After traveling for months on end, it is unnatural to be still for so long. I am impatient beyond measure to return to Sophie.
Mr. Troyer tries to engage me in frequent conversation. He is a philosophizer with little opportunity in this territory, but I make a poor partner in such discussions. He asks much about our journey. I have relayed some of the more bizarre details.
?—?Amazing! Simply amazing! But what do you make of it all? he has asked enough times to become a bother.
Make of it? Is it not enough that we survived? The more Mr. Troyer burdens me with such talk, the more I avoid his company.
Tillman is restless, too, though I do not think he is keen to leave. Nat’aaggi does not make her plans known. Could she intend to travel south with us on the ship? It seems unlikely. Yet it is equally implausible that Tillman will want to part from her. She keeps her feelings concealed, from what I can tell, but he is clearly lovesick.
The three of us often walk along the gray beach together. Tillman throws sticks for the dog, though Boyo is wary of the water. Nat’aaggi has found a few sea-shells.
This afternoon Tillman & I came across some houses for the dead near the shore. They are cone-shaped constructions of drift wood, with the body laid inside & wrapped in cloth & animal skins.
August 6
All these days at the beach & rocky points, I find nothing suitable.
Nat’aaggi asked me today what I seek. I told her I look for some small gift to bring to my wife?—?a feather, a pretty sea-shell, perhaps even the egg-shells of some shorebird.
August 7
We were invited to an Innuit meal. Their favorite food seems to be seal oil, which they eat voraciously, dipping with fingers from bowl to mouth. Tillman & I politely declined. We did, however, venture a go with their dessert?—?a whipped concoction of seal oil, berries, & tallow. It looked appetizing, almost like a sweet cream, but we could each only manage a few bites.
August 9
More than a week with no sign of the revenue cutter. I cannot tolerate this waiting.
August 11
Today Nat’aaggi brought two Innuit boys to me. Their English is quite good. She told them I wanted to find an egg for my wife.
?—?To eat? one of the boys asked.
?—?No, I said. —?She thinks they are pretty. Just the shells would be fine.
At this they became quite animated, beckoned for me to follow them. They led me away from the sea, out through the grass & hummocks. We walked for so long, I thought perhaps they led me on a wild chase. Now & then they would poke around in the low bushes, but then continue their walking.
At last one of them shouted with excitement.
They had indeed found a small nest. It had long since been abandoned but inside the bed of grass & feathers were two broken shells.
The boys indicated that often these nest hold as many as a dozen eggs. The villagers gather them to eat in the spring.
I thanked them, gave them each a coin, carefully collected the bits of shell.
When I showed them to Nat’aaggi, thanked her for her assistance, she indicated I needed something to put them in. A tin can will be fine, I said.
August 13
Tillman has spiffed himself up for the evening. There is a gathering at the trading company. Several villages will bring in their furs. They will celebrate with a feast & dance.
Tillman borrows my Indian moose-hide jacket. He thinks it will impress Nat’aaggi. He spent a long time in front of the mirror, readying himself. He still looks a frightful mountain man, I joked, & the jacket is too small for him. He was all seriousness. He said he would dance with her tonight, find out once & for all if she loves him.
He asked if I wouldn’t come, too.
?—?I hear these Eskimo men are something at wrestling, he said. —?Wonder if we could best them?
I declined, told him I have never been much for socializing, but I wished him a good time.
Sophie Forrester
Vancouver Barracks
July 8
The second humming bird chick has broken from its shell. The mother bird leaves her nest only briefly, but spends most hours brooding over her newborns.
I now know the limit of my days, for within three weeks they will fledge, and the mother bird will have no need to return. The only chance I have to catch her image is when she is perched, in stillness, in a place where I have already focused my camera. The nest is my only hope.
Last night I developed what plates I have. Even in the negative, I can see the mother bird in focus, the lines sharp and the textures varied. It is exhilarating indeed, yet I do not lose sight of my original desire. It is the light that I must come to understand.
July 12