Our flag waved from the highest point of King William Land throughout the day following, which we were altogether too patriotic to forget was Independence Day. After firing a national salute from our rifles and shotguns our day's work was resumed. Henry and Frank were sent to explore the two points further along the coast, while Lieutenant Schwatka and I searched the vicinity of the camp and about a mile inland. It was a dismal, foggy day, but we derived great comfort from occasional glimpses of our country's flag through the lifting fog, the only inspiriting sight in this desolate wilderness—a region that fully illustrates "the abomination of desolation" spoken of by Jeremiah the prophet.

The next day Lieutenant Schwatka went further inland, Frank and Henry down the coast, and I took Toolooah, with the sled, and went around the point toward Cape Sidney, keeping well out on the ice, to see if any cairn might have been erected to attract attention from that direction. On the way we stopped and took down a cairn that I had seen on the day of our arrival. We found nothing in it, though, the earth beneath it being soft, we dug far down in the hope of finding something to account for its existence, as Toolooah believed, though he was not certain, that it was a white man's cairn. I did not go as far as Cape Sidney, which had been my intention, as a thick fog, which came up as we left the cairn, rendered the trip useless for the purpose intended, as we could only get occasional glimpses of the shore, and could not see inland at all.

Lieutenant Schwatka found a well-built cairn or pillar seven feet high, on a high hill about two miles back from the coast, and took it down very carefully without meeting with any record or mark whatever. It was on a very prominent hill, from which could plainly be seen the trend of the coast on both the eastern and western shores, and would most certainly have attracted the attention of any vessels following in the route of the 'Erebus' and 'Terror', though hidden by intervening hills from those walking along the coast. The next day Frank, Toolooah, and I went with Lieutenant Schwatka to take another look in the vicinity of the cairn, and to see if, with a spy-glass, we could discover any other cairn looking from that hill, but without success. It seemed unfortunate that probably the only cairn left standing on King William Land, built by the hands of white men, should have had no record left in it, as there it might have been well preserved. When satisfied that no document had been left there, the inference was that it had been erected in the pursuit of the scientific work of the expedition, or that it had been used in alignment with some other object to watch the drift of the ships. Before leaving we rebuilt the cairn, and deposited in it a record of the work of the Franklin search party to date.



CHAPTER IX.

ARCTIC COSTUMES.

We left Cape Felix on the 7th of July, reluctantly satisfied that Sir John Franklin had not been buried in that vicinity. The minuteness of our search will appear in the number of exploded percussion caps, shot, and other small articles that were found in various places. The Inuits who were with us evinced a most remarkable interest in our labors, and with their eagle eyes were ever finding things that would have escaped our attention. Everything they did not fully understand they brought to us, and though many of such things were of no account they were not discouraged. Since Toolooah had found the inscription scratched on a clay stone on the monument erected by Captain Hall over the remains near Pfeffer River, he had always been watchful, and often, while away from camp hunting, he has come upon a stone near a demolished cairn, or on some conspicuous place which had marks on that he thought might be writing. These he invariably brought into camp, though often compelled to carry them a long distance, in addition to a load of meat. We always praised his efforts in that line, and were pleased to notice that he did not get discouraged by repeated failures to discover something of interest. He is as untiring in his efforts to aid us in our search as in securing food, and there is always a degree of intelligence displayed in whatever he undertakes that is wholly foreign to the Inuit character. Even the stones that he brought into camp bore marks that were most astonishingly like writing. You could almost read them. If we had not been so straitened for transportation we would have brought some of these remarkable specimens home.

As far as we had now progressed scarcely anything had given us more trouble than the question of clothing. In countries where tailors and dressmakers are abundant, clothing is a matter of very little labor to the masses—in fact, it simply resolves itself into a question of pecuniary resources. The dwellers in civilized cities can, therefore, scarcely appreciate the toil which all must share to secure the necessary garments to protect those who live in the highest latitudes.

In the fur of the reindeer nature has provided the best possible protection from the cold, with the least amount of weight to the wearer. It might be possible to cover one's self with a sufficient quantity of woollen clothing to guard against the severest weather in the north, but it would require a man of immense muscular power to sustain the load. Two suits of reindeer clothing, weighing in all about five pounds, are quite ample for any season, and are only worn in the coldest weather. At other times one suit is all that is necessary. The inner coat is made of the skin of the reindeer killed in the early summer, when the hair is short and as soft as velvet, and is worn with the hairy side next to the bare skin. It is at first difficult for one to persuade himself that he will be warmer without his woollen undershirts than with them; but he is not long in acquiring the knowledge of this fact from experience. The trousers are made of the same material, as are also the stockings that complete his inner attire, or, so to speak, his suit of underclothing. This inner suit—with the addition of a pair of seal or reindeer skin slippers, with the hair outside, and a pair of seal-skin boots from which the hair has been removed, with soles of walrus or okejook skin, and drawing-strings which fasten them just below the knee—comprises his spring, summer, and fall costume. The boots have also an additional string passing through loops on the side, over the instep and behind the heel, which makes them fit comfortably to the ankle.

In winter seal-skin is entirely discarded by the native Esquimaux as too cold, and boots of reindeer skin, called mit-co-lee-lee', from the leg of the animal, are substituted, and snow-shoes of the same sort of skin, with the hair inside, and a false sole of skin from the face of the buck, with the hair outside, complete the covering of his feet. This hairy sole not only deadens the sound of his footsteps upon the hard snow, but makes his feet much warmer, as it has the same effect as if he were walking upon a carpet of furs instead of upon the naked snow. In cold or windy weather, when out of doors, the native puts on another coat, called a koo'-lee-tar, which is made of skin with heavier fur, from the animal killed in the fall.

The winter skins, with the heaviest and longest fur, are seldom used for clothing if a sufficient supply of the fall and summer skins has been secured. They are principally used for making what might be called the mattress of the bed. Sometimes, however, in the severest weather, a coat made of the heavy skin is worn when the hunter has to sit by a seal's blow-hole for hours at a time, without the least motion, waiting for the animal to come up and blow. In cold weather, when out of doors, he also wears an outside pair of trousers, called see'-ler-par, which are worn with the hair outside (all trousers are called kok'-e-lee, the outside see'-ler-par, and the inside ones e'-loo-par). The inside coat is called an ar-tee'-gee, and is made like a sack, with a tail attached, and a hood which can be pulled up over the head at pleasure. The kok'-e-lee are both made with a drawing-string at the waist, and only reach a short distance below the knee. They are very wide there, so that when the wearer sits down his bare knee is exposed. This is not as disagreeable to the wearer, even in that climate, as one would naturally suppose, but is really more unpleasant for the spectator, for he not only sees the bare knee but the film of dirt that incases it. The coats are very loose also, and expose the bare skin of the stomach when the wearer reaches his hands above his head.

The coats of the women differ from those of the men only in having a short tail in front, and a much longer one behind. They also have a loose bag on each shoulder, and the hood is much longer than the men wear. The women's outside coats are always made of the short hair, the same as are their ar-tee'-gee. Their trousers reach further below the knee, fit closer to the leg, and are worn with the hairy side out. Women never wear but the one pair in any weather. Their stockings and boots are made with a sort of wing extension at the ankle, and, coming up over the bottom of the trousers, have a long strip, by which they are fastened to the belt that also sustains their trousers at the waist.

To secure the necessary amount of skins for his family taxes the skill of the best hunter, for they must be secured in the summer and fall. Each adult requires six skins for his outfit, besides the number for the bedding. Take, then, an average family of a hunter, two wives and three children, and he must have for the adults eighteen skins, eleven for the children, three for his blanket—one blanket is enough for the entire family to sleep under—and about five for the mattress—a total of thirty-seven skins. This is more than many of them can secure during the short season of good fur; but others may kill many more, now that they are supplied with fire-arms, and those who have a surplus will always supply the actual needs of the more unfortunate; but often much suffering occurs before their wants are met.

When a hunter kills a reindeer, the first thing he does is to skin it; then he eats some of the warm, quivering flesh. This is a very important part of his task. He cuts it open and removes the entrails, and, making a sack of the reticulated stomach, fills it with the blood that is found in the cavity of the body. He then regales himself with some of the spinach-like contents of the paunch, and, by way of filling in the time and the little crinkles in his stomach, cuts off and eats such little portions of fat as are exposed in the process of butchering. He then looks around for a stony place and deposits the carcass conveniently near it, together with the entrails and the bag of blood. Before cutting the body open it is turned back up, and the strip of muscles along each side of the backbone is removed, together with the sinew that covers it. Over this also lies the layer of tallow (tood-noo) when the animal is fat, as is usually the case in the summer and fall. The head is then severed from the body and placed on top of the rest of the meat, so that when the entire mass is covered with about a ton weight of large stones it is considered secure from the ravages of foxes and wolves. Not so, however, from the wolverine and bear—they can open any newly made cache; but after the snows have fallen, and the stones and meat are frozen in one compact mass, it requires the ingenuity of man to remove it. This is done by loosening as large a stone as possible with the foot, and with this stone as a battering-ram another and larger one is loosened, which in turn serves as the battering-ram to loosen the others. Often it is found necessary to use a narrow, wedge-like stone as a lever, or to force the other stones apart. The cache is always made more conspicuous by leaving the antlers to protrude above the stones.

