150 A YEAR WITH A WHALER 



called St. Lawrence Bay. There was an Es- 

 kimo village on the shore. The huts were made 

 of whale ribs covered with hides of walrus and 

 reindeer. In the warm weather, some of the 

 hides had been removed and we saw the white 

 gleaming bones of the frame work. We could 

 see the dogs with tails curling over their backs 

 frisking about and could hear their clamor as 

 they bayed the great white-winged thing that 

 had come up from over the sea's verge. 



In this first part of July it was continuous 

 day. The sun set at eleven o'clock at night in 

 the northwest. Its disc remained barely below 

 the horizon — we could almost see its flaming rim. 

 A molten glow of color made the sky resplen- 

 dent just above it as it passed across the north 

 pole. It rose at 1:30 in the morning high in 

 the northeast. All the time it was down a bril- 

 liant twilight prevailed — a twilight like that 

 which in our temperate zone immediately fol- 

 lows the sinking of the sun behind a hill. We 

 could see to read without difficulty. 



Soon boats and kyacks were putting ofl? from 

 the village. When we were still a mile or two 



