Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

TAKING ON AN ESKIMO PILOT.

MY ARCTIC JOURNAL
A YEAR AMONG ICE-FIELDS AND ESKIMOS

BY

JOSEPHINE DIEBITSCH-PEARY

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF

THE GREAT WHITE JOURNEY

ACROSS GREENLAND

BY

ROBERT E. PEARY

CIVIL ENGINEER, U. S. NAVY

LONDON

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

1894

All rights reserved

THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK, U. S. A.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

On June 6, 1891, the steam-whaler “Kite,” which was to bear the expedition of the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences northward, set sail from the port of New-York, her destination being Whale Sound, on the northwest coast of Greenland, where it had been determined to pass the winter, preliminary to the long traverse of the inland ice which was to solve the question of the extension of Greenland in the direction of the Pole. The members of the expedition numbered but five besides the commander, Mr. Peary, and his wife. They were Dr. F. A. Cook, Messrs. Langdon Gibson, Eivind Astrup, and John T. Verhoeff, and Mr. Peary’s faithful colored attendant in his surveying labors in Nicaragua, Matthew Henson. This was the smallest number that had ever been banded together for extended explorations in the high Arctic zone. A year and a quarter after their departure, with the aid of a relief expedition conducted by Professor Angelo Heilprin, Mr. Peary’s party, lacking one of its members, the unfortunate Mr. Verhoeff, returned to the American shore. The explorer had traversed northern Greenland from coast to coast, and had added a remarkable chapter to the history of Arctic exploration.

The main results of Mr. Peary’s journey were:

The determination of the rapid convergence of the shores of Greenland above the 78th parallel of latitude, and consequently the practical demonstration of the insularity of this great land-mass;

The discovery of the existence of ice-free land-masses to the northward of Greenland; and

The delineation of the northward extension of the great Greenland ice-cap.

In the following pages Mrs. Peary recounts her experiences of a full twelvemonth spent on the shores of McCormick Bay, midway between the Arctic Circle and the North Pole. The Eskimos with whom she came in contact belong to a little tribe of about three hundred and fifty individuals, completely isolated from the rest of the world. They are separated by hundreds of miles from their nearest neighbors, with whom they have no intercourse whatever. These people had never seen a white woman, and some of them had never beheld a civilized being. The opportunities which Mrs. Peary had of observing their manners and mode of life have enabled her to make a valuable contribution to ethnological learning.

THE PUBLISHERS.

PREFACE

This plain and simple narrative of a year spent by a refined woman in the realm of the dreaded Frost King has been written only after persistent and urgent pressure from friends, by one who shrank from publicity, and who reluctantly yielded to the idea that her experiences might be of interest to others besides her immediate friends.

I have been requested to write a few words of introduction; and while there may be some to whom it might occur that I was too much interested to perform this task properly, it must nevertheless be admitted that there is probably no one better fitted than myself to do it. Little, indeed, need be said.

The feeling that led Mrs. Peary through these experiences was first and foremost a desire to be by my side, coupled with the conviction that she was fitted physically as well as otherwise to share with me a portion at least of the fatigues and hardships of the work. I fully concurred in this feeling, and yet, in spite of my oft-expressed view that the dangers of life and work in the Arctic regions have been greatly exaggerated, I cannot but admire her courage. She has been where no white woman has ever been, and where many a man has hesitated to go; and she has seen phases of the life of the most northerly tribe of human beings on the globe, and in many ways has been enabled to get a closer insight into their ways and customs than had been obtained before.

I rarely, if ever, take up the thread of our Arctic experiences without reverting to two pictures: one is the first night that we spent on the Greenland shore after the departure of the “Kite,” when, in a little tent on the rocks—a tent which the furious wind threatened every moment to carry away bodily—she watched by my side as I lay a helpless cripple with a broken leg, our small party the only human beings on that shore, and the little “Kite,” from which we had landed, drifted far out among the ice by the storm, and invisible through the rain. Long afterward she told me that every unwonted sound of the wind set her heart beating with the thoughts of some hungry bear roaming along the shore and attracted by the unusual sight of the tent; yet she never gave a sign at the time of her fears, lest it should disturb me.

The other picture is that of a scene perhaps a month or two later, when—myself still a cripple, but not entirely helpless—this same woman sat for an hour beside me in the stern of a boat, calmly reloading our empty firearms while a herd of infuriated walrus about us thrust their savage heads with gleaming tusks and bloodshot eyes out of the water close to the muzzles of our rifles, so that she could have touched them with her hand, in their efforts to get their tusks over the gunwale and capsize the boat. I may perhaps be pardoned for saying that I never think of these two experiences without a thrill of pride and admiration for her pluck.

In reading the pages of this narrative it should be remembered that within sixty miles of where Kane and his little party endured such untold sufferings, within eighty miles of where Greely’s men one by one starved to death, and within less than fifty miles of where Hayes and his party and one portion of the “Polaris” party underwent their Arctic trials and tribulations, this tenderly nurtured woman lived for a year in safety and comfort: in the summer-time climbed over the lichen-covered rocks, picking flowers and singing familiar home songs, shot deer, ptarmigan, and ducks in the valleys and lakes, and even tried her hand at seal, walrus, and narwhal in the bays; and through the long, dark winter night, with her nimble fingers and ready woman’s insight, was of inestimable assistance in devising and perfecting the details of the costumes which enabled Astrup and myself to make our journey across the great ice-cap in actual comfort.

Perhaps no greater or more convincing proof than this could be desired of what great improvements have been made in Arctic methods. That neither Mrs. Peary nor myself regret her Arctic experiences, or consider them ill-advised, may be inferred from the fact that she is once more by my side in my effort to throw more light on the great Arctic mystery.

R. E. Peary,

Civil Engineer, U. S. N.

Falcon Harbor, Bowdoin Bay,

Greenland, August 20, 1893.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
NORTHWARD BOUND

First Sight of Greenland—Frederikshaab Glacier—Across the Arctic Circle—Perpetual Daylight—Sunlit Disko—The Climb to the Ice-cap—Dinner at Inspector Anderssen’s—A Native Dance—From Disko to Upernavik—Upernavik—The Governor and his Wife—The Duck Islands—Gathering Eggs and Eider-down and Shooting Ducks.

Wednesday, June 24. We have sailed and tossed, have broken through the ice-barriers of Belle Isle Straits, and once more ride the rolling swells of the broad Atlantic. Our three days’ jam in the ice has given us a foretaste of Arctic navigation, but the good little “Kite” speeds northward with a confidence which inspires a feeling of security that not even the famed “greyhounds of the ocean” afford. Genial Captain Pike is on the bridge and off the bridge, and his keen eye is casting for the land. When I came on deck to-day I found the bold, wild coast of Greenland on the right. It was a grand sight—the steep, black cliffs, some of them descending almost vertically to the sea, their tops covered with dazzling snow, and the inland ice flowing through the depressions between their summits; at the foot of the cliffs gleamed bergs of various sizes and shapes, some of them a beautiful blue, others white as snow. The feature of the day was the Frederikshaab glacier, which comes down to the sea in latitude 62° 30′. It did not, however, impress me as being very grand, owing perhaps to our being so far from it. Its face is seventeen miles long, and we could see it like a wall of white marble before us. Long after we had passed it, it still appeared to be with us, and it kept us company nearly all day. Just beyond the glacier was disclosed the most beautiful mountain scenery imaginable. The weather was deliciously warm, and revealed to us a new aspect of Arctic climate. It seems strange to be sitting on deck in a light coat, not even buttoned, and only a cap on my head, in the most brilliant sunshine, and gazing on snow-covered mountains.

Out on the Billowy Sea.
The First Fragment of Greenland Ice.

Capt. Richard Pike—“On Duty.”

Thursday, June 25. We were promised another lovely day, but after noon the weather changed and a cool wind sprang up, which helped to push our little craft along at a good rate. To-night we shall have the midnight sun for the first time, and it will be weeks, even months, before he sets for us again. Everything on deck is dripping from the fog which has gathered about us.

Friday, June 26. In spite of the thick fog we have been making good time, and expect to be in Disko, or more properly Godhavn, about noon to-morrow. We saw our first eider-ducks to-day. Numerous bergs again gleam up in the distance, probably the output of the Jakobshavn glacier.

Tuesday, June 30. We have been in a constant state of excitement since Saturday morning, when we first set foot on Greenland’s ice-bound shores. The pilot, a half-breed Eskimo, came on board and took us into the harbor of Godhavn shortly after nine o’clock. Mr. Peary, Captain Pike, Professor Heilprin, and myself went ashore and paid our respects to Inspector Anderssen and his family. They were very attentive to us, and invited “Mr. and Mistress Peary” to stay with them during their stop in Godhavn—a pleasure they were, however, compelled to forego. In the afternoon a party of us from the “Kite” set out on our first Arctic tramp, our objective point being the summit of the lofty basalt cliffs that tower above the harbor. My outfit consisted of a red blanket combination suit reaching to the knee, long knit stockings, a short eider-down flannel skirt reaching to the ankles, and the “kamiks,” or long-legged moccasins, which I had purchased in Sidney. The day was exceptionally fine and sunny, and we started off in the best of spirits. Never had I seen so many different wild flowers in bloom at once. I could not put my foot down without crushing two or three different varieties. Mr. Gibson, while chasing a butterfly, slipped and strained the cords of his left foot so that he was obliged to return to the ship. Never had I stepped on moss so soft and beautiful, all shades of green and red, some beds of it covered so thickly with tiny pink flowers that you could not put the head of a pin down between them. We gathered and pressed as many flowers as we could conveniently carry—anemones, yellow poppies, mountain pinks, various Ericaceæ, etc. Sometimes our path was across snow-drifts, and sometimes we were ankle-deep in flowers and moss. Mountain streams came tumbling down in every little gully, and their water was so delicious that it seemed impossible to cross one of these streams without stooping to drink. Our advance was very slow, as we could not resist the temptation of constantly stopping to look back and feast upon the beauties of the view. Disko Bay, blue as sapphire, thickly studded with icebergs of all sizes and beautifully colored by the sun’s rays, lay at our feet, with the little settlement of Godhavn on one side and the brown cliffs towering over it. As far as the eye could reach, the sea was dotted with icebergs, which looked like a fleet of sail-boats. The scene was simply indescribable. We reached the summit, at an elevation of 2400 feet, and built a cairn, in which we placed a tin box containing a piece of paper with our names written upon it, and some American coins. From the summit of these cliffs we stepped upon the ice-cap, which seemed to roll right down to their tops. The temperature was 91° F. in the sun, and 56° in the shade. As we descended a blue mist seemed to hang over that part of the cliffs that lay in shadow, and the contrast with the white bergs gleaming in the sapphire waters below was very striking. We returned to the foot of the cliff after eight o’clock. On Sunday we made another expedition, to the Blaese Dael, or “windy valley,” where a beautiful double waterfall comes tumbling through the hard rock, into which it has graven a deep channel. We gathered more flowers, and collected some seaweed; the mosquitos, of which we had had a foretaste the day before, were extremely troublesome, and recalled to memory the shores of New Jersey. When we reached the first Eskimo hut, a number of the piccaninnies[^[1]] came to me and presented me with bunches of wild flowers. We gave them some hardtack in return, and they were happy.

[1]. The Eskimos frequently designate their children as piccaninnies, a word doubtless introduced by the whalers.

Mr. Peary, Professor Heilprin, myself, and two other members of our party dined with the inspector in the evening, joining some members of the Danish community, who had also been invited. The course consisted of fresh codfish with caper-sauce, roast ptarmigan, potatoes boiled and then browned; and for dessert, “Rudgrud,” a “dump,” almonds, and raisins. There was, following European custom, a varied accompaniment of wines.

After dinner the gentlemen went up-stairs to examine the geological and oölogical collections of the inspector, while the ladies preferred the parlor with their coffee. Were it not for the outer surroundings, it would have been difficult to realize that we were in the distant Arctic realm, so truly homelike were the scenes of the little household, and so cheerful the little that was necessary to make living here not only comfortable, but pleasant. The entire community numbers barely 120 souls, nine tenths of whom are Eskimos, mainly half-breeds; the remainder are the Danish officials and their families, whose recreation lies almost entirely within the little circle which they themselves constitute.

Toward nine o’clock we visited the storehouse, where a native ball was in progress. Several of our boys went the rounds with the Eskimo “belles,” but for me the odor of the interior was too strong to permit me to say that looking on was an “unalloyed pleasure.” The steps were made to the music of stringed instruments, over which the resident half-breeds have acquired a fair mastery. The participants and onlookers were all in a lively frame of mind, but not uproarious; and at the appointed time of closing—ten o’clock—all traces of hilarity had virtually been banished.

The Most Northern Outpost of Civilization on the Globe—Upernavik.

We had hoped to leave early on the following morning, but it was not until near two o’clock that the fog began to lift, and that a departure was made possible. Firing the official salute, and dipping our colors, we gave three hearty cheers in honor of our first Greenland hosts, and sailed out of the rock-bound harbor. It soon cleared up, and we were able to make our normal seven knots an hour. This morning it was foggy for a while, but it cleared up beautifully, and now we are just skimming along, and expect to reach Upernavik, the most northern of the Danish settlements in Greenland, about nine o’clock in the evening.

Thursday, July 2. We did not reach Upernavik until 2.30 yesterday morning, owing to a very strong current which was running against us all the way from Godhavn. We remained up all night, and at 1.30 A. M. were enjoying the dazzling brightness of the sunshine. Mr. Peary took a number of photographs between midnight and morning. Upernavik is a very different-looking place from Godhavn. There are four frame-houses and a little church. The natives live in turf huts, very miserable-looking habitations, built right down in the mud. As soon as our ship steamed into the harbor, in which two Danish vessels were at anchor, the governor, Herr Beyer, came on board with his lieutenant-governor, a young fellow who had arrived only three days before. We returned the visit at noon, and were pleasantly received by the governor and his wife, a charming woman of about thirty years, who had been married but a year, and whose fondness for home decoration had expressed itself in the pictures, bric-à-brac, fancy embroideries, and flowering plants which were everywhere scattered about, and helped to make up an extremely cozy home. As in all other houses in the country, the guests were treated to wine immediately on entering, and with a delicate politeness the governor presented me with a corsage bouquet of the flowers of Upernavik, neatly tied up with the colors of Denmark. Our visit was fruitful in the receipt of presents, among which were Eskimo carvings, a dozen bottles of native Greenland beer, and a box of “goodies,” addressed to “Miss Peary,” and to be opened, as a reminder, on Christmas eve. The hospitality shown to us could not have been more marked had our friendship extended over many years.

THE SUNSET GLOW—BERG OFF SVARTENHOEK.

Our visit was a brief one, as we were to weigh anchor early in the afternoon. We steamed away from Upernavik and headed north. The fog had cleared away and disclosed a giant mountain towering above us in the harbor. The sun shone brightly, and the sea was smooth as glass and blue as turquoise. The night promised to be a beautiful one, but I resisted the temptation to stay up, having been up the entire night before, and the greater part of the one before that. At 4 A. M. Captain Pike knocked at our door and informed us that in half an hour we would be at the Duck Islands. Here we were to land and all hands shoot eider-ducks and gather their eggs for our winter supply. We were soon on shore, and then began a day’s sport such as I had often read about, but never expected to see. The ducks flew in thick flocks all about us, and on every side were nests as large as a large hen-nest, made of eider-down and containing from three to six eggs. The nests were not hidden, but right out on the rocks in full sight. Alas! we were too late; the ducks were breeding, and out of 960 eggs we did not get over 150 good ones. As I had not taken my gun, I spent the time in gathering down, and collected forty-three pounds in five hours. After returning to the “Kite” for breakfast, we visited a second island, and there I bagged a bird, much to my satisfaction. Altogether ninety-six ducks were shot.

CHAPTER II
IN THE MELVILLE BAY PACK

Melville Bay—On the Edge of the Dreaded Ice-pack—Fourth of July—Butting the Ice—Accident to the Leader of the Expedition—Gloom on the “Kite”—Blasting the “Kite” out of a Nip—A Real Bear and a Bear Hunt—A Chase on the Ice—A Phantom Ship—Free of the Pack and in the North Water at Last—The Greenland Shore to Barden Bay—First Sight of the Arctic Highlanders.

