found nowhere else in the world--awaited us. To undress and crawl
between them and lie there, warm and snug and dry, while we listened
to the rain, which had begun beating furiously against the window and
on the roof, and the wind howling around the house, seemed to me at
first the pinnacle of comfort; but this sense of luxury soon passed
off and I found myself longing for the tent and spruce-bough couch on
the ground, where there was more air to breathe and a greater freedom.
I could not sleep. The bed was too warm and the four walls of the
room seemed pressing in on me. After four months in the open it takes
some time for one to accustom one's self to a bed again.

The next day at high tide, with the aid of a boat and two Eskimos, we
recovered our things from the rocks where we had cached them.

There were no Eskimos at the Post competent or willing to attempt the
open-boat journey to Fort Chimo. Those that were here all agreed that
the ice would come before we could get through and that it was too
dangerous an undertaking. Therefore, galling as the delay was to me,
there was nothing for us to do but settle down and wait for the time
to come when we could go with dog teams overland.

On Thursday afternoon, three days after our arrival at the Post, we
saw the Eskimos running toward the wharf and shouting as though
something of unusual importance were taking place and, upon joining
the crowd, found them greeting three strange Eskimos who had just
arrived in a boat. The real cause of the excitement we soon learned
was the arrival of the _Pelican_. The strange Eskimos were the pilots
that brought her from Fort Chimo. All was confusion and rejoicing at
once. Ford manned a boat and invited us to join him in a visit to the
ship, which lay at anchor four miles below, and we were soon off.