the people of Defoe and Smollet did, for nightshirts
and pyjamas are very modern things. There is much to be said from an
hygienic point of view in favour of that custom as against turning in
"all standing" as the Indian generally does, or sleeping in the day
underwear as most white men do. But although every one of a dozen people
in cabin after cabin that we stayed at on the Kobuk River above and
below this place, of both sexes and all ages, would thus strip
completely and go to bed, there was never any exposure of the body at
all. It may be, of course, that our presence imposed a greater care in
this respect, but it did not so impress us; it seemed the normal thing.
Another noticeable feature of the lives of all these people was their
devoutness in the matter of thanks before and after meat. Some of them
would not so much as give and receive a drink of cold water without a
long responsive grace.

As we went on down the river the country grew bleaker and drearier and
the few scattered inhabitants were living more and more the life of the
seacoast. The dwellings resembled igloos more than cabins, being
completely covered with snow and approached by underground passages,
with heavy flaps of untanned sealskin to close them. When we passed a
fork of the river we knew that we were entering the delta of the Kobuk,
and that another day would take us to the mission on Kotzebue Sound. It
was a long, hard day, in which we made forty miles, but an interesting
one. With a start at six, we were at the mouth by nine-thirty. The
spruce which had for some time been dwarfing and dwindling gave place to
willows, the willows shrank to shrubs, the shrubs changed to coarse
grass thrusting yellow tassels through the snow. The river banks sank
and flattened out and ceased, and we were on Hotham Inlet with the long
coast-line of the peninsula that forms it stretching away north and
south in the distance. Roxy's bewilderment was amusing. He stopped and
gazed about him and said: "Kobuk River all pechuk!" ("Pechuk" means
"played out.") "What's the matter, no more Kobuk River?" I think his
mind had never really entertained the notion of the river ending, though
of course he must often have heard of its mouth in the salt water. He
was out of his country, his bearings all gone, a feeling of helpless
insecurity taking the place of his usual confidence, and I think he said
no more all that day.

We had to traverse the ice of Hotham Inlet northward