Thursday, July 2. We are opposite the “Devil’s Thumb,” latitude 74° 20′, and now, at 8 P. M., are slowly making our way through the ice which marks the entrance into the Melville Bay “pack.”

Friday, July 3. At midnight the engine was stopped, the ice being too thick for the “Kite” to make any headway. At 6.30 A. M. we started again, and rammed our way along for an hour, but were again forced to stop. At eleven o’clock we tried it once more, but after a couple of hours came to a standstill. We remained in this condition until after five o’clock, when the engine was again started. For two hours we made fairly good progress, and we thought that we should soon be in open water, but a small neck of very heavy ice stopped us. While we were on deck, the mate in the “crow’s-nest,” which was hoisted to-day, sang out, “A bear! A bear!” Off in the distance we could see an object floating, or rather swimming, in the water, and in a minute the boys were climbing helter-skelter over the sides of the “Kite,” all with guns, although some soon discovered that theirs were not loaded; but the bear turned out to be a seal, and not one of about thirty shots hit him. It is now nearly 11 P. M. The sun is shining beautifully, and it is perfectly calm. I have worn only a gray spring jacket, which I have found sufficient for the balmy temperature. At midnight the cannon was fired, the flags were run up and dipped, and the boys fired their rifles and gave three cheers for the Fourth of July. The thermometer marked 31°.

“A Bear! A Bear!”

Saturday, July 4. The ice remains stubborn, and we are fast bound. All around the eye sees nothing but the immovable pack, here smooth as a table, at other places tossed up into long hummock-ridges which define the individual ice-cakes. Occasional lanes of water appear and disappear, and their presence gives us the one hope of an early disentanglement. The event of the day has been a dinner to Captain Pike, in which most of the members of our party participated. After dinner hunting-parties scoured the ice after seals, with the result of bringing in two specimens, one weighing twenty-six pounds, and the other thirty-three pounds.

Sunday, July 5. All night we steamed along slowly, but at 8 A. M. we were forced once more to stop. The day has been very disagreeable, foggy, rainy, and even snowy. We have done nothing but eat and sleep. A lazily hovering ivory-gull, which ventured within near gunshot, has been added to our collections.

Tuesday, July 7. The weather yesterday was dreary and disagreeable, but to-day it seems warmer. The snow has ceased falling, although the sky is still overcast, and the fog prevents us from seeing the horizon. At noon the sun came through the clouds for a few moments, and the fog lifted sufficiently for the captain to make an observation and find that our position was latitude 74° 51′. During the afternoon the wind died down, and an attempt was made to get through the ice; but after boring and ramming the immovable pack for nearly an hour, and gaining only a ship’s length, we concluded that we were burning coal for nothing. Mr. Peary, with Gibson, Astrup, Cook, and Matt, has been busy all the afternoon sawing, marking, and fitting the lumber for our Whale Sound cottage. The curing of a large number of drake-skins, intended to be made up into undershirts for winter wear, was a part of the day’s work.

Thursday, July 9. Yesterday and to-day the fog lifted sufficiently at times to permit us to see the land, about forty miles distant. A good observation places us in latitude 74° 51′, and longitude about 60° W. Mr. Peary fixed the points with his pocket sextant and the ship’s compass, and then made a sketch of the headlands. The ice looks rotten, but yet it holds together too firmly to permit us to force a passage. We measured some of the floes, and found the thickest to be two and a half feet. It has seemed very raw to-day, owing largely to a slight northwest wind; and for the first time the average temperature has been below the freezing-point, being 31½° F.

Sailing Through the Pack.

Friday, July 10. This morning the rigging was covered with hoar-frost, making the “Kite” look like a “phantom ship.” The fog hung heavily about us, shutting out the land completely. In the forenoon a sounding was made, but no bottom was found at 343 fathoms. While we were at dinner, without any warning the “Kite” began to move, steam was immediately gotten up, and for an hour and a half we cut our way through the ice, which had become very rotten, large floes splitting into several pieces as soon as they were struck by the “Kite.” We made about three knots, when we were again obliged to halt on account of a lowering fog. Our little move was made just in time to keep up the courage of some of the West Greenland party, who were beginning to believe that we should be nipped and kept here for the winter.

Although we realized that we were still ice-bound in the great and much-dreaded Melville Bay pack, we could not but enjoy at times the peculiar features of our forced imprisonment. Efforts to escape, with full promise of success, followed by a condition of impotency and absolute relaxation, would alternately elevate and depress our spirits to the extent of casting joy and gloom into the little household. The novelty of the situation, however, helped greatly to keep up a good feeling, and all despondency was immediately dispelled by the sound of the order to “fire up,” and the dull rumbling of the bell-metal propeller. We never tired of watching our little craft cut her way through the unbroken pans of ice. The great masses of ice were thrust aside very readily; sometimes a piece was split from a large floe and wedged under a still larger one, pushing this out of the way, the commotion causing the ice in the immediate vicinity fairly to boil. Then we would run against an unusually hard, solid floe that would not move when the “Kite” struck it, but let her ride right up on it and then allow her gradually to slide off and along the edge until she struck a weak place, when the floe would be shivered just as a sheet of glass is shivered when struck a sharp, hard blow. The pieces were hurled against and on top of other pieces, crashing and splashing about until it seemed as though the ice must be as thick again as it was before the break-up; but the good old “Kite” pushed them aside, leaving them in the distance groaning and creaking at having been disturbed. The day has been pleasant, in spite of an average temperature of 27½°.

Tuesday, July 14. How different everything looks to us since I last wrote in this journal! Saturday the weather was, as usual, cold and foggy; and when, at 5.30 P. M., we found ourselves suddenly moving, every one was elated, hoping we would be able to get into the clear water ahead, which the mate said could be seen from the crow’s-nest. Mr. Peary was particularly pleased, as he said we should then reach Whale Sound by July 15, the limit he had set for getting there. After supper he and I bundled up and went on deck, and watched the “Kite” cut through the rotten ice like butter. We had been on the bridge for some time, when Mr. Peary left me to warm his feet in the cabin. Coming on deck again, he stepped for a moment behind the wheel-house, and immediately after, I saw the wheel torn from the grasp of the two helmsmen, whirling around so rapidly that the spokes could not be seen. One of the men was thrown completely over it, but on recovering himself he stepped quickly behind the house, and I instantly realized that something must have happened to my husband. How I got to him I do not know, but I reached him before any one else, and found him standing on one foot looking pale as death. “Don’t be frightened, dearest; I have hurt my leg,” was all he said. Mr. Gibson and Dr. Sharp helped, or rather carried, him down into the cabin and laid him on the table. He was ice-cold, and while I covered him with blankets, our physicians gave him whisky, cut off his boot, and cut open his trousers. They found that both bones of the right leg had been fractured between the knee and the ankle. The leg was put into a box and padded with cotton. The fracture being what the doctors pronounced a “good one,” it was not necessary to have the bones pulled into place. Poor Bert suffered agonies in spite of the fact that the doctors handled him as tenderly as they could. We found it impossible to get him into our state-room, so a bed was improvised across the upper end of the cabin, and there my poor sufferer lies. He is as good and patient as it is possible to be under the circumstances. The accident happened in this way. The “Kite” had been for some time pounding, or, as the whalers say, “butting,” a passage through the ice, slowly but steadily forging a way through the spongy sheets which had already for upward of a week imprisoned her. To gain strength for every assault it was necessary constantly to reverse, and it was during one of these evolutions, when going astern, that a detached cake of ice struck the rudder, crowding the iron tiller against the wheel-house where Mr. Peary was standing, and against his leg, which it held pinned long enough for him to hear it snap.

Wednesday, July 15. Mr. Peary passed a fairly comfortable night, and had a good sleep without morphine to-day, consequently he feels better. As for myself, I could not keep up any longer, and at 11 A. M., after Dr. Cook had dressed the leg and made an additional splint, I lay down, and neither moved nor heard a sound until after five o’clock. This was the first sleep I have had since Friday night. Dr. Cook, who has been more than attentive, has made a pair of crutches for the poor sufferer, but he will not be able to use them for a month.

We find to-day that our latitude is 75° 1′, and our longitude 60° 9′; consequently our headway has been very slow. It seems as if when the ice is loose the fog is too thick for us to travel in safety, and when the fog lifts the ice closes in around us. Once to-day the ice suddenly opened and a crack which visibly widened allowed us to make nearly four miles in one stretch. Throughout much of the night and day we steamed back and forth and hither and thither, trying to get through or around the ice, and to prevent the “Kite” from getting nipped between two floes. A little after supper the fog suddenly closed in upon us, and before we could complete the passage of a narrow and tortuous lead, through which we were seeking escape from the advancing floes in our rear, we were caught fast between two large pans. The ice was only about fourteen inches thick, and there was but little danger of the “Kite” being crushed; still, Captain Pike, with the memories of former disasters fresh in his mind, did not relish the situation, and blasted our way out with gunpowder at 8.15 P. M. This is our first “nip.”

Bruin at Rest.

An hour later the captain called down to me to come up at once, as a bear was advancing toward the ship. The boys had been watching and longing for a bear ever since we left New-York, and many false alarms had been given; but here was a real live polar coming straight for the “Kite.” A very, very pretty sight he was, with black snout, black eyes, and black toes. Against the white snow and ice, he seemed to be of a cream color. His head was thrown up as he loped along toward us, and when, within a short distance of the “Kite,” a gull flew over his head, he made a playful jump at it, all unconscious of the doom which awaited him. Eleven men with guns were stooping down on the quarter-deck waiting for the captain to give the word to fire. A bullet disabled one of the fore legs, while another struck the animal in the head, instantly dyeing it crimson; the bear stopped short, wheeled round, fell over on his head, and then got up. By this time it was simply raining bullets about the poor beast; still he staggered on toward the water. Gibson, who had jumped on the ice as soon as he fired, was now close to him, and, just as he started to swim away, put a ball in his neck, which stopped him short. A boat was lowered, and he was brought alongside the “Kite.” He measured seven feet one inch in length, and we estimated his weight at from eight to ten hundred pounds.

Friday, July 17. Last night was the worst night my poor husband has had. His leg pained him more than it had done so far, and he begged me to give him a sedative, which, with the doctor’s consent, I did; but even then his sleep was disturbed to such an extent that it amounted to delirium. He would plead with me to do something for his leg. After doing everything I could think of, I said, “Can’t you tell me where it hurts you most, and what you think might help you?” His answer was, “Oh, my dear, pack it in ice until some one can shoot it!” In this way he spent the night, and this morning he was thoroughly exhausted. Dr. Cook has succeeded in making his leg more comfortable, and now he sleeps. It seems very hard that I cannot take him away to some place where he can rest in peace.

Tuesday, July 21. Since last writing in my journal, four days ago, we have been steadily nearing Cape York, and we hope soon to clear the ice of Melville Bay, and pass into the open North Water beyond. Our hopes have, however, so often been disappointed that day by day, even when in full view of the land, we become less and less confident of ever being able to disengage ourselves from our confinement. Huge grounded bergs still hold the ice together, and until they show signs of moving there is little prospect of a general break-up.

On Saturday a bear with two cubs was seen on the ice ahead of us, and immediately every man was over the side of the vessel making for the animals. The mother, with a tender affection for her young, guided an immediate retreat, herself taking the rear, and alternately inciting the one cub and then the other to more rapid movement. Our boys were wholly unacquainted with the art of rapid traveling on the rough and hummocky ice, and before long the race was admitted to be a very unequal one; they were all quickly distanced. One of the men, in the excitement of the moment, joined in the chase without his gun, and, even without this implement, when he returned to the “Kite” he was so out of breath that he had to be hauled up the sides of the vessel like a dead seal. He lay sprawling and breathless on the deck for at least five minutes, much to the merriment of the crew and the more fortunate members of the party. A round weight of over two hundred pounds was responsible for his discomfiture. Monday morning about two o’clock the fog suddenly lifted, and we found ourselves almost upon the land. The visible shore extended from Cape York to Wolstenholme Island, and we could clearly distinguish Capes Dudley Diggs and Atholl. I held a looking-glass over the open skylight in such a way that Mr. Peary could see something of the outline of the coast. Poor fellow! he wanted to go on deck so badly, thinking that if he were strapped to a board he could be moved in safety, but the doctor persuaded him to give up the thought. As the doctors have all agreed that in six months his leg will be as good as it ever was, he refuses to consider the idea of returning on the “Kite”; as for myself, now that we have started, I want to keep on too. The air is almost black with flocks of the little auk, and a party on the ice to-day brought in sixteen birds in a very short time.

Wednesday, July 22. Drs. Hughes and Sharp brought in sixty-four birds as the result of an all-night catch. We are still in the ice, with no signs of our getting out, although the captain says we have drifted twenty miles to the northward since Monday morning. We are now abreast of Conical Rock. Second Mate Dunphy has just reported seeing from the crow’s-nest a steamer off Cape York, but it is not visible to the naked eye, and we are in doubt as to what it is.

Friday, July 24. The steamer did not materialize; either the mate was mistaken or the vessel drifted away from us. The ice parted early yesterday morning, much to everybody’s relief, and we have since been pushing steadily on our course. The long line of table-topped bergs off Cape York, some of which measured not less than two hundred to three hundred feet in height, and perhaps considerably over a mile in length, is visibly moving over to the American waters, and to this disrupting force we are doubtless largely indebted for our liberation. The scenery of this portion of the Greenland coast is surpassingly fine. The steep red-brown cliffs are frequently interrupted by small glaciers reaching down to the water’s edge. The entrance to Wolstenholme Sound, guarded as it was by huge bergs, was particularly beautiful. Saunders Island in the distance, and Dalrymple Rock immediately in the foreground, stood up like great black giants, contrasting with the snow-white bergs surrounding them and the red cliffs of the mainland on either side. Whenever anything particularly striking or beautiful appears, I am called on deck, and with my hand-glass placed at the open transom over Mr. Peary’s head, manage to give him a faint glimpse of our surroundings. At nine o’clock this evening we rounded Cape Parry, and about ten o’clock stopped at the little Eskimo village of Netchiolumy in Barden Bay, where we hoped to obtain a native house, sledge, kayak, and various native utensils and implements for the World’s Columbian Exposition. Our search-party found only three houses in the settlement, and the lonely inhabitants numbered six adults and five children; five dogs added life to the solitude. These people had quantities of sealskins and narwhal tusks, many of which were obtained in exchange for knives, saws, files, and tools in general. Wood of any kind, to be used in the construction of sledges, kayak frames, and spear- and harpoon-shafts, was especially in demand; they cared nothing for our woven clothing, nor for articles of simple show and finery. We stopped this morning at Herbert Island, where we had hoped to visit a native graveyard, but no graves were found.

CHAPTER III
ESTABLISHING OURSELVES

Arrival at McCormick Bay—Selecting the Site for the House—Temporary Quarters—Hurrying the Erection of the House—White Whales—Departure of the “Kite”—Alone on the Arctic Shore—A Summer Storm—Arctic Picnicking—The First Birthday and the First Deer—Birthday-dinner Menu—Departure of the Boat Party for Hakluyt and Northumberland Islands after Birds and Eskimos—Occupations during their Absence—Return of the Party with an Eskimo Family.

Sunday, July 26. Mr. Peary is getting along nicely. His nights are fairly comfortable, and consequently he feels much better by day; his back now troubles him more than his leg. Yesterday morning at three o’clock he was awakened and told that the ice prevented our getting to Cape Acland, and that we were just abreast of McCormick Bay, and could not proceed further into the sound. He accordingly decided to put up our quarters on the shores of this bay. It was now a question as to which side of the bay would be most favorable for a home. At 9 A. M., together with several members of our party, I rowed over to the southeast shore, and walked along the coast for about three miles, prospecting for a site, and made a provisional choice of what seemed a desirable knoll. We returned to the “Kite” about noon. After dinner Professor Heilprin, Dr. Cook, Astrup, and three others went over to the other shore, and toward evening they returned with the report that the place was perfectly desolate and not at all suitable for a camp. After supper we returned to the southeast shore to see if we could improve on the location selected in the morning, but after tramping for miles came back to the old site. While it cannot in truth be said that the spot is a specially attractive one, it would be equally untrue to describe it as being entirely devoid of charm or attraction. Flowers bloom in abundance on all sides, and their varied colors,—white, pink, and yellow,—scattered through a somewhat somber base of green, picture a carpet of almost surpassing beauty. Rugged cliffs of sandstone, some sixteen hundred to eighteen hundred feet high, in which the volcanic forces have built up long black walls of basalt, rise steeply behind us, and over their tops the eternal ice-cap is plainly visible. Only a few paces from the base of the knoll are the silent and still partially ice-covered waters of the bay, which extends five miles or more over to the opposite shore, and perhaps three times that distance eastward to its termination. A number of lazy icebergs still stand guard between us and the open waters of the western horizon, where the gray and ice-flecked bluffs of Northumberland and Hakluyt Islands disappear from sight.

