Another task that the white men can interest themselves in is the unloading of the sled and beating the snow and ice out of the fur bed-clothing. The Esquimaux do not use sleeping bags for themselves, but instead have a blanket which they spread over them, while under them are several skins, not only to keep the body away from the snow, but also to prevent the body from thawing the snow couch and thus making a hole that would soon wet the skins. While on the march the skins for the bed are usually spread over the top of the loaded sledge, and then the whole is securely lashed down with seal-skin thongs. It is the invariable custom to turn the fur-side of the skins up, because it is easy enough to beat the snow from the hair, while it might thaw and make the skin-side wet. You often, therefore, find that water has fallen upon the skin that makes your bed, and formed a great patch of ice, which has to be beaten off with a wooden club.

Until experience has taught you it makes you shudder to think that soon your naked body is to rest upon the place where now you see that patch of ice. But continued pounding will remove every vestige of it without disturbing the fur, if the weather is sufficiently cold. Therefore exposure is the best treatment for bedding, though it certainly gives the skins a degree of cold that can scarcely be appreciated until experienced. It is astonishing, however, how soon the bed becomes warm from the heat of the body. For, perhaps, from five to ten minutes you may lie there and shiver, when gradually a genial warmth begins to pervade the whole body, the shiver subsides, and you are as comfortable, as far as cold is concerned, in bed in an igloo in the Arctic, as you would be in a civilized mansion in the temperate zone.

The Esquimaux are not acquainted with the qualities of the magnetic needle, and, it is needless to say, do not travel by the compass. Like all savage tribes they have, however, methods for keeping their direction while making long voyages. These are usually made on the salt-water ice, and they follow the land; but when travelling over land, either in summer or winter, they can generally distinguish north from south, at least approximately. In summer the running vines point to the salt water, they say, which, in going around Hudson's Bay, would indicate the south. And then there are certain species of moss that are only found in the vicinity of salt water. In winter they notice the ridges of snow along the ice, or the land spots on the highlands, and can keep their course by them with surprising accuracy.

The Esquimaux, however, are not a people given to exploration. They are not curious concerning unknown territory. What they are chiefly interested in is, "what they shall eat and drink, and wherewithal they shall be clothed." Certain districts within their knowledge furnish the different kinds of game, and these they visit at the accustomed seasons. Occasionally they will visit neighboring tribes, and sometimes settle down in the new country, depending upon their skill in the chase for the support of their families. But this country, new to them, is well known to those whom they visit, and they have the benefit of competent guides until such time as they are sufficiently acquainted with the country themselves. Though they are constantly moving in summer and winter, their journeys are seldom extended. They will sometimes go from the mouth of Chesterfield Inlet to the Wager River or Repulse Bay, and occasionally to the tribes at the north part of Melville Peninsula, but generally spend one year at least at some intermediate point. The tribes they pass through on these journeys are so connected by marriage as to be almost like one large tribe, so that they are all the time in the land of their friends.

Twice since leaving the Inuit camp in Wilmot Bay the dogs had an interval of eight days between meals, and were in no condition for hard work. That they could live and do any work at all seemed marvellous. I am constrained to believe that the Esquimau dog will do more work, and with less food, than any other draught animal existing. On the night of the 20th Lieutenant Schwatka observed a meridian culmination of the moon, which showed in latitude 67 deg. 32 min. 42 sec. north, only three miles from our reckoning. It is a difficult task to make astronomical observations with a sextant in a temperature thirty-eight degrees below zero, or seventy below the freezing-point, as it was this night. It is not pleasant to sit still for any length of time in such weather. A thin skim of ice over the surface of the kerosene oil used for an artificial horizon has to be constantly removed by the warm breath of an assistant. The sextant glasses become obscure from the freezing upon them of the breath of the observer, and can only be cleaned with the warm fingers, which they blister in return for such kindness. These are some of the obstacles to determining one's position astronomically in an Arctic winter; while in summer, there being no night, one is dependent upon the sun alone. The mean temperature for November was -23.3 degrees and the lowest noted -49 degrees.

We ran upon a narrow strip of salt water, apparently an inlet from Cockburn Bay, on the 28th. We had to halt the next day for Toolooah to rest, as he was completely prostrated with the hard work of the last four days. We moved, however, on the 30th, Joe driving and Toolooah strolling along at his ease. We emerged upon Cockburn Bay soon after starting, and crossed to the southern shore by noontime, a distance of about nine miles, our rapid moving being entirely owing to the superiority of the sledging on salt-water ice.

We crossed the narrow neck of land between Cockburn Bay and the fresh-water portion of the river between the two great bends in three days' travel, and emerged about eight miles above the Dangerous Rapids on the 5th of December, where we had hoped to be by the 15th of November. Our igloos were made on the southern bank, and we were greatly surprised that we saw no sled tracks in crossing the river. We had supposed that they, with the shorter route and smooth salt-water ice nearly all the way, would have been ahead of us, and either waiting or forced to move into the reindeer country for food. Our first object, therefore, was to find the natives, who live here all the year round, as Narleyow, one of the tribe, who was with Henry, constantly assured us was the case. From these people we expected to get information concerning the other sleds, and also to get a large quantity of fish for food for man and beast. We found some fish caches near our camp, and some sled tracks and footprints about one mile and a half farther down the river, which Joe said led a long distance. The day after our arrival we appropriated one large cache to feed our starving dogs, and then started the next day for their camp to pay for the fish and buy more. But shortly after all the men started, one of the women ran out and called us back, saying that Inuits were coming to the igloo. We hastened back and found three young men of the Ooqueesiksillik tribe, who had found their cache robbed and traced the tracks to our igloo. Joe explained the case to them, and said we had knives to pay for the fish and to buy more, which they said would be gladly accepted, and they would tell their people to bring us more fish that night. We were astonished when they said they had neither seen nor heard of any others of our party.

That night, after the igloo was closed and we were eating our evening meal, we heard a sled drive up to the door and supposed our fish had arrived; but what was our joy when we recognized Koumania's voice driving the dogs, and then heard Henry at the door of our igloo. We then learned that they had reached the Dangerous Rapids only that afternoon, and while building the igloos the three young men we had seen in the morning returned and reported having seen us up the river. As soon as Henry heard this he had the load dumped from one of the sleds, and took Koumania to drive and an Ooqueesiksillik native as guide, and came at once to report. He said it had been very difficult to get his party of natives away from the camps that they met daily, and that they had moved by portages, which doubled the distance. He had bought dog food of the natives all along the route, and his dogs were, consequently, in good order. They would remain in camp where they were a day or two to feed up the dogs and get what fish they wanted for his two sleds, and then join us on the 10th.

About five miles inland from Starvation Cove the natives had found during the summer the skeleton of a white man which no one had ever seen before. On the way down, Henry visited the place and erected a monument over the remains. The pieces of clothing found indicated that deceased was a sailor, not an officer. The finding of this grave is worthy of notice, as showing that the natives were thoroughly aroused by our visit and its object. We had promised them liberal rewards for everything of importance found, and for valuable information—that is, anything new—and were always particular to keep our promises. The consequence was that they had greatly aided us by searching everywhere within reach of their camps or hunting grounds. In approaching the Dangerous Rapids from Cockburn Bay, Henry had found an island where on the Admiralty chart is marked a point of the mainland. In fact, there is a delta at the mouth of the river. Narleyow led them to a place in the branch of the river flowing to the westward of this island, where he said a rocky ridge froze to the bottom, making a pocket which held fish. They dug four holes within an area of ten feet, and in one day caught fifty-seven of the immense salmon for which this river is famous. He cooked one for us, which was the largest I ever saw. Joe measured the cross-section of one he saw in the native igloos below our camp that measured over one foot. I asked him how much over, but he couldn't tell, he said, as his pocket measure was "only a foot long".



The largest number of fish caught here are what the natives call "cow-e-sil-lik," and are peculiar to these waters. They are something like very large herring, and the flesh much coarser than salmon or trout. All the fish here are quite fat, the salmon especially. We bought several bags of salmon oil from the natives, which we used, so long as it lasted, as a substitute for reindeer tallow, which is all gone now. The weather is intensely cold -62 degrees Fahrenheit on the 10th, the day the remainder of our party rejoined us at this camp. There was scarcely any wind, and it did not seem so cold as at -10 degrees or -20 degrees, with the wind blowing in one's face, as it was the last few days of our travelling, with the thermometer at -46 degrees and -48 degrees. Yet we were so well fortified against the cold by the quantities of fat we had eaten that we did not mind it. The prospect was that now we were out of fat we would suffer a great deal with the intense cold that we might expect in going across land from Back's River to Hudson's Bay.

