Greenland by the Polar Sea/Chapter 12

AUGUST 25th-26th.—Ajako and I begin our walk cheerfully and in excellent spirits. It is beneficent, relieving, and reviving, to walk across this big land which seems to teem with life—at least, it appears so to us after many months of walking in the desert. Everywhere a wealth of flowers thrust up from the soil, and we do not tire in our admiration, especially now that the autumn has splashed its strong, fresh colours over the whole landscape. I am chiefly impressed by the vigour with which the Polar willow has developed. Its big bold leaves lie everywhere beneath our feet, now flaming in red hues like wild vine, now shining yellow like ochre between the crimson saxifrage and green heath; even the whortleberry plant, which unfortunately does not bear any fruit, has gleaming red leaves.

The life of summer has passed its climax, and autumn has dressed everything in festive garments; the coolness has announced itself before the cold, the colours before the snow—a last blaze-up before the sleep of winter.

On thick, soft moss we walk along the small mountain-rimmed lakes, which wink at us like black, deep eyes. For every kilometre we pass new lakes, which unfortunately often force us to make long, toilsome detours. However much we are desirous of making haste, our road goes in large bends and turns, continually up and down across beautiful and wild but exceedingly difficult cloughs.

To the north-west we have all the little islands of Peabody Bay in the corner towards Humboldt's Glacier; a thick fog yet hangs above that quarter, hovering like the steam from the ​"Mosekone's"^[1] brew over a Danish meadow. The many rivers from the glacier and from the land have swept away the ice along the coast, and for the first time we look across a stretch of real, open water. It is dead calm, and only the drift of icefloes on the current gives some movement in this mighty landscape which the lifting fog gradually unveils for us. There is an idyllic beauty over the many little lakes and islands, and the low land down towards the bay; and Ajako and I are agreed. that some time it would be good to winter here. Round the head of Advance Bay ruins of old winter-houses are naturally to be found.

The ocean is full of seals, the bear begins his exciting wandering as soon as the ice lies, and everywhere in the lakes there is sure to be salmon. The reindeer stalk across the land and hares seem to abound; they jump up before us, running away in confused haste behind the nearest mountain, not knowing that for the time being we mean to do them no harm. As there seems to be plenty of game here, we have decided not to hunt until the evening meal, when the march of the day is finished. We are yet so exhausted that even the lightest of burdens weighs heavily on us.

From a mountain-top we get a view across Humboldt's Glacier; evenly and quite without crevasses it extends northward. Only the many rivers we have had to pass break its surface with deep furrows; if one listens, one hears the enormous boom from the watercourses. It is good to be on land now. The glacier appears to be without movement, and only low, little pieces of Sikûssaq float in the bay, which is partly frozen.

By midnight we pass a big oblong lake with an unusually powerful affluent river. We follow the river for some distance, looking for a crossing; but as it is everywhere frothy and with a strong current, we decide to wade across it. I slide on a slippery stone, fall and get soaked through. Not very comfortable for one who has to sleep in the open in the same wet clothes ​and without a cover! Never mind, a healthy body is a patient tool!

In the morning we reached the plateau behind Cape Scott. Just before this we had to wade through a river. Across the river the landscape changes entirely in character. It becomes more desolate, more stony, and suddenly it seems as if all the hares have disappeared into the ground.

At seven o'clock in the morning, after a walk of thirteen hours, we stop and cook a young hare which we have shot on the way. Then we survey the land to make sure of the direction we must take before the fog comes. We are now up on a uniform tableland which has none of the many cloughs and lakes we met with to-day; we shall have quicker going to-morrow.

At eleven o'clock in the morning we lie down, each by his stone, to get a little sleep before we set to once more.

August 26th-27th.—At three o'clock we wake up, and as the sky again looks threatening we agree that it is wiser to hurry on towards better hunting-grounds.

