Note (return) — A RAFT THAT NO MAN MADE.

“So then I started; an’ first I goed to where my gaff was, by the mother-swile an’ her whelp. There was swiles every two or three yards a’most, old uns an’ young uns, all round, everywhere; an’ I feeled shamed in a manner: but I got my gaff, an’ cleaned un, an’ then, in God’s name, I took the big swile, that was dead by its dead whelp, an’ hauled it away, where the t’ other poor things could n’ si’ me, an’ I sculped24 it, an’ took the pelt;—for I thowt I’d wear un, now the poor dead thing did n’ want to make oose of un no more,—an’ partly becase’t was sech a lovun thing. An’ so I set out, walkun this way, for a spurt, an’ then t’ other way, keepun up mostly a Nor-norwest, so well as I could: sometimes away round th’ open, an’ more times round a lump of ice, an’ more times, agen, off from one an’ on to another, every minute. I did n’ feel hungry, for I drinked fresh water off th’ ice. No schooner! no schooner!