Just here Enoch came in to inquire after his health, and sat down for a minute's chat. Enoch is first, last, and all the time captain of a whaler; he knows about whales and whale-hunters just as an engineer on the road knows every speck of scenery along the line, every man, and every engine. Enoch couldn't talk ten minutes without being "reminded" of an incident in his whaling life; couldn't meet a whaleman without "yarning" about the whale business. He lit his pipe and asked: "Been whaling, or hunting the North Pole?" "Well, both." "What ship?" "The 'Duncan McDonald.'" "The--the 'McDonald!'--why, man, we counted her lost these five years; tell me about her, quick. Old Chuck Burrows was a particular friend of mine--where is he?" "Captain, Father Burrows and the 'Duncan McDonald' have both gone over the unknown ocean to the port of missing ships." "Sunk?" "Aye, and crushed to atoms in a frozen hell." Enoch looked out of the little window for a long time, forgot his pipe, and at last wiped a tear out of his eye, saying, as much to himself as to us: "George Burrows made me first mate of the first ship he ever sailed. She was named for his mother, and we left her in the ice away up about the seventy-third parallel. He was made of the salt of the earth--a sailor and a nobleman. But he was a dare-devil--didn't know fear--and was always venturing where none of the rest of us would dare go. He bought the 'McDonald,' remodeled and refitted her after he got back from the war--she was more than a whaler, and I had a feeling that she would carry Burrows and his crew away forever----" Eight bells rung just here, and Enoch left us, first ordering breakfast for the stranger, and saying he would come back to hear the rest after breakfast. As I was going out, a sailor came to the door with a flat package, perhaps six inches thick and twelve or fourteen square, covered with a dirty piece of skin made from the intestines of a whale, which is used by the natives of this clime because it is light and water-proof. "We found this in a coil of rope, sir; it must belong to him. It must be mostly lead." It was heavy, and I set it inside the door, remarking that here was his precious pack. "Precious! aye, aye, sir; precious don't describe it. Sacred, that's the word. That package will cause more excitement in the world than the discovery of gold in California. This is the first time it's been out of my sight or feeling for months and months; put it in the bunk here, please." I went away, leaving him with his arms around his "sacred" package. After breakfast, Enoch and I went to the little cabin to hear the stranger's story, and I, for one, confess to a great deal of curiosity. Our visitor was swallowing his last bowl of coffee as we went in. "So you knew Captain Burrows and the 'Duncan McDonald,'" said he. "Let me see, what is your name?" "Alexander, captain of the 'Champion,' at your service, sir."