During the first part of our journey the tableland is of a kindly character, with plains of grass and little lakes. In many places we find fresh tracks of reindeer, and we keep hoping we shall have the good fortune to shoot an animal; we might then be able to rest a little and have time to dry our wet clothes. But as evening approaches the treacherous fog comes up behind us from the north-west, and the land becomes more barren; at length the grass plains stop entirely and we are now walking on sharp, naked stones.

During the night we reach a large lake which borders right on the inland-ice; the old winter ice still lies on it, only one of its banks being opened by a river which runs out of the lake, foaming big and white between enormous stones. It does not look tempting—the sight of it is like a grip round my throat. Am I to fall again now? The weather is raw and foggy, and I am faint with hunger.

​But when things look blackest we generally find the easiest way out. Without unnecessary hesitation Ajako and I seized each other's hands, and thus propping one another up we went out into the water. We got thoroughly wet, but neither of us slipped and fell. This good luck encouraged and strengthened us as much as a good meal could have done.

On the other bank of the glacier lake we found an absolute stone desert consisting entirely of big loose moraine stones; a multitude of larger and smaller lakes filled the landscape, which was practically without vegetation, and often we found ourselves forced to keep our direction by making considerable detours. Yet one river we must wade across; we are now in good practice, and our feet have been wet for these last two or three months!

August 27th-28th.—We tried to sleep last night as well as might be, each, as usual, by his stone. But it was almost too cold in our wet clothes, on which the fog settled so that our bodies became quite white with hoar-frost.

Every time I slept I dreamed about my home. Such dreams, beautiful and pleasant during sleep, are extraordinarily exhausting, for as soon as one wakes up and must turn to, reality always seems doubly rough and hopeless. On the other hand, it arouses such a lively feeling of what is owing to those who are awaiting one's return, that immediately the teeth are clenched and obstinacy is summoned to fight the adversities which are breaking one's strength.

About seven o'clock the fog lifted somewhat, and at once we got to our feet and turned towards the places where we might find something to eat. A tough will to endure strengthened us both; although we had tasted no food for nearly two days we did not feel any weakness.

Every time we pass a deep cleft we spy in vain for a small white dot—a hare. Reindeer we dare no longer hope for.

Once, as we get a view over an unusually hopeless stone desert, we settle between us that we can manage to continue ​for another two days and nights without food; we both feel that we are able to do this, and by that time we must surely be on better hunting-ground.

During this discussion I say to Ajako:

"Even if we shall hold each other by the arms for support when we begin to totter with exhaustion, we will continue our walk; we will not give in as long as we can crawl."

Ajako nods as he answers:

"Shall we decide that neither of us will mention food again?"

After that we get up and continue.

Due west-south-west we pass a big lake in the midst of the mountains; fortunately, we do not come across its outlet, but set our course through a valley-like clough, where, as in other and more fertile places, we find not a few bones and antlers of reindeer.

By noon we spy a little white dot in front of us, and both stop as if nailed to the ground. A hare! Meat for the pot, food for the stomach, marrow for the bones!

Half an hour later we are sitting cooking it by a big flaming fire. All adversity forgotten, all weariness has left our limbs. As soon as we have eaten we will continue; but first the meal. Fortune has favoured us. The hare is fat, like a young reindeer with thick, white, fat round kidneys and pelvis! And the blood we have poured into the soup—oh, how good it will be! But now when we have seen the meat it is as if hunger wakes up and tears savagely at our vitals; so immediately we eat the entrails raw whilst we wait for the pot to boil.

Half an hour's walk from the place where we cooked our meal we reach a lake which we presume must be the well-known ice-mountain lake behind Cape Russell, the place where the relief sledges are to meet our comrades. The lake goes right up to the glacier, and a couple of largish ice-mountains float on it. We have travelled upwards of 100 kilometres! It is a great spur to our pace, and unconsciously we speed up.

To pass the sea we have first got to cross three rather large ​effluent rivers. The first of them is deep and the water reaches above our knees. Another wetting, but what about it if only we can get ahead. Straight forward, never give up!

