124 THE LIFE OF E. J. PECK 



But we must not allow fancy to lead us astray by 

 making us think that Arctic journeys are pleasant 

 picnics. There are other things to be taken into 

 account, and these also must be placed in the 

 picture as objects to form a very dark background. 

 Endurance has been spoken of in an earlier chapter 

 as necessary. We understand this, for the road 

 is not smooth ; the ice is piled in great heaps and 

 hummocks ; the jolting is so great as to make it diffi 

 cult to sit on the sledge ; occasionally the oscillation 

 is too much for the centre of gravity, and the occu 

 pant is pitched out without ceremony. Then, again, 

 the dogs are not always amenable to discipline, as we 

 have seen; they think it right at a critical point of 

 the journey to settle some argument among them 

 selves ; they fight, and become hopelessly entangled 

 in their harness ; one or two break away and can 

 not be caught again until the march for the day has 

 been brought to an end slowly and underdogged. Or, 

 once more, there is the keen, biting wind, often laden 

 with snow drift. It penetrates the thickest fur. 

 Nothing can keep the traveller warm, and when he 

 arrives at his destination, no fire, no prepared food, 

 no loving faces welcome him, but only bare snow 

 walls. No ; Arctic life is not all picnic. 



Well, on February 17, 1881, Mr. Peck left his log 

 home at Little Whale River and started for G.W.R., 

 as he calls it in his diary, but we must be careful 

 not to interpret the initials as meaning the Great 



