166 BY ESKIMO DOG-SLED 



in the night. In the morning each man boils 

 his own tea and munches his own solitary feed 

 of dried meat or ship s biscuit, harnesses his 

 team, and drives on alone. Alone he travels 

 where his fancy leads him : he will find the 

 deer. Solitude has no terrors for the Eskimo ; 

 it wakens his best instincts ; it matters not 

 that he meets nobody, sees nobody ; alone 

 he finds his way to the hunt and back again, 

 trusting to his marvellous memory for land 

 marks, and guided by the stars and the sun 

 rise. 



It was a bleak, raw morning when I first 

 saw the reindeer hunters start : they had their 

 skin clothes tied round with scarves to keep 

 the wind out, and they had their heads down 

 as they faced the bleak gusts. Before ten 

 o clock a hurricane was raging, and I feared 

 for the safety of the men. But they came 

 back, with the storm roaring behind them ; 

 first Jerry, then Abia, then others in twos 

 and threes, all with the same tale&quot; Ajornar- 

 pok (it is impossible), we must start to 

 morrow.&quot; &quot; Are you all safe ? &quot; I asked them ; 

 and Jerry counted them over on his fingers. 

 &quot; Yes,&quot; he said, &quot; we are all here : all except 

 Johannes.&quot; &quot; And Johannes, where is he ? : 

 &quot; Atsuk &quot; the laconic answer, so characteristic 

 of the Eskimo&quot; I don t know.&quot; But I was 



