CHAPTER IXTHE 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 theparty is desirous of having his ski lighter and stronger than those of the others, except Verhoeff, whose whole interest is divided between the thermometer and the tide-gage. The words of the physicians on board the “Kite” six months ago have come true—Mr. Peary’s leg is practically as sound as it ever was.

In my Kooletah.

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

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

Sunday, January 17. To-day at 2P. M.Mr. Peary and I went out for our tramp. The temperature was –45°, and the only chance to walk was along the pathway madethrough 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 forsaving coal, and keeps everybody half frozen. He kept the fire to-day on six tomato-cans of coal. Water spilled near the stove froze almost instantly.

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

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

AMPHITHEATRE BERG—MCCORMICK BAY.

Friday, January 22. Another clear, cold day; the temperature, –39°. The addition of the new Eskimos makes the settlement much more lively. In the house I wear a knit kidney-protector, a Jaros combination suit, two knit skirts, a flannel wrapper, and a pair of knit stockings, together with a pair of deerskin ones in place of kamiks. When going out I only add my snow-shoes, my kooletah (great fur overall), and muff. In this rig I can stay out and walk for hours, and feel more comfortable than I have felt while shopping in Philadelphia or New-York on a winter’s day. This evening Mané No. 2 (wife of Keshu) and M’gipsu have been at work in my room, both sitting flat on the floor, the former cutting and fitting two pairs of kamiks for us from a skin brought here by herself, for which she will receive a clasp-knife. The bargain pleases her greatly. These women are both good sewers, and it would interest some of our ladies to watch them at theirwork. 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 andAstrup 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 themenufor each day, so as to get the greatest benefit from the patent-fuel stove and save as much oil as possible.

A Winter Recreation.—My Cross-matched Team.

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

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

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

Sunday, January 31. Another month has slipped away, and I can say, “One month nearer home.” I must admit I am very homesick at times. Hardly a night passes that I do not dream of some of my home folks. The bill of fare which I made out for last week, giving the times for cooking each dish on the patent-fuel stove, worked very well, and I can save about one quart of oil a day; this will be of considerable help to us in case we shall be obliged to go to south Greenland in our boats. I walked down to the two first fox-traps, butfound 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 tenA. M.until threeP. 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 themthe 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 towitness 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.

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