After his meat has been secured and he has refreshed himself with a pipe, the hunter makes a bundle of the skin and the meat attached to the sinew and tallow, and wends his way to his tupic, where his wife or wives await him. His favorite wife takes the meat (oo-le-oo-she-nee) and strips the sinew (oo-le-oo-tic) from it by holding the meat in her teeth while she cuts the sinew from it with her knife, which is shaped like a currier's knife. She then chews off the meat that still adheres to the sinew until it is perfectly clean, and hangs it up to dry, when it is separated into its fibres and becomes thread (ever-loo). In the meantime the other wife, with her teeth, cleans the fleshy side of the skin of the meat and fat that may still adhere to it, and if the sun is still shining stretches the skin upon the ground to dry, holding it in place by small stones placed around the edge. At night the skins are brought into the tent to keep them away from the dogs, and they are again put out in the sun every day until thoroughly dried. They should be dried as soon after killing as possible, in order that they may be in the best condition to preserve the fur.

According to the old traditions and customs—the Mosaic law of the Esquimaux, so to speak—no work of any kind, except the drying of them, can be done upon new skins until the ice has formed sufficiently thickly upon the salt water to permit the hunter to seek the seal at his agloo or blow-hole. Until that time they are put carefully away in the tent, and have to be carried from point to point in their nomadic mode of life, or cached away where they will be presumably secure from the ravages of dogs and wild animals. When the season for making the new clothing arrives, that is, when the winter styles come out, then the work begins. The skins are dressed by the men, because it is hard work and beyond the power of most women, if they are required to be nicely dressed. Only one skin is prepared at a time. There is generally an old man at the head of each family of sons, or sons-in-law, or young men whom he has brought up and taught to hunt. The entire stock of the family is then spread out upon the ground some fine day, without regard to individual claims as having secured them, and are apportioned out by the patriarch—these for this son's outfit, these for his wife and children, those for the other hunter and his family, and these extra fine ones for the patriarch's own use and for his wives.

The clothing for the men must be made first, for they are the lords, and then they need them first as they must go out hunting, and should be made as comfortable as possible. The two skins that are to become his inside coat, and the one for his inner trousers—his dress suit, as it were—are selected, and the women dampen the fleshy side with water that is warmed in their mouths and squirted on the skin, to be spread evenly over the surface with their hands. They are then folded over, with the damp side in, and put aside where they will not freeze until the next day. After arising in the morning, and a breakfast of raw meat, followed by a pipe, he removes his coat, and, with nothing on from his waist up but the usual dirt, he sits upon his bed, and with a bone scraper, called a suk-koo, goes over every particle of the skin upon the fleshy side, breaking it thoroughly and stretching it. Then comes the woman's first part of the work. It is not considered best to dry the skin over a lamp, because it has a tendency to harden it somewhat. It should be dried gradually, and by the heat of the body, so the woman wraps it around the upper part of her body, next to her skin, and sits at work until it is thoroughly dried. One who has never had the experience of exhausting his caloric for the purpose of drying a wet blanket can have but a vague idea of the exquisite torture of sitting in a temperature far below zero with no covering upon his shoulders but a damp reindeer skin. It may not be unhealthy, and perhaps a physician of the water-cure practice might recommend it for certain ailments, but it would never become popular as a pleasurable pastime. At night the other two skins are put in the bed, one beneath and the other over the sleepers, and by morning are dry. But it seems almost a miracle that the occupants escape a severe attack of inflammatory rheumatism. In the morning the man again peels for work, and with a suk-koo of stone, that has a sharp edge, scrapes off every particle of the fleshy membrane until the skin becomes soft and pliant, and assumes a delicate cream-like color.

Only the skins of the does are used for clothing or the sleeping blanket. Buck skins, which are much less pliable compose the underlayers of the bed, and these are not scraped, but merely stretched on a frame while drying. The skin of a young buck is, however, sometimes used for making the trousers, and is nearly as fine in texture as the skin of the doe. The skins are now nearly ready for cutting out and sewing, but first have to be chewed, which is also women's work.

A man can scrape two skins in a day, and some of the women—many of them are, indeed, very skillful with their crude, home-made needles—can make a coat in two days, and a pair of trousers in one day. Some of the young men, whose wives are good tailors, affect considerable ornamentation upon the inside coat; but this is usually seen in the trimming that surrounds the lower edge and the border of the hood. Successive narrow strips of white and black fur, with very short hair, compose this trimming, and the lower edge is finished with fringe made of thin skin, which is quite ornamental in effect. It also aids in keeping out the wind, and is, therefore, useful as well. The outside coat is sometimes surrounded with a border of white fur, with the fringe attached of longer hair than that upon the inner coat. Some of the belles, and indeed some of the women whose beauty is a thing of the past, wear a breastplate of beadwork, which is further decorated with a fringe of reindeer teeth that has a most ghastly effect—they look so much like human teeth. The style of costume differs but little among the various tribes of North America; but in any part of the country the labor of producing the clothing is the same, and if a man would dress well he must work hard—he cannot order his suit from a confiding tailor. It has its advantages and disadvantages. He has no tailor's bills to avoid the payment of, but he must depend upon himself and a loving and skilful wife.



CHAPTER X.

OVER MELTING SNOWS.

We were now on the march from Cape Felix. Lieutenant Schwatka had kept about a mile east of Frank and Henry, who walked along the coast, and I about a mile and a half east of Lieutenant Schwatka. When about a mile and a half above our old camp at Wall Bay, he found a cairn very similar in construction to the one he found inland from Cape Felix. The top had been taken down, but in the first course of stones, covered and protected by those thrown from the top, he found a piece of paper with a carefully drawn hand upon it, the index finger pointing at the time in a southerly direction. The bottom part of the paper, on which rested the stone that held it in place, had completely rotted off, so that if there had ever been any writing upon it, that, too, had disappeared. He called Frank to his assistance, and they spent several hours in carefully examining the vicinity, without discovering anything else. It would seem, however, that whatever memorandum or guide it was intended for was only temporary, and was probably put there by some surveying or hunting party from the ships.

We encamped on a point below Cape Maria Louisa, after our next march, and after erecting the tent Owanork found a cache on the flats containing a wooden canteen, barrel-shaped, marked on one side

NO. 3,

and on the other,

G. B.,

under the Queen's broad arrow. There were also the staves of another canteen, a small keg, a tin powder can, several red cans marked

GOLDNER'S PATENT,

a narrow-bladed axe, several broken porter and wine bottles stamped

BRISTOL GLASS-WORKS.

and a few barrel staves. The cache was one evidently made by Netchillik Inuits, who had found the things along the coast. In fact, one of those we had interviewed mentioned having cached just such articles somewhere along the coast, and had afterward forgotten the place. This is worthy of consideration, as indicating that our search was sufficiently comprehensive to have discovered anything that had been cached away by the crews of the ships between Cape Felix and Collinson Inlet within five or six miles of the coast.

The following day Lieutenant Schwatka and I took Toolooah with us inland, and sent Frank and Henry down the coast toward Victory Point. From the top of a high hill, about six miles south-east from camp, we had an uninterrupted view for many miles in every direction, and swept the entire field with a spy-glass—but saw nothing like a cache or cairn. It was all a barren waste, with many ponds and lakes, some still covered with ice, and others, being more shallow, were entirely clear, as was the case with most of those near the coast. A few patches of snow could be seen here and there on the hill-sides. We had to cross one deep snowbank before reaching the crest of the hill, and upon our descent came upon a depression in the snow, which Toolooah recognized as a bear's igloo. A few patches of white wool near the entrance confirmed his opinion. I crawled in as far as I could, to see in what sort of a house the polar bear hibernated, and found it very much in size and shape like those of the Inuits. The only difference, as far as I could see, was that this was dug out of a snowbank, instead of being built upon the surface and afterward buried by the drift.

The country over which we travelled this day was like all the rest we had seen in King William Land—broken and jagged clay stone, with intervening marshes. Little patches of brown and green moss, covered with delicate purple flowerets, peep up occasionally from among the piles of dry stones, though there is apparently no vestige of earth or mould to sustain their delicate lives. These flowers appear as soon as the snow melts from off the moss, and are most welcome to the eye of the traveller in this desolate country. How glad we will be to see the grass and trees of the temperate zone once more, after living so long in this void! To-day, for the first, time I saw a few delicate little daisies, and the sight of them carried me in imagination to the woods and fields of New Jersey. I forgot the salt marshes and red "Jersey mud;" but even the marshes there would look like flower-gardens after the clay-stone deserts of King William Land.



We left Irving Bay on the 13th of July, after erecting a monument over the grave of Lieutenant Irving, and marking a stone to indicate the object of the cairn. We also buried a copy of the McClintock-Crozier record, together with the record of our work to date, ten feet north of the cairn, marking the fact on the tombstone. On our way back to Franklin Point we buried the skull found on our way up, but found no further bones until we reached Point Le Vesconte. We saw tenting places, both of white men and natives, at different points along the coast, and one cairn that had been torn down and contained nothing. We found an empty grave on a hill where we encamped, about four miles below this point, and a skull about a quarter of a mile distant from it, evidently having been dragged there by wild beasts. The only things found in the tomb were a large brass buckle and a percussion cap. Near by were traces of native tenting places. In fact, wherever we found graves we always found evidences that natives had encamped in the vicinity, like vultures.

From this camp we marched, to our first camping place on Erebus Bay, and from there had the most dismal day's work of the entire journey. In order to pass Erebus Bay on the land, we had to go a long distance inland to find a place where we could ford a wide and deep river that empties into it. Throughout the entire length of the river, on both sides, we had to wade through deep marshes, and at last crossed it through a swift current, the water reaching to our waists. A dense fog obscured the sun and hid the bay from view. It was impossible to ascertain our direction, and we were compelled to follow all the windings of the river and coast until the fog lifted. In the meantime we had no idea where the sled was, and as Toolooah had been told that we would make our usual ten miles' march, he might have gone that far before looking for us, and we have still a tedious tramp before us after reaching the bay. At last we heard the dogs, and finally saw the sled, still at a great distance on the ice. The gale that had been blowing all day long, and driving the damp, cold mist into our faces, making it intensely cold and disagreeable, had subsided, and we signalled Toolooah to join us.