The rapids on Back's River are all marked by open water, and are recognizable at a long distance by the column of black smoke arising from them like steam from a boiling caldron. The ice in the vicinity is dangerous to travel upon, there often being thin places, where the moving water has nearly, but not quite, cut through, and not distinguishable from the surrounding ice, which may be four or five feet thick. The natives test it, before going upon it, with a knife or stick, and know from the sound whether or not it is safe to travel upon. In some of the many open water places that we found in our journey up the river we could walk boldly up to the very edge and lie down and quench our thirst from the rushing torrent, while in other places it was not safe to go within several hundred yards of the open water. On the 20th we passed open rapids about half a mile long, where we had to take the land. From the top of the hill it was a grand spectacle to look down upon the seething torrent and see the great cakes of ice broken off above and crushed to atoms as they passed through and under the ice below.



We had hoped to have Narleyow go with us to Depot Island, as he had previously been up Back's River and knew a route overland by which in three days we could reach a river where some Kinnepatoos were encamped all the year round. Here we could refit with meat and clothing and follow the river, which flows into Chesterfield Inlet, and then keep upon the salt-water ice to Depot Island. But with true Inuit perverseness he decided at the last minute not to go. He, however, gave Toolooah minute directions for finding the place where to leave Back's River, which is nearly as far west as Lake McDougal, and the route overland, where we would find sledge tracks and footprints to guide us to the camp.

We found the travelling on Back's River much more tedious than we had anticipated, owing to the bare ice in the vicinity of the open-water rapids and the intense cold which kept the air filled with minute particles of ice from the freezing of the steam of the open water. These little particles of ice would fall upon the hard snow, which otherwise would have been good sledging, and remain separated from each other so that you could brush them up like sand, and were, in fact, nearly as hard as sand, so that it was almost impossible to drag the sledges along. The thermometer would frequently register -50 degrees and -60 degrees when we were moving with a strong wind blowing directly in our faces. Such travelling as this is simply terrible, and it is astonishing that we were able to do it without encountering any severe frost-bites. Indeed, we travelled one day with the thermometer -69 degrees, and, a gale blowing at this time, both white men and Inuits were more or less frost-bitten, but merely the little nippings of nose, cheeks, and wrists that one soon gets accustomed to in this country. As Lieutenant Schwatka says, it is like almost all other dangers that you hear and read about, they seem to dwindle when you meet them boldly face to face. A battle always seems more terrible to those in the rear than to those in the front lines.

It was a noticeable fact that our course up the river was considerably east of south, instead of west, as mapped upon the Admiralty chart. There could be no mistake in regard to this when we could daily see the sun rise and set on the right of our general line of travel. It was near the end of December before we reached the vicinity of Mount Meadowbank, though we had hoped to be far beyond it by that time. Storms had kept us in camp several days during the journey up the river, and our provisions were nearly all exhausted, so that we had to lie over to hunt for game. The hunters could find nothing near the river, and were obliged to go with a sled one day's march to the east, build an igloo, and hunt from there. It was terribly cold for them, sleeping in an igloo, without fire or blankets, merely a shelter from the wind, and forced, as they were, to sleep in their clothes. I have had such experience and know what it is. In such cases one suffers more from cold feet than anything else. They would be intensely cold with dry stockings, but one's stockings are always wet from perspiration after walking, and when compelled to wear them at night cause great suffering.

Equeesik killed four reindeer, and we had to wait for them to be brought in. At this time this was all the food we had, and before more was obtained we were upon short rations. The dogs were beginning to feel the effect of hard work, cold weather, and low diet, and already we had lost two fine young dogs that died in consequence of privation. Before we had reached Depot Island we lost twenty-seven dogs, all but four of which died from the hardships incident to the journey. All hands were in harness whenever we marched, and the work was too hard to admit of feeling the cold as the greatest discomfort we had to encounter.



CHAPTER XIV.

FAMINE.

The last day we travelled on the river, December 28th, the thermometer had registered during the day -69 degrees in the morning, -64 degrees at noon, and -68 degrees at five o'clock in the evening; the lowest, 101 degrees below the freezing-point. Toolooah, Joe, and Ishnark went hunting the next day, but were unfortunate in not being able to secure any game, though they saw a small herd of reindeer. Toolooah reported the land sledging in good condition toward the south-east, much better than upon the river, and said there appeared to be plenty of game a day's march from the river in that direction. Lieutenant Schwatka, therefore, decided to abandon the river at once and strike directly for Depot Island, which had the advantage of being a straighter route than the one by the unsurveyed river proposed by Narleyow. With a guide that would have been feasible; but it would be running much risk to attempt to find our way by the longer route in a country whose game we knew nothing of, with a large party dependent upon the very difficult hunting for support.

It is a difficult matter to keep guns in working order in the intensely cold weather we were experiencing. At sixty and seventy degrees below zero everything freezes. Even the iron and wood are affected. Strong oak and hickory will break almost like icicles, and when guns were brought into the warmer temperature of an igloo to clean, they would gather moisture, which had to be removed from every portion of the lock and working parts before again meeting the cold, or they would be worthless as weapons. They must also be kept free from oil or any kind of grease, as all lubricants of that sort will harden and prevent the working of the lock. It is but fair to state in this connection that our fire-arms, in which all the best American manufacturers were represented, worked admirably under these trying circumstances, and I feel justified in saying that it was their superiority in rapid and accurate delivery, in the hands of good hunters, that carried us through this ordeal. It is a matter of great difficulty to get near enough to such wary game as the reindeer, in winter, when the sound of the hunter's footsteps, though the soles of his shoes are covered with fur, is carried on the wind and can be distinctly heard more than a mile away. I have frequently heard the crunching of the sled runners on the brittle snow—a ringing sound like striking bars of steel—a distance of over two miles. It was one advantage in travelling against a head wind, to counterbalance the discomfort, that it carried the sound of the sleds away from game we might be approaching. After the first day's march from Back's River we were never compelled to lie in camp for the purposes of hunting game, for when we did come upon a herd the breech-loaders and magazine-guns did their work so effectively that we could lay in a stock of meat for a day or two ahead.

We left Back's River behind on the last day of the year, and made about seven miles in a south-east direction, and encamped and stopped to hunt, the last halt we made for that purpose. The mean temperature for December was -50.4 degrees Fahrenheit, the lowest -69 degrees, and the highest -26 degrees. January 3d the thermometer reached the lowest point that we saw during our sojourn in this climate—in the morning -70 degrees, at noon -69 degrees, and at five o'clock in the afternoon the extraordinary mark of -71 degrees. Equeesik moved his igloo about ten miles ahead this day, but the other two igloos were compelled to wait for their hunters to come in. The day, notwithstanding the intensity of the cold, was very pleasant. There was scarcely a breath of wind, and our igloo door was open the entire day. In fact, it was a far pleasanter day to be out of doors than with 50 degrees warmer and the wind blowing. January proved a very stormy month; indeed, there were but eleven days in which we could travel, and we only accomplished ninety-one miles toward our destination during that time. One day, the 19th, we lay over to follow up some musk-ox tracks we had seen the day previous. The weather was fine, notwithstanding a pretty strong wind and a temperature of -65 degrees.



We followed the tracks about twenty-five miles, and only desisted when we found that wolves were ahead of us and had already frightened the game away. The country is filled with reindeer, and on every hill-side their breath can be seen rising like clouds of steam. A herd that was frightened by the dogs, which were following the musk-ox tracks, scampered off in every direction, and it looked as if a lot of locomotives had been let loose over the country, the smoke coming from their lungs in great puffs as they ran, and streaming along behind them. When the sledges are moving during a clear cold day, the position of any one of them is known to the team, though they may be widely separated. Sometimes, for the advantage of hunting to be obtained thereby, our igloos have been separated by a day's march of about ten miles, and at that distance the condensed breath of the dogs and people could be distinctly seen and the position of the igloos located.

