While the sun's rays pour down with all their force upon the devoted head of the traveller the reflection from the snow is almost as intense and still more disagreeable, for there is no possible escape from it. Not satisfied with producing its share of sunburn, it acts upon the eyes in a manner that produces that terrible scourge of the Arctic spring—snow-blindness. It is a curious fact that persons who are near-sighted are generally exempt from the evils of snow-blindness, while it appears to be more malignant with those who are far-sighted in direct ratio to the superior quality of their vision. Lieutenant Schwatka and his companion, the present writer, are both near-sighted, and during the two seasons that they were exposed to the disease neither were at any time affected by snow-blindness; while the other members of the party, and especially the natives, who have most powerful visual organs, were almost constantly martyrs to the disease whenever exposed to its attacks.
It seems the only method of guarding against it is to wear what we called snow-goggles all the time one is out of doors. The natives use those of home manufacture—that is, a piece of wood with a notch to fit over the bridge of the nose, and a narrow, horizontal slit opposite each eye. This rude spectacle, called by them igearktoo, is made to fit close to the eyes, and is held in place by strings passing behind and over the top of the head. It serves to shelter the eyes from the direct and reflected rays of the sun, but also interrupts the vision so much that they habitually push it up on top of their heads, and run a risk which almost invariably results to their disadvantage, yet their goggles are so unsatisfactory that no amount of adverse experience is sufficient to serve as a warning to them. The civilized visitors among them wear goggles of various patterns and degrees of excellence. Some are made of differently colored glass, from the various shades of smoked glass to blue and green of varying degrees of opacity; some are of glass surrounded with wire gauze; others of wire gauze without the glass, and some are merely a strip of bunting hanging from the peak of the cap. Of all the various kinds the general experience seems to be in favor of the wire gauze without glass. They interfere very little with the vision, and yet furnish a perfect protection for the eyes. Glass of any pattern or shade subjects the wearer to constant annoyance by fogging from the breath, which congeals very rapidly upon the surface of the glass, and apparently always at the most inconvenient time, as when the hunter is stalking a deer by crawling a long distance upon his hands and knees, and just as he raises his rifle for a shot his goggles are like pieces of ground glass. The native spectacles give such a limited field of vision that it is impossible to use them in hunting; but the wire-gauze seems to be free from all these objections. A well-supplied expedition is provided with every kind of snow-goggles, as they are absolutely essential to the well being of the party. The superiority of the wire-gauze pattern seemed to have been appreciated by the Franklin expedition, for many of them were subsequently found at the various burial-places and at other points where relics were obtained. It is also said that painting around the eyes upon the upper and lower lids with burned cork or some dark pigment is a protection against snow-blindness; but it is doubtful if this method has been sufficiently tested to admit of its being relied upon. The symptoms of snow-blindness are inflammation of the inner coating of the lids, accompanied by intense pain and impairment of the vision, so as to disable the sufferer from the performance of his duties. A wash of diluted tincture of opium is probably the best remedy, and gives almost immediate relief. The patient should remain within doors for two or three days, by which time he will usually be sufficiently cured to resume his out-door labors.
It might be supposed that in the utter barrenness of the Arctic landscape, flowers never grew there. This would be a great mistake. The dweller in that desolate region, after passing a long, weary winter, with nothing for the eye to rest upon but the vast expanse of snow and ice, is in a condition to appreciate, beyond the ability of an inhabitant of warmer climes, the little flowerets that peep up almost through the snow when the spring sunlight begins to exercise its power upon the white mantle of the earth. In little patches here and there, where the dark-colored moss absorbs the warm rays of the sun, and the snow is melted from its surface, the most delicate flowers spring up at once to gladden the eye of the weary traveller. It needs not the technical skill of the botanist to admire these lovely tokens of approaching summer. Thoughts of home, in a warmer and more hospitable climate, fill his heart with joy and longing, as meadows filled with daisies and buttercups spread out before him, while he stands upon the crest of a granite hill that knows no footstep other than the tread of the stately musk-ox or the antlered reindeer, as they pass in single file upon their frequent journeys, and whose caverns echo to no sound save the howling of the wolves or the discordant cawing of the raven. He is a boy again, and involuntarily plucks the feathery dandelion, and seeks the time of day by blowing the puffy fringe from its stem, or tests the faith of the fair one, who is dearer to him than ever in this hour of separation, by picking the leaves from the yellow-hearted daisy. Tiny little violets, set in a background of black or dark green moss, adorn the hill-sides, and many flowers unknown to warmer zones come bravely forth to flourish for a few weeks only, and wither in the August winds. Very few of the flowers, so refreshing and charming to the eye, have any perfume. Nearly all smell of the dank moss that forms their bed.
As soon as the snow leaves the ground, the hill-sides in many localities are covered with the vine that bears a small black berry (called by the natives parwong,) in appearance, though not in flavor, like the huckleberry. It has a pungent spicy tartness that is very acceptable after a long diet of meat alone, and the natives, when they find these vines, stop every other pursuit for the blissful moments of cramming their stomachs with the fruit. This is kept up, if the crop only lasts long enough until they have made themselves thoroughly sick by their hoggishness. But the craving for some sort of vegetable diet is irresistible, and with true Inuit improvidence they indulge it, careless of consequences. Fortunate for them is it that their summer, is a short one, and the parwong not abundant, or cholera might be added to the other dangers of Arctic residence. But the days of the buttercup and the daisy, and of the butterfly and the mosquito are few. With the winter comes the all-pervading snow, and the keen, bracing north-west wind, the rosy cheek and the frozen nose; but with it also comes rugged health and a steady diet of walrus meat.
CHAPTER VII.
RELICS.
From this point onward our march was attended with the most profitable results. On the evening of the 4th of June we met a young man, named Adlekok, who, during the previous summer, had found a new cairn erected by white men near Pfeffer River, which had never been seen by any other Inuits. Near by were three graves and a tent place in which he found a pair of wire-gauze snow-goggles, which we bought from him. This information seemed of sufficient importance to be followed up immediately before any other natives should find and rob the cairn. Consequently the next day Lieutenant Schwatka and I took a light sled, with Toolooah to drive and Adlekok as guide, and visited the spot. We took a day's rations with us, to use in case we did not get back that night, and started with a head wind and storm that confined our view to the immediate vicinity of the sledge. Our guide, however, took us through this trackless waste of smooth ice, a distance of over twenty-five miles, without deviation from the direct line, with no landmarks or sun to steer by; but on he went with the unerring instinct of a dog, until we struck the land at the western banks of Pfeffer River. Arrived at the cairn we found it as he said, "a white man's cairn" unmistakably, but before proceeding to take it down we examined it carefully and found scratched on a clay stone with the point of a sharp instrument,
MAY
H XII
1869
and on the opposite side,