AN ARCTIC CHRISTMAS. 



A. J. STONE. 



It is Christmas week, and for several 

 days I have 'been traveling with sleds, dogs, 

 and men up the Mackenzie delta from the 

 Arctic coast. The weather has been severe, 

 but fortunately no serious storm has over- 

 taken us in our journey up the coast or 

 over the barren region adjacent. Storms 

 here are frequent and much dreaded. 

 One's clothing becomes saturated, and this, 

 with damp bedding, renders one's chances 

 of surviving a bitter storm doubtful. 



Late Christmas eve we ran our sleds into 

 the first bunch of spruce we found, and felt 

 something of assurance. Standing the 

 sleds up sidewise, parallel with each other, 

 8 feet apart. I scooped the snow 2 feet deep 

 from between them with a snowshoe, 

 banking it on a third side as a rear wall. 

 While I was thus engaged the boys cut 

 brush and poles. The brush was carefully 

 and smoothly laid on the bottom of my 

 snow pit, and the poles were slanted from 

 the rear wall upward toward the front. Over 

 these we spread canvas, and a cheerful fire 

 soon blazed in front of all, diffusing a 

 warmth into our shack that gave us a sense 

 of comfort almost amounting to luxury. 

 I was tired. We had traveled rapidly 

 through a long day, and as I intended to 

 resume the journey at an early hour, I soon 

 sought in my blankets the rest I so much 

 needed. 



At 3 o'clock Christmas morning, our 

 sleds were moving. The moon, nearly at 

 the full, shining 24 hours every day, was 

 high in the heavens, and looked down from 

 a clear, cold, star-bestudded sky on an earth 

 all wrapped in white. What a beautiful 

 Christmas morning! At home all were yet 

 slumbering quietly, for although 7 o'clock 

 at New York, that would be too early for 

 Christmas rising. 



As we advanced up river the dragging 

 grew heavier, the snow being less solidly 

 packed. The sleds moved slowly. I 

 worked the rear one, for by so doing I was 

 much to myself. There was no breath of 

 wind. A deathlike stillness reigned ; meet 

 condition for Winter and Night. The faint 

 creak of the sled and the slight swish of 

 my snowshoes were the only sounds. Even 

 the dogs' bells were choked with frost, 

 and gave out no tinkle. No furred nor 

 feathered life crossed our way. All Na- 

 ture seemed locked in the arms of Death. 



I was glad of the silence. Shut away 

 as I was from my own dear world, I could 

 find comfort only in solitude. I moved 



mechanically, performed my duties like an 

 automaton, assisted the dogs unconscious- 

 ly. Even the bitter cold was unfelt. My 

 thoughts were busy far away from this re- 

 gion of endless night, in a land of sunshine 

 and flowers. How glad I was to know my 

 dreary holiday was not the Christmas of 

 all the world ! My Christmas bells were 

 the dogs' bells, and they were throttled 

 with the frost. Festooned across my sky 

 swung great ribbons of waving white light, 

 the fringes from some celestial curtains 

 heaven-hung by Aurora, extending from 

 Northwest to Southeast. My Christmas 

 recreation must be only bartering in an 

 Esquimo igloo for such rude implements 

 as the polar man could make and 

 might consent to sell. My luxuries were 

 hardtack, salt pork, and tea for breakfast, 

 hardtack and tea for lunch, and for supper 

 plain boiled losche, the poorest fish on 

 earth. This latter meal was restricted thus 

 from the fact that should we reveal our 

 imported food to the natives at our desti- 

 nation they would eat it all. 



Here are no means of communicating 

 with mankind. I am wandering in another 

 and a different world. I would better be 

 in the moon, for that looks down on my 

 childhood's home ; the home where are 

 wife, baby, and friends. I see streets 

 thronged with happy, hurrying people, fire- 

 sides warm with blazing hearths and clus- 

 tering hearts. Though I can not be with 

 the happy ones in person, in every other 

 sense I am beside them. I see the church, 

 the home, the feast, the dance. Alas ! I 

 see the crowded tenement, too, with its 

 throng of squalid, hopeless misery. Side 

 by side with luxury is beggary. Dog- 

 ging the footsteps of measureless Affluence 

 stalks gaunt Famine, hand in hand with 

 Crime. Flaunting in the lamplight, jost- 

 ling elbows with Pride, is the painted face 

 of Shame. Cheek by jowl with Purity sits 

 bedizened Sin. 



In thought I am with the wife and the 

 babe I have never seen, and enjoy in my 

 soul that happiness which comes only to 

 him who is a husband and a father. The 

 sun does not shine for me to-day, but it 

 shines for those I love, and T am happy in 

 remembering it. 



I remember Recreation and its force, 

 and wonder if any of them are thinking 

 of me. Thus in reverie pass the hours of 

 my Arctic Christmas. 



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