The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 117, July, 1867: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 117, July, 1867: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
The anchors had been down about an hour, and the bustle and confusion
necessarily attending an entrance into port had subsided. The sails were
stowed, the decks were cleared up, and the ropes were coiled. A port
watch was set. The crew had received their "liberty," and there was much
wondering among them whether Esquimau eyes could speak a tender welcome.
Nor had the Danish flag been forgotten. That swallow-tailed emblem of a
gallant nationality--which, according to song and tradition, has the
enviable distinction of having
"Come from heaven down, my boys,
Ay, come from heaven down"--
was fluttering from a white flag-staff at the front of the
government-house, and we had answered its display by running up our own
Danish colors at the fore, and saluting them with our signal-gun in all
due form and courtesy.
Soon after reaching the anchorage I had despatched an officer to look up
the chief ruler of the place, and to assure him of the great pleasure I
should have in calling upon him, if he would name an hour convenient to
himself; and I was awaiting my messenger's return with some impatience,
when suddenly I heard the thump of his heavy sea boots on the deck
above. In a few moments he entered the cabin, and reported that the
governor was absent, but that his office was temporarily filled by a
gentleman who had been good enough to accompany him on board,--the
surgeon of the settlement, Doctor Molke; and then stepping aside, Doctor
Molke passed through the narrow doorway and stood before me, bowing. I
bowed in return, and bade him welcome, saying, I suppose, just what any
other person would have said under like circumstances, (not, however,
supposing for a moment that I was understood,) and then, turning to the
officer, I signified my wish that he should act as interpreter. But that
was needless. My Greenland visitor answered me, in pure, unbroken
English, with as little hesitation as if he had spoken no other language
all his life; and in conclusion he said: "I come to invite you to my
poor house, and to offer you my service. I can give you but a feeble
welcome in this outlandish place, but such as I have is yours; and if
you will accompany me ashore, I shall be much delighted."
The delight was mutual; and it was not many minutes before, seated in
the stern sheets of a whale-boat, we were pulling towards the land.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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