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THE STORY OF GOMOCK THE ESKIMO 101
out of a canvas bag on to the snow floor. To see the squirming lot of them, their feet threshing air, scrambling for it with squeals of delight while their elders happily looked on were moments in the north I shall always remember. I've never seen people so happy, so uncomplaining, and indeed so grateful for their lot.
At the end of a bitterly cold day of sledging, the bitterest time of all is the intolerable wait while your Eskimo builds your igloo. On a sledge journey with Nanook along the north-east coast of Hudson Bay one winter we had been climbing one thousand eight hundred feet up over the back of Cape Sir Thomas Smith, and there, caught by the darkness and a blinding blizzard, we were unable to keep on. Nanook was good at igloo-building, quicker at it than most Eskimoes, but the wait, upwards of an hour, was almost more than I could endure. The dogs were long since out of sight, drifted over by the driving snow. I looked something like a snowman, myself. At last, the final block of the igloo in place, at the heels of Nanook I crawled in. He lit a candle. Around and above us the snow-dome sparkled and gleamed and glistened like the dust of diamonds. Nanook's wonderful face broke into a smile as he regarded it and turning to me, said, ' Surely no house of the white man could be so wonderful.'
Nanook and his people live in a country where no other people could possibly survive. Every day through the long winter is a fight against starvation. One day I was sledging along the coast of the Belcher Islands. We hadn't seen a sign of life in two days' sledging. It was cold, there was a heavy wind, and snow-smoke filled the air. As we were bending into the wind, blinded by the snow, we almost stumbled into the solitary figure of an Eskimo, sitting on a block of snow, bent over, as immovable as if he had been carved of stone. With a seal-spear on two little pillars of snow before him, his hands withdrawn into his sleeves, he