forgot Ungava entirely; and she just bunched the tide in here, too."

That Tuesday night sloping rocks and ominous reefs made it impossible
for us to effect a landing, and in a shallow place we dropped anchor.
Fortunately there was no wind, for we were in an exposed position, and
had there been we should have come to grief. A bit of hardtack with
nothing to drink sufficed for supper, and after eating we curled up as
best we could in the bottom of the boat. No watch was kept. Every
one lay down. Easton and I rolled in our blankets, huddled close to
each other, pulled the tent over us and were soon dreaming of sunnier
lands where flowers bloom and the ice trust gets its prices.

Our awakening was rude. Some time in the night I dreamed that my neck
was broken and that I lay in a pool of icy water powerless to move.
When I finally roused myself I found the boat tilted at an angle of
forty-five degrees and my head at the lower incline. All the water in
the boat had drained to that side and my shoulders and neck were
immersed. The tide was out and we were stranded on the rocks. It was
bright moonlight. Kumuk and Iksialook got up and with the kettle
disappeared over the rocks. The rising tide was almost on us when
they returned with a kettle full of hot tea. Then as soon as the
water was high enough to float the boat we were off by moonlight,
fastening now and again on reefs, and several times narrowly escaped
disaster.

It was very cold. Easton and I were still clad in the bush-ravaged
clothing that we had worn during the summer, and it was far too light
to keep out the bitter Arctic winds that were now blowing, and at
night our only protection was our light summer camping blankets. When
we reached the Post at George River not a thing in the way of clothing