Twenty-four days at sea had brought the water very low in our casks, and I took advantage of the delay to send off to a neighboring iceberg for a fresh supply. The water of these bergs is pure and clear as crystal. [Sidenote: NEARING HARBOR.] [Sidenote: AT PRÖVEN.] Getting at last a slant of the wind, we ran in among the low islands which line the coast above Svarte Huk; and Sonntag, who had gone ahead in a boat to Pröven, having sent off to us a swarthy-looking pilot, we wound our way slowly through the tortuous passage, and at a little after midnight of August 6th we dropped anchor in the snuggest of little harbors. The loud baying of dogs, and an odor, baffling description,--"a very ancient and fish-like smell,"--first warned us of our approach to a Greenland settlement. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. THE COLONY OF PRÖVEN.--THE KAYAK OF THE GREENLANDER.--SCARCITY OF DOGS.--LIBERALITY OF THE CHIEF TRADER.--ARCTIC FLORA. We were escorted into the harbor of Pröven by the strangest fleet of boats and the strangest-looking boatmen that ever convoyed a ship. They were the far-famed kayakers of Greenland, and they deserve a passing notice. [Sidenote: THE KAYAK OF THE GREENLANDER.] The _kayak_ of the Greenlander is the frailest specimen of marine architecture that ever carried human freight. It is eighteen feet long and as many inches wide at its middle, and tapers, with an upward curving line, to a point at either end. The skeleton of the boat is made of light wood; the covering is of tanned seal-skin, sewed together by the native women with sinew thread, and with a strength and dexterity quite astonishing. Not a drop of water finds its way through their seams, and the skin itself is perfectly water-proof. The boat is about nine inches deep, and the top is covered like the bottom. There is no opening into it except a round hole in the centre, which admits the hunter as far as his hips. This hole is surrounded with a wooden rim, over which the kayaker laces the lower edge of his water-tight jacket, and thus fastens himself in and keeps the water out. He propels himself with a single oar about six feet long, which terminates in a blade or paddle at either end. This instrument of locomotion is grasped in the centre, and is dipped in the water alternately to right and left. The boat is graceful as a duck and light as a feather. It has no ballast and no keel, and it rides almost on the surface of the water. It is therefore necessarily top-heavy. Long practice is required to manage it, and no tight-rope dancer ever needed more steady nerve and skill of balance than this same savage kayaker. Yet, in this frail craft, he does not hesitate to ride seas which would swamp an ordinary boat, or to break through surf which may sweep completely over him. But he is used to hard battles, and, in spite of every fortune, he keeps himself upright.