was a ship's deck-plank, probably a part of the English whaling vessel Traveller, wrecked in Bear Sound in 1858. This vessel was about 500 tons, and was lost by getting upon the rocks, when, the tide leaving her high and dry, she rested amidships upon a craggy point, and so broke her back. Her anchors, oil tanks, and 150 fathoms of chain were said to be still lying there.
In the evening I conversed with Kokerzhun about her father's death. She was deeply interested at the many particulars I mentioned, and I was surprised to find her so intelligent and comparatively accomplished. She was, withal, really handsome, but retiring and ladylike. She understood several words of the English language, and was very solicitous of acquiring more knowledge of it. She and her husband were invited for the night into the cabin, where Mate Gardiner gave them up his berth, and, my wrappers answering for coverlets, they were soon asleep. The next morning we arrived at our anchorage and I soon returned to my quarters on board the George Henry.
That evening I landed for a walk, and about half a mile from the beach I found a white man's grave—a mound of sand—at the head of which was an inscription cut upon a raised wood tablet, and reading literally as follows:
died,
on the 31st july, 1857,
WILLIAM JAMES, aged 28 years,
seaman, p. h. d., on board the
s. ship innuit, of p. h. d.,
j. h. sütter,
commander.
Dreary was the scene around that solitary grave, the last resting-place of one who was taken away in the prime of life, far from home and all who were dear to him. At the end of each line was rudely engraved a willow branch, a substitute for the cypress, which, in all ages, and in all parts of the civilized world, serves as a memorial of the dead.
Strangely enough, after an hour's walk I came across another grave, but this time that of an Esquimaux. The grave
