[Illustration:

  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


                                                       PAGE

            NORTHWARD BOUND                               9

            IN THE MELVILLE BAY PACK                     18

            ESTABLISHING OURSELVES                       31

            HUNTS AND EXPLORATIONS                       41

            BOAT JOURNEYS AND PREPARATIONS FOR WINTER    54

            WINTER UPON US                               65

            ESKIMO VISITORS                              74

            ARCTIC FESTIVITIES                           84

            THE NEW YEAR                                101

            SUNSHINE AND STORM                          112

            SLEDGE JOURNEY INTO INGLEFIELD GULF         124

            THE SLEDGE JOURNEY—(_Continued_)            139

            OFF FOR THE INLAND ICE                      147

            WEARY DAYS OF WAITING                       156

            MY CAMPING EXPERIENCE IN TOOKTOO VALLEY     168

            “OOMIAKSOAK TIGALAY!” (THE SHIP HAS COME!)  176

            RETURN OF THE EXPLORERS                     182

            BOAT JOURNEY INTO INGLEFIELD GULF           189

            FAREWELL TO GREENLAND                       200

            GREENLAND REVISITED                         211

            THE GREAT WHITE JOURNEY                     221




                               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.

[Illustration:

  Out on the Billowy Sea.

  The First Fragment of Greenland Ice.
]

[Illustration:

  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.

Footnote 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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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°.

[Illustration:

  “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.

[Illustration:

  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.”

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  A SUMMER DAY.—IKWA AND FAMILY.
]

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

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

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

Footnote 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.

[Illustration]




                               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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration]




                              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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

Footnote 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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

Footnote 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.

[Illustration:

  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.

[Illustration:

  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.

Sunday, February 21. Yesterday we made an unsuccessful effort to rescue
Jack, and this morning the attempt was resumed by Mr. Peary and Dr.
Cook. I was to meet them at noon with lunch. About ten o’clock the boys
reported a wind-storm down at Cape Cleveland; the snow was driving off
the cliffs in thick clouds, and the whole sky became black. The storm,
however, did not strike Redcliffe, but passed to the east, and we could
see it at work at the head of the bay. Believing it to be over at the
Cape, I started on snow-shoes, with shot-gun on my shoulder, and with a
gripsack containing tea, boiler, cups, spoons, alcohol-stove and
alcohol, potted turkey and biscuits, and sugar and milk. On turning the
first point the wind struck me, but, thinking it was only a squall left
by the recent storm, I hastened on as best I could. Finally I left the
path and went inshore, but could not see where I stepped, and was blown
down several times. I relieved myself of the snow-shoes and gun, but was
again knocked about by the wind, and had my breath completely taken away
by the snow driving in my face. I finally met Mr. Peary with our good
dog Jack, and we reached home late in the afternoon, tired and sore.

Monday, February 22. Washington’s birthday; grandmother’s birthday. Our
dinner consisted of venison pie with corn, broiled guillemot breasts and
green peas, chocolate, and apple pandowdy. The day has been cloudy and
misty.

Sunday, March 6. I am recovering from an attack of the grippe. Tuesday,
February 23, after going to bed I had a chill, and all night my back and
every bone in my body ached. In the morning my aches increased and I was
in a fever. Of course Mr. Peary called in the doctor, and between them
they have brought me round. I went out for the first time yesterday, Mr.
Peary pushing me on the sledge to the tide-gage, where the sun was
shining beautifully.

Tuesday, March 8. Yesterday was a bright, cold day. Matt returned from a
four days’ deer hunt at the head of the bay, during which he experienced
a temperature of from –40° to –50°. Gibson has had everything he
possesses put in order for a hunt with Annowkah, in Five-Glacier Valley.
He took two reindeer sleeping-bags, his full deerskin suit, a sealskin
suit, heavy woolen shirts, stockings _ad libitum_, a heavy pair of
blankets, a tarpaulin, and sundry small articles, besides an Eskimo lamp
and blubber, which he proposes to keep burning in the igloo all the
time.

Tuesday, March 22. The last two weeks have been entirely uneventful, our
time having been largely occupied in preparations for various
hunting-trips and the great inland journey—the fashioning of
experimental clothing, making of sledges, etc. The temperature has been
steadily rising, but we have had some sharp reminders of an Arctic
winter’s force; on the 14th, when the sun shone for the first time on
the window of our room, the mercury was still –35°. The landscape is now
resplendent in its glory, but the beauties of the snow-plain are here
wasted on the desert air. Day before yesterday Mr. Peary made a
reconnoissance of the ice-cap, traveling about twenty-two miles, and
reaching an elevation of 3800 feet; his minimum temperature was –32° as
against –25° at Redcliffe. To-morrow he intends to start for
Netchiolumy.

Sunday, April 3. The past week has been a long and anxious one for me.
Mr. Peary’s indisposition last Sunday turned out to be an attack of the
grippe, and for two days he was very sick, his fever running up to
103.8. It was accompanied with vomiting, coughing, and violent headache.
Tuesday night his temperature went down to normal, and he felt better
but weak, and this weakness he fought against with the unreasonableness
of a child. Wednesday he said he would start for Netchiolumy, in spite
of my protestations, telling me I was childish to suppose he did not
know what was best for him; and not until the doctor told him that there
was danger of pneumonia, and that he must take the responsibility if he
persisted in going, did he reluctantly yield. Thursday night his
temperature began to rise again in consequence of over-exertion. Friday
he still fought against lying down and keeping quiet, and Saturday and
Sunday he had a relapse, his fever reaching 102.2, and leaving him
weaker than before. I have done nothing but watch over him, and it has
kept me busy day and night.

[Illustration:

  One of our Visitors.
]

The weather during the week has been beautiful, and the sunshine is
appreciated by us more and more every day.

Yesterday, late in the evening, two men were seen coming toward the
house from the direction of Cape Cleveland. They proved to be Kyo and
Keshu, the Cape York dudes. They said quite a number of people were in a
deserted igloo on Herbert Island and would be along by and by. It seems
our former visitor, the widow Klayuh, whose husband was drowned while
harpooning an oogzook seal last fall, and who stopped here with her
three children on her way to Cape York to see her dying father, has
consoled herself by becoming Kyo’s wife, and she is among those who are
to come. This morning both Eskimos started off to bring their friends,
together with their sledges and dogs, over to Redcliffe. As Mr. Peary is
anxious to get some dogs, he sent Gibson and Astrup to follow them and
see that they brought all the animals with them.

Monday, April 4. About two o’clock this morning our expected visitors
arrived, and reported that they had seen nothing of Gibson and Astrup,
nor of Kyo and Keshu. The arrivals are Klayuh and her two children—the
elder, Tooky, apparently a young lady (as she has her beau in tow),
although they give her age as only twelve suns; and the younger, a girl
of five or six suns—Tooky’s admirer, Kookoo, Klayuh’s stepmother, a
widow of three months, with her small child on her back, and her beau
Ahko. Not knowing that her husband was dead, and in order to say
something to her when she came in my room, I asked her if the man
accompanying her was her husband, when, to my surprise, she burst into
tears and sobbed out that her husband was dead. I began to talk in a
sympathetic manner, when she suddenly dried her eyes and interrupted me
with, “Utchow, utchow, mikky sungwa Ahko wenia awanga” (wait, wait a
little while, and Ahko will be my husband). This forenoon another couple
arrived, both rather youthful in appearance, and the woman quite small;
they too had seen nothing of the boys. Just as we were through with
dinner Astrup came in and said Gibson was coming with Kyo and Keshu and
eight dogs; in about an hour and a half they arrived. After dinner I
helped Mr. Peary reload one of his cameras, and in this operation I
could see how nervous he still is. For the first time since I have known
him he has the blues, and pretty badly at that. He has lost confidence
in himself, and is harder to nurse than after his accident on board of
the “Kite.” However, he insisted on photographing and measuring all the
new-comers, and this kept us up until nearly two o’clock—Mr. Peary
photographing, the doctor measuring, and I recording. I saw that he was
very much exhausted, and I gave him his salt-water sponge-bath under the
blankets, after which he slept well, something he has not done of late.

Wednesday, April 6. Yesterday the sun was warm enough to melt the snow
on top of the house, and I put my eider-down pillows out for an airing.
To-day has been so lovely that the women took their sewing on top of the
house, where they also took their babies, stripped them, and placed them
on a deerskin, allowing the sun to beat upon them. The little ones
crowed and seemed to enjoy it hugely. In company with Astrup and
Annowkah Mr. Peary sledged across to Herbert Island to get some blubber
for Annowkah’s family that had been cached there last summer. He got
back at midnight and looked very tired, having walked at least
twenty-five miles, but he is in better spirits, and I hope the trip will
benefit him in spite of his fatigue. During his absence I thawed,
scrubbed, cut up, and tried out twenty-five pounds of bacon, getting
twelve pounds of clear fat; I also cut up and tried out four pounds of
toodnoo (venison tallow), which gave me two and a half pounds of grease.
This is to be utilized in the lunches for the advance party. It took me
about eight hours to do all this.

Saturday, April 9. This morning we found the doctor down with the
grippe. Poor fellow, I am afraid he will have a hard time of it. The
boys have no consideration for the sick, and he is right out in the
noise and turmoil all the time. At eleven A. M. Mr. Peary started with
his six best dogs and Keshu for Herbert Island to bring back some seals
cached there for dog-food. He rode the whole distance over, which,
measured by the odometer, was 14.06 miles. During his absence I worked
on canvas-bags for various instruments and on cording the sails intended
for our sledges. At 11.30 P. M., it being daylight throughout the
twenty-four hours, I started to meet Mr. Peary, but had only walked half
a mile when I saw him coming. The day has been, as usual, fine;
temperature ranging from –9° to –22°. We have now a team of ten good
dogs, a very cheering sight for us. Mr. Peary feels confident that he
will get more, and this means assured success on the inland ice.

[Illustration]




                               CHAPTER XI
                  SLEDGE JOURNEY INTO INGLEFIELD GULF

  The Start from Redcliffe—Our Team—Temporary Village on Northumberland
    Island—A Crazy Woman—A Never-to-be-forgotten Night in a Native
    Snow-igloo—From the Snow village to Keati—Across Whale Sound to
    Netchiolumy—An Eskimo Metropolis—Aged Dames—From Netchiolumy to
    Ittiblu—Midnight Glories—The Solitary Habitation at Ittiblu and its
    Inhabitants—My Coldest Sleep in Greenland—Nauyahleah, the Ancient
    Gossip—A Native Graveyard—From Ittiblu to the Head of Inglefield
    Gulf—Meeting with a Traveling-party.


Monday, April 18. Having completed our arrangements for a week’s
exploration of Inglefield Gulf, we started from Redcliffe about noon
with the large dog-sledge, drawn by six dogs and driven by Kyo.

The day was very bright, and the sun shone warm all the time. The
traveling as far as Cape Cleveland was good, but then it began to grow
heavy, and before we had gone half-way across there were places where
the dogs sank in to their bellies and almost swam, while we sank down to
our knees in a semi-slush; the sledges, however, went along nicely.
Fortunately, there were only a few such places, and as we got near the
west end of Herbert Island the ice became smoother and harder, and the
dogs sped along, two of us riding at a time, and sometimes all three.

Our sledge reached the west end of Herbert Island at eight o’clock, and
two hours later, having crossed over to Northumberland Island, we came
upon a cantonment of four snow-igloos. These were occupied by families
from different settlements, who congregated here to be near a patch of
open water a short distance off, where they caught seal. The largest
snow-igloo was occupied by Tahtara, his wife, his father and mother, and
some small children. This was put at our disposal; another was occupied
by Ikwa and family, together with Kyoshu and his son, while Myah and his
wife were accommodated in a third. The mistress of the remaining igloo
was making an awful noise and trying to come out of her habitation,
while a man was holding her back and talking to her, but she screamed
and struggled so long as we remained where she could see us. I asked
Mané what was the nature of the trouble, and she told me that the woman
was pi-blocto (mad).

As the wind was blowing fiercely and the air was thick with drifting
snow, Mr. Peary urged me to come into the igloo, which I did, rather to
please him than to get out of the storm. Now as long as I have been in
this country I have never entered an Eskimo hut; hearing about the filth
and vermin was quite enough for me. But Mr. Peary said the snow-house
was much cleaner, etc., etc., and seeing that it really made him
uncomfortable to have me stay outside, I yielded. Can I ever describe
it? First I crawled through a hole and along a passage, about six feet,
on my hands and knees; this was level with the snow outside. Then I came
to a hole at the end of the passage and in the top of it, which seemed
hardly large enough for me to get my head through, and through which I
could see numberless legs. Mr. Peary called for me to come, so the legs
moved to one side and I wedged myself into the aperture and climbed into
a circular place about five feet high, the floor of which, all of snow,
was about two feet higher than that of the tunnel. A platform one and a
half feet above this floor, and perhaps four feet wide in the middle and
two and a half feet at the sides, ran all around the walls of the igloo,
except that part in which the aperture or door came up in the floor. The
middle of this platform for about five feet was the bed, and it was
covered with two or three tooktoo skins, which almost crawled away, they
were so very much alive. On this bed sat Tahtara’s mother,
tailor-fashion, with a child on her back; another woman, younger by far,
and rather pretty, his wife; and two children, about six and eight years
old; and on the edge, with his feet resting on a chunk of walrus, from
which some hungry ones helped themselves whenever they wanted to,
regardless of the fact that a number of feet had been wiped on it, and
that it was not only frozen solid but perfectly raw, sat Tahtara
himself, smiling and saying, “Yess, yess,” to everything that Mr. Peary
said to him. Mr. Peary had also taken a seat on the edge of this bed,
and the women immediately made room for me between them; but this was
more than I could submit to, so, excusing myself by saying that my
clothing was wet from the drifting snow and that I could not think of
getting their bedding wet, I sat down, not without a shiver, on the edge
beside Mr. Peary, selfishly keeping him between the half-naked women and
myself.

[Illustration:

  THE INHABITANTS OF “SNOW VILLAGE,” NORTHUMBERLAND ISLAND.
]

The sides of this platform on either side of the doorway were devoted to
two ikkimers (stoves), one of which was tended by Tahtara’s mother and
the other by his wife. These stoves were very large and filled with
chunks of blubber; over each hung a pan, made of soapstone, containing
snow and water, and above these pans were racks or crates, fastened very
securely, on which the inmates flung their wet kamiks, stockings,
mittens, and birdskin shirts. The drippings of dirt, water, and insects
fell invariably into the drinking-water. I say “drinking-water”; they
have no water for any other purpose. Mr. Peary had put our Florence
oil-stove on the side platform and was heating water for our tea.
Fortunately our teapot had a cover on it, which I made my business to
keep closed.

Besides the persons mentioned there were always as many husky visitors
as could possibly pack in without standing on one another. These took
turns with those unable to get in, so that after one had been in a while
and gazed at the circus, he would lower himself through the trap and
make way for a successor among the many crouching in the passageway
behind him. This was kept up throughout the night. Of course the
addition of our stove, together with the visitors, brought the
temperature up rapidly, and to my dismay the Eskimo ladies belonging to
the house took off all of their clothing except their necklaces of
sinishaw, just as unconcernedly as though no one were present.

The odor of the place was indescribable. Our stove did not work properly
and gave forth a pungent smell of kerosene; the blubber in the other
stoves sizzled and sometimes smoked; and the huskies—well, suffice it to
say that was a decidedly unpleasant atmosphere in which I spent the
night.

I soon found that if I kept my feet on the floor they would freeze, and
the only way I could keep them off the floor was to draw up my knees and
rest the side of one foot on the edge of the platform and place the
other upon it. In this way, and leaning on my elbow, I sat from ten at
night until ten in the morning, dressed just as I was on the sledge. I
made the best of the situation, and pretended to Mr. Peary that it was
quite a lark.

Mr. Peary went out to look after the dogs several times during the
night, and each time reported that the wind was still blowing fiercely
and the snow drifting. In the morning the wind had subsided somewhat,
and after coffee the dogs were hitched, and we resumed our journey,
heading for Keati.

After traveling about an hour we came upon a single stone igloo, which
proved to be Nipzangwa’s; he and his father, old Kulutunah, immediately
came out to meet us. We reached Keati, the inhabitants of which had been
apprised in advance of our coming by special messenger, about noon, and
an hour later, reinforced with additional dogs, started across the Sound
for the settlement on Barden Bay (Netchiolumy). Ikwa followed with his
dogs and sledge. The traveling was fine, and the dogs took our sledge,
with all three of us riding, along at a trot all the way. We arrived at
our destination about six P. M., the odometer registering 14.4 miles
from Keati.

[Illustration:

  Map of Whale Sound and Inglefield Gulf.
]

Here we found a great many natives, probably sixty, most of whom we had
already seen at Redcliffe during the winter. In addition to the regular
inhabitants of the place there were a half-dozen families from Cape York
and its vicinity, who were stopping in snow-igloos on their way home
from Redcliffe. The winter is their visiting time, and only during this
season do the inhabitants of one place see those of another; they travel
for miles and miles over the ice, some with dogs and some without, but
there is invariably at least one sledge with every party. This year the
travel has been unusually brisk, owing to the American settlement, which
all were anxious to visit. Where a family has a sledge and two or three
dogs, they load it with a piece of raw walrus or seal (enough to last
them from one village to the next), anything and everything that can be
scraped together for trade, one or two deerskins for bedding, and the
smallest child that has outgrown the mother’s hood. The rest of the
family then take turns in riding, one at a time, while two push the
sledge.

On our arrival at the igloos we were immediately surrounded by the
natives; two very old women in particular were led to me, and one of
them, putting her face close to mine—much closer than I
relished—scrutinized me carefully from head to foot, and then said
slowly, “Uwanga sukinuts amissuare, koona immartu ibly takoo nahme,”
which means, “I have lived a great many suns, but have never seen
anything like you.”

