Presently the Eskimoes at their northern fishing-places caught sight
of us. Yonder are two boats sailing from that barren island, and we
can now see three or four Eskimoes in each. As we overtake them they
fire their guns and shout. See, on that island to the right is a
regular little encampment, two or three tents, and men, women, and
children running about excitedly, waving their arms and hallooing.
Soon they launch their boats and row after us. The Ship Hill has been
visible for some time. Now we see the red roof of the mission-house,
and the little cupola of the church. Thank God! the flag is flying at
the mast-head, _i.e._, at the top of the station flagstaff; no death
has occurred in the mission circle. Yonder Eskimoes on the rocks,
congregated about their little cannon, fire their salutes and shout
their welcome. Now we are sailing into the harbour. With mingled
feelings I scan the mission-house. Yes, there are some of the
missionaries at the door. They run down to the pier, launch their boat
and are coming off to us, rowed by two men and two women. I recognize
old Boaz from his photograph; and that is Verona, good faithful soul.
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