On the way am called by a man whose sod house (semisubterranean) we pass. We sit on the top of his house and soon establish a regular trading place, with a big flat stone as a counter. One after another the native women and men bring out a few articles, good, bad, or indifferent, lay them on the stone, I select what I want, lay so much money against the articles, and usually get them. Everybody in the best of humor. The natives surely enjoy the sport, and so do I, if only I was not hurried. Thus trade for at least an hour until my pockets are bulging. Then once more to the school and once more to the mission. In the latter get my things, as nobody is there yet, Doctor Goodman having doubtless been delayed on the boat. I hear that there are prospects of both him and Mr. La Voy going north with us on a little vacation. Send the coat with spare bags to the school by a native I meet, while I go to look at the rib cemetery and photograph it. Find the bones have been interred in its middle and a low mound raised over them, so there is for the moment nothing to do there. Therefore go over the plain a little farther, picking up a few odds and ends, a damaged skull, and finally, from a fairly recent burial box, a fine skull with its lower jaw. Then attempt to pass a pool of water and sink in the mud to above my rubber boots, so that the icy water runs in, wetting me thoroughly, and gurgling henceforth with every step in the shoes. Try to get these off but can not. The feet must be congested. So spill out all I can by raising the feet, and then do some hard walking which takes away the cold.
Evening, though no dusk approaching. Sit on gravel to empty more water from shoes, but can still hardly get one off. And just as I succeed I see, across another long pool, two men, one with a cap of an officer of the ship, waving their arms, evidently signifying to me that the time is up and I am to return. Call to them to wait. Impossible to make them hear me or for me to hear them. All here is elusive—enchanted-like—distances, sounds. Finally they stop. I catch up with them after passing a broad ditch, and learn that the ship is about to sail and they are waiting for me. My coat, however, and collections are still at the school, over a mile away, so once more it is necessary to hurry to the school and then back to the ship. So things go when promises go wrong and one is alone under a constant apprehension.
The boys collected four bags full. Moreover, they undertook to bring them toward the boat, and are bringing the last two just as I approach the beach. There are Eskimos on the beach with dog teams and sledges waiting to cart off what was unloaded from the ship. Photograph one of the teams and then on into the boat and to the Bear with the four bags, a box full, part of another bag, and all pockets full of specimens. Only to learn when we reach the boat that both Doctor Goodman and Mr. La Voy are going with us and that the former after supper is still to go and get his things from the mission. I have no boat to go back with, and so lose several hours.
July 30. Gloomy morning, windy, cool, sea not good. Do not feel easy. But need to pack. One of the officers, Boatswain Berg, lends me his short sheepskin coat, and I pack up to lunch. The sea is getting worse. Have but little lunch and soon after have to take to bed or would again be sick. To avoid the pitching of the end of the boat where my bed is I go to the dispensary and lie until 6. From 6 on the sea moderates somewhat, so that I am able to have a little supper. After that go to officers' wardroom, play two games of checkers with the doctor, get some more specimens from two of the officers, and retire.
When I boarded the Bear it became plain to me that I must earn as much as possible the sympathetic understanding of my work by both the officers and the crew, and so I gave two talks, one to the officers and the other to the men, telling them of our problems in Alaska, of the meaning and value of such collections as I was making, and of other matters that I felt would be useful on this occasion. As a result I had throughout the voyage nothing but the friendliest feelings of all and their cooperation. Sincere thanks to the officers and the crew of the Bear, from the captain downward.
Saturday, July 31. At 4.30 a. m. suddenly a heavy bump forward, followed by several smaller ones. Ship rises and shivers. Have struck ice floes. Going very slowly. Further bumps at longer or shorter intervals and occasionally the ship stops entirely. Sea fortunately much calmer.
Up at 7. We are in a loose field of ice—aquamarine-blue ice covered with hillocks of snow, all shapes and sizes, as after a hard winter on the Hudson, only floes mostly larger and especially deeper.
Soon after breakfast hear walrus and seals had been observed on the ice, and shortly before 9 the captain comes down hurriedly to tell us they have just spied—they now have a man in the crow's nest up on the foremast—a white bear.
Run up—everybody pleasurably excited—to the front of the ship. See a black-looking head of something swimming toward a large ice floe about 500 yards in front of us. As we approach the head reaches the floe, then a big yellowish paw comes out upon the ice, then the shoulders, and finally the whole bear. The officers hurry forward, each with a gun. Soon men all there. Some one fires. Bear stands broadside watching us. The bullet goes way over. Then other shots—still missing—water spouting high in many places. Bear bewildered, does not know what to do, lopes off a little here and there, stops again, looking at us, and now—we are less than 100 yards from him it seems—a bullet strikes him above the loin—we can see him jerk and the red spot following. He runs clumsily, but other shots follow, some seemingly taking effect, and then he drops, first on his belly, then, twisting, turns over on his back. A few more movements with his paws and head, and he lies still, quite dead. Can not but feel sorry for the poor bear, who did not know why he was being killed, and had no chance.
A motor boat is lowered and goes to get him. They find on the floe the remains of a seal on which he fed. Tie a rope to him, drag him into the water, tow him to the Bear, which has stopped and where all stand on the bows in expectation and with all sorts of cameras, and prepare to hoist the brute aboard. Captain says it is the second case of this nature in 20 years. Ropes are fastened about the big body, attached to a winch, and the big limp form is hauled up, though not without some difficulty, due to its size and weight. All stand about him, examine, photograph. They will let the natives at Wainwright skin it and give them the flesh. It is a middle-sized, full-grown male. It shows only two wounds, the one in the side and one where the bullet passed through his mouth, knocking out one of the canines.