There is only one thing now left to me which gives me any pleasure, and that is to go to the little brook in the Quarter-Mile Valley and listen to its music while I give my thoughts full play. I close my eyes, and once more I am in our little tent, listening to this same music, mingled with the sound of the “Kite’s” whistle and the splash of the white whales as they frisked back and forth in the water close to the shore. This was when we first landed, and before the house was ready for us.
Wednesday, June 15. The last of winter is leaving us. The water is rushing and gurgling on all sides, and the brown cliffs back of the house, as well as the red cliffs to the right, are almost entirely bared of the snowy mantle which has so long covered them. Eider-ducks are passing us daily, and in their wake come other birds from the balmy south.
My routine tramps have been largely interfered with by the character of the walking, which has become very bad, snow, slush, and water alternating in layers. Into this one plunges thigh-deep without warning, and it requires considerable maneuvering to extricate one’s self without becoming saturated with ice-cold water. The tide comes in beyond the ice-foot, and Verhoeff almost swims to the tide-gage, which is now five inches higher out of the ice. I have been for some time past taking my watch regularly with the boys, and naturally it interferes somewhat with the fulness of my night’s rest. At present the night is divided into three watches, of which I take the first, Verhoeff the second, and Matt the morning watch.
Wednesday, June 22. Another week has passed, and by this much my husband is nearer to his return. Our routine continues unchanged, except in unimportant details, and the monotony of our life, together with certain vexations which necessarily arise, makes me at times cross and despondent. Our Eskimos have been taking advantage of the open leads and the return of animals to go out on various hunting-expeditions, and they report more or less success with walrus, white whale, and narwhal. I am longing for venison, as we have been largely reduced to a seal diet, and seal is all but nauseating to me. Deer seem to be very difficult to get at just at present, and Dr. Cook, who returned early Sunday morning from his hunt at the head of the bay, brought none with him—indeed, no meat of any kind.
The first rain of the season took place last Thursday night, and it has been raining again lightly this evening. Yesterday I took a walk along the base of the trap-dyke. The snow has disappeared from the plateau, and the air is fragrant with the spring flowers and mosses, which fairly cover the ground. Numberless snow-birds are flitting about, chirping to each other, and the rushing of the brooklets is heard constantly. All the flowers have returned and all the birds are here again, and they will stay with us until the middle of September, when I hope that we, too, shall return south. Altogether the scene reminded me of the time when Mr. Peary and I came up here last fall, and I gathered flowers while he pressed them.
Tuesday, June 28. What a horrible day it has been! The wind blows so hard that it is almost impossible for me to stand up against it. The rain dashes against the window until it seems as though it would break it in. At times the rain changes to snow, while on the cliffs it has been snowing constantly. They are as white as they have been any time this winter. Icebergs have been groaning and toppling over all day, and in the fury of the storm, just after midnight, the tide-gage fell over. My constant thought is of the advance party. God help them if they are caught in such a storm on ice that is not suitable for building igloos. As the days wear on I feel as if the chances were almost even as to whether I shall ever see my husband again. I can do nothing, not even keep still. Perhaps it is a good thing that I am obliged to do the work about the house.
Our boys have been improving the time by gathering up collections of various kinds, and the doctor has been especially busy trading for any and every thing in the way of native clothing, implements, and toys, for all of which he gives pieces of boards, barrel-staves, boxes, and other odds and ends in the lumber line, all worthless to us, but invaluable to the poor Eskimos. Wood is to them their most precious article, for without it they could neither have boats nor sledges, nor would they be able to fashion those perfect instruments of the chase, the harpoon and spear, which they handle with unsurpassed dexterity. Yet wood is also their scarcest article, and is obtained only from wreckage or through occasional barter with whalers passing near Cape York. A cargo of lumber would procure anything from the natives—indeed, almost their entire possessions.
Friday, July 1. To-day we narrowly escaped a bad accident. The doctor accidentally discharged a gun in the big room, where Gibson, Verhoeff, and Tooky were sitting. Fortunately no one was hurt, the charge going through the roof, making quite a hole, and badly frightening Matt, who was lying there. Matt’s foot is improving somewhat, and probably in a few days his condition will be such that he will be able to get about. This prospect is gratifying to me, as I have determined to go to the head of the bay in about three weeks, there to await Mr. Peary’s return, and I wish to have Matt for my companion.
Monday, July 4. This evening I was treated to a native vegetable dish. Returning from a walk to Cape Cleveland, I met Mané and her children coming to meet me. She told me they eat the little purple flowers which bloom so abundantly almost everywhere in this vicinity, and asked me to try them. I found that they were quite as sweet as our clover blossoms, and they have, besides, a very aromatic flavor. Mané had brought two of our tin mess-pans with her, and we filled them with blossoms and sour-grass. On reaching Redcliffe Mané mixed the flowers and sour-grass, then, pouring a little water on them, put them on the stove. I suggested that she wash them so as to remove at least some of the sand, at which she laughed, saying that sand was good for the stomach; nevertheless, she made a show of washing them, and then let them boil for about fifteen minutes. The flavor was a peculiarly pleasant one, but I thought it a little sour, and added some sugar, which gave it something of the taste of rhubarb-plant stewed, only more aromatic.
This concoction is the only vegetable dish that these people ever have, and this is only eaten by the women and children, not by the men. On the other hand, the men eat the eggs of the different birds, but will not allow the women to touch them. It was amusing to see both Mané and M’gipsu eat cake containing eggs, begging us not to tell their husbands, and consoling themselves with the reflection that eggs did not form the chief part of the cake.