It was a joyful sight to see the sled once more alongside the shore, for, few as were the comforts it contained, it was our only home, and it meant the shelter and rest of our sleeping bags. We ate our dinner a little after midnight, and soon forgot our troubles in sleep. While Henry was cooking the last of our meat, he had occasion to leave the fire a few moments, when the dogs, seeing an opportunity for a raid, broke from their fastenings and poured down upon the culinary department like an army of devouring fiends. We were all in bed at the time except Henry; but Toolooah, well knowing the state of our larder, slipped out under the end of the tent, stark naked, from his sleeping bag, and poured such a shower of stones upon the dogs as to send them away howling. Fortunately they got nothing but some blubber, of which we have a good supply, and which is chiefly used to hasten the fire.

The next day the fog and gale recommenced with great fury; but as we were entirely without food, Toolooah went hunting, and came in about half-past nine in the evening with parts of three reindeer that he had succeeded in killing; so we had a good warm meal about midnight, and turned in out of the bitter cold. Though not in exactly the position to be epicurean in our tastes, we could not fail to remark with great satisfaction that the reindeer were getting fat, and the quality of the meat improving thereby. A little later in the season they were exceedingly fat, the tallow, or tud-noo, as the Inuits call it, lying in great flakes, from half an inch to two and a half inches thick, along the back and over the rump. This tallow has a most delicious flavor, and is eaten with the meat, either cooked or raw. The intestines are also incased in lace-work of tallow, which constitutes a palatable dish. Indeed there is no part of any animal used for food but what is eaten by the Esquimaux, and which we have partaken of with great relish. The ribs of fat reindeer are also an especial delicacy. A dish made of the contents of the paunch, mixed with seal oil, looks like ice-cream, and is the Esquimau substitute for that confection. It has none of the flavor, however, of ice-cream, but, as Lieutenant Schwatka says, may be more likened to "locust sawdust and wild honey." The first time I partook of this dainty I had unfortunately seen it in course of preparation, which somewhat marred the relish with which I might otherwise have eaten it. The confectioner was a toothless old hag, who mixed the ingredients in a wooden dish dirtier than anything I ever saw before, and filled with reindeer hairs, which, however, were not conspicuous when well mingled with the half-churned grass and moss. She extracted the oil from the blubber by crunching it between her old gums, and spat it into the dish, stirring it with her fingers until the entire mass became white, and of about the consistency of cottage cheese. I ate some, merely to say I had eaten it, and not to offend my entertainers, but I cannot say I enjoyed it.

We left camp at a quarter past one o'clock the following day, our starting having to conform somewhat to the state of the tide, as at high tide we cannot reach the ice. The sledging was simply awful, and poor Toolooah was having a hard time of it and without a murmur or discontented look. I expected he would urge us to abridge our search, as there seemed to be imminent danger of the ice breaking up. But he constantly told us to go on and search as much as we thought necessary, and leave the sledging to him; he would do the best he could. It was a pleasure to see him do it so cheerfully. There is something reassuring even in the tone in which he addresses the dogs. Many a time we have started to go through a place that seemed absolutely impassable until I heard that cheery cry, "Why-ah-woo-ha-hu-ah!" and saw him bend his own shoulder to the task. It seemed all right then. Even the dogs were more hopeful, and pulled with renewed energy.

We found the coast on the south side of Erebus Bay cut into long, narrow points, separated by deep inlets, that made the work of searching much greater. All along the shore at the bottom of the inlets, we found pieces of navy blue cloth, which seemed to have been washed up by high tides. Quantities of driftwood also were seen; but we already had as much on the sled as, in the present condition of the ice, we could carry. At the bottom of one of the deepest inlets or bays, the men found the wreck of a ship's boat strewn along the beach, together with pieces of cloth, iron, canvas, and human bones. We gathered together portions of four skeletons, a number of buttons, some fish lines, copper and iron bolts and rivets, the drag rope of a sled, some sheet-lead, some shot, bullets, and wire cartridges, pieces of clothing, broken medicine bottles, the charger of a powder-flask, an iron lantern, and a quantity of miscellaneous articles that would naturally form part of the outfit of such an expedition. The bones were prepared for burial, and the relics gathered together in a pile, from which to select a few to take away with us. The prow and stern-post of the boat were in good condition, and a few clinkered boards still hung together, which measured twenty-eight feet and six inches to where they were broken off at each end, showing it to have been a very large boat.

We spent several hours here, gathering together the various articles, in a thick fog and strong north-west wind that came down across the heavy ice-fields of Victoria Strait and Melville Sound, and was intensely cold. We then went to the next point south of us at eleven o'clock, and for four long weary hours walked up and down waiting for the sled to come up, while new ice was rapidly forming in the margin of the salt water as the tide went down. When Toolooah at last arrived, we found he had been compelled to abandon the stoves and firewood as it was impossible to handle so heavy a sled during the present wretched condition of the ice. It was after four o'clock when we got to bed, our blankets and sleeping bags all wet, as it was impossible to keep them out of the water that everywhere covers the ice.

The next day we remained in camp to bury the remains found at the boat place, and during the evening I went hunting with Toolooah, who killed two fine bucks. We got back to camp, tired and sleepy, at half-past two in the morning The sky was clear and the sunset supreme. It was nothing unusual for one from the temperate zone to see a magnificent sunset, but to see a grand combination of sunset and sunrise in one continuous representation was glorious beyond description. The next day Toolooah returned to the island off the mouth of the little bay, and brought on the things he had abandoned there; while we searched the vicinity with the hope of finding the second boat place, which the natives mentioned as being about a quarter of a mile from the one seen by McClintock. If this is the boat seen by him, it is certainly a long way from the position represented on the maps. We found no trace of a second boat place anywhere in the neighborhood, though we made an extensive search for it. We found a deep inlet entering near Point Little, too wide and deep to cross.

At a quarter past five the next morning, Lieutenant Schwatka and I started on our search along the coast, leaving the men to assist Toolooah in loading the sled and making a selection of what to abandon, if anything had to be left, and to follow later. We had not got more than a mile on our way when we heard a gun fired from camp, and, turning around, saw Frank running after us. We waited for him, and were surprised to hear that the tide, instead of falling, was actually rising, and that it would be impossible to load the sled. We therefore had to return to camp. In the meantime it commenced raining, and when we reached the tent we found the water nearly up to the door, though it was the hour for low tide. About two hours afterward Lieutenant Schwatka went outside the hut, and almost immediately called for his glasses, saying he thought the ice was breaking up. We all went out and saw the ice coming in from the Straits, and piling up in great masses. Already the sled was crowded high up in the air, and one of the stoves occupied a lofty position poised on the pinnacle of a hummock Toolooah at once got upon a loose cake of ice, and pulled himself out to the edge of the floe and brought the sled and stove down to where, when the ice came in closer, they could be pulled ashore, and were thus rescued from then imminent peril.



It was now quite evident that our sledging was over for the season, and we were stuck here with all our heavy stuff. All day long we could hear the booming of the ice in the distance, as the great fields were torn asunder, and we felt thankful that Toolooah had not already got started when the break came, or he would have been in great danger. At any rate we might have lost our sled, together with the dogs and all our baggage, which would have been a sad affair for us. We determined to cross the land to Terror Bay, and from there send down to Gladman Point, or that vicinity, all that the dogs and men could carry, while Lieutenant Schwatka and I waited for their return, and in the meantime searched the coast back from Terror Bay to the inlet near Point Little.

Terror Bay was reached on the 3d of August, after a tedious journey across the narrow neck of land that separates it from Erebus Bay. Our camps were not far apart, as everything had to be carried upon our backs or upon the dogs. It was necessary to make two, and often three, trips between camps before everything was brought up, consequently only two of the Franklin stoves were brought along. The largest and heaviest of these Henry took in charge, and carried all the way overstrapped to his back like a knapsack. Toolooah brought the empty sled over, with all the dogs after removing the bone shoes from the runners.



While at our first camp overland, Toolooah had returned to the coast with the dogs to bring up some firewood, and, not expecting to see any reindeer, had left his gun in camp. But near the coast he came upon a she-bear with her half-grown cub. Nothing daunted, he drove the old bear off into the sea with stones, and killed the cub with a handleless snow-knife. Henry and Frank, with all the Inuits, left us on the 6th of August to reach the rest of our party, whom they expected to find somewhere east of Gladman point. Frank and Henry remained there and Toolooah returned with the dogs, and moved what we could to the same point.

Lieutenant Schwatka and I were then left alone to provide for ourselves until Toolooah's return, which was on the 1st of September. We kept half of the double tent, and one of the dogs to help us when we moved camp, and to carry our meat. Reindeer were plentiful, and we killed eight, which kept us well supplied with food. We could have killed many more had it been necessary. This was altogether the pleasantest part of our experience in the Arctic. During the time we were alone we searched the neighboring coast as far west as Cape Crozier, but found only one skeleton. The tent place spoken of by Ahlangyah and others—and which we confidently expected to find without much trouble, marked by quantities of human bones and clothing scattered far around, as at the company places at Irving Bay and Cape Felix, and the boat place on Erebus Bay—could not be found, though Lieutenant Schwatka passed over the spot that the natives spoke of as the site. This was a great disappointment to us, and seemed unaccountable until we subsequently learned from them that it was so close to the water that all traces of it had disappeared. When we again met the natives we saw one man who had been there not a great while ago, and said there was nothing to be seen where he previously saw many skeletons and other indications of the white men's hospital tent.

In the division of labor at our lonely camps the searching devolved chiefly upon Lieutenant Schwatka and the cooking and hunting upon me, though he also killed several reindeer, and I occasionally assisted in the searching. Our diet was exclusively reindeer meat, eaten either raw or cooked, and, as the animals were very fat, there was nothing to complain of in that respect. The quantity that we ate was simply astonishing; in fact, we found it easier to adapt ourselves to that phase of Inuit life than any other.

Our greatest discomfort arose from the lack of sufficient shoes and stockings. It requires women always to keep you comfortable in that respect. Natives never go anywhere without their women. Our shoes were completely worn, beyond possibility of repair, and the hair was entirely worn off our stockings. The consequence was that walking was torture. I could generally manage to patch up my shoes so that I could start out hunting when necessary, well knowing they would last only for a short distance, but trusting to my ambition in the chase to keep me going, and the necessity of the case to get me back to the tent.

Most of the time we were confined to the tent by storms and fog, and only a few days were fit for the prosecution of our work. Unfortunately, the only thermometer we brought from Cape Herschel was lost, with other articles, from the sled in an ice crack near Wall Bay, while on our trip to Cape Felix, so we could keep no record of the temperature. I noticed, however, that there was scarcely a night when there was not a thin sheet of ice formed near the margin of the ponds. On the night of the 28th it froze to the depth of about three-quarters of an inch, and the next night about an inch and a half. It was sufficiently cold at any time, when the wind blew, to remind us that we were in the frigid zone. Our experience at this place was of interest in showing that white men can take care of themselves in this country, independently of the natives; but at the same time the presence and assistance of natives add much to the traveller's comfort.

Several days before Toolooah's return we were anxiously looking for him, as he was to bring in shoes and stockings, and the time was rapidly passing in which we could complete our search. We had already finished what was required toward the west, and as far east as was feasible from this camp. We had therefore made up our minds to move slowly eastward on the 1st of September, if he did not get back on the last day of August. A fierce gale, with snow, kept us in camp on that day; but the returning party, consisting of Toolooah's family with Equeesik, Mitcolelee and Frank, came in notwithstanding the storm, so great was their anxiety concerning our safety and comfort. It is needless to say that we were glad to see them, and when we heard Toolooah shout from the other side of the hill on which our tent was pitched, it seemed the pleasantest sound I ever heard. The Inuits had never known white men to live alone in their country as we had, and were afraid we were very hungry; but we relieved their anxiety in that respect by giving them a hearty meal of cooked meat.

We learned from them that the Inuits were all on the main-land, in the neighborhood of Thunder Cove, and that Joe had been, and still was, very sick with rheumatism. Henry remained there with them, and prosecuted the search of Starvation Cove, building a monument over the remains found there, and depositing a record that Lieutenant Schwatka had sent to him for that purpose. Before he got there, however, Joe and a party of Netchilliks had been searching the spot, and in a pile of stones found a small pewter medal, commemorative of the launch of the steamer 'Great Britain', in 1843, and among the seaweed some pieces of blanket and a skull. This was all that could be seen at this memorable spot.



CHAPTER XI.

AMATEUR ESQUIMAUX.

The prosecution of our search had been largely dependent upon our imitation of the life of the Esquimaux, and I should omit an important chapter in "Arcticology" if I did not leave on record the story of our exploits as amateur Esquimaux in subsisting upon the resources of the country through which our little exploring party passed, going and coming, in pursuit of its chief object. The seal was our beef and the walrus our mutton in this long journey.

Seal-hunting varies with the time of the year and the nature of the ice, for the seals are seldom killed except upon or through the ice. In the warm, still days of spring they come up through their blow-holes in the ice and enjoy a roll in the snow or a quiet nap in the sun. Then they are killed with comparative case. The hunter gets as close as possible upon the smooth ice without alarming his prey, the distance varying from four hundred to one hundred yards. He then lies down, or, more correctly speaking, reclines upon a small piece of bear-skin, which, as he moves, is dragged along and kept under him as protection against the cold and wet. His weight rests chiefly on his left hip, the knee bent and the leg drawn up beneath him upon the bear-skin mat. As long as the seal is looking toward him the hunter keeps perfectly still, or raising his head soon drops it upon his shoulder, uttering a noise similar to that produced by a seal blowing.

When the seal is satisfied, from a careful inspection, that no danger threatens, its head drops down upon the ice and it indulges in a few winks, but suddenly rises and gazes around if it hears the least noise or sees the least motion anywhere. The hunter takes advantage of the nap to hitch himself along by means of his right foot and left hand, preserving his recumbent position all the time, and if detected by the seal either stops suddenly and blows, or flops around like a seal enjoying a sun bath, as his experience suggests. In this way he can usually approach near enough to shoot his prey with a rifle, or strike it with a seal spear or oo-nar. Often, however, just as he is about to shoot or spear his game, it slips suddenly into the sea through its hole, upon the very verge of which it rests, seldom venturing further than a foot or two from its safe retreat. If they could only rest contented with a fair shot, the Inuits would probably secure more game than they now do, for the most of those I have seen them lose in this way went down after the hunter had approached within easy range—say twelve or fifteen yards. They are so anxious, however, to make a sure thing of it that they often try to get too near. I have frequently timed an Inuit as he started for a seal on the ice, and found it takes about an hour from the time he starts in pursuit until the shot is fired. It is amusing to watch the countenance of the seal through a spy-glass. They have such an intelligent and human look that you can almost imagine what they are thinking. For instance, you will see one start up suddenly and look at the hunter, who by that time is perfectly still, with an intense scrutiny that seems to say, "I declare I was almost sure I saw that move that time, but I must have been mistaken." Then, with a drowsy look, almost a yawn, down goes his head, and the hunter begins to hitch himself along again very cautiously. Suddenly up goes the seal's head so quickly that the hunter hasn't time to subside as before, but begins to roll about, blow off steam, and lift its feet around like a seal flapping its tail, and at a little distance it is really difficult to tell which is the seal and which the man. Then you imagine a smile on the face of the seal, as though he was saying to himself, "I caught him that time. What a fool I was to be frightened, though. I thought it was a man, and it's only an ookjook."

When the hunter at last reaches the point at which he considers it safe to risk a shot, you hear the report of his gun and see him immediately spring to his feet and rush for his prey. If his bullet strikes the head or neck of the animal it rarely gets away, though sometimes even then it slips out of reach, so close do they keep to their holes. If it is hit anywhere else it almost invariably escapes the hunter, though it may not escape death. Often the hunter reaches the hole in time to seize his prey by the hind flipper just as it is passing down into the water. I remember standing and gazing mournfully down into a hole one day through which a seal that I had shot had just escaped, though his blood tinged the water and edges of the ice, and while I was lamenting my ill-luck I heard a splash behind me and turned in time to see the seal come up through another hole. He looked awfully sick, and didn't see me until I had him by the flipper, sprawling on his back, at a safe distance from the hole. This was quite good luck for me, for such an opportunity rarely occurs, though I have occasionally known Toolooah to recover a lost one in the same way.

When struck with a spear they seldom escape, for the line is fastened to the side of the spear-head, which detaches itself from the staff and holds in the flesh like a harpoon. Sometimes, however, the seal will slip away after the spear is thrown, and, instead of striking him, it strikes the ice where he had been lying. This is very aggravating after the cold and tedious labor of working up upon it has been accomplished; but the Esquimau bears his misfortune with equanimity. It is seldom that he says more than "ma-muk'-poo now" (no good), or "mar-me an'-ner" (which means "angry," or is an expression used when one is angry). He gathers up his weapons, sits down and lights his pipe, and after a recuperative smoke moves on in search of another opportunity to go through the same process.

Sometimes he is fortunate enough to find a seal absolutely asleep upon the ice, and then he can walk right up alongside of him and put the rifle barrel to his ear before firing. In some parts of the Arctic, as at Iwillik (Repulse Bay), there is a species called "wandering seal," which in the spring are known to come upon the ice in great numbers, usually through a huge crack, and move quite a distance from the open water. This affords the natives a grand opportunity, and the entire village—men, women and children—repair to the spot, and by getting between the seals and the water, cut off their escape, so that they fall an easy prey to the clubs with which they are slaughtered by the men. In this way they sometimes kill as many as seventy-five or a hundred in a single day. But the haunts of the "wandering seal" are not found everywhere; they are favored localities. It is generally pretty hard work to kill a seal.

During the winter months the seals do not come out upon the ice, and are then hunted usually with dogs that are trained for the purpose. The hunter, equipped with his spear-shaft in his hand, and his line, with the barbed spear-head attached, thrown over his shoulder, starts out, leading his dog, whose harness is on and the trace wound several times around his neck, so that but a yard or two is left to trail along the snow. When they reach the wide stretch of smooth ice that usually lines the shore in these regions, the dog is allowed to work to windward, and when his sensitive nostrils are saluted with the scent of a seal he indicates the fact by the excited manner in which he endeavors to reach the spot from which the odor emanates. The hunter restrains the dog's ardor, but follows his guidance until the spot is found at which the seal's blow-hole is situated. Often it is entirely covered with snow, but sometimes a small hole about an inch in diameter is seen. The blow-hole is a spot to which the seal resorts to get an occasional puff of fresh air, and here the hunter awaits him in order to secure him for the larder. When first found, the hunter merely marks the spot for a future visit by building around it a wall of snow blocks to cut off the wind, and making a seat of similar material upon which to rest while waiting for the blow. This is the tedious proceeding in the life of an Esquimau, or at least would be for a civilized person so situated. Sometimes the seal comes up within half an hour or an hour, but often the hunter stands or sits by the hole all night long, and sometimes for a day or two. I have heard of instances in which they sat for two days and a half waiting for the seal to put in an appearance. In fact, Papa told me that he once sat for three days at one seal hole, and then it did not come up. During all this time the hunter must keep perfectly still—that is, he must not walk around or move his feet off the ice. He can move his body to keep up a circulation of the blood, or move his feet inside his stockings if they are sufficiently loose to allow of such motion, but no noise must occur which would alarm the game if in the vicinity of the hunter.

Some funny incidents occur at these prolonged sittings. I remember one experienced old seal-hunter who told me that when he was a young man he was once out all night watching a blow-hole and got very sleepy—so sleepy, indeed, that he could not keep his eyes open. After vainly endeavoring to arouse himself, he finally succumbed, and, falling asleep, tumbled over backward and wandered in the land of dreams. Suddenly awakening he saw what he supposed to be a man with hostile intentions standing and looking down upon him through the dim starlight. Every time he moved in the least, in order to get up, the strange man moved in a threatening sort of way, and he had to lie still again. At last, after getting thoroughly awakened, he discovered what he had taken for an enemy, and had caused him such alarm, was only his own leg sticking up in the air and resting against the snow-block seat from which he had tumbled when he fell asleep. Another hunter was overcome by sleep at a seal hole, and awakened by the consciousness of danger, saw a great white bear watching the hole, which in his sleepiness he had neglected. The hunter had fallen behind his snow seat in such a way as to be concealed from the bear, which had been attracted by the scent of the seal and arrived just at the moment when the young man awoke. To jump to his feet and fly from the vicinity of danger was, with the frightened Esquimau, the work of a minute, and so startled the bear that it also made off in the opposite direction as fast as feet would carry it.

When the seal comes up to breathe it stays about ten minutes, which gives the hunter plenty of time to get his spear and line ready. He then must take accurate aim and make a vigorous thrust through the little hole, withdrawing the spear quickly and holding the line tightly, so as to exhaust the game as much as possible before the line is all run out. The end is wound tightly around his right arm, and he sits down, bracing himself to resist the struggles of the animal to free itself. It usually makes three desperate efforts to escape, and then the hunter begins to haul in on his line, and, breaking away the snow around the hole, to admit of the passage of the body, lands his prey on the ice.

The next operation at this stage of the proceedings is to make a slit in the stomach of the sometimes still breathing animal, and to cut off some of the warm liver (ting'-yer), with a slice or two of blubber (oks-zook), wherewith the hunter regales himself with a hearty luncheon. Then the entrails are drawn out and passed through the fingers of the left hand to remove the contents, and are afterward braided and returned to the cavity of the stomach, and the slit drawn together and pinned with a little ivory pin (too-bit-tow'-yer) made for the purpose. The dog is allowed to lick the blood from the snow, but gets no more for his share unless an opportunity occurs to help himself when his master's back is turned. The trace is then attached to the nose of the dead seal, which is thus dragged into camp by the faithful dog, the hunter walking alongside urging the dog by his voice, and occasionally assisting him over a drift or amid hummocky ice.

The seal in the early spring builds a habitation in the snow over and around the hole through which it breathes, and here its young are born and live until old enough to venture into the water. This house is called an oglow, and is constructed very much like an Esquimau igloo in shape, though it is more irregular and has ramifications that extend to neighboring holes. These oglows are found with the assistance of dogs, as previously described, or by prodding with a seal spear the hillocks of snow that look like seals' houses. When a hunter finds an oglow during the season that the young seals are living in them, he immediately breaks in the roof with his heel in search of the little one, which usually remains very quiet even when the hunter looks down and pokes his head through the broken roof. The young seal is then easily killed with the spear and dragged out on the ice, and the hunter waits for the mother, which is never absent a long time from its baby. The young seal is generally cut open as soon as killed, and its little stomach examined for milk, which is esteemed a great luxury by the Esquimaux. When young, the seal is covered with long, white hair, very much like coarse wool. This skin was at one time very much used in making clothing, but lately has not been much in vogue among the natives, though occasionally coats and trousers of this material may still be seen. The whalers esteem it highly as an adjunct to woollen clothing, as being sufficiently warm for those who are living on shipboard, yet not so warm as reindeer clothing, which becomes oppressive in high temperature.

The older seals have short, smooth hair, of a yellowish-gray color, with large black spots on the back, which become smaller and less frequent on the sides, and disappear entirely before reaching the belly. The finest quality of seal-skin in the eastern North American waters, which are devoid of fur seal, is that of the kos-se-gear, or fresh-water seal, which is found at or near the mouths of nearly all rivers emptying into the sea. This species of seal is marked very much like the common seal (net-chuk), except that the spots are of a more positive and a glossier black, while the body color is whiter, making a more decided contrast. The hair is also of a much finer texture, and is as soft as the finest quality of velvet. These are only killed in the early summer, and their skins are extensively used for summer clothing by those Esquimaux who have not come much in contact with the whalers. When they have been in communication with the ships, they are usually, during the summer months, clad in cast-off clothing of the sailors—that is, the men are. And funny enough they look, with the curious methods they have of wearing civilized costumes. They always choose a shirt for the exterior garment, and wear it with the tail outside. The women seldom are seen with any civilized clothing, the only exception being, probably, a few of the natives of Cumberland Sound and Akkolead, near North Bay. The finest quality of kossegear skins I have seen were killed in Hudson's Strait. They are much superior in texture and color to those of the tributaries to Hudson's Bay. The next skin in quality is that of the ki-od-del-lik, or "jumping" seal, or, as it is sometimes called, "spotted" seal. This is very similar in color and texture to the fresh-water seal, except that the black in the back and sides is in great splotches that are odd, but very pretty in effect. Kioddelliks are seen in great numbers in Hudson's Bay and Strait, but are not often killed, as they generally keep pretty well out from shore. They are often seen by the whalers, playing like a school of porpoises, whose actions they simulate somewhat, except that they make a clean breach from the water every time they jump.

The nets-che-wuk, "bladder-nosed" seal, has a skin which is a grade or two superior to the netchuk, and is much larger. It, however, lacks the fineness and gloss of the kossegear and kioddellik.

The largest of the seal species is the ookjook. Its skin is thick and coarse, with coarse, short hair. It is not used in the manufacture of clothing, except for the soles of rum-nigs (boots). It is, however, employed to make walrus and seal lines, lashings for their sleds, and traces for dog harness. It is as much used for this purpose as is the skin of the walrus, which it much resembles. In making lines from ookjook or walrus skin, a piece is cut from the neck or body by making cross sections—that is, without slitting it down the belly, the piece for the line being removed from the body in a broad band. The blubber is then cut from the fleshy side, and the skin is soaked for a short time in hot water, after which the hair is readily removed with an ood-loo, the semicircular knife that is the one constant and only tool of the Esquimau woman. A line is then made by cutting this piece of skin into one continuous strip, half an inch wide, by following around and around the band. The line is then about twenty-five yards long, and while still green is stretched between two large rocks, where it is submitted to the greatest tension that the limited mechanical appliances of these savages can supply. While so situated the line is carefully trimmed with a sharp knife to remove all fatty particles, and to partially round off the sharp edges.

It is then allowed to remain until thoroughly dry, when it is taken from the stretcher and coiled up in the owner's tent until he has leisure to finish it and render it pliable. This is accomplished by the slow and tedious process of chewing. Traces and lines for the seal spears are usually made of seal skin, and in the same way as walrus and ookjook lines. They also require chewing before being sufficiently pliable for use. Indeed, all skins require to be chewed before they are made into clothing. The men chew their lines, but all other skins are chewed by the women and young girls. It is one circumstance that is early remarked by the visitor in the Arctic regions, that the middle-aged and old people have teeth that are worn down to mere stubs by the constant chewing of skins. A pair of ookjook soles, before being submitted to the chewing process, are nearly as thick and much stiffer than the sole-leather of civilized commerce, and it requires the leisure hours of two days to reduce them to the necessary pliability for use. It is not only the action of the grinders that brings them to the proper state, but the warm breath and saliva play an effectual part in the process. This is usually their visiting work. When they go to each other's tupics or igloos to make calls, instead of taking their knitting, the belles of the polar circle take their chewing. It does not add much to the charms of female society to see them sitting before you gnawing and sucking a pair of ookjook soles, or twisting an entire seal-skin into a roll, one end of which is thrust into a capacious mouth to undergo the masticating and lubricating process. But it does increase your respect for them to see with what cheerfulness these women apply themselves to their exceedingly disagreeable labor.

Seal-skins for making coats and trousers are dressed with the hair on, the fleshy membranes, or "mum'-me," being cut off with an oodloo before they are washed, stretched, and dried. One good warm spring day is sufficient to dry a seal-skin, which for this purpose is stretched over the ground or snow by means of long wooden pins, which keep it elevated two or three inches, thus allowing the air to circulate underneath it. Sometimes in the early spring, before the sun attains sufficient power, a few skins for immediate use are dried over the lamps in the igloos. This, however, is regarded as a slow and troublesome process, and the open air is preferred when available. A few seal-skins and walrus skins, from which the hair has been neatly removed, are left to hang in the wind and sun for several days, until they acquire a creamy whiteness, and are then used for trimming. The Kinnepatoos, who are the dandies of the Esquimau nation, tan nearly all their skins white. Their walrus and seal lines, and indeed their sled lashings and dog harness, are sometimes white, as well as the trimmings of their boots and gloves. Nearly all the varieties of seal are sometimes killed during the summer and fall, while swimming in the open water; but though often seen when the weather is calm, the Esquimaux seldom fire at them, because until the latter part of September they will sink to the bottom, though killed instantly by a shot through the head or neck.