On the southern side of the river we come to quite new terrain which again rouses the hunter's instinct in both of us. Here our course goes up and down again, through cloughs and valleys, across huge heaps of snow, wearying and heavy. But the land is fertile; we look across meadows along river-beds, vigorous slopes of willow and heather, moss and grass and whatever else might tempt a reindeer. But in vain we stare our eyes stiff. Nothing living anywhere!

We continue until ten o'clock in the evening, then we meet with the river, which, contrary to all those we have passed so far, runs towards the inland-ice. On its banks five young hares are playing, and we shoot three. Once more a huge fire flares up in the gloaming; we will make blood soup from all the three hares—that will give warmth for the night. Soon after midnight the fog as usual slinks up. It is one o'clock when we lie down to rest after fifteen hours' walk without a stop. We feel in our bodies that to-day we have had the food that we needed; for although the fog, as usual, grows thicker and thicker as darkness comes and the snow once more begins to fall, we do not feel the cold although we are lying on the bare ground.

Another grey, depressing day, but our spirits are better than ever as we set out at nine o'clock in the morning; for the first time since we left our comrades in Advance Bay we have had a sound, long sleep.

But now our footgear, which we have not been able to dry since we left St. George Fjord, is getting into a very bad condition. The seams are bursting in consequence of the continual wetting, and we have difficulties in keeping the kamiks on our feet. Further, our sinew-thread is nearly used up, and we have only one needle left. With all our hearts we hope for a day of sunshine and for a reindeer, not only for the sake of the tallow and the meat, but also in order to get sinews.

​There must be a good 100 kilometres to Etah, and we are sure to manage this distance in three days.

We are slow in getting up speed to-day; we are unaccustomed to being satiated and heavy, besides which we have reversed our old order of day and night, as we are walking during the warm day and sleeping in the colder night. We must therefore walk along slowly, and try to go for twenty-four hours, not resting until the forenoon of to-morrow.

The going is better and better, more even than before; but we pass a stony clough where we must hop and jump from one large block to another until our foot-soles burn. We traverse it and come out on a plain stretching widely and openly ahead, with little rivers and occasional vigorous grass-meadows shining sun-gilt against the dark crimson stone-heaps. Here the fog once more overtakes us. It is four o'clock in the afternoon, and as we can get no view ahead we sit down with our backs towards a cliff wall, hoping that the fog will soon lift.

I sit and doze, and am awakened by Ajako jumping up; I hardly believe my own ears when I hear the shout: "Inugssuaq! Takûk, inugssuaq!"

A start went through me. A man! Where? Who? From where? I got to my feet in a hurry.

A short distance away I plainly saw a man coming out of the fog, a reindeer hunter with a little bundle on his back. A skin and some meat—perhaps!

One can imagine what impression this made on us two wanderers, who, like shipwrecked men struggling along on this stony moraine, suddenly see salvation and meet a man for the first time after half a year's absence.

We both shouted. The man stopped, listened, and discovered us when we repeated our shout.

A few minutes later we met and found that it was Miteq, the "Eiderduck," who had come up here from Kûkat, one of the camps near Inglefield Gulf, to hunt reindeer. He was in the ​company of Qulutana, Ajako's brother-in-law and Ilaitoq, his sister, and Assarpanguaq, Majaq's son. They had been together until a few hours ago when they agreed to part company and hunt alone, each for himself. Their dogs, three teams, were lying some ten hours' walk from the place of our meeting, approximately midway between Marshall Bay and Renslaer Harbour. These were good tidings indeed!