January proved the coldest month of our experience, with a mean thermometer of -53.2 degrees, lowest -71 degrees, and the highest -23 degrees Fahrenheit. We experienced one storm of thirteen days' duration during the latter part of January and early part of February, and found but thirteen days during which we could travel in the latter month.

It was almost our daily experience now to lose one or more dogs. They got plenty of reindeer meat, but it was usually fed frozen, and has but little nourishment in it in that state for cold weather, when fat and warming food is required. A seal-skinful of blubber each week would have saved many of our dogs; but we had none to spare for them, as we were reduced to the point when we had to save it exclusively for lighting the igloos at night. We could not use it to warm our igloos or to cook with. Our meat had to be eaten cold—that is, frozen so solid that it had to be sawed, and then broken into convenient-sized lumps, which when first put into the mouth were like stones—or cooked with moss gathered from the hill-sides and the snow beaten off with a stick. Meat will freeze in a temperature a little below the freezing-point, but it is then in a very different condition from the freezing it gets at from sixty to seventy degrees below zero. Then every piece of meat you put in your mouth has first to be breathed upon to thaw the surface, or it will stick to your tongue and sides of your mouth and lips like frosty iron, and with the same disagreeable results. The luxury of a cooked meal could only be indulged in on the days when we were lying over in camp, as to gather the moss and cook the meal would take from three to four hours.

The country began to swarm with wolves now, as well as with reindeer, and we would meet them daily. Often they would come close to the igloos, and one night Toolooah shot one of three that were eating the meat he had thrown out for food for our dogs.

They killed and ate four of Equeesik's dogs, and attacked him when he went out of the igloo to drive them off. He killed two of his assailants with his rifle, and two others by the most infernal traps ever devised. He set two keenly sharpened knife-blades in the ice and covered them with blood, which the wolves licked, at the same time slicing their tongues, the cold keeping them from feeling the wounds at the time, and their own warm blood tempting them to continue until their tongues were so scarified that death was inevitable. He also prepared some pills by rolling up long strips of whalebone, bound with sinew and hidden in meat, which freezing would hold together until it had passed into the animal's intestines, when the meat having thawed, and the sinew digested, the whalebone would open out and produce an agonizing death. If anything were bad enough treatment for wolves, these devices of Equeesik's might be so classed.

Toolooah was out hunting on the 23d of February, when a pack of about twenty wolves attacked him. He jumped upon a big rock, which was soon surrounded, and there he fought the savage beasts off with the butt of his gun until he got a sure shot, when he killed one, and while the others fought over and devoured the carcass, he made the best of the opportunity to get back into camp. It was a most fortunate escape, as he fully realized.

On the 25th we were detained in camp by a storm, which Toolooah took advantage of for hunting. He saw a reindeer not far from camp, and was soon astonished to see another Inuit following the same animal. The stranger, when he saw Toolooah, ran back to his igloo; but Toolooah let the reindeer go and followed the man, whom he found to be a Kinnepatoo acquaintance named Tsedluk. From him he learned that Depot Island was only two igloos, or three days off, with long marches and light sledges. We moved up to Tsedluk's igloo the following day, and bought some meat from him, as game was scarce beyond. Here we cached all our heavy stuff, and with light sleds and forced marches reached Depot Island on the 4th day of March, by way of Connery River, which we came upon on the 2d. The mean temperature for the past month had been -44.8 degrees, and the coldest recorded -69 degrees Fahrenheit.

We found open water at the rapids where Connery River empties into its estuary, and the ice four feet above water-line. It was with considerable difficulty that a safe passage was found for the sledges, but once on the salt-water ice we moved along rapidly. The prospect of reaching home the next day was very exhilarating, and the dogs seemed to catch the infection from their masters. The poor, jaded beasts coiled their tails over their backs and ran along barking until we halted for the night, within about twenty miles of our destination. We still knew nothing concerning Hudson's Bay since we left a year before, Tsedluk having seen no one since he came to the camp where we found him. The great question with us was, "Were any ships in the bay?" If there were, the prospect was that there would be some news from home and letters from our friends. We hoped that there were ships, and believed that they would be wintering at Depot Island, as it was the unanimous opinion of the officers of the fleet at Marble Island the previous year that Depot Island was a far preferable place to winter at, on account of the difficulty of getting fresh meat for the crews at the other harbor.



At any rate, we felt sure of finding our hard bread, pork, and molasses, together with some other provisions that Captain Barry said he could spare and leave with Armow, the native who had charge of our stuff at Depot Island, and the prospect of again eating some civilized food was most cheering. The natives exhibited an unwonted degree of activity, and we got under way at seven o'clock the next morning, moving off at the rate of three miles and a half an hour. We soon arrived in sight of Depot Island, and looked anxiously for sledge tracks, which we felt sure would be abundant here if the ships were near by. We saw no tracks for so long a time that we soon began to doubt that there were even any natives there.

About noon we were within four or five miles of the island, and saw some natives on the ice in the dim distance. Then all was excitement in our party, and it increased as the distance diminished. I never expected to feel so agitated as I did when I found myself running and shouting with the natives. Toolooah fired a signal-gun, then jumped on the sled and waved a deer-skin, which had been agreed between him and Armow as announcing our identity on our return.

At last the sleds drew near enough to recognize Armow, who was hastening up to us ahead of the others. When they halted he grasped Lieutenant Schwatka by the hand and shook it long and heartily, saying, "Ma-muk-poo am-a-suet suk-o" ("Plenty good to see"), and then he came to me, and I noticed, as he held my hand, the tears, warm from his dear old heart, were coursing down his cheeks. I was moved, as I scarcely anticipated, at the tenderness and earnest warmth of our reception. There were Eeglee-leock, Nanook, Seb-euck-to-lee, Shok-pe-nark, Con-we-chiergk (Toolooah's brother), Koo-pah, Eve-loo, and a host of boys, while Petulark, Ter-re-ah-ne-ak, and others came in later from the direction of Camp Daly.

From Armow we learned that there was only one ship in the bay, and that it was at Marble Island; and furthermore, that there were no provisions for us at Depot Island. This seemed utterly incomprehensible to us, as Captain Barry had about a thousand pounds of hard bread on board the 'Eothen' that belonged to us, besides some other provisions, and had promised to leave them with Armow, at Depot Island, for us, well knowing that we would need them there.

Armow said he had a piece of paper with some writing on, that he thought was from Captain Fisher; but we supposed it must be some explanation of this extraordinary circumstance. We therefore hastened with our Inuit friends to their igloos, which were on the ice about three miles from Depot Island, and found the note to be from Captain Fisher, giving some excuse for not leaving some things that he had expected to. The inevitable conclusion was then forced upon us that Barry had absolutely gone away with the food from us without a word of explanation, though he had landed at Depot Island and taken off the casks that held our bread when we came ashore. It is usually considered that those who encounter the perils of Arctic travel have enough to contend with from the very nature of the undertaking, and not only their own countrymen but all civilized nations have hastened to help them when opportunity afforded. Even the savages with whom they come in contact have pity for them.

Before resuming our march there was a painful scene at the sledges. Toolooah heard of the death of his mother, in whose charge he had left his little daughter when starting on the expedition, and a group of relatives and friends stooped around the sledge weeping, the women giving vent to their feelings in prolonged wails and moaning. This lasted for about ten minutes, during which I learned from the other natives that they had a very severe winter and much suffering for lack of food. Several deaths had occurred in the tribes since we left. A large portion was now at Wager River, but would be down in the spring or early in the summer. We afterward learned that they, too, had suffered for food. After shaking hands with other old friends at the camp we went into Armow's igloo and ate some frozen walrus meat and blubber that tasted delicious to us, the blubber especially, it having been so long since we had eaten fat food, though so much requiring it. They had but a short supply of meat on hand when we arrived, and the advent of twenty-two hungry travellers and nineteen starving dogs soon reduced their stores, so that, a storm at once setting in from the north-west, making it a useless task to hunt walrus, there was a famine in camp before the end of a week.