At a later period a funny incident occurred. We were at Marble Island. The weather was calm, so that seal heads were sprinkled plentifully upon the surface of the water. This inspired Lieutenant Schwatka to try his skill. So, fetching his rifle from the cabin and wiping his eye-glasses, he shot at a large head about a hundred yards from the vessel. The seal made a desperate effort to get down in a hurry, but was evidently badly hurt, and showed a good deal of blood before it accomplished its descent. Presently it came up again, and a boat was lowered to pick it up, but it managed to escape capture, though it was evident that it would soon die. After breakfast the next morning, when we went on deck, the water was still quite smooth, and presently we were surprised to see what appeared to be a dead seal floating in on the tide. There was no doubt that this was the seal that Lieutenant Schwatka had killed the previous night, and again the boat was lowered to secure it. No precautions were deemed necessary to avoid making a noise, and when the boat came alongside one of the men threw down his oar, rolled up his sleeves, and stooped down to lift the carcass on board. His surprise may be imagined when, after passing his arms around it and proceeding to lift it, he felt it suddenly begin to struggle and slip from his hold and dive below the surface, while a loud shout went up from the spectators. It was not Lieutenant Schwatka's seal, but an entirely well one that was sound asleep when it felt the rude embrace of the sailor.

The seal is an exceedingly useful animal to the Esquimau, for it not only supplies him with food and clothing, but its blubber furnishes the fuel for cooking its flesh, lighting the igloo, and drying its skin before making into clothing. The skin also is made into dog harness and traces, whip lashes, boots and shoes, gun-covers, water-pails, bags for the storing of oil and blubber, and his boats are covered with it. Seal-skin bags, inflated and fastened to walrus lines, are used in hunting walrus and whales, and finally, the summer dwelling of the Esquimau is a tent made of seal-skin. A single tent, or tupic, as it is called by them, is composed of from five to ten skins, which are split—that is, the mumme is split off and dried separately from the skin. The rear portion of the tent is made of the skins with the hairy side out, while the front is made of the transparent mumme, which admits the light almost as freely as if made of ground glass. The skin portion is impervious to water, but the mumme admits the rain about as readily as it does the sunlight. This is no objection, in the mind of the Esquimau, for it is something he is thoroughly accustomed to. In the summer his tent is wet with rain, and in the winter, whenever the air in the igloo is raised to an endurable temperature, the roof melts and is constantly dripping ice-water down his back or upon his blankets.



CHAPTER XII.

WALRUS DIET.

The staple food of the Esquimaux of North Hudson's Bay and Melville Peninsula is "ivick" (walrus). The season for killing the walrus lasts nearly all the year—that is, all the time when the natives are not inland hunting reindeer, in order to secure sufficient skins to make their winter clothing and sleeping blankets. The Kinnepatoos, who inhabit the shore of Hudson's Bay in the vicinity of Chesterfield Inlet and its tributaries, are the only tribe I know of who live almost exclusively upon the reindeer. Indeed, they only kill a sufficient number of walrus and seal to provide them with shoes and gloves for summer wear. The Netchillik and Ookjoolik tribes live mostly by sealing, and as they are not provided with fire-arms, find it almost impossible to kill reindeer when the snow is on the ground. The Ooquesiksillik people, who live on Back's Great Fish River and its tributary, Hayes River, live almost exclusively on fish. The Iwillik tribe, that inhabits the coast of Hudson's Bay from near the mouth of Chesterfield Inlet to Repulse Bay, the Igloolik, Amitigoke, Sekoselar, Akkolear, and, indeed, all the various tribes along the northern shore of Hudson's Strait, Fox Channel, and Southampton Island, rely chiefly upon walrus meat for their food. The walrus is one of the largest animals that inhabits these waters, and when one is killed it supplies a quantity of food. An average-sized walrus weighs about a thousand or twelve hundred pounds, and when it is remembered that every particle is eaten except the hardest bones, the reader will see that it is a valuable prize for the captors. The blood, blubber, intestines, even the hide, the undigested contents of the stomach, and the softer bones, as well as the oesophagus and windpipe, are all eaten, raw or cooked. If my experience might be mentioned, I would say that all of these enumerated delicacies I have eaten and relished. Walruses are usually found resting upon the ice near the edge of the floe or the shore piece, unless there is much loose ice near it, in which case they will most always be found on the larger cakes of loose ice.

There they are hunted in boats, or when the wind is from such a direction as to keep the pack on to the floe they can be successfully hunted on foot. The method of hunting is precisely the same as that already described in reference to hunting seal, except that the spear is generally used in preference to the rifle to secure the walrus, and the rifle is preferred to the spear in seal-hunting. Usually there are two hunters who approach the walrus, one hiding behind the other, so that the two appear but as one. When the spear is thrown, both hold on to the line, which is wound around their arms so as to cause as much friction as possible, in order to exhaust the animal speedily. The spear-head is of walrus tusk, and is about three inches long and three-quarters of an inch thick, with an iron barb that is kept very sharp. The line is attached to the middle of the spear-head, the near end being slanted, so that when the line is tightened it lies cross-wise in the wound, like a harpoon, and it is almost impossible for it to draw out after once passing through the tough hide of the animal. When the line is nearly run out, the end of the spear-shaft is passed through a loop in the end of the line and held firmly by digging a little hole in the ice for the end of the spear to rest in, the foot resting upon the line and against the spear to steady it. This gives the hunter an immense advantage over his powerful game, and if he is fortunate enough to secure this hold, there is no escape for the walrus except that the line may cut on the edge of the sharp ice, or the thin ice break off, and hunter, line, and all be precipitated into the water—a not unusual experience in walrus hunting. Another cause of misfortune is for the line to become entangled around the arm of the hunter, so that he cannot cast it off, in which case he is most assuredly drawn into the sea, and in nine cases out of ten drowned, for his knife is seldom at hand for an emergency, and no amount of experience will ever induce an Inuit to provide against danger.

Sometimes the hunter is alone when he strikes a walrus, and in that case it requires considerable dexterity to secure the spear hold in the ice; or if he fails to get that he may sit down and brace his feet against a small hummock, when it comes to a sheer contest of muscle between the hunter and the walrus. In these contests victory generally perches upon the banner of the walrus, though the Inuit will never give up until the last extremity is reached. Often he is dragged to the very edge of the ice before he finds a protuberance against which to brace his feet, and often he is drawn down under the ice before he will relinquish his hold. He is very tenacious under such circumstances, for he knows that when he loses the walrus he loses his line and harpoon also.

Occasionally a dead walrus is found with a harpoon and line fastened to him, in which case the walrus and line belong to the finder. I remember a curious incident of this kind that occurred at Depot Island. Toolooah and Ebierbing (Esquimau Joe) were hunting together and Toolooah struck a fine young bull walrus, and got the spear hold against the ice for Joe to hold. It is a powerful hold, and a child could hold a whale in that way if the line did not break. But poor unfortunate Joe, for some unaccountable reason, raised the spear, and, of course, the line was drawn from under his foot, and both walrus and line were lost, notwithstanding Toolooah and Sebeucktolee (familiarly "Blacksmith") caught the running line and held until their hands were cut to the bone. They did not know at this time that another walrus had been killed a mile or two further along the edge of the floe. The loss of the line was also a sad misfortune. Joe felt so badly about it that he was ashamed to come in, and walked several miles farther along the ice with an Inuit companion, in the hope of killing a seal with his rifle; but Toolooah, who had taken no rifle, inasmuch as he had taken a spear and line instead, returned to camp and came into the igloo which he and I occupied in common, looking very much dejected in consequence of the loss of his walrus and line, the circumstances of which he explained to me, showing his terribly lacerated hands. The fact that another walrus had been killed was a relief to him, but did not dissipate his grief for the lost line, which was the last we had.

About half-past ten o'clock that night, while we were eating some boiled walrus meat and entrails (about the fifth meal since four o'clock on the afternoon, when the meat arrived), some one came to the entrance of the igloo and handed in Toolooah's walrus line, saying Joe and Blucher had found the walrus dead upon the ice near where it was struck, the animal having crawled out and died after the hunters had left. Now for the first time Toolooah's face brightened up, and he was so impatient to hear the circumstances of the recovery of the lost game that, late as it was, he went to Joe's igloo to inquire. He soon returned with an exceedingly woebegone expression, for which I failed to elicit an explanation until the morning, when I found out from Joe that, according to the laws and customs of the Inuits the walrus belonged to him because he found it.

"What interest has Toolooah in it?" said I.

"None," was Joe's reply. "All over here country same way. Man he strikee walrus; let he go again; somebody else findee; he walrus."

"Well, Joe, suppose the somebody else lets the walrus go, how is it then?"

"All same way."

"So Toolooah has no interest in that walrus he killed and that you let go again?"

"Yes, all same way here country. But I give'm back he line last night. Line my, all same; I findee."

"That was certainly noble in you, Joe, I am sure."

"Oh, yes; Toolooah my friend."

And so, I noticed, always was the case whenever there was any doubt about a point; "custom here country" always managed to give Joe the best of it, and I came to the conclusion that he had become pretty thoroughly civilized during his residence in the United States.

Sometimes an inflated seal-skin, called an ah-wah-tah, is attached to the end of the line, that buoys it up and soon exhausts the wounded walrus. This is a very good plan, but is not considered advantageous when working in loose ice unless hunting from a boat, for the wounded animal is apt to get beyond the reach of the hunter. After the ice disappears walruses are then killed on the small islands, to which they resort to sleep, and are sometimes found in great numbers.

In the fall of 1878 I went with a party of Inuit hunters to a small rocky island opposite Daly Bay, where we found a herd of from seventy-five to a hundred, most of them asleep; but some were complaining and grunting, and punching their bed-fellows with their long tusks. Our approach was made cautiously up the slippery side of a wet rock until within range, when at the suggestion of my Inuit companions I fired at a fine young bull, being instructed to hit him just behind the ear. I did so, and sent a 320-grain slug from my Sharp's rifle through his skull. His head dropped to the ground and he never moved a muscle. At the same time another shot was fired by one of the Inuits; but the hunter's foot slipped at the same moment, and the bullet whistled harmlessly over the heads of the herd. A grand rush was then made by all the hunters, and the walruses were wriggling and sliding down the slimy rocks into the sea. One of the Inuits darted his harpoon into what he took to be a sleeping walrus, but it proved to be the one I had already killed. I followed into the midst of the herd and put a bullet through the head of another bull before they had all left the rock. Had Oxeomadiddlee not struck a dead walrus we might have had three, for an ahwahtah was attached to his line, so that we could have regained it at any time with the boat. The walrus never appeared to me the dangerous animal I have known him to be represented. If wounded and brought to bay he will certainly turn upon his assailants, and many Inuits have been killed in these encounters, while others still bear scars received from the tusks of those which they were hunting. But as long as there appears to be a chance to escape by flight the walrus usually will seek safety in that way.

One of my companions in this hunt—Toogoolar, or Oxeomadiddlee, as he is usually called—is a famous walrus hunter, and his success is probably largely due to his immense physical strength. He is a perfect Esquimau Samson, and when he is on one end of a line, with his feet braced against a hummock, the walrus at the other end has no advantage. Indeed, the odds are in favor of Oxeomadiddlee. His singular name is self-imposed, and is an Inuit expression of greeting, or rather when one unexpectedly arrives, as the clown says, "Here we are again," and occurred in this way. Several years ago he was hunting walrus in the pack-ice, when the wind changed and blew the ice away from shore. This is a contingency to which the hunters are constantly liable, and is the greatest danger to which they are subjected in their pursuit. Many are thus carried away, sometimes out to sea, and are never heard from again; while others have been drifted a long distance from their homes before the drift again touched the shore-ice and allowed them to find their way back, if possible. Sometimes they starve to death before the ice again lands, though occasionally they are quite comfortable under such circumstances, as, for instance, were four who were carried off just before we started on our trip to King William Land a year ago last spring. Equeesik and his brother Owanork, who were to accompany us, and Nanook and Blucher were thus carried off from Depot Island, with one of our sleds and a dead walrus which they were cutting up at the time. They did not get back for four or five days, but suffered scarcely at all while away. They built an igloo on the largest cake they could reach, and of course had plenty to eat. They made a lamp of walrus hide, and burned the blubber to heat their house. When the ice touched the shore below Chesterfield Inlet they jumped on the sled and drove home. There is always more or less risk attending these adventures under all circumstances.

The time of which I was speaking that Toogoolar was carried away, he was gone a long time, until, indeed, his tribe had given up all hope of his returning. But one morning during a severe snow-storm he arrived in camp, and no one had noticed his approach until, crawling through the door of an igloo, he stood amid his friends and exclaimed, "Ox'-e-o-ma-did'-dle-e" (Good-morning. Here we are again). He had been carried from Repulse Bay to the vicinity of Whale Point, when an easterly wind drove the pack on shore and he escaped, but had to make his way on foot from there back home again. He had his walrus line and spear with him, and had killed a walrus while in the pack; but the piece that held his food was broken off and floated away from him, so that he was for many days without anything to eat. Inuits are somewhat accustomed to such experiences, and can be deprived of food for a long time without starving. When a walrus is killed it takes some time to cut it up and prepare it for removal to camp. There are usually several helpers in the vicinity of any one who carries a line and spear. Others walk along the edge of the pack until they find some one working up to a walrus, or a party engaged in cutting it up.

According to Inuit custom, all who arrive while the walrus is being cut up, no matter how many, are entitled to a share of it. The man who strikes it, however, has the first pick, which, if there are four of them, is one of the hind quarters; if there are only two or three, he has both hind flippers if he prefer them, and is always entitled to the head, which contains some of the choicest morsels either for cooking or eating raw. I know of nothing more palatable in that climate during winter and spring than raw frozen walrus head and tongue. It is not an inviting-looking dish, but is most enjoyable. The meat is hard, but not particularly tough—for walrus—and consists of alternate layers of lean and fat. It is eaten with the addition of more blubber, and is generally the occasion of a common feast for all the men in the camp. If there is any left the women can eat it if they want to, but the women never eat with the men, and if the tupic or igloo where the feast is being held is small, even the women that dwell there are banished until the feast is over. An ookjook, when killed, is divided up in the same way as a walrus, all the bystanders receiving a share. In making the division of the carcass the portions are kept in a bag made by lacing the edges of the skin that holds the share with a line made of a strip of the raw hide. In this bag are also deposited such portions of the entrails, liver, etc., as fall to the share of each. In hunting on foot the men usually take one or two dogs apiece to drag home their dividends. When encamped upon a hill, such as Depot Island, which commands a view of an extensive tract of ice, the natives seldom go walrus hunting unless they first see one on the ice, in which case one of the best hunters starts immediately with his weapons, and the "bummers" follow later with a sled and dogs. The arrival of a sled-load of walrus meat into a hungry camp is one of the most cheerful sights that it ever falls to the lot of a traveller to witness, and I have noticed that his interest is seldom diminished by the fact that his own is one of the hungry stomachs to be fed from this plenty. The women see the sled coming, while still at a great distance, and then the big stone lamps are lit, and snow put into the kettles to melt, so that no time need be wasted after the meat gets there. The cooking is seldom done in each dwelling separately; but he who has the largest kettle or the biggest heart, when his own meal is ready, goes to the door of his igloo or tupic and calls out, "O-yook, O-yook," which means warm food, and all the men and boys gather in, each with a knife in his hand, and without further ceremony they fall to and devour what is set before them. The largest part of an Inuit's food is, however, eaten raw. These o-yooks are merely festal occasions, though they occur several times a day, and may happen at any hour of the day or night when the natives are assembled in villages and have plenty of food on hand. It is then that they recompense themselves for starvings in the past or in prospect.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE RETURN.

We reached our permanent camp on our return from King William Land on September 19th. It was about six miles south-east of Gladman Point, and at the foot of a high hill, which Toolooah remarked would make a good look-out tower for deer-hunting. All along this part of the coast, where Simpson Strait is narrowest, would soon swarm with reindeer waiting for the salt water to freeze, so they could continue their navigation southward. It is for this reason that we selected it as our permanent camp while we also awaited the freezing of the strait, so that we could cross with our heavy sleds. When Henry and Frank went down the coast they found reindeer everywhere else but at Gladman Point and that neighborhood, and were there for three days without food. In the meantime Toolooah crossed the strait in a kyack and found the natives. On his return he killed a reindeer on the main-land and relieved their distress. Long before we reached the spot the meadows and ponds were frozen, so that we could cross them with perfect impunity. In many places the ice was so clear that it required considerable moral courage to step upon it, it looked so exactly like still water.



Henry came up to see us the next day, his camp being about seven miles below. The Inuits crossed to the King William Land side on the 17th. It was a picturesque sight to see the whole of Joe's and Ishnark's families, with Henry and a number of dogs, upon a raft made by lashing together four kyacks. They had to choose a still day for the crossing, and keep very quiet while upon the raft. Lieutenant Schwatka paid a visit to the other camp on the 22d, and the day following Toolooah and I moved our camp about two miles farther east, to a large lake, where we at once set to work, the ice being already eight inches thick, to build an ice igloo of large slabs three feet by six, which standing on end and so placed as to support each other, formed the walls, which afterward were covered with the tent, and made a much warmer house than the tent alone, as it is a complete shelter against the wind.



Reindeer were now seen daily in immense herds. The day we moved camp we ran upon a herd of about fifty, and Toolooah killed seven before they could get away, following them up, running and dropping on his knee to fire. So rapid and effective was his delivery with his Winchester repeating carbine, that this unequalled achievement was accomplished in less than ten minutes; and, well knowing that it was to his splendid weapon that the credit largely belonged, this undemonstrative savage held up his rifle and kissed it while he was talking to me about the affair. On the 30th Toolooah killed twelve reindeer, Joe eight, and Equeesik and I each three, making a grand total of twenty-six by our party alone in one day.

We ate quantities of reindeer tallow with our meat, probably about half our daily food. Breakfast is eaten raw and frozen, but we generally have a warm meal in the evening. Fuel is hard to obtain, and consists entirely of a vine-like moss called ik-shoot-ik. Reindeer tallow is also used for a light. A small flat stone serves for a candlestick, on which a lump of tallow is placed, close to a piece of fibrous moss called mun-ne, which is used for a wick. The tallow melting runs down upon the stone and is immediately absorbed by the moss. This makes a very cheerful and pleasant light, but is most exasperating to a hungry man, as it smells exactly like frying meat. Eating such quantities of tallow is a great benefit in this climate, and we can easily see the effect of it in the comfort with which we meet the cold. The mean temperature for the month of September was 22.1 degrees Fahr., and the lowest 5 degrees, and yet though we wore only our woollen clothes, except a fur koo-li-tar, or overcoat, when away from home, the cold is not annoying. During October the mean temperature was -0 degree, and the lowest -38 degrees.

