We have had no trouble in keeping warm. In the corners near the ground there is always plenty of frost, and if one sits or stands long in such a locality his feet get cold. But out in the room it is always pleasant. We have not put in double windows, as we expected to do, there being no need of them. The single large sheet of glass in each window is all-sufficient, though the frost collects in very thick layers on the inside. This is probably one reason why it is so warm. We took out the window panes the other day and melted off the ice. It was nearly two inches thick on the lower part. The panes are over two feet square, and the frost work on them is beautiful to look at. The designs are constantly changing. Sometimes great fern fronds extend from the bottom clear to the top, and then another time the pattern is small, like delicate moss. When it is thick one can see cities and mountain crags and almost anything besides, if his imagination is alert.
The days are perceptibly longer now and yesterday sunlight touched the tops of the trees near the cabin. But it will be many weeks before the sun has sufficient effect to make any change in the temperature. Mrs. Samms says that February is our coldest month. We are getting along quite harmoniously in domestic affairs now. C. C.'s term of office as culinary chief expired at Christmas, and Rivers was elected to take his place, with myself as assistant. So I am back at my old stand again. There's one thing certain—we shall have less pies now. I think I shall be able to obtain a place as cook in a restaurant when I go back to the States if nothing better turns up. Our supply of some articles is getting short. We are going slow on mush and sugar, and the flour will not last longer than April at the rate we are using it now. However, our motto is to eat while we have the means, and go without when it is gone. Of course there is plenty in the "Penelope," if she is safe. We have a great deal of company at meals. Everyone traveling on the river stops in, either for a single meal or for the night. We like to be hospitable, and one has to be in this country. Wherever our own boys have been, up or down the river, they are treated royally at every camp, as I can personally testify.
We do not feed the Indians any more at all, and it is better for them. They have become so dependent upon the whites that they do not work for themselves any more. When they might be fishing or trapping, they are hanging around our cabins. They do not visit us as often now as in the fall. Rivers and I send them outside whenever meal-time comes, and they are beginning to learn. We must do this or suffer ourselves from hunger in a late spring.
Uncle S. reported that he found the "Penelope" in a safe place in a small inlet in Escholtz Bay. We received letters from the captain and Jett and Fancher. They have been on a sled trip up to the Buckland River, but with no success. However, they are in good spirits, hoping that something will be found before spring. Rumors reach us as to "finds" on the Noatak River, but we do not pay the least attention to them. The "Flying Dutchman" dropped in on us again yesterday. He is a "rustler," and will make it pay under any circumstances. He has more grit than all the rest of the men on the Kowak. He has a partner now in carrying mail, and a sled with dogs.
Come to Church.
Jan. 15. Sunday, 6 a. m.—I am up alone. The doctor is a great fellow to lie in bed, excepting on rare occasions, when he is very smart. He even takes his afternoon nap regularly, and then sleeps ten hours at night. The wind is blowing at the same rate it has been going for a week. One day it was a fearful storm. It blew so one could scarcely stand up against it, and the snow and sand were driven along in blinding blasts.
We can easily see now how the hills and dunes on the south side of the Kowak valley are formed. It blows with such force that all the snow is taken off from the sand-bars, and all the loose sand as well, and finally the coarse gravel is driven off on to the ice, where it travels until it reaches the south bank of the river, where drifts ten feet deep have been formed the last week. The natives tell us that in two moons from this the wind will blow harder than ever, and that it will be much colder. Yesterday we piled more sand and brush around the north and east side of the house. The wind had carried away a good deal of the original banking. The doctor was quite snowed into his bed one morning. We couldn't find the place of entrance, but it is now doubtless covered.
Yesterday was washing-day for me personally. We do our washing one at a time for reasons of necessity. I had a large wash, as a part of it had been accumulating since August of last year. It is our habit to put off this very disagreeable duty as long as we decently can. I put in two faithful hours over the tub until my knuckles were sore and my back so lame I could only with difficulty straighten myself. I succeeded at last in "doing" ten pairs of socks, seven handkerchiefs, three towels and a suit of underwear, besides other things. I can now sympathize most heartily with the washerwoman of history. I have the clothes drying on the rafters above the stovepipe. The union suit is an awkward thing to handle in washing. I would rather tackle a blanket. A blanket has not two arms and two legs to be continually in the way. I could not wring it out very well, and after hanging it up to dry it dripped for several hours, sprinkling anyone who ventured under it. Uncle Jimmy sat down comfortably to read a good book, but he chanced to be in the line of gravity, and a splash on top of his bald head prompted him to address some words to me. It was only a few days ago that Uncle Jimmy's washing was "out," and I frequently had the edifying sensation of a sloppy, dripping drawers leg slapping me in the face as I moved about the kitchen stove in my culinary duties. We have to be patient and charitable when it is washing day, and other days. I will say that our domestic life is not often marred by so small a trifle as water dripping from a drawers leg. If we were sensitive to little things we would find frequent opportunity for grumbling.
Jan. 23, 9 a. m.—Just got through with breakfast. Our menu is much the same these days—corn-meal mush, biscuit or flapjacks, hash, bacon, flour gravy and coffee. Kowak hash is a work of art, and is deserving of especial mention. It is a sort of literary review of the previous day's dishes. This morning it was simpler than usual, and consisted of only split peas, corn-meal mush, bacon, rice, toasted bread, salt-horse and beans, seasoned to taste. And yet the "beasts" claim their appetite is impaired! Needn't have eaten up all the luxuries the first thing.