They can only hunt walrus successfully at Depot Island with a southerly wind to hold the ice-pack to the floe. Seals are hunted with dogs to find the blow-hole of amog-low, or seal igloo, which, often covered with loose snow, is hidden from the hunter. When found, a wall of snow is built as a protection against the wind, while the hunter waits for hours, and sometimes for days, until the seal comes up to blow, when he is struck through the hole in the ice with a spear and held by a line attached to the boat. It is necessary for this style of hunting that the weather should be such that one can see at a short distance, or on the trackless waste of smooth ice the hunter is apt to get lost. Most of the time we were here it was blowing so that land could not be seen at one hundred yards' distance. It might be well to explain here that, when the wind blows, the dry snow fills the air so that it is thicker than the severest snow-storm in the temperate zone. The Inuits call this condition of affairs "pairk-se-uk-too", and one can witness it almost daily during the winter.

It was the eighth day after our arrival before the storm abated sufficiently to let the hunters out with any prospect of success. The wind was still from the north, and it was very provoking that they could see plenty of walrus and seal on the pack, but far beyond their reach. Affairs were getting desperate now. In the last five days we had but one meal a day, composed at first of about a quarter of a pound of walrus or seal meat, but lately of "kow"—that is, the thick hide of the walrus, with a thin cover of short hair on it, such as is seen on the old fashioned seal-skin trunks. As the hunters got nothing, we were without even our "kow" the next day, with the prospect of remaining without food until Eeglee-leock and Nanook got back from Marble Island, where they went for relief from the natives there three days ago. Lieutenant Schwatka went with them in order to try to get some food for us from the ship. All they had to eat on the way down was walrus blubber, and so great was their anxiety for us that Lieutenant Schwatka and Eeglee-leock left the sled behind at Chesterfield Inlet with Nanook, and walked one day and night without resting, reaching Marble Island at six o'clock in the morning, after a walk of about seventy-five miles.

One of the women in our camp died this day, her death hastened by privation. She was the wife of Te-wort, or "Papa," as he is universally called, not only by the white visitors to Hudson's Bay, but by his own people. The benignant Inuit custom that allows a plurality of wives to those that desire it, leaves him not altogether comfortless in his old age; but "Cockeye" was his first favorite wife, and the mother of the great majority of his children. The funeral ceremonies covered four days, and the morning of the fifth "Papa" visited the grave, and after his return there was nothing to prevent the usual course of events which the burial and mourning customs had interrupted. Even the dogs could be fed if there was anything to give them to eat.

It was a mournful camp after the hunters got in, Friday night, the 12th of the month, empty handed. They all felt the danger that again threatened them, as it had done twice before during the winter, when they had to kill and eat some of their starving dogs. People spoke to each other in whispers, and everything was quiet, save for the never-ceasing and piteous cries of the hungry children, begging for food which their parents could not give them. Most of the time I stayed in bed, trying to keep warm and to avoid exercise that would only make me all the more hungry. It was impossible to keep warm this night, and my aching limbs drove sleep from my eyes.

The closing ceremony was a most touching one. After "Papa" had returned from the grave, Armow went out of doors and brought in a piece of frozen something that it is not polite to specify further than that the dogs had entirely done with it, and with it he touched every block of snow in a level with the beds of the igloo. The article was then taken out of doors and tossed up in the air to fall at his feet, and by the manner in which it fell he could joyfully announce that there was no liability of further deaths in camp for some time to come.

The wind was from the east Saturday, and a little better for hunting, so the men were off bright and early. About noon there was a joyful sound in camp. The women and children ran into our igloo shouting "Iviek seleko" (walrus killed), and fairly jumped up and down in their joy. I think the veriest stoic would have at least smiled. I know I laughed and said "good," though I tried to look dignified and unconcerned. Thank God, the danger was over, for the present at least, and I should be able to start for Marble Island in a day or two. It was not until the 17th, however, that I got away at last, as no sledges could move or the dogs be fed during the four days succeeding the death of "Papa's" wife. According to the Inuit belief, an infringement of this custom would cause a fearful mortality that I did not care to become responsible for, and had to wait patiently until the gods of the walrus and seal were satisfied that due respect had been paid to the memory of the departed.

The first day of my march to Marble Island I met Ikomar coming with relief for our camp, and took from his sled one of two boxes containing hard bread and some pork, molasses, and tobacco, sending another box and the remainder of the food to Henry and Frank, who would come down to Marble Island when Ikomar returned. I found a note from Lieutenant Schwatka, in which I read that a bottle of whiskey was among the stores sent; but in the excitement of the occasion and my interest in some papers of 1879, I forgot to look for it. My surprise and disappointment can therefore be imagined that night, when Toolooah dragged the bottle forth from the bottom of the bread box, and asked what it was. We each drank some of the contents, and I noticed, on pouring it into a tin cup, that it was of the consistency of thick syrup, and the cup absolutely froze to my lips, at the same time burning them as if with a red-hot knitting-needle. I had often before heard of a bottle of whiskey freezing to a person's lips, but until that moment I had regarded the assertion as a base effort to deceive and to divert the mind from the actual cause of a too prolonged hold of the bottle. I found the whiskey a great comfort on the trip to Marble Island, and could not help feeling that our long winter journey would have been made much more comfortable by some form of ardent spirits, probably diluted alcohol, to be partaken of in small quantities each night on arriving in camp, or after unusually fatiguing work and exposure.

I reached the ship 'George and Mary' at midnight of Saturday the 21st, and found every one in bed, except Captain Baker, who received me very kindly, and at once impressed me as a straightforward, generous-spirited man. The cabin of his vessel is exceedingly small and inconvenient, but the officers submitted to much discomfort in our behalf. I found that the crew had been entirely free from scurvy, which had so seriously afflicted the crews of the fleet at Marble Island the previous winter. The entire freedom from this disease seems to be attributable to Captain Baker's excellent management, and the constant feeding of fresh reindeer, walrus, or seal meat to the crew, as well as to those in the cabin.

He had, however, lost one man, George Vernoi, a Canadian, who died of consumption, with which he was suffering when he shipped at New Bedford, and one officer, Mr. Charles A. Lathe, of Swansea, Mass., first mate, who froze to death while on a hunting expedition to the main-land during the previous fall. He, together with Mr. Gilbert, the third officer of the vessel, and some Kinnepatoo Inuits, went ashore on the 1st of October to secure fresh meat for the crew. In five days they had killed seven reindeer, and started to return to the ship; but a gale prevented their working to windward, and, their sail torn from the mast, they drifted during the night to a small barren island, where in the morning their boat was broken and their provisions washed away. They were suffering extremely from thirst, having neglected to bring water with them from the shore, and found none on the island. A day was spent in endeavoring to repair the boat, and after another bitter night on the island, without water, they got away at nearly nightfall of the day following and reached another island where they found water and spent the night.

Mr. Lathe had already suffered extremely with the cold, as well as with hunger and thirst, and next day, after walking in a snow-storm about twenty miles toward the Kinnepatoo village, on the main-land, he gave up entirely and lay down to die. Mr. Gilbert urged his companion to make another effort, but to no purpose, and had finally to abandon him, though still alive, for the Inuits were nearly out of sight, and as they would not wait for him his own life depended on keeping them in view. Arrived at the Kinnepatoo camp, which was about ten miles from where his companion fell, Mr. Gilbert was much exhausted. The natives then treated him very kindly and supplied him with dry clothing, but no persuasion or promises of reward could induce any of them to go back and look after Mr. Lathe, whom they said would be dead before they found him. Mr. Gilbert remained here for more than two months, when the arrival of some of the tribe from the north brought the joyful news that the ice bridge had formed between Marble Island and the main-land, and then they were willing to conduct him to the ship, where he arrived on the 23d of December, long after all on board had given them both up as dead.

During the year that we were absent from the verge of civilization, as the winter harbor of the whalers may be considered, we had travelled 2,819 geographical, or 3,251 statute miles, most of which was entirely over unexplored territory, constituting the longest sledge journey ever made, both as to time and distance, and the only extended sledge journey ever accomplished in the Arctic, except such as have been made through countries well known and over routes almost as thoroughly established as post-roads. Our sledge journey stands conspicuous as the only one ever made through the entire course of an Arctic winter, and one regarded by the natives as exceptionally cold, as the amount of suffering encountered by those remaining at Depot Island attested, and further confirmed, as we afterward learned, by the experience of those who wintered at Wager River, where many deaths occurred, attributable to the unusual severity of the season. The party successfully withstood the lowest temperature ever experienced by white men in the field, recording one observation of -71 degrees Fahrenheit, sixteen days whose average was 100 degrees below the freezing-point, and twenty-seven which registered below -60 degrees Fahrenheit, during most of which the party travelled. In fact, the expedition never took cold into consideration, or halted a single day on that account.

