137. WRECK OF THE RESCUE.
One day—it was November 2—while Hall was writing in his cabin, he heard a low, sweet voice saying, “Good-morning, Sir.” Looking up, he saw a comely woman, dressed in very good imitation of civilized costume. He had heard of her before. Her name was Tookoolito. She was the wife of Ebierbing, a rather famous seal-hunter and pilot. Seven years before a British whaler had taken them to England, where they were received as the lions of the day. They dined with Prince Albert, and were introduced to the Queen. Ebierbing thought that the Queen was “very pretty;” indeed she bore no very distant likeness to his own wife. Tookoolito thought Prince Albert was a “very kind, good man.” Both agreed that the Queen had “a very fine place.” Tookoolito, as many thousands in the United States afterwards had occasion to know, spoke English almost perfectly. Her husband was less fluent, but still quite intelligible. This pair became Hall’s constant companions in the Arctic regions; came with him upon his return to the States, remained there with him for two years, and went back with him upon his second expedition, which now (September, 1869) is not completed.
138. THE GEORGE HENRY LAID UP FOR THE WINTER.
Early in January Hall resolved to make an exploring expedition with the dog-team which he had bought at Holsteinborg. The party consisted of himself, Ebierbing, Tookoolito, and another Esquimaux, named Koodloo. The sledge was drawn by ten dogs—five of which belonged to Hall, and five to Ebierbing. They relied for food mainly upon the proceeds of their hunting, taking with them only a pound and a half of preserved mutton, three pounds of salt pork, fifteen pounds of sea-bread, three pounds of pork scraps for soup, and a little coffee, pepper, and molasses. The trip lasted nearly a month and a half, during which time Hall learned to live like the Esquimaux in their snow cabins, and subsisted mainly upon raw seal flesh. When he returned to the ship it was hard for him to accustom himself to the change from the pure atmosphere of a snow-house to the confined air of a small cabin.
139. STORM-BOUND.
Had Kane but known how to pass an Arctic winter, the world would never have had occasion to read one of the most pathetic accounts ever written of suffering. Buddington, the captain of the “George Henry,” had learned the lesson by dear experience. Five years before, when in command of another vessel, he had lost thirteen of his men by scurvy. “But,” said he, “I am not now afraid of losing any more men by scurvy while I have command over them. Whenever there are appearances of it on board, I will have every pork and beef barrel—salt provisions of every kind—headed up at once, and every man shall live upon bread and fresh provision, such as whale, walrus, seal, deer, bear, ptarmigan, duck, and the like. It is not a little remarkable that persons afflicted with scurvy seem madly inclined to salt provisions, which they know to be in their case absolute poisons. They will go any length to obtain salt pork, even when they have fresh food in abundance.”
Hall’s first night in an igloo may stand as a sample of many more. We cite, with much abridgment, from his journal: