WINTER QUARTERS 133 



stillness of nature and sound far and wide across the frosty 

 plains. 



November passed, and yet no signs of Mr. Leffingwell. 

 I began to feel worried, but he must have got some food from 

 the whaler wintering at Herschel Island, and even if he should 

 have met with bad weather he would be able to reach Ned's 

 cabin, where there would be more food. I knew quite well that 

 there was no immediate danger, but during the long nights 

 which 1 spent alone, brooding and reading, I could not help 

 thinking of what might have happened. Only when day came, 

 and life stirred, I felt ashamed of my worries of the night 

 before, knowing that Mr. Leffingwell was an experienced 

 traveller and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 



December set in with storms from the west, and for three 

 days we had a regular blizzard. On the third we had some 

 extra excitement. The galley took fire during the night, but 

 I was not called until the whole thing was over. The crew were 

 sitting in the forecastle, playing cards, when they noticed that 

 Flora's pups, which were locked up in the galley, howled 

 more than usual. The watchman went on deck to see what 

 was the matter, and when he opened the door the smoke was 

 pouring out. He called his comrades, and a couple of buckets 

 of water from the tide-hole were enough to put out the fire. 

 No serious harm was done, only the pups were almost choked 

 by the smoke and afterwards nearly drowned, but the sailors 

 took them down in the forecastle, and the following morning 

 there was no other evidence of the fire than some charred 

 wood and some spoiled food. Carrol had left the fire in the 

 stove, and the stove-pipe had got so hot that it had kindled the 

 wood around. But for the pups in the galley, very serious 

 damage might easily have happened, as the watchman would 

 most likely not have seen the fire until it had got a good hold. 



Before daybreak on December 6 I was visited by Dougla- 

 mana, who told me that Sachawachick had killed three bears. 

 I went up to the village, and there was great rejoicing ; the 

 whole population was crowding the house of the lucky hunter 

 and was talking, laughing, and smoking, while keeping a sharp 

 look-out for the pots on the stove. The dogs had already had 

 their share, the entrails having been served out to them, and 

 three magnificent skins were lying on a rack, dripping blood 



