Читать книгу My Arctic journal: a year among ice-fields and Eskimos - Josephine Diebitsch Peary - Страница 6

Table of Contents

Arrival at McCormick Bay—Selecting the Site for the House—Temporary Quarters—Hurrying the Erection of the House—White Whales—Departure of the “Kite”—Alone on the Arctic Shore—A Summer Storm—Arctic Picnicking—The First Birthday and the First Deer—Birthday-dinner Menu—Departure of the Boat Party for Hakluyt and Northumberland Islands after Birds and Eskimos—Occupations during their Absence—Return of the Party with an Eskimo Family.

Sunday, July 26. Mr. Peary is getting along nicely. His nights are fairly comfortable, and consequently he feels much better by day; his back now troubles him more than his leg. Yesterday morning at three o’clock he was awakened and told that the ice prevented our getting to Cape Acland, and that we were just abreast of McCormick Bay, and could not proceed further into the sound. He accordingly decided to put up our quarters on the shores of this bay. It was now a question as to which side of the bay would be most favorable for a home. At 9 A. M., together with several members of our party, I rowed over to the southeast shore, and walked along the coast for about three miles, prospecting for a site, and made a provisional choice of what seemed a desirable knoll. We returned to the “Kite” about noon. After dinner Professor Heilprin, Dr. Cook, Astrup, and three others went over to the other shore, and toward evening they returned with the report that the place was perfectly desolate and not at all suitable for a camp. After supper we returned to the southeast shore to see if we could improve on the location selected in the morning, but after tramping for miles came back to the old site. While it cannot in truth be said that the spot is a specially attractive one, it would be equally untrue to describe it as being entirely devoid of charm or attraction. Flowers bloom in abundance on all sides, and their varied colors,—white, pink, and yellow,—scattered through a somewhat somber base of green, picture a carpet of almost surpassing beauty. Rugged cliffs of sandstone, some sixteen hundred to eighteen hundred feet high, in which the volcanic forces have built up long black walls of basalt, rise steeply behind us, and over their tops the eternal ice-cap is plainly visible. Only a few paces from the base of the knoll are the silent and still partially ice-covered waters of the bay, which extends five miles or more over to the opposite shore, and perhaps three times that distance eastward to its termination. A number of lazy icebergs still stand guard between us and the open waters of the western horizon, where the gray and ice-flecked bluffs of Northumberland and Hakluyt Islands disappear from sight.

ON THE BEACH OF McCORMICK BAY.

This morning the members of our party went ashore with pickaxes and shovels, and they are now digging the foundations of our “cottage by the sea.” They are also putting up a tent for our disabled commander, whence he can superintend the erection of the structure. The men are working in their undershirts and trousers, and it is quite warm enough for me to stay on deck without a wrap, even when I am not exercising; yet, if we had this temperature at home, we should consider it decidedly cool. I have had oil-stoves taken ashore for the purpose of heating the tent in case it becomes necessary.

Our “Cottage by the Sea.”

Wednesday, July 29. The last three days have been busy ones for me, being obliged to attend to all the packing and unpacking myself, besides waiting on Mr. Peary. Monday, after dinner, the boys finished digging the foundations. Mr. Peary was then strapped to a board, and four men carried him from the “Kite” into a boat. After crossing the bay he was carried up to the tent just back of where the house is being erected, and placed on a rough couch. He is near enough to superintend the work, and everything is progressing favorably.

Last night was a queer one for me. All the boys slept on board the “Kite,” leaving me entirely alone with my crippled husband in the little shelter-tent on the south shore of McCormick Bay. I had forgotten to have my rifle brought ashore, and I could not help thinking what would be the best thing for me to do in case an unwelcome visitor in the shape of a bear should take it into his head to poke his nose into the tent. While I was lying awake, imagining all sorts of things, I heard most peculiar grunts and snorts coming from the direction of the beach, and on looking out saw a school of white whale playing in the water just in front of our tent. They seemed to be playing tag, chasing each other and diving and splashing just like children in the water. I was surprised at their graceful movements as they glided along, almost coming up on the beach at times. The night passed uneventfully, but I decided to have Matt sleep on shore to-night, should the others go on board the “Kite” again. In case of a sudden wind-storm I could not steady the tent alone, and some one ought to be within calling distance.

