“The favorite way among the natives of camping in this part of the country is to build snow houses at night. The wind packs the snow so hard that with a long knife it can be cut into blocks like building stone, and in a short time a small strong house can be constructed with these, the chinks being stopped up with loose snow, and a large block used as a door to close theopening, making the place nearly airtight. Soon the warmth of the bodies of three or four people, together with the heat from a native seal-oil lamp or kerosene-oil stove, will raise the temperature of the place so that it is fairly comfortable, and one can even remove some of his clothing. On account of the difficulties of construction, a snow house can not be so large as a tent, and the oil for the stove adds greatly to the weight to be carried; but, when traveling back from the coast, where there is no wood, snow houses are the necessity of circumstances. As such they are made the best of, and whatever discomforts they entail are passed off as unavoidable and not thought of. A philosophical common sense is a great help in living in the arctic regions, as elsewhere. If you are subjected to miserable discomforts, or even if you suffer, it must be regarded as all right and simply a part of the life, and like sailors, you must never dwell too much on the dangers or suffering, lest others question your courage.”

“We had now been traveling so long that our camping and packing the sleds had been reduced to a system. There were four of us and each had his own part of the work to do. The doctor was the cook and looked out for the stove and the food. I attended to the sleds and the tent, fhe native woman was the doctor’s assistant and besides looked after our clothes, while her husband Nekowrah helped me and did the heavy work. On coming to our camping place, Nekowrah and I would get out the tent and pitch it. This done, the doctor would set up his stove, while Nekowrah went on a hunt for wood, and I would bank up the snow around the sides to keep the wind out and secure the hut generally. Then the sleds were unpacked and all our sleeping gear, food, and cooking utensils were passed in to Shucungunga, who arranged them inside. By the time the fire was started in the stove, the dogs were unharnessed, and the sleds put beyond their reach. This would all take from one-half to threequarters of an hour, and in that time the tent would be good and warm and we could go inside and change our clothes. The wet ones were passed over to Shucungunga for drying, who stretched a line along the ridgepole and hung up the clothes to catch all the warm air possible. It was not long before supper was ready, and it generally mattered little what it was, so long as there was enough, for by this time we were about like the dogs, hungry enough to eat anything that could be chewed. Usually the supper consisted of bacon and beans, followed by “slapjacks” (cakes made of flour and water and fried), and all the tea we could drink, generally not less than a quart.

In camping one must be careful of the few belongings and camp tools, for anything left outside at night is sure to be covered over in the morning if it is blowing, and anything that has to be left out must be stuck up in the snow or packed in the sleds if you want to see it again. In the morning Nekowrah or the doctor would be up by 5 o’clock and have the fire started and the breakfast under way, which was not different from the supper—simply something to eat.

Breakfast being over, the sleds were gotten out and packed, reserv ing the tent to the last, so as to be handy at night. The grub box, with a little food inside, and a camp kettle and axe were placed on the sled where they could easily be gotten at in case a stop was made during the day. The sleds were then lashed, the dogs caught and har nessed, and we were ready to start.”