ON THE BEACH OF McCORMICK BAY.

This morning the members of our party went ashore with pickaxes and shovels, and they are now digging the foundations of our “cottage by the sea.” They are also putting up a tent for our disabled commander, whence he can superintend the erection of the structure. The men are working in their undershirts and trousers, and it is quite warm enough for me to stay on deck without a wrap, even when I am not exercising; yet, if we had this temperature at home, we should consider it decidedly cool. I have had oil-stoves taken ashore for the purpose of heating the tent in case it becomes necessary.

Our “Cottage by the Sea.”

Wednesday, July 29. The last three days have been busy ones for me, being obliged to attend to all the packing and unpacking myself, besides waiting on Mr. Peary. Monday, after dinner, the boys finished digging the foundations. Mr. Peary was then strapped to a board, and four men carried him from the “Kite” into a boat. After crossing the bay he was carried up to the tent just back of where the house is being erected, and placed on a rough couch. He is near enough to superintend the work, and everything is progressing favorably.

Last night was a queer one for me. All the boys slept on board the “Kite,” leaving me entirely alone with my crippled husband in the little shelter-tent on the south shore of McCormick Bay. I had forgotten to have my rifle brought ashore, and I could not help thinking what would be the best thing for me to do in case an unwelcome visitor in the shape of a bear should take it into his head to poke his nose into the tent. While I was lying awake, imagining all sorts of things, I heard most peculiar grunts and snorts coming from the direction of the beach, and on looking out saw a school of white whale playing in the water just in front of our tent. They seemed to be playing tag, chasing each other and diving and splashing just like children in the water. I was surprised at their graceful movements as they glided along, almost coming up on the beach at times. The night passed uneventfully, but I decided to have Matt sleep on shore to-night, should the others go on board the “Kite” again. In case of a sudden wind-storm I could not steady the tent alone, and some one ought to be within calling distance.

As the members of the returning party come to bid us good-by it makes me feel very, very homesick; but a year will soon pass, and then we too shall return home. The professor has kindly offered to see mama, and do for her what he can in the way of keeping her posted.

Early Thursday morning, July 30, those of our party who had slept aboard ship—that is, all except Mr. Peary, Matt, and myself—were aroused and told they must “pull for the shore,” as the “Kite” was going to turn her nose toward home. Not being accustomed to the duties of housekeeper and nurse, I was so completely tired out that I slept soundly and knew nothing of the cheers and farewell salutes which passed between the little party who were to remain in the far North, and those on board the “Kite,” who would bring our friends the only tidings of us until our return in ’92. Mr. Peary remarked on the cheerfulness of our men. Less than five minutes after the boat grated on the beach he heard the sound of the hammer and the whistling of the boys.

Three or four hours after the “Kite” left McCormick Bay a furious wind and rain storm swept down upon us from the cliffs back of our house. The boys continued the work on the roof as long as possible, hoping to be able to get the whole house under cover, but the fury of the storm was such as to make it impossible for them to keep their foothold on the rafters, and they were obliged to seek shelter under what there was of the roof. At meal-time they all crowded in our little 7 × 10 canvas tent, sitting on boxes and buckets, and holding their mess-pans in their laps. These I supplied with baked beans, stewed corn, stewed tomatoes, and corned beef, from the respective pots in which they had been prepared. The rain dashed against the tent, and the wind rocked it to and fro. Every little while one of the guy-ropes would snap with a sound like the report of a pistol, and one of the boys would have to put his dinner on the ground and go out into the storm and refasten it, for these ropes were all that kept our little tent from collapsing. The meal completed, the boys returned to the house, where they had more room, even if they were not more comfortable.

I never shall forget this wretched night following the departure of the “Kite.” The stream which rushed down the sides of the cliffs divided just back of the tent, and one arm of it went round while the other came through our little shelter. The water came with such force that in a few moments it had made a furrow down the middle of the tent floor several inches deep and nearly the entire width of the floor space, through which it rushed and roared. All night long I was perched tailor-fashion on some boxes, expecting every moment to see the tent torn from its fastenings and the disabled man lying by my side exposed to the fury of the storm. Our only comfort, and one for which we were duly thankful, was that during this “night” of storm we had constant daylight; in other words, it was just as light at two o’clock in the morning as it was at two o’clock in the afternoon. When it was time for breakfast, I lighted the oil-stove, which I had fished out of the water just as it was about to float away, and made some coffee, and we breakfasted on coffee, biscuit, and corned beef.

This state of affairs continued until the afternoon, when the storm finally abated and the boys began work again on the roof. The water in the tent subsided, and by putting pieces of plank down I could again move about without sinking into the mud, and I at once set to work to get the boys a square meal.

By Saturday morning our habitation was under cover, the stove put up temporarily, with the stovepipe through one of the spaces left for a window, and a fire made from the blocks and shavings that had escaped the flood. The house was soon comparatively dry,—at least it did not seem damp when compared with the interior of the tent,—and Mr. Peary was carried in and placed on a bed composed of boxes of provisions covered with blankets. Although we had no doors or windows in place, we felt that it might rain and storm as much as it pleased, and it would not interfere with finishing up the house and getting the meals, two very important items for us just then.

Gradually our home began to have a finished appearance: the inside sheathing was put on, and the doors and windows put in place. We had no more violent wind-storms, but it rained every day for over a week. At last, on August 8, there was no rain; and, as it was Matt’s birthday, Mr. Peary told the boys after lunch to take their rifles and bring in a deer. One of the rules of our Arctic home was that each member’s birthday should be celebrated by such a dinner as he might choose from our stock of provisions. Before going out Matt chose his menu, which I was to prepare while the hunters were gone. The plum-duff, however, he mixed himself, as he had taken lessons from the cook on board the “Kite.” After every one had gone, Mr. Peary surprised me by saying he intended to get up and come into the room where I was preparing the dinner. Only the day before the doctor had taken his leg out of the box and put it in splints, and he had been able for the first time since July 11 to turn on his side. I tried to persuade him to lie still for another day, but when I saw that he had set his heart on making the effort, I bandaged up the limb and helped him to dress. Then I brought him the crutches which Dr. Cook had made while we were still on board the ship, and with their aid he came slowly into the other room. Here, through the open door, he could watch the waves as they rose and fell on the beach about one hundred yards distant, while I prepared the “feast.” The bill of fare that Matt selected was as follows:

Mock-turtle soup.

Stew of little auk with green peas.

Broiled breasts of eider-duck.

Boston baked beans, corn, tomatoes.

Apricot pie, plum-duff with brandy sauce.

Sliced peaches.

Coffee.

With the soup I served a cocktail made by Mr. Peary after a recipe of his own, and henceforth known by our little party as “Redcliffe House cocktail”; with the stew, two bottles of “Liebfrauenmilch”; and with the rest of the dinner, “Sauterne.” About five o’clock we heard the shouts of the boys, and on going out I saw them coming down the cliffs heavily laden with some bulky objects. I rushed in and reported the facts in the case to Mr. Peary, who immediately said, “They are bringing in a deer. Oh, I must get out!” So out he hobbled, and to the corner of the house, where he had a good view of the returning hunters. As soon as he saw them he said, “Get me my kodak. Quick!” and before the boys had recovered from their surprise at seeing Mr. Peary, whom they had left confined to his bed, standing on three legs at the corner of the house, the first hunting-party sent out from Redcliffe had been immortalized by the ever-present camera. The boys were jubilant over their success, and brought back appetites that did justice to the dinner which was now nearly ready. At six o’clock we all sat down at the rude table, constructed by the boys out of the rough boards left from the house, and just large enough to accommodate our party of seven. We had not yet had time to make chairs, so boxes were substituted, and we managed very nicely. We had no table-cloth, and all our dishes were of tin, yet a merrier party never sat down to a table anywhere. Three days afterward we repeated the feasting part of the day, with a variation in the bill of fare, in honor of the third anniversary of our marriage, and this time we sampled the venison, which we found so delicious that the boys were more eager than ever to lay in a stock for the winter.

The next day, August 12, Mr. Peary sent all the boys, except Matt, in one of our whale-boats, the “Faith,” to search Herbert and Northumberland Islands for an Eskimo settlement, and if possible to induce a family to move over and settle down near Redcliffe House. The man could show us the best hunting-grounds, and assist in bagging all kinds of game, while the woman could attend to making our skin boots, or kamiks, and keeping them in order. They were also instructed to visit the loomeries, as the breeding places of the birds are called, and bring back as many birds as possible.

During their absence Matt was at work on our protection wall of stone and turf around Redcliffe, and Mr. Peary busied himself as best he could in making observations for time, taking photographs, and pressing flowers and other botanical specimens which I gathered for him. He even ventured part of the way up the cliffs at the back of the house, but this was slow and laborious work. The ground was so soft that his crutches would sink into it sometimes as much as two feet. The weather continued bright and balmy, and I did not feel the necessity of even a light wrap while rambling over the hills. What I did long for was an old-fashioned sunbonnet made of some bright-colored calico, and stiffened with strips of pasteboard, for the sun was burning my face and neck very badly. The boys returned at the end of a week, bringing with them a native man named Ikwa; his wife, Mané; and two children, both little girls—Anadore, aged two years and six months, and a baby of six months, whom we called Noyah (short for Nowyahrtlik).

CHAPTER IV
HUNTS AND EXPLORATIONS

Ikwa and his Family—Present of a Mirror—August Walrus Hunt—Preparations for Sending out the Depot Party—Departure for Head of McCormick Bay—First Herd of Reindeer—Exciting Experiences in Tooktoo Valley—Packing the Things up the Bluffs—The Inland Ice Party Off—Return to Redcliffe—A Foretaste of Winter.

These Eskimos were the queerest, dirtiest-looking individuals I had ever seen. Clad entirely in furs, they reminded me more of monkeys than of human beings. Ikwa, the man, was about five feet two or three inches in height, round as a dumpling, with a large, smooth, fat face, in which two little black eyes, a flat nose, and a large expansive mouth were almost lost. His coarse black hair was allowed to straggle in tangles over his face, ears, and neck, to his shoulders, without any attempt at arrangement or order. His body was covered with a garment made of birdskins, called by the natives “ahtee,” the feathers worn next the body, and outside of this a garment made of sealskin with the fur on the outside, called “netcheh.” These garments, patterned exactly alike, were made to fit to the figure, cut short at the hips, and coming to a point back and front; a close-fitting hood was sewed to the neck of each garment, and invariably pulled over his head when he was out of doors. His legs were covered with sealskin trousers, or “nanookies,” reaching just below the knee, where they were met by the tanned sealskin boots, called by the natives “kamiks.” We learned later that sealskin trousers were worn only by those men who were not fortunate enough or able to kill a bear. In winter these men wear dogskin trousers, which are as warm as those made of bearskin, but not nearly so stylish. Winter and summer the men wear stockings reaching to the knee, made of the fur of the Arctic hare.

Mané and Anadore

At first I thought the woman’s dress was identical with that of the man, and it puzzled me to tell one from the other; but in a day or two I had made out the many little differences in the costumes. The woman, like the man, wore the ahtee and netcheh made respectively of the birdskins and sealskin. They differed in pattern from those of the man only in the back, where an extra width is sewed in, which forms a pouch extending the entire length of the back of the wearer, and fitting tight around the hips. In this pouch or hood the baby is carried: its little body, covered only by a shirt reaching to the waist, made of the skin of a young blue fox, is placed against the bare back of the mother; and the head, covered by a tight-fitting skull-cap made of sealskin, is allowed to rest against the mother’s shoulder. In this way the Eskimo child is carried constantly, whether awake or asleep, and without clothing except the shirt and cap, until it can walk, which is usually at the age of two years; then it is clothed in skins, exactly as the father if it is a boy, or like the mother if a girl, and allowed to toddle about. If it is the youngest member of the family, after it has learned to walk it still takes its place in the mother’s hood whenever it is sleepy or tired, just as American mothers pick up their little toddlers and rock them.

The woman’s trousers, or nanookies, are made of foxskin, and are hardly anything more than “trunks”; these are met by the long-legged boots, or kamiks, made of tanned sealskin, and the long stockings, or “allahsy,” of reindeer fur. Altogether this family appeared fully as strange to us as we did to them. They had never before seen woven material, and could not seem to understand the texture, insisting that it was the skin of some animal in America.

They brought their dog, a sledge, a tent, a kayak (or canoe), and all their housekeeping utensils and articles of furniture, which consisted of two or three deerskins, on which the family slept; a stove made of soapstone and shaped like our dust-pans, in which they burned seal fat, using dried moss as a wick; and a dish or pot made of the same material, which they hung over their stove, and in which they melted the ice for drinking purposes and also heated their seal and walrus meat (I say heated, for we would hardly call it cooked when they take it out of the water). The skin tent put up, and these articles put in place, the house was considered furnished and ready for occupancy. Wood being almost impossible to procure, the tent was put up with narwhal tusks, which are more plentiful and answer the purpose. The tent itself is made of sealskin tanned and sewed together with narwhal sinews. These people were very curious to see the white woman, who, they were given to understand, was in the American “igloo” (house); and when Mr. Peary and I came out, they looked at both of us, and then Ikwa asked, “Soonah koonah?” Of course we did not know then what he wanted, but he soon made us understand that he wished to know which one of the two was the woman. I delighted him, and won his lasting favor, by making him a present of a knife. His wife, Mané, was almost overwhelmed by a gift of some needles; while Anadore, the elder of the two children, amused herself by making faces at her image in a small mirror that I had presented to her. It was the first time these people had seen themselves, and the parents were as much amused as the children. They asked many questions, but as we could not understand them any more than they knew what we were talking about, the whole conversation was decidedly more amusing than instructive.

A SUMMER DAY.—IKWA AND FAMILY.

Ikwa and his Quarry.

Later in the day the boys launched the whale-boat, and Mr. Peary, Gibson, Verhoeff, Matt, and myself, with our new man Ikwa, went down to Cape Cleveland, two and a half miles from Redcliffe, where the boys had beached a walrus killed by them while crossing Murchison Sound. It was very interesting to watch Ikwa cut up this enormous animal, weighing more than 1500 pounds, with an ordinary six-inch pocket-knife. So precisely did he know just where every joint was, that not once did he strike a bone, but cut the entire animal up into pieces which could be easily handled by one man, as though it had been boneless. This done, the pieces were packed in the boat, preparatory to taking them to Redcliffe. Here at Cape Cleveland we found the grass very green, and in places over two feet high. This unusual growth is explained by the presence of blubber caches, seal caches, and the ruins of an Eskimo village. We gathered many flowers, among which the yellow Arctic poppy was the most prominent, and also shot a number of little auk and a few gulls and eider-ducks. Mr. Peary hobbled along the beach on his crutches, around the cape, and had his first view up Whale Sound and Inglefield Gulf. On our return to Redcliffe, all the meat was hung up back of the house to be used in the winter for dog-food and as an occasional treat for our Eskimo family. It was a little too strong for our taste, and we decided we would resort to it only in case we were unsuccessful in getting deer.

A few days after this, early in the morning, Ikwa came running into our house, apparently much excited, crying, “Awick! Awick!” This we had learned was walrus. The boys tumbled out of their beds, and in a very few moments were in the boat with Ikwa, pulling in the direction of a spouting walrus out in McCormick Bay. In a short time they returned with a large mother walrus and her baby in tow. The mother had been killed, but the baby—a round bundle of fat about four feet long—was alive, and very much so, as we found out a little later. Mr. Peary wanted to get photographs of the little thing before it was shot, and while he was dressing, a task which was of necessity slow, the boys came into the house, leaving the baby walrus about a hundred yards up on the beach. Suddenly we heard cries for help coming from the shore. On stepping to the window, I saw one of the most comical sights I had ever seen. The little walrus was slowly but surely making his way to the waters of the bay. Mané with her baby on her back was sitting in the sand, her heels dug into it as far as she could get them, holding on to the line attached to the walrus, without apparently arresting its progress in the least, for she was being dragged through the gravel and sand quite rapidly. While I looked, Matt came rushing to her assistance, and taking hold of the line just ahead of where Mané held it, he gave it one or two turns about his wrists, and evidently thought all he had to do would be to dig his heels into the sand and hold back; but in an instant he was down in the sand too, and both he and Mané were plowing along, the sand flying, and both shouting lustily for help. So strong was this little creature that had not the other boys rushed out and secured him, he would easily have pulled Matt and Mané to the water’s edge, where, of course, they would have let him go, and he would have been a free walrus once more. I have always regretted that I did not get a “kodak” of the scene.