As the members of the returning party come to bid us good-by it makes me feel very, very homesick; but a year will soon pass, and then we too shall return home. The professor has kindly offered to see mama, and do for her what he can in the way of keeping her posted.

Early Thursday morning, July 30, those of our party who had slept aboard ship—that is, all except Mr. Peary, Matt, and myself—were aroused and told they must “pull for the shore,” as the “Kite” was going to turn her nose toward home. Not being accustomed to the duties of housekeeper and nurse, I was so completely tired out that I slept soundly and knew nothing of the cheers and farewell salutes which passed between the little party who were to remain in the far North, and those on board the “Kite,” who would bring our friends the only tidings of us until our return in ’92. Mr. Peary remarked on the cheerfulness of our men. Less than five minutes after the boat grated on the beach he heard the sound of the hammer and the whistling of the boys.

Three or four hours after the “Kite” left McCormick Bay a furious wind and rain storm swept down upon us from the cliffs back of our house. The boys continued the work on the roof as long as possible, hoping to be able to get the whole house under cover, but the fury of the storm was such as to make it impossible for them to keep their foothold on the rafters, and they were obliged to seek shelter under what there was of the roof. At meal-time they all crowded in our little 7 × 10 canvas tent, sitting on boxes and buckets, and holding their mess-pans in their laps. These I supplied with baked beans, stewed corn, stewed tomatoes, and corned beef, from the respective pots in which they had been prepared. The rain dashed against the tent, and the wind rocked it to and fro. Every little while one of the guy-ropes would snap with a sound like the report of a pistol, and one of the boys would have to put his dinner on the ground and go out into the storm and refasten it, for these ropes were all that kept our little tent from collapsing. The meal completed, the boys returned to the house, where they had more room, even if they were not more comfortable.

I never shall forget this wretched night following the departure of the “Kite.” The stream which rushed down the sides of the cliffs divided just back of the tent, and one arm of it went round while the other came through our little shelter. The water came with such force that in a few moments it had made a furrow down the middle of the tent floor several inches deep and nearly the entire width of the floor space, through which it rushed and roared. All night long I was perched tailor-fashion on some boxes, expecting every moment to see the tent torn from its fastenings and the disabled man lying by my side exposed to the fury of the storm. Our only comfort, and one for which we were duly thankful, was that during this “night” of storm we had constant daylight; in other words, it was just as light at two o’clock in the morning as it was at two o’clock in the afternoon. When it was time for breakfast, I lighted the oil-stove, which I had fished out of the water just as it was about to float away, and made some coffee, and we breakfasted on coffee, biscuit, and corned beef.

This state of affairs continued until the afternoon, when the storm finally abated and the boys began work again on the roof. The water in the tent subsided, and by putting pieces of plank down I could again move about without sinking into the mud, and I at once set to work to get the boys a square meal.

By Saturday morning our habitation was under cover, the stove put up temporarily, with the stovepipe through one of the spaces left for a window, and a fire made from the blocks and shavings that had escaped the flood. The house was soon comparatively dry,—at least it did not seem damp when compared with the interior of the tent,—and Mr. Peary was carried in and placed on a bed composed of boxes of provisions covered with blankets. Although we had no doors or windows in place, we felt that it might rain and storm as much as it pleased, and it would not interfere with finishing up the house and getting the meals, two very important items for us just then.