We had brought our things up to the igloos and intended to get our
supper on the hill, but the native odor, together with that of _passé_
pussy (seal) and awick (walrus) lying about, was too strong, and I
suggested that we return to the sledge. The two old women who first
greeted us, despite the fact that they could not walk alone, were
determined to accompany us, and they were helped down the hill to the
sledge. They looked as old and feeble as women at home do between eighty
and eighty-five. Never having seen such a sight, they could not let the
chance go by, even at the expense of their little strength. Not being
able to carry everything in one trip, I went back for the rest,
preferring this to staying with the sledge, where the natives were now
swarming, and wanting to handle everything they saw. When I came to the
igloos again, Annowee, a Cape York woman, who had lately been to
Redcliffe, began to beg me not to go down, but to have Mr. Peary come up
to her; she had “ah-ah” (pain) in her knees and could not possibly make
the descent. She wanted to see us as long as she could, as she would
never see our like again. All this time she was not only talking loudly,
but clutching at my arm whenever I turned to go, and when I said,
“Utchow, utchow, wanga tigalay” (just wait, I am coming back), she said,
“Peeuk,” but did not want me to take the things down for fear I should
not come back. The other women now closed about me, and all begged me to
stay. Mr. Peary, who remained with the sledge, was somewhat disturbed by
my position, but it was all done in kindly feeling. In spite of the fact
that Annowee “could not come down,” she was at the sledge almost as soon
as I was.

We took our supper, after which we bartered for tanned oogzook-sinishaw
(seal-thong), sealskins, bearskin trousers, and two dogs. Old Ahnahna
gave me a scolding for the benefit of her companions because I would not
give her a needle; she said Mr. Peary was “peudiochsoa” (very good) but
“Mittie” Peary was “peeuk nahme”—that I used to give her needles, but
now I would not do it, etc. While saying this she was laughing all the
time, and when I gave her a cup of tea and a cracker she changed her
opinion of me at once.

Mr. Peary walked to the Tyndall Glacier and took photos of it, and of
the village and the natives. Kyo then hitched up the dogs, we said
good-by all around, Ikwa included, and at eight o’clock left for
Ittiblu.

To show how sharp these semi-savages are, I may mention the following
incident: On the way from Keati to Netchiolumy we dropped at different
times three snow-shoes from our sledge, but seeing Ikwa behind us pick
them up, we did not stop for them. On reaching Netchiolumy he brought
them to us, and said they were fine for us, were they not? We said yes.
“Well,” he said, “if I had not picked them up you would not have them,
and as my eyes hurt me very much, and I see you have them to spare, you
should give me a pair of smoked glasses.” I thought so too, and he got
what he asked for.

We had the perfection of traveling. The surface of Whale Sound was just
rough enough to prevent it from being slippery, and yet so smooth that
the sledge went along as if it were running on a track.

Mr. Peary, Kyo, the driver, and myself were all three seated upon the
sledge, which in addition was heavily laden with our sleeping-bags,
equipment, provisions, etc., and yet the nine handsome creatures, picked
dogs of the tribe, who were pulling us, immediately broke into a run,
and, with tails waving like plumes over their backs, kept up a brisk
gait until we reached Ittiblu at two o’clock in the morning; the
odometer registered 21.94 miles. The night was a beautiful one. The sun
shone brightly until near midnight, when it went down like a ball of
fire, tinging the sky with crimson, purple, and yellow lights, which
gradually faded out and left a dull grayish blue, which in turn changed
to a gray just dark enough to show us the numberless stars that studded
the firmament. When we reached Ittiblu the sun came up from behind the
dark cliffs of the eastern shore of Inglefield Gulf. We had been
traveling sixteen hours, and were pretty well tired out. Our dogs, too,
were glad to have a meal and rest.

We immediately set to work to build a snow-igloo of our own, on the icy
floor of which we placed our sleeping-bags and everything that we did
not wish handled by the inhabitants of the settlement. While still at
work on this we were visited by two residents, Panikpah, a former
visitor at Redcliffe, and Koomenahpik, his father; they showed a true
native hospitality by asking us to share the comforts of their igloo—an
invitation, however, which we politely declined.

[Illustration:

  Our Snow-igloo.
]

Our igloo proved icy cold, and I shall never forget the difference of
temperature between inside and outside. It was just like going from a
cellar into a temperature of 90°, and we resolved that unless it was
storming we would in future sleep without shelter. Among our breakfast
callers was the wife of Koomenahpik, Nauyahleah, the most comical old
soul I had yet seen. She evidently felt it her duty to entertain me, and
began to tell me all about herself and her family; she let me know that
I had already seen one of her sons at Redcliffe, whose name is Tawanah,
and who lives still farther up Inglefield Gulf; he had stopped at
Ittiblu, she said, on his return from the Peary igloo, and told her what
a large koona Peary’s koona was, and how white her skin was, and that
her hair was as long as she could stretch with her arms. She followed us
wherever we went, and chatted incessantly—whether we were taking
photographs or making observations for latitude and time, it made no
difference to her. If we did not answer her she would sing at the top of
her voice for a few minutes, and then chatter again. She showed us a
number of graves, which are nothing but mounds of stones piled on the
dead bodies, and told us who lay beneath the rocks.

At eight in the evening we left Ittiblu, with four additional dogs
obtained from Panikpah. All night long we dashed on over the smooth
surface of Whale Sound, except where we passed Academy Bay. Here from
one cape to the other the snow was soft and several inches deep. Again
the sun only left us for a short time, and in spite of a temperature of
–35°, the ride was a delightful one.

About two A. M. we were abreast of another beautiful glacier, a great
river of ice slowly making its way from the eternal inland ice to the
sea. The smooth and even appearance of all the glaciers, Mr. Peary told
me, was due to the blanket of snow which covered them.

It took us about an hour to pass the face of the ice-sheet, which in
places towered above us to a height of one hundred feet and more. As we
rounded the southwest corner Kyo sang out, “Inuits, Inuits,” and,
looking ahead, we saw an Eskimo snow-igloo built up against the rocks on
the shore. Scattered about on the ice-foot lay about a dozen seals, some
whole, and some partially cut up; three or four young white seals, a
number of sealskins, a large sledge and a small toy-sledge patterned
exactly like the large one, and coils of sealskin and walrus lines. In
the “tochsoo,” or entrance to the igloo, was tied a young dog, who had
no idea of awakening his master, for he only looked at us and gave no
sound.

In response to Kyo’s shouts a man came slowly crawling out, rubbing his
eyes, and showing every evidence of having been suddenly awakened out of
a sound sleep. This proved to be Kudlah, a young native whose home was
at the head of Inglefield Gulf, and who on a visit to Redcliffe during
the winter had been nicknamed by our boys “Misfortune.” Kudlah had a
hang-dog sort of expression. We were told that a woman would only live
with him a year and then leave him, it being the privilege of the Eskimo
maiden to return to her parents’ roof at the end of a year, provided
there is no family, if she finds that she has made a mistake.
“Misfortune” had grown very fond of the “kabloonah’s kapah” (white man’s
food), especially coffee and crackers, during his visit at Redcliffe,
and he now came right to our sledge and asked if we had no “kapah” for
him. He told us that he, with his wife, and Tawanah with his wife, a son
twelve years of age, and three smaller children, were on their way to
Redcliffe. They had left their home, Nunatochsoah, at the head of
Inglefield Gulf, two days before, and had walked all day and until
midnight, when they built the snow-house and camped. The women and
children being very tired, and seal-holes, whence young seals are
procured, being plentiful in this neighborhood, they decided to rest a
few days and hunt seal. I asked him where they found the pretty little
white creatures, and he told me that the mother seal crawls out on the
ice through the cracks and hollows out a place for herself under the
snow, not disturbing the surface at all, except perhaps by raising it a
little, and thus giving it the appearance of a snow-drift or mound. Here
she gives birth to her young, and stays with them until they are old
enough to take to the water, leaving them only long enough to get food
for herself.

To me these mounds did not seem different in appearance from the
ordinary snow-mound, but the trained eye of the native immediately
distinguishes the “pussy igloo” (seal-house); he walks softly up to it,
and puts his ear close to the snow and listens. If he hears any sign of
life he jumps on the mound as hard as he can, until it caves in, and
then, with a kick in the head, he dispatches the young one. Then he lies
in wait for the mother seal to return to her young, when she is promptly
harpooned.

[Illustration:

  SLEDGING INTO INGLEFIELD GULF.
]

While Kudlah was entertaining us, Tawanah and the two women came out of
the igloo. The latter were very much interested in me, and wanted to
know if there were any more women like me at Redcliffe. When told that
there were not, but that they were plentiful in the American country,
they asked, “Are they all so tall, and so white, and have they all such
long hair? We never have seen women like you.”

Our driver had been refreshing himself with seal and blubber, and Mr.
Peary now called to him to untangle the dogs, as we wished to continue
our journey. This he did not like, and said the people were all gone,
and there was no use in going any farther up the gulf. The snow, he
said, was very deep, and the dogs would not be able to pull the load;
but Mr. Peary was firm in his decision to push on to the head of the
gulf, if possible, in order to complete his surveys. Accordingly, at
four A. M. we started again, and to our surprise Kudlah and Tawanah
accompanied us. When questioned as to their destination, Tawanah said
they had a lot of sealskins and young seals at Nanatochsuahmy which he
wanted to give Mr. Peary, and they were going as far as his igloo with
us.

In about three hours we came to a small island, and here we pitched
camp. After a hearty supper of Boston baked beans, corned beef, and
stewed tomatoes, with tea and crackers, we turned in, and what a
delightful sleep we had! The sun shone warm, and that peculiar stillness
which is found only in the Arctic regions was conducive to long sleep.

[Illustration:

  Mount Daly.
]

After supper we explored the little island and found the plateau covered
with the tracks of deer and ptarmigan, but we could descry no living
creature. The view from the summit was very fine. We could see down the
sound as far as Herbert Island, and almost up to the head of Inglefield
Gulf; on the right the eye took in the greater part of Academy Bay, and
on the left in the distance towered Mts. Putnam, Daly, and Adams.

Arriving at Nunatochsoah, we spent about an hour in skirmishing about
the place, Tawanah taking us to various caches containing sealskins,
both tanned and untanned, and two caches containing young seals, about
twenty-two in all. Kudlah, too, had a few seals and skins, and both men
were anxious to barter their possessions with Mr. Peary for a knife and
a saw.




                              CHAPTER XII
                    THE SLEDGE JOURNEY—(_Continued_)

  From Tawanah’s Igloo to the Great Heilprin Glacier—The Little
    Matterhorn—A Wet Night—Ptarmigan Island—“As the Crow flies” for the
    Eastern Bastion of Herbert Island—A Nap in the Sunshine—Back at
    Redcliffe—A Busy Week of Preparation for the Start on the Inland
    Ice—Canine Rivals.


We unloaded our sledge, and, with Kudlah as our driver, continued the
exploration of Inglefield Gulf to its head. In spite of Kudlah’s having
spent the entire time at Tawanah’s in eating seal, we had scarcely
traveled a mile before he said he was hungry for American kapah. When
told it was not yet time, he turned his attention to the dogs again, but
soon we saw that the dogs were having a go-as-you-please time, and on
looking to the driver for the reason we found him sitting bolt-upright
and fast asleep. We woke him, and to keep him awake I gave him some
crackers to eat. They had the desired effect as long as they lasted, but
as soon as they had disappeared off he went to sleep again, and I came
to the conclusion that they acted more as a narcotic than a stimulant,
and discontinued them.

Just before reaching the head of this great gulf we came to a nunatak in
one of the numerous glaciers, shaped like the Swiss Matterhorn, and we
named it the Little Matterhorn. We were in an Alpine landscape, but the
more striking features of the European ice-covered mountains were here
brought out in increased intensity. Arrived at the head of the gulf, we
were confronted by one of the grandest glaciers that we had yet seen.

Never shall I forget my impressions, as, on this bracing April day, with
the thermometer from 30° to 35° below zero, Mr. Peary and I, shod with
snow-shoes, climbed over the deep-drifted snow to the summit of a black
rock, destined in a few years to be engulfed by the resistless flow of
the glacier, and from this elevated point looked out across the mighty
stream of ice to the opposite shore, so distant as to be indistinct,
even in the brilliant spring sunshine that was lighting all the scene.
Looking up the glacier, the vast ice river disappeared in the serene and
silent heights of the ice-cap. To think that this great white,
apparently lifeless, expanse, stretching almost beyond the reach of the
eye, is yet the embodiment of one of the mightiest forces of nature, a
force against which only the iron ribs of mother-earth herself can offer
resistance! As we stood there silent, a block of ice larger than many a
pretentious house, yet but an atom compared with the glacier itself,
pushed from its balance by the imperceptible but constant movement of
the glacier, fell with a crash from the glacier face, sending the echoes
flying along the ice-cliffs, crushing through the thick bay ice, and
bringing the dogs, far below us, to their feet with startled yelps.

The glacier, which forms much of the eastern wall of Inglefield Gulf,
has a frontage of about ten miles, and is the largest of the series of
giant glaciers in which are here concentrated the energies of the
ice-cap. North of it lie the Smithson Mountains, and farther beyond, a
vast congeries of ice-streams which circle westward and define the
northern head of the gulf. To the eastern sheet, upon whose bosom no
human being had ever stepped, and on whose beauty and grandeur no white
person had ever gazed, we gave the name of Heilprin Glacier, in honor of
Prof. Angelo Heilprin, of the Academy of Natural Sciences of
Philadelphia.

On the upward voyage to Greenland we had passed numbers of glaciers,
beginning with the great Frederikshaab ice-stream. I had seen the
distant gleaming of the Jakobshavn Glacier, and after passing Upernavik
we were never without a glacier in sight, and yet it was not until
September, when Mr. Peary was able to get out in the boat, and we went
to the head of McCormick Bay to see the inland ice-party off, that I
came in actual contact with one of these streams of ice. About eight
miles above Redcliffe, on the same side of the bay, there is a hanging
glacier, which has peered at us past the shore cliffs ever since we
entered McCormick Bay. This glacier is supported upon a great pile of
gravel, looking like a railway fill, which gives it the appearance of
being upon stilts. It was a peculiar experience to see the red-brown
rocks and cliffs glowing in the sun, and this great vertical wall of
blue ice standing out beyond them, with little streams of water
trickling down from it, and occasionally fragments of ice breaking away
and dashing down with a muffled, metallic sound; and more than this, to
find the ever-constant friend, the Arctic poppy, growing actually
beneath the overhanging walls of the glacier. The great glaciers, too,
that surround Tooktoo Valley, with its green meadows and glistening
lakes, will always remain with me an exquisite recollection.

Returning to our sledge, we made a direct line for our camp, which was
reached after an absence of ten hours.

Wearied with our journey, we immediately prepared to rest, and selected
a sheltered nook on the sea ice, where the snow was several inches deep,
and where we were protected from the light breeze which blows almost
constantly by a huge buttress of ice, part of the ice-foot. The memory
of the delightful sleep of the night before, when we lay right out in
the sunshine, helped me to hurry the sleeping-bags into place and crawl
into mine without losing much time.

Tawanah came to me and asked if I would not like to have my kamiks and
stockings put up on the rocks where the sun could shine on them and dry
out what little moisture they might contain, and I told him to take them
away. In what seemed to me only a few minutes, but what was actually
four hours, I was awakened by some one grasping both sides of my
sleeping-bag, evidently trying to stand it and its contents on end. The
words “Don’t roll over; try to stand up as quickly as you can; the tide
has risen above the ice,” rang in my ears. On looking about me I saw
that I had been lying in about six inches of water and peacefully
sleeping.

Fortunately I had a sealskin cover over my deerskin bag, and the water
had not penetrated it; therefore my deerskin knickerbockers and flannel
wrapper, which I always take off after I have pulled myself down in the
bag, fold and place under me, were perfectly dry. My poor husband did
not fare so well. He had folded his trousers, kamiks, and stockings and
placed them under his head as a pillow, and of course they were soaking
wet. Not having a cover to his sleeping-bag, the water had soaked
through, and it was this that had wakened him.

After a time we managed to dry out, and, continuing our journey, reached
our little island at midnight. As we approached the island numbers of
ptarmigan were seen flying about the rocks, a circumstance which
determined us to name the spot Ptarmigan Island. We secured a few of
these beautiful, snow-white birds, and, after taking observations for
position, proceeded on our course to Tawanah’s igloo, which we reached
shortly after four A. M.

While preparing the morning meal, I was the center of an admiring
circle. Men, women, and children formed a perfect ring about me. Never
had they seen such a stove, and never such cooking. They chattered
incessantly, and plied me with so many questions that I began to despair
of getting anything to eat. Finally I gave each a tin of coffee and some
crackers, and this kept them busy long enough for me to eat my meal, and
we then turned in.

We awoke about four o’clock in the afternoon, and at once began our
exploration of the surrounding cliffs and the neighboring glacier, which
Mr. Peary considered one of the first magnitude, and named, after the
distinguished secretary of the American Geographical Society, the
Hurlbut Glacier. It was nine o’clock before we were through with
exploring, photographing, and making observations, and then we made a
dash for the east end of Herbert Island.

Mr. Peary laid our course down the center of the gulf, and we were
beginning to calculate the time when we should reach Redcliffe, when
suddenly we encountered deep, soft snow, through which the dogs could
not pull the loaded sledge with any of us seated upon it. There was
nothing left for us but to get off and walk, or rather wade through the
snow. After a few hours of this tiring work the dogs refused to go
farther, and it was only with special coaxing and driving that any
progress was made. When at last we reached Herbert Island we were almost
as glad as the dogs to be able to rest. Redcliffe was still fifteen
miles distant.

Mr. Peary and I spread our sleeping-bags down on the snow out in the
brilliant sunshine, and lay down on them for a nap. We had not been
asleep long when I awoke and found that Mr. Peary had arisen and was
walking rapidly in the direction of the ice-foot. He was following an
Eskimo who had shouldered a rifle, and my first impression was that the
native had taken one of our own rifles from the sledge and was making
off with it.

[Illustration:

  AN APRIL JOURNEY.
]

At Kyo’s call the retreating figure stopped short and turned back. He
came directly to us, and we recognized him as Tahtara, the man at whose
snow-igloo I had spent such a memorable night. He had been at Redcliffe,
and was now out on a seal-hunt, with a companion, named Kulutingwah, who
presently came dashing round with two fine-looking dogs and one of our
sledges.

These dogs were the most affectionate Eskimo dogs we had yet seen, and
by far the prettiest. They were large, powerful-looking animals, that
dragged the sledge with three natives upon it through the soft snow as
easily as if they had no load at all. They were the first dogs we had
seen who were trained to obey their master’s words without the aid of
the whip. When Kulutingwah left his sledge-team he did not have to turn
the sledge over and stick the upstanders into the snow to keep the dogs
from running away, but simply told them to stay there, and with a low,
deep growl they would stretch themselves upon the snow and remain
perfectly quiet until his return, in spite of the tempting pieces of
seal meat which might be lying around in their vicinity.

