My own share in the day's excitement has been equal to the rest of them. Accompanied by Dodge and Jensen, I set out at an early hour toward a point on the north side of the bay, from which I could command a view of the southern horizon. We had much difficulty in reaching our destination. The open water came nearly a mile within the point for which we were bound, and it was no easy task picking our way along the sloping drifts of the ice-foot. But we were at last successful, and reached our lookout station (hereafter to be known as Sunrise Point) with half an hour to spare.
The day was far from a pleasant one for a holiday excursion. The temperature was very low, and the wind, blowing quite freshly, brought the drifting snow down from the mountains, and rattled it about us rather sharply. But we were amply repaid by the view which was spread out before us.
An open sea lay at our feet and stretched far away to the front and right of us as we faced the south. Numerous bergs were dotted over it, but otherwise it was mainly free from ice. Its surface was much agitated by the winds, which kept it from freezing, and the waves were dancing in the cold air as if in very mockery of the winter. It was indeed a vast bubbling caldron,—seething, and foaming, and emitting vapors. The light curling streams of "frost smoke" which rose over it sailed away on the wind toward the southwest, and there mingled with a dark mist-bank. Little streams of young ice, as if struggling to bind the waves, rattled and crackled over the restless waters. To the left, the lofty coast mountains stood boldly up in the bright air, and near Cape Alexander the glacier peeped from between them, coming down the valley with a gentle slope from the broad mer de glace. The bold front of Crystal Palace Cliffs cut sharply against this line of whiteness, and the dark, gloomy walls of Cape Alexander rose squarely from the sea. Upon the crests of the silent hills, and over the white-capped cape, light clouds lazily floated, and through these the sun was pouring a stream of golden fire, and the whole southern heavens were ablaze with the splendor of the coming day.
The point of Cape Alexander lay directly south of us, and the sun would appear from behind it at exactly the meridian hour,—rolling along the horizon, with only half its disk above the line of waters. We awaited the approaching moment with much eagerness. Presently a ray of light burst through the soft mist-clouds which lay off to the right of us opposite the cape, blending them into a purple sea and glistening upon the silvery summits of the tall icebergs, which pierced the vapory cloak as if to catch the coming warmth. The ray approached us nearer and nearer, the purple sea widened, the glittering spires multiplied, as one after another they burst in quick succession into the blaze of day; and as this marvelous change came over the face of the sea, we felt that the shadow of the cape was the shadow of the night, and that the night was passing away. Soon the dark-red cliffs behind us glowed with a warm coloring, the hills and the mountains stood forth in their new robes of resplendent brightness, and the tumbling waves melted away from their angry harshness, and laughed in the sunshine. And now the line of the shadow was in sight. "There it is upon the point," cried Jensen. "There it is upon the ice-foot," answered Dodge,—there at our feet lay a sheet of sparkling gems, and the sun burst broadly in our faces. Off went our caps with a simultaneous impulse, and we hailed this long-lost wanderer of the heavens with loud demonstrations of joy.
And now we were bathing in the atmosphere of other days. The friend of all hopeful associations had come back again to put a new glow into our hearts. He had returned after an absence of one hundred and twenty-six days to revive a slumbering world; and as I looked upon his face again, after this long interval, I did not wonder that there should be men to bow the knee and worship him and proclaim him "The eye of God." The parent of light and life everywhere, he is the same within these solitudes. The germ awaits him here as in the Orient; but there it rests only through the short hours of a summer night, while here it reposes for months under a sheet of snows. But after a while the bright sun will tear this sheet asunder, and will tumble it in gushing fountains to the sea, and will kiss the cold earth, and give it warmth and life; and the flowers will bud and bloom, and will turn their tiny faces smilingly and gratefully up to him, as he wanders over these ancient hills in the long summer. The very glaciers will weep tears of joy at his coming. The ice will loose its iron grip upon the waters, and will let the wild waves play in freedom. The reindeer will skip gleefully over the mountains to welcome his coming, and will look longingly to him for the green pastures. The sea-fowls, knowing that he will give them a resting-place for their feet on the rocky islands, will come to seek the moss-beds which he spreads for their nests; and the sparrows will come on his life-giving rays, and will sing their love songs through the endless day.
CHAPTER XXII.
SPRING TWILIGHT.—ARRIVAL OF ESQUIMAUX.—OBTAINING DOGS.—KALUTUNAH, TATTARAT, MYOUK, AMALATOK AND HIS SON.—AN ARCTIC HOSPITAL.—ESQUIMAU GRATITUDE.
My time became now fully occupied with preparations for my journey northward. The sun appearing on the 18th, as recorded in the last chapter, rose completely above the horizon on the next day, was something higher the day following, and, continuing to ascend in steady progression, we had soon several hours of broad daylight before and after noon, although the sun did not for some time come in sight above the hills on the south side of the harbor. The long dreary night was passing away; we had with each succeeding day an increase of light, and the spring twilight was merging slowly into the continual sunshine of the summer, as we had before seen the autumn twilight pass into the continued darkness of the winter.
The details of my preparations for traveling would have little interest to the reader, and I pass them over. It is proper, however, that I should recur to the situation in which I found myself, now that the traveling season had opened.
The dogs, five in number, which Hans brought back from the southern journey, had recovered, and did not appear to have been materially injured; but there were not enough of them to furnish a serviceable team for one sledge. They were therefore of little use; and it became clear that, unless I obtained a fresh supply from the Esquimaux, any plan of sledge exploration which I might form must depend wholly upon the men for its execution. Men, instead of dogs, must drag the sledges.