Gradually our home began to have a finished appearance: the inside sheathing was put on, and the doors and windows put in place. We had no more violent wind-storms, but it rained every day for over a week. At last, on August 8, there was no rain; and, as it was Matt’s birthday, Mr. Peary told the boys after lunch to take their rifles and bring in a deer. One of the rules of our Arctic home was that each member’s birthday should be celebrated by such a dinner as he might choose from our stock of provisions. Before going out Matt chose his menu, which I was to prepare while the hunters were gone. The plum-duff, however, he mixed himself, as he had taken lessons from the cook on board the “Kite.” After every one had gone, Mr. Peary surprised me by saying he intended to get up and come into the room where I was preparing the dinner. Only the day before the doctor had taken his leg out of the box and put it in splints, and he had been able for the first time since July 11 to turn on his side. I tried to persuade him to lie still for another day, but when I saw that he had set his heart on making the effort, I bandaged up the limb and helped him to dress. Then I brought him the crutches which Dr. Cook had made while we were still on board the ship, and with their aid he came slowly into the other room. Here, through the open door, he could watch the waves as they rose and fell on the beach about one hundred yards distant, while I prepared the “feast.” The bill of fare that Matt selected was as follows:

Mock-turtle soup.

Stew of little auk with green peas.

Broiled breasts of eider-duck.

Boston baked beans, corn, tomatoes.

Apricot pie, plum-duff with brandy sauce.

Sliced peaches.

Coffee.

With the soup I served a cocktail made by Mr. Peary after a recipe of his own, and henceforth known by our little party as “Redcliffe House cocktail”; with the stew, two bottles of “Liebfrauenmilch”; and with the rest of the dinner, “Sauterne.” About five o’clock we heard the shouts of the boys, and on going out I saw them coming down the cliffs heavily laden with some bulky objects. I rushed in and reported the facts in the case to Mr. Peary, who immediately said, “They are bringing in a deer. Oh, I must get out!” So out he hobbled, and to the corner of the house, where he had a good view of the returning hunters. As soon as he saw them he said, “Get me my kodak. Quick!” and before the boys had recovered from their surprise at seeing Mr. Peary, whom they had left confined to his bed, standing on three legs at the corner of the house, the first hunting-party sent out from Redcliffe had been immortalized by the ever-present camera. The boys were jubilant over their success, and brought back appetites that did justice to the dinner which was now nearly ready. At six o’clock we all sat down at the rude table, constructed by the boys out of the rough boards left from the house, and just large enough to accommodate our party of seven. We had not yet had time to make chairs, so boxes were substituted, and we managed very nicely. We had no table-cloth, and all our dishes were of tin, yet a merrier party never sat down to a table anywhere. Three days afterward we repeated the feasting part of the day, with a variation in the bill of fare, in honor of the third anniversary of our marriage, and this time we sampled the venison, which we found so delicious that the boys were more eager than ever to lay in a stock for the winter.

The next day, August 12, Mr. Peary sent all the boys, except Matt, in one of our whale-boats, the “Faith,” to search Herbert and Northumberland Islands for an Eskimo settlement, and if possible to induce a family to move over and settle down near Redcliffe House. The man could show us the best hunting-grounds, and assist in bagging all kinds of game, while the woman could attend to making our skin boots, or kamiks, and keeping them in order. They were also instructed to visit the loomeries, as the breeding places of the birds are called, and bring back as many birds as possible.

During their absence Matt was at work on our protection wall of stone and turf around Redcliffe, and Mr. Peary busied himself as best he could in making observations for time, taking photographs, and pressing flowers and other botanical specimens which I gathered for him. He even ventured part of the way up the cliffs at the back of the house, but this was slow and laborious work. The ground was so soft that his crutches would sink into it sometimes as much as two feet. The weather continued bright and balmy, and I did not feel the necessity of even a light wrap while rambling over the hills. What I did long for was an old-fashioned sunbonnet made of some bright-colored calico, and stiffened with strips of pasteboard, for the sun was burning my face and neck very badly. The boys returned at the end of a week, bringing with them a native man named Ikwa; his wife, Mané; and two children, both little girls—Anadore, aged two years and six months, and a baby of six months, whom we called Noyah (short for Nowyahrtlik).