The literary met this afternoon, with good attendance and a talk "On the Eye" by Dr. Gleaves. A week ago the other officers and myself thought our terms of office had about expired, so we "resigned," and our successors were elected; Joe Jury, president; Clyde, secretary; Young, vice-president. To-day, as I was retiring from the chair. Dr. Coffin arose and, after a most elaborate speech, presented me with a gavel. He spoke of its rare value on account of its associations, and grew quite sentimental. It was part of a birch tree, chopped down by Uncle Jimmy near our winter home "on the Kowak far away." Dr. Coffin selected the pieces and worked them down. The head was turned by Normandin on the famous grindstone lathe of the San Jose cabin. Joe Jury worked the crank, yielding "two barrels of sweat by measure." and Dr. Coffin turned the handle and finished up the gavel. It is a very valuable and beautiful souvenir to be kept "as long as memory lasts."
Joe Jury took the chair which I had vacated to-day and made things lively, using a big hand-ax for a gavel and otherwise making this, probably our final meeting, a merry one. Several of the Kowak men are about to leave. Nine of the Sunny siders started up yesterday with their sled loads. They have lots of courage and perseverance, but I doubt their making the mountain passes with their supplies. Solsbury and Joe Jury start down to-morrow on a three weeks' trip to look after the condition of their barge, sixty-eight miles below us. Dr. Gleaves and the boys from "Quality Hill" are getting ready for a hunting trip across to the Naatak. Oh, I believe I have not made previous mention of Quality Hill. It is an interesting spot, the cabin being occupied by four young men of the aristocracy. They have been exclusive, as became men of their distinction. Few of us have been on intimate terms with them, but they are said to lie in their bunks until twelve o'clock noon, and to stay up, when once out, until two the following morning. They divert themselves by shooting at mice which run across the floor, using their six-shooters. Various boxes and knot-holes about the walls of their residence suggest targets. The walls themselves are riddled with bullet holes. They are said to have trained a young Eskimo as personal attendant, who does all the work of the cabin, building fires, bringing wood and water, and even cooking. He sleeps on the floor, so that he may lye handy to rekindle the fires of a cold night. The first man to arouse in the morning tosses a boot or other article at the native servant, which reminds him of his domestic duties. He blacks their muckluks, it is rumored, and serves coffee and cigars in bed. They live in style on Quality Hill. Thus even the remote Kowak has its aristocratic society.
March 10.—I put up five more rock ptarmigan to-day. They are difficult to skin and it is slow work, and their being pure white makes it necessary to be extra nice with them. I have already used more than half of my supply of plaster-of-paris and the migrations have not begun. I use this plaster in cleaning the skins.
Yesterday the doctor and I went hunting for three hours in the forenoon and secured eight ptarmigan. It was pleasant when we started, but after a while the north wind blew. We were about to return when we discovered a flock of ptarmigan on a hillside. The fine snow was driving along the ground in a continuous blinding stream. The birds squatted down close in the snow, facing the wind, evidently tired. They paid little attention to us until we were within easy shot, when they rose and, after a short flight, settled again. I felt sorry to take advantage of them, they are usually so wary. The doctor wore his snowshoes for the first time and on the whole got along pretty well. Once, however, he got mixed up in a snowdrift. He tripped, the pointed heel of one shoe stuck, and down went the toe of the other. He plunged head first into the snow, where he could scarcely move. During the progress of his wallowing his shot-gun got crammed full of snow, and he poked it out just in time to see four ptarmigan fly past.
The Doctor Makes a Good Start—
But Finds Himself in a Changed Position.
March 15, 9 a. m.—It has been storming three days. This morning the wind is roaring among the trees louder than ever, and the snow tills the air so thickly one cannot see a hundred yards. It is warmer, however, as it always is with an east wind; warmer than we have seen it since last September. I have been on my first hunt for jay's nests. When it is cloudy one can see through the foliage of the spruces more readily than when the sun shines, throwing shadows everywhere. Last week several of the "Amblerites" came down. They report many cases of scurvy at Ambler City, and they came to our camps to get tomatoes, fruit and pickles. They are now stormbound, and two of them, Phillips and La Voy, are with us. They will have hard sledding back again unless it thaws enough to form a crust. Money is very scarce up here now and provisions and clothing are below par, with half the money we spent in the States one could buy up a good outfit. If one could only see ahead! But In that case we would not have been here, and I should probably never have seen the spring migrations on the Kowak. An ill wind that blows nobody any good.
March 18.—The cloudy weather continues. The warmth from the room is penetrating the roof and the water is dripping through in several places. The frost and ice in the lean-to are melting, making a sloppy place. Icicles hang down from above, like stalactites in a cave, and slippery cones rise from the floor like stalagmites. The snow is about two feet deep on the level and is soft and damp, making walking even with snowshoes difficult. I went into the woods this morning a few hundred yards, wading in snow above my knees, which was tiring. I got a shot at a raven, but lost it. I heard a wood-pecker drumming and a couple of pine grosbeaks calling. I long for the time when the birds will arrive. Every moment will be precious then, but the time hangs a little heavy now. I am glad I have something to look forward to. "Looking forward to something" is about half the pleasure of life. I have compiled my last year's bird notes, have loaded all my shells, gotten boxes ready, and still must wait. I spend some of the time in getting as much information from the natives as possible about the birds. They know the natural history of the region pretty well, and but for their superstitions would be of practical service to me. I have been looking for jay's nests and watching these birds for several days now. I cannot induce the natives to hunt for me, or even to tell me of nests. They tell me that if a person looks at the eggs of a jay or spruce grouse he will surely "mucky" (die). They firmly believe what they say. Kallak told me that a man who lived in her father's igloo several snows ago, looked into a jay's nest and promptly went "mucky." Doctor Charley tells me the same thing, except that if the person who disturbs the nest shoots one of the parent birds and, holding it behind his back, extracts the entrails and throws them away out of his sight, he possibly may not die. I am afraid it will be hard for me to obtain assistance from these people at the time when I shall most need it, and which I had fondly hoped for all along.