He could neither read nor write at that time, and his only vocal expression was a hoarse croak like the cawing of a crow, and this, combined with ample play of head and hand and facial expression and hieroglyphic gesture, formed his only means of communication with his surroundings.
The sailors called him Krok, from the sound he made when he tried to speak, and Krok he remained.

In moments of intense excitement he was said to have delivered himself of the word "Gug" also, but doubts were cast upon this.
He was of a placid and obliging nature, a diligent and trustworthy worker, and on the whole a cheerful companion with whom one could never fall out--by word of mouth, at all events.
He was short and broad but very powerful, and his face, where it was not covered with hair, was seamed and meshed with little wrinkles, maybe from pinching it up in the glare of the sun as a boy.

His eyes were brown and very like a dog's, and that was perhaps because he could not speak and tried to tell you things with them.

At times, when he could not make you understand, they were full of a straining anxiety, the painful striving of a dumb soul for utterance, which was very pitiful.
I remember very well quite breaking down once, when I was a very little fellow and was doing my best to explain something I wanted and could not make him understand.

In my haste I had probably begun in the middle and left him to guess the beginning.