month of
solitude would assuredly have driven him out of his mind. But our
presence worked a marvellous difference in a short space of time, and
Billy visibly gained in health and strength as the days went on, chiefly
on account of congenial companionship; for we were almost as badly off,
in material comforts, as our poor friend himself.

East Cape consists of a few walrus-hide huts which cling like limpets to
the face of a cliff overhanging the Straits. In anything like windy
weather you can't go out without danger of being blown bodily into the
sea. Also, on the occasion of my last overland trip, I had been warned
by the officers of the _Bear_ against dangerous natives here, so I
resolved to move on to Whalen, a village a few miles west of East Cape
on the Arctic Ocean, to await the arrival of the _Thetis_.[58]

[Footnote 58: The name Whalen should probably be written as it is
pronounced--Oo-aylin, but I have adopted the mode of spelling in use
amongst the whaling fraternity.]

Whalen consists of about thirty _yarats_ (as a Tchuktchi dwelling is
called) and about three hundred inhabitants. The village stands on a
sandy beach only a few yards from the sea, but when we arrived here the
entire country was knee-deep in partly melted snow, which rendered
locomotion very wet and unpleasant. Here we were kindly received, indeed
rather too kindly, for our presence was the signal for a feast, and in a
few hours every man in the settlement was mad with drink. Fortunately
the chief remained sober and we hid in his hut until the orgie was
over. But all that night men were rushing about the village, firing off
Winchesters, and vowing to kill us, although that morning when sober
they had been quite friendly. We did not pass a very pleasant night, but
the next day all was quiet, and remained so until the appearance of a
whaler again demoralised the settlement. When a Tchuktchi gets drunk,
his first impulse is to get a rifle and shoot. He prefers a white man to
practise upon, but if there are none handy he will kill anybody, even
his mother, without compunction, and be very sorry for it when he is
sober, which unfortunately does not mend matters. Many whalemen have
been slain on this coast during the past ten years, and during the few
weeks we were at Whalen two natives were killed, also a German trader on
the Diomede Islands in Bering Straits. But as the latter individual had
set up a primitive still and announced his intention of