It was now the end of August, and active preparations were in progress for sending a party with provisions to establish an advance depot on the inland ice for the spring sledge journey across the great ice desert to the northern terminus of Greenland. It was decided that Astrup, Gibson, and Verhoeff should go on this trip, while Dr. Cook and Matt remained with Mr. Peary and myself at Redcliffe.

On September 3, all arrangements having been perfected for the inland ice-party, every one in the settlement, except Matt and Mané with her children, sailed for the head of McCormick Bay, where it had been decided that the boys should ascend the cliffs and attack the ice. Redcliffe House is about fifteen miles from the head of the bay, and this distance had to be rowed, for we got no favoring breeze. It was late in the evening when we rounded a point of land whence we could see the green valley stretching from the water’s edge back to the giant black cliffs, which here form the boundaries of the inland ice. The landscape was a beautiful one. As I looked I beheld moving objects on one of the hillsides, which, seen through the glass, seemed to me to be the size of a cow. We at once knew they were reindeer, and their apparent size was due to mirage. Astrup was landed with a Winchester at a point where he could go round and come upon the grazing herd from behind the hill; it was hoped they would not see him, and that he would bag quite a number. After landing Astrup we kept on until we were opposite the center of the valley; here our boat was run ashore, and we decided to camp.

Mr. Peary told me to take a run over the rocks and down the valley in order to get warm, as I had become chilled from sitting in the boat and not exercising for several hours; so after seeing him safely on the little knoll about twenty feet above the shore-line, where we intended to make camp, I strolled away. Upon climbing the hill, just back of the camping-ground, I came in sight of the herd of deer which we had seen from the boat, and as I watched them I saw the smoke and heard the report of Astrup’s rifle. In an instant they were scampering off in every direction, and although Astrup fired shot upon shot not one dropped. One of the animals, however, after running some distance, stumbled and fell, lay still for an instant, then got up, ran on a few yards, and fell again. As it did not rise I judged it had received one of Astrup’s bullets, and forgetting how deceptive distances are in the pure, clear air, I started on the run toward the prostrate creature, apparently not more than a mile distant. Happening to look back, I saw Dr. Cook and Ikwa coming in my direction, and waited for them. On reaching me the doctor said they were on their way to help Astrup bring in his game. I called his attention to the little white spot on the green grass, and told him it was a deer, and that I had seen it drop. As we could see nothing of Astrup, we decided to take care of the animal. Dr. Cook had his rifle loaded with twelve cartridges, Ikwa had a muzzle-loader charged, and an extra load for it besides, and I had on my cartridge-belt and revolver (a 38–caliber Colt). After walking—or trotting would perhaps express it better—for some distance, we came to a stream that flowed down the center of the valley throughout its length, which we had to cross in order to reach our destination. Fortunately the doctor had on his long-legged rubber boots, for we soon saw that the only way to get on the other side was to wade the stream. We tried it at different places, and finally the doctor found a place where he could cross. First taking his rifle and my revolver and belt of cartridges over, he returned for me and carried me across; then we continued in the direction of the white spot, which all this time had not moved. After traveling for nearly an hour we were near enough to see that beside the prostrate deer stood a tiny black-and-white creature, a fawn. Whether it saw us and whispered to its mother, I do not know; but immediately after we had made out the little one, the mother deer raised her head, looked at us, then rising slowly, started off at a moderate walk. We quickened our steps, and so did she. When within three hundred yards, Dr. Cook discharged his rifle several times, but only succeeded in wounding her in the fore leg, which did not seem to retard her progress in the least. Several times we were near enough to have shot her without any trouble, but we were so excited—a case of buck-fever, I believe the hunters call it—that she escaped every shot. To add to our difficulties the deer made for a neighboring lake, and in the effort to stop her before she reached it, we fired shot after shot until the doctor’s rifle was empty. There was now nothing for us to do but stand around and crouch behind the boulders in the hope that the poor wounded animal would come ashore within pistol-shot range. It was evident that she was too weak to swim across, and it was very touching to see how the little fawn would support its mother in the water. Once or twice she tried to climb out on the ice-foot, but the ice was not strong enough, and broke beneath her weight. We were thoroughly chilled and hungry by this time, but disliked the idea of returning empty-handed to camp after such a long absence. At last, just as we were talking of returning, we saw Astrup in the distance, and called to him to join us. When he came up to us he said he had had no luck. He had a few cartridges left in his rifle, which he expended on our victim without, however, harming her in the least. Astrup then urged us to return, as he, too, was tired out; but we were loath to leave our wounded deer, especially as we now knew it was only a matter of time when we should get her, for she could not hold out much longer. Nearer and nearer she came to the ice, finally leaning against the edge as if to gather strength, when suddenly the doctor darted over the ice-foot into the icy water, and before the startled animal realized his intention, he had her by her short horns, which were still in the velvet, and was pulling her slowly ashore. The little one then left its mother for the first time, ran as fast as it could over the rocks, and disappeared behind the cliffs.

The doctor had some trouble in pulling the wounded animal out on the ice, which kept constantly breaking. All this time he was standing knee-deep in the ice-cold water, and before long he had to call to us to relieve him, his feet and legs being so numb that he could stand it no longer. As Astrup had on low shoes, he did not feel like wading out to the doctor, who was rubbing and pounding his feet, so I went to his relief. My oil-tan boots kept the water out for some time. Although I could not drag the poor creature out on the ice, still I had no difficulty in holding her, as she made no resistance whatever. After the doctor had somewhat restored his circulation, he came to me, and together we pulled the wounded animal out. Then I was asked to kill her with my revolver, but I could not force myself to do it, and Astrup took the weapon and put her out of her misery. We placed the body on a large flat rock, piled boulders on it, and left it. Both Dr. Cook and I were thoroughly cold by this time, and we all hurried toward camp. It was now nearing midnight, and I had been away from camp since six o’clock. It was hard to realize the time of day, as the sun was shining just as brightly as in the early afternoon. We soon reached the river, and across it the poor doctor had to make three trips: first to carry the rifles over, then to come back for me, and then to go after Astrup. As this last load weighed 183 pounds, and the current was very swift, progress was of necessity slow. The doctor had to feel his way, and did not dare to lift his feet from the bottom. At last we were all safely over. Ikwa, who had taken off his kamiks and stockings and waded the stream, was lying flat on his back on a mossy bank nearly convulsed with laughter at the sight of the doctor carrying Astrup. Once across the river we redoubled our speed, and soon reached camp, where I found Mr. Peary, with Gibson and Verhoeff, anxiously awaiting me.

The next two days the boys spent in packing their provisions and equipment over the bluffs to the edge of the ice, while I stayed in camp and cooked, and Ikwa put in his time hunting. On the fourth day, Monday, September 7, right after lunch, the boys left with their last load, and in spite of the snow, which had been falling lightly all day, determined to keep on to the inland ice. Dr. Cook accompanied them, helping them carry their provisions to the edge of the ice, and on his return we were to start for Redcliffe.

LOOKING DOWN INTO THE SUN GLACIER FJORD FROM THE ICE-CAP.

The Crew of the “Faith.”
Cook. Ikwa. Gibson. Astrup. Verhoeff.

Just as everything had been stowed away in the boat, a wind-storm came down upon us which threatened to blow our little craft upon the rocks. The sea was rough and the wind cold, which made the time of waiting for the doctor seem very long. At last we were joined by our companion, who told us that he had left the inland ice-party ensconced in their sleeping-bags, and that it was snowing furiously upon the ice-cap. When we reached Redcliffe seven hours later, we found everything white and about ten inches of snow on the ground.

CHAPTER V
BOAT JOURNEYS AND PREPARATIONS FOR WINTER

Return to Head of McCormick Bay for Deer—Footprints on the Shore—Successful Deer Hunt—Meeting with the Returning Inland Ice Party—Astrup and Gibson Make a Second Attempt on the Ice-cap—Attempted Boat Trip up Whale Sound—Stopped by the New Ice—Exciting Battle with Walrus—Dr. Cook and Matt Tramp to Nowdingyah’s—Last of the Boat Trips—Setting up the Stove—My Experience with a Snow-slide—Final Return of the Inland Ice Party—Preparing Redcliffe for Winter.

We were all pretty tired the next day, and Mr. Peary decided to wait another day or two before starting on a second hunting-expedition to the head of the bay. It was Thursday morning, September 10, when we nailed up our doors and, out of regard for “social custom,” tacked a card on the front door, which read: “Have gone to Tooktoo Valley for two or three days’ hunt. Visitors will please leave their cards,” and then headed our boat eastward.

In order to avail ourselves of the breeze, we were obliged to cross the bay and then tack. When about half-way it was decided to run ashore and prepare lunch. As soon as the keel of the boat grated on the sand, Ikwa jumped out to make the bow-line fast, but he had hardly touched the ground before he gave utterance to a cry of surprise, and pointed to footprints in the sand. In a moment we were all excitement. The footprints were those of two persons walking in the direction of Redcliffe. What a peculiar sensation it is to find signs of human beings in a place where you believe yourself and party to be the only inhabitants! After examining them carefully, Ikwa said Gibson and Verhoeff had passed down the beach that morning. This worried Mr. Peary, for the supposition was that something must have happened to one of the party, and the other two were bringing him to Redcliffe. He was reassured, however, in a few minutes; for on following the footprints a little distance, I found the prints of all three of the boys, and we knew that the inland ice-party had returned. Knowing that they would make themselves comfortable at the house, Mr. Peary decided to keep on to the hunting-grounds, which we reached in the early afternoon. During our three days’ stay in this lovely valley, Matt and Ikwa bagged nine deer; I myself went hunting once or twice, but without success. Most of my time was devoted to taking photographs of the glaciers in the vicinity, and keeping camp. The sand along the shore was too deep and the hills were too steep for Mr. Peary to take long walks in any direction, and he was glad to have company in camp.

On Monday we loaded our boat with the trophies of the chase, and sailed for home. When within three and a half miles of the house, we saw Astrup and Verhoeff coming up the beach, and we immediately hailed them, and pulled for the shore. They got into the boat, and during our sail home Astrup told of the continued storm on the ice-cap; how the deep snow had prevented their making more than one or one and a half miles per day; that Verhoeff had frozen his face, and that they had then decided to return to Redcliffe, report the condition of the traveling, and see if Mr. Peary wished them to keep on. After reaching Redcliffe, Mr. Peary gave the inland ice-party a few days’ rest, and then sent them in the “Faith,” our largest whale-boat, back to the head of McCormick Bay to bring home their equipment and place all the provisions in a cache which would be easily accessible. Gibson and Verhoeff were to put in two or three days hunting deer, while Astrup was to make a careful examination of the cliffs and glaciers to ascertain the most practicable route to the ice-cap with dogs and sledges. They returned in four days, and we immediately began work changing the equipment to make it suitable for two persons instead of three, and dried out the sleeping-bags thoroughly. Three days afterward, September 22, Astrup and Gibson again set out for the inland ice.

Walrus on Ice-cake.—Off Herbert Island.

Wednesday, September 23. This morning at 9.30 Mr. Peary, Matt, Dr. Cook, Ikwa, and myself started in the “Mary Peary” for a trip up Inglefield Gulf. There was not a breath of air stirring, and the boys had to row from the start. Before we had gone a mile, several burgomasters flew over our heads, and we next came upon a flock of eiders, but did not get within gunshot. When just off Cape Cleveland, we caught sight of several walrus in the middle of the bay, and made for them. A number of shots were fired, and some of the animals were wounded; but as Ikwa said we should be sure to find “amis-su-ar” (plenty) “awick” in the gulf, we did not wait for them to come again to the surface. After a two hours’ rest we proceeded up the gulf, but were stopped by the heavy new ice, which we could almost see forming in our wake. It being certain that we could not make further progress by the boat, Mr. Peary decided to have a walrus-hunt for the purpose of obtaining ivory. We could see the walrus in every direction, and headed the boat for a cake of ice with about fifteen of the creatures asleep on it. The boys were told to pull for all they were worth until the order was given to stop. Mr. Peary then took his camera, and he became so absorbed in getting his photo just right that he forgot to give the order to stop until the boat was so near the cake of ice that before anything could be done she ran on it at least four feet, throwing her bow straight up into the air. The walrus, jumping into the water from under her, careened the boat to port until she shipped water, throwing Matt flat on his back; then with a jerk (which proved to come from an animal Ikwa had harpooned) she was righted, and we were skimming over the water, through the new ice, towed by the harpooned walrus. This performance lasted at least twenty minutes, during which time the boys kept up a constant volley at the walrus that besieged us on every side to revenge their wounded companions. There were at least two hundred and fifty around us at one time, and it seemed as if it would be impossible to keep the animals from attacking us; but by steady firing we managed to hold them at oar’s length. This kept me busy reloading the rifles. I thought it about an even chance whether I would be shot or drowned.

I cannot describe my feelings when these monsters surrounded us, their great tusks almost touching the boat, and the bullets whistling about my ears in every direction. Whenever a volley of shots greeted them, the whole bunch jumped into the air and then plunged under water, leaving us in doubt as to where they would reappear. If they should happen to come up under the boat, we should probably be the ones to take the plunge; this uncertainty was very exciting, especially as the brutes went down and came up in bunches, leaving us seventy-five or a hundred to fight while the rest plunged.

Ikwa had evidently never seen so many “awick” at one time, and became very much frightened, finally pounding the sides of the boat with his harpoon and yelling at the top of his voice, in which he was joined by Matt. When we finally got out of the turmoil we had four heads with tusks, and would have had more, but the bodies sank before we could secure them. As we could not proceed up the gulf in the boat, we camped about three miles southeast of Cape Cleveland. The boat was pulled up on a bit of sandy beach, and with the aid of the boat-hooks and a couple of tarpaulins we fixed up a very comfortable boat-tent.

Thursday, September 24. It was decided last night that Matt and Dr. Cook should set out on foot for “Nowdingyah’s,” an Eskimo camp of which we had been in search; so we had coffee early, and by eight o’clock the boys started off with their rifles and some pemmican.[^[2]] About ten o’clock the boys came in woefully tired, vowing that they had walked forty miles, and reported finding Nowdingyah’s camp, but all four igloos were deserted. Ikwa said that their owners were “pehter-ang-ito” (far away) hunting; these northern Eskimos are in the habit of leaving their settlements, to which they periodically return.

[2]. It may be of interest to my readers to know just what pemmican is. The best lean beef is cut in strips and dried until it can be pulverized, then it is mixed with an equal quantity of beef suet. To this mixture are added sugar and currants to suit the taste, and the whole is heated through until the suet has melted and mixed with the other ingredients, when it is poured into cans and hermetically sealed. It is only a modification of the old-fashioned way of preserving meat when whole families drove out on the prairies and hunted buffalo. As soon as shot the buffalo was skinned and the green skin sewed into a bag, into which the meat, after it had been sun-dried and mixed with the suet, was packed. As the skin dried and shrunk, it compressed the meat, which in this way was preserved indefinitely. Pemmican is not at all unpleasant to the taste, especially if eaten with cranberry jam.

Friday, September 25. Just before we left camp at eleven o’clock, an amusing incident occurred. Ikwa, who had been skirmishing for the past hour, returned in a jubilant frame of mind, and announced his discovery of a cached seal. He asked Mr. Peary if he might bring the seal to Redcliffe in the boat, saying it was the finest kind of eating for himself and family. We could not understand why this particular seal should be so much nicer than those he had at Redcliffe; but as he seemed very eager to have it, we gave him the desired permission, and off he started, saying that he would be back very soon. About half an hour later the air became filled with the most horrible stench it has ever been my misfortune to endure, and it grew worse and worse until at last we were forced to make an investigation. Going to the corner of the cliff, we came upon the Eskimo carrying upon his back an immense seal, which had every appearance of having been buried at least two years. Great fat maggots dropped from it at every step that Ikwa made, and the odor was really terrible. Mr. Peary told him that it was out of the question to put that thing in the boat; and, indeed, it was doubtful if we would not be obliged to hang the man himself overboard in order to disinfect and purify him. But this child of nature did not see the point, and was very angry at being obliged to leave his treasure. After he was through pouting, he told us that the more decayed the seal the finer the eating, and he could not understand why we should object. He thought the odor “pe-uh-di-och-soah” (very good).

