A Winter Recreation.—My Cross-matched Team.
Thursday, January 28. About five o’clock I was called out to see the brightest aurora we had yet seen. It extended over us almost due east and west.[[4]] This night we succeeded in obtaining an observation of Arcturus.
[4]. This was the only aurora observed by us during our entire stay in the Arctic regions which was bright enough to cast a shadow.
Friday, January 29. To-day we went out to the “amphitheater berg,” breaking a new path part of the distance—warm as well as hard work. This evening, for the first time in our house, one of the women (Mané) stripped herself to the waist; there she sat sewing away, in the midst of a crowd of huskies as well as our boys, just as unconcerned as if she were clad in the finest raiment. The men do this frequently when it gets too warm for them, but I never saw a woman do it before. It is true they are nearly always entirely nude in their igloos, and visiting Eskimos, as soon as they enter an igloo, take off every stitch, just as we lay aside our wraps and overcoats at home. This is done by both sexes.
Sunday, January 31. Another month has slipped away, and I can say, “One month nearer home.” I must admit I am very homesick at times. Hardly a night passes that I do not dream of some of my home folks. The bill of fare which I made out for last week, giving the times for cooking each dish on the patent-fuel stove, worked very well, and I can save about one quart of oil a day; this will be of considerable help to us in case we shall be obliged to go to south Greenland in our boats. I walked down to the two first fox-traps, but found them completely snowed under. In places the snow-crust is hard enough to bear the weight of the body, but oftener one sinks in six or eight inches, and in places the surface snow has drifted considerably deeper. The temperature is about –20°, and it has been thick and dark all day. Yesterday Verhoeff went upon the cliffs and found the minimum thermometer registering only –24° as the lowest for the month, while at Redcliffe we have had it down to –53°. Strange that on the hill-tops it should be so much warmer than here below.
Tuesday, February 2. A beautiful, clear, cold day; temperature, –35°. We now have daylight from ten A. M. until three P. M., while there is a decided twilight from nine to ten and from three to four. We were inspected in daylight by the doctor, and we all show the effects of the long dark night; Mr. Peary and Astrup, being the two fairest ones in the party, look the most sallow. We walked out to the amphitheater berg without snow-shoes. The left-hand column at the entrance to the theater is a massive pillar of ice, like the whitest marble, about a hundred feet high; inside the berg the snow was very deep. The right-hand side of the entrance had recently broken, and tons of the splintered ice were lying around. We saw the new moon one quarter full for the first time over the cliffs to the north, while the glow from the setting sun to the southwest made a most beautiful picture; the tops of the bergs in the distance were completely hidden in the low line of mist rising from the cracks in the ice, which gave them the appearance of long flat rocks in the midst of the snow-plain.
Friday, February 5. This morning all our Eskimo visitors left us, and things are once more running in the old groove. I have not been out for several days in consequence of a sore toe. I have finished blanket sleeves for all the sleeping-bags, and yesterday boiled my first pudding. To-night about eight o’clock noises were heard out on the ice, and in a little while Arrotochsuah and his wife arrived, with one large dog and one puppy. They were very much fatigued, having been five days and four nights on their way over. These old people seem very fond of each other, and share whatever they get. Their food-supply having given out, they are on their way to their son’s igloo at Netchiolumy, forty-five miles distant, whither they intend to travel on foot, part of the way through snow two feet deep. The woman, seemingly sixty years of age, says they tumble into the snow every few steps, but up they get and stagger on, and in this way they make the trip with packs on their backs.
Thursday, February 11. Just seven months ago to-day Mr. Peary broke his leg, and he celebrated the event by taking a ten-mile tramp on the bay ice. His leg did not trouble him at all, and did not swell very much. To-day we have been married three years and a half. It seems as if I had been away from home as long as that, and yet it was only eight months on the 6th of February since I left Washington.
Saturday, February 13. We are making preparations to witness the return of the sun. Gibson and Verhoeff have erected a snow-house on the ice-cap, and Mr. Peary has invited us all to accompany him to-morrow to the summit, and welcome the reappearing luminary. My head has been aching very badly all day, and I do not feel in condition to spend the night in a snow-hut, so I shall stay at home and keep house. It will be pleasant to exchange the strange daylights we have been having for weeks—daylights without a sun—for the vivifying glow of direct sunlight.