The "Eiderduck," of course, gave up his hunt immediately in order to help us. But we also wished to get into communication with Ajako's brother-in-law and sister, so we lit a big fire of cassiope and fired signal-shots in different directions. We spent several hours in a vain search, for the fog prevented the Eskimos from seeing the smoke from our fire, and the many clefts prevented them from hearing the shots. The reindeer hunters roam over long stretches, and Panguaq had informed the "Eiderduck" that if his hunting was successful he might stay away for about a week. If we had been able to get hold of these three people there would have been the possibility that we could return to our comrades at once with relief. But this had to be given up; so we continued our walk towards the "Eiderduck's" camp, now at a considerably quicker pace than in the morning.

Meanwhile we had at once pumped the "Eiderduck" for everything worth hearing during the half-year of our absence, and new impressions poured in over us.

The most important piece of news was that a fresh ship had been sent up after the Crockerland Expedition, led by Peary's famous Captain Bartlett. In the beginning of the summer he had pushed his way through ice and all kind of weather. At a point near Cape Parry Captain Bartlett had met with the Danmark, which later on had returned without going up to Etah. Everything was well in Thule and round about in the different camps; all our pack-sledges had returned in good condition.

But the War? Did he know anything about that?

Oh yes, he did! The crew of the ship had told him that it ​raged worse than ever. The white men were engaged in exterminating each other. Many big camps were already mere stone-heaps inhabited by hungry widows and fatherless children. A terrible blood-thirst had seized upon the white men. Nobody went hunting or travelling now, they merely slaughtered each other. And the white men now, more than ever before, used all their cunning and great wisdom for the purpose of destroying each other.

Nowhere in their land was shelter and safety to be found; they attacked each other from the surface of the soil, from the sky, from the sea, and from the deeps of the great waters. Usually they shot blindly at a long distance, killing people whom they had never seen and with whom they had no quarrel.

More and more countries joined in; Peary's land (America) also was now at war. Peary himself was now lord of those who fought in the air. On board Captain Bartlett's ship there was a physician who told that he also had been up in the air; it was so cold that now he was very keen to buy fox-skins which he wanted to use on his next air journey.

The land "attacked by many" (Germany) was not yet conquered, although there was hardly any camp in the countries of the white men which did not fight against it.

In one of the warring countries a great man had arisen, a strong man, who had made all his countrymen obey him although he was only a ranker (Kerenski). He was now lord of the country. Before this happened there had been some talk about stopping the War, but now the killing raged more savagely than ever, and it was doubtful whether ships would come to "the land of men" (Greenland) again.

To receive all this recent news was like coming into a typhoon. Yesterday two lonely wanderers fighting their modest fight for their own and their comrades' life through a barren land, and to-day once more in touch with ordered society, perhaps the most ideal in the world at present, and simultaneously in the midst of the horrors of war. It was doubly overwhelming to receive these tidings through this naïve and ​human description, given by a man whom the cultured civilized being looks upon as a primitive savage.

Our own fight to win for science new ground, our suffering and toil, how slight it all seems compared with the sighs of the millions which now resound through the bleeding world.

Will anyone have time to stop and pay attention to the work we have done?

During the march down to the camp of the "Eiderduck"—sometimes jumping between the sharp blocks of the stoneheaps, wading across little rivers, or hastening across soft meadows with their welcome rest for the sore balls of our feet—such were the thoughts that went through my brain.

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when we reached the moraine where the reindeer hunters had their camp. In a strong feeling of joy and gratitude that our sufferings now seemed at an end, I picked a still beautiful and flowering poppy in memory of the day. It was almost as if I were now at home.

But before we went to rest we broke into the "Eiderduck's" meat store and boiled seal meat with blubber, which we ate with an appetite known only by one who for a long time has fought against starvation and an almost empty stomach.

The first question to be decided after we had found men was whether there would be any possibility of returning for our comrades immediately. As already mentioned, it would be hopeless to wait for the "Eiderduck's" party; for Qulutana, who was a keen hunter, had emphatically declared that his hunting might last for some time if he did not quickly come across game. We immediately took stock of the provisions and found that they consisted merely of a small piece of bearded seal, which would only constitute one meal for seven men. This piece of meat belonged to the "Eiderduck"; he also had a piece of blubber for one feed for his dogs. Qulutana, on the other hand, had no meat at all on this spot. From previous years of hunting he still possessed some old depots in ​the country on which he had reckoned, but where they were situated the "Eiderduck" had not the slightest idea.