At noon we passed Cape Cleveland, homeward bound, and an hour later reached Redcliffe. The house seemed very cold and chilly after the bright sunshine. Verhoeff, who had been left in charge, greeted us, and we soon had all the oil-stoves going, bread baking, rice cooking, beans heating, venison broiling, and coffee dripping, and at two o’clock all sat down to dinner and then turned in.

Tuesday, September 29. The last three days have been spent in hunting-explorations on the north shore and in preparations for the winter. The stove has been put up, the windows doubled, and the house made generally air-tight. We find the ice in the bay becoming firmer day by day, and in one of our expeditions we found it all but impossible to force the boat through it. Mr. Peary has now left off his splints and bandages, and has even laid aside his crutches. After lunch to-day I started out with a couple of fox-traps, and put them in the gorge about a mile back of the house. The day was fine, and I enjoyed my walk, although I came in for an unpleasant scare. After leaving the traps, I thought I would go over the mountains into the valley beyond, and see if I could find deer. Half-way up, about a thousand feet above sea-level, the snow began to slide under me, taking the shales of sandstone along with it, and of course I went too, down, down, trying to stop myself by digging my heels into the snow and attempting to grasp the stones as they flew by; but I kept on, and a cliff about two hundred feet from the bottom, over which I would surely be hurled if I did not succeed in stopping myself, was the only thing which I could see that could arrest my progress. At last I stopped about half-way down. What saved me I do not know. At first I was afraid to move for fear I should begin sliding again; but as I grew more courageous I looked about me, and finally on hands and knees I succeeded in getting on firm ground. I did not continue my climb, but returned to the house in a roundabout way.

Mr. Peary had the fire started in the big stove, and finds that it works admirably. The trouble will be to keep the fire low enough. Ikwa indulged in a regular war-dance at the sight of the blaze, never before having seen so much fire, and for the first few moments kept putting his fingers on the stove to see how warm it was. He soon found it too hot. He has been getting his sledge, dog-harness, spears, etc., in readiness for the winter’s hunt after seal.

Wednesday, September 30. Toward noon Matt came running in shouting, “Here are the boys, sir!” and sure enough Astrup and Gibson were here, bringing nothing but their snow-shoes with them. They were on the ice just a week, and estimate the distance traveled inland at thirty miles, and the greatest elevation reached at 4600 feet. They returned because it was too cold and the snow too deep for traveling. At the same time, they admit that they were not cold while on the march, and they do not think the temperature was more than 10° below zero; but as Gibson stepped on and broke the thermometer on the third day, up to which time the lowest had been –2°, they had no way of telling for certain. Gibson’s feet were blistered, he having forgotten to put excelsior or grass in his kamiks. He believes that with the moral support of a large party they can easily make from ten to fifteen miles per day.

Thursday, October 1. The day has been fine; the house is gradually assuming a cozy as well as comfortable appearance under Mr. Peary’s supervision. He is about from morning until night, limping a great deal, but he has put aside his crutches for good. At night his foot and leg are swollen very much, but after the night’s rest look better, although far from normal. Ikwa went out on the ice to-day for some distance to test its strength. I took my daily walk to the fox-traps, and as usual found no foxes had been near them.

Sunday, October 4. Nothing of any consequence has taken place since the return of the explorers. The boys have been at work on the house, hanging blankets, putting up shelves, etc. Friday I found one of my traps sprung, and a great many tracks around it, but no fox. On Saturday we went down to the point one quarter of a mile below the house, Mr. Peary walking without cane or crutch, and set a fox-trap on the rocks near some tracks. All this time the weather has been perfect. To-day Dr. Cook tried going out on the ice, but it did not hold him. The bunks of the boys have been placed against the east side of the large room and separate curtains furnished. The winter routine of four-hourly watches throughout the twenty-four hours was begun to-day, the boys taking them in turn.

Monday, October 5. It has been cloudy all day long, but with a temperature of about 12°. It still seems warm, as there is no wind whatever. I went to my fox-traps this forenoon, and found the view from the heights very fine. The clouds hung low, and gave a soft gray background for the blue bergs which gleamed on every side of a long black strip of water—the open sea—in the far distance. The light that fell on Northumberland Island decked it in a bright yellow, while the cliffs across the bay were black in the dark shadow.

The boys brought the “Mary Peary” up and turned her over, supporting her on pillars built of blocks of ice. Here Mr. Peary intends to put such provisions as we may need for our boat journey home next summer, covering the whole thing with snow. The “Faith” has been turned over against the front wall, and a place fixed under her for the Newfoundland dogs, Jack and Frank. As soon as we have enough snow the house, too, will be banked in with it.

CHAPTER VI
WINTER UPON US

McCormick Bay Frozen over—First Sledge Trip to the Head of the Bay for Deer—Shaky New Ice—First Aurora—The Strange Light on the Opposite Shore—First Visit from the Natives—Return of our Hunting-party with Ten Deer—More Natives—Second Severe Snow-storm of the Season—Still more Native Visitors—Great Amusement over the White Woman—Farewell to the Sun.

Tuesday, October 6. McCormick Bay is frozen over so as to support the dogs and sledge, and Ikwa has been on several seal-hunts. He finds one of the holes in the ice which the seals keep open all the winter and where they come to breathe. Here he takes up his position, being careful not to make the least noise. Sometimes he waits for hours before the seal comes up, and sometimes the seal skips that hole entirely. When it comes he drives his spear through the hole quick as a flash into the head of the animal. In this way all the seals are caught during the fall and winter. Ikwa went out on his sledge with his “mikkie” (dog) after “pussy” (seal) to-day, but did not get any.

The day has been, like yesterday, dark and cloudy, but the temperature has been higher, averaging 20° instead of 12°; the wind has been blowing quite fresh from the east. Mr. Peary has set the boys at work building a sledge for a prospective journey to the head of the bay, and I have been busy all day getting our room, or rather our bed, in order. All the boxes have been removed from under the bed, to my great delight, and put into the lean-to at the south end of the house. It felt and smelt like a damp cellar under there, but now that the air has a chance to circulate freely, I think it will be better.

I have not been out of the house to-day. It is quite dark at six o’clock, and on a cloudy day, as to-day, we lighted the lamp at five o’clock.

Matt has started in as lunch-maker; this gives me nearly all day to myself. Our first table-cloth, of unbleached cotton, also made its début; it is a great improvement on bare boards.

Wednesday, October 7. This morning, at about ten o’clock, we started out on our first sledging-trip up the bay in search of “tooktoo” (reindeer).

Astrup, Gibson, and Matt pulled our sledge, while Jack and Frank, our Newfoundland dogs, and Mikkie, were harnessed to Ikwa’s. We were delighted to see that our dogs would pull, but Ikwa soon decided that Frank was “peeuk nahmee” (no good), so the boys put him to their sledge, but he preferred pulling backward to pulling forward; by coaxing they persuaded him to help them somewhat, but it was always hard work to get him started after a stop.

MY CROSS-MATCHED TEAM.—McCORMICK BAY.

After journeying about four miles, our Eskimo suddenly stopped his sledge and explained that he did not want any more deerskins, but needed “pussy” skins for his kamiks, or boots, kayak, tupic (tent), etc., and he would leave us and watch the seal-holes, walking home at night. He told us how to fasten his mikkie, and then, after I had kodaked him sitting on his seal chair at a hole, we went on. I ran along at the upstanders of Mr. Peary’s sledge, he being all alone; but the ice being rather slippery and the dogs traveling along at a run, I soon found it difficult to keep on my feet, and so jumped on the sledge with Mr. Peary, and rode the greater part of the time. The two dogs pulled us easily, the sledge and load weighing about five hundred pounds. The dogs are fastened to the sledge by single traces, and are guided without reins by the driver with a long whip and much shouting. The mikkie not understanding our language, and Mr. Peary not knowing the Eskimo terms, and not understanding the language of the whip, we had no means of guiding our team; besides, in many places the ice had to be tested by a member of the party going ahead with an alpenstock and “feeling” it. Often detours had to be made, and several times we had to rush over places where the ice buckled under us, and it seemed as though it must let us through; for these reasons we allowed the other sledge to take the lead. This we could do only by stopping and letting the boys get one fourth or one half of a mile ahead; then, giving our dogs the word, they would scud along at the top of their speed, not making any attempt to stop until they had caught up to the other sledge, which they did in a few minutes. In this way we finally reached the head of the bay shortly after six. We immediately set about putting up the tent and arranging our sleeping gear, and Mr. Peary got the stove ready and put on ice for tea, and also a can of beans to heat. I was disabled by a sick-headache.

During the next few days the boys made a number of unsuccessful hunting-expeditions, and their failure decided us to return to Redcliffe. The mercury had already descended at nights to –4°, yet I did not feel the low temperature, and indeed had not felt uncomfortably cold for more than a few minutes at a time. On the 9th, at noon, just half the disk of the sun appeared over the top of the mountain back of the glacier, and it was evident that we were in the shadow of the Arctic winter. Two days later we saw the first aurora—not a good one, however.

Monday, October 12. Back again at Redcliffe. In the evening Matt came in very much excited, saying that there was a moving light on the opposite shore. We all rushed out to see it. How queer it seems to be the only human beings on this coast! Ikwa said Eskimos were eating their supper, and would be here to-morrow. Astrup fired a rifle.

Tuesday, October 13. About three o’clock this afternoon Mané came in and said “Innuit” (Eskimo) was coming with “kamutee” (sledge) and “mikkie” (dog). We ran out, and with the aid of the glass saw two Eskimos, one of them Ikwa, and a sledge drawn by three dogs. The strange “husky” turned out to be Nowdingyah, whose deserted camp we visited last month. He is much larger in every way than Ikwa, and seems bright and intelligent. When offered a knife in exchange for one of his dogs, he said the dog we wanted was the leader of his team of bear-dogs, specially trained, but he would come again by and by and then give us three others. We have now little difficulty in understanding the natives, or making ourselves understood by signs.

Saturday, October 17. The weather still continues lovely, although the days are rapidly getting shorter. Late Thursday night Ikwa, who had departed with our visitor, returned, telling us that the natives where Nowdingyah lived would soon come over to see us; he also said that Nowdingyah had seven puppy-dogs, and this is why he was so willing to give us three. Ikwa has been laying in a supply of sealskins for a tupic and kayak, and says he will need fifteen for these articles alone; he will require an additional supply for kamiks for himself and family. The seal is evidently the most valuable animal of the chase to the natives, who utilize every particle of it for food or clothing. About three o’clock we discovered the boys, who had gone to Five-Glacier Valley, on the opposite side of the bay, coming across the ice, and about an hour later they arrived jubilant with a load of ten deerskins, one blue fox, and one Arctic hare. Gibson had also shot two seals, which they could not, however, bring with them, as the ice was too thin for the hunters to reach their booty. Still later Ikwa came in, and said “Innuits pingersut” (Eskimos three), “kamutee martluk” (sledges two), were coming; and in a few minutes Nowdingyah, Arrotochsuah, and Kayunah landed with two sledges and five dogs. Arrotochsuah is an old man with gray hair, but looks exactly like a woman; Kayunah is a young man, stutters badly, and while he has a decidedly idiotic appearance he has a fox-like expression about the eyes and nose, and accordingly he has been dubbed the “Fox.” Nowdingyah is the only one of the Eskimos who has hair on his face, and he has a little mustache and imperial which give to him something of a Japanese touch.

Arrotochsuah Fashioning a Spear.

Sunday, October 18. Mr. Peary has been on the jump all day, getting odds and ends to trade with the natives. He has secured three very fine seal-spears, one walrus-lance—all with fine lines of walrus-hide—an “ikkimer” (soapstone blubber lamp), a drill, and two dogs and a sledge. The natives left early in the afternoon, the old man being tired, having been obliged to sleep out on the beach on his sledge, with no shelter, as there was no room in Ikwa’s igloo; he walked about the greater part of the night to keep warm.

Monday, October 19. Astrup and Verhoeff went to-day to Cape Cleveland, and put up a flag-pole and signal for use in surveying. Mr. Peary is fixing up my lockers with cardboard, preparatory to putting up the curtains. So far the weather has been fine; we have full moon, and this makes it seem less like night, but at 8 A. M. it is still quite dark. From about eleven until two, the coloring on land, ice, snow, and sky is beautiful, all the delicate shades being brought out to best advantage. We took two short strolls, fixed up the curtains about the range and lockers, and then I did a little sewing. To-night the wind is blowing fiercely from the south.

Wednesday, October 21. Last night we had our first wind-storm since the second night of our encampment here, when I was in the tent alone with Mr. Peary, who was strapped down to a plank. The wind rattled things in a lively manner, and the boys on duty had to go out every fifteen minutes and inspect the premises to see that nothing was loosened or blown away. This wind from the southeast continued until five o’clock this morning, when it abated somewhat. The day has been cloudy. The boys have put up a snow-hut for the dogs, and one for their own convenience, in which to experiment with their fur clothing and sleeping-bags.

Thursday, October 22. My brother Henry’s birthday. We drank his health and prosperity in a bottle of Haute Sauterne, as we did my brother Emil’s eleven days before. My husband and I are keeping house alone. All the boys have gone on a deer hunting expedition, while Ikwa, with the dogs, is after hares. We have had Mané here all day at work on a pattern deerskin stocking. The day has been dark and cloudy, and it has snowed lightly.

Friday, October 23. Last night it snowed a very little, and this morning it is cloudy and gloomy. We sat up till midnight, then the alarm was set for two o’clock, at which time coal had to be put on the fire—an operation to be repeated at four, and again at six. Mané has been with us all day, with her two piccaninnies, at work on deerskin stockings. The elder child, Anadore, is just at the age (two years) when she is into everything, and she tried our patience to the limit. We cannot allow Mané to take the furs to her igloo to sew, as they would be filled with “koomakshuey” (parasites), and some one must stay in the room with her to superintend her work. I am doing very little besides getting the meals and fixing up odd jobs about the rooms; reading Greely’s work is about the extent of my labor. To-night at nine o’clock the thermometer is 10°, and the moon is shining brightly.

Sunday, October 25. This morning there was about three inches of new snow on the ground, and the cliffs back of the house are beginning to look white. About 2 P. M. huskies were seen coming across the bay, and a half-hour later they had arrived,—Kayunah, his “koonah” (wife) and three piccaninnies, and Arrotochsuah, his koonah and one piccaninny. Arrotochsuah’s koonah was very much amused at me, and kept screaming “Chimo koonah!” (Welcome woman!) until I said “Chimo! Chimo!” and then she laughed and laughed. The other woman was more quiet. These Eskimos are much cleaner and more presentable people than Ikwa and his family. Later in the evening I gave each woman two needles, a cake of soap, and a box of matches. Arrotochsuah’s koonah presented me with a spoon made by herself from a piece of walrus tusk, and used by her piccaninny, Magda, a boy about twelve years old, ever since he could feed himself. In return I gave the boy a looking-glass, and I made a similar present to Kayunah’s smallest. Mr. Peary allowed all hands to sleep on the floor in the boys’ room. It is amusing to listen to the conversation between our men and the huskies. In one instance the boys could not quite make out whether a man had died from eating walrus or the walrus had eaten him, etc.

Monday, October 26. To-day is the last day the sun will be above the horizon until February 13th.

CHAPTER VII
ESKIMO VISITORS

Our Visitors Leave for their Homes—Departure of a Party to Build a Stone Hut in Tooktoo Valley—Arrival of the Most Northerly Family in the World—The Last Hunting-party of the Season Goes to Five-Glacier Valley—Still the Natives Come—Mama’s Birthday—Finishing Touches to our Winter Quarters—Eclipse of the Moon—Beginning of the Winter Routine—Matt Installed as Cook—Thanksgiving.

