THE WHITE WORLD 



Rowing to the camp late at night, a sudden storm broke 

 over us, darkening the sky so that we could not see a 

 hundred feet. A wind swept up the fiord, such as can 

 only be found in those regions; progress was very slow, 

 with uncertainty of direction. Finally we saw a light 

 ahead and recognized the point in the rear of which was 

 cur tent. The thoughtful Eskimo guide and his assistants, 

 anticipating our dilemma, had worked their hazardous way 

 over rugged cliffs to the fiord, and taking the powder out 

 of their cartridges, had burned it as a signal that we were 

 near home, and to guide us on our way. The night was 

 a most cheerless one, with constant rain, the water running 

 under our sleeping-bags. 



The next day I had to unload my photographic plates; 

 everything was wet and muddv, I could find no place for 

 my work except the entrance of an Eskimo hut, an extension 

 used as store-room and kitchen three feet high, with stone 

 wall on three sides, filled with mud and moss, and without 

 a covering. I put oars and Eskimo harpoons on the top, 

 spread our blankets over them, and so made a fairly good 

 dark room. I could just get into it and work by kneeling 

 in the filthv mud. 



Half a dozen of the plates I had taken the day before 

 were broken, and with the pieces I made valuable presents 

 to my interested Eskimo friends and spectators, who stood 

 closely around, watching the white man's magic with 

 keenest interest. 



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