I now come to a part of my narrative which I am extremely doubtful whether I ought to put down or not. At first I was inclined to think that I should do wrong in giving to the public so singular and strange a tale as that which now, properly, ought to be entered here: but, as this portion of my journal was written soon after the occurrence here alluded to had taken place, and when all the particulars were fresh in my memory, and as the tale has got abroad with many variations, I think it my duty to narrate it strictly as it came to hand. Leaving any comments I may think fit to make until afterwards, I will merely premise, that the principal personage who figured in this strange affair, Adam, was a man in whom Sir John Ross placed the strictest confidence for honesty and truth; that he was a man intelligent far above his fellows; and, as I had reason afterwards to think, too intelligent; that he was a converted man, and considered a good Christian; and that he had had a very long talk with the natives, even after we had questioned him and them together. What my own impression was will be seen as I go on.

It was somewhere about eight o'clock in the evening when Commander Phillips—who had been staying on board of the “Intrepid,” being unable to get to his own vessel—came to us for a short time, bringing with him the Esquimaux Adam.