Wednesday, October 28. Yesterday Nowdingyah and his piccaninny, a little girl about two and a half years old, put in their appearance. The child was nicely dressed in a blue-fox “kapetah” (overcoat) and seal cap trimmed with fox, but she was not as pretty as Kayunah’s little one. I gave her a looking-glass, too, which amused her father as much as it did the child. After supper Mr. Peary brought out his reading-glass, and Arrotochsuah’s wife immediately said she had seen a white man have one at the northern settlement of Etah, and she showed us how he had used it as a burning-glass. We are all curious to know what party of white men she had seen. The whole evening till midnight was spent in taking flashlight photographs of the Eskimos and ethnological measurements of Kayunah.

Our Eskimo visitors left for their homes this morning. At noon the boys, with Dr. Cook in charge, started for Five-Glacier Valley to hunt reindeer and to bring the cached venison down to the edge of the ice, where Ikwa will call for it in a few days and bring it back on the sledge. The boys will then proceed to the head of the bay, and under Dr. Cook’s direction build a stone igloo for the use of the inland ice-party next spring. About three o’clock Matt returned for a tin of biscuits which had been forgotten, and informed us that Verhoeff had frozen his nose and face severely, and that Astrup’s cheeks had also been nipped. The temperature was –10°, and a fresh southeaster was blowing across the bay. Ikwa and Mané came in this afternoon and added quite a number of words to our Eskimo vocabulary; the former also gave us an account of the murder of his father by tattooed natives while out after bear off Saunders Island.

Saturday, October 31. Ikwa started this morning with the sledge and dogs for Arrotochsuah’s igloo, where he expects to get a load of hay. About 2 P. M., while we were out, Mr. Peary shoveling snow against the wall, we saw a dark object on the ice, and with the aid of the glass made out a sledge and two people, but they did not seem to get any nearer, and in a short time disappeared. About six they arrived—Annowkah, his wife M’gipsu, and an awful-looking baby of about two months. They came from Nerki, a place beyond Arrotochsuah’s, two days’ journey from Redcliffe. They are cleaner and more intelligent-looking than any natives we have yet seen. In conversation we discovered that they were the most northerly family of Greenland, and consequently of the globe.

Mr. Peary and I are having great times keeping house by ourselves; he brings in the snow for water, the coal and coal-oil, and keeps watch during the night, while I cook, wash dishes, sweep (without a broom—the only article of importance that was overlooked in the preparations for our Arctic journey), and look after Mané, who is here with her two children working on the reindeer skins. We shall not be sorry when the boys return and take some of these duties off our shoulders.

Prepared for Winter.—My South Window.

Thursday, November 5. Jack is the father of eight jet-black pups. The days are only a few hours long now, but the darkness is not yet the darkness of a winter night at home. Mr. Peary’s leg is improving steadily, and he seems more like himself. The strain has told on both of us, and I am glad it is over. He put up his writing-desk yesterday, and our room is almost fixed for the winter, and looks very cozy. We have been busy putting up the rest of the blankets in our room, and have closed the side window and one half of the end window. As daylight has almost entirely departed this will make no difference in the amount of our illumination, and the room will be much warmer, although thus far we have had no cause to complain, the thermometer not having registered below 16° at any time.

Our house is by no means a palace, nor do its interior fixings even remotely suggest luxury. We have two rooms, the smaller of which, measuring twelve feet by seven and a half, has been reserved for Mr. Peary and myself, while the larger, of not quite double the size, is used as the general “living-room,” besides affording sleeping-quarters to the boys. A dining or “mess” table, a few rude chairs, a bookcase, and the “bunks” built to the east wall, constitute the furniture, of which it can in truth be said there is no superabundance. The red blanketing which has been tacked all over the inside walls and the ceiling, seven feet overhead, imparts a warm feeling to the interior, and relieves what would otherwise be a cheerless expanse of boards and tar paper. Our stove in the partition-wall between the two rooms is so placed as to give a goodly supply of heat to the lowest stratum of the atmosphere.

The shell of the house is made of inch boards, lined inside and outside with two-ply and three-ply tarred paper, which is made to fit as nearly air-tight as possible. To the inside of the ten-inch rafters and posts we have nailed a lining of heavy cardboard, which forms a support to the blanketing, besides making a complete inner shell of its own. Between the two shells there is free air space, which will greatly help to retain the warmth in the rooms.

A stone wall has been built around the house four feet away from it, and on it we shall store our boxes of provisions, and then stretch a canvas cover over to the roof of the house. Our corridor will thus be sheltered as well as the house, and even in the most inclement weather we shall be able to breathe pure air and have outdoor exercise. With the first heavy snow everything will be plastered over with this natural fleece, and cold though it may be on the outside, we hope to keep quite comfortable within.

Saturday, November 7. To-day has been reception day. We have to-night seventeen huskies in our camp, and I don’t know how many dogs; if I were to judge by the howling and yelping, I should say at least fifty. I have been under the weather for the last two days, but feel better to-night.

Sunday, November 8. We generally devote Sunday to sleep; the boys, except the watchman, turn in right after breakfast and sleep till lunch. We have a cold supper, which saves me the trouble of cooking Sunday afternoon. We usually have pemmican and cranberry sauce, salmon, hot biscuits, chocolate, and fruit. Arrotochsuah and his family moved into a snow-igloo to-day.

Monday, November 9. Mama’s birthday. My thoughts have been at home and with her all day, and I am sure she has thought of me. I do not even know where she is. In my mind I have seen sister Mayde at work on something mysterious for the past week. I must try to put my mind on something else or I shall have a spell of homesickness. I placed a bamboo pole across the front of our bed and draped the two United States flags (one belonging to the National Geographical Society of Washington, and the other to the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences) à la portière across the front; then on the wall just beside my place I have hung the photographs of my dear ones.

Frank.

Saturday, November 14. Very little worthy of note has happened this week. My daily routine is always the same; I take my coffee in bed, then get lunch for my family, take a walk afterward, usually with Mr. Peary, then sew or read, and at four o’clock begin to get dinner. Last Thursday Gibson initiated Frank into dragging a load of ice from the berg to the house. Yesterday was lovely and clear, and the full moon which we have throughout the twenty-four hours, made it as bright as day. Our walk to-day was to the berg, a mile distant (as measured by our newly finished odometer wheel), and return—the first long walk Mr. Peary has taken; his leg did not feel any worse for the trip, but was considerably more swollen at night. Frank to-day for the first time behaved very well in hauling ice.

Sunday, November 15. This has been a lovely day. How much I should like to take a peep at the home folks! To-night we have had the eclipse of the moon. It was first noticed about 7.30, and Mr. Peary watched it carefully, making observations with his transit and chronometer. About nine o’clock Arrotochsuah arrived from Netchiolumy,[^[3]] on Barden Bay, accompanied by one of his sons and another young man. The first we immediately nicknamed the “Smiler,” and the other the “Villain,” owing to the expressions on their faces.

[3]. Erroneously called by most geographers Ittiblu.

Tuesday, November 17. Yesterday was an exceptionally fine day, beautifully moonlit. The “Villain” of Netchiolumy has a sledge made of the boards which Dr. Cook traded for a tupic when the “Kite” stopped at the settlement in July. This morning Ikwa introduced a rather clean-looking native from Omanooy, a place this side of Akpani, on Saunders Island; his name is Kioppadu. Our sewing progresses slowly, Arrotochsuah’s wife, whom we had installed as seamstress, being too old to prepare the skins by the time-honored native method of chewing. Matt got supper to-night, and will from now until May I prepare all the meals under my supervision. This gives me more time to myself, besides not confining me to the house. It was no easy task for me to cook for six boys, and for such appetites.

Thursday, November 19. We have had our first real winter snow-storm to-day. The wind whistled, and the snow was driven into every crack and crevice. Just before noon Kayunah and family came; Makzangwa, his wife, is going to chew skins for us. They will live in the snow-igloo, having brought all their household effects with them; these consist of the soapstone blubber lamp or stove, a reindeer skin as a coverlet for the bed (which is merely a bundle of hay on some pieces of board given them by us), a few rabbit and gull skins for wraps for the feet, and a sealskin to put against the wall behind the bed. When these articles are put inside the igloo, their house is furnished.

Saturday, November 21. A clear day; the stars are twinkling and the air is delightful, but one must exercise to keep warm. Since Matt does the cooking, I take long walks every day, and find them very agreeable. We had a general house-cleaning to-day, and will have it now every Saturday. We have been obliged to dismiss the Eskimos from the living-room during meal-time, as their odor is too offensive.

Sunday, November 22. Kayunah came in this morning, and said that our coffee and biscuit made his family sick, and as they had no more seal meat they must go home. Mr. Peary gave them permission to help themselves to the walrus stacked up behind our house, and the Eskimo was satisfied. Ikwa and Kyo (Kioppadu) have gone over to the settlement of Igloodahominy, on Robertson Bay, after blue foxes.

Monday, November 23. It grows gradually darker every day. To-day at noon it was impossible to read ordinary print by daylight. Mr. Verhoeff went on the cliffs to look at his thermometer, and found that it read higher than those at Redcliffe. Ikwa and his brother returned about noon without foxes or game of any kind. We had a faint aurora this evening. On the whole I am very much disappointed in the auroras; I thought we should have very beautiful displays in the Arctic regions, but it seems that we are too far north of the magnetic pole.

Wednesday, November 25. The days are rather unsatisfactory, although I keep busy all day sewing, mending, rearranging my room, etc. When I sum up at bedtime what I have accomplished, it is very little. Mr. Peary and the boys are busily at work on some test sledges. This afternoon Annowkah and M’gipsu returned, bringing with them a twelve-year-old girl, named Tookymingwah, whose father was dragged under the ice and drowned a few weeks ago by an infuriated “oogzook” seal (Phoca barbata?) which he had harpooned. She has a mother and two sisters, who will be here soon.

Mr. Peary issued the Thanksgiving proclamation, and I have been busy getting things ready for the Thanksgiving dinner, which I told Matt I would prepare. Our cooking and baking is all done on oil-stoves; since I have only three ovens I baked my pies to-day, as I shall need all the stoves and ovens to-morrow. This forenoon I went out to our berg, accompanied by Mr. Peary and my two Newfoundland dogs, after a load of ice. It is rather a novel idea to me, chopping ice from the stately icebergs and melting it for drinking and cooking purposes.

Thursday, November 26. Thanksgiving day, and all work is suspended. Before lunch I went down to Cape Cleveland with Mr. Peary to see how much daylight still remains toward the south. The sky was tinged with rose near the southern horizon, and the moon was just coming up from behind Northumberland Island. How strange it is that while we have no sunlight whatever, we know that at home they are having day and night just as usual! The temperature was 12½° F. Dinner was served at 7 P. M. All the boys wore American clothing, and the room was draped with the Stars and Stripes.

CHAPTER VIII
ARCTIC FESTIVITIES

Creeping Toward the Winter Solstice—Household Economy—The Holidays—Christmas Amusements—Christmas Dinner to the Natives—New-Year Festivities—Moonlight Snow-shoe Tramps—Reception in the South Parlor.

Wednesday, December 2. Thanksgiving has come and gone. We had a very pleasant time, and enjoyed our dinner as much as any one at home. The only difference between day and night at Redcliffe is that during the day in addition to the bracket-lamps we have a large Rochester lamp burning. The huskies, as we continue to call the natives, have named it the “mickaniny sukinuk” (baby sun). Matt lights it at 8 A. M., and the officer on watch puts it out at 10 P. M. Mr. Peary has made a rule that no member of the party, unless ill, shall occupy his bunk between the hours of 8 A. M. and 7 P. M. He has also changed from the four-hour watches to twelve-hour watches; thus one man has the night watch for a whole week, and during this time sleeps in the daytime, and one man has the day watch. At the end of a week these two men are relieved by two others. The boys think they like this arrangement very much better. The native whom Ikwa brought back with him from Keati is named Mahoatchia, and Ikwa says that he and the one-eyed bear-hunter, Mekhtoshay, of Netchiolumy, exchange wives with each other every year. It is interesting to note that these two men are the only ones in the tribe who indulge in this practice, yet the other men seem to think it all right; but the women are not at all satisfied with this social arrangement.

OUR FRIENDS ABOUT REDCLIFFE.

If some of our dear ones at home could look down upon us now they would be surprised to find how comfortable and contented we are. Everybody is busily engaged in getting the equipment and clothing ready for the long spring sledge journey over the inland ice. Mr. Peary gives me an idea of what kind of garments he wants, and I am making experimental outfits out of canton flannel, which, when satisfactory, will be used as patterns by which the skins will be cut, thus avoiding the chance of wasting any of the valuable furs. While I am at work on this, two native women, M’gipsu, wife of Annowkah, with her baby on her back, and Tookymingwah, the twelve-year-old girl, are both sitting tailor-fashion on the floor, chewing deerskins. The native method of treating the skins of all animals intended for clothing, is first to rid them of as much of the fat as can be got off by scraping with a knife; then they are stretched as tight as possible, and allowed to become perfectly dry. After this they are taken by the women and chewed and sucked all over in order to get as much of the grease out as possible; then they are again dried and scraped with a dull implement so as to break the fibers, making the skins pliable. Chewing the skins is very hard on the women, and all of it is done by them; they cannot chew more than two deerskins per day, and are obliged to rest their jaws every other day.

Kyo, Ikwa’s brother, and Annowkah come in occasionally and scrape some of the skins after they have been chewed. Kyo especially tries to make himself useful. He presents rather a comical appearance in his bearskin nanookies and blue guernsey given him by one of the boys. Every time he sees any shavings or other trash on the floor he seizes the broom, made by him out of the wings of eider-ducks, and sweeps it up. Mr. Peary and the boys are carpentering from morning till night, and every day we assure one another that we do not mind the Arctic night at all; but I don’t think that any of us will object to seeing the sun again.

Thursday, December 10. A whole week has passed since I wrote in my journal. We have had one or two very disagreeable days, the wind making it too unpleasant for my daily walk.

M’gipsu Sewing.

We have been busy working on the fur outfits. I have succeeded in getting satisfactory patterns for Mr. Peary; Mané and M’gipsu are sewing. The former is a poor sewer, but M’gipsu is very neat as well as rapid, and I have suggested to Mr. Peary that he offer her an inducement if she will stay and sew until all the garments are completed. She understands us and we understand her better than any of the other natives, including Ikwa and Mané, although they have been with us fully ten weeks longer. I hope it is not a case of new broom, and that she will wear well. The little girl Tookymingwah, whom we all call “Tooky,” is a neat little seamstress, but is not very rapid. A few days ago her mother, named Klayuh, but always called by us the “Widow,” arrived with her two younger daughters, the youngest about five years old. I asked her if she had only the three children, and she burst into tears and left the house without answering me. Turning to M’gipsu, I asked her what it meant, and she said it was “peuk nahmee” (not well) for me to ask Klayuh about other children. When I insisted upon knowing why, she took me aside and whispered that Klayuh had just killed her youngest child, about two years of age, by strangling it. She went on to explain that it was perfectly right for Klayuh to do this, as the father of the child had been killed, and she could not support the children herself, and no man would take her as a wife so long as she had a child small enough to be carried in the hood. I asked her if this was always done, and she said: “Oh, yes, the women are compelled to do it.”

Mr. Peary has spoken to M’gipsu about staying at Redcliffe as seamstress, and she is delighted at the opportunity. When Ikwa heard of this arrangement he rushed in and wanted to know why he was “no good” for Peary, and why Mané could not do the sewing, and said that if Peary preferred Annowkah and M’gipsu he would pull down his igloo and take his family back to Keati. It was some little time before we could quiet him and make him understand that we needed more than one woman to sew all of the clothing.

The last three days have been particularly busy ones for me, as Matt has been sick in bed with something like the grippe, and I have had the cooking to do in addition to the sewing. The poor fellow has had an uncomfortable time, but the doctor says he will be all right in a day or two.

Our house looks like a huge snow-drift from a little distance, so completely is it covered with snow. The whole village presents the appearance of a series of snow-mounds of various sizes. We have five snow-igloos inhabited by the natives, besides a storehouse, an experimental snow-house, and some dog-houses, all built of blocks of snow. Just at present we are getting quite a little amusement out of two young natives from Cape York, who express the same surprise at us and our mode of living as the country boy does the first time he comes to a city. They are dressed in new suits throughout,—kamiks, bearskin nanookies, foxskin kapetahs, and birdskin shirts,—and so the boys have nicknamed them the “Cape York dudes.” The younger one, Keshu, is a stepbrother of Klayuh, and he has brought her the sad tidings that their father is very sick and will probably never get well again. I should not be surprised if she would return to Cape York with them.

