Sunday, February 21. Yesterday we made an unsuccessful effort to rescue Jack, and this morning the attempt was resumed by Mr. Peary and Dr. Cook. I was to meet them at noon with lunch. About ten o’clock the boys reported a wind-storm down at Cape Cleveland; the snow was driving off the cliffs in thick clouds, and the whole sky became black. The storm, however, did not strike Redcliffe, but passed to the east, and we could see it at work at the head of the bay. Believing it to be over at the Cape, I started on snow-shoes, with shot-gun on my shoulder, and with a gripsack containing tea, boiler, cups, spoons, alcohol-stove and alcohol, potted turkey and biscuits, and sugar and milk. On turning the first point the wind struck me, but, thinking it was only a squall left by the recent storm, I hastened on as best I could. Finally I left the path and went inshore, but could not see where I stepped, and was blown down several times. I relieved myself of the snow-shoes and gun, but was again knocked about by the wind, and had my breath completely taken away by the snow driving in my face. I finally met Mr. Peary with our good dog Jack, and we reached home late in the afternoon, tired and sore.
Monday, February 22. Washington’s birthday; grandmother’s birthday. Our dinner consisted of venison pie with corn, broiled guillemot breasts and green peas, chocolate, and apple pandowdy. The day has been cloudy and misty.
Sunday, March 6. I am recovering from an attack of the grippe. Tuesday, February 23, after going to bed I had a chill, and all night my back and every bone in my body ached. In the morning my aches increased and I was in a fever. Of course Mr. Peary called in the doctor, and between them they have brought me round. I went out for the first time yesterday, Mr. Peary pushing me on the sledge to the tide-gage, where the sun was shining beautifully.
Tuesday, March 8. Yesterday was a bright, cold day. Matt returned from a four days’ deer hunt at the head of the bay, during which he experienced a temperature of from –40° to –50°. Gibson has had everything he possesses put in order for a hunt with Annowkah, in Five-Glacier Valley. He took two reindeer sleeping-bags, his full deerskin suit, a sealskin suit, heavy woolen shirts, stockings ad libitum, a heavy pair of blankets, a tarpaulin, and sundry small articles, besides an Eskimo lamp and blubber, which he proposes to keep burning in the igloo all the time.
Tuesday, March 22. The last two weeks have been entirely uneventful, our time having been largely occupied in preparations for various hunting-trips and the great inland journey—the fashioning of experimental clothing, making of sledges, etc. The temperature has been steadily rising, but we have had some sharp reminders of an Arctic winter’s force; on the 14th, when the sun shone for the first time on the window of our room, the mercury was still –35°. The landscape is now resplendent in its glory, but the beauties of the snow-plain are here wasted on the desert air. Day before yesterday Mr. Peary made a reconnoissance of the ice-cap, traveling about twenty-two miles, and reaching an elevation of 3800 feet; his minimum temperature was –32° as against –25° at Redcliffe. To-morrow he intends to start for Netchiolumy.
Sunday, April 3. The past week has been a long and anxious one for me. Mr. Peary’s indisposition last Sunday turned out to be an attack of the grippe, and for two days he was very sick, his fever running up to 103.8. It was accompanied with vomiting, coughing, and violent headache. Tuesday night his temperature went down to normal, and he felt better but weak, and this weakness he fought against with the unreasonableness of a child. Wednesday he said he would start for Netchiolumy, in spite of my protestations, telling me I was childish to suppose he did not know what was best for him; and not until the doctor told him that there was danger of pneumonia, and that he must take the responsibility if he persisted in going, did he reluctantly yield. Thursday night his temperature began to rise again in consequence of over-exertion. Friday he still fought against lying down and keeping quiet, and Saturday and Sunday he had a relapse, his fever reaching 102.2, and leaving him weaker than before. I have done nothing but watch over him, and it has kept me busy day and night.
One of our Visitors.
The weather during the week has been beautiful, and the sunshine is appreciated by us more and more every day.
Yesterday, late in the evening, two men were seen coming toward the house from the direction of Cape Cleveland. They proved to be Kyo and Keshu, the Cape York dudes. They said quite a number of people were in a deserted igloo on Herbert Island and would be along by and by. It seems our former visitor, the widow Klayuh, whose husband was drowned while harpooning an oogzook seal last fall, and who stopped here with her three children on her way to Cape York to see her dying father, has consoled herself by becoming Kyo’s wife, and she is among those who are to come. This morning both Eskimos started off to bring their friends, together with their sledges and dogs, over to Redcliffe. As Mr. Peary is anxious to get some dogs, he sent Gibson and Astrup to follow them and see that they brought all the animals with them.