The New Year Ushered in with a Fierce Storm—Return of the Noon Twilight—We fail to feel the Intense Cold—Native Seamstresses and their Babies—Some Drawbacks to Arctic Housekeeping—Peculiar Customs of the Natives—Close of the Winter Night.
Saturday, January 9. The storm which began December 29 has continued until this morning. Now it looks as though it might clear off. The new snow is about twenty-four inches deep on a level, and there are drifts as high as I am.
Fortunately we had a good ice supply on hand, and no native visitors, for they drink twice as much water as we use for cooking, drinking, and toilet purposes combined. The boys have been busy on their individual ski and sledges; Mr. Peary has been fitting and cutting fur clothing and sleeping-bags; and the “Daisy” has been sewing as hard as she can. The wind is still blowing in squalls, and of course the snow is still drifting, but the moon came out for a little while to-day, and we think and hope the storm is over.
Monday, January 11. At last clear and cold, and the twilight is very pronounced in the middle of the day. Everybody is still busy sewing or carpentering. Each one of the party is desirous of having his ski lighter and stronger than those of the others, except Verhoeff, whose whole interest is divided between the thermometer and the tide-gage. The words of the physicians on board the “Kite” six months ago have come true—Mr. Peary’s leg is practically as sound as it ever was.
In my Kooletah.
Saturday, January 16. During the last week we have had beautiful weather—calm, clear, and cold. Every day we have a more decided light, and I take advantage of it by indulging in long snow-shoe tramps. I can walk for hours without tiring if a single snow-shoer has gone before me; but if I attempt to break the path alone I soon get exhausted. I have been busy making foot-wraps out of blanketing, and have also made myself some articles of clothing out of the same material. We find that mittens made out of blanketing and worn inside the fur mittens absorb the moisture and add to the warmth and comfortable feeling.
My room has looked more like a gun-shop than anything else for the last few days; Mr. Peary has been putting a new spring in his shot-gun and overhauling an old rifle.
Sunday, January 17. To-day at 2 P. M. Mr. Peary and I went out for our tramp. The temperature was –45°, and the only chance to walk was along the pathway made through the twenty-inch depth of snow three quarters of the way to the iceberg. It is astonishing how little I feel these low temperatures: Mr. Peary, however, always sees that I am properly protected. In many of the little details I should be negligent, and would probably suffer in consequence, but I have to undergo an inspection before he will let me go out.
The daylight was bright enough to-day to enable us to read ordinary print, and we feel that ere long we shall have the sun with us again for at least a portion of the twenty-four hours. We stayed out only half an hour, but my dress for about two feet from the bottom was frozen stiff as a board, my kamiks were frozen to the stockings, and the stockings to the Arctic socks next my feet; yet I have felt much colder at home when the temperature was only a little below the freezing-point.