Monday, December 21. The dark night is just half over; to-day is the shortest day. So far the time has not seemed very long, but I am afraid before we have had many more dark days we shall all think it long enough. I have done nothing as yet toward celebrating Christmas, but I want to make some little thing for Mr. Peary. As far as the boys are concerned, I think an exceptionally good dinner will please them more than anything else I could give them. M’gipsu has made a pair of deerskin trousers for one of the boys, and has also completed a deerskin coat. She is now at work on a deerskin sleeping-bag, which is to be fastened about the neck of the occupant, over a fur hood with a shoulder cape, which I am endeavoring to fashion.

She is sitting on the floor in my room (an unusual honor), and her husband, Annowkah, comes in as often as he can find an excuse for doing so. He frequently rubs his face against hers, and they sniffle at each other; this takes the place of kissing. I should think they could smell each other without doing this, but they are probably so accustomed to the (to me) terrible odor that they fail to notice it.

I dislike very much to have the natives in my room, on account of their dirty condition, and especially as they are alive with parasites, of which I am in deadly fear, much to the amusement of our party. But it is impossible for the women to sew in the other room, where the boys are at work on their sledges and ski, so I allow two at a time to come into my room, taking good care that they do not get near the bed. At the end of their day’s work, I take my little broom, which is an ordinary whisk lashed to a hoe-handle, and sweep the room carefully. The boys have made brooms out of the wings of ducks and gulls, which are very satisfactory, there being only the bare floor to sweep; but I have a carpet on my floor, and the feather brooms make no impression on it, so I am compelled to use my little whisk. It answers the purpose admirably, but it takes me twice as long as it would otherwise have done. After the room has been thoroughly swept, I sprinkle it with a solution of corrosive sublimate, given to me by the doctor, and in this way manage to keep entirely free from the pests. Both Mr. Peary and myself rub down with alcohol every night before retiring as a further protection against these horrible “koomakshuey,” and we are amply repaid for our trouble. Matt has entirely recovered from his sick spell, and has again taken charge of the cooking.

I was right in my surmise about the widow; she accompanied the “dudes” to Cape York, taking her three children with her. Kyo also left at the same time for his home at Omanooy. He says he will return in ten days with a load of deerskins which he has at his igloo. Mr. Peary loaned him two of his dogs, and has promised him ammunition in exchange for the deerskins. We are anxious to see what kind of a gun he has; he says he got it from an old man who had received it from a white man long ago.

We have had a great house-cleaning in honor of the approaching holidays. I have replaced the cretonne curtains at the bottom of my bed, wash-stand, bookcase, and trunk, with new ones, and have put fresh muslin curtains at my windows. The boys have cleaned the large room, taking all superfluous lumber and tools out, and have even scrubbed the floor. The natives think we are crazy to waste so much water. Poor things, they think water was made only for drinking purposes.

Saturday, December 26. Just after I made the last entry in my journal, one of the boys reported that the tide-gage wire was broken. Mr. Peary, Verhoeff, and Gibson went out to put it in commission. After about an hour Verhoeff rushed into the house calling, “Doctor, Doctor, come out to the tide-gage as quick as you can!” The doctor, whose turn it was to be night watchman, and who was therefore asleep at this hour, tumbled out of his bunk and into his clothes, and made a rush for the tide-gage. I was lying in my bed suffering from the effects of a sick-headache; but never having fully recovered from the shock caused by Mr. Peary’s accident in Melville Bay, and realizing that he was not yet quite sure of his injured limb, the thought flashed across my mind that something had happened to him. No sooner did this idea occur to me than it became a settled fact, and in less time than it takes to tell I had thrown on my wrapper and kamiks, caught up a steamer-rug to throw about me, and was on my way down to the tide-gage. As I ran down the beaten path, I could see the light of the little bull’s-eye lantern flashing to and fro in the distance. It was as dark as any starlight night at home, although it was early in the evening, and not any darker now than it had been at noon. I could hear the low buzz of conversation without being able to distinguish any voices, and the figures seemed all huddled together. My whole attention was absorbed by this little group, and I did not properly watch my path; consequently I stumbled, then slipped and lost my footing, falling astride a sharp ridge of ice on the ice-foot. For an instant I could not tell where I was hurt the most, and then I discovered that I could move neither limb, the muscles refusing to do my bidding. I next tried to call Mr. Peary, whose voice I could now distinctly hear, but I could utter no sound. Then I lost consciousness. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the same spot in the same position. The little group, not more than sixty yards away, were laughing and talking; but I was unable to raise my voice above a hoarse whisper, and could in no way attract their attention, so interested were they in their work of raising the tide-gage anchor. I was clothed in such a way that lying out on the ice with the temperature eighteen degrees below zero was anything but comfortable. I found that by great exertion I could move myself, and by doing this a little at a time, I gradually got on my hands and knees and crawled back to the house. As the whole distance was up-hill and every movement painful, I was obliged to make frequent stops to rest. At last I reached my room and had just strength enough left to drag myself upon the bed. I noticed by the clock that I had been absent thirty-five minutes. On examination it was found that I was cut and bruised all over, but the doctor declared that I was not seriously hurt; but even now I have not entirely recovered from the effects of the fall.

The day before yesterday was spent in decorating the interior of our Arctic home for the Christmas and New-Year festivities. In the large room the ceiling was draped with red mosquito-netting furnished by Mr. Gibson. Dr. Cook and Astrup devised wire candelabra and wire candle-holders, which were placed in all the corners and along the walls. Two large silk United States flags were crossed at one end of the room, and a silk sledge-flag given to Mr. Peary by a friend in Washington was put up on the opposite wall. I gave the boys new cretonne for curtains for their bunks. In my room I replaced the portières, made of silk flags, with which the boys had decorated their room, by portières made of canopy lace, and decorated the photographs of our dear ones at home, which were grouped on the wall beside the bed, with red, white, and blue ribbons. This occupied us all the greater part of the day. About nine o’clock in the evening Mr. Peary made a goodly supply of milk-punch, which was placed upon the table, together with cakes, cookies, candies, nuts, and raisins. He gave each of the boys a book as a Christmas gift. We spent the evening in playing games and chatting, and at midnight Mr. Peary and I retired to our room to open some letters, boxes, and parcels given to us by kind friends, and marked, “To be opened Christmas eve at midnight.” I think our feeling of pleasure at the many and thoughtful remembrances was clouded by the feeling of intense homesickness which involuntarily came with it. It was the first Christmas in my life spent away from home, and for the first time since the little “Kite” steamed out of Brooklyn I felt how very far away we are from those we love and who love us. I shall never forget the thoughtful kindness of Mrs. Beyer, wife of the governor of Upernavik, to a perfect stranger. Although she is obliged to get all her supplies from Denmark, and then order them a year in advance, out of her slender stock she had filled a large box with conserves, preserves, bonbons, spice-cakes, tissue-paper knickknacks for decorating the table, and very pretty cards wishing us a merry Christmas. Mr. Peary had carved for me two beautiful hairpins, and I made a guidon out of a silk handkerchief and a piece of one of my dresses, to be carried by him on his long journey over the ice-cap to the northern terminus of Greenland.

Yesterday—Christmas morning—we had a late breakfast, and it was very near noon before all the inmates of Redcliffe were astir. I had decided to have an early dinner, and then to invite all our faithful natives to a dinner cooked by us and served at our table with our dishes. I thought it would be as much fun for us to see them eat with knife, fork, and spoon as it would be for them to do it.

While I was preparing the dinner, most of the boys went out for a walk, “to get a good appetite,” they said. After the table was set, Astrup placed a very pretty and cleverly designed menu-card at each plate. Each card was especially appropriate to the one for whom it was intended.

At 4.30 P. M. we all sat down to our “Merry Christmas.” The dinner consisted of

Salmon à la can.

Rabbit-pie with green peas.

Venison with cranberry sauce.

Corn and tomatoes.

Plum-pudding with brandy sauce.

Apricot pie.

Pears.

Candy, nuts, raisins.

Coffee.

Christmas Dinner to the Natives.

We arose from the table at half-past seven, all voting this to have been the jolliest Christmas dinner ever eaten in the Arctic regions. After Matt had cleared everything away, the table was set again, and the Eskimos were called in. Ikwa and his family sent regrets, as they had just returned from a visit to Keati, and were too tired to put on “full dress” for a dinner-party. We therefore had only two of our seamstresses, M’gipsu and Inaloo, with us; in place of Ikwa and his wife we invited two visitors, Kudlah and Myah. We had nicknames for all the natives. Ahngodegipsah we called the “Villain” on account of the similarity of his expression, when he laughed, to that of the villain on the stage. His wife, Inaloo, talked so incessantly that she at once received from the boys the nickname of the “Tiresome.” M’gipsu was called the “Daisy” because she could do anything she was asked to do. Her husband, Annowkah, we knew as the “Young Husband”; Kudlah was called “Misfortune”; and Myah was known as the “White Man.” The “Villain” was put at the head of the table and told that he must serve the company just as he had seen Mr. Peary serve us. The “Daisy” took my place at the foot of the table, her duty being to pour the tea. The “Young Husband” and “Misfortune” sat on one side, while “Tiresome” and the “White Man” sat opposite. Their bill of fare was as follows:

Milk-punch.

Venison-stew, corn-bread.

Biscuit, coffee.

Candy, raisins.

It was amusing to see the queer-looking creatures, dressed entirely in the skins of animals, seated at the table and trying to act like civilized people. Both the “Villain” and the “Daisy” did their parts well. One incident was especially funny. Myah, seeing a nice-looking piece of meat in the stew, reached across the table, and with his fork endeavored to pick it out of the dish. He was immediately reproved by the “Villain,” who made him pass his mess-pan to him and then helped him to what he thought he ought to have, reserving, however, the choice piece for himself. They chattered and laughed, and seemed to enjoy themselves very much. Both women had their babies in their hoods on their backs, but this did not hinder them in the least. Although at times the noise was great, the little ones slept through it all.

M’gipsu watched the cups of the others, and as soon as she spied an empty one she would say: “Etudoo cafee? Nahme? Cafee peeuk.” (More coffee? No? The coffee is good.) Finally at ten o’clock the big lamp was put out, and we told them it was time to go to sleep, and that they must go home, which they reluctantly did.

To-day has been a rather lazy day for us all, and now at 11 P. M. Mr. Peary, Dr. Cook, and Matt have just come in from a visit to the fox-traps about two miles distant. On the return they indulged in a foot-race, and when they came in they looked as if they had been dipped in water. The perspiration ran in streamlets down their faces. This trip has encouraged Mr. Peary very much in the belief that by next spring his leg will be just as good as it ever was.

Saturday, January 2, 1892. I have been lazy about writing up my notes lately, but now I shall turn over a new leaf. 1891 has gone; what will 1892 bring? I don’t think I want to know. Better take it as it comes, and hope for the best. The “Villain” and his wife have gone to their home in Netchiolumy, Myah and Kudlah also have left us, and, with the exception of Keshu (alias the “Smiler”) and his wife, all of our Eskimo visitors have departed; Ikwa and family and Annowkah and family remain, but they are not considered company at Redcliffe.

The sun is surely coming back to us, for at noon now we have a perceptible twilight, and the cliffs opposite Redcliffe can be plainly seen. Since December 29 the weather has been very disagreeable, and we have considerable new snow. The whole week has been a semi-holiday. Almost every day I have been out for a snow-shoe tramp, and I have rather enjoyed it in spite of the wind, which is just high enough to be disagreeable.

On the 30th I issued cards of invitation for an “At home in the south parlor of Redcliffe, December 31, from 10 P. M. 1891 to 1892.” The day was a thoroughly Arctic one, and I was glad that my guests would not have far to come. All day I was busy preparing for company. I had to manufacture my own ice-cream without a freezer, bake my own cake and crullers, and set everything out on an improvised sideboard. At 9 P. M. I dressed myself in a black silk tea-gown with canary silk front, covered and trimmed with black lace, cut square in the neck and filled in with lace, and having lace sleeves. At ten my guests began to arrive. The invitations were limited to the members of the North Greenland Expedition of ’91 and ’92, and they all looked especially nice and very much civilized, most of them actually sending in their cards. They were all dressed in “store clothes,” although one or two clung to their kamiks. I had no chairs, so each guest was requested to bring his own. Mr. Peary sat on the bed, while I occupied the trunk. I spent a very delightful evening, and I think the boys enjoyed the chocolate ice-cream and cake. At midnight we all drank “A Happy New Year” in our Redcliffe cocktail, and then my guests departed. All this time the wind was howling and moaning, and the snow was flying, while the night was black as ink, not a star being visible. More than once during the evening, when a particularly heavy gust swept down from the cliffs and fell against our little house with a shriek, the contrast between inside and outside was forced upon us.

The next day we had a late breakfast, and then two of the boys went out to lay off a course for the athletic games which they had been discussing for some time. The weather was so bad that I did not go out to witness them, but let Matt go, and prepared our New-Year’s dinner alone. This time Mr. Peary decided that he would give the natives the materials for their own New-Year’s dinner and let them prepare it themselves. They were given eider-ducks, reindeer legs, coffee, and biscuit. We have quite a batch of new Eskimos, among them two men from Cape York, who are almost as tall as Mr. Peary, and whom we call the “giants.” They have quite a number of narwhal tusks to trade, and are determined to have a rifle for them, but I hardly think they will get it.

CHAPTER IX
THE NEW YEAR

The New Year Ushered in with a Fierce Storm—Return of the Noon Twilight—We fail to feel the Intense Cold—Native Seamstresses and their Babies—Some Drawbacks to Arctic Housekeeping—Peculiar Customs of the Natives—Close of the Winter Night.

Saturday, January 9. The storm which began December 29 has continued until this morning. Now it looks as though it might clear off. The new snow is about twenty-four inches deep on a level, and there are drifts as high as I am.

Fortunately we had a good ice supply on hand, and no native visitors, for they drink twice as much water as we use for cooking, drinking, and toilet purposes combined. The boys have been busy on their individual ski and sledges; Mr. Peary has been fitting and cutting fur clothing and sleeping-bags; and the “Daisy” has been sewing as hard as she can. The wind is still blowing in squalls, and of course the snow is still drifting, but the moon came out for a little while to-day, and we think and hope the storm is over.

Monday, January 11. At last clear and cold, and the twilight is very pronounced in the middle of the day. Everybody is still busy sewing or carpentering. Each one of the party is desirous of having his ski lighter and stronger than those of the others, except Verhoeff, whose whole interest is divided between the thermometer and the tide-gage. The words of the physicians on board the “Kite” six months ago have come true—Mr. Peary’s leg is practically as sound as it ever was.

In my Kooletah.

Saturday, January 16. During the last week we have had beautiful weather—calm, clear, and cold. Every day we have a more decided light, and I take advantage of it by indulging in long snow-shoe tramps. I can walk for hours without tiring if a single snow-shoer has gone before me; but if I attempt to break the path alone I soon get exhausted. I have been busy making foot-wraps out of blanketing, and have also made myself some articles of clothing out of the same material. We find that mittens made out of blanketing and worn inside the fur mittens absorb the moisture and add to the warmth and comfortable feeling.

My room has looked more like a gun-shop than anything else for the last few days; Mr. Peary has been putting a new spring in his shot-gun and overhauling an old rifle.

Sunday, January 17. To-day at 2 P. M. Mr. Peary and I went out for our tramp. The temperature was –45°, and the only chance to walk was along the pathway made through the twenty-inch depth of snow three quarters of the way to the iceberg. It is astonishing how little I feel these low temperatures: Mr. Peary, however, always sees that I am properly protected. In many of the little details I should be negligent, and would probably suffer in consequence, but I have to undergo an inspection before he will let me go out.

The daylight was bright enough to-day to enable us to read ordinary print, and we feel that ere long we shall have the sun with us again for at least a portion of the twenty-four hours. We stayed out only half an hour, but my dress for about two feet from the bottom was frozen stiff as a board, my kamiks were frozen to the stockings, and the stockings to the Arctic socks next my feet; yet I have felt much colder at home when the temperature was only a little below the freezing-point.

