Biscuit, coffee.
Candy, raisins.
It was amusing to see the queer-looking creatures, dressed entirely in the skins of animals, seated at the table and trying to act like civilized people. Both the “Villain” and the “Daisy” did their parts well. One incident was especially funny. Myah, seeing a nice-looking piece of meat in the stew, reached across the table, and with his fork endeavored to pick it out of the dish. He was immediately reproved by the “Villain,” who made him pass his mess-pan to him and then helped him to what he thought he ought to have, reserving, however, the choice piece for himself. They chattered and laughed, and seemed to enjoy themselves very much. Both women had their babies in their hoods on their backs, but this did not hinder them in the least. Although at times the noise was great, the little ones slept through it all.
M’gipsu watched the cups of the others, and as soon as she spied an empty one she would say: “Etudoo cafee? Nahme? Cafee peeuk.” (More coffee? No? The coffee is good.) Finally at ten o’clock the big lamp was put out, and we told them it was time to go to sleep, and that they must go home, which they reluctantly did.
To-day has been a rather lazy day for us all, and now at 11 P. M. Mr. Peary, Dr. Cook, and Matt have just come in from a visit to the fox-traps about two miles distant. On the return they indulged in a foot-race, and when they came in they looked as if they had been dipped in water. The perspiration ran in streamlets down their faces. This trip has encouraged Mr. Peary very much in the belief that by next spring his leg will be just as good as it ever was.
Saturday, January 2, 1892. I have been lazy about writing up my notes lately, but now I shall turn over a new leaf. 1891 has gone; what will 1892 bring? I don’t think I want to know. Better take it as it comes, and hope for the best. The “Villain” and his wife have gone to their home in Netchiolumy, Myah and Kudlah also have left us, and, with the exception of Keshu (alias the “Smiler”) and his wife, all of our Eskimo visitors have departed; Ikwa and family and Annowkah and family remain, but they are not considered company at Redcliffe.
The sun is surely coming back to us, for at noon now we have a perceptible twilight, and the cliffs opposite Redcliffe can be plainly seen. Since December 29 the weather has been very disagreeable, and we have considerable new snow. The whole week has been a semi-holiday. Almost every day I have been out for a snow-shoe tramp, and I have rather enjoyed it in spite of the wind, which is just high enough to be disagreeable.
On the 30th I issued cards of invitation for an “At home in the south parlor of Redcliffe, December 31, from 10 P. M. 1891 to 1892.” The day was a thoroughly Arctic one, and I was glad that my guests would not have far to come. All day I was busy preparing for company. I had to manufacture my own ice-cream without a freezer, bake my own cake and crullers, and set everything out on an improvised sideboard. At 9 P. M. I dressed myself in a black silk tea-gown with canary silk front, covered and trimmed with black lace, cut square in the neck and filled in with lace, and having lace sleeves. At ten my guests began to arrive. The invitations were limited to the members of the North Greenland Expedition of ’91 and ’92, and they all looked especially nice and very much civilized, most of them actually sending in their cards. They were all dressed in “store clothes,” although one or two clung to their kamiks. I had no chairs, so each guest was requested to bring his own. Mr. Peary sat on the bed, while I occupied the trunk. I spent a very delightful evening, and I think the boys enjoyed the chocolate ice-cream and cake. At midnight we all drank “A Happy New Year” in our Redcliffe cocktail, and then my guests departed. All this time the wind was howling and moaning, and the snow was flying, while the night was black as ink, not a star being visible. More than once during the evening, when a particularly heavy gust swept down from the cliffs and fell against our little house with a shriek, the contrast between inside and outside was forced upon us.
The next day we had a late breakfast, and then two of the boys went out to lay off a course for the athletic games which they had been discussing for some time. The weather was so bad that I did not go out to witness them, but let Matt go, and prepared our New-Year’s dinner alone. This time Mr. Peary decided that he would give the natives the materials for their own New-Year’s dinner and let them prepare it themselves. They were given eider-ducks, reindeer legs, coffee, and biscuit. We have quite a batch of new Eskimos, among them two men from Cape York, who are almost as tall as Mr. Peary, and whom we call the “giants.” They have quite a number of narwhal tusks to trade, and are determined to have a rifle for them, but I hardly think they will get it.