The Cliffs of Karnah.
We arrived at our destination, at the head of Bowdoin Bay, on August 3d, without any difficulty, the ice having almost completely left the bay and sound. The Sculptured Cliffs of Karnah, forming the cape of Bowdoin Bay, stood out sharp and clear in the early morning sunlight, while the towering red Castle Cliffs frowned down upon the bay from the opposite cape.
The site selected for our new home is only a few feet from where we pitched our tent last year when engaged in the exploration of Inglefield Gulf, and where, amidst a furious rainstorm, we celebrated our wedding anniversary. As we shall celebrate at least two more such anniversaries here, we have christened our new home “Anniversary Lodge.” The great cliff which mounts guard over us Mr. Peary has named Mt. Bartlett, in honor of our gallant young skipper, Captain Harry Bartlett, of St. John’s. Our snug and picturesque harbor is to be known as Falcon Harbor, named after the little bark which brought us here in safety, and which is the first ship to anchor in these waters.
The day after we dropped anchor in Falcon Harbor we were visited by five of our former Eskimo acquaintances, who had paddled at least twenty-five or thirty miles in their kayaks on seeing the ship pass their settlement. Two of them, Kulutingwah and Annowkah, were residents of Redcliffe, and it really seemed like meeting old neighbors, although I must confess that they appear even dirtier than they did a year ago. Annowkah told me that his wife, M’gipsu, who was our most skilful seamstress, was ill; but it is impossible to get these people to talk much about their sick, and so I was unable to find out what really ailed the poor woman.
Our Eskimos stayed with us a few days and assisted us in landing our supplies. They were vastly amused at the burros, which they persist in calling “big dogs”; and I can hardly blame them, for my St. Bernard dog is almost as large and tall as some of these little animals. After the provisions were all ashore, each native took a load of about fifty pounds on his back and carried it to the ice-cap; but this was the last straw, and every man decided that he really must return to his family at once.
On August 12, the work on the house being well advanced, Mr. Peary decided to make a trip after walrus for dog-food, intending to proceed as far as Smith Sound, if possible. It takes quite a little pile of meat to feed eighty-three Eskimo dogs. Accompanied by the two natives, Keshu and Myah, we started for Karnah, the nearest settlement, where we had intended to pick up one or two additional hunters; but on reaching the place we were shocked to hear that M’gipsu had died “two sleeps ago.” Mr. Peary went to Annowkah’s tent, and there sat the bereaved husband, with his sealskin hood pulled over his head, looking straight before him, saying nothing and doing nothing, apparently knowing nothing of what was going on about him. It is the custom with these people to act in this way for a certain length of time after a death, and then they desert the hut or tent in which the death has taken place, and it is never again occupied. M’gipsu’s little six-year-old boy, whose father died when he was very small, also sat in the tent all huddled up in one corner. Poor little fellow! I do not know what will become of him now, for it is an open secret that his stepfather, Annowkah, does not like him.
As we proceeded up the sound we saw the cakes of ice thickly sprinkled with walrus, which had come out of the water and were taking a sun-bath. The boats were lowered, and the men started after them. In a few hours we had twenty-four of the monsters on board. Their average weight was estimated at not less than fifteen hundred pounds. There were several cold baths taken by the hunters, and some narrow escapes, but nothing serious occurred, and we continued on our course, heading for Cape Alexander. Once around the cape, we steamed half-way across the sound toward Cape Sabine, where we were stopped by the ice-pack, which stretched in an unbroken plain as far as we could see. Turning back, we visited the site of the Polaris House, where a portion of Captain Hall’s party wintered after the “Polaris” was wrecked. We picked up a number of souvenirs in the shape of bolts, hooks, hinges, even buttons and leaves from books. A quantity of rope was found on the border of a little pond just back of where the house stood, and it seemed to be in a state of perfect preservation. We also stopped at Littleton Island, and on the adjoining McGary Island some of the party indulged in a little shooting. A few ducks and guillemots were shot; four additional walrus and an oogzook seal were also obtained in this vicinity. The weather then became thick and a strong wind sprang up, which put an end to the sport.
All night we steamed toward Hakluyt Island, but on reaching it we could not make a landing on account of the gale. We lay in the shelter of the cliffs of Northumberland, and when the storm abated steamed along its shore, and, crossing Whale Sound, entered Olrich’s Bay, the scenery of which surpasses that of any of the other Greenland bays that I have seen. Our party scattered at once in search of reindeer, which we were told were numerous here, and in a few hours we had seventeen on board ship.
Our house is up, and promises to be very cozy. The good ship “Falcon” sails for home to-morrow, taking with her the last messages which we can send our dear ones for some time.
Everything points to the success which Mr. Peary hopes for. What the future will bring, however, no one can tell.