Return of the Sun—Furious Storm and Inundation at Redcliffe—Repairing the Damage—Verhoeff’s Birthday—Fears for Dr. Cook and Astrup—Rescue of Jack—Battling with an Arctic Hurricane—Down with the Grippe—Dazzling March Scenery—The Commander has the Grippe—Astrup and Gibson reconnoiter after Dogs—The Widow returns a Bride—The Snow begins to Melt—Sunning Babies on the Roof.
Sunday, February 14. At home this is St. Valentine’s day. Here it is simply Sunday, and for me a lonely one. This morning Mr. Peary, Astrup, and Dr. Cook started for the mountain-top with their sleeping gear and provisions for two days. The day has been misty, cloudy, and rough. At six A. M. the temperature was 11½°, and at eight it was 33°, with the wind blowing a gale that shook the doors and windows of our little home for the first time since it was really finished. At eight in the evening the mercury had fallen one degree, and the wind was blowing in gusts, but with greater force than before. I am worried about our travelers. Gibson just brought in a piece of ice perfectly wet and covered with wet snow, which shows the effect of the high temperature. He says he can hardly stand up against the wind, but that it is warm, almost balmy. Jack came to the door and whined piteously to be let in, something I have never known him to do before. Now at 10.45 it is raining hard.
Monday, February 15. What a wretched twenty-four hours the past have been! All night the wind blew in violent gusts, sometimes accompanied by wet snow and sometimes by rain. This morning the whole place appears in a dilapidated condition. A thaw has set in, and the water is running in every direction. The inmates of the snow-igloo were forced to leave it, and to-night one could read through its walls, the action of the wind, water, and temperature has worn them so thin. Part of our snow-wall has fallen, or rather melted down, and the water is pouring down the sides of the house into the canvas-covered passages, soaking everything. The thermometer reads 38°, and the wind still blows, while it continues to rain and snow. With Matt’s assistance I have moved everything out of the lean-to back of the house, and have had all the cutlery brought in, some of which was already covered with rust. At two o’clock the water began to come in under my back door, and then Gibson, who has the night watch, and therefore the right to sleep during the day, got up, and with Matt went on the roof and shoveled the snow off to prevent the water from leaking into the house. It was all they could do to keep from being blown down, and in ten minutes both were drenched to the skin. If our little party on the ice have this wind and rain, I do not see what they can do. Their snow-hut will melt over them, and they will be wet and cold, while in such a wind it will be impossible to venture down the cliffs. To-night the temperature has fallen to 33°, but otherwise things are unchanged. At two P. M. the maximum thermometer registered 41½°. This temperature will hardly be equaled at this time in New England.
An Arctic Tot.
Tuesday, February 16. A glorious day follows thirty-six hours of violent storm. The sun shines on Cape Robertson and on the snow-covered cliffs east of Redcliffe House. I walked down to Cape Cleveland with Jack, my faithful attendant. The sun had just gone behind the black cliffs of Herbert Island, and the glare was still so bright that it hurt my eyes to look at it. I never appreciated the sunlight so much before; involuntarily it made me feel nearer home. The sky was beautifully tinted—pink and blue in the east, light orange in the south, a deep yellow and crimson in the northwest. Fleecy clouds tinged with rose floated overhead, while the air was calm and balmy. How thoroughly I should have enjoyed my walk amid the exquisitely colored surroundings had I known how it fared with my husband on the ice above! Reaching the house at 1.45, I found no tidings of the party, and so watched and waited, until at last a lone figure rounded the mile point. Although I could not see anything beyond a dark spot on the ice moving toward the house, I knew it must be Mr. Peary, for, in spite of his long-forced inactivity and his broken leg, he still outwalks the boys. I started out with Jack, and we soon met. The party were all right, but had had a pretty hard time of it.
MY FAITHFUL COMPANIONS, “JACK” AND “FRANK.”
Thursday, February 18. A bright, sunny day. We have been busy rebuilding the snow entrance which was washed away by the recent thaw and rain. This completed, Mr. Peary got out his “ski” and began coasting down the hill back of the house. Astrup and the doctor joined in the sport, and even the huskies got their sleds and coasted on them. I spent the time in taking photographs of the boys, especially in their grotesque tumbles.
Friday, February 19. Another cloudy day; it seems as if the sun had not yet become accustomed to his new route and forgets us every other day. The old couple started for Netchiolumy this morning, and Ikwa went off with his sledge and our mikkies to bait fox-traps. After lunch Astrup and the doctor went on the cliffs to build three cairns from Cape Cleveland to Three-Mile Valley, expecting to get back by supper-time. At six o’clock they had not returned, but we were not alarmed, and put their supper away for them. About seven Ikwa came in, and reported that while passing Cape Cleveland he had heard the rumbling of a snow-slide down the steep sides of the cliffs, but it was too dark for him to see anything. At 9.15 the old couple returned, saying the snow was too deep for them to travel, and they are therefore going to stay here for a while. The truth is, they like it here, and think they had better let well enough alone. They said that in passing Cape Cleveland they heard Jack bark and Dr. Cook halloo to them. This, together with Ikwa’s story of the snow-slide and the non-appearance of the boys, made us think that something might have happened to them, so Mr. Peary and Gibson started for the Cape at once (about ten P. M.). When they reached it they heard Jack whining, crying, and barking by turns, and on going around the Cape they found quantities of loose snow evidently lately brought down from the cliffs, and in the middle of this heap a snow-shoe! Mr. Peary called and called, but the only answer received was Jack’s cry, nor would the animal come down. Mr. Peary at once started back to Redcliffe on almost a run—Gibson had all he could do to keep up with him—intending to procure ropes, sledges, sleeping-bags, alpenstocks, lanterns, etc., and to call out all the men in the settlement in order to begin at once a close search of the almost vertical cliffs, covered with ice and snow, where Jack was, and where he supposed the boys might also be, perhaps badly bruised and mangled, or overcome by the cold. In the meantime, to our great relief, both boys appeared at Redcliffe, exhausted and hungry. They said they had reached Cape Cleveland about 1.30 P. M. and started up the cliff; it was very steep and seemed unsafe for about one third of the way, but after that it appeared to be easy climbing. When, however, they had ascended three hundred feet, progress became increasingly difficult, the course being over round stones covered with ice, where it was impossible to cut steps. On looking down they found, to their horror, that it would be impossible to return, the cliff being too steep and slippery. Here Astrup dropped a snow-shoe—Ikwa’s snow-slide—which he had been using to punch steps in the snow and to scrape places among the icy stones for a foothold. This left them only the one which the doctor was using. Further progress was very slow; they knew that their steps had to be firm, for one misstep would send them to their doom. To add to their difficulty it began to grow dark, about four P. M., when they were not more than half-way up; poor Jack was unable to follow them any longer up the steep, icy wall, and, likewise unable to go down, he began to howl and cry piteously at being left. The howl of a dog under the most favorable circumstances is horrible. To the boys it sounded like their death-knell. They heard the old people pass along the bay, and called to them. Finally they reached the top, and then ran along to Mile Valley above the house and came down it to the bay, in this way missing Mr. Peary.