After restowing our sledges we started homeward. Our dogs, like horses
at home, seemed to smell the stable, and broke into a brisk trot, which
they kept up until we reached Redcliffe, at nine in the evening, Sunday,
April 24.

Dr. Cook, who had been left in charge, had done good work during our
absence of a week. Quite a number of natives from Netchiolumy, Keati,
and the snow village had arrived, and among them an unusual number of
lady visitors, all willing to sew for the “Americans” for the small
consideration of a couple of needles. The doctor had set them to work on
kamiks, fur mittens, fur stockings, and fur trousers, and they had
worked like beavers all the week, while the men had put in their time
hunting, and a goodly number of seals were added to the store of
dog-meat.

[Illustration:

  Musical Dogs.
]

We were now in possession of twenty-two good dogs, the pick of all the
dogs in the tribe, and Mr. Peary felt that the success of his long
sledge journey was assured. Every pack of Eskimo dogs has its leader. If
a new dog is added to the pack a fight takes place at once between him
and the leader to determine his position in the team. Now, up to this
time a great white shaggy brute, from Cape York, whom we called Lion, on
account of his gray mane, had been the canine king of Redcliffe. With
the arrival of Kulutingwah’s fine dogs there came a change. Lion and his
first lieutenant, a dog marked very much like himself, at once charged
upon the new-comers, evidently expecting to thrash them into subjection
as easily as had been done in the case of the other dogs, but he, for
once, was doomed to disappointment; although the fight raged fierce and
long, poor Lion was vanquished, and forced to resign his position as
king in favor of the larger of the new-comers, whom we called “Naleyah”
(chief).




                              CHAPTER XIII
                         OFF FOR THE INLAND ICE

  The First Detachment of the Inland Ice-party leaves
    Redcliffe—Departure of the Leader of the Expedition—Rest after the
    Excitement—Arrival of the Ravens—Return of Gibson and Matt—Gloomy
    Weather—Daily Incidents at Redcliffe—Spring Arrivals of
    Eskimos—Eskimos imprisoned in their Igloos by a May Snow-storm—The
    First Little Auks—Open Water off Cape Cleveland—Harbingers of
    Summer—Myriads of Auks and Seals—Snow-buntings—Green Grass and
    Flies—Kyo, the Angekok.


Saturday, April 30. The past week has been one of hustle and bustle. The
overland ice journey has been uppermost in our minds and actions, and
this morning the real start was made. All the boys except Verhoeff, with
the dogs and five natives, left with three loaded sledges for the head
of the bay, whither several loads of provisions had already been
transported. Mr. Peary is to follow in a few days.

[Illustration:

  Preparing for the Start.
]

Wednesday, May 4. At 8.30 P. M. yesterday, Mr. Peary with Matt, who had
returned for additional equipment, started for the head of the bay to
join Gibson, Astrup, and Dr. Cook, who have been there since Saturday. I
watched him out of sight, and then returned to the house, where Mr.
Verhoeff and I will keep bachelor and maid’s hall. For three full months
I shall be without my husband—a year of anxiety and worry to me. It has
been arranged to have two of the boys accompany the expedition, merely
as a “supporting-party,” and their farthest point will probably be the
Humboldt Glacier; I can therefore expect news from the interior in three
weeks or less. The last ten days have been one continuous rush for me,
and part of the time I hardly knew where I was. After I am rested I
shall begin a thorough overhauling of everything, and get things ready
for packing. As I write, 11.45 P. M., the sun is shining, and as I think
Mr. Peary will begin his march to-night, I hope this morning’s
snow-storm has cleared the weather for some time to come. Strange
coincidence: just six years ago I bade Mr. Peary good-by as he started
on his first Greenland trip. May it be a good omen, and he return as
successful as he did then!

Saturday, May 7. The weather continues alternately dreary and pleasant,
but the approach of springtime is unmistakable. Already the ravens have
arrived, and moderate thaws have begun to loosen our covering of snow
and ice. Shortly after six this morning I was awakened by hearing one of
the huskies cry, “My tigalay, my tigalay” (Matt has returned), and in a
minute later Matt and Gibson came in. The former had returned on account
of a frozen heel, while Gibson came back for additional alcohol. In a
note to me Mr. Peary stated that he had met with a severe obstacle in
the way of heavy snow and steep up-grades, and therefore had not made
the distance that he had hoped to cover in a week’s time.

Sunday, May 8. At last it seems to have cleared, but still the head of
the bay is enveloped in mist. Gibson left us again yesterday, and he is
probably with his party this evening. The thermometer is steadily
rising, and with a temperature to-day of 28° everything has been
dripping. I got all the snow off the roof of the house and the
canvas-covered annex on the west side, as water had begun running down
between the tarred paper.

Tuesday, May 10. All night the wind blew a gale from the east and
northeast, and all day the snow has been flying in clouds so thick that
at times we could not see the tide-gage, a hundred yards distant. My
thoughts have been continually with the little party on the ice. I know
who will have the worst time, who will have to look out for everything,
and it worries me because I know he is not as well as he ought to be.
Everything around Redcliffe is hidden in the snow-drifts, and the snow
has been coming in under the canvas until we have three feet of it in
front of our door inside the inclosure, in spite of Matt’s blocking all
the openings in the walls. With Matt’s help the range and lockers were
moved out of my room to-day, and we found the wall and floor covered
with ice. I knocked off as much as I could, and removed the cardboard
from the floor, and to-night the blanket and carpet at that end of the
room have thawed and are dripping wet. This evening Kyo wanted to know
if we would permit him to go with us beyond Cape York, to where the
other Eskimos live (Upernavik, or Disko). I told him he could; then he
wanted to know if I would draw a map of Greenland, and mark our route
upon it. He seemed to understand, and was pleased to know that he could
go.

Wednesday, May 11. A beautiful day. The drifts are hard as marble. Matt
shoveled the snow out of the entrance, and we once more opened our
windows. The drip from the roof has forced us to remove all the snow and
ice, and we are thus recovering our non-wintry appearance.

Friday, May 13. Contrary to all expectations, last night and to-day have
been warm and bright. All the huskies gathered on our roof, which is dry
and retains the sun’s heat. Noyah, the baby, rolled about entirely naked
in a temperature of 22°, except for a cap, which was nothing more or
less than the toe of one of Mr. Peary’s cast-off blue socks. Verhoeff,
who has made a tour to one of the neighboring icebergs, reports that the
snow has been swept from the ice in the middle of the bay, and that the
ice has commenced to melt.

Saturday, May 21. The past week has seen our home again converted into
an Eskimo encampment. There have been numerous arrivals of old and new
faces, representing all conditions of age from the tiniest baby to
Tahtara’s mother. The simple folk have come as heralds of the
approaching spring, some to stay and others to proceed farther. They
report the return of the little auk at Keati. Yesterday and to-day have
been wild, stormy days, the wind blowing a gale from the southeast
nearly all the time, and when it was not actually snowing the snow was
flying so furiously that it was all but impossible to face it. The two
Eskimo families in the snow-igloos experienced much discomfort, and this
morning Kyo called for Matt to dig him out. The snow had drifted in the
entrance to his igloo until it had filled and piled up higher than the
house, and he had had great difficulty in keeping an air-hole open
during the night.

Monday, May 23. A beautiful day. I hoisted a new flag on Redcliffe House
in honor of my sister Mayde’s birthday. Yesterday was the anniversary of
my own birth, the first of my life when I did not receive a birthday
wish from my dear mother, and the first which I spent without receiving
a loving greeting from some dear one. I was obliged to go through the
routine formality of setting out the wine, but I felt neither like
eating nor drinking. Yesterday morning the first little auks were seen
flying over Redcliffe House, some in the direction of the head of the
bay, others in the opposite direction.

Kyo, Matt, and I indulged in a little target-shooting to-day with my
revolver. We put up a tin at forty feet distance and fired six shots
each. In the first round Matt scored nothing, Kyo hit the target 3
times, while I hit it 5 times. I then stepped out, and Matt and Kyo
tried again, the former scoring 5 and the latter 4.

Thursday, May 26. A perfect day, clear, calm, and warm. Nearly four
weeks have elapsed since Mr. Peary left me, and yet no news. For a full
week, day by day, I have been expecting the supporting-party, and am now
nearly desperate. Being in no mood for writing, reading, or sewing, I
called Jack and started for Cape Cleveland, where open water had been
reported. For a quarter of a mile before reaching the Cape I sank into
water almost to my boot-tops, but I felt fully repaid for my trouble by
the beautiful sight which met my gaze. The water, of deepest blue and
clear as crystal, sparkled and danced in the sunlight, as if it were
overjoyed to have broken loose from its long imprisonment, and once more
have the countless birds sporting on its bosom. The water and the air
above it were at times black with birds, the majority being little auks.
There was, however, a goodly sprinkling of black guillemots and gulls. I
also saw a pair of eider-ducks. I watched this scene for some time. Two
stately, massive bergs in the center of the pool of dancing water
imparted grandeur to the picture—now glistening with the dazzling white
of marble, and a moment later black with the myriads of feathered
creatures that had settled on them. The sight of the water made me feel
more homesick than ever, so I continued my walk around the Cape. At
every step I broke into the snow nearly to my hips, and sometimes there
was water under it. I saw four pairs of snow-buntings chirping and
flitting about among the rocks and patches of grass where the snow had
disappeared. They were evidently getting acquainted with each other, and
looking for a place in which to make their home. Almost half-way between
the trap-dyke and Three-Mile Valley I came upon the place where
Kulutunah had formerly had his tupic, and where he had left nearly one
half of a last summer’s seal lying exposed on the ice. About this had
gathered hundreds upon hundreds of flies, some large and some small, the
first I have seen since leaving Upernavik, I think. I brought some back
as specimens. The air was filled with the chirping of birds, the buzz of
flies, the drip, drip, drip of the snow and ice everywhere about, and
the odor of decaying seal. On my return I climbed over the Cape in
preference to rounding it, as I had seen large pieces of ice break off
and float out into the dark water. From my elevated position the surface
of the ice around and beyond the water looked as if it had had its face
badly freckled, so covered was it with black specks; each speck
represented a seal taking his sun-bath. Yet it is very difficult for the
natives to catch these creatures, as the ice is rotten and will not bear
their weight.

On reaching Redcliffe House I saw Kyo dressed in a pair of woven
trousers, a blue flannel shirt, and a pair of suspenders given him by
Matt, and Mr. Peary’s old gray felt hat, which I gave him a day or two
ago, and which he hesitated to take, because, he said, it was not mine
to give, and Mr. Peary would say on his return, “Ibly tiglipo, ibly
peeuk nahme” (you steal, you are no good). He looked precisely like an
Indian as he stood there, busy putting up his tent on the brow of the
hill directly back of the house. This place has been free of snow for
some time and is perfectly dry, while his igloo, as well as the other
two, is constantly wet from the melting snow. He is filled with the idea
of going to America. Every night he comes for a magazine to look at
after he has gone to bed, as he has seen some of the boys do. He says
Mr. Peary will be his “athata” (father) and Missy Peary his “ahnahna”
(mother) on the ship, and when he gets to America he will learn how to
read, and then he won’t have to select books with pictures. Whatever he
sees he wants to know if he will see it made in America. He tells me
that he is an “angekok” (doctor), and that he always cures the people.
They never die where he is, and he can make them do just as he chooses.
His wife does not seem to care to go to America, so for the last few
days he has borrowed two or three magazines to take into his igloo,
where for three or four hours at a stretch he has sat with his wife in
front of him and the book between them, swaying himself from side to
side, and singing a monotonous sort of tune at the top of his voice. In
this way, the other natives assure me, he works a spell over her, and
she willingly consents to go with him.

[Illustration:

  Cape Cleveland.
]




                              CHAPTER XIV
                         WEARY DAYS OF WAITING

  Anxious Fears for the Inland Ice-party—A “Red-Letter” Day—Return of
    the Supporting-party with Good News—First Flowers—Job’s Comforters
    among the Huskies—An Attack of Homesickness—The Snow disappearing—My
    Confidante, the Brook—The Eider-ducks return—I stand my Watch with
    the Others—Matt crippled by a Frosted Heel—We are reduced to a Seal
    Diet—A July Snow-storm—Influx of Natives—Open Water reaches
    Redcliffe—Matt overhears a Native Plot to kill us.


Monday, May 30. We had a great excitement about 8.30 this evening. A
black spot was seen out in the sound beyond an iceberg, over two miles
away. With the aid of the glass we could see it was moving in our
direction, and we thought it was Annowkah coming back from the other
bay. Kyo, who was watching constantly, all at once became very much
excited, declaring it was not an Innuit, and he could not tell what it
was. Then, suddenly throwing down the glass, his eyes almost starting
from his head, he exclaimed, “Nahnook, nahnook, boo mut toy-hoy, car,
car, toy-hoy” (a bear! a bear!—the rifle, quick, hurry, hurry, quick).
Matt and I rushed into the house for our rifles and ammunition, but by
the time we came out the object was behind the berg, lost to view. It
soon reappeared, however, and we then saw that it was a dog. Kyo, who
had been watching it closely, immediately recognized it as one of Mr.
Peary’s pack, and said that it was in a starving condition. The poor
animal was hardly able to get along, and had evidently had nothing to
eat for a week or ten days. He is very weak, especially in his hind
legs, and he has a cut from his left eye down to his mouth. The dog is
the one which we had designated the “devil dog,” and was in charge of
the supporting-party. Can it be that the supporting-party has met with
mishap, or are they returning by way of Smith Sound? The incident brings
up unpleasant forebodings, but I am utterly powerless in my position.

[Illustration:

  FRAGMENTS FROM THE HEILPRIN GLACIER—HEAD OF INGLEFIELD GULF.
]

Thursday, June 2. Three more days of increasing suspense, and still no
news. It is now twenty-seven days since Gibson left us to rejoin the
party, and at that time Mr. Peary wrote, “We go over the ice-cap
to-night,” and he thought that the supporting-party would be back in ten
days, or at most in two weeks. Spring is now rapidly coming to us, and
the mercury, in the sun, has risen well into the seventies.

Friday, June 3. My nightmare is over; the boys have returned, and they
bring good news of my husband. I cannot describe how I felt when the
doctor, on shaking hands with me, told me he had left Mr. Peary and
Astrup both in good health and spirits, and doing good traveling. Both
boys look exceedingly well, although their faces, and noses
particularly, are much burned and blistered by the sun and wind, and
Gibson complains of his eyes. I got them something hot to drink, made
them chocolate, and then retired to my room to read my letter. Gibson
weighs 173¼ pounds net, against 176¼ when he left; the doctor weighs 153
pounds net, as against 146¼.

[Illustration:

  A Corner of my Room.
]

Saturday, June 11. The past week has been almost entirely without
incident. Dr. Cook has assumed command of our establishment, and I am
therefore free of responsibility beyond that of taking care of myself.
My thoughts wander constantly to the members of the inland ice-party,
and I often wonder if they will return in time for us to go south still
this summer. The doctor and Gibson do not expect them before the 1st of
September, while our Eskimo friends cheerfully assure us that they will
never return. My instinct revolts against this judgment, but it makes an
impression upon me, nevertheless. To-day I walked over to the
Quarter-Mile Valley, and sat by the stream which there rushes down from
the cliffs and tumbles over the icy hummocks, cutting its way through
the snow that fills its bed and over the ice-foot into the bay. The
little snow-buntings were chirping and flitting about me, and great
patches of purple flowers, the first of which I observed just one week
ago, were to be seen wherever the snow had melted sufficiently for them
to peep through; these were the earliest flowers of the season. I sat
here and indulged in a fit of homesickness. Never in my life have I felt
so utterly alone and forsaken, with no possible chance of knowing how
and where my dear ones are. It surely must end some time.

Sunday, June 12. The snow is disappearing rapidly, and just as soon as a
patch of ground is laid bare it is covered with flowers, usually the
purple ones, although I have seen a few tiny white and yellow ones as
well. The west wall of our entrance is covered with green shoots. The
doctor and Gibson are preparing for a ten days’ hunting-trip up the bay,
and they have made up the following list of provisions and accessories:
140 crackers (seven per man per day), 10 pounds sugar, 4 pounds meal, 8
pounds hominy, 5 cans milk, 1 three-pound can of tongue, 2 cans corned
beef, 3 cans tomatoes, 3 cans corn, 2 cans soup, 4 cakes pea-soup, 4
pounds bacon, 1 package cornstarch, 1 can Mosqueros food, flavoring
extract, salt, 4 pounds coffee, ½ pound of tea, 15 pounds dog-meat for
two dogs, 2 cans alcohol, 2 alcohol-stoves, 2 boxes wind-matches and 1
box blueheads, 1 box of cartridges, and a number of shells. They expect
to leave this evening. The condition of Matt’s frozen heel has been
steadily growing worse, and, poor fellow! he is beginning to suffer
acutely. He is threatened with a chronic running sore.

There is only one thing now left to me which gives me any pleasure, and
that is to go to the little brook in the Quarter-Mile Valley and listen
to its music while I give my thoughts full play. I close my eyes, and
once more I am in our little tent, listening to this same music, mingled
with the sound of the “Kite’s” whistle and the splash of the white
whales as they frisked back and forth in the water close to the shore.
This was when we first landed, and before the house was ready for us.

Wednesday, June 15. The last of winter is leaving us. The water is
rushing and gurgling on all sides, and the brown cliffs back of the
house, as well as the red cliffs to the right, are almost entirely bared
of the snowy mantle which has so long covered them. Eider-ducks are
passing us daily, and in their wake come other birds from the balmy
south.

My routine tramps have been largely interfered with by the character of
the walking, which has become very bad, snow, slush, and water
alternating in layers. Into this one plunges thigh-deep without warning,
and it requires considerable maneuvering to extricate one’s self without
becoming saturated with ice-cold water. The tide comes in beyond the
ice-foot, and Verhoeff almost swims to the tide-gage, which is now five
inches higher out of the ice. I have been for some time past taking my
watch regularly with the boys, and naturally it interferes somewhat with
the fulness of my night’s rest. At present the night is divided into
three watches, of which I take the first, Verhoeff the second, and Matt
the morning watch.

