Steve ushered us into the hut, which proved to have two rooms, the
larger about eight by ten feet. The roof was so low that none of
us could stand erect except in the centre, where it came to a peak.
In the outer room were two rough wooden benches, and on a rickety
table a dirty kerosene lamp without a chimney shed gloom rather
than light. An old stove, the sides of which were bolstered up
with rocks, filled the hut with smoke to the point of suffocation
when a fire was started. The floor and everything else in the room
were innocent of soap and water.

George made coffee, which he passed around with hardtack to
everybody. Then all but Steve and our party retired to the inner
room, one of the women standing a loose door against the aperture.
Steve curled up in an old quilt on one of the benches, while
Hubbard, George and I spread a tarpaulin on the floor and rolled in
our blankets upon it.

We were up betimes the next morning after a fair night's sleep on
the floor. We again served hardtack and coffee to all, and at five
o'clock were once more on our way. A thick mantle of mist obscured
the shore, and Hubbard offered Steve a chart and compass. "Ain't
got no learnin', sir; I can't read, sir," said the young livyere.
So Hubbard directed the course in the mist while Steve steered.
Later in the day the wind freshened and blew the mist away, and at
length developed into a gale. Finally the sea rose so high that
Steve thought it well to seek the protection of a harbour, and we
landed in a sheltered cove on one of the numerous islands that
strew Hamilton Inlet, where we then were--Big Black Island, it is
called.