Thursday, November fourteenth.
We’re ready to go to Seward the moment the weather moderates—which may be not for two weeks or two months. I’ve packed blankets and several days’ food in a great knapsack so that if we’re driven to land somewhere we’ll not perish of hunger. And this trip while it may be carried out speedily may on the other hand strand us days without number in Seward and cost three or four times that many dollars.
The wind is still in the North, the days are wonderfully beautiful, and the nights no less. This very night Rockwell and I skated for the third time, Ah, but it was glorious on the lake, the moon high above us in a cloudless sky, the snow and ice on the mountain sides glistening and the spruces black. We skated together hand in hand like sweethearts; going far to one end of the lake in the teeth of the wind and returning before it like full-rigged ships. And Rockwell whose second skate to-day this was improves every minute.
I’ve cut Rockwell’s hair, four months’ growth. He has had the appearance of a boy of the Middle Ages with his hair cut to a line above his eyes. Now he’s truly a handsome fellow—and such a man under the hardships of this cold place and rough life that I’m very proud of him.