226 FOUR YEARS IN THE WHITE NORTH [Mar. 



I do not smile or question. They are as real to the sav- 

 age as God is to the civilized man. 



For months my Eskimos have known my objective 

 point. The way is long, the time is short, yet they are 

 willing to face wind and drift if I say the word. "Once 

 around Sunrise Point and we shall have the drift at 

 our backs," I say, encouragingly. They smile as they 

 pull their kool-e-tahs over their heads. They are going 

 far to the west, to a new land, where none of their 

 tribe have ever journeyed, and there we shall see strange 

 things. There we shall kill musk-oxen, and polar bears, 

 and white wolves, and caribou, and Arctic hare. And 

 meat! Our sledges will be red with meat. And skins! 

 Our beds in our winter igloos will be warm and deep in 

 skins. What ideal traveling companions the Eskimos 

 are! Children in their simplicity, men of iron in their 

 make-up. Tireless and fearless; happy and confident; 

 honest and faithful; savage, yet full of kindness of heart; 

 ignorant, yet truly educated; lawless, yet lawful; im- 

 moral, yet shaming the moral; healthy, strong, vigorous, 

 intelligent — such is this primitive man who knows noth- 

 ing of our boasted civilization. 



Rounding the Sunrise Point of Doctor Hayes, we 

 swing up past historic Littleton Island. It is the focus- 

 ing-point of Smith Sound history. Swept by winds, 

 worn by the Arctic pack, it stands in the swirling tides 

 of Cape Ohlsen as a guide-post to the Pole. 



With wind and drift at our back, we fairly raced 

 through the narrow channel between Littleton Island 

 and the mainland, and were soon lost among the rough 

 ice north of the Polarises winter quarters. To my sur- 

 prise, the ice beneath the deep snow was very thin and 

 treacherous. Four of my team were soon floundering 



