Monday, November fifth: This has been a fine day, and brought with it a new lot of experiences. I took a few kodak views of a dog-team and fur-dressed people in front of the Mission. After supper four neighbors came (the same who called on us the other evening) with their horse to take us out for a moonlight ride, and it proved a very novel one. A big, grey horse, with long legs supporting his great hulk, and carrying him away up above us as we sat on the sled; the conveyance, a home-made "bob" sled upon which had been placed rough boards piled with hay and fur robes for the comfort of passengers, and the harness home-made like the "rig," was ingeniously constructed of odds and ends of old rope of different colors which the men assured us, when interrogated upon the point, were perfectly strong and secure.
In it were knots, loops, twists, and coils, with traces spliced at great length in order to keep us clear of the horse's heels, but which frequently got him entangled, so that he had to be released by the footman (the clerk). When this occurred, the latter, with an Indian war-whoop, leaped off the sledge, flourished and cracked his big "black snake" whip in air to encourage the animal to run faster, and I, sitting with the driver on the front seat, gripped for dear life the board upon which I sat. No Jehu, I feel sure, ever drove as did our driver tonight, assisted by the whooping footman with his black snake. Through drifts and over the pond, which was frozen, down steep banks to the beach, through snow deep and still deeper, helter-skelter they drove, skurrying, shouting, urging the poor beast on until he was wild of eye, short of breath, weary in limb, and reeking.
Overhead the air was clear as crystal, stars bright, and a perfect full moon shining with brilliant whiteness over all. Only the jingle of the bells upon the horse, the shrieks of our footman and driver, and the laughter of the passengers on the "bob" broke the stillness of the quiet, frosty air, which, in its intense purity and lightness seemed fairly to vibrate with electricity as we breathed.
November sixth: I have spent the day at making a warm winter hood for myself. Finding that Mr. H. had grey squirrel skins, I bought six of him for twenty-five cents apiece, for a lining for hood and mittens. The hood I made pretty large every way, sewing two red fox tails around the face for a border to keep the wind off my face, as is the Eskimo fashion.
During the day G. and B. went out over the beach to collect driftwood for winter, and G. came home finally without his companion. It was thought that B. went on to the Home, as he found himself not so far from that as from the Mission, where he would probably remain all night, and come over next day. Two natives, with as many reindeer and sleds, came for flour and other things, taking Mr. H.'s trunk of clothing with them for the missionary. The little Eskimos were delighted to see the deer, and ran out to them, petting and talking to them. Then they rattled on among themselves about the animals, inspecting and feeling of their horns, patting their fat sides, calling their names, and showing their pleasure at seeing the pretty creatures in various ways. I did not know which were of most interest, the deer with long, branching antlers, sleek spotted sides and funny heads, or the group of odd little Eskimo children, with their plump dark faces, dressed in furry parkies and boots, tumbling gleefully around in the snow.
Wednesday, November seventh: The weather is beautifully clear and sunny today, with charming sky effects at sunrise and sunset. Red, yellow and crimson lines stretched far along the eastern horizon, cut by vertical ones of lighter tints, until a big golden ball climbed up higher, and by his increased strength warmed the whole snowy landscape. A few hours later, this great yellow ball, looking bright and clear-cut, like copper, sank gently beneath the long banks of purple-red clouds massed in artistic and majestic confusion. Everything, at this time, was enveloped in the cooler, quieter tints of purple and blue, and hills, peaks, and icy bay all lay bathed in exquisite color.
The two Eskimos brought the reindeer back from the Home today, stopped for lunch, and then went on their way to the herd again. Ricka, Alma and Miss J. went out as far as the cliff for a ride on the sleds behind the deer, but I felt safer indoors. Ricka says when the animals dashed over the big bank, out upon the ice near the cliff, she thought her last hour had come. At first the deer trotted steadily along on the trail, but going faster and faster they rushed headlong through the drifts, dragging the sleds on one runner, and tearing up the snow like a blizzard as they went, until it seemed to the two girls, unused to such riding as they were, that the animals were running away, and they would be certainly killed.
Miss J. was quite used to this kind of traveling, and made no outcry, but Alma and Ricka finally got the natives to stop the deer and let them get off and walk home, saying it might be great fun when one was accustomed to it.
The sleds used by the natives are called reindeer sleds because made especially for use when driving deer. They are close to the ground, and very strongly built, as they could not otherwise stand the wear and tear of such "rapid transit." Side rails are put on, but no high handle-bar at the back, and when a load is placed upon the sled it is lashed securely on with ropes or thongs made of seal or walrus hide; otherwise there would be no load before the journey was completed.
Mr. H. says he has long experience with them, but never feels quite sure that an animal will do what is wanted of him, though when driven by natives who are well used to their tricks and antics, especially if the animals have reached mature age, they make good travelers, and get over the ground very fast. A hundred miles a day is nothing to them if the snow is not too deep and their load reasonable.