Wednesday, June 22. Another week has passed, and by this much my husband
is nearer to his return. Our routine continues unchanged, except in
unimportant details, and the monotony of our life, together with certain
vexations which necessarily arise, makes me at times cross and
despondent. Our Eskimos have been taking advantage of the open leads and
the return of animals to go out on various hunting-expeditions, and they
report more or less success with walrus, white whale, and narwhal. I am
longing for venison, as we have been largely reduced to a seal diet, and
seal is all but nauseating to me. Deer seem to be very difficult to get
at just at present, and Dr. Cook, who returned early Sunday morning from
his hunt at the head of the bay, brought none with him—indeed, no meat
of any kind.

The first rain of the season took place last Thursday night, and it has
been raining again lightly this evening. Yesterday I took a walk along
the base of the trap-dyke. The snow has disappeared from the plateau,
and the air is fragrant with the spring flowers and mosses, which fairly
cover the ground. Numberless snow-birds are flitting about, chirping to
each other, and the rushing of the brooklets is heard constantly. All
the flowers have returned and all the birds are here again, and they
will stay with us until the middle of September, when I hope that we,
too, shall return south. Altogether the scene reminded me of the time
when Mr. Peary and I came up here last fall, and I gathered flowers
while he pressed them.

Tuesday, June 28. What a horrible day it has been! The wind blows so
hard that it is almost impossible for me to stand up against it. The
rain dashes against the window until it seems as though it would break
it in. At times the rain changes to snow, while on the cliffs it has
been snowing constantly. They are as white as they have been any time
this winter. Icebergs have been groaning and toppling over all day, and
in the fury of the storm, just after midnight, the tide-gage fell over.
My constant thought is of the advance party. God help them if they are
caught in such a storm on ice that is not suitable for building igloos.
As the days wear on I feel as if the chances were almost even as to
whether I shall ever see my husband again. I can do nothing, not even
keep still. Perhaps it is a good thing that I am obliged to do the work
about the house.

Our boys have been improving the time by gathering up collections of
various kinds, and the doctor has been especially busy trading for any
and every thing in the way of native clothing, implements, and toys, for
all of which he gives pieces of boards, barrel-staves, boxes, and other
odds and ends in the lumber line, all worthless to us, but invaluable to
the poor Eskimos. Wood is to them their most precious article, for
without it they could neither have boats nor sledges, nor would they be
able to fashion those perfect instruments of the chase, the harpoon and
spear, which they handle with unsurpassed dexterity. Yet wood is also
their scarcest article, and is obtained only from wreckage or through
occasional barter with whalers passing near Cape York. A cargo of lumber
would procure anything from the natives—indeed, almost their entire
possessions.

Friday, July 1. To-day we narrowly escaped a bad accident. The doctor
accidentally discharged a gun in the big room, where Gibson, Verhoeff,
and Tooky were sitting. Fortunately no one was hurt, the charge going
through the roof, making quite a hole, and badly frightening Matt, who
was lying there. Matt’s foot is improving somewhat, and probably in a
few days his condition will be such that he will be able to get about.
This prospect is gratifying to me, as I have determined to go to the
head of the bay in about three weeks, there to await Mr. Peary’s return,
and I wish to have Matt for my companion.

Monday, July 4. This evening I was treated to a native vegetable dish.
Returning from a walk to Cape Cleveland, I met Mané and her children
coming to meet me. She told me they eat the little purple flowers which
bloom so abundantly almost everywhere in this vicinity, and asked me to
try them. I found that they were quite as sweet as our clover blossoms,
and they have, besides, a very aromatic flavor. Mané had brought two of
our tin mess-pans with her, and we filled them with blossoms and
sour-grass. On reaching Redcliffe Mané mixed the flowers and sour-grass,
then, pouring a little water on them, put them on the stove. I suggested
that she wash them so as to remove at least some of the sand, at which
she laughed, saying that sand was good for the stomach; nevertheless,
she made a show of washing them, and then let them boil for about
fifteen minutes. The flavor was a peculiarly pleasant one, but I thought
it a little sour, and added some sugar, which gave it something of the
taste of rhubarb-plant stewed, only more aromatic.

This concoction is the only vegetable dish that these people ever have,
and this is only eaten by the women and children, not by the men. On the
other hand, the men eat the eggs of the different birds, but will not
allow the women to touch them. It was amusing to see both Mané and
M’gipsu eat cake containing eggs, begging us not to tell their husbands,
and consoling themselves with the reflection that eggs did not form the
chief part of the cake.

Wednesday, July 6. Another sunshiny day. Yesterday morning two Eskimo
boys came in, and reported that a whole troop of natives were at Ittiblu
on their way over from Netchiolumy. They are compelled to go up the gulf
this far in order to cross on the ice above the open water.

The open water has now nearly reached Redcliffe, and is full of birds.
About five o’clock this morning fourteen natives arrived, among whom are
Mekhtoshay (the one-eyed man) and his wife and boy, and Ingyahpahdu and
his six children. The one-eyed man brought his tent with him, a very
small one, but the others are camping with their neighbors—a privilege
which is generally permitted in traveling. We have taken advantage of
these numerous arrivals to continue our series of ethnological
photographs, and the doctor has been kept busy posing, grouping, etc.
Our settlement now numbers thirty-four natives, men, women, and
children.

Gibson has started off on a ten days’ collecting-tour to the head of the
bay. He will leave the tent in Tooktoo Valley for me, and I shall go as
soon as he returns, taking provisions enough to last till August 6th. If
Mr. Peary has not returned by that time then I shall come back to the
house and get everything ready for our homeward journey in the early
autumn.

Thursday, July 7. I determined to take advantage of the fine weather we
are having and get rid of some washing to-day. I also put Noyah, Mané’s
little one, in the tub and gave her a good scrubbing. She actually
looked quite cute, and after getting over her surprise at being plunged
into the water, enjoyed it, laughing and splashing. It seems odd to see
the children so backward. This child, who is already two years old, has
just begun to stand alone, and in all other respects she is like a child
at home of ten months or a year. M’gipsu’s baby is a year old, but in
size and mental development compares with a five-months-old white baby.
To-night we finished taking the photographs and measurements of the
Eskimos.

Sunday, July 10. The day has been bright, warm, and sunny. At eight
o’clock this morning the thermometer in the sun registered 92° and still
it would be called a cool, pleasant day at home. The doctor tore down
the shed back of my room in order to give the sun a chance to melt the
ice and dry the things under it.

Ikwa killed an “oogzook” this morning while out in his kayak. It took
three men all day to bring in the skin and part of the carcass. Ikwa
says he has to divide the skin among all the men in the settlement, even
Kyoshu the cripple coming in for a share. It is the rule that every
animal killed, larger than a seal, must be divided among all the men in
the community, regardless of their share in the securing of it.

Monday, July 11. When I awoke this morning I heard Matt and the doctor
talking very earnestly, but could not hear what they were saying; from
their tone I judged it was something serious. Finally I called to the
doctor and asked him what the trouble was. He told me that Matt had
overheard Kyo and Kulutingwah planning to make away with one of us. I
could not help laughing at this recital, which provoked the doctor a
little; we had laughed at similar stories related by Arctic explorers,
and had agreed that these natives were not at all inclined to be warlike
or vindictive. I tried to reason with the boys. In the first place, if
the natives had any such design, would they not have kept the three men
here who left for Karnah yesterday? Secondly, would they be likely to
come over to our house and discuss their plans? And thirdly, do any of
us know enough of their language to understand a conversation in which
the participants are not even to be seen? The whole thing seemed very
amusing to me, but both boys were evidently frightened, and wanted to be
armed and ready for any emergency; consequently, I gave the doctor Mr.
Peary’s pistol to carry and Matt my large one, and they have worn them
all day. Matt imagined he knew the cause of the whole thing, namely, Kyo
was mad because I had stopped his coffee and bread in the morning; he
had blamed Matt for it, and so Matt felt certain he was to be the
victim. The fact is, however, that Kyo got his coffee as usual this
morning. I had intended to stop it, but as Mané was sick and did not
care for her share, there was enough to go round. The doctor, more than
any one else, has reason to fear Kyo, as Kyo makes no secret of his
dislike for him.

[Illustration:

  A FRIENDLY “TUPIC” AND ITS INHABITANTS.

  (Looking out of McCormick Bay.)
]

One year ago to-night was the most miserable night I had ever spent. Mr.
Peary had broken his leg, and for a few hours I did not know whether he
would ever be able to use it again; to-night I do not even know that he
is alive. I feel very certain, however, that a month will solve this
question for me, and so am determined not to worry any more.

[Illustration]




                               CHAPTER XV
                MY CAMPING EXPERIENCE IN TOOKTOO VALLEY

  Conclusion of the Murder Scare—A Fifteen-mile Walk along the Arctic
    Shore—Matt my Sole Companion—An Arctic Paradise—A Tramp with an
    Unpleasant Ending—Twenty-four Hours with Nothing to eat—In the
    Shadow of the Ice-cliffs—Fording a Glacial River—Safe in Camp again.


Tuesday, July 12. Gibson arrived this morning, minus his sledge and his
entire load, having been obliged to abandon them on account of hard
traveling. He advises me to go to the head of the bay without delay, as
the ice is even now in a bad condition, and each day makes it worse.
Ikwa was on the point of starting with a sledge of provisions and
bedding, and I decided at once that Matt should accompany him. I shall
follow later along the shore. At one P. M. Matt and Ikwa started, with
five dogs, one native sledge, and one toboggan. I fully intended to
leave after supper, but I found so many things to do that I was too
tired to think of walking fifteen miles, and determined to wait until
to-morrow. I gave my room a thorough cleaning, and put down my new
carpet, washed and did up my bed-curtains, and made things as bright and
clean as possible. I hope the little den will look somewhat homelike to
Mr. Peary when he comes back. I am afraid this lovely weather will not
last much longer; but even if it rains I believe I can be as comfortable
in the tent as here at Redcliffe.

Kyo came in to-night and had a long talk with the doctor about the
doctor’s threatening to shoot the huskies. He is very much frightened at
the doctor’s carrying the revolver. What added to his fright was that we
opened the side window this afternoon, Kyo immediately concluding that
we intended to fire on the natives from it. I am more than ever
convinced that there was nothing in Matt’s “overheard conversation,” and
it is certain that all the Eskimos are badly frightened at the display
of firearms. Kyo said the doctor might shoot the others, but the bullets
would not hurt him; that the “kokoyah” (evil spirit) was kind to him,
and he would never die. But if the white man killed the Innuits the
kokoyah would, at Kyo’s command, “shad-a-go” (destroy) their vessel, and
they would all die. Finally peace was declared, and Kyo brought over his
sealskin float, for which he wanted wood to make the ring of his kayak.
I am sorry for this episode, which has brought about an unpleasantness
with the natives.

Wednesday, July 13. At 2.30 this afternoon, in company with Dr. Cook, I
left Redcliffe on my fifteen-mile walk to the head of the bay, which we
reached at eight o’clock. Matt and Ikwa, who had preceded us, had a
terrible time in getting through. Half the time they were in water above
their waists, and occasionally they were obliged to float themselves
over on Ikwa’s sealskin float. It was all that Matt could do to persuade
Ikwa to continue. It began to rain about ten P. M., and has rained
lightly ever since. I fear the doctor did not have a pleasant walk back.

Thursday, July 14. I made a short scout after duck, but saw only a few
eiders far out on the ice. How sweet the air is, and how restful the
rushing of the streams as they make their way to the shore! I feel the
need of rest and quiet, and it is very peaceful here. When the weather
clears I shall enjoy the rambles over the soft green moss, I know.

[Illustration:

  A Garden Spot.—Greenland Moss and Poppies
]

Friday, July 15. This morning the sun was shining brightly, and had it
not been for the mosquitos the day would have been thoroughly enjoyable
Matt and I started about nine A. M. to take a look at the country beyond
Boat Camp, but I find it will be impossible to cross the glacial river,
and yet I must get to Tooktoo Camp before long. After lunch I took my
shot-gun and started out in the direction of the hanging glacier, where
there are a number of ponds. In one of these I saw two long-tailed
ducks, but I could only secure one. The breast gives us one meal, and
the rest of the bird stew for another. After supper we took a walk over
the hills toward the glacier. The evening was fine, the air sweet, the
grass and moss soft, and studded with thousands of flowers. In every
direction can be heard either the rushing and roaring of a glacier
river, or the rippling and swishing of some tiny stream. The
snow-buntings and sandpipers are hopping about and chirping merrily, and
the great golden ball is moving slowly along the heavens. The inland ice
seems to wear a continual smile, so bright does its surface appear. Does
it wish to assure me that all is well with the ones who are traveling on
its bosom, or is it only mocking me? I will try to think the former.

Sunday, July 17. A dull, foggy day. The mosquitos are so thick that it
is all but impossible to venture out.

Wednesday, July 20. Yesterday at noon the sun was shining brightly, and
there was a light southeast wind, enough to keep the mosquitos quiet, so
I decided to start for the cache back of Tooktoo Camp, in which I wished
to deposit a note and some canned goods. I knew it would be a long tramp
around the intervening lake, but I would be amply repaid if my husband
were to return while I was still here, and find the note, assuring him
of a welcome a few miles beyond. When we reached the mouth of the
glacial stream which discharges into the head of the bay, it was low
tide, and we made an effort to ford it, thinking thereby to save a walk
of five miles. Matt stepped in and I followed. The water felt intensely
cold; it was above my kamik-tops, but not above my knees, and we went
on. When we came to a rock about one fourth of the way over I was
compelled to climb on it and beat my feet and legs; I could not control
them any longer. Then we again plunged into the icy water, which now
reached above my knees. It took us fifteen minutes to cross, and the
temperature of the water was certainly not over 35°, for large and small
pieces of ice were floating about us. The current was in places very
strong, and had it not been for the boathook I had taken with me, on
which to hoist a flag over the cache, I should have been swept off my
feet many times. Once across, and our wet stockings changed for dry
ones, I did not regret having come. We found the cache after some little
trouble, and I deposited the note, also a can of milk, a can of fruit,
some biscuit, and a small flask of brandy, and then put up the flag.

We retraced our steps past old Tooktoo Camp to the mouth of the river.
Here we found that the tide had already risen a foot, and we continued
our walk along the river-bank toward the head of the lake. On reaching
it we found that it communicated with a second lake by a deep, roaring
torrent, which, although narrower than the river below, was still too
wide and deep to be crossed; so on we went till we reached the end of
the second lake, and here it seemed as if we might walk around it by
climbing along the lower edge of two glaciers, although we were by no
means sure that a raging stream did not sweep down on the other side.
Great rocks were continually rolling from the top of the glaciers, and I
did not think it safe to venture. The scene was an impressive one. Black
cliffs raise their heads over four great white glaciers, smooth as
marble, and at their feet roars a furious torrent, till it merges into a
broad lake, which looks as calm and unruffled as if this stream were
only a drop in its depths. On each side of this stretch of water the
valley is carpeted with soft green moss and yellow poppies, and fairly
alive with the chirping and flitting of birds. We tarried here quite a
while. I could not make up my mind to leave so beautiful a scene;
besides, the only thing left for us to do now was to wait for low tide,
which would be about one A. M., and then ford the river where we had
crossed it in the morning. It was 8.45 P. M. when we again reached the
mouth of the stream. The tide was high, but falling. Had we had
something to eat we should not have minded the waiting. We kept moving
in order to keep warm, until we thought that the tide had reached its
ebb. As we neared the shore we could see no familiar line of rocks which
indicated low tide, and on closer examination we were horrified to find
a “high low tide.” Still we felt we must attempt to cross, and Matt
started in, while I followed at his heels. The first step was over our
knees, the next came mid-thigh on Matt, and then I backed out, for I
knew that we were not near the deepest part yet; besides, the current
was so strong that I could hardly keep my footing. We tried lower down,
but with the same result. Even had we made up our minds to bear the cold
water, we could not possibly have stood up against the current. We then
determined to try it in the lake, but were baffled there as well. By
this time we were pretty well drenched, almost to our waists, and yet
the only thing for us to do was to wait for the noon low tide of the
morrow. We sat down on a rock, took off our stockings and kamiks, and
wrung the water out as best we could, then put them on again. I knew it
would never do for us to sleep, or even sit still in our wet clothes,
for there is always a cool breeze blowing, and the night temperatures
average about 40°; yet the prospect of twelve hours more of tramping,
when we had already tramped twelve and a half hours, with nothing to
eat—we had only had coffee and a cracker before starting—and a cold fog
settling down upon us, was anything but encouraging. I suggested that we
go to the cache, where we had left the brandy and milk for the inland
ice-party, and mix a drink of some of it, and then begin the climb to
Nunatak Cache. This we did. I had my old enemy, the sick-headache,
brought on by lack of food and the excitement, and consequently every
step was agony, yet I knew I must keep on. Thoughts came crowding in
upon me of my husband and my mother. We walked and walked until almost
ready to drop with hunger, fatigue, and lack of sleep; then, as we
climbed above the fog into the warm sunshine, we would sit down a few
minutes, wrapping our heads in our handkerchiefs to keep off the
mosquitos, which swarmed about us. As soon as one of us saw the other
dozing we pushed on again. In this way we climbed through the ravine and
in sight of Nunatak Cache, but it was impossible for me to go farther;
my limbs trembled under me, and refused to act at my bidding. We
returned to the river. At 11.30 this morning the welcome line of rocks
indicating low tide made its appearance, and, to our great relief, we
found that we were able to cross the stream. Two more thankful creatures
never were than we when we found ourselves on dry land on our side of
the “kook” (river) again. We were perfectly numb with cold from
mid-thigh down, and so ran and pounded our feet and limbs for the three
miles that intervened between the river and the tent, which we reached
in an hour. Thus far we feel no ill results from our icy adventure.

Saturday, July 23. The bay, which has been perfectly clear of ice,
except for a few small bergs near the glacier, is filled again, as a
result of the tide-wind. The white whales, which have been sporting
about for a number of days, are shut out from their playground. I
tramped about nearly all day, but did not get near any game. I never
weary of Tooktoo Valley. To me it is a beautiful spot, with its river
and lakes, its glaciers and mountains, its carpet of soft green moss,
its wealth of flowers, and its busy birds and insects. I have not heard
from Redcliffe since I left there, over a week ago; no information of
any kind has come to me.




                              CHAPTER XVI
                “OOMIAKSOAK TIGALAY!”—THE SHIP HAS COME!

  An Eskimo Messenger—“Oomiaksoak Tigalay” (the Ship has come)—Letters
    from Home—A Visit from Professor Heilprin—Distressing
    Possibilities—The “Kite” leaves for Smith Sound—Return of the
    “Kite”—Domestic Disturbances among the Natives—An Eskimo Woman and
    Girl disappear.