The dogs would be of no use to us on the ground towards Cape Agassiz. The country was bare of snow and would be impracticable for a sledge, and on the inland-ice there were yet the many rivers which could not be crossed to advantage. So if we were to bring relief to our comrades we must walk to them, and that without any considerable increase of provisions. Proper hunting during a quick march was, as we had experienced, not to be reckoned on.

According to the map, and considering the terrain we had had to cross, it would be at least 150 kilometres to our old tent-camp. We had arrived here in four days by marches as forced as our strength permitted; it was doubtful whether it would be possible for us once more to cover the distance in the same time, and it was also absolutely essential to us that our footgear should be dried. Thus it would take nine or ten days before we could once more be back in our old camp, and it would be highly improbable that Dr. Wulff's party would remain there until then. It would at any rate be against the decisions we had come to in the council of the expedition before we separated. If, in an attempt to bring relief which under all circumstances would not be effective, as it brought merely one fresh man with quite inadequate provisions in the company of two already worn-out men, we now missed them in the wild mountainous tracts, all we should have achieved would be to hinder the really significant help which would come from Etah; and this would be unjustifiable. So I decided without delay to continue the journey to Etah.

29th, 30th, 31st August to September 1st.—Noon, 29th of August. Yesterday over, the strained tension of the expedition appears to be at an end, if our comrades do not meet with too many adversities. I myself feel to-day that our task is concluded, and for the first time for a long period I am in calm water.

​The point now is to persist without sleep so that Etah may be reached and the relief sledges fitted out and despatched immediately. During our preparations to break up I decide to kidnap the dogs of the absent reindeer hunters without further ado. I know they will forgive me as soon as we meet, and the dogs will be returned forthwith from Etah. Unfortunately none of the hunters can read, so we must express ourselves by picture-script. The difficulty is solved by Ajako sketching a map of the coast, giving our final route across the inland-ice to Peabody Bay, where four men are drawn. Then three men and two sledges are drawn by the camp of the reindeer hunters, driving to Etah, and finally beneath it all are the relief sledges hurrying towards the big lake by the inland-ice.

Then we capture the dogs. Most of them are loose and rather fierce, and do not seem enthusiastic at the idea of being stolen by strangers; but we succeed in the course of an hour in binding them all.

So we set out on our last journey, of which I will merely give a short summary now that we are travelling like lords with large, fresh teams.

Our days passed in the following manner:

August 29th: Wake up half-past ten in the morning. Cook food. Capture the dogs. Start across the inland-ice 3 p.m.

August 30th: A sudden storm and thick snow overwhelm us at midnight. Remain for a few hours in the shelter of the sledges and continue when it clears up.

August 30th: At 2 p.m. the Etah district is reached in a storm from the north. The sledges are left by the edge of the glacier, and after a very strenuous walk across mountains, camp is reached at 9 p.m.

In the course of the night and the day of the 31st of August the relief sledges are fitted out, and at last on the 1st of September they leave.

The arrival at Etah will to me always remain unforgettable, especially with the experiences of the last five months as a background.

All the inhabitants of Etah had moved into the house of the Crockerland Expedition, and, as there was no one outside, we came right up to the house without being discovered. But then they saw us through the window and out they poured—men, women and children, like lava under a volcanic eruption, overwhelming us with loud shouts of welcome and a perfect hubbub of delight.

In the very moment when we stepped across the threshold from death to life, from the great silent waste to the happy little camp, we found ourselves suddenly in a crush of people. The noise was deafening. From all points they laughed their welcome, and hearty words sounded cheering in our ears. Questions rained over us, and it was as if big waves beat together above our heads and swallowed us.

