Prepared for Winter.—My South Window.
Thursday, November 5. Jack is the father of eight jet-black pups. The days are only a few hours long now, but the darkness is not yet the darkness of a winter night at home. Mr. Peary’s leg is improving steadily, and he seems more like himself. The strain has told on both of us, and I am glad it is over. He put up his writing-desk yesterday, and our room is almost fixed for the winter, and looks very cozy. We have been busy putting up the rest of the blankets in our room, and have closed the side window and one half of the end window. As daylight has almost entirely departed this will make no difference in the amount of our illumination, and the room will be much warmer, although thus far we have had no cause to complain, the thermometer not having registered below 16° at any time.
Our house is by no means a palace, nor do its interior fixings even remotely suggest luxury. We have two rooms, the smaller of which, measuring twelve feet by seven and a half, has been reserved for Mr. Peary and myself, while the larger, of not quite double the size, is used as the general “living-room,” besides affording sleeping-quarters to the boys. A dining or “mess” table, a few rude chairs, a bookcase, and the “bunks” built to the east wall, constitute the furniture, of which it can in truth be said there is no superabundance. The red blanketing which has been tacked all over the inside walls and the ceiling, seven feet overhead, imparts a warm feeling to the interior, and relieves what would otherwise be a cheerless expanse of boards and tar paper. Our stove in the partition-wall between the two rooms is so placed as to give a goodly supply of heat to the lowest stratum of the atmosphere.
The shell of the house is made of inch boards, lined inside and outside with two-ply and three-ply tarred paper, which is made to fit as nearly air-tight as possible. To the inside of the ten-inch rafters and posts we have nailed a lining of heavy cardboard, which forms a support to the blanketing, besides making a complete inner shell of its own. Between the two shells there is free air space, which will greatly help to retain the warmth in the rooms.
A stone wall has been built around the house four feet away from it, and on it we shall store our boxes of provisions, and then stretch a canvas cover over to the roof of the house. Our corridor will thus be sheltered as well as the house, and even in the most inclement weather we shall be able to breathe pure air and have outdoor exercise. With the first heavy snow everything will be plastered over with this natural fleece, and cold though it may be on the outside, we hope to keep quite comfortable within.
Saturday, November 7. To-day has been reception day. We have to-night seventeen huskies in our camp, and I don’t know how many dogs; if I were to judge by the howling and yelping, I should say at least fifty. I have been under the weather for the last two days, but feel better to-night.
Sunday, November 8. We generally devote Sunday to sleep; the boys, except the watchman, turn in right after breakfast and sleep till lunch. We have a cold supper, which saves me the trouble of cooking Sunday afternoon. We usually have pemmican and cranberry sauce, salmon, hot biscuits, chocolate, and fruit. Arrotochsuah and his family moved into a snow-igloo to-day.
Monday, November 9. Mama’s birthday. My thoughts have been at home and with her all day, and I am sure she has thought of me. I do not even know where she is. In my mind I have seen sister Mayde at work on something mysterious for the past week. I must try to put my mind on something else or I shall have a spell of homesickness. I placed a bamboo pole across the front of our bed and draped the two United States flags (one belonging to the National Geographical Society of Washington, and the other to the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences) à la portière across the front; then on the wall just beside my place I have hung the photographs of my dear ones.
