original load was placed on deck, out of reach of the dogs, Charley departing for his igloo near the stern of the vessel; while Koojesse (whose winter quarters are with us) hastened in, divesting himself of his dress, and placing himself alongside of his warm sleeping nuliana, Tu-nuk-der-lien, who had retired hours before I did to the usual place of their tuktoo bed, close beside the door of my sleeping apartment. A few moments found the weary Innuit, my friend Koojesse, in the arms of sleep. The sleep of a tired Innuit is usually accompanied with loud nasal sounds.
"My lateness in retiring on Saturday night, my unquiet sleep, made me a later riser on the following glorious day of days—the Sabbath.
"Breakfast hour with us is eight o'clock. I was up and dressed only half an hour in advance. What was the first news that awaited me? That one of my 'Greenlanders' had been outrageously mutilated by some Innuit, who had cut clean off the animal's left ear. 'King-ok,' a fine dog, was the subject of this wicked act. King-ok's offence was biting harnesses. As I have said before in my journal, let a dog offend an Innuit, and woe be to the dog! Any instrument at hand is used in administering punishment. In this case a snow-knife was seized, and my noble dog King-ok became the terrible sufferer of an ungoverned passion.
"I had allowed my six dogs, in order to complete the team of twelve, to be used in making this Frobisher Bay trip for the advancement of the George Henry's interests. Captain B burned with laudable indignation on learning the sad condition of my dog. What astounded me, and every one of the ship's company, was the discovery of the fact that Koojesse was the Innuit who committed this brutal deed. His only excuse was that his companion Charley had first severed the ear of his dog, and he (Koojesse) thought he must do the same to my dog.
"But what of this—cruel and savage though these two acts were—compared with the terrible story I am yet to relate? Yesterday morning, after breakfast, I went upon deck, and
