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]