WRECKED ON THE COAST OF GREENLAND 



drical, sheet-iron stove near the door was now cold and 

 lifeless, because the creeping vines and peat were so wet 

 that it was impossible to kindle a fire. A lamp of seal oil, 

 freshly distilled from raw blubber, was burning in the other 



SUKKERTOPPEN, GREENLAND 



end of the room, being the special property and care of 

 the oldest woman of the household. In no place could one 

 stand erect. 



Yet here was gathered the whole community for Sab- 

 bath morning worship. Of course, I could not understand 

 the words of their hymn, but the tune was a grand Ger- 

 man choral which I had heard two years before in the 

 cathedral at Cologne. All united in the singing, main- 

 taining perfectly the slow, dignified, and effective move- 

 ment. Then followed a sermon from the little man, who 

 proved to be the catechist living in the place. This was 

 delivered in the Eskimo language, and with eloquence 

 and effect, though from the lowness of the room the 

 speaker was compelled to remain in a sitting posture. 

 The only intelligible words to me in either the sermon or 

 the prayers were the amens, in which all joined. Finally 

 the service was closed with another hymn sung to an 

 equally impressive German choral. 