Sunday, July 24. At five o’clock this morning, before I was really
awake, I heard a sharp, shrill whistle, different from the notes of the
birds that usually awake me, and before I could quite satisfy myself
that it was not a bird I heard it again, close to the tent, and also a
footstep. “Kiny-ah-una” (who is there), I called. “Awangah, oomiaksoak
tigalay” (me, the ship has come), was the answer. “Angwo” (not so), I
replied. “Shagloo nahme awangah” (me not lie), he said, and with this a
shaggy, black head was thrust into the tent, and a bundle of mail tossed
to me. The next few hours are a blank to me, for I was devouring my
mother’s letter, which took the shape of a journal that she had kept for
me. A few words from Professor Heilprin tell me that he is at Redcliffe
with a party and the old “Kite,” but he does not say who are in the
party. Now if Mr. Peary only gets back safe I shall indeed be happy. All
those dear to me have been spared, while there has been a great deal of
sickness and death everywhere.

[Illustration:

  ROBERT E. PEARY, U. S. N.
]

Monday, July 25. This morning the sun came out bright, and he has shone
all day. After looking in vain for the inland ice-party, and also for a
party from the “Kite,” until two P. M., I retired to the tent to escape
the mosquitos. I told Matt he might go down to Redcliffe and see the
“Kite” party if he chose, but he said he did not care for the walk, and
would take the gun and go for a stroll. At 3.30, feeling hungry, I went
out to see if I could see anything of him, in order to know whether I
should cook for one or for two. Away off near the foot of the cliffs I
saw a lone figure, which did not look like Matt, slowly making its way
in the direction of the tent. I soon made out Professor Heilprin. He had
walked fifteen miles to pay me a visit, and we chatted for hours. It did
seem so good to talk with some one again who had been in touch with
civilization. I feel as though I had been in another world. Both mother
and brother urge me to come home, even if Mr. Peary has not returned
from the inland ice by the time the “Kite” is obliged to set sail again
for the sunny south, and the professor says his orders are to “bring
Mrs. Peary back under any circumstances.” While I do not think there is
the slightest doubt that my husband will be here before the latter part
of August, and while I fully believe that if he is not here then he will
never come, yet I could never leave while there was the faintest chance
of his being alive. I told the professor just how I felt about the
matter, and he said, “Well, we will see when the time comes.” My brother
Emil writes that I should have “some consideration for my friends and
relatives.” And what of my husband? He says further, “What good can you
do Bert on the coast while he is on the ice?” Does he suppose that if
Mr. Peary is alive he will stay on the ice the whole year round? And
when he returns and finds he is too late for the “Kite,” will that not
be disappointment enough, without finding that I, too, have deserted
him? I know just how my dear ones at home feel, and I know, too, that
they cannot long for me any more than I long for them. It will go hard
to remain—harder for me than for them, for they will know that I am well
and comfortable; and besides, they have friends and acquaintances, and
intelligent and interesting employments and amusements with which to
occupy their minds and time, while I have only a few white men and some
uncivilized people, together with three months of darkness, to make my
life pleasant. Not a very enviable existence, I am sure. As for cold,
hardship, and hunger, that is nonsense. Of course, if I feel so
inclined, I can go out and sit on an iceberg until I freeze to it, and
let the wind and snow beat upon me, even starve myself; but my tastes do
not run in that direction.

Tuesday, July 26. The “Kite” leaves to-day for Littleton Island, to be
gone three or four days. When the professor left, at 2.30 A. M., Matt
had not yet returned; I think he must have gone to the “Kite.”

Wednesday, July 27. Yesterday and to-day were bright, warm days,
although the wind blew quite strong most of the time. Matt returned from
the “Kite” yesterday morning, bringing with him a loaf of nice bread, a
veal cutlet, and a flask of brandy sent by the steward of the “Kite.”
Dr. Cook, with four Eskimos, came up in the “Mary Peary” this morning,
bringing the rest of the mail matter with him. He also brought me more
supplies, but at the same time urges me to return to Redcliffe with him.

Saturday, July 30. Once more back at Redcliffe. After considering the
matter, I decided that Mr. Peary would wish me to look after things at
our home, and although it was a great disappointment for me to leave
before the return of the ice-party, I was forced to do it. There has
been considerable excitement in our Eskimo settlement. Ikwa has beat
Mané so badly that she cannot come out of her tent; her head is cut and
bruised, and one eye is completely closed. We know of no reason for this
peculiar conduct. Kyo has gone to Igloodahominy in his kayak, the first
time during our visit that an Eskimo has ventured across the bay in a
kayak. While he was out on a seal-hunt early this morning, Klayuh, his
wife, and Tooky, her daughter, ran away. Kyo, it is said, had thrust a
knife in Klayuh’s leg several times, and he has threatened to kill
Tooky. He is now searching for the fugitives, but the whole settlement
has conspired to throw him off the track. He has already been up to the
head of the bay, and down as far as Cape Cleveland.

The “Kite” returned at nine o’clock yesterday evening, having penetrated
into Smith Sound to a position opposite Force Bay, where it was stopped
by the unbroken pack. Professor Heilprin came ashore immediately after,
and introduced to me some of his companions. Dr. Cook, who had made a
vain attempt to reach Ittiblu, returned at ten P. M. this evening; he
found the gulf impassable owing to the large quantities of loose ice
which had been detached from the glaciers, and literally choked the
basin.

[Illustration:

  The “Kite” in McCormick Bay.
]

Thursday, August 4. I have lived through five days more of intense
suspense. The Eskimos console me by talking of Mr. Peary as “sinnypoh”
(dead); one of them yesterday told me that he had dreamt that only one
“kabloona” (white man) would return from the ice. To offset these dark
forebodings, and keep my spirits from sinking too low, I repeat a
paragraph in Mr. Peary’s letter, which says: “I have no doubt I shall be
with you about August 1st, but if there should be a little delay, it
will be _delay only_, and not danger. I have a hundred days’
provisions.”

The weather continues exceptionally fine, clear, bright, and warm.
Professor Heilprin, having determined to move his party to the head of
the bay, preparatory to a search on the inland ice, the “Kite” heaved
anchor at nine this morning, and is now lying opposite the point which I
only recently deserted. By the professor’s kind invitation I joined the
“Kite” party, and Matt, who has been my steady guardian since Mr.
Peary’s departure, accompanies me.

Friday, August 5. The entire relief-party left to-day for Nunatak Cache,
their object being to plant stakes seven miles apart as guide-posts on
the inland ice. I remained on board the “Kite” all day, and shall retire
early, if not to sleep, to rest.




                              CHAPTER XVII
                        RETURN OF THE EXPLORERS

  End of my Weary Waiting—Mr. Peary returns “on Time”—Experiences of the
    Inland Ice-party—The Great Greenland Ice-cap—The “Kite”
    Aground—Landing through the Surf—Back at Redcliffe—The Natives
    regard the Commander and Astrup as Supernatural Beings.


Saturday, August 6. From a half-sleep I was roused early this morning by
the plash of oars and loud talking, and before I had fully grasped the
idea that the professor’s party had returned, some one jumped over the
rail on the deck just over my head, and a familiar footstep made its way
hurriedly toward the companionway. I knew it was Mr. Peary, but was
unable to move or make a sound. He came rushing down the stairs and
rattled at my door, calling to me to open it; but I seemed to be
paralyzed, and he forced it open and stood before me, well and hearty,
safe at last.

Monday, August 8. Back at Redcliffe again, but how different everything
seems! Not only is our whole party once more reunited, but there is the
little “Kite” out in the bay, ready to take us south at any time.

[Illustration:

  ACROSS THE SNOW DESERT.—FOLLOWING THE GUIDON.
]

I have been afraid to go to sleep since Mr. Peary’s return, for fear I
might wake up and find it all a dream; besides, we had so much to tell
each other that there was no time or inclination for sleep. Mr. Peary
recounted to me the events of his journey; how after he sent Mr. Gibson
and Dr. Cook back to Redcliffe from the Humboldt Glacier, May 24th, he
and Astrup marched on day after day, with their magnificent team of
Eskimo dogs, which Astrup learned to handle as well as a native driver.

[Illustration:

  The First Musk-ox.
]

They encountered storms which kept them buried in the snow for days at a
time, but their worst enemies were the snow-arched crevasses which they
met just before reaching the latitude of Sherard Osborne Fjord. These
arches were so treacherous that more than once they were on them before
they were aware of it, and old Lion came very near ending his journey by
breaking through one of them and being precipitated the full length of
his trace into the yawning chasm. Fortunately the trace was strong
enough to hold his weight, and he was pulled up none the worse for his
tumble. The loss of a single animal would have been a calamity to the
party.

[Illustration:

  Cairn on Navy Cliff.

  Lat. 81° 37′.
]

On July 1st Mr. Peary saw the loom of land ahead, and thinking it only
one of the west-coast mountains, changed his course to northeast, and
then to east, hoping to be able to round it; but after a few days’
further travel he saw the land still ahead, and then found that it was
the northern boundary of Greenland. He now decided to leave his sledges
and supplies at the edge of a moraine, and, with a few days’ rations,
start overland toward the coast. They had not gone far when they came
across unmistakable signs of musk-oxen, and then upon the animals
themselves, grazing in a little valley. A few shots from Mr. Peary’s
rifle brought down two of them. Then a little baby musk-ox came peering
around a great boulder to learn the cause of all the noise and
commotion. This was captured alive, but the poor little thing did not
survive its mother very long. Mr. Peary camped in this lovely valley,
and there feasted his dogs on fresh meat.

These noble brutes, accustomed all their lives to raw, bloody meat, had
been living on dry pemmican for the past two months, working day after
day as they had never worked continuously before. No wonder they
strained at their traces, plunging and tugging to get loose and help
themselves. As quickly as one of the musk-oxen was skinned the body was
tossed within their reach, and they pounced upon it with a greediness
which plainly showed how much they longed for the juicy meat. The
explorers themselves also enjoyed the fresh meat for a change, but they
were glad to get back to pemmican again after a few days.

After the dogs had been fed and rested, the march across the
boulder-strewn country toward the coast was resumed. It ended July 4th,
when the party came out on a bluff on the east coast, some 3800 feet
high, which overlooked the great unknown Arctic Ocean. Here a couple of
days were spent in making observations for latitude and longitude, in
taking photographs of the surrounding country, and in building a cairn
in which to deposit the record of their journey, and then the return
march was begun. McCormick Bay was reached on August 6th, after an
absence of ninety-three days, during which time Mr. Peary says neither
he nor Astrup had an ache or a pain.

[Illustration:

  Looking down over the Arctic Ocean.
]

Late yesterday afternoon a brisk wind blew up that made the surf fly and
prevented any of us from going ashore. As Professor Heilprin was anxious
to examine some of the great glaciers, it was decided that the “Kite”
remain at her present anchorage until after he had made his examinations
the next day. This morning, however, the wind was still blowing, and
although an attempt was made to land a boat, it had to be abandoned;
Captain Pike, too, was desirous to get the “Kite” down the bay before
she was blown on the rocks. Indeed, this was necessary, as the vessel
had already had her nose stuck in the mudbank, and it had seemed for a
time that she was in a precarious position. Fortunately we escaped with
the loss of only about eleven feet of the vessel’s “shoe.” The incident
was by no means pleasing, and we all felt relieved when the vessel again
rode a straight keel. For hours we drifted about, hoping the wind would
go down, but finally we headed down the bay. It was impossible to swing
the vessel inshore opposite Redcliffe, and we were obliged to pass our
home and continue to Cape Cleveland. Here again we could find no
sheltered nook where it would be safe to land a boat, and we sailed back
and forth until late in the afternoon, when the captain thought that we
might land in the lee of the great cliffs just east of Cape Cleveland.
The boat was put in charge of the second mate, who, with the three
strongest sailors, pulled Mr. Peary, Astrup, and myself to the shore, a
distance of perhaps half a mile. We got along well in spite of the great
billows until we reached the shore, where, before we could make a
landing, two waves in rapid succession broke over our boat, almost
filling it with water, and nearly swamping us. I was completely
drenched.

Just before reaching Cripple Point we were met by Dr. Cook, Verhoeff,
and Gibson, anxious to greet the inland ice-party, of whose return they
had been apprised by Matt. It was very curious to watch the expressions
on the faces of the natives, who stood in groups about Redcliffe House
staring at Mr. Peary and Astrup as they approached. When they were
spoken to they answered in low, frightened tones, and they could not be
induced to come forward and shake hands, or in any way come in contact
with the two, until they were convinced that they were really human
beings, and not great spirits come down from the ice-cap. Then they were
very anxious to know if Mr. Peary had seen the spirits of the departed
Eskimos, what they lived on, how they looked, and all about them. They
were very much surprised not only to see the dogs return alive, but to
see them in much better condition than when they left, as they had
repeatedly said the Americans did not know how to feed the Eskimo dog,
and he would soon starve under their treatment. Now they have perfect
confidence in Mr. Peary, and say they would go anywhere with him, even
on the ice-cap, because they do not believe he would let the evil spirit
harm them.

[Illustration:

  Astrup’s Musk-lamb.
]

Mr. Peary has decided to start on a trip up Inglefield Gulf to-morrow.
His purpose is to verify some of the observations made by us on our
April sledge trip, to take photographs of the landscape in its summer
dress, and to secure ethnological specimens at Karnah and Nunatochsoah
that were promised us by the natives of those places. We expect to
return within a week, and then everything will be put on board the good
ship “Kite,” and we shall bid adieu to our Arctic home and the dear old
huskies, who, even if they are not particularly clean, have been our
faithful friends, and will, I am sure, never forget us.

[Illustration:

  IN MUSK-OX LAND BEYOND THE ICE-CAP.
]




                             CHAPTER XVIII
                   BOAT JOURNEY INTO INGLEFIELD GULF

  The Sculptured Cliffs of Karnah—Luxuriant Vegetation—Stormy
    Weather—Anniversary Camp—My Kahlillowah—Crossing the Gulf in a
    Tempest—The Shelter of Academy Bay—Fury of the Arctic Winds—An
    Iceberg Breakwater—We reach Karnah again—Rounding Cape
    Cleveland—Fighting for Life and Shelter—Safe at Redcliffe.


The weather was not very encouraging as we started from Redcliffe House
on Tuesday, August 9, the strong wind of the two previous days having
brought up heavy storm-clouds, which now hid the sun and hung
threateningly overhead. It was just about noon when we left the beach at
Redcliffe, the light “Mary Peary” shooting rapidly along with the
strokes of the six Eskimo boatmen, and in a short time we had rounded
Cape Cleveland and started eastward up the gulf. The scene before us was
very different from what it had been ten months previously, when we made
our first attempt. There were then numerous pans and streams of ice,
with the new ice rapidly cementing them together; the land itself was
covered with snow, and the ice-foot had already commenced to form on the
beach. Now there was only an occasional fragment of ice, though the
great bergs were numerous. The mountains of the shore were rich with the
warm hues of summer. Late in the afternoon a favoring wind came up from
the west, and with foresail hoisted we moved merrily along before it.
Relieved thus from their labors, our crew lounged contentedly upon the
seats, and fell into a conversational mood. Mr. Peary learned from them
that many years ago Mekhtoshay had shot an “amarok,” or wolf, at
Netchiolumy, and that Panikpah had killed one at Nerki; Koomenahpik and
Mekhtoshay, who are brothers, also related that years ago they had both
seen “oomingmuk” (musk-oxen), “awahne, awahne, Etah” (far beyond Etah).

At half-past six in the evening we reached Karnah, a small Eskimo
settlement on the north shore of the sound, some twenty miles from Cape
Cleveland. Here the low, flat shore ends, and a line of towering gray
cliffs begins. We pitched our tent on a level bit of grass among the
stones, and after our evening meal was completed we crossed the noisy
glacial stream flowing near the village, climbed the hill just west of
it, and then followed the shore westward till we came to the stone
igloos of Karnah the deserted. Four houses form this village, which lies
in the center of a beautiful grassy meadow, stretching back from the
shore to the foot of the brown mountains. The luxuriance of the grass
here was wonderful. All across the meadow we waded through it, literally
knee-deep, and in one or two places immediately about the igloos it was
so rank that as I stooped to gather some sprays for pressing I was
almost hidden. Returning to our tent, we were soon lulled to sleep by
the boisterous music of the glacial stream. During the night it snowed
lightly, and when we awoke the ground was covered with a white mantle,
which, however, soon disappeared.

Leaving Karnah on the morning of the 10th, for three or four hours we
threaded our way through bergs and great cakes of blue ice, past the
giant cliffs of Karnah, with their great bastions, towers, chimneys, and
statues, carved by the Arctic storms from the gray sandstone, the
breeding places of black guillemots, burgomaster gulls, and white
falcons. As we passed along our Eskimo boatmen pointed out to us the
striking figures, all of heroic size, looming against the sky far up the
cliffs, and told us that such and such a one was a woman, and such
another a man, and that the cliffs themselves were known as “innuchen”
(statue rocks). There would be wide scope here for the imaginative
genius who has given the nomenclature to the rocks in the Garden of the
Gods. All this time it was raining in fierce showers, and we rounded the
point of the bay east of Karnah in the face of one of them. A number of
deer were seen quietly grazing in the valleys. A fresh wind came up from
the south, and we went dashing up the bay, with the foam flying from the
bow of the boat, and a boiling white wake behind us. We landed on a
sandy beach near the head of the bay. While the tent was being pitched
and the boat hauled out of the water a school of white whales
(“kahkoktah”) came puffing and sporting into the cove, and Koomenahpik
immediately went out in his kayak, which we had in tow, after them. He
remained out for an hour, but as the result of cautiousness, either on
his part or on the part of the whales, he did not succeed in getting
near enough to use his harpoon, and returned unsuccessful. The view from
our camp was very impressive. Facing us, and forming nearly a
semicircle, was a great glacier; just across the cove a great nunatak
reared its brown mass above the ice, and everywhere the cliffs were of a
warm red and brown coloring, a marked contrast to the wintry shores of
Herbert and Northumberland islands, and to the chilly, gray sandstone
cliffs of Karnah. Our tent was pitched just above high-water mark beside
a little stream whose banks were actually yellow with Arctic poppies.

