292 
CARLIE MOSSY N- -THE NEWS. 
Mossyn-” and here he did it all over again, gulp. 
mg down his words and wringing his hands. 
It was Garlic Mossyn, sure enough. The quiet 
routine of a Danish settlement is the same year after 
year, and Petersen had hit upon the exact state of 
things. The Mariane was at Proven, and Carlie Mos¬ 
syn had come up in the Fraulein Flaischer to get the 
year’s supply of blubber from Kingatok. 
Here we first got our cloudy vague idea of what 
had passed in the big world during our absence. The 
friction of its fierce rotation had not much disturbed 
this little outpost of civilization, and we thought it a 
sort of blunder as he told us that France and England 
were leagued with the Mussulman against the Greek 
Church. He was a good Lutheran, this assistant 
cooper, and all news with him had a theological com¬ 
plexion. 
“What of America? eh, Petersen?”—and we all 
looked, waiting for him to interpret the answer. 
“America?” said Carlie; “we don’t know much of 
that country here, for they have no whalers on the 
coast; but a steamer and a barque passed up a fort¬ 
night ago, and have gone out into the ice to seek 
your party.” 
How gently all the lore of this man oozed out of 
him! he seemed an oracle, as, with hot-tingling fingers 
pressed against the gunwale of the boat, we listened 
to his words. “ Sebastopol ain’t taken.” Where and 
what was Sebastopol? 
But “ Sir John Franklin ?” There we were at home 
