RE-CROSSING 149 
I was much pleased to see through the glass our tent, 
in apparently the same condition as that in which we had 
left it. 
And now the Samoyeds were very funny. I pointed 
out to them the little green speck across the river's 
mouth. It was ‘my choom,’ I said—‘ mein mya.’ They 
roared with laughter, it was so good a joke. But all the 
time they were looking out across the sea; first one and 
then another pointing at objects in the ice, as though at 
a discovery; but always it ended with a shake of the 
head, and ‘yangho’—‘no.’ At last they all drew up 
together, looking very blank. 
What was the matter? I asked them. And Onaska the 
Prophet, sulky as a cornered bear, waved his hand across 
the ice pack, and simply said, ‘ No Governor, no boat.’ 
So it was out. 
They had made up their poor confused old minds that 
His Excellency the Governor of Archangel had lost his 
ship here in the ice, had sent us on, and was himself 
waiting, atop of his belongings, for relief. Or that if we 
were the only survivors, still there would be a fine old 
wreck for them to overhaul, with plenty of food and 
stuffs. 
My conscience was clear. I had not taken them in; 
I had told them nothing of all this. But they were mad, 
very mad; and more confused than ever. For the life 
of them they could not understand how we came to be 
there at all. 
