despatched with a boat-hook. We experienced considerable squally weather about the middle of September, interspersed with head winds and calms. On the 15th there were several vessels in sight, and a large iron bark came so near that we concluded to send aboard for newspapers. The waist boat was cleared away and the second mate started to intercept the stranger, but scarcely had the boat been lowered into the water when a squall came up and the sea became very rugged, so that in passing to the leeward of the bark, though he shouted out that it was only papers that he wanted, the captain did not hear him, and luffed up into the wind to deaden his headway. But even then the bark drifted ahead so rapidly that it was hard work for our boat to catch it by rowing in such a heavy sea. The stranger then lowered his top-gallant sails and hauled his foreyards aback, and in about twenty-five minutes Mr. Gilbert was alongside. He sprang lightly up the side of the big vessel, and, standing before the captain, with all the characteristic politeness of the French people, presented Captain Baker's compliments and asked for some late papers. The captain of the bark was a splendid old Scotchman who had grown gray battling with stormy seas for many years. But when he found out that all we wanted was newspapers, he was so completely overpowered with surprise that all he could say was, "Well - I'll - be - blanked." This he kept repeating all the way to his cabin as he went to gather some late copies of the 'New York Herald'. When he again came upon deck he had recovered his accustomed composure, and asked where we were from and where bound. He said his vessel was the bark 'Selkirkshire', of Glasgow, from New York the night of the 12th inst., and then turning again to Mr. Gilbert said, "And is that all you wanted? And a fair wind? Why, man, you'll be home to-night. Well - I'll - be - blanked." Never before in all his experience had he known a vessel within two or three days' sail of home, with a fair wind, take so much trouble to stop another merely for the purpose of getting some newspapers. It was rather "a stunner," that is a fact, but at the same time was unintentional. The squall came up after our boat was lowered and prevented Mr. Gilbert doing what he had intended, which was merely to go alongside, get a few papers thrown overboard and drop back, without causing more than five minutes' detention, if any. But the wind prevented their hearing him, when he shouted to them that he only wanted papers, and for them to go ahead, as they missed getting close enough when they passed; so when he saw them taking so much trouble to stop he felt it his duty to pull up and explain on board. Captain Anderson, of the 'Selkirkshire', recovered his equanimity sufficiently to send his best respects to Captain Baker, with the very welcome papers - fresh for us, as there were some as late as the 'Herald' of the Saturday previous. I have no doubt, though, that every time he recalls the episode on his voyage to England he will say to himself, "Well, I'll be - - "

Saturday, the 18th, we were becalmed on the George's Bank, about a quarter of a mile from another large bark, bound the same way as we were; and as it is so excessively monotonous at sea, especially in a calm, and knowing that we could not be causing any delay this time, we lowered a boat, and Captain Baker, Lieutenant Schwatka and I paid a visit to Captain Kelly, of the bark 'Thomas Cochrane', of St. John, N. B., fifty-seven days from Gloucester, England, bound for New York. We found Captain Kelly a genial, whole-souled sailor, who received us very cordially, and three hours slipped away most pleasantly in his society. He had his family on board, and said he would have been exceedingly comfortable had he not run short of provisions in such an exceptionally long voyage between the two ports. On the Banks of Newfoundland he had encountered a Norwegian bark loaded with grain, to which he sent a boat with an explanation of his necessities. The captain returned word that he was short himself, but sent a bag of wheat, which he remarked would sustain their lives for some time. Captain Kelly received the wheat graciously, and the next day met an old friend, who sent him stores sufficient to carry him home. Captain Baker told him he could supply him with ship's stores if he desired it, but he said he was all right now and did not require further assistance.

Tuesday noon, "Land, ho!" was shouted from the masthead, and soon the low, white shore of Nantucket was plainly visible. A strong head wind kept us out until Wednesday morning, when we took on board a pilot, and before night were ashore in New Bedford. During the entire trip Captain Baker had done everything in his power to promote the comfort of his passengers, and earned for himself their lasting gratitude.