During the entire journey its reliance for food, both for man and beast, may be said to have been solely upon the resources of the country, as the expedition started with less than one month's rations, and it is the first in which the white men of an expedition voluntarily lived exclusively upon the same fare as its Esquimau assistants, thus showing that white men can safely adapt themselves to the climate and life of the Esquimaux, and prosecute their journeys in any season or under such circumstances as would the natives of the country themselves. The expedition was the first to make a summer search over the route of the lost crews of the 'Erebus' and 'Terror', and while so doing buried the remains of every member of that fated party above ground, so that no longer the bleached bones of those unfortunate explorers whiten the coasts of King William Land and Adelaide Peninsula as an eternal rebuke to civilization, but all have, for the time being at least, received decent and respectful interment.

The most important direct result of the labors of the expedition will undoubtedly be considered the establishing of the loss of the Franklin records at the boat place in Starvation Cove; and as ever since Dr. Rae's expedition of 1854, which ascertained the fate of the party, the recovery of the records has been the main object of subsequent exploring in this direction, the history of the Franklin expedition may now be considered as closed. As ascertaining the fate of the party was not so gratifying as would have been their rescue or the relief of any member thereof, so is it in establishing the fate of the record of their labors. Next in importance to their recovery must be considered the knowledge of their irrecoverable loss.

It may be needless to say here that to Lieutenant Schwatka's thorough fitness for his position as commander of such an expedition may be attributed its successful conduct through all the various stages of its experience. The thinking public will place the credit where it so well belongs, and he will soon find the reward of success in the approval not only of his countrymen, but of all interested in the extension of geographical knowledge and scientific research. It is not too much to say that no man ever entered the field of Arctic labors better fitted for the task, physically or by education and habits of life and mental training, than Lieutenant Schwatka. He is endowed by nature with robust health and a powerful frame, to which fatigue seems a stranger. A cheerful disposition that finds amusement in the passing trifle, and powers of concentration that entirely abstract him from his surroundings, keep him free from "ennui" that is not the least disagreeable feature of life in this wilderness. And he possesses a very important adjunct, though to the uninitiated it may seem trifling, a stomach that can relish and digest fat. The habit of command gives him a power over our Inuit allies that is not to be disregarded. "Esquimau Joe" says he never knew them to mind any one so strictly and readily as they do Lieutenant Schwatka. With all these qualifications for a leader, and the prestige of success following close upon his heels, it would not be too much to predict for him a brilliant Arctic career in the near future.

His excellent management secured his entire party from many of the usual misfortunes of those in the field, and deprived the expedition of the sensational character it might have assumed in less skilful hands. All our movements were conducted in the dull, methodical, business-like manner of an army on the march. Every contingency was calculated upon and provided for beforehand, so that personal adventures were almost unknown or too trival to mention.



CHAPTER XV.

ESQUIMAU HOME-LIFE.

We had, of course, had abundant opportunities to study the habits of the people among whom we had lived so long. The government among the Inuit tribes, where they have any at all, is patriarchal, consisting of advice from the older and more experienced, which is recognized and complied with by the younger. Parental authority is never strictly enforced, but the children readily defer to the wishes of their parents—not only when young, but after reaching man's estate. The old people are consulted upon all matters of interest. The authority of parents in their family, and of the chief, or ish-u-mat-tah, in his tribe, is enforced without fear of punishment or hope of reward.

When a person offends the sentiment of a community, or inflicts injury upon a neighbor, the matter is talked over among those interested, and reparation may be demanded in the shape of payment, not in money, for they have none, or anything that represents it, but in goods, such as a knife, a sled, a dog, gun, fish-hooks, walrus line, or, indeed, anything that comes handy. There the matter ends; or, if the offender declines to settle, the case may be referred to the ish-u-mat-tah, who will probably insist that payment be made. And yet should the delinquent still prove contumacious and refuse to pay, the matter rests there—there is no punishment for his offence. The well-behaved will talk to the refractory one and say, "ma-muk-poo-now" (no good), but that is all. Should he be hungry or his family unprovided for, the others will all assist him just the same as if he did well and obeyed their laws and customs. He can come into their igloos and chat with them upon the topics of the day, or join in the meal that is under discussion, and the stranger would never know but that the utmost harmony existed among them. If you were one for whom the community had respect, they might privately inform you that "so and so" was "no good," but you would never suspect it from their actions toward him.

So it is in the treatment of their children. Punishment for wrong-doing is almost unheard of, and as for striking a male child, all would recoil from such a thought with horror. The male child, and especially the heir, is a prince in his own family circle. Everything is deferred to his wishes unless he can be persuaded to surrender it. With female children it is different. They must submit to every act of tyranny on the part of their brothers at once, or feel the weight of a parent's hand. Nothing would seem more abhorrent to an Esquimau mind than the thought of striking a man or boy; but to strike a woman or girl is, on the contrary, quite proper, and, indeed, laudable. And when one of those powerful savages strikes his wife it is no gentle love tap, but a blow that might stagger a pugilist. I remember once seeing an Esquimau for whom I entertained the greatest respect, strike his gentle and affectionate young wife, the mother of two fine children. He struck her upon the head with an an-out-ah (a stick made for beating the snow off of fur clothing, and in form and weight like a policeman's club). Two blows fell in quick succession upon that devoted head, and made the igloo ring again. I was undressed and in my sleeping bag at the time, but it was with the greatest difficulty that I could restrain myself from jumping up and interfering to prevent the outrage. It required all the nerve I could muster. I thought I would never respect my friend again; but after a while I began to look upon it more calmly, and in the light of his early training and daily experience for years and years I thought better of him, though not of the act.

They say it is a proper thing to whip women, "it makes them good," and they might add, "it is so perfectly safe". I have often talked with them about it and tried to explain that it was regarded by white people as cowardly to strike a defenceless creature, but this was utterly beyond their comprehension. They could understand that it would be wrong to strike a male, but a female—that was an entirely different thing. Their system of government in regard to both families and communities seems to produce good results. Children are obedient and attentive to their parents, either natural or adopted, and there is but little occasion for governmental interference in the concerns of the people.

Whenever difference of opinion gives rise to difficulty and their intercourse, their usual method of settling the dispute is for those immediately concerned to assemble in some igloo, with several of the old men, and talk the matter over until some definite plan of settlement is reached. This usually proves effectual. I have seen several of these talks, and though I could not understand much of what was said, unless I knew beforehand about what it would be, I could see that the spirit of conciliation manifested itself. All seemed disposed to do what was right, not from fear of punishment for doing wrong, but simply because it was right. They are not given to ceremony on such occasions, or, in fact, upon any other occasion. All the women retire from the igloo or tupic where the talk is to be held when the men come in. Then some raw meat is produced, if there is any to be had, and after eating pipes are lighted and the subject for discussion is approached, conversation gradually drifting in that direction. Esquimaux never do anything in a hurry, and these long-winded roundabout chats are exceedingly congenial to their tastes. So imbued do they become with this idea that even "Joe," notwithstanding his long residence with civilized people, could not shake it off.

For instance, Lieutenant Schwatka would say:—"'Joe,' I wish you would tell the hunters that for the present they must save the saddles of the reindeer they kill to go upon the sleds, and feed the remainder of the carcasses to the dogs." "Joe" would invariably say, "Yes, to-night we will all get together and talk it over." "There is no necessity for talking it over, 'Joe;' just tell them what I say." But, nevertheless, "Joe" would have his powwow, and his feed and his smoke, even upon less important matters than the one mentioned in illustration.

The Esquimaux are polygamists, no distinction whatever being placed upon the number of wives a man shall have. I have never, however, known of any instance of one having more than two at a time. This is very common, however, especially among the Iwilliks and Kinnepatoos, where there is a surplus of women. At least half of their married men have two wives. Every woman is married as soon as she arrives at a marriageable age, and whenever a man dies his wife is taken by some one else, so that with them old maids and widows are unknown.

