200 rOim YEARS IN THE WHITE NORTH [Sept. 



changing and revolving winds in this bay, should have 

 proven more profitable. A change of direction and an 

 hour's hard pulling against the sea brought to view the 

 rocks of the Crystal Palace Cliffs whitened with the 

 surf. Beyond this point there was scarcely a breath 

 of wind. 



Foulke Fiord was frozen over and the land was white 

 with new snow. With the flood tide the ice had risen, 

 leaving a lane of water along the shore leading to the 

 house, which I reached at a quarter to ten. To my sur- 

 prise, upon stepping from the punt at the finish of this 

 nearly eighteen-hour row, I was a bit unsteady on my legs, 

 due perhaps to the fact that I had had no nourishment 

 since leaving Nerky at four on the previous afternoon, 

 except two ounces of crackers. 



The house was safe, but how strangely quiet! And 

 how cold and cheerless! There was a deathlike stillness 

 in the rooms now vacated by the men, and evidence 

 everywhere of their hurried departure. A crackling wood 

 fire in our big Crawford cooking-stove removed the chill 

 and the dampness; a few minutes with broom and hands 

 removed all traces of disorder and untidiness. Borup 

 Lodge was a home again, and would be for two years 

 more. 



Two days later I saw Hunt approaching the home on 

 his return from the annual caribou-hunt. How I pitied 

 him! He had left a charming wife and a beautiful little 

 six-year-old daughter in the homeland; and Northern 

 work had not been so attractive as he had hoped. I 

 walked out to greet him and to learn of his success. 

 E-took-a-shoo had killed twelve caribou, Ak-pood-a- 

 shah-o two. The other men had gone on toward north- 

 ern hunting-grounds. Just before we reached the door 