[Illustration:

  Pillar of Sandstone.
]

The heavy showers continued through the night, and we waited until noon
of the 11th for them to cease. Verhoeff was out after specimens until
after midnight, and then, returning, slept in the boat. He left us at
this point to join Gibson in Tooktoo Valley. Crossing over to the
eastern side of the bay, we found a beautiful rock-protected cove, with
a stream flowing into it from a valley above. While Mr. Peary climbed to
the top of a rock to obtain some bearings, I took my rifle and started
up the valley in search of deer. In a short time I had shot two. One of
them I brought down at long range while he was running at full speed. As
this day was the anniversary of our wedding, we celebrated it mildly
with a milk-punch and fried liver from the deer which I had shot. Here,
midway between the Arctic Circle and the Pole, we were in a veritable
garden spot. Vines and plants and flowers run and grow in luxuriant
abundance over and in the crevices of the rocks. The stream which
empties into the cove comes from a beautiful mirror-like lake set in a
grassy meadow only a short distance up the valley, and over the
protecting ledge to the west come the continuous thunder and groanings
of the great glacier.

Continuing our exploration, we arrived, through wind, snow, and rain, at
the precipitous island which lies near the eastern extremity of the
gulf. Here, in the angle of the island and a huge glacier, in which it
was partially buried, we pitched the tent, though not without protest
from the natives, who said that the waves from an iceberg breaking off
the glacier might smash the boat and swamp the camp. While we were at
dinner Koomenahpik raised the alarm of “kahlillowah,” and looking out we
saw two narwhal among the bergs, a large one and a small one. We
immediately pulled out for the animals. As we approached, the larger of
the two disappeared, but we were able to get near enough to the other
one for me to put a bullet through its head; then Koomenahpik drove a
harpoon into its back, and after a short struggle we had it in tow for
the camp. The next morning we found my prize high and dry on the rocks,
a great mottled, misshapen mass of flesh, with a gleaming ivory horn,
straight as an arrow, and almost as sharp as a stiletto, projecting
straight out from its nose. It was a wonderful sight to me, who never
before had seen the narwhal, the fabled ancestor of the unicorn. I could
not gaze at it sufficiently.

[Illustration:

  THE MELVILLE GLACIER—INGLEFIELD GULF.
]

When we started off again, in the afternoon of August 14th, our boat was
loaded down almost to the gunwales with our trophies of narwhal and
reindeer, the tents, and other equipment. The morning’s promise of
pleasant weather had not been fulfilled. Heavy black clouds were
gathering thick and fast, and by the time we had reached the southern
end of the island it was raining steadily. As we ran out from the lee of
the island the full force of the now furious northeast gale struck us,
and we were pelted mercilessly with sheets of water. It was a wild
scene, with the sullen, spectral glare of the great glaciers north and
east of us beneath the pall of black clouds, the wind howling over us as
if it would pick us bodily out of the water, and the black cliffs at the
mouth of Academy Bay, our destination, mere shadows, felt rather than
seen through the rain full twenty miles to the south. The gulf was full
of great bergs and masses of hard blue ice, the outflow from the
glaciers, through the mazes of which we were obliged to pick our way;
yet they were our friends, for they kept the water smooth in spite of
the raging wind, and gave us now and then a shelter, behind which we
could stop for a few moments and catch our breath before striking out
again into the furious blast. Fortunately, the wind was partly in our
favor; in spite of our tortuous course we made rapid progress, and in
four hours were abreast of the group of islands down in the southeast
corner of the gulf, which we had visited in April during our sledge
trip. From here to Tawanah’s igloo at the month of the bay was the
critical part of our voyage. This distance was entirely free of ice, and
though only five or six miles in width, the force of the wind was such
that the whitecaps were rushing madly across it as we came out from
under the shelter of the islands. With just a bit of the foresail up to
enable the boat to run away from the waves, and two oars ready to be
dropped instantly into the rowlocks, in case of necessity, we dashed
madly along, with every now and then the top of a wave coming in over
the stern of the boat, and striking Mr. Peary and myself in the back
with a resounding whack. More than once my teeth involuntarily closed
more firmly as I saw a mad white crest rushing down upon us, but our
little craft rode the waves like a duck, and we finally shot under the
lee of the point at Tawanah’s igloo. As the boat sped along through the
placid water and the sail flapped against the mast in the eddy of wind
under the point, every one breathed a sigh of relief.

In spite of the fury of the storm out in the gulf, here in the bay under
the steep shore everything was calm and quiet. The mast and sail were
taken down and the oars run out, and our native crew settled down to
work again, glad to warm themselves by exercise. Suddenly, however, the
wind, with the perverseness common to winds in these Arctic regions,
came rushing out of the bay, meeting us full in the face, and making it
almost impossible for the men to make head against it. But Mr. Peary
spurred them on, and by hugging the shore we succeeded, with the aid of
the tide, in reaching a little island about half-way up the bay,
opposite which, despite the high waves, we effected a landing. We had
the utmost difficulty in setting up our tent, but we at last got the
better of the hurricane by securing the bottom of the tent all around
with huge stones.

Never before had I understood the power of the wind. To add to its
terrifying effect, it did not blow steadily now, as when it first
commenced, but came in frightful gusts with intervals of calm between.
For perhaps a minute or two it would be absolutely still, the black
cliffs across the bay would loom up in perfect distinctness, and every
intonation of the waves, dashing upon the rocks, could be heard; then a
rushing white wall would spring into view around the bend of the bay a
mile or so above us, an ominous murmur would be heard, rapidly
increasing in volume and intensity, until, with a roar, the Arctic blast
was upon us, literally cutting the tops off the waves and hurling them
in solid masses of water far up the cliffs. The icebergs went tearing
out of the bay like ships in a ten-knot breeze. A number of these bergs
sailed in toward our little island, and, grounding at the upper end of
the channel, formed a complete breakwater. When the wild gusts struck
these great bergs they rocked and groaned, flung themselves at each
other with thunderous crash, reeling backward shattered and split from
the shock, while all the time the waves dashed against their outer
faces, climbed in white jets clear to their tops, and fell in
intermittent cataracts into the waters of our little harbor. It seemed
as if we were at the very gates of the Hyperborean Inferno. All night
long this struggle continued, the flying spray from the iceberg
breakwater dashing against the tent, drenching it and all its contents.
Mr. Peary and Matt spent the greater part of the night in holding up the
tent-poles.

By morning the storm had exhausted its fury, and we were on our journey
once more. But heavy weather soon set in again, and a disagreeable
drizzle continued throughout the night and the greater part of the
following day. We made a bee-line diagonally across the gulf to Karnah,
the castellated cliffs of which could just be discerned through the gray
mist which hung low over the water. Head winds and a contrary flood-tide
made our progress slow, and it was only after a long and weary day of
hard work for the men at the oars, and of wet and cold and cramp for
those in the stern of the boat, that we touched the northern shore a few
miles above Karnah, where we gladly availed ourselves of the opportunity
to jump out and stretch our stiffened limbs. It was our intention to
camp here for the night, but after the refreshing effects of a hot
dinner, with ample draughts of tea, every one felt so much better,
although thoroughly tired out, that we determined to push on to
Redcliffe. As we neared Cape Cleveland the wind blew a gale, but now,
for the first time, it was in our favor, and Mr. Peary ordered up both
sails. Under Matt’s skilful guidance we went flying past the cliffs for
the mouth of McCormick Bay, dodging the hard blue lumps of ice, some of
which could not be seen until we were almost upon them, frightening a
herd of walrus into which we dashed unexpectedly, and then at last
whirled round the point at Cape Cleveland into an eddy of quiet wind and
water. Scarcely had we rounded the Cape, however, when Mr. Peary’s eye
saw another one of those white squalls rushing down upon us from Tooktoo
Valley, and there was just time to get the masts and sails down, and the
men to the oars with feet braced against the seats and backs straining
to the bending ash-blades, when the squall was upon us. The wind tore
off the tops of the waves and dashed them in our faces until it was
impossible to see. When the gusts were at their height the men could
only hold their own and prevent the boat from being blown backward out
into the sound, while in the intervals between they managed to gain a
little, and in this way we crept along inch by inch toward the sheltered
beach on which we had landed from the “Kite” a week before. Suddenly,
just as we came abreast of the place where a still remaining portion of
the ice-foot formed an ugly overhanging shelf, under which the waves
broke furiously, Kulutingwah’s oar snapped short off, and Kulutingwah
himself, with a wild cry, pitched backward into the bottom of the boat.
In the momentary confusion which followed, the boat began drifting
rapidly under the shelf, when Mr. Peary seized the oar of the man
nearest him and urged every one to his utmost, at the same time shouting
to Kulutingwah to jump for the bow of the boat and throw the grapnel
out. With understanding quickened by fear, the Eskimo carried out the
order almost as soon as it was uttered, and with all still tugging at
the oars to ease the strain upon the anchor-rope, the boat settled
slowly back inch by inch, until finally she stopped so near the wicked
blue shelf of ice that I could touch it with my hand. This respite gave
us a chance to recover our breath, and enabled Mr. Peary to make a
change in the disposition of the men. In the intervals between the gusts
the oars slowly and painfully worked the boat ahead, and before the next
squall struck us the grapnel was thrown over, and every one crouched low
in the boat, to present as little surface as possible to the wind. In
this way, with the woman Armah crying and screaming in the bottom of the
boat, and the faces of the men a dingy white, we at last reached the
coveted beach. So deafening was the roar of the wind that we could
hardly hear each other’s voices. Leaving Kulutingwah to watch the boat,
we made our way to Redcliffe.




                              CHAPTER XIX
                         FAREWELL TO GREENLAND

  Alarm about Mr. Verhoeff—A Search Instituted—Alone with Matt and the
    Native Women—No News—Return of the Search-parties—Poor
    Verhoeff—Packing up—I play Lady Bountiful—Pennsylvania’s Gifts to
    the Natives—Farewell to Redcliffe—Fossil-hunting at
    Atanekerdluk—Godhavn revisited—Godthaab—Eskimo Kayakers—Fire-swept
    St. John’s—Arrival at Philadelphia—Home again.


Thursday, August 18. When we rejoined our men at midnight we learned
from Dr. Cook that Verhoeff, who left us at Bowdoin Bay, had not yet
returned, and that Gibson and Mr. Bryant, the second in command of
Professor Heilprin’s party, were in Five-Glacier Valley searching for
him. Verhoeff, after having joined Gibson, left him at the valley for a
further search after minerals, and his last words were, “If I am not
here don’t be worried; I may be gone till Tuesday or Wednesday.”

Before retiring Mr. Peary sent a note on board the “Kite,” informing
Professor Heilprin of our return, and stating that we should be ready to
say farewell to Redcliffe the next day. Soon after breakfast this
morning Mr. Peary began getting the boxes and barrels of specimens ready
for shipment, while I took charge of the household effects, provisions,
etc. While we were thus occupied our boat was seen coming from
Five-Glacier Valley. When it had approached near enough for us to
distinguish the occupants, we saw there were only two white men in
it—Gibson and Mr. Bryant. Gibson told us that they had waited at the
appointed place until their provisions gave out, and then had taken a
scout up the valley for some distance, but had seen no sign of Verhoeff.
They left a note for him, intending to return for a further search.

We now began to feel grave apprehensions regarding the missing man, and
a vigorous search was immediately determined upon. Mr. Peary set to work
to provision the boat; then, summoning about him all the native men, who
are as expert as our Indians in following a trail, he told them that
they must go with him to Five-Glacier Valley and look for Verhoeff,
promising a rifle and ammunition to the man who should first discover
him. Professor Heilprin then suggested that while Mr. Peary and his men
went up McCormick Bay to the mouth of the valley, he and his party
should go round in the “Kite” to the head of the valley in Robertson
Bay; and it was so decided, and the Eskimos were divided between the two
parties. I remained at Redcliffe with Matt and the native women and
children.

At two o’clock the search-parties left, and I turned my attention once
more to packing. The women stood around me, devoured with curiosity as
to what I would do with all these things, and plying me with questions
as to whose husband would win the coveted prize. They would not believe
that I did not know, because I had known that Mr. Peary and Astrup would
return from the inland ice.

Friday, August 19. The day is not a promising one; dark clouds are
gathering and the air seems oppressive. I trust that the search-parties
will find Mr. Verhoeff to-day, for he must be running short of
provisions by this time. We calculated that what he had could by
economizing be made to last him through Wednesday, and to-day is Friday.
There is no sign of boat or ship.

Most of our provisions are stowed away on the “Kite,” among them all the
fresh meat; in the excitement we forgot to get any out for our use, and
to-day we are living on crackers and coffee.

Sunday, August 21. When this morning’s fog lifted at noon, the “Kite”
was seen off Five-Glacier Valley. All day yesterday we watched for her
and waited for some news, but heard and saw nothing. Seeing the vessel,
I supposed of course that Verhoeff had been found, and the “Kite” had
gone round to the valley to pick up the rest of the party.

After hours of watching we saw the “Kite” get up steam and head down the
bay toward Redcliffe, and late in the afternoon she stopped opposite our
house, and the professor came off to me in a boat, only to bring the
distressing news that nothing had been seen or heard of Verhoeff. Mr.
Peary was then exploring the shore from the mouth of the valley around
Cairn Point to the head of Robertson Bay, where it was intended that the
“Kite” should join him. Another party were making thorough search
through the valley. After leaving me some provisions the “Kite”
continued on her way to Robertson Bay.

Tuesday, August 23. We have had no tidings from the search-parties since
the “Kite” left us Sunday evening. I am very much afraid that we shall
never see our lost companion alive again. The weather since he has been
in the field has been exceptionally cold, raw, and wet, and he was
clothed very lightly; besides, his food must have given out some days
ago. The natives all agree that no one could have slept without shelter
in the furious gales which we have had lately, clothed as lightly as
Verhoeff was; and as they have the experience which we lack, I cannot
help feeling that there is truth in what they say, so to-night I go to
bed with a heavy heart. With the dark winter night passed in safety and
comfort, and the long sledge journey accomplished successfully, it seems
sad indeed that we should now, on the eve of our departure, meet with so
great a loss.

Wednesday, August 24. About two o’clock this morning Mané came running
in to me with the news that the ship was coming, and I at once went out
on the beach to await her. In half an hour she dropped anchor, and Mr.
Peary, with the other members of our party, came ashore bringing the sad
tidings that Verhoeff’s footprints had been found and traced upon a
great glacier which was cut by numberless wicked-looking crevasses, and
there lost. After searching the glacier in every direction without
success, there was no doubt left that poor Verhoeff had lost his life in
an effort to cross the ice-stream. Mr. Peary cached enough provisions to
last one man a year, at Cairn Point, in case Verhoeff should, in some
miraculous way, return after the “Kite’s” departure.

It was with a feeling akin to homesickness that I took the pictures and
ornaments from the walls of our little room, pulled down the curtains
from the windows and bed, had Matt pack the books and nail them up,
sorted the things on the bed, and packed those I wanted to keep. The
tins and cooking utensils I put on the stone and turf wall just outside
of my room previous to distributing them among the natives.

My trunk packed and removed, the carpet up and the curtains down, the
improvised bookcase taken to pieces, and it was hard to imagine that
this dismantled room had once been as snug and comfortable as any
boudoir in the world. Could the walls talk they would tell of some very
pleasant hours spent there by the members of the North Greenland
Expedition of 1891–92, and of many months of real solid comfort and
happiness enjoyed by the woman who, when she left home and friends, was
told over and over again that she must expect to endure all kinds of
hardships, to suffer agony from that dreaded Arctic enemy, scurvy, etc.

[Illustration:

  Receiving Gifts of Charity.
]

I next turned my attention to the various articles put aside for the
Eskimos, and after sorting them over I called all the women in the
settlement to me, and stood them in a row. There were nine among them,
including the two brides (mere children), Tookymingwah, wife of Kookoo,
and Tungwingwah, wife of Kulutingwah. When they had grasped the idea
that I was about to present them with these things they fairly danced
with joy, shouting to their husbands, and laughing and talking with each
other. I took care that Mané and M’gipsu, who had been with us
constantly sewing and curing skins, should have the more desirable
articles, while the others shared equally. After the distribution the
professor, with a few members of his party, rowed off to the “Kite,” and
in a short time returned with their boat laden with pots, kettles,
knives, scissors, thimbles, and needles for the women, and long
ash-poles, timber cut suitable for kayaks, lances, saws, gimlets,
knives, etc.—in fact, everything in the hardware and lumber line that
could be of any possible use to the men. Then all the natives were
collected on the beach and the different articles distributed among
them. I know if the good Pennsylvanians who sent these gifts could have
seen the pleasure these poor natives derived from them they would have
felt amply repaid.

We spent a couple of hours in taking photographs of the natives, their
tupics, our poor little abandoned house and its surroundings, and then
bade farewell to Redcliffe. It had been my home for thirteen months—some
of them had seemed more than twice as long as any ordinary month—and I
felt sorry to leave it to the mercy of wind and weather and Eskimo. Mané
asked me if she might pitch her tupic in my room, saying it would be so
nice and dry, and the wind could not strike it and blow it over; then,
too, no matter how cold it might be, her ikkimer would be sufficient to
heat it comfortably. I told her she might do so, but she must take good
care of the house and not allow others to destroy anything about it,
until the return of the next sun, when, if we did not come back, it
should belong to Ikwa and herself to do with as they wished.

It was about noon when I left the settlement with the last boat-load,
and as soon as we were safely on board the “Kite” the work of raising
the anchor was begun. In the meantime Ikwa and Kyo in their kayaks were
paddling round and round the “Kite,” calling to us their last good-byes.
Ikwa asked if he might come aboard just once more, and on permission
being granted, he immediately climbed over the side and jumped on deck.
Some one took a fancy to his kayak paddle, which had been broken and
mended, as only an Eskimo can mend, in at least a dozen different
places, and gave him an old sledge-runner for it. When the time came for
the Old Pirate to leave us all of us felt badly, and when he said
“Gooby,” with his peculiar accent, his eyes filled and he choked. After
this he would not turn his head in our direction, and only waved his
hand in answer to our good-byes. His picture, as he paddled himself with
the sledge-runner, curved at both ends, to the shore, will never fade
from my memory.