On the afternoon of the 27th of September a heavy snow-storm set in, and the next morning the snow was knee-deep on the level ice. The storm continued until during the night of the 29th. The snow was very deep, but the winter winds soon blew it around and packed it down so as to be almost solid. By the 14th of October the sledging was sufficiently good for Toolooah to go to Cape Herschel and Terror Bay for the sled and other articles that were left there during the summer for the want of transportation. As his little boy would suffer with the cold, Toolooah exchanged wives with Joe for the trip, a very usual and convenient custom among the Esquimaux.

The ice was sufficiently strong for the reindeer to commence crossing to the main-land about the 1st of October, and in a few days their numbers had very perceptibly diminished. After the 14th we saw none at all; they seemed to have entirely disappeared. The Inuits had been very busy making up fur clothing for the winter trip, and we had fixed upon the 1st of November as the day for starting, by which time everything would be ready. Toolooah got back on the 23d. He killed three bears the day he reached Terror Bay. All of them got into the water, and he had to go to the edge of the new ice, using a pole to stand upon while fishing them out. He killed one reindeer at Cape Herschel, which was all he saw while away.

Joe came up and built an igloo adjoining ours on the 3d of October. He wanted to get away from the vicinity of Ogzeuckjeuwock, the Netchillik Arn-ket-ko, or medicine-man, of whom he was apparently very much afraid. He alleged that the medicine-man was constantly advising his people to kill some of our party. Joe said that he had sak-ki-yon to that effect—that is, during one of his inspirations exhorted them to that end. There is no doubt but they would be very glad to kill us all, and get our guns and knives, but they were thoroughly afraid to undertake it. After Toolooah's return he and Joe gathered in the meat we had cached in the vicinity, preparatory to starting on the 1st of the next month.

Lieutenant Schwatka decided that he and I would take Toolooah's sled, with Joe to assist, and go by the way of Smith and Grant Points, and through the big inlet spoken of by the natives as putting in from Wilmot Bay, and meet the other sleds which, in charge of Henry, would go by the way of Richardson Point and Back's River, meeting at the bend of the river above the Dangerous Rapids, where we would find the Ooqueesiksillik natives and take on board a supply of fish to last us until we reached the reindeer country once more. As the other sleds had the shorter route, they would start a day or two later and wait for us at the appointed rendezvous, unless they were getting short of food, in which case they would push on into the reindeer country. Narleyow, the Ooqueesiksillik guide, would accompany them. We started on the 1st, as proposed, but did not succeed in getting farther than the shore of the strait, about three miles from camp, owing to the heavy sleds and the dogs being so fat that they were lazy. We took Ishnark's sled to help us for the first day, as we had such a quantity of meat—one sled loaded entirely with it and the other with about half a load. We had to keep the extra sled the following day also, as we wanted to get well over the salt-water ice.

We had fondly hoped to be at the Dangerous Rapids by the 10th or 15th of November, but we only reached the native camp near the mouth of Kigmuktoo (Sherman Inlet) on the 12th, owing to our heavily loaded sled and the much bad weather, fogs, and wind that would blow the snow around so that we could not see our course. There was quite a large camp of Netchillik and Ookwolik Esquimaux on a big lake near the mouth of Sherman Inlet, the largest camp we had yet seen. The sled was pulling heavily and slowly across the lake, and I went ahead toward the igloos. All the men were standing outside awaiting our arrival, and among them were some Netchilliks we had met during the spring. As soon as they recognized me they set up a great shout of "Many-tu-me!" which is their salutation of welcome, and means smooth. They seemed very glad that we were coming among them again, and hurried me into a big, warm igloo, while most of the men ran out and helped the sled in. They built our igloo in short order, and during the time we were with them did everything in their power to contribute to our comfort. It seemed as if some one was on the roof of our igloo all the time patching up holes, and they changed the direction of the doorway every time the wind changed, and that kept them busy nearly all the time.

We found but few interesting relics among them. Only a piece of the boat found in Wilmot Bay after the big ship sunk, and part of the block branded either "10" or "O R," with part of the R obliterated. If the ship's blocks were branded with the name of the vessel to which they were attached, this would be important as establishing the identity of the ship that drifted down as the 'Terror'. As an instance of the perversity of fate, I mention that we found among them a piece of wax candle that they had preserved all these years, while every scrap of paper had perished. We saw here a Netchillik, named Issebluet, who with his family had nearly starved to death during the summer. He was separated from the rest of his tribe, as it is customary for them to scatter during the summer, and though not lacking in skill or energy, had simply been unfortunate and unable to procure food. He was still very thin and weak when we saw him, and when he went abroad had to take a couple of dogs, whose traces, tied around his waist, helped him along. Joe was very much frightened all the time we were here, for Netchillik Toolooah was here also—the man who it was said wanted to kill some of our party—and Joe said they intended to kill all our party except the women, and obtain possession of the baggage and the two women. He said their apparent kindness was only a blind, and the day we left them he made me prance around with my pistol in my belt while the sled was being loaded. Toolooah, though not so nervous as Joe, had his rifle handy and kept his eye upon it closely. I noticed that the men all stood around, but never offered to assist in loading the sled. Toolooah said they could not very well without exposing a fact that he had noticed—that they all had their knives in their sleeves. But if they had, they took good care not to use them. Two of them accompanied us a part of the way to show us the easiest route over the heavy hill we had to cross before reaching the salt-water ice, and kindly put their shoulders to the load whenever the sled pulled hard. I saw nothing in the conduct of any of them to complain of, but everything to praise. I noticed that most of the men in this camp had their hair cut close to their heads, the style that at home is profanely called "a Reilly cut." This I ascertained was not for personal adornment, but for convenience in hunting, where fine-tooth combs are unknown, but could be put to good use.

We met a sled with a few natives coming from Kigmuktoo to join the rest of the tribe on the lake, and with them was an aged crone named Toolooah, who had seen white men in Boothia Isthmus, when a young woman, and had also been with the party who found the boat and skeletons in Starvation Cove, near Richardson Point. She confirmed the testimony previously obtained in every essential particular. We gave her a few needles and a spoon, for which she was very grateful, especially to her namesake, our Toolooah, to whom she gave her walking-stick and two locks of her hair, which he severed with a snow-knife as she knelt beside the sled. This was a charm to protect him from evil until he got home. Besides this old woman there were three other women on the sled. One I noticed particularly, because she looked so much like the Goddess of Liberty. Her hood was over her head and hung with the same jaunty air as a liberty cap, and her artiger, cut loose in the throat, looked not unlike the classic toga. Though not quite so large as the statue on the dome of the Capitol at Washington, she was immense, and had arms like a gymnast. Modesty, either natural or assumed, and fear of the strange white men made her keep on the opposite side of the sled from us, though, as Lieutenant Schwatka remarked, she could have handled both of us if she wanted to.

We marched in a south-east direction in the inlet five days, during which we travelled upon it about forty-five miles, and when we left it could still see it running in a southerly direction for about ten or fifteen miles farther. It is bottle-shaped, not more than a mile wide at its mouth, and for a considerable distance, when it gradually widens out to five or six miles, and is about twenty miles wide at its head. Nearly every night we were able to find water in some lake on the land, but had to carry it from two to four miles into camp. This duty Lieutenant Schwatka and I took upon ourselves, while the Inuits were building and preparing the igloo.

The sun was so low now that we had either sunrise or sunset during the whole time it was above the horizon. At noon it was not more than four degrees high. We were gradually moving southward, or we would have been left with nothing but this light during the daytime. In fact, several days before we left Back's River, the sun only showed his diameter above the hills along the shore, where it lazily rolled for a few minutes and left us the long twilight in which to build our igloos, which were scarely ever finished before the utter darkness came upon us. Short days, together with our heavy sleds, and dogs not more than half fed, kept us back most provokingly. The snow on the land was soft, not having got thoroughly packed as yet, while the intense cold covered its surface with minute particles of ice that impeded the sled like so much sand. In many places the river and lakes were entirely denuded of snow, and the bare ice would take the ice from our runners as if we were moving over rocks. As long as the river ice was bare this made no difference; the sled would slip along merrily, the dogs on a run, but this seldom lasted for more than half a mile, when we would again run upon snow and have all the more laborious drag as a consequence. Our usual marches at this time were from five to ten miles, instead of from ten to twenty, as on our way north.

The most unpleasant feature of winter travelling is the waiting for an igloo to be built. To those at work even this time can be made to pass pleasantly, and there is plenty that even the white men of a party can do that would keep them busy, and consequently comfortable. When travelling overland the halt is made, if possible, on some lake where a water hole may be dug. This, through average ice—that is, about six or seven feet—will take about an hour and a half, though an expert native will do it in perhaps half that time. It is a blessing to get water at this time, and a great shout goes up from the well-digger, as the delicious fluid comes bubbling up through the narrow well, that is echoed by the igloo builders and spreads throughout the camp. Then the women repair with tin dippers and cups cut from musk-ox horn, and after refreshing themselves carry a drink to their husbands. One can drink enormously at this time, especially after working; but it will be well to keep up pretty violent exercise for some time afterward, as filling the stomach with such a quantity of ice-cold water will soon produce a shiver.