The remainder of the day we spent in marking, clipping, and sorting newspaper cuttings. This occupation we found so interesting that we prolonged it until after midnight.

Monday, January 18. The day has been bright and calm. Mr. Peary, with Dr. Cook and Astrup, took his first snow-shoe tramp of the season, and went nearly to the berg. This is the first time the broken leg has been given such vigorous exercise, but it stood the strain remarkably well. I have been busy on the sleeping-bag cover all day. I find it very inconvenient, not to say disagreeable, sewing in a temperature of 44°; but as I am dependent on the stoves in the other room for my heat, it cannot be helped. Verhoeff has a mania for saving coal, and keeps everybody half frozen. He kept the fire to-day on six tomato-cans of coal. Water spilled near the stove froze almost instantly.

Tuesday, January 19. Somewhat cloudy to-day, but after lunch Mr. Peary and I went out to the berg on snow-shoes. I did not get a single tumble, and Mr. Peary said I managed my snow-shoes very well. I was as warm as any one could wish to be, although the thermometer registered 44° below zero. We took our time, not hurrying at all, and so prevented perspiration, which always makes one uncomfortable in these low temperatures. I had no shoes or kamiks on, only the deerskin stockings, and a pair of long knit woolen ones over them, yet my feet were warmer than ever before on these outdoor tramps.

Thursday, January 21. A clear and perceptibly lighter day than yesterday; indeed, it seems as if it grew lighter now, a month after the shortest day, much more rapidly than it grew darker a month before the shortest day. Mr. Peary, the doctor, and Astrup started a path with their snow-shoes toward Cape Cleveland, and made about half the distance. The doctor and Astrup took our sledge, the “Sweetheart,” to the iceberg, intending to bring in a load of ice, but as they reached the berg they heard the howling of dogs ahead of them and saw a dark object on the snow some distance away. They started for it, and found a party of huskies plowing their way through the snow. The party consisted of Keshu, his wife and child of three years, his brother, Ahninghahna, older than he, and Magda, a boy of twelve. They were on their way to Redcliffe. They had been staying with Keshu’s father, Arrotochsuah, but as the food was giving out over there, and as the old people were not able to travel, they thought it desirable to look elsewhere. They all have frost-bites except the little child, and were very grateful for the assistance given them by the doctor and Astrup in getting to the house. They tell us that they have been on the way for five days and nights, the distance being about fifteen miles. To-night the woman was photographed, and her portrait added to our ethnological series.

AMPHITHEATRE BERG—MCCORMICK BAY.

Friday, January 22. Another clear, cold day; the temperature, –39°. The addition of the new Eskimos makes the settlement much more lively. In the house I wear a knit kidney-protector, a Jaros combination suit, two knit skirts, a flannel wrapper, and a pair of knit stockings, together with a pair of deerskin ones in place of kamiks. When going out I only add my snow-shoes, my kooletah (great fur overall), and muff. In this rig I can stay out and walk for hours, and feel more comfortable than I have felt while shopping in Philadelphia or New-York on a winter’s day. This evening Mané No. 2 (wife of Keshu) and M’gipsu have been at work in my room, both sitting flat on the floor, the former cutting and fitting two pairs of kamiks for us from a skin brought here by herself, for which she will receive a clasp-knife. The bargain pleases her greatly. These women are both good sewers, and it would interest some of our ladies to watch them at their work. They, as well as all the other native women, usually take off their kamiks and stockings while in the house, so that almost the entire leg is bare, their trousers being mere trunks. They sit flat on the floor, using their feet and legs to hold the work, and their mouths to make it pliable; the thimble is worn on the forefinger, and they sew from right to left. The thread is made as they need it by splitting the deer or narwhal sinews and moistening them in the mouth. While at this work the babies are being continually rocked or shifted on their backs without the aid of the hands. The children are carried in the hood constantly, whether awake or asleep, for the first year, and only taken out when fed. They are tiny, ugly creatures, and until they are able to walk never wear anything but a sealskin cap which fits close about the face, where it is edged with fox, and a foxskin jacket reaching to the waist.

Saturday, January 23. I cleaned “house,” which means our little room, seven by twelve. This in itself would be no task, but we have no brooms, and every inch of my floor is swept with a whisk-broom and on my knees. As I have only one whisk, and that a silver-handled one, I can afford to sweep thoroughly only once a week. I have put an old blanket down which covers the carpet in the middle of the room, where all the walking and working is done. This blanket is shaken every day and the room brushed up, giving us a fairly clean apartment. I also finished the sleeping-bag cover. Now at midnight the temperature is –30½°, and the doctor and Astrup have taken their sleeping-bags out under the boat as an experiment in sleeping in the open air.

Monday, January 25. A clear, calm day, with the very bright daylight tipping all the bergs and crests of the cliffs with silver. The temperature is –29°, and the landscape is a cold-looking one, but its aspect does not chill us. It is certainly novel to feel so decidedly hot in a temperature of –30°, while my handkerchief freezes stiff before I get through using it. I have been busy cutting and sewing a flannel lining for my reindeer knickerbockers, for which I utilized my old gray eider-down wrapper. I also made out a schedule or bill of fare for the week, arranging the menu for each day, so as to get the greatest benefit from the patent-fuel stove and save as much oil as possible.

A Winter Recreation.—My Cross-matched Team.

Thursday, January 28. About five o’clock I was called out to see the brightest aurora we had yet seen. It extended over us almost due east and west.[^[4]] This night we succeeded in obtaining an observation of Arcturus.

[4]. This was the only aurora observed by us during our entire stay in the Arctic regions which was bright enough to cast a shadow.

Friday, January 29. To-day we went out to the “amphitheater berg,” breaking a new path part of the distance—warm as well as hard work. This evening, for the first time in our house, one of the women (Mané) stripped herself to the waist; there she sat sewing away, in the midst of a crowd of huskies as well as our boys, just as unconcerned as if she were clad in the finest raiment. The men do this frequently when it gets too warm for them, but I never saw a woman do it before. It is true they are nearly always entirely nude in their igloos, and visiting Eskimos, as soon as they enter an igloo, take off every stitch, just as we lay aside our wraps and overcoats at home. This is done by both sexes.

Sunday, January 31. Another month has slipped away, and I can say, “One month nearer home.” I must admit I am very homesick at times. Hardly a night passes that I do not dream of some of my home folks. The bill of fare which I made out for last week, giving the times for cooking each dish on the patent-fuel stove, worked very well, and I can save about one quart of oil a day; this will be of considerable help to us in case we shall be obliged to go to south Greenland in our boats. I walked down to the two first fox-traps, but found them completely snowed under. In places the snow-crust is hard enough to bear the weight of the body, but oftener one sinks in six or eight inches, and in places the surface snow has drifted considerably deeper. The temperature is about –20°, and it has been thick and dark all day. Yesterday Verhoeff went upon the cliffs and found the minimum thermometer registering only –24° as the lowest for the month, while at Redcliffe we have had it down to –53°. Strange that on the hill-tops it should be so much warmer than here below.

Tuesday, February 2. A beautiful, clear, cold day; temperature, –35°. We now have daylight from ten A. M. until three P. M., while there is a decided twilight from nine to ten and from three to four. We were inspected in daylight by the doctor, and we all show the effects of the long dark night; Mr. Peary and Astrup, being the two fairest ones in the party, look the most sallow. We walked out to the amphitheater berg without snow-shoes. The left-hand column at the entrance to the theater is a massive pillar of ice, like the whitest marble, about a hundred feet high; inside the berg the snow was very deep. The right-hand side of the entrance had recently broken, and tons of the splintered ice were lying around. We saw the new moon one quarter full for the first time over the cliffs to the north, while the glow from the setting sun to the southwest made a most beautiful picture; the tops of the bergs in the distance were completely hidden in the low line of mist rising from the cracks in the ice, which gave them the appearance of long flat rocks in the midst of the snow-plain.

Friday, February 5. This morning all our Eskimo visitors left us, and things are once more running in the old groove. I have not been out for several days in consequence of a sore toe. I have finished blanket sleeves for all the sleeping-bags, and yesterday boiled my first pudding. To-night about eight o’clock noises were heard out on the ice, and in a little while Arrotochsuah and his wife arrived, with one large dog and one puppy. They were very much fatigued, having been five days and four nights on their way over. These old people seem very fond of each other, and share whatever they get. Their food-supply having given out, they are on their way to their son’s igloo at Netchiolumy, forty-five miles distant, whither they intend to travel on foot, part of the way through snow two feet deep. The woman, seemingly sixty years of age, says they tumble into the snow every few steps, but up they get and stagger on, and in this way they make the trip with packs on their backs.

Thursday, February 11. Just seven months ago to-day Mr. Peary broke his leg, and he celebrated the event by taking a ten-mile tramp on the bay ice. His leg did not trouble him at all, and did not swell very much. To-day we have been married three years and a half. It seems as if I had been away from home as long as that, and yet it was only eight months on the 6th of February since I left Washington.

Saturday, February 13. We are making preparations to witness the return of the sun. Gibson and Verhoeff have erected a snow-house on the ice-cap, and Mr. Peary has invited us all to accompany him to-morrow to the summit, and welcome the reappearing luminary. My head has been aching very badly all day, and I do not feel in condition to spend the night in a snow-hut, so I shall stay at home and keep house. It will be pleasant to exchange the strange daylights we have been having for weeks—daylights without a sun—for the vivifying glow of direct sunlight.

CHAPTER X
SUNSHINE AND STORM

Return of the Sun—Furious Storm and Inundation at Redcliffe—Repairing the Damage—Verhoeff’s Birthday—Fears for Dr. Cook and Astrup—Rescue of Jack—Battling with an Arctic Hurricane—Down with the Grippe—Dazzling March Scenery—The Commander has the Grippe—Astrup and Gibson reconnoiter after Dogs—The Widow returns a Bride—The Snow begins to Melt—Sunning Babies on the Roof.

Sunday, February 14. At home this is St. Valentine’s day. Here it is simply Sunday, and for me a lonely one. This morning Mr. Peary, Astrup, and Dr. Cook started for the mountain-top with their sleeping gear and provisions for two days. The day has been misty, cloudy, and rough. At six A. M. the temperature was 11½°, and at eight it was 33°, with the wind blowing a gale that shook the doors and windows of our little home for the first time since it was really finished. At eight in the evening the mercury had fallen one degree, and the wind was blowing in gusts, but with greater force than before. I am worried about our travelers. Gibson just brought in a piece of ice perfectly wet and covered with wet snow, which shows the effect of the high temperature. He says he can hardly stand up against the wind, but that it is warm, almost balmy. Jack came to the door and whined piteously to be let in, something I have never known him to do before. Now at 10.45 it is raining hard.

Monday, February 15. What a wretched twenty-four hours the past have been! All night the wind blew in violent gusts, sometimes accompanied by wet snow and sometimes by rain. This morning the whole place appears in a dilapidated condition. A thaw has set in, and the water is running in every direction. The inmates of the snow-igloo were forced to leave it, and to-night one could read through its walls, the action of the wind, water, and temperature has worn them so thin. Part of our snow-wall has fallen, or rather melted down, and the water is pouring down the sides of the house into the canvas-covered passages, soaking everything. The thermometer reads 38°, and the wind still blows, while it continues to rain and snow. With Matt’s assistance I have moved everything out of the lean-to back of the house, and have had all the cutlery brought in, some of which was already covered with rust. At two o’clock the water began to come in under my back door, and then Gibson, who has the night watch, and therefore the right to sleep during the day, got up, and with Matt went on the roof and shoveled the snow off to prevent the water from leaking into the house. It was all they could do to keep from being blown down, and in ten minutes both were drenched to the skin. If our little party on the ice have this wind and rain, I do not see what they can do. Their snow-hut will melt over them, and they will be wet and cold, while in such a wind it will be impossible to venture down the cliffs. To-night the temperature has fallen to 33°, but otherwise things are unchanged. At two P. M. the maximum thermometer registered 41½°. This temperature will hardly be equaled at this time in New England.

An Arctic Tot.

Tuesday, February 16. A glorious day follows thirty-six hours of violent storm. The sun shines on Cape Robertson and on the snow-covered cliffs east of Redcliffe House. I walked down to Cape Cleveland with Jack, my faithful attendant. The sun had just gone behind the black cliffs of Herbert Island, and the glare was still so bright that it hurt my eyes to look at it. I never appreciated the sunlight so much before; involuntarily it made me feel nearer home. The sky was beautifully tinted—pink and blue in the east, light orange in the south, a deep yellow and crimson in the northwest. Fleecy clouds tinged with rose floated overhead, while the air was calm and balmy. How thoroughly I should have enjoyed my walk amid the exquisitely colored surroundings had I known how it fared with my husband on the ice above! Reaching the house at 1.45, I found no tidings of the party, and so watched and waited, until at last a lone figure rounded the mile point. Although I could not see anything beyond a dark spot on the ice moving toward the house, I knew it must be Mr. Peary, for, in spite of his long-forced inactivity and his broken leg, he still outwalks the boys. I started out with Jack, and we soon met. The party were all right, but had had a pretty hard time of it.

MY FAITHFUL COMPANIONS, “JACK” AND “FRANK.”

Thursday, February 18. A bright, sunny day. We have been busy rebuilding the snow entrance which was washed away by the recent thaw and rain. This completed, Mr. Peary got out his “ski” and began coasting down the hill back of the house. Astrup and the doctor joined in the sport, and even the huskies got their sleds and coasted on them. I spent the time in taking photographs of the boys, especially in their grotesque tumbles.

Friday, February 19. Another cloudy day; it seems as if the sun had not yet become accustomed to his new route and forgets us every other day. The old couple started for Netchiolumy this morning, and Ikwa went off with his sledge and our mikkies to bait fox-traps. After lunch Astrup and the doctor went on the cliffs to build three cairns from Cape Cleveland to Three-Mile Valley, expecting to get back by supper-time. At six o’clock they had not returned, but we were not alarmed, and put their supper away for them. About seven Ikwa came in, and reported that while passing Cape Cleveland he had heard the rumbling of a snow-slide down the steep sides of the cliffs, but it was too dark for him to see anything. At 9.15 the old couple returned, saying the snow was too deep for them to travel, and they are therefore going to stay here for a while. The truth is, they like it here, and think they had better let well enough alone. They said that in passing Cape Cleveland they heard Jack bark and Dr. Cook halloo to them. This, together with Ikwa’s story of the snow-slide and the non-appearance of the boys, made us think that something might have happened to them, so Mr. Peary and Gibson started for the Cape at once (about ten P. M.). When they reached it they heard Jack whining, crying, and barking by turns, and on going around the Cape they found quantities of loose snow evidently lately brought down from the cliffs, and in the middle of this heap a snow-shoe! Mr. Peary called and called, but the only answer received was Jack’s cry, nor would the animal come down. Mr. Peary at once started back to Redcliffe on almost a run—Gibson had all he could do to keep up with him—intending to procure ropes, sledges, sleeping-bags, alpenstocks, lanterns, etc., and to call out all the men in the settlement in order to begin at once a close search of the almost vertical cliffs, covered with ice and snow, where Jack was, and where he supposed the boys might also be, perhaps badly bruised and mangled, or overcome by the cold. In the meantime, to our great relief, both boys appeared at Redcliffe, exhausted and hungry. They said they had reached Cape Cleveland about 1.30 P. M. and started up the cliff; it was very steep and seemed unsafe for about one third of the way, but after that it appeared to be easy climbing. When, however, they had ascended three hundred feet, progress became increasingly difficult, the course being over round stones covered with ice, where it was impossible to cut steps. On looking down they found, to their horror, that it would be impossible to return, the cliff being too steep and slippery. Here Astrup dropped a snow-shoe—Ikwa’s snow-slide—which he had been using to punch steps in the snow and to scrape places among the icy stones for a foothold. This left them only the one which the doctor was using. Further progress was very slow; they knew that their steps had to be firm, for one misstep would send them to their doom. To add to their difficulty it began to grow dark, about four P. M., when they were not more than half-way up; poor Jack was unable to follow them any longer up the steep, icy wall, and, likewise unable to go down, he began to howl and cry piteously at being left. The howl of a dog under the most favorable circumstances is horrible. To the boys it sounded like their death-knell. They heard the old people pass along the bay, and called to them. Finally they reached the top, and then ran along to Mile Valley above the house and came down it to the bay, in this way missing Mr. Peary.