We were now in possession of twenty-two good dogs, the pick of all the dogs in the tribe, and Mr. Peary felt that the success of his long sledge journey was assured. Every pack of Eskimo dogs has its leader. If a new dog is added to the pack a fight takes place at once between him and the leader to determine his position in the team. Now, up to this time a great white shaggy brute, from Cape York, whom we called Lion, on account of his gray mane, had been the canine king of Redcliffe. With the arrival of Kulutingwah’s fine dogs there came a change. Lion and his first lieutenant, a dog marked very much like himself, at once charged upon the new-comers, evidently expecting to thrash them into subjection as easily as had been done in the case of the other dogs, but he, for once, was doomed to disappointment; although the fight raged fierce and long, poor Lion was vanquished, and forced to resign his position as king in favor of the larger of the new-comers, whom we called “Naleyah” (chief).
CHAPTER XIII
OFF FOR THE INLAND ICE
The First Detachment of the Inland Ice-party leaves Redcliffe—Departure of the Leader of the Expedition—Rest after the Excitement—Arrival of the Ravens—Return of Gibson and Matt—Gloomy Weather—Daily Incidents at Redcliffe—Spring Arrivals of Eskimos—Eskimos imprisoned in their Igloos by a May Snow-storm—The First Little Auks—Open Water off Cape Cleveland—Harbingers of Summer—Myriads of Auks and Seals—Snow-buntings—Green Grass and Flies—Kyo, the Angekok.
Saturday, April 30. The past week has been one of hustle and bustle. The overland ice journey has been uppermost in our minds and actions, and this morning the real start was made. All the boys except Verhoeff, with the dogs and five natives, left with three loaded sledges for the head of the bay, whither several loads of provisions had already been transported. Mr. Peary is to follow in a few days.
Preparing for the Start.
Wednesday, May 4. At 8.30 P. M. yesterday, Mr. Peary with Matt, who had returned for additional equipment, started for the head of the bay to join Gibson, Astrup, and Dr. Cook, who have been there since Saturday. I watched him out of sight, and then returned to the house, where Mr. Verhoeff and I will keep bachelor and maid’s hall. For three full months I shall be without my husband—a year of anxiety and worry to me. It has been arranged to have two of the boys accompany the expedition, merely as a “supporting-party,” and their farthest point will probably be the Humboldt Glacier; I can therefore expect news from the interior in three weeks or less. The last ten days have been one continuous rush for me, and part of the time I hardly knew where I was. After I am rested I shall begin a thorough overhauling of everything, and get things ready for packing. As I write, 11.45 P. M., the sun is shining, and as I think Mr. Peary will begin his march to-night, I hope this morning’s snow-storm has cleared the weather for some time to come. Strange coincidence: just six years ago I bade Mr. Peary good-by as he started on his first Greenland trip. May it be a good omen, and he return as successful as he did then!
Saturday, May 7. The weather continues alternately dreary and pleasant, but the approach of springtime is unmistakable. Already the ravens have arrived, and moderate thaws have begun to loosen our covering of snow and ice. Shortly after six this morning I was awakened by hearing one of the huskies cry, “My tigalay, my tigalay” (Matt has returned), and in a minute later Matt and Gibson came in. The former had returned on account of a frozen heel, while Gibson came back for additional alcohol. In a note to me Mr. Peary stated that he had met with a severe obstacle in the way of heavy snow and steep up-grades, and therefore had not made the distance that he had hoped to cover in a week’s time.
Sunday, May 8. At last it seems to have cleared, but still the head of the bay is enveloped in mist. Gibson left us again yesterday, and he is probably with his party this evening. The thermometer is steadily rising, and with a temperature to-day of 28° everything has been dripping. I got all the snow off the roof of the house and the canvas-covered annex on the west side, as water had begun running down between the tarred paper.
Tuesday, May 10. All night the wind blew a gale from the east and northeast, and all day the snow has been flying in clouds so thick that at times we could not see the tide-gage, a hundred yards distant. My thoughts have been continually with the little party on the ice. I know who will have the worst time, who will have to look out for everything, and it worries me because I know he is not as well as he ought to be. Everything around Redcliffe is hidden in the snow-drifts, and the snow has been coming in under the canvas until we have three feet of it in front of our door inside the inclosure, in spite of Matt’s blocking all the openings in the walls. With Matt’s help the range and lockers were moved out of my room to-day, and we found the wall and floor covered with ice. I knocked off as much as I could, and removed the cardboard from the floor, and to-night the blanket and carpet at that end of the room have thawed and are dripping wet. This evening Kyo wanted to know if we would permit him to go with us beyond Cape York, to where the other Eskimos live (Upernavik, or Disko). I told him he could; then he wanted to know if I would draw a map of Greenland, and mark our route upon it. He seemed to understand, and was pleased to know that he could go.