Instances of polygamy are not so common among the Netchillik nation, for the reason, it is said by the tribes in their vicinity, that they have a custom that prevents the accumulation of women to be taken care of. Their neighbors say that they kill their female babes as soon as born. The first is usually allowed to live, and one other may stand some chance, but that ends the matter. I cannot vouch for the truth of the assertion from my personal knowledge. I can only say that there were more unmarried young men among the Netchilliks and Ookjooliks whom we met than in any other tribe, and but few men with two wives. Among the children there were plenty of boys and but few girls. I understand that the mothers often would be willing to rear their daughters; but the fathers, who have supreme control in their families, insist upon getting rid of useless mouths and choke their infant babes to death, the mothers readily acquiescing. Equeesik, one of our hunters on the sledge journey, who is himself a Netchillik, denies this charge of female Herodism. He told me that it used to be the custom with his people, or some of them at any rate, but that they do not do so any more. I know he has two daughters, one of which was born within a few days' march of Depot Island, on our return trip, and has no son.

The custom of giving away their children is very common among all tribes, and a young wife who loses her first-born has seldom any difficulty in getting a substitute from some one better supplied. Infants are never weaned. I have seen children four and five years old playing, out doors, stop once in a while to run in to their mothers, and cry until they received their milk.

There is very little regard for life manifested by any of the Esquimaux. Several instances of sudden and strange deaths occurred among the infant children at Depot Island and vicinity while we were encamped there. If it were a male child that died, it occasioned some regret, but if it were a female it was considered all right. Even if it were well known that an Inuit had murdered his child, or had killed any one else in cold blood, nothing would be done about it, except that the relatives of a murdered man would probably ask to be paid for the slaughter, and if the request were complied with, that would set the matter at rest. Should it not be complied with, the probability is that the sons or brothers of the victim would embrace some opportunity to kill the murderer and give rise for a demand of payment from the family of the slain murderer, and in case of non-fulfilment a vendetta be established, as is the case now in the tribe that dwells on the coast of Baffin's Bay, near the entrance to Eclipse Sound.

Just before we left Depot Island, in the summer of 1880, there arrived several families from that section of the Arctic, who came, I as informed, to get rid of the vendetta. It seems that the present cause of trouble was a young man, quite small in stature, but very active and energetic, of whom the refugees were very much afraid. Some of their relatives had killed this young man's father, and when they refused to pay for it he took occasion to kill the murderer, for which, as is the custom, they in turn demanded payment. He refused satisfaction, and one night about a year ago some of these people went to his igloo while the family were in bed, and through a small hole that had melted through the snow, they pointed a rifle, and, as they supposed, killed their enemy, of whom they were so much afraid. Unfortunately for them they found they had made a mistake, as instead of killing him they had killed his oldest son, who lay alongside of him in bed. The father said nothing, but reached for his gun, which he had always convenient for an emergency, and shortly after the shot was fired, when the murderer returned to peep through the hole and see the effect of his aim, the father shot him dead. Then it was that the remaining members of the family found that this business was getting to be a nuisance and concluded to leave. As they told me when speaking of the matter, "So much shooting is no good."

Their method of carrying on this sort of warfare is not at all like the duello of Christendom. They don't stand up and fight it out, facing each other; but, on the contrary, appear to be good friends all the time, until the aggrieved one finds what he considers to be the propitious moment, and acts accordingly. They never do anything on the spur of the moment. It takes them a long time to make up their minds, and whatever they do they do deliberately. The rapid and just retribution that followed the killing of the child alluded to in this illustration is the only instance of the kind I know of, though I know of a number where a few weeks or years intervened, the enemies associating like the others and eating in common.

There are no wedding ceremonies among the Esquimaux, and hardly anything like sentiment is known. The relation of man and wife is purely a matter of convenience. The woman requires food, and the man needs some one to make his clothing and to take charge of his dwelling while he is hunting. Marriages are usually contracted while the interested parties are children. The father of the boy selects a little girl who is to be his daughter-in-law, and pays her father something. Perhaps it is a snow-knife, or a sled, or a dog, or now, that many of them are armed with firelocks, the price paid may be a handful of powder and a dozen percussion caps. The children are then affianced, and when arrived at a proper age they live together. The wife then has her face tattooed with lamp-black and is regarded as a matron in society. The method of tattooing is to pass a needle under the skin, and as soon as it is withdrawn its course is followed by a thin piece of pine stick dipped in oil and rubbed in the soot from the bottom of a kettle. The forehead is decorated with a letter V in double lines, the angle very acute, passing down between the eyes almost to the bridge of the nose, and sloping gracefully to the right and left before reaching the roots of the hair. Each cheek is adorned with an egg-shaped pattern, commencing near the wing of the nose and sloping upward toward the corner of the eye; these lines are also double. The most ornamented part, however, is the chin, which receives a gridiron pattern; the lines double from the edge of the lower lip, and reaching to the throat toward the corners of the mouth, sloping outward to the angle of the lower jaw. This is all that is required by custom, but some of the belles do not stop here. Their hands, arms, legs, feet, and in fact their whole bodies are covered with blue tracery that would throw Captain Constantinus completely in the shade. Ionic columns, Corinthian capitals, together with Gothic structures of every kind, are erected wherever there is an opportunity to place them; but I never saw any attempt at figure or animal drawing for personal decoration. The forms are generally geometrical in design and symmetrical in arrangement, each limb receiving the same ornamentation as its fellow. None of the men are tattooed.

Some tribes are more profuse in this sort of decoration than others. The Iwillik, and Kinnepatoos are similar, and as I have described; but the Netchillik, Ookjoolik, and Ooqueesiksillik women have the designs upon their faces constructed with three lines instead of two, one of them being broader than the others. The pattern is the same as that of the Iwilliks and Kinnepatoos, with the addition of an olive branch at the outside corners of the eyes and mouth.

Marriage with them is not the sacred institution of civilization, but exchanges are very common. If a man who is going on a journey has a wife encumbered with a child that would make travelling unpleasant, he exchanges wives with some friend who remains in camp and has no such inconvenience. Sometimes a man will want a younger wife to travel with, and in that case effects an exchange, and sometimes such exchanges are made for no especial reason, and among friends it is a usual thing to exchange wives for a week or two about every two months. Unmarried men who are going on a journey have no difficulty in borrowing a wife for the time being, and sometimes purchase the better half altogether.

It might be supposed that in such a state of society there would be no romances, no marrying for love; but that would be a mistake, for there have been several romantic little episodes that came under my observation during my residence in North Hudson's Bay. There is a poor old man dwelling with the Iwilliks, near Depot Island, named Iteguark, who had two very attractive and useful wives, or Nu-lee-aug-ar, as is the native term. The old man had been a good hunter, but a few years ago met with an accident that resulted in his right knee becoming stiffened, and his hunting days were over. He can still hunt seals through the ice, but cannot work up to them on top of the ice, nor can he chase the reindeer and musk-ox on his native hills. Then it was that Oxeomadiddlee looked with envious eyes upon the youngest and fairest of Iteguark's wives, and induced her to come and live with him. She knew that her new lover was strong and active, and better able to support her than her old love, and listened to the voice of the tempter.

Iteguark was not disposed to submit meekly to this treachery on the part of his friend Oxeomadiddlee, so one morning while the truant wife and her new husband were sleeping in their igloo, Iteguark entered and sought to take the life of the seducer with a hunting knife. But Oxeomadiddlee was on his guard, and being a man of immense strength, he caught his adversary by the wrist, and by the sheer force of his grip compelled him to drop the weapon on the floor. He then released his hold, and Iteguark rushed out to his own igloo and got his bow and quiver; but his enemy was still watchful, and took the bow and arrows away and destroyed them. Here ended hostilities. Oxeomadiddlee paid the old man for his wife, and that settled it forever. Presently another Inuit, named Eyerloo, fell desperately in love with poor old Iteguark's remaining wife, and with his arts and blandishments won her away from her husband. There was no fight this time. The poor old man gave up completely, and said the world was all wrong, and he only waited for his summons to leave it and mount the golden stairs.

