304 • THIRTEEN IN A BED. 



draw ourselves underneath the upper one of these 

 buffalo strips, and accommodate ourselves to the very 

 moderate allowance of space assigned to each person 

 as best we can. The post of honor is at the end 

 farthest from the door ; and, except the opposite end, 

 this post of honor is the least desirable of all other 

 places, for, somehow or other, the twelve sleepers be- 

 low me manage to pull the " clothes " off and leave 

 me jammed against the snow wall, with nothing on 

 me but my traveling gear ; for we go to bed without 

 change of costume except our boots and stockings, 

 which we tuck under our heads to help out a pillovv^, 

 while what we call " reindeer sleeping stockings " 

 take their place on the feet. And, furthermore, there 

 is not much that I can say. This can hardly be called 

 comfort. I have a vague remembrance of having 

 slept more soundly than I have done these last four 

 nights, and of having rested upon something more 

 agreeable to the "• quivering flesh " than this bed of 

 snow, the exact sensations communicated by which 

 are positively indescribable, — a sort of cross between 

 a pine board and a St. Lawrence gridiron. And yet 

 the people are busy and merry enough. Harris, one 

 of my most energetic and ambitious men, is sewing a 

 patch on his seal-skin pantaloons, stopping " a hole to 

 keep the winds away ; " Miller, another spirited and 

 careful man, is closing up a rip in his Esquimau boot; 

 and Carl, who has a fine tenor voice, has just finished a 

 sailor's song, and is clearing his throat for " The Bold 

 Soldier Boy." Several packs of cards are in requisi- 

 tion, and altogether we are rather a jolly party, — the 

 veriest Mark Tapleys of travelers. We are leading a 

 novel sort of life, and I can imagine that the time will 

 come when I shall turn over the pages of this diary 