The winter-house of the Crockerland Expedition is built so that from the outside, through an ante-room which takes up the whole breadth of the house, one comes into a roomy apartment; this, with an oven in the middle of the floor, represents partly kitchen and dining-room, partly a common room with seats along the walls. From this room doors lead to six smaller rooms on the right and left wall and in the background.

In the small rooms six families were living in peace and unity with a common kitchen in the big room. All these respectable housewives now vied with each other in dishing out food for us on a long table which stood in the middle of the room. It was a luxurious table, with leavings from the rich Crockerland Expedition. Some brought pemmican, some brought biscuits. Dishes were set down with Richard potatoes, tinned tomatoes, beans and bacon, porridge with treacle, brown bread in tins, fried hares, boiled seal meat, gulls in rice soup ​with dried turnips and spinach, tea with the food, and coffee after; finally, real American cut-plug tobacco.

The whole thing was like an hallucination, one of those which used to mock us during our periods of starvation. But as reality gradually was brought home to us through the strong odours which entered our nostrils, we felt in the presence of an Eastern revelation from the tale of Aladdin! We struggled for breath in face of this abundance; here was food for an appetite sharpened by half a year of strict economy, and by the strenuous final spurt of the last thirty-four hours! Our only difficulty was to decide from which end of the table it would be best to start.

But it was clear to me that in the beginning we had to be very careful about the food, as our stomachs through a long period were accustomed to very sparse and quite unvaried food.

In spite of all protestations from our hosts and hostesses, in spite of a wolfish hunger which was aggravated by the lovely odour of the many delicacies which for so long we had missed, I tried to restrain myself and made honest attempts at eating as little as possible. For how annoying if the joy of our arrival were to be interrupted by a wretched and prosaic colic!

It was a feast according to the best of European standards. Even orchestral music was not lacking; a recently arrived, brand-new gramophone was placed in the midst of the lavish abundance and entertained us with a large and varied repertoire, from Wagner to the latest imported tangoes from Argentine and Paris!

It was obvious that the gates of life had again been opened widely, and even if we were merely by the outmost Northern posts of humanity we had found an echo from the great world of good and evil in which we ourselves were at home! Involuntarily I had to close my eyes and collect myself somewhat; I felt my temples hammering and my heart throbbing, and, as the orchestra after a pause commenced beautifully and softly the minuet of "Don Juan," Etah disappeared from my consciousness. . . .

​I am back at Lynge Vicarage and do not hear the gramophone—it is my sister who is playing our old piano with its spinet tones; a window to the garden is open and a mild breeze taps the panes with the vine; the fragrance of summer and flowers floats in to us, and I hear the well-known beloved rustling through the leaves of the big lime-trees. Round about me sit all those I love, listening absorbed to the graceful melody of Mozart. . . .

Once more a pause, then the music plays up again: now it is reminiscences of Chopin—a phantasy over a mazurka, a waltz, and the famous polonaise. The scene changes: I an back in my own rooms and my wife sits at the grand; we are alone with our children; a deep peace has settled on our minds—a mood of dusk which is only broken when a car rolls along the street or a speedy motor coughs its way ahead.

I must close my eyes again to keep the picture. As a distant buzzing I hear our Eskimo friends telling Ajako of the walrus-hunt of the summer; through a mist I see the women of the house, who have now, after the execution of their housewifely duties, sat down on the benches to stop the mouths of their fidgety youngest ones with the abundance of their breasts.

A door opens and the yell of sledge-dogs deafens for a moment the music. I had almost forgotten that there are yet two large oceans between my home-sick visions and the present. I am once more in Etah, and now to work for our comrades who are yet in Inglefield Land waiting for help. The sledges must be fitted out and despatched forthwith.

