among the natives, and at 1 a.m. of the first day of January I was engaged in writing, in the midst of the sleeping forms of Esquimaux made warm and happy for the night in our main cabin. Paulooyer (Blind George) and his little girl, Kookooyer, were there, well wrapped up, and Kimmiloo, in my sleeping bag, was asleep on a sea-chest. Koojesse and his wife Tunukderlien were in my berth, and two other Esquimaux were on the cabin floor. Ebierbing and Tookoolito were on shore in their own igloo, and it was to them that, at half-past 5 a.m. I made my first New Year's "call." Various other "calls" were made, all with a view to some beneficial result, and, if possible, to do the poor people good in their then wretched state, and throughout the day sundry manifestations among our own men were given, akin to those adopted at home.
On this day, January 1st, 1861, we had the thermometer —1°, barometer 29.20, and the weather calm, with light clouds. We did not, therefore, feel the cold as might have been expected, and thus our New Year's day passed off most agreeably.
I have now to relate an occurrence that was as startling to me in its terrible yet solemn character as anything I had ever before known or heard of.
I have mentioned that another Esquimaux woman, called Nukertou, was found to be very sick, and I therefore determined to again call upon her, taking some medicine, and a little quince jelly that had been given me by loved ones at home.
I left the ship, and, after crossing some very broken and dangerous ice, which formed a sort of unstable and disjointed causeway, arrived at the village during the morning. I asked Tookoolito to accompany me, which she cheerfully did, and together we went to the tupic of Nukertou. She had been left alone in her sickness, all uncared for, as was customary, I regret to say, with the Esquimaux when any of them were helplessly ill.
The poor woman was very glad to see me, but she was so