A few years ago an Igloolip Inuit named Kyack won the affections of one of Ikomar's wives and this brought on a duel in which Kyack came very near leaving Mrs. Kyack a widow. Ikomar got the head of his enemy in chancery, and tightened his arm around his neck until Kyack dropped lifeless upon the snow. He gradually recovered, and would have returned the stolen wife, but Ikomar refused to take her back, and demanded payment instead. This was tendered to him, and being appeased by the offer further trouble was avoided.

Punnie, one of Armow's daughters, was, in her youth, affianced to Sebeucktelee, but when she reached a marriageable age became the wife of Conwechungk, her adopted brother. The pretext for this new arrangement was that Sebeucktelee's father had not made payment at the time he made the wedding contract, and that Punnie loved Conwechungk better anyhow, and would take advantage of the omission of the intended father-in-law. It made no difference that Conwechungk had another wife—in fact, it was all the better on that account, for he would have one for himself and another to loan around to his neighbors. When I left Depot Island I noticed that he had not only loaned his first wife away, but had traded his dearly beloved Punnie for Tockoleegeetais' wife for an indefinite period, while Sebeucktelee had taken to his bosom Netchuk, the discarded wife of Shockpenark. But life is altogether too short to allow of a complete and reliable record being made of the social gossip of an Esquimau village. Intermarriages are common, and everybody is related to every one else in the most intricate and astonishing manner. I once read of a man who married a widow, and his father, subsequently marrying the daughter of this same widow, was driven insane by trying to ascertain the exact relationship of their children. Such trifles have no effect upon the Inuit brain, or the entire nation would long ago have become raving maniacs.

The natives of Hudson's Strait dress very much like the others, the difference being in the women's hoods, which, instead of being long and narrow, are long and wide, and provided with a drawing string. Instead of the long stockings, they wear a pair of leggings that reach about half-way up the thigh, and trousers that are much shorter than those of the western tribes. The Kinnepatoos are by all odds the most tasteful in their dress, and their clothing is made of skins more carefully prepared and better sewed than that of the others, except in occasional instances.

The bedding of all these Esquimaux is made of reindeer-skins—thick untanned skins of the buck forming what corresponds with the mattresses, and a blanket to cover them is made of well-tanned doe-skins, sewn together so as to be wide at the top and narrowing into a bag at the feet. All sleep naked, winter and summer, a single blanket formed of three doe-skins covering a father, mother, and all the children.



It would astonish a civilized spectator to see how many people can be stowed away to sleep in one small igloo and under one blanket; but the proverbial illustration of a box of sardines would almost represent a skirmish line in comparison. Each one is rolled up into a little ball, or else arms, legs and bodies are so inextricably interwoven, that it would be impossible for any but the owners to unravel them. And these bodies are like so many little ovens, so that, no matter how cold it be, when once within the igloo, the snow-block door put up and chinked, and all stowed away in bed, Jack Frost can be successfully defied.

As probably many people know, an igloo is usually built of snow. The word, however, means house, and as their houses consist of a single room, it also means room. Sometimes at points that are regularly occupied during the winter months igloos are built of stones, and moss piled up around and over them, so that when covered by the winter snows they make very comfortable dwellings. This is the case at Igloolik, which means the place of igloos, and also near Tulloch Point, on King William Land, where the ruins of these underground houses were quite numerous. They had been built a great many years ago by the Ookjooliks, when they occupied the land before the Netchillik invasion. A long, low passage-way leads into each dwelling, so constructed as to exclude the wind from the interior, though ventilation is permitted by leaving open the door. This, by the way, is an Inuit custom. Even in the coldest weather the door is open, except when the occupants are asleep, and it is only closed then to keep the dogs from making a raid on the igloo. If the door faces the wind, a shelter is erected outside to cut off the wind, so that the door need not be closed. The coldest day I ever saw, when the thermometer was seventy-one degrees below zero, the door of our igloo was open all the time we were not asleep. A snow igloo is made of snow-blocks about three feet long by eighteen inches wide and five or six inches thick.



The snow-knife is simply a large thin-bladed knife, like a cheese-knife of the grocery stores, with a handle made large enough to be conveniently grasped with both hands. Before iron and knives became so plentiful as at present, snow-knives were made of bone and reindeer or musk-ox horn, but such knives are quite rare now. The Netchillik, Ookjoolik, and Ooqueesiksillik tribes are still quite deficient in iron weapons and implements, and many of their knives are marvels of ingenuity. I saw several made of a little tip of iron, perhaps an inch square, mounted on a handle two feet long, and so shaped that the iron would do most of the cutting and scratching, and the handle acted merely as a wedge to assist the operation. I also saw a man making a knife by cutting a thick piece of iron with a cold chisel, afterward to be pounded out flat and ground down on stones. The entire operation would probably take about three or four weeks with the poor tools at their disposal.

The builder selects snow of the proper consistency by sounding a drift with a cane, made for the purpose, of reindeer horn, straightened by steaming, and worked down until about half an inch in diameter, with a ferule of walrus tusk or the tooth of a bear on the bottom. By thrusting this into the snow he can tell whether the layers deposited by successive winds are separated by bands of soft snow, which would cause the blocks to break. When the snow is selected, he digs a pit to the depth of eighteen inches or two feet, and about the length of the snow-block. He then steps down into the pit and proceeds to cut out the blocks by first cutting down at the ends of the pit, and then the bottom afterward, cutting a little channel about an inch or two deep, marking the thickness of the proposed block.

Now comes the part that requires practice to accomplish successfully. The expert will, with a few thrusts of his knife in just the right places, split off the snow-block and lift it carefully out to await removal to its position on the wall. The tyro will almost inevitably break the block into two or three pieces, utterly unfit for the use of the builder. When two men are building an igloo, one cuts the blocks and the other erects the walls. When sufficient blocks have been cut out to commence work with, the builder marks with his eye, or perhaps draws a line with his knife describing the circumference of the building, usually a circle about ten or twelve feet in diameter. The first row of blocks is then arranged, the blocks placed so as to incline inward and resting against each other at the ends, thus affording mutual support. When this row is completed the builder cuts away the first and second blocks, slanting them from the ground upward, so that the second tier resting upon the edges of the first row can be continued on and around spirally, and by gradually increasing the inward slant a perfect dome is constructed of such strength that the builder can lie flat on the outside while chinking the interstices between the blocks. The chinking is, however, usually done by the women and children as the building progresses, and additional protection secured from the winds in very cold weather by banking up a large wooden snow shovel, the snow at the base often being piled to the depth of three or four feet. This makes the igloo perfectly impervious to the wind in the most tempestuous weather. When the house is completed, the builders are walled in. Then a small hole about two feet square is cut in the wall, on the side away from where the entrance is to be located, and is used to pass in the lamps and bedding. It is then walled up and the regular door cut, about two feet high, and nitched at the top. It would bring bad luck to carry the bedding into the igloo by the same door it would be taken out. Before the door is opened the bed is constructed, of snow-blocks, and made from one to three or four feet high, and occupies about three-fourths of the entire space. The higher the bed and the lower the door, the warmer the igloo will be.

The house being built, passes into the care of the women, who arrange the beds and put up the lamps for lighting, warming, and cooking. The woman's place in the igloo is on either side of the bed, and next to the wall. In front of her she arranges her lamp, which is a long, shallow basin of soapstone, the front edge straight and the back describing an arc. The wick, which is composed of pulverized moss, is arranged along the front edge, and kept moistened by the oil that fills the lamp by tilting it forward—the lamp being delicately poised, with this end in view, upon three sticks driven into the snow beneath it. If there be two women, they occupy both ends of the bed, each with her lamp in front of her. Over each lamp is constructed a frame upon which to dry stockings that have become moistened by perspiration during the day's exercise, and from which depends the kettle for melting snow or ice to make water or to cook. The distinctive Esquimau kettle (oo-quee'-sik) is made of soapstone and is flat bottomed. It is made long and narrow, so as to fit the flame of the lamp, and to derive all the benefit possible therefrom. It has the advantage over the iron and copper kettles, that have come into use through trade with the whalemen and Hudson Bay Company's posts, of cooking more rapidly and of not being injured if left over the flame without water.