As soon as the first hubbub of our arrival has simmered down, before I can do anything else, I must survey our present position and decide wherefrom we could take the necessary things for the outfit of the relief expedition. Only two letters awaited me—one from Peter Freuchen in Thule, and one from Captain Comer of the Crockerland Expedition. There was no date to Freuchen's letter; it had probably been sent by the ​Danmark. Beside general news from Thule, he informed me that he had sent a box of provisions and various delicacies, amongst these a barrel of beer to be drunk at the feast on our arrival. The letter was like Freuchen himself, beautiful and hearty, the first message from a friend to a friend which I received. But unfortunately the dear Americans had forgotten to unload the goods, which, especially in our present position, would have been doubly welcome.

Captain Comer, who had also written a warm greeting of welcome, informed me that it was the well-known Arctic Ocean traveller Neptune, which had been here for the Crockerland Expedition. It had met the Danmark approximately by Cape Parry, where it had taken on board the goods of the expedition found on the Danmark. The latter was then ordered to return to South Greenland. In addition to this letter the considerate captain had left some newspapers, with the latest news from the War which, of course, were no less welcome than the letter itself.

Time after time during my many journeys up here I have experienced that one always receives the most beautiful impression of the Eskimos when one comes to them as a poor man without possessions. If one has large and rich stores upon which to draw, even the best of one's friends often seem to speculate as to the payment they will receive for services rendered. But if one has nothing, they nevertheless do everything with the same joy and generosity, and they do it all from the bottom of their good hearts.

And once more this experience is mine, though they themselves require their stores, as the summer hunt of walrus failed totally. But they are generous as ever, and vie with each other in putting at my disposal whatever they possess. There is unison in the chorus about me: everything here is yours—our house, our provisions, our dogs; we ourselves will go wherever you wish to help your comrades. With joy we will go, all of us!

I examine all their provisions and make the arrangements ​for the relief sledges. All the night and the following day are taken up in these preparations, for sledges and dogs have not been used during the whole summer, and there is much to look over and renew. At length, at noon on the 1st of September, everything is ready, and six men and five dogs start. The baggage is brought in two boats, the dogs being driven across land to the head of Foulke Fjord. Already on the following day they will be in the land of the reindeer. Their orders are to go no further than the big lake with the ice-mountains which Ajako and I reached after a march of two days. Here a beacon is to be built where the main provisions and two men are to be left, whilst the remainder, also carrying provisions, are to search the district northward in different directions. As my agreement with Dr. Wulff's party was that they, or at any rate, Harrigan and Bosun, were to go southward to this lake as quickly as their condition permitted, it cannot be many days before the new helpers with their provisions meet with our comrades.

September 1st.—Ajako and I are standing on a point of the land following with our eyes the boats speeding away. How good again to see fresh folk set to with a strength which need not be saved! All the impressions we receive are so new to us, everything we see so different to that from which we come. Before us lie the grass-covered slopes of Etah, which, fertilized by millions of sea-kings, look like hanging gardens between the cloughs. Towards the west the open living sea unclosed by the dead quiet of the Polar-ice: the smell of salt water and pungent seaweed which we inhale through our nostrils-how different to the flat fresh water of the east coast!

Ajako bends down, filling his hollow hands with fjord water, which he raises to his face to feel and inhale its salt freshness.

In these drops he smells the meat of walrus, narwhal, and seals—flesh of all the blubbery marine animals which shall now make our days good.

Beautiful ocean! I recognize you, now I am home!

​A seal pops his head up some distance out in the fjord, looking curiously after the boats, which speed away without paying any attention to it. For a long time we can hear the firm strokes of the oars; laughter mingles with shouts from those who drive the dogs along the steep, sloping mountain-sides. Then they disappear behind a headland and everything around us is quiet.

The fjord wind, which has blown freshly from the glacier through the day, calms down with the sinking of the sun; dusk throws its sharp shadows across the mountain, whilst the ocean gleams with a silvery sheen towards the western horizon, between ice-mountains and drifting floes.

A sweet and rare feeling of peace settled on our minds; for the first time for long we can go to rest with a roof over our heads, without needing to trouble about the morrow.