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]