As the “Kite” steamed slowly down the bay the natives ran along the
beach, shouting to us and waving their hands, Kulutingwah bringing up
the rear with a torn American flag attached to a pole, which he waved
frantically to the imminent danger of those near him. I could not help
thinking, Have these poor ignorant people, who are absolutely isolated
from the rest of humanity, really benefited by their intercourse with
us, or have we only opened their eyes to their destitute condition? I
hope the latter is not the case, for a happier, merrier set of people I
have never seen; no thought beyond the present, and no care beyond that
of getting enough to eat and to wear. As we steamed down the bay we
turned our eyes on the red cliffs, and when they faded from view Cape
Cleveland and Herbert and Northumberland Islands were the only familiar
landmarks left in sight. On these we gazed with the feeling that we were
looking our last upon the scene. The old Cape, especially, seemed very
near and dear to me; twice it had sheltered and protected me from the
fury of an Arctic gale—once in the winter when Mr. Peary and the doctor
had gone to rescue “Jack,” my pet Newfoundland, from its precipitous
cliffs, and the second time only a few days ago, when we returned from
our venturesome boat journey up Inglefield Gulf.


Our home journey was almost wholly devoid of incident. Melville Bay,
smooth as glass, had lost its terrors, and we steamed through it almost
without hindrance. We reached Atanekerdluk, in the Waigatt, on August
29th, and there spent a delightful and profitable day in collecting
fossils among the “leaf beds” which have been made famous to geologists.
The following morning we arrived at Godhavn, where once more we enjoyed
the kind hospitality of Inspector and Mrs. Anderssen, and the pleasing
attentions of a daughter who had only recently returned from Denmark.
The same friendly reception awaited us at Godthaab, the capital of the
Southern Inspectorate of Greenland, where the honors of hospitality were
divided between Inspector and Mrs. Fencker and Governor and Mrs.
Baumann. It was here that Nansen descended from the ice-cap after his
memorable journey across the Land of Desolation and passed a long, weary
winter of waiting.

[Illustration:

  SADDLE MOUNTAIN.—GODTHAAB.
]

The Eskimos of this region have the reputation of being the most expert
kayakers in the whole of Greenland, and we were witness to some of their
most remarkable feats, such as describing a complete revolution through
the water, and crossing one another at right angles, one canoe shooting
over the bow of the other. These performances, which are said to have
been at one time common with all the west-coast Eskimos, are rapidly
becoming a lost art, and it has even been doubted if they took place at
all.

[Illustration:

  Sports of the Kayakers.—Overturning.
]

[Illustration:

  Kayaker Overturned.
]

Our kind friends were so pressing in their attentions that it was not
without regret that we were forced to bid adieu to their hospitable
homes and a last farewell to the Greenland shores. After a rather
tempestuous voyage we arrived at St. John’s, Newfoundland, on September
11th, to find a scene of desolation, and wreck and ruin running in the
path of the recent conflagration. The fire had broken out two days after
the departure of the “Kite” on her last mission of good-will, and this
was the first intimation that any of us had had of the catastrophe.
Shaping our course southward, we arrived, after an uneventful voyage, at
our port of destination, Philadelphia, where on the 24th, amid a chorus
of cheers and hurrahs, and the tooting of innumerable horns and
whistles, we received the congratulations of the multitude that had
assembled to await our arrival.

I returned in the best of health, much stronger than when I left sixteen
months before. The journey was a thoroughly enjoyable one. There were
some drawbacks, it is true, but we meet with them everywhere, and were
it not for the sad loss of Mr. Verhoeff, I should not have a single
regret.




                               CHAPTER XX
                          GREENLAND REVISITED

  Along the Labrador Coast—Strange Passengers on the
    “Falcon”—Holsteinborg and Godhavn—The Quickest Passage of Melville
    Bay—Meeting with Old Friends—No Tidings of Verhoeff—Establishing
    Ourselves at Bowdoin Bay—Deaths among the Eskimos—A Rich Walrus
    Hunt—Smith Sound and the Northern Ice-pack—Polaris House—Departure
    of the “Falcon.”


Anniversary Lodge, Bowdoin Bay, Greenland, August 20, 1893. The reader
who has followed me through my Arctic experiences of 1891–92 may be
interested to know how we found our Eskimo friends upon our return to
them after an absence of nearly a year.

On July 8 the steamship “Falcon,” carrying north the members of Mr.
Peary’s new Arctic expedition, left Portland, and headed for St. John’s,
where we landed on the 13th. We had with us a conglomerate cargo,
including, in addition to the ordinary paraphernalia of an Arctic
expedition, eight little Mexican burros or donkeys, two St. Bernard
dogs, the Eskimo dogs which Mr. Peary had brought down from Greenland,
and numerous homing pigeons, kindly presented to us by friends
interested in the expedition. At St. John’s we added a few Newfoundland
dogs, and then proceeded north along the Labrador coast, touching at
several of the missionary stations, where we obtained about thirty dogs
from the Eskimos. It was a pitiable sight to see how famished these poor
Moravian missionaries were for news from the old as well as the new
country. They have direct mail communication with Europe only once a
year.

I was told that although they have only three months in the year when
frost is out of the ground, yet they all cultivate small gardens, and
the most delicious dish of stewed rhubarb that I ever tasted was
prepared from a bundle sent to me by one of the missionaries. It was
interesting to note that while the appearance of the Labrador Eskimos is
very similar to that of the natives of South Greenland, yet their mode
of dress is different in both pattern and material. The undershirts,
instead of being made of the skins of birds, are made of blanketing, and
instead of being the same length back and front, are fashioned with a
long tail; over this is worn a garment of the same pattern, made of
drilling. The trousers are also of woven material. Of course this was
their summer costume. The women all wore blanket skirts, and had woolen
shawls about their shoulders.

After following the coast of Labrador for ten days, we headed across
Davis Strait for Holsteinborg, on the Greenland shore. It took us about
twelve hours to steam through the stream of ice which was flowing
southward, but only once did the “Falcon” have to go astern in order to
move a pan of ice and make a passageway for herself. Steadily she
steamed on, butting against the cakes and floes until her timbers
quivered and creaked. At last we were in clear water again, and then our
vessel fairly bounded over the waves.

Arrived at Holsteinborg, we found a pretty, clean little village. There
are more wooden houses here than at Godhavn, and altogether the place
looks more thrifty. We found the governor absent, but the assistant
governor, a young Danish officer who spoke a little English, did the
honors, and he procured twenty-three dogs from the natives for us. Among
other attentions, he sent to me a basket of radishes, fresh from his
garden.

Business completed, the “Falcon” steamed north for Godhavn. On our
arrival at this little hamlet we found everything apparently unchanged,
but, to our great disappointment, our pilot informed us that Inspector
Anderssen was absent on a tour of inspection, accompanied by his
daughter, and that Governor Joergensen and family had gone to Denmark.
We found Mrs. Anderssen as rosy-cheeked and as youthful as when we first
saw her. She made our visit very pleasant, rounding it off with one of
her delightful little dinners on the evening of our departure. We
requited her hospitality by presenting her with various kinds of
fruit—pineapples, lemons, oranges, and a watermelon. The natives
expressed great pleasure on seeing us, and old Frederick, who had
accompanied Mr. Peary on the ice in 1886, after shaking hands with me,
said, “Very gude, you look all samee,” rubbing his hands over his face
and then pointing to mine to show me that I had not changed in looks
since last he saw me.

Our next stopping-place was Upernavik, where we remained just long
enough to pick up a few dogs, after which we put in at Tassiusak, the
most northerly inhabited spot in the world belonging to any government.
This place boasts of but a single wooden house. We here still further
increased our stock of dogs, and then left. The next day we revisited
the Duck Islands, but this year the sport did not compare with that of
two years ago, when the birds were so plentiful that one could hardly
walk without fear of stepping on them. This year it was a month later in
the season, and not only were the young ducks hatched, but the old
mother ducks were out teaching the ducklings to swim, and the islands
consequently were all but deserted. I devoted my time to the gathering
of down for the bedding in our Arctic home, and secured about thirty
pounds.

We now headed for the ever-dreaded Melville Bay, my first experience
with which I shall never forget. We were then three weeks in crossing,
and it was during that time that Mr. Peary had the misfortune to have
his leg broken. This time everything looked favorable; we had no fog,
and there was no ice in sight from the crow’s-nest. Captain Bartlett was
determined to break the record in the crossing of this water—thirty-six
hours—on this his first voyage to the Arctic regions. In twenty-four
hours and fifty minutes we reached the Eskimo settlement at Cape York,
Melville Bay behind us and still no ice to be seen.

At this settlement, where formerly so many natives lived, we found only
three families, all of them strange to us; they could tell us nothing
about our acquaintances in the tribe, not having seen any of the
inhabitants to the north of them since the time we left McCormick Bay.
We pushed on along the Greenland coast until we rounded Cape Parry, and
then steamed into Barden Bay, stopping at the Eskimo village of
Netchiolumy. Here, too, instead of finding about sixty natives, as was
the case a year ago, we found only two families. Mr. Peary with two men
went ashore at once, and before their boat reached the land I heard one
of the natives shout “Chimo Peary,” and saw him dance up and down for
joy. On his return Mr. Peary informed me that the natives were Keshu,
_alias_ the Smiler, and Myah, the White Man, with their families. They
were wild with delight, and begged to be allowed to accompany us to the
site of our new house and pitch their tents beside it. They were stowed
with all their belongings into Mr. Peary’s boat, and in a short time
both families with their houses and their chattels were on board the
“Falcon.” They gave us all the news and gossip of the tribe. Naturally,
we first questioned them about our lost companion, Mr. Verhoeff. There
never was a doubt in our minds that Mr. Verhoeff lost his life in
crossing the glacier at the head of Robertson Bay; but his friends at
home took a different view of the matter, and were confident that we
would find him alive and well. These natives say that nothing has been
seen or heard of him, and they hesitate to speak of him, as they never
speak of their dead. Mr. Peary thought perhaps some article of his
clothing had been found by the Eskimos that might throw some light on
the disappearance of our unfortunate associate; but nothing whatever has
been found. We next inquired about our Eskimo friends, and were grieved
to hear that the little five-year-old, bright-eyed, mischievous Anadore,
daughter of our henchman Ikwa and his wife Mané, had died in the early
spring. We learned that Redcliffe House had been destroyed by a few of
the natives, led on by the famous angekok, Kyoahpadu, and that he had
also destroyed the provisions which were cached at Cairn Point by Mr.
Peary.

[Illustration:

  The Cliffs of Karnah.
]

We arrived at our destination, at the head of Bowdoin Bay, on August 3d,
without any difficulty, the ice having almost completely left the bay
and sound. The Sculptured Cliffs of Karnah, forming the cape of Bowdoin
Bay, stood out sharp and clear in the early morning sunlight, while the
towering red Castle Cliffs frowned down upon the bay from the opposite
cape.

The site selected for our new home is only a few feet from where we
pitched our tent last year when engaged in the exploration of Inglefield
Gulf, and where, amidst a furious rainstorm, we celebrated our wedding
anniversary. As we shall celebrate at least two more such anniversaries
here, we have christened our new home “Anniversary Lodge.” The great
cliff which mounts guard over us Mr. Peary has named Mt. Bartlett, in
honor of our gallant young skipper, Captain Harry Bartlett, of St.
John’s. Our snug and picturesque harbor is to be known as Falcon Harbor,
named after the little bark which brought us here in safety, and which
is the first ship to anchor in these waters.

The day after we dropped anchor in Falcon Harbor we were visited by five
of our former Eskimo acquaintances, who had paddled at least twenty-five
or thirty miles in their kayaks on seeing the ship pass their
settlement. Two of them, Kulutingwah and Annowkah, were residents of
Redcliffe, and it really seemed like meeting old neighbors, although I
must confess that they appear even dirtier than they did a year ago.
Annowkah told me that his wife, M’gipsu, who was our most skilful
seamstress, was ill; but it is impossible to get these people to talk
much about their sick, and so I was unable to find out what really ailed
the poor woman.

Our Eskimos stayed with us a few days and assisted us in landing our
supplies. They were vastly amused at the burros, which they persist in
calling “big dogs”; and I can hardly blame them, for my St. Bernard dog
is almost as large and tall as some of these little animals. After the
provisions were all ashore, each native took a load of about fifty
pounds on his back and carried it to the ice-cap; but this was the last
straw, and every man decided that he really must return to his family at
once.

On August 12, the work on the house being well advanced, Mr. Peary
decided to make a trip after walrus for dog-food, intending to proceed
as far as Smith Sound, if possible. It takes quite a little pile of meat
to feed eighty-three Eskimo dogs. Accompanied by the two natives, Keshu
and Myah, we started for Karnah, the nearest settlement, where we had
intended to pick up one or two additional hunters; but on reaching the
place we were shocked to hear that M’gipsu had died “two sleeps ago.”
Mr. Peary went to Annowkah’s tent, and there sat the bereaved husband,
with his sealskin hood pulled over his head, looking straight before
him, saying nothing and doing nothing, apparently knowing nothing of
what was going on about him. It is the custom with these people to act
in this way for a certain length of time after a death, and then they
desert the hut or tent in which the death has taken place, and it is
never again occupied. M’gipsu’s little six-year-old boy, whose father
died when he was very small, also sat in the tent all huddled up in one
corner. Poor little fellow! I do not know what will become of him now,
for it is an open secret that his stepfather, Annowkah, does not like
him.

As we proceeded up the sound we saw the cakes of ice thickly sprinkled
with walrus, which had come out of the water and were taking a sun-bath.
The boats were lowered, and the men started after them. In a few hours
we had twenty-four of the monsters on board. Their average weight was
estimated at not less than fifteen hundred pounds. There were several
cold baths taken by the hunters, and some narrow escapes, but nothing
serious occurred, and we continued on our course, heading for Cape
Alexander. Once around the cape, we steamed half-way across the sound
toward Cape Sabine, where we were stopped by the ice-pack, which
stretched in an unbroken plain as far as we could see. Turning back, we
visited the site of the Polaris House, where a portion of Captain Hall’s
party wintered after the “Polaris” was wrecked. We picked up a number of
souvenirs in the shape of bolts, hooks, hinges, even buttons and leaves
from books. A quantity of rope was found on the border of a little pond
just back of where the house stood, and it seemed to be in a state of
perfect preservation. We also stopped at Littleton Island, and on the
adjoining McGary Island some of the party indulged in a little shooting.
A few ducks and guillemots were shot; four additional walrus and an
oogzook seal were also obtained in this vicinity. The weather then
became thick and a strong wind sprang up, which put an end to the sport.

All night we steamed toward Hakluyt Island, but on reaching it we could
not make a landing on account of the gale. We lay in the shelter of the
cliffs of Northumberland, and when the storm abated steamed along its
shore, and, crossing Whale Sound, entered Olrich’s Bay, the scenery of
which surpasses that of any of the other Greenland bays that I have
seen. Our party scattered at once in search of reindeer, which we were
told were numerous here, and in a few hours we had seventeen on board
ship.

Our house is up, and promises to be very cozy. The good ship “Falcon”
sails for home to-morrow, taking with her the last messages which we can
send our dear ones for some time.

Everything points to the success which Mr. Peary hopes for. What the
future will bring, however, no one can tell.




                        THE GREAT WHITE JOURNEY
    FROM McCORMICK BAY TO THE NORTHERN SHORE OF GREENLAND AND RETURN


                                   BY

                            ROBERT E. PEARY

[Illustration:

  SAILING OVER THE INLAND ICE.
]

According to my program, the 1st of May was to be the time for the start
on the inland ice, and on the 28th of April, Astrup, Gibson, Dr. Cook,
and the native men then at Redcliffe left with the last load of supplies
for the head of McCormick Bay. The natives were to return after helping
the boys carry the supplies to the top of the bluff; the boys themselves
were to push forward with the work until I joined them. This I did on
the 3d of May. When I left Redcliffe the number of natives there had
dwindled very materially; some drawn away to the seal-hunt, but more
driven away by their superstitious feeling in regard to my going upon
the great ice. We had the most exceptionally fine weather all through
April, but on the very night that I reached the head of the bay a sullen
sky over the ice-cap betokened a change. From this night until the
morning of the 6th of August, when Astrup and myself clambered down the
flower-strewn bluffs again, my couch was the frozen surface of the
inland ice, and my canopy the blue sky.

The first two weeks after leaving the little house upon the shores of
McCormick Bay were occupied in transporting the supplies—which at
various times during the preceding month had been carried by the members
of my party and helping natives to the crest of the bluffs at the head
of the bay—to the edge of the true inland ice, some miles distant, and
then in dragging them over and among the succession of the great domes
of ice which extend inward some fifteen miles to the gradual slope of
the vast interior snow-plain. One or two snow-storms and the constant
violent wind rushing down from the interior to the shore, combined with
the difficulties of the road and the constant annoyance from our team of
twenty savage and powerful Eskimo dogs, entirely unaccustomed to us and
to our methods, made these two weeks a time of unremitting and arduous
labor for myself. The only pleasant break in this work was the
occurrence of my own birthday, and the unexpected appearance from among
the medical stores, in charge of Dr. Cook, of a little box from the
hands of the dear one left behind, containing a bottle of Château Yquem,
a wine endeared to both of us by many delightful associations, a cake,
and a note containing birthday wishes for success and continued health.
Once on the true ice-cap, two good marches brought us to the divide,
from which, as from the ridge of a great white-roofed house, the ice-cap
slopes north to the shores of Kane Basin and historic Renssellaer
Harbor, where Kane and his little party passed so many Arctic months,
and southward to the shores of Whale Sound and our own little home. From
this divide we had a slight descent in our favor, and we kept on from
the edge of the basin of the Humboldt Glacier, where the great mass of
the inland ice, like very cold molasses, hollows itself slowly down to
the mighty glacier itself. Here the fiercest storm that we had
encountered thus far burst upon us, and for three days we were confined
to our snow shelter, getting out as best we could in occasional lulls in
the storm to secure loose dogs and endeavor to protect the loads upon
the sledges from their ravages. In this we were fairly successful,
though we did not succeed in preventing them from devouring some six
pounds of cranberry jam, and eating the foot off Gibson’s sleeping-bag.
This storm over, we were not again troubled by really violent storms
during our northward march.

