110 BY ESKIMO DOG-SLED 



and we waved our hands and shouted back. 

 Then they began to sing. 



There is a lump in my throat and a mist 

 in my eyes even now, when I think of that 

 scene : just a crowd of rough Eskimos, people 

 whose grandfathers had been heathen and wild, 

 singing a hymn of God-speed as we set out 

 on our dangerous errand. 



" Takkotigelarminiptingnut 

 Gude illagilisetok " 



they sang, and the charmingly balanced har- 

 mony came fainter and ever fainter as the 

 wind began to sigh about us and the snow 

 to beat on our faces. " God be with you till 

 we meet again" and we settled confidently 

 to our task. 



That was the quietest day I have ever 

 spent on a dog-sled. There was none of the 

 chatter and banter to which we were used ; 

 there was work for us all to do, and we did 

 it seriously, and all the time the drivers 

 chewed pensively at their battered tobacco 

 pipes and said nothing. 



It was slow going until the dogs had got 

 used to working together, but towards even- 

 ing the pace improved and we made our usual 

 six or seven miles an hour in spite of the storm. 

 As often as the dogs got tangled up Julius 