It is the duty of the women to attend constantly to the lamps, to melt water for drinking and cooking, and to cook the food. They also turn the wet shoes and stockings inside out and dry them at night. A "good wife" is one who sleeps but little after a hard day's march, but attends constantly to the articles upon the drying frame, turning them over and replacing the dry with wet. When one frame full of clothing has been dried, she places the articles under her in the bed, so that the heat of her body will keep them warm and dry, and replaces them upon the frame with other articles. She gets up long before any one else is awake and looks carefully over all the clothing to see what mending is required. Her position, when not asleep, is with her bare feet bent under her in Turkish fashion, and there she sits all day long before her fire, engaged in making clothing, cooking, or other household duties, and is seldom idle. When at work she lifts up her voice and sings. The tune lacks melody but not power. It is a relief to her weary soul, and few would be cruel enough to deprive her of that comfort, for her pleasures are not many. She is the slave of her children and her husband, and is treated to more abuse than affection.



CHAPTER XVI.

HOMEWARD.

Notwithstanding the natural anxiety to return again to our native land after so long an absence, it was with genuine regret that we parted from our poor savage friends on Depot Island to embark upon the vessel that was to carry us home. Nor was the sorrow to us alone, for these simple children of the ice have warm hearts. Some of the old women embraced us tenderly, while the salt tears cut deep furrows through the dirt upon their faces. The younger ones exclaimed, and evidently with truth, "Watcheow oounga keeieyoot amasuet" (By and by me cry plenty).

"Papa," Armow, and Ishnark—better known as "Jerry," or "Jelly," as they pronounce it—held our hands as if reluctant to let go, and gazing wistfully into our faces said, "Shoogarme watcheow tukko" (I hope by and by to see you). It is impossible to translate exactly their meaning in this short sentence, but it is more as if they would say, "Surely it seems impossible that we shall never see you again."

That they were in earnest in the expression of their grief I have every reason to believe, for they had shown their kindly interest and affection at a time that if ever one's affection is put to the test theirs was. They had, so to speak, adopted us as their children. Not merely had they divided their last morsel of food, but had given to us and their children, and had gone without themselves. It was merely some walrus hide that had been saved to make soles for their shoes, but nevertheless it was literally their last mouthful, and when that was gone we all went hungry until the long-continued storm abated and an opportunity was afforded to kill a walrus, which appeased our hunger for the time being. Is it unnatural that we should absolutely love these kind friends, or was it a thing to be ashamed of that theirs were not the only tears that fell at parting? Of all savages—I was going to say of all people—commend me to these simple-hearted Esquimaux, with all their dirt and gluttony, for genuine, self-sacrificing hospitality. As we were being rowed out to the ship by an Inuit crew at ten o'clock on the night of the 1st of August, our faces were turned toward the land, where the sky was still brilliant with the light of a gorgeous sunset. Lieutenant Schwatka sat beside me in the bow of the boat, and neither of us had spoken since we left the shore, until he turned to me and said, "I was not prepared for this."

"Prepared for what?" said I.

"I was not prepared to feel the pain of parting from these people and this country as I feel it now. Even the near prospect of getting back to civilization, and of meeting friends and hearing news scarcely ameliorates the pang at this moment. But it will soon be over, I suppose."

At last we were all on board the ship, and when the men began to weigh anchor, merrily singing over their work, the three boat-loads of Inuits put off hastily, though they paddled around the vessel and seemed loath to depart.

"Where is Toolooah—did he bid you good-by, governor?" said I to Lieutenant Schwatka.

"No," he replied, "but you can see him here;" and stepping up to the side of the ship I saw our Toolooah seated in the bow of Armow's boat, his head bent down and his face buried in his hands.

"I can understand his feelings exactly," said the governor. "He dare not trust himself to go through the ordeal, poor fellow. He knew he would break down when it came to that, and I am glad he didn't, for I am afraid I should too."

Until the morning that we left, it had been confidently expected that Toolooah and his family, consisting of his wife and two children, would accompany us to the United States. It had been the great ambition of his life to visit the wonderful white men's country, and Lieutenant Schwatka had promised to take him home, provided he could obtain the consent of the captain of the vessel in which we returned. Captain Baker had already given his consent, and there seemed nothing to interfere with their plans. Toolooah and his wife were busy in securing suitable clothing in which to appear abroad when occasion should arise for wearing it, and the faithful services he had rendered on our sledge journey were to be recompensed in the United States, from which he would take home an outfit that should last as long as he lived. But the last day we were on shore some of the old men came to Lieutenant Schwatka, and begged he would not be angry if they said that a long and anxious consultation had resulted in the conclusion that it would be running too great a risk for Toolooah to go to the United States. No man of their tribe had ever been to a civilized country but "Esquimau Joe," who, by the bye, had also made up his mind to remain in the Arctic a year or two longer. He had told them of the great mortality attending those of his people from Cumberland Sound who had gone to England and America, and they were afraid. I think that Toolooah, personally, would have willingly encountered the risk; but with these people, such government as they have is patriarchal, and the young men submit with the best grace to the decision of their elders. It was a matter of regret both to Lieutenant Schwatka and myself that we did not have an opportunity to bestow the attention upon him in our own land that his constant care for our safety and comfort in his country entitled him to at our hands.

The anchor soon swung at the bow of the 'George and Mary', and her yards were squared for Marble Island, where we were to take on board water for the homeward-bound voyage. Our Inuit friends shouted their last farewells, and we were actually "en route" home.

Fortunate was it for us that there was a kind-hearted whaler in Hudson's Bay, or we would have been compelled to spend at least one more winter in the polar regions. But Captain Baker treated us with the greatest consideration not only while we were his guests during the spring at Marble Island, but when we returned to Depot Island he gave us such provisions from his stores as he could spare, and without this assistance we would have suffered considerably, for twice again after our return the natives were entirely without food for several days. But instead of our starving with them, we were enabled to save these poor people much suffering by sharing our slender stock with them. We left the ship in her winter quarters on the 3d of May, and on the 11th pitched our tent on the highest rock on Depot Island. The natives soon came from their igloos on the ice about a mile away, and gathered around us. Whenever they killed a walrus or a seal they brought us some of the meat, for which we paid them, as usual, with powder, caps, or lead. But from the 22d of May, when they killed two walrus, until the 7th of June, when the ship hove in sight from her winter quarters, the weather had been such that they had killed nothing but two small seals. The consequence was that for several days they were without food, and our provisions were gone the day before, so that when the ship was seen we were waiting patiently until the Inuits returned from the pursuit of some walrus that were seen on the ice, in order to break our fast. It was not only a joyful sight to see the ship at this time, but an additional pleasure to note the cloud of thick black smote that hung over her deck, denoting that they had killed a whale and were boiling out the blubber. This was good luck for the officers and crew, and fortunate for us, because the black skin of the whale is exceedingly palatable and wholesome food, and there would in all probability be enough of it on board to keep us and our Inuit allies from hunger for a long time, at least until they could secure food by hunting.

We were pleased to learn that the whalers had killed the only whale they saw, which augured a successful season for them. It eventually proved, however, that the augury was delusive, for from that time forward they did not see another whale, though they cruised the bay until the 9th of August. Subsequently we learned that the whales had all gone out of Hudson's Bay through the strait in the early spring, owing to the entire absence of whale food, which had probably been destroyed by the intense severity of the winter. The natives living near North Bluff and Hudson's Strait had seen plenty of whales passing eastward early in the season, when the ice was still thick, or, as one of them told me, "when the young seal are born," which is in the latter part of March and early in April. They had killed three large whales and struck two others that escaped. We went into North Bay and found these Inuits encamped on the main-land, about fifteen miles from the mouth of the bay, and Captain Baker bought from them a head of whalebone, which they said was at Akkolear, which was still further up the bay, or strait, as it proved to be.

Mr. Williams, first officer of the 'George and Mary', went with two boats and some Inuit guides, sailing directly up the bay toward the north-west until it debouched again upon Hudson's Strait, about fifty miles above where we were anchored, or about sixty-five miles north-west of North Bluff. Here he found the whalebone as described by the natives, and brought it on board after an absence of four days.

The large island, or, in fact, two islands that are thus formed, as there is another passage into the sea about twenty-five miles north of North Bluff, are called by the natives "Kigyuektukjuar," in view of their insular character. Kigyuektuk means island, and especially a large island, King William Land being thus distinguished by them as the island. A "small island" is Kigyuektower, and "long island" Kigyuektukjuar.