[Illustration:

  The Land beyond the Ice.
]

On the 24th of May Dr. Cook and Gibson, who had formed our supporting
party, left us to return to Redcliffe, leaving Astrup as my sole
companion for the remainder of the journey. On the last day of May, from
the dazzling surface of the ice-cap we looked down into the basin of the
Petermann Glacier—the grandest amphitheater of snow and ragged ice that
human eye has ever seen, walled in the distance by a Titan dam of black
mountains, and all lit by the yellow midnight sunlight. Still keeping on
to the northward, navigating the ice as does the mariner the sea along
an unknown coast, we were befogged for two or three days in clouds and
mists which prevented us from seeing to any distance. As a result, we
approached too near the mountains of the coast, and got entangled in the
rough ice and crevasses of the Sherard Osborne Glacier system. Here we
lost twelve or fourteen days in our efforts to get back to the smooth,
unbroken snow-cap of the interior. Once there, we continued our march,
always northeastward, till on the 27th of June I discerned black
mountain-summits rising above the horizon of the ice-cap, directly ahead
of us. Then the northwest entrance of a fjord came into view, and we
could trace its course southeasterly just beyond the nearer mountains of
the land north and northeast. I changed my course to east, when I was
soon confronted by the land and the fjord beyond. Then I turned to the
southeast, and traveled in that direction until the 1st of July, when
we, after fifty-seven days of journeying over a barren waste of snow,
stepped upon the rocks of a strange new land, lying red-brown in the
sunlight, and dotted with snow-drifts here and there. The murmur of
rushing streams, the roar of leaping cataracts from the ice-cap, and the
song of snow-buntings made the air musical. Leaving the sledge and our
supplies at the very edge of the rocks, leading our dogs, and with a few
days’ supplies upon our backs, Astrup and myself started on over this
strange land, bound for the coast, which we knew could not be far
distant. Four days of the hardest traveling, over sharp stones of all
sizes, through drifts of snow and across rushing torrents, and we came
out at last upon the summit of a towering cliff, about 3500 feet high,
now known as Navy Cliff, from which we overlooked the great and hitherto
undiscovered Independence Bay.

Before us stretched new lands and waters, to which, with the explorer’s
prerogative, I gave names, as follows: the bay at our feet, opening into
the Arctic Ocean half-way between the 81st and 82d parallels of
latitude, was named Independence Bay in honor of the day, July 4th; the
red-brown land beyond the fjord which had stopped our forward northward
progress was called Heilprin Land; and a still more distant land beyond
the entrance of a second fjord, Melville Land. The enormous glacier at
our right, flowing due north into Independence Bay, received the name of
Academy Glacier, and the bold rugged land beyond it, Daly Land.

It was almost impossible for us to believe that we were standing upon
the northern shore of Greenland as we gazed from the summit of this
bronze cliff, with the most brilliant sunshine all about us, with yellow
poppies growing between the rocks around our feet, and a herd of
musk-oxen in the valley behind us. Two of these animals we had killed,
and their bodies were now awaiting our return for a grand feast of fresh
meat. Down in that same valley I had found an old friend, a dandelion in
bloom, and had seen the bullet-like flight and heard the energetic buzz
of the bumble-bee.

[Illustration:

  The Academy Glacier.
]

For seven days we remained in this northern land, more than six hundred
miles of pathless icy sea separating us from the nearest human being,
and then we began our return march. This return march, much shorter than
the upward one, was uneventful and monotonous. For about two weeks we
were about a mile and a half above the sea-level, literally in the
clouds, and day after day, in every direction, stretched only the
steel-blue line of the snow horizon. The snow was soft and light, and
without our “ski,” or Norwegian snow-skates, and Indian snow-shoes we
should have been almost helpless in it; but at last, after passing the
latitude of the Humboldt Glacier, when we were only about a mile above
the sea-level, the traveling became better. The slight downgrade
assisted us, and for seven days we averaged thirty miles a day,
increasing our distance on each successive day, showing that both men
and dogs were in perfect training, and, like the scientific athlete, had
still the reserve force necessary for a grand spurt on the home stretch.

[Illustration:

  MAP OF
  INDEPENDENCE BAY

  EAST COAST OF GREENLAND
  JULY 4^{TH} 1892
  R. E. PEARY, U.S. NAVY

  OBSERVATION SPOT ON NAVY CLIFF
  LAT. 81° 37′ 5″ N.
  LONG. 34° 5′ W.
]

The night of the 5th to the 6th of August was an exquisitely clear and
perfect one. From eight to eleven Astrup and myself and our remaining
five dogs toiled up the north slope of the largest of the ice-domes
between the head of McCormick Bay and the edge of the true interior
ice—one to which I had given the name “Dome Mountain.” As I rose over
the crest of the great white mass and looked down and forward upon our
course, there, some two miles away, upon the slope of the next dome,
were two or three dark, irregular objects. Even as I looked at them they
moved and separated, until I could count several detached bodies. They
could be but one thing—men; and as there were so many of them, and as I
was sure that none of the Eskimos could have been persuaded by my boys
to set foot upon the inland ice, I knew in an instant that some ship was
lying in the bay waiting for us. It was but a little while later, both
parties descending rapidly toward each other, that we met in the
depression between the two domes, and I grasped again the hand of
Professor Heilprin, who had been the last to say good-by to me a year
before, as I lay a cripple in my tent, and who now had come again to
meet me and bring us back. It was a strange and never-to-be-forgotten
meeting. In the ship lying at anchor at the very head of the bay I found
the woman who had been waiting for me for three months, and two days
later we were back again in the little house which had sheltered us
through a year of Arctic vicissitudes.

Such, in brief, is the outline of the inland-ice journey from McCormick
Bay to the northern shore of Greenland and back. Its important results
are already well known, and it is not necessary to revert to them here.
I will attempt, however, to give some adequate impression of the unique
surroundings in which our work was done, and also to make clear the real
character of this great interior ice-plateau, a natural feature so
entirely different from any with which we are acquainted in better known
portions of the globe that I have sometimes found it difficult to
convey, even to the most cultivated minds, a really adequate conception
of what the great ice-cap is like.

The terms “inland ice” and “great interior frozen sea,” two of the more
common names by which the region traversed by us is generally known,
both suggest to the majority of people erroneous ideas. In the first
place, the surface is not ice, but merely a compacted snow. The term
“sea” is also a misnomer in so far as it suggests the idea of a sometime
expanse of water subsequently frozen over. The only justification for
the term is the unbroken and apparently infinite horizon which bounds
the vision of the traveler upon its surface. Elevated as the entire
region is to a height of from 4000 to 9000 feet above the sea-level, the
towering mountains of the coast, which would be visible to the sailor at
a distance of sixty to eighty miles, disappear beneath the landward
convexity of the ice-cap by the time the traveler has penetrated fifteen
or twenty miles into the interior, and then he may travel for days and
weeks with no break whatever in the continuity of the sharp, steel-blue
line of the horizon.

The sea has its days of towering, angry waves, of laughing, glistening
whitecaps, of mirror-like calm. The “frozen sea” is always the
same—motionless, petrified. Around its white shield the sun circles for
months in succession, never hiding his face except in storms. Once a
month the pale full moon climbs above the opposite horizon, and circles
with him for eight or ten days.

Sometimes, though rarely, cloud shadows drift across the white expanse,
but usually the cloud phenomena are the heavy prophecies or actualities
of furious storms veiling the entire sky; at other times they are merely
the shadows of dainty, transparent cirrus feathers. In clearest weather
the solitary traveler upon this white Sahara sees but three things
outside of and beyond himself—the unbroken, white expanse of the snow,
the unbroken blue expanse of the sky, and the sun. In cloudy weather all
three of these may disappear.

Many a time I have found myself in cloudy weather traveling in gray
space. Not only was there no object to be seen, but in the entire sphere
of vision there was no difference in intensity of light. My feet and
snow-shoes were sharp and clear as silhouettes, and I was sensible of
contact with the snow at every step. Yet as far as my eyes gave me
evidence to the contrary, I was walking upon nothing. The space between
my snow-shoes was as light as the zenith. The opaque light which filled
the sphere of vision might come from below as well as above. A curious
mental as well as physical strain resulted from this blindness with
wide-open eyes, and sometimes we were obliged to stop and await a
change.

The wind is always blowing on the great ice-cap, sometimes with greater,
sometimes with less violence, but the air is never quiet. When the
velocity of the wind increases beyond a certain point it scoops up the
loose snow, and the surface of the inland ice disappears beneath a
hissing white torrent of blinding drift. The thickness of this drift may
be anywhere from six inches to thirty or even fifty feet, dependent upon
the consistency of the snow. When the depth of the drift is not in
excess of the height of the knee, its surface is as tangible and almost
as sharply defined as that of a sheet of water, and its incessant dizzy
rush and strident sibilation become, when long continued, as maddening
as the drop, drop, drop, of water on the head in the old torture-rooms.

While traversing the inland ice our hours of marching were those
corresponding to what here would be night—that is, when the sun was
above the northern horizon. In our line of march I took the lead, on
snow-shoes or ski as the condition of the snow demanded, setting the
course by compass, or by time, and the shadow cast by my bamboo staff.
The dogs, a few yards in the rear, followed my trail, and Astrup
traveled on ski beside the sledge, encouraging the dogs and keeping them
up to their work.

Our daily routine was as follows: When the day’s march (measured
sometimes by the hours we had been on the move and sometimes by the
distance covered) was completed, I began sounding the snow with the
light bamboo staff to which my little silken guidon was attached, until
I found a place where it was firm enough to permit of blocks being cut
from it. This done, the guidon-staff was erected in the snow, and at the
shout of “Tima” from me, my dogs, no matter how long or how hard the day
had been, would prick up their ears and come hurrying up to me until
they could lie down around my feet, glad that the day’s work was done.

As soon as the sledge came to a standstill I read the odometer, aneroid,
and thermometer; then Astrup and myself undid the lashings, and as soon
as the lines were loose Astrup took the saw-knife and began excavating
for our kitchen, while I took the short steel-pointed stake to which we
fastened our dogs and drove it firmly into the snow in front, and some
fifty feet to leeward, of the kitchen site. I then untangled the dogs’
traces, detached the animals from the sledge, and made them fast to the
stake. I next got out a tin of pemmican, a can-opener, and a heavy
hunting-knife, and, kneeling behind the sledge, prepared the dogs’
rations, which consisted of a pound of pemmican each. I then fed the
hungry creatures, standing over them meanwhile with the whip, to see
that the weaker ones were not deprived of their share.

By this time Astrup had completed an excavation in the snow, about eight
feet long by three feet wide and a foot and a half deep, and with the
snow blocks obtained from this excavation had formed a wall a foot or a
foot and a half high across one end and half-way down each side. Across
this wall was put one, and sometimes both, of the ski, and over this was
spread a light cotton sail, weighted down with blocks of snow. This was
known as our kitchen, and at the innermost end was placed the
kitchen-box, containing our milk, tea, pea-soup, Liebig’s Extract,
drinking-cups, can-opener, knives, spoons, and the day’s rations of
pemmican and biscuit; also the alcohol-stove and a box of matches, done
up in a waterproof package.

Then, if it was Astrup’s turn as cook he immediately began the
preparations for dinner by lighting the alcohol-lamp and filling the
boiler with snow, while I lay down in the lee of the sledge and made my
notes of the day’s work. If it was my turn as _chef_, as soon as the
kitchen was finished I took possession of it, and Astrup retreated to
the shelter of the sledge. While the snow was melting I wrote up my
notes, Astrup usually devoting this time to rubbing vaseline into his
face to repair the ravages of the sun and wind. As soon as sufficient
water had been melted, two cupfuls of pea-soup were made, and this, with
a half-pound lump of pemmican, formed our first course. While we were
enjoying this the water for our tea was brought to the boiling-point.
Pea-soup and pemmican finished, we each had a cupful of cold milk, and
when this had disappeared the tea was made; six biscuits apiece formed
our dessert.

When our luxurious repast was over, what was left of our day’s allowance
of alcohol was allowed to expend itself on a fresh boilerful of snow for
our morning tea, while the cook made his preparations for the night by
changing his footgear and tightening the drawstrings of his furs. In
addition to his other duties, the cook of the day had the entire
responsibility, from dinner-time until breakfast, of the dogs, and it
was the first rigid regulation of the journey that he should always be
so dressed that he could at a moment’s notice jump from his shelter and
capture a loose dog. The dogs were always fastened directly in front of
the opening of the kitchen, so that the occupant, by raising his head,
could see at once if his presence were needed. During the first portion
of our journey this duty was an onerous one, and frequently meant a
sleepless night; but later on, after several of the dogs had received
some severe discipline for attempted thefts, and particularly after we
had adopted the plan of muzzling them every night as soon as they had
finished their dinner, we had but little trouble.

In the morning I was generally the one to waken first, and would either
start the alcohol-lamp myself or else call Astrup for that purpose. Our
morning meal consisted of a lump of pemmican, six biscuits, two ounces
of butter, and two cups of tea each. As soon as this was finished
everything was repacked on the sledge, and while Astrup was completing
the lashing, I removed the dogs’ muzzles, untangled their traces, and
attached them to the sledge. I then read the odometer, aneroid, and
thermometer, and, taking the guidon, which had waved and fluttered over
the kitchen throughout our hours of rest, from its place, stepped
forward, and the next march was commenced. After from four to six hours
of marching we would halt for half an hour to eat our simple lunch of
pemmican and give the dogs a rest, and then, after another four to six
hours of traveling, halt again and repeat the already described routine.

[Illustration:

  DRIFTED IN.
]

The three sledges used on our journey were the survivors of a fleet of
ten, comprising seven different styles. They consisted simply of two
long, broad wooden runners curved at both ends, with standards
supporting light but strong crossbars. The largest sledge was thirteen
feet long and two feet wide, with runners four inches wide and standards
six inches high; this sledge had no particle of metal in its
construction, being composed entirely of wood, horn, and rawhide
lashings. It weighed forty-eight pounds, and carried easily a load of a
thousand pounds. After a two hundred and fifty mile trip round
Inglefield Gulf, it made the long journey to the north and return to
within two hundred miles of McCormick Bay, when it was abandoned for a
lighter sledge. The second sledge was eleven feet by two, with three and
one-half inch runners and six-inch standards. It weighed thirty-five
pounds, and carried a load of over five hundred pounds. It broke down on
the upward trip and was abandoned. The third sledge, made by Astrup, was
ten feet by sixteen inches, with three-inch runners and two-inch
standards; it weighed thirteen pounds, and carried a load of four
hundred pounds. This sledge made the round trip of thirteen hundred
miles, though carrying a load for only about eight hundred miles.

The result of this extended practical experience with sledges has been
to show me that my previous ideas as to the great superiority of the
toboggan type of sledge for inland-ice work (ideas gained during my
reconnoissance in 1886, east of Disko Bay) were erroneous, and that the
sledge with broad runners and standards is _the_ sledge. Also, that the
wear upon the runners is practically _nil_, and that shoes of steel or
ivory are not only useless, but actually increase the tractive
resistance.

Of even greater importance to our successful progress during the
inland-ice journey than our sledges were the ski, or Norwegian
snow-skates. Valuable as are the Indian snow-shoes for Arctic work, the
ski far surpass them in speed, ease of locomotion, and reduced chances
of chafing or straining the feet. On the upward journey I alternated
between the snow-shoes and the ski, but while descending the northern
ice-slope I had the misfortune to break one of the ski, and on the
return trip was obliged to use the snow-shoes only. Astrup used ski
entirely from start to finish.

I am satisfied that the only material for the clothing of men traveling
upon the inland ice is fur, and that the man who dispenses with it adds
to the weight he has to carry, and compels himself to endure serious
drafts upon his vitality, to say nothing of deliberately choosing
discomfort instead of comfort. The great objection urged against fur
clothing is that, allowing the evaporation from the body no opportunity
to escape, the clothing beneath it gets saturated while the wearer is at
work, and then, when he ceases, he becomes thoroughly chilled. This
trouble is, in my opinion, due entirely to inexperience and ignorance of
how to use the fur clothing. It was a part of my plan to obtain the
material for my fur clothing and sleeping-bags in the Whale Sound
region, and I was entirely successful in so doing. My boys shot the
deer, the skins were stretched and dried in Redcliffe, I devised and cut
the patterns for the suits and sleeping-bags, and the native women sewed
them. As a result of my study of the Eskimo clothing and its use, I
adopted it almost _literatim_, and my complete wardrobe consisted of a
hooded deerskin coat weighing five and one-fourth pounds, a hooded
sealskin coat weighing two and one-half pounds, a pair of dogskin
knee-trousers weighing three pounds nine ounces, sealskin boots with
woolen socks and fur soles, weighing two pounds, and an undershirt;
total, about thirteen pounds. With various combinations of this outfit,
I could keep perfectly warm and yet not get into a perspiration, in
temperatures from +40° F. to –50°, whether at rest, or walking, or
pulling upon a sledge.

The deerskin coat, with the trousers, footgear, and undershirt, weighed
eleven and one-fourth pounds, or about the same as an ordinary winter
business suit, including shoes, underwear, etc., but not the overcoat.
In this costume, with the fur inside and the drawstrings at waist,
wrists, knees, and face pulled tight, I have seated myself upon the
great ice-cap four thousand feet above the sea with the thermometer at
–38°, the wind blowing so that I could scarcely stand against it, and
with back to the wind have eaten my lunch leisurely and in comfort;
then, stretching myself at full length for a few moments, have listened
to the fierce hiss of the snow driving past me with the same pleasurable
sensation that, seated beside the glowing grate, we listen to the roar
of the rain upon the roof.

Our sleeping-bags, also of the winter coat of the deer, with the fur
inside, were, I think, the lightest and warmest ever used. In my own
bag, weighing ten and one-fourth pounds, I have slept comfortably out
upon the open snow, with no shelter whatever and the thermometer at
–41°, wearing inside the bag only undergarments. During the inland-ice
journey, throughout which the temperature was never more than a degree
or two below zero, our sleeping-bags were discarded, our fur clothing
being ample protection for us when asleep, even though I carried no
tent.

While the variety of food was not as great as it has been on some other
expeditions, I doubt if any party ever had more healthy or nutritious
fare. A carefully studied feature of my project was the entire
dependence upon the game of the Whale Sound region for my meat supply;
and though I took an abundance of tea, coffee, sugar, milk, flour,
corn-meal, and evaporated fruits and vegetables, my canned meats were
only sufficient to carry us over the period of installation, with a
small supply for short sledge journeys. In this respect, as in others,
my plans were fortunate of fulfilment, and we were always well supplied
with venison. With fresh meat and fresh bread every day we could smile
defiance at scurvy.

[Illustration:

  SKETCH MAP showing route of the
  NORTH GREENLAND EXPEDITION
  OF 1891–’92
  R. E. PEARY, U.S.N.
]

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
 4. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript
      character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
      curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.